Paw Files 92.9

by berryboys

Summary:

Renjun has been struggling to find a co-host for his university radio show dedicated to hybrids' problems.

Enter Lee Donghyuck, a dog hybrid with a penchant for trouble and, even worse, way too interested in Renjun.

Notes:

hi there-

“I got our man.”

On a Tuesday night, good news comes to Renjun in the form of Mark crossing the door of their radio studio, sporting a smile on his lips and relief plastered all over his face. Renjun, who’s been studying for three hours, needs a moment to adjust back to reality and understand that Mark is a real person in front of him and not just a figment of his imagination. 

When Mark sits down in front of him, still grinning as he pulls out his laptop, the expectation of gratitude for his success floats in the air. There’s no need for Renjun to explicitly thank him. They’ve been looking for the perfect co-host for his radio project for two months, swimming through dozens of possible candidates that were straight-up horrible. It had been a pain in the ass to get approval from the university and Renjun’s faculty in the first place, which should have been the hardest stone to jump over. It was ridiculous that the true obstacle was that neither Renjun or Mark could find someone decent to be his radio partner. Or someone decent, in general.

Renjun interviewed at least five candidates who were in it just for their personal gain, another two who applied because they wanted to get his number, and a couple of them who had asked about the salary right away – not realizing they had applied for a nonprofit project. His favorite ones were those who couldn’t articulate two sentences in a row.

After too many bad experiences, Mark and he had started to navigate through their reliable contacts, despite Renjun’s distaste for nepotism. 

Still, scarred by his own life lessons, Renjun harbors some traces of mistrust at any proposal.

“Who is it?” Renjun asks Mark, squinting at him.

“Lee Donghyuck,” Mark merrily answers. He opens his laptop and looks at Renjun over the screen, aware that he’s under interrogation now. “Journalism, a senior. He used to write for the university newspaper and got kicked out for writing that article about fraud in the Physics department last year.”

Renjun remembers that article. It changed the whole structure of a few departments and miraculously forced a couple of layoffs – of professors who had been working at the university for three decades. There was a defamation lawsuit that followed up, but Renjun never investigated further, and he never heard the end of the story. The person who stirred the pot getting blacklisted from the university’s main newspaper was a negative outcome, but Renjun isn’t surprised. That’s how the system works. Someone had to pay off for the public embarrassment.

Renjun frowns, tapping his notes with his pen. “And he accepted?” 

“He’s friends with Jaemin,” Mark clarifies, as though that’s all the information they need. “He doesn’t mind getting into trouble.”

“That sounds like he likes getting into trouble, Mark.” Renjun laughs at the realization, but he means it. Mark raises his eyebrows at him, grin wider, which is a confirmation of his suspicions. “I’m trying to be careful.”

Too careful, perhaps. Both of them know it’s Renjun’s fault and his penchant for perfection that is hindering the project. Mark insists that even if the project isn’t good enough during the first year, there will be room for improvement – but they need to roll out the project for the public eye first. Renjun’s opinion is a bit more slanted towards the belief that one wrong step will destroy all they’ve built.

“He’s a hybrid, too,” Mark adds. That statement leads him to avoid Renjun’s stare, just for a second, not to receive a snarky question about why that would be an important factor in Renjun’s book. Renjun has been interviewing full humans regardless of the theme of their radio project – not only because Renjun is a hybrid himself, hence their point of view will be covered; but because he values work over anything else. Mark coughs and adds, “He knows not to jeopardize a project like this.”

With a sigh, Renjun contemplates the idea. He’s not against having a hybrid partner. In many ways, it saves Renjun the effort to explain certain details about his nature. Not every human is like Mark, who knows when to stop asking, or when to not ask at all. The most Mark does is glance at his cat ears when they move too abruptly, and sometimes at his tail when he thinks Renjun isn’t paying attention.

But working with a hybrid, one with such a piercing pen that got him outcasted by the system on top of that, is a risk. It took Renjun so long to sneak his way into approval, but he can’t deny that on paper Lee Donghyuck seems like the match they’ve been hunting for.

Renjun doesn’t fancy pliant people; he likes calculated trouble.

“I’m trusting your judgment,” he decides. Mark perks up at him, and he rolls his eyes at his excitement, though it’s a sign that for once, Mark believes in their candidate. “Can he meet me tomorrow at Vynes? Don’t tell him it’s an interview.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Renjun doesn’t doubt that Mark doesn’t tell Donghyuck this is an interview, because he shows up at Vynes in a gray hoodie and sweatpants.

That’s Renjun’s first realization.

The second, however, is worse: Lee Donghyuck is a dog hybrid. One peek at his head and Renjun recognizes a pair of light brown, floppy ears, their wavy hair lost in Donghyuck’s own hair, tinted just one shade darker. Renjun observes Donghyuck from afar as he scans the cafe, clearly looking for him, and he feels a bad hunch churning in the pit of his stomach.

Donghyuck has round, brown innocent eyes, and his tan skin gleams almost hypnotically. He’s alluring to the sight, as though he was designed to be in one unique, aesthetically pleasing color range, but his body language doesn’t match the innocence in his face: he has his hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders relaxed, and an apparent confidence that transpires even in the way he’s searching for Renjun.

Renjun understands, on the spot, why he managed to extract private information about fraud from people. Sweetness coming from a hybrid is a lot more powerful than from a human, and humans have a clear penchant for puppy eyes.

Because of course, Mark failed to mention Donghyuck is a dog hybrid. Renjun would have declined the idea of interviewing him: being enclosed in a room on a daily basis with a dog hybrid was a pretty awful way to have his cat instinct turned on every hour of the day.

But Donghyuck is here now, and Renjun wasn’t raised to avoid difficult situations. At least not when he’s already trapped in them. That’s called running away; he’d accept dodging then, though.

Renjun raises his hand, just a little, and the gesture catches Donghyuck’s attention. Before Renjun can stand up, Donghyuck has closed the distance between them, a warm, perfect smile on his face. His lips stretch into his cheek so seamlessly that Renjun almost feels jealous.

“Huang Renjun?” he says, and his voice is the right shade of deep, not too deep, but low enough to be comforting. Quite melodious. Very fitting for radio.

His gaze darts to Renjun’s hair, hidden under his cap. Renjun has a worrisome amount of caps that conceal his cat ears perfectly – Donghyuck wouldn’t be able to tell he’s a hybrid if he didn’t know beforehand. He already knows, however, because there’s intent in his eyes, and when Renjun offers his hand for a handshake, Donghyuck doesn’t repress the confusion at his trimmed, human-shaped nails.

“That’s me,” Renjun confirms, more relaxed as Donghyuck accepts his hand.

Ignoring Donghyuck’s evident attempts to figure out which hybrid he is almost makes him smile wider than he should. He licks his lips to stop himself from grinning and looking crazy five seconds into meeting Donghyuck for the first time, and signals Donghyuck to sit down.

Donghyuck obeys, and once he looks away from him, he notices the cappuccino Renjun ordered for him. Even though Renjun texted him beforehand to ask, it seems Donghyuck assumed he was asking just to make sure Vynes was a fittable place.

“Thanks for the coffee, you didn’t have to. It’s nice meeting you,” Donghyuck tells him, but his words don’t seem empty, and neither does the honesty in his eyes. It’s not complicated for Renjun to understand why Mark had faith in him, and why he got recommended. Almost as though Donghyuck is reading his mind, he points out, “Jaemin talks a lot about you.”

Renjun tilts his head to the side, grabbing his cup for a sip. “Good things?”

“Depends on who you’re asking.” Donghyuck shrugs his shoulders, but he’s still on the hunt for hints about Renjun, evaluating the situation. This is the reason Renjun tends to cover his hybrid traces during a first meeting: it prevents people from making assumptions too quickly. It protects him. “Creating a radio corner about hybrid problems isn’t the most complacent idea ever. You’re going to piss some people off.”

“I’m aware,” Renjun agrees. There’s no disapproval in Donghyuck’s voice, so he doesn’t mind. “Why are you interested, then? I know you've had issues with the university. Isn’t it better for you to keep a low profile?”

Donghyuck’s ears twist in his hair, curling at the ends.

“Don’t take it personally but, it was Jaemin who convinced me. I wasn’t looking to join any projects at the moment,” he admits. There’s no hint of embarrassment in his confession, but he analyzes Renjun’s reaction in case he has offended him. “I usually don’t join projects from people I don’t know; that said, keeping a low profile is good if you’re aiming for a career in big media, because they like people who don’t have fixed values. I’m aiming for independent outlets.”

“Nice,” Renjun breathes out, a bit too stunned at the amount of the information. He doesn’t realize he’s smirking until Donghyuck’s gaze falls on his mouth. Renjun hurries to explain, “You speak well.”

Donghyuck smiles at that, equally pleased at the compliment, but drowned in a sort of calmness that Renjun hasn’t experienced in years. 

Resting his chin on his palm, Donghyuck leans over the table and says, “I’ve been told. I’m also great at following commands.”

The silence that ensues should incite shame in any normal person. Not in Donghyuck, though. He grins at Renjun, his tiny round nose perking up along his expression.

Renjun blinks at him in shock, processing the joke. It’s the first time in his entire life that a dog hybrid has joked about his own domestication in front of him. A cat hybrid wouldn’t even think about it. Even though Renjun doesn’t have time to shut him down or decide if he should ignore the pun, Donghyuck’s eyes roam over his face with an interest that leaves no doubt about what’s coming out of his mouth next.

“What hybrid are you?”

There it goes.

“I should have known,” Renjun immediately groans, losing his composure, one of his hands shooting up to cover his face.

Donghyuck lets out a low laugh, amused at his frustration. Amused at how much a simple question annoyed him. The contrast between their reactions at each other’s assumptions is stark.

“Because I’m friends with Jaemin? That’s a good shot, I have to admit.”

Renjun raises his index finger, and Donghyuck looks at it before snorting at the gesture. It’s stupid for how long Renjun has his mouth half-open in response. “What’s wrong with you? It’s rude to ask. We weren’t even talking about-”

“I don't think it’s rude. I’m curious. You’re extremely pretty, and it’s distracting.”

That pisses Renjun off. The comment gets under his skin so fast that it’s embarrassing, a whole set of inner unresolved issues floating to the surface. He shoots back, “What breed are you?”

Donghyuck’s ears extend upwards halfway, his full attention on the conversation. “Cavapoo.”

But Renjun should have predicted Donghyuck’s personality would be cut by this pattern, that’s factual. It makes sense that someone who’s used to snooping and fishing for information would have no qualms about asking about another hybrid’s nature. 

Renjun shouldn’t have those prejudices either, but he can’t help it. Maybe it’s because Donghyuck is a dog. Maybe it’s out of Renjun’s control.

“Alright, Donghyuck,” Renjun continues, snapping his fingers to bring Donghyuck’s attention where it should be. He'd already started to stare at his neck for other hints, and Renjun straightens his back, more serious this time, to remind him that they’re not hanging out. He regrets telling Mark to omit that this would be an interview. “You know the corner isn’t supposed to be about heavy incidents. It’s more directed to daily anecdotes and smaller problems we have to face on the regular, but we’ll likely get more serious stories too.”

Donghyuck catches his tone, which erases the smile on his lips. He doesn’t seem to find Renjjn aggressive, which shoots a thrill of satisfaction through him. It's really easy for Renjun to intimidate people by accident, by displaying just a pinch of assertiveness. It’s nice that Donghyuck is unaffected.

“And how are we handling them?” he says, leaning back on the chair, giving Renjun more space.

“Reporting if possible.” Even though collecting cases isn’t the purpose of their project, Mark and he talked in detail about how they couldn’t turn a blind eye if someone approached them for help. Renjun himself has lived through a couple of incidents that he could have easily reported, if he had had the money to do so by then. He needs to make sure that Donghyuck comprehends the type of project he’d be getting into. “Mark made our budget and estimated we’ll be making enough money to handle around three cases a year, if everything works out. We aren’t cherry-picking. First come, first served.”

Donghyuck sits on that explanation for a few seconds, but the glint in his eyes has shifted to something else, and he looks at Renjun like he’s starting to understand.

“I’m fine with that. Is all the profit for legal cases?”

Renjun nods.

Donghyuck stares at him, expressionless for the first time today. “Have you reviewed any of my work?”

“Of course.”

Knowing that there were articles out there that could provide a general idea of his skills, Renjun couldn’t show up at the interview today without reading some of them. Less than half of them had been deleted by the newspaper, thus Renjun had found a good amount of articles under Lee Donghyuck’s name. He was sharp, smart, and undeniably problematic. Just like the man who is in front of him.

Donghyuck points out, “And you like it.”

Renjun hums. “It’s not bad.”

“I read your papers, too. They’re pretty good.”

That’s another surprise for Renjun today. He has exactly five published papers, which don’t belong only to him, but he recognizes it’s an important amount considering he hasn’t graduated yet. It’s one of the reasons the university is so lenient with his ideas.

“Thanks?”

Donghyuck lifts an eyebrow, lips downturned to hide a smile. “Are you thankful or confused?”

Renjun prefers to dismiss any teasing directed at him, however he’s unable to hold back a sarcastic retort. “Scared of your intentions. But I’m sure you read them because of your deep interest in hybrid sociology and not because you wanted to alienate me.”

They stare into each other’s eyes for so long that Renjun feels the hairs in the back of his neck stand up. Donghyuck doesn’t laugh, but it’s so obvious in the spark of his eyes that he finds his sarcasm funny.

“I’m a man of many interests,” Donghyuck says, just to play along. “Anyway, since you know my work, and I know yours, and Mark already informed me of all the technicalities, is there anything else you want to know?”

Renjun would never admit it, but he accepted Donghyuck even before he crossed the door. That’s the reason his clothes, his words and his manners didn’t matter that much. He needed someone like Donghyuck to balance him out, someone who wasn’t afraid of contradicting him or diving into more dangerous topics, or crafting more scandalous opinions.

“I have everything I needed,” Renjun assures him. Then, because he’s unable to get rid of his ingrained manners, he adds, “Thank you for your time, Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck sends him a look, as though he’s pleasantly taken aback by his polite words. His brown, striped eyes are hypnotizing. “Great. Text me when you make a decision,” he responds, voice rougher. He pushes the chair back and stands up, gazing down at Renjun in a way that feels like he’s thinking about anything except leaving. “You can text me even if you haven’t made a decision.”

Renjun bites his lower lip, trying not to laugh at how ridiculous Donghyuck is, and bats away his attempt at flirting. “As surprising as it may sound, I’m usually quite busy.”

Donghyuck’s puppy ears shake with excitement, just two consecutive short tugs in an attempt to hold back his reaction. The smile that spreads on his lips, for one last time, is unabashedly playful.

“You’re just like a kitty, Huang Renjun.”

By the time Renjun parts his lips to protest, Donghyuck has sneaked away; he leaves Renjun behind with a pink blush across his cheeks and his cat ears twitching underneath his cap, a little secret that couldn’t escape Donghyuck’s scrutiny.

 

 

 

 

 

Renjun’s bluntness, which happens to be too much for most people, doesn’t seem to bother Donghyuck.

Donghyuck never receives a message of acceptance. Instead, on Monday, Renjun sends him a time and a place and informs him that his first task is to give away fliers to publicize the radio show. Realizing that Donghyuck might have an incompatible schedule is an afterthought, but Renjun stares at his phone for three seconds, and before he has the chance to think up an apology, Donghyuck has already replied with a sticker of an unknown man covered in hearts. After three attempts at making Donghyuck use his words rather than an interminable collection of silly stickers, Renjun threatens to kick him out of the project.

