Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s not that Hanbin doesn’t like Matthew’s new boyfriend.

It’s just that… Hanbin doesn’t trust Matthew’s new boyfriend. 

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Yes, he is,” Hanbin replies flatly, arms crossed, tail flicking with agitation.

“No, he’s not,” Matthew insists again.

They’ve had this conversation too many times already.

To be fair, on paper, there’s nothing wrong with Zhang Hao. 

Outwardly, he’s perfectly acceptable… He’s well-dressed, a music major, charming in that effortless way people from money seem to be, and smart enough to keep up with Matthew even as he switches between languages at random. 

Matthew had met him at some mixer for foreign students earlier in the semester, and apparently they’d hit it off. Well enough that a month later, Matthew had come home reeking of soju with Zhang Hao trailing behind him, and Hanbin had had the immense displeasure of trying to sleep through the sounds of them going at it for nearly two hours.

The next morning had been worse, when he'd gone in to gently wake Matthew and urge him to head to his classes only to find that his hook up from the night before was still in his bed, and not just that, Zhang Hao had watched him the whole time he was getting Matthew ready, there had been something about the way he looked at Hanbin that made the hybrid’s skin crawl.

 His gaze had been too slow, too deliberate, his eyes dragging from ears to tail with the sort of interest that made Hanbin feel less like a person and more like an object. 

Then, his hand had landed lightly on Hanbin’s back, just resting there, in a way that could almost be considered casually, but clearly wasn’t.

Every move had been done with clear intent.

Hanbin had met plenty of people like that before.

People that saw hybrids not as equals.

Not as friends, or roommates. 

But as accessories.

As property.

As something to be laid down and used .

Hanbin had politely pretended not to hear when the next time Zhang Hao had come over asked Matthew, not even slightly subtly, if Hanbin was a pleasure hybrid. Like it was a reasonable question to ask in front of him.

And he’d pointedly tried not to fixate on the way Zhang Hao had tsked and said ‘what a shame,’ when Matthew replied that Hanbin was an emotional support hybrid, gifted to him by his grandmother to help with his anxiety and the stress of moving to Seoul for college.

Hanbin had hoped—stupidly—that that would be the end of it. 

Matthew didn’t do repeats. 

He never brought the same hookup home twice. 

That had been the unspoken rule of their shared apartment.

But Zhang Hao was the exception.

He came back a second time. Then a third. And now—

“Oh, so you just call someone you’ve brought back here three times to sleep with, who’s now moving into our apartment— not your boyfriend?”

“His old roommate is a dick! He just needs a place to stay!” 

“Then he can stay with someone else,” Hanbin snaps. “We don’t have room.”

“Yes, we do,” Matthew fires back. “We’ve got two bedrooms, and—”

“You want me to give up my room so your boyfriend can move in here?!”

“He’s not my boyfriend! And I’m not kicking you out,” he insists, “I’m just saying you can move into the office!  It’s not like we need an office anyways!”

Hanbin’s nose wrinkles in disgust, and his ears flick back, the way they always do when he’s deeply annoyed. 

“The office is tiny,” he counters. “It’s barely big enough for a desk and a lamp.”

“Well, I’ll move the desk out,” Matthew says.“There’s plenty of room for a bed in there if we clear some stuff. I can put my computer in my room. It'll be fine.”

It will not be fine. 

Hanbin’s tail lashes behind him. 

Everything about this feels wrong. 

Not just the logistics, but the principle of it. 

He doesn’t want to give up his room. 

He doesn’t want to be shuffled around like an afterthought.

And more than anything—he doesn’t want Zhang Hao living here.

“Why can’t you just share a room with him, then?” Hanbin asks, his eyes narrowing. “If he’s so important.”

“Because as I said, we’re not boyfriends,” Matthew adds, “It’s just casual, nothing serious, and sharing a room is a serious commitment.” 

“Right. But moving in isn’t?”

“It’s not,” Matthew says stubbornly. “It’s me being a good friend.”

Hanbin stares at him for a long moment, ears tilted back, tail curling close to his ankle. 

There’s so much he wants to say, about friendship, about territory, and about how he doesn’t want Zhang Hao living with them, but all of it gets stuck in his throat. 

He knows how it’ll sound if he says it out loud.

Petty. 

Jealous. 

Irrational.

“Look,” Matthew sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know you’re upset about the room—”

“It’s not just the room,” Hanbin cuts in, voice low.

“—And I get that it’s weird having someone you don’t really know move in,” Matthew continues, talking over him. “But Zhang Hao-hyung has really helped me out. With classes, and… with making friends here. I just want to return the favor. So can’t you please try to get along with him?”

There’s something in Matthew’s voice that gives Hanbin pause, a level of sincerity that cuts through Hanbin’s frustration and leaves him feeling vaguely guilty about having made such a big deal out of this. 

And somewhere deep down, a small, foolish voice whispers that maybe Matthew’s right .  

Maybe Zhang Hao is just… awkward. 

Or raised with the kind of ignorance that comes from never having to understand hybrids. 

Maybe he didn’t mean to be condescending. 

Maybe, with time, he’ll learn to act like a decent person.

Maybe.

“Fine,” Hanbin mutters. “I’ll move my stuff into the office.”

Matthew’s whole face lights up with relief. 

The shift in his scent is immediate, warmth and affection curling in the air like sunshine. Matthew steps forward and throws his arms around Hanbin’s shoulders pulling him into a tight hug. 

“Thank you, hyung,” he says, voice muffled against Hanbin’s hoodie. “And I promise , you’ll like Hao-hyung once you get to know him. He’s just awkward at first.”

That much Hanbin highly doubts.

But Matthew looks so happy, so grateful, and Hanbin doesn’t have it in him to ruin the moment.

“If you say so, Matthew-ah.” 

 “…I told you not to stack the boxes like that!”

“It’s fine,” Zhang Hao replies, breathless. “You’re just weak.”

Hanbin watches them from the couch, sprawled sideways with one leg hanging lazily over the armrest, his tail flicking with idle annoyance. His ears twitch at their raised voices, but he doesn’t move to help.

He could, technically. 

He just doesn’t want to.

He much prefers lounging here, and watching them try to get all of Zhang Hao’s things into the apartment. 

Besides, he spent all of yesterday moving his own things, dragging every bit of his life out of the spare bedroom and into the cramped little office down the hall. It's barely big enough for him, but it’s slightly less suffocating now that Matthew’s gaming computer and massive desk have been relocated to a corner of the living room.

So, no. 

He’s done his share of moving. 

He’s not lifting a single finger for Zhang Hao.

A loud thump pulls his gaze toward the hallway just in time for him to see a wobbling tower of boxes tipping sideways. 

Matthew yelps, flinching back as something heavy and ceramic slips free and crashes to the floor with a sharp, shattering clatter.

Hanbin winces at the sound, but then allows himself to feel a flicker of satisfaction as the contents of the box spill out across the floor.

It’s petty, sure. 

But watching Zhang Hao’s carefully packed things tumble in a heap is just a little gratifying.

That is, until a distinctly Zhang Hao shaped shadow falls over him.

“Aren’t you going to help?” 

“No,” Hanbin replies blankly, pointedly not looking up at him. 

Still, Hanbin feels Zhang Hao staring at him. 

There’s a pause, one that’s far too long, long enough that Hanbin gives in and looks regretful a second later when he meets Zhang Hao’s eyes. There’s something dark and appraising in his eyes, something that makes Hanbin’s stomach tighten. 

“Do you just let him talk to you like that?” Zhang Hao asks Matthew, despite his gaze never leaving Hanbin.

“Ahhh, Hanbin-hyung’s just in a bad mood,” Matthew says, jogging over to where they are. He then crouches down, his voice quieter, as he whispers to Hanbin,  “Hyung… we talked about this. Be nice to Hao-hyung, okay? At least try.”

“I am being nice,” Hanbin mutters.

“No, you’re not,” Matthew replies with a frown. 

He opens his mouth to argue, but before he can speak, Zhang Hao cuts in, “Matthew-ah, you didn't tell me your hybrid was so disobedient." 

Hanbin’s ears flick back at the thought of that his tone. He's never liked Zhang Hao, partly because he's certain that Zhang Hao is just playing with Matthew's feelings, not realizing that Matthew is sensitive and the sort to get attached to a casual hook up, and partly because of the way he always speaks to Hanbin, like he's a pet rather than a person. 

“I’m not disobedient,” he points out. “I’m just not helping. There's a difference."

Zhang Hao tilts his head slightly, like he’s observing something curious and mildly distasteful. 

“Is there though?” he questions. “Didn’t Matthew just ask you to be nice to me? And here you are, laughing while my things break.”

Hanbin bites the inside of his cheek. 

He didn’t laugh . 

He snickered. 

Quietly. 

But he’s not sure that makes a difference.

This morning, he told Matthew he wouldn’t help Zhang Hao move in. He was upfront about it—still angry, still unsettled by the way his space had been taken from him. 

Matthew had said it was fine. 

That he understood.

And yet now, Matthew is frowning at him, and Zhang Hao’s still looking at him like he’s some disobedient pet, and Hanbin can’t help but feel that he’s doing something wrong. Like a disobedient pet.

“What do you usually do for his punishment when he acts out?” Zhang Hao asks, after a moment. 

“Uh—I don’t normally punish Hanbin-hyung. We don’t have like, rules. If he does something I don’t like, I usually just go, ‘ Yo, dude, don’t do that again,’ and he stops,” Matthew explains. 

Hanbin keeps his expression blank, but his throat feels tight. 

That’s always been something he appreciated about Matthew, that he never treated Hanbin like he was something owned. It was likely something that he’d picked up from how Matthew’s grandmother had always treated him like she was one of her own children, rather than a pet. 

When they’d been younger and Matthew and his sister would come to visit Korea in the summer, his grandmother had never acted like there was any big difference between Hanbin and her two actual grandchildren, other than the fact that Hanbin had cat ears and a tail, while Matthew and Yaebin did not. 

“What about his last owner?” Zhang Hao presses. “Your grandmother. What did she do when he disobeyed?”

Hanbin’s tail twitches uneasily at Zhang Hao’s tone.

“Where I grew up, hybrids didn’t get away with this kind of attitude,” Zhang Hao continues, “They respected their owner's directions and if not there were consequences. Matthew, you might not know this, but there have been scientific studies that have proven that hybrids need clear directions and expectations to thrive. You're doing him a disservice by not properly providing him that structure as his owner."  

"Hanbin-hyung's not like other hybrids though," Matthew says. “He's like a person, not a pet, we're friends. Honestly, I don't think grandmother ever punished Hanbin, not like that. "

"She did," Hanbin says, correcting Matthew, if only to bring an end to the conversation. "She'd have me kneel facing a wall until I'd learned my lesson." 

Truth be told, Grandmother had rarely punished him. 

He’d been a good hybrid, well-behaved, everyone always said so. 

And when he was young, on the rare occasion he did act out, Grandmother would simply make him kneel facing the wall, a quiet time-out, nothing harsh or demeaning, the same sort of time out that she'd once put Matthew in when he'd broken her favorite vase by playing baseball in the house. And afterwards, she would talk to him gently, explaining things like his feelings mattered. That her rules were for his own good, and to keep him safe. 

“Oh,” Matthew says, sounding surprised. “Huh.”

Matthew hesitates. The crease between his brows deepens. Hanbin can see the uncertainty there, the indecision, he’s clearly uncomfortable, being caught between Hanbin and Zhang Hao.

And a horrible feeling settles in Hanbin’s stomach as he watches Matthew’s expression.

The realization that despite their years of knowing each other, Matthew is choosing Zhang Hao over him. 

So much for Zhang Hao not being his boyfriend.  

“Hyung…” Matthew says softly, apologetically. “Wouldn’t you rather just… help us, instead of kneeling?”

"No."

"Hyung..."

"I actually find it meditative! Soothing even!" Hanbin says, rising up from where he had been reclining. "Much better than going up and down three flights of stairs!"

He doesn’t want to kneel, not really.

But helping now would feel like surrender.

Like letting Zhang Hao win something that isn’t even a game.

Because even if he’s ashamed of what it will look like to kneel facing the wall like a petulant kitten, he refuses to give Zhang Hao the satisfaction of getting what he actually wants, which is Hanbin playing along nice with him. 

So Hanbin walks across the room, putting as much space between him and the other two as possible, and sinks down to his knees.

Behind him, neither Matthew nor Zhang Hao speaks for a long moment. 

Then—“Hao-hyung, maybe this is a bit much…”  

Zhang Hao just lets out a disappointed sigh.

Hanbin can't help but feel a small bit of satisfaction at that, at knowing that he didn't give Zhang Hao what he wanted.

That makes the embarrassment of the whole situation almost worth it. 

Even if it comes at the cost of Matthew sitting down beside him, his voice quiet as he says, "Hanbin-hyung, just come help us, it'll go quicker with three people and if we don't get the van back soon they're going to charge Hao-hyung extra..." 

"I'm sure he can afford it." 

“Leave him, he's made up his mind," Zhang Hao says flatly. 

"Yeah, okay," Matthew says, standing up once more, but not before he whispers, "But Hyung, if you change your mind you can stand up and come help us any time, you're not really in trouble, okay?" 

Hanbin presses his lips together refusing to reply to Matthew, especially when he can't be too certain if Zhang Hao is still in the room listening. 

So instead, Hanbin stays still, facing the wall even after the front door shuts and he hears the telltale signs of Matthew and Zhang Hao going downstairs to get the rest of Zhang Hao’s belongings. 

Despite Matthew's statement that Hanbin could stand up whenever he was willing to help Hanbin stays kneeling. 

Through the noise of boxes being shuffled, furniture dragged, and laughter drifting down the hallway. Even as every second stretches his muscles tighter, even as the ache in his knees turns into something sharp and hot and unbearable, he stays. 

Not because anyone told him to.

Because he wants to see how long it’ll take Matthew to remember that he’s still here.

Kneeling and waiting.

Waiting like some obedient pet, because that’s what good hybrids do, isn’t it?

Even if Matthew never technically gave the command to kneel.

Hanbin had done it himself, partly out of spite, and partly to see if Matthew would choose him over Zhang Hao, and yet... 

His knees pulse with a sick sort of rhythm, numb, then burning, then numb again and his ears remain flat, flicking only when a door closes or footsteps pass too close.

Time means nothing anymore.

Eventually, the sounds die away. 

A hush settles over the apartment.

They must have gone to return the van. Matthew hadn’t come back for him, hadn’t even thought to check on him, or to say anything before leaving. 

And while Hanbin knows logically that he could probably get up and disappear into his room without repercussions, after all, there was no further unpacking to be done, no reason to stay in his technically self-imposed exile. 

Because getting up now would be giving in.

And Hanbin has never been good at giving in.

Time stretches so long that he loses track. 

And he’s still kneeling when the front door creaks open, followed by the unmistakable sound of Matthew swearing under his breath. Footsteps—quick and socked—rush toward him.

“Shit—Hanbin-hyung, I—”

Matthew’s fingers thread gently through Hanbin’s hair, stroking over the curve of one ear with careful motions, clearly apologetic. 

It’s the kind of touch Hanbin usually leans into without thinking. 

He loves having his ears pet, likes the way it makes everything else soften—his mind, his body, the tension in his shoulders.

His body remembers that before his heart does.

He leans instinctively into it, the faintest vibration of a purr threatening to rise in his chest—Before he remembers.

The way Matthew chose Zhang Hao over him.

The way Matthew had gotten so caught up in Zhang Hao being there that he’d forgotten Hanbin for hours . 

Hanbin flinches away from the touch with a sharp jerk.

“Hanbin-hyung…” His voice is soft, sad. He sinks down beside Hanbin slowly, legs folding close, reaching out to pull Hanbin’s gaze away from the wall so their eyes can meet and Matthew’s sincerity can clearly be seen as he says, “I’m so sorry.”

Hanbin’s chest tightens. 

His eyes sting with heat. 

