Archive of Our Own

When the season is sitting somewhere on the border drawn between spring and summer on a regular Friday night, it begins to rain. Smoky packed clouds gather overhead, delivering a drizzle onto the sidewalks, the road that bustles with cars, and the park across from the cafe that is open past closing hours. However, the drizzle soon shifts to a downpour, raindrops heavily splattering on the windows of passing cars and slipping down the hairs of people who were unfortunate enough to forget their umbrellas at home.

One of those unfortunate people just happens to be Geonhak. Of all days, he is graced with the presence of rain when he chose not to check the weather that morning. Wonderful. It doesn't particularly help that he is already in a morose mood from the workload that is sitting atop his shoulders and that he is displeased with his boss, Hye Jin, for adding on to it. After their meeting that didn’t even require Geonhak’s presence, that afternoon, Young Jo, his co-worker and best friend, took him out for lunch. In between bites, Geonhak sourly contemplated wreaking havoc in the office just to be sent on leave. Really, anything to be out of reach from his boss' tenacious orders that seldom align with Geonhak's morals. 

Sometimes, Geonhak wonders how he even landed a job as an editor under her care with their polar opposite personalities.

At least, it is Friday, and he won’t have to face her for another two days.

The bus is later than usual, and during the wait, Geonhak is subjected to counting the pebbles that sit by the bench at the bus stop to cure his boredom. A group of high schoolers seek shelter by the bus stop, attempting to brush the raindrops off of their uniforms. It is too bad the wind blows the rain in their direction. Geonhak makes the mistake of checking the back of the bus, and he wonders if he should just walk home—anything to avoid the horde of people sitting in the back. It is always crowded at this hour, which is typical since everyone is getting off work. However, he decides against it. The crowd is something he will have to live with unless he wants to walk home on foot in the rain. Geonhak sits where he normally does on the bus—by the window near the front. 

Despite the crowd of people on the bus, there is barely any chatter, everyone overtaken by fatigue after a long day to even think about initiating a conversation. Exhaustion seeps into Geonhak's bones, and if he focuses hard enough, he can envision his soft mattress waiting in his apartment, compelling him to succumb to the whispers of sleep. Sighing, he rests his head against the window of the bus, wincing when the bus jerks and his head collides with the glass. 

It is ten minutes later when the bus comes to a halt at the stop across from Geonhak's apartment, and Geonhak runs off the bus, immediately greeted by the pouring rain. Holding his bag above his head, he makes a run for it. Just as he passes the animal shelter right across from his apartment building, though, he pauses. Then he backtracks, staring through the glass of the window, coming face-to-face with a cat—a really, really tiny cat. It is black, curled into a ball in its cage. Upon seeing Geonhak watching it, the cat perks up, tilting its head curiously.

He should really be getting home—the rain has soaked through the material of his clothes already, and he doesn’t even want to consider the state his bag is probably in. His whole fate is determined by his laptop that sits in his bag, and if it breaks, not only will he lose all the files that he is currently in the process of editing, but Hye Jin will have his head on a stick. And Young Jo will either find pleasure in his misery or take great pity on him. It is always one or the other—there is no in-between. 

But Geonhak continues staring, and Young Jo’s voice echoes in his head. For the past month or two, he has continually suggested that Geonhak get a furry friend to keep him company, in hopes that maybe having an animal will reduce Geonhak’s piling stress and bring him a sense of comfort. Every time, Geonhak shot down the idea because how is he supposed to care for something else when he can barely look after himself? From time to time, the thought will bubble up to the surface from where it is always camping in the back of his mind, and Geonhak will entertain the thought, like how he toys with his pencil while editing, before shoving it back into the corner of his mind. 

The thought always resurfaces when he passes by this shelter on his way to the bus stop, but he has never dwelled on it for too long because he was always positive he will never have a change of heart. There are the high possibilities that his exhaustion is taking a toll on him, but now, he can’t find it in himself to move as he continues to stare at the cat. It must be the stressful week with Hye Jin that clouds his mind, but he finds himself entertaining the thought of bringing a pet home once again. 

Through the glass of the window, Geonhak hears the cat mewl, as if it is greeting him. He is certain this cat wasn’t here before because Geonhak has walked by the animal shelter enough times to learn the various pets being kept here, but maybe it is a stray cat they recently brought in. There are a lot of stray animals in this particular area, and more often than not, he runs into one that will cower from him whenever he approaches. Their neighbourhood has a stray dog that normally hangs around the apartment complex or wanders around the corner stores just down the street in hopes of finding food.

There is something about how the cat is staring at him—almost like it is observing him. And the look it has in its eyes isn’t illegible or blank, but it almost looks like it is anticipating. It is a silly thought, but Geonhak still finds himself rooted in place, returning the cat’s curious gaze. 

“You’re awfully cute,” Geonhak sighs, and the cat goes doe-eyed as if it can hear him through the glass and understands him. “And Young Jo kept complaining that I needed a friend to help me relieve stress. Too bad I can’t even take care of myself.” He hears the cat mewl discontentedly, bumping the glass with its nose, and Geonhak feels his heart swell. “I have to go now. It’s cold out and I’m tired.” He doesn’t know why his chest clenches when the cat looks defeated—as if it is pouting at him. "Don't look at me like that to guilt-trip me. That sort of stuff doesn't work on me."

But when the cat mewls and bumps the glass with its nose again, Geonhak almost melts.

A voice in the back of his head tries to persuade him that this is a bad idea, and he is better off going home and collapsing in his bedroom. His sleep still waits with open arms. But as Young Jo’s words continue to echo in his mind, he begins to believe it won’t be such a bad thing if he really abides by his friend’s wishes for once instead of tuning him out. 

The thought is so out of the blue, so impulsive—which goes against every single one of Geonhak’s calculated, polished actions—and he doesn’t even have anything prepared for the cat. His thoughts can’t even be labelled as coherent—maybe this is one of the tactics his brain usually uses to tell him he is in dire need of sleep because he isn’t in his right mind. 

The cat continues to observe Geonhak, fragments of hope shining in its eyes, and something in Geonhak's chest snaps. For some odd reason, he finds himself drawn to it. It has to be something in its gaze, or maybe it is just Geonhak's conscience, but the cat's pleading, twinkling eyes tug something in his chest that he would be much better off ignoring. Something that Geonhak can’t put a finger on compels an inconspicuous force to tug at his heartstrings, a voice in the back of his mind nagging at him. There is something different in the way the cat looks at him—not like any other cat, or any other animal for that matter. It is watching him, studying his every move, and the way its eyes bore through him seems as if it can read his thoughts. It is a cat—a small, seemingly helpless, stray cat—yet its gaze is anything but. 

They are having a staring contest, Geonhak realizes a short while later, to see who will crumble and give in first. And Geonhak has lost before it even started. 

~~~

Unlocking his door is a struggle, mostly because he needs to buy new contacts and he forgot his glasses on his nightstand and can’t tell the difference between his key for the apartment and the key for his mailbox. Even the multiple headaches he received due to Young Jo's incessant nagging isn’t enough to remind him to pick up more. 

When he finally manages to unlock the door, he kicks it open and toes off his shoes before unceremoniously tossing his bag on the couch. His apartment doesn’t have much other than the necessities. Geonhak being the minimalist that he was, only has a single black couch sitting across from a flat-screen TV, and of course, everything he needs to eat in order to survive sits in the fridge in his kitchen. No posters on the walls or photos of himself and others. Young Jo has advised him—more than once—to decorate his walls so they aren’t so bland, and each time, Geonhak says that he will when he has the time. He doesn’t actually plan on doing as Young Jo asks. It is just a way to get Young Jo off his back for the time being before he comes back around and gives him another headache. 

He unzips the cat carrier, and the cat crawls out, jumping off his couch and onto the rug. Geonhak clucks his tongue. Here he is, sitting in the same room with a cat that he has no idea how to look after. But still, he found himself walking into the shelter to adopt the pet.

He really has no idea where he will go from here. Juggling his personal life and his hectic work schedule with his boss perpetually looming over his head, Geonhak has little to no time to have a pet, much less look after it. That is just more work for Geonhak, and he already has a lot on his plate—more than he hoped for, really. But for now, he can let it rest the night, and then maybe he can figure things out from there.

Tilting its head and sitting upright, the cat returns Geonhak's intent stare. Geonhak huffs. "What, are you just going to hold a staring contest with me all night?"

The cat mewls, and maybe Geonhak is simply imagining it, but it seems like it is shaking its head in an attempt to contradict what Geonhak has said. But then again, Geonhak doesn’t understand the behaviour of cats, so maybe that is just something they always do—mewling disapprovingly at just about anything. 

No one told him he'd have to pick up a book on the basics for caring for pets, but if he’d been aware that he'd succumb to a cat's supplicating eyes and bring it home with him, he probably would've paid a visit to the closest book store. Caring for children is something he can do, even if they are dropped on his head out of the blue. But pets? That is a different story.

Even if he has no guide to blindly follow, though, he has a close second. And that close second is probably sick and tired of him by now after he relentlessly talked his ear off about how Hye Jin isn’t giving him a break for even a day. As much as weekends are Geonhak's only escape from his boss, they are likewise Young Jo's escape from Geonhak. 

Mumbling an apology to his friend, Geonhak dials his number, letting it ring as he restlessly waits for him to pick up the phone. It is right when the evening blurs into the night, so it isn’t too late, and Young Jo is definitely home already. He doesn’t live too far from the office. But there is also the slim chance that he is preoccupied with something—even though Geonhak has no idea what someone could possibly do on a Friday night besides lounge around—or Young Jo is straight-up ignoring his call.

Right when Geonhak is about to hang up, though, and deal with his fate on his own, Young Jo answers. "Why are you still awake? I thought you'd be knocked out by now." That is how he always answers the phone. No greeting of any form, like hello, how are you doing? or what's up? This is Young Jo's concept of a proper greeting. 

Geonhak isn’t even sure where he is supposed to start. “Well, I was going to sleep, but I got… held back.” He chances a wary glance at the cat that has just begun licking its fur before it crawls over and lays over Geonhak’s thigh.

The cat earns itself a bonus mark for being cute, but that will be its only leeway ticket. 

“What on earth could even hold you back from getting sleep? Even Hye Jin threatening you to stay awake to answer her call isn’t enough to keep you up. What changed?”

“Okay, first of all, she should not legally be allowed to berate me after work hours. And second of all, I might’ve made an impulsive move and adopted a cat because it guilt-tripped me—”

“Whoa, wait. A cat guilt-tripped you? Am I hearing this right?”

Geonhak groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. Maybe calling Young Jo was a bad idea—as if he didn’t know Young Jo would react like this. “ Yes, it did. It looked cute, and I remembered how you’re always telling me to find some company, so I brought it back home, and I’m supposed to care for it. The problem is, I’ve never taken care of cats before, or any pet for that matter. I need advice on how to care for it. You have a cat of your own, don’t you, hyung?”

"...I have a dog, Geonhak."

From this, Geonhak is getting a sense of Deja Vu, and he presses his lips into a thin line as he recalls that this isn’t the first time Young Jo has said this to him. 

As if he didn’t hear anything, Geonhak keeps talking. “What should one do if they’re left with a pet in their care and they don’t know how to care for it without potentially killing it?”

And as much as Young Jo is tempted to hang up and ignore Geonhak’s presence over the weekend for the sake of a restful break, he indulges him, teaching him the basics, even though he isn’t all too sure how cats are taken care of, either. Hye Jin has mentioned once that she had a cat, but Geonhak would rather be dropped in the middle of an ocean and be asked to swim to shore than call her willingly.

Right before Geonhak is about to hang up, Young Jo says, “And Geonhak, for the love of God, please get some decent sleep this weekend because Hye Jin will be chewing you out first thing in the morning on Monday—”

“Yes, yes, I know. I don’t need a reminder, hyung.”

“—And you always look tired, but today, you looked exceptionally horrible.”

“Thanks, hyung, I appreciate that.”

Young Jo clucks his tongue on the other end of the line. “I’m being serious. I don’t need your sarcasm right now. And also, contact Jin Seul to schedule another meeting with her, and please don’t forget like last time.”

Jin Seul is the author Geonhak is currently working with. She writes novels for young adults, which is a little out of Geonhak’s comfort zone because he has more skill editing fairytale books for children than something that is more aged up. But nonetheless, Jin Seul is a pleasure to work with, and she is a ball of delight who blooms gardens of smiles and joy in her wake, capable of lighting up any room she steps in. Geonhak has also taken a liking to her flow of writing, and the twists she always adds to her stories.

Her only trait that Geonhak is more than capable of living without is how she likes having their meetings earlier in the morning, whereas Geonhak has difficulty rolling out of bed in the morning. Their previous meeting had been at the cafe right across from the office, and Geonhak woke up that morning to three missed calls and ten messages from her, and he barely had enough time to button his shirt and tug on a pair of pants before he was flying out the door. He was forty minutes late. 

“That was a one-time thing,” Geonhak says. “It won’t ever happen again.”

“You set five alarms that morning and managed to snore through every single one of them.”

Geonhak throws a glance at the cat, and—

Is the cat smiling? Perhaps Geonhak’s eyes are deceiving him—the exhaustion is already taking a toll on him—but like it understands everything it has heard Young Jo say, the cat’s lips look like they are curled up into a sly grin, practically mocking him. 

Now Geonhak knows he really needs to get to bed.

After hanging up, Geonhak drops his phone on the rug and stares at the cat. There is a glint in the cat’s eyes, and if Geonhak wasn’t so out of it from the desire to sleep, he would’ve believed it is teasing him, ready to poke holes in his defensive armour and send Geonhak spiralling farther down the abyss of madness he is sentenced to. 

“Okay, listen,” Geonhak sighs, and the cat perks up immediately. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I decided to get you because I already have a busy life, and I don’t need to bite off more than I can chew. Who knows? Maybe I won’t be able to keep you.” There is that look again—the saddened eyes that the cat gives him as if it can understand him. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Just then, his phone pings with a notification. It is a message from Young Jo.

young jo hyung

Also, give the cat a name! 

geonhak

I’m bad with names though

young jo hyung

Stop complaining and just do it

The cat watches him, and it has that look that it had when he was contemplating bringing the cat with him to evade the cold—the look of anticipation. Geonhak sighs. “Okay, so Young Jo wants me to name you. Have anything in mind?” This is stupid, he thinks. One, he is talking to a cat that does nothing but stare at him, and two, names aren’t his forte. He thinks for a bit. “What about something like Muffin?” The moment his words reaches his own ears, he grimaces, wrinkling his nose in distaste. The cat mirrors his expression. “Okay, not that. I don’t know. I’m not good with names." But really, he has no ideas whatsoever, and there is no point trying hard to find a satisfactory name. He can always change up the name when he finds a better one. “You know what? I’ll just name you Sprinkles. How’s that?” The cat mewls disapprovingly. “Stop dismissing everything I put out for you. I know I have questionable taste in names, but it’s all I can come up with for now.”

There is always Young Jo one call away, but he is definitely fed up with Geonhak, and he is certain he’ll be ignored if he calls one more time.

“Okay… Sprinkles.” The word almost lodges itself in his throat, and he barely manages to cough it up. And even when the word rolls off his tongue, he can’t help but grimace. God, what am I even doing? Yeah, names really shouldn’t be left for him to decide. 

If one thinks Geonhak forgot about his absolute need to drop dead in bed, then they are wrong, because Geonhak is sure exhaustion has returned to him tenfold. “I’m going to bed now, so you can sleep on the couch or something.” It is like he is welcoming a guest into his house and providing them with a place to sleep, which is bizarre because he is talking to a cat the same way he talks to his brother the few times he sleeps over when running an errand for their mother—such as delivering kimchi because those are the only times his brother ever visits. 

When Geonhak reemerges from the bathroom after washing up for bed, he finds the cat curled up on his mattress, watching him. Geonhak frowns. “I told you to sleep on the couch. There’s no room for you here.” He doesn’t expect the cat to understand what he is saying, and actually, there is plenty of room on his bed. He just isn’t fond of the idea that the cat is getting fur all over where he is supposed to sleep. But even when Geonhak puts on the most irritated expression he can muster, the cat simply stares at him, and Geonhak realizes he’s lost once again. To a cat.

Geonhak prefers sleeping with nothing on because it is much more comfortable to be free from his restricting clothes, but he is feeling very uneasy at the moment, having a cat watch him, so he changed into a pair of grey sweatpants and a thin white t-shirt.

The cat sits by the base of Geonhak’s bed, watching as he opens his window to increase air circulation in his too-stuffy room, and climbs underneath the blanket. Noting that the cat is watching him yet again, Geonhak says, “What, want to crawl under the covers with me?” It is meant to be a joke because Geonhak really doesn’t want a mess of black fur on his blanket. But the cat crawls forward, settling itself on Geonhak’s chest and curling into a ball. When Geonhak opens his mouth to protest, it lifts its head and stares at him with eyes full of feigned innocence, and his complaints die on his tongue. Grumbling under his breath without making any actual movement to move the cat off, he sags into the mattress and accepts his fate.

While he rests somewhere between reality and insensibility, he wonders just how the cat understood his last question, or if it is purely coincidental that he’d obliquely invited the cat to join him in bed right when it was about to make a move.

~~~

When Geonhak awakes after what had to be the most tranquil sleep he’s had in the longest time, it is to the sound of honking cars and chatter that is loud enough to reach his floor. Oh right. He left the window open the night before. Grumbling under his breath, he tries to shut off the world by clamping his hands over his ears, to no avail. The rain from the night before has finally stopped, leaving behind it damp land and droplets of rain rolling off green leaves. The humidity has increased, too, as remnants of the downpour evaporate. 

Upon stirring in the middle of the night, his mind poking holes through his slumber and barely breaching the surface of consciousness, he’d subtly identified a hefty burden resting on him. But caught between the grappling hands of sleep and his hazy mind, Geonhak hadn’t paid much attention to it before collapsing into a deep sleep once again. Right before he’d passed out again, though, Geonhak thought he caught the sight of a mat of fluffy black hair resting on his chest. Maybe he’d just imagined it. Or it was the cat.

Speaking of the cat, Geonhak can’t find it anywhere on the bed. Though, it did leave a highly pleasant mess of fur on his bed. Panic strikes Geonhak, and for a minute, he wonders if he rolled on top of the cat accidentally and crushed it in his sleep. But when he catches sight of his door that is wide open, he breathes out a sigh of relief. 

It must’ve woken up already and walked out.

Crawling out of bed, Geonhak grimaces at the uncomfortable stick of clothes to his skin, and the heat left behind by the rain does not help in the slightest. This is exactly why he hates wearing clothes to bed. 

He lets the water run in the shower until tendrils of steam roll off the glass of the shower and fog up the mirror. He makes quick work of massaging shampoo into his hair and ridding himself of the sweat that has collected overnight. He normally doesn’t sweat that much, and he hadn’t even slept with a blanket. He sweated as if he’d been cuddling someone. But it is probably just the clothes that served as a nuisance. 

After changing into a clean pair of sweatpants and tugging on a black hoodie, Geonhak saunters out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his neck as he uses one end to towel off his wet, grey-blue hair. It has been a while since he lasted dyed it, so the colour has faded into a dull Prussian blue with hints of green. Young Jo suggested he redye it to a different colour, but Geonhak has no idea what colour he would do next. He could always revert to black or brown to keep things simple. 

“Sprinkles?” Geonhak calls. “Where did you go?” He receives no answer, not even a small stir. He frowns before searching the living room and peering underneath the couch. He didn’t lose the cat after having it for only a few hours, did he? He hasn’t even fed it yet. 

Standing up, he turns to search the kitchen, only to grow rooted to his spot. Another call for the cat dies on his tongue as he catches the sight of a figure sitting at his dining table in the kitchen. Swinging his legs underneath the table in boredom, his lips are turned down in a pout while his right palm cradles his head. With fluffy black hair and bangs that fall in front of his eyes, the man looks like a dream, his face as round as it is angular. His eyes are long, curved softly and twinkling as he stares off into nothing. And his sharp, yet seemingly permanent puppy eyes spark a sense of familiarity in Geonhak. He is also clad in Geonhak’s jeans and brown knit sweater. But what stands out the most is something else. Sitting atop his head is a pair of fuzzy black ears that blend into his hair—not human ears, but pointy cat ears. As the perfect cherry on top, he has a soft-looking black tail to go along with it.

