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“I know, I know,” Minho murmurs, wiggling a finger through the metal grate of the carrier on his lap. A tiny paw swats at him, accompanied by an indignant mrreow. “You’ve been locked in there for a hundred years. You’re dying. I’m a terrible father.”
Dori, barely three months old and possessing a surprising amount of street-cat spunk for something with lungs the size of acorns, lets out another string of loud mewls.
“Yah, don’t give me that,” Minho scolds, adjusting the paw-patterned blanket covering the plastic box. “He’s going to poke you with a needle in five minutes, you know. Save your complaining for that.”
If there is one thing Minho absolutely doesn’t compromise on, it’s his cats. Case in point: when he moved across the city for work, he still ended up a full forty-minute commute away. Why? Because there was nowhere closer with a decent garden, and Doongie loved the catio.
So needless to say, the first thing on his mind when he arrived wasn't unpacking his kitchen or buying a sofa—does he even have enough space for a sofa with all the cat trees?—but rather where the nearest reputable vet was. And then Chan, suffering from a chronic case of being far too helpful and seemingly having connections with the entire world, had recommended the practice of one Kim Seungmin.
“You guys have met a few times, right? He's great with animals. You'll totally love him!” Chan had said. At the time, Minho only remembered Seungmin as the quiet guy with a slightly dorky smile who spent the whole barbeque wandering around Chan’s garden in his own world.
However, Chan had conveniently forgotten to mention that when Dr. Kim Seungmin opens his mouth, he is an annoying, infuriating know-it-all who had taken one look at Minho’s precious middle child, pointed at a medical chart on the wall, and declared that Doongie was a ‘seven out of nine on the body condition score’ and needed to be put on a diet.
A diet.
Minho is still holding a grudge. The only reason he’s back here today is because the Kitten Distribution System had deposited Dori behind a convenience store during his midnight snack run, and he’s already paid for ‘unlimited consults’ as part of the clinic’s premium Pet Health Club. He’s just getting his money’s worth. That’s all.
A sharp snort cuts through the waiting room, pulling Minho from his trance.
Across the reception desk, Yang Jeongin is resting his chin on his palm, making zero effort to pretend he’s working. “Please, keep talking to him,” Jeongin says mildly. “This is the best entertainment I’ve had all morning.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be doing your job?” Minho retorts. “What time is it?”
“It’s still only 9:54. Patience, patience,” Jeongin sing-songs. He taps his watch, his fox-like smirk practically begging to have kitty litter thrown at it. “Though, I get it. I’d be excited too if I found a random cat and had an excuse to see my favourite vet again.”
Minho scoffs loudly, yanking the blanket down harder. “Are you so bored you’re coming up with your own fairy tales now? Why would I voluntarily want to see his stupid face again?”
“Uh-huh. So you just happened to book the one day a week when he’s the only vet on duty,” Jeongin points out, his grin sharpening. “How’d you even know that, by the way? Did you ask Chan?”
Minho rolls his eyes, not bothering to dignify that with a response.
“Speaking of,” Jeongin cocks his head, “shouldn’t you be fixing your hair or something? He should be finishing up his last appointment soon.”
Minho chokes.
He actively fights the instinct to run a hand through his fringe, suddenly hyper-aware of how the wind had messed it up on the walk over. He refuses to give Jeongin the satisfaction.
“My hair is fine, thank you very much.”
Thankfully, he’s saved by the sound of the dispensary door swinging open. Minho’s back reflexively straightens—but it’s not Seungmin. It’s Felix, the clinic’s resident vet nurse and literal human ray of sunshine.
“Hi, Minho! And hi, baby Dori!” Felix waves, his bright voice instantly making the waiting room feel ten times warmer. “Is that him in the carrier? Oh, I can’t wait to cuddle him! Seungminnie is just finishing up some notes, he’ll be right out to get you!”
“Tell him to take his time so I don’t have to see him,” Minho says, slouching back against his chair with an internal sigh of relief. “Though, if you want to steal Dori for cuddles, I won't stop you.”
“I might just take you up on that!” Felix giggles, throwing Dori a mini salute before ducking back into the dispensary.
Jeongin lets out an unnecessarily loud sigh from the desk. “You’re so obvious, it’s actually painful to watch.”
Minho pulls a face. “What’s that supposed to mean? If you don’t have anything useful to say, just don’t say anything. Or I’ll leave a bad review about you.”
Jeongin just smirks. “Do it. Seungmin is the one who monitors our Google reviews. Maybe it’ll give you something to talk about.”
Before Minho can start promising him bodily harm, he’s interrupted by the click of another door opening.
This time, it’s the door to consulting room one.
Dr. Kim Seungmin steps out. He’s wearing dark navy scrubs that fit entirely too well—an obvious attempt to distract clients from his insufferable personality—with a silver stethoscope draped around his neck. He looks put-together in an unfairly effortless sort of way. And judging from his fluffy hair, he most certainly is a lucky bastard who hasn’t suffered the windstorm. Those sharp eyes sweep over him and Dori.
“Lee Dori?”
Minho swallows hard, firmly reminding himself that he is still mad about the diet comment. He follows Seungmin in. The room is agonisingly small, barely cramming in a desk and an examination table. It smells faintly of cats and that distinct minty-lemon scent that seems to follow Seungmin around.
Minho holds his breath, hoisting the carrier onto the table. “Be gentle with him,” he warns, crossing his arms. “He’s sensitive.”
Seungmin doesn’t even glance over. He pulls up Dori’s file on his computer, staring at the screen for a flat three seconds, before slowly turning around and arching an eyebrow.
