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Sun shines so brightly outside that Jihoon can practically hear it reflect off every surface it touches even though he’s indoors. It is solar noon during the brightest day of the year so far, truly a well earned respite from the deluge that had characterized spring this year. The rainy season has been truly singular, relentless, acting more as an immovable object than as consistent climate behavior. Spring showers have been so bad and so much longer than usual this year that for the first time in his life Jihoon began to see the rain not as liquid H2O but as an entity, an intelligent one at that. Seasonal depression kicked him in the ass so hard he came to respect the rain with an obeisance one might reserve for their personal deity. It’s not to say that Jihoon actually thinks of himself as a rainy-day person but he has just become so used to the sad solace of ceaseless spring drizzle that he, oddly, kind of misses it now that he’s faced with the alternative.
Today’s sun is so surprising that it’s also an entity of its own—one so powerful that Jihoon wonders if he doesn’t need sunglasses here inside just to look out the window at the glowing asphalt of the animal humane society parking lot. The bright chartreuse leaves of the surrounding trees pop with a glory that Jihoon translates directly into, 'photosynthesize this, bitch.’
There are a few landscaping trucks parked in a cluster in the corner of the lot, a heavily bumper-stickered mini van advertising that ‘two kids and a dog’ lifestyle, Jisung’s ageless and undying purple hatchback, and a few scattered sedans that simply scream single and lonely and in desperate need of a cat. A pretty regular turnout for an early Tuesday afternoon and Jihoon likes it this way. He prefers volunteering during the odd midday lulls when humans are the minority in the building.
The lights are off in Small Animals Suite B but the sun streaming in from the window is more than enough to bring out the details of the room, currently occupied by a single human and a single mammoth of an English Lop. The rabbit is at least one and a half times as large as these buns tend to run, with light grey and dark grey coloring. His ears are so long and large that it must be a detriment to natural selection and Jihoon can’t ignore the pang of guilt that strikes in his gut whenever he sees an example of a breed designed by humans, for humans. A designer pet, something bred to be novel, to be purchased by inattentive parents for their spoiled children and promptly neglected. Jihoon should be happy it wasn’t neglected to death, that the family had the sense to being the overfed bunny here at least.
Instead he looks down at the rabbit with a sort of broken fondness and empathy he can never seem to extend to his own species. A beautiful creature loved superficially (if at all) and discarded once the novelty ran dry. The rabbit came to the shelter on a stormy day bearing the unfortunate name Flip-Flop, so Jihoon took the liberty of immediately renaming the beast Bundercloud. As a pet publicist for the animal humane society, Jihoon actually does have power over details like names, photographs, and the content of the adoption profiles of the animals present.
Things like this: Meet Bundercloud, a verifiable pillow of an English Lop with ears so long you can tie them into a bow and fur so silky it doesn’t feel like anything at all. Bundercloud might be a little skittish but once you spend a bit of one-on-one time with this hunk you’ll wonder where he’s been all your life. Bundercloud deserves a forever home with a conscientious family that makes a space for him in their lives. Jihoon has a mid-range DSLR hanging around his neck that’s currently switched off with the lens cap still snapped on because right now he’s just here to hang with Bundercloud, coexist a bit and get to know other aspects of his personality besides skittish-ish.
Though skittish-ish might not actually be the best word considering Bundercloud is actually here for behavioral issues that Jihoon will (and did, in an overly verbose incident report to Jisung) attest as bullshit. This morning’s rabbit melee in Small Animals Suite A was the result of glaring human error. Jaehwan was under the mistaken impression that rabbits all have the same personality and that they all like each other (“I mean come on, they're always fucking!”) and so thought it would be kosher to stick a new, traumatized rabbit in an enclosure with two siblings that had been here for a fortnight.
It wasn't kosher. But now Bundercloud gets to live in his own suite for the time being and Jihoon is here to snuggle into his stupidly soft fur and feed him little leaves of romaine lettuce. Maybe he’ll finish the personality profile, maybe he’ll try for some glamour shots, but for now he sits cross-legged on the cold linoleum floor in front of a large open enclosure, currently trying to lure Bunder further into his lap with the tastiest-looking leaf he has left.
