Chapter Text
Yesan, 2015.
Even the soft rumble of thunder makes Hanjin jump nearly out of his skin, fur standing on end as he quivers under the deck of the big, white house.
It’s not ideal—most of his life hasn’t been—but as always, this is the best he’s got. He’s learned the hard way that shifting into his human form rarely ever does him any good; he’s got no one to turn to, no place that would take him, no way to make any money that would make anyone want to. Besides, on stormy nights like this, staying in his feline form keeps Hanjin infinitely warmer than trying to spend the night at a bus stop or something, not to mention getting chased away by policemen in the morning, maybe even dragged off to some social services facility. Hanjin had tried that, once. Never again.
As a cat, Hanjin can at least fit himself into the nooks and crannies underneath the neighborhood’s old houses, keeping mostly dry even if it doesn’t do much for the cold. He can see better in the dark, can run away easier if there’s any danger, and has much better odds of chancing upon a human who might just take pity on him, if he makes himself look cute and helpless in just the right way. There are also those humans who leave food out for the neighborhood strays, and even that’s an easier bet for Hanjin on a normal day, even if he has to eat the other neighborhood strays’ leftovers. Hanjin doesn’t think they like him very much. He probably wouldn’t be here, otherwise.
But for now, this is life. As he curls up into a shivering ball under an old pile of junk, his white fur muddy and stomach empty, all he can do is imagine what secret hideouts the other strays must have for weathering out these rainy, September nights. He lets out weak meows at the slightest hint of movement out on the street, wondering if there’ll finally be a human kind enough to take him in, even if he knows that the rain must be drowning out his voice and playing tricks on his vision. He’s not sure how many more nights he can survive like this at this rate—but when he thinks about having to spend another one of these rainy nights as a human, part of him almost dreads it even more.
Hanjin sometimes wonders what he did to not deserve what everyone else seems to have: a home. Something as simple as that. As far as Hanjin remembers, he’s always been alone—watching house cats and pet dogs, through the glass windows of the houses owned by humans and their happy families, all reminding Hanjin of what he’s never had. Even the neigborhood strays have their own little brigades, scheming to steal fish from the farmers’ markets or hassle people in the park for pieces of snacks, cuddling in kitty piles for warmth when the nights are too cold. Hanjin has only ever known cold and hunger and being uncomfortably, sopping wet in the rain, his cries for help ignored or simply too quiet, too timid to be heard—
“Hey, there.”
—until now.
Hanjin looks up, frightened when he sees someone approaching: a boy in a brown raincoat, a plastic bag hanging off his arm, walking toward Hanjin slowly, like he’s afraid he’ll scurry away.
Hanjin nearly does.
“It’s okay, I’m a friend,” the boy says, crouching down slowly, so slowly, the plastic bag crinkling as it swings around. “Who left you out here all alone, hm?”
The boy reaches his hand out, slowly, seemingly waiting for Hanjin to respond, too. His first instinct is to cower away—he’s got no strength to fight back right now, after all, if this boy ends up meaning him harm—but the prospect of being taken care of is so inviting, and the boy’s body is already shielding Hanjin from the rain mist getting blown into his hiding spot by the cold wind.
“Aww, aren’t you the sweetest?” the boy says, just as sweetly, when Hanjin softly nudges his head against his palm, letting out a quiet meow. “Ah… what do I do…? I can’t just leave you out here…”
Hanjin pushes his head into the boy’s palm again, meowing in agreement. The boy’s voice sounds so gentle, so warm. Everything about him is warm, now that Hanjin thinks about it: from the brown of coat, slowly getting darker as the rain falls through, to the faint scent of cinnamon lingering on his skin, a promise of a home that Hanjin is already yearning for, whether it’s been promised to him or not.
“Alright, um…”
Just then, the boy holds his hand out, palm facing up—and Hanjin, against his better instincts, climbs into it without hesitation.
“Okay, um—”
Youngjae is extremely careful when he takes the shivering kitten into both of his hands, gingerly bringing the creature closer to his chest to try and at least shield it from the rain inside of his coat.
He fails miserably. He’s too scared he’ll suffocate it, or crush it to death, or just scare it off.
When he stands up to try and get his bearings instead, Youngjae stumbles a little, and knocks over the piece of junk that had, apparently, been holding together the entire pile of junk that the kitten had been hiding under—and Youngjae is shocked, and overwhelmed, and he’s mostly surprised that the cat hadn’t jumped out of his hand upon hearing the ruckus of it all. The creature just lets out small meows, paws at the front of Youngjae’s shirt, tiny claws gripping at parts of the fabric. Youngjae doesn’t know what to do.