“Soonie, Doongie, and now Dori,” Seungmin says dryly. “Do you just name them after whatever sounds come out of your mouth first?”
Minho gapes, pressing a hand to his chest in genuine offense. “It’s called a cohesive brand, thank you very much. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t expect you to understand fine art.”
“If your brand is ‘words a toddler might mumble while sleep talking,’ then yes, you’ve absolutely nailed it,” Seungmin says, stepping up to the carrier.
In one smooth motion, Seungmin unclips the plastic box and scoops Dori out. Before the kitten can even register the cold rubber tabletop, Seungmin is already squirting out a tiny dollop of salmon puree to distract him.
Dori doesn’t even attempt a token hiss. He instantly starts purring like a cheap lawnmower.
“Traitor,” Minho mutters. “You’re so easily bought, aren’t you?” He narrows his eyes at Seungmin. “And don’t give him too much of that. I don’t need him getting fat.”
“Ah, projecting Doongie’s issues onto the new child? How tragic,” Seungmin says, deftly checking Dori’s ears with a tiny light.
“Doongie has a healthy appetite. It’s not like you and your string-bean build would understand,” Minho retorts, though his eyes subconsciously dart to the very non-string-bean flex of Seungmin’s forearms. “And he’s doing very well with his diet. Not that you asked.”
“You’re right, I didn’t.”
What follows is a display of efficiency that is, frankly, deeply offensive to Minho’s desire to hate him.
While Dori aggressively licks the pate, Seungmin moves with a hypnotising proficiency. In the less than thirty seconds it takes the kitten to eat, Seungmin finishes checking his ears, slides a hand under to feel his stomach, and sneaks a thermometer in the back. All without a single wiggle of protest.
“What the fuck,” Minho grumbles. “Did you put voodoo magic in that Churu?”
“He just appreciates a professional who actually knows what they’re doing,” Seungmin replies with a slight smirk. “Or maybe he just likes me more. Have you considered that?”
“I’m considering turning you into salmon paste. Make sure you warm up that stethoscope. He’s got thin fur.”
“Sir yes sir,” Seungmin says sarcastically. “That’s if I can even hear his heart over your yapping.”
Minho presses his lips into a furious line as Seungmin slips the stethoscope into his ears. As he leans down to press the bell to Dori’s chest, Minho is acutely aware of that minty-lemon scent washing over him. What kind of vet smells like that anyway? Aren’t cats supposed to hate citrus?
Then, Seungmin pulls the lid off the vaccine needle with his teeth.
Minho’s heart does a very sudden, very uncalled-for flutter. It’s just a fight-or-flight response, Minho tells himself frantically. He’s baring his teeth. It’s a threat display.
Pinch. Click.
Seungmin discards the needle in the sharps bin and slides Dori right back into his carrier before the kitten even realises anything has happened.
Wait. Is that actually it?
Minho just stands there, blinking dumbly. “Hold up. You’re done? You already gave him the shots?”
Seungmin pauses, glancing over his shoulder with a look of dry amusement. “Did you want me to perform a ceremonial dance first?”
“For what I’m paying this clinic? Yes. I expect a little waltz at least.” Minho squints suspiciously, feeling strangely cheated out of his allocated fifteen minutes. “Did you even do a proper health check?”
“I did. He’s perfectly healthy.” Seungmin squirts hand sanitiser into his palms. “And unlike his brother, his body condition score is actually optimal.”
Minho bristles immediately. “Leave Doongie out of this. He’s trying his best. I’m telling you, he’s lost weight.”
“We’ll find out at his next appointment.” Seungmin leans back against the counter with a slight curve to his lips. “But Dori is perfect. We’ll see him back in three weeks for his booster.”
“So we’re done?”
“We’re done,” Seungmin confirms, already settling down on the spinny stool in front of his computer. “Unless you want to just stand there and glare at me for ten minutes. Be my guest.”
“No thanks,” Minho sniffs. He grabs Dori’s carrier, shrugging off his jacket with half a mind to ask if Seungmin’s ever heard of AC. “I’d rather shit a hedgehog. See you sometime. Prepare to be devastated by Doongie’s suave new waistline.”
“Yeah, yeah. Good day to you too.”
Seungmin’s low, dry chuckle follows him out into the hallway, sending another deeply unpleasant shiver down his spine.
Minho marches straight into the reception area, where Felix is already waiting with a small packet of cat treats and a blinding smile.
“All done! You’re free to go, since your health club covers everything today,” Felix chirps. He holds out the cat treats. “Oh, and Seungminnie said to give you these! On the house.”
Minho takes them, inspecting the packaging with a deep frown. “Why? Is he trying to bribe me or something?”
“Not exactly.” Felix scratches his head, looking a little apologetic as if trying to figure out what to say. “He, ah…”
“It’s his ‘condolences to the cat for having to put up with you’,” Jeongin pipes up, smirking at Minho over the top of his monitor. “Which is basically Seungmin-speak for, ‘I like you so have this shiny rock’.”
Minho coughs so violently he nearly drops the treats, a furious heat rushing straight to his cheeks. There is definitely something wrong with the ventilation in this building.
“You’re delusional,” Minho hisses. He shoves the packet deep in his pocket.
Jeongin opens his mouth again.
“Don't,” Minho warns, pointing a stern finger at the receptionist. “Not a word. I’m leaving.”
“I wasn't going to say anything!” Jeongin calls after him cheerfully, smugness practically radiating across the lobby. “See you in three weeks! Seungmin likes mint chocolate!”
