“My goodness. What should we do?”
Julia says in a voice full of concern.
That guy Simon is receiving Julia’s care while wearing an awkward, foolish grin. Just looking at how he flinches every time Julia’s hand touches his face tells me everything I need to know.
He’s a muscle-brained idiot and socially clueless.
I sit elegantly in front of Simon and lick my front paw.
I went and scratched the hell out of that stupid brute who’s got nothing but strength. I need to clean myself properly, or I might catch the stupidity virus. If I get infected by a muscle-brain like that, I might end up becoming a dumb cat myself. That would be truly horrifying.
I mean, why did he have to interfere with my gold-coin swimming in the first place?
I only went easy on him because he’s my friend. If it had been someone else, it wouldn’t have ended with just a few claw marks. I would’ve turned them into a ragged mess so bad they wouldn’t even recognize themselves anymore. Hmph.
“Does it hurt a lot?” Julia asks in a sympathetic voice.
I keep licking my paw, watching Simon through narrowed eyes.
His face is already flushed bright red. So red I can barely even see my claw marks. That’s suspicious. Don’t tell me… does he like our Julia or something?
That won’t do. Julia is my exclusive maid. Especially Julia’s big, firm chest—I’m not yielding that to anyone.
“I-It doesn’t hurt at all.”
For such a huge guy to stutter like that, he really does look like an idiot. Well, he is an idiot to begin with.
I snort and get up from my spot.
I saunter over and hiss at Simon again. Kyaak! But the muscle-brain doesn’t even flinch. This is the problem with friends. We know each other too well, so even when I try to scare him, he doesn’t get intimidated. The fact that he properly closed the chest lid even while I was clawing his face just now proves it.
Ever since I fractured my leg while messing around back then, he’s been like this. Any time I try to do even a little something, he blocks me. It’s not like I’m jumping off rooftops or anything. I’m just trying to enjoy a small hobby. I know my body is precious—I don’t do anything that could seriously hurt me. But this guy absolutely refuses to leave me alone. He’s not a friend. He’s an enemy. An enemy.
It’s unfortunate, but there’s nothing I can do. I’ll have to postpone my gold-coin swimming for now.
Since Simon caught me, it’ll be difficult for a while.
I snap irritably at Simon one last time.
Kyaak—!
Ever since I met you, nothing’s gone right, you punk!
“K.”
When I enter the office, my patron calls out to me. He looks like he’s thrilled to death to see me.
Seeing him smile softly with his eyes makes my heart swell with pride. I think I finally understand why newlywed husbands rush straight home the moment they get off work. Every time I come back from going out, he welcomes me like this—it makes my shoulders straighten on their own.
But instead of going to Lyx, I head toward the crackling fireplace. It might look a bit cold, but it can’t be helped. A cold city cat doesn’t get easily tamed just because he’s got a lover now. Running over the instant my name is called would seriously damage my dignity.
In front of the fireplace lies my personal cushion. I wrap my arms tightly around Big Guy, who’s been waiting obediently on top of it.
Big Guy. Hyung’s here.
As I hug Big Guy and sneak a glance sideways, I see Lyx staring straight at me. When our eyes meet—
“K.”
He calls me in a gentle voice.
I hesitate a little.
Should I hold out just a bit longer? Or should I brush myself off and go to Lyx now? This is truly not an easy decision. Going now feels too quick, but holding out makes me want Lyx even more.
If another cat heard this dilemma, they’d probably scoff.
“What, you’re going just because he called you twice? Do you have no pride as a cat?”
But that’s only because they don’t know Lyx’s charm. If they’d experienced even once how Lyx strokes your back, they’d understand my struggle immediately.
Of course, other cats will never get to understand me. Because Lyx is my… thing, and therefore exclusively mine. If another cat ever tried to approach Lyx, I’d beat them half to death, then hit them one more time for good measure. On top of that, I’m confident I could cut off all their whiskers and pluck out every last strand of their fur.
As I imagine defeating this hypothetical enemy, my claws slip out without me realizing it.
