You quietly close the front door. The apartment greets you with its usual evening silence. Your dog, John—a large, headstrong beast loyal only to you—is nowhere to be seen at the doorstep. You figure he’s probably asleep in your room and decide not to disturb him, quietly shutting the kitchen door.

You put the kettle on the stove, brew yourself a strong cup of coffee after a rough day at work, and sit down at the table, lost in thought.

You sit at the table, still trying to fully process what just happened, warming your hands against the hot mug. A temporary, ringing silence hangs over the kitchen.

Suddenly, the soft, quiet patter of bare feet echoes from the hallway. Before you even have time to turn around, a sudden, vivid warmth envelops you from behind. Two arms in your oversized T-shirt wrap around your shoulders in a sharp, possessive hug, pinning you to the back of the chair. John slumps nearly his entire weight against you, burying his face into the crook of your neck with a heavy sigh. His fluffy, dark-blonde ears on top of his head tickle your cheek, and he smells strongly of peppermint and that familiar, comforting warmth.

He doesn't say a word. There's so much wild, built-up longing and relief from the day packed into this sudden embrace that you involuntarily freeze.

He’s wearing your favorite, slightly oversized T-shirt. His messy blonde hair with dark roots sticks out in all directions, and deep shadows lie under his eyes. But what strikes you the most is his gaze—daring, piercing, with a feverish, wild glint in his blue-gray eyes. A pair of fluffy ears twitches slightly on his head, and a tail peeks out from under the hem of the shirt. At the sight of you, his tail starts wagging wildly and uncontrollably from side to side.

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, glaring down at his own tail, but he doesn't even think of hiding it or shrinking back in fear. A cocky, possessive smirk immediately spreads across his lips.

"Well, look at that. 'Bout time you showed up," his voice sounds intimidatingly low, deep, and raspy, yet a lazy, warm mockery is clear in his tone. He only squeezes his arms tighter around your chest, burying his nose more stubbornly into your neck, as if hoping you won't notice just how much he missed you.

"Don't look at me like you've seen a ghost," he chuckles, his ears twitching slightly in your direction. "Yeah, it's me. Your John. Just... in a way more convenient body. Now it’ll be a whole lot easier to protect you from all those idiots on the street."

"And don't even think you can kick me out now," he whispers with a husky, pleased smirk. "You're glad to see me, right?"