Minho flips him off over his shoulder and shoves open the front door.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
From his spot behind the desk, Jeongin watches Minho speed-walk down the street, immensely entertained.
A soft ping from his computer draws his attention back to the screen. Seungmin has just finished the clinical write up for Dori’s appointment.
Jeongin clicks into the file to close out the appointment, idly skimming the SOAP notes.
S (Subjective): Owner describes E/D/U/D as normal. Patient reported to be ‘sensitive’.
O (Objective): BAR. BCS 4/9. EENT WNL. Patient readily accepted examinations with Churu; excellent temperament.
A (Assessment): Healthy ~3mths DSH male.
P (Plan): Administered FVRCP #1. Return 3wks for booster.
Jeongin sighs. Damn. He’d hoped for something more interesting. But it’s standard, boring, and professional. It’s what he should’ve expected from their resident perfectionist.
But then his eyes catch on the small note at the very bottom of the page, right below the ‘P’.
Personal Notes: Owner spent majority of exam staring intensely with minimal blinking. Unclear if hostile or just weird.
Jeongin wheezes to himself, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head. He pulls out his phone and snaps a quick picture.
Just in case he needs it for the wedding.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Chan stares at the condensation dripping down his pint glass, mentally calculating if it’s too early in the evening to order something stronger.
“...and then he called Doongie fat again! Doongie wasn’t even there!”
“I’m sure he didn’t say it like that,” Chan attempts to reason.
“Close enough. He used his smug little vet terms. Not an optimal body condition score or something.” Minho scowls, aggressively stabbing an ice cube in his cocktail with his straw. “And that’s not even the worst part. He had the audacity to insult my naming skills! He asked if I just name them after whatever sounds come out of my mouth first. Can you believe this guy?”
Chan sighs, taking a slow sip of his beer. When he’d recommended Seungmin’s practice, he was just genuinely trying to help. Minho needed a vet; Seungmin is an excellent vet.
He did not in fact sign up to be dragged out on a random Tuesday evening to listen to Minho rant about the man. For the last ten minutes, Minho hasn’t stopped complaining about Dr. Kim Seungmin. Specifically, how annoying his voice is, how unnecessary his comments are, and how stupidly witty he is.
Minho hasn’t seemed to realise that last point was said out loud, and Chan certainly isn’t going to be the one to tell him.
“You know, for someone who supposedly hates the guy, you sure pay a lot of attention to him,” Chan points out.
“I do not,” Minho huffs, bristling like a cat himself. “He’s just very loudly annoying. It’s impossible to ignore.”
Chan shoots him an unimpressed look. “Minho, Seungmin is literally the quietest person I know. I’m surprised he says anything to you at all.”
Minho crosses his arms, sinking lower into the booth with an unreadable expression.
“Look,” Chan says, setting his glass down and trying to be the voice of reason. It’s a thankless job, but someone has to do it. “If you really hate him so much, there are two other vets at that clinic. You could just schedule with someone else.”
“And let him think he won?” Minho scoffs, rolling his eyes so hard it looks painful. “Please, I can’t let him think his snarky little comments scared me off. Besides, Seungmin’s blood-draw purrito technique is… adequate. I can’t risk some amateur traumatising my children.”
Chan stares at him. The excuses are so paper-thin they’re practically transparent, but Chan values his own lifespan too much to point that out.
Instead, Chan lets his lip twitch into a small, knowing smile. “You know, I’m seeing Seungmin for lunch on Saturday,” he says mildly. “I could let him know you’re not a big fan of his… bedside manner. I’m sure he’d be willing to adjust.”
“Talk to him about me, and Doongie feasts on your flesh on Sunday,” Minho hisses, pointing his little cocktail umbrella like a weapon. “I’m sure he’d welcome the extra protein on his diet.”
Chan raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying.”
“I don’t need you fighting my battles,” Minho huffs, throwing back the rest of his cocktail like it’s liquor. “I can do it myself. I pay for that ‘free unlimited consults’ plan, don’t I? I bet Dr. Kim. has his timetable printed in colour. I’ll take the cats in every time they so much as sneeze if it ruins his perfectly scheduled day.”
Chan just sighs. But, he notes, despite the threats of premeditated harassment, Minho’s ears are rapidly flushing a fascinating shade of pink.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Seungmin is just finishing typing up the notes for his 2:30pm appointment. Outside, he can hear Jeongin’s muffled voice cheerfully antagonising someone in the waiting room.
Seungmin hits save, ready to tell Jeongin to stop terrorising the clients, when he checks the next file on his monitor.
Nevermind. Jeongin can terrorise that one as much as he likes.
Seungmin steps out into the waiting room just in time to hear Jeongin say:
“... I had a bet with Felix that you’d be back before Dori’s booster.”
“Be quiet,” Minho says stiffly, refusing to look at the receptionist. “I’m a deeply concerned father. You wouldn’t understand.”
Seungmin bites back a smile. “Lee Soonie?”
Minho snaps his jaw shut. He stands up and marches towards the consulting room, wielding the cat carrier like a soldier brandishing a sword.
Seungmin closes the door behind them, leaning back against the edge of his desk.
“I wasn’t expecting you for another two weeks, let alone four days,” Seungmin says, tilting his head. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“He’s sick,” Minho says flatly. He places the carrier on the stainless steel table with grave seriousness. “He always finishes his breakfast, but today he left some biscuits in his bowl. I suspect something wrong with his stomach. Or his teeth.”
Seungmin stares at him. He waits for the punchline. Minho’s glare only hardens.