It happens to be a worse idea, because Donghyuck texts back, Sorry, kitty, I’m in class. But I’ll show up on time. Despite the risk of Donghyuck intuiting that the nickname bothers him, Renjun decides not to reply.

After his classes, Renjun heads to the printing house and picks up an obscene amount of fliers, torn between recruiting Mark’s help or letting Donghyuck handle the work himself as a test. He doesn’t quite recognize where his instinct to challenge Donghyuck’s patience surges from. But it seems mutual, because as soon as Donghyuck steps into the location Renjun sent him – the studio where they’ll be having their show – his gaze flashes up and down Renjun’s body at the speed of light.

There’s no need to explain what Donghyuck’s intentions are: his attention lingers on the cap Renjun wears today, perfectly aligned, yet again, to hide his Somali cat ears. Even though Renjun didn’t use it for most of the day, ten minutes before he knew Donghyuck would arrive, he felt the impulse to cover himself. Then his gaze travels below his waist, to his loose, yet thick jeans, where Renjun has maliciously tucked his tail so that Donghyuck couldn’t see it. He has a collection of more comfortable pants that let his tail be free, but he was too cold today, and he’s more stubborn than Donghyuck could ever imagine.

The tick of frustration, of annoyance that dances on Donghyuck’s expression is Renjun’s reward.

“Hi there,” Renjun greets him, smiling.

Donghyuck replies dryly, “Hey.”

His mood must transpire through his words, and as Renjun discovers, Donghyuck has a sharp instinct for details. Donghyuck walks around the studio, checking out the equipment, curious eyes inspecting the decoration, the belongings they have scattered around – Mark left his jacket and his headphones over a chair yesterday, and Renjun catches the way Donghyuck’s nose scrunches up when he walks past it, as though he recognizes the scent. 

Renjun barely knows Donghyuck, but he’d swear he's gathering all his patience not to bite the trap Renjun set up for him.

Once he’s analyzed the whole studio, he drops his bag on the nearest table and strides up to Renjun, so fast that the tips of his ears flap up and down at the pace of his steps. Renjun watches him with interest, but waits with all his might for Donghyuck to break first.

And Donghyuck does, indeed, break first: he sinks his palm on the table for support, body curved to face Renjun and a scowl between his eyebrows. He’s a bit too close considering they’re not familiar with each other, but there’s no space for Renjun to step back, and Donghyuck’s smell is strangely homey – like wood and fire.

“Why would a guy who specialized in hybrid sociology and who has a radio show about hybrids hide his ears?” Donghyuck shoots at him, with no roundabouts to mitigate the impact of his words. 

Perhaps because Donghyuck has followed his orders pretty well up until now, his harshness fails to sour Renjun’s satisfaction. He laughs at the scarily accurate accusation, accompanied by his best attempt at looking innocent. 

Donghyuck’s confidence doesn’t falter regardless of how direct and indiscreet his question is. He reads Renjun’s amusement as a call for trouble. Gesturing to his cap, he demands, “Take it off.”

It sounds pretty much like he wants to get done with the mystery. Renjun’s breed shouldn’t be that big of a deal, and there’s no doubt Donghyuck knows that Renjun isn’t uncomfortable with his nature – if he has read his papers, this has to be a certainty for him. But his stubborn insistence in hiding his breed from Donghyuck doesn’t settle well with him, and Renjun can imagine why.

“Wow, that’s not the context I imagined you’d say that,” Renjun teases him.

“Very funny.” Donghyuck blinks at him, slight surprise tinting his words, before collecting himself. His stare deepens into Renjun’s eyes, searching for confirmation that he’s not misinterpreting his teasing. “Don’t play a game you know you’re going to lose.”

Renjun nearly bites his lower lip out of nervousness, but he holds back in time. His guts tighten with an emotion he isn’t used to dealing with; a spike of adrenaline, heat crawling up his neck. He kind of likes the puppy-like plea beneath Donghyuck’s playful eyes.

“Not everything in life is about winning,” Renjun lectures him, but it’s impossible for neither of them to take it seriously, considering Renjun can’t tone down his grin. He points at the fliers on the table, next to them, and announces, “Your fliers.”

It takes Donghyuck five interminably long seconds to tear his gaze away from Renjun’s face. Renjun doesn’t realize he had leaned in until Donghyuck straightens up, floppy ears half-extended upwards.

“Are you going to be this tyrannical?” he concludes, but his question seems rhetorical, as though he knows Renjun is simply toying with him. The look he flings at the pile of fliers is resigned; Renjun wonders if his dog nature prevents him from getting mad at him over these small things. “We need a script before the first show, by the way, do you want me to write it?”

Renjun hadn’t considered they had a writer at hand now. His reply feels a bit delayed, and Donghyuck returns his attention to his eyes, prodding for an answer.

“Mark and I got one. I’ll send it to you so you can approve it.”

Donghyuck hums. “Are you open to suggestions?”

“Yes.”

“Nice,” he says. Only when he draws away, does Renjun find his ability to breathe normally. He hopes Donghyuck couldn’t detect his tension. Donghyuck hovers over the fliers, scans them, and then taps his index finger on one of the piles. “Paw Files 92.9,” he reads, taking in the name of the show. “Cute. Can you send me this file too? I have friends in the newspaper. I’ll ask them to advertise the show online.”

Renjun falls quiet, trying to swallow his shock. He wouldn’t have requested a favor of that caliber from Donghyuck, despite the obvious knowledge that he was a man with connections. He wouldn’t have expected Donghyuck to offer it, either. But Renjun supposes that if he has welcomed Donghyuck into the project, he has the right to contribute as much as Mark and Renjun. Renjun isn’t sure if he feels overprotective of the project or grateful that he found, at last, the right person – someone who was disposed to be as committed as them.

To his luck, Donghyuck’s question isn’t open to rejection. He has started stacking up the fliers, and tugged his bag over the table to carefully slide them in. Pitying him now that he turned out to be so obedient is Renjun’s mistake.

Renjun shifts near him, silently deciding to help him. 

“I’m assuming you’re not coming with me,” he merrily says, as though his supposition would change Renjun’s opinion on it right away.

Renjun fancies this little, silly game more than he would like to admit. “You assumed right.”

Just for a moment, Donghyuck’s lips tug up into a smirk. “God, you’re so rude.”

He scoffs, and when he spins to confront Renjun, they come face to face so abruptly that Renjun feels a shiver run down his spine, all the way to his tail. He blames his cat instinct; if he could, he’d slap Donghyuck’s face away, but he needs a certain degree of trust to let his reflexes fly free. Now that he’s observing Donghyuck from up close, he realizes he has the cutest nose Renjun has ever seen, at least for a pup- for a dog.

“I’m really going to like you,” is Donghyuck’s overly casual conclusion as he fetches his bag.

As much as Renjun prides himself in having a retort for everything, Donghyuck leaves too fast for him to merely process the insinuation. Renjun doesn’t even have time to return to his laptop before Donghyuck sends him his email and, without fail, another ridiculous sticker to accompany it. The only thing Renjun thinks about for the next half an hour is that he’s incredibly grateful Mark isn’t at the studio; that way, no one can see the way Renjun’s smile lingers for longer than it should.

 

 

 

 

 

The effect of their advertising overpasses Renjun’s expectations.

Two days before they go on air for the first time, Renjun has been contacted by all his classmates – previous and current ones –, all his friends have assured him that they will be tuning in, and Donghyuck has a list of at least forty people who asked for their contact to send questions in. Even though Renjun is used to handling big projects, there’s some sort of exhilarating nervousness in his guts as they run out of time to prepare.

Donghyuck, Mark and he gather every evening of the week to read the script, with such attention to detail that every time they end up changing the route. Mark keeps reminding them to relax because the show will be subjected to the live questions they receive, and thus they can’t plan every word beforehand. However, it seems Donghyuck shares the control and perfectionism obsession Renjun suffers; an advantage when they team up against Mark, but a problem when they disagree on an idea. Besides, even if Donghyuck understands the radio show intrinsically belongs to Renjun, he has a tendency to question every idea. It’s Renjun’s fault for choosing a journalist for the radio show, however; he also suspects that, since he wears his cap every single day, on purpose, Donghyuck becomes more combative the moment he catches sight of him.

He’s useful, nonetheless, and kind of fun. Renjun can’t complain too much.

On the last night before the big day, their bickering feds Mark up even before the clock hits midnight. They’re discussing the possibility of changing the intro of the show when Mark pushes his chair back with an exasperated groan, and only then does Renjun realize that they’ve been arguing for at least twenty minutes, back and forth, over one word.

He apologizes by dedicating Mark his best regretful kitty eyes, which are useless considering he stands up anyway, rubbing his nose between his index finger and his thumb.

“I see you’re getting on well,” Mark reproaches – the most impolite accusation he can muster. Sometimes Renjun feels bad for him and his inability to be more direct.

“It’s hard not to,” Donghyuck says, tongue-in-cheek. He flings a funny look at Renjun, who grants him a glare out of habit, because that’s what he’s been doing the whole week. Donghyuck tilts his head to the side and jokes, “He’s pretty and I’m quite shallow.”

Mark lets out an awkward laugh, as though he’s unsure whether it’s appropriate to find it funny or not; Renjun senses his gaze on him, looking for reassurance, but Renjun himself is busy squinting at Donghyuck. 

“Shut up,” Renjun nonchalantly retorts. “You better not make such jokes on air.”

“What if I do?”

“I’m going home, guys,” Mark interrupts them, now with a hint of panic.

Renjun is infinitely thankful that Mark is a human and, despite the evident tension in the air, can't make out the exact scents on them. Even with this handicap, he knows better than to stay here with them, which should be enough of a sign for Renjun to put some distance between them. However, his thigh remains tightly pressed against Donghyuck’s, and Donghyuck keeps trying to sneak his foot behind his ankle to hook themselves together. Renjun has been shaking him off for the last half an hour.

Given that neither of them looks up at Mark, he coughs and continues, “I can’t monitor a show tomorrow if I haven’t gotten any sleep. You should do the same soon.”

Donghyuck doesn’t tear his gaze off Renjun as he replies, “Yeah… Bye, Mark.”

Renjun swears not all dog hybrids affect him this much, because it’s the first time in his life that he’s incapable of bidding Mark goodbye. Instead he stares at Donghyuck, well aware that there’s a predatory look in his eyes, just as stark as the one in Donghyuck’s pupils. Renjun has to make a huge effort not to paw him away; he would embarrass himself, and judging by how attentively Donghyuck drinks any and all of his movements, he wouldn’t overlook a gesture of that caliber.

Even if he’s conscious he’ll owe Mark an apology tomorrow, the noise of the studio’s door closing behind him shoots a strange, relieving sensation through his veins. He feels a comfortable heat spread over his cheeks, now that they’re alone. Donghyuck’s brown ears are hanging down, almost submissive. It takes a moment for Renjun to notice that his ears, underneath his cap, have twisted away in submission too.

“So,” Renjun begins. Without Mark, the silence inside the studio feels incredibly loud. He hears Donghyuck’s breathing with such sharpness that he considers shutting off his cat perception for a moment. Confused, he admits, “I forgot what we were talking about.”

The apple of Donghyuck’s cheeks grows round when he represses a smile, attention swirling down to their papers and the tablet on the table. “Well, me too. But if it annoyed Mark this much it must have been something meaningless.”

Whether it’s flawless logic or it makes absolutely no sense, Renjun doesn’t care that much. He looks for something to add, but there’s no point in staying here, with Donghyuck, if their work doesn’t need more modifications. 

“We should go home, Mark is right,” he concludes, straightening his back. He rolls his shoulders back, the knots of pain in his back becoming obvious after so many hours, and Donghyuck’s stare slowly follows the rhythm of his movements. He doesn’t respond, nor agrees, nor gives him any sign of life. “Donghyuck?”

Donghyuck, who’s not listening to his words, rotates with his chair so uncontrollably that he bumps his knees into Renjun’s chair. For a second Renjun is worried he hurt himself, but given the distracted spark in his eyes, he doesn’t care or didn't feel the hit.

Then, like it’s the most important announcement in the world, Donghyuck warns him, “I’m going to take your cap off.”

Renjun smiles so wide that his cheeks hurt. “Have you been thinking about that all day?”

Donghyuck scowls at him, which is enough of an answer. “Don’t laugh “

“I didn’t laugh.”

“You’re smiling too much, though.”

Renjun bites the inside of his cheek. “I can laugh if you need an actual excuse.”

With a frustrated sigh, Donghyuck shakes his head, eyes dodging Renjun’s as though he’s craving some clarity first. But when he lifts his head again, he doesn’t hesitate to grab the top of his cap; it loosens around his head, but Donghyuck doesn’t finish the job.

Instead, he stares at Renjun in complete disbelief and whispers, “You’re not stopping me?”

The only reason Renjun has been hiding his ears was to test Donghyuck’s patience. Realistically speaking, Renjun could cross paths with him on campus one day by accident, which would ruin the surprise, and in consequence, Renjun’s opportunity to dissect his reaction.

Donghyuck must have assumed he has some kind of problem regarding his breed – that’s why a pinch of reticence infects his initial intentions, why he’s waiting for explicit permission from Renjun.

“What do you think?”

“Did you know when someone asks a question you’re supposed to answer?” Donghyuck protests, scrunching his nose at him. Renjun swears his ears flatten down even further.

“What if I’m not a kitty? You’ve been calling me a kitty all week,” Renjun reminds him. “Would you be embarrassed?”

“You are a kitty.” 

“Sure,” Renjun sing-songs, even though the confidence in Donghyuck’s tone makes him self-conscious. He wonders if his cat mannerisms are that transparent to other people, or just to Donghyuck. “Pull it off, Lee Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck swallows, doubt in his expression, carrying a seriousness that feels funny to Renjun. But he has permission to go further – even if he suspects Renjun is teasing him for fun, there’s a spike of anxiety in his scent as he carefully tugs the cap away.

Relief hits him first – at the revelation that Renjun is, indeed, a cat hybrid. Then his gaze lingers on both of his ears, lips slightly parted in awe as he analyzes the shape, the color, pupils tracing every minimum twitch; jumping from one to another, depending on which one is moving, back and forth. No one has looked at Renjun’s ears so indiscreetly in years; except the men he’s shared a bed with.

“God, I knew it,” he murmurs, as though Renjun can’t hear him. Fidgeting on his seat, he forces his attention down to meet Renjun’s gaze, biting back his evident excitement. “What are those?”

There’s no point in gatekeeping the information. If Donghyuck wanted to, he could figure out his breed following a Cat Hybrid Key book.

“Somali cat.”

Satisfaction swims in Donghyuck’s face; not at his answer, but at his immediate surrender.

Donghyuck hums with feigned patience, but he’s so jittery that it’s not complicated for Renjun to predict the compliment. “They’re pretty.”

Renjun snorts, but heat pools in his guts, and he can feel the way his ears tense up. “That’s enough for today.”

Donghyuck pauses, reveling in the blush across Renjun’s cheeks, before saying, “What about your tail? Can I see-?”

There’s not a single drop of mercy in Renjun when he smacks Donghyuck on the forehead, palm open and hard enough to send him rolling back with the chair. Donghyuck knew what he was getting into, however – he looks elated at the fact that he managed to jerk such an animal, a natural reaction from Renjun. His laugh vibrates in Renjun’s head, his perfect teeth in full display, and Renjun has the irremediable impulse to smack him again.

