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The first time it happened, Sungho was trusting enough to believe that a cat really had wandered into their laundry cart while trying to unload their fresh laundry outside. The second time, he blamed himself for not locking the windows in their apartment because of course Dongmin would try to give leftovers to the stray cats downstairs. By the third cat, Sungho stopped asking questions and simply added ‘extra litter’ to their weekly grocery list.
Tonight, Dongmin had taken an overtime shift to cover for a work friend to compensate for last week having spent it working from home, leaving Sungho alone in their small but cozy apartment, the kind where the couch tries to double as a clothing rack and all their three adopted cats believe they own the entire space.
Dongmin savors the night air as he heads home from the studio. After being cooped up at home, being out in the city again felt refreshing. Streetlights flickered like distant memories and the hum of cars blended with the chatter of people. Waves of memories and nostalgia hit him as he takes in his surroundings and the life taking place beyond the day.
He likes to pretend he’s in a film in moments like this, walking home under the moon with his scarf gifted by Sungho tucked close. In his imaginary soundtrack, soft rock would play behind, as he tries to tell himself it’s probably why he didn’t notice the cat following him for two entire blocks.
By the time he did, the little thing is meowing at him like it is already signing a lease agreement.
Dongmin, of course, never stood the chance.
So when the apartment door finally creaks open, Sungho immediately looks up from his half-finished dinner like a man who had learned, through trial, error, and existential suffering, that surprises were something to fear.
“Sungho hyung, I’m home. You’re not gonna believe this,” Dongmin announces breathlessly.
Sungho blinks. “Hey… welcome home.”
Dongmin steps fully inside, shaking his coat off.
“Oh, are you eating dinner?” he asks casually as if his arms weren’t currently full of fur and bad decisions.
Sungho freezes. His chopsticks hover midair. “I—What? What’s that?”
Dongmin blinks innocently. “It’s a cat.”
There it was. The fourth horseman of their domestic apocalypse.
“Dongmin. Taesan.” Sungho uses his name including his nickname, which is never a good sign. “We can’t keep doing this. We have cats. Three of them.”
“I know,” Dongmin says quickly. Too quickly. “But it followed me home.”
“No.”
“I’m not taking it back to the street.”
“Just—Just… No…”
One of their cats watches from the living room, perched on the couch and looking personally offended that both of them were even in the same room with it.
“Maybe just for the night,” Dongmin tries, his voice dipping into that soft, pleading tone Sungho absolutely despises for its effectiveness. He knows this because he also does the same when a new game for his console comes out and practically begs Dongmin to accompany him to buy it. “We can let it stay.”
“I’ve seen this happen three times.”
“Do we have any cat treats left?”
“Dongmin, you’re ignoring me.”
“You bring it back to the street then, Hyung.”
“Wh—What?”
“See? You can’t even think of doing it.”
Sungho sputters because yes, okay, maybe he couldn’t put the cat back outside. But that didn’t mean he wanted another one using their bed as a scratching post.
“You should stop pitying stray cats,” Sungho mutters weakly.
“I swear it just followed me home.”
“Because I’m sure you said hello.”
“What? I’m not allowed to greet cats anymore?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Do we have any errands? I’ll bring it to the vet tomorrow morning.”
Sungho rubs his face. “This cannot be happening.”
“So you put it back in the street.”
“Why are you making me do it?”
“Because I can’t. I’ll feel bad.”
“I would too, but—but we already have three!”
“I’m not saying we’re adopting it. Maybe it’s microchipped. It’d be nice for it to go back home. Let’s just have it stay here tonight.”
“I don’t trust this at all,” Sungho sighs.
“And maybe if all else fails and it doesn’t have an owner then…” Dongmin slowly says.
“No. Nope. I don’t wanna hear it.”
“I love you, Sungho.”
“I love you, too. You’re being unfair.”
Dongmin looked down at the cat who meowed loudly like it was contributing to the negotiation. “Maybe I’ll name you Butter, huh?”
Sungho whips around. “What was that?”
“Huh? What?”
“I’m gonna take a shower.” Sungho retreats to the bathroom, because if he stayed another second, he might accidentally agree to something irreversible.
Behind him, Dongmin brightens, cooing at the cat, and whispering, “Butter it is.”
And Sungho from down the hall cannot help but yell, “I heard that!”
≽ܫ≼ ≽ܫ≼ ≽ܫ≼
Morning arrived far too early for Sungho’s liking. He stirs only when the bed dipped beside him and the faint scent of Dongmin’s shampoo hovers near his pillow. For a second, he simply thinks Dongmin was just shifting positions.
But then a gentle voice whispered, “Hi.”
Sungho cracks one eye open. Dongmin was already dressed, hair still damp from a quick shower and eyes bright with that suspicious energy people only had when they had a secret… or a fourth cat.
“Why are you up so early?” Sungho mumbles, his voice scratching.
“The vet, remember?” Dongmin says as if they had both mutually agreed on it. “Are we supposed to do groceries?”
Sungho yawns slowly, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Right. Laundry, too.”
Dongmin nods but then he looks genuinely confused. “Is it my turn?”