“He left some biscuits this morning,” Seungmin repeats, arching an eyebrow to convey exactly how ridiculous that sounds. “That’s the only reason you brought him in?”
“What other reason would I need?” Minho says defensively. His chin tilts up in that stubborn, prickly way that Seungmin is quickly learning is his default baseline. “He’s fifteen years old. It could be an early symptom of something serious. Preventative care is important. As a medical professional, you should know that.”
“I also know that cats occasionally just get full,” Seungmin points out. “Did you also consider that possibility, or did you go straight to Wikipedia and diagnose him with kidney failure?”
“Shut up.”
A wry smile tugs at the corner of Seungmin’s mouth. Instead of arguing—because, annoying as he is, getting Minho to admit he’s overreacting is a lost cause—he turns his attention to the carrier and unlatches the door.
“Hey there, Soonie-yah,” Seungmin murmurs, his voice naturally dropping into a gentler tone. “Come on, let’s get you out of there. Good boy.”
Soonie, unlike his owner, is an absolute delight. Seungmin easily scoops the orange tabby out and cradles him against his chest, scratching him behind the ears. A rumbling purr immediately starts up beneath his fingers.
Minho clears his throat loudly from across the table. Seungmin glances over to see Minho strangely tense, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
“Careful,” Minho warns. “He’s probably in pain.”
“Right. He looks positively agonised,” Seungmin deadpans, setting Soonie down on the rubber mat.
Soonie immediately sets about disproving Minho’s words by making biscuits on the tabletop, headbutting Seungmin’s wrist in a shameless demand for more scratches. Seungmin glances up at Minho, unable to completely hide his amusement. Minho humphs and turns his head.
Seungmin methodically begins his examination, highly aware of Minho hovering at the edge of the table like a hawk, ready to dive-bomb if Seungmin so much as pats Soonie’s fur the wrong way.
“Abdomen is soft, no signs of pain or swelling, and he hasn’t lost any weight,” Seungmin announces, keeping his tone perfectly level. He meets Minho’s eyes. “I diagnose him with ‘not being hungry anymore’.”
“Is that a technical term? How can you be sure?” Minho demands, his eyes narrowing into suspicious slits. “You didn’t even use your stethoscope.”
Seungmin sighs. “He didn’t finish a few biscuits, Minho. His lungs aren’t going to tell me why.”
“Well, you haven’t asked them.”
The sheer ridiculousness of the retort catches Seungmin completely off guard. A breathy laugh actually escapes him before he can stop it. He shakes his head, picking up his stethoscope and sliding the earpieces in just to humour the man.
“Heart is perfect. Lungs are clear. He is completely, unequivocally healthy. Are you happy now?” Seungmin pulls the earpieces out and drapes them back around his neck.
“I’d be happier if you looked like you were taking this seriously.” Minho sniffs in faux disappointment. “Fine. I guess I’ll just monitor him at home.”
“You do that,” Seungmin says. He turns to his computer, beginning to type up his notes. “Though, for future reference, you can find my email address on our website. You can drop me an email next time instead of dragging your poor cat across town.”
“I barely check my emails,” Minho scoffs behind him. “It’s too full of spam these days.”
“Right. My condolences,” Seungmin says dryly, his fingers flying over the keys. “I suppose you’ll just have to keep making the drive every time Soonie eats a leaf.”
“Or,” Minho says.
Seungmin keeps typing.
“Can I just message you?”
Seungmin’s fingers freeze mid-word. The room goes dead silent.
Seungmin blinks, unsure if he heard correctly. He slowly turns his head to look over his shoulder. Minho is staring at him with a slightly shell-shocked expression, like he hadn’t actually meant to say that out loud.
Did he just ask for my number?
Seungmin’s brain experiences the equivalent of Error 404. This is a client. A highly combative, incredibly annoying client who seemingly lives to make Seungmin’s professional life difficult. The protocol here is to calmly offer the reception line and state they do not accept text messages.
But there is something so intensely, terribly satisfying about calling Lee Minho’s bluff.
Let’s see him actually try to text about a leaf.
Seungmin reaches for a clinic business card. He clicks his pen.
He scribbles his number across the back.
He holds it out between two fingers, leaning into the provocation. “Here. For all your highly urgent medical emergencies. I don’t work weekends, and don’t bother messaging me after six.”
Minho snatches the card so fast he nearly gives Seungmin a papercut. Without a word, Minho practically shoves a very confused Soonie back into the carrier, latches the door shut, and spins on his heel.
“If he throws up and goes comatose at seven, it’s your fault,” Minho threatens over his shoulder.
Before Seungmin can say another word, Minho’s backing out of the room and retreating down the hallway as if the clinic is on fire.
Seungmin sits in the quiet of his consulting room. He looks at his pen. He looks out the empty doorway. He has a master’s degree in veterinary medicine, for goodness sake. He is a professional. He is rational. He shouldn’t be handing out his personal cell phone number just to win a petty standoff with a feral client.
What the hell did he just do?
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Inside the clinic, Jeongin watches the glass door swing shut behind Minho’s rapidly retreating back with mild fascination. He sees Minho round the corner, still just barely visible, and watches him bury his face into his hands. It looks like he’s screaming.
Jeongin waits exactly three seconds before abandoning his desk and poking his head into consulting room one.
“What did you say to him this time?” Jeongin asks, leaning against the doorframe.
Seungmin doesn’t look away from his computer. “Nothing.”
“He literally sprinted through the lobby,” Jeongin informs him. “Why’d he run off like that?”
