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Mark had always found peace behind his camera lens. The world felt more manageable when viewed through a frame, like a series of still moments he could capture and hold onto. It was on one of his evening photo walks that he first stumbled upon the old cat shelter, hidden behind a brick wall with peeling paint and overgrown ivy.
He pushed the gate open, the rusted metal creaking loudly. The building looked abandoned—its windows covered in a thick layer of dust, the faded sign barely legible. He was drawn to the derelict beauty of the place, hoping to get a few moody shots for his collection.
But as Mark stepped inside, the musty smell of the place overwhelmed him, and he noticed something strange—there were bowls of water and food scattered around, along with makeshift beds made from old blankets. Then, he heard a voice.
“Hey, you can’t be here,” someone called out.
Mark turned toward the sound, and his breath caught when he saw a figure crouched amidst a group of cats. The young man stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans, and Mark’s eyes widened in recognition.
“Donghyuck?” Mark said, blinking as the memories rushed back. They hadn’t been close friends, but they knew each other from their childhood days in the same neighborhood.
Donghyuck tilted his head, a look of surprise crossing his face before his lips curved into a playful smile. “Mark Lee? Well, this is unexpected. What brings you to my humble… shelter?”
Mark glanced around, his camera hanging loosely around his neck. “I was just taking pictures,” he replied. “I didn’t think anyone was actually using this place.”
Donghyuck’s smile faded, replaced by a quieter expression, one that hinted at something more than just nostalgia. “The city shut down the shelter years ago. But I couldn’t just leave the cats out there on their own,” he said, gesturing to the cats lounging around him. “So, I kind of… took over.”
Mark’s gaze softened as he watched Donghyuck gently pet a grey tabby curled up at his feet. He’d never imagined the mischievous boy from his past turning into someone who would run a makeshift sanctuary for stray cats. “That’s pretty amazing,” he admitted, his voice quiet.
Donghyuck’s eyes met his, a hint of surprise in them. “You think so? Because most people just think it’s kind of... weird.” He laughed softly, though there was a tinge of sadness in his tone.
Mark took a step forward, his camera forgotten. “I don’t think it’s weird,” he said. “I think it’s kind.”
Donghyuck’s smile returned, brighter this time. “Well, then, if you’re not scared off by a little hard work, you could come back and help me out sometime. The cats could use an extra hand.”
Without really thinking, Mark found himself nodding. “I’d like that,” he said, surprised by his own words. But as he glanced around at the cats and then back at Donghyuck, he realized that maybe he had been looking for something to anchor him, just as much as the cats had needed someone to care.
_____________
Mark had always found comfort in routine, and soon enough, his routine began to include daily visits to the shelter. Donghyuck was usually there before him, feeding the cats or fixing up old furniture to make the place a bit more livable. There was a sort of rhythm they fell into: sharing tasks, talking about their lives, and quietly building a friendship out of the past they’d shared but never fully acknowledged.
It wasn’t long before Mark met the others who frequented the shelter—Donghyuck’s makeshift team. Jaemin and Jeno were a couple who had been helping out since the beginning, though Mark could never tell if they were more interested in each other or the cats. There was always a playful energy between them, with Jaemin’s quick laughter and Jeno’s easygoing demeanor creating a lighthearted atmosphere. They spent as much time teasing each other as they did repairing broken windows or moving furniture.
Then there were Chenle and Jisung, who seemed to come as a pair. They were younger but enthusiastic, always posting about the shelter on social media, trying to raise awareness and encourage adoptions. It was impossible not to like them, with their playful bickering and shared glances that hinted at something more.
Finally, there was Renjun, Donghyuck’s best friend and the shelter’s unofficial vet-in-training. He had a calming presence and seemed to know each cat’s personality like the back of his hand. He and Donghyuck shared a close bond that went beyond words, the kind of connection built over years of being there for each other.
“So, you’re one of us now?” Renjun asked one afternoon, glancing at Mark with a knowing smile. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
Mark chuckled, setting down a bag of cat food. “Guess I couldn’t resist the charm of a stray cat operation.”
Donghyuck shot him a teasing glance from across the room. “You mean you couldn’t resist my charm.”
There was a playful note in Donghyuck’s voice, but something deeper lingered behind it. Mark felt a flush creep up his neck, and he quickly turned his attention to the cats. “Maybe it’s just the cats,” he said, though the words lacked conviction.
_______
Mark soon realized that the shelter wasn’t just about saving cats; it was about saving people, too. It was a place where everyone brought a little piece of themselves—pieces chipped away by past heartbreaks, unspoken fears, and quiet hopes they dared not express elsewhere. It was a sanctuary where, as they cared for the abandoned and the lost, they began to heal parts of themselves that had gone unnoticed for far too long. The shelter wasn’t just a building; it was a collection of stories—stories that intertwined and grew stronger with each shared moment, every comforting touch, and every whispered promise to a frightened cat. In that small corner of the world, they found something they had all needed but hadn’t known how to ask for—a sense of belonging.
