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Minho had tried lying down. 

He’d tried closing his eyes, tried listening to the soft hum of his fan and the distant sounds of late night traffic outside of his apartment window. He’d tried convincing himself that everything was fine, that Soonie would come back soon like she always did. 

But the silence wasn’t comforting tonight. It was suffocating. 

His stomach twisted with worry as he checked the time on his phone again. 

9:54 PM. 

An hour and forty minutes since she slipped out. Far too long. 

Soonie wasn’t a wanderer. She wasn’t adventurous like Doongie, who tried scaling the fridge whenever Minho turned his back, nor was she mischievous like Dori, who once stole an entire loaf of bread and hid it behind the couch. No, Soonie stayed close. She liked routine and warmth and familiar things. 

So where the hell was she? 

His fingers hovered over the screen before finally opening the group chat with the boys, a shared space for them normally filed with dumb photos, terrible jokes, and complaints about being tired. 

Minho: Soonie’s gone. She got out. I can’t find her. 

Chan: What do you mean gone?? Did she slip out the door or window?? 

Minho: Window. It was open bc she likes sitting there. She’s never done this. 

Jisung: Maybe she saw a bird and got distracted? 

Minho: She ALWAYS comes back. Ten minutes. Fifteen max. It’s been almost two hours. 

Jeongin: Hyung, are you okay?

Minho: No. 

He stared at the three messages that trickled in after that, well-meaning reassurances, offers to come help, and a few jokes attempting to lighten the mood, but none of it eased the tightness in his chest. 

Doongie paced along the hallway, tail flicking and ears perked. Dori sat by the front door like a statue, eyes fixed as if waiting for someone only she could sense. 

Minho ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “This isn’t normal,” he muttered into the empty room. “Where are you, sweetheart?” 

He wandered toward the window again, scanning the shadowed street below. The moonlight made everything look softer and quieter, like the whole world was asleep except for him. Just as his exhaustion began to turn to a numb kind of feeling, a sound cut through the stillness. 

A faint, muffled scratch. 

Minho stilled. Doongie’s fur puffed slightly, and Dori’s head snapped toward the living room. 

Another noise came, heavier this time, like something being dragged gently across the floor. 

His heart slammed against his ribs, and before he could think it through, he was moving. Bare feet against cold wood, he crossed the apartment in quick strides, turning the corner toward the living room. 

And there she was. 

Soonie–dusty and wide-eyed, breathing harder than usual–squeezing through the window opening with effort. Her whiskers twitched rapidly, her tail low and body braced like she was carrying the weight of the world. 

Minho’s relief hit so fast he almost stumbled. “Oh god–there you are.” 

He dropped to his knees beside her, hands moving automatically to check over her fur, her paws and her belly, searching for scratches or bites or anything out of place. 

“You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered, voice shaking more than he wanted to admit. 

Soonie let out a tiny, breathy meow, almost apologetic, but her gaze wasn’t on him. It was fixed downward. 

Only then, did Minho see it. 

Nestled gently between her teeth, held like something fragile and precious, was a tiny bundle of orange fur. 

Minho blinked, confused at first. 

A kitten. A kitten that was far, far  too small. 

Soonie gently set the little body onto the soft rug, then immediately began meowing insistently with urgent and pleading sounds Minho had never heard from her before. 

Doongie and Dori crept closer, tense and unsure, their tails low and bodies cautious. 

Minho leaned forward, slow and careful, but the kitten didn’t move. 

At first, Minho feared the worst, but then a tiny, shaky breath lifted its ribcage, and then another, and that’s when Minho was able to see the kitten a bit more clearly. 

It’s orange fur was patchy and matted, one ear was partly torn, and there were small scratches along its side, some old and some fresh. And all over, the little body was trembling violently. 

Minho’s throat tightened, anger and sadness colliding all in one at the sight of the little creature. 

“Hey… hey, aegi,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something soft and instinctive. “What happened to you?” 

He reached out, offering his fingers for scent rather than touch, unsure if it was feral, scared, or too weak to respond. 

The kitten’s eyes fluttered open to show amber eyes, warm, bright, and impossibly expressive, far too knowing for such a small little baby. 

They met his, and something in Minho froze. 

The kitten took one trembling step toward him and then collapsed again, letting out the smallest sound, a broken and weak mewl that didn’t sound like a normal kitten at all. It sounded like pure pain. 

Minho scooped him up instantly. The body was feather light, terrifyingly so, and radiating faint heat, like a fever simmering beneath fragile skin. 

Soonie pressed her head against Minho’s arm, pleading and urging. 

“I’ve got him,” Minho whispered. “It’s okay. I’ve got him.” 

The kitten’s little nose nudged weakly into Minho’s shirt, as if instinctively seeking warmth, safety, and a heartbeat. 

Minho swallowed hard. 

He hadn’t planned for this. He didn’t know where this kitten came from, or what had hurt him, or why Soonie had risked everything to bring him home. But none of that mattered right now, because in his arms was something tiny and frightened and broken, and he couldn’t let it be broken anymore. 

“Okay,” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll figure this out. You’re safe now.” 

And with Soonie pressed close to his heel and the other two watching with wide and uncertain eyes, Minho rose to his feet, holding the kitten tight against his chest as if he were something precious. 

Minho set the tiny kitten on the kitchen counter like he was placing down something fragile enough to break from sound alone. 

His hands shook, not from fear, but from everything that had been held in his chest for nearly two hours: worry, adrenaline, relief, and now something else. Something protective and fierce. 

Soonie jumped onto the counter beside him, sitting so close her fur brushed the kitten’s. She stared at Minho with wide, unwavering eyes, letting out a soft and insistent trill. 

Help him. 

“I know,” Minho murmured, gently stroking her cheek. “I’m going to.” 

He moved quickly, muscle memory guiding him toward the hall closet with the same determination emergency responders had. From the top shelf he pulled down the ridiculous, embarrassingly large cat first-aid kit he’d assembled over years of paranoia, research, and knowing his babies could, and would, get into trouble. 

