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The first thing Yoo Joonghyuk learned about living with a fox hybrid was that the concept of "personal space" did not exist.
It was 6:00 AM on a Saturday. The sun was barely threatening the horizon.
Yoo Joonghyuk was awake, not because he wanted to be, but because he was currently being suffocated by a mouthful of white fur. He sputtered, spitting out a stray hair, and opened his eyes. Kim Dokja was asleep on his chest. Not beside him, but on him. The hybrid was curled into a tight, impossible ball. His human limbs were tucked underneath him, his face was buried in the crook of Joonghyuk’s neck, and his massive, bushy white tail—the source of Joonghyuk’s near-asphyxiation—was draped directly across Joonghyuk’s mouth like a scarf.
Joonghyuk stared at the ceiling. He sighed, a long, weary exhalation that ruffled the fur on the tail. The tail flicked, just once. A lazy acknowledgement.
"Get off," Joonghyuk grumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
"No," Dokja mumbled into his collarbone.
"The heater didn't work."
"You have a heating pad."
"It doesn't have a heartbeat," Dokja slurred, sounding overly pleased with himself. "And it doesn't get annoyed when I poke it."
To prove his point, the fox ears atop Dokja’s messy black hair twitched—one swiveled toward the window, checking for threats, while the other remained focused on Joonghyuk. It was instinctual, that Dokja constantly claimed he couldn't control, though Joonghyuk knew he was a liar. Joonghyuk reached up and grabbed the base of the tail, giving it a firm tug.
"I need to make breakfast."
That got a reaction.
The ears perked up instantly. The heavy weight on his chest shifted as Dokja lifted his head. His eyes were bleary, his pupils blown wide in the dim light, looking less like a cunning demon king and more like a confused woodland creature.
"Chicken?" Dokja asked.
"Omelets."
"With chicken?"
"Vegetables." Dokja made a noise—a high-pitched, vibrating gekker sound that came from the back of his throat. It was a sound of profound disappointment. He flopped back down, his nose bumping against Joonghyuk’s jaw.
"You're abusing me," Dokja whispered tragically. "I'm a wild animal. I need protein. I need the thrill of the hunt."
"Your 'thrill of the hunt' was fighting the robot vacuum yesterday," Joonghyuk said, shoving Dokja off him and sitting up.
"And you lost."
The apartment was covered in white hair. It was a fact of life, like gravity or death. No matter how much Joonghyuk cleaned, the evidence of the fox was everywhere.
Joonghyuk stood in the kitchen, chopping scallions with the precision of a surgeon. Behind him, he could hear the click-click-click of claws on the hardwood floor.
Dokja padded into the kitchen. He was wearing one of Joonghyuk’s black t-shirts, which hung down to his mid-thighs, leaving his pale legs bare. The tail was swishing back and forth in a hypnotic rhythm, betraying his mood.
Swish, swish.
"Joonghyuk-ah," Dokja whined. He leaned against the counter, trying to peer at the cutting board. "My tail itches."
Joonghyuk didn't look up. "Brush it yourself."
"I can't reach the base properly," Dokja lied. He hopped up onto the counter—something Joonghyuk had forbidden a thousand times—and sat right next to the cutting board, tucking his knees to his chest.
Joonghyuk stopped chopping. He slowly turned his head to glare at the intruder. Dokja blinked, his golden-brown eyes wide and innocent. He slowly, deliberately, draped his tail over Joonghyuk’s forearm. The fur was incredibly soft, dense and winter-thick.
"Get down," Joonghyuk said.
"Brush me," Dokja countered.
"I am holding a knife."
"I can't hear you." Dokja leaned in, resting his chin on Joonghyuk’s shoulder.
"You love me. You bought me the expensive salmon oil for my coat."
"I bought it so you would stop shedding on my black coats. It didn't work." Joonghyuk sighed, defeated.
He set the knife down, washed his hands. Then, without a word, he turned and grabbed the slicker brush he kept in the "junk drawer"—which was actually the "Dokja drawer." As soon as the metal bristles touched the base of the tail, Dokja melted. It was embarrassing, really.
"Mmm," Dokja hummed, his eyes closing. His ears flattened against his skull in pleasure. Joonghyuk worked efficiently. He brushed through the thick undercoat, pulling out tufts of loose white fur. He worked his way down the length of the tail, his movements firm but gentle. Dokja started to make the noise. It wasn't quite a purr—foxes didn't purr—but it was a soft, chittering trill. Rrr-ip. Rrr-ip.
"You're disgusting," Joonghyuk murmured affectionately, pulling a particularly large clump of shedding fur from the brush.
"You love it," Dokja slurred, his head lolling back.
"You like taking care of me."
"I like things to be clean."
"Sure, Your Highness."
Dokja let out a long, shaky breath and leaned his entire weight against Joonghyuk’s side. For a moment, the kitchen was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of the brush and the simmering of the pan.
This was the trade-off. The bickering, the biting, the chaos—it was all worth it for these moments where Dokja, who never trusted anyone, allowed himself to be completely vulnerable. To show his belly, figuratively speaking.
Joonghyuk leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Dokja’s head, right between the fox ears. Dokja went stiff. Then, his face turned a bright, violent shade of red.
"Don't do that," he snapped, batting Joonghyuk’s hand away and scrambling off the counter. He smoothed his shirt down, trying to regain his dignity. His tail, however, was wagging so hard it was vibrating.
"Do what?" Joonghyuk asked innocently, picking up his knife again.
"Be... gross." Dokja sniffed, turning his nose up.
"I'm going to play games. Call me when the food is ready."
"Don't eat the controller cables," Joonghyuk called after him.
"I ONLY DID THAT ONE TIME!"
