The rumble of my exhaust, the chill of the moving wind -- it all came to a stop in the garage of my apartment.

The cat in my arms seemed double the size with the way its fur puffed up against the cold. Yet the way it curled in on itself made it look smaller.

I untied my jacket sleeves from my waist and wrapped him tighter.

"Alright mate, it's warmer inside," I mumbled, steam clouding my vision as my helmet found its shelf, and I closed the garage door behind us.

I took the stairs up two floors to my small apartment. It was made up of a small kitchen/laundry, lounge room and a single bedroom. I could cross the whole space in five seconds at a stroll.

I placed the wrapped cat on the bed, watching its unearthly eyes droop shut. It was a well behaved stray, but there was absolutely no chance I was going to keep it.

I reached out to give it a little itch behind the ear. Clearly I made assumptions too soon, because the glowing cat turned quickly and bit my hand without piercing the skin.

I sighed, waiting to be released, ignoring his displeased growls. When he finally removed his fangs from my skin, he rested his head back down, drifting.

Peeta used to drift like that after a game a peek-a-boo and chase. Like she didn't have a choice.

I shook my head, ridding myself of the comparison and tracking down my house phone.

I quickly dialed the familiar number.

"This is Adrian Oscars from Meridian Health Junction, how can I help you?"

I cleared my throat. Hesitated. Spoke. "Do you take in stray cats?"

"Of course. When will you be available to drop him off?"

I glanced at the now sleeping cat on my bed, recovering from the cold, finally sleeping in a bed. Then at the pale wood clock on the wall above him. 4:48am. "Tomorrow morning."

"Fantastic. Can I get your name and number?"

"Atlas Lyka. xxxx-xxxx-98."

There was only the sound of keys clacking through the phone for a moment. Then silence.

"Sir, the records show..." he cleared his throat. "Were you the father of Peeta Lyka?"

I closed my eyes in a long blink. Contained myself. "I am."

Adrian continued, sounding both confused and sympathetic. "Well, Mr. Lyka... it has been less than 6 hours."

I didn't respond.

"I will just inform you that we provide free adoptions for strays you turn in. Aside from that, I have taken down your information and will give you a call in the morning. Enjoy your day Mr. Lyka."

I couldn't bring myself to respond for a moment. At last, I hung up with a mumbled, "thank you."

I placed the phone down, plopped on my lounge and gripped my black hair.

I brushed my pocket where I knew the picture of Peeta and my father hid inside my wallet. "I won't replace you Peeta. You're not just a cat... you're my family."

Suddenly an image of my mother's husband flashed into my mind. "I won't replace either of you. Not ever."

With that I was back out my doors, leaving the cat to rest alone in my apartment while I walked aimlessly along the footpath.

The road was still wet where the potholes were the deepest. Wheels splashed it like rain over me.

I had work today. But I never gave out my home number. Well, not except to the pet hospital just now. They would ring me forever and I'd never hear it. Never answer.

I hated to hate. But I hated when they called us family. "At work, we're all family."

I only had one family. A family of two. And they left me behind. I would never replace them. Not with work. Not with my mother's new family. Not with anyone.

Perhaps that would make it a lonely life. But perhaps I didn't care, as long as it was only for a short while.

I watched another car speed by, my hair flying along the wind it pulled. I took a step closer, a cars horn blaring as my boot almost touched the road.

Would I ever do it?

I pinched the bridge of my nose, then stepped back. Maybe not. Maybe I would. Maybe as soon as that cat was out of my care. Yes. That was a plan I could follow.

I continued my aimless wandering until the clouds above began to shed their tears. My walk home was much quicker and colder. There was something therapeutic about the way all my senses were drowned out as the rain poured harder above me, sounding like it was shredding the sky in a constant rhythm.

Some time later I reached my apartment, dragging squelching wet boots up the stairs that threatened to slip beneath me.

My cold hands were cramped and slow as I turned the key in its lock. I entered my apartment. Dark. I travelled the hall in a few steps. Kitchen, lounge room, bedroom.

I entered, unzipping my soaking boots. The room was dark. I frowned, water running from my brows. No light. No glow. No blue.

I switched on the light, wondering where the glowing cat could have hid in a tiny dark apartment.

I guessed the answer quite quickly as my eyes connected with those of the teen in my room. He froze. I froze.

He was dressed in my clothes which looked just too big for him. Plain black jeans and dark blue top, my bike jacket. His hair was white. Wavey. Long. Messy. He was sitting on the bed, shoving the lid of a shoe box closed.

The weight of the silence broke suddenly as I stepped forward. "How'd you get inside? Who else is here?"

The teen put his hand up, the other still on the lid of the box that tried to open. "Just me."

I raised a brow. I didn't exactly own many valuables. "What's in the box?"

He glanced at it, then back at me. Scoffed. Almost hissed. "Not yours."

My mind raced through my belongings. Then it switched. Maybe he wasn't stealing what I owned, but planting something. Had I gotten on someone's bad side and they planned to frame me?