Inside were heat packs, gauze pads, antiseptic safe for felines, tiny bandages with cartoon pawprints, syringes for medication, emergency food paste, small bottles of pain relief, soft baby brushes, kitten formula, liquid antibiotics prescribed for Dori two years ago and never used, and enough supplied to treat an entire shelter. 

“Good thing I’m insane,” he whispered to himself. 

Back in the kitten, the kitten’s tiny mewls grew sharper, distressed, scared, and exhausted. His little chest heaved with shallow breaths. 

Minho’s heart broke clean down the middle. 

“Alright, first step. Warm bath for you, really quick I promise.” He filled a shallow basin with warm water, not too hot, testing it on his wrist the way someone would for a real infant. Satisfied, he lined towels along the counter, placed the medical supplies beside them, and then lifted the kitten gently. 

The moment his small paws touched the water, he whimpered, a soft and helpless sound that had Minho’s breath stuttering. 

“Shh… I know, I know aegi. Just a little bit. You’re okay.” 

Soonie leaned forward, paws stretching toward the sink as if she couldn’t stand being even a centimeter farther away. When the kitten meowed again, weak but distressed, Soonie meowed back, a low and soothing sound Minho had never heard from her before. 

The kitten blinked toward her voice, his tiny body trembling violently. 

It took everything in Minho not to scoop him out immediately. 

He worked gently, using the softest washcloth he owned, guiding warm water over the dirty fur, careful around the wounds. Beneath the grime he found bruising, discoloration that made his jaw clench, and small puncture marks near the torn ear. 

Someone or something had hurt him. The realization lit a slow, simmering anger inside Minho’s chest. A dangerous kind, one he rarely felt, but never ignored. 

“This shouldn’t have happened to you,” he whispered, voice tight. “You’re just a baby.” 

The kitten lifted his head faintly, blinking at him like he understood the apology threaded into the words. 

When the bath was done, Minho wrapped him in the fluffiest towel he owned, white, oversized, and ridiculously soft, and just held him for a moment, pressing him gently to his chest so the little trembling body could absorb warmth and his heartbeat and safety. 

Soonie rested her forehead against Minho’s arm, eyes half-lidded with worry. 

“You’re such a good girl,” he whispered to her. “Thank you for finding him.” 

Then came the hardest part of taking care of any cat. Medication. 

He grabbed a small dropper of liquid ibuprofen formulated for cats and hid the dose inside a soft chew treat shaped like a fish. 

“Okay,” Minho murmured to the kitten. “This is going to help. You’re not going to like it, and I’m going to be annoying. But you need it.” 

He offered the treat. 

The kitten sniffed it, then attempted to bite it, and for a second, Minho was hopeful. 

Then the kitten paused, made a face, and spit the entire thing out with surprising force for something the size of a sock. 

Minho let out a long breath. 

“Oh. You’re one of those.” 

He tried again. The kitten spit it out again. And again. And again. 

Soonie watched with judgement and mild amusement. 

Minho eventually braced both his hands around the kitten, not restraining, just steadying, and whispered softly: “Please take it. I promise it’ll make everything stop hurting so much. I wouldn’t give you anything bad. I swear.” 

Maybe it was his tone, or the exhausted slouch of his posture, or just pure luck, but the kitten stared at Minho with those wide amber eyes, and finally leaned forward to bite at the treat again. 

This time, he chewed it and swallowed the whole thing. 

Minho exhaled like he’d just finished defusing a bomb. 

“There we go. Good boy.” 

Once the treat settled and the trembling eased just a fraction, Minho switched on a low-setting blow dryer. The warm air hummed softly, and he kept a gentle hand over the kitten’s back so it wouldn’t frighten him. 

His little body relaxed, sinking further into the towel, eyes drooping and breath evening out as warmth wrapped around him like a cocoon. 

Only when the fur was mostly dry did Minho begin treating the wounds, his steady hands cleaning the cuts, smoothing ointment over irritated skin, and applying small soft gauze where needed. 

The kitten whimpered once, soft and pained, but still trusting. 

Minho paused, letting his thumb brush gently behind the uninjured ear. 

“You’re safe now,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. No one’s going to hurt you again.” 

Soonie curled against his hip with a silent vow of her own, and as Minho worked, that fierce protective feeling settled, permanent and undeniable. 

Once the kitten was cleaned and bandaged and no longer shaking as violently, Minho lifted him again and carried him to the living room. His grip was steady and practiced, but his expression softened in a way he rarely let anyone see. 

“We need food, little troublemaker,” he murmured. 

He placed the kitten on a soft folded towel beside a shallow dish of kitten-safe wet food, warmed just slightly so the scent would be tempting. 

Soonie sat close, tail wrapped neatly around her paws as if supervising the entire thing. Doongie stared from a few steps back, curious, and Dori stretched her neck forward cautiously, sniffing the air. 

The kitten lowered his head to the food, sniffed, then paused. Then he proceeded to devour the food as if he hadn’t eaten in days with tiny and desperate bites, his tiny tongue scraping the dish clean. 

The sound alone, tiny smacks and hurried swallowing, made Minho’s chest ache with both relief and sadness. 

“Slow down,” he whispered, hovering just close enough to help but not interfere. “It’s okay. No one’s going to take it.” 

When the kitten finally paused for breath, Minho lifted him gently and brought him near the small training litter box he’d set up, one meant originally for when Doongie was a baby. 

The kitten sniffed the edge, then clumsily climbed in and scratched at the litter, wobbly and weak, but instinctive. 

“Well,” Minho murmured, a small laugh breathless in his chest, “that’s promising.” 

Doongie, emboldened by curiosity, crept closer to sniff the newcomer. 

It happened fast, a puff of orange fur bristling, a tiny back arching fiercely, and the smallest, most dramatic hiss ever produced by something that fit in one hand. 

Doongie froze, looking at Minho with wide eyes. Minho almost choked on his own laughter. 

“Oh,” he gasped, wiping his eyes. “That was terrifying. Absolutely bone-chilling. Truly ferocious.” 

The kitten hissed again, tiny and squeaky, and swatted a paw no bigger than a button toward Doongie. 

Dori made a chirping noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. 

The kitten seemed offended by the reaction and puffed even bigger, his tail quivering with the effort. 