Seungmin clicks his mouse, his expression a perfectly impenetrable mask of professionalism. “No idea. He’s weird.”
Jeongin squints. He could swear the tips of Seungmin’s ears are slightly pink, and there is a distinct, highly unusual curve to his mouth that Seungmin is trying—and failing—to hide by biting the inside of his cheek.
But before Jeongin can interrogate him further, Seungmin swivels his chair, expression flattening as he gives him a pointed look that screams get back to work.
Jeongin huffs, but retreats to the reception desk.
He bides his time. He waits until late afternoon, when Seungmin is finally out of the way on his lunch break, to pull up Soonie’s file. He eagerly clicks into Seungmin’s clinical write-up, skimming through the SOAP notes.
S (Subjective): Owner reports patient left biscuits uneaten at breakfast. Owner expressed grave concern regarding potential gastrointestinal distress. No other symptoms.
O (Objective): BAR. BCS 5/9. Abdomen soft and non-painful. Auscultation muffled by loud purring.
A (Assessment): Healthy ~15yo DSH male. Diagnosis: Not hungry.
P (Plan): Owner to monitor at home. Provided alternative contact method (mobile number) to deter future unwarranted clinic visits. Will ensure contact is observed.
Jeongin’s jaw drops.
He gave him his number? ‘Will ensure contact is observed’??
Oh, this is going to be good.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Minho holds out for exactly three (3) days.
He spends those three days staring at the business card sitting on his kitchen island, mentally cursing Kim Seungmin, Yang Jeongin, Bang Chan, and the entire veterinary profession.
The thing is, he has nothing to message about. Not that he wants to or anything.
Soonie has been perfectly fine. Doongie is chilling in the catio. Dori is terrorising the dust mites.
Minho glances at the clock on his microwave.
It reads 18:00.
Seungmin’s voice echoes in his head. Don’t bother messaging me after six.
Minho narrows his eyes. The microwave clock ticks over to 18:01.
Minho snatches his phone off the counter.
Minho: [image attached: Soonie asleep on a chair, curled up with his face hidden]
Minho: he’s been like this for three hours
Minho: i'm concerned he’s sleeping too much
Minho throws his phone onto the sofa like it's a live grenade and goes to wash his hands, his heart hammering against his ribs. Why the hell is he nervous? It’s just a medical inquiry. Totally valid.
Less than a minute later, his phone lights up with a buzz. Minho lunges for it.
He unlocks the screen, trying to school his features into a scowl just in case his walls are watching.
Kim Seungmin: What time do you call this.
Minho: medical emergencies wait for no man, Dr. Kim
Kim Seungmin: Your cat is asleep.
Kim Seungmin: What do you want me to do about it?
Minho: are you sure?
Minho: he looks quite comatose
Minho: you might need to examine him
Kim Seungmin: I think his owner is the one who needs examining.
Kim Seungmin: Delusions are a serious symptom.
Minho: excuse you 😤
Kim Seungmin: Send me another photo.
Minho: [image attached: a selfie of Soonie sitting on his lap, nose sniffing towards the camera]
Kim Seungmin: …
Kim Seungmin: I meant him right now.
Kim Seungmin: Cute photo, though.
Minho: oh
Minho: [image attached: Soonie still on the chair, one paw slightly shifted]
Kim Seungmin: I’m sure he’s just asleep.
Kim Seungmin: I diagnose him with ‘being a cat’.
Minho barely processes the snark, too busy staring at the word cute.
Get a grip. He’s literally talking about Soonie. Seungmin is a vet. He likes animals. He probably thinks tapeworms are cute. It doesn’t mean anything.
Minho: wow. did you learn that one in vet school?
Kim Seungmin: First year. Symptoms include excessive sleeping, blatant disregard for authority, and feigning deafness when called.
Kim Seungmin: It has no cure.
Minho: that sounds like yang jeongin
Minho: you should test him for it
Kim Seungmin: I would, but my hands are full dealing with difficult clients.
Minho: rude
Minho: i’m an absolute delight
Minho: five star client
Kim Seungmin: You threatened to turn me into churu paste
Minho: it was deserved
Minho: you were swindling my child from me
Kim Seungmin: Right. My mistake.
Kim Seungmin: Well, since the patient is currently in a stable condition, my shift is officially over.
Kim Seungmin: Give Soonie a pat for me.
Minho: don’t tell me what to do
Minho locks his phone and drops it face-down on the kitchen island. He stares at his reflection in the oven, acutely aware of the fact that he is smiling.
He flops face-first onto the sofa and aggressively smothers the smile with a throw pillow. It’s just the thrill of victory, he tells himself. I successfully ruined his evening with my presence. That’s all.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Over the next month and a half, Minho’s visits to the clinic become suspiciously regular.
At least, that’s what Jeongin would say. But contrary to his widening smirks every time Minho walks in, it’s genuinely just the reality of having three cats. It requires upkeep.
And, well. If Minho and Seungmin’s text messages have escalated from ‘Dori ate grass’ to Seungmin sending him unsolicited pictures of golden retrievers in theatre with the caption looks like Chan, then that’s just a coincidence.
By the time Dori’s booster appointment rolls around, Minho has a plan.
Before Seungmin can even call out his name in the waiting room, Minho shoves a sweating paper cup of iced americano directly into his chest.
“Buy one, get one free promo down the street,” Minho says smoothly before Seungmin can ask. It's just a tactical investment. He needs the vet caffeinated so his hands don't shake with the needle. It's for Dori's safety. “Drink it or throw it away, I don’t care.”
