Yuri suddenly ran and jumped away, her small body stiff with irritation as Minea clung tightly to her side. The moment Minea’s arms wrapped around her, Yuri’s face changed. Her eyes narrowed, lips pressed tight, and her patience vanished. With a sharp movement, she leaped forward, shaking Minea off like an unwanted weight.
Minea was confused. She only wanted closeness. Being smaller, she relied on touch for safety, warmth, and reassurance. But Yuri didn’t feel gentle in that moment. She felt crowded. Overwhelmed. Her tail flicked angrily as she turned back, giving Minea a warning look that said don’t do that again.
The jump wasn’t playful. It was rejection. Minea stumbled, nearly falling, her eyes wide with surprise. Her mouth opened as if to cry, not understanding why love had been pushed away. The space between them suddenly felt very large.
Yuri paced in a tight circle, clearly annoyed. She slapped the floor once, then sat with her back turned. To her, Minea’s clinginess felt like stealing attention, stealing comfort, stealing space. Jealousy and irritation mixed together, making her react without thinking.
Mom stepped in quickly, calling Yuri’s name in a firm but calm voice. She checked Minea first, lifting her gently, whispering comfort. Minea’s face crumpled, but the crying stayed soft. She only wanted to be held.
Mom then turned to Yuri. No shouting. Just a look that said that was not okay. Yuri avoided eye contact at first, shoulders tense. Slowly, she softened. Her anger drained, replaced by guilt she didn’t know how to show.
Mom guided Yuri closer, teaching her gently. Clinging wasn’t an attack. It was a need. Minea wasn’t stealing love—she was asking for it.
Yuri sat nearby, still quiet, still moody, but calmer. Minea rested safely in mom’s arms. The moment passed, leaving a lesson behind.
Sometimes “mean” behavior comes from feelings too big to manage. With patience, guidance, and time, even jealousy can learn kindness.