Minho crouched beside him, voice gentle. “I know you think you have to do that,” he murmured. “I know you’ve probably had to be scary and brave and loud, just to survive out there.” 

His fingers brushed lightly over the kitten’s soft head. 

“But you don’t have to convince me. You’re already safe.” 

The kitten’s body softened, not fully relaxed, but uncertain enough to let the tension bleed away. 

Soonie walked forward and nudged his side with her nose once, a silent: yes. here is safe. 

Then she sat beside him again, guard-like and unwavering. 

Minho spent a few minutes playing with the kitten afterward, dragging a small feather toy gently across the blanket. The kitten chased it with clumsy determination, paws sometimes missing by inches, yet refusing to give up, even when his body listed sideways with exhaustion. 

Eventually, mid-pounce, his tiny body sagged, his eyes drooping as he wobbled where he sat. 

Minho gently scooped him up. The kitten didn’t fight, just pressed against his chest, tiny nose burying into fabric so small whiskers tickled Minho’s collarbone. 

Only then did Minho realize how heavy his own eyelids felt. He carried the kitten to his bedroom and set him gently into one of the soft cat beds on the floor, small, plus and perfectly cozy. He even tucked a knitted blanket inside. 

“There you go,” he whispered. “Perfect little nest.” He stood, stretched his aching back, and walked toward his own bed. 

He didn’t make it three steps. 

A noise erupted behind him, an absolute meltdown of furious and panicked kitten cries. The sound was shockingly loud, like a tiny siren with opinions and zero sense of volume control. 

Minho turned, wide-eyed, then burst into quiet laughter. 

“How,” he whispered, amused and baffled, “does something your size sound like it’s being murdered with axes?” 

The kitten continued yelling, voice hoarse with demand and outrage. 

Minho gave up instantly. “Alright. Alright, come here.” He lifted up the tiny body back into his arms, and the kitten immediately quieted, not just quiet, but content. A faint purr rumbled against his chest. 

“Oh,” Minho breathed, softer now. “So that’s how it is.” 

He crawled into bed and laid the kitten beside him. The moment the small body felt blankets, it curled into a tight little crescent and pressed against Minho’s ribs, like this was the only place that had ever felt right. 

A moment later, Soonie jumped onto the bed. 

“You? Sleeping here? At night?” Minho blinked. 

Soonie ignored him, instead curling herself protectively around the kitten, tail draped over him like a blanket, chin resting gently on his tiny back. 

The kitten, half-asleep already, lifted one paw and began slow, soft biscuit-making motions against Soonie’s fur, kneading sleepy affection into her side. 

Minho’s vision softened, warmth pooling in his chest gentle and deep. He watched as the tiny orange creature fought sleep one last time, paws moving slower… slower… until finally they stilled. 

A final, barely audible purr vibrated through the quiet night. 

-

Minho woke to the sensation of tiny claws scaling his shoulder. 

They weren’t painful per se, but definitely determined. 

Something small and warm scrambled up the side of his pillow, tiny paws slipping in his hair until a little orange head popped into his field of vision. 

He blinked once. 

The kitten blinked back. 

Then, without warning, the kitten launched off his head like he was the opening platform of a feline olympic event. 

Minho groaned into his pillow. “Ohhh, so we’re awake. Fantastic.” 

Soonie, already stretched elegantly at the foot of the bed, let out a long, slow blink of sympathy. Or pity. It was hard to tell.  

A second later, a tiny orange blur sprinted across the bed, skidded, rolled, bounced then scrambled upright again like physics was merely a suggestion. 

Minho watched, dazed, as the kitten zoomed in erratic circles, over his blankets, across his legs, then somehow using his knee as a ramp before disappearing off the side of the bed with a soft thump. 

Minho lifted his head. “Are you alive?” 

A muffled chirp answered, followed by rapid pattering paws and–

ZOOM

The kitten shot back onto the bed, tail puffed, and pupils blown wide, looking like adrenaline and chaos stuffed into a too-small container. 

Soonie merely shifted out of the path like she’d seen this storm before. Dori peeked round the bedroom doorway, ears perked. Doongie stayed safely back, having already learned one critical rule: Do not stand in the baby’s line of fire. 

The kitten did one more lap, stumbled, yawned with his entire face and then walked up to Minho’s chest and flopped sideways as if someone unplugged him. 

“That was the fastest burnout I’ve ever seen.” Minho stared down at him. 

A tiny purr vibrated against his shirt. 

Minho sighed and brushed a hand gently along the kitten’s back. “Alright, little gremlin. Breakfast time.” 

Minho shuffled into the kitchen wearing yesterday’s sweater and hair sticking in six different directions. The kitten followed, half hopping, half stumbling, clearly still half asleep but fueled by instinct. 

Soonie walked beside him like the responsible older sibling escorting a preschooler. Dori and Doongie were already waiting by the cabinets, wide-eyed and tails flicking, very much aware of the routine. 

Minho scooped kibbly into dishes with practiced precision and placed them down one by one. But, the moment he put the food down in front of the orange kitten, things took an unexpected and dramatic turn. 

Doongie stepped one whisker too close. 

The kitten froze, then, with the conviction of a creature three times his size, he puffed up and let out the tiniest, most passionate hiss Minho had heard in years. A squeaky, determined warning. 

Doongie paused like he’d just been challenged to a duel, and Minho had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing too loud. 

“Ohhh. Dangerous, “ he muttered. “Spine-chilling, truly.” 

The kitten swatted, more air than contact, but the message was clear: THIS BOWL IS MINE, TRESPASSER. 

Soonie, proud from where she ate her own food, gave a supportive chirp. 

Minho crouched, rubbing the kitten’s hed gently. “You’re not scary,” he said fondly, “but gods you are committed." 

The kitten returned to eating, fast and protective, his shoulders hunched like someone might rip it away. 

Minho’s heart clenched in the same way it had the night before, tender and painful. “You’ve had to fight for every mouthful, huh?” 

The kitten didn’t look at him, but his tiny tail twitched once, like he heard, even if he didn't understand. 

Minho let the moment settle. Then, softly, he said, “You need a name.” 

