The boy with a creased expression works their mouth, mumbling away. They’re definitely complaining about something. Calyx rubs the space between the boy’s wrinkled brows with the tip of his finger. But the moment the boy notices the finger, their face droops into a sulk.
Damn.
Calyx clicks his tongue inwardly.
Even when the boy shoots him a fierce glare, the instant they see his finger, they wilt and start reading the room. That contrast is unbearably cute. He’d let himself be bitten any number of times if that’s what the boy wanted, but the boy doesn’t know that. Usually, they indulge their greed and act however they please, but the moment the other person’s reaction turns sour, they instinctively start watching for cues. It’s a reflexive desire not to be hated.
The boy still seems bothered by the finger they bit earlier, but honestly… the way they’d clamped down so bravely, staring up at him with those clear, round eyes—Calyx had found it adorable. Enough that he’d felt proud of those tiny teeth for actually breaking skin. Of course, the boy had panicked over the mere few drops of blood, licking the wound and nervously checking his reaction the whole time.
Suppressing a smile as the boy’s brows begin to crease again, Calyx starts to move. As the boy’s feet, stacked neatly atop his own, naturally follow the motion, the furrow in their brow slowly smooths out. One hand settles at the boy’s waist, the other clasps their hand, and he begins stepping through the dance.
“Woah.”
After a half turn, an exclamation bursts from the boy’s lips. Their black eyes sparkle brightly—clearly, they’re having fun. Calyx picks up the pace a little.
“Wow… I’m getting dizzy.”
The boy blinks as they say it, but their face is full of delight. Instead of memorizing steps, they just laugh as they spin around and around. It’s obvious they’re not used to this kind of dance. If they knew they were learning a woman’s dance right now, they’d never sit still for it.
Calyx pulls the boy close and gathers them into his arms. He stops stepping altogether, simply holding them, but the boy—perhaps still thinking they’re dancing—rests quietly against him. After holding them like that for a while, the boy, who’d been pressing their head flat against his chest and panting softly, slowly lifts their head.
Calyx lets his gaze drop lower from those black eyes brimming with trust.
“Lyx?”
The boy’s small lips, calling him in a puzzled voice, are slightly redder than usual—no doubt from all the movement. The soft breaths spilling through those parted lips brush against him. Almost impulsively, Calyx reaches out and touches the boy’s lips.
The black eyes looking up at him hold nothing but pure curiosity. Beneath that curiosity lies dense, unwavering trust. Even this close, even with his hand on them, the boy shows not a shred of wariness.
Will it change someday?
Calyx wonders as he gently strokes their lips.
Will these trust-filled black eyes one day begin to change? Will shock and disbelief be etched into them, fear and caution taking root until they transform into something else entirely…?
It would be unbearable.
“Lyx… why? Does your finger hurt?”
The boy clasps the finger they’d bitten and asks in a dejected voice. Calyx lightly restrains the boy’s hand and lowers his face.
When he presses his lips against those that are breathing out in short pants, the boy’s breath stops dead. The moist, soft sensation he’d tasted with his finger is even softer when felt with his lips.
Calyx closes his eyes, holding their lips together just as gently as the boy does.
The boy, who’d frozen their breath completely, starts drawing shallow breaths through their nose. Calyx inhales every bit of that breath, as though unwilling to let any of it escape.
The boy’s breath smells like cookies. Ridiculously, that cookie-scented breath, combined with the mere touch of their lips pressed together, makes his head spin.
The heart nestled against his chest pounds rapidly. A fierce urge wells up to press his ear to that small chest and listen to the heartbeat. At the same time, he wants to stay like this all night, lips joined. No—would it really be just one night? It feels like he could stay like this forever, lips pressed together without end.
“…Lyx?”
The boy’s lips part slightly, a small voice slipping out. Eyes still closed, Calyx whispers, “Shh—,” soothing them.
Just a little longer. Just a little more like this.
