Chapter Text
Jimmy realized it had become a problem when he started recognizing the cats.
Not in a vague way—not in the way all kittens blurred into the same soft, wide-eyed shape.
Specifically.
There was the gray one with the crooked ear. The orange one that kept falling off things. The very small, very loud white one that screamed at doors like it had personal grievances with architecture.
And all of them—
All of them—
Were sent by Sea.
Jimmy’s phone buzzed again, the sound soft but persistent where it rested on the table beside him. He didn’t look at it immediately. He was in the middle of reading something—focused, halfway through a paragraph—but the distraction lingered at the edge of his attention.
It buzzed again.
Jimmy exhaled quietly, reached over, and picked it up.
Another video.
This one opened automatically.
A tiny kitten, barely steady on its feet, was attempting to chase its own tail and failing with surprising determination.
Jimmy watched it longer than he intended.
“…No,” he said out loud, even though no one was there.
He typed it anyway.
No.
He set the phone down.
It buzzed again.
Jimmy didn’t move this time.
He stared at the screen.
Waited.
It buzzed a third time.
Slowly, like someone accepting an inevitable outcome, he reached for it again.
A picture this time.
Three cats.
All staring directly into the camera like they were aware of being evaluated.
“We need to discuss names.”
Jimmy closed his eyes.
“No, we don’t.”
He typed it.
Sent it.
The reply came instantly.
“The gray one is Mochi.”
Jimmy stared at the message.
Another one followed.
“The orange one is clearly Mango.”
A pause.
Then—
“The small angry one is you.”
Jimmy leaned back in his chair, pressing his fingers briefly against his temple.
“This is getting out of hand,” he muttered.
It didn’t stop.
If anything, it evolved.
By the next day, Sea had moved past sending videos.
He had started curating.
Jimmy opened his phone that morning to find an entire sequence waiting for him.
Photos.
Captions.
Names.
“Mochi is shy but loyal.”
“Mango is chaotic but affectionate.”
“This one is Latte. He has anxiety but we will support him.”
Jimmy scrolled.
Then stopped.
“…We?” he said under his breath.
The phone buzzed again.
“Latte has been through a lot.”
Jimmy typed back immediately this time.
Sea.
There was a pause.
Long enough that Jimmy thought—briefly—that maybe it had worked.
Then—
“You’re not taking this seriously.”
Jimmy stared at the message.
“Correct,” he said.
🌊🌊🌊
That evening, Sea brought it up in person.
Not directly.
Never directly.
Jimmy was in the kitchen, finishing something simple, when Sea walked in and leaned against the counter, quiet for a moment.
Jimmy didn’t look up immediately.
He felt it.
That particular kind of silence.
“…Mango would like this,” Sea said casually.
Jimmy paused.
Slowly, he turned his head.
“What.”
Sea gestured vaguely at the food. “This. He looks like he enjoys simple things.”
Jimmy stared at him.
“Mango is not real.”
Sea frowned slightly. “He is real. I sent you the video.”
“That’s not—” Jimmy stopped himself, exhaling. “That’s not what I meant.”
Sea tilted his head, considering him.
Then nodded, like he was accepting a compromise Jimmy hadn’t actually offered.
“Okay,” he said. “Then Mochi would like it.”
Jimmy set the utensil down.
“Sea.”
“Yes?”
“We are not discussing what hypothetical cats would like.”
“They’re not hypothetical,” Sea corrected. “They exist.”
“That’s not helping your argument.”
Sea hummed, unbothered, then pushed himself off the counter and walked a little closer.
“You didn’t say no to the names,” he pointed out.
“I did,” Jimmy replied immediately.
“You said no to the cats.”
“That includes the names.”
Sea considered that.
Then—
“I don’t think it does.”
Jimmy stared at him.
Sea met his gaze calmly, completely serious.
Then added, almost thoughtfully—
“I think we’re past that stage.”
Jimmy blinked.
“…What stage?”
“The denial stage.”
Jimmy let out a short, disbelieving breath.
“We are not in stages.”
“We are,” Sea insisted. “You’re just behind.”
It got worse after that.
Sea started referring to them casually.
Not constantly.
Just enough.
Jimmy would be reading.
Working.
Existing peacefully—
And then—
“Mochi would sit there,” Sea would say, pointing at a perfectly normal, empty spot on the couch.
Jimmy would not respond.
“That’s where he would like it,” Sea would continue.
Jimmy would continue not responding.
A pause.
Then—
“Mango would not sit there. Mango would cause problems.”
Jimmy closed his eyes.
“…Of course he would.”
Sea brightened immediately. “So you agree.”
“I don’t agree.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
“You said it.”
Jimmy opened his eyes again.