The kitten paused mid-chew. 

Minho tilted his head thoughtfully, studying the fiery orange fur, the fierce little posture, and the bold but tiny hiss still echoing in his memory. 

“...Yongbok.” 

Soonie lifted her head, approving. 

The kitten blinked at him, crumbs stuck to his mouth, eyes big and bright. 

Minho smiled. “It means dragon. And you”–he tapped the kitten’s tiny chest with one gentle finger–”are very small, but very convinced you can set the world on fire.” 

The kitten responded by letting out a proud, indignant, mrrp, as if accepting the title. 

Minho laughed softly, scooping the little body into his hands. 

“Well then,” he murmured, pressing a small kiss to the soft top of the kitten’s head, “Welcome home, Yongbok.” 

Yongbok purred, loud and steady, like the sound of someone finally safe enough to rest. 

After breakfast, Yongbok sat on the rug licking his paws with the concentrated seriousness of someone preparing for battle. Minho watched him for a moment, amused, endeared, and just a little bit concerned. 

“Alright, tiny dragon,” he sighed, getting up and grabbing the medical supplies again. “Time for a check up.” 

At the sound of the kit opening, Yongbok froze mid-lick. Then, with the speed of someone who had lived through a bath and would not be fooled again, he tried to make a run for it. 

“Oh no you don’t.” Minho scooped him up gently but firmly, holding his squirmy body against his chest as the kitten twisted, kicking tiny back legs and squeaking in protest. 

“Mrrrrrp! Mrrrrpp! MREOW!” 

Minho winced as the sound pierced the quiet morning. 

“Yes, yes, you’re very  dramatic, I know.” He sat cross-legged on the floor, keeping Yongbok secure but not trapped. 

The kitten wriggled again, twisting, and trying to heatbutt his way out of Minho’s grip. 

“Stop squirming,” Minho muttered, trying to get a better angle to check the bandages. “I’m trying to help you.” 

Yongbok did not care. His only objective was freedom. 

Finally, with a sigh pulled from the depths of someone who had raised three other cats, Minho gently scruffed him. Not harsh, but just enough pressure behind the neck to trigger his instinct. 

Yongbok went still and lax instantly. His back legs dangled, his tail curled, and his mouth closed mid-meow. 

Minho blinked. “God, why is that so cute?” 

Yongbok blinked slowly up at him, tiny body relaxed, and looking mildly offended at being tricked by his biology. 

Minho took the opportunity and carefully loosened the bandages and inspected the wounds. His brow furrowed. They looked… better, much better. 

The small puncture marks had already begun closing, the bruising was dramatically lighter and even the torn ear was no longer raw and swollen. 

That shouldn’t have been possible, not overnight. 

Minho leaned back a little, thoughtful. 

“Well,” he murmured, brushing a thumb gently between the kitten’s ears, “either I’m a medical genius or you’re built out of magic and spite.” 

Yongbok let out a soft, resigned “mrp,” still limp from being scruffed. 

Minho laughed under his breath, warmth softening his features as he smoothed the fur on the kitten’s head. “Good boy. Almost done.” 

He applied a thin line of ointment, re-wrapped what need it, and then, finally relaxed his grip. 

The moment he stopped scruffing, Yongbok shook himself out like a composed gentleman reclaiming dignity, puffed his fur, and walked three steps away before flopping onto his side dramatically. 

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Oh yes, tragic, I know. I tortured you, how will you ever recover.” 

Yongbok softly kicked the air once as if agreeing. 

Minho snorted and grabbed his phone, the group chat still blinking with unread messages. He read through them, panicked questions, joking threats, and Changbin’s “if you don’t tell me she’s back alive I’m stealing your Playstation,” and Chan sending at least four serious ARE YOU OKAY??? messages.

Minho snapped a photo of Yongbok, the kitten now sitting with puffed fur, visible bandages, and an expression halfway between confused and proud. He sent it with a message: 

Minho: Everyone calm down. Soonie came back last night with this. {photo attached}

Changbin: WHAT IS THAT

Chan: is that a kitten????

Jisung: IM SCREAMING

Hyunjin: HE LOOKS LIKE A SWEET POTATO

Seungmin: …why does he look mad already 

Minho: His name is Yongbok. He’s dramatic. He screams. He fights everyone. Soonie has adopted him. I guess I have too. 

Jeongin: YONGBOK?? THAT’S SO CUTE

Changbin: MINHO YOU HAVE A CHILD NOW

Hyunjin: tiny dragon prince 😭😭😭

Seungmin: he looks like he commits tax fraud 

The next couple of hours unfolded like a documentary titled: “Tiny Dragon: Exploring His New Kingdom.” 

Minho sat cross legged on the couch with a mug of coffee he desperately needed, watching Yongbok toddle around the living room with growing confidence. His little paws made soft tap-tap-tap sounds against the floor as he inspected corners, furniture legs, and the general existence of gravity. 

Then, his attention locked onto a small, abandoned crinkly toy mouse beneath the coffee table. 

The transformation was instant. 

His pupils blew wide. His little belly dropped low to the floor, and his tail wiggled, not gracefully, but more like it malfunctioned and wasn’t attached properly. 

Minho sipped his coffee. “Oh no,” he whispered. “Oh yes.” 

With a tiny growl, more squeak than threat, Yongbok leapt. He tackled the mouse with the intensity of a seasoned predator, kicking it repeatedly with his back legs like it had offended his ancestors. 

Soonie watched proudly from a few feet away. Doongie observed like a concerned teacher monitoring a spirited but hopeless student. Dori rolled onto her back and chirped, clearly amused. 

Yongbok continued his ferocious assault until he accidentally rolled too far, flopped upside down, and laid there blinking at the ceiling like the world had betrayed him. 

“Yeah. Warrior life is hard,” Minho laughed softly. 

Yongbok righted himself, slightly wobbly and slightly offended, and marched onward straight into the hallway mirror. 

He stopped dead, and the kitten in the reflection also stopped. Yongbok squinted, and the mirror kitten squinted right back. He then leaned in closer, but so did the other kitten. 

Then, with righteous  fury, Yongbok arched his back and hissed at himself. 

