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The cold wind bit at Suho’s cheeks as he finally clocked out, shrugging into his jacket with numb fingers. The restaurant’s warm kitchen air still clung to his clothes—garlic, soy sauce, and the faint sweetness of the aunty’s special braising sauce. He could still hear her voice,
“Please, aunty, it’s my first Christmas with a boyfriend,” he’d begged two weeks ago, actually pouted like a child in front of the restaurant owner. “I wanted to take him somewhere special.”
She’d just laughed—not unkindly, but firmly—and patted his cheek. “Your Sieun will still be there after your shift. Young love can wait a few hours.”
But Suho had wanted it to be perfect. Midnight felt like a deadline, like Christmas would somehow count less if he showed up at 12:01 instead of 11:59. Ridiculous, maybe. He didn’t care.
Now he was racing that invisible clock, his bike cutting through streets painted white with fresh snow. The delivery box strapped to the back held lukewarm japchae and bulgogi he’d sweet-talked the kitchen into letting him take, plus Sieun’s actual present—something he’d spent three weeks’ worth of tips on and still wasn’t sure was good enough.
The light turned red at the intersection near the park. Suho stopped, breath misting in the air, checking his phone. 11:38. Still okay. Still—
A sound cut through the quiet. Tiny. Desperate. A sound that made something in his chest clench before his brain even processed what it was.
Meow. Meow.
Suho’s head whipped around. The street was empty, storefronts dark, snow falling in lazy spirals under the streetlights. There—by the corner of the closed bakery. A cardboard box, its flaps half-open, already dusted with white.
He was off his bike before he’d fully decided to move.
Inside the box, barely visible in the dim light, was the smallest kitten he’d ever seen. Grey, scrawny, shaking so hard its whole body trembled. Its eyes were huge and terrified, reflecting the streetlight like little moons.
“Fuck,” Suho breathed. What kind of person—on Christmas Eve—
The kitten let out another pitiful cry, and Suho didn’t let himself think about it anymore. He scooped up the box, careful not to jostle it too much, and secured it in front of him on the bike. His original plan of speeding to Sieun’s apartment died immediately. Now he had precious, fragile cargo.
The kitten mewed again, softer this time, and Suho found himself murmuring, “I know, I know. Just hold on a little longer, okay? You’ll be warm soon. I promise.”
~
11:50pm. Ten minutes to spare.
Suho stood at the bottom of the stairs to Sieun’s apartment, the box with the kitten in one hand, the bag of food in the other. His gift for Sieun was still on the back of his bike, he’d come back for it later. Right now, keeping this tiny creature from freezing to death took priority.
He peeked into the box. The kitten stared back at him, trembling, its fur sticking up in pitiful tufts.
“I’m sorry,” Suho whispered, “I know I’m a stranger and everything’s scary right now, but I promise you’ll be okay.”
The kitten didn’t look convinced.
Suho climbed the stairs as carefully as he could, trying not to jostle the box. At Sieun’s door, he attempted a knock with his elbow—awkward and probably too quiet—then tried again, slightly harder.
The door flew open almost immediately.
Sieun stood there, backlit by the warm glow of his apartment, wearing a sweater of Suho's that made Suho’s heart stumble. His expression cycling rapidly from relief to exasperation to something tender.
“You’re late,” Sieun said, but he was already pulling Suho inside, out of the cold, shutting the door behind them.
Before Suho could explain, Sieun leaned in and kissed him—slow and sweet and tasting faintly of the peppermint tea he always drank when he stayed up too late. When he pulled back, Suho was still a little dazed, blinking stupidly.
Sieun’s gaze dropped to the box in Suho’s hands, wedged between them. One perfect eyebrow arched. “Is that my present?”
“Not… quite,” Suho said sheepishly.
Something shifted in the box. A tiny, questioning meow.
Sieun startled backward, eyes widening. “What—”
“Here, hold this so I can take off my shoes,” Suho said, offering the box.
Sieun took it automatically, staring down at the cardboard with the expression of someone who’d just been handed a live grenade. Suho toed off his snow-damp sneakers and set the food on the small table by the door, very aware of Sieun’s eyes boring into the back of his head.
“It’s a kitten,” Suho explained, turning around. “I found her in a box on the street. I couldn’t just leave her there, Sieun.”
