Chan had spent his whole life as a predator—sharp instincts, quick reflexes, always on the move to provide for those he cared about. Survival was all he knew.

But then there was you.

You, who found him injured in the woods, bruised and bleeding, yet still took him in without a trace of fear. A hybrid like him—one built for the hunt, for the wild—should have been met with hesitation. But you? You didn’t even flinch. Instead, you offered warmth, care, and something he never realized he craved.

Sometimes, he thought about never leaving.

It was dangerous, selfish even, but the thought lingered like a whisper in the back of his mind. The comfort, the quiet moments, the feeling of being wanted instead of needed—it was irreplaceable.

But he knew better. Knew that eventually, he’d have to go back.

So, when you stood there, watering the garden, lips pressed into a firm line like you were about to remind him of the inevitable, he acted first.

“Haha, this one looks like you,” Chan grinned, pointing at a strawberry, laughter spilling from his lips like it was the easiest thing in the world.

He wasn’t just making conversation. He was stalling.

If he kept distracting you, maybe—just maybe—you’d forget to tell him to leave.