Sensing the presence of someone else, the man turns his head, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Geonhak awake. His pout slips from his face, replaced with a grin that bunches up his cheeks and makes way for crescent eyes, and Geonhak doesn’t know what to make of the sudden stuttering in his chest. “Good morning, sunshine. What are we having for breakfast?”

~~~

“You adopted... a grown man?” Young Jo says. He reaches for another one of the honey biscuits that sit on a plate on the table. Although a bit stale after sitting in Geonhak’s fridge for so long, Young Jo has to admit that Geonhak’s mom makes the best biscuits. Plus, Geonhak called him out of the blue not long after he woke up, saying it was an emergency, so Young Jo rushed over without even grabbing breakfast. 

If only he’d known Geonhak had called to consult him about adopting a grown man.

Geonhak groans, burying his face in his hands. “It’s... It’s complicated,” he replies, staring at the man who is engrossed in throwing a pink rubber ball in the air and catching it as he sits on Geonhak’s couch in the living room. The ball slips from his hand, rolling near the TV, and the man frowns and scampers off the couch to retrieve it. It is a stress ball Young Jo coerced Geonhak to buy to keep himself occupied while he worked because he believed it would help him keep his grip on his—barely-there—sanity. Unbeknownst to Young Jo, Geonhak never touched it after purchasing it, so at least it is put to good use now. 

That morning, Geonhak found out the cat that he’d adopted and brought home is not actually a cat, but a human. He also discovered that he has a name already—Seoho. And he is a year older than Geonhak, though he sure doesn’t act like it, or talk like he is older. Actually, his behaviour is parallel to that of an actual cat’s—which is to be expected, of course—if the way he keeps playing with the stress ball is anything to go by. Geonhak doesn’t know what to make of this sorcery. 

This can also be ruled out as another one of Geonhak’s crazy dreams, and if he closes his eyes long enough, he’ll stir awake and find himself in his bed and learn that everything was just a dream and he hasn’t brought home a shapeshifting human. But no matter how hard he squeezes his eyes shut, the realization that this is his reality, and not just a dream he is incapable of escaping, sinks in, and he fights the urge to hit his head off the table. 

“You know,” Young Jo says, “you took my whole ‘get yourself some company to help relieve stress’ advice to another level.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Growing bored, the man—Seoho—drops the ball next to him and sighs. “Geonhakkie, I’m hungry. When are we eating?” 

Young Jo snorts, taking another bite of his biscuit. “Geonhakkie? I see he’s already taken a liking to you.”

Geonhak groans and drops his head on the table. He tries to ignore how his cheeks are flaming at the sudden use of a nickname. “But, I don’t like him.” 

He should’ve seen this coming. From the moment he looked into the cat’s eyes, he knew something was off. Geonhak isn’t much of a cat person, but he knows cats’ eyes would never look so humane. He should’ve suspected something, but really, he didn’t. Instead, he let those eyes trip him, let them seize his heart and control him like a puppet on a string, and now he has a cat-human on his hands. 

“Well, he’s cute, so there’s that,” Young Jo says.  

Geonhak raises his head and flashes Young Jo a look of betrayal. Whenever he has a problem, Young Jo is either the best person or the worst person to confide in. If Young Jo feels sympathetic, he will pat Geonhak’s back and give him advice on what to do. When he feels like being difficult, he will bathe in Geonhak’s misery and add to his problem to further complicate his life. Today, it seems like Young Jo is intent on being difficult. 

“Can you talk to him for me, hyung?” Geonhak says.

“Why can’t you just talk to him yourself? He’s the cat you adopted.”

“I tried already.”

Geonhak startles in his spot when someone pulls out the chair next to him, and he grumbles upon seeing that it is Seoho. “You guys have been talking for so long. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Geonhak?”

Geonhak gives Young Jo his most pitiful look, begging his friend to help him, but Young Jo just laughs before holding his hand out to Seoho. “Sorry for not introducing myself earlier. I’m Young Jo, Geonhak’s best friend.”

Best friend, Geonhak’s ass. He is going to revoke Young Jo’s best-friend-card. 

Young Jo’s job is to help him figure out how to kick Seoho out of his house and explain to him that it is all a mistake. He swears the universe is out to get him. He doesn’t know what he did to upset the universe like this, but he’ll do anything to make up for it. 

The only time Geonhak decides to listen to Young Jo’s advice, it backfires on him. He meant to take care of a cat in hopes that it will provide him with the comfort he seeks when under a lot of pressure, mostly because cats can’t talk, and therefore, they won’t give him a headache.

Giving up on asking his friend for help, Geonhak plans to take matters into his own hands, but it’s like Seoho can read his mind, knows exactly what he’s thinking and what he wants to ask because he is flashing Geonhak that look—that same godforsaken look that landed him with his foot stuck in this problem in the first place—with his pleading, puppy eyes. The inconspicuous force returns, toying with Geonhak’s heartstrings like a violin, and as always, his conscience has a tight grip of the reins. He finds himself tongue-tied, and sometimes, he really hates his inability to say no and move on without guilt restraining him. 

So Geonhak bites down on his tongue and swallows his words, leans back as Young Jo spikes up a conversation with Seoho that doesn’t include him. It’s clear that Young Jo has taken a liking to Seoho much quicker than he has, but while they talk, Seoho’s lips stretch into the same wide grin that has his eyes crinkling and Geonhak’s heart stuttering.

And Geonhak thinks—maybe this won’t be a bad idea.

~~~

It is a bad idea.

A really, really bad idea.

Frankly, his incapacity to reject others is greatly at fault. What he had in mind when he brought a pet home was that maybe Young Jo’s advice would help, and he’d be more at ease with his workload. That thought is his first mistake. His second mistake is keeping a shapeshifting human around even after finding out that he isn’t a true cat. His third mistake is believing everything would move along smoothly. 

Lured in by Seoho’s radiant smile, Geonhak was sure Seoho wouldn’t be a bother. He just wants his days to be a bit brighter, a bit more peaceful, and when he accepted Seoho into his apartment, he was convinced that nothing would go downhill.

Oh, how wrong he was. It is a better idea if Seoho walks around with a sign taped to his front that reads Not as innocent as I seem! Young Jo is right about one thing: Seoho is cute. He is the epitome of the sun with his dazzling smile and melodic laugh, a true happy virus that infects just about anyone with his optimistic, bubbly personality. But anyone—like Geonhak—who falls for that seemingly innocent exterior is in for a rollercoaster ride. Sure, he is cute, and something in Geonhak flip-flops whenever Seoho speaks with apparent enthusiasm in his voice, but that is where they will get their foot stuck in the door. It is all fun and games with Seoho until he wreaks havoc. 

And no one cared to warn him that Seoho is the teasing type, poking fun at Geonhak’s steel armour in his attempt to break him down. Geonhak doesn’t know what he ever did for his ego to constantly be bruised like this. He knows Seoho does it because Geonhak, as much as he hates to admit it, gets annoyed easily. Seoho’s silly games are all to draw a reaction out of him, and if Geonhak doesn’t react, he will back down. However, Young Jo always describes him as the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, and Geonhak is just as bad at hiding his irritation as he is at saying no, probably worse. Seoho’s sweet, shy smile is too misleading to the chaos he will stir up. He is the physical embodiment of the expression The calm before the storm. 

The worst part of it all: As often as Geonhak lays his heart bare, Seoho is illegible. A closed book. Without fail, his face wears the same fixed smile, the same bright laugh tumbling out of his mouth more often than not, but Geonhak can never read his thoughts until Seoho makes a move. He is arcane, speaking a lot to the point where Geonhak has already developed headaches, but he is careful to remain enigmatic. Whenever Geonhak looks into his eyes, he sees the permanent twinkle that first seized his attention, but never can he see past it. Perhaps it is a strategy Seoho uses to lure his targets before pouncing when they least expect it. 

Geonhak doesn’t know if Seoho feels inclined to force reactions out of him, but he has the tendency to leave Geonhak flustered.

Like right now.

The chirping of birds greet Geonhak on Monday morning when he peels his eyes open, and he blinks his bleary eyes repeatedly to get used to the abrupt bright light. It is a little chilly, but Geonhak rarely sleeps with a blanket, so it is to be expected. Before his eyes is a bundle of black, and through his mind that continues to sink too far into sleep, he guesses Seoho crawled in at night.

Wait, Seoho?

All remnants of sleep leave him as his eyes shoot open, and his eyes fall on the mat of black hair with two ears poking out from his scalp, but it doesn’t even end there. As his eyes trail farther down, he comes across a pale shoulder, and the culprit who stole his blanket, the covers pulled high over his bare back. Snoozing peacefully in his bed is Seoho, his face turned the other way as he steadily inhales and softly exhales.

Geonhak screams. 

Startling awake, Seoho slips off the edge of the bed, tugging the blanket with him, and nearly colliding with the wall. Grumbling, Seoho sits up. “Why are you yelling so early in the morning?”

“Why are you in my bed?! And why are you naked ?!”

Seoho scowls, pulling the blanket tightly around himself. “You’re one to talk. Imagine how shocked I was when I found out you slept with nothing on. And also, I don’t, just, have clothes on when I transform from a cat into a human.”

Geonhak grumbles. “You still didn’t answer my first question. Why are you in my bed?”

“It was cold last night,” Seoho complains, and he has his puppy eyes again. “How could you leave your guest to sleep on the couch while you occupy a warm bed? It’s not fair. I don’t even have my own room.”

With no comeback prepared—because Seoho’s biggest skill is leaving people speechless—Geonhak stands up and says, “Whatever, I’m taking a shower.” He rummages through his closet for some clean clothes.

“Also,” Seoho pipes up as Geonhak is about to leave the room, “you snore a lot when you sleep.” 

Geonhak suppresses the urge to throw the clothes in his hands at Seoho’s head.

Twenty minutes later, Geonhak reemerges from the bathroom, steam from the shower trailing after him as he heads to the kitchen, clad in khakis and a white button-down, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He actually chose to wear them today after growing tired of straining his eyes. In the kitchen, he finds Seoho with his head stuck in the freezer, humming a song under his breath—that Geonhak doesn’t recognize—his tail upright and swaying from side to side. And…

“Are those my clothes?” Geonhak asks, and when Seoho turns around, Geonhak pinpoints that those are, indeed, his clothes. Seoho is clothed in Geonhak’s black hoodie and a pair of black shorts that he hasn’t touched since the beach trip he went on with Young Jo a couple of years back. 

Seoho shrugs, sticking his head back in the freezer as he searches for something. “Yeah, why? I don’t have clothes here, and I need to clothe myself with something, and your clothes fit. Unless, you know, you want to go out and buy me clothes.”

“Did you not have clothes before?”

“I did, but there’s no way I would ever want to wear them anymore.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means they’re somewhere I would much rather stay far away from.” And it ends at that. It always does. Seoho isn’t the type to run his mouth, and he says little when it comes to anything that breaches private territory. “Why, does it bother you that I’m wearing your clothes?”

“No, whatever, I don’t care. I don’t wear those, anyway.” He quickly looks away as Seoho goes back to searching the freezer, ignoring the bizarre fluttering in his chest. Seoho makes a small sound of delight when he finds what he is looking for, and he pulls out a popsicle. “You were looking for a popsicle?”

Throwing the wrapper in the garbage, Seoho says, “Yeah, I saw it in here the other day, but I guess you pushed it to the back of the freezer. You know, you should really clean out your fridge. It’s a whole other world in there.”

He has thought about cleaning it, but with his busy schedule, and Hye Jin insisting that he take on another task, he is lucky to even have a few minutes of free time and eat a proper dinner. Desperate to change the topic, Geonhak says, “Aren’t you going to eat breakfast?”

“I already ate while you were showering. I left some for you.” And when Geonhak turns to look where Seoho is pointing, he discovers that he really had prepared breakfast. “Sorry, I couldn’t do much. I could go grocery shopping for you because, really, your fridge is empty, and the cupboard has nothing more than instant noodles.”

“No, it’s fine,” Geonhak chokes out, feebly attempting to hide how much the sight of a proper breakfast affects him. He doesn’t think he remembers the last time he had breakfast. 

To his dismay, Seoho catches on, and Geonhak really hates how quick-witted he is. Grinning arrogantly, he says, “Do you find it touching? You’re touched right now, aren’t you? You’re turning red.” Looking away, Geonhak shoves a spoonful of rice in his mouth. “Aw, come on, admit it.”

“Just focus on your popsicle and let me eat,” Geonhak grumbles, and unexpectedly, Seoho listens, pouting while taking a lick from his popsicle. 

9 AM finds Geonhak on the couch, his laptop on the coffee table as he sips the bitter coffee he brewed. Though he isn’t the biggest fan of coffee, he needs something strong in his system that will knock out any signs of lethargy—especially when he has to deal with Hye Jin. He is currently scrolling through a side project Hye Jin has emailed him, rubbing his temples and taking a sip of his piping hot coffee to keep his raging emotions at bay. She really knows which buttons to press to get on his bad side, and if she wasn’t his boss, he would’ve cursed her out long ago. 

“What’s gotten you so gloomy?” Seoho asks, sauntering out of the kitchen, another popsicle in his mouth. Even when Geonhak had protested, Seoho had insisted on washing the dishes for him, which oddly feels like he is plotting something. 

“It’s nothing,” Geonhak replies.

Seoho hums, not really listening. At this point, he has learned that when Geonhak says that there is nothing wrong, it means he simply has no plans on elaborating, which leaves him to play the role of the detective if he wishes to satisfy his dying curiosity. Pushing Geonhak’s hands away from his laptop, Seoho drops into his lap, gazing back innocently with his popsicle in his mouth while Geonhak sputters, enlarged eyes gazing up at him through his bangs, completely scandalized.

“What are you doing?” Geonhak asks.

“I’m sitting down.”

“In my lap?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Your tail’s in my face.” And his tail is in his face. Seoho probably isn’t even aware of how much his tail is swishing. It isn’t exactly a bother—Geonhak just needs something to complain about to take his mind off the fact that Seoho is sitting in his lap. 

Ignoring Geonhak’s complaints, Seoho glances at the laptop screen, his eyes skimming over Hye Jin’s email, before he pulls the popsicle out of his mouth, his nose wrinkling in distaste. “Oh, you’re doing boring stuff. What are you? An editor?”

“Yes, and this isn’t boring stuff. Now move so I can do my job.” Geonhak’s attempts at pushing Seoho off of him are futile, and the latter chooses that moment to lean back against him.

“You can keep doing your boring work. I’m taking a nap,” Seoho grins around his popsicle. 

Face flushing in what Geonhak presumes is frustration, he succeeds in pushing Seoho off his lap, ignoring the cut-off squeal Seoho lets out.

“Wait, what are you doing? I have a popsicle in my hand!” He shrieks when Geonhak crawls over him, his fingers digging into Seoho’s rib cage—gently, never using too much of his strength to actually hurt Seoho and bruise him unlike how Seoho has bruised his ego on many levels—drawing high-pitched laughs from him as he attacks him with tickles. 

And if Geonhak was capable of thinking about anything past Seoho’s hysterical giggling, he would’ve considered it scary how easy it is to be in Seoho’s presence, like a childhood friend. It took Young Jo over a month to coax Geonhak out of his shell, alerting him of his existence but never stepping over any boundaries, akin to the slow change in the seasons. But Seoho—he is a tidal wave, no warning of his arrival, no care in the world for any of the boundaries, simply crashing viciously into Geonhak and soaking him from head-to-toe. Though, those strong tides soon died down into gentle waves that wash up against his ankles, slowly drawing him in. He crashed into Geonhak’s life abruptly, but then toned it down, no longer pushing past the limits, but lingering there enough to give Geonhak a taste of the salty seawater. That scares Geonhak—it scares him how he hasn’t been given enough time to process just how quickly he is opening up to Seoho. But the waves only wash up over his feet, and Geonhak wants to leave it at that. He doesn’t need them to pull him far from the shore—keeping Seoho at a safe distance, enough to see him and be hit with the salty smell of the water, but far enough that he won’t be lost at sea is enough for him.

~~~

It is 12:05 PM when Geonhak runs out of the meeting room, cursing under his breath as he glances at his wristwatch and prays he will make it on time to the cafe down the street. By some miracle, he has convinced Jin Seul to have their meeting during his lunch break, rather than on the weekend when Geonhak needs to squeeze in extra hours of sleep. But the meeting that Hye Jin dragged him into ran longer than they intended, and now he is sure he’ll arrive late. Yet again.

At times, Geonhak is convinced Hye Jin is intent on making his life as difficult as she possibly can. 

“Geonhak, aren’t you eating lunch?” Young Jo yells behind him. He carries the stack of papers Hye Jin had dumped into his arms, his eyes pleading for Geonhak to help him carry it, though Geonhak simply overlooked it. He has no time to be succumbing to his best friend’s pitiful state when he has a meeting that he is most likely going to run late to.

“I’m going to the cafe to eat!” That is partially a lie. He will be at the cafe, but he probably won’t order something to eat—just a drink is fine. Most likely something strong, preferably a cup of coffee, to drown out the last of Hye Jin’s persistent orders during the meeting. She really knows how to get his skin crawling.

When he skitters to a stop in front of the cafe, he lets out a sigh of relief upon seeing that Jin Seul still hasn’t arrived yet. The bell above the door jingles when he enters the cafe, and he’s immediately hit with the wafting smell of freshly brewed coffee. Since it is around the time that everyone gets off work for their lunch break, the cafe is slightly packed, chatter livening the atmosphere. Geonhak manages to find an empty table by the window of the cafe and heads to the counter to order a cup of coffee as he waits for Jin Seul.

It doesn’t take her long to arrive, the bell ringing as she swings the door open. Catching sight of her, Geonhak places his coffee down and waves her over. Today, her hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, and she wears a baby blue blouse, the collar surrounded by ruffles. Although having a bright smile adorning her face, Geonhak catches the sight of bags under her eyes. She must not have gotten enough sleep in the past few days. 

Geonhak feels a little sorry for her.

A few days ago, he hadn’t forgotten to contact Jin Seul, courtesy of Young Jo’s helpful reminder, and he’d scheduled another meeting with her to go over what she’d written and aid in the process of coming up with new ideas. Writer’s block is something that has to exist, however, and she’d said over their phone call that she was running low on ideas—a phone call that Seoho had been intent on interrupting, so Geonhak had to lock himself in his bedroom. Seeing the spring in her step dulled down is enough sign of how weary she probably is, and how she probably stayed up for hours just to put words onto the page. 

She pulls the chair out in front of Geonhak, smiling apologetically. “I’m not too late, am I? There was a bit of traffic, so sorry if I kept you waiting.” Geonhak can see that doesn't exactly seem to be the case, considering how strands of hair are falling out of her ponytail, and her usually tidy appearance is now replaced with a blouse that isn’t sitting properly on her shoulders, but he is kind enough not to point that out. 

“It’s fine. I got here not too long ago myself.” He slides her order of cafe latte across the table, and she accepts it gratefully. After so many meetings, he’s memorized her order. “So, want to show me what you came up with?”

“What? Oh, right.” Reaching inside her bag, she pulls out her laptop and sets it on the table to open up the document. Her fingers tremble, her frame uptight, and she makes it too apparent that she didn’t slept well. 

While Geonhak skims over what she pieced together since their last meeting, Jin Seul fiddles with her fingers on the table, then they stray to her coffee cup, where she holds it in an iron grip. Her foot taps away underneath the table, her behaviour akin to a college student on the day of their exam when they realize they forgot to study and barely managed to look over the material during the car ride. Her ideas aren’t as bad as she thought, per se—they just need a little polishing to smoothen things out to aid in the flow of the story. 

Geonhak turns the laptop for Jin Seul to see, and he points at one of her ideas. “This—can you elaborate a bit more on this? Because I feel that it has a few strings loose that prevents it from tying into the story properly.”

“Oh,” she scratches her head awkwardly, “that is one of the ideas I wanted you to help me with. I simply threw it in there, but I didn’t know how to blend it into the storyline.”

Humming, Geonhak goes back to scanning over the ideas she put together. The more he reads on, the more he sees just how weak her state of mind has become. Normally, Jin Seul is the type to be punctual, always arriving on time and her appearance, as well as the ideas she put together, being kept tidy. More often than not, Geonhak finds himself amazed at her level of creativity, but this time isn’t the same. The look she has in her eyes is the same look he always has when Hye Jin pressures him into bearing more than his weight can hold, which often renders him exhausted and immobile to the point where he has to have Young Jo drive over and spoon-feed him. 

“Um, Geonhak?” Jin Seul speaks and said man snaps his head up from the laptop. “Someone outside has been trying to get your attention for a while now.” She points out the window, and that is when Geonhak catches the sound of knocking on the glass. Turning his head, he looks out of the window, only to groan under his breath, and he struggles to suppress the want to crawl underneath the table when he spots Seoho outside, gleefully waving at him. He is, yet again, dressed in Geonhak’s clothes—this time in another one of his hoodies and jeans. His ears perk up joyfully when he realizes he’s caught Geonhak’s attention. 

He swears he hadn’t told Seoho he would have a meeting at the cafe close to his office, so unless Young Jo told him, or Seoho stalks him, there is no way of him finding out. To be frank, he wouldn’t be surprised if Seoho really follows him around the city. 

In his temporary state of shock, Geonhak doesn’t realize that Seoho has slipped away from the window until he hears the bell above the door chime, signalling another customer’s arrival, and Seoho marches in, immediately spotting Geonhak in the corner and skipping over. Oh, no, no, no. Shooting out of his seat, Geonhak grabs Seoho by the back of his collar before he gets too close.

“Geonhak, what are you doing? Let me introduce myself,” Seoho complains, trying to tug Geonhak’s hand off of his—Geonhak’s—hoodie. 

Tuning Seoho out—which is a skill Geonhak has developed over the course of the week they’ve been together—he turns to Jin Seul and says, “I’m sorry, I’ll be right back. Do you mind waiting a few minutes?” When Jin Seul nods, albeit slightly taken aback, Geonhak excuses them and drags Seoho out of the cafe, his hand still gripping the back of his collar as he ignores Seoho’s protests. 

The moment they are within a safe distance from the cafe, Geonhak finally lets go of the hoodie, and Seoho whirls around. Contrary to Geonhak’s beliefs, there isn’t a single trace of irritation on his face from being dragged around by the back of his collar. Instead, he has on a look of amusement. “Geonhak, you never told me you had a girlfriend. Why didn’t you introduce me to her? She’s prett—”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Geonhak blurts. “She’s just someone I’m currently working with.” He pretends to be oblivious to the wary side-eyes he is receiving from passers-by.

Geonhak expects another quirky comment to deliver more blows to his protective armour, but for a few seconds, Seoho just stands there, gaping like a fish. “Wow, you were… quick to deny that.” 

Anyone would be quick to deny something like that , Geonhak wants to retort, but he holds his tongue. He is sure the colour rising to his cheeks and the itch he feels is due to exasperation. That is the only apparent emotion he feels around Seoho.

Sighing, Geonhak asks, “What are you even doing here?”

“Young Jo said I would find you here,” Seoho replies like it is obvious.

“You went to my office?” Seoho shrugs, seemingly reducing it to no big deal while Geonhak is close to fuming. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Geonhak says, “Okay, you know what? Just go home, and we can talk then.”

“I just got here,” Seoho huffs. “Even if you don’t want me here, shouldn’t you scrape up some manners? You just yanked me out of a public area by my collar and left her alone. A little rude, don’t you think?”

“Why are you so intent on being introduced to her?”

“I’m just trying to learn more about you and the people around you. What’s so wrong about that?” Seoho sulks. Geonhak doesn’t miss the way he subconsciously tugs the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands. Cute, his mind—rather unhelpfully—supplies, and he’s quick to shoot down the thought.

“I’ll introduce you to them another time, not when I’m working,” Geonhak sighs. It isn’t meant to be taken as a promise because dealing with the burden that promises habitually carry is something Geonhak doesn’t want to commit to. Young Jo frequently comments on his lack of capability to keep his promises, so Geonhak often dodges that commitment. 

But despite that, Seoho still lights up like a child seeing Christmas lights for the first time in his life. “You promised. You can’t take your words back later.”

“Mhm, okay, what are you really doing here, though?”

Remembering why he ran all the way here in the first place, Seoho perks up before holding out his hand that holds a pale blue lunch box. Geonhak wonders how he hadn’t noticed it earlier. “I didn’t see you take anything with you, and I didn’t know if you were going to eat out or not. So just in case, I made you lunch.” 

After putting in the effort to observe Seoho’s character and pick apart at the miniature details, one of the things Geonhak noticed about him is that, though he chooses not to show it, he does the bare minimum as his way of taking care of others. His actions mainly go unnoticed, but the few times Geonhak catches them, it leaves a strange buzzing in his chest. He is just touched, he guesses. He never eats lunch because of his mess of a schedule.

“Thanks,” Geonhak says, accepting the lunch box. He probably won’t eat it since he is in the middle of a meeting with Jin Seul, and after that, he’ll have to run back to the office and Hye Jin is captious when it comes to eating during work hours. She hates messes left by food in their cubicles. But when Seoho grins his signature smile from ear-to-ear, Geonhak can’t exactly say no and shove the lunch box back in his hands. 

To his utter shock, Seoho doesn’t continue pestering him about wanting to meet Jin Seul, and instead, he waves before letting Geonhak go back to his meeting. Geonhak glances down at his watch, only to rush back to Jin Seul upon seeing that he has fifteen minutes left of his lunch break, and he still has topics to discuss as well as head back to the office before Hye Jin scolds him for being late. Out of many of her character traits that Geonhak detests, the one that is in his list of top five is her habit of ending their lunch breaks early. Surely, that has to be a crime, but then again, Geonhak doesn’t study law.

Their meeting doesn’t run that much longer, though, and Geonhak is able to cover the topics quicker than he’d expected. With another seven minutes left to his lunch break, they are ending the meeting. The ideas aren’t all too polished yet, but that is something they can leave for their next meeting. Jin Seul bows, thanking him for his help as she stuffs her laptop back in her bag and straightens her blouse. 

“Oh, and Jin Seul?” Geonhak calls right as she is preparing to head out. “Please, get some sleep before our next meeting. Don’t overwork yourself.” It is hypocritical of him to say that, and he knows that, but he needs at least one of them to be functioning properly. Two won’t cut out for them. She smiles and nods, and Geonhak hopes that means she’ll take his advice, but then again, he usually does the same with Young Jo, and then proceeds to shove his advice into the back of his mind until Young Jo scolds him for it. 

Throwing his empty coffee cup into the trash bin on his way out of the cafe, Geonhak dashes back to the office with five minutes left. Sometimes, he really hates that their office is on the second floor of the building. He doesn’t need the extra workout. 

Thankfully, Hye Jin still hasn’t made her grand appearance when Geonhak drops into the seat at his cubicle. A couple of the cubicles are still empty, which means Geonhak isn’t the only one who was running slightly late. The cubicle across from him is also empty, but that is where Jin Yonghoon sits, and he had called in sick that morning. Out of everyone that Geonhak works with, Yonghoon is the one he is closest to, save for Young Jo. They are both his pillar when he needs them. The only downside to having two older friends is that they like teaming up on Geonhak and nagging him over almost everything he does. 

There is a Subway sandwich sitting in front of Geonhak’s cup full of pencils. Just as he is about to question it, Young Jo peaks his head into Geonhak’s cubicle from his own (Geonhak will never forgive whoever cursed him to have his cubicle right next to Young Jo’s). “I left that sandwich there for you,” Young Jo whispers, and then takes a bite out of his own sandwich. “I knew you wouldn’t go out of your way to get yourself lunch, so I got something for you today.” The door swings open, and the click-clacking of Hye Jin’s heels enter the room before she does. Young Jo coughs around the bite he has taken before leaning back into Geonhak’s cubicle. “But uh, try to hide it. Hye Jin wouldn’t be too happy if she caught you eating.”

Geonhak doesn’t know how to tell him he’s already received a box full of lunch that he most likely won’t touch.