He’d just been on the way back from the pharmacy to the place his family had rented when the kitten’s persistent cries had caught his attention, even already from a couple houses away. Youngjae had already decided to make his way back even faster—his mom was waiting for her medicine and the rain could get stronger any minute—but the small, desperate meows were too pitiful for him to just ignore.
Still, that doesn’t change the fact that Youngjae has no idea what to do. He’s in an unfamiliar place with a cat that there’s no way his family will let him adopt and take back with them to Gimhae—but Youngjae can’t just leave him here like this, crying and shivering with his white fur caked with mud. Youngjae goes for the phone in the pocket of his coat, though he doubts there’ll be any shelters or clinics around this neighborhood that are open at this time of night; when the rain makes it harder for Youngjae to even use the phone, he doesn’t think better of it before stepping onto the porch of the house where he’d found the kitten, hoping just to use the roof for cover until he can figure out what to do. He could try to bring it back to the pharmacy, but it’s not like they’d know what to do, either, and the cat might just end up back on the streets again—and Youngjae can’t have that. But he knows he can’t take it home with him, either, and it would be great if there were someone from this town who could help him, someone who would even care, but they’ve been vacationing here for four days and it’s not like Youngjae is the kind of kid of who makes friends on trips like that—
But then, as if the sky was opening up above Youngjae and his new feline friend, the light from inside the house comes on.
Youngjae is delighted, until he remembers the commotion he’d caused just a moment ago, and the fact that he’s stepping with muddied shoes onto these strangers’ porch.
When Youngjae notices someone peeking through the curtains, he instinctively takes a step back. The creature in his hands is still shivering against his chest, and he strokes the matted fur mindlessly, probably more soothing for him than the cat itself. At this point, he’s simply psyching himself up to be brave: he’s gotten someone’s attention now, and the sooner he makes sure the cat is safe, the sooner he’ll be able to get home, too.
So, Youngjae takes a deep breath. He takes a few steps forward, until he’s standing right at the front door, one hand raised to rap his knuckles against the wood, when—
“Stop right there— Who are you?”
Youngjae’s jaw drops when the door cracks open just the tiniest bit, revealing an older kid—maybe twelve or thirteen—who’s got sleepy eyes and hair sticking out in all directions and a baseball bat held out in front of him, ready to strike.
“Please put that down,” Youngjae says immediately, instinctively cupping his hands further over the kitten in his arms, even as he realizes that the boy at the door is holding the bat quite clumsily. “I just came here to ask for help, okay? Um… here, look.”
The look on the other boy’s face changes when Youngjae slowly, slowly shows him the white kitten he’s holding, still shivering against his chest. Youngjae lets out the breath he’d been holding when he sees the baseball bat being put down onto the ground, the other boy pulling the front door open further and reaching out to turn on the dim porch light.
Youngjae takes a step back when the older boy steps out in front of him, and Youngjae takes in the sight of the pajama pants he’s wearing: dark blue with blurry pictures of stars and planets and galaxies, a stark contrast to his plain white t-shirt. If Youngjae had been intimidated by him even a little bit, all that is gone now. “So, listen… I was just on the way back from the pharmacy when I heard this little guy meowing. I’m not exactly from here, we’re just vacationing, so I didn’t know where I could take him, but I couldn’t just leave him there…”
Galaxy boy raises an eyebrow, clearly still sleepy, and stares quizically at the cat in Youngjae’s arms. “...So what are you gonna do?”
Youngjae pouts. “I… don’t know? I guess, since he was camping out here at your house, maybe you could take him in for the night? I found him under that pile over there!” Youngjae points at the knocked-over pile of old wood scraps and whatever else, holding the kitten closer. “I guess the noise woke you up, sorry… But, look—he could’ve gotten crushed under there! See?”
The older boy turns his head to where Youngjae’s pointing, an unreadable expression on his face. What he eventually ends up saying is, “It’s good that you got him, then… but I can’t take him in, either. We’ve got a dog.”
Youngjae pouts. “Well… would you know if there’s anywhere I can bring him to, at least? Or anyone?”
“Ah…” galaxy boy sighs, “…okay. Yeah. Um… don’t you have an umbrella, at least?” he asks, eyes falling to the cat. “For the kitten, you know… you shouldn’t let it get rained on even more.”
“It wasn’t raining when I left our place…” Youngjae mutters, embarrassed. “Should I wait until it stops?”
