Chapter Text
Sanemi jolted awake.
His breath came fast and uneven, chest heaving as if he’d been running. His ears were pinned flat to his head, tail curled tight around his leg. The room felt too small—too close—too familiar in the wrong way.
His fingers clenched around the red panda plush, crushing it against his chest.
A broken, quiet whine slipped out of his throat before he could stop it.
He hated that sound.
Hated how his body made it without his permission.
His heart was pounding. His mind still trapped half in the nightmare—hands grabbing him, voices shouting, the pull of a leash, the sharp fear of not being able to escape.
Sanemi squeezed his eyes shut.
Not here. Not now. Not anymore.
He forced himself to breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Slowly, the room came back into focus. The soft light. The quiet. The bed. The warmth. No shouting. No pain. No cage.
Just silence.
Just safety.
For now.
He stayed curled up, hugging the plush tightly, exhaustion weighing down every part of him. His body felt heavy, worn, like it hadn’t rested properly in forever.
Months, he thought.
I haven’t slept properly in months.
The nightmares always found him.
Always.
He wondered if he would ever get real rest again. Sleep without fear. Without waking up shaking. Without reliving things he couldn’t forget.
His breathing finally slowed.
And his thoughts drifted.
To the man who bought him.
Giyu.
Quiet.
Calm.
Gentle.
Never raised his voice.
Never pulled him.
Never hurt him.
Never punished him.
Not yet.
Sanemi swallowed.
Maybe he won’t.
The thought felt dangerous.
But it was there.
His grip on the plush loosened just a little.
A new thought crept in—small, fragile, terrifying.
If I asked him for something…
A favor.
Just one.
Would it be too much?
Would it change everything?
He stared at the door.
The hallway was quiet.
Giyu was still out there.
Alive. Awake. Real.
Sanemi hesitated.
Then, slowly… carefully…
He shifted closer to the edge of the bed.
Not ready to ask.
Not brave enough yet.
But he was thinking about it.
~~~
Giyu lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
Work started again in two days.
Two days.
And Sanemi still wasn’t comfortable.
Still barely eating.
Still barely sleeping.
Still scared of every sudden sound.
Giyu’s chest felt tight.
I can’t leave him alone for hours, he thought.
What if he panics? What if he hurts himself? What if he needs something and I’m not here?
He turned onto his side, restless.
What am I supposed to do…?
Then a thought surfaced.
Kyojuro.
The paper.
The number.
Giyu sat up.
It’s late, he thought. But… I don’t know who else to ask.
He reached into the drawer, pulled out the receipt, and stared at the handwritten number for a second before typing it into his phone.
His thumb hovered.
Then he pressed call.
It rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
“…Hello?” Kyojuro’s voice answered, a little sleepy but still warm.
Giyu exhaled in relief. “I’m sorry—it’s late. It’s Giyu. From the shop.”
There was a pause.
Then, instantly more alert—“Oh! Hey! It’s okay—what’s wrong?”
Giyu hesitated, then spoke quietly. “I… I’m not sure what to do. I work long shifts. I can’t leave him alone. He’s not stable yet. He barely eats, barely sleeps. I’m scared to leave him by himself.”
There was a brief silence on the line.
Then Kyojuro’s voice softened. “How bad is it?”
“He has nightmares,” Giyu said honestly. “He’s scared of everything. He doesn’t trust people. I don’t want him to feel abandoned.”
Another pause.
“…You care about him,” Kyojuro said gently.
“Yes.”
The answer was immediate.
Kyojuro hummed thoughtfully. “Okay. Then here’s an option.”
Giyu held his breath.
“You could bring him to the shop during your shifts,” Kyojuro said. “We’re registered for hybrid care. Tengen set it up years ago. We have space. Quiet rooms. Staff who know how to handle trauma cases. No cages. No shock collars. No restraints.”
Giyu’s eyes widened. “…You’d take care of him?”
“Of course,” Kyojuro said without hesitation. “He wouldn’t be alone. He’d be watched. Safe. And you can pick him up after work.”
Giyu swallowed. His throat felt tight. “He’s terrified of new places.”
“Then we go slow,” Kyojuro replied. “No forcing. No pressure. We adapt to him.”
Silence hung between them.
Then Giyu whispered, “…Thank you.”
Kyojuro smiled through his voice. “You’re doing your best. That matters.”
Giyu ended the call and lowered the phone.
His heart was still heavy—
But now, there was a path.
Not perfect.
Not easy.
But safer.
He lay back down, staring at the ceiling again.
One problem at a time, he thought.
And for the first time in days…
He felt like he wasn’t completely alone in this.
~~~
The afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Giyu walked down the street.
Sanemi followed behind him on the leash—reluctant, tense, every step cautious. His grip on the red panda plush was tight, knuckles white around the fabric. His ears were pinned low, tail tucked close to his leg.
He didn’t want to be here.
But he followed.
The bell jingled as they entered the pet shop.
Kyojuro looked up first—and immediately smiled.
“Giyu! You came!”
Tengen turned from the counter, eyes sharp and assessing. His gaze swept over Sanemi—his posture, his tension, the way his body leaned away from strangers.
“…Trauma case,” Tengen said calmly. Not judgmental. Just observant.
Sanemi stiffened.
Giyu stepped slightly in front of him without thinking.
“He’s Sanemi,” Giyu said quietly.
Tengen nodded once. “Good. Names matter.”
Kyojuro crouched slightly, keeping distance, energy bright but controlled. “Hey there, Sanemi! No touching, no grabbing, no pressure—just vibes.”
Sanemi blinked, confused.
They guided them through the shop, past the cages and aisles, to a door in the back.
Inside was… different.
A quiet room.
Soft lighting.
Padded floors.
Low couches.
Blankets.