His throat is tight, eyes hot, and when he speaks his voice is flat and formal, "If my punishment is over, I’d like to go to bed, Master-nim.”

Matthew flinches, visibly.

Master.

The word had come out without thinking about it.

He’s never called Matthew that. Never even thought it. Not even with Grandmother.

But now?

Now it hangs heavy on in the air around them. 

“Hyung… don’t call me that. Please. I didn’t mean for—I just thought you’d… I thought you’d choose to help instead of…” Matthew cuts himself off. “I texted you, when I realized we left without me saying anything, Hao-hyung told me to, he said you probably needed a proper release or whatever that means, and I thought... I thought that if I gave you time to stop being mad at me, and if I texted you, it’d be okay.”

Hanbin blinks, caught off guard for just a moment by the idea that Zhang Hao had been the one to remember him. 

“My phone’s still over there. I haven’t touched it," Hanbin says gestruing to the couch. 

 “Hyung, I’m sorry. I should’ve checked. I should’ve—I lost track of time. I got caught up and I just… I didn’t mean to forget you. I didn’t mean to leave you there. I thought you’d stop on your own, I thought you’d get up and come find us—”

“I could’ve, but I didn’t,” Hanbin says, quietly, voice shaking. “Because I’m not disobedient." 

“I know,” Matthew breathes, wrecked. “I know, and I’m so sorry. I’ll never let this happen again. I swear, okay?" 

He means it.

Hanbin can sense that he means it, he hear the sincerity in Matthew's voice. 

But that doesn’t change anything.

Because Matthew forgot him.

Because Matthew got so wrapped up in Zhang Hao that he stopped thinking about Hanbin at all.

Hanbin rubs at his eyes with the backs of his hands, trying to scrub the tears away before they fall. He hates how wet they are. He hates that Zhang Hao might still be in the hallway, that he might hear him crying.

He hates this.

All of it.

Hanbin pointedly looks away from Matthew, and in response, Matthew makes a soft, heartbroken sound, that normally that would be enough to melt Hanbin. He’s always had a weak spot for Matthew’s guilt, for his helplessness.

But not today.

Today, Hanbin just feels betrayed.

“Hyung…” Matthew tries again. “We’re going to order in for dinner, okay? You can choose whatever you want, and—”

“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend what he wants,” Hanbin snaps, “Since clearly you care about his opinion more than mine.”

The silence that follows is deafening. 

Matthew’s expression twists like he’s been hit, and Hanbin regrets it immediately. He didn’t mean to be cruel to Matthew. He was supposed to look after Matthew, to take care of him and comfort him when he was feeling anxious. 

And instead… Shame curls in Hanbin’s chest, as his eyes drop down to his lap. 

They don’t fight.

They’ve never fought before.

They’ve always gotten along. 

Always understood each other.

Until today.

Until Zhang Hao.

“Hanbin-hyung… please. I said I was sorry. Hao-hyung’s sorry, too.”

“I doubt that,” Hanbin mutters, bitter.

“Let’s just… have dinner and put this behind us, okay?”

“I’m not hungry,” Hanbin says flatly. It’s a lie. They both know it. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast, and his traitorous stomach growls as if to expose him, but the thought of sitting across from Zhang Hao, pretending things are fine, makes him more nauseous than skipping dinner would.

Matthew frowns again, his worry obvious.

“Unless you want to order me to come to dinner too, Master-nim?"

“No... Hyung, I'd never, I...” Matthew looks close to tears himself, scrubbing at his cheeks, “You're free to do whatever you like." 

"Then I'd like to go to my room," Hanbin tells him." 

"Yeah, okay," Matthew eventually concedes. "We’ll talk tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah. Sure.” 

He pushes himself up to standing, even as his legs scream at him in protest. His knees buckle slightly, only just catching himself on the wall before he can fall, and he grits his teeth hard, against the pain of standing for the first time after hours of kneeling. 

He can already feel the bruises forming.

Grandmother never made him kneel this long.

“Hyung…” Matthew whispers, alarmed by the way Hanbin sways.

But Hanbin just shakes his head.

He doesn’t want Matthew’s comfort right now. 

He heads toward his bedroom, walking stiffly, only to stop short at the sight of Zhang Hao’s suitcase outside the door.

Right. 

His room isn’t his room anymore. 

Zhang Hao’s in there now. 

His room is the office.

Of course.

He turns and heads toward it, only to find Zhang Hao in the hallway, leaning against the wall next to the door to Hanbin’s new room, with a smirk that makes Hanbin want to bare his teeth.

“Make sure to ice your knees, Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao drawls. “I wouldn't want bruises on someone so pretty." 

Hanbin slams the door to the office hard enough to rattle the frame.

He’d thought it would feel satisfying to slam the door in Zhang Hao’s face, but instead all he feels is awful. 

His knees throb as he lays down on the bed, and he probably should go get ice for them, but getting ice means going back out there and facing Matthew and Zhang Hao and he doesn’t want to do that.

So instead, he curls his tail around himself tightly, trying to breathe as he lays down on his bed. 

The room is too quiet. 

Too clean. 

It doesn’t smell like him yet. 

Doesn’t feel right. 

He hates this.

He hates him .

He waits until the apartment is quiet. 

Until long after he’s sure both Matthew and Zhang Hao have fallen asleep. 

Hanbin cracks the door open with care, ears twitching as he listens. Letting out a sigh of relief when he hears no voices, no footsteps, no flickering of light from the hallway. Hanbin moves like a shadow, silent despite the dull throb in his legs, his hybrid instincts keeping each footstep light, even as his knees ache with every step. 

The freezer groans as he opens it, the sound too loud in the otherwise still night. He grabs a ziplock bag, scoops in some ice, presses it to his knees. The cold sends a momentary burst of relief through his aching joints, and Hanbin lets out a small hiss of breath.

His stomach growls again, and so he grabs a leftover container without even checking what’s inside, opening the microwave—“You move quietly for someone with bruises that bad.”

Hanbin jumps, the container clattering to the counter with far too loud a sound.

Zhang Hao leans in the doorway ever so casually watching him. 

Hanbin’s ears flatten. 

How had he not noticed Zhang Hao’s approach? 

“I was just getting ice,” he mumbles, reaching down to pick up the container. His cheeks are hot with embarrassment, and he turns back to the microwave like if he doesn’t make eye contact, maybe Zhang Hao will go away.

“And food, clearly,” Zhang Hao’s voice is a little smug as he adds, “You should’ve just joined us for dinner.”

“I wasn’t hungry then,” Hanbin lies, eyes fixed on the spinning microwave plate until it dings. He doesn’t even check if the food is warmed all the way through—just grabs a set of chopsticks and turns to leave.

Though a hand catches his arm before he can fully escape. 

Zhang Hao’s grip is firm, holding him in place. Though not so tight that Hanbin couldn’t break free if he wanted to. 

“Why so skittish, Hanbin-ah?” Zhang Hao asks, stepping closer, “You act like I’m going to bite.”

“Let go.”

“I came out to apologize. For earlier,” Zhang Hao says, ignoring the tension in Hanbin’s frame. “Maybe I got a little carried away with teasing. You're just so easy to rile up.”

“That wasn’t teasing,” Hanbin snaps. “It was humiliating.”

Zhang Hao smiles like that’s the point, “And yet, you chose the humiliating option of your own volition." 

Hanbin’s tail flicks.

The heat crawling up his spine isn’t just irritation, it’s shame, too. 

A sick, confused kind of shame that coils low in his gut, too hot. 

He could have gotten up at any time, Matthew had told him as much.

But he had stayed partly to prove a point, and partly because he hadn't been lying when he said that he found there to be something soothing in kneeling. 

He’s always liked pain.

Always found something dark and coiled and good in it.

When he was younger, he used to press his fingers into his bruises just to feel them bloom again, as he'd gotten older that fascination with pain had turned into something a bit more erotic, not that he would ever admit that out loud to anyone, let along Zhang Hao. 

“Come on,” Zhang Hao says, with exaggerated gentleness, guiding Hanbin by the wrist toward the barstool at the edge of the counter. “Let me see what damage we’ve done.”

Hanbin resists for a second too long, but the ice is slipping from his grip and his knees are throbbing, and as pleasurable as the pain was he really didn't want to spend the next week unable to wear shorts due to how badly bruised him his knees would probably be. 

“Show me,” Zhang Hao prompts. 

Hanbin hesitates, then sighs. 

Slowly, he pulls up the loose fabric of his pajama pants, revealing the purpling skin stretched over the bone. The angry, raw bruises that blossom over both knees.

Zhang Hao tsks under his breath, sounding displeased, “That’s pretty bad.”

“Don’t touch—” Hanbin hisses, but the warning is useless. Zhang Hao's fingers find the center of the bruise before the sentence finishes, pressing down just hard enough to send a flash of pain searing through Hanbin’s body.

A gasp breaks from his lips before he can stop it.

First comes the pain, and then, right behind it, trailing too closely for comfort, is the awful, low thrum of pleasure.

Hanbin shudders. His hips shift involuntarily, tail twitching in a traitorous flick. He’s furious at himself for the response, for the heat pooling low in his belly.

He thought he had control over this part of himself by now.

He thought he’d buried it.

Zhang Hao is watching him so closely that there's no way he could have missed how the pain made Hanbin feel. 

“You liked that?" Zhang Hao asks, though it's hardly a question. 

“I didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” Zhang Hao cuts in, voice gentler now. “Some subs do. Doesn’t make it bad.”

“That’s not…” Hanbin’s voice falters. “It’s not like that.”

But it is like that, isn’t it?

There’s a part of him, quiet and shameful, that has always been like that. That’s pressed fingers into old bruises just to feel the ache again. That’s taken secret comfort in being punished, not for the discipline, but for the burn. 

He's always hated that part of himself.

Always tried to ignore it.

To starve it out.

Zhang Hao presses again, deeper this time, and the whimper that escapes him is humiliating.

“There’s nothing shameful about enjoying pain, Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao murmurs. “With a properly experienced dom—”

“Why are you doing this?” Hanbin blurts, cutting him off. 

“Why am I doing what?”

“This,” he asks, as he gestures between them, “You’re being… nice.”

“Because you let yourself kneel for hours, despite not being directly ordered to,” Zhang Hao says. “And now you’re hiding in the kitchen, half-starved and bruised, because no one gave you aftercare.”

Aftercare.

The word makes his skin prickle.

He knows what it is, vaguely—something offered after scenes, to help bring subs down afterwards.

But he and Matthew weren't like that. 

That wasn't what was going on here... Was it? 

“Have you ever dropped before?” Zhang Hao prompts gently. 

"I'm not..." Hanbin starts, then stops.

He doesn’t know what he is anymore.

His thoughts are scrambled, and his knees ache, and his chest feels like it’s being squeezed tight from the inside.

Zhang Hao just lets out a quiet hum, as if Hanbin's silence is an answer enough. Then he stands, moving to the cabinet, pulls out a soft kitchen towel and dampening it with warm water, before he returns and gently places it on Hanbin’s knee.

The warmth sinks into him in a way the ice didn’t.

Soothing.

Steadying.

And Hanbin hates how much he needs it.

 How much he wants to lean into the heat and be held.

How it makes him feel… safe, even when it’s him doing it.

“Next time, I’ll—”

“There won’t be a next time,” Hanbin cuts in quickly, as if saying it fast enough will make it true. “I’m not a bad hybrid. I’m good at my job. I take care of Matthew.”

Zhang Hao’s smile falters for half a second. 

Just long enough for Hanbin’s stomach to drop. 

“And yet,” Zhang Hao says, his voice quieter now, but somehow more cutting, “I was the one comforting him earlier. While you were off sulking, he was panicking—wondering if you hated him, blaming himself. I held him while he cried, you know.”

Hanbin’s breath catches.

He doesn’t want to believe it, but he does.

Because Matthew wears guilt like it’s stitched into his skin.

Because Matthew is soft and stupid, and sweet and fragile in ways Hanbin has always protected.

Because Matthew had said please .

Because Matthew had said I’m sorry .

And despite all of that, Hanbin had still walked away upset with him, unwilling to accept his apologies. 

A lump forms in his throat. 

He swallows around it.

“I’m not a bad kitty,” Hanbin insists, even as his chest feels tight with guilt at having failed to properly do his one job. 

Zhang Hao's eyes flash with something dangerous as he asks, “Are you sure about that?” 

"Yes!" 

“I think you like being a bad kitty,” Zhang Hao muses. “The type of kitty that talks back, that takes punishment, that craves pain. And I think we both know Matthew isn’t giving you what you need.”

Hanbin wants to deny it.

To protest that Zhang Hao doesn’t know him.

That he’s wrong.

But the shame burns too hot in his chest.

Because deep down, he does like it.

He wants someone to take care of him.

He wants someone to pay attention to him.

He wants someone to make the choices for him.

He wants to be good—but being bad has always felt better.

“And what then?” Hanbin mutters. “You want to give it to me?”

"Maybe," Zhang Hao replies, "But only if you ask me nicely." 

"Go to hell," he says, voice rough as he stands, knees groaning under his weight. He grabs the container of food and the ice pack before Zhang Hao can try to stop him again.

Zhang Hao doesn’t stop him this time.

He just laughs at that, as if pleased by the response, "Suit yourself, Hanbin-ah, but if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me." 

Chapter Text

Zhang Hao has always had a thing for hybrids.

Not in the creepy, collecting-them-like-pets kind of way, though he admits, he gets the appeal. 

It’s something deeper than that. It’s the ears, the tail, and the fluid way they move, so often unnoticed by those that aren’t looking for them. Though most of all, it’s the way they look to their masters for direction, head tipped just so, waiting for directions, that natural submission that’s scientifically coded into their DNA, urging them to obey. 

Even the bold ones have it. 

In fact, the bold ones are more exciting to Zhang Hao, if he was being honest. That contrast between their defiance and their instinctual obedience, it’s always gotten to him. If asked he would have to say that his fascination with hybrid’s started the first time he saw one in the supermarket as a child, and that he never really got over it.

His family had been less than approving. To them, hybrids were abhorrent, unnatural abominations of nature that never should have existed in the first place. And the scientists that first invented them were either perverts or an abomination. 

The summer before leaving for college, Zhang Hao had started something quiet and secret with his neighbor’s hybrid, a shy little fox who spoke only when spoken to. They’d stolen kisses in the garden shed during summer break. The hybrid was the kind of sweet, trembling thing that made Zhang Hao feel alive for the first time in years.

Zhang Hao never forgot the thrill.

He also never forgot the fallout.

His parents had yelled, upset with him, not because he’d kissed a boy, but because he’d kissed a hybrid . They’d lectured him for hours about shame, and sin, words that echoed in his mind ever since, about how hybrids are beneath them, dirty and dangerous if untamed, and how he should never forget that they’re not people. 

But compared to how the hybrid he’d kissed had been punished, he’d gotten off easy. 

Zhang Hao could still see the hybrid’s teary face, hear the trembling apology whispered between sobs, as the owner demanded forgiveness between brutal swipes of a whip that left marks against the hybrid’s skin. 

He knew it was wrong and shameful , but it had been the image of the hybrid’s punishment that had lingered in his mind when he’d taken himself in hand that evening. 

A secret that he would have taken to the grave, had it not been for a little too much liquor at some university party, and another more experienced man knowing exactly what had fascinated Zhang Hao so much. It had been that senior that made Zhang Hao realize that it wasn’t just hybrids that made him feel this way, anyone submissive enough would do it for him, and who introduced him to a community of people who felt like him . 

He’s played both roles over the years. 

Let himself be bossed around in bed once or twice, mostly out of curiosity, but it never felt right. 

He liked being touched, sure. 

He liked being fucked, certainly, but only when he pulled the strings.

He doesn’t do relationships, doesn’t like the way they tangle, but he likes softness. He likes boys who squirm and blush, ones who want to be told what to do, who are eager to please, eager to give him everything that he wants. 