Sieun’s expression softened immediately—that particular look he got when he was trying very hard not to show he cared about something. “A kitten,” he repeated slowly.
“She was all alone. In the snow. On Christmas Eve.” Suho knew he sounded defensive. He didn’t care.
Sieun carefully opened the box.
What happened next was chaos.
The kitten—grey and scrawny and apparently powered by pure terror—exploded out of the box like a tiny, furry rocket. She hit the floor running, a grey blur that shot under the couch before either of them could react.
“Shit—” Suho dropped to his knees, reaching under the couch, but the kitten was already gone, bursting out the other side and streaking across the room.
“Suho—!” Sieun’s voice was equal parts alarmed and distressed.
The kitten, in a display of physics defying agility, somehow scaled the Christmas tree in the corner. She reached the top and clung there, shaking, eyes wild.
Both of them stood frozen, staring up at her.
“How do we get her down?” Sieun asked, craning his neck.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never had a cat before.” Suho had never had time for pets, and he couldn’t have brought another living thing into his grandmother’s house for her to worry about. It didn't feel right.
“Me neither.” But Sieun’s eyes had that focused look, the one he got when working through a problem in his head. He was already cataloging solutions.
“What about food?” Suho suggested. “Do you have any tuna?”
Sieun shook his head, but Suho went to check the kitchen anyway, pulling open the refrigerator. The interior light illuminated exactly what he’d expected: a bottle of hot sauce, a mostly empty squeeze bottle of kewpie mayo, and some questionable leftover rice from who knows when.
Sieun’s father had been gone all week for some taekwondo tournament, wouldn’t be back until the the day before New Years. Which meant Sieun had been alone, probably forgetting to eat properly, definitely not grocery shopping.
Suho frowned, simultaneously annoyed and glad he’d brought food.
“All you have is hot sauce and kewpie mayo in your fridge, baby,” he called out, unable to keep the worry from his voice.
An idea sparked.
He came back to the living room, grinning. “Let’s name her kewpie.”
Sieun gave him a flat look. “Let’s get the cat out of my tree first.”
“Right. Yeah. Priorities.” Suho looked up at the kitten, reaching his hands up uselessly. She was too high, clinging to the thin branches near the top, making distressed little sounds that broke his heart. “Come on, baby girl. It’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you.”
Movement behind him—Sieun had gone to the kitchen and returned with one of the dining chairs, setting it precisely beside the tree.
“What are you doing?” Suho asked sharply.
Sieun looked at him like it was obvious. “Getting the cat. We both can’t reach. I’ll just use the chair—”
“No. Absolutely not.” Suho moved between Sieun and the chair like he was physically blocking a threat. “What if you fall?”
“Suho-yah.” Sieun’s voice had that exasperated edge, the one that meant he thought Suho was being ridiculous.
But Suho was serious. He eyed the chair—rickety, unsteady, probably older than both of them combined. “What if the chair breaks? What if you lose your balance?”
“I’m not going to—”
“Come here.” Suho opened his arms. “I’ll lift you.”
Sieun blinked. “We’ll both fall.”
“No, we won’t.” Suho pointed at the chair. “That chair could collapse at any moment.” Then he pointed at himself, pressing his hand to his chest. “But I wouldn’t dream of collapsing with you in my arms.”
It came out more dramatic than he’d meant. Half joke, half genuine promise. But he was completely serious about not letting Sieun get hurt, not over something as stupid as a broken chair.
Sieun just stared at him, mouth slightly open, processing. A blush crept across his cheeks, delicate pink that Suho wanted to commit to memory.
After a long moment, Sieun cleared his throat. “Fine.”
Victory tasted sweet.
Suho wrapped his arms around Sieun’s waist, feeling the warmth of him through the oversized sweater, and lifted. Sieun was lighter than expected, or maybe Suho was running on pure adrenaline. He maneuvered them as close to the tree as possible, keeping his stance wide and stable.
“Careful,” he murmured against Sieun’s lower back.
He couldn’t see much from this angle, just the back of Sieun’s sweater and the tree branches in his peripheral vision. But he heard everything—the distressed little mews from kewpie, and Sieun’s voice, impossibly soft and gentle.
“Hey. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. Come here, little one.”
There was rustling. A louder meow. Then Sieun’s quiet triumph, “Got her.”
“Okay, I’m putting you down,” Suho said, lowering Sieun as carefully as he’d lifted him.