Minho covered his mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Oh my god–” 

Yongbok then lifted a paw and batted the mirror with all the authority of a king defending his throne. But, the mirror kitten batted back, and Yongbok reeled backward in pure shock. 

“Aegi,” Minho wheezed, wiping his eyes, “that’s YOU. You’re picking fights with yourself.” 

The kitten growled at the mirror one last time, tail puffed before dramatically turning away like he’d won out of sheer stubbornness. 

As he stomped off, something else caught his eye: a folded throw blanket on the floor, soft, knitted, cream-colored, and slightly oversized. 

Yongbok approached cautiously, sniffing it. Then, without hesitation, he flopped onto it. He rolled, kneaded, and rubbed his face into the fabric with the exhausted passion of someone who had traveled across deserts to find this one sacred object. 

Minho blinked. “Oh, so that’s yours now, huh?” 

Yongbok responded with a half-asleep, ‘mrrrp,” already curling into a crescent of orange fluff. 

But before sleep could completely claim him, Minho reached down and scooped him up gently into his hands. 

The kitten blinked up at him, confused but not protesting. Minho smiled softly. 

“Come here, trouble.” He sat back on the couch and placed Yongbok against his shoulder, one hand cupped around his tiny body so he wouldn’t slip. 

The kitten hesitated for only a second before putting his nose under Minho’s jaw and melting into the warmth like he belonged there. His purr started small, from his throat to his chest to his limbs, until it vibrated through Minho’s bones. 

Minho felt his heart soften in that quiet, invisible way things do when something precious settles exactly where it’s meant to be. He rubbed gentle circles over Yongbok’s back. 

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Little chaos machine one minute, baby burrito the next.” 

The purring slowed, not from stopping, but from sleep pulling it into steadier rhythm. Yongbok’s tiny paws twitched once, then rested as his breathing deepened. 

Soonie padded over, hopped onto the couch, and curled beside Minho’s hip, like she was clocking in for protective duty. 

Minho leaned his head back, eyes half-closing, and his voice barely above breath. “You’re gonna be trouble,” he murmured, kissing the top of Yongbok’s head once. 

Minho nearly drifted off with Yongbok sleeping against his shoulder when his phone buzzed. 

He ignored it at first, unwilling to move and wake the tiny furnace pressed against him. But the phone buzzed again, then a third time with the specific insistence of someone who knew he was ignoring them on purpose. 

Minho sighed, shifted carefully, and peeked at the screen. 

Seungmin: you have a new kitten and you didn’t bring him in. minho. MINHO. 

Seungmin: Bring. Him. To. The. Clinic. 

Minho squinted. 

Minho: He’s fine. I checked him over. Twice. 

Seungmin: you are not a certified veterinarian

Minho: I work at the vet clinic

Seungmin: as a technician. not god

Minho rolled his eyes, and Yongbok snored on, while Soonie chirped quietly like she agreed with Seungmin and Mino was being difficult. Before Minho could respond, another message popped up. 

Seungmin: get his little gremlin butt in the car and come here before i drag you out myself. or i’ll make chan do it

Minho shut his eyes. No, no, he wasn’t emotionally  built for Chan’s energy today. 

Chan: I CAN’T WAIT TO MEET THE PUPPY

Chan: i’m already at the clinic!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Minho took a deep breath and typed slowly. 

Minho: he’s a kitten. 

Chan: puppy kitten same thing I LOVE HIM ALREADY 

Minho exhaled through his nose. “To think I voluntarily interact with these people,” he muttered as he slid his phone into his pocket and stood. 

Minho moved quietly around the apartment, not wanting to disturb the purring lump on his shoulder. He crouched in front of the storage cabinet and slowly opened it. 

The sound was soft, the reaction though, was not. 

Soonie’s ears perked, her eyes widened, her tail flicked once, and then she sprinted across the room and launched herself directly into the open carrier before it was even fully slid out. 

Minho blinked at her. 

Soonie settled inside with the calm acceptance of someone who had seen many carriers and many car rides and had decided resistance was pointless. 

Minho gently scooped Yongbok from his shoulder The moment the warmth shifted, the tiny kitten stirred, blinking groggily up at him with a confused little chirp. 

“Sorry, dragon,” Minho whispered, tucking him close. “We have to go.” 

He slowly lowered him into the carrier beside Soonie, and for one blissful second, he thought everything would be okay. 

Then, Yongbok realized where he was, and activated siren mode. 

“MRAAAAAAWWW!” He slammed his tiny paws against the carrier walls, scrambling, digging, and wriggling like he was trying to escape a maximum security prison built specifically to offend him. 

Soonie blinked, startled, while Yongbok let out another high pitched and betrayed yell. 

“MRREEHHH!”

Minho pressed his forehead to the top of the carrier and whispered, “You are SO cute, but SO dramatic.” 

Yongbok did not care. He continued to yell. 

Minho carried the carrier outside and placed it on the passenger seat. Yongbok immediately turned his outrage toward the transparent door, pressing his face against it, screaming directly at Minho like a tiny, furious opera singer. 

Soonie sat beside him, calmly blinking like: Children are exhausting. 

Minho buckled the carrier in, got behind the wheel, and started the car. The moment the engine hummed, all he could hear was a symphony of: 

“MrrAAOOWWW!! MRRP!! MEEHH! MRRRRRAOOO!” 

Minho pinched the bridge of his nose. “You aren’t even hurt anymore,” he muttered. “You’re just offended.” 

Yongbok stomped in a tiny circle inside the carrier, puffed up like a disgruntled pomeranian who had lost a fight with static electricity. Soonie watched him patiently, occasionally offering a soft chirp, as if to say Buddy, breathe. 

Yongbok ignored her. 

Minho glanced over at him and smiled despite himself. 

“You’re going to have Seungmin wrapped around your little claws within five minutes, “ he murmured. “And you know it.” 

Yongbok paused mid-scream, and made eye contact, letting out one last, quieter little: “...mrrrp.” 

“Yeah. I know,” he whispered gently. “It’s scary. But I’ve got you.” And as the car carried them toward the clinic, Yongbok slowly curled beside Soonie in the carrier, still trembling with leftover panic, but trusting enough to stay close. 