And so… When Jiwoong had introduced him to Matthew at a mixer, sweet little Matthew, who was oh so pretty, and a little anxious, but trying to cover it up with boldness and humor. Well… Zhang Hao knew it was only a matter of time before they ended up in bed. “ Be gentle with him, he’s just a baby ,” Jiwoong had warned, and Zhang Hao had smiled to himself.

If Matthew had hybrid ears and a tail, he’d have been Zhang Hao’s type exactly.

Not experienced in the scene, but full of potential.

Which was why he’d played his cards right, flirting, casually bringing up his interests, testing the waters to see if Matthew felt similar, and then one night, after the karaoke bar, tipsy on cheap soju and Matthew’s shy smiles, Zhang Hao let himself be invited back to Matthew’s apartment.

Nothing serious, because Zhang Hao never really did serious, because most boys couldn’t keep up with him, or satisfy him enough to last past the first night. 

And unfortunately, despite how much potential he’d seen in Matthew at their first meeting, there was something just lacking there. Matthew is decent enough at sex, likes being told what to do, but he nervously checked in for approval, constantly asking if he was okay, or doing things right, or hurting Zhang Hao, and it had been… mildly annoying, to say the least. 

Zhang Hao had been ready to write him off as a lost cause. At least Jiwoong would be happy that Zhang Hao hadn’t completely ruined his new favorite baby. 

That was until Zhang Hao saw him . 

Hanbin.

The most beautiful hybrid Zhang Hao’s ever seen. 

And that’s saying something. 

He’d been caught off guard at first, he always is, when real desire sneaks up on him. 

Matthew never once mentioned having a personal hybrid. 

Not during any of the times they’d hung out before, not during their tipsy make-out session on the couch at the karaoke bar, not even when Zhang Hao had joked about how hybrids are so much cuter than people. Matthew had just smiled, agreed, and sipped his drink like there wasn’t a literal walking wet dream in his spare room.

But there he is, lean and quiet and wrapped up in soft cotton pajamas, his dark hair falling messily into his eyes, his grey cats ears twitching with the tiniest flicks as he moves quietly into the room, like he didn’t want to be seen before gently waking Matthew up, so that he wouldn’t be late for his classes. 

Zhang Hao watches through half-asleep eyes as Hanbin gently coaxes Matthew into wakefulness. His hand softly brushes at Matthew’s hair to wake him, his voice low, soft enough not to startle Matthew, as he reminds him about a class he needs to get to and medication he needs to take.

Every motion is natural, practiced, and instinctive. The perfect picture of a submissive hybrid devoted to his human. Zhang Hao can’t bring himself to look away, can’t even consider taking his eyes off the way Hanbin moved with such gentle attentiveness, how seamlessly he slipped into the role of caretaker without hesitation or complaining, handing over the clothes quietly and tugging the sleeves straight with soft, delicate touches. 

His submission is even more beautiful than his face. 

It’s only after Hanbin has finished getting Matthew completely dressed and ready to go that the hybrid properly glances over at Zhang Hao. For a second their eyes meet, and Hanbin’s eyes go wide, before the hybrid breaks eye contact to look down Zhang Hao’s body. It’s quick, so much so that had Zhang Hao not been paying attention, he might have missed the way the hybrid had dragged his eyes down Zhang Hao’s nude body.

Though Hanbin gives himself away in the faint flush on his cheeks, and the way his tail flicks behind him with interest. 

“Matthew-ah, what should I do with him?” Hanbin asks, his voice barely loud enough for Zhang Hao to hear across the room. 

“Ahh,” Matthew says, rubbing his eyes, only now seeming to realize that Zhang Hao hadn’t left in the middle of the night. He smiles sweetly at Zhang Hao, with all the sweetness that had tempted Zhang Hao in the first place, “Hyung, I’ve got an early class this morning, so I have to go, but take your time waking up, okay? Hanbin-hyung will take care of you, he makes a really good breakfast!” 

Hanbin nods ever so slightly at Matthew’s words, though his smile is tight, and the second Matthew is gone from the apartment off to whatever class he has, the nice act drops completely. 

“If you’re not serious about Matthew,” Hanbin says, voice low and sharp, eyes flashing, “You need to stop this before he gets hurt.”

The sudden change in the hybrid’s demeanor, from docile and soft to something so much harsher is enough that Zhang Hao can’t help but be surprised, “Excuse me?”

“I’m serious,” Hanbin says, “He’s not yours to play with.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means,” Hanbin replies, his ears twitching, tension clear in his form. “I’ve seen your type before. Guys who flirt and fool around just because they can. Matthew doesn’t need that. He deserves someone who actually cares about him.”

“Ouch,” Zhang Hao breathes out, a soft laugh escaping. 

“He’s not like you,” Hanbin continues, standing his ground. “He’s kind. He trusts too easily. If you’re just using him for fun—”

“I am using him for fun,” Zhang Hao interrupts, “And what’s so wrong with that?”

Hanbin doesn’t answer right away, though Zhang Hao can see the way his jaw tightens, the way his tail flicks. There’s tension there, but something else too, something hot and unsettled that flickers behind his stormy eyes. The hybrid’s pupils are blown wide, how his hands have curled into fists at his sides. There’s anger there, yes, but layered beneath it, something else is there too. 

Something hotter. 

More unsettled.

Zhang Hao’s seen many a look like than on many men’s faces before. 

Desire . 

Clearly, Hanbin is attempting to suppress it, though Zhang Hao had noticed how Hanbin had looked at him while he’d just been undressed. Now, Zhang Hao lets his gaze drag slowly down the line of Hanbin’s body, just as Hanbin had looked him over earlier. He’s not ashamed to let show the interest he has for the hybrid.

“Are you sure you’re just being protective?” he asks, voice low, “Or are you jealous it was Matthew getting my attention last night, and not you?”

Hanbin’s ears flatten in displeasure. His lip curls just slightly, the faintest flash of sharp teeth, there’s a little edge to this kitty after all. 

But when he speaks, he doesn’t rise to the bait, he just says, “It’s my job to look after Matthew.”

“Oh?” Zhang Hao murmurs, stepping forward, until he’s just inside Hanbin’s space. He watches the way Hanbin tenses, the way he doesn’t back away. Good, he likes that in a submissive. “And you’re such a good little helper, aren’t you? Always doing your job. Always taking care of your human. Such a good little kitty.”

“Don’t come around here again.”

Zhang Hao grins. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a warning.”

He chuckles, low and delighted. “I really like you. We’re going to have a lot of fun together, kitty.”

“My name’s Hanbin,” the hybrid snaps, bristling. “Not—”

“Oh, I know what your name is.”

It’s with Hanbin in mind that Zhang Hao lets Matthew take him home a second time, and a third time after that. Each time, he makes sure to moan loudly enough when Matthew fucks him that there’s no way the hybrid can’t hear from the next room over.

Moving in with them, though? That really is just a coincidence.

He’d taken Matthew back to his own place once—not even to hook up, just to hang out—but his roommate had made some homophobic comment, and Matthew, in all his earnest sweetness, had insisted Zhang Hao shouldn’t have to live in that kind of environment.

Well, technically Hanbin ’s room, though that was only on account of Zhang Hao having so much stuff and needing the space, and Matthew insisting that Hanbin usually slept in Matthew’s room anyways, whenever Matthew wasn’t bringing people home, that is. 

“Though not like that hyung!” Matthew insists, through pink cheeks when Zhang Hao had arched an eyebrow in response to his comment, “We just cuddle! Nothing like what you and I do in bed! I swear!” 

“Have you two really never been intimate?”

Matthew trips on the curb, literally stumbles, nearly dropping the box in his arms, “W-What? No! Ew, what?”

“Not even once?”

“No!” Matthew laughs nervously. “Hanbin-hyung is like my family ! Cuddling helps with my anxiety, that’s all!”

“But wouldn’t being fucked really well help with your anxiety just as much?” Zhang Hao asks, his lips quirking, “You seemed so relaxed when I was riding you.” 

Matthew nearly drops the box again, his face bright red as he looks around them, “ Hyung! Don’t say that out loud! I don’t want my neighbors hearing about our—”

“He’s pretty,” Zhang Hao said idly. “And he listens to you so well. That kind of obedience… You’re telling me you’ve really never been tempted?”

Matthew shakes his head quickly. 

“No! No! You’re so funny, hyung!”

Zhang Hao watches him a moment longer, “So no chance of a threesome?”

“ Hyung! What?! Oh my god!”

“Just a thought.”

They’re quiet again as Matthew shimmies to open the door to the building once more.

Before Zhang Hao breaks the silence to ask, “Do you know if he’s untouched? Was he intimate with his last owner at all?”

“ Ugh , don’t say it like that,” Matthew groans, his expression twisting into something horrified. “That was my grandmother. Please don’t put those two things in the same sentence. That’s disgusting.”

“So you’re sure nothing happened?”

“Of course!” Matthew says, exasperated. “They were like… like family. She was lonely after my mom moved to Canada and my uncle left for the city, so she got a hybrid to keep her company. Empty nest vibes, you know? I mean… I wasn’t there year-round. I don’t know everything , but there’s no way anything like that ever happened between them.”

“Are you sure? He just doesn’t seem that innocent,” he says, thinking back to the sharp glint in Hanbin’s eyes, the steel in his voice when he’d said he’s not yours to play with . That hadn’t sounded like naivety, it had sounded like experience, and resentment, like someone who knew exactly what Zhang Hao was.

Matthew hesitates, biting his lip, as he seems to consider Zhang Hao’s words. 

“Where my grandmother lives, a lot of people have hybrids. I guess… it’s possible he’s done stuff?” Matthew replies, his voice lifting, uncertainty. “But I don’t know, hyung. It’s weird to think about.”

Zhang Hao only hums again in half agreement, as they enter the apartment. 

And of course, speak of the devil.

Hanbin is there, sprawled across the couch just as he’s been stationed there all morning, watching them move box after box from the van parked down by the curb up to the door. He’s stretched out with one arm over his head, one ear flicking lazily at the sound of the door every time it opens and closes, but otherwise, he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. 

And yet still, Zhang Hao can feel the weight of his gaze trailing every movement.

So he slows behind the couch, reaching out as he passes to brush over Hanbin’s tail with a ghost-light touch, one that could almost be accidental; the tail snaps away a second later out of his touch, but otherwise Hanbin doesn’t react.

Not overtly.

But Zhang Hao sees it. The way that Hanbin watches them with barely concealed attention, visible in the minute twitch of his ear, and the deliberate stillness of someone who is very aware they are being observed and chooses to pretend they don’t care.

He’s putting on a show, letting himself be seen as someone who doesn’t care enough to react to Zhang Hao’s presence.

And Zhang Hao can appreciate the performance of nonchalance. 

Right up until a stack of boxes tips near the doorway and something inside crashes to the floor with a heavy thud.

Matthew yelps. 

Zhang Hao hisses a curse.

And Hanbin snickers .

Not too loud, but loud enough to be heard. 

Zhang Hao turns on his heel, his tone sharp,  “Aren’t you going to help?”

“No,” Hanbin replies. Not a flicker of shame, not even the courtesy of eye contact.

Zhang Hao waits, letting the silence stretch long enough to sour the air around. When Hanbin finally does glance up, it’s with infuriating calm—and for a brief moment, Zhang Hao feels like he’s the one who’s been caught out.

Like he’s the one that’s supposed to submit, and Zhang Hao hates that. 

He hates that.

“Do you just let him talk to you like that?” 

“Ahhh, Hanbin-hyung’s just in a bad mood,” Matthew says quickly, crouching beside the couch. His voice is soft and gentle with the hybrid. “Hyung… we talked about this. Be nice to Hao-hyung, okay? At least try.”

“I am being nice,” Hanbin mutters.

“No, you’re not.”

Zhang Hao watches them interact as an outsider, carefully observing something he doesn’t quite belong to. He’d been curious about how this would play out with him moving in. Hanbin always acts so well behaved, put together, and responsible in front of Matthew, it seems that Matthew sees none of the sharpness that Zhang Hao has been greeted with every time he’s interacted with the hybrid.

At least, not usually. 

Here now with both of them in the room though Zhang Hao can see Hanbin’s internal struggle to be obedient for Matthew at war with his disapproval of Zhang Hao. 

“Matthew-ah,” he says, letting the words curl with indulgent amusement, “you didn’t tell me your hybrid was so disobedient.”

Hanbin’s ears flick back, his tail twitches. 

A reaction, finally . 

“I’m not disobedient,” Hanbin says evenly. “I’m just not helping. There’s a difference.”

Zhang Hao tilts his head, doing his best to try and get a rise out of the hybrid, to have him act the way he does when they’re alone, here and now when Matthew is in the room. 

“Is there though?” he asks coolly. “Didn’t Matthew just ask you to be nice to me? And here you are, laughing while my things break.”

Hanbin’s jaw tightens. Just barely. A slip, not a crack.

But Zhang Hao sees it.

He’s holding back.

Not because he doesn’t want to strike—but because he’s choosing not to. 

And that… that’s disappointing .

So Zhang Hao can’t help but press a little further 

“What do you usually do for his punishment when he acts out?” Zhang Hao asks Matthew, his voice deceptively casual.

“Uh—I don’t normally punish Hanbin-hyung. We don’t have like, rules. If he does something I don’t like, I usually just go, ‘Yo, dude, don’t do that again,’ and he stops.”

Zhang Hao’s mouth lifts at the corners, but there’s no warmth behind the smile.

“What about his last owner? Your grandmother. What did she do when he disobeyed?”

Matthew hesitates.

“Where I grew up, hybrids didn’t get away with this kind of attitude,” he says, each word cool and clipped. “They respected their owner's directions, and if not, there were consequences. Matthew, you might not know this, but there have been scientific studies proving hybrids thrive with structure and discipline. You’re doing him a disservice by not providing that.”

“Hanbin-hyung’s not like other hybrids though. He’s like a person. Not a pet. We’re friends. Honestly, I don’t think Grandmother ever punished Hanbin, not like that.”

Hanbin corrects him, tone sharp with finality. “She did.”

There’s a quiet moment after that. A breath too long. Something hollow about it.

And then—“She’d have me kneel facing a wall until I’d learned my lesson.”

That stills Zhang Hao, the fact that Hanbin had willingly given up the information, when he could have just as easily lied and chosen a lighter punishment for himself like losing desert or television privileges. 

“Hyung,” Matthew says, voice low, coaxing, “wouldn’t you rather just… help us, instead of kneeling?”

“No.”

“Hyung…”

“I actually find it meditative! Soothing even!” Hanbin announces, a bit too bright to be fully believable, and Zhang Hao watches as he pushes up from the couch with a flare of energy that feels almost theatrical. “Much better than going up and down three flights of stairs!”

There’s a smirk in the way he moves. 

A flash of performative mischief. 

There it is that spice Zhang Hao had seen before, mixed though, with a need to please his owner. The duality of the hybrid was so fascinating . 

And when he crosses the room—when he sinks to his knees facing the wall without a word—Zhang Hao feels something shift in his chest.

This isn’t what he wanted.

He doesn’t want a hybrid who kneels without resistance.

He wants a challenge. Someone who pushes, who claws, who demands to be taught, not someone who folds so easily. 

“Hyung, maybe this is a bit much…” Matthew murmurs beside him, clearly uneasy.

Zhang Hao doesn’t respond. 

He exhales softly, gaze fixed on Hanbin’s back, “leave him, he’s already made up his mind.” 

"Yeah, okay," Matthew says, standing up once more, but not before he tells Hanbin, "But Hyung, if you change your mind you can stand up and come help us any time, you're not really in trouble, okay?" 

The hallway is cooler when they step outside, Zhang Hao shouldering the front door open with a quiet sigh. Matthew jogs ahead toward the van for the last few boxes.

For a long moment, the only sound is the low creak of the door swinging shut behind them.

“I don’t know why he would do that,” Matthew says finally, voice low with worry. “Like… I told him this morning okay not to help, but I didn’t think he’d just go put himself in timeout, instead of helping? He’s never done that before.”

Zhang Hao watches the shadows behind the slowly closing door, then glances toward the stairwell.