This time, Sea was smiling.
Soft.
Hopeful.
Not pushing.
Just… placing it there again.
Gently.
Jimmy looked at him for a second longer than necessary.
Then looked away.
“…We’re not getting a cat,” he said, quieter this time.
Sea didn’t argue.
Of course he didn’t.
He just nodded.
“Okay.”
And let it rest there.
🌊🌊🌊
The next morning, Jimmy woke up to a message.
Just one.
A photo.
A very small kitten, curled into itself, eyes half-closed, fur slightly uneven like it hadn’t quite figured itself out yet.
No caption.
No name.
Jimmy stared at it.
Longer than he should have.
Then—
Slowly—
He typed.
…What’s this one called?
The reply came immediately.
“I was thinking… maybe yours.”
Jimmy exhaled.
Long.
Quiet.
“…This is a problem,” he said to himself.
But he didn’t put the phone down right away.
Jimmy didn’t answer immediately.
He looked at the picture again—the small, curled thing, fragile in a way that made it look like it belonged somewhere quiet and warm. Something that needed care. Something that, very clearly, Sea would love.
His thumb hovered over the screen for a second longer than necessary.
Then he locked the phone.
🌊🌊🌊
He didn’t bring it up that morning.
Or that afternoon.
He waited until evening, when the apartment had settled into its usual rhythm—Sea on the couch, legs tucked under him, half-watching something, half-scrolling through his phone.
Jimmy stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him.
Sea didn’t notice.
Or maybe he did, and just didn’t look up.
Jimmy stepped closer.
“Sea.”
Sea hummed softly, eyes still on the screen. “Mm?”
Jimmy leaned slightly against the back of the couch, arms loosely crossed—not closed off, just… steady.
“We’re not getting a cat.”
Sea didn’t react right away.
That was expected.
He let a second pass. Then another.
Only then did he look up.
“…Okay.”
Jimmy frowned slightly.
Too easy.
“I mean it,” he added, more clearly. “Not now. Not later.”
Sea nodded.
“I know.”
There was no argument.
No teasing.
No but what if.
Just acceptance.
And that—
That felt worse.
Jimmy exhaled slowly, trying to keep his tone even.
“You’re already allergic to dust,” he continued. “You have to clean every day just to keep it under control. A cat would make it worse. It’s not just inconvenience, Sea—it’s your health.”
Sea listened.
Really listened.
Eyes steady. Expression quiet.
“I know,” he said again.
Jimmy paused.
Waiting for something else.
A push. A joke. A half-hearted attempt to negotiate.
Nothing came.
Sea looked back down at his phone.
The conversation ended there.
The messages stopped that same day.
No videos.
No pictures.
No names.
Jimmy noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
At first, he told himself it was good. That this was how it should have been from the start—clear, resolved, practical.
He didn’t have to say no again.
He didn’t have to explain.
Sea had understood.
It was… easier.
Quieter.
Too quiet.
A few days passed.
Sea didn’t bring it up.
Not once.
No comments about imaginary cats. No offhand mentions. No casual references slipped into conversations like they used to be.
The couch stayed empty.
No Mochi.
No Mango.
Jimmy caught himself glancing at that spot more than once.
He didn’t comment on it.
He didn’t ask.
He just… noticed.
🌊🌊🌊
That night, Jimmy came home late.
Later than usual.
The apartment was dim, lights low, the quiet of it settling into something soft and familiar.
Sea was on the couch again, curled into himself, half-asleep, a blanket pulled loosely around him.
Jimmy stopped by the door.
Watched him.
There was something different about the stillness.
Not wrong.
Just… smaller.
Jimmy exhaled quietly, slipping off his shoes, careful not to make too much noise.
He moved forward slowly.
Then stopped.
Because Sea stirred.
Blinking awake.
“…Hia?” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.
Jimmy didn’t answer right away.
Sea pushed himself up slightly, rubbing at his eyes, then finally looked at him properly.
And froze.
Jimmy stood there, one hand still by his side.
The other—
Holding something small.
Thin.
Long-eared.
With wide, alert eyes and a body that looked almost too delicate for itself.
The kitten blinked.
Sea blinked.
Once.
Twice.
“…Jimmy.”
Jimmy shifted his grip slightly, awkward in a way he rarely was.
“It’s an Oriental Shorthair,” he said, like he was presenting a case. “Low shedding. Considered more tolerable for allergies.”
Sea didn’t move.
“I talked to a vet,” Jimmy continued. “We can manage exposure. Regular cleaning, air filters, limited access to certain rooms. I already—” he stopped himself, exhaling. “I already set things up.”
Silence.
Sea just stared at him.
At the cat.