Minho drove with one hand on the wheel and one resting atop the carrier in silent reassurance, because even the tiniest dragons needed someone to protect them sometimes. 

-

The moment Minho parked, Yongbok snapped back to life. His pupils blew wide and his fur puffed out in all directions. The cries began again, louder now, echoing dramatically off the inside of the carrier. 

Soonie simply sighed. 

Minho lifted the carrier in one hand, his bag in the other, and pushed open the clinic door. Minho moved quickly down the hallway, his shoes squeaking against the polished floor.

Yongbok cried the whole way, voice high and raw with panic, his little paws scraping against the carrier door. Not angry this time, just scared. His cries echoed louder than his size had any right to allow. 

Soonie pressed close to him inside the carrier, bumping him gently with her head every time the kitten worked himself up too much. It soothed nothing, but the intention warmed Minho all the same. 

He slipped into exam room three and shut the door carefully, like any sudden noise might shatter the kitten’s fragile nerves. Then, he opened the carrier. 

Soonie stepped out first, stretching and flicking her tail like he’d done this a million times, which she had. Her confidence was silent reassurance. A statement: we’ve survived worse. 

Yongbok stayed frozen. His tiny head peeked out, eyes huge and glassy, scanning the unfamiliar room like something might leap at him. 

Minho sat cross legged on the floor, patient, his open palms resting on his knees. 

“You’re okay,” he murmured, voice warm and steady. “Come here.” 

Yongbok all but scrambled into Minho’s hands, pressing his entire body into the warmth of his chest like he was trying to disappear inside him. Minho instinctively cupped him closer, thumb rubbing gentle circles behind his ear. 

“Alright, alright,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. You’re not doing this alone.” 

Yongbok trembled, his tiny claws gripping the fabric of Minho’s sweater. 

Soonie leaped onto the bench beside them and curled up nearby, watchful, alert, and protective.

The three of them waited like that, quiet and breathing in sync, until a knock sounded at the door. 

Yongbok stiffened instantly, Soonie growled low in her throat, and Minho rolled his eyes.  

“If you bite me,” came Seungmin’s weary voice through the door, “I’m prescribing you antibiotics.” 

“Come in,” Minho sighed. 

Seungmin stepped inside, clipboard tucked under one arm, and a stethoscope hanging loosely around his neck. He scanned the scene of Minho holding a tense kitten like he was protecting a sacred artifact, and stopped. 

His eyes softened just barely. “Oh,” he murmured, stepping closer. “He’s even smaller than the picture.” 

Minho lifted the kitten slightly, not offering, just proving something so small truly existed. Yongbok clung tighter, burying his face into Minho’s sleeve. 

“He’s terrified,” Seungmin huffed. 

“He’s dramatic,” Minho corrected. 

“He’s both,” Seungmin shot back. 

Then, with the precision of someone who knew exactly what he was doing, Seungmin reached out and scratched gently under Yongbok’s chin. 

The reaction was instant. Yongbok went limp and the smallest purr trembled out of him. 

Minho stared. 

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “I bathe him, feed him, save his entire life, and you just get him to calm down like that!”

Seungmin smirked. “Cats respect competence.” 

Minho opened his mouth, but shut it again when he realized arguing would only prove the point. 

Seungmin adjusted his grip on the kitten, holding him securely but tenderly. 

“His wounds are healing beautifully,” Seungmin murmured, inspecting briefly. “But I want bloodwork. Just to make sure there’s no hidden infection or immune response.” 

Minho nodded without hesitation. 

“Whatever you need. I just want him okay.” His voice cracked on the last word. 

Seungmin didn’t comment, but his eyes flicked up, softened, then returned to the task. He prepared the supplies quickly. The metallic click of the needle cap made Yongbok twitch violently. 

“Shh, little guy,” Seungmin murmured, shifting him gently. “Just a tiny pinch.” 

The needle slipped in. 

The scream that followed was soul shattering. Small, but full body, hurt, betrayed, and scared. 

Soonie lunged toward the table, tail puffed and teeth bared. 

“No–no, sweetheart–” Minho caught her, holding her against his chest as she thrashed in instinctive defense. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered into her fur. “He’s not hurting him. He’s helping.” 

Yongbok’s crie weakened as the vial filled, and by the time Seungmin placed a tiny paw sized bandage on his leg, the kitten was shaking from feeling too small in a world too large. 

Seungmin handed him back carefully. 

Minho took him like something fragile and irreplaceable, and Yongbok instantly burrowed into his chest and let out a tiny, shaky mewl. 

“Oh,” Minho breathed, pressing his cheek gently to the kitten’s head. “I know. I know. But you did so well.” 

Seungmin washed his hands and gathered the samples. 

“I’ll run these and be right back,” he said quietly. “Give him a few minutes. Let him feel safe again.” He hesitated at the door, then, softer than before: 

“He’s lucky you found him.” The door shut behind him. 

Yongbok curled tighter into Minho’s sweater, his tiny body finally relaxing, his little heart slowing back to a steady rhythm. 

Soonie rested beside them with her tail wrapped protectively around both. 

Minho breathed in the soft kitten warmth against his chest and whispered into the quiet, “You’re safe now. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Minho’s hand moved slowly through the kitten’s fur, his thumb brushing carefully just behind a tiny ear like he’d discovered exactly where comfort lives. Each breath Yongbok took grew a little steadier and a little less desperate. 

It might have remained peaceful for longer, if not for the door slamming open. 

“WHERE IS HE–”

Chan barreled into the room like enthusiasm wrapped in muscle and way too much energy. His tail, fluffy and golden, wagged so hard it nearly knocked a clipboard off the counter. His ears, unmistakably canine, stood perfectly upright. 

“Oh my GOD he’s so SMALL–” He took three bounding steps toward Minho, and the room erupted. 

Soonie hissed first, sharp and loud. Yongbok went rigid and let out a terrified, high-pitched warning scream, and Minho, without thinking, made a low, guttural sound from deep in his chest. A sound halfway between a warning growl and a territorial hiss. 