~~~

The majority of the lights in the office are turned off, the cubicles all empty since everyone has already left, making their way back home. The clock above the printer in the corner of the office indicates that it is well past 7:00 PM. Only Hye Jin is left—which is to be expected from her—sitting in her separate office, where there is the dulled-down sound of her frantic typing that is lost through the shut door. 

Geonhak is also left, his head resting atop his folded arms on his desk as he snoozes. He isn’t too lost in sleep, resting afloat between consciousness and slumber. At times, he will tip further over to one side before steadying himself on the border again, and then he’ll lean towards the other side. Right now, he is leaning closer to slumber.

That is—until he feels the cold press of something against his face and all deep promises of sleep laying in his system leaves him, and he blinks his eyes open, glaring at Young Jo. “Sleeping during work hours, Mr. Kim?” Young Jo teases.

“Fuck you, it’s past work hours. Why would you wake me up when I want to sleep?”

No traces of regret detected in his smile, Young Jo holds up two cans of coke from the mini-fridge they have. “Since we’re still here with the witch next door, why not have something to drink with me?”

“You do know this doesn’t have the same results as alcohol,” Geonhak responds, but he still accepts one of the cans, opening it and taking a sip from it. 

Young Jo shrugs as he leans against Geonhak’s desk. “It’s better than nothing. If we could have drinks here, I wouldn’t feel the need to rip my hair out every forty minutes. At least it would help with dealing with Hye Jin.” 

As Geonhak sips from his can, he eyes the stack of papers stacked on his desk that Hye Jin has asked him to read over. Geonhak doesn’t understand why she can’t give it to someone else when he already has too much on his plate to the point where some things are falling off. She claims it is because he is good at his job, but he calls utter bullshit. He swears she has some personal grudge against him for unknown reasons. 

“Speaking of drinking, we should go have a few drinks soon,” Young Jo says. “I don’t remember the last time we went out for a good time. You know, you rarely ever talk to me anymore. And you ignore my calls and messages, too.”

I wonder why, Geonhak thinks to himself, though he is nice enough not to say it out loud. “I’m busy with other stuff.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. Work hours? Okay, I understand. But you sleep until 11 on weekends. At least, answer me so I know you’re alive and you’re not off burying yourself alive in the middle of a forest miles away from here.”

“That is actually a very tempting idea. Thank you for the suggestion.”

“Geonhak,” Young Jo draws out, cocking an eyebrow, clearly displeased with him. Geonhak has lost count of how many times he’s received that exact look. Whenever Yonghoon and Young Jo aren’t the least bit impressed with Geonhak, they’ll share the same look—their eyebrows pinched and lips pressed warningly in a thin line. It is like being scolded by his parents. 

Geonhak sighs, and he pats Young Jo’s thigh to appease him. “Fine, fine, we can go sometime next week… or the week after.”

Even after over five years of knowing Geonhak, dragging him out to places has proven to be a difficult task. That is just how he is. Geonhak would rather drown himself in the overwhelming workload or sleep through the stress than blow off steam by socializing. If Young Jo tries to tell him that’s unhealthy and he isn’t doing himself much good, Geonhak will simply tune him out because he is obstinate. 

Choosing to change the subject, Young Jo points out the lunch box that sits on Geonhak’s desk. He noticed it earlier, but never found the right time to bring it up. “What’s with the lunch box? Did you receive lunch from someone today?”

“Yeah, Seoho made it for me and brought it over.”

Young Jo snorts. “So that’s why you didn’t eat the sandwich I went out of my way to buy for you?” Geonhak mumbles something under his breath, but Young Jo barely manages to catch the words before Geonhak is sinking them with another sip from his can. “So… how is it going with Seoho so far? You two seem to be getting along well, and you normally don’t open up that easily.”

“We’re not getting along,” Geonhak frowns. “And I didn’t open up to him.”

“Right,” Young Jo draws out, “because it’s not as if he thought of you and went out of his way to prepare lunch for you and even came all the way to our office to drop it off.”

Even when Geonahak throws a glare at Young Jo, he knows there is no point in arguing because he is right. Geonhak has opened up easily to Seoho. When Young Jo and Geonhak first met, all Young Jo had accomplished during the first week was coaxing Geonhak into a proper conversation that didn’t end with the younger responding to every single one of his questions with only two words. But on the other hand, in a little over a single week, Seoho has marked his spot in Geonhak’s life to the point where his life before him is a blur. He prepares lunch for him, finds great pleasure in irritating Geonhak, and prances around comfortably in Geonhak’s clothes. He is a tidal wave, crashing into Geonhak—no warning, simply hitting him out of nowhere and leaving Geonhak stunned in his spot with no knowledge of what hit him. 

Taking Geonhak’s silence as enough of an answer, Young Jo glances at the clock. “Well, don’t you think you should be heading back now? He’s probably waiting for you. It’s getting late.” 

“He wouldn’t be,” Geonhak replies curtly. He tips his can back into his mouth, frowning when nothing comes out. He drank it all. “There’s no reason for him to be waiting.” But Young Jo is right about one thing; it is getting pretty late. So, he packs up, tossing his laptop and his papers into his bag, knowing full well he won’t take a look at any of the documents. However, he might squeeze in some time to look over Jin Seul’s work if he is feeling up to it. 

Geonhak waves away Young Jo’s offer to drive him home. Taking the bus is fine for him, and it will be inconvenient for Young Jo to drive in the opposite direction of his apartment, only to turn around and drive back. When Geonhak asks him if he will stay longer, Young Jo claims he will work on one of his tasks before heading back. Geonhak just hopes he leaves before he has an unpleasant one-on-one encounter with Hye Jin as she gets off work.

The sun has yet to sit on the horizon and fully set when Geonhak catches the bus minutes after arriving at the bus stop. As he slumps in his seat, he feels sluggish, like he will melt into a puddle if he doesn’t hold himself upright. He wonders if it will be alright to take a nap before checking over Jin Seul’s work, but he doubts he will be capable of waking up after that. It is funny how sleepy he can get from being mentally drained, and it isn’t even 7:30 yet. 

While fumbling with his keys as he stands in front of his apartment door, the hunger from not having anything to eat since breakfast catches up to him. Running solely on coffee from the cafe and the coffee machine in their office that barely functions is not what Geonhak thought his life would be reduced to, yet here he is. 

The apartment is plunged in pitch black when Geonhak manages to open the door, and he slides his hand across the surface area of the wall in search of the light switch, and when his fingers find it, he switches the lights on. Just then, Geonhak hears a muffled disapproving grumble come from the living room, and he turns his head to see Seoho sitting up from the couch, rubbing his bleary eyes with a pout on his face, his black hair dishevelled. When he spots Geonhak by the door, toeing off his shoes, he glares at him.

“Oh, sorry,” Geonhak apologizes, smiling sheepishly. “Were you sleeping?” He drops his bag next to Seoho on the couch, resisting the urge to fix his messy hair for him. 

“No, of course not,” Seoho mumbles sullenly, mourning the loss of perfectly decent sleep. “I was just resting my eyes.” 

That clearly isn’t the case, considering how Seoho doesn’t seem pleased in the slightest, but Geonhak doesn’t dwell on it. He drops the lunch box and opens it. “Are you hungry? You probably haven’t eaten anything yet, so you can have the sandwich. It might be cold, though, if that’s okay.” He doesn’t bother adding that Young Jo bought it for him. He opens the lunch box and hands the wrapped sandwich that he’d thrown in there to Seoho.

The cat’s eyes light up, and he makes grabby hands for it, immediately unwrapping it and taking a bite, unfazed by the fact that it is no longer warm. “So? Did you eat the lunch I made you?” His face falls when his eyes land on the lunch box, and he notices how Geonhak hasn’t eaten anything. “What the… You didn’t eat it. Was it not good?”

“No, no, that’s not it,” Geonhak rushes to clarify upon seeing Seoho’s crestfallen expression. “I normally don’t eat lunch, and I couldn’t have it today either because I was busy.” Now that he is getting a proper look inside the lunch box, he finds rice neatly placed on one side of it, with stir-fried kimchi, meat and fried eggs on the other side. He even went out of his way to make sure none of them are touching. 

“You didn’t seem that busy with your girlfriend when I saw you,” Seoho says, words muffled around his sandwich.

“I told you—she’s not my girlfriend,” Geonhak retorts. Despite the food being cold, Seoho isn’t too bad at preparing lunch.

“It didn’t seem like it, with how you were getting all smiley with your eyes crinkling.” That statement causes Geonhak to wonder if Seoho has ever seen himself smile—with his lips curling up widely and his eyes turning into half-moons. “Also, don’t scrunch your nose. It makes you look cute.”

“W-What?” Geonhak stammers out, halting in his chewing.

“You know, where you go,” Seoho demonstrates, scrunching his nose and mimicking Geonhak’s smile, “and you get all soft. Don’t do that anymore. It makes you look weirdly cute. It’s not the best look on you. You look better when you’re grumpy.”

For some reason, Geonhak strangely doesn’t find himself offended like he thought he would’ve been—maybe because every other word has flown over his head, and the only one that sticks is Seoho calling him cute. And he gets an uncanny feeling when he realizes that it doesn’t bother him that much. Though, he still acts as if it does. 

Not yet forgetting about looking over Jin Seul’s work, Geonhak whips out his laptop from his bag and opens it on the coffee table. It opens up to the exact document as a result of not shutting down the laptop and he tries to force down the sleep that still crawls like a parasite in him in favour of proceeding with his work.

To his right, he thinks he hears Seoho cluck his tongue and mumble a disapproving, “He’s working again,” under his breath, but he doesn’t heed it as he keeps working. It is silent in the apartment for a bit, and Geonhak believes Seoho has fallen asleep again until Seoho pushes his arm away from his lap and plops down, his head resting on Geonhak’s thigh. He squirms, attempting to get comfortable before gazing back at Geonhak’s “boring stuff.”

“Can’t you sleep somewhere else?” Geonhak frowns as if there isn’t heat licking up the back of his neck. 

Seoho turns his head to stare innocently up at him before looking back at his document. “I’m not going to sleep,” he huffs. “I’m here to support you.”

“You can support me by sitting on the other side of the room in complete and utter silence while I finish up the last of my work,” Geonhak replies with no real venom in his tone,  and Seoho tilts his head up to glare at him, but for once, he doesn’t bite back. 

By the time it is past 10 PM, Geonhak is incapable of blinking the sleep out of his eyes, his vision doubling and blurring, and he decides that maybe that is enough for the day. He peers down at his lap and bites back the urge to laugh. So much for not sleeping. Seoho is knocked out cold, his lips parted as his chest steadily rises and falls with every inhale and exhale. His fingers itch to trace the shape of his feline eyes, or maybe feel the apple of his cheeks underneath the pad of his fingers. But instead, he pats Seoho’s head, stiffening when the latter stirs before settling down again.

“Out of all places you could sleep…” Geonhak sighs. He slides his hand underneath Seoho’s head, carefully lifting it so he can slip out before placing his head back down on the couch. A small noise of discomfort comes from Seoho, but he burrows into the cushions of the couch in seek of warmth. It is pretty cold, but maybe that is because Geonhak left the living room window wide open and didn’t bother closing it. After closing it, he goes in search of a blanket to put over Seoho. 

The only source of light illuminating Geonhak’s room when he crawls under the covers is the streetlight right outside his window. Clouds swarm the white moon, and Geonhak groans at the realization that there is a high possibility it will rain again. 

His phone buzzes with a message from Young Jo, who is checking up on him to make sure he is back home, but Geonhak decides to leave it. Dishes are still sitting in the sink, and his work is still spread out on the coffee table, but Geonhak doesn’t have the energy to clean it up. He can always do that tomorrow, or it is a problem for the weekend. 

The sweet sleep that has been sitting in his system for hours finally grabs a hold of the reins and Geonhak lets his body sag into the mattress as sleep slowly overtakes him.

And then the first clap of thunder sounds through the window, startling him. The sky lights up temporarily as a bolt of lightning flashes, followed by another rumble of thunder. Geonhak’s first thought is to burrow under the covers to block out the sound that prevents him from sleeping, but he isn’t a child anymore, so he just sighs and stares up at his ceiling. He tries his best to ignore the roaring sound outside so he can finally let himself succumb to sleep by letting his mind wander. And for a bit, it seems to be working.

Until his door creaks open. 

Biting down on his tongue to hold back a ton of curses, Geonhak flips onto his side, glaring at his door that is now open ajar, but there is no one there. He frowns and pushes himself onto one elbow. That is weird. He debates calling out whatever it is that has wandered into his room, but he catches the sight of a black tail, and then Seoho is leaping onto his bed, fully in cat form.

“When did you wake up? And why do you always choose to come into my room?” Geonhak asks—not like he expects Seoho to reply to him, though. And just as he suspected, Seoho gives him no response. He simply crawls closer and scratches at Geonhak’s wrist, not hard enough to leave marks, but enough to leave a burning sensation on Geonhak’s skin. It is Seoho’s non-verbal way of answering him. 

From what he’s observed, Seoho only ever shifts into his cat form at night. It is a recurring pattern of him transforming back and forth between both forms—a cat at night, and a human in the morning. At first, Geonhak thought Seoho was under some sort of curse that causes him to transform at night against his will, but Seoho reminded him that he is just born like that, and he had enlightened him by telling him that he transforms whenever he feels like it.

Seoho shuffles around, first laying over Geonhak’s arm before finding his position uncomfortable and then crawling onto his chest. “Is there any special reason why you keep shifting into your cat form at night, or…?” Geonhak trails off.

Raindrops splatter against Geonhak’s window, and there is a flash of lightning before they hear another rumble of thunder from outside, practically shaking Geonhak’s whole room. Seoho flinches, mewling before burying his face in Geonhak’s chest. When he lifts his head again, he looks… scared. Geonhak feels his chest twist because this is the first time he’s ever seen such a look of vulnerability on Seoho, and he can easily say he doesn’t like it one bit. Sure, he’s seen Seoho’s saddened eyes that had coaxed Geonhak into getting him, but never has he witnessed fear in his eyes. And Geonhak suddenly understands. “Are you… scared of thunder?” Seoho wrapping his tail around himself is enough of an answer. 

Geonhak never took Seoho for the type that would fear thunder. When he’d first gotten Seoho, he remembers the cat burrowing into the far corner of the cat carrier, desperately trying to avoid the rain even when he knew it couldn’t get him. 

As shocking as the discovery is, Geonhak finds the cat’s actions a little endearing. So, Geonhak picks the cat up, much to Seoho’s dissatisfaction, and places him next to him on the bed before laying on his side. He pulls Seoho closer to his chest and scratches his ear, to which Seoho purrs before nuzzling his hand with his pink nose. He is trembling, a visible sign of distress, and really, if Geonhak knew he would have to deal with a fearful cat, he really would’ve picked up a book on taking care of pets from the bookstore. 

But Geonhak does have the slightest knowledge in calming others, mostly experience that he’s gathered from babysitting his brother at a young age. “Do you want me to, like, tell you a bedtime story or something? To distract you?” The idea is slightly stupid—because Geonhak is not the type of person who would tell stories to a cat—and Seoho clearly shares his thoughts if the way he glares up at him is anything to go by. 

Seoho doesn’t turn down the idea, though, and his glare melts into anticipation as he lays his head on his paws and waits expectantly for Geonhak to begin. If it were any other cat, Geonhak would just watch it from afar or awkwardly pat its fur to calm it, but Seoho isn’t just any other cat, and he can understand everything he says. 

