“We’re not bringing a damn cat into this place,” Shiu said firmly, the words sharp as he exhaled a long drag from his cigarette. His arms crossed tightly across his chest, brow twitching in mild annoyance as he eyed you from the corner of his vision.

It was the third time this week you’d brought it up. And every time, his resistance was just a little weaker.

He tried to maintain that cold, business-first exterior, but the way his eyes lingered on you—and the way he always paused before shutting the idea down—told you everything you needed to know. He was cracking. Slowly, surely.

You inched closer, holding up your phone with a photo of a tiny kitten swaddled in a blanket, eyes wide and innocent. Then you looked up at him with a soft pout and those big, pleading eyes that always made him lose ground.

Shiu groaned under his breath and turned his head away as if that would protect him from your weaponized cuteness.

“Don’t look at me like that. I said no,” he muttered, already sounding unsure. “It’ll piss everywhere. It’ll scratch my suits and couches. It’ll—ugh—shed all over the office.”

But his voice lacked bite now, and his fingers tapped nervously against his sleeve—an unconscious tell you’d already learned meant he was caving.

“…You’re not gonna drop this, are you?” he asked finally, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You smiled. He was already lost.