The afternoon was a different kind of war, it was "The Zoomies" hour.
Joonghyuk was trying to read a report on his tablet.
Dokja was currently experiencing a burst of kinetic energy that defied the laws of physics. He was in his semi-transformed state—still human-shaped, but with sharpened canines and nails that were slightly too pointed. He ran from the bedroom to the living room. He jumped over the back of the couch. He slid across the floor in his socks, crashed into the wall, rebounded, and did it again.
"Dokja," Joonghyuk said, not looking up from his reading.
"The energy!" Dokja yelled from the hallway. "It’s in my legs! I have to run!"
"Go for a run outside."
"It’s cold!"
Suddenly, there was silence. Joonghyuk paused.
Silence was worse than noise.
He stood up and walked into the bedroom. Kim Dokja was on the bed. He was furiously digging at Joonghyuk’s pillows. Or rather, he was digging a hole into the duvet to hide something.
"What are you burying?" Joonghyuk asked.
Dokja froze.
He looked over his shoulder as he was holding Joonghyuk’s phone charger in his mouth. They stared at each other.
"Drop it," Joonghyuk said. Dokja narrowed his eyes. He made a low, defiant sound.
"Kim Dokja. Drop the charger."
Dokja slowly, maintaining intense eye contact, shoved the charger under the pillow and sat on top of it.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Dokja said.
Joonghyuk rubbed his temples.
He walked over to the bed. Dokja bristled, his ears pinning back, his tail fluffing up to twice its normal size to make himself look bigger.
It was adorable.
Joonghyuk simply reached out, grabbed Dokja by the scruff of his neck (gently), and lifted him.
"Ack! Unhand me! This is an indignity!" Dokja flailed his limbs. Joonghyuk retrieved the charger with his other hand, then dropped Dokja back onto the mattress.
"You are a menace," Joonghyuk said.
"I'm bored," Dokja whined, rolling onto his back and looking at Joonghyuk upside down.
"Play with me."
"I am busy."
"Boring. You're a boring sunfish."
Dokja reached up and batted at Joonghyuk’s hand with his paws—hands, but they acted like paws.
"Hunt me."
Joonghyuk paused. "What?"
"Chase me," Dokja grinned, his canines glinting.
"If you catch me, you can do whatever you want."
Joonghyuk felt a vein in his forehead twitch. The challenge hung in the air. Dokja knew exactly what buttons to push.
He knew Joonghyuk was competitive.
"Five seconds," Joonghyuk said, his voice dropping an octave.
Dokja’s eyes widened. He scrambled off the bed, slipping on the hardwood, and bolted for the door.
"One," Joonghyuk counted. He unbuttoned his cuffs.
"Two." He heard a crash in the living room.
"Three." A manic giggle echoed down the hall. Joonghyuk didn't bother with four or five. He moved. The chase lasted exactly thirty seconds. Dokja was fast, agile, and slippery, diving under the dining table and vaulting over the armchair. But Joonghyuk was bigger, faster, and knew the terrain. He cornered Dokja near the balcony door. Dokja tried to feint left, but Joonghyuk anticipated it, lunging forward and tackling him onto the thick rug.
"Caught you," Joonghyuk growled, pinning Dokja’s wrists above his head. Dokja was panting, his chest heaving, his face flushed. He was laughing, breathless, delighted sounds that transformed into high-pitched yips.
"You cheated," Dokja gasped. "You didn't count to five."
"There's no rules." Joonghyuk lowered his head and bit—gently, teeth grazing skin—at the sensitive junction of Dokja’s neck and shoulder. Dokja shrieked, a happy, startled sound, and his tail thumped wildly against the floor.
Evening brought the comedown and the energy crash.
After a dinner of spicy chicken stew (where Joonghyuk had picked the meat off the bones for him because Dokja pretended his hands were "too tired"), they were on the couch. The apartment was dark, lit only by the TV screen. Dokja was in "loaf mode." He was curled up on the cushions, limbs tucked in, tail wrapped around his nose. He was watching the screen, but his eyelids were drooping.
Joonghyuk sat next to him, a book in his hand. He wasn't reading. Instead, he was watching Dokja fight sleep.
"Come here," Joonghyuk said softly.
Dokja didn't argue. He uncurled and crawled over, maneuvering himself until his head was in Joonghyuk’s lap, as if it was his designated spot. Joonghyuk’s hand automatically went to the ears. He rubbed the velvet-soft fur at the base, scratching lightly.
"Joonghyuk-ah," Dokja mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
"Mn?"
"You're a good nest." Joonghyuk snorted.
"Is that all I am to you? Furniture?"
"No," Dokja whispered. He nuzzled his face into Joonghyuk’s stomach, inhaling the scent of him.
"You're... my keeper."
It was a loaded word. In the hybrid world, a keeper was everything. Protector, provider, partner.
Home.
Joonghyuk felt a warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with the room temperature. He rested his hand on Dokja’s back, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing.
"Go to sleep, Kim Dokja."
"Don't leave," Dokja muttered, his hand clutching the fabric of Joonghyuk’s shirt.
"Even if I bite you. Don't leave."
"I'm not going anywhere," Joonghyuk promised.
"Even if you bite."
He waited until Dokja’s breathing evened out, until the twitching of the fox ears stopped. Then, Joonghyuk leaned back, pulling the blanket up over both of them. Living with a fox was loud, messy, and exhausting. His chargers were chewed, his clothes were covered in fur, and his patience was tested daily. Joonghyuk looked down at the sleeping disaster in his lap.
He wouldn't trade it for anything.
Though, he reminded himself as he closed his eyes, he was definitely buying a cage for the chargers tomorrow.