Small Animal Suite B boasts 16 enclosures, all boxed in clear plastic walls with numerous small circular air holes instead of the metal bars you might find at pounds or less humane shelters. Bundercloud is currently wandering free but he’s been sticking around Jihoon for warmth and food but also (maybe!) because they’re growing comfortable with each other. They’ve been hanging out for a good twenty minutes now, getting used to each other.
Jihoon would volunteer here more than once a week if they’d let him, but volunteer slots fill up fast, especially the popular pet publicist positions. His apartment doesn’t allow animals and he’s still trapped in the lease for six months—this is the closest he can reasonably get to fulfilling his ideal creature cuddle quota in the meantime. Bunder inches closer, sniffing the hand Jihoon has resting welcomingly on his knee and tickling his palm with his stiff, almost sharp whiskers. He starts nibbling on the outside seam of Jihoon’s jeans and he lets him, not caring much about this particular pair.
There’s movement outside the window, more obvious than the rustling emerald leaves and heat haze escaping from the hot asphalt. A young man is walking (read: being tugged along by) a black canoe-sized Great Dane, an underfed and overexcited Rottweiler, and a sweet little Pug the approximate size of the Great Dane’s head. Jihoon can hear the muffled sounds of barking dogs and the man’s laughter through the building walls and smiles despite himself.
The human looks to be around his age but is taller and naturally darker; wearing a loose white tank-top, black jersey shorts, and well-used running shoes that are probably red but are covered in too much mud and dirt that Jihoon isn’t going to assume. The mud also clings a bit to his tan, muscled legs, splashed here and there from running through the spring-damp earth of the trails that weave in and around the surrounding grounds. There’s a huge spot of it on his knee, as though he tripped while running the dogs. Despite whatever setback he may have endured during his run, the young man is laughing brightly and choppily as though there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing than be dragged by a small pack of dogs in the blistering summer sun.
Dog walker (or, perhaps more correctly, dog runner) is another volunteer position at the animal humane society, and while they don’t always run the dogs, the job requirement is “be able to happily run a 5K” in case there’s a wily Dalmation or Pitbull that needs to get its energy out. Unfortunately Jihoon cannot happily run a 5K, nor would he if he opted to get off his lazy ass, so dog walker remains one of the only roles he staunchly refuses to do.
Still, the man looks to be loving every second of his dirty, tiring job and Jihoon feels a strange spark of envy. Not envious about running a 5K in this heat, surely, but there’s something so unrestrained and attractive about the dog runner’s energetic delight that draws his attention.
Bundercloud sneezes quietly, drawing Jihoon’s attention back to the oversized floof for a moment. When he looks up again, the young man and his canine charges are out of sight and Jihoon turns back to his rabbit with a little smile he doesn’t really understand.
“Alright Bunder,” he uncaps the lens on his camera and turns it on to manual focus before peering through the viewfinder at the rabbit, “Time for your mugshot.”
~~~
The following week Jihoon finds himself in Bite Quarantine, also known as Cat Jail. He’s the only pet publicist with the guts and patience to deal with the cats whose bad behavior sends them to quarantine until they chill out, not necessarily because he has the guts and patience but because it angers him that some volunteers simply won’t approach them. Cats can have a bad day just like humans and even if the behavioral issues persist after the 24-48 hour internment is up, they don’t deserve to be treated like problems. This is a No-Kill shelter and they endeavour to find places for all their animals regardless of (and sometimes depending on) their ability to socialize with humans or their own species. Some get sent to barns to be Mousers, some are advertised as bodega cats, and if a cat doesnt fit any role, they get to stay at the shelter.
There are 4 cats in quarantine today, all for different reasons. Milo, a full orange tabby, surprised them all when he threw a slash at a would-be adopter despite having displayed friendly (if a bit manic) tendencies for the last week and a half. Then there’s Onyx and Jazz, the former pure black and the later a pretty calico mess, who were determined docile enough to share a large room together with other cats but upon being placed in the same space immediately went after each other’s blood. The three already have their profiles and pictures, so Jihoon isn’t here for them.