For Donghyuck, it was more than just a safe haven; it was a lifeline, a way to cope with the constant ache to feel useful, to be needed. He had always carried that burden, a silent fear that he was not enough unless he was giving everything he had. The shelter gave him purpose, a place where his kindness was met with gratitude, where his love had a place to grow and flourish. And when the world outside seemed harsh and uncaring, he found comfort in the gentle purrs of the cats who curled up in his lap, in the small moments of joy when a new adoption was finalized.
For Jaemin and Jeno, it became a project that brought them closer. They found strength in working side by side, their friendship deepening as they painted walls, assembled donated furniture, and worked through the countless challenges that came with running the shelter. Every struggle shared, every victory celebrated was a testament to their bond. It wasn’t just a friendship—it was a partnership built on trust, and the shelter became the place where they realized just how much they could achieve together.
For Chenle and Jisung, the shelter was a passion they could nurture together. Their hearts broke every time they saw a scared kitten cower in the corner or an elderly cat that no one seemed to want, but those moments of sadness only fueled their determination. They took pride in every adoption, every rehabilitated cat that left the shelter healthier and happier than when it arrived. And in the process, they found their own voices growing stronger, more confident, each step a reminder that they were doing something important, something meaningful.
And for Renjun, the shelter was a stepping stone toward his dream of becoming a veterinarian. It was where he learned the art of patience, where he discovered that sometimes healing took more than just medicine—it took compassion, empathy, and the understanding that every life, no matter how small or scarred, was worth saving. It was a place where he felt like he was finally on the path to his calling, and every rescued animal was another reason to keep pushing forward.
But for Mark, the shelter became something different—it became the place where he began to find pieces of himself that he hadn’t realized were missing. It had started with small things, the quiet moments when he found himself lingering in the shelter after closing, listening to the rhythmic sound of purring or chatting with Donghyuck long after the other volunteers had gone home. There was a sense of calm here that he hadn’t felt in years, a feeling that grew stronger each day, until he could no longer ignore the change taking place within him. The weight he had carried around—burdens he had thought were just part of life—began to lighten, bit by bit.
And Donghyuck’s presence was always the brightest part of the day. There was a light in his eyes when he spoke to the cats, an easy laughter in his voice that could lift even the heaviest of hearts. It was the way he moved around the shelter—each step filled with purpose, each touch gentle and reassuring—that made Mark’s chest tighten with an emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time, something that felt like a longing, like hope. It was in those small moments that Mark found himself drawn to Donghyuck, not just because of his kindness, but because of the quiet strength he carried, a strength that had helped hold Mark together even when he hadn’t realized he was falling apart.
One evening, as they were closing up for the night, the last of the cats tucked away and the lights dimmed, Donghyuck lingered near the door. Mark was double-checking the locks when he noticed Donghyuck standing there, a thoughtful expression on his face. The silence between them was comfortable, but there was something in the air that made Mark feel like there was more to be said.
“You know,” Donghyuck began, his voice breaking the quiet, “I wasn’t sure you’d actually stick around when you first showed up.” There was a vulnerability in his tone, a kind of guarded honesty that Mark hadn’t heard from him before.
Mark paused, turning to look at Donghyuck. There was something about the way he stood—his hands tucked into his pockets, his eyes fixed on the floor—that made Mark’s heart ache. “Why not?” he asked, genuinely curious.
Donghyuck shrugged, his shoulders lifting and falling in a gesture that seemed almost helpless. “People have a way of leaving when things get hard,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s easier, I guess, to walk away than to stay and face something you can’t fix.” There was a quiet sadness in his eyes when he looked up at Mark, as if he had seen people walk away too many times, as if he had learned not to get his hopes up because he knew they would only be dashed.
Mark felt a pang in his chest at the honesty in Donghyuck’s words. He recognized that look—the one that said, I’ve been let down before; don’t be the next. It stirred something deep within him, an urgency to show Donghyuck that he was different, that this time, things would be different. He took a step closer, his voice low and earnest. “I’m not leaving,” he said, the words carrying more weight than he had expected. “Not this time.”
For a moment, Donghyuck just looked at him, and Mark could see the emotions swirling in his gaze—hope, fear, a longing for something real. He had put up walls to protect himself, but in that instant, Mark could see the cracks, the way he wanted to believe in something but wasn’t sure he knew how. Donghyuck’s lips parted as if to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he offered a faint, almost fragile smile, one that seemed to tremble at the edges. “Good,” he whispered, and his voice cracked just slightly. “Because… I don’t think I could do this without you.”
The rawness of that confession hit Mark like a tidal wave. It wasn’t just about the shelter; it was about the way Donghyuck had begun to trust him, to let him in, to share the parts of himself he usually kept hidden. It was about the unspoken promise that had formed between them, a promise that said, I’ll stay if you will. Mark reached out and took Donghyuck’s hand, his touch gentle but firm, grounding them both. “You’re not alone,” he said, his voice soft but steady, his eyes never leaving Donghyuck’s. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”
Donghyuck’s hand tightened around Mark’s, and for a long moment, they just stood there, holding on to each other. It was a simple act, but in that shared touch, there was a promise stronger than words—a promise that no matter what lay ahead, they wouldn’t have to face it alone. It was more than just a commitment to the shelter or to the cause they had taken up; it was a commitment to each other.