The moment Sieun’s feet touched the floor, he cradled the kitten against his chest with both hands, then lifted her slightly to check. “She is a girl.”
“Aw, little princess,” Suho cooed, reaching out to stroke her head with one finger. She was so small. How had she survived out there?
“Let’s take her to the bathroom,” Sieun said, already moving. “I don’t want her getting back in the tree.”
They settled kewpie in the bathtub—a temporary, safe space. She immediately pressed herself into the corner, fur standing on end, looking utterly betrayed by the universe. Sieun sat on the bathroom floor, extending his hand slowly. The kitten hissed, and Sieun immediately pulled back.
“Sorry,” he murmured to her.
Suho pulled out his phone, googling what do kittens need while half watching his boyfriend fall in love in real time.
“I can go out and get some basics for her,” Suho offered, already knowing what Sieun’s answer would be. The way he was looking at kewpie—yeah. They were keeping her. “Just temporarily. Until we figure out what to do.”
Sieun nodded, not taking his eyes off the kitten. “Just get some food. And maybe a litter box. A toy. A blanket—”
Suho laughed. “Just the essentials, huh?”
Sieun glared at him, but it had no heat behind it.
Suho bent down and kissed the top of his head, breathing in the familiar scent of Sieun’s shampoo. “I’ll be back soon.”
~
Every pet store was closed, obviously. Christmas Eve at almost midnight—what had he expected?
The convenience store near Sieun’s apartment had a pathetic pet section: two cans of cat food, no litter box or litter they’d have to figure that out tomorrow, and exactly three cat toys left on the shelf. Small, round, shaped like sushi. Salmon, tuna, and tamago.
They were ridiculous. Sieun would love them.
Suho bought everything, then finally grabbed his actual present for Sieun from the bike’s delivery box. The carefully wrapped package felt almost anticlimactic now, compared to the tiny life they’d just saved.
When he let himself back into the apartment he found Sieun on the couch with kewpie sleeping on his chest, tiny body rising and falling with her breaths.
“How did you manage that?” Suho asked, astonished. He’d been gone maybe fifteen minutes, tops.
“She’s very sweet,” Sieun said with complete seriousness, like they hadn’t just spent ten minutes getting her out of a Christmas tree.
Suho shook his head, affection swelling in him until it almost hurt. “Okay, well. This is all they had two cans of food and this.” He held up the sushi toys. “We can get proper supplies tomorrow.”
Sieun nodded, carefully transferring kewpie from his chest to the couch cushion. She barely stirred, just curled tighter into a little grey ball.
Suho’s grandmother had put a small red bow on his present for Sieun—he was terrible at wrapping, and she’d taken pity on him. Now he carefully removed the bow and placed it on kewpie’s head, right between her tiny ears.
“Merry Christmas,” he whispered to the sleeping kitten.
Then he wrapped his arms around Sieun’s waist from behind and spun him around, pressing kisses to his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, the tip of his nose. Sieun laughed the sound soft and surprised.
“Merry Christmas to you, too,” Suho said against his skin. “Come on, let’s eat before everything gets too cold.”
They reheated the food in Sieun’s tiny kitchen, and Sieun kept getting up every five minutes to check on kewpie. Each time he came back, his expression was a little softer, a little more smitten.
They were halfway through eating when Sieun stood again, then stopped, going very still.
“What?” Suho asked, already getting up to follow.
Sieun was staring at the Christmas tree, and when Suho looked, he understood why.
kewpie had woken up and moved herself. Now she was curled up beneath the tree, nestled among the wrapped presents —mostly empty boxes Sieun had put there for decoration— the little red bow still perched on her head. Her eyes were closed, her breathing even, like she’d finally found somewhere she felt safe.
Sieun was smiling, that rare, unguarded smile that made Suho’s entire world feel right.
Before Suho could say anything, Sieun leaned into his side and pressed a kiss to his cheek, warm and intentional.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “For my present.”
Suho’s throat felt tight. “I have your actual present too, you know. This was just—”
“This was perfect.” Sieun laced their fingers together, watching kewpie sleep. “She’s ours now.”
“Yeah,” Suho agreed, squeezing his hand. “She is.”
And that was how Suho gave Sieun a kitten for Christmas. Under the tree, kewpie slept on, safe and warm and loved, while the clock on the wall ticked way past midnight into Christmas Day.