“It’s because of me,” Zhang Hao tells Matthew. “He hates me.” 

“No, Hanbin, he… He just doesn’t like change, or new people, or when he thinks someone’s going to take something away from him. He’s not usually like this though, I swear, he’s… he’s really sweet, Hao-hyung, just sensitive, once you two get more comfortable around each other, I know he’ll really like you!”

“Oh, I surely hope so.” 

They’re half back from the rental lot after returning the moving van when Zhang Hao remembers to ask, “Did you tell Hanbin we were done and that he was free to stop kneeling before we left right?”

“Shit. No—I forgot. I meant to, but—he wouldn’t still be sitting there right?” 

Zhang Hao doesn’t answer right away.

There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach that tells him that’s probably exactly what Hanbin is doing. 

“Text him, now him,” Zhang Hao commands, and thankful Matthew listens. “Tell him he’s released from his punishment.” 

Matthew fumbles for his phone, thumbs flying across the screen, to do exactly that. 

“God, it’s been like hours, hyung. He has to have just gone to bed right,” Matthew asks when Hanbin doesn’t reply even after a few minutes. 

When they finally get off the bus Matthew practically jogs back to the apartment, while Zhang Hao trails behind. 

The moment the door creaks open, silence meets them. 

Not the peaceful kind, the kind of silence is heavy and loaded. 

And then Zhang Hao hears the faint sound of soft breathing, measured, and controlled. There, still kneeling exactly where they left him, is Hanbin. His back is rigid, tail curled tightly around one thigh. His head is bowed slightly, ears low, and his body eerily still, terrifyingly obedient. 

Zhang Hao lingers back to give Matthew and his hybrid space. 

“Hyung…” Matthew whispers, stepping inside like he’s afraid to break the moment. “Hanbin-hyung…”

Hanbin stirs, blinking slowly like he’s waking from a trance as Matthew drops to his knees beside him. 

And when he speaks with Matthew it is with none of the edge Zhang Hao had heard earlier. 

"If my punishment is over, I’d like to go to bed, Master-nim.”

There it is again.

That desire to submit.

A desire that Matthew clearly doesn’t know how to handle. 

Hanbin hadn’t moved.

Not when they left. Not when it became clear no one was coming back soon. Not when there was no one to witness him.

He had stayed, because nobody told him not to.

“Hyung… don’t call me that. Please. I didn’t mean for—I just thought you’d… I thought you’d choose to help instead of…” Matthew cuts himself off. “I texted you, when I realized we left without me saying anything, Hao-hyung told me to, he said you probably needed a proper release or whatever that means, and I thought... I thought that if I gave you time to stop being mad at me, and if I texted you, it’d be okay.”

Zhang Hao steps out of the room and into the hallway doing his best to give Matthew and the hybrid space to try and settle down from this. 

Though far too soon Hanbin appears in the hallway, shaky and avoiding Zhang Hao’s eyes, nothing like the hybrid he’d seen hours ago. 

“Make sure to ice your knees, Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao drawls, a teasing remark more to see if he can get any sort of reaction out of Hanbin, “I wouldn't want bruises on someone so pretty."  

But the hybrid does nothing of the sort, he disappears into his room, tail drooping low, and clicks the door shut behind him.

Zhang Hao feels something cold twist behind his ribs. Not anger. Not disappointment. Something worse.

It’s been years since he’s made such a mistake as to let a sub drop, years since he’s made such an oversight. The situation was different, certainly he hadn’t been the one fully in control, Hanbin wasn’t one of his submissives, he’s Matthew’s hybrid , but Zhang Hao knew better. 

He knows what Matthew does not. 

And the thought of leaving someone when they’re dropping makes his chest ache with guilt, even though he is certain that he’s the last person Hanbin would want comfort from. 

But Hanbin isn’t the only one dropping.

Matthew appears beside him a moment later, shaking, his eyes watery, his expression clearly guilty.

“I didn’t mean…” he says, voice thin with guilt. “I wasn’t trying to control him, that wasn’t—he chose to put himself in time-out! I… I’m not… I’ve never… Hanbin-hyung’s my friend, not my pet , I… oh god…”

He staggers a little, clearly thinking of going after Hanbin. 

But Zhang Hao steps in, firm and calm. “Don’t.”

Matthew freezes, “What?” 

“Let him go,” Zhang Hao tells him gently, “He needs space. He’s embarrassed.”

Matthew sways on his feet, dazed and devastated, “But I…” 

Zhang Hao catches him by the wrist and draws him in, he pulls Matthew close, holding him the way someone might hold a glass so it doesn’t shatter, and Matthew buries his face in Zhang Hao’s shoulder, shaking in Zhang Hao’s hold. 

“I’m a horrible person,” Matthew whispers, muffled against Hao’s shirt. “I didn’t even think… I can’t believe he stayed like that for hours, just waiting for me to say something. Why would he do that?” 

‘Because he craves a dominant’ Zhang Hao wants to say, but he holds himself back, instead he focuses on comforting Matthew, sliding his hand up the back of Matthew’s neck to rub circles there and ground him, “You’re not a bad person, Matthew-ah.” 

“I forgot him.”

“You made a mistake,” he corrects gently, “But it’s not the same as hurting him on purpose.”

Matthew doesn’t answer, just shakes his head a little, clearly disbelieving. 

“Here, let’s order dinner, I’m sure Hanbin-ah will come out when he smells good food,” Zhang Hao suggests, pulling out his phone and opening up a food delivery app, “You choose, hyung’s treat.” 

Matthew sniffles and shakes his head, “I don’t want to pick…” 

“Fine. Then I’ll pick the greasiest, messiest, most unsatisfying food on the menu just to spite you.”

A weak laugh escapes Matthew, barely more than a breath, but it’s something, a little more life into him. He leans a little heavier into Zhang Hao’s side and watches as Zhang Hao taps away, eventually holding up his phone with a questioning look.

“Fried chicken? With tteokbokki and some cheesy corn?”

“Okay, yeah, that’s good,” Matthew says quietly, “Hanbin-hyung loves tteokbokki.” 

“Perfect,” Zhang Hao says, as he places the order, before he guides Matthew back into the living room and towards the couch. “Now sit, you’re in no condition to spiral and stand at the same time.”

Matthew obeys, slumping down into the cushions. Zhang Hao disappears for a minute, before he returns with a cool glass of water, pressing it into Matthew’s hands wordlessly.

They sit in silence until the doorbell rings.

Zhang Hao answers it quickly and sets the food out, unpacking the containers and spreading them across the coffee table. The spicy, savory aroma fills the apartment, crispy skin, bubbling cheese, sweet rice cakes, Zhang Hao glances down the hall waiting.

Surely there’s no way with his enhanced hybrid senses that Hanbin can’t tell that food has arrived, and there’s no way he’s not hungry. 

But the door doesn’t open.

“He’s not coming, is he?”

“He’ll come out eventually,,” Zhang Hao reassures him. “He’s probably just… napping or something.” 

Matthew eats slowly, mechanically, chewing like each bite is a task on a checklist rather than a delicious meal. Zhang Hao doesn’t push, just fills the room with chatter about his classes and their mutual friends from university to try and ease some of the tension. 

When the meal is mostly picked over, and Matthew’s eyes have gone glassy with exhaustion, Zhang Hao stands.

“Alright, you,” he says gently. “Time for bed.”

“I’m not that tired.”

“Yes, you are, don’t lie,” Zhang Hao says, guiding Matthew over to his bedroom. “I’ll clean up. You go.”

He pauses at the door to his bedroom, glancing toward the closed door of the room next to his. He stares at Hanbin’s old room (Zhang Hao’s new room) for a moment too long. 

“I ruined your first day,” he says quietly. “I was supposed to make you feel welcome. Instead, this evening’s just gone terribly.” 

“Don’t worry, you’re still better than my old roommate.” 

Matthew gives a watery chuckle,  “Low standard, Hao-hyung.” 

“I know,” he replies, “Now, be a good boy, and go to sleep.”

Matthew nods and finally disappears into his room, the door shutting with a soft click.

Zhang Hao returns to the living room and finishes tidying the takeout mess, wiping down the table, and stacking the empty containers in the recycling. He moves quickly, making just enough sound to let Hanbin know the coast is clear—just in case he’s listening.

Then he turns off all the lights except the one over the stove and settles onto the couch, one leg tucked beneath him, the other stretched out. He checks the time. It’s 11:23 p.m.

He leans back and closes his eyes, he knows Hanbin will come out eventually.

Hybrids don’t like going to bed with empty stomachs. And more than that, Zhang Hao knows the kind of hunger burning in Hanbin’s chest right now isn’t just for food.

It’s for safety and for reassurance.

The same thing that Matthew had needed. 

And that’s what Zhang Hao intends to give him, despite how he’s sure that he is the last person Hanbin wants to receive comfort from. 

It’s not lost on Zhang Hao that this entire night spiraled in part because of him.

He could’ve, and should have, stopped it before it began, but he wanted to see what happened. 

And oh , had he seen. 

So now here he is, sitting in the dark on the living room couch, half-watching the reflection of the kitchen in the black glass of the television, waiting for Hanbin to emerge. 

And sure enough, eventually, the bedroom door creaks open.

Zhang Hao doesn’t move, not at first. First he just watches from the shadows as Hanbin tiptoes into the kitchen like a ghost, his steps practically silent. The hybrid’s ears twitch, his movements fluid despite the slight hitch in his gait, caused by his bruised knees. Bruised from kneeling too long on hard floors, kneeling because he wanted to, not because he had to, it was the punishment he’d chosen after all, the one he’d accepted even when Matthew told him he didn’t have to. 

There’s something so wrong and yet so beautiful about that.

Zhang Hao waits just a moment to let Hanbin grab ice and food before he lets his voice carry lazily across the room, “You move quietly for someone with bruises that bad.”

He enjoys the way Hanbin startles, nearly drops the container. It’s cute, the way his ears flatten instantly, a dead giveaway of his hybrid instincts flashing into alert mode. 

“I was just getting ice,” Hanbin mumbles. 

“And food, clearly,” Zhang Hao smirks, “You should’ve just joined us for dinner.”

The lie that comes next is almost charming in its stubbornness. 

“I wasn’t hungry then.”

Zhang Hao doesn’t bother calling him out, instead he just reaches out and catches him by the arm when Hanbin goes to leave. Zhang Hao makes sure his grip is firm enough to hold, but loose enough to give Hanbin a choice. That is an important boundary to set, to give Hanbin the choice to be restrained. 

“Why so skittish, Hanbin-ah?” he asks. “You act like I’m going to bite.”

“Let go.” 

“I came out to apologize, for earlier,” Zhang Hao says, “Maybe I got a little carried away with teasing. You're just so easy to rile up.”

It’s mostly true. 

The teasing was intentional, the aftermath not so much. 

“That wasn’t teasing,” Hanbin snaps. “It was humiliating.”

And that’s when he sees it—that flicker of shame. Not just irritation, not just pride…. No, that burn in Hanbin’s eyes is deeper. 

“And yet, you chose the humiliating option of your own volition.”

He doesn’t have to say what they both know, that Hanbin stayed on his knees long after he could’ve left, because a part of him wanted to be good . Hanbin’s tail flicks, and the scent of his embarrassment rises in the air. Zhang Hao hums.

“Come on,” he says softly, coaxing rather than commanding Hanbin to sit. “Let me see what damage we’ve done.”

Hanbin hesitates, but the pain wins out. Zhang Hao sees it in the way his jaw tightens, the way the ice slips from his fingers. He watches as Hanbin slowly lifts the hem of his pajama pants.

The bruises are worse than he expected.

Zhang Hao tsks, stepping closer. “That’s pretty bad.”

“Don’t touch—”

Zhang Hao ignores him and presses down, not hard enough to injure, just enough to draw a response. He wants to see if the pain will crack the surface.

It does.

Hanbin gasps, and then… there it is. The shift.

Pleasure, just barely contained. 

Zhang Hao sees the way his hips shift, the flick of his tail and the way his eyes betray him even as his mouth says nothing.

“You liked that?” he asks, voice too soft to sound mocking.

“I didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” Zhang Hao cuts in, soothing now. “Some subs do. Doesn’t make it bad.”

Hanbin flinches like the word ‘sub’ is a slap. 

“That’s not… It’s not like that.”

Of course it is. 

Zhang Hao can see it clear as day. Hanbin is built for submission. Not in the pathetic, passive sense, but in the deep, aching way that begs for structure. That blooms under control. That thrives on pain.

Zhang Hao presses again, harder this time. 

The whimper Hanbin gives proves his point.

“There’s nothing shameful about enjoying pain, Hanbin-ah,” he says gently. “With a properly experienced dom—”

“Why are you doing this?” Hanbin snaps.

“Why am I doing what?”

“This. You’re being… nice.”

“Because you let yourself kneel for hours, despite not being directly ordered to,” Zhang Hao reminds him.  And now you’re hiding in the kitchen, half-starved and bruised, because no one gave you aftercare.”

Hanbin’s breath stutters, and Zhang Hao watches in real time as the realization sink in.

“Have you ever dropped before?” he asks softly.

Hanbin tries to protest, but his voice catches, “I’m not…”

Zhang Hao hums. 

It’s an answer enough.

He moves without waiting, fetching a towel, running warm water over it. Hanbin’s watching him like he doesn’t know what to do with any of this. Like he’s still trying to figure out whether he’s  supposed to feel angry or grateful. When the warm cloth touches Hanbin’s knees, his whole body relaxes by a fraction. Only a fraction, but Zhang Hao sees it. He’s learning what Hanbin needs. 

Even if Hanbin doesn’t want to admit it.

“Next time, I’ll—”

“There won’t be a next time,” Hanbin cuts in fast. “I’m not a bad hybrid. I’m good at my job. I take care of Matthew.”

Zhang Hao’s smile falters. 

Whether or not Hanbin or Matthew would admit it, it’s clear that the relationship between the two of them is muddled, probably in part due to Hanbin being Matthew’s emotional support hybrid despite actually needing a good deal of ‘emotional support’ himself. 

Hanbin clearly needs a firm and dominant presence in his life, and Matthew needs someone soft, and neither of them are quite filling the right role for each other. But, now that Zhang Hao is here, he can fix that. 

“And yet,” he says, his voice a little colder, “I was the one comforting him earlier. While you were off sulking, he was panicking—wondering if you hated him, blaming himself. I held him while he cried, you know.”

Zhang Hao wants him to feel that. The weight of what he’d missed while he was licking his own wounds. The hybrid’s job wasn’t to protect himself, it was to protect Matthew , and he’d failed. The realization that he can’t do his job properly without more direction is exactly what Zhang Hao is hoping to have Hanbin realize in time. 

“I’m not a bad kitty,” Hanbin says, but the words wobble a little as they come out. 

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes!”

“I think you like being a bad kitty,” he says softly. “The type of kitty that talks back, that takes punishment, that craves pain. And I think we both know Matthew isn’t giving you what you need.”

Hanbin looks away from him, the shamed look again, refusing to give into what he so clearly desires. 

“And what then?” Hanbin asks, bitter. “You want to give it to me?”

“Maybe. But only if you ask me nicely.”

"Go to hell," Hanbin mutters, standing with more bravado than grace. His legs are still shaky.

Zhang Hao doesn’t stop him this time.

He just laughs, low and amused, like it’s all part of the game. “Suit yourself, Hanbin-ah, but if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Because he will come back.

Zhang Hao knows it the same way he knows how to press on a bruise and make it hurt just right.

Hanbin is already his.

He just doesn’t know it yet.

Zhang Hao wakes up expecting things to be better.

He'd gone to bed feeling half-sure he'd untangled the mess between him and Hanbin, or at least started to. That now he’d put the metaphorical ball into Hanbin’s court and it would be only a matter of time before the hybrid came to him wanting more . 

But when he wakes in the morning he can tell at once that something is wrong. 

