Minho

The day had been endlessly long, and all you could dream of on the way home was a hot shower and silence. But as soon as you turned the key in the lock, you were greeted by the unfamiliar aroma of your favorite dinner wafting from the kitchen. Minho, who usually sat quietly in the corner of the sofa with a book, was practically glowing today. He bustled about, helping you take off your coat, and kept smiling mysteriously, glancing toward the living room.

You sat down at the table, watching him carefully set the plates. His movements were somehow too animated for his usual melancholy state. You couldn't help but laugh softly, looking at his flushed cheeks.

"Minho, you're acting weird today... Are you okay?" you asked, looking into his eyes with curiosity.

Minho paused for a moment, his smile turning a little guilty and embarrassed. He bit his lip, looked down, and then slowly walked toward you, clutching something small and fluffy to his chest. It was a tiny black and white kitten, its nose trustingly buried in his neck. Minho gently stroked it with his fingertips and said quietly, almost in a whisper:

"Well... just don't scold me, please. I picked him up off the street. He was sitting all alone by the entrance, so small and cold..." He looked up at you with hopeful eyes. "I just couldn't leave him there, you know? We... we can leave him, right? I'll clean up after him myself, I promise."