Two Glasses of Milk

After the State Compatibility Program assigned me a pair of Feline sisters as mates, I started preparing two glasses of milk every night. Celeste, the older sister, was cool and distant, but she would always accept her glass with a polite, quiet "thank you." Rhea, the younger one, had a temper like a storm. She usually smashed the glass and spat insults at me. I prided myself on treating them both with perfect fairness, on maintaining an impeccable balance. Until my friend Mark saw it one day. He hesitated, then finally said it. “Don’t you think that kind of ‘fairness’ is actually unfair to the one who’s nicer to you?” I thought about it all day. He was right. That evening, when I came out of the kitchen, I was only holding one glass of milk. 1. Celeste was the first to notice the change. She didn’t say anything, just took the glass as she always did and thanked me. Rhea was sprawled on the other side of the couch, bored, tapping at her game console. It wasn’t until I stood up, said goodnight, and started for my bedroom that the subtle difference finally registered. “Hey, are we out of milk? Or are you too broke to afford two glasses now?” Compared to Celeste’s quiet detachment, Rhea was a feral kitten: explosive, defiant, and sharp-clawed. She set down her console, her eyes hostile. Her words were as barbed as ever. “Donate your eyes if you’re not using them. Can’t you see I’m here too?” She never spoke to me without a fight. Any desire I had to explain myself evaporated. My smile faded as I gave a short reply. “No.” “No? Then who are you trying to piss off by only bringing out one glass?” Piss off? My mind flashed back to a few nights ago. Celeste and Rhea had been called out on an emergency mission for the Agency. They didn’t get back until almost one in the morning. I’d waited up for so long that I’d fallen asleep on the couch, only to be woken by the sound of the door. I shot up, rushing to heat the dinner I’d saved for them. Just like always, I had two glasses of milk ready. Rhea’s eyes were shadowed with exhaustion. I spotted a gash on her shoulder and moved closer to ask about it, but she shoved me away impatiently. The strength of a Feline is no small thing. The push sent me stumbling back, and the glass of milk went with me, shattering on the floor. Rhea froze for a second, but the irritation quickly returned to her face. “Shit, are you blind? Can’t you see I’m texting? Always trying to cling to me. Serves you right.” Her voice dripped with scorn. “I could handle your pathetic fawning before, but I’m dead tired tonight. The second I get home, you’re in my face like a damned lapdog.” So that’s what my waiting and worrying looked like to her. Pathetic fawning. The disgust in her voice was a physical blow. A hot wave of shame washed over me. My face burned, and without looking up, I stumbled back to my room. From the living room, I heard a sharp slap. It was Celeste hitting Rhea. A few moments later, Celeste came in with a first-aid kit and knelt in front of me. Only then did I realize a shard of glass had sliced open my shin. Blood was already trickling down to my ankle. 2. I always knew the sisters resented me. By anyone’s standards, I was punching far above my weight. They were the prodigies of the Feline Academy, top-tier in both looks and ability. They were proud, dazzling, and worshipped by everyone. And I was… bland. Average. A common weed on the side of the road. If it weren’t for our ridiculously high compatibility scores, the State Program never would have paired us. Our paths never would have crossed. At first, I was ecstatic. Growing up in a group home, all I ever wanted was a family. I naively believed that Celeste and Rhea were the family the universe had finally given me. So no matter how cruel their attitude or how dismissive their words, I acted like I didn’t feel it, continuing to offer them my warmth and affection. Every time I saw them eat the food I’d prepared, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction. It was as if I was needed. In this world, you need connections. Celeste and Rhea were my connection to everything. The first six months were hell. They were furious about the assignment. Their old rivals finally had a chance to mock them, laughing about the unimpressive human they were stuck with. For two women used to being on top, it was the ultimate humiliation. So they took all that pent-up anger out on me. Celeste, being more composed, mostly just ignored me, treating me with a cold, detached distance. Rhea, on the other hand, was a volcano. She constantly ridiculed me, criticizing everything from my looks to my job. In her eyes, I was a useless, pathetic waste of space. Then, somewhere along the line… things started to change. Their attitudes softened. Especially Celeste’s. She stopped treating me like I was invisible. She would accept the milk I offered, and even thank me. Sometimes, she would look at me and suddenly pull me into a hug, an affectionate