Seungmin blinks down at the cup. He looks back up at Minho.
“Right,” Seungmin hums, retreating into the consult room and setting the cup carefully on his desk. “What a remarkable coincidence that your free drink is my exact coffee order.”
“Shut up,” Minho mutters, his ears feeling distinctly hot. “Or I’ll throw it away for you. Just check my cat.”
Dori gets his second injection in under forty seconds.
“You’re getting too fast at that,” Minho complains, leaning against the examination table while Dori happily licks salmon paste off Seungmin’s thumb. “It’s ruining the value of my Health Club membership.”
“I’m being efficient,” Seungmin replies calmly, wiping his thumb with a tissue and tossing it into the bin. He takes a long sip of the iced americano, looking entirely too smug. “You just like wasting my time.”
—
S (Subjective): E/D/U/D reported as normal.
O (Objective): BAR. BCS 4/9. 2.1kg
A (Assessment): Healthy 3.5mths DSH male. FVRCP #2 administered
P (Plan): FVRCP #2 administered. Book final booster + castration.
Personal Note: Owner presented with unsolicited black coffee. Suspect it is a crude attempt at behavioural conditioning. It is mildly effective.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Dropping Dori off for his castration surgery three weeks later is surprisingly stressful, even if it’s just a routine procedure. That is Minho’s child, after all. His fingers tap a restless, anxious rhythm against the carrier as he hovers by the front desk.
Instead of Jeongin, Seungmin comes out to do the pre-op admission himself. He catches Minho's eye and smiles, a reassuring, gentle expression that actually does calm Minho’s racing heart a little.
“It’s a very quick operation,” Seungmin promises, taking the carrier gently from Minho’s white-knuckled grip. He glances down at the clipboard. “Just to double check. While he’s under anesthesia, can I microchip him at the same time?”
Instinctively, Minho’s default defense mechanism kicks in to mask his worry, and he raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Can you?”
The tip of Seungmin’s pen presses into the clipboard. He sighs loudly, meeting Minho’s eyes with a deeply unimpressed look. “May I microchip him at the same time?”
“Yes, you may,” Minho says smugly, his shoulders finally dropping their tension.
—
S (Subjective): Fasted from approx. 10pm last night.
O (Objective): Healthy intact male.
A (Assessment): Cleared for surgery.
P (Plan): Proceed with castration and microchip.
Personal Note: Texted owner four post-op recovery photos to accommodate owner’s severe attachment issues. Vet deserves a raise for enduring owner’s attitude.
Minho is pacing a hole into his living room rug at 2:00 PM when his phone buzzes.
Kim Seungmin: [image attached: Dori wrapped in a towel, looking groggy but perfectly fine]
Kim Seungmin: Surgery went perfectly. He is currently high on painkillers and more at risk of being cuddled to death by Felix.
Kim Seungmin: You can stop plotting your siege on the clinic now. Pick him up at 5.
Minho: i was not plotting a siege
Minho: but tell felix to be careful. that's my son
Kim Seungmin: Felix says you'll have to fight him for custody.
Minho: id win.
Minho: thank you
Minho: for the pictures
Minho: and for taking care of him
Kim Seungmin: You're welcome.
Minho stares at the text for a long time, a treacherous warmth pooling in his chest. It’s getting significantly harder to blame the clinic’s AC.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
The real moment of truth arrives two weeks later.
Doongie sits majestically on the white plastic scale, looking like an emperor on his throne. Minho stands beside him with his arms crossed and a confident smirk on his face.
Seungmin leans over to squint at the digital display.
“Five-point-eight kilograms,” Seungmin reads out loud. He turns to look at Minho in genuine surprise. “He actually lost two hundred grams.”
“I told you!” Minho cries triumphantly, giving Doongie a mini high-five. “You doubted him, but he delivered! He is an icon of fitness.”
Seungmin huffs a small laugh as he gently scratches Doongie under the chin, eliciting a rumbling purr of approval.
Lucky cat, Minho thinks, before mentally slapping himself for having such a borderline pathetic thought. The stress of the weigh-in is clearly wreaking havoc on his brain chemistry.
“Fine. I admit defeat,” Seungmin murmurs, shaking his head. He looks up, his dark eyes meeting Minho's directly. “He did great. So did you. I know it’s hard to diet them.”
Minho’s smug grin falters. He opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again, feeling a disproportionately violent flush rise up his neck.
Did Seungmin just… compliment him? Without an insult attached?
Minho quickly clears his throat into his fist, desperately scrambling to recover his composure. The walls of his denial are crumbling rapidly, and it’s terrifying. “Well. Obviously. I’m an exceptional father.”
“Right,” Seungmin says dryly, though Minho clearly catches the corner of his lips twitching. Seungmin scoops Doongie off the scale and sets him back in the carrier. “Keep doing what you’re doing. At this rate, he’ll be a five out of nine by summer.”
“He’ll impress all the ladies, just you wait.” Minho clips the door in place, refusing to look at Seungmin's face. “I expect a medal when he reaches optimal.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure Jeongin can source one with your Health Club money,” Seungmin says, swivelling in his chair back towards his computer. “Now get out of my office, I have real work to do.”
—
S (Subjective): Patient presents for health check/weight-in. Owner insists patient is an ‘icon of fitness’
O (Objective): 5.8kg BCS 6/9 (down from 6kg 7/9). Owner appeared visibly excitable.
A (Assessment): Successful weight reduction
P (Plan): Continue current diet plan.