I quickly closed the distance, making the teen scoot back quickly, back hitting the headboard of the bed. I yanked open the lid of the box.

No weapons. No papers.

I stepped back, almost gagging. The boy looked puzzled at my reaction.

"Chicken?" I asked, baffled. Had he come to raid my house and been so disappointed by the lack of valuables that he couldn't leave empty handed?

"Raw chicken?" I almost vomited as the teen opened the box, letting the smell reach me again. Sealed and open packets of raw chicken from my fridge had been shoved inside, blood soaking the cardboard.

"What kind of thief... " my words trailed off, not even sure where to go next.

The teen frowned slightly. "Thief is a big word. It's called being prepared. Survival if you will."

I nodded slowly. Minutely relaxed. "If you're just hungry..." why break into my house and not a food shop? Why steal only raw food? Why hide it instead of just running?

I tried a different angle. "And my clothes?"

He glanced down at them, plucking his shirt slightly. "I didn't think you'd mind. They can't be that expensive."

I sighed, rubbing my forehead. "Yeah, okay fine. Take the chicken, take the clothes. The jacket though... that's expensive. I'll find you something else."

The teen shrugged, his white hair bobbing on his shoulders. "Wouldn't have been my first choice but I don't turn away a gift."

I frowned. My eyes flicked between the teen and my jacket. Then to the empty spot of the bed where I'd placed the cat, wrapped in that very jacket.

"I didn't... where's the cat?"

He snorted, plucking a piece of raw chicken from the box. "Oh, didn't realise you were slow."

He proceeded to raise the chicken to his open mouth. In horror, I slapped his hand. The chicken fell into the box. He looked annoyed.

"Don't eat that in front of me," I sputtered. "And don't expect me to believe you either. If you stole the cat already just say so!"

He sighed, scooting the chicken aside. A moment later, his white haired formed twisted and shrunk into a small glowing blue cat.

I stared for a moment, feeling like I was in a dream. Then, "my jacket disappeared."

The cat twisted into the form of the teen boy once more, chuckling. Wearing my jacket. "Yeah. I don't fancy transforming naked."

I nodded slowly, as if that made perfect sense. Then, as the boy reached for the box of chicken again, I yanked it off the bed. That earned an irritated glare.

"Well I don't fancy chicken juice on my bed, or frankly, raw chicken breath."

I trudged my wet, half zipped boots into the kitchen, emptying the opened box onto a chopping board. I scrunched my face in disdain as I noticed a piece missing.

The teen groaned as he walked into the threshold of the kitchen. "You're going to ruin it aren't you?"

"You should be glad I'm letting you eat my food."

He sighed, looking like a kid on a weekend who just woke up from a sleep-in, still dressed in his oversized pyjamas. Except they weren't pyjamas. And they were oversized because they were mine.

The teen opened my fridge like he lived here, yawning as he picked up a can of Peeta's wet can food from the shelf.

"Don't even think about it," I said in disgust as he sat on the bar opposite to where I cut and cleaned the chicken.

He ignored me as he fiddled with the lid, plucking at the corners and trying to open it in vain.

"You have a cat?" he asked, frowning in concentration at the impossible can.

My hand froze around the knife for a breath. Then continued to cut. "You have a name?" I countered.

I paused, looked up at the ceiling as if I asked him an exam level question, then shrugged. "Not sure."

I glanced back at him, a flicker of sympathy running through me until I remembered he was a stray cat. That's why he didn't have a name.

I scraped the chicken into a bowl with my knife as I spoke. "Surely there's something people call you. In your cat form or human form."

The words sounded absurd and foreign on my tongue, but the boy acted like it was normal as he continued to frown and pluck at the can.

"Not really. You're the only person I really encountered."

I grabbed a pan slowly from its shelf. "You're not that young... what fifteen? Even your cat form looks a year old."

He pulled his lips to one side. "Maybe. That's just not that relevant for me I suppose."

The pan clacked against the stove top. "What's that supposed to mean? Did you hit your head or something?"

He snorted but didn't respond for a long moment. I ignited the stove, clicking at a half empty lighter because the ignition button has stopped working years ago.

When he finally spoke, he sounded hesitant, like he wasn't entirely sure about what he was saying, or whether he should say it.

"I don't remember anything before I found you," he began.

I clacked the lighter down on the bar, turning to him with a frown. "That's pretty serious. You should get checked."

I had been joking about him hitting his head, but suddenly it sounded plausible.

But the teen waved his hand dismissively. "No, no, nothing like that. I'm a sequere."

He looked at me like he was trying to gauge whether I knew what that meant. When he was met with my puzzled expression, he continued.

"A sequere is someone who appears to be both animal and human, but is really neither. We are sent from our world to complete one purpose, and we can't return until it's complete."

Distracted, I poured far too much olive oil into the pan. I had a bad feeling about this.

"What exactly is your purpose?"