gesture like the ones other Feline mates shared. I’d never experienced anything like it and was utterly overwhelmed. Even Rhea’s taunts became less frequent. She’d occasionally pull me into a game with her, though she’d spend the whole time yelling at me for being a dead weight while simultaneously head-shotting anyone who dared to attack me. I thought I was finally winning them over, that my persistence was paying off. I thought that while I was trying so hard to please them, they were trying to accept me. Until that shattered glass of milk. It was like a beautiful dream, torn to shreds without warning. All my years of effort, affection, and devotion were reduced to a single word. Lapdog. The most common, most shameless, most pathetic lapdog. 3. For days after that, I barely slept. Shame and humiliation consumed me. I started actively avoiding them. When my friend Mark found out, he was furious. I just lowered my head, fidgeting with my sleeve. “It’s over now. I’ve figured it out. I’ll just keep my distance from now on.” The worst-case scenario was a polite, cold coexistence. Our high compatibility scores meant that only I could soothe them during their Cycle. And the status they earned at the Agency provided me with a comfortable life. It was just… an exchange. “So are you still going to bring them milk?” Mark asked. I thought for a moment. “I guess so.” Maintaining a façade of civility felt necessary. Mark looked like he wanted to say more. Finally, he did. “But don’t you think it’s a little unfair to keep bringing two glasses, treating them exactly the same?” Unfair? Because Celeste and Rhea were twins, and their compatibility with me was exceptionally high, the Program official had stressed one thing above all else: balance. “Multi-Feline pairings like yours are rare, but not unheard of. The most important thing for stability is fairness. You can’t favor one over the other. You have to be the glue that holds the family together. Your every action will affect their moods and upset the balance between them.” I had taken that to heart. I prepared two of everything. Two glasses of milk, two gifts for every occasion. When I packed their lunches, I even counted the shrimp in each container to make sure they were equal. After all that, it was still unfair? Seeing my confusion, Mark elaborated. “Rhea was the only one who was cruel to you that night, right? Celeste didn’t say a thing.” I nodded. Not only did she not say anything, she’d slapped Rhea, almost as if to defend me. And… I looked down at the scar on my shin. Celeste had knelt before me, her expression more serious than I’d ever seen it, and carefully tended to the wound. Before she left, she pulled a piece of chocolate from her pocket and gave it to me. She had wiped my tears, coaxed me to sleep, and even apologized on her sister’s behalf. But it had nothing to do with her. The only one who had hurt me that night was Rhea. “Exactly,” Mark said. “Think about it. The two sisters treat you completely differently, but in the end, they both get the same glass of milk, the same gifts. For Celeste, the one who’s kinder and better to you, isn’t that unfair?” I opened my mouth to argue, but no words came. Later that night, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. I remembered something from the group home. A volunteer came to visit, and I helped him with his work all afternoon while the other kids played. My palms were red and raw from carrying boxes. At the end of the day, he gave me a new backpack as a reward. But everyone else got one too. Even the laziest kid, the one who spent the whole afternoon chasing butterflies, got the exact same backpack. As the volunteer was leaving, he pulled me aside. With a magician’s flourish, he produced two small pins and pressed them into my hand with a smile. “The backpacks are for everyone,” he said. “But these pins are an extra gift, just for you.” He told me, “The good kids deserve an extra reward. That’s what’s truly fair.” The words of the Program official and the volunteer battled in my head. Slowly, the scales tipped in favor of the latter. The volunteer was right. The one who behaved better deserved a bigger reward. That was real fairness. 4. The milk was just the beginning. When we watched TV in the evenings, I no longer sat perfectly in the middle. I shifted closer to Celeste, putting a clear distance between myself and Rhea. I stopped saying good morning to Rhea. I only smiled my warm greeting when I saw Celeste. When I had a question, I only asked Celeste. When we went out, I only took Celeste’s hand. Even at meals, my favoritism was blatant. Ten shrimp in the pan, eight went to Celeste. At first, I was anxious. Abandoning my long-held practice of perfect balance made me uneasy. But I soon realized the consequences weren’t nearly as bad as I’d feared. Celeste, despite her cool demeanor, never embarrassed me. When I sat next to her, she would naturally take my wrist and ask if I wanted a snack. When I said good