Personal Note: Exercised restraint regarding verbal praise to prevent inflation of owner’s ego. Owner’s face turned red anyway. Hypothesis: owner is defenseless against blatant positive reinforcement. Further testing required.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
That evening, Minho sits on his sofa, watching Doongie stare tragically into his food bowl.
Minho: [image attached: Doongie looking absolutely devastated next to a carefully measured scoop of diet kibble]
Minho: the dark reality of fitness. he’s suffering
Minho: he says you’re a tyrant and a killjoy
Kim Seungmin: Tell him to count his blessings.
Kim Seungmin: At least he actually gets to eat dinner tonight.
Minho frowns, sitting up a little straighter.
Minho: what, did you finally get fired?
Kim Seungmin: No. Three emergency surgeries back-to-back
Kim Seungmin: My brian is mush.
Kim Seungmin: *brain. I’ll probably be stuck writing notes until 9.
Minho: its character building
Minho: do you feel your character being built
Kim Seungmin: Thank you for your endless well of empathy
Kim Seungmin: I’m going back to my charts
Minho tosses his phone onto the cushion beside him and stares at the dark television.
His eyes slide over to the clock on the wall. It’s 19:48.
Minho groans, dragging a hand down his face.
“I hate him,” he announces to the empty living room. “I genuinely cannot stand him.”
Doongie pauses chewing his diet kibble to blink slowly at him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Minho mutters, pushing himself off the sofa.
He grabs his keys, shoves his feet into his trainers, and grabs a jacket. He’s only doing this because if Seungmin starves to death, Minho will have to find a new vet, and that sounds like entirely too much effort. It’s a purely logistical decision.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Thirty minutes later, Minho is standing outside the glass doors of the veterinary clinic, holding a heavily stuffed plastic bag from a nearby Korean takeout place. The ‘Closed’ sign is flipped outward and the main lobby is dark, but a warm square of light spills out from the hallway leading to the back offices.
Minho reaches out and raps his knuckles against the glass door.
A moment later, a figure steps out from the hallway. It’s Jeongin. He’s wearing his coat and carrying a backpack, probably finishing up his closing duties for the night.
Jeongin approaches the front door with a tired frown, clearly preparing to mouth we’re closed, but stops dead the second he recognises Minho.
His eyes drop to the steaming takeout bag.
A slow, incredibly punchable grin spreads across Jeongin’s face. He unlocks the door and pulls it open.
“Well, well, well,” Jeongin says, practically vibrating with glee. “If it isn’t our most beloved client.”
“Don’t say anything,” Minho warns him, ears already burning in the crisp night air. “I was in the area.”
“I know for a fact you live a twenty-minute drive away.”
“I took a really long walk. Wait—how do you even know where I live?”
Jeongin lets out a delighted cackle. “I know everything. A long walk, huh? With hot beef bulgogi? That is the saddest excuse you’ve ever given me, which is saying a lot.”
“Are you going to let me in or what?” Minho demands, opting not to answer those questions. He lifts the plastic bag threateningly.
Jeongin steps aside with an exaggerated bow, ushering him into the dark lobby. “Please, be my guest. Seungmin’s in his office, by the way. Second door on the left.”
Minho marches past him, desperately ignoring the receptionist's smug cackling.
He stops outside Seungmin’s door. It is cracked open, and Minho pushes it the rest of the way.
Seungmin is sitting at his desk, bathed in the glow of his computer monitor. His scrubs look rumpled, his dark hair is slightly messy, and he’s wearing a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that immediately make Minho’s brain stall. It's just the lighting, Minho tells himself, completely unconvincingly. It's straining my eyes.
“Jeongin, I told you to go home,” Seungmin sighs, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses. “I’m almost done.”
“Don’t lump me in with your menace of a receptionist,” Minho says.
Seungmin swivels around in his chair, his eyes widening in shock. “Minho? What are you doing here?”
“Good evening to you, too,” Minho says, stepping into the office. He drops the plastic bag directly onto Seungmin’s desk, right next to a stack of blank consent forms. “Here.”
Seungmin looks at the bag, and then up at Minho, his expression one of utter bewilderment. “You brought me food?”
“No, I brought you Doongie,” Minho retorts. He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets to stop them from fidgeting. “If you’re gonna eat it, be quick about it before it goes cold. It’s freezing in here.”
“Right,” Seungmin says softly.
He pulls the container out of the bag, popping the lid off. The smell of hot beef, sesame oil, and garlic fills the small office. Seungmin picks up the chopsticks, takes a deliberate bite, and hums thoughtfully.
“Well?” Minho demands.
“It’s acceptable,” Seungmin decides, his eyes flickering with amusement.
“Acceptable?” Minho scoffs. “I drove all the way here to deliver you top-tier cuisine, and that’s all you have to say? Give me the chopsticks. I’m giving it to Jeongin.”
Minho reaches for the bag, but Seungmin casually slides the container closer to his chest, picking up another piece of beef.
“I said it’s acceptable. I never said I didn’t want it,” Seungmin says calmly as he chews. “The flavour is decent. The meat is a little tough, though.”
“Tough?” Minho points an accusing finger at him. “You have the palate of a stray dog. That is a highly acclaimed establishment. There is literally an award-winning sticker on their front window.”
“Anyone can buy a sticker on the internet, Minho.”
“I hope you choke on a mushroom.”
Seungmin lets out a small laugh at that, a soft sound that does terrible things to Minho’s already elevated heartrate.
“I’m just kidding. It’s really good. Thank you,” Seungmin says. He leans back in his spinny chair, looking up at Minho. “But if you genuinely think this is top-tier, I should probably show you what proper taste actually is.”
