Orange

masamang damo and all

"You can hold the cat hostage," Chili suggested, scratching the cat's neck.

Kota kept his hand on his hip, watching their youngest member play with the cat. Like its owner, the cat played favorites, and it seemed like Chili was the frontrunner.

"Why would I do that?" he asked. The cat slept in his bed for four hours and moved to the living room while they were eating dinner—which conveniently—had fried fish in it. It had since rubbed their legs and asked for food.

"He's a bargaining chip," Chili answered, then craned his neck to the cat's butt. "Remind me again if you're a boy?"

Kota watched him raise the cat's tail swiftly, then dropped his head. "I'm sorry, little guy. It's probably for the best."

He turned to Kota and mouthed, "Neutered."

"I don't want to keep the cat here."

"Why?" Chili pouted. "He likes it here."

"He's been here for a day, relax." Kota rolled his eyes. Pets were something members of their group wanted to get, but with the space they currently have with their erratic schedule, it was just not practical to get one.

Plus, he'd probably end up cleaning after it. He knew cats would probably be less work than dogs, but this is not their cat. This is the devil's cat, and it probably is the devil, too.

"He keeps coming to us," Chili reasoned.

The cat stared at him right then, its green eyes turned into slits as if it knew what he was thinking.

"Go home," he told the cat as if it could understand him.

It blinked at him, then turned away.

"He said no," Chili interpreted.

"You should take him there," Kota recommended, impatient to get this over with. He wanted to sleep when he came home, but with that cat in his bed, he had to settle for the couch. He was so tired and needed to sleep more, but he needed to learn this new song he was going to record for a movie.

"Why don't you take him if you're so eager to let him go?"

"Just let him out of the balcony and close the door."

"It's raining!" he complained.

"It'll go home." Kota countered.

"Just take him home, then."

Kota's brows furrowed, aware that their youngest managed to switch the orders. He was clever that way; it was what endeared him to the guy.

"Just take the cat, knock on her door, hand him over, and maybe she'll forgive you for pissing her off that one time."

"I didn't do anything!"

"You were singing the same line for half an hour."

"No," he shook his head. He wouldn't stay in one place for that long. Unless he hasn't perfected it, he would listen to it, then go back, and—"If you think that's annoying, why didn't you say anything?"

"I've lived with you for years. Why do you think I wear earplugs at night?"

"I don't sing at night."

"No, but you like to belt out a high C in the morning."

He wanted to say no, but actually, yeah, he does that. It was a good warm-up exercise, a casual run to start his day.

He hadn't been doing that because he had that 60-day notice. He started going to the studio earlier to practice but sometimes, he would go to the Emergency Exit stairway to rehearse. Acoustics were great, and not a lot of people use it. What are the chances she would be there? Close to nothing. So if he really needed, he would sometimes pop in there to sing.