He’s here for the beautiful, young long-haired siamese desperately hiding, curled into a dismal ball in the darkest corner of her pen and ignoring all of Jihoon’s attempts to engage her. It’s Mei, who recently lost her bonded sister Satsuki to a blood infection. Bonded pairs have always struck Jihoon as the sweetest and saddest—they are adopted as a unit or not at all. Whoever adopts a bonded pair has to understand that the two will always be more interested in each other than their owner, that they’ll never get the feline attention they might want. It’s why pairs get adopted less frequently.
Mei is in quarantine because of a broken heart. Because they don’t know where else she can go. Because she lost her bonded sister after all the abuse they went through before ending up at the animal shelter as a pair. She’s still young—not quite a kitten, not quite a cat—but at this point she has trauma on trauma that manifests in a lack of self-grooming, feeding, and other signs of feline depression.
The sight of her wrapped in her anguish hurts heavily, like a slowly tightening vice is collapsing his chest into nothing. Jihoon had been one of the few lucky enough to see Mei and Satsuki interact and play together. He had seen them at their loveliest, had been with them during the time they had almost been adopted twice in one day. It took them less than a week to acclimate and they quickly became the most popular duo in the shelter—healthy and well-adjusted enough to be able to beat the odds on bonded pair adoptions. Jihoon named them, he took their picture as a pair, wrote up the first profile of them both. The reason he has to be here now is because Mei needs an individual profile despite it being more likely she’ll let herself waste away before being adopted alone.
“I’m sorry. I can’t…” Jihoon has been talking to her, using his softest, deepest tone of voice. “I can’t even imagine. I won’t imagine, that’s how awful I know this is…” It’s not like he thinks she has the capacity to understand his words in the way humans do. Jihoon just wants to give her as much comfort as possible despite not knowing how.
Mei tucks herself deeper into her ball. He’s probably annoying her. Jihoon would be annoyed too if some huge ugly monster creature had its torso crammed into his apartment, taking up half the space while attempting to coo him into showing his face. Jihoon’s lower body sticks out of the floor-level cage awkwardly, and he’s been shifting his position at least twice a minute for the last ten.
But he’s nowhere near frustrated or even bored with her attitude. He never will be. If he can’t get her photo today they can crop out Satsuki from the one that had them pictured together, happy. More than that, Jihoon just doesn’t want to leave her, not when she’s as perfectly alone as anything can be.
There's a soft double tap of knuckles on glass—the established entry procedure for entering any room with the outside sign flipped to 'OPEN CAGE'—but Jihoon doesn't hear the knock, doesn't hear the quarantine door opening and the squeak of footsteps across the floor. He’s actually more sensitive to Mei's ears pricking up at the disturbance than he is to the fact that there's a guy walking backwards into the room with a large cat carrier.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it, injustice abounds, but you've gotta stop the hiss—” The helper growls scratchily at the same time whatever convicted feline he's toting lets out an earsplitting yowl. Jihoon jumps inside Mei's first floor condo, slamming his left temple against the ceiling with a flinch rivaled only by Mei herself.
The stranger finally notices the lower half of Jihoon's body sticking out only by almost stepping on him. “Oh fuck, sorry!”
Jihoon begins to crawl out backwards—slowly, gently, so as not to further spook the young cat—in order to get a look at the newcomers, but the man beats him to the introduction by placing the large cat carrier on one of the counter tables and crouching down to their level, displaying a fluid ease of motion that Jihoon doubts he himself possesses. Even though Jihoon has never seen him up close before now, this is definitely the same dog runner he saw last week.