The apartment is far too quiet, there’s no smell of breakfast, no sound of the kettle going, and no soft rustle of Hanbin trying to be unobtrusively helpful. Just silence, broken only by the sound of Matthew rustling around in his room and eventually stumbling out, half-dressed and half-awake.

Zhang Hao watches as Matthew struggles to find something to eat in the kitchen, his backpack half-zipped and his glasses slightly askew, looking less put together than any time he’d ever seen Matthew before. 

"You're late," Zhang Hao says, not unkindly, just stating the obvious.

Matthew startles like he hadn't noticed the time at all. 

He drops the untoasted piece of bread he had been about to eat onto the counter, scrambles for his phone, then groans. 

"Shit. I—I must’ve overslept. Hanbin usually—” Matthew cuts himself off, looking a bit upset as he corrects himself, “He always wakes me up for class, so I never set an alarm.” 

So much for Hanbin’s insistence that he was a good kitty that did his job. 

"He’s just…” Matthew pauses fumbling with his shirt buttons, and Zhang Hao moves to help him. “ I guess he didn’t today."

"I’m about to head to campus anyways, want me to call us a cab?” 

“Yes, please,” he replies, “Thanks, Hao-hyung."

He books one for both of them. 

They ride to the university in silence, Zhang Hao glancing over a few times at Matthew, who's chewing the inside of his cheek like it's the only thing keeping him from falling apart. It sits wrong with him. The silence, the tension, the way Matthew fidgets with his sleeve in the seminar room, the way his eyes keep darting to the clock, his fingers tremble just slightly when he tries to type… None of this is like the Matthew he’s grown used to. 

Matthew had always been a bit nervous, hiding it behind a very energetic exterior, nice and too gentle for his own good, definitely. 

But Zhang Hao likes that about him.

He likes Matthew the way you like people who are soft in ways you can't be. But this jittery version of Matthew, this guilt-laced, frayed-at-the-edges boy, Zhang Hao doesn’t like this at all.

Especially when he is partly to blame for it. 

When they get back to the apartment hours later, Zhang Hao heads straight to the kitchen, setting his keys down with a clack. It’s late enough now that the sun is dipping, casting slanted shadows across the floor. 

And still, there’s no sign of Hanbin. 

“He’s not out here,” Zhang Hao says, after a beat. “Do you think he went somewhere?” 

Matthew just shakes his head, “His collar was still by the door, he knows it’s not safe to leave without it.” 

Zhang Hao nods in agreement. Even as upset as he surely is, Zhang Hao is sure that Hanbin is smart enough not to leave the apartment without his identification on. After all, everyone knew what happened to hybrid’s without identification. The lucky ones were rounded up and taken to shelters to have their chips scanned, the unlucky ones well… Zhang Hao had certainly heard plenty of horror stories.

That was why most hybrid owners kept their hybrid’s collared at all times. 

Matthew was more lax in that way, only having Hanbin wear his when he was going out. 

A shame, Zhang Hao could only imagine Hanbin would look very pretty with a collar around his neck, and a little bell to ring and announce his every movement. 

“So he’s just in his room, ignoring us then,” Zhang Hao muses glancing towards the room Hanbin went into last night. 

Surely they hybrid had used the common areas while they were gone, given the fact that Hanbin was usually the one who got Matthew up for class, Zhang Hao wouldn’t be surprised if he knew Matthew’s schedule well enough to hide himself away again right before Matthew was due to be back. 

Matthew looks sad, defeated in the way he’s looked all day, and says, “I’m going to go to bed early tonight, sorry, hyung.” 

“It’s fine, Matthew-ah,” Zhang Hao says, waving him off. 

Once he’s alone, Zhang Hao busies himself with ordering a few things, a heated knee wrap, a good meal that he knows a cat hybrid won’t be able to resist, and and a note, 

He writes “For the good kitty, who almost always does his job,” in clean handwriting and tapes it to the takeout bag before leaving it outside Hanbin’s door.

Then he walks away, back to his room, and shuts the door.

And then he waits, until there’s a soft knock at his door.

Just as he’d predicted. 

The hallway is dim when he opens the door, and Hanbin’s eyes are downcast, his hands full with the unopened take out bag and the knee wrap cradled awkwardly in his arms.

“Here,” Hanbin mutters, holding it all out. “I don’t want this.”

“Don’t want or don’t think you deserve,” he questions.

Hanbin pointedly avoids his gaze.

So that’s it then. 

“It was a gift, not something you need to earn,” Zhang Hao replies. 

However, Hanbin doesn’t pull his hand back, “I don’t deserve a gift. You were right. I’m a bad kitty.”

Zhang Hao exhales through his nose. He steps back and gestures for Hanbin to come inside his room, but Hanbin doesn’t move. 

“Because you didn’t take care of Matthew today,” Zhang Hao says. 

It isn’t a question, but Hanbin nods all the same, his shoulder curling inward like he wants to vanish.

“Yes,” he admits quietly. 

“That’s your job, isn’t it? You wake him up, you make sure he takes his medicine, and you take care of him, but today you hid in your room, didn’t you?”

Hanbin’s head drops lower. “I knew he was upset with me,” Hanbin replies, “And I didn’t want to make it worse.”

“But you did,” Zhang Hao says flatly.

Hanbin nods.

Zhang Hao watches him for a long moment. 

There’s guilt in every inch of him, from the way he won’t meet Zhang Hao’s eyes to how he keeps holding out the wrap even now. Zhang Hao’s peace offering wasn’t rejected because Hanbin didn’t want it. It was rejected because Hanbin doesn’t think he deserves it. 

And as Zhang Hao looks at him, it becomes so clear what Hanbin needs. 

“Keep the wrap,” Zhang Hao tells him. “You need it. That’s not up for debate.”

Hanbin still looks uncertain. 

“But,” he continues, voice quieter now, “if it would make you feel better accepting the gift… I could punish you.”

Hanbin looks up then. His pupils are blown wide in the low light. 

He just whispers, “…Yes.”

“All right then,” he says. “Come inside and shut the door.”

Hanbin obeys silently, the door clicking closed behind him. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of soft breathing and the low hum of the air purifier by Zhang Hao’s desk.

Zhang Hao watches Hanbin, the way he stands there still awkwardly before putting his food and knee wrap down on Zhang Hao’s desk. The hybrid looks more comfortable here than he’d looked anywhere else in the apartment, probably because even with Zhang Hao’s air purifier running, the hybrid’s scent still clings to the room. 

“How do you want to be punished?”

Hanbin shrugs a little. Not an answer. 

“I could have you stand facing the wall, hands behind your back. For ten minutes, I’ll set a timer this time so we don’t forget,” Zhang Hao offers. “No kneeling, not with the state your knees are in, but if what you like is being ignored, if that helps you reset then…”

Hanbin’s mouth tightens, he shakes his head quickly. 

“I don’t want to be ignored,” Hanbin tells him. “Not today…”

Understandable, given how yesterday had gone that Hanbin would still be craving attention.  

“All right,” Zhang Hao says, tilting his head in consideration. “Do you have any preference at all then?”

There’s a long pause.

Before Hanbin admits, “I want it to hurt.”

He says nothing for a moment, watching the way Hanbin's hands tighten at his sides. A part of him itches to pull Hanbin across his lap and spank him. He’s sure Hanbin would look so pretty with pink blooming across the skin of his thighs, and he’d gasp so prettily.

But it’s too soon for that. 

Too soon, and Hanbin’s already injured.

“Sit on the bed,” he commands. “Back straight.”

Hanbin hesitates only a second before obeying, lowering himself onto the edge of the mattress. His posture is perfect, his spine taut, and hands curled in his lap, the picture of obedience. 

Zhang Hao stops in front of him, looking down at him.

“Stick out your tongue,” he commands. 

Hanbin blinks, his lips parting slightly in confusion.

But Zhang Hao doesn’t repeat himself.

And slowly, Hanbin obeys, extending his tongue pink and trembling, his breath already shallow.

Zhang Hao lifts his hand.

Then press two fingers flat against the rough surface of Hanbin’s tongue. Not cruelly, but not gently either. With just enough that it forces Hanbin to hold the muscle still, it’ll ache slightly at the base of his jaw, enough to give him that pain he craves without hurting him too much. 

Zhang Hao keeps his fingers there, keeps them still, and then he looks Hanbin in the eye.

It’s quiet, neither of them speaking, the only sound for the entire minute of Hanbin’s punishment is the sound of Hanbin breathing through his nose. Zhang Hao counts the seconds in his head, and as he does watches every flicker of emotion behind Hanbin’s gaze. First is the shame, then obedience, then the release of the tension that he had been holding since the second he walked into Zhang Hao’s room. 

When the minute is up, he withdraws his hand.

Hanbin flinches slightly at the loss of contact, his tongue slipping back into his mouth. He swallows hard, his throat bobbing, as he comes back to himself. Zhang Hao wipes his fingers off on Hanbin’s sweatpants, slowly maintaining eye contact with Hanbin as he does so. 

“Now,” he says, once he’s finished. “You keep the knee wrap and the meal.” 

Hanbin nods, small, like he doesn’t really trust himself to speak.

“Do you feel better?” Zhang Hao asks him, adding, “Answer me with words, I want to hear your voice, Hanbin-ah.” 

“…A little,” Hanbin answers, his voice rough. 

Zhang Hao hums, “Good kitty.”

Hanbin inhales sharply, and for a second, his breath hitches like that one phrase undid him more than the entire punishment. Zhang Hao pretends not to notice, secretly filing that information away for tomorrow. 

“Go to bed,” he says. “You’ll need to take care of Matthew tomorrow.”

Hanbin stands slowly and leaves the room, but not before saying, “Yes… Master-nim.” 

The smell of coffee hits Zhang Hao before he rounds the corner into the kitchen.

He pauses in the doorway for just a second observing the scene inside.Hanbin is at the counter, fussing over a travel mug and a small bento box. His ears are perked up, alert, and his tail is curled lightly around Matthew’s hip as Matthew leans on the counter, yawning into his hand. 

The touch is subtle, anchoring. 

Protective .

Matthew smiles sleepily when he notices Zhang Hao. There’s something easier in his face today. He looks a lot less frayed at the edges.

“Thank you,” Matthew says softly. “Hanbin said you and him talked last night. I don’t know what you said but… thank you for helping him.” 

Zhang Hao doesn’t answer right away. His gaze flicks to Hanbin, who glances over his shoulder at him, his ears twitching softly, and for a heartbeat they just hold the look. 

There’s something different in Hanbin’s eyes now. 

A hunger for more . 

Zhang Hao hums.

“My pleasure.”

Chapter Text

“Matthew-ah, it’s time to get up for class.”

His voice is gentle as he cards his fingers through Matthew’s hair slowly, to wake him up the same way he always has for the last year that they’ve been living together, but his tail flicks restless behind him, and a part of Hanbin hates how uncertain he sounds. 

To say that the last two days had been a mess would be putting it lightly. 

And as much as he’d like to blame everything that had gone wrong on Zhang Hao, Hanbin is more than well aware that yesterday’s mess had been entirely his doing.

He’d been so caught up in his feelings, feeling hurt and angry and most of all humiliated, that he’d skipped his morning routine altogether. He’d let Matthew sleep far later than he should have, and not only that but he had spent most of the day hiding out in his room, ignoring Matthew altogether. 

At first it had felt like justice, like he was proving a point, saying ‘here, how do you like being the one forgotten,’ but then the just feeling had disappeared, replacing itself with a guilt that had begun to eat him alive. 

Rationally, he knew Matthew hadn’t been trying to upset him, that Matthew hadn’t forgotten him on purpose, but it had stung all the same. The bruises on his knees were a physical reminder of the fact that Matthew had chosen Zhang Hao over him, even if unintentionally, and that stung more than anything else. 

Especially when around lunchtime, Matthew had messaged him, “bin-hyugn pls talk 2 me ur not in trouble ily please,” along with a series of upsetting emojis. 

Hanbin hadn’t answered. 

He’d just curled up tighter on his bed, as the feeling of sadness over having been forgotten turned into guilt that he’d failed his one job, that he failed to do the one thing he was supposed to do right. It was his job to take care of Matthew, that’s what grandmother had asked him to do, and he…

“Who… What…?” Matthew’s voice is groggy and slow with sleep. He blinks blearily at him from the pillow, clearly still processing being awake, and then, Hanbin can see the moment where Matthew registers who he is oh so clearly. Matthew’s entire face lights up, “Hanbin!”

In an instant, Matthew’s arms are around him, dragging him into the bed to cuddle him. Hanbin yelps in surprise as he awkwardly falls, to Matthew’s embarrassment. Matthew’s warm in his arms and nuzzling his cheek up against Hanbin’s face, and slowly, some of the tension Hanbin had been holding onto starts to slip away. 

“I’m sorry,” Matthew mumbles, squeezing him tightly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to forget you. I love you so much! I was a mess all day yesterday, please don’t do that again—”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Hanbin reassures him. 

Hanbin’s tail curls around them before he can stop it, and he can’t help the smile that finds its way onto his face. 

“I’m sorry too,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against Matthew’s chest. “For ignoring you and for not taking care of you yesterday. I was upset and… I wanted you to feel how I felt, but I handled it wrong.”

Matthew pulls back just enough to look at him, brows drawn with concern. “Bin-hyung, about the other day…” 

Hanbin looks away. 

“I talked to Zhang Hao last night,” he says vaguely. “About things ?”

“What kind of things?” Matthew asks, his brow furrowing a little.

Hanbin hesitates. 

‘Talked’ may not have been quite the right word. 

But it’s not like he could explain it to Matthew, especially when he wasn’t even sure if he could explain it himself. He’d been altogether ready to throw Zhang Hao’s ‘gift’ back in his face, the guilt from failing Matthew and distrust of Zhang Hao making him not want any part of it, but then Zhang Hao had offered to punish him instead of Hanbin punishing himself by refusing care, and… It helped. 

Somehow, sitting there, with Zhang Hao’s fingers in his mouth, had helped settle him down. It was suddenly as if all the tiny little spiraly and guilty parts of his brain had shut off, for a minute it had just been him and Zhang Hao sitting there, and then when the minute ended, he’d felt calmer. His jaw ached a little, but it had been a good ache. 

“I’m gonna try to be more civil, for your sake,” Hanbin tells Matthew. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, thumb brushing over Hanbin’s cheek. “That means a lot. I know change isn’t easy, but I really like Hao-hyung, and I know you will too, once you get to know him better.”

Hanbin highly doubts that. 

However, for now, he leans into Matthew’s touch, letting himself melt into the other’s embrace. Matthew is happy, and that makes him happy too. 

If Hanbin had his way, they would stay in bed cuddling like that all day, however, “Matthew-ah, you have to get up, you have class in an hour.” 

Matthew lets out a dramatic whine and burrows his face into Hanbin’s chest, “Or consider, I skip class today and—” 

“No,” Hanbin says firmly, ears twitching at the protest. “You need your education! Up, up, up, let’s go!” 

Matthew pouts, but he’s already losing the battle, and they both know it. 

Hanbin carefully untangles himself from the blankets and slips out of bed, stretching his arms behind his back before turning toward the closet to pick out an outfit for Matthew to wear for the day, while Matthew groans dramatically behind him.

There’s comfort in the rhythm of the morning routine. Waking Matthew up, helping Matthew get dressed and ready to go and start his day. Hanbin likes mornings like this. The predictability of sleepy grumbles and mismatched socks, and the way Matthew always ends up hugging his pillow like it’s a person rather than getting up right away. 

Hanbin moves through the motions with familiarity. By the time they make it to the kitchen, Matthew is rubbing sleep from his eyes and yawning, while Hanbin is more awake. He moves with practiced efficiency, turning on the rice cooker, pulling open the fridge, and starting to slice vegetables. He doesn’t ask if Matthew wants a bento, he already knows the answer, Hanbin’s had Matthew’s schedule memorized since week one. He lays out the compartments of the box and begins arranging the pieces with precision: rolled egg omelet, a handful of cherry tomatoes, tamagoyaki cut just the way Matthew likes. 

The routine soothes him, it always has. 