I retract them and fall back into thought.
A cat’s pride, or Lyx’s touch. That is the question.
While I’m still thinking, Lyx calls again, even more softly.
“K.”
He’s called me three times now, so I think it’s about time I go.
Normally, after hearing my name, I leave a bit of a time gap before responding. That way, I avoid giving the impression that I come running the instant I’m called. Waiting about five to ten minutes before sauntering over is usually appropriate. It’s a hassle, but definitely necessary. This is a crucial matter tied directly to a cat’s identity. But this time, I think it’s okay to go a little sooner. More than anything, my body is itching for Lyx’s petting.
I deliberately let out a slow, lazy yawn and stand up.
The moment I jump onto the desk, a hand reaches out as if it had been waiting. I sniff it first to make sure Lyx’s hand is clean. I’m precious, after all.
Mm. The hand is clean.
I tap my forehead lightly against his hand, announcing the start of our “bangabang” greeting.
Whenever we reunite after being apart, we must always do the bangabang greeting. No exceptions, no matter how short the separation was.
Between Lyx and me, there’s a generally established method for the bangabang greeting.
Lyx slowly extends his hand first, and I check its cleanliness by smell. Once that’s done, I tap it with my head to express my happiness. Then we rub his hand and my face against each other and begin the greeting in earnest. When that’s finished, Lyx diligently strokes my head with a single finger, then follows by slowly petting from my back all the way down to my hips.
He keeps doing it until I’m satisfied.
There’s no fixed duration for a bangabang greeting. It depends on how I’m feeling at the time—and naturally, that feeling is based entirely on me.
Some might say this is excessive for a simple reunion. Others might say it’s behavior unbecoming of a cold city cat.
But that is a grave misunderstanding.
This is what a true cold city man is like.
Cool and chic in everyday life, but when it comes time to express affection, he does it properly. That is the true image of a cold city man.
As I purr contentedly while enjoying Lyx’s touch, there’s no heaven quite like this.
It seems Lyx was lonely while I was gone. He’s busy stroking my back with one hand and my head with the other. Seeing him smile softly like that makes me feel a bit sorry for him. Just how lonely must he have been while working alone to be this overjoyed?
As his you-know-what, I decide to reflect a little. He’s always been the type who gets lonely easily. Gold-coin swimming is nice and all, but I really shouldn’t leave him alone for too long.
Lately, Lyx has been getting especially lonely. It feels like it’s getting worse day by day. Maybe it’s because of the cold weather.
But this kind, gentle guy never asks me outright to stay by his side. He just sends subtle, pleading glances my way. Most of the time, I pretend not to notice them. I can’t spend the entire day glued to his side. I need my own time too.
A cold city man must be this ruthless at times. And yet, the fact that I still feel guilty means I must really like this timid, easily-lonely softie. They say you become an idiot when you fall in love, and that doesn’t seem entirely wrong.
But well, it’s fine. Even a cold city man is allowed to love.
Lyx’s eyes, which had been diligently working with both hands, narrow slightly. I recognize the signal without difficulty. That’s the look that says he wants to kiss me. Since we’re that kind of relationship, we can communicate with just our eyes.
Lyx bends down and gently presses his lips against the top of my head.
Every time his lips touch my head, my tail trembles on its own. I half-close my eyes and rumble out a low purr.
I honestly don’t know how Lyx can be so good even at kissing. This guy truly has nothing he’s bad at.
Nyaaang—
As a reward, I look up at Lyx and meow sweetly.
Lyx’s eyes narrow even further as he looks at me. I know exactly why. He really likes it when I let out a proper “meow.”
Whenever I cry out, his gaze fixates obsessively on the inside of my open mouth. He’s clearly admiring my sharp, fearsome fangs. Despite having had holes poked into his hands more than once, he doesn’t seem scared at all.
Or maybe he’s simply envious of my sharp fangs.
It could also be admiration for a magnificent weapon he himself doesn’t possess. Thinking that way makes his obsessive interest in my paws understandable too.