That particular tan, the shaggy dark hair, even the toothy grin Jihoon gets a mere split second of before the man speaks. It’s him. “Hello hello, fellow volunteer, how long have you been pretzel'd lik—”
He's interrupted by another resounding screech from the caged cat and holds a finger in the air with a long-suffering sigh, indicating that Jihoon wait while he pushes himself up out of his crouch, dusts off his jogging shorts with a superfluous sound effect, and goes to tend to his charge. “One second, let me deal with this little monster—”
Jihoon doesn't realize he was holding his breath until he lets it out in one short burst of affront. “He's not a monster. Honestly, just because he can put another guy down with a single paw doesn't mean that's how he behaves all the time. He never throws the first swipe.” That yowl, that ferocity, the cat in the cage is unmistakably Worf and is very much not a monster, so Jihoon pulls himself out of Mei's cubby, ready to defend yet another 'problem' cat from a crisis of mischaracterization.
“You think I don't know that?” The dog runner asks incredulously and Jihoon is surprised into silence that this guy agrees with him. “You think I don't know Worf is a Saint? Of course he is! But I'm pretty sure even the Pope would sink his teeth into a grubby toddler if they stuck their hand in his mouth.”
Letting out a quick laugh followed by a whistle of appreciation, Jihoon is about to push himself into a stand but as he casts one final look at the cat in the corner, Mei reveals her face to him—eyes so blue they look purple—and pins Jihoon in place with the strength of her gaze. This is the first time she's looked at him all day. “Oh, honey, no, I'm not leaving you, don’t even think that.”
“Is that Mei?” The dog runner asks softly. Jihoon makes a decision to remain on his knees and stay with her when the other man surprises him (again) by advising the same course of action he had intended upon. “If that's Mei, if you're making actual progress with Mei right now you stay the hell with her.”
Who is this dog runner who seems to share Jihoon's belligerent vigor and intimate knowledge of the cats under his pur(r)view? He's strangely offended and instinctively raises him one. “I'll stay the fuck with her then.”
As Jihoon plops cross-legged onto the floor—he's not going to endeavor in again, but he's sure as shit going to be close and eye-level with her—the dog runner deals with Worf. By the time the tom is safely ensconced in his own time-out condo, Mei has turned away from the corner, towards Jihoon.
“You know Mei?” Jihoon asks, not looking at the dog runner but acutely aware of his presence behind him.
“You know Worf?” He shoots back in what Jihoon can recognize in himself as a knee-jerk counter. What surprises him is that this guy proceeds to walk it back. “Ah, of course you do, obviously. Okay, so we both know both of these cats...”
Honestly unsure if and how he should respond Jihoon instead peers back over his shoulder at the dog runner, now leaning back against Worf's closed cubby with his hands in his pockets. He's handsome in a very different way than Jihoon; scruffy without appearing dishevelled, tough without seeming dangerous. There's clear latent strength and an even clearer control over that strength that Jihoon has a passing fancy to see tested.
“So... if... huh. How come I've never seen you before then?” He asks, and it doesn't sound sexually charged or accusatory or anything negative—it sounds like he's genuinely puzzled by the fact that they've never met before, which in turn causes Jihoon to wonder the same.
“You run dogs, right?” Jihoon starts, but hesitates once the man's eyes bug out slightly in shock that Jihoon recognizes him. “I, uh, don't do that. I’m a pet pub.”
He mimes taking a picture and even goes so far as to click his tongue to make the shutter noise. He doesn’t really know why. The man laughs once, more of a huff than anything. “Cats only, though?”
“Small animals too.” Jihoon turns back to Mei and shoots her a small smile. “A dog or two, as the need arises.”
He’s still looking at Mei, who is shyly rearranging herself a few centimeters closer to Jihoon, but can imagine the dog runner nodding to himself before he says, “Huh,” in a tone toeing the line between curious and pleased.
After reaching out a hand towards Mei (and inwardly cheering when she noses at the tip of his middle finger) Jihoon once again looks over his shoulder. The dog runner hasn’t shifted his position since he last glanced back, and they lock eyes for another long moment.
What is going on here, Jihoon deadpans internally.
Suddenly the dog runner jumps, uncrossing his arms in a jolt and pushing himself off the enclosure door with the one foot he had propped back on it. There’s a flash of guilt in his eyes, as though he only just remembered he has something he needs to be doing. “Okay, well, uh… Yeah, I have to go do dogs. Run dogs. Gotta go do dog runs.”