***
“Oh my! Just look at Nabi!”
Julia cries out in a voice like a lark. At once, the maids scattered around come scurrying over. I glare sulkily at the maids forming a circle around me.
“Oh my, what do we do~!”
What do you mean, what do you do?
“Aww, you’re so cute I could die~!”
Don’t die.
“I can’t take it~! You’re too pretty—I’ll die!”
You should still stay alive.
Each maid makes a fuss about how they’re dying. Their voices climb so high it practically hurts my ears. Still, I’m the kind of man who knows how to be generous with women. I can let this level of maidly hysteria slide.
“Nabi, do you like it that much?”
Julia asks. I survey my newly claimed hideout. Perfect.
Yeah. I kinda love this.
When I meow, the maids once again start screaming about dying or not being able to live. I really hope they don’t actually die.
I roll over and hug the red ball of yarn more snugly.
The yarn ball filling my forepaws is fluffy and round—perfect for hugging and rolling around with. This thing’s pretty big, so to hold it properly with my forepaws, I have to extend my claws and jab them firmly into both sides to keep it in place, but I like that too. Honestly, I fell in love at first sight. I’ve already given it a name. Since it’s so big—“Big Guy.”
Right now, I’m inside Julia’s yarn basket. More precisely, I’m inside the yarn basket, hugging the red yarn ball. Holding this big guy and rolling to the right, then to the left, is unbelievably fun. Of course, I’m not an easy man, so I also throw in the occasional forward roll and backward roll.
There’s another good thing: the snug shape of this yarn basket I’ve claimed.
Because the basket dips inward, its edges rise up, making it perfect for rolling around. Roll to the right, my back hits something. Roll to the left, my back hits something. There are all kinds of cushions and pillows scattered around—things the maids or Julia make and gift almost daily—but none of them compare to this basket. I have no idea why Julia didn’t give me this sooner.
After flailing around for a good while, Julia finally calms down and refocuses on her knitting. Sitting in her chair and knitting, she actually looks quite womanly. Well, Julia is a woman to begin with… starting with that warm, generous chest of hers.
But then, a problem arises.
Every time Julia’s hands move, a red strand slips free from my yarn ball.
I smack the strand with my forepaw.
No. That’s mine. Mine.
But despite my interference, the yarn keeps slipping away industriously. Looking at its size, it doesn’t seem to be shrinking yet—but I know better. If this continues, this lovely guy will shrivel up and disappear.
Clutching Big Guy tightly, I glare at the butcher Julia. But she’s so absorbed in her knitting that she has no idea who she’s killing. Still, I can’t very well scratch pretty Julia or punch holes in her with my teeth.
What do I do?
I stare at Big Guy, then at Julia, then at the red yarn unraveling, deep in thought. I can’t give up either this cozy basket or Big Guy. Just imagining losing even one of them makes tears well up.
I regret it. I shouldn’t have come to this room where Julia and the others rest… If I’d never known this place to begin with, I wouldn’t have had to feel the pain of losing it.
This is all because of that patron who rubbed his mouth all over my lips. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have fled all the way to this room where Julia rests, and I never would’ve had such a heartbreaking encounter.
While I’m agonizing, Big Guy in my arms is steadily getting smaller. I steel my resolve and get to my feet. Then I whisper to Big Guy.
Big Guy. This hyung will save you.
I glance at Julia—she’s completely lost in her knitting trance.
I slip quietly out of the basket and bite down on the edge of it. The basket, woven tightly from blade-like fibers, is fairly heavy, but not impossible to lift. Even if it were impossible, I’d still have to do it. That’s the only way to save Big Guy.
Clamping the basket in my mouth, I start backing toward the door as quietly as I can.
Four meters… three meters… two meters…
The closer I get to the door, the more my jaw and teeth begin to ache, but I grit my teeth and endure.
Two meters… one meter…
Just as I’m about to reach the door—
“Oh my, Nabi! How could you take that with you!”