And in that moment, Mark realized that this place had given him more than just a sense of purpose. It had given him Donghyuck, and it had given him the chance to build something beautiful, something worth fighting for. Because here, in this little corner of the world, amidst the cats and the chaos, he was beginning to find the pieces of himself he hadn’t even known were lost.
___
The first kiss happened during a rainstorm. It had been an unusually warm day for autumn, but as the evening wore on, the sky darkened, and the temperature dropped. Just as they were about to close the shelter, the heavens opened up, releasing a torrential downpour that soaked the streets in a matter of minutes. It was the kind of rain that came without warning, transforming the world into a blur of water and grey, and forcing Mark and Donghyuck to stay inside.
The shelter felt different in the rain—cozier, somehow, as if the walls were keeping out more than just the cold. The steady drum of raindrops on the roof created a quiet, intimate cocoon around them. The cats were curled up in their beds, lulled into sleep by the rhythmic sound of the storm, leaving Mark and Donghyuck in a silence that wasn’t empty but rather filled with the kind of anticipation that had been building for weeks.
They stood side by side near the window, looking out at the world blurred by sheets of rain. The streetlights cast shimmering reflections on the wet pavement, creating little rivers of light that seemed to flow into one another. Mark’s hand brushed against Donghyuck’s as they both leaned closer to the glass, and the touch sent a spark up his arm, one that made his breath hitch ever so slightly.
Donghyuck turned his head, his gaze drifting from the rain outside to Mark’s face. “You know,” he began, his voice low and gentle, “you don’t always have to be so serious.” There was a teasing lilt to his tone, but his eyes held something softer, something that made Mark’s pulse quicken.
Mark glanced at Donghyuck, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m not always serious,” he replied, though the words felt like a challenge, a question left hanging between them.
Donghyuck took a step closer, so close that Mark could feel the warmth radiating off him despite the chill seeping in from outside. “Prove it,” he murmured, his hand reaching out to graze Mark’s arm. It was a feather-light touch, but it set off a chain reaction inside Mark, one he could no longer ignore.
Without giving himself time to second-guess, Mark closed the distance between them. He leaned in, catching Donghyuck’s lips with his own. The kiss was tentative at first, like the first drops of rain—soft, unsure, as though testing the waters. Mark’s hand slid to Donghyuck’s waist, pulling him just a bit closer, and that’s when something seemed to break inside both of them, as if a dam had burst.
Donghyuck’s hands moved to Mark’s neck, his fingers curling into the hair at the nape, tugging him in deeper. The kiss grew more fervent, more certain, as if it had been waiting for this very moment to spill over. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was all the unsaid things between them—the lingering touches, the stolen glances, the way their laughter seemed to blend together whenever they talked. It was a confession in the form of breath and warmth, a promise made in the press of their lips.
The world outside faded away, and all that was left was the two of them, wrapped up in each other. The rain drummed against the windows like a heartbeat, the only reminder that time hadn’t stopped entirely. Mark could feel Donghyuck’s heartbeat under his palm, quick and unsteady, mirroring his own.
When they finally broke apart, it was as though the air had been knocked out of them both. Mark rested his forehead against Donghyuck’s, his eyes fluttering open to meet Donghyuck’s gaze. There was a look of wonder on Donghyuck’s face, mixed with something like relief.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Donghyuck admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. It trembled slightly, the vulnerability raw and beautiful in the dim light of the room.
Mark’s lips curved into a smile, and he reached up to brush his thumb across Donghyuck’s cheek, wiping away a raindrop that had somehow found its way inside. “Me too,” he said, and there was a kind of joy in saying it out loud—a joy that came from finally acknowledging what had been there all along, unspoken but never unnoticed.
Donghyuck laughed then, a soft, breathless sound that seemed to ease some of the tension in the air. “Why didn’t we do that sooner?” he asked, his fingers still tangled in Mark’s hair.
Mark shrugged, his hand slipping down to rest at Donghyuck’s waist. “Maybe we were just waiting for the right moment,” he replied, his voice steady even as his heart raced.
Donghyuck’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, then,” he said, leaning in to press a quick kiss to the corner of Mark’s mouth, “let’s not wait anymore.”
And just like that, the rain became their background music, the shelter a sanctuary not just for the cats, but for the two of them as well—a place where they didn’t have to be anything but themselves, where they could be honest about what they felt, where love didn’t need words to be understood. As they stood together, the rain continued to fall, but inside, everything felt impossibly warm.
They stayed like that for a while longer, sharing quiet kisses and whispers, their hearts beating in time with the rain. And as the storm raged on outside, Mark and Donghyuck found their own calm in each other’s arms, a sense of belonging that neither of them had known they’d been searching for all along.
___
The shelter had become a second home for Mark. Each moment spent there felt like a piece of his life was finally slotting into place, like a puzzle he hadn’t even realized was incomplete. There was a quiet contentment in the rhythm of his days—whether he was tending to the cats, their soft purrs and gentle nudges like a balm for his weary soul, or laughing with Donghyuck and the others as they shared stories over cups of cheap instant coffee. It wasn’t just a place; it was a refuge. It was a community of misfits who found solace in one another and in caring for the abandoned, the lost, and the forgotten.
But just as things were settling into a comfortable rhythm, the threat came like a bolt from the blue.