His awkwardness almost gets a laugh out of Jihoon, still a bit nonplussed but in no way uncomfortable. Instead he just flashes a goofy little grin and a pair of raised eyebrows. “Right. Okay. Um… nice to meet you, fellow volunteer…?”
“Woojin.” He offers, both gruff and sheepish. “I’m here pretty often so, uh, if you ever need anything just name drop.”
Still confused (but somehow a little charmed), Jihoon laughs once. “You some big shot in the animal shelter community?”
As if there is such a thing.
Woojin blushes but doesn’t deny it. “I kinda grew up here? Trust me, almost no one else knows this place like I do. Uh, do you have a name I can… drop?”
Less confused (and definitely more charmed), Jihoon tilts his head to the side goofily, unable to keep an equally weird grin off his face. “Jihoon.”
“Woojin.” Woojin offers again, unnecessarily. “Okay, yeah I got dogs to dog. I’ll see you, Jihoon.”
Jihoon raises a hand to wave him off that Woojin matches on his way out before using his shoulder to push open the door. He hesitates in the doorway and for a moment Jihoon worries that he’s expecting a verbal goodbye but instead he says, “I… uh… I know it’s a lot to ask, but Mei needs consistency right now. Not sure how long your shift is but... please stay with her.”
The gentle but powerful concern in Woojin’s gaze feels like the equivalent of a ttakbam straight to Jihoon’s heart. He nods. “They’ll have to drag me out.”
Woojin nods, the concern lifting. “Good. Great. Okay, I’ll see ya.”
With a fluid hop-skip-body roll, Woojin leaves Bite Quarantine. Jihoon can see him start to sprint down the hall through the glass door, heading swiftly in the direction of the stairs that leads down to the floor that houses the dogs.
Turning back to Mei, Jihoon chortles. “That was a little odd, wasn’t it, girl?”
Mei shoots him a glance that Jihoon decides to translate as,‘idiot humans.’
~~~
The next week Jihoon is awoken an hour earlier than his alarm by a couple of texts from Jisung, the staff and volunteer supervisor:
All hands on deck little one, the refugee dogs are in 18 hours earlier than expected
I know you have nothing to do today so see you in dogtown asap?
He was the person who gave Jihoon his orientation on animal handling and pet pub duties a couple months ago and the two had since developed a legitimate (if initially hesitant) fraternal relationship that somehow surpasses the near decade difference in age between them. They get food sometimes, drinks occasionally, and Jihoon has actually watched Jisung’s apartment over a long weekend last month.
The shelter was to receive a mass influx of animals abandoned and lost from the recent hurricane that blew through the southern coast. As of yesterday the cats had arrived and though Jihoon hadn't checked, he was told the other assorted small animals were to come in last last night. Jisung had assured him they had enough help for the little ones, but the number of dogs they were to receive outnumbered the rest and called for an all-hands approach to deal with the canine chaos that would surely ensue.
Jihoon responded with nothing more than an, aye aye cap'n, and has since arrived in Loading Zone B, the largest multi-purpose space that the shelter has to offer. He slips in through one of the lesser known back entrances and finally emerges quietly into the enclosure, biting his lip when he sees that there are a good three dozen volunteers present, none of which he really knows.
At the front of the loading dock, standing on top of a makeshift stage of wooden kibble shipment crates, is Jisung (king of the humans at the shelter), Daniel (he who would be king of cats if he didn't own the entire shelter itself), and Sungwoon (ultimately responsible for the majority of Daniel's responsibilities). To Jihoon's absolute shock Woojin is there as well, leaning against the platform instead of standing on it but still clearly radiating an authority the other regular staff do not.
A scratchy, how have I never seen you before, floats through Jihoon's head. So does, if you ever need anything just name drop. Looks like he is a bit of a big shot, improbable as it may be. It's well known to the shelter community that while Daniel may be head honcho it's really Sungwoon that keeps it all afloat. A good half of the little VPs time is spent either forcing Daniel to do paperwork or keeping his cat-cuddle time to two hours a day, maximum. Then there’s Jisung, arguably the most beloved member of the full time staff and not only because he’s in charge of the volunteers and staff alike.