morning, she would reply immediately and ask how I’d slept. She would taste every dish I made and praise them with genuine sincerity. And by no longer clinging to Rhea, I was no longer shoved off the couch. My greetings were no longer met with silence. I was no longer violently shaken off in the middle of the street because she was ashamed to be seen with me. The meals I worked so hard to prepare were no longer condemned as too salty or disgusting. I retreated into Celeste’s shadow like a turtle into its shell, savoring the rare warmth and peace. But the atmosphere in the house grew strangely tense. Several times, I felt a pair of eyes drilling into my back. But whenever I turned, I’d only see Rhea staring blankly at the television. Sensing my gaze, she would turn her head, her tone hostile. “What are you looking at? You want to play games again?” In the past, my foolish self would have taken that as an invitation and eagerly scrambled over. But now, I just shook my head, refusing to set myself up for more humiliation. Celeste walked over just then, and I followed her, grabbing my badminton racket as we headed for the door. It was a new hobby of mine, and I’d often play with Celeste for hours. We had just stepped outside when a loud crash echoed from the living room. I turned back to see that Rhea had smashed her game console. Shards of plastic were scattered everywhere. Her gaze was venomous, fixed on where my hand was clasped around Celeste’s wrist. She gave a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “This isn’t fun anymore, sis.” “You’re getting addicted to playing the nice one, acting like you actually like this ugly freak.” 5. How long had it been since I’d heard that name? Back when we were first paired, Rhea made no attempt to hide her disgust for me. She’d even gotten into a massive, shouting argument with the officials at the Pairing Center. Ugly freak. Parasite. Those were her favorite names for me. I think it stopped after the first time I helped them through their Cycle. The usually cold and arrogant geniuses of the Agency became incredibly clingy during their Cycle. It was the only time I could touch their true Feline forms. The fierce, powerful warriors became giant, purring cats who only wanted to rub against me. They’d call me their husband, desperately trying to snuggle into my arms, rumbling with contentment. It was as if they couldn’t live without me. Their heads were always tucked into the crook of my neck, and they’d even fight each other for who could get closer to me. I’d be flushed and flustered, embarrassed by their husky whispers of “husband.” After she returned to normal, Rhea would always stare at me with a look of pure mortification, speechless. But she did stop attacking my appearance after that. A friend once told me that after that kind of intimacy, even the most cold-hearted Feline will soften. Those were some of the few sweet memories I had. The truth is, I’m not ugly. I’m decent-looking, maybe a little plain. It’s just that the sisters are so stunningly beautiful that I fade into the background next to them. I tried to console myself. That’s just Rhea’s personality. She’s young, she’s always been put on a pedestal, and she’s always been cruel. I rejected her invitation to play games, which bruised her ego. It was only natural for her to lash out and call me an ugly freak again. But even with that reasoning, I still couldn’t sleep that night. Maybe, deep down, I still felt wronged. I got out of bed to get a glass of water. A faint light glowed from the balcony. It was Celeste and Rhea. One stood at the railing, the other leaned against the wall. The tiny orange spark of a cigarette ember glowed between them. They were talking. I slipped into the shadows of the hallway, staying silent. 6. “That’s the second time you’ve hit me, sis.” Rhea exhaled a cloud of smoke. There was a faint bruise on her lip. She smirked, but there was no humor in her eyes. “Just because I called him an ugly freak?” Across from her, Celeste’s expression was so cold it felt foreign. She had been so gentle with me lately that I’d almost forgotten. This was the true nature of a Feline: cold, alluring, with a core of ice. She and her sister were the same. “If you don’t like him, you can avoid him,” Celeste said, her voice calm. “But if I see you bullying him again, I’ll hit you every single time.” Rhea laughed as if she’d heard the funniest joke in the world. “Are you serious, sis? Weren’t you the one who filed a joint appeal with me, trying to reject the assignment? And now you’re protecting him? Are you addicted to this act?” She laughed for a long time before stopping, her posture relaxing slightly. “Alright, I get it. The trial period is almost over. This is your strategy, right? Play nice with the ugly freak so he’ll agree to a divorce without a fight? If we hadn’t already agreed on the plan, I might have actually been fooled by you.” Trial period?

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