Back at him.
“You said no,” Sea said quietly.
“I meant it,” Jimmy replied.
A pause.
Then—
“I also meant it when I said it’s about your health.”
Sea’s throat tightened slightly.
Jimmy stepped closer.
Slowly.
Carefully.
“I’m not ignoring that,” he said. “I’m managing it.”
Another step.
“I’m not letting you get sick,” he added, more firmly. “But I’m also not going to stand there and pretend I didn’t see how much you wanted this.”
Sea’s eyes flickered.
Jimmy stopped in front of him.
Held the cat out, just slightly.
Not pushing.
Offering.
“You looked…” Jimmy hesitated, the word catching for a second before he forced it out anyway. “…sad.”
That was all he said.
That was enough.
Sea let out a small, shaky breath.
Then another.
And then he laughed.
Soft.
Almost disbelieving.
“You bought a cat,” he said.
Jimmy frowned slightly. “Yes.”
“An expensive one,” Sea added, eyes narrowing just a little.
Jimmy didn’t answer that.
Sea laughed again, this time a little brighter, a little warmer, the sound finally filling the space that had been too quiet for days.
“…You’re unbelievable,” he murmured.
Jimmy didn’t argue.
He just shifted the cat a little closer.
“Do you want to hold him?”
Sea didn’t answer with words.
He reached out instead.
Careful.
Gentle.
Like he was holding something fragile.
The kitten blinked up at him.
Sea’s expression softened instantly, completely, like something inside him had just been placed back where it belonged.
“…Hi,” he whispered.
Jimmy watched him.
The way his shoulders relaxed.
The way his hands steadied.
The way the sadness that had been sitting quietly in him for days simply… wasn’t there anymore.
Jimmy exhaled slowly.
Worth it.
Completely.
Sea looked up at him then, eyes still a little bright, smile soft and real.
“…What’s his name?” he asked.
Jimmy paused.
Then—
“…I was thinking you’d decide.”
Sea looked down at the kitten.
A beat.
Then, very seriously—
“…Mochi.”
Jimmy closed his eyes.
Of course.
🌊🌊🌊
Mochi chose Jimmy.
Not occasionally. Not when convenient.
Always.
Jimmy’s chest, Jimmy’s lap, Jimmy’s side of the bed—like the kitten had made a quiet, permanent decision and saw no reason to reconsider it. Sea complained about it exactly twice before deciding it was, somehow, still perfect.
Because it meant this—
Sea draped over Jimmy from the side, half on him, half under him, one arm wrapped around his waist like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon. Mochi settled right in the middle, a small, warm weight connecting them, purring softly like he approved of the arrangement.
Jimmy couldn’t really move anymore.
He didn’t try.
“This is excessive,” he said, not sounding very convinced.
“No,” Sea murmured into his shoulder, tightening his hold slightly. “This is ideal.”
Mochi shifted, pressing more firmly into Jimmy’s chest.
Jimmy exhaled quietly, one hand resting on the kitten’s back, the other sliding up to the nape of Sea’s neck, fingers brushing slow, absent patterns there.
Sea melted immediately.
Of course he did.
He’d been worse lately—clingier, softer, always finding a way back to Jimmy, like the cat had unlocked something in him instead of distracting him. Every quiet moment turned into this: Sea close, warm, content in a way that felt… full.
Jimmy noticed.
There was no hesitation in him. No second-guessing, no holding back. Just affection, given freely, like it had nowhere else to go.
Jimmy looked down at him.
Hair messy, eyes half-closed, face soft against his shoulder.
Cute.
He didn’t use that word lightly.
Mochi shifted again, stretching slightly, small and warm and… undeniably soft.
Jimmy glanced at him.
“…You’re also acceptable,” he muttered.
Sea huffed a quiet laugh.
“He likes you more.”
“I didn’t ask for that.”
“You did,” Sea said. “With your face.”
Jimmy rolled his eyes faintly, but his hand didn’t move from the kitten.
Didn’t move from Sea either.
Sea tilted his head up just enough to look at him, expression bright in that quiet, content way that had been missing for days before.
“…Thank you,” he said softly.
Jimmy didn’t answer right away.
He didn’t need to.
He could see it.
In the way Sea held onto him without thinking.
In the way he smiled at nothing now.
In the way the apartment felt… warmer.
Jimmy exhaled slowly.
Then leaned down, pressing a brief kiss to Sea’s lips.
“That’s enough,” he said, quieter.
Sea only smiled more.
Mochi purred between them.
And Jimmy—
Jimmy stayed exactly where he was, with both of them on top of him, and realized he didn’t mind it at all.
Not even a little.
Because Sea was happy.
And that—
That had always been enough.