He shuts down his nature to preserve some pride tonight, but he has no idea, absolutely no idea, how he’ll handle Donghyuck for the next few months. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even after months of preparation, Renjun is certain he’s about to pass out, anxiety dancing through his spine when he drops on his seat. Across the table, Donghyuck’s brown eyes soak in his mood with concern, his usual playfulness dulled down. He’s been serious all day, for a change, just because Renjun has been acting deranged over the start of the show. Unlike him, Donghyuck wears a healthy brand of nervousness on his face, enough to be excited, but not enough to graze the beginning of a meltdown.

Renjun has worked on this project for months. There’s a vague air of tense awareness around them, because the three of them – Mark behind the glass that separates them, and Donghyuck and Renjun together inside the studio – know that a decent amount of people will be tuning in.

The melody Mark created for Paw Files 92.9 sounds like a nightmare in Renjun’s head. With a scrunch of his nose, he adjusts his headset better, repeating the small introduction in his head with a big inhale.

Donghyuck’s smile softens when their gazes interlace over their table. Nodding to reassure Renjun, his ears roll up in anticipation. Renjun kind of wants to scratch them, just to soothe himself – he doesn’t know why he has a hunch that would be a perfect strategy.

The melody finishes with a click in his headset, and white noise climbs through it.

“Good evening, welcome to Paw Files 92.9. You’re listening to host Jun-”

 

 

 

 

 

“Welcome to Paw Files 92.9. You’re listening to host Jun, bringing you the show where you can share your hybrid problems and, only sometimes, find a solution. Thank you for tuning in,” Renjun chants. “I’d like to introduce my beloved cohost, but shall I warn you beforehand-”

“No warnings needed, Junnie,” Donghyuck interrupts him. While this is their rehearsed script, the nickname is not. Renjun hurls a dirty look at him, his nerves vibrating, his tail taut, even though Donghyuck has no spiteful intentions. Donghyuck, unfazed by his immediate offense, continues, “This is host Puppy, please be patient with me. Yes, yes, for those asking, I’m indeed a puppy. I didn’t choose the name arbitrarily. Oh, is Jun a puppy? Wouldn’t you like to know? That’s a secret.”

Renjun stares at their chat, wondering if Donghyuck is making up the questions, only to discover he’s not. Their stream is already flooded with messages, people sending emojis and stickers, and a whole crowd of questions.

Are both of you hybrids?

how old are you?

what are your majors?

I love puppies

Jun’s voice sounds familiar…

Jun is definitely not a puppy 

“It’s not a secret,” Renjun retorts, shifting into a softer tone to conceal his surprise. It didn’t cross his mind that once Donghyuck introduced himself with his own hybrid breed, people could be curious about him as well. “But for now I’m just Jun. I like being mysterious.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Renjun detects a fleeting sneer on Donghyuck’s lips. He’s already experienced the extent of how much Renjun loves to keep a mystery alive.

“Can Puppy snitch on him?” Donghyuck reads. His laugh is clear and childish through Renjun’s headset. Kind of flirty, too, which makes sense when he follows up with, “Sorry, everyone. I’m somewhat territorial when it comes to him. I don’t want to share either.”

This morning, when Renjun was on the edge of a serious meltdown, Donghyuck had promised him that he’d be lenient with him during the show, and he’d behave well. Renjun had been too nervous to call out his bluff, or maybe part of him had opted to believe what he needed at the moment to preserve his sanity.

It had been pretty obvious that Donghyuck’s promise was a lie: he couldn’t keep his tongue under control for longer than ten minutes.

This public display of flirting, for everyone’s ears, is as expected for Renjun as it’s intense.

And his options are limited. The blush on his cheeks must be quite stark, given that Donghyuck’s eyes soak in it as though it’s his little treat today. It pulls at Renjun’s instinct so hard that he wants to hiss at him, which is even more disconcerting, because he hasn’t hissed at anyone in years. He hasn’t hissed at anyone since he was a kid.

Claiming you’re territorial over someone is an insane confession - Renjun can’t even take Donghyuck seriously. Of course Donghyuck doesn’t feel territorial over him, but the streak of shame that runs through Renjun’s body, regardless, is unstoppable.

“Puppy is territorial over everything, he’s missed a few of his behavioral lessons,” Renjun teases back. “You should know this, just in case he gives you overly possessive advice in the future. I can’t take responsibility if you decide to follow his advice.”

Donghyuck leers at him, pleased. His counterattack is proof that he’s riled up, which lessens the idea that Renjun got Donghyuck good this time.

“Ouch, Jun.”

“As you can see, we have our problems as well,” Renjun continues. The dopamine from shutting Donghyuck down thrums in his brain, and he feels more relaxed, slowly getting comfortable with the mic, with his headset, with the idea of smashing down Donghyuck’s spirit every time he crosses a line. “But we are here to listen to your problems instead! We’ve received some interesting stories these past few days, but you can also send them during the livestream.”

“We got one I really love and relate to,” Donghyuck chirps, excited. He gestures at Mark to signal he should turn off the background music, as their introduction is over. “Can I go first and read it for you? Yes? Ah, no? You want to listen to Jun’s voice? I guess I can’t fight that reasoning, so let’s go with Junnie first.”

Renjun lets out a laugh, impressed by how fast Donghyuck has established his dynamics with the listeners. If Renjun can’t bear with him sometimes, the listeners will take the lead.

“Right!” Renjun turns over the first page of their script to read the first story. “messybunnyeater sent us quite an interesting story. Hi Paw Files! This is my freshman year and I was doing pretty well up until this semester. I started a new class and my lab partner is human. Most of my classmates are, actually. I know this isn’t his fault, but he smells a lot like my human ex-girlfriend, who tried to hide from everyone that she was dating a hybrid. I’m trying to treat him like any other person but his smell is so triggering that sometimes I catch myself having negative reactions, and I think he’s started to notice too. How could I deal with this? I don’t have a lot of experience with humans and I’m overwhelmed by the situation. I don’t want him to think I’m weird.”

“Cute,” Donghyuck comments.

Renjun mulls over it for a split second. “How come you relate to this, puppy?”

It’s not a rhetorical question, but Donghyuck always acts so carefree, Renjun is curious about what could have happened in his past for him to be triggered by certain human smells. “When a human leaves a bad impression on you, especially if it's related to our nature, it’s impossible to forget their smell.”

“It’s not impossible.” Renjun grew up surrounded by humans; his expertise is handling human scents, or handling humans in general. Hybrid scents, on the other hand, can become tricky for him in certain circumstances. “It seems messybunnyeater has a few unresolved issues because of his ex-girlfriend, and of course it’s not his fault, but when it starts affecting him in these types of situations, it’s time to work on healing those wounds.”

“I agree, but that’s the long route, and messybunnyeater needs a quick solution for now,” Donghyuck offers, so confident and convincing that Renjun grows a genuine interest in his advice. The smile has vanished off Donghyuck’s lips, even if his attention taps on Renjun with a suspiciously mischievous spark. “Working on the impact of your past experiences takes time. I think in the meantime messybunnyeater should buy him a nice perfume as a gift. A strong one. His lab partner will think he imagined bunny hated him and bunny won’t have to smell his human scent. Isn’t it perfect?”

Renjun gapes at Donghyuck across the studio table, shock throbbing in his temple. Despite the knowledge that Donghyuck has a dazzle of impulsive insanity, Renjun didn’t understand the magnitude of it. He didn’t understand that his behavior wouldn’t adjust to accommodate an audience.

Donghyuck isn’t trying to provide some comedy relief: he means his advice, word by word.

And once this realization settles in Renjun’s head, through his shock and disbelief, he has to fight the urge to cackle out loud. Donghyuck, whose eyes wander between Renjun’s face and his screen, picks up on the way Renjun’s teeth sink on his lower lip to hold back a smile.

Donghyuck’s scrutiny is as sharp as silent, and Renjun’s ability to hide from it fizzles out.

“What if his lab partner doesn’t use the perfume?” Renjun fires at him; his voice carries a trace of laughter, much to his dismay.

Donghyuck shrugs, as if the question is meaningless. “Then bunny should pull the bunny eyes to convince him.”

“He didn’t say he’s a bunny.”

“Only a bunny would call himself messybunnyeater,” Donghyuck reasons. Renjun is about to suggest that it could be someone who’s into bunnies, hence the eating reference, but he feels it’s too risky to bring up this possibility with Donghyuck. Donghyuck will be glad to detour. “Anyway, that’s not the point, Junnie. You can extrapolate the trick to any other hybrid’s eyes, and it will work.”

“Anyway,” Renjun redirects, imitating Donghyuck’s tone on purpose. The chat fills up with laughter again and a bunch of anyway, puppy. When Renjun glances at Mark through the glass, he finds he’s grinning as well, however looking at Donghyuck like he’s expecting a comeback –as though he’s witnessing a tennis game, and the ball is in Donghyuck’s side. Renjun continues, “messybunnyeater, I hope you can give your lab partner another chance. Maybe he could change your perception of his smell, and once you’re closer to each other, you’ll smell other parts of his scent more intensely. Right now you may smell the one that’s familiar, in a bad sense, to you.”

“You’re so insightful, Jun.” Donghyuck clicks his tongue. “And messybunnyeater, a big fuck you to your ex-girlfriend, by the way.”

Renjun laments that Donghyuck is out of reach across the table, because otherwise Renjun would punch him in the arm. His second instinctive reflex is to call out his full name, which he kills on the tip of his tongue just in time not to destroy Donghyuck’s privacy. Not that Donghyuck seems to care a lot about his anonymity, but this is a war Renjun doesn’t wish to start – unlike Donghyuck, he prefers to keep his identity a secret.

“Puppy,” Renjun croaks out. “Be respectful.”

“Don’t scold me, she deserves it.”

Renjun accidentally sighs into the microphone, and there’s an immediate cascade of messages in the chat laughing at them. Some listeners remark that Donghyuck is fishing for a scolding; Renjun isn’t an expert in dog hybrids or how their nature shapes their personalities, and though suspicion begins to gnaw at him, he’s not sure he can accuse Donghyuck of this. Not yet.

“Do you want to share one of your experiences, then?” Renjun prompts him. “Have you ever actually bought perfume for a human before?”

Renjun’s bravery must be a mistake, given that the answer is plastered all over Donghyuck’s smug face.

“Hold on tight, Junnie. You’re going to love this one.”

 

 

 

 

When the show’s melody finishes, Renjun is so excited that he’s crawling out of his skin. However, there’s no time for self-consciousness as Mark slips out of his cabin at the speed of light, and nearly tackles him into a hug. Renjun’s nerves plummet and disappear when Mark holds his head between his hands and lands a kiss on his forehead. He tries to push Mark away with a laugh, too overwhelmed by the sudden affection, but there’s no need to: Donghyuck strides over, clasps a hand on his shoulder and spins him around.

Mark doesn’t even notice the forceful gesture. In his innocent world, he simply turns on his heels, pats Donghyuck’s back and compliments him, “Dude, you were amazing. You did so well.”

Donghyuck’s attention is so hooked on Renjun that he doesn’t acknowledge the praise. They stare at each other as though Mark isn’t standing between them; they stare at each other for so long that Mark ends up scratching his nape in confusion, eyes darting from one to another.

“Did you have fun, kitty?” Donghyuck asks him, mellow.

Renjun nods. His tail wags slowly from side to side, but both Mark and Donghyuck are respectful enough, at least this time, to not blatantly stare at it.

He doubts Donghyuck could look away from his eyes, anyhow. Renjun is just as incapable, as though there’s a thread tying him to Donghyuck. He’s spent the last hour entangled in a conversation with him, laughing at his jokes and his advice, and bickering every other minute, yet he could continue for the next five hours. 

Donghyuck wets his lips, round-shaped ears twitching with interest, and proposes, “We should get drinks to celebrate.”

“Nah,” Mark scoffs. The glare he sends Donghyuck is so unmistakably rancorous and transparent that Renjun has the decency to feel bad for him. “I’m going home. I have to get up early tomorrow.”

“What? Mark!” Renjun protests. “It’s just this one time.”

Mark rolls his eyes. “I think you two will be good on your own. Maybe when you learn to take your eyes off each other longer than five seconds, I’ll join you.”

It’s not normal for Mark to be this blunt, thus Renjun, who’s used to a more forgiving treatment, pinches his arm in retaliation. He has enough dealing with Donghyuck’s teasing to add Mark’s on top of it.

Donghyuck doesn’t care, though. There’s no trace of remorse in his words as he drops, “Sorry, you need to be as pretty as him first. And have cat ears.”

Renjun whines. “Stop that.”

But against all odds, it doesn’t bother him that much. The excitement of a successful radio show subdues any other negative thought; he’s fine with Donghyuck mocking him, he’s fine with Donghyuck practically getting rid of Mark’s presence so they can spend time alone; he’s fine with ignoring all the congratulatory messages popping up on his phone screen. The warmth in Donghyuck’s eyes balances all that out, right in his favor – and Renjun doesn’t have to question if Donghyuck feels the same way. His emotions are so transparent through his expression, through the way he fidgets, nonchalance twisting into impatience.

Renjun doesn’t understand this unusual bond with Donghyuck. He has never been prone to getting along with dog hybrids, despite how annoying it was for him to fit into a cat stereotype. Indeed he’s not the most patient, permissive person in the world, and he tends to avoid people who refuse to be accommodating; but going back and forth in an argument with Donghyuck is entertaining. It feels like a playful bite every time, almost affectionate, that prompts him to return the bite. A mild tug-of-war.

As he moves around the studio to pick up his things, messily scattered after spending half a day trapped here, Renjun struggles not to laugh at Mark and Donghyuck’s conversation. Renjun catches a mention about how Jaemin will kill Donghyuck if he isn’t careful with Renjun, but this is a huge lie. Jaemin is as bad as Donghyuck, and Renjun is aware he’s probably one of the enabling voices in Donghyuck’s head. Mark shouldn’t be using him as a shield.

Renjun can fend for himself, however. Or so he thinks until Mark leaves and it’s just him and Donghyuck – Donghyuck standing by the door, waiting for him, arms crossed under his chest. He sports the biggest grin Renjun has seen in his life, and even though Donghyuck has his own cuteness working for him, a pulse of danger surfs down Renjun’s spine.

“Do you have any place in mind?” Donghyuck asks him, zipping his jacket halfway.

Renjun reads through the hidden proposal in his question. Feigned carefulness, the mirage of having an option to choose – that’s what Donghyuck offers him.

“Seems like you have one in mind,” Renjun points out, lifting his eyebrows. Donghyuck doesn’t deny it; Renjun can smell his excitement from afar, thrumming along his contained impatience. “As long as it’s not full of freshmen, I’m fine with it.”

“You’re in a flexible mood tonight,” Donghyuck coos. His gaze snaps up to Renjun’s ears as if to confirm that Renjun is, indeed, relaxed. It’d be complicated to have a different energy in his system after being tense all day, but Renjun doesn’t bother to justify himself. “The post-show glow looks good on you.”

“Don’t speak like that,” Renjun complains, but Donghyuck doesn’t overlook his quick smile, or how he busies himself with his own coat to dismiss the teasing.

As much as Donghyuck’s insinuations are far from subtle, Renjun responds with his chin lifted and a clear challenge in his expression. Donghyuck’s ears drop at record speed, a hint of unexpected submissiveness that catches Renjun off guard; Renjun’s body responds the same way, his ears shaping the same message in return, both of them lowering their defenses.