“Um, okay, do you want me to tell you a fairytale? My brother had a huge obsession with The Little Mermaid when he was younger.” He is faced with no objections, and Seoho rolls onto his back with starry doe eyes—just like a child. Geonhak has half a mind to tease him for it, but instead, he files it away into a folder in his head to use for future blackmail, or to revisit on his own later. He wraps his fingers around one of Seoho’s paws, holding it tightly, and Seoho lets him. His paws are small and soft, his claws retracted, but its dull ends still graze Geonhak’s skin. “Okay, well, once upon a time…”

It is perturbing how easy Geonhak finds it to ease into a bedtime story that he hasn’t told in years. Furthermore, it isn’t a story for his brother, but for a cat he’s only known for a little over a week. It is scary how everything comes easily when he is with Seoho, like gently floating in the water and letting the waves do all the work, pulling him out from the shore. 

One story turns into two, which then clears a path for three and four, each of them linking together, creating a long chain, and soon, Geonhak lets out the long yawn he’s been stifling for a while. He peers down at Seoho and is pleased to find that he is already asleep, his body completely relaxed with his head tucked into Geonhak’s chest. His paw is still tightly gripping Geonhak’s fingers, and Geonhak doesn’t try to take his fingers back. Patting Seoho’s back before letting his hand gently lay over the back of his head, Geonhak finally settles down and closes his eyes.

The rain has finally calmed.

Sleep comes easily this time.

~~~

The morning after, and the days following, Seoho shows no signs of the same fright he had that night, reverting to his daily occupation of mocking Geonhak until the latter finally leaves for work, the same smile plastered on his face, laughing the same laugh. He doesn’t speak of it either, and Geonhak doesn’t want to be the one bringing it up. It is almost like it hadn’t happened at all, and Geonhak dreamt it all. The only sign that assures Geonhak he isn’t completely losing his grip on reality is the damp land the rain had left behind the next morning, along with the sight of Seoho in his human form when he woke up.

Now when Geonhak is sitting in front of his open laptop at his cubicle, eyes glued to the document in front of him, he is lost in thought. The most he catches from the document he is reading is about two sentences, and the rest of them fly over his head or don’t even make it to the gate. 

Apart from Seoho’s behaviour that hasn’t changed at all for the past few days, what shatters his thoughts more is what he saw this morning.

Right before he was about to leave for work, Geonhak realized he forgot his wallet in his bedroom, so he went to fetch it. The door to his bedroom was closed, to which Geonhak frowned because he never closes his bedroom door, but he didn’t dwell on it. Seoho must’ve closed it on his way out. Or that is what he thought.

The moment he opened the door, he sputtered and froze with his hand on the doorknob. Since it is his bedroom, he isn’t obligated to knock, but maybe he should’ve, considering he opened the door on a shirtless Seoho who was busy rummaging through Geonhak’s drawers for something to wear. For the most part, Seoho had his back turned to Geonhak, so there wasn’t really anything to see, but Geonhak felt his mouth go dry, anyway. Seoho still hadn’t realized he was standing there.

Without meaning to, he let his eyes stray. When he realized he was invading his privacy and it was highly disrespectful, Geonhak was about to stop himself. But then, his eyes landed on something. At first, he wasn’t quite sure what he was staring at—just that it was a large patch of misfit skin that continued under the waistband of the sweatpants Seoho was wearing. 

And after a while of staring, it finally clicked. It was a bruise—a large bruise half the size of Geonhak’s hand. The colour of it indicated that it wasn’t a fresh one, either. Instead, it looked old with its yellowish-green shade from the loss of oxygen over time. He’s seen bruises of all shapes and sizes, but this is the first time he’s ever seen one so large.

Seoho tugged on the t-shirt he got from the drawer, and when the hem of the shirt fell over the bruise, covering it completely, Geonhak finally let out the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. Hearing the small noise, Seoho whirled around. “What the… How long were you standing there? And why are you flushed? Is it hot in here?”

“No, not really,” Geonhak cleared his throat. He’d been too busy inspecting the bruise to realize his cheeks were flaming.

“Ah, I get it,” Seoho smirked. “See something you like?”

“It’s not like that,” Geonhak hissed. Attempting to direct the topic in another direction, he said, “The bruise, where did you get it?”

Just like that, Seoho’s whole demeanour shifted, and his face fell. But it was only for a split-second, and then Seoho had on the same facade of playfulness. Geonhak wondered if he’d just imagined the darkened light in his eyes. “I hit my hip off the corner of the table a few days ago.” They’d left it at that, but Geonhak couldn’t ease the unsettled feeling in him as he thought back to the bruise, and Seoho’s behaviour a few nights ago.

Geonhak has been living with Seoho for almost two weeks, and it isn’t that long, but it is enough time to learn more about Seoho. But when Geonhak thinks about it, he knows absolutely nothing about Seoho apart from his name, his age, and a few of his likes and dislikes. Seoho is good at hiding things like that. But after witnessing a side to Seoho he’s never seen before, Geonhak wonders what else he doesn’t know about Seoho. 

A cup of coffee is placed next to him, snapping Geonhak out of his trance, and he turns his head to the side to see Young Jo sitting back at his desk. “What’s gotten you so distracted today, princess? Didn’t get enough sleep? Did Seoho keep you up?”

Geonhak lets the nickname slide for once. “No, I’m just thinking.”

Young Jo doesn’t push it, and Geonhak is pulled back down into the swirling abyss of incoherent thoughts that is his mind. Yonghoon peers over to look into Geonhak’s cubicle, mouthing to Young Jo, “What’s up with him?”

“Don’t ask. Even I have no clue,” Young Jo mouths back. Facing Geonhak, he says, “By the way, Hye Jin asked about you again the other night. I swear, she harbours some crush on you or something. She’s always asking about you.”

“What did she want this time?”

“Oh, the usual. ‘Did Geonhak finish the work that’s due soon?’ or ‘Will Geonhak make it to the meeting tomorrow?’ And then there’s my personal favourite: ‘I have another task for Geonhak.’”

Geonhak grumbles before taking a sip from his coffee. It is too bitter for his liking. “And which one was it this time?”

“Unfortunately, she didn’t load me with another task to hand over to you. She just wanted to remind you that you’re nearing the deadline for the assignment with Mr. Lee.”

“She could just send me an email if she wanted to check up on my progress,” Geonhak deadpans. 

“That’s what I thought! I mean, why does she have to talk to me about you? It’s bad enough that I spend a whole day sitting next to you, but I have to hear about you from our boss, too?” The lady across from Young Jo’s cubicle glares at him, and he grins sheepishly before apologizing and turning back to his work.

Chatter arises at the far end of the office near the door, which isn’t unusual since they all stir up light-hearted conversations amidst their work to keep things a little interesting. But there is something unusual about the sudden chatter that arises this time—maybe it’s the increase in volume. Young Jo pushes his seat back and stands up in his curiosity. Geonhak, on the other hand, ignores it. There is no need for distractions when he is already serving as more of a distraction for himself. 

His work isn’t going to finish itself.

So, he grits his teeth through the bitterness of the coffee—Young Jo apparently doesn’t know where the sugar is—and downs the whole cup before willing himself to focus on the work out in front of him.

Just as he is about to delve into his half-finished assignment, Young Jo elbows him. “Hey, were you expecting a visitor today?”

“No, why?” Geonhak replies.

“Well, you have a visitor.” Young Jo points over the cubicle and Geonhak frowns before he cranes his neck to see what the commotion is. His eyes first land on the black ears, the eye smile he is all too familiar with, and then he spots the drinks in his hand.

Geonhak wants to crawl into a corner—never to come out again.

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” Geonhak chants under his breath like a mantra. Uncaring of his dignity and how stupid he probably looks, he crawls underneath his desk to hide. 

“You’re not going to greet him?” Young Jo cocks an eyebrow at him.

“If Seoho comes looking for me, tell him I’m not here, okay? I went to the cafe a few streets down to buy coffee,” Geonhak whispers.

Young Jo shrugs, not really listening. He hears Seoho stir up a conversation with one of the editors a few cubicles down, and then their eyes lock. Recognizing him immediately, Seoho waves with the hand that isn’t holding the drinks he bought, his grin widening when Young Jo waves back politely. Just as Seoho is about to skip over, Young Jo holds a hand out, stopping him, and he puts a finger to his lips as a sign to stay silent. He mouths Geonhak’s name and points at his friend’s desk. Seoho makes a small sound of understanding.

Just when Geonhak thinks the coast is clear, fingers wrap around the edge of his desk, and Seoho peers over the edge, grinning widely with his hair falling in his eyes and his tail swishing behind him. “Hi, Geonhakkie!”

Behind Seoho, Young Jo avoids Geonhak’s gaze. Geonhak is quick to connect the dots, and he wishes he could curse Young Jo all the way to hell and back. He hates his best friend. It is one thing for Young Jo to spill the location of his workplace, but now he even exposes him just to get a kick out of watching him suffer. 

Seating himself in his chair after shamefully crawling out from underneath his desk, Geonhak takes in the case full of vitamin drinks Seoho is holding. “Where did you get the money to buy those? You don’t even work.”

“I don’t have money, but I live with someone who does,” Seoho smiles shamelessly as if he is preparing to flaunt Geonhak’s money. He places a vitamin drink in front of Geonhak and pats his cheek in faux affection. Geonhak has the horrifying epiphany that Seoho would get along wonderfully with Young Jo, and his brain is cruel enough to provide visions of not just one, not two, but three people enjoying him in agony. Holding up the vitamin drinks, Seoho shouts, “Geonhak bought vitamin drinks for everyone!”

“No, when did I ever—” Geonhak groans when Seoho skips off and begins handing out a drink to everyone in the office. His day just can’t get any worse.

“You didn’t tell me you lived with a cute cat, Geonhak,” Yonghoon says, having left his cubicle in favour of bugging Geonhak at his, the drink in hand. 

“He’s not cute—”

“Geonhak, it’s totally okay to admit that you find someone pretty neat,” Young Jo butts in. 

“I don’t—You know what? Forget it,” Geonhak grumbles. He eyes the vitamin drink Seoho has left on his desk, his cheek still burning from where Seoho touched him, but he isn’t going to give him the satisfaction of having cracked a bit of Geonhak’s defence. 

“Are you not drinking that?” Young Jo points at his drink, and when Geonhak shakes his head, his friend happily snatches the drink from him. “You’re missing out on a great drink.”

“I’d rather drink the bitter coffee from our malfunctioning machine than drink something Seoho bought with my money.”

Young Jo shrugs, downing half the drink in one gulp. “You do you. Just a heads-up, though, the machine completely broke earlier, so enjoy eating the coffee mix, I guess.”

The door to Hye Jin’s office opens, and she frowns at the sudden commotion and the lack of working that is taking place. She is never in a good mood, but the creases that draw her forehead up seem deeper today. “What’s going on out here?”

Yonghoon holds up his vitamin drink. “Geonhak’s cat handed drinks out to us.” The mentioned cat whirls around and bows respectfully to Hye Jin before continuing with handing the drinks out.

“Geonhak’s cat?” The supposedly permanent frown on Hye Jin’s face eases slightly. “Geonhak, you never told me you had a cat-human.”

Geonhak smiles bashfully. “Yeah, it’s kind of complicated. It happened on a whim.”

“I never took you for someone who did things impulsively.”

Young Jo and Yonghoon snort, sharing a glance before looking at Geonhak who is slowly burying himself in his own misery. “Did you see the way she was looking at Geonhak? She’s jealous that Geonhak has a cute cat on his hands.”

Geonhak lifts his head from his hands to glare at his friends. “One day, I will see to it that Hye Jin fires you. I’m tired of dealing with you.”

When Geonhak throws a glance over the cubicles, he finds Seoho still handing out drinks, grinning politely and engaging in small talk with some of the workers. They have all taken a liking to him already, though it is hard not to when Seoho attracts attention wherever he goes, uplifting everyone’s spirits and serving as a certified mood maker. His eyes slowly trail after Seoho as he skips from one cubicle to the next, his ears twitching and perking up on the top of his head, his tail standing straight up in contentment. 

A harsh jab of an elbow to his ribs jolts Geonhak in his spot. “You’re staring,” Young Jo snickers. 

There is a burn in Geonhak’s cheeks, and this time, it isn’t because he is reminiscing Seoho’s temporary touch. “I’m not staring. I’m just waiting for him to leave so I can finish my work in peace.”

“Really? Because those look like big heart-shaped goggles on your eyes. Don’t you think, Yonghoon?”

Yonghoon nods. “Massive googly-eyes.”

“I hate you guys.”

“Not like we’ve never heard that one before,” Young Jo says. “Come on, you’ve lived with him for what, a week and a half? And you’re already staring at him as if the tides have helplessly sucked you in.” 

Geonhak shakes his head and averts his gaze from where he had been watching Seoho lean against one of the desks while chatting with the group on the far right. “I’m not going to let myself drown. The tides haven’t even pulled me out, so I think I’m fine.” And he is; he is totally fine. He is keeping Seoho at an arm’s length, observing, interacting, feeling the chilly nip of the sea against his face and breathing in the salty smell of it, but never stepping close enough for Seoho to reach out with the waves and pull him under. 

Soon, Seoho is announcing his departure and waving to everyone—even to grouchy Hye Jin who, surprisingly, waves back. When Seoho waves to Geonhak, his smile widens until it is almost reaching his ears, and he mouths, “See you at home.” Geonhak convinces himself that the fluttering of his heart is the joy from Seoho finally leaving. 

When his work hours are up, and Geonhak is seated on the bus, he opens his wallet. He isn’t surprised to find fifty dollars missing.

~~~

Spring whizzes by, the blooming of flowers blurring with the increase of heat in the summer, and soon, they are nearing the halfway mark of summer. 

This means that it is a little over two months since Seoho first moved in with Geonhak, and he isn’t sure he remembers what living alone feels like anymore. He’s gone from leaving early in the morning on an empty stomach and hoping to pick up a muffin from a cafe to waking up with breakfast already prepared for him. Working is no longer as stressful, mostly because Seoho entertains him by spewing nonsense. And though Geonhak feigns annoyance, he can’t deny that it is better than working in anxiety-and-stress-inducing silence. 

Geonhak still has several questions that have gone unanswered, and those questions seem to pile up. For a while, the curiosity of the origins of the bruise evaporated, and Geonhak continued on with his life as if there is nothing wrong. Though things that are suppressed will always find their way back up to the surface, and just recently, Geonhak was reminded of it when he ran into Seoho changing in his room again.

In his defence, it is his room, and Seoho just keeps changing in it. He’d finally given in and bought Seoho clothes because he no longer had things to wear when Seoho started hoarding all of them for himself. 

Like the previous time, his eyes had fallen to Seoho’s hip, but he discovered that the bruise had faded, the colour dull and nearly blending in with his milky skin. When Seoho caught him staring—yet again—he laughed. “If you want to watch, just say so next time instead of spying on me.”

There are some times, though, where Seoho is a complete pain in his ass. Like right now.

Seoho is slung over the back of the couch, feet dangling and barely brushing the floor as he tries to peer over Geonhak’s shoulder to see what he is working on. He has another popsicle in his hand from the box that he forced Geonhak to buy when they went grocery shopping a couple of days ago, and he refuses to heed Geonhak’s complaints that he is going to drip the popsicle all over the couch. 

“You’ve been working all morning,” Seoho whines, “and it’s Sunday. Can’t you take a break for once? Look at you.”

“What about me?” Geonhak hisses, his eyes never leaving his screen as he adds the final touch-ups to Jin Seul’s work that is nearing its publishing date.

“You have huge bags under your eyes from the lack of sleep. You’re overworking yourself and Young Jo isn’t proud of you. All he does when he calls is ask about you, and I never have anything good to report except ‘Geonhak’s dying again.’” 

“I just couldn’t sleep last night. I’m fine,” Geonhak sighs. To be honest, he doesn’t feel fine. He barely slept the night before because he was worked up at the thought that Jin Seul’s story would soon be released, and he’d have one less task to carry the burden of. That thought alone fueled him to keep working in hopes that he would finish up quicker, but now he wonders if that was the wrong move, especially when Seoho pointed out that morning that he wore his shirt backwards.

Seoho pouts mockingly. “Aw, poor baby, do you need me to read you a bedtime story to lull you to sleep next time?” He playfully pats Geonhak’s hair but lets his fingers linger there. Recently, Geonhak redyed his hair to blond to replace the faded blue-green that had become more of a grey. Though Seoho teases Geonhak for it and says it doesn’t suit him, he doesn’t want to admit it actually looks nice.

“Last time I checked, it wasn’t me who fell asleep after being told fairytales because he was too scared to sleep any other way.” The flustered blush that dusts over Seoho’s nose and cheeks is pleasing, and Geonhak grins proudly before turning back to his work.

Puffing out his cheeks in irritation, Seoho says, “That was one time!”

“One time more than me,”  Geonhak shrugs. Standing up, Seoho stomps his foot petulantly and huffs something under his breath. He then slings himself back over the couch and pinches the cartilage of Geonhak’s ear playfully to grab his attention again.

“But my point still stands,” Seoho said, licking up the drops of the popsicle. “You’re going to work yourself to death if you keep this up. You can always continue your work some other time—it’s not like it’ll run away from you—so just take today off and spend time with me.”

“What are you suggesting we do, then?”

Seoho grins kittenishly, his tail swishing in excitement. “Go on a date with me.”

“What?” Geonhak huffs out a laugh, completely dumbfounded, and he is glad Seoho can’t see anything past his ears because he is probably blushing. 

Unfortunately, his blush must’ve spread to his ears, and Seoho catches sight of it because he cackles like it is the funniest thing in the world. “What on earth are you thinking? Haven’t you ever heard of platonic dates?”

“Oh, right, of course,” Geonhak laughs along, putting on a facade of relief. Half the things Seoho ever says is nonsense, and Geonhak has learned that he shouldn’t be taken too seriously, though he can’t deny that it does sting a bit. 

“We can go on a date to the carnival that’s in town,” Seoho continues. 

“The last time I went to a carnival was in middle school.”

“Exactly, because you’re lame, so get out of the house for once and have fun.”

Geonhak discovers that though they argue quite a bit, and his armour has snapped and broke a while ago, he is incapable of saying no to Seoho. That is exactly what landed Seoho in his house in the first place.

And it is also the reason why he is currently standing at a carnival with its obnoxiously bright, friendly colours while Seoho ogles everything like a child. The place is way too crowded, which is to be expected since it is the weekend, but Geonhak finds himself being pushed to the side as people squeeze by. Kids pass with blue and pink cotton candies in their hands, while others hold ice cream or stuffed animals they won at a carnival game. Booths are set up all around them—some with food, others with activities, a couple for face-painting. 

Geonhak cranes his neck in search of Seoho after he’s run off with the motive to check everything out, but he can’t find the pair of black ears or catch the sight of someone in a pastel pink sweater. Slight panic bubbles in his chest and Seoho’s name rests on the tip of his tongue as he readies to call out to him, and then Seoho is coming up behind him and grabbing his arm. “Wow, this place is amazing! And this is what you wanted to miss out on?”

Geonhak sighs and grabs Seoho’s wrist, holding it firmly. “Don’t run off like that. I can’t afford to lose you in this place.”

“Aw, were you scared?” Seoho grins, but he doesn’t shake Geonhak’s hand off and chooses to lean farther into Geonhak’s side. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Geonhak that he is holding a little too tightly onto his wrist. 

“No,” Geonhak denies quickly, “it’ll just be a pain in my ass if I have to search for you in this crowded place. You can have fun finding your own way back.”

“Always so grumpy,” Seoho murmurs. With minimal effort, he yanks Geonhak’s hand off his wrist and intertwines their fingers. Geonhak’s hand is slightly bigger than his, warm, but rough and calloused from the amount of typing he does in one sitting. “If you don’t want to lose me, just hold my hand. It’s much easier.”

“You’ve been getting a little bold lately,” Geonhak points out as if there isn’t the same bizarre fluttering in his chest that always makes its grand appearance whenever Seoho does the bare minimum. He’s learned to ignore it at times, and during other moments, he will simply let it entertain him before he shoves the odd sensation down. Unbeknownst to him, he is tightening his grip on Seoho’s hand. 

Seoho spots a cotton candy booth, and he turns to Geonhak with a plea to try some sitting on the tip of his tongue. There isn’t a big gap between their ages, but Seoho has the innocence of a child, fascinated by the smallest things that he crosses paths with. He puts up no resistance when Seoho tugs him along by their joined hands, nor does he complain when he fishes out his wallet and pays for the fluffy pink sugar treat spun on a stick. Seoho’s exuding joy is worth it.

“Do you want some?” Seoho holds up the cotton candy to Geonhak’s face, but the latter wrinkles his face in mild distaste and shoves it away.

“You can have it,” Geonhak says. “I’m not the biggest fan of cotton candy.”

“Just try a little bit.” Seoho lets go of Geonhak’s hand and he rips a piece while Geonhak mourns the loss of warmth that Seoho’s grip emitted. Seoho holds the cotton candy in front of Geonhak’s mouth, waiting expectantly with his head tilted, his tail swishing behind him.

Solely to avoid seeing the sadness of rejection that Seoho would most likely display with held-back ears and a tucked tail, Geonhak reluctantly accepts, opening his mouth and letting Seoho feed him. He grimaces when the candy dissolves almost immediately in his mouth, but his complaint dies on his tongue when Seoho grabs his hand again and interlaces their fingers. 

“Don’t want you missing my touch too much,” Seoho teases, swinging their hands lightly between them. 

