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He just wanted to be useful. Just once.
He picked something easy. He could do this right. If anything, he didn't have much to do when it came to this chore.
Then he wouldn't feel so—
Useless.
He could do this.
He had thought, looking at the clothes piled up neatly in the laundry baskets.
If he couldn’t do this—just this one thing—then what good was he, really?
He could make Wooyoung proud.
He squared up his shoulders and picked up the baskets, moving to the bathroom. The sound of his feet on the tiled floor fell on his ears, echoing in a way that sounded too similar to the background score of the horror movie he was watching with Wooyoung yesterday. As he reached the door, he drew in a deep stuttering breath.
The washing machine sat snugly in its place, appearing innocent but the very reflection of his sleep-swollen eyes and bed-head on its glass door instilled in him a fear so profound, he almost whimpered out loud, wanting to go back to his bedroom and abandon this mission. The machine’s metallic surface twinkled under the bathroom light— villainous, gleaming, smug.
Yunho's ears pressed down, tickling the back of his neck with their fluffy golden hairs as he remembered the delicious breakfast he had woken up to— colourful, fragrant side dishes arranged in neat little bowls, steaming, fluffy rice in the rice cooker with a note that said heat up the kimchi jjigae in the microwave with a heart at the very end of it along with a very cute drawing of a puppy. The smell that had emerged from the heated jjigae still surrounded the apartment in its comforting, homely scent. Yunho's eyebrows pinched.
He’d wanted so badly to be good. To be useful. To be worth the softness in Wooyoung’s voice.
He had to do this.
For him.
His kitty cat.
He nodded and took a deep breath, marching into the bathroom like a man stepping onto the battlefield, aware of the blazing guns that threatened doom every second. He had a death-grip on the baskets, knuckles white in the way a vampire's might be. Too little blood. He wondered if that's how those gladiators felt, as he stared down at the beast— its chrome edges glossy and polished, glinting like a panther’s canines at him. He carefully put the baskets down, huffing with the effort. He then looked at the washing machine’s door, a sense of foreboding threatening to tip him over the edge.
And if Wooyoung's big brave boy let out a whimper— that's between him and God.
He suddenly reached out for the door, wrenching it open with force like it had teeth that might clamp shut over his fingers, the creaking metallic sound that resonated through the tiled walls of the bathroom made him cringe. His golden ears drooped low, brushing against his hair.
The inside of the machine almost made him dizzy with nausea. The clinical, clean surface inside mocked him with its ridged silver walls, threatening to swallow him whole like a black hole— it taunted him like it could taste his fear, could look into his very soul and suck it out. He felt trapped and humiliated.
How did Wooyoung do this?
He looked from the baskets to the beast’s yawning mouth, dread bubbling in his throat.
He swallowed as his hands found fabric, and he started to stuff the machine with whatever he could find. Pillowcases, shirts, the fluffy blanket that Wooyoung really loves. Once the beast’s belly is stuffed, he breathes a shaky sigh.
Yet—
It's too early.
He glances at the rows and rows of bottles arranged neatly on the counter. He approaches slowly, as if they would bubble over like a witch's potion. Turn him into a frog— or maybe take away his fluffy tail that Wooyoung loves so much.
The thought makes him curl his tail tight around himself.
He sniffs a bottle of purple liquid. All of them say something along the lines of ‘laundry’ but he can't distinguish the difference. His nose picks up the scent of sweet citrus lined by something that feels like home, something warm and purely Wooyoung.
The thought wrenches a whine from the back of his throat, the smell of his kitty makes his heart throb with yearning. He wants— needs his love. His comfort.
He swallows the sob.
He has a mission to do.
He picks the purple bottle for its scent. He knows how to put the detergent in its container.
He’s seen Wooyoung do it— many times.
He fills it up to the brim with flowy, purple liquid. It gurgles into the container. Something about the sound makes his fingers tremble.
All those clothes need lots of detergent, right?
He immediately closes the lid shut once he's done.