But why is Woojin at that pedestal? Who is he to this place? He's wearing a raggy black shelter T-shirt with white printing that looks to be quite a few years old and grey basketball shorts that have also seen better days—clothes that one might wear if they were painting their house or engaging in some other activity that's sure to make a mess. He shoots quick eyes around the assembled crowd as though sizing them up for the task ahead. There's no question in Jihoon's mind that he's handled a few animal refugee situations before.
“Alright everybody, eyes on me.” Declares Sungwoon with a loud brightness that snaps all attention to him. He's dressed slightly more professionally than Woojin, but still looks ready to get messy. “There we go. Right! I'm going to lay it out straight—we have dogs on dogs on dogs waiting in a few trucks outside. They are hungry and thirsty and traumatized.”
“Many are wondering where their families are.” Jisung jumps in, slightly quieter, bearing three screaming red scratch marks on his neck from one of the refugee cats that came in yesterday. “Most aren't going to act like the pups you already know and love. If you haven't been with us for a refugee situation before, please understand that it will be stressful for every creature involved.”
Daniel has been nodding throughout and chooses to jump in here. “Yeah, shit’ll get crazy.” The crowd chuckles and Sungwoon socks him in the ribcage. Daniel continues, slightly breathless. “If at any time you feel overwhelmed by the situation, don't hesitate to let a regular staff member know so they can assign you to a different animal.”
There's a small murmur through the crowd at this—mainly coming from some of the volunteers Jihoon recognizes that primarily deal with cats or other small animals. Woojin cracks his knuckles but apart from that gives no indication that he's going to join the leadership board in speaking to the crowd.
“We’re going to have you volunteers pair up and tackle one dog at a time.” Sungwoon announces, hands on his hips, and Jihoon watches with increasing anxiety as people start to eyeball each other and wander closer to their friends. Before he knows it, half of the volunteers have already quietly paired up, and the rest seem to be waiting for someone to shoot the starting pistol.
“Okay... pair up!” Daniel calls cheerfully, tossing a double thumbs-up at the crowd and gaining a small collective laugh for his cuteness. A laugh from pretty much everyone else but Jihoon, that is.
Ahhh, fuck. Pairs.
The volunteer crowd quickly loses all form, and Jihoon gets one last look at the leadership committee hopping down from the crates before he takes an instinctive step back, away from the gathered crowd. What happens if he doesn't get a partner? Everywhere he looks, people are finding each other—even strangers are slowly coming to engage each other for the task.
There's someone near him, a middle aged woman who seems to be in the same awkward boat as he but as he takes a small step forward and opens his mouth, another person waves brightly at her and snags her away. Barks and howls from a dozen species of canine echo from outside, not all of them friendly. After a noisy initial metal rattling, the Loading Zone door begins to raise up slowly revealing what is already a messy process of unloading each kennel cage from the back of two large semi-trucks. Just to add a layer of difficulty onto the already maddening situation, a large, slow thunderstorm is showing no signs of stopping.
After turning away from the dog storm outside, Jihoon’s eyes flick with increasing speed between those who remain pairless—a number decreasing like sand slipping through an anxiously clenched fist little fist like his. He seeks out Jisung almost against his own will, embarrassed it’s come down to him resorting to whatever special treatment he can wring out of their friendship, but Jisung is now lost in the crowd.
If I just… leave, then—there’s a quick double tap on his left shoulder and Jihoon turns his head in that direction with a small flinch, only to find that there’s no one there. He turns to the right with a guarded, perplexed expression and finds Woojin standing by his side, looking mightily pleased that he managed to trick Jihoon but at the same time oddly coy about eye contact.
“Partners?” He asks quietly, finally matching Jihoon’s gaze. A single snaggletooth peeks out but as though he knew it caught Jihoon’s attention he covers it with his lip. It’s charming, enough to cause a small flutter in his gut.