“I didn’t miss it,” Geonhak mumbles. Seoho hums absentmindedly, too busy with his cotton candy, and Geonhak takes the chance to run his thumb over the back of Seoho’s palm. It’s just platonic hand-holding , he convinces himself. Nothing more than that. 

Finishing his cotton candy, Seoho throws the stick in the garbage bin that sits next to one of the booths and points to where face-painting is being held. “Oh, let’s do that, Geonhak! We can get matching face-paints.” 

Geonhak looks to where there is a little boy around the age of eight getting a blue butterfly painted on his face. “No, I think I’ll pass.”

“Come on, you’re no fun,” Seoho whines. 

“I never intended to be.”

“Fine, then I’ll let go of your hand,” Seoho threatens.

“And? I don’t care,” Geonhak replies, regretting it instantly when Seoho actually starts to let go of his hand. Frantically, he reaches out and seizes Seoho’s hand again. “Wait, I didn’t mean that.” 

Being difficult is always Geonhak’s go-to route when he plans to escape something he doesn’t want to take part in, but Seoho already has him beaten at his own game. Having nothing better to do than indulge Seoho, he agrees and lets Seoho gleefully drag him to the face-painting booth. He avoids the gaze of the face-painter who eyes Seoho warily when he sits down in the chair in front of her. 

All throughout, Seoho never lets go of Geonnhak’s hand. Or, more like, Geonhak never lets go of Seoho’s hand, whereas Seoho’s grip has gone slightly lax. 

When Seoho is done, he twisted in his spot to show it off to Geonhak. There are swirls of black on his forehead, drawn from his eyebrows and then flicked up with pink and blue shading the strokes, glittery gold flecks and white dots near the corners of Seoho’s eyes. “You look absolutely ridiculous,” Geonhak remarks.

“That’s the whole point; now sit down, it’s your turn.” When Geonhak has no other way to object besides glare Seoho down, the latter stands up and yanks Geonhak’s hand—to the point where Geonhak thinks his fingers have been pulled out of their sockets—and forcefully sits him down in the chair. “Don’t grumble at me. If I did it, so do you.”

“I think I’ve indulged you too much today,” Geonhak regrets, gingerly eyeing the paint and paintbrush that sits in front of him.

“Exactly, so there’s no harm in indulging me a bit more,” Seoho reasons. He’s finally let go of Geonhak’s hand in favour of holding him down by his shoulders—not that Geonhak will be able to run, anyway. 

Five minutes later, Geonhak is regretting every decision he’s ever made that led him up to this point when he does the walk of shame out of the booth with a mirrored design of Seoho’s on his forehead. “I’m too humiliated to even be in public right now.”

“Stop whining. Look at how many people have face-paintings like us.”

“Those are all children, Seoho,” Geonhak says. He takes great fascination in the mask-selling booth—anything to keep himself turned from the crowd to avoid embarrassing himself. 

“If it makes you feel better, look at me. I have the exact same thing on my face.”

“That just makes me feel worse.”

But Seoho has tuned him out already, finding something else to be indulged in. His eyes have strayed to another booth where they are holding a balloon dart game. He eagerly tugs on Geonhak’s sleeve. “Geonhak, let’s go play that.” Grabbing a hold of Geonhak’s hand, he tugs him along.

“You do know these games are rigged, right?” Geonhak comments. He stares down the game operator, a short boy who looks to be in his early twenties with multiple piercings running up the cartilage of his right ear and his hair dyed platinum blond, his face twisted in boredom. Oddly, Geonhak can relate. 

“I know but I still want to try.” Seoho points to one of the prizes that hang on the wall of the booth—a baby blue penguin plushie. “I want to win that plushie.”

“You want me to play a rigged game for you… so you can win some plushie?”

“You’re not playing; I am.” With his hand out, Seoho waits, and Geonhak shakes his head and grumbles. 

Geonhak did try to warn Seoho that the results of the game are predetermined—nothing good ever comes out of these games, and each player is ninety-five-percent guaranteed to lose. Even then, when Seoho plays three rounds, each of them failing miserably, his ears twitch sadly and flatten against his head in disappointment. Geonhak doesn’t even stop himself from handing money over to the booth operator to get in a few rounds himself just to win that plushie for Seoho.

Ten minutes later, just as Geonhak is dying of heat and is sure the paint has sweated away into a smudged mess on his forehead, they leave the booth, Seoho holding the penguin plushie in his hands delightfully. “I can’t believe you actually managed to win this for me.”

Geonhak grumbles, itching his forehead. That proves to be the wrong move when the paint comes off onto his fingers, colouring underneath his nails. Sweat and paint is not a good combination, not when it causes an uncomfortable itch. “I regret it immensely. We are not going to play another carnival game, do you understand? I’m not going through that again. I just wasted half my cash on that.”

“No one asked you to,” Seoho mumbles until his attention diverts to something else. His attention span is too short—just like a kitten. Seoho watches with apparent excitement upon spotting a child playing with a blue bubble-gun in the shape of a whale. A couple of the bubbles float over to where Seoho and Geonhak are standing, and mindlessly, Seoho swats at them, eyes trained attentively on the bubbles that begin to float away. For the ones that begin to float up, he bounces on his toes to pop them, his ears and tail twitching contentedly. 

“A literal cat,” Geonhak regards. Maybe there’s a hint of fondness in his tone. He doesn’t know. When Seoho jumps up again, he tugs him back down by the back of his shirt. 

“I can’t reach,” Seoho pouts, giving up after watching them float too high for him to pop. “Hey, Geonhak, can you—”

“No.”

Seoho frowns and pries Geonhak’s hand off the back of his shirt. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Yes, I do. You were going to ask me to buy you one of those, weren’t you?” They walk past a booth that is selling accessories for little girls, and Geonhak briefly catches his reflection in the surface of one of the mini mirrors that are put on display. He makes a face when he catches sight of the smudged paint on his forehead. They need to find the closest washroom so he can wash it off. “I am not spending any more money on you.”

Contrary to what he said, though, he ends up spending more money on buying them snacks that they spend eating on one of the benches while watching passersby. Geonhak refuses to go on any of the big rides with Seoho, to which the latter whines and complains—once again—that Geonhak is boring, so Geonhak resorts to cheering him up by buying him ice cream. Stumbling into the nearest washroom, Geonhak finally rids himself of the face-paint, but his freedom is short-lived when Seoho forces him to buy them both identical Mickey Mouse headbands (“We’ll be twinning!” Seoho exclaims). 

Now, right before leaving, Seoho persuades Geonhak to go on the Ferris wheel with him. It is past 8 PM, and when Geonhak gazes through the glass of the passenger car they are in, he catches sight of the setting sun on the horizon behind the booths and bustling street. The clouds decorating the darkening blue sky are tinged a bright orange as the sun creates a hue of red and orange and yellow that stretches over the carnival and shadows them. The street is slowly emptying as families make their way home, but the few who remain are hanging around the booths or sitting on the benches, too worn-out to do anything else. 

Seoho sits on the bench across from him, holding his plushie close to his chest as he looks down. “This is why I wanted to ride the Ferris wheel before we left. Don’t you think the view up here is amazing?” He leans closer to the door of the passenger car before Geonhak puts a hand out to stop him. Even if the doors are closed, Geonhak can’t help but be a little cautious. 

Seoho yawns, unable to stifle it, and Geonhak cocks an eyebrow. “You’re tired already? It’s not even 9 PM yet.”

“The thrill and excitement have left me, so now I’m worn out and want to sleep.” In search of a comfortable position, Seoho shifts and lays his head against the glass behind him, but when that puts too much strain on his neck, he gives up. He stands up despite Geonhak’s concerned gaze telling him to sit back down, and he sits on the same bench as Geonhak, scooting closer so he can rest his head on his shoulder. 

Geonhak stiffens and holds his breath, attempting to maintain his composure. There is that same fluttering in the pit of his stomach, and he doesn’t know if that means he feels sick, or he is growing lightheaded—maybe both, with the growing possibility that it is neither. It is something he has yet to pinpoint, or maybe it is just that he simply refuses to identify what the feeling is—a simmering attraction that appears whenever he is around Seoho or a bypassing curiosity that still hasn’t dwindled even after two months. 

“Why are you so stiff? Relax, I’m not going to do anything to you,” Seoho laughs. His tail lays over Geonhak’s left thigh, and the side of his ear rubs against Geonhak’s shoulder. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

With much effort, Geonhak wills himself to relax, to sag into Seoho as easily as the latter has with him, and eventually, he ends up with his head on top of Seoho’s, careful not to squish Seoho’s ears. The cat purrs lightly, nuzzling Geonhak’s shoulder with his cheek. 

“I’m going to fall asleep like this,” Seoho murmurs against Geonhak’s shirt. The edge of Geonhak’s headband digs slightly into his hair, but he dismisses it, as well as the thought that his own headband is probably crooked now.

“Then get up,” Geonhak says, making no actual movement to get up himself. “If you fall asleep, I’m not carrying you back, you’ll have to walk home on your own.”

“This is the second time today that you threatened to make me walk home alone,” Seoho accuses. “I’m beginning to think you harbour some secret abhorrence towards me.”

Geonhak snorts, the edges of a smile forming on his lips. Shifting, he feels something brush against his hand, and when he peers down, he catches sight of Seoho’s hand laying limply next to his thigh. Mindlessly, he reaches out for it and grabs a hold of it, and Seoho gently squeezes his hand before loosening his grip slightly. Seoho’s hand is warm and soft, and despite the nearly unbearable heat of the summer, his warmth is welcome and soothing. 

When Geonhak comments on it, Seoho counters, “And your hands are too rough. You really should start moisturizing them.” He plays with one of Geonhak’s calloused fingers, clucking his tongue. “See? Take a look at your fingers.”

“I can’t if you’re holding my hand,” Geonhak says nonchalantly, and he feels one of Seoho’s ears twitch against his head. The Ferris wheel is starting to go around for the third and final time, and after that, they’ll be unloading.

“Don’t blame me,” Seoho snaps, his tail slapping Geonhak’s thigh in annoyance. “I wasn’t the one who initiated the hand-holding. You’re the one who grabbed my hand out of nowhere.”

And Geonhak dreads the thought of letting go of that hand as the passenger car slowly reaches the bottom, and the doors slide open, the operators waiting for them to exit. Seoho lifts his head from Geonhak’s shoulder, straightening his crooked headband, and Geonhak mirrors his action. Contradicting his beliefs, though, Seoho doesn’t let go of his hand—just holds on and drags him to the exit. 

The sky has darkened significantly, the orange and blazing red bleeding with the light blue, leaving behind black-shaded clouds and a sky tinted indigo. The minimal light that the crescent moon provides casts shadows on them, and it is dark. Too dark, and if Geonhak wasn’t holding onto Seoho’s hand, he is sure he would’ve lost him by now. However, contrasting with the heavy, cold colours of the sky, Geonhak feels warm, light, like he will fly away if he loses his grip on his inner anchor for even a single second.

And frankly, the thought doesn’t seem so bad. 

~~~

“Someone is in a good mood today,” Young Jo smirks when he sits down at his desk after their meeting that Hye Jin cut short to pick up an urgent call. There are the hushed murmurs that come from Hye Jin’s office, though Geonhak can’t pick up on what they are talking about, and he wonders what is so urgent that she would do something so unlike herself and end a meeting so abruptly. 

“Our Geonhakkie looks like he’s in love,” Yonghoon says in a sing-song voice from the other side of Geonhak’s cubicle.

Geonhak gently places the cup of coffee he is drinking down. Their coffee machine no longer functions, so he had to pay an unfortunate visit to the cafe, much to Hye Jin’s great exasperation. “What makes you guys say that?”

“You’ve been humming and tapping your foot under the table all morning,” Young Jo regards with slight concern, but also with piquing suspicion, “even during the meeting, and maybe you didn’t see, but Hye Jin was throwing you nasty looks like she was going to murder you on the spot. Not only that, but you actually look… alive like you weren’t burying yourself under a mountain of work.”

“Okay, so I have a song stuck in my head and had a goodnight’s sleep. Big deal,” Geonhak huffs, his foot still tapping under the table as he sang a song in his head. 

“Not just that… but your aura is different,” Yonghoon butts in, and Young Jo nods, seeming to think the same thing. “You look less like you’re going to wreak havoc, and more like you’re going to decorate this place with pink cotton candy. Like you’re delightful, and you’re practically oozing with sweetness like melted chocolate.”

Geonhak wrinkles his nose and grimaces. “That sounds gross.”

“It is gross because it’s coming from you,” Young Jo says.

“I’m not like that. I told you, I just slept well.” The looks on both Yonghoon and Young Jo’s faces tell Geonhak they don’t buy it at all. 

“Okay, and what did you do yesterday?”

“I went to a carnival with Seoho, why?” He goes back to looking over the files Hye Jin handed to him this morning, missing the knowing look Yonghoon and Young Jo share. When they returned from the carnival the night before, Seoho kept Geonhak far away from his laptop, even going to great lengths such as hiding it so that Geonhak would be forced to give himself a break. Seoho returned his laptop this morning, and he managed to finish editing the last of Jin Seul’s work. The last thing that is left for him is to send it in sometime before tomorrow. 

“You went to a carnival, huh?” Young Jo grins. “And what exactly happened at the carnival?”

“Seoho made me spend all my money—that’s what happened.”

“Andddd, what else?”

If Geonhak tells Young Jo that they held hands while riding the Ferris wheel and got matching headbands and face-paints, he won’t hear the end of it. They’ve brought him more misery than anything else; he’s humiliated himself wearing the headband and having the ridiculous paint on his face, and holding hands in the summer heat just resulted in unpleasantly immense sweating. Not to mention, there is nothing special about any of those. As Seoho said, it is more or less platonic . 

Geonhak lifts his head from his laptop and glares at his best friend. “Don’t you have some documents that you should be working on instead of getting all up in my business?”

“A tough nut to crack, as always,” Young Jo sighs.

~~~

That evening, Yonghoon offers to drop Geonhak off, claiming he is heading in that direction, anyway, to visit a friend in the area. So after much resistance, Geonhak finally gives in, knowing there is no way Yonghoon would be the first to back down. Waving goodbye to Young Jo and watching him head in the other direction to his car, Geonhak climbs into Yonghoon’s car, immediately hit with the smell of fresh pine—Yonghoon’s air freshener. 

“So?” Yonghoon draws out once they are on the road. In the background, the radio is playing a song that Geonhak can’t decipher due to its low volume. It is always like that in Yonghoon’s car—the smell of pine accompanying them, along with the radio that is always on but turned down, droning on and on. 

“So?” Geonhak echoes, feigning ignorance. He plays with a loose thread that hangs on his bag, worn out from the years of use. Maybe it is time he buys himself a new one.

“Young Jo is no longer with us, so spill the secret. What happened with Seoho at the carnival? You’re making it a little too obvious that something good happened.”

“Are you kidding? You’re almost as bad as Young Jo,” Geonhak says. “There’s no way I’m telling you anything.” The song on the radio has ended, and the news has taken its place. Geonhak turns it off completely, his ears buzzing from the irritating hum the radio has been letting out.

Persistence is something Yonghoon displays with prying eyes and pursed lips that threaten to curl up into a mischievous grin, one that warns Geonhak of his predetermined loss. More often than not, Geonhak hates how all three of them are more stubborn and probing than the other. It makes keeping secrets more difficult than it is meant to be. “Unless, you know, you want me to tell Young Jo who really spilled coffee all over his laptop a couple of years ago.”

Geonhak gives Yonghoon his most menacing glare, though lately, he’s been getting the impression that it has softened, maybe because Seoho keeps saying it just makes him look like a puppy. “I thought we agreed to leave that behind us. I don’t need memories of barely escaping death’s clutches to resurface, thank you very much.”

Yonghoon shrugs. “You got lucky since you pinned the blame on Sunny. But if Young Jo found out the reason why he lost his expensive laptop to coffee…”

“Now you’re just hitting a low point,” Geonhak murmurs, but he knows he won’t be getting out of this one. “Fine, Seoho and I held hands and he helped me get my mind off work for a bit. Happy?”

“That’s it?”

“What did you want me to say? That we kissed?” It is meant to be taken as a joke, but the look Yonghoon gives Geonhak during the two seconds that he lets his eyes stray from the road tells Geonhak that it is exactly what Yonghoon had been expecting. “We’re not like that, Yonghoon. We’re good friends. We get along well—that’s it.”

Yonghoon is giving him that look—the one where one of his eyebrows is cocked, and he stares Geonhak down, expecting to find a flaw in his lie, some crack to crawl through to get under his skin. So Geonhak looks out the window, turning away from Yonghoon and preventing him from looking too acutely and spotting something he isn’t meant to see.

Not that there is anything Geonhak is trying to hide. 

When Yonghoon parks in front of Geonhak’s apartment, Geonhak opens the door and steps out, grabbing his bag. Yonghoon leans closer to the door and says, “Hey, Geonhak, say hi to Seoho for me. And don’t get too cozy with one another.”

Geonhak rolls his eyes and waves his words away. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. See you.” Yonghoon snickers and drives off. 

In the elevator, Geonhak shuts his eyes and leans against the wall, exhaustion being the anchor that drags him down and almost has his knees buckling. He tried eating lunch like Seoho berated him to do this morning, claiming that it isn’t healthy if he skips any of his meals. He isn’t sure how he is supposed to tell Seoho that he dismissed his complaints and didn’t eat anything. 

The apartment is silent when Geonhak steps in and begins slipping off his shoes. “Seoho?” he calls out.

Upon hearing his name, Seoho wanders out of the kitchen, wearing the pink apron covered in hearts that Yonghoon gifted Geonhak on his birthday the year prior as a joke. Somehow, Seoho manages to pull it off. “Hey, you’re back.”

Geonhak hums, dropping his bag on the couch and wandering into the kitchen. A pleasant smell wafts in the air, and Geonhak asks, “Did you make dinner?” 

There is an irritated hiss, and Seoho straightens the apron. “Yes, I made dinner.” Under his breath, he mumbles, “No hello, no how are you? ” While grumbling to himself, he grabs the pot off the stove and places it on the table aggressively. “God, you treat me like a maiden. I sought refuge in your apartment, and I thought you’d be nice since you took me in. Turns out you’re not. You didn’t even greet me properly.”

Huffing out a laugh, Geonhak sits down at the table while Seoho brings the plates over. “Correction: you stared me down with your obnoxious puppy eyes and wouldn’t let me leave until I brought you home with me.”

“Same thing.” Geonhak grumbles, but he doesn’t argue. 

After dinner, Geonhak begins loading the dishwasher that he rarely ever uses with their dirty dishes. He was planning on washing them by hand until Seoho started butting in and insisted that he would wash the dishes himself. In order to settle it, Geonhak shoved them all in the dishwasher, which left Seoho no room to argue.

The cat is now camping in the living room, rummaging through the movie options they have. After their little dispute over washing the dishes, Seoho then gave up and brought up watching a movie. It is, in Seoho’s words, a good way to alleviate stress after a long day at work. They can even celebrate Geonhak finally finishing his collaboration with Jin Seul, but really, Geonhak knows Seoho just wants to watch a movie.

“Who the hell still uses a DVD player?” Seoho yells from the living room where he is still trying to narrow down his options for movies. “Not to mention this player isn’t even brand-new. Have you never heard of Netflix?”

Geonhak shoves his bag aside and sits down on the couch, proceeding to observe as Seoho narrows down their options for movies. “Stop complaining about my DVD player. Did you choose a movie yet?” In Seoho’s hands are all movies of Disney princesses. “Out of all movies you could choose, you chose those ?”

“You’re the one who owns Disney princess movies, so you have nothing on me,” Seoho counters, already sliding one of them into the DVD player. He grabs the remote from the table and clicks on the TV. Geonhak flinches when Seoho jumps on the couch, half-landing on him, whereas Seoho doesn’t seem the least bit affected. "Oh, sorry," he mutters, though his tone hints that he isn’t the least bit apologetic.

And then the movie begins rolling. 

Geonhak isn’t sure how far into the movie they are when he realizes that Seoho seems to be getting closer and closer to him, trying to close the remaining gap between them. He hadn’t sat that far away from him at the start of the movie, but now that Geonhak isn’t so intrigued by the opening of the movie and the plot’s introduction, he is a bit more attentive to how Seoho has suddenly fallen silent. Choosing to turn a blind eye to it, Geonhak doesn’t point it out, and soon, their shoulders are almost touching. 

What started as something meant to be relaxing quickly turns stifling, and Geonhak doesn’t know if he is supposed to break the sudden silence or if he is meant to continue feigning oblivion. When he chances a glance at Seoho from his peripheral vision, he catches the sight of him with his lips pursed as he fiddles with his fingers, his eyes distant as he loses himself to his thoughts. He sits like that for a while, and every now and then, his lips will part like he has something he wants to say, but each time, he changes his mind and swallows his words back down.

It grows infuriating by the minute and after a while of watching Seoho repeat the same process, Geonhak prepares to tell him off—anything to stop him from projecting the stimulated anxiety on to him. But he doesn’t have to be the one to break the silence because Seoho does. The sharp inhale he takes in before speaking has Geonhak’s nails digging into his palms, and he almost flinches. “Hey, I wanted to tell you something.”

If there is one thing Geonhak hates more than anything—even more than Hye Jin’s head-drilling orders—it is when someone tells him that they have something to say. While the movie drones on, Geonhak says, “What is it?”