It takes Renjun a few seconds to notice it’s proximity, as the distance between them disappears, that has pushed Donghyuck into the gentlest version of himself.

Despite his sudden explosion of softness, Donghyuck doesn’t hesitate to grab Renjun by the sleeve of his jacket, fingers clenched around the fabric, and yanks him along as though he’d run away otherwise.

Renjun smiles all the way to Donghyuck’s car.

 

 

 

 

Two drinks in, any filter that Donghyuck has put on his words throughout the week is completely gone.

Acting like it’s the most secretive spot in the world, Donghyuck drives him to a bar that holds the right amount of people, the right amount of chatter, and the perfect volume of music. Most customers are hybrids for this reason; spaces with excessive noise or loud music aren’t ideal for them. Their hearing, sharper than any human’s, turns certain things into inconvenient handicaps quite fast.

In this bar, Renjun doesn’t have to make much of an effort to catch Donghyuck’s voice over the music. Maybe it’s related to the fact that Donghyuck sat next to him, their thighs tightly pressed, instead of in front of him. Or with the fact that after one drink, Donghyuck tipped into his space, one elbow on the table for support, invading Renjun’s entire field of vision.

Perhaps, just perhaps, Renjun leaned in as well, instead of drawing away. He blames the two drinks he’s had on an empty stomach, which paint a sensation of comfort between them. Underneath his calmness, the certainty that it’s not just an alcohol-induced comfort stirs inside him.

Renjun’s ears have sunk into his hair, even though they occasionally twist at the rhythm of Donghyuck’s voice. He doesn’t know when Donghyuck’s hand landed on his hip, either, but Renjun can’t focus on so many details at the same time. Donghyuck’s face, his smell, his soft laughter, the way he whispers two inches away from Renjun’s mouth, are enough of a distraction to keep him entertained.

Renjun thanks the universe for Mark’s decision not to tag along.

Two drinks in, and it’s not only Donghyuck who drops his last filter, despite having a thousand of them.

Renjun feels every one of his mental nets tear off by the second, layer by layer, until he gathers the courage to ask Donghyuck, “Are you adopted?”

Donghyuck doesn’t find the question funny. Prying into a hybrid’s background is dangerous, but Renjun can’t repress his curiosity. If it was a vulnerable topic for Donghyuck, he’d let Renjun know. However, he’s so tipsy that he stares at the tip of Renjun’s nose for too long, tilting his head as though he’s memorizing every angle of his features, and only afterwards does he process the question.

“No. My parents are hybrids too,” he sluggishly slurs. Gaze leaping up to Renjun’s eyes, he crafts a knowing smirk and shoots, “Are you?”

Renjun isn’t sure why he brought up this topic, other than a deep impulse to strip Donghyuck off his layers as well, to venture beyond his emotions. He didn’t picture what would happen after, once his curiosity would be returned with the same intensity.

With a soft nod, Renjun admits, “But I don’t remember my life before I was adopted. I was months old.”

Donghyuck hums, appeased by his sincerity. “I figured you were raised by humans,” he confesses.  After studying Renjun’s reaction, a whisper follows up, “No offense.”

“No offense taken,” Renjun assures him. He has no idea what Donghyuck detects in his expression; and in compensation, Donghyuck has no idea it’s the first time someone has told Renjun this – either because no one noticed before, or because everyone around Renjun was too polite to point it out. They stand on equal footing, eye to eye. “How would you notice something like that?”

Donghyuck slants into his space so close that, this time, Renjun presses his index finger on his forehead to create some distance between them. The distance is exactly the length of Renjun’s index finger, though – way too short. It becomes a useless attempt that sparks a smile on both of them.

“Because you weaponize your nature more than you're playful with it,” Donghyuck replies. He squeezes his hand around Renjun’s hip, fond, upon noticing the instantaneous befuddlement in Renjun’s eyes. “That’s why I annoy you so fast. Half of the time you don't know how to play with me. And you don’t touch me.”

It’s Renjun’s fault for prying – and for assuming that Donghyuck wouldn’t have more than one, single reason to justify his thoughts. As comfortable as Donghyuck’s casual manners make Renjun feel, he struggles to keep his reflexes under control this time.

Donghyuck has observed him in detail. Beneath all the jokes and teasing about finding him pretty, Donghyuck didn’t stay on the surface; he’s digging for gold. He’s digging for the hidden treasure chest.

Renjun tries to process Donghyuck’s reasons one by one, and fails at all of them. But it’s true that Renjun doesn’t know how to play with other hybrids. In fact, he can’t grasp what Donghyuck is talking about, or what Donghyuck might have expected from another, more socialized hybrid. And Renjun hasn’t initiated physical contact with Donghyuck, that’s undeniable. He’s thought about it, however, which is a bigger deal for Renjun than Donghyuck could imagine.

Given all the material Donghyuck has tossed at him, Renjun focuses on the only reason he doesn’t understand.

“When have you seen me weaponize my nature?”

“With Mark,” Donghyuck assures him, not missing a beat. “You make kitty eyes at him and he immediately does whatever you want.”

Renjun snorts. Mark is too nice for his own good, and Renjun trusts him enough to be comfortable around him, including hybrid habits.

But it’s an unfair accusation coming from Donghyuck, who spent their whole show advising every listener to use their pleading eyes on humans for their own benefit.

“Do you not weaponize your puppy eyes, Donghyuck?” Renjun says.

He lets the question be condescending. He lets it be a bit humiliating, despite the obedient spark in Donghyuck’s expression.

“I do it consciously. Not unconsciously,” Donghyuck defends himself. “There’s a difference.”

There is a difference, Renjun is aware. The implication that Renjun has some habits ingrained and tied to only humans lingers over them, but Donghyuck doesn’t mean to hurt his pride. He isn’t insinuating that Renjun is a human-pleaser, but someone who hides away from other hybrids.

Donghyuck’s aim leans towards a more interesting objective: playing with the strings of Renjun’s patience to bring out his hybrid side, fully fleshed out. Renjun wonders if he could single-handedly change Donghyuck’s opinion with a sharp bite on his hand, right now.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” Renjun jokes, brushing it off. They’re swerving into a dangerous territory, one step away from a serious conversation, and he’s having too much fun with Donghyuck to shift their night into a more somber tone. “You want me to make kitty eyes at you too?”

Renjun lowers his voice to a purr, and Donghyuck’s lips part in mute surprise. Purring for Donghyuck would be insane, inappropriate even, but Renjun wants to give him a taste of it. A false taste of it that, irrevocably, sends Donghyuck into shock. For the first time tonight, he shifts away from Renjun’s bubble, audibly gulping, harboring an explosion of emotions in his expression that Renjun can’t help but revel in.

Donghyuck, who doesn’t care about pretending, isn’t ashamed of ignoring his question. It’s convenient for him to change the direction of the conversation, as he leans back, stare scanning the rest of the bar. Renjun is about to call it a night when Donghyuck locks eyes with him again and asks, “Is it okay if I call you kitty?”

Renjun would be more amused if it was a joke, but it’s not: Donghyuck’s lips are pressed into a tight line, as though he’s prepared for a negative.

“Isn’t it a bit late for that question?”

“I’m serious. If it bothers you-” Donghyuck starts, overcome with an unusual streak of consideration.

Realization dwells on him upon scanning Renjun’s incredulity, his raised eyebrows, and the idiocy of the situation. If the nickname irritated Renjun to the point of this becoming a problem, Donghyuck wouldn’t be in his radio show in the first place. And Renjun wouldn’t be in this bar with him, nor would he have spent a whole hour two inches away from his mouth, speaking to each other as though they were alone – no sense of public decorum that could embarrass them into behaving.

Ears perking up, Donghyuck continues, “But if it’s fine, can I call you kitty on the show too?”

“Puppy and kitty?” Renjun repeats, tasting the feeling on his tongue. It’s cheesy, yet that doesn’t deter him from the idea. Donghyuck nods with enthusiasm, waiting for approval. “You’re kind of insufferable.”

Donghyuck’s smile widens before repeating after him, “Only kind of.”

“It’s not a yes,” Renjun hurries to clarify. “I have to think about it. You sound like you’re ready to bomb the theme of my show as soon as possible.”

A combative scowl appears between Donghyuck’s eyebrows, except it’s sort of cute. “I’m not. I like the radio show, Renjun.”

“Then stop coming up with ideas every other hour.”

“I can’t. My brain is always buzzing.” That’s an actual statement, but by the next second, a shit-eating grin adorns Donghyuck’s lips. “Seeing your face inspires me.”

Renjun’s tail sways, slow but steady, out of pleasure. Out of his control. Donghyuck glances at it with terrible discretion; but even if he had succeeded at being discreet, the way his cheeks turn pink with satisfaction would have betrayed him.

Renjun scrunches his nose at him. His gaze, however, travels down to Donghyuck’s lips. He’s two seconds away from making a mistake tonight, and both know that there will be no return. Renjun isn’t ready for this yet; Donghyuck overwhelms him like no one else has done before, and Renjun can’t figure out why.

“You are insufferable,” Renjun mutters, straightening up, moving away from Donghyuck’s tempting mouth. “Not just kind of, but actually insufferable.”

If Donghyuck is disappointed, that’s a secret he takes home with him tonight.

 

 

 

 

“What do we have today, Jun? Love problems?” Donghyuck shoots at him, putting his lips dangerously close to the microphone.

The second show doesn't turn out to be as nerve-wracking as the first. Once the fear of failure doesn’t hover over them like a threat, the prospect of carrying out a show every week doesn’t scare him that much.

Throughout the week, they receive congratulatory messages not only from their friends but also from some of Renjun’s professors. On Tuesday, while Renjun has lunch with his classmates, he overhears a couple of other groups discussing the radio show. It’s not much, but the mere fact that the show sparked some interest is a triumph – and a symptom that word is spreading.

On days they don’t have time to meet up, Donghyuck texts him nonstop. Not only about the show. He has a puncturing curiosity, interminable energy, and too many stickers to share – by the middle of the week he’s managed to snap a couple of pictures of Renjun too just to create stickers of him. Renjun is embarrassed the first time Donghyuck sends one of them in their group chat with Mark, but that shame dissolves to give leeway to something worse: revenge. Except Donghyuck, for some reason, finds it hilarious that Renjun is disposed to take the time to make stickers of him too. The only victim seems to be Mark, who ignores their fights half of the time, in hopes they will move to their private chat.

“How did you know?” Renjun plays along, as though they didn’t prepare the script together two days ago, crammed in a corner, with Donghyuck’s thigh hooked over his. “polypenguin76 sent us the following story: Hey Paw Files! I’m sending this message on behalf of my friend so they can hear other people’s opinions. 26, insecure, and they’ve never been in love (unless you count their second grade crush) and they don’t believe in love because they have witnessed too many people in their life being heartbroken and unhappy because of love, especially in their relationships with humans. They met a human coworker last year, and this coworker, who’s a green flag, has fallen head over heels in love with them. But my friend is still unconvinced because they claim there has to be a catch somewhere, and they don’t believe someone can like them that much. How do you feel about dating humans? Is it a guaranteed heartbreak?”

As Renjun finishes reading, he meets Donghyuck’s attentive stare over their screens. For a second, silence fills their studio, a thoughtful moment for Donghyuck to reflect on the story; behind his soundboard, Mark gestures to them to talk, confused by their pause.

“This smells like commitment issues, apart from insecurity,” Donghyuck huffs. “It’s hard to believe someone likes you if you don't like yourself in the first place.”

“I don’t disagree.” Renjun hums, pensive. “We could tackle so many issues in this story.”

Despite Donghyuck’s tendency to take the lead at all times, he flings an interested glance at Renjun and offers, “You first, Junnie.”

Donghyuck leans his chin on the palm of his hand, scrutinizing Renjun before he has the chance to develop his opinion aloud. Renjun is used to speaking under pressure, but he can’t shake off the certainty that Donghyuck is, yet again, interested in his reply for his own reasons, and not for the mere sake of the show.

“polypenguin76 ‘s friend can’t learn love through other people’s experiences,” Renjun explains, pointedly staring at the screen, obviating the animal gaze anchored on him. “You can’t just watch life through other people’s eyes because they’re not you – relationships are so complex precisely because it’s about two people with their own personalities, their own dynamics, their own mistakes and decisions.” Renjun turns his head just enough to spot Mark, with his headset, relaxed in his cabin. “For example, can I learn from our technician’s love life?”

“Very messy love life, by the way,” Donghyuck pitches in.

Renjun bites down on his lower lip not to laugh. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees the way Mark sits up, waving his hands so that they don’t rope him into the problem. As far as Renjun knows, the guy he’s been going on dates with listens to the show, and Mark is going to get interrogated later if they take it too far. Which would be funny, anyhow, because Mark is a saint relationship-wise.

“I could try to translate his experience into my life, but the truth is that we don’t even have the same taste in men. We are two different people, and we have two different ways to love and to be loved,” Renjun finishes. “Besides, in the worst of cases, getting your heart broken isn’t the end of the world.”

Donghyuck, who has been busy smirking at Mark’s panic, directs his attention to Renjun as though he’s said a magical word.

Renjun can’t decipher the meaning of that look, so he prods, “What do you think?”

Rolling his shoulders back in anticipation, Donghyuck inhales and explains, “I think polypenguin76’s friend is scared. This coworker could be a green flag, but no one is a perfect green flag. Especially a human. Looking for a perfect green flag is unfair to others and oneself,” he adds, nodding to himself. His hair bounces along, with a hypnotizing rhythm that Renjun follows for a bit too long. “We’re not robots. The coworker will have flaws both in their personality and their way of handling relationships as well, but it doesn’t mean their feelings are insincere. It’s just a matter of finding out if these flaws are compatible with polypenguin76’s friend.”

Whether Renjun agrees with him or not, that’s an interesting point of view. But it’s the first time Donghyuck provides level-headed advice, for a change, and the atmosphere in their studio feels charged as their gazes interlace.

Lee Donghyuck is a menace, hence Renjun tends to forget that he’s more mature than he appears at first glance; playfulness and wit aside, Donghyuck’s moral foundations are solid. Maybe more solid than Renjun’s.

They can’t afford to lose their balance in the middle of the broadcast. That’s the reason Renjun sweetens his voice and asks, “What are my flaws, puppy?”

Donghyuck clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Right. Let me correct myself. Everyone except you has flaws.”

“What are yours?”

“Codependency. Separation anxiety.” Donghyuck says without hesitation. He lifts his chin, a proud smile spreading on his lips, and jokes, “I’m a dog hybrid, Jun.”

Renjun squints at him with feigned offense. “You can’t just say that. You’re stereotyping yourself.”

“I’m fine with being a stereotype, but thank you for your concern,” Donghyuck retorts. His tongue peeks between his lips for a moment, ears curling inwards, the beginning of an idea bursting in his eyes. “Have you ever dated a human, Junnie?”

For his own privacy, Renjun considers dismissing the question, but this is a barrier he doesn’t feel the need to place between him and the listeners, or between him and Donghyuck. It’s not that big of a deal for him.

“I have,” Renjun says. “Have you?”

“I’m not against the idea, but I’ve only liked other hybrids so far.” Donghyuck’s confession falls naturally between them, as though it makes complete sense, and Renjun smiles at him – well aware that, even though Donghyuck isn’t ill-natured, Renjun hasn’t heard him sing praise about humans yet. 