The lid clicks shut. The sound falls on his ears like thunder.
He looks down at the machine, swallows as the number of buttons on it blink up at him— judging, cold and harsh. The machine lies silent, like a calculating ancient Sphinx, having caught him in a riddle too complex. He feels as if he had handed Wooyoung's favorite blanket to it like a sacrificial lamb, hoping it would please the beast.
He tugs at his shirt collar— feels that it's too tight. There's sweat all around his neck, even if it's the very start of winter.
He really, really wanted Wooyoung to be happy when he got back.
His eyes flick urgently through the buttons. One is shaped like a flower, another with a delicate snowflake. There's one that resembles a swirling vortex of doom; the very sight of it almost makes his knees buckle.
He doesn't know what button to press.
He wants to sob.
Wants to scream and whimper and hurl things at the wall—
But he promised himself he would be better. For his pretty thing.
He swallows the lump forming in his throat, determined to figure out the buttons. He hurries to find the instruction manual. He knows Wooyoung kept it somewhere in the closet.
He quickly pads over to their bedroom, the closet already half opened. Left that way in a hurry as Wooyoung had gone to hang out with Yeosang. The best friends had gotten the chance to be together after a long while. Most of the blame went to Yunho for choosing to extend their vacation but he couldn't help himself when he found himself thinking of Wooyoung's tan skin glistening under soft sunlight, surrounded by the shimmering teal-coloured ocean.
The images that conjure up in his head at the memories make his ears perk up, and he knows his tail is wiggling as he sifts through the closet. He forgets the washing machine sitting impatiently in the bathroom for a minute.
He finally finds the instruction manual at the bottom of Wooyoung's underwear drawer—though honestly, it was his too now, with how often Wooyoung stole his clothes. The sight of it brings a temporary relief to his heart as he picks up the small, blue thing with an image of their washing machine printed on it.
As he flicks through it, his heart that had just learned to breath again plummets to his stomach, his ears pressing down as he finally lets out a drawn out whimper.
The instruction manual is in Mandarin.
The whimper he lets out is heard through the apartment, resonating like a death's toll. He feels trapped.
At last, he picks up his phone.
His finger hovers over the call list, intently moving over the contact saved as ‘my kitty🐈⬛ 🩷’.
He knows Yeosang would hate him for ruining his time with his best friend—
His cold, judging eyes would look at him—
He knows he's in for another talk about ditches and dead bodies.
However—
It clicks!
There's apps that can translate from text! He immediately opens the play store and starts looking. When the app shows up on his phone's home-screen, a picture of his kitty sleeping in his arms— he feels hopeful .
He opens up the app, and starts to feed it pictures of the manual. The wording is choppy, the words reading more literal than anything but most of it is clearer now as he moves back to the bathroom, phone and manual clutched in his hands like weapons. He feels empowered, bolder—
When he stands in front of the dragon again, he feels like a knight— sword in hand, ready to defeat evil.
He presses the cold, smooth surface of the button marked with a flower. The machine begins to whirr. Yunho lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his knees almost giving beneath him as he lets himself collapse down on the floor, hands clutching at his phone.
He had done it—
For his pretty kitty.
His love.
He imagines Wooyoung coming home from his hang-out with Yeosang, tired but happy. His sleek, black tail would swish behind him as his nose would pick up on the smell of fresh laundry wafting through the house, pointy black ears perking up.
Maybe his tiredness would disappear.
He would laugh his pretty laugh, eyes scrunching up in sweet little crescents as dimples formed on his cheeks. Sharp canines would then nip at his jaw as he would wrap himself around Yunho, asking—
Did my puppy do it all by himself? Such a good boy!
A sharp beeping crashed through Yunho's rose-coloured dreams, shards of pink glass shattering on the floor. The harsh light of the bathroom came into focus as Yunho saw the machine shake almost like it was about to hurl out flames.
Yunho’s eyes darted to the control panel— a red light blinked furiously, accusatory and angry.