Another episode of silence takes place as Seoho rolls his words around in his mouth, back and forth on his tongue, attempting to find the right wording. “You know how you asked me a long time ago about how I got my bruise? Well, I just thought I should tell you because I know you’ve been curious.”

Even if Geonhak knows what that means, he doesn’t fully process it until Seoho keeps talking. “I used to live with my aunt and my uncle before I, you know, left. I got into a fight with my uncle the same day you found me. It… wasn’t a pretty fight, I guess. So I ran away, and travelling in a smaller form was easier. I guess they mistook me for a stray since I kept wandering around so much, and then you came along. I thought it would be a better idea if I stayed with you; that way my uncle wouldn’t find me—not that he would actually come looking for me, though.”

Geonhak watches Seoho pick the dirt out from underneath his nails. He’s waiting for a response, he realizes belatedly. “Just how bad was the fight?” he asks warily.

“Not so bad,” Seoho responds. He’s lying right through his teeth, Geonhak can tell. “I’ve lived with him for years, and he’s normally not that bad. They’re pretty controlling—my aunt and uncle—and living with them wasn’t doing me any good, and I only felt like a burden when I stayed with them, so I planned on leaving. That night, his behaviour got worse, probably because I initiated the argument. I got mad first, bringing up the fact that I wanted to leave, and the simple verbal argument escalated into something else.

“You also asked me, that one night, why I shift into a cat at night, if there’s any specific reason.” Seoho pauses, zoning out and simply staring at the couch. He looks hesitant, unsure if he’s supposed to stop or keep going, so Geonhak hums to assure him that he’s listening. “I always associate nights with bad memories and thunderstorms with nightmares about things I’m better off forgetting. My aunt and uncle always had fights when they thought I was already asleep. They always fought because of me. My uncle always tried to pour me into a mould that they shaped despite my evident displeasure. Being a cat at night just serves as a reassurance because then, I’m smaller so it’s easier to hide, to give myself the illusion that I’m safe.”

Geonhak waits for Seoho to say something else, maybe flash him his signature radiant smile that always has Geonhak’s toes curling. But nothing follows, and Seoho continues to fiddle with his fingers in his lap, peering up at the movie that continues to play before grabbing his penguin plushie from the other end of the couch to play with it.  

“And why are you telling me this now?” Geonhak says.

Seoho tries to brush it off as something that isn’t a big deal by shrugging. “I’ve been living here for a while now, so I just thought you deserved to know. Just never got around to actually telling you.” It isn’t that Seoho couldn’t get around to telling Geonhak; he is just reserved, never letting anyone get under his skin—Geonhak knows that, but he doesn’t comment on it. There is no reflective surface for Geonhak to know what expression his face is twisted in, but Seoho catches the look, and he doesn’t seem the least bit pleased. “Don’t make that face. I didn’t tell you so that you could pity me. I just felt bad about keeping you in the dark with so many questions for so long.” Seoho shrugs again. “I’m okay now. I completely forgot everything.” 

But he didn’t, Geonhak knows, because he still shifts into a cat at night, still tries to burrow in the smallest corners to feel secure, still crawls into Geonhak’s bed during the night when he believes Geonhak is sound asleep.

“You don’t need to say anything. I hate being shown sympathy when I don’t need it—makes me feel weak, and I’m not—so don’t say anything if what you want to give me is reassurance. I just needed to get it off my chest.” As if he said nothing, Seoho reaches out to play with the cuffs of Geonhak’s jeans, unfolding them and then trying to fold them again. He is trying to distract him—take his mind off what he’s said and return to pretending nothing has changed because really, it hasn’t. 

Geonhak gets the impression that Seoho believes people will distance themselves from him if they find out more about him than what he lets on. He has a fear—a fear of being unwanted and discarded because he isn’t all that he makes himself out to be.

Geonhak tries to read Seoho’s expression, pick out if he actually means it when he says he is fine and doesn’t need reassurance, or if it is a cover-up to shove Geonhak back at an arms-length. Finding traces of nothing, Geonhak concludes that it is best if he doesn’t overstep any boundaries he isn’t meant to cross. Instead, to help Seoho steer the conversation in another direction, he asks, “Are you cold?” He’s noticed that Seoho is constantly rubbing his bare arms to create friction to keep himself warm. The nights tend to get chilly, after all. “Wait here, I’ll get you a blanket.”

Just as Geonhak stands up, Seoho tugs on his arm and sits him back down. Abandoning his penguin plushie, Seoho scoots closer to Geonhak and rests his head on his shoulder. “I don’t need a blanket, you’re warm enough.”

“Am I your personal heater now?” Geonhak says. He tries to sound offended, but the way his voice cracks gives him away. 

“You’re warm, so yes, you are. Blankets are too thick and they make me too hot. I feel comfortable like this.” I feel comfortable with you , his last words seem to imply, and the underlying meaning dangles in midair between them, neither of them wishing to acknowledge it. 

“The bruise,” Geonhak says, “how is it? Is it getting better?”

Seoho scoffs. “You saw it the other day. If you want to know how my bruise is doing, walk right in when I’m changing. You’ll get a good view of it, then.” A hand sneaks up to Seoho’s hair, and he yelps when Geonhak playfully tugs on his ear, to which he returns with a slap to Geonhak’s chest. “But yeah, it’s getting better. I didn’t think it would take this long to heal, but it’s getting there.”

“It must’ve been a pretty bad fight, then,” Geonhak mutters. He feels Seoho grab a hold of his hand and squeeze it reassuringly before letting go.

“I’m fine, ” Seoho insists, and Geonhak doesn’t push it, doesn’t try prying a bit more. Seoho reveals things at his own pace, and anything that is forced out of him will be stepping into private territory where he doesn’t belong. That will only drive Seoho farther into a corner, perhaps from where he will never come out again. 

Geonhak never realized, but the movie is way longer than he remembers, and it keeps playing even when he’s long since lost interest. At some point, Seoho’s hands go from resting in his lap to wrapping around Geonhak’s waist until he is snuggling into his side. He’s grown quiet again, but Geonhak is scared of shifting and losing the warmth that Seoho is providing—which is ironic when he is the one who is supposed to be keeping Seoho warm. 

A while later, Seoho pokes Geonhak’s side with his tail to get his attention. “On second thought, that reassurance that I rejected earlier… Is it okay if I receive it now? You don’t need to say anything. Just…” 

Words, Seoho has learned, are empty, holding absolutely no value, and he knows that they certainly won’t be of any comfort for him. But he isn’t sure what to ask of Geonhak. If he can’t provide reassurance in the form of words, then what else is there?

Geonhak, though, is a step ahead of him, seeming to know what Seoho wants without even having to ask, even when Seoho doesn’t know what he is looking for. Gently prying one of Seoho’s hands off his waist, Geonhak intertwines their fingers instead, running a thumb over the back of Seoho’s hand. “Is this okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Seoho startles, feeling a sudden tingle run up his fingertips and nail his heart. 

The movie nears its end long after the sun has gone to rest, hiding below the horizon. Soon, the ending credits roll in, and Geonhak lets out his stifled yawn. It is then that he notices the lack of weight on his shoulder, having been too dazed to realize earlier on, and there are no fingers that lace together with his, but paws—small, fuzzy paws. Geonhak glances down to see that Seoho is sound asleep and has, once again, shifted back into his cat form. 

~~~

It is two weeks later when they are having breakfast before Geonhak leaves for work, and Seoho is gnawing on his bottom lip. It is a visible sign that he has something on his mind, paired with the distant look he has in his eyes and the silence that lays over them. There is something Seoho wants to say and watching him shred his lip as he contemplates speaking or not drives Geonhak over the edge. At some point, he can no longer take it, and he blurts, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Raising his head, Seoho looks caught off guard, but his expression melts into one that is indifferent as he goes back to picking at his rice. “Yeah, I was planning on going back to my uncle’s house later to grab some of my stuff.” He doesn’t meet Geonhak’s gaze as the latter simply stares blankly.

It isn’t, and never will be Geonhak’s place to speak out and hold Seoho back from anything, even if he worries about his well-being. His place is on the sidelines where he will do nothing but watch and support—never stepping in and cutting Seoho off. Geonhak admires that Seoho is strong, that he seems to hold himself together in ways Geonhak knows he never would be able to. 

But this is one of those times that Geonhak shamelessly wants to step off the sidelines and hold him back.

He doesn’t.

~~~

A few hours into work and Geonhak is already jittering in his seat, switching back and forth between having his right leg overtop his left leg and having his left leg overtop his right leg. Next to him sits a cup of coffee that Young Jo has been kind enough to fetch for him when he noticed that Geonhak didn’t look well enough to walk across the street to get coffee for himself. 

He throws a glance around the office, at everyone who still has their heads buried in their work. Hye Jin hasn’t been too berating for the past few days, so the atmosphere in the office is lighter than usual now that no one is stressing to hand in work that might be nearing the overdue zone. The day seems to stretch on, the minute hand on the clock moving agonizingly slow, or maybe that is because Geonhak isn’t getting anything done, and has devoted the last ten minutes to watching the seconds tick by.

Young Jo finally grows fed up at the loud tapping of Geonhak’s foot under his desk, and he lets out a sigh that has Geonhak flinching. “Stop jittering, will you? I can’t focus on my work. So Seoho decided to head home for a bit to gather his stuff. No need to get so worked up.” 

“You don’t understand, Young Jo,” Geonhak says. Maybe filling Young Jo in on what Seoho said wasn’t the best idea, but then again, he is his best friend. It is either Geonhak stays quiet about it all day and has Young Jo pester him until he spilled, or he told Young Jo first thing in the morning just to get him out of his hair. The problem is, telling Young Jo didn’t get him out of his hair—only gave him more reason to continue probing in Geonhak’s business. 

He chooses that moment to finally take a sip from his coffee that he left untouched, grimacing afterwards. It is lukewarm. 

“Geonhak, you don’t need to be so overprotective of him. Seoho isn’t a helpless child. He knows how to handle himself; he doesn’t need you to guard him every three seconds to make sure he’s staying out of trouble.”

Yonghoon glances warily over the cubicle wall, prepared to prevent them from arguing when Geonhak sets his jaw. “Young Jo, you’re not getting it—”

“No, you’re not getting it,” Young Jo snaps, and this time, Yonghoon is the one flinching. “I don’t know how you see Seoho, but he’s definitely not weak, and he doesn’t need your utmost protection. He can take care of himself by himself. You need to learn when it’s your place to step in, and when you should stand down and put all your trust in him.”

The words, though meant to be reassuring in a harsh way, snag something in Geonhak that he can’t quite put a finger on. It burns, peeling back a protective layer of something, and Geonhak feels the urge to snap at his friend. He trusts Seoho—he is just worried. There is a big difference between the two, Geonhak tells himself. 

Yonghoon chooses that time to look over the cubicle wall. “Uh, guys? I don’t know if you’ve realized, but we’re in the office, and you’re both being a little too loud right now.” 

“Sorry,” Geonhak mutters. He throws a careful glance at Hye Jin’s office door, sighing in relief that it is still closed, and she hasn’t seemed to catch on to anything. Turning back to Young Jo, Geonhak says in a lower voice, “It’s not that I don’t trust him. I’m just looking out for him—like a good friend should.”

“ Good friend,” Young Jo rolls his eyes. “Okay, keep telling yourself that.”

“What?”

“Geonhak, I’ve said this before, but it’s okay to think someone is neat. Just admit you like him. You make it a little too obvious.”

“I’m not—I’m not making anything obvious,” Geonhak insists. “Why do you and Yonghoon always assume that?”

“Hey, I didn’t ask to be dragged into this conversation,” Yonghoon butts in. 

Ignoring Yonghoon, Young Jo continues. “You keep insisting that you don’t, but most of your affection lies in your actions, and I see a ton of actions that point to everything you’re trying to deny. There’s no need to keep denying it like you’re ashamed. Seoho’s cute, caring, respectful, and funny. I would understand why you like him.”

“Okay, but I don’t,” Geonhak denies again. But each denial grows weaker, and Geonhak wonders who it is he is truly arguing with—Young Jo, or himself. His first thought is to deny it, but his denials no longer fall on his ears as he grows uncertain. That protective layer that has peeled a little bit tears open just a bit more, threatening to bleed out at any moment if Geonhak doesn’t patch it up with more bandaids of denial and persuasion. He falls silent, and Young Jo stops pushing it, choosing to turn back to his work.

Time seems to stretch on forever after that.

~~~

Young Jo calls him when the time nears 10 PM, and Seoho still hasn’t returned. The sound startles Geonhak from where he had been dozing off on the couch, and his stomach flip-flops uncomfortably. He starts to regret having instant noodles for dinner. He’d tried making himself some right when he came home, which is something he hasn’t had for the longest time after Seoho continued to complain that he couldn’t live off of different flavoured instant noodles for the rest of his life. But without his cooking partner, Geonhak hadn’t felt up to making anything different, so for the first time in a long time, he filled himself on instant noodles. 

He doesn’t remember it being so unappetizing. 

“Well, I realized I left some of my papers at the office, so I went back to fetch them since the office is still open. You know, Hye Jin and her insane work hours,” Young Jo says, sounding exhausted. As usual, there is no proper greeting. “And… I found Seoho sitting in front of the building. Just thought I should tell you so you can come to pick him up.”

At the mention of Seoho, he perks up. He never realized how much a name could bring him so much comfort until he feels the overpowering weight that has sat on his chest all day dissipate little by little, and he lets out a painstakingly sharp sigh of relief. “How is he?” Geonhak breathes out. 

There is shuffling on the other end, and then complete silence before Young Jo speaks again. “It’s really not that bad, but maybe you should come to see for yourself. He won’t let me come anywhere near him and keeps insisting that he’s fine.”

Geonhak has half a mind to laugh because that sounds exactly like Seoho, but instead, he says, “Can you look after him for me? I’m heading there right now.” When Young Jo agrees, albeit already exhausted and in need of sleep, Geonhak hangs up and grabs his sweater that is hanging on the back of the couch. 

In the summer, the mornings are humid, the air hot, wet and sweat-inducing, but the nights are cold, crisp, the wind nipping at his nape and sending sudden chills down his spine. Grey clouds have swarmed the moon when Geonhak steps out of his apartment and catches the last bus that is heading in the direction of his office. 

The jittering of his leg returns, but this time, for a different reason, and he wonders just what Young Jo’s definition of bad is for him to say that it isn’t that bad. He just hopes their definitions of the same word align and don’t differ in any way because if they do, Geonhak doesn’t know how he will have to brace himself. 

He almost doesn’t make it the whole ride without feeling nauseous, and he wonders if this is what genuine fear feels like. 

Fear. It’s a funny thing, Geonhak thinks as he recalls the times Seoho has crawled into his room due to a nightmare, because of the thunder, or when he told Geonhak what he is struggling with—or was. It is a feeling that either makes its presence known by slamming into you from the get-go, too much to handle in such a short time, on such short notice. Or, it is one that lays low, subtle in the bushes, gathering information on everything you are scared of, everything you are scared for, filing it away for a later time, and it grows while it hides until it can no longer hide. For Geonhak, it is the latter, and he feels so stupid, wondering how he has never detected that fear, lurking, waiting for the right moment to make an appearance. 

When Geonhak steps off the bus, it doesn’t take him long to find Young Jo—to find Seoho. Two figures sit on a bench outside of the office when Geonhak approaches, and Geonhak stops in his tracks. There is a black bag in between Young Jo and Seoho, probably placed there by Seoho to serve as a barrier between them, a visible boundary that no one is allowed to overstep. 

That morning, Seoho left the apartment in black shorts and a white-and-beige striped t-shirt. But even under the streetlights that don’t shine in the direction of the bench and the moon that barely provides any light, Geonhak can still see the forming bruises on Seoho’s wrist and his forearm that the shirt is incapable of covering up. He is also nursing a split lip with a tissue, and when Geonhak glances down, he notices how Seoho isn’t wearing the shoes he left with. Actually, he isn’t wearing shoes at all, only socks.

Geonhak’s nails dig into his palms, and he feels a raging mix of emotions intertwine inside him until he can’t find the base of one emotion and the end of another. That genuine fear, Geonhak realizes, resonates with what Young Jo has told him before, what he’s been trying to tell him for so long. Geonhak feels like laughing because he didn’t realize he could be so stupid, but here he is, standing a few meters away from the guy whom he’s come out here for while a turmoil of emotions bubble in him, and one emotion stands out the most amongst them all. 

Young Jo holds his phone in his hands, glancing at it from time to time, no doubt waiting for a call from  Geonhak. He is the first one to notice Geonhak standing a short distance away from them, and he immediately calls out to him. “Geonhak!”

Hearing the name, Seoho lifts his head from where he was tracing the cracks on the ground with his eyes. Upon seeing Geonhak, he pulls the tissue away from his lips and grins, pleasantly surprised. His once flattened ears perk up. Geonhak feels himself move, and he walks the rest of the way until he is standing in front of them. Young Jo flashes him a relieved, exhausted but also reassuring smile. 

“Hey, Geonhak,” Young Jo says. “You finally came.”

Before Geonhak can return the greeting, Seoho says, “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t come back, so… I got worried,” Geonhak replies.

The grin on Seoho’s face widens despite how much he is shivering, and he reaches for his bag and pries it open. “I grabbed a few of my things, but I didn’t get all of them because I didn’t think I needed them. And look! I even found my old book of fairytales sitting on the shelf. Maybe you could even read one as a bedtime story.” There is teasing in Seoho’s tone as he pulls out the book, and Geonhak feels his insides twist, wondering how Seoho can even continue smiling.

“You’re shivering,” Geonhak points out, and Seoho makes a sound of confusion as if he hadn’t noticed that he is shaking, either from the cold or from everything else. He probably hadn’t noticed. Unfolding his sweater, Geonhak drapes it over Seoho’s shoulders, and the latter pulls it tighter around himself gratefully. Geonahk pretends to not see the teasing look Young Jo gives him. “We should get going.”

“Sure!” Seoho says a little too enthusiastically, a little too springy in his step, like a plastic facade he hasn’t put on properly, one that is slowly beginning to slip off. And Geonhak can see right through it.

When Geonhak wraps his fingers around Seoho’s wrist to pull him up, the latter winces, trying to mask it as a simple shiver from the cold. Seoho grabs his bag from the bench, holding the worn-out material close to his chest, like a treasure he is obligated to protect. 

“Thanks for waiting here with him,” Geonhak says to his friend, who flashes him another tired smile, but this time with a bit more shine to it. “We’ll get going.”

The last running bus rolls around not too long after, and Geonhak leads Seoho to one of the empty seats at the back. At this hour, the whole bus is empty, none of the seats occupied, and no one getting off work later than usual, so they practically have the whole bus to themselves. 

Seoho scoots closer until he is half-sitting on Geonhak’s seat, and he rests his head on his shoulder. By now, Seoho does that enough for Geonhak to know what that means. Many of his behaviours often repeat themselves, and the one that repeats the most is Geonhak having his shoulder occupied. It is Seoho’s way of expressing that he is in a state of contentment, or seeks to be in that state. Right now, it would be the latter, where Seoho chases after the peace of mind that is shortly within reaching distance. 

“You didn’t have to come looking for me,” Seoho mumbles, traces of his plastic facade slipping away completely. “I was doing fine.”

Geonhak learns that no matter what he does, he can never change the way Seoho is. Even with a bruising wrist and no shoes on, he will continue to insist that he is fine, like a method he uses to delude himself into thinking everything is okay. So, Geonhak says, “I know. I know you were,” because he can never say anything else, not when Seoho maintains a tough stance and refuses to let himself be knocked over. 

~~~

Back at the apartment, it is silent while Geonhak uses a cotton swab to dab ointment onto Seoho’s split lip. It doesn’t sting, but Seoho still winces, mumbling complaints to lighten the tension, but Geonhak avoids his gaze, not muttering a single word throughout. After a while, Seoho gives up and says, “You’re not asking any questions.”

Geonhak’s eyes finally meet Seoho’s for the first time since they got back, and taken aback, Seoho startles in his spot. The light dabs to his lip slow, and Geonhak purses his lips before dropping his hand. “I don’t want to overstep anything. If you want to tell me, I’m sure you will. I want to let you handle things at your own pace.”

Seoho smiles softly. “You know, it’s okay to ask me stuff. I know I’m not the best when it comes to opening up about my feelings, but I could always try to fill you in on everything. You deserve that much, at least.”

“And if you’re uncomfortable answering my questions, then…?” Geonhak trails off.

Seoho shrugs. “Then just know that it’s not your fault.”

Nodding, Geonhak raises his hand and resumes pressing the cotton swab against Seoho’s bottom lip. “Okay. Then, how long were you sitting outside of my office? Why didn’t you return?”

“I went to see you, but my grasp of time was apparently off because you’d already left when I got there. And I guess… I didn’t know how to confront you when I returned.”

“Why would you be worried about confronting me?” Geonhak frowns, and he finally places the cotton swab on the coffee table. “I wouldn’t have said anything.”

“Maybe that’s why. You never say anything, you don’t get up in my business as I do with you. Whereas I’m too impatient, you’re too patient. You’re always standing a safe distance away in hopes that I’ll be the one to initiate things, and when I don’t say anything, you let it slide. Sometimes, I don’t want it to slide. I wish you would be annoying and pester me until I open up because I know I tend to close off without meaning to.”

Geonhak cocks an eyebrow. “So… you want me to be annoying?”