At his lack of response, Donghyuck cocks his head. “Have you ever dated a hybrid?”

Oh.

This is where Donghyuck wanted to lead him.

Except he’s smart and intuitive enough to have figured out the answer, and seeking a direct confirmation from Renjun is a little game of his. A malicious one. A way to stomp on the distance that still remains between them, to make Renjun admit that he’s battling with his flirting because, plain and simple, he isn’t used to hybrid mating rituals.

Renjun has dated only humans. It wasn’t a conscious choice, but he didn’t have a lot of hybrids around until he got accepted into university. Even so, Hybrid Sociology tends to attract humans with a deeper interest in understanding hybrids, and a smaller percentage of hybrids trying to understand themselves. His chances have been quite limited.

Renjun mutters, “No.”

“There’s always a first for everything,” Donghyuck supplies, prepared to continue the conversation. “And a coworker?”

Donghyuck is ridiculously shameless.

Renjun’s tone drips so much sarcasm that he’s certain that, even if the listeners can’t see their faces, they will pick up on it. “You’re so funny, puppy.”

huh

puppy thinks jun is perfect? lol

they’re flirting

are you two dating?

puppy dating only hybrids and jun dating only humans is hilarious

I thought they were together

puppy definitely wants to smash 

Donghyuck lets out a clear, enchanted laugh, “Oh, listeners want to know if we’re dating.”

Renjun is going to change the layout of their studio after this show. Instead of sitting across from each other, where Donghyuck is unreachable and safe from retaliation, Renjun is going to place their seats next to each other. Maybe next time Donghyuck will think twice before crossing a line; and if he decides to do it regardless, Renjun will kick him under the table.

However, the only defense mechanism he has right now is to whine, “Puppy.”

Which is, perhaps, a mistake – the leering look Donghyuck dedicates to him punctures through skin and bone, through reason and insanity. Renjun swallows so hard that he moves away from his microphone first, just in case.

“Not dating yet,” Donghyuck continues, smooth, sneaky, ignoring Renjun’s protest. “I keep trying to ask him on dates but our technician is always in the middle. I’ll keep you updated.”

The faint gasp that escapes between Renjun’s lips is an accident. Unluckily, it’s loud enough to be caught by the microphone. Flirting is one thing; lying to everyone just to irritate Renjun is a step further.

“Don’t believe him. He’s never asked me on a date.”

do you want him to?

situationship incoming… fun

we wanna know about the homewrecker technician

“Someone wants to meet the homewrecker technician,” Donghyuck reads, barking a laugh. From his spot, Mark flips him off, and Renjun slides his chair away from the microphone to giggle. Mark flips him off too. “You’re getting me into trouble. I’ll get fired after this, so please let’s move on to our next listener. It’s my turn!”

When Donghyuck rolls out the next story, Renjun leans back and relaxes under the cadence of Donghyuck’s voice. The rest of the show runs without a hitch, with their usual banter and silly advice from Donghyuck – yet it feels even shorter than the first one, as though Renjun has been sitting in the studio for five minutes.

Renjun’s will to stay in the studio for longer is a strange sensation: that certainty that he could talk to Donghyuck for hours, with or without input from the listeners, or from Mark, or from anyone else. When they wrap up the episode, Donghyuck glances at him for a beat, a longer beat that thrums in his veins. Before they can cross another word, Renjun stands up and starts collecting his things – the script, his pen, his phone on the table – oblivious to the fact that Donghyuck isn’t following his example.

It’s only when Donghyuck has walked halfway around the table that Renjun realizes he’s approaching him.

But his gait is different, silent, careful. Sly. Renjun’s eyes flick to him, and Donghyuck’s gait activates every nerve of his instinct on such a deep, animal level that his fingers curl up, nails ready to scratch. The whip of shame that runs down his body is blinding. Donghyuck is slowly cornering him, even if Renjun hasn’t moved, even if there isn’t a wall behind him, and it would be impossible to finish the job. 

Renjun has trouble breathing any oxygen; he stretches his back in alert, ears pointing upward, and fixes Donghyuck with a look. Donghyuck stops in his tracks and smiles at him with fully intentional mischief, conscious of what he’s provoked. Renjun lowers his chin to stare at him through squinted, mistrustful eyes, without any control over his reaction. Like a cat.

“Don’t bite,” Donghyuck warns him, but it’s not condescending. It sounds sweet, even, once he shortens the distance between them. When Donghyuck’s smell reaches Renjun’s nose, it reminds him that he’s safe with Donghyuck; that this simulation of an attack was just a game for him, and it should be for Renjun, too. “How comfortable would you be coming over to mine?”

Renjun’s breath catches in his throat; he scans Donghyuck’s face – the subtle tension in his knitted eyebrows, the way he nervously bites the inside of his cheek, his brown eyes boring into Renjun’s with tenderness.

Regardless of how obvious it is, Renjun echoes, “You’re inviting me to your house?”

“Yeah. It’s cold outside,” Donghyuck assures him. His strong confidence becomes just a facade now, while he anticipates Renjun’s acceptance. “But it’s Friday, we should do something together.”

Renjun sneaks a look at Mark – eyes glued to his phone, so busy texting that he hasn’t shown intentions of leaving yet, stuck behind his soundboard – and then drags his attention back to Donghyuck, confused.

“Why are you not inviting Mark?”

Donghyuck has half a smile on his lips before realizing Renjun’s question is serious. His face twists into incredulity, ears flattening all the way down and disappearing into his hair.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, gaze seizing Renjun up and down like he’s gone crazy. To be fair, Renjun feels at the brim of insanity around Donghyuck. A little too loud, he blurts out, “What’s Mark going to do when I put my hands on you? Look?”

Renjun steps forward in a panicked rush, leaning in so close that surprise breaks through Donghyuck’s nonchalance. He grabs Donghyuck by the front of his hoodie and yanks him closer, with no aim other than to shut him up – by the moment he learns that this isn’t the best intimidating strategy, it’s too late. Across Donghyuck’s cheeks, a beautiful blush pulses, and Renjun drinks from it like he has been thirsty for days.

“Stop,” Renjun hisses, stealing another look at Mark. “He’s going to hear you.”

Donghyuck glances down at the way Renjun fists his hoodie, and even though he doesn't mention it, the satisfaction in his eyes tells Renjun a whole story.

“I’m not hearing a no,” Donghyuck points out, voice breathy, wavering. His gaze drills into Renjun’s pupils as he whispers, “Don’t look at me like that, kitty. I’m not made of stone.”

“I’m not looking at you in any way.”

But he is. He’s staring at Donghyuck through his eyelashes, and even if Renjun isn’t searching to make an impact on him, he knows what his cat’s eyes look like when he lets go of his chains. He knows that Donghyuck sees through him, through all of him, and he can’t hide any longer.

“You sure are,” Donghyuck breathes out, his words stammering. His evident nervousness travels right to Renjun’s guts, where it leaves a comforting squeeze that almost has him purring. “So-”

“I’m going to grab dinner with Mark first,” Renjun interrupts him. But Donghyuck intuits the nuance in his words, the fact that he can’t even wait for Donghyuck to finish his question, and exhales a smile. “Send me your address.”

 

 

 

 

 

Renjun can’t focus.

When he sits across Mark, who’s eager to share the latest updates about the guy he’s been seeing, listening with full attention is an impossible task for Renjun. Any word coming out of his mouth transforms, in Renjun’s mind, into a direct link to Donghyuck’s existence. 

The moment Mark mentions he had lunch with Chenle, Renjun’s brain drifts to Donghyuck and the salmon snack he’d brought for Renjun earlier today. Mark speaks about his parents and, like it’s magic, all Renjun recalls is the background picture of Donghyuck’s parents on his phone, which he’d caught sight of two days ago. Donghyuck, who noticed the fleeting look Renjun had thrown at his phone, was glad to show the picture to him – both of his parents were dog hybrids, Donghyuck’s dad sporting small, pointy ears, and his mom’s hair adorned with the same round ears Donghyuck has.

Renjun has heard about cats developing hyperfixations – it’s explained in his sociology books, his manuals, and even one of his papers. He never imagined he’d become a victim, however. He never imagined he would emotionally hyperfixate on a dog hybrid, among all the possibilities he had. A very charming, handsome and smart dog hybrid, much to his distress.

But at first, his lack of attention flies over Mark’s head. In contrast to hanging out around Renjun and Donghyuck together, who tend to ignore his presence in favor of each other, this smudge of Renjun’s attention must feel huge – as if Renjun is contributing to the conversation with complex, intelligent remarks.

Renjun wishes he could harbor some remorse for being so distracted, but he doesn’t. It doesn’t help that Donghyuck sends him several messages throughout the dinner, though none of them have the intention to pressure him. They’re random messages, a video of an actual puppy biting a cat’s tail for attention, and a thoughtful confession about how he’s cleaning his room for Renjun.

After a few attempts at replying under the table, Mark spots him smiling at his phone like a fool, and when Renjun snaps his head up and locks eyes with him, it feels like he’s been caught in the act. Because he has been.

“Renjun, for god’s sake,” Mark complains, but his demeanor masks a pinch of laughter. “What’s up with you? I’ve never seen you act like this.”

Renjun’s shoulders drop in surrender, and so do his cat ears, twisting inwards. He should be more embarrassed than he is, but the major sensation throbbing in his temple is resignation.

“Don’t even start,” Renjun warns him, because as much as he’s accepted that his bickering with Donghyuck weighs heavier than a mere friendship, he’s not ready to discuss it out loud. Not with Mark. He’s more comfortable with their implicit truths and knowing smiles, with flirting back and forth and emulating Donghyuck’s rhythm. “I’m not doing anything differently.”

“It’s not about what you do, but about how you look,” Mark remarks, as though this makes complete sense to him. Renjun has no idea what he looks like when Donghyuck is around – the universe has spared him from having a mirror in the studio to see his reflection. “I’m going to pay, I’m letting you go now.”

Mark stands up before Renjun has the chance to open his mouth. Assuring Mark that he enjoys his company and they don’t have to leave just yet would be the right thing to do; and it wouldn’t be a lie. But Mark is too much of a good, generous friend. His empathy hinders him from letting Renjun drag the situation for longer, and when Mark interlaces their arms and leads him outside, Renjun feels a little less anxious.

It’s ironic that the idea of reuniting with Donghyuck soothes him, though his cat side is forced to stay more awake, inevitably, around other hybrids. He bids Mark goodbye and Mark ruffles the hair around his cat ears to appease him, as if it’s a sealed deal. Renjun texts Donghyuck five minutes before arriving, which earns him a new sticker from Donghyuck’s collection and a reception scene at his building's front door.

Unsurprisingly, Donghyuck comes down in his pajamas to fetch him, black glasses slipping down his tiny nose, and sporting his house slippers. It takes Renjun a longer beat to recognize him, but when he does, his heart squeezes in a way that is unknown territory for him.

It’s criminal that such a danger to society can look this cute.

“Popcorn and a movie?” Donghyuck proposes, scrunching his nose at him, far from containing his excitement. “I’d offer you dinner but knowing Mark, you’re probably full.”

“I’m full,” Renjun confirms. A subtle smile threatens to appear when Donghyuck holds his hand to tug him inside, so casual about it that it makes Renjun’s stomach flip upside down – Donghyuck isn’t even trying, and that’s the worst part. “Have you picked a movie?

Donghyuck nods, curly hair and curled ears bouncing along. “Of course.”

The first detail Renjun registers is that Donghyuck doesn’t live alone. As soon as he kicks his shoes off, three different scents get caught in Renjun’s nose, all of them distinctively hybrid-like. Considering Donghyuck’s attitude and his preferences, it isn’t shocking Donghyuck doesn’t live with humans. Renjun can’t say the same, but he’s not uncomfortable with the idea; in fact, sliding into a space exclusively for hybrids installs a new brand of warmth in the pit of his stomach.

Donghyuck doesn’t grant him much time to scan the apartment, but that’s the last of Renjun’s problems tonight. He isn’t overly interested in the house, anyhow.

Instead Donghyuck walks him to his room and invites him to get comfortable, not before dropping a falsely authoritative, “Don’t judge. I'll be back in five.”

There’s not much for Renjun to judge. The room reeks of Donghyuck – but Donghyuck smells like wood in a chimney, he smells of warmth in winter and heated floors, and when Renjun scoots onto his bed, he’s lulled by his scent in a matter of seconds. He studies his room, cheek squished against the pillow, waiting for Donghyuck to return with the popcorn. Donghyuck has dozens of books on his shelves, on his desk along with piles of handwritten notes, and even on his chair. There’s a salt lamp on the window sill, by the rolled-down blinds, and a couple of tiny plants that are, much to Renjun’s shock, perfectly taken care of.

“You’re so going to fall asleep,” Donghyuck accuses him, carrying a huge bowl of popcorn in his arms and closing the door with his foot. The grin that follows up punctures through Renjun’s guts. “I’ve never had a kitty sleep in my bed.”

Renjun laughs at that in an attempt to dismiss the vulnerability of lying down in Donghyuck’s bed; it’s an exciting sort of vulnerability, however. Donghyuck’s gaze sweeps over every inch of his body, drinking from the way Renjun has sprawled on his bed, face up, hips slightly twisted sideways, his tail relaxed on the covers.

“I’m not sleepy,” Renjun defends himself.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, not giving him an ounce of credulity, and places the popcorn on the bed, next to Renjun. Renjun slaps his arm across the mattress to grab a handful, slowly blinking up at Donghyuck, and drops it into his mouth.

“We’ll see if you last longer than five minutes,” Donghyuck flings at him.

“Just play the damn movie, Donghyuck.”

There’s no need for Renjun to order him around, because Donghyuck has already spun on his heels. Renjun traces his movements, instinct on full display without shame, while Donghyuck drags his laptop to the edge of his desk, takes his glasses off, and pads to the door to turn off the lights.

Even though Renjun’s gaze is anchored on him, he’s so absorbed in his world that when Donghyuck climbs on the bed, his heartbeat speeds up without control. Donghyuck’s eyes lock with his, neither of them paying attention to the movie or the introduction credits splashing across the screen.

And Renjun loves pretending; he loves pretending while both of them know this is just a game. Except it doesn’t feel like a game anymore; not when Donghyuck slithers over him, on his palms and knees, just a few inches away from him – so close that his clothes almost entangle with the button of Donghyuck’s pajama top. The path on the way up, to hover eye to eye with Renjun, feels never-ending. There's a hunting look that sparks in Donghyuck’s pupils, makes every hair in Renjun’s body stand on end, but Renjun can’t promise he's not returning the same look. If he’s feeding Donghyuck’s behavior, encouraging each other in a loop, it feels like a worthy risk right now.

“Kitty,” Donghyuck whispers, his voice stretching into a tune. “Comfortable?” 

Renjun’s breath is stuck in his lungs. He’s lost the ability to speak and look at Donghyuck at the same time – a humiliating fact that seems to sink in for Donghyuck, who cocks his head to the side, prodding for an answer regardless.

“Quite comfortable,” Renjun whispers.

Donghyuck’s lips part, his ears smoothly sailing sideways into his hair. When Donghyuck lowers to his elbows, he does it carefully, as though he could make Renjun run away. But it would be impossible to do so, trapped under Donghyuck; under Donghyuck and the way he presses against him, hips locking Renjun on his back; under Donghyuck and his lack of subtlety while making every inch of distance between them disappear, eyes drinking from Renjun’s reactions.