Toys.
Water bowls.
No bars.
No cages.
No restraints.
It felt more like a calm lounge than a holding area.
“This is our hybrid care room,” Tengen explained. “No containment unless necessary. No isolation. No shock equipment. Ever.”
Sanemi hesitated at the doorway.
Kyojuro smiled gently. “You don’t have to do anything. Just… exist.”
Giyu swallowed.
He slowly unclipped the leash.
The soft click echoed in the room.
Sanemi froze.
Then—nothing happened.
No pulling.
No grabbing.
No shouting.
He stayed still, clutching the plush, eyes darting between them.
Giyu stepped back. “You’re okay,” he said softly. “You’re safe.”
Tengen backed away. Kyojuro did too.
Space.
Choice.
Control.
Sanemi took one small step forward.
Then another.
He didn’t trust them.
Not really.
But they weren’t hurting him.
They weren’t forcing him.
They weren’t treating him like a thing.
So he stayed.
And for the first time in a long time—
Sanemi stood in a room with strangers…
Without a leash.
Without a cage.
Without fear taking over completely.
Sanemi stayed near the wall, clutching the plush tightly, eyes scanning the room.
Then he noticed it.
Feathers.
Small, layered, reddish-gold feathers along Kyojuro’s arms and near his shoulders—half-hidden under his clothes.
His brows furrowed.
His gaze lingered.
Kyojuro noticed immediately.
“Oh!” he said brightly, turning a little so Sanemi could see better. “Yeah—I’m an owl hybrid!”
Sanemi blinked.
“…Owl?” he repeated quietly.
Kyojuro’s smile widened. “Mhm! Barn owl mix, actually. Feathers, talons, night vision, the whole package.”
Sanemi stared at him.
He looked… healthy.
Clean.
Confident.
Energetic.
Unafraid.
Not chained.
Not thin.
Not broken.
Sanemi’s ears twitched in disbelief.
Most hybrids he’d seen were injured. Wild. Feral. Locked up. Treated like animals. Some didn’t even remember how to talk.
“You… work here,” Sanemi said slowly.
“Yep!” Kyojuro replied proudly. “Full-time!”
Sanemi looked genuinely shocked.
Tengen snorted from behind them. “Yeah, and he eats more than all the dogs combined. Absolute menace to the food budget.”
Kyojuro’s smile dropped.
“What.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t inhale food like a vacuum cleaner—”
SMACK.
Kyojuro slapped Tengen hard on the back.
“DON’T EXPOSE ME.”
Tengen wheezed. “—ACK—WHY ARE YOU SO STRONG—”
Giyu froze.
Sanemi stared.
The tension in the room broke instantly.
Kyojuro crossed his arms, offended. “You’re supposed to be my dignified, cool boss figure!”
“I am dignified,” Tengen coughed. “You just assaulted me.”
Sanemi’s ears slowly lifted.
His grip on the plush loosened.
A tiny, confused sound escaped him.
“…What.”
Kyojuro turned back to him with a grin. “Welcome to the chaos.”
And somehow—
The room felt less scary.
Less quiet.
Less heavy.
Not safe yet.
But… lighter.
Giyu watched Sanemi carefully, reading every small movement—the way his ears shifted, how his shoulders slowly lowered, how his grip on the plush wasn’t as tight as before.
“…We’ll stay for a while,” Giyu said gently. “Just to get used to it. You don’t have to do anything.”
Sanemi hesitated… then nodded once.
Kyojuro gestured to one of the low beds in the corner of the room, layered with blankets and pillows. “You can sit there if you want! It’s clean, soft, and absolutely not haunted.”
Sanemi blinked at that sentence, then cautiously moved over and sat on the edge of the bed, still holding the red panda.
“That’s good,” Giyu said softly.
Kyojuro suddenly straightened. “WAIT.”
Everyone paused.
“I never introduced myself properly!” He turned to Sanemi with dramatic seriousness. “I am Kyojuro Rengoku—owl hybrid, employee of the month (self-declared), protector of snacks, and certified friendly presence!”
Sanemi stared.
“…Okay,” he said quietly.
Tengen scoffed. “You’re so cringe.”
Then Tengen stepped forward, spreading his arms theatrically. “And I am Tengen Uzui—owner of this extremely flashy establishment, certified legend, and the man who keeps this entire place from collapsing into chaos.”
Kyojuro crossed his arms. “You forgot ‘ego the size of the sun.’”
“I am the sun,” Tengen replied smoothly.
While Kyojuro was mid-rant about humility and teamwork—
Tengen casually reached out.
And plucked one of Kyojuro’s feathers.
There was a half-second of silence.
Kyojuro went still.
“…You did not.”
Then—
“YOU DID NOT—”
Kyojuro lunged.
They crashed into each other in a tangle of limbs, shouting, half-wrestling, half-laughing.
“GIVE IT BACK—”
“IT’S JUST A FEATHER—”
“THAT’S MY FEATHER—”
“YOU’RE SO DRAMATIC—”
Sanemi’s eyes widened.
He stared at them.
Not in fear.
In shock.
Kyojuro is a hybrid.
And Tengen is a human.
And they were… joking. Touching. Fighting playfully. Laughing.
No fear. No dominance. No punishment. No control.
Just… freedom.
Kyojuro tackled Tengen onto the padded floor.
Tengen groaned. “This is workplace harassment.”
“This is justice,” Kyojuro declared.
Sanemi’s ears slowly lifted.
His shoulders relaxed.
Something in his chest loosened.
He can act like that…
He’s not scared of him.
He’s not being controlled.
Sanemi hugged the plush a little less tightly.
For the first time in a long time—
Being around other hybrids didn’t feel terrifying.
It felt… possible.
And somehow—
That made the room feel safer than any cage ever could.