He’s good at looking after others.

In fact, that was exactly what his breeder had advertised him for when he was old enough to be sold off from the kitten mill that he had been born in. His breeder had told everyone that would come to look at the hybrids he had for sale that Hanbin would be good with kids, or anyone needing a little extra looking after. Even though at the time, he’d been barely more than a child himself. 

Back before he had been old enough to be sold off, there had been a younger litter of hybrids born the winter after he’d turned nine. Some of them had been sickly, all of them had been loud, and the humans had been too busy to give them any proper attention, so Hanbin had taken it upon himself to look after them, keeping them calm, cleaning up whatever messes they’d made. His breeder had noticed that, praised him for his helpfulness, and when he’d turned ten and was old enough to be sold, that story had been his selling point. He was the ideal helper hybrid, ideal for families, great with children, sweet-natured, obedient, ‘ perfect for caretaking,’ they’d said.

Except no one with kids had picked him.

In fact, nobody had picked him at all. 

He’d stayed there, perfectly behaved, watching hopeful young hybrids come and go for almost two years. Long enough that he’d heard his breeder start to talk about selling him off to one of the hybrid brothels, once he was thirteen he legally would have been old enough, despite how he’d continued to help his breeder look after each new batch of kittens. 

Hanbin had almost given up hope entirely, until one morning, not too long before his thirteenth birthday, an older woman had appeared. 

“I don’t have any young children,” she’d said, gentle fingers brushing through the fur behind his ears. “Mine are all grown, but I do have a sunroom full of orchids, and I get terribly lonely. Would that be all right, if you came home with me?”

She’d been the first person who didn’t look through him. 

Who hadn’t just seen a product on a shelf.

Who’d seen him as someone important enough to keep. 

Technically, he’s Matthew’s hybrid now, his companion or his property, depending on how legalistic one wanted to get about things, but that’s not the way Hanbin thinks of it.

Matthew is his . 

His human. 

His responsibility. 

His to care for.

And after yesterday… Hanbin can’t help himself from hovering. 

He presses close to Matthew’s side while the rice cools, tail curling instinctively around Matthew’s hip, keeping the human close to him. He’s overcompensating. He knows that. He feels it. But he still does it, because the weight in his chest only lightened when Matthew hugged him this morning, and before that… when Zhang Hao’s fingers were pressed against his tongue, and his eyes wouldn’t let go of Hanbin’s eyes. 

Hanbin swallows.

He won’t tell Matthew about that part.

“ Morning ,” comes a smooth voice from the kitchen doorway.

Hanbin stills, his tail still curled around Matthew, his body still pressing Matthew close by his side, as if to silently be able to communicate to Zhang Hao that Matthew is his , not Zhang Hao’s. 

Zhang Hao’s eyes linger on him and Matthew for a second too long to be casual, before he moves around them to get himself a glass of water, brushing just a little too close to Hanbin as he goes past. 

“Glad to see you up and about,” he says, his tone civil. “Wasn’t sure you’d be out of bed yet.”

Hanbin’s ears twitch, his fingers tighten slightly around the lid of Matthew’s bento box, as he silently wills Zhang Hao not to say anything about last night. 

Thankfully though, he doesn’t, even when Matthew casually asks about their chat. 

Zhang Hao is being good. 

Polite even. 

Which, somehow, only makes Hanbin more nervous.

Hanbin watches with a tight feeling in his chest as Zhang Hao settles into one of the kitchen chairs like he owns the space. He doesn’t, of course, not technically, the apartment’s lease is still in Matthew’s name. But Zhang Hao has this infuriating way of making himself at home wherever he is, like the room reorients itself around him. 

Hanbin busies himself with Matthew’s thermos, rinsing it out before filling it with barley tea. 

He doesn’t have to do it, it’s something Matthew could easily manage himself, but Hanbin needs to keep moving. 

If he’s moving, he doesn’t have to think about—”Kitty, can you pass me a spoon?” 

“It’s Hanbin, not kitty ,” Hanbin snaps a bit too quickly, though he grabs a spoon and hands it over to Zhang Hao all the same. 

When Hanbin hands the spoon over, Zhang Hao lifts a singular eyebrow at him, and Hanbin has to force himself to look away. 

He still feels the phantom pressure of Hao’s fingers on his tongue, even now, hours later. 

The burn of eye contact that had lasted too long.

The relief that had washed over him like warm water when Hao finally said, "Good boy."

He hates it. 

Hates that it worked. 

Hates that it helped.

He doesn’t understand what Zhang Hao wants from him. One minute he’s cold and mean, the next he’s speaking in a soft tone and buying him gifts, and acting like he knows everything about Hanbin without Hanbin having told him anything. 

And the worst part?

A small, shameful part of him liked it. 

“Hyung,” Matthew says, pulling Hanbin’s attention back to him as he takes the bento box from the counter. “This looks amazing. Thank you. Really.”

“Of course,” Hanbin says, ducking his head a little shyly, “You’ve got a long day, Matthew-ah.” 

Matthew presses up onto his toes so that he can place a kiss right on Hanbin’s cheek, “I’ve gotta run or I’ll miss the bus,” Matthew says. “Hao-hyung, don’t forget your umbrella! It looks like it will rain later.”

“I won’t,” Zhang Hao replies. 

A sort of unsettled feeling settles in his stomach as he watches the quiet moment of domesticity between Matthew and Zhang Hao. He doesn’t like the familiar way they act with each other. He especially doesn’t like the way Zhang Hao taps his own cheek to demand a kiss just like the kiss Matthew had placed upon Hanbin’s cheek, or the way Matthew laughs all silly and happy before bending down to give Zhang Hao a kiss too.

And just like that, Matthew is gone.

The silence he leaves behind is heavy and awkward. 

And Hanbin starts wiping the already-clean counter just to have something to do. 

He doesn’t want to talk. 

But he can feel Zhang Hao looking at him.

“I meant it, you know, about what I said last night,” Zhang Hao says after a pause, tone light but deliberate. “Structure suits you. You’re easier to be around when you have it.”

Hanbin’s ears flick back in displeasure, “Excuse me?”

“You were spiraling yesterday,” Zhang Hao says, before shrugging nonchalantly, “You needed someone to pull you back, and I did, and now you’re much more tolerable to be around.” 

“Don’t act like you know me,” Hanbin snaps, “You don’t.”

“No,” Zhang Hao agrees, finishing his cereal. “But I’ve seen enough of you to make a few educated guesses. You can’t honestly tell me that last night didn’t help you?” 

Hanbin’s jaw clenches. 

He wants to argue.

He wants to deny it.

But the words don’t come out. 

“Just shut up and eat your breakfast.”

Just as Matthew had predicted, the rain does come.

It starts in the late morning, first just light and misty, but by the afternoon, it deepens into a proper spring downpour. Hanbin listens to it as he finishes cleaning, his ears pressing down flat against his head as he watches the rain pour down just outside. His cat hybrid instincts make him not particularly fond of the rain. 

He’s filled the day with tasks, the tasks he normally would have gotten done yesterday along with today's set. He scrubbed the bathroom, changed the sheets, and even got the throw blankets washed and hung to dry on the rack in the hallway. Anything to keep himself busy, and not dwell on the rain falling outside, or the fact that Zhang Hao is still somewhere nearby. 

Apparently he didn’t have any classes for the day. Zhang Hao’s not hovering, exactly, but he’s present. Hanbin can hear the soft click of his fingers moving against his laptop’s keyboard from where he’d set himself up in the living room to work on some sort of school work. Even so, his presence makes Hanbin feel a little more on edge than usual. 

His ears flatten for a moment as the wind picks up outside, pushing the rain sideways against the windows. The sky is a dark slate, with clouds thick and unmoving. His tail twitches as he stands by the front door, hoodie already on.

Hanbin stares out the window like the rain might change its mind if he waits long enough.

It doesn’t.

His instincts don’t like the rain. It prickles wrong against his skin, and the thought of being soaked from ears to tail already makes him twitch, but there’s still one task left on his to-do list for the day, a trip to the grocery store… Hanbin had hoped that by time the evening came around, the rain would stop, and he would be able to make it out to the store before dinner time. 

But it’s clear that isn’t going to happen. 

He could delay it, technically, but they’re running low on vegetables and oat milk, among other things, and everyone deserves a nice home cooked meal after the last few days of eating out, or not eating at all. If Hanbin wants to make tteokbokki tonight, then he has to go.

Hanbin sighs, and heads towards the door.

His collar hangs from a little hook beside the front door. It’s a simple collar, plain black leather, with a small bell attached to it, along with three tags dangling from the ring—the tag with his name on it, the tag with Matthew’s contact information on it, and the tag identifying him as an Emotional Support Hybrid. 

Hanbin snaps the collar around his neck with a practiced hand. The click echoes too loud in the quiet of the hallway, his fingers lingering at the buckle for a beat longer than necessary. He pulls up his hoodie, tugging the hem high enough to hide the tags hanging down from his collar, then he grabs the cloth shopping bags from the hook by the door.

He’s already halfway into his shoes when Zhang Hao’s voice cuts through the stillness behind him, “Where are you going?”

Hanbin startles a little, tail stiffening. He hadn’t heard him approach.

“Out.”

“That’s not an answer,” Zhang Hao tuts. 

“Grocery store,” he bites out, as he shoves on his rain boots. 

Zhang Hao hums behind him, soft but annoying. “But it’s raining.”

“I’m aware,” Hanbin says, turning to look at Zhang Hao. 

Zhang Hao is leaning there lazily against the wall with his arms folded. He doesn’t look particularly threatening, but that doesn’t mean much of anything. 

“Are you just…allowed to leave?” Zhang Hao asks mildly, with the faintest edge of amusement in his tone. “All on your own? Like that?”

“I’m not trapped here,” Hanbin bristles, trying not to sound defensive. “Matthew trusts me. I can leave as long as I’ve got my collar on.” 

“Hm.” Zhang Hao’s gaze slides slowly down his frame, lingering briefly at the collar around Hanbin’s neck for a moment too long, before flicking back up. “That’s sweet.”

“If you don’t need anything, I’m—”

“I actually do need some things too,” Zhang Hao drawls, 

“Fine,” Hanbin sighs, “Tell me what you want, and I'll add it to my list.”

He supposes there wouldn’t be much harm in picking up whatever Zhang Hao needs from the store too, he’d just have to make sure to keep a copy of the receipt and to tell Matthew to make sure to add the groceries on top of whatever Zhang Hao’s portion of the rent is. 

“Oh no,” Zhang Hao says, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. “I’m actually quite particular. It’ll be better if I come.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I never said you did, but it’s raining,” he says with mock concern. “And your little kitty ears might get all droopy if you have no one there to hold the umbrella for you.” 

Hanbin pointedly pulls the hood of his hoodie up over his head, before replying, “I’ll manage.”

“Matthew said I should try bonding with you more,” Zhang Hao interrupts. “And I’ve been inside all day. I could use a walk.”

Hanbin opens his mouth to argue, but then closes it again. Partly because saying no probably would start a whole thing , and partly because he knows that Zhang Hao is speaking the truth,  Matthew would like it if they were getting along better, and after the last two days, he owes it to Matthew to, at least, attempt to be civil with Zhang Hao. 

“…Fine,” he says through clenched teeth, tail lashing once. “But keep up, I’m not waiting for you.”

And with that, Hanbin yanks open the door and steps out in the hallway with Zhang Hao hot on his tail, as they exit the apartment and step out into the rainy streets. His ears flatten against his head beneath the hood, not liking the weather one bit. And when he hears Zhang Hao chuckle softly in amusement at Hanbin’s obvious displeasure, it takes every ounce of willpower not to hiss at him for it.

Hanbin only gets two steps before he hears the soft woosh of an umbrella opening. 

“There’s room enough for two under here,” Zhang Hao says, ever so casually. 

“I’m good,” he calls over his shoulder, stubbornly.

“But you can’t tell me,” Zhang Hao replies, “That a kitty like you would rather be soaked than walk under my umbrella with me.”

Hanbin ignores him. The water is already sliding down the back of his neck, and his hoodie really doesn’t do that good of a job of keeping the rain off of him, but it's the principle of the thing, he refuses to give Zhang Hao what he wants. 

But then there’s a hand at his elbow, Zhang Hao’s grip firm holding him in place, as the cool shelter of the umbrella presses in over his head.

“Don’t be dumb,” Zhang Hao says near his ear. “You’re no use to Matthew if you catch a cold.”

Hanbin goes tense.

Zhang Hao’s hand lingers just a little too long on the curve of his arm before releasing him. 

“Be a good kitten,” he says, low and amused. “Say thank you.”

Hanbin doesn’t.

Instead, he jerks out of Zhang Hao’s grasp and steps back out into the rain, because sharing an umbrella with Zhang Hao feels like admitting defeat. 

“Stubborn brat,” Zhang Hao mutters under his breath, clearly annoyed. Hanbin smirks a little at his annoyance. In a way, that feels like more of a victory than anything. 

They walk in terse silence the entire walk to the grocery store. By the time they arrive, Hanbin’s soaked, his hoodie having done little to keep him dry, and the cool air conditioner of the grocery store makes him shiver as they step inside. He pointedly ignored the little ‘ I told you so ’ smirk on Zhang Hao’s face as he walks through the store.

Hanbin has been here plenty of times, he knows the layout of this store by heart, he knows exactly where the cheap eggs are and which aisle they keep the hybrid-safe detergent in. More importantly, it’s one of the few groceries in the neighborhood that lets hybrids shop without their owners. No stares, no questions, just a basket, a list, and some peace.

Usually.

Hanbin grabs a basket and unlocks his phone, pulling up Matthew’s grocery list with a swipe of his thumb. He barely glances back to see if Zhang Hao’s following him, but he can feel him without looking. Hanbin sets a quick pace down the first aisle, grabbing a bundle of scallions, two onions, and a head of cabbage. The cart wheels squeak as he rounds the corner to the next aisle, Zhang Hao still trailing a few steps behind. 

Hanbin does his best to ignore him. 

He grabs tofu, packs of ramen, ssamjang, and sesame oil. And he types on his shopping list, noting down when Zhang Hao tosses in a box of pomegranate juice and a bag of premium rice crackers. He wrinkles his nose when Zhang Hao adds a durian to his own basket, but Hanbin pointedly doesn’t comment. He’ll just make sure to remember what Zhang Hao likes next time so he doesn’t have to tag along again.

It’s quiet for a while. Just the rhythm of moving, the rustle of packaging, the low hum of other shoppers around them. 

They’re in the refrigerated section when it happens.

Hanbin is crouched in front of a row of shelves, scanning labels for Matthew’s favorite brand of kimchi. His hoodie is still damp from the walk over, dripping faintly onto the smooth tile floor.

That’s when he hears it.

A voice, low and muttered, but unmistakably pointed. “Disgusting. No consideration for others.”

Hanbin goes still. His ears twitch, and his tail tucks closer to his body, as if that’ll make it less obvious that he’s a hybrid. 

After all, he doesn’t even need to look around to know that this woman is talking about him. 

He’s heard these comments before. Of course he has, he imagines he would be hard pressed to find any hybrid that hasn’t been a victim of such statements. They’re not always so direct, not always so loud, but they’re always there. Glances, pinched expressions, and the too-long stares from people who think hybrids should stay invisible.

He’d cried, once, when he was little and it first happened. Grandmother had taken him to the market and a man sneered that he was a “freak of nature,” like he wasn’t a child with ears and feelings, and a hand holding tightly to hers. He hadn’t understood back then, how could anyone hate him just for existing? Grandmother had explained it gently, in the way only she could. That some people didn’t like others who weren’t like them. That it was ugly and wrong for people to act that way, but that was the reality.

And the older Hanbin got, the more he’d heard similar statements. 

There were people who saw hybrids as property, useful, trainable, manageable. That was its own kind of cruelty. But worse were the people who didn’t see him at all. Who didn’t think he should exist. Who spoke about hybrids like they were vermin, something to be tolerated, or better yet, wiped out.

