Life is too short to get your life ruined and your personal space annexed by one cat, so Shotaro gets two. Eunseok and Wonbin are a package deal regardless. Eunseok bites and Wonbin scratches. Wonbin howls and Eunseok meows. Eunseok talks about long-dead philosophers with a keen eye for detail and Wonbin considers the best season for pregnancy. They occasionally sleep together, tails curled around their legs, but mostly like to wedge Shotaro between their bony ankles and edgy hips. They can’t be separated for some legal reasons, but mostly moral.

Work gets beneath Shotaro’s skin most days, the inevitable slog of turning passion into profit, but the people drive him crazy: lacklustre students, unstretched hamstrings, requests for music he doesn’t approve of. Wonbin will try to cook something healthy dry for when he gets back, thinking of his heart and his head, and Eunseok will douse it in sesame dressing or oil or soy sauce until it’s palatable.

Usually. But tonight the kitchen’s empty. Ingredients are abandoned across the counter: a cucumber diced halfway, a tin of tuna, a bowl of rice left steaming.

Shotaro hears quiet voices from the bathroom and approaches the door carefully, pressing his ear against the door. He wants to eat, not to play stupid games, but after a long day those stupid prizes sound pretty good too. Anything that isn’t getting verbally wrung-out by his boss or having his dance students invent new sparkly new forms of emotional sadism.

“It hurts, Eunseokkie…”

“Don’t be such a wuss,” Eunseok mutters. “Go on, move, let me at it.”

A tap runs on and off.

Wonbin yelps. “Be careful! Why don’t you let me cut your nails?”

“I am being careful,” he says. “And I don’t let you do that because you think ‘cutting’ them means chewing them in your mouth.”

“Ow, ow, ow!”

“Stop being such a crybaby.”

Shotaro opens the door then. Eunseok has a habit of not playing nice, but Wonbin is also sensitive. “What are you…”

Eunseok is wrapping a bandage around Wonbin’s finger. Both of their tails are thrashing angrily. Wonbin’s sweatpants are curled in the corner and his legs are long and pale, swinging back and forth as he sits on the edge of the tiny bathtub.

“Don’t be so mean,” Shotaro says, “to Wonbin…Ah…”

“I got blood on my sweatpants,” Wonbin complains.

“They’re mine,” Eunseok says. “Wonbinnie is so stupid, Taro.”

Wonbin blinks up at Shotaro. He turns his head to the side, all the while letting Eunseok frustratedly bandage his finger, and opens his legs with the unexpected coquettish impulses only Wonbin possesses. Eunseok, on the right evening and with the right treatment and with Wonbin by his side, acts like a real seductress, but that’s hard to gauge. Wonbin is always on it, flickering and buzzing with erotic energy.

Eunseok shoves his thigh between Wonbin’s knees. “He’s not wearing underwear; you can’t look.”

“It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before,” Wonbin says, wrinkling his nose.

“Ah.”

“And I’m not done fixing you,” says Eunseok.

“Taro, I missed you…” Wonbin blinks slowly. “I’m all ready for you…”

“Gross,” Eunseok says half-heartedly. He drops Wonbin’s hand. “Alright. Whatever. I’m hungry anyway. You guys have your fun.”

Wonbin paws at Eunseok too. “Eunseokkie, you think I’m gross?”

“Tell him he’s not gross,” Shotaro says.

Eunseok rolls his eyes. “He is gross.”

“For me?”

“Fine,” Eunseok says. “Wonbinnie is so pretty and cute and everybody in the whole world needs to hear about what’s in-between his thighs.”

“Exactly,” Shotaro agrees.

“Ugh!”