“I’ll do it,” Sungho says because he imagines the alternative would be witnessing Dongmin shrink half their clothes by accident again. “We can meet for lunch outside and do the shopping together though?”
Dongmin smiles immediately. “Okay, I’d like that. You go back to sleep.”
He starts standing up, ready to dive headfirst into a morning full of well-intentioned chaos, when Sungho reaches out and catches his wrist.
“Dongmin.”
He stops, turning back with that innocent, questioning wide-eyed look. “Hmm, what?”
Sungho hesitates. He wasn’t fully awake but his mind was present enough to know he needed to say it. Or at least try. “Please think about it well.”
Dongmin pauses for half a heartbeat, then grins in that guilty, soft way he always did when he knew Sungho was asking for the impossible. “I’m going,” he says gently. “Get some more sleep.”
“Hmm. I love you,” Sungho murmurs because even if Dongmin had a stray problem, he was still the best thing Sungho ever wakes up to.
“I love you, too. Bye!”
And just like that, Dongmin slips out of their bedroom with a light step, determination in his stride, and a small carrier box that makes Sungho bury his face back into the pillow.
≽ܫ≼ ≽ܫ≼ ≽ܫ≼
Sungho had barely stepped out of the apartment building when his phone buzzed. He answers it with the same calm resolve he used whenever he braced for one of Dongmin’s cat-related confessions.
“Hello?”
“Are you on your way out?” Dongmin asks. His voice already sounded guilty.
“I just got out, walking now.”
A beat.
Then just as he dreaded. “You’re gonna hate me, Hyung.”
Sungho shuts his eyes. “Oh, no.”
“She’s not microchipped,” Dongmin says quickly, like ripping off a bandage. “We found out it’s a she. I had to leave her there for now though.”
Sungho slows to a stop on the sidewalk. “But…?”
“We’re gonna have to pick her up after we finish errands.”
There it was.
“Han Dongmin…”
“I’m getting her spayed, that’s why,” he explains. “Then we’ll have to introduce her to the three goobers and get her settled.”
“This is gonna happen again, isn’t it?”
“Um, I don’t know about that.”
“It is. God help me, I’m living with five cats now.”
Sungho can immediately tell that Dongmin perks up instantly, his guilt evaporating like morning dew. “Maybe we can get a fish. One that looks like you. I’ll ask Kim Donghyun some time.”
“I’m so glad to know a fish can’t follow you from the street.”
He hears Dongmin laugh. “Well, too bad.”
“I see you now.”
“Oh—Hi, Hyung.” Dongmin grins, waving as Sungho approaches.
“Hi.”
And just like that, Sungho couldn’t help but smile despite the impending pet expansion.
Their lunch was peaceful, surprisingly. Considering Sungho spent half of it mentally preparing himself for a future where their living room resembled a tiny feline commune.
Afterward, grocery bags in hand, they walked to the neighborhood vet. Dongmin kept glancing sideways at Sungho but he tried to pay him no mind. There was no going back after all.
The clinic bell chimed as they entered. Behind the counter, the vet assistant greeted them.
“You’re here for Butter, right?”
They were already calling her by the name Dongmin chose.
A few minutes later, as they waited in the small lobby, Dongmin shifts beside him.
“Sorry,” he says quietly.
“What?” Sungho looks over at him.
“I know you’re upset about this.”
Sungho studies him before shaking his head. “No, I’m not. That’s not it at all, Dongmin.”
Dongmin stares at his hands. “I’d tell you it won’t happen again but I can’t even promise that.”
Sungho knew. Of course he knew. Dongmin didn’t really collect cats, they collected him. They follow him like he was some wandering saint of soft hearts and tuna treats. And yes, maybe it was exhausting sometimes, maybe expensive, and very much chaotic. But watching Dongmin fall soft for every cat he encounters was also one of the things Sungho adored most about him.
Years ago, it would have come as a surprise if you had told Sungho that Dongmin would be even worse than him when it comes to swooning over cats, knowing Sungho was one of those people who said hello to every cat that passed by his way.
He sighs, leaning his shoulder into Dongmin’s. “I know.”
And just before Dongmin could reply, a small meow sounded from the back.
Butter was ready to go home. With them.
They walked out of the clinic with Butter’s carrier swinging gently at Dongmin’s side, grocery bags on Sungho’s arms, and the afternoon sun warming the street around them. Traffic hummed, the world went on, and somewhere between the noise and the light, Sungho felt something settle in his chest.
By the time they reach their apartment building, Sungho holds the door open and sighs dramatically. “Five cats,” he murmurs. “Imagine telling my past self this.”
Dongmin grins, nudging him lightly. “Your past self would’ve run.”
“Probably, probably not,” Sungho says with a shrug.
When they finally walk inside, the three resident cats rush forward, sniffing curiously at their newest sibling. Dongmin kneels down beside them, cooing and offering gentle introductions.
Only does it occur now that living with Dongmin meant laundry, groceries, long shifts, softened hearts, full hands, unexpected responsibilities, and a home that somehow kept expanding even when it shouldn’t.
And yes, with full certainty, he wouldn’t trade this for the world.
Because if love had taught Sungho anything it’s that sometimes, the best things in life follow you home and sometimes, you let them stay.