The woman in front of him could fall into either category.

“This is why people should leave their pets at home,” she mutters to no one in particular, just loud enough to be heard. “Tracking puddles through the aisles like animals.”

Hanbin’s grip on their basket tightens, and he curls in on himself instinctively, not wanting to cause any issues. He opens his mouth to apologize, even if he doesn’t mean it, in hopes that the woman will go away. 

But before he can speak, Zhang Hao’s voice rises, “Excuse me? Are you talking to us ?”

He hadn’t expected him to respond. Zhang Hao had been quiet the entire time, trailing behind him like some judgmental shadow. He hadn’t said a word. Not when he added things to the cart. Not when Hanbin ignored him. 

Not even when the woman first started speaking.

But now… 

She turns to face them, face twisted in righteous offense.

“Your hybrid is making a mess,” she snaps. “If you can’t teach it basic manners, maybe keep it at home where it belongs.” 

He watches in an instant as Zhang Hao’s normally mild and slightly infuriating look turns into something darker at once. Not loud or angry, but cold . 

“Ah, I see,” Zhang Hao says, his voice steely still. “Thank you for your concern.”

Hanbin barely registers the movement before a hand settles against the back of his neck. Zhang Hao’s hand is solid against the nape of his neck, not forceful or punishing. His fingers are splayed against the base of Hanbin’s collar, and his thumb rubs there, a soft gentle movement that is both soothing and clearly possessive . 

“But I assure you,” Zhang Hao continues, his words sharp, “My hybrid is extremely well-behaved. Far better mannered, in fact, than someone who gossips in public about strangers dripping water during a rainstorm .”

His thumb presses lightly, right behind Hanbin’s ear, as he speaks. 

Hanbin wants to shake it off. 

He should shake it off.

But he doesn’t.

“I’d recommend speaking with store maintenance if wet floors are such a concern,” Zhang Hao adds, flashing a smile that’s more of a threat than a pleasantry. “Unless, of course, you think my hybrid controls the weather?”

The woman flushes, all red and splotchy, and huffs something under her breath, before stalking off down the aisle in a blur of offended silence.

Zhang Hao doesn’t move his hand, not until she’s well and truly gone. Even then, he draws back slowly, brushing his fingers along Hanbin’s nape like wiping away dust.

Hanbin exhales, a tight and quiet sound. 

He doesn’t know what to make of any of this. 

Of Zhang Hao stepping in.

Of defending Hanbin without hesitation. 

Of the hand. 

Of the touch .

Of how turned around he feels right now.

Zhang Hao had always seemed like the type who saw Hanbin as less than human. The type who didn’t need to be cruel about it, because to him, hybrids weren’t even worth that effort. It had been clear from the way Zhang Hao spoke about him to Matthew when he’d thought Hanbin wasn’t listening… 

But this… This doesn’t make sense. 

“Aren’t you glad I came along now?”

Hanbin glares straight ahead at the kimchi shelves, ears burning as he mutters, “I could have handled that on my own.” 

“By apologizing for something that wasn’t your fault?” 

“Sometimes it’s easier to apologize, even if I don’t mean it,” he replies, grabbing the kimchi they need and moving towards the check out section. 

“People like that—”

“You’d know all about people like that, wouldn’t you?” Hanbin cuts in, voice sharp.

“And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” he says, “You’re not that different from that woman.”

“I’m nothing like her.” 

Hanbin scoffs.

 “You think I don’t notice how you look at me? Like I’m some… interesting little project. Like I’m not a real person, just someone’s property.”

Behind him, Zhang Hao says, voice perfectly even, “Technically, you are Matthew’s property. That’s not an insult, Hanbin. That’s a legal classification.”

Hanbin turns, fury flaring in his chest ready to snap at him, but Zhang Hao is right there, stepping in close, his hand casually reaching for Hanbin’s collar. He doesn’t grab it, he just lifts the tag so that he can read what’s written on it. 

“See? It even says here, ‘ If lost, please call Seok Matthew ,’” Zhang Hao murmurs, tone light. “And there’s his number too.”

Hanbin jerks back like he’s been burned.

“Don’t touch me,” he says through clenched teeth.

But it’s not just anger in his voice. 

It’s shame. 

Shame at how his skin had prickled when Zhang Hao’s fingers brushed the tag. Shame that he is someone’s property, even if Matthew is kind. Even if Matthew never makes him feel like it.

He hates that Zhang Hao defended him. He hates that it felt nice to have someone stand up for him, and he hates that his heart had fluttered, like some naive kitten’s, when Zhang Hao put his hand on his neck. But what he hates most of all is that Zhang Hao’s calm, poisonous words were more effective than any apology Hanbin could have offered.

Because Zhang Hao is right.

Hanbin wouldn’t have won that fight.

Not really.

He would have apologized, and had a few more insults hurled his way and just done his best to ignore it, as he has every other time someone said something prejudiced to him, but being claimed in public by someone who doesn’t even respect him, doesn’t feel much better. 

“Just… don’t do that again,” he mutters.

“Do what?”

“Touch me like that,” Hanbin replies, “And pretend you care.”

Zhang Hao doesn’t respond immediately. In fact he’s silent for a long while as Hanbin begins unloading their basket so that it can be scanned by the shopkeeper. When Zhang Hao does speak it’s quieter, “If I didn’t care, I would’ve let her talk to you like that.”

“I liked you better when you didn’t talk at all,” Hanbin mutters, ears still twitching.

Zhang Hao just hums, unbothered, “You’re welcome, kitten.”

Thankfully, they finish checking out without another incident. Hanbin doesn’t look at Zhang Hao once during the entire process. He just focuses on loading their items into bags.

It’s still raining when they step outside. Not the heavy kind of downpour from earlier, but a steady drizzle all the same. 

Hanbin shoulders the heavier of the grocery bags, letting the straps dig into his hands. His hoodie is damp, and his shoes are going to take forever to dry, but he doesn’t complain.

Zhang Hao opens the umbrella once more. Hanbin doesn’t ask to share it, he doesn’t even glance in his direction. He just exhales through his nose, pulls his hood further up over his ears, and starts walking.

A moment later, the umbrella angles over both of them.

Hanbin says nothing, but this time he doesn’t step out from under the umbrella either. 

“See? Isn’t it much nicer sharing?” 

Hanbin doesn’t respond. He keeps his gaze ahead, focused on walking on the puddle covered sidewalk and keeping the bags of groceries in his hands steady. 

Zhang Hao laughs under his breath. 

Hanbin pretends not to hear.

But his ears twitch anyway.

It’s still raining when the weekend rolls around. Usually Hanbin looked forward to the weekend, as it normally meant a lazy morning spent with Matthew, but this morning when Matthew had gone to make his usual all protein, no sugar pancakes, Zhang Hao had materialized in the kitchen to give Matthew cooking tips, and so Hanbin had left them be.

He’d realized over the last few days that the easiest way to keep the peace with Zhang Hao, and thus make Matthew happy, was by just avoiding ever being in the same room with him for too long.

So instead, he’d spent the morning being productive. By noon, he’d already cleaned the bathroom, reorganized the pantry, and vacuumed. Now, all he had left to tackle was the laundry, and then he’d be done with his chores for the weekend, and could spend the rest of the day and all of tomorrow relaxing, and hopefully convincing Matthew to give him attention, rather than Zhang Hao. 

He smooths the edges of a towel and places it carefully on the growing pile when a sudden weight lifts from the armrest beside him. While he had been busy folding a towel, Zhang Hao had picked up one of the already folded towels. The human has it halfway unfolded, probably meaning to help, but he’s holding it the wrong way, and the corners are misaligned, and Hanbin’s fingers curl instinctively.

“Leave it,” Hanbin says flatly.

Zhang Hao pauses. 

He looks at him, then back down at the towel.

“I was just putting it away,” he says, calm and easy, like he’s not throwing off the entire rhythm of Hanbin’s day.

“I already did that one,” Hanbin tells him. “You're messing them up.”

Zhang Hao raises an eyebrow, “It’s a towel. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Then leave it alone,” Hanbin tells him. “You don’t even know where they go.”

Zhang Hao looks at him for a moment. Then, just as calmly, he places the towel back on the stack purposely wrong, smirking a little as he misaligned it with the pile that Hanbin had previous straightened 

Hanbin’s ears flatten against his skull. 

“You’re doing that on purpose!”

“Doing what?” Zhang Hao questions. “Helping you?”

“You’re not helping!” 

“I was trying to—”

“Well stop trying!”

“Hey,” Matthew calls out loudly from the next room, “What’s going on?”

By the time Matthew rounds the corner, Zhang Hao’s expression is the picture of innocence, holding his hands up like he’s done nothing wrong at all. 

“Nothing,” Hanbin jumps to explain quickly. “Zhang Hao’s just messing everything up.”

“Messing what up?” Matthew asks. 

“The towels,” Hanbin says, gesturing toward the now crookedly stacked pile. “I folded them all, and he’s doing it wrong. It’s not helpful.”

“I finished all my coursework for the day,” Zhang Hao says, “There was a mountain of laundry. I thought I’d help.”

“You didn’t ask if I wanted help,” Hanbin counters. 

“I didn’t realize being helpful required permission.”

Hanbin’s eyes narrow. 

He doesn’t believe him, not for a second. 

Zhang Hao didn’t just happen to pick that moment to suddenly decide to be helpful. Hanbin’s sure it’s intentional. Another move in some calculated game of dominance Zhang Hao is playing, one that Matthew’s too soft-hearted to notice.

Matthew looks between them, frowning a little,  “Bin-hyung... I thought you and Hao-hyung were getting along?”

“We are,” Hanbin says too fast to be entirely believable. 

“He’s just trying to help,” Matthew says with a small frown. “It’s okay to let someone else help a little.” 

“It’s not helping when he’s doing it wrong,” Hanbin insists. “It’s making my job harder.”

“They’re just towels, hyung.” 

Hanbin flinches like he’s been struck. 

There Matthew goes, taking Zhang Hao’s side again. 

He turns away, eyes locked on the stack of towels.

It’s not just the towel.

It’s the extra toothbrush in the cup by the sink that wasn’t there a week ago. It’s the extra shoes in the hallway. It’s the faint smell of someone else clinging to Matthew’s sheets when Hanbin goes to wake him up in the morning. It’s how Matthew’s attention is no longer only his. It’s how he laughs with Zhang Hao, how he asks his opinion on things, and how over the last week, he’s stopped asking for Hanbin’s opinion. 

“Why are you always taking his side?”

Matthew looks startled, “I’m not. Hanbin—I'm not taking anyone’s side.”

“It feels like you are.”

“I just don’t think it’s worth getting upset over a towel,” Matthew says gently, hands lifted like he’s trying to soothe a startled animal. “That’s all I meant.”

But that’s not all it means, not to Hanbin. 

Surely, Matthew would be able to see that. 

Zhang Hao clears his throat lightly, “Well, since we’re already talking about it, I’ve actually been meaning to ask something.”

“Of course, you have,” Hanbin mutters. 

“It’s about the kitchen. Are we supposed to take turns cooking, or is Hanbin always in charge? I know Matthew, you were cooking this morning, so I wasn’t sure—”

“No one asked you to cook,” Hanbin says sharply. 

“I wouldn’t mind cooking,” Zhang Hao says smoothly, “I just wasn’t sure what the expectation was, and I want to be helpful.” 

“Right,” Hanbin scoffs. “Because folding towels wrong and making passive-aggressive comments is so helpful.”

“I didn’t realize you were this territorial about chores,” Zhang Hao muses. “Is that a hybrid thing, or just a you thing?” 

“Don’t act so innocent,” Hanbin snaps. “You’re inserting yourself into every part of the day and then acting like I’m the problem when I don’t roll over and say thank you!”

“I’m sorry for trying to be part of the household instead of tiptoeing around like a ghost!”

“Well, maybe if you feel so unwelcome here, you can go back to wherever you came from, and—”

“Okay, woah, hey,” Matthew says, quickly moving to wedge himself between Hanbin and Zhnag Hao. “Everyone just—settle down!”

Zhang Hao crosses his arms. 

Hanbin is still bristling, jaw tight, tail lashing behind him, “There you go taking his side again!”

“I’m not taking sides,” Matthew says carefully, “But I am starting to think maybe it’d help if we set some ground rules for all of us.”

“Like what?” 

“I don’t know yet,” Matthew gestures vaguely.  “Stuff like shared chores, quiet hours, who’s allowed to use what space when, expectations and boundaries, that sort of thing. So nobody’s left guessing, so we don’t keep having fights like this.”

“I, for one, think that’s an excellent idea,” Zhang Hao says, “Matthew-ah, do you remember that article I sent you earlier this week? The one about hybrid behavioral needs? It talked a lot about how hybrids, especially ones in high-stress households, tend to thrive with structure, clear rules, and consequences.”

“Consequences,” Hanbin echos. “So this is about punishing me.”

“No,” Matthew says.

At the same time, Zhang Hao shrugs and says, “If necessary.”

“No one’s being punished, at least not right now,” Matthew says softly. “But I think we’re all a little overwhelmed. Can we all sit down? Just… talk it out? Come up with something fair?”

Hanbin presses his lips together. He hardly imagines it’ll be fair , but he gives a tight, reluctant nod all the same. 

“It’s better this way,” Zhang Hao says, speaking slowly, as if talking to a child, as he tells Hanbin, “That way there will be clearer goals for you, and clearer punishments for when you fail. So you don’t end up trying to punish yourself again.”

“Hao-hyung, what do you mean by ‘punish yourself?’” Matthew asks, brows furrowing with concern as he looks between them.

Hanbin’s face flushes with embarrassment. He’d foolishly thought he was in the clear, that Zhang Hao’s silence the day after the incident meant he wasn’t going to bring it up to Matthew. That Matthew would never have to know, but apparently not.

“I caught Hanbin earlier this week declining food as self-punishment. He thought he’d upset you,” Zhang Hao says, waving his hand a little dismissively though, at least not dwelling on the subject. 

“Oh, hyung,” Matthew says, his voice a soft heartbreaking sound, as he looks at Hanbin with those sad eyes that make Hanbin’s chest ache. 

“Fine,” Hanbin mumbles looking down at his lap, “We can do rules. I don’t even care.” 

He tells himself it doesn’t count as giving in if he already knows the game is rigged against him. 

“Okay, let’s start. What should be on the list?” Matthew asks, sitting down on the couch next to Hanbin, as Zhang Hao goes to retrieve a notebook and start writing things down. 

“Whatever you think is important.” 

They start simple enough, outlining which chores around the house are Hanbin’s chores and which ones Matthew does, with Zhang Hao volunteering to pick up some tasks as necessary, and each chore being assigned a date in which it needs to get done.

It’s simple things, things that up until Zhang Hao arrived, he and Matthew had been doing for the last year without issue, and without needing a list to tell them to do so. But still, at least now he won’t have to worry about Zhang Hao trying to do any of his tasks. 

“I don’t want help with the laundry,” Hanbin says, making sure to add it as a bullet point that laundry and specifically towel folding is one of his tasks, not a shared task.

Zhang Hao makes a noise of amusement, as Matthew clearly writes down that laundry and laundry folding is one of Hanbin’s tasks, not anyone else's. A small victory, as far as Hanbin is concerned. 

The next few ‘rules’ progress about the same, outlining which days are errand running days, all the standard sort of things. Along with a detailed note on all of the tasks that Hanbin usually performs to get Matthew ready for the school day, with added notes now of making enough breakfast for all housemates. 

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Zhang Hao says, his voice heavy with fake sweetness, “Would Hanbin-ah be able to wake me up in the mornings as well?”

“You don’t own an alarm clock?” Hanbin questions. 

“I do,” Zhang Hao concedes, “But wouldn’t this be a great way for us to bond?”

“By me becoming your alarm clock?”

“Bin-hyung, his room’s right next to mine, it wouldn’t take that much effort to knock, right?” Matthew asks, looking between them, clearly exhausted by the constant tension, eyes silently pleading for peace- any peace, even a forced one.

