Chapter Text
ONE
Don’t Touch My Tail, You Feral Street Cat
Dunk Natachai did not hiss. That would be vulgar. Uncivilized. Beneath him.
Except today.
Today, he hissed.
At twelve years old, curled neatly on the family’s velvet ottoman, pristine white fur fluffed to high heaven, Dunk let out the meanest hiss he could conjure from his delicate pink mouth. His blue eyes glared at the dark shadow across the room.
Joong.
Black fur, golden eyes, sitting upright like he was made of rules and trauma, like he belonged there. Staring at him again with those judging, silent, maddening eyes.
“What’s his problem?” Dunk snapped, tail flicking sharply as he looked at his mother. “Why does he stare like that?”
His mother glanced from her laptop, smiling in that gently disappointed way that always made Dunk feel like a badly written novel. “He’s just curious. He’s new. Be kind, Dunk.”
“He’s always staring,” Dunk muttered, curling tighter into his own fluff. “Like he’s sizing me up. Like he’s—trying to read my mind or something.”
Joong blinked slowly. Didn’t say a word. Just stared.
---
Ten years later, Dunk was still being stared at.
Except now, he wasn’t twelve and overdramatic. He was twenty-two and overdramatic. With better eyebrows.
Joong hadn’t changed much either—except maybe taller, sharper, leaner. Still quiet. Still looking like a walking scholarship.
The same golden eyes watched him across the field where hybrid training camp had set up some kind of ridiculous bonding challenge. Dunk thought the entire thing was a scam. Who needed survival skills when they had heaters, five-star hotels, and online shopping?
“You’re with Joong for the forest excursion,” the instructor chirped. “Your forms will be locked for 72 hours. Team bonding, trust exercises, no phones—just instincts and survival. Have fun!”
Dunk opened his mouth to protest.
But then—whoosh. Elixir. Light. Transformation.
And now he was back in the shape he hated being in for long periods of time: a fluffy white Persian. His pink ribbon collar felt too tight. His tail dragged leaves. His nose twitched in disgust.
And of course, right next to him was Joong. Still silent. Still black as midnight, eyes like gold coins, yellow collar somehow sleek and elegant.
“Fantastic,” Dunk muttered in cat-speak, which mostly came out as annoyed yowls. “Three days of this?”
Joong didn’t answer. Just started walking.
---
They got lost within the first two hours. Dunk refused to walk through mud. He leaped onto tree roots and shrieked at bugs. Joong ignored him and kept pacing ahead like some kind of military cat.
“We should have just failed the test,” Dunk said dramatically as he collapsed onto a patch of moss. “Let the wolves eat us. Less humiliating than dying of fungal spores or whatever the forest has planned.”
Joong flicked his tail. “Then why are you still following me?”
Dunk froze. “Because I don’t know where we are, genius. And because I—” he stood up fast “—don’t trust you to not leave me here to be eaten by a hawk!”
Joong turned slowly. His golden eyes sparkled. “Don’t tempt me.”
---
By nightfall, they found a half-collapsed wooden overhang that might have been a shed or a shrine or just a miracle.
Dunk refused to sleep on the ground.
He circled it five times. Sniffed every rock. Scratched at the bark dramatically.
Eventually, Joong climbed into a little nook against the back wall, curled up neatly like a spiral of shadow.
Dunk watched him from across the dark space. His fur fluffed up in cold annoyance. “Move over.”
Joong didn’t move.
“I’m not sleeping out there,” Dunk declared. “I’ll get ticks. Or worse. Dirt.”
Joong lifted his head. “Then come here.”
Dunk narrowed his eyes. “I will. But don’t touch me.”
Joong rolled over to make space. Didn’t say anything else. Just breathed slow and steady, like a cat who could sleep through war.
Dunk crept over and eventually, begrudgingly, draped himself over Joong like an entitled, shivering throw blanket. His pink collar pressed into Joong’s neck.
“You’re warmer than the floor,” Dunk whispered. “That’s all this is.”
Joong didn’t answer.
---
The second day was worse.
Dunk woke up to Joong adjusting his collar with his mouth. Gentle, slow. Tidy little tugs on the ribbon that made Dunk’s whole body stiffen.
“W-what are you doing?” he stammered, voice catching in a panic-fluff.
Joong sat back. Tilted his head. “Do you know how cats mate?”
Dunk nearly fainted.
His tail shot up. His fur exploded into volume. He skittered five paces back and tripped over his own paw.
“You—what—the fuck is wrong with you?!”
Joong yawned. “Nothing. You just kept shifting in your sleep. Your collar was loose.”
“THAT IS NOT AN INVITATION TO TOUCH ME WITH YOUR MOUTH!” Dunk shouted, fur bristling.
Joong blinked. “Relax. I wasn’t trying to mate with you.”
Dunk hissed so hard his lungs hurt.
Joong looked so smug, he might as well have purred.
