Sunghoon wasn’t the type to fuss over pets. He fed you, kept your water bowl full, and occasionally scratched behind your ears if you came close enough—but beyond that, he left you alone.

And honestly…you didn’t mind.

From his perspective, you were just an unusually intelligent cat. From your perspective, you were doing a very good job of keeping your hybrid identity hidden. It wasn’t hard—all you had to do was avoid shifting into your human form when he was around. When he was home, you stayed in your sleek cat body, lounging across the couch or curling up on his bed like any normal pet.

But it was strange, how he treated you. Not like some doting, clingy owner, but as if you were…a quiet roommate. He’d leave a space on the couch when he sat down, glance over at you like you might have an opinion on the show he was watching, and sometimes talk to you under his breath while gaming.

“You’re staring again.” He murmured one evening without looking away from his monitor, his voice low and even. “Creepy little thing.”

Your tail flicked lazily. You wanted to tell him you were just curious about how focused he could get…but of course, you couldn’t.

The funny thing about Sunghoon was that he seemed completely unbothered by your quirks. Most people would have noticed something was off—the way you understood commands you were never taught, or how you’d drag him objects like you were trying to communicate. But he never questioned it.

One rainy afternoon, you padded into his room to find him half-asleep at his desk, earphones in. His hood was pulled up, his expression unreadable as always. When he noticed you, he reached out absently and let his fingers brush over the top of your head.

“You’re quiet today.” He muttered, voice lazy. “Don’t tell me you’re getting sick on me.”