Yunho whimpered.
The machine let out another screech—
He hadn’t known it could do that.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it would do next.
The sharp shaking led to a conclusion— he immediately looked at the switchboard the machine was plugged into.
He rushed to pull it out—
Only to almost slip on the foamy water that the machine was now leaking out from around its door—
He gasped—
His hand wrapped around the plug, and if he squeaked like a baby bunny yanked from a burrow, well—that was his shame to bear.
The machine stilled with a final groan, but not in surrender. Its door cracked open— a hiss escaping like the first breath of a monster, before foam erupted in frothing waves, flooding the tiles like a cursed tide.
Yunho's tail wrapped his waist as his ears dropped—
His kitty was going to kill him.
His knees finally find themselves hitting the tiled floor— it aches something dreadful but it feels like a buzzing has taken over his senses. He looks inside the gaping mouth of the beast and whimpers some more as he notices that Wooyoung's white blanket—
It's now pink.
He wants to die.
He considers running away—
The thought of his kitty being disappointed in him is devastating.
The door swings again—
Showing Yunho his drenched, foam covered silhouette in its sleek glass— taunting, goading.
Victory had slipped through his hands.
The beast has won.
He heaves a deep, stuttering breath that's more a sob than anything as he finally presses the caller ID.
Calling ‘my kitty🐈⬛🩷’
He almost whines now. Knows Yeosang would think he was avoiding responsibilities.
Maybe this time his kitty would listen to him.
Maybe this time would be the last—
“Yuyu, baby?”
He whimpers.
“Darling?!” Wooyoung sounds frantic, there's voices coming from behind him— light music and Yeosang then—
What's wrong?
He stutters in a breath.
“I was—” He whines then, feeling a lump in his throat, unable to speak.
He can listen to the sounds of Wooyoung standing up, walking away—
“ Puppy, baby— tell me what's wrong?”
“Laundry!” He manages to say then, almost a sob, “I was— I was doing laundry but— but it's all wrong. I messed up! I'm—I'm sorry.”
“ Oh, darling, are you hurt?”
Wooyoung sounds worried.
That kicks in a feeling of urgency. He tries to breathe.
“No— no. But your blanket— it's pink!” He says, can feel the coldness of the water on the bathroom floor seeping through his jeans. Can now feel the hot tears streaming down his face. “And— And there's soap water everywhere!”
There's a resounding silence that follows that statement.
Then—
“What did you put in the machine, Yuyu?”
He frowns, sobs quietened as he tries desperately to think —
“Pillowcase. Some shirts. Bedsheets… and your blanket.” He almost starts sobbing again at the thought of the now white-turned-pink blanket in the machine.
“ I'll be right there, sweetie—” Wooyoung says, his voice now sounding amused but calm, “it seems like you overloaded the machine.”
Yunho looks back at the machine, shuddering. “That's it?”
“ That's it, baby. I'll be right there, okay? Don't cry, darling.”
Yunho nods even if his kitty can't see him, his lips trembling. “Okay. I'll wait.”
“ Good boy. I'll be right there.”
The call ends, leaving him in resounding silence.
He knows they only went to a nearby cafe. They'll be back soon.
And God, Yeosang was going to hate him.
He wants to stand up and do something about the foamy water covering the bathroom floor but he huddles there, phone clutched in his hand, the manual in his lap. Wet and shivering a little.
He wants to hide. Maybe inside the washing machine itself.
Sacrifice himself to the beast.
Maybe it would stop torturing him.
But—
He wouldn't even fit.
It's like this that Wooyoung eventually finds him— wet, and full of shame. He hadn't heard the jingle of keys as he usually does, the opening of the door that would usually prompt him to bound towards his kitty.
His ears droop lower— if it's even possible for them to do so. They stick to his dark hair as he watches Wooyoung observe the state of the bathroom and him. He isn't partially shifted, so there's no swish of a tail or falling back of pointy ears to clue him in on how he feels.