---
By the time the sun hit its peak, they’d walked in circles, narrowly avoided a fox, argued over berries (Dunk: “We don’t eat those!” Joong: “You will if you’re hungry enough”), and fallen into a shallow stream. Dunk screamed for ten straight minutes after.
That night, Dunk didn’t argue when Joong laid down first.
He just climbed on top of him, fur still damp, shaking slightly. “I hate you.”
Joong’s eyes were half-lidded. “Sure.”
“I do.”
“Of course.”
“You’re so smug.”
“Mmm.”
“I wish they’d adopted a dog instead of you.”
Joong opened one golden eye. “Then you’d be dead.”
Dunk paused. “…Why?”
Joong turned his head, looking up at the makeshift ceiling. “Because no dog would have let you act like this without biting your tail off.”
Dunk narrowed his eyes. “You ever touch my tail, I will bite back.”
Joong didn’t answer. Just chuckled, low and dry.
Dunk hated how nice it sounded.
TWO
You're Not Even That Warm, Shut Up
Day two. Or was it three?
Dunk had lost track of time, which, for someone who usually lived life in perfectly timed routines—morning skincare, midday smoothie, evening bath—was borderline catastrophic.
Even worse, he smelled like leaves.
Leaves.
Not lemongrass shampoo. Not fresh laundry.
Actual. Forest. Leaf.
Dunk lay dramatically over a flat rock, grooming his paw with theatrical disgust. “I swear, if I have a single tick, I’m suing this camp. I don’t know who, but someone’s getting claws in the face.”
Joong didn’t respond.
Joong was crouched by the water again, lapping from the stream like some kind of stoic jungle creature. His fur was damp. Sleek. Tail swishing just slightly with the breeze.
Dunk scowled harder. “You know, some of us have delicate immune systems.”
Joong finally glanced over. “You’re a hybrid. You’ll live.”
Dunk rolled his eyes so hard he nearly fell off the rock. “You don’t know that. I might have inherited weak lungs or a rare fur allergy. There’s research. Studies. Probably.”
Joong didn’t even blink. “Pretty sure the only thing you inherited was dramatics.”
Dunk gasped. “Did you just insult my bloodline?”
“Just your personality.”
“You don’t even have a personality.”
Joong licked his paw calmly. “Not true. I just save it for people who don’t call me a stray every three hours.”
Dunk bristled. “You were a stray.”
Joong looked up. Gold eyes, too quiet. “And yet I’m still the one who knows how to find clean water and edible mushrooms.”
Dunk’s ears twitched. He hated that Joong was right.
He hated that Joong always looked right. Like he belonged in every room—or forest, apparently—like he knew what to do before anyone else had even opened their mouth.
It made Dunk want to scream. Or throw dirt at him. Or—
Okay, maybe not that last one. He wasn’t a savage.
---
That night, the forest got colder.
So cold, in fact, Dunk’s paws curled into tight little knots of complaint. He tried sleeping on a patch of moss. It was damp. He moved. Tried a rock. Too hard. He moved again. Tried the tree root. Too rooty.
Joong was in the corner again, curled tight in his spiral of black fur, already asleep.
Dunk stood there, shivering, staring at him like he was a heated mattress.
“Do not say anything,” Dunk muttered as he tiptoed over.
Joong didn’t open his eyes. “Wasn’t going to.”
Dunk lay down beside him. Grudging. Resigned. “You’re not even that warm, shut up.”
Joong shifted just enough for Dunk’s head to rest against his side.
Silence stretched between them. Dunk could hear birds. Wind. The occasional chirp of a frog.
And then Joong spoke, voice so low it nearly got lost in the breeze: “When we get back, you gonna go back to pretending I don’t exist?”
Dunk froze.
“…Maybe,” he muttered.
Joong didn’t reply. But Dunk felt the faintest twitch of his tail. Not angry. Not smug. Just… there.
Like maybe Joong had expected that answer.
Like maybe he was used to being someone people didn’t want to deal with for long.
Dunk hated how that made him feel.
So he did what any emotionally stunted hybrid would do:
He flopped fully on top of Joong.
Joong wheezed. “You’re heavy.”
“You’re bony,” Dunk shot back, burying his nose into the fur at Joong’s shoulder. “Suck it up.”
---
Morning came with sunlight leaking through leaves. Dunk blinked awake and realized—with vague horror—that he’d been purring in his sleep.
Worse: Joong was still under him. Still sleeping.
For a long second, Dunk stared.
Joong looked… not peaceful. Not exactly. But calm. His ears twitched slightly with every breath. His ribbon collar looked crumpled. His paw was resting gently against Dunk’s own without even realizing.
Dunk stared. And stared. And—
“I can feel you watching me.”
Joong’s voice was muffled and gravelly.
Dunk shrieked and rolled off so fast he crashed into the wall. “Why are you awake?! Why do you sleep so quiet?!”
Joong stretched, long and sinuous, like a cat who knew he looked good. “Why were you drooling on my fur?”