“If it stops you from looking at me like that, then yes.”

“And how am I looking at you?” Geonhak asks.

Seoho shifts, and he thumbs under Geonhak’s eyes. “With curious and concerned eyes. They hold a million questions, none of which you wish to speak.” After a pause, he adds, “I don’t like it when you look at me like that. You look better when your eyes are twinkly, kind of like a puppy.”

For the first time that day, Geonhak finds himself amused, and he snorts at that, causing Seoho to visibly brighten, and his ears twitch. “I thought you told me I look better when I’m grumpy.”

“Grumpy, twinkly, you look like a puppy either way,” Seoho replies. “Anything is fine as long as you don’t look at me with that much concern. I don’t know what to do when you look at me like that.”

As vicious as Seoho is, with his waves slamming into you and pulling you in, he also knows how to ease uptight muscles and heavy, tense atmospheres with his gentle waves that wash over you to help loosen up—like now, and Geonhak forgets all about the questions that have built up inside of him. It is another thing Geonhak adds to his growing list of traits he likes about Seoho. 

“You’re staring,” Seoho says, his tone full of piquing amusement, and that is when Geonhak realizes he’s been dazing at him this whole time without realizing—or more, his lips. Geonhak doesn’t remember when his eyes drifted down there, but they had, and he can’t bring himself to stop staring. 

Young Jo once told him that in a mocking tone. You’re staring. Even when Geonhak hadn’t caught himself, Young Jo had because he is capable of spotting things about him before anyone else can. It brings back an odd sense of familiarity, but something is different this time. Whereas he’s denied it when Young Jo accused him of staring, this time, no denial awaits on his tongue. 

“And what if I was?” Geonhak responds, and the look on Seoho’s face is a stupified one, clearly not expecting the sudden bold answer—because he expected Geonhak to cower as he always does. 

Seoho leans closer, his ears twitching playfully to match the teasing smile he wears. “You look like you have something you want to do.”

“I do.”

“Then why aren’t you doing it?” Seoho asks. He knows, Geonhak realizes. That is another one of the many traits about Seoho he appreciates; Seoho always knows, which saves Geonhak from the discomfiture of having to explain himself. Words have never come easily to him, and even then, he never has to say anything because Seoho will understand. Just like now. 

“I’m afraid I’ll face rejection,” Geonhak mumbles.

“How will you ever know if you don’t try?” Seoho laughs. Despite the words meant to be taken lightly, they hit something in Geonhak and they peel back layer upon layer of emotions that Geonhak isn’t sure how to handle.

He’s always seen himself as someone who stays true to himself. Even if he doesn’t reveal it to others, as long as he’s honest with himself, then nothing else matters. But now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t been honest with himself. He’s had turmoil after turmoil of raging emotions, and he has discarded them each time.

But as much as Geonhak stares, and as much as he can tell Seoho is anticipating it, he can’t bring himself to do it. So for the last time—the last time, he tells himself—he’ll be dishonest with himself. He’ll push himself away from the desire that he is so close to reaching with his fingertips. There is always the right time and place to do things, and right now—it is just not it. 

He pretends not to notice the crestfallen expression on Seoho’s face when he looks away and says, “You should get some sleep. It’s late.”

“Yeah, right, okay,” Seoho swallows, and he quickly stands up to lock himself in the bathroom.

Geonhak wonders if he did the right thing.

~~~

Midnight finds Geonhak glaring up at his ceiling, sleep unwilling to come. He’s tried tossing to face his window, and when that didn’t work, he turned to face the door that is open ajar. After running solely on his mess of emotions for hours, he thought he’d be knocked out from exhaustion by now, but nothing comes to him. Maybe it is because he still feels jittery—the aftermath of being on edge all day still buzzing in him. 

He wonders—as he throws a glance at his door—if Seoho can’t sleep, either. If he is lying awake, staring up at the ceiling and replaying the day’s events in his head. He’s had a long day, too, and Geonhak can’t bring himself to ask too many questions in fear that they’ll become overwhelming. 

Just as he is about to flip over and accept defeat and spend the rest of the night staring into nothing, his door creaks open. He doesn’t have to squint through the dark to know who it is, but he still rolls over onto his back when he feels the mattress dip under the weight of small paws that scamper on. He comes face-to-face with Seoho’s groggy eyes and slumped form. Making no noise, Seoho plops down by Geonhak’s hand and curls up into a ball, tucking his tail into his chest. 

“You can’t sleep, either, huh?” Geonhak says, and the cat mewls, his ears folding against his head. It seems neither of them is at the mercy of sleep tonight. Sympathetically, Geonhak pats Seoho’s head and scratches behind his ear, the cat whining contentedly. “Maybe you should bring in that fairytale book you brought back, and I can read you one.” Seoho still has enough energy to glare up at Geonhak, but he doesn’t downright reject the idea. 

Geonhak lifts his arm and makes space for Seoho next to him, an invitation for him to come closer, and the cat makes a show of rolling over until his ear is nestled on Geonhak’s collarbone.    

“Also,” Geonhak says, and Seoho peers up at him, “I know you turn into a cat whenever it gets dark, but I want you to know—there’s no need to feel unsafe with me.” Looking at Seoho isn’t the same when he is in a smaller form and doesn’t have his smile to accompany him, but the twinkle in his eyes is enough—that innocent, warm shine that Geonhak can never mistake for someone else. 

The twinkle in Seoho’s eyes grows, and Geonhak is sure he would be smiling right now. Seoho nuzzles forward again, and his tongue darts out to lick affectionately at the tip of Geonhak’s nose before he plops back down, leaving Geonhak with a flustered look and a blush on his face. 

Geonhak doesn’t dwell on it, and he finally settles down. As he feels Seoho sag against him and fall asleep, he entertains the realization that it is easy falling asleep when he has Seoho with him.

~~~

Geonhak finds Seoho in the kitchen the next morning, supervising a skillet with a half-cooked omelette on it. His fingers tap away on the counter as he busies himself with humming a song under his breath to prevent boredom, and his tail swishes from side to side. Geonhak makes a sharp beeline through the kitchen, coming up behind Seoho. The latter startles when he feels arms wrap around his waist, but he relaxes upon realizing who it is.

Geonhak likes to think his sudden affection stems from the grogginess that he is still struggling to blink out of his vision, and his head. Young Jo often tells him he behaves more openly when he is tired, acts a bit more like a puppy. 

“Morning to you, too, sunshine.” The tone Seoho uses is soft, and Geonhak subconsciously melts into his back and settles his chin on his shoulder. The black shirt Seoho is wearing is long-sleeved, but it barely manages to cover up the bruise on Seoho’s wrist. It has darkened overnight, transitioning from red to a bluish-purple, and the colour is more sickly than Geonhak remembers. “Why are you suddenly so clingy this morning?”

“No reason,” Geonhak murmurs, his breath ghosting over the skin of Seoho’s neck and sending his hairs standing on end. He nuzzles closer, his arms tightening in the slightest around Seoho’s middle, and in a meek voice, he confesses, “I’m scared you’ll disappear again.”

Seoho lets out a laugh, flipping over one of the corners of the omelette closer to the center. “Now where on earth could I possibly disappear to?” He sounds playful, teasing even, but his words are weighted. Geonhak knows Seoho can sense the pile of questions he’s accumulated, and the sigh he lets out proves it. “Geonhak, I can hear you thinking. Just ask if you’re so curious.”

“And if you’re uncomfortable answering my questions, I should know that it’s not my fault?” Geonhak echoes Seoho’s exact words the night before, and Seoho hums.

“Exactly.”

“Then,” Geonhak brushes his fingers over the bruise on Seoho’s wrist, quickly retracting his fingers when he feels him flinch, “how did you get the bruises this time? Another fight that got out of hand?”

Seoho hums, and he taps Geonhak’s hand as a sign for him to let go so he can shuffle over to the cupboard to get plates for them. Geonhak isn’t anything if he isn’t persistent, though, and he simply tightens his hold, eliciting a grumble from Seoho. “It wasn’t that bad. I guess I sort of blew things out of proportion.”

“And they’re letting you leave?”

“I didn’t exactly give them time to answer,” Seoho says sheepishly, finally managing to grab a plate from the cupboard. He switches off the stove and places the omelette on the plate. “I just grabbed my stuff and left.”

There are several details that Seoho leaves out, and he is holding back. Geonhak has a lot he wants to ask, so many questions that bounce around in his head, but then Seoho is placing a hand over Geonhak’s on his stomach, running a thumb over the skin. The caress is gentle, soothing, and carries with it words of comfort Seoho isn’t able to express out loud, and Geonhak gets the message loud and clear. It’s okay, it seems to say. You don’t need to worry. I’m totally fine. And Geonhak wants to believe that the touch is also Seoho’s nonverbal way of telling him that he’ll open up a bit more one day, even if it’s not now.

It is funny—how Seoho is the one who has gotten hurt, yet Geonhak is the one who is in need of constant reassurance that everything is okay. 

Never once has Geonhak seen himself as weak, as someone that needs to be caressed and told that no harm will come to him. Only now does he realize it is because it isn’t himself he fears will be harmed. Geonhak doesn’t know how Seoho does it, how he can easily jostle around his simple lifestyle and fit right in as if he belongs—as if he’s always been there. But what matters is that he has, and for once, Geonhak finds himself feeling vulnerable—maybe because now, he has a weakness, someone who’s wormed under his skin and made a home there.

“By the way, what did you eat yesterday for dinner when I was gone? There’s barely anything left in the fridge,” Seoho says, finally managing to free himself from Geonhak’s hold when the latter takes pity on him and lets him move freely to place the plates on the table, only to latch on right after.

Geonhak is almost sheepish when he turns his face into Seoho’s neck and mumbles, “I had instant noodles.”

The cluck of Seoho’s tongue is disapproving, and the shake of his head is even more so. “I swear, you can’t do anything without me.” He is prideful in the way he words his phrase, but there is a playful grin on his face. “Looks like you’ll have to go grocery shopping if we want to eat anything tonight.”

Geonhak hums. “I’ll go after work. Come with me?” Seoho cocks an eyebrow and tilts his head, making eye contact with Geonhak who looks nothing short of hopeful, before sighing.

“You ask as if I even have a choice. Now let go of me so we can eat. You’ll be late.”

~~~

“Maybe asking you to tag along was a bad idea,” Geonhak murmurs, peering down at their cart that is filled to the brim with beef and more boxes of popsicles. He watches as Seoho compares two salmon packs before glaring at their prices. “We don’t need more meat, Seoho. We have plenty.”

Work ended sooner than it usually does, perhaps because Hye Jin seems to be in a lighter mood these days. Less grouchy, like she is ready to blow up their office, and a bit more like she is gravitating through her work. Geonhak guesses it has something to do with the workload thinning over the past few days, work no longer pouring in from various locations.

Young Jo had different ideas, though, clearly. He made a show of mocking Geonhak and claiming that Hye Jin is beginning to look a lot like him ever since Seoho moved in. Like there is finally something for her to look forward to in her life, rather than sleeping under her paperwork. “She fell in love like you,” Young Jo said in a sing-song tone that afternoon, to which he got smacked with Geonhak’s folder of papers. 

Glancing up from the salmon packs, Seoho glares at him before deeming the second pack to be one that is at a more reasonable price and throws it onto the pile of meat packs in the cart. “You’re the one who asked me to tag along. And besides, I’m planning to make a couple of salmon and beef dishes tonight.”

Geonhak gapes at Seoho as he skips off to inspect the vegetables. “You’re planning on cooking all of this tonight ?”

“Not all of it,” Seoho rolls his eyes. He makes a face at the tomatoes before pushing them aside to reach the ones that are farther down at the bottom. The ones at the top are beginning to rot. Geonhak bumps Seoho’s hip with the cart to grab his attention, and Seoho raises his head to find a lady trying to get by. Bowing his head apologetically, he shuffles over before beginning to fill a bag with tomatoes. “We can freeze the rest for another day. Who knows, maybe I’ll make another meat dish tomorrow.” He knows Geonhak likes the idea of that, even if Geonhak despises giving him the satisfaction of knowing he likes it. 

“…Fine,” Geonhak reluctantly agrees, not that he has much of a choice when Seoho has already piled up the cart with everything he wants, regardless of whether or not Geonhak will pay for it (mostly because he knows Geonhak will pay for him, even if he continuously claims he won’t).

It is Seoho who drags the cart around by the front, directing Geonhak in the direction he wants them to go—Geonhak is merely the one who stands behind it and helps steer it properly so they don’t collide unpleasantly with anything. By the refrigerators, it is slightly cold, and Seoho regrets wearing a short-sleeved shirt when he feels goosebumps rise on his skin. Geonhak had suggested he wear a longer-sleeved shirt to cover the bruises, only for Seoho to say that he has nothing to hide. Now, though, he is regretting it in the slightest when he feels the tips of his ears tingle from the cold, and he presses his hands to the chilled fur in an attempt to warm it.

“Are your ears cold?” Geonhak observes, and he steps around the cart to press his hands over the fur of Seoho’s ears. It isn’t a tight grip, but it is firm and enough for Seoho to feel his warmth seeping through from his hands. “Better?” Seoho hums, turning away and hiding his embarrassment by busying himself with scanning through the bags of peaches. Catching his wavering glance, Geonhak laughs. “Why bother looking through the peaches? You’re not even planning on buying any.”

“They’re nice-looking peaches,” Seoho comments, and he gently shakes Geonhak’s hands off his ears. “And you don’t know that. Maybe I’m considering buying a bag for myself.”

“But you’re not,” Geonhak says. He is right, of course—Seoho has no plans to buy a bag of peaches. They do serve as a good distraction, though, and maybe he will be willing to buy a bag next time they come out for grocery shopping when their cart isn’t overflowing with popsicles and meat. 

The next aisle they roam down is one that is filled with various apples. Gleefully clapping his hands, Seoho skips off to grab a couple of bags for the apples. “Geonhak, we should get some. Which one do you want?” He doesn’t wait for a response before he opens an empty plastic bag and fills it with McIntosh apples, and Geonhak can’t exactly find it in him to be rightfully annoyed. 

Instead, he guards the cart while Seoho knocks himself out getting almost every apple that sits in the baskets. His eyes then land on a couple of college boys—ones who look no more than twenty-two with hair dyed platinum-blonde and navy-blue—who are looking their way, eyes fixated on Seoho specifically. Geonhak knows what they are looking at—Seoho’s ears and tail. Almost everyone in the market stared in awe at Seoho’s ears while they shopped, and Geonhak turned a blind eye to it all. But there is something that stirs in him upon witnessing others stare at Seoho in a way only he allows himself to stare in—something bitter, bordering on sour, and it leaves a vile taste on his tongue.

“Geonhak, which one should we get? I don’t know which one would be better,” Seoho suddenly says, and Geonhak glances over to where Seoho is comparing a Golden Delicious apple and a Granny Smith. Seoho doesn’t think anything of it when he earns no response and catches the cart moving back out of the corner of his eye, but he flinches, startled, when an arm wraps around his waist, pulling him into Geonhak’s side. He grins before glancing back down at the apples. “Possessive much?”

This is where Geonhak will grow defensive, and he’ll attempt to hide behind his cracked armour, and predictably, that is what he tries to do. “I’m not possessive,” he grumbles. “I just don’t want you slipping away and getting lost.” Seoho briefly glances up from the apples to give Geonhak an unconvinced look, and no amount of lies can patch up Geonhak’s falling defences. “Okay, fine, don’t look, but there are some guys who were staring at you.”

Hearing that, Seoho laughs under his breath in disbelief. “They’re just staring at my ears and tail.”

“They’re ogling you.”

“They are not, relax.”

Geonhak frowns and tightens his grip around Seoho’s waist. “How do you know? You’re not even looking up from the apples.”

Seoho drops his apples and cocks an eyebrow up at Geonhak. “Okay, so what if they are? What do you think they’re going to do, come over here and hit me up in a grocery store?”

“Well, no…”

“Exactly, so there’s no problem. Now stop complaining and help me choose which apples we should get.”

~~~

It’s around midnight when Geonhak hears the sound of his bedroom door opening again, and Seoho slips in. There is something… different about him, and after a while of staring, Geonhak pinpoints that it’s because Seoho’s in his human form. It takes him aback, and his chest swells when he understands that Seoho actually listened to him, and didn’t shift back into his cat form. Through the dark, Geonhak can see the sheepish look he has, embarrassed that he’s made his way back to Geonhak’s bedroom. But Geonhak proves that he doesn’t mind it, and he shifts over in his spot to make room for Seoho on the bed. When Seoho lies down, he keeps space between them and stares blankly up at the ceiling.

Geonhak turns onto his side to look at him. “What’s wrong? Can’t sleep again?”

Seoho nods, albeit hesitantly. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep.” The bruise on his wrist starts to itch.

There is no thunderstorm tonight, but there’s something twinkling in Seoho’s eyes that Geonhak doesn’t like. Dread. It isn’t exactly subtle; Seoho makes it pretty apparent that he’s feeling dread, and that he has a lot on his mind that he doesn’t feel like saying. Geonhak doesn’t need to ask why he can’t sleep because he knows, so he chooses to stay silent.

Seoho doesn’t say anything, and for a moment, it’s simply quiet.

But Geonhak’s inner turmoil is anything but. Because his inner turmoil is stirring in him, loud and roaring in his ears—has been for a while—and he doesn’t know how to shut it down. Seoho continues to stare up at the ceiling, but Geonhak itches. His chest itches with the fluttering butterflies that he had taken so long to decipher, ones that had been so apparent, yet he had continuously turned them away. His fingers itch with the desire to reach out and cup Seoho’s face, finally do what he couldn’t bring himself to do yesterday. All because he was a coward. 

“Hey, Seoho,” Geonhak breathes, and Seoho hums, turning onto his side to look at him. Momentarily, Geonhak’s mind draws blanks and his breath hitches. “Can I…”

Seoho’s eyebrows pinch together as he stares questioningly, and Geonhak feels himself begin to retract as those godforsaken cowardly thoughts attempt to take ahold of the reins and direct him away from his desire. But Seoho understands because he always understands, reads Geonhak as easily as a book. His mouth drops open to make an oh sound, and then he grins. The dread in his eyes dissipates. “Well, what are you waiting for, then?” The implication in his words, though, are clear. 

And Geonhak falls just a bit more.

If something doesn’t match Geonhak’s perception of it, he will refuse to acknowledge it. For years, Young Jo has always pointed that out, saying that Geonhak is stubborn, that he’ll drive himself into a blockade if he continues to turn a blind eye to everything, including his feelings. Like everything Young Jo ever says, the words constantly flew over his head, going in one ear and exiting the other because Geonhak believes that he can handle things on his own, that he has everything under control.

But as much as he hates to admit it, for once, he thinks Young Jo and Yonghoon are right—about his feelings, that is. In the dark, Geonhak can see Seoho turn his head and regard him with his usual twinkling eyes and Geonhak curses the heavens for what they’ve done to him, for how they’ve dunked him underwater and have drowned him in emotions mixed with fluttering butterflies in his stomach that he’s never been able to rid himself of. 

For so long, he has wanted to keep the ocean at a distance, only letting it brush against his ankles. Now that he thinks about it, though, he doesn’t think he did a good job of keeping a distance from the ocean. Instead, he’s long since been pulled into the waves.

Again and again, Geonhak has been the victim of fate, becoming its plaything. He told himself he would never get attached to Seoho, but the universe had other plans, and instead, it drew him closer to him until he could never leave. Fate never works in Geonhak’s favour, choosing, instead, to pull him down the route he constantly takes crossroads and mazes to avoid. 

Fate believes Geonhak will back out in fear again, just like yesterday, just as always—it presumes him to be a coward. But this time, Geonhak is intent on being unpredictable, even in fate’s eyes. 

So, as Seoho stares at him expectantly, Geonhak takes it upon himself to seal the gap between them with a hand curling around the nape of Seoho’s neck. Seoho meets him halfway, his hand cradling Geonhak’s cheek and his lips stretching into a giggle that Geonhak swallows, the cat’s tail wrapping around the wrist that lays limply by Geonhak’s thigh. When their lips touch, Geonhak feels the final piece of his scrambled puzzle fall in place. Seoho tastes a lot like caramel, all sweet and soft, and there is an intoxicating smell to him that Geonhak can’t get enough of—warm, like home. Everything is a blur, and yet, Geonhak is painfully aware of every little detail—the tightening of the grip on his wrist from Seoho’s tail, the slight trembling of the fingers that hold his face, and the shifting of Seoho’s lips as he tries to find a comfortable angle for both of them as they lie down. 

Geonhak doesn’t remember when his hand settled on Seoho’s waist, but the next thing he knows, he’s hovering over Seoho as Seoho curls a hand around his nape to pull him farther down.

When they part, Seoho looks dazed, his eyes darting everywhere but Geonhak’s face as he slowly retracts his hand. His cheeks are tinged red, and Geonhak has the sudden urge to kiss them if only to watch the blush darken. He laughs. “What, feeling shy all of a sudden? I thought you told me to do it.”

Seoho scowls at him in a way that is meant to be threatening, but it just makes him look soft instead. “I’m not. The room is just hot.”

Geonhak laughs, but he holds himself up above Seoho when the cat reaches up to play with his shirt—he had the decency to put one on this time, maybe because a part of him had a feeling Seoho would come into his room. Seoho twists his finger in the material of his shirt, and then pushes his hand back and forth, first a little hard, and then gently. Despite not knowing what Seoho’s doing, Geonhak watches, amused, at the look of concentration in Seoho’s eyes. 

