27. there’s a cat in my kitchen. i don’t own a cat. + neighbor!wonwoo please❤️
2k follower request prompts
words: 918 | fluff, cats, meet cute. in which you have an allergic reaction, make a new friend, and meet your neighbor.
when you wake up, the first thing you notice is how much your eyes hurt. the second thing you notice is the weight on your chest, and the third thing you notice is the tickling at your nose.
you sneeze, jerking up, and to your horror, the weight on your chest leaps into the air with a panicked little yowling noise.
you stare at the cat in your room.
the cat stares at you.
ten minutes and two allergy pills later, you’re furiously lint rolling your pajamas, which is futile considering the fact that your rude intruder is currently meowing and rubbing itself against your legs while headbutting you affectionately.
“i know, i know,” you sniffle, “you’re very sweet, but you make my eyes hurt and the benadryl hasn’t kicked in yet.”
“meow,” the cat replies plaintively.
“how did you get in anyways?” you wrack your brain for any entry points to your ninth floor apartment that this cat could have possibly used, but your brain is coming up blank. “you’re clearly somebody’s pet,” you tell the cat. he’s a fat grey cat with large eyes and little white feet— feet that are too clean and white to belong to a stray. “you’re clean, and you’re friendly. somebody is missing you.”
“mrrrrrow,” the cat says, standing up on his hind legs to place two delicate paws against your knee. “meow?”
“what is it, buddy,” you put down the lint roller, having given up on de-catifying your pajamas, “do you want attention?”
“mow,” the cat responds.
“okay, well the allergy meds are finally kicking in,” you sigh, crouching down and scratching the cat behind the ears. he instantly flops over and rolls onto his back to expose his fluffy belly. “i know it’s a trap,” you frown. the cat looks at you with those wide amber eyes, almost expectantly.
“mrow,” the cat demands, and you sigh.
“fine.” you reach out toward the cat’s belly, only to be met with gleeful biting and pawing as he attacks your hand. “ow!”
.
.
.
it’s almost noon when you step out of your apartment, dressed in real human clothes with the little demon wrapped in a towel in your arms.
(“i don’t have a cat carrier,” you tell him, “and we gotta get you to the vet to check for a microchip. is it okay if i carry you?”
“meow,” the cat responds, lamp-like eyes round as you extend your hands.
he bats your arm as a warning, leaving faint red streaks. “ow!”
five minutes and an instructional youtube video about cat handling later, you’ve got him bundled up in a fluffy towel and he’s managed to calm down, too. if someone isn’t looking closely, they might even mistake the bundle in your arms for a baby.)
you’re walking down the hall of your apartment building, cat held close to your chest, when the door next to yours suddenly opens, flying towards you. jumping back, you let out a strangled yell as the cat in your arms makes an angry yowl of protest and manages to writhe out of the towel burrito. for a few seconds of terror, the grey cat in your arms scrambles up your shoulders and presses up against your face before he jumps to the ground and scales a pair of very long legs to settle in a pair of arms.
“soup!”
you recognize your new neighbor standing there, cradling the cat in his arms. he looks absolutely terrible-- his socks are mismatched and his sweatpants are ratty and his tee shirt is on backwards. through his round glasses, you can see dark circles under his eyes. “oh, soup,” he repeats, his deep voice wavering, relief apparent in every fiber of his being,
“you named your cat soup,” you say incredulously, holding the towel in your hands. your new neighbor looks up and meets your gaze, and you realize, miserably, how tall and handsome he is. “he broke into my apartment,” you explain lamely, pointing at the cat currently hanging off his shoulder.
he stares at you for one very long second before straightening himself and running a hand through his tousled hair, making it even more effortlessly tousled. “um, thank you so much,” he says, eyes wide, “for taking care of my cat. i’m wonwoo.”
he extends his hand. soup the cat is unfazed and remains on wonwoo’s chest, looking over his shoulder. you begin to introduce yourself, reaching out to accept his handshake, when you’re rudely interrupted by a sneeze.
“euugh,” you rub at your nose with your sleeve, which is covered in cat hair, and then you sneeze again, this time with tears springing to your eyes.
“um,” wonwoo says, still standing in front of you with his hands extended.
“sorry,” you sniffle, eyes narrowing as they begin to sting, “i’m allergic.”
wonwoo’s mouth drops open into a small ‘o’ shape as the realization sets in.
“i’m glad soup is home,” you say as you step backwards, “but i gotta go and take some benadryl. nice to meet you, wonwoo. see ya around. bye, soup!”
.
.
.
“thanks for being a good neighbor” reads the card attached to the vase of flowers outside your door. “sorry about the cat, can i take you out for dinner?” is written underneath, and then there’s wonwoo’s name and a string of ten numbers.
you smile to yourself and glance back at your kitchen, where you had just stashed a freshly purchased stockpile of extra-strength non-drowsy allergy medication. maybe you’ll pay soup a visit sometime.
please this is too cute