Everyone froze. Chan stopped mid-step, one foot lifted in the air like a paused GIF. And slowly, bewildered, he tilted his head. “...Minho?” 

Minho blinked, heat rushing to his face. “What?” 

Chan sniffed the air once, his eyes narrowing in confusion. “You’re not a hybrid.” 

“No, I’m not.” 

Chan blinked again. “Then what was–” 

“NOTHING,” Minho snapped, clutching Yongbok a little closer. “And you–” he pointed accusingly, need to calm. Down. Now.” 

Chan immediately straightened, ears lowering just a touch. 

“I–I’m calm!” he insisted. 

“You’re vibrating.” 

“I’m just excited!” 

“You’re huge,” Minho countered, voice softening as he stroked the shaking kitten in his hold. “He’s scared. He’s been through enough.” 

That got through to him, and Chan’s posture changed, his shoulders softened, his tail slowed, and his voice smoothed into something softer. 

“Okay…. Sorry.” He approached again, slower this time, and crouched beside Minho, making himself smaller and less threatening. 

“Hi, baby,” he whispered warmly. 

Yongbok watched him with wide amber eyes, still tense and unsure, but no longer screaming. 

Chan sniffed the air near him, his brow furrowing slowly. 

“His scent,” he murmured. “It’s familiar.” 

Minho stiffened. “Don’t.” 

Chan looked up. “No seriously, I–” 

“Nope,” Minho cut him off, tugging the kitten back into his arms. “I know that look. You want to steal him.” 

Chan’s tail thumped once. “I mean… just for a little–” 

“Absolutely not.” 

Chan huffed, pouting. “He smells nice.” 

Minho narrowed his eyes. “Stop sniffing my cat.” 

Before Chan could argue again, a sharp, hurried knock hit the door, and then Seungmin burst back into the room, nearly breathless. 

“Give him to me.” 

Minho tensed, protective instinct flaring. 

“What? Why? What’s wrong?” 

Seungmin held out his hands, not impatient or annoyed, but urgent. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” he reassured quickly. “But something in his bloodwork flagged–just give him here.” 

Minho hesitated half a heartbeat, then gently transferred Yongbok into Seungmin’s hands. 

The kitten let out a startled “mrrp!”  and clung weakly to Seungmin’s coat. 

Chan leaned forward anxiously. Soonie stood up, ready to intervene, and Minho’s heart hammered in his chest. 

“What’s happening?” he demanded. 

“Seungmin didn’t look up, he was already drawing something into a syringe. “Hold him still.” 

Chan instinctively reached forward, steadying the kitten gently but securely, voice soft. 

“It’s okay, little guy. You’re alright.” 

Seungmin administered the injection quickly, and Yongbok screamed out a tiny, wounded, and betrayed sound. 

Minho’s chest clenched. “HEY–”

“Wait,” Seungmin murmured, stepping back. “Give it a second.” 

The kitten sneezed once, twice, then let out a confused chirp. 

Minho opened his mouth to ask, and the world shifted. 

Light rippled softly around Yongbok’s tiny body, fur flickering like flame in the wind. His paws stretched and elongated, bones shifting, limbs lengthening, and fur receding as something impossibly delicate and human formed in its place. 

Soonie stepped back with a startled hiss. 

For a long heartbeat, no one moved. 

The tiny kitten who had just moments ago fit in Minho’s hand was now sitting, small, thin and trembling, on the exam table in the form of a young man. 

Soft blonde hair fell in uneven waves around his face, styled into a mullet that looked like it had grown with no guidance other than sheer survival. His eyes, the same warm amber Minho had seen in the kitten, blinked slowly, still glassy with fear and confusion. 

Two twitching orange ears sat perched on top of his head, with a fluffy tail curled protectively round his legs. 

Seungmin inhaled sharply, Minho froze, his breath caught mid-chest, and Chan absolutely lost it. 

“AHHHHHHH-” 

Minho jerked so violently he nearly knocked over the supply tray. “CHAN–WHAT–SHUT—STOP!!”

Chan slapped both hands over his mouth to muffle the scream, but his tail wagged wildly behind him, betraying every ounce of excitement. 

Seungmin recovered first and stepped forward slowly, crouching to meet the boy’s eye level. 

“Hey,” he said gently, doctor voice slipping in, “are you okay? Anything hurt? Are you dizzy? Can you talk?” 

The hybrid blinked a few times, processing, before nodding. 

“Yes–just–tired.” His voice, deep, warm, and unexpectedly rich, rolled out of him like honey. 

All three of them jerked at the sound, Chan’s ears perked straight up, and Minho’s eyebrows shot toward the ceiling. 

“That is not the voice I expected to come from such a tiny kitten,” Seungmin said. 

The boy laughed nervously, and the sound cracked into something more fragile. 

“S-sorry… my voice always surprises people.” 

Seungmin straightened, flipping immediately back into practical mode. 

“Well. You shifted. That’s progress,” he murmured, scribbling something on the chart. “But your kitten form is unusually small. Can you explain that?” 

The boy hesitated, fiddling with the edge of the blanket Seungmin had draped around him. 

“I’m twenty,” he said finally. 

Minho blinked once. Then twice. 

“That was a tiny kitten,” Minho muttered. 

The boy nodded shyly. 

“Yeah. Um. My shift’s always been stuck that way. I never figured out how to grow into a bigger form. The shelter said I’d probably be small forever.” His voice wavered just slightly, like someone afraid the honesty itself might hurt him. 

Then he risked looking up at Minho, and the instant their eyes met, panic flickered in them. 

“I–I didn’t mean to trick you,” he rushed out. “I swear I wasn’t trying to hide anything, I just– I couldn’t shift and I was scared and hurt nd–” His breath stuttered as his words spilled out messy and frantic. 

“And you– you were so kind and gentle and you didn’t get mad at me or push me or– or yell– and I didn’t want to scare you or make you hate me and–” His voice cracked and his eyes filled with tears. 

“I’m sorry– I’m really, really, sorry.” 

Before the first tear could fall, Minho was already moving. He wrapped his arms around the hybrid, slowly and carefully, like asking permission without needing words. And the boy melted into him, burying his face into Minho’s shoulder with a small, choked sound. 