Renjun broke the news one afternoon, his normally bright eyes shadowed with worry and his mouth set in a grim line. He approached Mark and Donghyuck as they worked together in the back, cleaning out the storeroom and restocking supplies. Mark had just finished wiping down a shelf when Renjun’s voice cut through the air, heavy with a weight that immediately set Mark on edge.
“The city council just posted a notice,” Renjun said, his voice taut with restrained anger. “They’re planning to demolish this building. It’s going to be redeveloped into some kind of commercial space.”
For a split second, the room seemed to fall completely silent. Mark felt as though he had been plunged underwater, the world around him muffled and distorted. His gaze shot to Donghyuck, who had gone completely still, his hands frozen on the stack of cat carriers in front of him. The color had drained from his face, leaving him ashen, and his usual bright, mischievous expression had darkened with shock and hurt. It was as if someone had reached inside him and torn something precious away.
“They can’t do that,” Donghyuck finally managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling with disbelief. “This place… It’s a home, not just for the cats, but for us.” His eyes glistened as he looked around the storeroom, taking in every familiar detail as if seeing it for the last time—the faded posters on the walls, the cracked tile floor, the mismatched furniture that they had gathered and repaired over the years. The memories embedded in every inch of the shelter seemed to stretch before him, each one a reminder of all they stood to lose.
Renjun stepped closer, placing a hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I know,” he said quietly, his voice soft but firm. “But it’s official. The notice gives us thirty days to vacate. Thirty days, and then they’re bringing in the bulldozers.”
A bitter taste filled Mark’s mouth as a surge of anger and helplessness washed over him, crashing like waves against the shore. He looked around at the rows of empty cages that would soon be filled with cats who would no longer have a place to call home. It wasn’t just a building they were losing—it was everything they had built together. It was the love and care they had poured into every cracked corner, every chipped tile, every scared and trembling animal they had nursed back to health. The shelter wasn’t just a structure; it was a sanctuary, a last bastion for the unwanted and unloved, a place that had saved Mark just as much as he had tried to save the animals within it.
He glanced at Donghyuck again and saw the tears pooling in his eyes, threatening to spill over. Mark’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. He knew how much the shelter meant to Donghyuck—it wasn’t just a job or a passion; it was a lifeline. It was where he had found a sense of purpose when the world hadn’t been kind to him, where he had poured all his love and kindness into taking care of the helpless and voiceless because he knew what it felt like to be voiceless, too.
“We’re not going to let this happen,” Mark said, his voice hardening with resolve as he moved to stand beside Donghyuck, his hand resting firmly on his friend’s shoulder. He wasn’t just saying it for Donghyuck’s sake, but for his own, for the people who had come to find comfort here, and for every cat who had curled up in their laps seeking warmth. “We’ll fight this,” he continued, his voice gaining strength. “We’re not going to lose this place without a fight. They can’t just take away everything we’ve worked for. We’ll do whatever it takes.”
Donghyuck looked at him, his lips trembling as he tried to hold back the tears. “But what can we do, Mark?” he asked, his voice cracking with desperation. “It’s the city council. They have the power to just… make us disappear.”
Mark’s chest tightened as he saw the pain in Donghyuck’s eyes. He wanted to tell him that it was going to be okay, that they were going to find a way to save the shelter, but he couldn’t ignore the gnawing uncertainty that clawed at his own heart. “We’ll get signatures, we’ll rally people, we’ll protest—whatever it takes,” he said fiercely, his voice burning with determination. “We’ve saved so many lives here, Donghyuck. Now it’s time to save our own.”
As Renjun stood by, his hand still on Donghyuck’s shoulder, a small spark of hope flickered in his eyes. He gave a slow nod. “Mark’s right,” he said softly. “We’ll fight this together. We’ve faced so much already—we can’t back down now.”
For a moment, the three of them stood in a circle, bound together not by blood or circumstance, but by a shared love for this place, by the memories they had woven into its walls. As they huddled together, Mark’s mind raced with possibilities, his heart heavy but not broken. The battle had just begun, and he would give it everything he had, because the shelter was worth fighting for—just as Donghyuck and Renjun were worth fighting for.
___
The news had spread through their circle like wildfire, and by evening, the shelter felt more like a war room than a place of solace. Jaemin and Jeno arrived first, carrying bags of takeout and a shared look of grim determination. The food was forgotten almost immediately, left untouched on a table as the boys began exchanging ideas. Not long after, Chenle and Jisung appeared, laden with cameras, notebooks, and the kind of nervous energy that spoke of both fear and hope. The shelter, usually filled with the soft hum of purring cats and light-hearted banter, now thrummed with a tense urgency. There was no time for jokes tonight; every minute felt like a precious heartbeat ticking away.
"We can raise awareness on social media," Chenle said, pacing restlessly across the small room. His voice was firm, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. “We’ll start a campaign—#SaveTheShelter or something like that. If we get enough people behind us, maybe we can pressure the council into reconsidering.”
Jaemin, always quick to follow, nodded vigorously. “And we could organize a fundraiser,” he suggested, his mind already racing ahead to logistics. “If we raise enough money, maybe we can even buy ourselves some more time—maybe even negotiate with the council directly.”
