🐈🐈🐈

Although our first kiss didn't even come close to having a fairy tail ending, that doesn't mean that we didn't enjoy it. In fact, we were all over each other's faces for the next ten minutes.

I'd like to say it was a wonderful and exciting time where our young hearts were blooming with love—or some other poetic shit Namjoon would say.

Instead, it turned out to be a shoving match. First it was me shoving him into a wall and crushing my mouth to his. Then it was him shoving me onto the bed, wanting to take things further as his hands traveled to places they had no passport for. This led to me shoving him off the bed and kicking him in the shin. Three times cause the horn dog kept trying to grab me.

Romantic, right?

That all resulted in a very boring talk about our feelings and relationship, which was basically Namjoon asking for forgiveness in a very round-a-bout way. All I wanted to do was make out and not have him sticking his hands under my shirt. Is that so much to ask for?

After a lengthy conversation where we set ground rules for each other (I'm not allowed to whisper 'slut' in his ear while biting his earlobe anymore. Don't ask.), we once again fell into each other's arms. Some of the time it was innocent nose bumps and little chaste kisses here and there. But that was enough to satisfy.

It had to be. After hearing bits of our argument, dad had ordered us to sit on the couch and every now and then would walk by with eyes zeroed in on the back of Namjoon's head. Seems cute boys couldn't do 'anything' in his house after all.

The television was playing just a little too loud, enough to cover our voices and keep dad from eavesdropping on our conversation successfully.

We both sat at opposite ends of the sofa, the space between us lessening inch by inch in a cautionary manner, only for the closeness gained to be lost every time dad poked his head into the room. Namjoon would smoothly retreat back to his original position with the most innocent look on his face, leaving me stunned. I didn't know 'smooth' and destructive, clumsy 'Namjoon' could be used in the same sentence.

"You're very cool today," I offered a compliment, but couldn't help but to tease him, "oppa."

A bright red blush spread across his face and to the roots of his hair, but he looked more pleased than embarrassed. Dark eyes flitted to my own and promised retribution, sending a pleasant chill down my spine. I turned my head at the exact same second dad was passing by the open doorway and staring at Namjoon.

"Dad, what's for lunch?"

Head jerking in my direction, he blinked in a surprise. His mouth opened as if he were going to answer, but then he suddenly froze and looked at his watch. "Y/n, I forgot. BooBoo has his checkup today."

"What?" I questioned in surprise. I don't remember this at all. How could I forget? I'm a TERRIBLE cat mother! "When?"

"Thirty minutes."

"Dad! What the fu-"

The doorbell rang and dad froze up all over again as worried eyes glanced at his watch. "Shit-I forgot I have a date, too."

I'm so annoyed. Not that dad is forgetting everything, or that I have to go to the vet, or that stupid Ronald is now entering the house and I have to see his face, or that Namjoon just fell off the couch for absolutely no reason, but that going out means that I have to put my bra back on. Fuck this life. Fuck whoever created bras.

Grumbling like a child, I step over Namjoon's body and stomp up to my room and put that torture contraption back on.

I look like a complete slob in sweat pants, hoodie and messy ponytail, but at least I have a bra on. Are you happy now, society?!?

What am I talking about?

It takes me a moment to locate BooBoo. I have to navigate through the landmine of cat toys that makes up most of the upstairs hallway to get to where he's at. Eventually I find him sleeping peacefully on one of the lower levels of the newly purchased cat tower, on top of the ridiculously large sign that I'd folded up and set here that read in bold letters: I still don't know what to make of that. I probably should throw it away before Namjoon sees it.

My eldest cat blinks sleepily at me when I pick him up and I can't help but to cuddle him at the adorable sight.

Today, he's decided he doesn't want to deal with my bullshit and makes that strange, almost purring like sound cats make when they're annoyed. As if he doesn't sleep ninety percent of the day and I interrupted something important.

The cuddle session was short lived when I had to wrestle him into the pet carrier and a fierce brawl ensued. BooBoo is old and wise enough to connect the pet carrier to a trip to the vet. As if I didn't already feel enough like a bad cat mom, I now had to force my grandpa aged cat into a small, confined space and drag him to a place he hates, something I know he'll hold against me for the next six hours.

"I'm sorry." When we were finally in the car and heading to our destination, I apologized to him through the bars of the cage (that sat on Namjoon's lap in the passenger seat) for the hundredth time.

Refusing eye contact, he turned all the way around until his orange butt was facing me.

"I could swear these cats know exactly what you're saying." Namjoon comments as he pokes one finger through the bars to stroke the fur pushed against them. After a moment he perks up and asks excitedly, "can you understand what they're saying when you're in cat form?"

"I can understand them regardless." I mutter sadly. Certain things can make me sad, but knowing one of my cats is mad at me is unbearable.

"Really? What do they say?"

"They speak with body language more than they do with words. Like right now BooBoo is asking me why I'm forsaking him this way and he's giving me the furry shoulder."

"The...furry shoulder?" he asks uncertainty.

"Like the cold shoulder, but his is furry."

A deep sigh is heard from Namjoon's side of the car. "I asked you a serious question!"

"I gave you a serious answer." I mean, what does he want from me.

When we arrive at the vet's office we're greeted by the same infuriatingly happy nurse I'd seen when I was here last with Namjoon. Since BooBoo isn't in any immediate danger this time around, the urge to punch her in the throat is absent.

The staff is quick about putting us in an exam room, but then leaves us here for an hour as we wait for the veterinarian. I'm so grateful for that, because this is exactly what I wanted to do on my Saturday. How did they know?

I open the cage for BooBoo who stubbornly refuses to move, no matter how many times I apologize. I thought he was being unnecessarily mean until I realize he's fallen asleep.