When those pretty, dark eyes fall on him—
He lets out a tiny whimper, apologies ready on his tongue—
Wooyoung's eyes widen as he rushes to him, uncaring of the slippery, wet floor as he kneels down next to him.
Soon, he's finding himself clutched against a warm, purring chest—
He whines, muffled.
“Oh, puppy,” Wooyoung says above him, his long fingers carding through his hair, petting his ears, “it's fine, love. We'll clean this up. And you know I like pink, anyway—It's alright.”
What he says gets muffled into the fabric of Wooyoung's soft red hoodie so he pulls back. “I just wanted to be good , for once."
If there's a sharp resentment in his tone that comes out in this state, he doesn't notice it.
Wooyoung does, however.
He always notices.
“Jeong Yunho! You are good.” Wooyoung almost shouts, shocked “You are so good, puppy. Always. So, I better not hear you talking about yourself that way again, you hear me?”
Yunho sniffles, looking down at Wooyoung's hoodie instead.
“... I ruined your hang out with Yeosang. I ruined your blanket.”
Warm hands come to cup his chilled cheeks, bringing his face up so he is looking directly at Wooyoung. His kitty. He looks beautiful even under the harsh bathroom light, his eyes dark with some makeup and lips glistening with gloss.
Like a fairy. Pretty.
“You didn't ruin anything,” Wooyoung says softly, one hand leaving his cheek to card through his hair again, “we were almost done, anyway.”
Wooyoung’s hand was warm, and it made Yunho want to cry. Kindness shouldn’t hurt—but somehow, it did.
He wanted to shrink away from it, from the gentleness that made him feel like he’d failed.
He finally found it in his cottonstuffed head— a reason for his shame.
“Yeosang—”
“ Yeosang,” Wooyoung interrupts, “won't even remember it the next time I call him over for dinner. Which is tomorrow. You know he loves having you around.”
Yunho finds himself buried in his love's neck then, breathing in the scent of him. Cinnamon , and the bitterness of coffee.
But to him—
It is oh, so sweet.
“ I'm sorry,” he says, unable to help himself, feeling like something has unleashed inside of him, “I just wanted to help. You always do everything for me— I just wanted to do one small thing right. ”
He lets out a harsh little laugh that echoes around the tiles, makes him feel smaller than even his tiny kitty, “I can't even do laundry without ruining everything.”
Wooyoung sighs, presses a kiss to one droopy ear, “You do, darling. You help plenty. You help me by cleaning up. You help me with dinner whenever you can. You fold laundry when I wash it. You help me by working a really hard job so I can write my novels.”
Yunho doesn't understand how that's helping. It sounds like the barest of minimums. He whines in protest.
“Let me talk, you big dog,” Wooyoung chides him, hand pulling lightly at one strand of his hair in punishment, “You don’t need to earn love, Yun,” Wooyoung says softly. “Loving me is enough. Just being is enough.”
Yunho doesn't answer. He just clings harder, like he’s afraid that if he lets go, he’ll fall apart again.
He doesn't understand what he did to deserve his love.
Such love. Such understanding.
Yunho's chest feels like it's been set on fire, it's so warm— his heart aches in a way he can't really understand but he knows—
“I love you, kitty.” He whispers into the warm fabric of Wooyoung's hoodie before he pulls away a little to look down at Wooyoung— soft eyes, just a little wet.
He doesn't know how else to express himself. His gratitude. His devotion.
“I love you, too, puppy. So much.”
Wooyoung understands. He always does.
He smiles then—soft and bright, grabbing his hands. He's being pulled up, and he lets himself be led out of the bathroom.
“Let's wear something dry and warm, okay?” Wooyoung tugs him in the direction of their bedroom, “We can sort the laundry after we have napped a little.”
“Won't it get worse?” He remembers the pinkness of the blanket.
Wooyoung just smiles, bright like the sun, “Let it.”
And Yunho chases after him. Bound to instinct. Unable to help himself.