The low chuckles Jihoon has been trying to contain bubbles past his lips. He’s surprised Woojin managed to get a laugh from him in his rather stressful situation and for some reason Jihoon thinks Woojin is aware of that.
“How did you get roped into this?” Jihoon asks after recovering a bit of sangfroid.
“Hmm…” Woojin dramatically screws up his face into a expression of mock confusion. “Becaaauuuse I’m a fellow volunteer?”
Jihoon shoots him an incredulous look, gesturing weakly at the pedestal. The crowd thins out a bit as people find their pairs and places, and he can get a glimpse of Jisung, Daniel, and Sungwoon now leaning against it much like Woojin had been.
“Okay okay, lower those eyebrows before you hurt yourself…” Woojin gives in with a toothy grin. “My aunt founded this place and now my cousin runs it. Instead of shell out time and money for childcare my mom would just leave me in the lobby a couple times a week.”
“Did she drop you off in a kennel?” Jihoon asks saucily, not giving him the laugh just yet.
Woojin’s expression shifts, suddenly cold and distraught. Jihoon wonders if he went too far when Woojin’s gag reveals itself. “Fucking hell, Jihoon, h-how did you...? Just please don’t call the authorities on her, it was so long ago...”
The laugh this pulls from Jihoon is bright and sudden. Woojin’s eyes shine with glee and competition as though he’s loving every moment of endeavouring to make him smile.
~~~
“Oh. Oh man. Are you guys seeing this?” Daniel deadpans idiotically, balancing on his tiptoes to get a better look over the crowd of volunteer pairs. They all have to talk louder now that the garage door is up and the full sound of rain, rumbling thunder, and dogs adds to the rising din.
“Obviously not.” Sungwoon mutters dryly, a lick of annoyance breaking through his veneer of perfect professionality. Daniel is an entire world taller than his VP, but there’s no real question in anyone’s mind that Sungwoon could take Daniel out like trash if he really wanted to.
“I think... Woojinnie made a friend? Is trying to make a friend? Look, look at that I think he’s actually the instigator here!” Daniel’s excitement is contagious for Jisung, who hops in place to get a look at the rare sight of Daniel’s beloved little cousin actually breaking out of his shell. Woojin is a fixture here, a warm-hearted guy with a ton of energy that somehow finds it very difficult to make friends.
Jisung loses his mind when he finally catches a brief glimpse of who Woojin is talking to. “Good GOD. That’s Jihoon.”
His heart swells as he spies his favorite volunteer try to fight back a grin at Woojin. It’s an unlikely pairing, if only for the fact that they are two of the best animal handlers they have but are disinclined to interact or unsure how to connect with other humans. Jisung laughs out loud when he realizes these characteristics make them stupidly perfect for each other. How did he not see this before?
Jisung then hears Jihoon laugh brightly enough for him to hear over the babble of volunteers that separates them and he doesn’t even know what to do with the sudden giddiness that blossoms in his chest at the sight of two shy boys—these two shy boys—getting to know each other. It’s even pretty much by their own volition.
“Isn’t that the kid you’ve tried to take under your wing?” Sungwoon ventures, no doubt recalling Jihoon’s profile from their database instead of actually being able to see him. Jisung would recommend he get back on the crates for a better viewpoint if he didn’t, you know, value his kneecaps.
“Park Jihoon, pet pub. I’m making maneuvers to hire his cute little butt.” Jisung admits, almost sheepishly. “I know we’re not necessarily supposed to recruit from our volunteer pool but…”
Daniel’s jaw has dropped watching Woojin attempt to stop smiling at Jihoon. “Immediately. Hire him immediately.”
Woojin has been a presence at the humane society before even himself—if Daniel is the king of the shelter, Woojin is most certainly the weird, funny, sensitive dark prince who comes and goes as he pleases and has always fostered legitimate relationships with every animal he comes into contact with. Dogs, cats, hedgehogs—the animals here know Woojin at a level that feels like witchcraft. Then there’s Jihoon, who’d be at the shelter all the time if he could and (like Woojin) seems to belong here in a way that not even Jisung himself does.
“How did I not see it before…” Jisung mutters under his breath.