Chapter Text
Minho tilted the container and let the wet food fall with surgical precision into the three metal bowls, ensuring each portion measured exactly what he had calculated. The sound of the food hitting—soft, damp—triggered an immediate chorus of impatient meows. Soonie rubbed his back against Minho’s leg, Doongie spun in circles, his tail brushing Minho’s ankles, and Dori sat perfectly still, eyes fixed and expectant, as if staying motionless were her way of demanding her place.
Minho set the bowls down in their usual spot, aligned next to the blue mat where they always ate. While he wiped the counter with a cloth, his phone began vibrating insistently, cutting through the calm of the routine. He clicked his tongue; he hated interruptions when he was focused.
He unlocked the screen and entered the group chat with his friends, scrolling through the short stack of messages sent one after another.
“MINHO-HYUNG, I’M SO SORRYYYY! I caught a cold at the championship. I can’t cat-sit today.”
“I have an exam. I literally can’t even breathe. I’m so sorry, Minho.”
“I’m on the opposite side of the country right now. I wouldn’t make it even if I sprinted.”
Minho closed his eyes, irritated but understanding. The meows cushioned his frustration, but it was impossible not to feel that tense knot beneath his sternum. He couldn’t cancel or postpone the submission of his project. Not now.
“Are you serious…?” he muttered to himself, massaging his forehead.
He had two paths: fail his final project or entrust the most valuable thing he owned to a stranger. He slid his finger over the messages again, noticing his friends beginning to suggest alternatives
"It sounds simple, but it makes sense. Maybe he can take care of your cats, hyung. [LINK].”
He tapped the link, which opened the university’s virtual board.
“Responsible student seeking part-time work. Available immediately. Experience with pet care.”
Searching for more information to know who it was, he entered the profile and analyzed what he could piece together: Han Jisung, music composition, 22 years old. He had a long history of job postings in multiple fields. Something about his persistence in looking for work unsettled him slightly. He wasn’t sure if it was desperation or need.
Minho took a deep breath. “I don’t have any other options.”
He opened a private chat with the boy and typed a brief message asking for help. He hoped for a quick reply—he had barely a couple of hours left to leave.
“Hello. Are you available today to take care of three cats?”
The response came in less than ten minutes.
“Yes. I can be there in thirty minutes.”
Minho smirked. The boy sounded efficient. Perhaps too efficient for someone with so many job listings.
✦ ✦ ✦
Minho wrote a frantic list of instructions: feeding schedule, portions, water temperature, social behavior of each feline. When he was finishing the last rule, the doorbell rang.
He opened the door and found a man with black hair, rectangular glasses, and a smile that seemed to radiate calm. He wore casual clothes, a crossbody backpack. But what stood out most to Minho was that he didn’t look nervous. On the contrary—he seemed perfectly prepared.
“Come in,” Minho instructed, stepping aside to let him enter.
The sound of footsteps against the wooden floor blended with the expectant quiet of the apartment. Jisung scanned every detail with his eyes: the organized coat rack, the rug, the framed pictures, the soft light entering through the window.
He was about to speak when something tugged at his pant leg. He lowered his head in search of the culprit. A gray cat stared up at him, batting at his shoelaces. Round attentive eyes, as if assessing the intruder.
“That’s Dori,” Minho said. “Come, I’ll show you the essentials.”
They entered the kitchen. Jisung pulled out a mini-notebook, prepared as if he were about to take an exam. Minho waited a couple of seconds, curious, before beginning.
“Alright. Three basic rules of survival. Dori—the gray cat—gets scared by loud noises. If you yell, she disappears. Doongie—the orange cat with white front paws—won’t eat if someone looks directly at him. If Soonie—the older orange cat with the white nose—hides, leave him. He decides when to return.”
Jisung’s pen moved without pause, his focus fixed on every word he wrote.
“Don’t pick them up unless they ask. No loud music. If you have to leave, you message me. My number is on the paper on the fridge.” He paused, thinking of what else to add. “Be precise with the schedule I wrote. Each detail matters and has a reason.”
“Alright,” Jisung nodded. “I promise I’ll do my best.”
“I hope so,” Minho replied, not softening the seriousness of his tone.
He headed into his office and returned holding a carefully protected model. He stopped in front of Jisung as if handing over an inheritance.
“I entrust the life of my cats—and therefore, mine—in your hands. Text me so I can save your number. What was your name again?”
“Jisung. Han Jisung.”
“Lee Minho. I’ll be back at the latest by eight. Don’t forget: be exact about everything. Cats hate mistakes as much as I do.”
Jisung tried to smile with confidence. “I’ll do my best.”
The door closed behind Minho and silence hung suspended in the air. Jisung’s heart pounded hard in his chest, so he inhaled deeply. He was alone with three cats and a set of rules that felt like they were written by a heart surgeon.
✦ ✦ ✦
He searched for the felines to learn what each one looked like and start familiarizing himself with them. Soonie was grooming himself behind a chair. Doongie slept belly-up, shamelessly. Dori watched him from a distance, blinking strangely while judging him.
“Hello…,” Jisung whispered, as if the cat could answer. He slowly moved his hand and smiled nervously, afraid she would reject him.
He took out his tablet and opened a university document. Maybe he could work on assignments and advance beats while time passed. Maybe this wouldn’t be so terrible.
As he tried to concentrate, he ran through Minho’s mental list again and again. It felt like a ghost hovering over him. A shiver crawled down his spine.
Food is served exactly at 7 p.m. Not a minute more, not a minute less. If it’s 6:58, wait. If it’s 7:01, it’s already late.
He swallowed hard, checked the watch on his wrist—3:14 p.m. He still had time to prove he was capable and wouldn’t fail.
He opened KakaoTalk, searched for the new contact—the cats’ owner—and wrote something brief but friendly to establish closeness. That usually worked with some of his employers.
“Hello, I’m Han Jisung, the temporary caretaker of your cats. Feel free to add me :D”
Without waiting for a reply, he set his phone aside and took his tablet again. Dori’s eyes remained on him.
The afternoon was quiet, almost soothing. And yet, something told him that the door that had closed behind Minho hadn’t just left him inside the apartment.
It had trapped him in something he didn’t yet understand.