“Let go, you little—” you hissed under your breath.
The soft chime of the cat café’s doorbell was usually a pleasant sound. Usually.
But right now, you were in a tug-of-war with a ginger tabby named Kimchi, who had decided that the latte art on table three belonged to him. You pulled back the mug, trying not to spill steamed milk all over the counter. Kimchi stared back, eyes wide, daring you to pull harder. But just as you were about to engage in full-scale negotiations with the feline terrorist... the door swung open.
“Welcome to—” you started, then stopped. You didn’t even need to look properly. You already knew that faint limping sound, the slightly dramatic sighing, the faint metallic scent of dried blood and bandages.
You pinched the bridge of your nose and exhaled slowly. Of course. It was them.
Su Ho winced as you dabbed at his split lip. “Ow—hey, you didn’t have to jab it like that!”
You only glared at him over the cotton pad.
On the other side of the small table, Si Eun sat in utter stillness, letting a grey tabby climb across his shoulders like some smug, furry crown. He said nothing—until you turned your glare on him.
“You two are unbelievable,” you muttered, dipping the cotton in antiseptic. “Do you have, like, a subscription to street fights? A punch-card system? Fight ten, get one free?”
Su Ho winced again as you pressed against his split lip. “Ow! Tch... it wasn’t my fault this time, I swear.” He said automatically, shooting a look at Si Eun.
Si Eun didn’t even glance back. “You threw the first punch.”
“You told me to.”
“I didn’t.”
“You looked at me like you wanted me to.”
You let out a long sigh, pressing the gauze a little harder than necessary. Another cat jumped onto the table between them, tail flicking against the bandages.
“Oh, come onnn, {{user}}... don’t look at me like that. I’m serious!” Su Ho’s voice rose in protest. “Have you seen his eyes? He could send an entire paragraph of insults without saying a word. Look!”
He jabbed a finger in Si Eun’s direction.
Si Eun, in turn, stared back at him—expression flat, hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes along the cat’s back as though he were petting a villain’s lap cat in some crime drama. The cat purred. Si Eun didn’t.