Jeno, leaning against the wall, glanced over at Renjun, who was standing with arms folded, a look of deep contemplation etched on his face. “What about legal advice?” Jeno asked, his brow furrowed. “Do we have any options there? Any way to stall them?”
Renjun rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his expression betraying just a hint of hope. “I’ve already reached out to a friend who’s studying law,” he said slowly, choosing his words with care. “There might be some loopholes we can use to delay the demolition. Maybe even challenge the council’s decision on procedural grounds.”
As the others continued tossing ideas back and forth, plotting their next moves with an urgency that felt almost frantic, Mark noticed Donghyuck’s unusual silence. He sat off to the side, legs crossed on the floor, absentmindedly stroking a tabby curled up in his lap. His gaze was distant, unfocused, as though he were seeing something far beyond the walls of the shelter. It was a stark contrast to the Donghyuck Mark knew—the boy who always had something to say, who wore his heart on his sleeve even when it hurt.
Mark felt a pang of concern as he moved to sit beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle, “we’re going to figure this out.”
Donghyuck’s hand stilled on the tabby’s fur, and he finally looked up at Mark, his eyes clouded with worry and something deeper—something that looked a lot like fear. “But what if we don’t?” he whispered, his voice trembling. “What if we lose this place, Mark? I don’t know if I could… I don’t know if I could handle that.”
The raw vulnerability in Donghyuck’s voice made Mark’s chest tighten painfully, and he couldn’t ignore the helplessness that crept into his own heart. He reached out, taking Donghyuck’s hand in his, squeezing it tightly, as if he could somehow pass on his strength through the simple touch. “We’re not going to lose it,” he said, his voice resolute even as doubt gnawed at the back of his mind. “We’re going to do everything we can, alright? We’ll fight with everything we’ve got, and we’re not giving up without a battle.”
“But what if everything isn’t enough?” Donghyuck’s voice cracked on the last word, his eyes glistening as he looked at Mark. “This place… It’s the only thing that’s ever felt like home to me. When I was at my lowest, when it felt like nothing was worth fighting for, this place gave me a reason to keep going. The thought of losing it…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force back the tears that had begun to gather.
Mark’s grip tightened around Donghyuck’s hand. He felt an ache in his heart as he thought about all the times they had sat together in this very room, sharing stories and dreams, supporting each other through the hard times and celebrating the small victories. The shelter was more than a building; it was a lifeline, not just for the cats, but for all of them—especially for Donghyuck, who had poured every bit of his soul into it. Mark wasn’t just fighting to save a structure made of bricks and mortar; he was fighting to protect everything it represented: hope, healing, and the family they had found in one another.
“We have each other,” Mark said softly, lifting his other hand to rest on Donghyuck’s shoulder. “No matter what happens, we’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together—every step of the way.”
Donghyuck’s eyes finally opened, and he met Mark’s gaze, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and gratitude. “Together,” he echoed, as if tasting the word, letting its meaning settle into his heart.
In the background, Chenle, Jaemin, Jeno, and Renjun continued to brainstorm, their voices a faint hum of determination and camaraderie. Mark knew that as long as they stuck together, they had a chance. It wasn’t much—just a small glimmer of hope—but sometimes, hope was all you needed to keep fighting. And for Donghyuck’s sake, for all their sakes, Mark would hold onto that hope with everything he had.
Because in the end, it wasn’t just about saving the shelter—it was about saving the place where they had found themselves. And some things were worth fighting for, no matter the odds.
___
The following weeks were a whirlwind of activity, with the group throwing themselves into the effort to save the shelter as though their lives depended on it—because in many ways, they did. It wasn’t just a fight for a building; it was a fight for a sanctuary that had given them hope, purpose, and each other. Chenle and Jisung worked tirelessly, pouring every ounce of energy into their campaign efforts. They posted countless stories and videos of the shelter’s cats—each one with a story of its own—and shared the history of the shelter, from its humble beginnings to the safe haven it had become for so many. Their posts began to gain traction, spreading across social media like wildfire. Soon, people from all over the community, and even some from far beyond, were reaching out, offering donations, volunteering, and sharing their own stories of rescue and kindness. It was as though the city’s heart had been touched by the shelter’s struggle, and suddenly, it felt like their battle was no longer just their own.
Jaemin and Jeno took charge of organizing a fundraiser, setting up booths at the local market. It was a bustling affair, with tables lined with handcrafted items, baked goods, and cat-themed art pieces donated by local artists. The air was filled with laughter, music, and the scent of freshly baked cookies. Yet underneath the cheerfulness, there was a palpable sense of urgency—a reminder that they were racing against time. With every dollar raised, they inched a little closer to buying the shelter more time. And still, there was the looming deadline, the ever-present reminder that the clock was ticking, even as they fought to stop it.
Renjun’s legal contact proved to be a valuable ally, offering not just legal advice but also a glimmer of hope. Through a petition, they managed to stall the demolition order. It was a small victory—buying them a few precious weeks—but it wasn’t enough to dispel the knot of fear tightening in their chests. The pressure mounted as they worked late into the nights, planning, campaigning, and praying that it would all be enough.