Renjun lets him. The warmth through Donghyuck’s pajama yanks a noise out of his throat that, much to his dismay, sounds quite similar to a meow. Donghyuck doesn’t care, other than because of an accidental small smile. He wraps himself over Renjun with a hum, and instead of contorting into a cozy position to watch the movie, he dips straight for Renjun’s neck.

“Donghyuck,” Renjun manages to utter, but beyond the surprise in his voice, any attempt at conveying a threat fades out.

Donghyuck nuzzles his neck, rubbing his face against every curve, his breathing heavy and hot. His recklessness spikes in Renjun’s blood, as he struggles to adjust to all the emotions he surfs through. Donghyuck’s nose traces all the sensitive spots on his neck, stretching it out to revel in his scent; he ends up lifting his chin until his lips graze the junction between his ear and his jaw. He lays a kiss there, both taunting and evaluating, as though he’s afraid of going too far.

Voice quivering, Renjun tries again, “Puppy.”

That’s the magical word to seize his attention. It’s also an accident – a slip of his tongue.

Donghyuck’s lips, attached to his neck, shape into a smile. “Yeah?”

Renjun is supposed to tell him to slow down. To ask for a second to breathe so that Renjun gathers some control over the situation, or at least over the butterflies violently flapping in his stomach. He’s supposed to call him Donghyuck, not puppy, but he blames that he’s spent too much time chanting puppy into a microphone.

Maybe he’s chanted it in his head, too.

Though Renjun had a vague suspicion about what he was getting into by accepting Donghyuck’s invitation, his imagination didn’t picture there would be no roundabouts. No time for Renjun to pretend he’s here for another reason, or because he enjoys Donghyuck’s company as a friend.

Innocently, he thought Donghyuck would lie next to him; quite close but staying at a safe distance, and they’d talk for a while. About the dinner, perhaps, or the show they finished hours ago. And then Donghyuck would play with his fingers until he got the courage to hold his hand more firmly, entangling their fingers. And then, only then, would Donghyuck cuddle up to him, turning over the sheets with a smirk.

But this Donghyuck doesn’t resemble a man who would follow any of these steps. There are no manuals in his world. He’s a dog with little concept of space and a striking liking for Renjun – someone who thinks two weeks of waiting is far too long to leap onto Renjun.

Renjun should swat him away, but that’s just a reflex triggered by his nervousness – those nerves Donghyuck provokes in him. There’s a hiss on the tip of his tongue, and his tail, twisted under him, is tense and rigid. But he feels on cloud nine, nestled in Donghyuck’s soft mattress, in Donghyuck’s soft curves molded against him, his curious mouth having the first taste of Renjun’s skin.

Instead of a protest, instead of asking for space, Renjun whines into the air, “You smell so good.”

Donghyuck freezes in the arch of his neck, just for a second. A cat hybrid telling him he smells good must feel delirious. It feels delirious for Renjun, too. Renjun reaffirms his words by timidly sliding his arm around Donghyuck’s waist who, in response, shifts further over him to adjust to a better angle. Except he ends up almost completely on top of Renjun. It’s a miracle that his head remains in his neck – and also a blessing, because Donghyuck can't see the visible overwhelm on his face.

But the heat splashing across Renjun’s cheeks is nothing compared to the heat in his lower belly, which expands and expands throughout his body until, irremediably, Donghyuck feels the change in his temperature.

“You’re so cute,” Donghyuck growls, voice raspy with a new rush of excitement. He places another kiss under his ear, sweet and mischievous, and then orders him, “Watch the movie, kitty.”

Renjun obeys without missing a beat, too taken aback to do anything else – he’d never obey a human so fast, but it’s so, so easy when Donghyuck guides him into it.

His sight is blurred, and he has to blink a few times at Donghyuck’s laptop to distinguish the screen. Weirdly enough, he sees blue – the depths of the ocean – and colorful fish swimming through it.

He must have lost his fucking mind.

A protest escapes between his lips, “I can’t focus like this.”

Donghyuck scoffs. “Like what?” he teases, but he’s not worried about what Renjun is telling him. He’s entertained, putting all his effort into peppering kisses across Renjun’s neck, across the edge of his jaw, dangerously tilting over his chin, tempting his luck. “Like this?”

Donghyuck grabs his jaw, held between his index finger and thumb, and gently pulls Renjun’s face away. It takes him a brief moment to understand that he has let Donghyuck drive him into baring his neck. And, instead of kicking his defenses into motion, Renjun senses his own dive straight into submission.

Donghyuck presses his tongue against his collarbone, sucks hard, and without hesitation, licks a strip all the way up to his jaw. Renjun has the urge to curl up out of pleasure, Donghyuck’s hot saliva leaving goosebumps on every inch of his skin.

“Fuck.”

“Not yet,” Donghyuck groans, but Renjun is too horny to grasp his joke. He runs his fingers through the back of Donghyuck’s hair, fingertips crawling up to one of his puppy ears. One scratch and Donghyuck’s firmness falters, a small noise of comfort thrumming in his chest. He recovers one second later, just to throw him a soft, “Be patient.”

Renjun is being way too patient, already half-hard in his underwear. Donghyuck hasn’t even started to touch him properly, other than trailing kisses down his neck. He needs Donghyuck’s hands on his body. He needs Donghyuck to fucking kiss him, because he has no idea what Donghyuck’s kisses are like, and at this point it’s a treat Donghyuck is holding back from him on purpose.

Renjun knows he’s being toyed with. He has a hunch that Donghyuck might have planned this – from start to finish – or he had a clear rhythm he intended to thread between them.

Renjun squints at the screen, throwing a leg around Donghyuck’s hips to keep him close. Images of the ocean flash through his vision again, and Renjun understands this isn’t a movie, or at least it doesn’t look like one.

“What fucking movie did you play?” Renjun complains, nearly laughing at the realization. “Why would you show fish to a cat?”

Donghyuck whips his head up, confusion creeping into his gaze, ears unrolling. He holds Renjun’s stare, their breathing interlaced in one same gasp, Renjun’s heart racing; and then Donghyuck spins his head to glance at the laptop. He stares at the screen, mouth slightly ajar – perhaps for too long, but it doesn’t bother Renjun, who takes advantage to admire his profile, his cute, round nose, his plump lips; and his long eyelashes, its shadow grazing the curve of his cheekbones.

Donghyuck’s shoulders relax and he barks a loud laugh, so loud that the vibration shakes Renjun along. When his gaze returns to Renjun, who’s still observing him in anticipation, he’s ecstatic to confess, “Kitty, I didn’t choose a movie. I played the first thing I saw.”

Renjun scowls at him, but Donghyuck’s words dance through his ego – Donghyuck’s blatant sincerity feels like medicine. He should have fucking predicted this. It was obvious Donghyuck had no intention of watching a movie tonight.

“What if I hadn’t let you-?” Renjun starts.

Tongue-tied, Renjun forgets every word he’s about to say. Donghyuck sinks onto his forearms, face to face, so close that Renjun has trouble maintaining eye contact with him. The proximity cuts Renjun’s train of thought. His question is nonsensical, anyway; Renjun came to Donghyuck’s house with the same aim, except he didn’t brace himself for this amount of teasing.

Donghyuck’s lips tug up, a repressed smile threatening to break through. “Let me what?”

Renjun has had enough. It’s time for him to fire back at Donghyuck.

Gaze trailing down Donghyuck’s face, he drops his attention on Donghyuck’s lips. They’re swollen from kissing his neck, and Renjun has to stop himself from ruining his plan to play with Donghyuck for a while – and, plainly and simply, surrendering into a kiss.

Donghyuck has thinned out his patience just to have Renjun jump on him for once, and though Renjun loves the temptation, he craves stretching Donghyuck’s desperation until he breaks. He looks up into his eyes and, in the next breath, he slips his hands under Donghyuck’s pajamas. Donghyuck’s eyes shut, his body tensing at the unexpected touch, but that moment of vulnerability gives Renjun time to collect himself too. When he runs his palms across Donghyuck’s abdomen, all he registers is how soft his skin is; so soft that Renjun can’t ignore the avarice growing in his chest. He lets his nails wander over his skin, fooling around with the idea of scratching him harder, until he dares to deepen into his lower belly. Donghyuck arches forward to drown against his nails, a faint noise between his lips, and Renjun feels incredibly rewarded. But then he presses his palms again to feel the mark of his own nails etched on Donghyuck’s skin, and gets caught up in the shape of Donghyuck’s hipbones for a moment – a moment when Renjun fails himself, and instead of caressing upwards, he has a sudden change of mind.

He strokes down, past the waistband of Donghyuck’s pants, sensing the immediate flicker of surprise in Donghyuck’s eyes. It’s so, so transparent. There aren’t shared smiles, or sweet words exchanged, however, not even when Renjun shamelessly cups his dick over his underwear. Not even when he keeps his hand there, rubbing Donghyuck’s dick until he thrusts forward, hips giving into his touch. It’s only then that Donghyuck’s full weight falls on him and, trying to put an end to the teasing, tilts for a kiss.

A kiss that, much to his shock, Renjun dodges with a slight turn of his head. Just a little, and Donghyuck’s lips land on the corner of his mouth, missing his aim. Donghyuck seems to freeze at first, but when he detaches from Renjun’s mouth, the befuddlement in his expression makes Renjun tingle all over.

“Do you want to kiss me?” Renjun whispers, trying not to smile. Donghyuck makes a noise in the back of his throat, almost a whine, grinding against Renjun’s palm harder than before. The shape of his hard cock grows bigger in his hold, and Renjun has to repress his impulses to not lose track of what he was saying. “You have to ask for permission first.”

“I have to ask for-” Donghyuck echoes after him, as though he doesn’t understand how far Renjun intends to go, “permission.”

Barely audible, a purr stirs within Renjun. It’s so satisfying to witness Donghyuck’s cockiness crumbling in front of him. All wit and smooth talking fading as soon as he’s hard, as soon as he’s on the line between fucking or not fucking Renjun. Renjun draws his hand away from Donghyuck’s dick, squeezing the shape on the way up, and Donghyuck thrusts into it – but once nothing separates them, his hips crash on Renjun’s in an instant.

Despite Renjun’s objective to torture him, Donghyuck seems to forget his pride, because he humps Renjun with such desperation that both of them let out a faint yelp.

“Hmm,” Renjun confirms, but it sounds like a moan – he’s even harder than Donghyuck, and it’s taking every drop of his self-control not to open his legs for him. “Ask first, puppy.”

It’s the point of no return for Donghyuck who, at last, buries his head into Renjun’s neck again in defeat. He whines there, hops plunging forward like he can convince Renjun to forget his requirements if he makes enough of an effort. And maybe Renjun could forget about the teasing, but the more Donghyuck spirals into his urges, the more Renjun craves them. It’s a vicious loop, hard to detach from.

“So is it okay if I kiss you here?” Donghyuck begins, a hint of a sob thrumming in his tone. He kisses along Renjun’s carotid, just careful, soft kisses, but his heavy breathing betrays his lack of composure. He places another kiss on his cheek, more innocent than before; a sort of sweetness that almost sends Renjun into a breakdown. “And here?”

“Yes,” Renjun manages to utter.

Donghyuck travels down to his chin, tickling Renjun’s skin, and then up, his upper lip fitting right in the crease below Renjun’s lower lip. “And here?”

There are questions in Donghyuck’s eyes, in his tone, yet below all that, a plea grows bigger and bigger. Renjun knows the game is over even before he meets the hunger in Donghyuck’s stare.

The spark that cracks between them electrifies every nerve in his body. Donghyuck’s brown eyes zoom into his, yearning, and Renjun parts his lips before leading Donghyuck in by his chin. Neither of them hesitates, meeting halfway into an open-mouthed kiss, as impatient as uncontrolled. Renjun couldn't care less. Donghyuck licks into his mouth first thing, no concept of shame or boundaries, even less when he realizes Renjun welcomes him with his tongue too. There’s no need for either of them to ease the other into this. It's the nastiest first kiss Renjun has ever had, but he needs to get this out of his system so fucking bad, and he can’t have it any other way.

Their initial rush mellows into a softer, more playful rhythm after a couple of minutes. As if they’re following the instructions backwards. Renjun wraps his hand behind Donghyuck’s head to keep him deeply hooked into their kisses, though Donghyuck doesn’t need any convincing. The slower they kiss, the more obvious Donghyuck’s intentions become: he kisses Renjun as though he’s waited to kiss him for too long, as though he’s making sure this itch is fulfilled before moving on. Donghyuck must not be used to waiting.

But for Renjun, it’s easy to make him yield. If Renjun drags his teeth over his lower lip, Donghyuck shudders, ears twitching in pleasure. If Renjun alternates between licking into his mouth, and trapping his tongue between his lips, and then peppering kisses on the corner of his mouth, Donghyuck desperately tries to lead him back into his mouth. Renjun smiles at his behavior, but Donghyuck takes it as what it’s supposed to be: push and pull. Even when Renjun asks him to take off his clothes, Donghyuck’s clumsiness as he obeys turns out to be as endearing as hot. There’s a new level of coyness on his face when Renjun touches his tail, too, fluffy and short, because it’s the first time he’s seen it. It’s small enough for Donghyuck to keep it tucked in his pants in his daily life, and Renjun supposes that, for that reason, showing his tail must feel intimate – and it’s a must during sex.

Renjun wonders if Donghyuck has ever fucked a cat hybrid, because judging by his impatience, Renjun would bet he hasn’t even kissed one before. It would explain why Donghyuck is so affected by him, looking for reassurance in Renjun’s face through every step. It would explain why he falls unusually silent when Renjun asks him to suck him off – far from embarrassed – but he crawls down his body like Renjun has offered him a treat, hands palming down his belly in advance.

“Calm down,” Renjun warns him, laughing a little at the force Donghyuck uses to tug his pants down. Renjun needs a moment too, once he enjoys a glimpse of Donghyuck’s face between his legs, suddenly aware of how hard he is. “I’m sensitive.”

Donghyuck arches his eyebrows at him. A subtle challenge. He doesn’t even take any time to admire his body: he hooks his arms around Renjun’s thighs, making him bend his knees, and takes his dick into his mouth without previous warning. It’s a sight worth seeing. Donghyuck’s plump lips around his cock, round eyes staring at Renjun, his puppy ears extending upwards with eager expectation.

The precise control Donghyuck has while blowing him, compared to his kisses, has Renjun whining in a matter of seconds. He softly sucks the tip of his cock, checking his reaction through his eyelashes, and then moves on to making a show out of sucking him whole. When Renjun takes hold of his hair, a bit overwhelmed both by the view and the wet warmth around his cock, Donghyuck decides to use his tongue to wet the path between his ass and his balls. He stays there until he seems satisfied, and then licks up to his balls, a predatory shadow crossing his eyes as he runs his tongue flat up Renjun’s cock.

By the time Donghyuck engulfs his tip again, Renjun’s thighs are shaking. But there’s no room for Renjun to be self-conscious, not with the man between his legs who has no qualms about offering him every inch of his desperation on a silver platter. Not with Donghyuck showing off that he can deep-throat him as many times as he wishes, just for fun.

Still, Renjun hates the purr that builds in his chest. He hates that Donghyuck’s mouth feels so good around his cock that he can’t care about purring for him, anyhow. Just by the way Donghyuck glances at him when he draws out his first purr – so low in his throat that only a hybrid would hear it – Renjun knows he’s going to mention it sooner or later. Donghyuck’s arms tighten around his thighs, just a little, with satisfaction, like he’s rewarding Renjun for letting him hear it. He’s so greedy, and Renjun fucking loves it.

