Shu felt like his life hadn't changed at all.
He was still alive, he could eat, he could sleep, and he could comfortably get through the day without feeling like it was pure torture.
Yet, at the same time, it felt like his life had been flipped completely upside down.
The space Rice Cake occupied in his life had grown far beyond what he'd ever imagined. Now, the very first thing Shu did upon opening his eyes every morning was check on the cat.
The lazy little furball would sleep until noon every day. Its first order of business upon waking was to demand food—and it flat-out refused to touch the kibble in the automatic feeder, acting as if eating dry food was a massive injustice.
Fortunately, Shu woke up much earlier than Rice Cake, allowing him to prepare fresh, home-cooked meals for the spoiled kitten exactly when it woke up.
Truthfully, Rice Cake hadn't been this lazy during the first few days. Back then, it would actually sync its schedule to wake up bright and early with Shu, just so it could find a chance to crawl back into his lap and catch up on sleep.
But that only lasted a few days.
Lately, Rice Cake had stopped pretending entirely. It slept like a log, woke up to eat, took a little stroll to digest, and then immediately demanded playtime.
Cat teasers, yarn balls, laser pointers, toy mice...
Rice Cake wasn't just playful; it was a connoisseur of play.
It would lose interest in a specific toy after a few days at most. Though it wouldn't outright reject it, it would just go through the motions half-heartedly.
Whenever Shu noticed that boredom creeping in, he quickly swapped toys or changed up his routine to keep the cat entertained.
This human treats me really well.
After burning off a massive burst of energy, Rice Cake lounged lazily in the crook of Shu's arm, belly exposed to the ceiling, legs splayed, perfectly positioned to stare up at him.
Perhaps thinking the cat could read facial expressions, Shu wore a faint smile. It was a bit stiff, but there was a genuine sliver of warmth hidden within it.
"Meow~"
Rice Cake gave a soft, gentle cry. After running wild for an entire afternoon and evening, a simple flick of its tail told it that bedtime had arrived.
Glancing up, it realized its human was in even worse shape. The guy who woke up early was practically dead on his feet, holding his eyes open by sheer willpower alone.
You forced yourself to stay awake just to play with me?
Human!
I acknowledge you!
Although it still wanted to play a little more, Rice Cake was a considerate ruler.
The Boss Lady had told it to take good care of the human. What if it accidentally broke him by playing too hard?
The kitten wriggled out of Shu's embrace of its own volition. Shu's half-drooping eyelids lifted slightly as he tried to shake off his drowsiness, his hand already reaching for the next toy.
But seeing Rice Cake slowly pad over to its bed and curl up, Shu let out a soft sigh. He picked up his phone—which he had kept face-down all day—stood up, and gave his stiff body a much-needed stretch.
The faint CRACK popping from his joints acted like a signal, finally releasing the tension he had been carrying all day.
With Rice Cake's chaotic energy gone, the apartment fell into a heavy silence, leaving only the faint hum of the AC unit.
Standing up, riding that brief wave of clarity, Shu looked around the all-too-familiar living room. Suddenly, he felt a strange sense of novelty.
Or rather... a sense of unfamiliarity.
But it wasn't a repulsive alienation. The entire world seemed to come alive, greeting him like a friendly stranger, radiating genuine, earnest goodwill.
Even if rationality whispered that this goodwill might be a facade, that dark undercurrents might lurk beneath the shiny surface, you would still try to reach out and accept it.
Because that's the kind of person you are—someone who extends basic kindness to the unknown.
That is exactly what it means to love the world.
After stretching again to ensure his muscles were completely relaxed, Shu walked over to check on Rice Cake, who was already curled into a tiny ball of fluff.
The kitten suffered no insomnia; its mental state was immaculate. It fell asleep the moment its head hit the bed, completely immune to sleep deprivation.
Coupled with a schedule of sleeping until noon, it was no wonder the lazy furball had boundless energy.
Shu swapped out the stale kibble and water in the automatic dispensers—even though they were barely touched—and bent down to tuck the soft cushions closer around the sleeping cat.
With his chores done, Shu headed to the bathroom. He turned the hot water valve, drawing himself a full tub.
Finally, he flipped on the exhaust fan and the heat lamp, ensuring he wouldn't suffocate in the steam, and submerged himself in the water.
The heat enveloped him from all sides, bringing an unparalleled sense of fullness.
More than just cleaning the body, taking a bath was an act of pure relaxation and indulgence.
You don't have to do anything. You just lie there, letting the water bear your weight, conserving every ounce of energy usually spent controlling your limbs.
As a side effect, a person's mind becomes incredibly active in this state of ultimate relaxation. Imagination, comprehension, deductive reasoning, and memory all kick into overdrive.
Normally, this is a good thing. Because even if you aren't a brilliant scholar struck by sudden inspiration, using this time to ponder your life philosophy or untangle past memories...
...or even just indulging in meaningless, relaxing, unspeakable fantasies—it's all healthy.
An active, wandering mind can pry open entrenched thought patterns and open a new window to the world.
But for Shu, this was not a good thing.
Overthinking...
He wrung out a hot towel until it was half-dry, placed it over his forehead to trap the heat, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.
If he couldn't afford to think, he just had to empty his mind. But the brain is hard to control, and memories and stray thoughts constantly threatened to bubble up.
So, he forced his brain to expend energy elsewhere. He shifted his closed eyes to "manual control," meticulously regulated every single breath, and focused entirely on the physical sensation of the hot water wrapping around different parts of his body...
It wasn't until he jolted awake in the lukewarm water, unable to tell if the dampness on his skin was sweat or bathwater, that Shu let out a long breath. He climbed out of the tub, ready for bed.
The post-bath lethargy made him feel even more exhausted than before he got in, which was perfect. He could just pass out immediately. If the bath had energized him, that would have been a disaster.
But there was one last thing to do before bed.
Shu picked up the blister pack of pills from his nightstand. Seeing that only a few pills remained in the empty box, he fell into a heavy silence.
He couldn't stop taking his medication.
He popped two pills out, swallowed them with water, threw the empty box into the trash, and lay down on the bed, his mind heavy with dread.
I have to go outside again...
A pang of anxiety tightened Shu's chest at the thought.