The room is comprised of one exam table, a couple cabinets, a counter top and sink, with the only seating available being one moderately sized bench.

Feeling more grouchy than usual, I sit as far from Namjoon as I can get on the bench (because now I feel like I'll bite him if he touches me) while he attempts to make small talk.

"Kitty?"

"Don't call me that." Arms crossed over my chest, I close my eyes and grit my teeth at the pain in my lower abdomen. Stupid period cramps. I hate them. I hate periods. I hate men. This is somehow their fault.

I can tell he tries to hide it, but the sound of Namjoon's voice holds a tone of hurt that makes my heart ache. "Why not?"

I peak one eye open and apologize quickly and am met with a smile and nod, telling me it's ok. It's not ok and I know that. I'll have to utter a million oppas later to make up for it.

"Because everyone calls me that now. Besides, it doesn't hold the same intimacy after mouth breather Bae calls out that name in a quiet library."

Mouth breather Bae (nick-named by the students, not me) is our loud, mouth breathing librarian, Mrs. Bae. On most days that's the only sound you'll hear traveling along the rows of bookshelves. It's caused the library to become the last place most students go to study. She's a very nice lady, at least she's always been to me, but with the Darth Vader-esq breathing habits, her presence is hard to withstand.

And as nice a person she is, once I heard the name Kitty, accompanied by that irritable, soul sucking sound emanating from her mouth, it hasn't been the same. I actually sort of hate it now.

"Oh." Namjoon's shoulders droop so low it makes me want to cry all over again. "Then what should I call you?"

I hate everyone. That was his name for me. Really though, now that I think about it, this is Eun-ji's fault. I should call her and bitch her out. Or better yet, I should call into her job and file a false complaint. She's ruining my relationship!

Damn, I'm a drama queen when I'm on my period.

"Just call me Y/n," I sigh while closing my eyes once more. "No one else does anymore."

It's probably better this way. We were too afraid for Namjoon to call me Kitty in front of dad, in case he thought it was for a perverted reason. Of course, with Namjoon it could be. He's the biggest pervert of all.

"Y/n." he tests my name and my chest feels all tingly at the sound of it. But then- "My baby."

"I will cut you." I warn without opening my eyes.

"Princess?"

I scoff and open my eyes to shoot him a look. "As if. I'm a queen."

"Then I'll call you queen."

"No."

"But you said-"

"Yeah, but you can't call me that. Madam Sparklepuss is the queen." I point this out as though he should have realized it without me reminding him. To be honest, he should have. How dare he not remember something I told him almost three weeks ago. Was he not listening during that entire lunch where I only talked about my cats?

"Alright." he clicks his tongue in thought.

I like Namjoon's tongue.

Forget I said that.

"Baby girl."

"NO." For some reason that name makes me want to perform a back flip into the grand canyon.

"Cutie."

"You're the cute one here." I counter, feeling one hundred percent set in that conviction. Namjoon is way too cute for his own good.

The compliment has flustered him enough for him to hide his face for a moment, but I do manage to spot a poorly hidden dimple between his fingers.

"Then..." he says after clearing his throat and dropping his hands back to his lap. "Pretty?"

"Too generic."

"But it matches you perfectly. You're pretty."

Is this compliment day? Or is it be a huge liar day? I look like an absolute slob (don't worry society, I've still got my bra on) and feel like a human trash can. I bet I don't smell too good, either. Yet he has the audacity to call me pretty. What is wrong with him?

"Something else," I wince and try to readjust my sitting arrangement, but of course it does nothing to comfort me.

"Give me your feet."

"That's a terrible nickname. I like it."

Namjoon rolls his eyes. "I'm telling you to put your legs up here. It might feel better to lay out."

Eyeing him distrustfully, I hesitate. Just like the rest of me, my feet are extremely ticklish. On a regular day my boyfriend usually avoided all those spots that brought me discomfort. It was the universe's way of spitting in my face, making me ticklish and at the same time creating me so that I loathed to be tickled. But today I'd teased him a lot, and even if I wasn't feeling so hot I wouldn't put it past him.

Ultimately I decided to proceed with caution, figuring I could just kick him in the face if he tries anything. You know, like a regular, happy couple.

The new position does help a tad, and I relax with my back to the wall while my feet sit on his lap.

"So we're going with give me your feet?" I question with a shrug. "Unconventional, but I like it."

"Sure." he plays along, "people might question it, but that's the beauty of it. It only makes sense to us."

"Except that it makes no sense to us."

"For real though, I need to call you something. How about sweetie?"

"What about me is sweet?"

He thinks on this for a long moment and comes up with nothing. Any other girlfriend might have been insulted by this, but it reminds me of why I like him so much. He wasn't going to lie and say I'm the nicest person, but still he likes me even if I'm not. For some reason he likes all of me, flaws and everything else.

"If we can't come up with something I'll have to resort to calling you cutie wootie pooh bear."

He'd uttered this horrendous nickname once before, and just like last time it gave me the wrong kind of chills, the kind you get when you're watching a horror movie. Though if I had to choose, I'd pick that one over baby girl.

"Ok," I agree and he gives me a strange look. "But I'll call you rap monster."

"Rap monster?" The strange look intensifies at the question. "Why rap monster?"

I bring my hand up to hold under my mouth, mimicking as if I were holding a microphone, my voice dropping to a lower tone. "And I'm sexy like a pornstar."

His face turns sour as I burst out laughing, something I immediately regret when my insides remind me that today is their day to torture me.

"I think I'll call you Y/n."

"And I'll call you Namjoon."

"Namjoonie." he pouts a bit and I can't resist his request.

"Ok. Namjoonie." At the nickname he grins adorably.

Have I mentioned that Namjoon is cute?

—

Edited 9/22/21