And yet, amidst all the chaos, there were still moments that reminded them why they were fighting so hard, moments that grounded them and made the battle feel worth every sleepless night and anxious day.
One such evening, Mark and Donghyuck found themselves on the shelter’s rooftop, a place they often retreated to when they needed to clear their heads. The city skyline stretched out before them, glittering like a sea of stars. The air was cool, and the sky seemed unusually bright, with the constellations twinkling down at them like silent witnesses to everything they had been through. For a while, they sat in a comfortable silence, the kind that existed only between people who didn’t need to fill the quiet with words. But then, Donghyuck broke the stillness, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia that tugged at Mark’s heart.
“I was just a kid when I found my first stray,” Donghyuck murmured, his gaze distant as he remembered. “I was fifteen, and it was this tiny kitten with one blind eye. It was raining, and she was shivering under a bench. She looked so small and helpless… like she was just waiting to fade away.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I took her home, wrapped her up in an old towel, and held her until she stopped trembling. I fed her, cared for her… And for some reason, I felt like I’d found my purpose. Like I was meant to take care of her, to save her.”
Mark listened quietly, his heart aching as he watched the emotions flicker across Donghyuck’s face—sadness, but also something that looked like pride. He had never seen Donghyuck so open, so raw, and it made him realize just how deeply the shelter’s struggle had affected him.
“I’ve always felt like I needed to be needed,” Donghyuck continued, his voice barely a whisper. “Maybe that’s why I kept coming back here, even after the city shut down the shelter the first time. I guess… I guess the cats saved me more than I saved them.” He let out a breath, the sound shaky, as if he were exhaling years of unspoken fears. “If we lose this place, Mark… I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t know how to go back to not having it.”
Mark reached out, his hand finding Donghyuck’s and holding it firmly. His fingers were warm and steady, a quiet reassurance. “You’re not the only one who needed this place,” he said, his voice filled with a gentleness that seemed to wrap around them like a soft blanket. “We all did. And that’s why we’re going to keep fighting. We’re not going to let it go without giving it everything we’ve got.”
Donghyuck turned his head, meeting Mark’s gaze, and in his eyes, Mark saw the weight of everything they had endured, every sleepless night and every desperate hope. The fear was still there, lingering in the background, but there was also something else—a spark of determination, of defiance, that flickered to life with Mark’s touch. Mark leaned in, pressing his lips gently to Donghyuck’s forehead, lingering there for a moment as if trying to convey everything he felt but couldn’t put into words. “We’re going to save the shelter,” he whispered against Donghyuck’s skin. “And if we don’t… then we’ll start over. We’ll build something new, something that can’t be taken away from us. Together.”
Donghyuck’s eyes shone with unshed tears, and he squeezed Mark’s hand as if to anchor himself to the promise in those words. “Together,” he echoed, his voice breaking. It wasn’t a word of surrender; it was a vow.
In the weeks that followed, the community's response was overwhelming, a groundswell of support that seemed to breathe life back into their fight. It was as if their determination had sparked a chain reaction, lighting a fire in the hearts of everyone who had ever known what it was to feel lost or alone. Donations poured in—small amounts from people who didn’t have much to spare, and larger contributions from local businesses. Volunteers arrived every day, some with paintbrushes and cleaning supplies, others with offers to foster cats or help organize adoption events. The shelter, which had once seemed to teeter on the brink of collapse, was suddenly a hive of activity and renewal. Walls were repainted, cracks were patched, and the dim lighting was replaced with warm bulbs that bathed the rooms in a soft, inviting glow.
It wasn’t just the physical space that was being repaired; it was the spirit of the place. Local businesses donated supplies, from cat food and medicine to cleaning equipment. A nearby veterinary clinic even volunteered to provide free health check-ups and vaccinations for the cats. Chenle and Jisung kept up the relentless social media campaign, sharing updates about the shelter’s progress and heartwarming stories of the cats that lived there. Soon, adoption inquiries began trickling in, and one by one, some of the shelter’s long-term residents found new families. Elderly cats that had waited months for a loving home were now being cradled in the arms of new owners, and shy kittens that had once cowered in corners were learning what it felt like to be loved.
It was as if the entire city had rallied behind them, and with every gesture of kindness, the seemingly impossible began to feel just within reach. People who had never set foot inside the shelter before were showing up at the door, some with tears in their eyes as they handed over checks or bags of supplies, saying, “I heard about what you’re doing here, and I just had to help.” Each time the doorbell rang, it was another reminder that they were not alone in this fight.
And finally, the day arrived when they would present their case to the city council. The small meeting room was packed to the brim with supporters, leaving standing room only. People crowded in shoulder to shoulder, filling every available space with their presence and their hope. The air was thick with a mixture of tension and anticipation, and Mark could feel the nervous energy buzzing like static electricity. As he looked around, he saw familiar faces—the volunteers who had worked late nights cleaning out the storeroom, the families who had adopted cats, even local business owners who had helped fundraise. It was as if all the people whose lives had been touched by the shelter had gathered together in one place, their collective support filling the room like a lifeline.