“It’s okay,” Minho murmured, one hand gently resting between the twitching ears. “You didn’t trick me. You survived. I’m glad Soonie found you.” 

The boy let out a shaking breath, shoulders trembling. 

Chan watched them with wide, wet eyes, until something clicked. His ears perked, his tail froze, and his face crumpled. 

“...Felix?” 

The boy stiffened, and slowly, he lifted his head and stared at Chan. 

“...Chris?” 

Chan didn’t answer with words. Instead, he launched.  

“FEEELIIIIIIIIIIIX–!”

Minho barely yanked him back in time. 

“CHAN!” 

Chan whined, full dog instinct, his tail thrashing wildly behind him. 

“But–BUT HE’S HERE–HE’S ALIVE–I THOUGHT–” 

Minho glared, Chan wilted, and then Minho released him. 

Chan moved forward slowly this time, hands hovering, until Felix gave a tiny nod. Then Chan wrapped him in a crushing hug. 

Felix let out a startled laugh, wet and disbelieving and hugged back just as tightly. 

“You–you got adopted,” Chan whispered, voice thick. “I always wondered where you went.” 

Feli nodded, swallowing hard. 

“Yeah. A family took me. They were nice, but then their grandma got sick so they brought me here to live with her. She–” His voice faltered. 

“She passed. And I ended up in another shelter. I didn’t want to say there so I ran. But some stray cats kept following me. I couldn’t find them all and–” 

He lifted a hand to touch the fading wounds. “And that’s when Soonie found me.” 

Soonie chirped from the exam table, tail curling proudly. 

Chan cupped Felix’s cheeks gently. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah. Minho took care of me.” Felix nodded. 

Minho cleared his throat and stepped forward, voice softer than he intended. “Felix-ah?” 

Felix looked up, nervous again. “Y-yes?” 

Minho rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly awkward. “Can we talk? Just us?” 

Chan opened his mouth, probably to protest or claim Felix again, but Minho shot him a look that shut him up instantly. 

Felix swallowed, then nodded. “Okay.” 

Chan reluctantly left after one last bone-crushing hug and Seungmin excused himself to run final tests, leaving the room finally, blissfully quiet. 

Felix sat on the edge of the exam table, blanket still draped around his shoulders, his newly-shifted body small and slightly hunched, like he wasn’t used to taking up space. His orange ears twitched every few seconds, reacting to the hum of the overhead lights, the distant bark from the kennels, and the subtle sound of Minho breathing across from him. 

His tail, fluffy and golden-orange, curled instinctively around his knees, protective and hesitant. 

Minho leaned against the counter at first, arms foldable loosely, but his gaze never left Felix. He was studying him, not like a puzzle per se, but like something previous he hadn’t expected to find. 

Felix’s fingers toyed with the edge of the blanket. “So…” he murmured, voice quieter now, “This is… weird, right?” 

Minho huffed a soft breath that might have been a laugh. 

“Weird is one word,” he murmured. “Unexpected is another.” 

Felix nodded slowly. His eyes flicked up to Minho, then away just as fast, like his courage came in flashes he wasn’t used to holding onto yet. 

“You’re not angry?” he finally asked.

Minho pushed off the counter and crossed the room. Felix didn’t flinch, but his breath caught, Minho heard it. 

He stopped right in front of him. 

“Why would I be angry?” 

Felix swallowed, his throat bobbing. 

“Because I wasn’t honest. And I… you took care of me, and you didn’t know what I was, and people usually don’t like surprises when hybrids are involved, and–” 

Minho gently lifted his hand and placed two fingers beneath Felix’s chin so he couldn’t look away. 

“Hey.” 

Felix went still. His amber eyes lifted to Minho’s and something in Minho’s chest tightened sharplh. There was so much vulnerability in those eyes. 

“No one deserves anger for surviving,” Minho said softly. “Least of all you.” 

Felix blinked, and his lashes shook like he was fighting back tears. 

“You weren’t hiding to hurt anyone,” Minho continued, his voice steady, one thumb brushing lightly along Felix’s jaw. “You were hiding because you were scared. There’s a difference.” 

A tear slipped free, and Felix’s breath shuddered. And Minho, without thinking, wiped it gently with his thumb. 

Felix leaned into the touch, slowly and almost instinctively, every movement filled with trust. 

Minho hadn’t expected that. But he felt it like gravity shifting. 

Felix drew a shaky breath. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Anything.” 

Felix hesitated, not because he doubted Minho’s answer, but because the asking itself cost something. 

“Can I stay with you?” The question was soft, barely above a whisper, but it echoed heavy with longing, fear, and something achingly hopeful. 

Minho stared at him fro a moment, taking in everything: The scared bravado, the exhaustion hidden in his posture, the ears that twitched when he was nervous, the tail curling tighter, betraying anxiety, and the warmth in his gaze, quiet and shy, but undeniable. 

He thought of the tiny kitten screaming in the carrier. Of the way Yongbok pressed into him when scared, of the soft purrs while asleep against his shoulder, and of how natural it felt holding him.

Minho exhaled. “You can stay.” 

Felix froze, disbelief written clear across his face. “Really?” 

Minho nodded once, but then his expression shifted, subtle and teasing, because softness didn’t erase personality. 

“But I’m still calling you Yongbok.” 

Felix’s ears flicked straight up. “W-what?! Why??” 

“You hissed at Doongie like an angry tea kettle and weigh less than a house slipper. The name fits.” 

Felix opened his mouth, possibly to argue, but his tail betrayed him by swishing happily, and his cheeks flushed pink. 

“Yongbok…” he repeated quietly, testing it. 

Minho watched him, and something in Felix softened visibly. Like the name wasn’t just a joke, like it was safety, like it was a place to belong. 

Minho stepped closer until he stood directly in front of him, close enough that Felix could feel the warmth radiating off him. 

“Come on,” Minho murmured. “Let’s go home.” 

Felix slid off the exam table, blanket still wrapped around him, and when Minho offered his hand, tentative but sure, Felix took it. 

Minho squeezed his hand gently. “Come on, Yongbok.”