He shakes his head. “It’s gonna last the whole night. Just come inside for a bit and I’ll get you an umbrella. You have a phone?”
Youngjae nods.
“I’ll put the vet clinic into your GPS, then.”
Youngjae nods again, and then galaxy boy opens the front door, letting him and his new kitten friend inside.
“Stay here.”
The air inside is immediately warmer, though not by much. Still, Youngjae is thankful that he gets to stand in the foyer for a bit, where there aren’t stray droplets of rain and sudden gusts of wind. Galaxy boy steps in through the next door that leads into the house itself, leaving Youngjae to wait in the silence; he can see the baseball bat on the floor where galaxy boy had left it, a basket of umbrellas in the corner that makes Youngjae wonder why the guy had wandered back into his house. He tries to stroke the kitten’s fur as gently as he can with two of his knuckles, but it never stops shivering against him. He’s really at his wits’ end. His family must be wondering where he is, too.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Youngjae’s train of thought is interrupted when the door swings open again, and galaxy boy shows up wearing a jacket over his silly get-up, and haphazardly hands Youngjae a tote bag before going to get the umbrella. Youngjae grabs the bag, confused—but the other boy explains before he can ask.
“For the kitten. It was the best I could find.”
Youngjae looks the aforementioned kitten in the eye, and then at the bag in his hands, a little too big. “Oh.”
Galaxy boy raises his eyebrows. “What? Fold it up.” He hands Youngjae a clear umbrella, unfolding a dark green one for himself. “Ready?”
“You’re coming?” Youngjae asks, still confused. He maneuvers his hands gingerly anyway, trying as best he can to set the kitten down comfortably into the scrunched up fabric of the canvas bag, despite how much it clings to the sleeve of his coat. “I can go on my own.”
“You’ll get lost,” the guy replies simply, almost sounding annoyed—but Youngjae is a bit too relieved to point that out, so he forgoes the courtesy for now. “You’re lucky I know the vet around here. They’re open at night for emergencies, but the sign outside’s a little messed up, so you might not spot it.”
“Ooh,” Youngjae nods in understanding. “That’s great, then. I really wouldn’t want to leave this little guy alone.”
Galaxy boy nods. Without another word, he simply holds the front door open, gesturing for Youngjae to walk through.
They walk out onto the porch again, Youngjae’s hands full with a plastic bag of nausea medicine, a tote bag with a stray kitten in it, and an umbrella he’s not really capable of opening. He doesn’t end up having to worry about it, though, when galaxy boy opens his own umbrella, holds it out for Youngjae to take, and then carefully takes the clear umbrella that he’d hung on Youngjae’s arm instead.
“Hurry up,” is all that galaxy boy says when he walks down the steps of his porch, droplets of rain making a soft pitter-patter onto his umbrella. Youngjae follows eagerly, and lets him lead the way.
As Junghwan walks sleepily down the rainy streets of his neighborhood, wearing nothing more than a light jacket over his pajamas, all he can do is glance begrudgingly every once in a while towards the boy in the brown coat.
The veterinary clinic isn’t any more than ten minutes away from his house, but the cold wind and rain are starting to make it feel more like an eternity. Neither of them try to start a conversation, which Junghwan is thankful for; most of the noise that isn’t drowned out by the soft lull of rain comes from the rustling of the cat-hero checking on the white kitten every two seconds, and now also the incessant buzzing of the phone that must be in his pocket. And don’t get him wrong—Junghwan is just as sympathetic to the little stray kitten’s plight—but he’s also a little bit cranky from being woken up by such a loud noise in the front yard, and he’s sure that he and the cat-hero are both itching to just make it back home.
“Relax, kid,” Junghwan blurts out the next time that the other boy starts fussing over the kitten he’s holding. “We’re almost there, and it’ll be fine. Do you want me to hold it?”
The cat-hero holds the bag closer to him like an instinct when Junghwan reaches out.
“Guess not,” Junghwan just shrugs, continuing to walk forward until they start seeing more little shops than houses lining the streets.
It doesn’t take that long for them to get there. Junghwan uses his phone flashlight to navigate through the alleyways until they’re both standing in front of one of the few storefronts with dim lights still on. The pink, neon sign has been messed up since last winter, the words Sung&Sung now butchered into something like S ng°Seo, and he sees the cat-hero’s eyes light up when he sees the OPEN 24/7 - EMERGENCIES ONLY sign. Junghwan goes to press the doorbell a couple of times, but impatience gets the better of him tonight, so he starts knocking on the glass door, too.