Minho narrows his eyes. “Oh, really? Let me guess, your taste is bland, unseasoned salads?”
“Something like that,” Seungmin says with a shrug. “There’s a place near my apartment.” His dark eyes catch Minho's gaze, dry smile softening into something more genuine. “I’ll take you sometime.”
Minho gapes. The urge to argue immediately evaporates, replaced by a frantic thumping behind his ribs. He stares at Seungmin, searching his face for the usual sarcasm, but Seungmin is just looking back at him with mild expectancy.
And… wait. Unless Minho’s projecting so hard his eyes are deceiving him… are Seungmin’s ears… a little pink?
Minho swallows hard. Fuck it.
“Are you… is that you asking me out to dinner, Dr. Kim?”
“I’m offering to educate your palate,” Seungmin says. And yep, his ears are definitely glowing. “But you can interpret it however you like."
Minho bites the inside of his cheek to suppress a grin. He leans against the doorframe, trying for nonchalant and failing entirely. “So… can I interpret it as a date?”
Seungmin pauses. The corner of his mouth tilts up into a familiar, infuriating little smirk.
“I don’t know, Minho,” Seungmin says, his voice dropping into a teasing lilt. “Can you?”
Minho closes his eyes. He lets out a deep, long-suffering sigh, finally losing the fight against the grin breaking across his face. He’s going to be dealing with this man's pedantic smugness for the rest of his life, isn't he?
“May I call it a date?” Minho corrects, rolling his eyes.
Seungmin’s smirk melts into something noticeably softer, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yes. I suppose you may.”
—
S (Subjective): Owner presented at clinic after hours with hot food.
O (Objective): Owner displayed initial defensive posturing. Elevated heart rate suspected.
A (Assessment): Successful romantic acquisition. Prognosis: excellent.
P (Plan): Dinner on Saturday at 19:00. Will need to mentally prepare for Jeongin to be insufferable on Monday.
Epilogue
Seungmin’s assessment, as always, proves to be entirely accurate.
The bell above the clinic door chimes at exactly 12:30pm on Monday.
Jeongin quickly minimises his game of Minesweeper before looking up. However, his hands freeze on the keyboard when he sees Minho march into the lobby.
Mainly because Minho is notably lacking a plastic cat carrier. Instead, he is holding a cardboard drink tray with two iced americanos, and a crinkling convenience store bag.
“Welcome to the clinic,” Jeongin chirps, resting his chin on his hands with a grin so sharp it could cut glass. “Which cat is experiencing mysterious symptoms today? Are they so gravely wounded you couldn’t bring them in?”
“Very funny,” Minho deadpans. He sets the drink tray on the reception desk with a dull thud. “The cats are perfectly fine. I’m just here to make a delivery.”
“Another delivery? Out of the goodness of your heart?” Jeongin gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “Who are you and what have you done with Lee Minho?”
“I can and will dump this coffee directly onto your keyboard,” Minho threatens, though there’s no real bite to it.
“Joke’s on you, the keyboard is already half-broken,” Jeongin says cheerfully. “But you might want to hold off on the property damage. Your boyfriend just walked out.”
Minho actually chokes on his own saliva.
“He’s not—we just went to dinner,” Minho hisses, his face immediately erupting into flames as he whips around.
Sure enough, the door to consulting room one swings shut, and Seungmin strolls into the reception area. He’s clearly just come out of morning consults, stethoscope slung around his neck and hair slightly mussed.
He pauses, glancing between Minho’s pink cheeks and Jeongin’s shit-eating grin.
“Is he harassing you already?” Seungmin asks mildly, stepping up to the desk.
“You need to find a new receptionist,” Minho grumbles, grabbing one of the iced americanos and practically shoving it into Seungmin’s chest. “And you need to learn how to feed yourself during the day. Here.” He pushes the crinkling convenience store bag across the counter.
“I was just making conversation.” Jeongin shrugs, sounding entirely unrepentant. “It’s not my fault our clients are so easily flustered.”
Before Minho can reach across the desk and actually strangle him, the door to the dispensary bursts open.
“I thought I heard Minho!” Felix chirps, practically skipping into the reception area.
He stops, his bright eyes darting from the coffee in Seungmin’s hand to the distinct lack of a cat carrier in Minho’s.
Felix gasps, his hands flying to his mouth. His eyes go impossibly wide, crinkling into pure, delighted crescents. “Oh my god. Did you guys finally—?”
“Yup,” Jeongin says, popping the ‘p’, looking far too pleased with himself. “They did.”
“Ah, I knew it!” Felix squeals, looking between Minho and Seungmin with unconcealed delight. “I’m so glad! You guys are so cute together!”
Maybe if Minho flushes hot enough, he can turn straight into a black hole and sink through the floor.
“Whatever,” he coughs. “I have to get back to work. Enjoy eating my boundless generosity.”
Minho turns to make a hasty tactical retreat, trying to salvage whatever dignity he has left. But he’s stopped by a hand catching him loosely by the wrist.
Minho freezes.
Seungmin steps closer, entirely unbothered by Jeongin and Felix’s wide-eyed gawking.
“Thanks for the snacks,” Seungmin says, flashing a grin. “I’ll see you later. Try not to miss me too much.”
“You wish.”
As soon as the door swings shut behind Minho, Seungmin shakes his head, grabbing the convenience store bag and heading back to his office. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, pulling out a bar of mint infused dark chocolate and smiling uncontrollably into the straw.
Prognosis?
Excellent, indeed.