Later, they woke up and mopped the whole floor. Wooyoung put the blanket in the drier, uncaring of its splotchy pink condition. They find out the reason for it though— one of their big deep red bedsheets thrown in together with the rest. Wooyoung teaches him about all the products on the counter. Then about how the machine works. Yunho listens diligently and helps by running one more load through the washer(this time, doing the whites all together), and heaves a sigh of relief when the load comes out washed and white.
Then he goes to sleep in Wooyoung's loving arms. Finally at home. Finally at peace.
***
He arrives home late at night. It's one of the colder nights of late October, winter swiftly approaching.
He huffs as the cab drives away behind him, the wind making him sneeze. He rushes into his building, footsteps echoing in the empty lobby as he walks to the elevator, pressing the button for his floor.
That seems to take the majority of strength out of him as he slumps against the wall. The 12-hour surgery had taken everything out of him, his legs feel like jelly now.
As the elevator doors start to close, a shout echoes and he immediately stands straighter. Pressing the button for it to stop— the doors open and Yeosang's grateful face comes into view.
Yeosang smiles wide at him, walking inside. “Thanks, Yuyu.”
He presses their floor button again, clasping the man's shoulder. “Late night?”
“Y'know how it is. The server needed maintenance.” Yeosang sighs, groaning but there's still a sort of glow about him these days. Yunho attributes it to the bunny hybrid he's been seeing. “Youngie told me you had to do an emergency surgery. How'd that go? You look like you fought a war.”
Yunho lets out a tired sigh of his own as the elevator door dings, announcing they've arrived at their floor.
“Thankfully, good. The patient is stable.” Yunho gestures for Yeosang to go ahead, then follows him out. “But I do feel like I fought a war.”
Yeosang turns around, drawing him in a one-armed hug, “And you won, Yuyu. I'll see you tomorrow?”
“I sure hope so,” Yunho teases, “or Wooyoung would break your door down.”
Yeosang winces then, “Don't I know that already.”
They look at each other for a second. Yeosang’s eyes are warm, and soft. Bright in the way they usually are. Never judging.
They giggle a little.
“Goodnight, Sang-ah.”
“Goodnight, Yuyu.”
The apartment is warm, filled with the soft scent of the ginger tea Wooyoung drinks on cold nights. Yunho follows the sound of the TV to the living room. The table in front of it contains a tray with a half-empty tea cup and some cookies. A cooking show is playing on low volume.
He walks around the couch to see—
Wooyoung, tucked into the fluffy, splotchy pink blanket. He's huddled into one corner of the couch, soft mouth slightly open as he breaths out slowly.
Yunho's heart clenches with something that feels hot like lava but as soft as a feather. He wants to pause time for just a little longer, so he can look until his heart's full.
The tiredness feels so far behind him now as he puts his bag on the ground, walking up to his love. He bends over and scoops Wooyoung into his arms, careful not to jostle him. Wooyoung sighs, curling in instinctively like he knows this body by heart.
He feels a sudden urge to cry.
Not from weariness this time.
But from how fiercely, achingly lucky he feels.
He doesn't, however.
He starts walking to their bedroom, placing Wooyoung as gently as he can on the bed, tucking in the pink blanket around him.
“Yuyu?” Wooyoung asks groggily, his eyes still closed. He reaches out a hand blindly, and Yunho immediately wraps his around it. Places a kiss on the palm.
“I'm here, love.” He whispers, letting his hand be pulled and hugged by Wooyoung. He feels so warm, and soft. “Go back to sleep.”
“Come to bed?”
“Just let me change, darling.” He says, “There's nowhere else I'd rather be.”
“Sap.” Then a pause before, “Hurry.”
It makes him giggle a little. He pulls his hand back, but not before running it through the silky dark hair falling around his love's face, tucking them behind his ear.
“I'll be right back, kitty.”
And his heart feels full.
Being needed didn’t feel like a burden anymore—it felt like home.