“Imo!” Junghwan calls out, the glass rattling underneath the side of his hand, “Imo, it’s Yuya!”
“You don’t have to be so loud,” says the cat-hero, still holding the tote bag open to fuss over his stray kitten. He seems so attached already, and Junghwan wonders if there’s even any chance this kid won’t actually just end up taking the kitten home with him, wherever he’s from.
“The sooner we get inside, the better,” Junghwan quips back, continuing to pound lightly at the door. “Imoooo—”
Sure enough, the bright lights of the clinic come on from the inside, and Junghwan gets cut off by the sound of door chains jangling and locks clicking open. It doesn’t take much longer before the door swings open and they’re both let inside, Junghwan smiling shyly at the woman who’d opened the door.
“Hi, Imo,” Junghwan greets, smiling politely before gesturing over to the other boy, “so, uh, this kid found this kitten…”
“Hi,” she says, reaching out. Cat-hero hands her the bag without hesitation, and Junghwan simply watches from the side. “I’m Dr. Sung Jiyeon. And you are?”
“Oh, I’m—”
Before the cat-hero finally introduces himself, he’s cut off by his phone ringing in his pocket yet again—and this time, now that he knows the kitten is safe, he seems much more keen on answering it.
“Sorry, I should take this…”
He looks at Junghwan with a silent question, and Junghwan waves him off to the other side of the room with a reassuring nod. “Okay.”
Junghwan turns back to Dr. Sung, who’s now holding the kitten by the skin on the back of its neck, searching his brain for where to start explaining what was even happening as some of the clinic’s night shift staff start coming out of the woodwork, preparing whatever they needed to prepare to look after the shivering creature.
“So, um… Apparently, he found this little guy hiding under the porch of my house…”
“...Hyung, I’m on my way back now—yeah, yeah, I know, sorry. I just got caught up in something, I… No, yeah, I know. Yes. Yes! Just… I’m okay, I can find my way back. Is mom okay? …Yeah, I told you, I’m fine! God—okay, okay. I’m not that far, I’m walking back. Bye—yes, hyung. I’m okay. I’m hanging up. Mm. Okay. Bye.”
Hanjin listens as the boy who smells like cinnamon pinches his brow while talking on the phone, letting out soft but persistent meows as he’s transferred into the hands of the boy in the galaxy pajamas. Hanjin is glad to be here, of course—finally safe from the harsh, outside world—but there’s also a part of him that feels as if the only reason he’d gone so willingly was because of the thought of finding a home in that cinnamon warmth. He’s a little bit frightened by the bright, white lights and the cold, metal table that the doctors are trying to put him on; his empty stomach sinks with dread when the cinnamon boy walks back over, and says the unthinkable.
“Um… so, my family’s looking for me, and I have to bring this medicine back for my mom, so I’d better get going—the kitten will be fine, right?”
Hanjin meows, helpless. The other, taller boy speaks up.
“Will you be able to find your way back? Should I go with you?”
“No, no, it’s pretty near here, actually. Just… you should stay with the cat.”
“Oh, then…” he pouts. Hanjin meows again. “You should take the umbrella, at least.”
Cinnamon boy waves his hands out in front of him, saying, “Oh, no, it’s fine—”
“Just take it, cat whisperer. You saw how much we had at home.”
“Oh,” he answers simply. Hanjin meows, reaching out. “Thank you, and—”
The boy who smells like cinnamon and warmth and home reaches out to pat Hanjin on the head now, his warm hands soothing even against matted fur. Hanjin pushes his head into the touch, meowing as sadly as he can—but he knows it won’t stop him from leaving. Most people eventually do.
“Hey, kitty… I have to run now, but this hyung and the doctor will take care of you, okay?” he smiles at Hanjin, almost just as sadly, and Hanjin reaches out, trying to hook his claws into the fabric of the boy’s sleeve. “You’re gonna be okay, yeah? And when you get better, make sure to live well. Okay?”
Hanjin meows. Okay, he wishes he could say back, I promise.
Not that much longer after, the boy is out the door. Hanjin lets out one last, dejected meow—and he wonders if the boy in the galaxy pajamas must sense his sadness when he reaches out to pet him, and then scoops him up into his arms.
“You’re safe now, sweetheart,” he tells him, in a voice much softer than it has been the whole night. “You’re okay.”
And he’s still shivering, hungry, all alone—but Hanjin chooses to try and believe it, this time. Even if it’s just for one day, maybe he’ll get another chance at finding a place to call home.