Mark took his seat near the front, his hand finding Donghyuck’s and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Donghyuck’s fingers tightened around his, and Mark could feel the tremor in his grip, the same nervousness that coursed through his own veins. But when Donghyuck rose to speak, Mark held his breath, willing him to find the strength he needed. This moment wasn’t just about the shelter—it was about all the people and animals whose lives had been shaped by it, and all the hope that hung in the balance.
Donghyuck walked to the front of the room, his steps slow and measured, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel hundreds of eyes on him, watching, waiting. He took a breath and began, his voice breaking the silence like a wave. "This shelter isn’t just a building," he said, his tone steady but carrying the faintest tremor, a quiver that spoke of how much this moment meant to him. "It’s a place where lives are saved—both animal and human. It’s not just a structure; it’s a sanctuary. For some of us, it’s the only place we’ve ever felt at home, the only place where we found acceptance and purpose when there was none elsewhere.”
As he spoke, Donghyuck's voice grew stronger, fueled by a mixture of love and fear that welled up from deep within. He could see the council members watching him with impassive expressions, their pens poised over notepads, and he knew that he needed to reach them, to make them understand that this fight was not just about a building—it was about the lives that had been touched and the futures that hung in the balance. “When the world was cold and uncaring, this place was a warm light,” he continued, his voice gaining momentum. “For the cats that found safety here, for the people who found healing and hope… this shelter is more than just four walls. It’s a promise. A promise that even in the darkest times, there is still compassion. There is still a chance to save something worth saving.”
He paused for a moment, taking a breath, his eyes sweeping over the crowd. There were so many familiar faces looking back at him—Chenle and Jisung standing near the back with their cameras ready, Jaemin and Jeno sitting in the front row, Renjun beside them with a quiet look of encouragement. Mark was there too, his gaze fixed on Donghyuck with a fierce pride that sent a wave of strength through him. It was their strength that carried him, that steadied his hands and kept his voice from breaking.
“We aren’t just asking you to keep a roof over some cats’ heads,” Donghyuck said, his tone deepening as he spoke from the place where all his fears and hopes intertwined. “We’re asking you to help us keep a family together. We’re asking you to give us the chance to keep saving lives, to keep giving hope to the hopeless.” His voice faltered slightly, but he pressed on, his words carrying the weight of a plea that went beyond himself. “There are still so many lives that need saving. And we won’t let that light be extinguished—not when there are people willing to stand here and fight for it.”
Tears welled in his eyes as he finished, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak, the emotion swelling in his chest until it seemed to close off his throat. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, but the tears spilled over, streaking down his cheeks. He didn’t bother to wipe them away; he let them fall because they were a part of his truth, a testament to how much this place mattered. Donghyuck took a step back, his breathing unsteady, and there was a heartbeat of silence before the applause began.
It started as a ripple, a few scattered claps, but then it grew, swelling into a wave of sound that filled the small room, echoing off the walls. The supporters cheered, some even standing, their voices rising in a chorus of agreement and encouragement. The council members exchanged glances, some of them looking moved by the speech, others still unreadable. But for that one moment, the shelter’s supporters filled the room with a kind of hope that was impossible to ignore, and it sent a fierce pride coursing through Mark’s veins. He knew, no matter what happened next, that Donghyuck had spoken his truth. He had put everything he had into that speech, and the world had listened.
As Donghyuck returned to his seat, Mark reached out and wrapped him in a tight embrace, feeling the way Donghyuck’s shoulders trembled against him. “You were incredible,” Mark whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “No matter what happens… you were incredible.”
Donghyuck buried his face in Mark’s shoulder, his breath hitching as he tried to hold back the sob that threatened to break free. “I… I didn’t know if I could do it,” he choked out. “But I had to try. I had to.”
Mark pulled back just enough to look Donghyuck in the eyes, his hands cupping his face as he spoke. “And you did,” he said, his gaze filled with an intensity that made Donghyuck’s breath catch. “You did, and that’s all that matters.”
___
In the end, against all odds, the city council approved a temporary lease for the shelter, granting them the opportunity to purchase the property within the next year using the funds they had raised. It wasn’t the resounding victory they had dreamed of, and there was still an uphill battle to fight, but it was more than they could have hoped for—it was a lifeline, a flicker of hope in what had once felt like darkness. It was a second chance, a rare gift that would allow them to keep building, keep fighting for the place that had saved so many, including themselves. It was a promise that the story wasn’t over, that there was still time to carve out a future they could call their own.
That evening, Mark and Donghyuck stood together outside the shelter, the sun dipping low on the horizon and casting the building in a golden glow that seemed almost otherworldly. It bathed the familiar walls in warmth, making the old brick shimmer as though it was more alive than it had ever been. The shelter, with its worn-out furniture and patched-up walls, now felt like a fortress, as if it had soaked up all the love and determination poured into it and was reflecting it back. It stood tall and unyielding—a symbol of everything they had fought for, everything they had won, and everything they still had left to save.
“We did it,” Donghyuck whispered, his voice so soft it was nearly lost in the evening breeze. It was as though he were afraid that saying it too loudly would somehow break the spell, that the magic of this moment might slip through his fingers. He leaned into Mark’s side, letting his weight rest there, and Mark could feel the unspoken emotions in the way Donghyuck’s hand reached for his, gripping tightly as if to ground himself in the reality of it all. “We actually did it.” There was a hint of disbelief in his voice, mingled with a wonder that made Mark’s heart swell.