“I WASN’T—” Dunk paused. Sniffed. Groaned. “Okay, that’s not important.”
Joong got up, shook out his fur, and started grooming. “We should start moving. I think the ridge path is north from here. Might lead us back to the training fields.”
Dunk narrowed his eyes. “And what, you suddenly want to get back to civilization?”
Joong paused. “I thought you wanted to.”
Dunk looked away. “…Maybe I’m starting to enjoy the quiet.”
Joong tilted his head. “Even with me here?”
Dunk’s tail flicked. “Especially without anyone else here.”
Joong smiled faintly. It was small. Subtle. But it made Dunk want to scream again.
Or… maybe something else.
THREE
I Was Cold, Not In Love With You
By now, Dunk was ninety-five percent sure they weren’t actually lost.
Not really.
Maybe emotionally. But geographically? They were circling.
“We passed that tree before,” he muttered, staring up at the twisting branch that looked suspiciously like a middle finger.
Joong barely flicked an ear. “We passed five trees before. We’re in a forest.”
Dunk wanted to throw himself into a patch of poison ivy. “I knew this was a scam. I knew it. Hybrid camp was supposed to be leadership training, not forced wilderness marriage therapy.”
Joong’s golden eyes flashed. “If this is therapy, you’re failing.”
Dunk bristled. “I’m not the one who started fixing other people’s collars with my mouth!”
Joong tilted his head slowly. “You were shivering.”
“I was dignified.”
“You were practically vibrating.”
“Because I was cold, not in love with you!”
Silence.
Even the birds paused.
Dunk felt the words echo off the trees and hit him in the spine. He shut his mouth fast and turned away. “I mean—ugh—whatever.”
Joong didn’t say anything. He just padded past Dunk, tail flicking with unreadable rhythm. Not angry. Not smug. Just… quiet.
Too quiet.
Which, frankly, was worse.
---
By midday, they found a stream. Dunk immediately went into spa mode, bathing like a drama queen in a skincare commercial.
Joong perched nearby, casually eating something berry-adjacent and definitely not FDA approved.
“You’re going to die,” Dunk muttered as he cleaned behind his ear. “And I’m not dragging your body back.”
Joong licked juice off his paw. “If I die, you’ll starve within a day. You haven’t even figured out which moss is edible.”
Dunk scoffed. “I don’t do moss.”
“You will.”
Dunk shot him a look. “Is this your kink or something? Watching me suffer?”
Joong didn’t smile. Not exactly. But his whiskers twitched. “You’re very entertaining.”
“That’s not a compliment.”
“It is when I say it.”
Dunk groaned and flopped dramatically onto a sun-warmed rock, limbs stretched out like a lazy god. “Three days of this. I could’ve been home, in silk pajamas, watching my shows.”
Joong stared at him. “You don’t even like being home.”
“What?”
Joong’s eyes didn’t leave his. “You always complain about how quiet it is. How nobody gets you. How your parents push you around.”
Dunk froze. “How do you know that?”
Joong shrugged. “I listen.”
“…Since when?”
“Since you were twelve. Since you hissed at me.”
Dunk nearly fell off the rock. “I hissed at you because you were staring like a serial killer!”
“You were cute when you were angry.”
“What?!”
Joong finally, finally grinned. It was soft and mean and infuriatingly hot for a goddamn cat. “You still are.”
Dunk made a noise somewhere between a screech and a gasp. “You—you—you are the worst.”
Joong stood up. Walked closer. Close enough that Dunk could smell the warm earth on his fur, the faint floral scent of wild grass.
Dunk’s heartbeat stuttered. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Joong asked calmly.
“Don’t come over here like you’re in a music video. Don’t look at me like that.”
“I always look at you like this.”
“No you don’t!”
“You never notice.”
Dunk didn’t have a comeback.
Mostly because Joong had now placed one paw directly next to his. Their whiskers were practically brushing.
“Say something,” Dunk whispered.
Joong didn’t. Just leaned in, nose barely grazing Dunk’s.
And then—THUMP.
A pinecone dropped from a branch above and hit Dunk square on the head.
He yowled. Leapt into the air. Spun. Landed with a furious fluff-ball hop. “The forest HATES ME!”
Joong was laughing. Not a smirk. Not a chuckle. Full-on, body-shaking, tail-wagging laughter.
Dunk glared. “I hope a squirrel kills you in your sleep.”
Joong wiped a paw over his face, still smiling. “Romantic.”
Dunk’s fur fluffed up. “I am going to die alone, and it’ll be your fault.”
---
That night, they didn’t talk much.
They just curled up under the old wooden slats, like they had for two nights now. Dunk pressed his back to Joong’s. Warmth. Quiet. Breath.
And somewhere in the dark, Joong’s voice, low and almost unsure:
“You don’t have to hate me forever.”
Dunk didn’t answer for a long time.
Then, quietly, “We’ll see.”
But he didn’t move away.
---
To be continued...