“What are you doing?” Geonhak asks after a while of watching Seoho do whatever it is that he’s doing.

“Kneading. It’s just something I do when I… feel comfortable, I guess.” Geonhak cocks an eyebrow, and he swears he sees a faint blush dust Seoho’s cheeks. He wonders if that really is the meaning of what he’s doing, or if there’s something he doesn’t know. Geonhak plans to ask him, but this seems like something that Seoho definitely doesn’t want to answer, and he proves this by pushing Geonhak off him and facing the other side. “Don’t say anything and go to sleep. It’s late.”

Geonhak laughs, and then he moves closer until he’s flush against Seoho’s back. He wraps a hand around Seoho’s waist and buries his face in his nape. “Fine, then I won’t say anything. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Seoho mumbles, but his voice comes out thin, and Geonhak wonders if the blush on Seoho’s cheeks are just as red as he’s envisioning it to be.

~~~

Geonhak hears the chiming of the bell above the cafe door before he sees Young Jo stroll in, and he raises his head from his hot chocolate. Coffee, Geonhak specified earlier, is only something he drinks when he needs to drain sleep from his system, to which Seoho simply rolled his eyes. Seoho is currently seated next to him, already downing half the hot chocolate that he only agreed to buy because Geonhak had. 

Seoho is unaware that his tail swishes in a not-so-subtle fashion upon hearing the sound of a bell, and he is the one who waves Young Jo over to their table. It’s the weekend, which means Seoho, once again, tucked Geonhak's laptop away to give him a break, only agreeing to hand it back if Geonhak has urgent work with a nearing due date. So with nothing better to do, Geonhak decided to call Young Jo out for coffee because he needed a reason to leave his stuffy apartment, but mostly because Young Jo spammed him with his concerns for Seoho, and Geonhak decided to drag him out to bring him proof that Seoho was fine. 

On a blazing hot summer day, hot chocolate is not the right beverage to have when Geonhak feels his insides grow warmer than it should, and he thanks the cafe for its airconditioning. Young Jo doesn’t seem too pleased with it, though, and he shivers as he takes a seat in front of them. He’s wearing whitewashed jeans with a plain white t-shirt tucked into them, an ideal outfit for such hot weather, but the sudden change in temperature seems to throw him off, and he rubs his arms where goosebumps have started forming. 

Seoho is the first one to greet Young Jo, and he grins as he places his drink down. “Hey, Young Jo!” Upon seeing his smile, Young Jo visibly brightens, clearly pleased to see him more than his own best friend. Geonhak catches Young Jo’s eyes falling on the bruise on Seoho’s wrist, and sees his expression falter, but he’s glad Young Jo is considerate enough not to bring it up. 

“Hi, how are you feeling? You gave us quite a scare the other day,” Young Jo says. Geonhak stiffens, working up a storm in his head in attempts to change the topic, but Seoho doesn’t look bothered, only smiles before reaching for his cup. Not a professional, controlled one, but a genuine one.

“I’m feeling perfectly fine,” Seoho answers over the rim of his cup. “Thank you for waiting with me, by the way. I know I probably acted a little sensitive that day, but I’m feeling fine now.” Seoho means it, Geonhak can tell. The tone he uses is casual, bubbly and sincere, and there are no traces of the slightest discomfort detected in him. 

Geonhak wordlessly slides Young Jo’s drink order across the table, and his friend accepts it gratefully before raising his eyebrow teasingly. “What about you, lovebird? You look cheerful today. Had a goodnight’s sleep?”

Geonhak scowls if only to hide the forming blush on his cheeks, but there’s a snicker to his left, and he sees Seoho struggling to hide a mocking smile. Traitor, Geonhak pouts because the last person he thought would laugh at him just did, failing miserably at hiding a laugh behind his hand. “I’m perfectly fine, ” he snaps, grabbing his cup of hot chocolate and blowing on it. “And I had a great sleep, thanks for asking.” 

Young Jo glances at Seoho for confirmation, to which the latter laughs and shakes his head. “I hid his laptop and forced him to sleep, and then he ended up falling asleep in my lap.”

Young Jo’s jaw falls as he makes an oh? sound, while Geonhak makes a noise of disbelief. “I did not. ”  

“I took pictures, want to see?” Seoho did not, in fact, take pictures, but he is beginning to wish he had because he particularly enjoys the way the colour drains from Geonhak’s face, while simultaneously filtering in his cheeks. Geonhak doesn’t respond, only lets out an incoherent grumble and sips on his hot chocolate. Childish, Seoho wants to say, but he already knows Geonhak will be teased much more later on in the day, so he decides to let him be for once. 

At some point, Seoho plops his head down onto Geonhak’s shoulder wordlessly, casually sipping on the remainder of his hot chocolate. Contrary to Young Jo’s belief, Geonhak doesn’t shove him away, just smiles into his drink in a way that Young Jo has never seen before. When Geonhak smiles genuinely, his eye crinkle, almost identical to Seoho’s, but this is a slightly different smile. It is very much genuine, but it’s stupidly soft, almost goofy in the way Geonhak tries—and fails—to hide it. At that, Young Jo raises an eyebrow but out of consideration, he doesn’t question it until Seoho excuses himself to buy a blueberry muffin.

“You two have gotten oddly comfortable out of nowhere,” Young Jo says. “You’ve been awfully smiley, and your disgusting pink aura came back. Did Seoho get to you all of a sudden the other day?”

Geonhak goes to take another sip from his hot chocolate, only to see that there’s nothing left. Maybe he should’ve asked Seoho to get him another drink before he left. He shrugs nonchalantly at Young Jo’s question. “I don’t know, I guess he has.”

Young Jo isn’t exactly given time to process that before Seoho returns with the muffin, and Geonhak snatches it out of his hand and stands up, grinning as he holds it out of his reach. Even when standing up, Seoho is slightly shorter than Geonhak, not by much, but Geonhak manages to steal a bite out of the muffin before Seoho takes it back and shoves him. In his seat, Young Jo simply watches the scene unfold, slightly amused and shocked as he lays the puzzle pieces out and connects them on his own. 

“You two are highly unpleasant to look at,” Young Jo says distastefully as Seoho feeds Geonhak a bit of his muffin, giving in after Geonhak complained that he deserved it since Seoho used his money. “I don’t like this constant radiation of pink aura.”

Seoho snorts and sets his half-eaten muffin down. “Pink aura? What’s that?”

The look on Geonhak’s face is mildly panicked as he tries to steer the topic into another direction, but Seoho has already gotten curious, so Young Jo indulges him. “Don’t you know? Geonhak has this ridiculous pink aura to him whenever you make him happy.”

“Oh? Tell me more.”

“Young Jo, I swear to god—”

~~~

When Young Jo leaves, Geonhak speedwalks in the direction of the park. There is one near the office, right behind the building. As much as he hates how close it is to the one place he would rather not think about in his free time, it is where Geonhak would often go to clear his head years ago when he first began his job there. 

He hears footsteps behind him, first slow as Seoho amusedly watches Geonhak attempt to walk away from him. “Geonhak, wait up!” Seoho calls, but Geonhak sees himself as an extremely petty person, and he isn’t embarrassed to admit it. So he just walks faster, and those slow steps soon turn frantic as Seoho begins running, realizing that he won’t catch up if he continues to walk at a pace that can rival a turtle’s. Suddenly, Geonhak is pulled back as Seoho catches up to him and grabs ahold of his arm. “Why are you walking so fast? Are you sulking? ” 

“No,” Geonhak huffs, but he turns his face away when Seoho leans closer to mask his frown. Okay, so maybe he’s a little sulky. Just a little. He would never admit it, though. 

Seoho tosses his head back and laughs—an uncontained, loud, airy sound that has Geonhak’s heart doing uncontrollable backflips in his chest, and he doesn’t fight the smile that takes the place of his previous frown. Even when the laughter dies down, Seoho still has the wide grin plastered on his face, and he pinches Geonhak’s cheek in a way that has the latter whining in faux complaint. “You’re such a child.”

By now, they have already reached the park, and Geonhak toes at the dirt with his sneakers before kicking a rock into the direction of an empty bench. From their office window, they get a perfect view of this exact spot, and whenever Geonhak is on his break, he catches sight of the same elderly couple that sits on the bench, as well as the bikers that ride by in the afternoon when the sun is high in the sky. The park is lively this time of year, which is, oftentimes, wonderful, until Hye Jin insists they keep the window closed because it’s too loud outside, which sentences them to hours in the hot building on the days the air-conditioning is turned off.

A biker whizzes by as Seoho pops a hard candy into his mouth that he brought along with him from the apartment, so out of impulse, Geonhak grabs Seoho’s waist and pulls him farther into his side. He lets go reluctantly when the biker passes, and he stuffs his hands in his pockets instead. “I don’t particularly enjoy watching my best friend and my boyfriend team up against me.” The word slips out before Geonhak can stop himself.

There is a brief pause as Seoho takes that in, slightly flustered, and he almost stumbles. But he is quick to cover it up with another laugh, and Geonhak would’ve missed Seoho’s momentary shock if he hadn’t caught sight of the way Seoho’s cheeks tinged red. “Boyfriend? Is that what I am now?”

“Is that not what you are?”

Seoho’s second round of laughter gets caught in his throat, and he blankly stares before the redness of his cheeks return tenfold, and he picks up his pace to put distance between them. This time, Geonhak is the one to laugh and he quickens his pace to catch up, only for Seoho to turn away. 

“Are you that embarrassed?” Geonhak teases, and when Seoho doesn’t answer, he playfully pinches the tip of Seoho’s ear, to which the cat whines and swats at him. He swears he hears Seoho mumble, “I’m not embarrassed,” under his breath, but his ears are a huge give-away, twitching happily. 

Clearing his throat, Seoho holds out his hand, but he keeps his head turned in the other direction to avoid eye contact. “Fine, then if we’re boyfriends, hold my hand.” It’s hard to repress a smile, but Geonhak manages as he places his hand on top of Seoho’s and intertwines their fingers. Seoho’s face is still turned away, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. Unlike Geonhak, he doesn’t try to repress it. 

Seoho’s still facing the other direction when Geonhak gets a thought, so he isn’t prepared when Geonhak tugs him by their linked fingers until Seoho stumbles, crashing into his chest. Geonhak wraps an arm around Seoho’s waist to steady him, and Seoho stares, wide-eyed, up at him. “What was that for?”

“This.” Geonhak tilts his head down to connect their lips. They only kissed once, but he notes excitedly that he still remembers what Seoho’s lips feel like, what they taste like. He still tastes sweet, like caramel. Geonhak isn’t big on sweets but this is one that he doesn’t mind getting addicted to. And it’s different. Unlike the first time where he was too cautious, too stiff, this kiss feels warmer, and Geonhak’s mind swims, frenzied and dizzy. It takes Seoho a minute or so to pull himself out of his startled state, and when he does, he gladly reciprocates, sliding his free hand up until it settles comfortably on Geonhak’s shoulder. When Geonhak pulls away, there is warmth in his cheeks that he knows mirrors Seoho’s face that currently flames with heat.

“Now what was that for?” Seoho mumbles with no actual lacing of a complaint in his tone. He doesn’t pull away from Geonhak, either. 

“Why? Am I not allowed to do that to my boyfriend?” He only uses the word to watch Seoho squirm in an attempt to move away from him, but it compels him to bend back down to kiss the tip of Seoho’s nose, to which the blush on Seoho’s cheeks reddens. 

Geonhak decides he quite likes the red tint on Seoho’s cheeks. 

“I can’t be seen in public with you anymore.”

~~~

“I don’t know how I feel about this new, bubbly version of Geonhak,” Young Jo says as he twirls his pencil in his hand, eyeing his best friend whose previous frown is now replaced with soft eyes and lips that are prepared to curl up into a smile at any moment. 

“He’s too–what’s the word—bright,” Yonghoon agrees from his desk.

Geonhak’s fingers pause momentarily over his keyboard. “Can a guy not be happy in peace?” he grumbles, but there is no real venom in his tone.

“Not when that guy is your usually grumpy, snappy best friend that complains about anything and everything.” When anyone pushes Geonhak’s buttons, they normally earn themselves something solid flung at their heads, whether it’s a pencil, a plastic cup, or a pillow—nothing that would severely hurt them, just enough to get them to shut up. But Young Jo isn’t just anyone; he’s Geonhak’s best friend. And they’ve long since passed the stage where Young Jo feared Geonhak’s empty threats, so he’s free to run his mouth all he wants because he knows Geonhak is incapable of doing anything to him, especially since he’s older.

Even if Geonhak tries to be a little threatening, it will only prove to be futile because the way Young Jo puts it is that he’s harmless. The borderline smug smile on Young Jo’s face now further proves it, his grin tantalizing. So Geonhak just looks away and sulks like a child before sipping on the now-cold coffee that’s been sitting beside him for almost an hour now. Even when he’s sulking, though, there is still the joyous glint in his eyes that give him away.

“Is it because if you-know-who?” Yonghoon asks. 

“Did I not tell you?” Young Jo sets down his coffee cup, and Geonhak groans when he realizes a little too late that Young Jo’s going to start running his mouth again. “I met them a couple of days ago, and they were being extremely cuddly with one another in the cafe. ”

Geonhak really should’ve known this would spike another conversation that’s meant to torment him.

~~~

Geonhak feels worn out, maybe more so than he ever has in the past, and all he wants is to collapse in bed and sleep or receive a comforting hug from his boyfriend—using the word still feels funny—and then fall asleep. The latter seems the most tempting. But there isn’t a single stir in the apartment when Geonhak wanders into the living room and sets his bag down on the couch. Popsicle wrappers lie on the table, no doubt from Seoho, and Geonhak picks them up and heads into the kitchen to throw them in the trash. “Seoho?” he calls out.

“In here!” Seoho’s voice sounds, and it takes a couple of seconds for Geonhak to pinpoint that the voice is coming from his bedroom. The door to his room is shut, and when he pushes it open, he comes across Seoho laying on his bed, his hair splayed out against the pillow underneath his head as he scrolls aimlessly through his phone. 

His legs working before his brain begins cooperating, Geonhak walks over and carelessly plops on the bed, on top of Seoho, pushing a startled, “Oof,” out of him. He doesn’t exactly care that it makes him seem like he’s in need of attention. His need to sleep is to blame.

Seoho seems startled, but he shows no signs of wanting to push Geonhak off, still scrolling through his phone, so Geonhak rests his head on Seoho’s chest. For a few seconds, he keeps his eyes open, following the movement of Seoho’s thumb on the screen of his phone before his eyelids grow heavy, and he lets them fall shut.

“Geonhak, you’re crushing me,” Seoho says, his voice almost muffled into Geonhak’s hair. To grab his attention, Seoho pinches Geonhak’s waist. Albeit unwilling, Geonhak slowly shifts until he is settled a little more comfortably on top of Seoho, grumbling in a way that has Seoho giggling. When he lies back down, his face rests in the crook of Seoho’s neck, a hand on Seoho’s shoulder where he is massaging lazy circles into his skin through his shirt. “Tired?” Seoho asks, receiving a faint hum in response, Geonhak too tired to form any other noise.

Seoho continues scrolling through his social media, tapping the heart whenever he comes across something he likes. Geonhak processes their current position and location. “So, you’ve officially moved into my bedroom now, I see.”

“Did a while ago, but thanks for noticing now,” Seoho replies, his eyes never leaving the screen of his phone. One of his hands creep up into Geonhak’s hair, and he cards his fingers softly through Geonhak’s blond strands, pausing sporadically to massage and scratch his scalp before proceeding. Sagging farther into Seoho, Geonhak sighs contently, almost purring. Catching the small noise, Seoho snorts. “I’m beginning to wonder who the real cat is here.”

“Still you,” Geonhak says, reaching a hand up to playfully pinch Seoho’s ear, to which he feels it twitch against his hand. When he settles back down, he grins upon feeling Seoho snake his tail around his waist.

The tail that gently caresses his waist and the hand that still runs through his hair plays a role in lulling Geonhak to sleep. A while passes as he drifts in and out of sleep, his eyelids falling shut and dragging his body under the dark cloak of slumber, and later, he stirs awake again, only to feel Seoho’s hand still in his hair, and he fades back into the grappling darkness. 

When he comes to again, Seoho is still scrolling through his phone, and his hand has suddenly slowed from where it had been playing with his hair, Seoho’s attention having been diverted to something else. At the lack of attention he’s receiving, Geonhak grumbles childishly, snuggling closer in an attempt to have Seoho’s attention back on him without having to be verbal. His efforts, however, prove to be futile when Seoho’s hand stills completely in his hair. 

Disliking the loss of attention, Geonhak tries to get it back by planting a kiss on the side of Seoho’s neck, and then another one on the junction where his neck and shoulder meet. He receives no response, not even a noise of disapproval, and Geonhak becomes determined. He tries again, even pushing himself up slightly to peck the side of Seoho’s chin, and then his jaw. He feels Seoho’s tail twitch against his waist, finally getting a reaction out of him, and Geonhak tries to contain his smile. Abandoning his spot on Seoho’s chest, he pushes himself up on his elbows and hooks a finger under Seoho’s chin. He turns Seoho’s face until their gazes lock, forcing him to take his eyes off his screen, and he bends down to mould their lips in a not-so-chaste kiss. Against his lips, Seoho giggles, his laughter soon dying down into a hum when Geonhak delves a little deeper. His fingers finally stir from where they had been motionlessly sitting in Geonhak’s hair, and Geonhak hums happily when Seoho is reminded of his previous task and finally continues running his fingers through his hair. When they part, Seoho’s ears are tinged red, his cheeks dusted lightly with a shade of pink. Pretty, Geonhak thinks, brushing his nose against Seoho’s in a tender manner. 

Expecting Geonhak to lay back down, Seoho turns back to his phone as if they hadn’t just been kissing, fingers still in Geonhak’s hair. Geonhak is far from done, though, and he expresses this by turning Seoho’s head again and diving back down for a kiss, and then another, and then another. At first, he did it to get a reaction out of Seoho—now, though, he is just craving more kisses. Seoho stares up at him, his eyes wide and slightly dazed, and that is the last thing Geonhak sees before he bends back down for one more kiss, which then turns to two, and then three. 

Soon, Seoho grows fed up, and with the hand that isn’t holding his phone, he pushes Geonhak’s head away, letting out a noise of irritation. “Stop it, give me some space, will you?” He glares up at Geonhak, though his glare melts when Geonhak starts whining. 

“You already had lots of space all day. Give me attention!” Geonhak complains. When he plops back down, Seoho resumes carding his fingers through Geonhak’s hair, his tail still resting over his lower back.

“You’ve suddenly become clingy and whiny,” Seoho points out with no actual displeasure detected in his tone. Geonhak doesn’t have any room to dispute or deny it because it’s true. “At least move off of me so I can breathe properly. You’re squishing me.” There are no visible signs of Seoho being in discomfort, though, so Geonhak ignores him and buries his face into the side of Seoho’s neck again. “Geonhak, seriously, it’s too hot for this! Get off me.”

“No,” Geonhak simply responds, though he can feel the summer’s heat sink into his skin and creep up his spine, which is not a pleasant feeling. “We can be sweaty messes together.”

“That’s gross.” Geonhak shrugs one shoulder, sleep still resting in his system. He prepares to close his eyes and teeter back into the sheets of drowsiness, but Seoho chooses that moment to place his phone down, finally growing bored of scrolling through social media, and Geonhak’s eyes fly open again. With both hands no longer occupied, Seoho retracts his fingers from Geonhak’s hair—to which Geonhak lets out a noise of discontent—and wraps them around Geonhak’s shoulders, holding him closer despite his earlier complaints regarding the heat. 

Choosing now to engage in small talk that doesn’t consist of one of them being engaged in their phone and the other dozing off, Seoho mumbles into Geonhak’s hair, “How was work?”

“Tiring,” Geonhak replies, his body language speaking the rest for him. “Hye Jin stretched out our meeting for longer than it was meant to be, and then she held me back for an extra ten minutes because she wanted to talk. I swear she was set on making my life difficult from the get-go, and no one told me beforehand.”

Seoho laughs, the melodic sound sizzling down Geonhak’s spine and leaving goosebumps on his arms that even the heat can’t outweigh. “I don’t really know your boss, but I like her.”

Lifting his head temporarily from Seoho’s chest, Geonhak glares at his boyfriend. “Traitor. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m not on anyone’s side. I’m just enjoying the show.” Clouded by sleep, Geonhak unwillingly lets out another disapproving whine for the millionth time that evening. “God, you big baby. If it makes you feel better, I’ll shower you in love and attention whenever you come home. How does that sound?”

“But you weren’t giving me a lot of attention earlier,” Geonhak says pettily. 

Seoho kisses Geonhak’s hair, and he feels him smile against his scalp. “I am giving it to you now, aren’t I?”

For a second or two, Geonhak grows silent, simply relishing in the feeling of Seoho gently running his tail up his back and then back down to his waist. One of his hands has snuck back into his hair, and they are carding through his locks again. Geonhak almost can’t contain his smile against Seoho’s neck when he says in a small, gentle voice, “Yeah, you are.”

Geonhak wonders when he got so attached, but he realizes—he doesn’t exactly mind.