Donghyuck decides it’s enough only once Renjun is painfully hard – dick twitching in his mouth and back arched against the sheets. He sucks his tip one last time, up and down before coming off with a pop. The smile he sends Renjun still carries some of his usual cockiness, but it’s subdued by his obvious fascination for the purring.

His hand caresses from Renjun’s hips to his chest, trying to find the focal point where it’s coming from. Shyness blinds Renjun’s thoughts, feeling like Donghyuck is dissecting him, but he’s so comfortable in his arms, so at ease, that he can't repress his purring at all.

Not that it matters. Because when Donghyuck climbs back to his mouth, all he tells him is, “Cute.”

Renjun is too riled up to blush, too distracted by the pink across Donghyuck's cheeks to care about how he looks in bed. The flush travelling through his body is evident, even more so when Donghyuck presses a kiss to his lips before sliding off him. Renjun needs a moment to understand Donghyuck is looking for the lube, but his instinct has overpowered logic by the time Donghyuck faces him again. Shock dashes across his expression when he catches Renjun sitting up on his elbows, ready to fetch Donghyuck back. Renjun feels his ears and his tail tighten with an unexplainable tension – which Donghyuck detects without trouble. Donghyuck inches closer, with the beginning of a smirk, and gently leads him on his back.

Renjun blinks through his desperation, accepting the dozen kisses Donghyuck peppers on his lips just to soothe him. As much as it feels like Donghyuck is taking too long, Renjun can’t psych himself up before Donghyuck is all over him, grabbing one of his thighs to open him up.

Renjun registers the anticipating glow in Donghyuck’s face and orders him, “Don’t say anything.”

Donghyuck brushes it off, a grin appearing and disappearing. He glues himself against Renjun’s side and sneaks his hand between his legs, fingers covered in lube, touching Renjun with such confidence that it feels like he’s fingered Renjun before. Maybe in his imagination. Donghyuck gives Renjun’s cock a couple of slow tugs, and then runs his hand further down, drawing circles around his rim. Renjun is too sensible not to moan a little, but Donghyuck spares him, more focused on his noises than on fingering him.

It’s the calm before the storm. Donghyuck whispers to him to relax, and then he slides his middle finger, calculating how deep he can go at once without hurting him. When he detects the first sign of discomfort, he slowly pulls out before trying again. Renjun clenches around him, but he adapts without trouble.

Throat hoarse with want, Donghyuck asks him, “Are you going to purr when you come?”

Renjun summons a threatening look, but he’s pretty sure it lands on Donghyuck as his most kitty-like look ever instead. His desperation oozes when Donghyuck adds another finger to stretch him, encouraged by the prospect of a purr. There’s greed in Donghyuck’s eyes. And Renjun needs more stretching than this, and both know it; he can see Donghyuck’s hard cock, curled up below his abdomen. Renjun has never taken anyone so thick.

“Yes,” Renjun admits. “You better not laugh.”

Donghyuck’s smile vanishes, not at the warning – just at his confession. He licks his lips, working his fingers as deep as he can, slightly hooking them inside him for more room. For the first time tonight, Donghyuck’s fingers brush against the perfect spot, which yanks a soft moan out of Renjun. Donghyuck’s gaze zigzags between his body and his face with such eagerness that it’d make anyone recoil in embarrassment; but Renjun is too gone to feel anything but pleasure bubbling up all over.

Pleasure, and compliant pride.

There, legs open for him, Donghyuck’s fingers sliding inside him all the way to his knuckles, his tail bent down between his legs, all Renjun wants is Donghyuck’s undivided attention. He’s been good to him. Too good, in fact, because Donghyuck’s chaotic dog side needed less leniency and more control tonight.

That’s an undeniable truth, given that Donghyuck is eating him up through his eyes. When he pulls out and shifts on top of him, smoothening his palms on the inside of Renjun’s thighs, Donghyuck can’t take his eyes off his face. He has a kitty hybrid under him, ready to be fucked and yet, the only detail he’s fixated on is Renjun’s face, with just a sprinkle of attention on his ears.

Renjun draws a knowing smile; the power pulses in his hands. It’s the sort of power that will crumble once Donghyuck is inside him, and so he makes the most of it while he can.

“Is everything okay, puppy?”

Donghyuck opens his mouth, too stunned to answer. His ears disappear into his hair, a sudden, unexpected sign of submission. He plants one hand on Renjun’s tummy, wraps the other around his cock, and frankly whispers, “I’m so obsessed with you.”

Renjun lets out a choked laugh, feeling delirious, following Donghyuck’s movements. “I can tell.”

Donghyuck slants his head to the side, but there’s a playful air in his expression as he presses the tip of his cock against his entrance. It sends whiplash through Renjun’s spine, through his tail too, which he has to fight against to keep it from curling under Donghyuck. As much as Donghyuck would love that, Renjun doesn’t believe he’ll be normal about it – not when he’s not a little bit normal about him in the first place.

“Are you obsessed with me?” Donghyuck chants, looking for validation, for praise.

“God,” Renjun hisses. “You are cute.” 

Donghyuck knows that. The realization that he’s using it in his favor dwells on Renjun, once he feels the first stretch of his cock, Donghyuck’s hips tilting forward. It hurts. And it’s just the tip, so Renjun rushes to say, “I need more lube.”

Donghyuck flings a sheepish look at him, like he’s been caught. “Sorry. I wanted to try first.”

Renjun has to suppress a smile and a curse at the same time. He’s too horny to scold him, but he has a hunch that’s what Donghyuck is looking for; he wants to bite and then get reprimanded, now that Renjun is at his mercy. He likes knowing that he can misbehave and Renjun will indulge him. But all Renjun needs is the shade of a glare for Donghyuck to reach for the lube again, for Donghyuck to obediently pour a good amount of lube and then finger it into him. Though he’s a lot more impatient this time, Renjun is satisfied; it’s so obvious that he doesn’t know how to play hybrid games, and Donghyuck’s submission is just part of his dominance. A trick to lure Renjun in.

And his ignorance must be so obvious to Donghyuck, who leads his cock back inside him, cheeks even more flushed than before. When Renjun doesn’t stop him, he asks, “Now?”

“Hmm,” Renjun agrees.

That’s Donghyuck’s cue to shove his hips forward. Between the two of them, he moans first, but with such a thick cock stretching him, Renjun can’t help but groan after him. He’s lucky Donghyuck hovers over him, trying to shush his noises with a kiss, giving him a second to breathe. Renjun doesn’t hesitate to grab him by the back of his hair, hands tightening around his curls, focusing all his tension there.

But Donghyuck can’t silence him. His cock fills Renjun so good, hot inside him, and Renjun feels so overwhelmed – in such an addicting, fulfilling way – that he can’t stop moaning.

“Woah,” Donghyuck marvels, letting out a throaty scoff, as though Renjun’s pleasure is fascinating. He angles his core better, slowly thrusting a few times until Renjun’s moans vibrate on a higher pitch. “That’s loud.”

Being loud is the last of Renjun’s worries. He hooks into Donghyuck’s gaze, head burning, too dizzy to utter a retort. He fears, for a moment, that Donghyuck will send him straight to his heat, but it can’t be possible. Maybe it just feels that good. Maybe Donghyuck is just that hot.

“Puppy,” Renjun calls him, and Donghyuck whines right away, starry-eyed at the nickname. He bottoms out right then, letting his body stick to Renjun’s without shame, both of them content with the proximity. “Don’t stop.”

Donghyuck had no thoughts of stopping; the moment he starts moving, he finds a good pace, and he silences Renjun’s nonsensical demands with his kisses. Donghyuck knows how to move his hips, even beyond the power of Renjun’s words. The bed creaks under them every time he bottoms out, but the noises are drowned by Renjun’s moans and the sound of skin against skin.

Renjun thought he could adjust to Donghyuck’s size, but he was quite wrong. Every thrust makes his whole body burn, but it’s that blinding pleasure that prevents him from feeling any sort of shame. 

Donghyuck knows when it’s too much for Renjun: he gives him short breaks, not pulling out but taking some time to kiss each other, to run his fingers through Renjun’s hair. Renjun uses the breaks to stroke down Donghyuck’s back, to scratch him to find his sweet spots – until he dares to sink his nails near the base of Donghyuck’s ears and, without fail, Donghyuck staggers, eyes shut in pleasure. He leans into Renjun’s hand by instinct, and Renjun yanks it away on purpose, delighted by the reaction.

“You like that?” Renjun innocently asks him, meeting Donghyuck’s confused eyes as he returns to reality. His ears twitch downwards, but rather than feeling shame, he seems curious of Renjun’s new interests. “How surprising.”

Donghyuck fulminates him with a charged look, except he falters when he gets distracted by Renjun’s lips. “You have a lot of nerve, kitty,” Donghyuck accuses him. “A bit too much considering you can’t even speak when I’m fucking you.”

Renjun tries to retort, but Donghyuck rolls his hips as deep as he can, and his protests die on his tongue. It feels as humiliating as heavenly – because once Donghyuck chains into a new pace, Renjun forgets what they were talking about. He feels his eyes roll to the back of his head out of pleasure. And when Donghyuck flattens his palms against the inside of his thighs, bending Renjun’s knees all the way back to the mattress, he realizes that Donghyuck doesn’t have any interest in lasting longer than this.

Donghyuck has him completely trapped in the mattress in the next thrust – a thrust that fills Renjun so well that he almost comes on the spot. It’s frustrating, even, that Renjun can’t control his reaction – his heavy breathing, the purring becoming even louder than his moans. Donghyuck gives him half of a smile, conscious of his effect on him, looking so collected that Renjun wants to scratch his ears again just to fuck him up.

“For fuck’s sake,” Renjun whines.

The tension in every one of his muscles whips towards his guts, and he lets go of the last restraints holding him back: he lets his tail curl around Donghyuck’s thighs.

Donghyuck doesn’t miss it; he squints at the sensation, a blush spreading across his cheeks, soothed by the feeling of Renjun’s fur. If he thrusts a bit faster, a bit deeper, Renjun can’t blame him for it. Renjun feels a knot pulse in his guts, Donghyuck’s cock buried in him, touching the perfect spots, and he can’t help but hold onto Donghyuck, moaning into his mouth.

“Just come, kitty,” Donghyuck tells him, voice rough against his lips. He loses pace for a moment, hips stuttering like he can’t take it any longer either. “I have a second round for you anyway. Gonna put you on four.”

Renjun’s fingernails dig into Donghyuck’s back when he comes; he comes for so long, completely blind, vision tinted white, the orgasm throbbing both in his cock and his guts. With Donghyuck’s dick swallowed inside him, he clenches and squeezes until his orgasm dies out, taking every single thrust. He feels Donghyuck groaning, pushing inside him, his pleasure twisting into a beautiful moan. Donghyuck grips his hips so hard with the last push that Renjun lets out a yelp. Only once he’s coming does Donghyuck release his control over the situation, whining against Renjun’s neck like what he is: a puppy.

With Donghyuck boneless on top of him, the heat becomes unbearable. Renjun blinks awake, stroking up Donghyuck’s neck, and can’t repress a delirious laugh. “Pull out, Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck babblers against his skin, but Renjun can’t make out his words. He gives it a second try, which sounds like a protest, “Wait.”

“You’re crushing me. And it’s hot.”

Donghyuck detaches from him with a grumble, incredulity splashing across his expression as he falls on his back. He pulls out so fast, his cock still not fully soft, that an embarrassing noise slips between Renjun’s lips. Renjun closes his legs, feeling a sudden dash of vulnerability now that Donghyuck’s body isn’t covering him, but the truth is that Donghyuck is so dazed by him that, instead of scanning his body to revel in the mess they’ve made, he looks into Renjun’s eyes.

The slight pout on Donghyuck’s lips is the first warning. “You didn’t think so ten seconds ago.”

Renjun knows better than to be cold to him. Even if he’s so sensitive after coming that his cat side would appreciate a short breath of air, the rest of him disagrees. Donghyuck looks detectable after coming, messy hair sprawled on the bed, ears relaxed. Renjun seizes the view, seizes his body up and down, and concludes it’s insane someone can be this sexy. Donghyuck looks like he’s been carved by a god; even with his guard down, the mere proximity activates Renjun’s instinct like Donghyuck can control him with a switch.

Renjun nuzzles into his space with a little smile, immediately sliding his palm against his cheek to make Donghyuck face him. Donghyuck, who assumed Renjun was shooing him away after coming, smiles back at him with equal surprise and satisfaction. The butterflies in Renjun’s stomach are impossible to ignore; he likes this version of Donghyuck, pliant and relaxed, even more.

Renjun hooks their legs together, dodging all those thoughts that encourage him to crawl on top of Donghyuck again. He’s so mesmerized by the orgasm that he doesn’t mind showing some clinginess. They settle for a slow kiss, Donghyuck’s arm encircling his hips from behind. There’s been a shift between them, because Renjun doesn’t even think twice about letting his tail brush against Donghyuck’s arm, and Donghyuck doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

“Where’s my second round?” Renjun jokes, resting his head on Donghyuck’s shoulder.

Donghyuck licks his lips, nervous, and croaks out, “Give me five minutes.”

Renjun isn’t sure whether Donghyuck is serious or not. Considering his previous promise, there’s a sensation of danger walking under Renjun’s skin; if Renjun plays into his teasing, Donghyuck could just take the chance and grant him his promised second round. And Renjun is in a mood, brain fogged with the temptation of making bad decisions, but when he makes up his mind to ask, there’s a knock on the door.

On Donghyuck’s door.

They stare at each other for a beat, and then Renjun hisses in shock, “We’re not alone?”

Donghyuck deadpans.

“It’s Friday night before exam season,” Donghyuck explains, as though it’s an obvious fact. He has the decency to grant him an apologetic smile before confessing, “All my roommates are home.”

“Donghyuck.”

“I told you, you were being too loud-”

Renjun has no choice but to give in to his nature: he slaps his hand on Donghyuck’s abdomen to silence him, to reprimand him, not giving credit to what he’s hearing. He scratches him a little, too, red lines painting Donghyuck’s tummy, just because he deserves it. Instead of indulging his instinctive attack, Donghyuck gasps and grabs his wrist, trying to turn him over. They fumble for a few seconds as Donghyuck tries to pin him against the bed; with the amount of energy in his system, Renjun manages to put up a fight, though he resorts to tickling his sides.

“Fuck,” Donghyuck curses, but then he cackles out loud, like this fight is the funniest thing that could ever happen to him. Renjun reaches out to scratch him again, this time on his face, and Donghyuck miraculously halts his attack. A toothy grin replaces his laughter, but his pupils have expanded at the possibility of a real hazard. “You really don’t know how to play, kitty. You’re dangerous.”

There are a couple more knocks on the door, and silence fills Donghyuck’s room in a split second, the documentary still playing on his laptop. But Renjun can only hear his heart beating in his ears, no hint of shame in his body. Donghyuck’s brown eyes are too hypnotizing for him to care about anything else.

All Renjun concludes is, “Are your roommates stupid?”

The confirmation comes in the form of an exasperated sigh. Donghyuck pulls him in for a quick peck on his lips and then jumps out of bed. He rushes to look for his pants in a frenzy, stress spiking in his scent, as though he doesn’t want to do this. Renjun doesn’t want him to leave the bed, either.