Mark wrapped his arm around Donghyuck’s shoulders, drawing him in close, so close that he could feel Donghyuck’s heart beating against his side—steady, but still racing with the remnants of adrenaline and hope. He tilted his head down and pressed a tender kiss to Donghyuck’s temple, his lips lingering there, as if imprinting the warmth of Donghyuck’s skin into his memory. The familiar scent of him—something sweet and comforting—filled Mark’s senses, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It felt like releasing the last of the fear, like letting go of every moment when he’d thought they wouldn’t make it. “No,” he murmured, his voice gentle, yet heavy with emotion. “You did it, Donghyuck. You saved the shelter. You saved us.”
Donghyuck looked up at him, his eyes wide and shimmering with tears that had nothing to do with sadness. This time, they were tears of joy, of relief so profound it left him almost breathless. His lips parted as if to speak, but for a moment, no words came—just a shaky breath and a small, disbelieving laugh that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said finally, his voice breaking as the tears spilled over. “You were there every step of the way. I—I wouldn’t have been strong enough without you.”
Mark’s hand slid up to cup Donghyuck’s cheek, his thumb gently brushing away the tears as they fell. He leaned in, so close that their foreheads touched, his breath mingling with Donghyuck’s in the small space between them. “You were always strong enough,” he whispered, his voice trembling with the intensity of what he felt. “You’ve always had that strength, Donghyuck. I just… I’m just glad I got to be the one standing beside you.”
The words seemed to sink in, and Donghyuck’s breath hitched, his hand clutching at the front of Mark’s shirt as though afraid to let go. There was something raw and unguarded in the way he looked at Mark, something that spoke of all the nights he had spent worrying, all the fears he had buried, and all the hopes he had dared to dream. “Mark…” he whispered, his voice a mere breath, his lips just inches from Mark’s. “I think—” He broke off, his voice trembling as he struggled to find the right words. “I think I’ve loved you for a while now,” he admitted, the confession spilling from him like a secret he could no longer keep. “I was just… too scared to say it.”
Mark’s heart seemed to stop, then restart with a fierce, unstoppable rhythm. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them standing in the golden glow of the setting sun. He could feel the warmth of Donghyuck’s breath on his lips, could see the unguarded vulnerability in his eyes, and something inside him broke open, flooding him with everything he hadn’t dared to let himself feel. “You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he breathed, his voice husky with emotion. “Not with me.” And before he could second-guess himself, he closed the distance between them, his lips finding Donghyuck’s in a kiss that was both gentle and fierce, tender and desperate, as though it had been waiting to happen for far too long.
Donghyuck melted into him, his arms slipping around Mark’s neck as he deepened the kiss, pouring everything he felt into it—the relief, the love, the quiet gratitude for every moment that had brought them here. It was a kiss that spoke of promises and new beginnings, of all the battles they had won and those they had yet to face. It was the kind of kiss that anchored them to the present and gave them the courage to look forward, unafraid.
When they finally pulled back, their breaths mingling in the space between them, Donghyuck’s eyes fluttered open, and he gave Mark a smile that was small but filled with a joy that reached all the way to his soul. “You know,” he said, his voice a soft, trembling laugh, “I think we’re going to be okay.”
Mark pressed his forehead against Donghyuck’s, closing his eyes as he let the words sink in. “Yeah,” he whispered, his arms wrapping around Donghyuck’s waist, holding him close as if he could keep him there forever. “We’re going to be more than okay. We’ve got this… and we’ve got each other.”
And as they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms while the last light of the day bathed the shelter in a warm, golden glow, they knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together. Because in the end, it wasn’t just the shelter they had saved—it was themselves, and the love they had found in the quiet, shared moments that made everything worth fighting for. They had turned a place of lost things into a place of found love, and in that, they had found their own kind of forever.
Mark wrapped his arm around Donghyuck’s shoulders, pulling him close. He pressed a soft kiss to Donghyuck’s temple, lingering for a moment to breathe him in. Donghyuck’s eyes shone with emotion, and he turned to look up at Mark, his lips curving into the smallest, most beautiful smile Mark had ever seen. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, his voice breaking with the weight of everything that had come before and everything that lay ahead.
“And you’ll never have to,” Mark promised, pulling him into a tight embrace. As they stood there, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, Mark felt a quiet certainty settle in his heart. The shelter had always been more than just a place for the lost and the broken—it was a place for finding oneself, a sanctuary where love and kindness could heal even the deepest wounds.
And as Mark held Donghyuck close, he knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, side by side. Because in the end, it wasn’t just the shelter that had been saved—it was everything they had built together, every memory and every moment that had brought them to this point.
Somewhere in the distance, a cat meowed, and a small laugh escaped Donghyuck’s lips, the sound filled with relief and joy. Mark couldn’t help but smile as he looked down at him, the boy who had come to mean everything to him. He thought about that first night on the rooftop, about the promise they had made to start over together if the shelter was lost. But now, as they stood on the threshold of a new beginning, Mark realized that they hadn’t started over at all.
They had simply found a way to continue. Together.