Darting for the door, still shirtless, Donghyuck sends him an imploring look and says, “Give me a second.”

The speed at which he slips out of the bedroom isn’t a casualty. Renjun is too smart to miss out on that tiny detail. Though he’s busy yanking the sheets up his bare body, in case Donghyuck’s roommates are nosy enough to take a peek, he sharpens his hearing just in time.

“Holy shit, you have a cat hybrid in there?” Donghyuck’s roommate whispers.

And at the same time, Donghyuck complains, “Why the fuck are you knocking-?

The door closes with a loud noise, and the rest of the conversation becomes a mutter in the background, much to Renjun’s disappointment. His curiosity isn’t stronger than his laziness, so he just uses his time alone to grab the tissues on Donghyuck’s bedside table and wipes the cum off his tummy and his legs. Snuggling under Donghyuck’s covers, into his scent, feels like injecting a tranquilizer. Renjun should be alarmed at how at peace he feels here, but against all odds and contrary to all the assumptions he made about dog hybrids, it’s easy to trust Donghyuck.

Still naked, Renjun hugs one of the pillows and yawns, hoping Donghyuck won’t mind having his scent all over his bed.

Right when he considers watching the ridiculous ocean documentary, Donghyuck quietly slides back into the room. Renjun, who’s eager to rope him back into his space, snaps his head up to glare at him. There’s guilt staining Donghyuck’s usual cheerfulness, even before Renjun can throw a reproach at him.

“What’s the problem with me being a cat hybrid?” Renjun fires at him, affronted.

Every inch of Donghyuck’s face flushes, even his neck. Even his ears. His dog ears, however, remain half-up in alert.

“There’s no problem,” he assures Renjun, but the prospect of an argument makes him stagger. One of his ears twitches and he flings an annoyed look at his laptop, which he shuts down right away, as though he forgot he left the supposed movie on. “It’s just- all my roommates are dog hybrids. They’re not used to cats.”

Given how versed Donghyuck is in his relationships with other hybrids, Renjun needs to grasp the deeper meaning behind that excuse. All this time Renjun felt inexperienced in comparison to Donghyuck, but if his roommates deem that hanging out with a cat hybrid is out of the norm, it means Donghyuck isn’t that unaffected by his nature.

Which, in retrospect, explains Donghyuck’s tendency to cling to him, and how far his curiosity can go. 

“Oh.”

Perhaps Donghyuck expected a bigger fight, because when Renjun yawns again, nonchalant, Donghyuck’s shoulders slump in relief.

“Jeno said sorry for the interruption, but you know- sometimes dogs have to snoop in.”

Renjun laughs at that, too relaxed to care about Donghyuck’s roommates anymore. It’s more shameful that Jeno had the nerve to knock on his door than Renjun being loud during sex. He would have preferred some intimacy, sure, but he can’t lie to himself: this is a minor mishap in his book. His gaze roams over Donghyuck’s collarbones, over his strong arms, over the way the sweatpants close around his hips, and he can’t remember why the concept of privacy matters anymore.

He can’t even remember why feeding Donghyuck’s ego could become a problem.

Renjun leers at Donghyuck through his eyelashes, enjoying the immediate change in Donghyuck’s expression – he grasps it so fast, equally feral eyes landing on the shape of Renjun’s body under the sheets.

Renjun purrs first, low and sweet – a luring tactic that can never fail – and tells him, “Come here.”

Donghyuck wastes no time.

 

 

 

 

By the second week of regularly sleeping with Donghyuck, Renjun discovers why relationships in the workplace tend to be banned everywhere.

Except the radio show isn’t their job, and there’s no one to keep them in line. Other side effects, such as grossing out Mark to the point he has to set new rules and boundaries, don’t seem to be that important. Especially not to Donghyuck.

Marks pins a note on the inside of their studio door in the first week.

Forbidden acts to ensure the well-being of all collaborators (Mark):

• Kisses with tongue.

• Groping.

• Hybrid whining (you know what I’m talking about).

• Humping.

• Insinuating what you did last night every five minutes.

Renjun laughs at it for ten minutes straight until his belly hurts, but Donghyuck rips it off without reading it first.

Their third show spins out of control mid-way, half of their script long forgotten when the ending melody starts. Donghyuck offhandedly mentions how pretty Renjun is a handful of times (“You think so because you’ve lived your entire life with pretty privilege, your advice is biased.”), just to end up fighting the listeners when they get curious about Renjun’s looks; he sighs into the mic by accident, spellbound, if Renjun stares at him for longer than three seconds; and he gets overly excited every time Renjun calls him puppy. To be fair, Renjun should have predicted that calling him puppy in bed was a bad idea.

Listeners take notice of the change, but both of them ignore the insinuations plaguing their chat. Renjun doesn’t find any will within him to scold Donghyuck, however. Donghyuck warned him that he’d be clingy, and Renjun indulged him – and himself – by meeting up with him every single day of the week.

Saying no to Donghyuck must be an abstract concept. Renjun doesn’t have any intention of doing so.

Before their fourth show, Renjun convinces Donghyuck to move the set-up so they sit together. Mark points out that they’re annoying. Donghyuck interprets it as an ulterior wish for them to be closer, even though Renjun’s only intention is to tame him every time he crosses a limit. 

Thinking he can tame Donghyuck in his first mistake.

Next to him, Donghyuck affords the luxury of resting his chin against the back of his palm, elbow on the table, and stares at him like Renjun is the eighth wonder in the world. Renjun pointedly ignores him, but the intensity of his gaze is so animal that he has trouble finishing his initial speech. It’s not a joke to Donghyuck, however – Renjun finds out as soon as he dares to glance at him and, instead of finding one of his mischievous smiles, all that welcomes him is an enamored man making puppy eyes at him. Renjun continues by reading the first story, yet incredibly aware of Donghyuck’s prodding presence.

Renjun fidgets on his seat, throws a panicky look at Mark across the glass, and tries to stabilize his voice, “Do you have any advice for squirrelbutt5, puppy?”

Donghyuck’s eyes travel down his neck, following the flush that’s taking over him.

“I think she should confess her feelings, Jun,” Donghyuck says. He tilts his head to the side, as though Renjun should follow up with a retort. “squirrelbutt5, if you’re already thinking about confessing – if the idea has crossed your mind – it’s time for you to do it.”

Renjun wouldn’t assume it's an indirect insinuation if Donghyuck had the discretion to look away from him, at least for a moment.

But Donghyuck’s advice isn’t shocking, nor is that he would apply this to Renjun. Donghyuck is incredibly vocal about his opinion on Renjun, about how much he wants him. His adoration makes Renjun preen, nerves whipping through his system every time, but he doesn’t know how to reciprocate on the same level.

Renjun’s dating record is his handicap. Humans are more careful when they date hybrids. Hybrids, however, gather too much information from each other’s body language alone. Thus when Donghyuck’s sharp gaze cuts through Renjun’s facade, he catches signs that Renjun himself ignores.

Mouth dry with anxiety, Renjun manages to pitch in, “Some people may consider it too early.”

A soft frown settles on Donghyuck’s expression. “People go at different paces, of course. But if squirrelbutt5’s crush can’t understand her having feelings for him, then he has a deeper problem. Sure, it would be strange if she confessed her undying love when they haven’t had time to get to know each other to that extent, but telling him she likes him should be perfectly fine.”

Renjun’s blood pulses in his temple, foretelling a headache.

is puppy in love?

everyone always says it’s better to confess, but no one actually takes the step

is there anything puppy wants to share with us?

you two definitely have romantic beef

Renjun isn’t sure if he’s stayed quiet for too long. “squirrelbut5 met him only this semester-”

“Do you feel like it’s too early?” Donghyuck interrupts him, and it’s impossible for him to conceal the sharp edge in his tone. It’s impossible to pretend this isn’t about them.

Renjun doesn’t bother to control the regret that must invade his semblance, perhaps because his heart squeezes so hard that he’s more focused on the pain than on composing himself. It’s almost pathetic the first sign of annoyance from Donghyuck makes him feel like the world is coming to an end.  Yet it’s undeniable that he has an intrinsic need to make Donghyuck, to crave his validation, to be loved by him – only him.

Among a cascade of emotions, the only impulse that survives in his brain is to reassure Donghyuck, pet him, scratch his ears so that he can’t experience any anger anymore.

“I didn’t say that, puppy,” Renjun replies, softening before Donghyuck’s straightforwardness. “But expressing my feelings doesn’t come to me as easily.”

“I have noticed,” Donghyuck retorts. He rolls his shoulders back, as if to get rid of his tension, but the newfound confidence in his eyes leads Renjun to perceive it as a display of dominance. He is a dominant type of hybrid, that much Renjun knows; he just grants Renjun his permissiveness sometimes. It’s distracting. Renjun can’t help but gaze at the lines of his collarbones, at his jaw, at the shape of his lips. “We’ve known each other for over a month. I don’t think that’s a short time for me to know I like you.”

The next pause stretches between them for an eternity. There’s white noise in Renjun’s headphones – the evidence that they’re still connected, the realization that everyone listened to him. Renjun can’t breathe. He can’t even summon a response, or a joke to brush this off, to play it up like it’s part of their script.

It would be a ridiculous attempt. Listeners are familiar with Donghyuck’s radio voice, yet he’s drifted into his real, deeper voice, and there’s no room to mistake it.

The chat moves at a dizzying speed.

Renjun doesn’t realize he’s gaping at him until Donghyuck slaps his hand on his mouth, even though it's terribly late to cover up his mistake.

Donghyuck rushes to turn his microphone off, knocking over his water bottle in the process. “I’m sorry. It slipped out, I didn’t mean to-”

“Uhm, guys. Ad break is on,” Mark cuts in, his voice sliding into their headsets. It must have been an awkward cut, with no previous announcement, but the panic in Mark’s voice indicates that the rhythm of their show shouldn’t be a concern, given the situation. “I’ll cover my ears for a second if you need me to.”

Renjun takes off his headset, spinning on his chair to look at Donghyuck properly. The guilt in Donghyuck’s pupils is palpable, but he doesn’t back off under Renjun’s attention. Being aware of his mistake doesn’t deter him from searching for answers, to Renjun’s detriment. His palms are sweating. Renjun’s ability to handle his feelings isn’t very reliable, and he’s so scared of his own incompetence – because god, he adores Donghyuck. He adores him too much to spoil his chances with him.

Renjun takes a deep breath and admits, “I know you like me, Donghyuck.”

It’s not enough. Donghyuck shifts over his chair, shortening the distance, and grabs the edge of Renjun’s seat to yank him closer. Donghyuck’s scent fills his space, his mind, even the pores on his skin, and Renjun loses track of the conversation for a split second.

“And you don’t?” he asks, sincerely worried that he might have misinterpreted Renjun’s intentions. “I’m not complaining about what we have, but I need to know what this means for you. If it’s just sex, I need to know.”

It’s insane that Donghyuck would even consider that their relationship, for Renjun, is about sex. But he supposes that he’s more unreadable than he thought – not a properly socialized hybrid, Donghyuck calls him. For Donghyuck, Renjun is a complete mystery. He has no idea if Renjun’s behavior carries the implications he wants it to carry, or Renjun has been tagging along because Donghyuck makes it easy for him. Because Renjun trusts him to teach him the way.

Disconcerted, Renjun mutters, “Could you accept it if it was just sex?”

Donghyuck falls silent, his mouth tightening into a straight line. It’s a no, except Donghyuck refuses to admit it out loud – just in case Renjun will be disappointed. Just in case Renjun won’t accept what he’s trying to build. His attention lands on their knees, slightly touching, as though he prefers to swallow the feeling of Renjun’s touch and not his words.

“It’s not just sex for me,” Renjun continues. A verbal confirmation isn’t necessary for Renjun to take the step, since the desperation in Donghyuck’s eyes is enough. “I like you. A lot. All I’ve been thinking about these past weeks is spending time with you.”

Rather than embracing Renjun’s confession, Donghyuck’s confusion lingers between them. Renjun fights the urge to touch Donghyuck, to bring him closer, to coax Donghyuck with one of his cat tactics. But his anxiety clouds any possibility of reading Donghyuck’s expression, and Renjun waits, and waits, and waits – until at last, Donghyuck’s gaze meets his.

Completely serious, Donghyuck half-whispers, “You’re not so bad at expressing your feelings, kitty.”

Adrenaline thrums in Renjun’s system, their tension so thick that he can’t relax, but the praise feels so satisfying that his tail sways with a subtle, from side to side. When Donghyuck catches the movement over his shoulder, his seriousness gets wiped off by sparkly, warm eyes.

The comforting smile that slowly expands on Donghyuck’s lips reflects on Renjun’s face, too. He’s unaware, however, of how he’s mirroring Donghyuck until he cups Renjun’s face between his hands and leans in for a kiss. And it’s a clumsy, silly kiss, as they fight to subdue each other’s smiles and spectacularly fail, noses bumping, Donghyuck’s hand shaking a little around his face. Donghyuck sneaks two proper pecks before they have to give up, but Renjun presses forward regardless, smiling against Donghyuck’s mouth, trying to occupy all his space. 

“Sorry for the interruption!” Mark’s voice booms from his cabin again, shaky. “You have ten seconds before we go on air.”

Donghyuck and Renjun break off their kiss at the same time, but they don’t draw away. Given the befuddled look on Donghyuck’s face, he forgot Mark was watching them; and to be fair, Renjun even forgot they were at the studio for a moment.

Like it’s supposed to be a secret, Donghyuck tells him, “We should go on a proper date later.”

“We’ve had ten dates at least,” Renjun says, giggling. Donghyuck rubs their noses together, as if to insist, so Renjun asks, “What’s a proper date?”

“Shut up. You know what I mean.”

Renjun knows what he means. A date in which Donghyuck doesn’t have to wonder if Renjun is on the same page, and Renjun doesn’t wonder if sleeping over at Donghyuck’s house for the fourth day in a row is appropriate. A date in which, after Renjun returns home, he doesn’t have to overthink if Donghyuck has changed his mind about him, or if he’s not hybrid enough for Donghyuck, or if he’s allowed to hold his hand in public, or-

As if he could read his thoughts, Donghyuck leans in and steals another kiss from him, soft lips yet intense excitement, silencing the worries twirling in Renjun’s head.

With a protest on the tip of his tongue, Renjun almost chases after his mouth when Donghyuck decides to turn away. But then the melody of their show comes out from his headphones, forgotten on the studio table, and Renjun realizes ten seconds isn’t that long a time.

He doesn’t have time to adjust his headset around his head.

Unlike him, Donghyuck clicks his in time, pushing back on his seat and back unusually straight. One glance at Renjun, and though the lines don’t belong to him, Donghyuck understands he has to cover for him.

“Welcome back. You’re listening to Paw files 92.9-”

There are many details, from their fourth show, that remain engraved in Renjun’s head for the next few months. It’s their chat, full of laughter and invasive, hilarious questions, that scrolls faster than ever until the show ends. It’s Donghyuck’s left knee, nervously bouncing as he stutters through the next story, ignoring how the listeners mock him for it. It’s the way they look at each other, and the knot in Renjun’s throat, all wit disappearing to give room to a softer tone just so that Donghyuck doesn't spiral because of him.

It’s Donghyuck’s hand finding his under the table, interlacing their fingers over Renjun’s thigh, and the way he smiles every time Renjun’s thumb brushes over his knuckles.

Renjun supposes dog hybrids aren’t so bad, after all.

Notes:

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