So eventually, with an annoyed sigh, Hanbin agrees to wake Zhang Hao up as well. 

All in all though, everything goes smoothly. Unnecessary, but smoothly.

Until Zhang Hao says, “Ask for permission before leaving the apartment,” already writing the rule down onto the paper without waiting for agreement from Matthew or Hanbin. 

“I’m not a prisoner,” Hanbin says, looking to Matthew for support, “I’ve always been free to leave whenever I want as long as I wear my collar, and I always wear my collar. Matthew, please.” 

“Hao-hyung, I don’t know if that one is really necessary,” Matthew says. “Hanbin’s pretty independent.” 

For a moment, Hanbin is riding on the high of Matthew finally being on his side about one of these rules.

But then it all comes crashing down as Zhang Hao asks, “Did Hanbin tell you what happened when we went to the grocery store the other day?” 

Matthew shakes his head slowly, looking a little confused. 

And Hanbin tenses. He’d purposely not told Matthew how that had gone, not wanting to worry the human, but now he can see that he’d made a mistake in doing so, as he watches Zhang Hao twist the narrative to suit his needs. 

“There had nearly been an incident,” Zhang Hao tells him. “Someone woman started going off on Hanbin, if I hadn’t been there—”

“I could have handled it myself!”

“Possibly,” Zhang Hao replies, “But what if not? What if something had happened, and neither of us knew where you were?”

“I had my collar on,” Hanbin counters. 

But he can see that despite his words, Matthew’s already frowning a little, already starting to change his mind on this particular rule. 

“Matthew-ah, I’ve never left without telling you where I’m going,” Hanbin says, quieter now. “Unless it was just the store.”

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem to ask before leaving, should it?” Zhang Hao cuts in, before Matthew can reply. “Right?”

“It’s just so I know where you are,” Matthew says gently. “That’s all.”

Hanbin doesn’t answer. 

Just stare at the paper as the rule remains there.

“Anything else?” Matthew asks, looking at the paper. “Or do we think that’s good?”

“I’ve got one more,” Zhang Hao says, pen already moving. “Respond respectfully to corrections . ”

Hanbin’s head snaps up, “Define respectful.”  

“No ignoring,” Zhang Hao recites, smug. “No sarcasm. No attitude. No raised voice. No storming off. I can spell it out if it helps, but I think it’s pretty self-explanatory to expect basic good behavior. And yet…” He hums lightly.

“You want me to act like a robot.”

“I want you to act like someone who understands their place.”

“My place ?” Hanbin questions, as he presses his fingers against his palms to keep himself in check. He knows that snapping back now will only prove Zhang Hao’s point. 

“Hanbin-hyung,” Matthew says quietly, before Zhang Hao can push further. “It’s just about peace. For everyone. Please?”

That please lands low, somewhere deep in his gut, making it hard to breathe. 

But finally, he forces out a single word, “Fine.”

“I’m going to change it to ‘treat all housemates with respect,’ that way it’s more general,” Matthew says, crossing out Zhang Hao’s written rule and changing it, but only just a little. 

When they finally finish, Matthew looks quietly relieved, like Hanbin’s just done him a favor, meanwhile Hanbin can’t help but feel sick to his stomach, as Matthew tears the sheet from the notebook and goes to stick it to the fridge using one of their cat magnets. 

It looks ridiculous. 

“Perfect,” Matthews says softly. “Now that’s all settled.” 

“All that’s left, then,” Zhang Hao says, tone breezy as he taps his phone screen off, “is agreeing on consequences.”

Hanbin goes still.

Of course it would come to this. His tail gives the faintest twitch, betraying the tension he tries not to show.

“I won’t need them,” he says quickly, flatly. “I follow rules.”

“It’s not about needing them. It’s about expectations,” Zhang Hao counters. “Even the best systems plan for when things go wrong.”

Matthew shifts uncomfortably beside him, clearly remembering how badly the last time Matthew had tried to punish Hanbin for something had gone, and that had technically been Hanbin’s choice. “I just… I don’t want anything harsh.”

“They don’t have to be,” Zhang Hao replies, then glances at Hanbin. “It could be minor. Like... say you forget to wake Matthew up in the morning—”

“What, you’d spank me?” Hanbin says, sharper than intended. Trying to sound like he’s making fun, but his voice catches a little at the end.

Zhang Hao raises an eyebrow, as he asks, “Would you like that?”

Hanbin flushes, ready to deny it, but his mouth opens, and no words come out. 

He shifts a little on the cushion, pressing his thighs together subtly. Not from embarrassment, not really. More like… something curling low in his stomach.

He imagines Zhang Hao standing in front of him, expression cool and unimpressed, like he’d been in the grocery store the other day, with his hand on Hanbin’s nape, or how he’d looked that night in his bedroom, fingers in Hanbin’s mouth, and his eyes locked onto Hanbin’s. Hanbin remembers how that had made him feel too, like he was so small and wanted all at once.

He pictures that same look again now. But instead of fingers in his mouth, Zhang Hao’s hand would be on him, stern and inescapable. It’s a stupid thought, a humiliating one.

He shoves the image away, before he can dwell further on it, but Zhang Hao makes a quiet, amused sound, clearly having noticed Hanbin’s reaction to his words.

“No,” he says, tone light again. “Nothing like that. I was thinking of small consequences for small infractions. Losing TV time, no sweets, or not going out unsupervised.”

Hanbin swallows, his tail curls a little tighter around his leg, as he watches Matthew nod in silent agreement. It doesn’t go past his notice that the consequences part of this is only for when he messes up. When he fails, when he forgets, when he slips. But no one says what happens if Matthew forgets to make Saturday breakfast, or if Zhang Hao leaves the TV on before going to bed. 

No one talks about rules for them. 

No one suggests what happens if they break the structure they’re building.

If they forget something, it’s an accident, but if Hanbin does, it’s disobedience.

If they disagree, he’s the one expected to back down, because they’re human and he’s… not.

“Hanbin-hyung?” Matthew’s voice is soft, almost uncertain. “Does that sound okay to you?”

 Zhang Hao is watching him too now, patient but expectant.

Hanbin knows what he’s supposed to say. He can feel the weight of their eyes, the silent pressure to agree, to make this easy, to be a good kitty. 

So with a soft and slightly resigned voice, he says, “If that’s what you want, Matthew-ah.” 

Chapter Text

When Zhang Hao comes upon him, Hanbin is stretched out on the couch, his eyes half-lidded, and his tail flicking lazily, with one ear that twitches at the sounds of cars going past every so often. He almost looks relaxed, draped over the cushions.

But Zhang Hao knows better.

There’s a tension beneath the stillness, a tightness in his spine, even in rest. Hanbin never fully lets go, always worrying, always overthinking. 

Living with him is like living beside a lit fuse. Beautiful, sparkling, and a bit unpredictable at times. And Zhang Hao can’t seem to stop watching, and from wanting to do so much more than watch. 

He’s been in the scene for years, trained, practiced, Zhang Hao is fluent in the language of control and surrender. 

But Hanbin… He isn’t like any submissive Zhang Hao’s ever known. 

Hanbin’s not even like any person Zhang Hao has ever known. 

He’s only ever been close to the one hybrid that his neighbor had years ago, and while he’d seen other people with their hybrids at the type of clubs that he likes to frequent, watching a master control their own hybrid is very different from participating in those actions on his own. Though he’s read forums, essays, and even academic papers on hybrid cognition and trauma-informed care with the type of enthusiasm that only an academic like himself might have had for the subject. 

But nothing written down had prepared him for the reality, for the walking contradiction that Hanbin is, and the prideful way that even as Hanbin’s instincts pull him toward structure, he fights against it. 

And yet here… On a perfectly sunny day, Hanbin’s cat hybrid instincts are fully in control, basking here in the warm patch of sun like any housecat would. 

Zhang Hao watches him for just a moment longer, before he then steps behind the couch, close enough to touch.

He reaches out before he can think better of it.

His hand sinks into Hanbin’s hair, brushing gently over one soft ear.

At first, Hanbin leans in, instinctively. 

And then, quiet as a breath, Zhang Hao hears it.

A soft rumbling sound coming from the hybrid.

The sound is so faint it barely registers, more vibration than voice.

A purr .

“I’ve never heard you make that sound before,” Zhang Hao murmurs. “I didn’t know hybrids could purr.”

Hanbin stiffens instantly, suddenly seeming to realize whose hand it is in his hair, though he doesn’t jerk away, just stays unnaturally still, Zhang Hao’s hand is still in his hair, as he says, “Oh, and here I thought you knew everything about hybrids.”

“I’d like to,” Zhang Hao replies, “Perhaps one day I will.”

Hanbin lets out a noise like a snort at that, before muttering, “You tricked me.”

“I touched you,” Zhang Hao corrects. “And then you leaned in.”

“I thought it was him,” Hanbin counters.

Which to be fair, Zhang Hao had assumed as much.

He highly doubted Hanbin would willingly let him pet him. 

Though curiosity gets the better of him, and Zhang Hao’s hand moves again, this time pointedly, brushing the base of his ear like a challenge, testing whether Hanbin will allow it twice.

Hanbin jerks away from his touch this time, bristling, “Don’t.”

“You’re not still mad at me, are you?” Zhang Hao asks, a touch of amusement in his voice. 

Hanbin doesn’t answer in words, but his ears flick back in displeasure. 

 “Be careful,” he murmurs. “We all agreed to the rules, and right now you’re not being very respectful .”

“It’s not disrespectful to not want to be treated like a pet,” Hanbin counters. 

“But you liked it,” Zhang Hao replies. “I heard you purring.” 

Hanbin doesn’t respond. He clearly doesn’t want to give Zhang Hao the satisfaction of admitting that he’s right. That some part of him, some instinctual part, had enjoyed being pet. 

Zhang Hao shifts forward, reaching out for Hanbin’s head again, his fingers running ever so softly though the hybrid’s hair in a slow, circling motion.

Hanbin inhales sharply, but doesn’t outwardly pull away, he just mutters, “Touching me without permission isn’t respectful.”

“And snapping at me isn’t obedient,” Zhang Hao replies mildly. “Would you like to find out what happens when you break the rules?”

Despite Hanbin’s words, he doesn’t pull away again, he flushes a little, but remains still as Zhang Hao pets him. This time, when his fingers brush against Hanbin’s ears, Zhang Hao pinches lightly at the soft tip of his ear. Not hard, but just enough.

Hanbin gasps, a helpless sound that slips past his lips before he can seem to remember to stop himself, before he can seem to remember not to want this. 

“You like pain,” Zhang Hao says, it’s a statement, not a question. 

While many parts of Hanbin are still a bit of an enigma to Zhang Hao, this one thing he knows for a fact. 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Zhang Hao continues, quiet now. “As I told you before, some subs are more responsive than others to physical triggers.”

Hanbin presses his lips together, but at least this time doesn’t deny Zhang Hao’s assessment. 

“I mean,” Zhang Hao adds, with a shrug, “Matthew said you two never hooked up, but you get so worked up so easily, I’m shocked he wouldn’t be interested.” 

The air shifts at his mention of Matthew. 

A second ago, Hanbin posture was a bit easier, flustered sure, but now though, it’s replaced by something cold and bristling in a second. 

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Hanbin says, voice flat and final.

Zhang Hao blinks, caught off guard. He hadn't meant to strike that particular nerve. He’d thought Hanbin might reply with something a bit snappy, it’s clear the hybrid has complicated feelings about his owner, but he hadn’t expected such sudden coldness. 

Hanbin has always been over protective of Matthew, that much is clear. He’d made a point of asserting his protective nature in regards to Matthew the first time Zhang Hao had ever met the hybrid. And it was clear that his feelings towards Matthew was part of why Hanbin didn’t particularly care for Zhang Hao. 

But perhaps it was more than just over protectiveness. 

He can’t stop himself from asking, “Are you in love with him?”

Hanbin recoils like he’s been slapped. 

“What—no,” Hanbin says quickly. His voice pitches up though, in a way that makes Zhang Hao unsure of whether he can believe him. 

“Are you sure?” he questions.

“Of course I’m sure! Matthew and I are like family! How can you even ask that?” 

“How can I not,” Zhang Hao counters, “When you get so upset every time I’m near him?”

Hanbin falters, his ears flatten against his skull and his tail lashes once, defensive, before he says, “Because I don’t trust you !”

Hanbin is trembling, just slightly. 

And Zhang Hao watches him for a long moment.

It’s fascinating how quickly Hanbin flips between defiance and instinct, between his sharp tongue and his soft underbelly. Every reaction is layered, part resistance and part invitation. And Zhang Hao wants to understand all of it. He wants to peel Hanbin apart piece by piece, not out of cruelty, but out of the same greedy curiosity that drives him to finish a puzzle just to see the picture underneath.

He wants to know how Hanbin works.

Human submissives are easy by comparison- eager, practiced, and most often already half-aware of their desires, but Hanbin is all instinct and denial, fighting every step toward what he clearly craves. 

He thinks again of how Hanbin leaned into his hand before realizing who it was. 

Of the way his body had purred before his pride could stop it. 

That moment—unguarded, involuntary—felt more honest than anything else so far.

“We should have made honesty a rule,” Zhang Hao muses. “Maybe then I could have gotten the truth out of you.” 

“I am telling you the truth,” Hanbin insists. 

Zhang Hao doesn’t entirely believe him, but he also doesn’t want to push him any further. Not now. Not while Hanbin is still bristling, still balancing too close to fight-or-flight.

Instead, he takes a step back, and gives him space.

But he files the moment away, Hanbin’s panic at the mention of Matthew, the heat of his denial, the lingering way his eyes follow Zhang Hao even when he’s angry. 

It’s not love. Not exactly, but it’s something possessive. Something that’s jealous , though whether that’s of Zhang Hao giving Matthew attention or Matthew giving Zhang Hao attention is something he’s yet to determine.

Regardless, it’s something that Zhang Hao can use in the future. 

For now though, he smiles, and holds his hands up as a peace offering, “Fine, fine, if you say so.” 

He can wait.

Hanbin’s scowl deepens, eyes narrowed beneath the flat set of his ears.

“Did you have a reason for being here,” he snaps, “Or are you just here to torture me?”

“Torture?” Zhang Hao says with a low chuckle. “Oh, you wish.”

Hanbin makes a strangled sound in his throat, half-growl, half-whine. 

“Actually,” he says, “I did have a reason. Thought you might want to look this over.”

Zhang Hao pulls a folded up square of paper from his pocket. 

Hanbin’s ears twitch suspiciously, looking at the paper in Zhang Hao’s hand but refusing to take it,  “What is it?”

“A list,” Zhang Hao says simply, “Of potential punishments, things you might be comfortable with, or not. I already know that you like being ignored, and you kneel well, too, and I know you liked what we did the other night, though you’d never admit that you enjoy pain. However, there are a number of punishments that I don’t know your comfort level for. I’d feel more comfortable if you marked what you do want, and what you don’t want.”

He realizes this probably should have been something he brought up with Matthew first. As Hanbin’s registered owner, the default expectation would be that decisions like this go through him, but Matthew’s too naive when it comes to power exchange, too gentle and too soft-spoken, which is half the problem here. When they’d talked about Hanbin’s behavioral quirks, Matthew had mentioned that he noticed on occasion Hanbin getting tense at times, but that he normally would calm down again in a few days. 

Zhang Hao couldn’t help but wonder what it is Hanbin normally does to let off steam, since Matthew clearly isn’t a participant in relieving the hybrid’s tension. 

Hence why instead of bothering Matthew with picking out punishments for Hanbin, Zhang Hao had wanted to go to the hybrid directly. In Zhang Hao’s experience, this part works best when the dom and sub talk things over directly and form a mutual understanding, and a negotiation of expectations.

Hanbin’s situation complicates it, though. He isn’t just a sub—he’s a hybrid. 

And Zhang Hao is, admittedly, out of his depth.

So last night, long after Hanbin had stormed off to his room and Matthew had gone to bed, Zhang Hao had stayed up with his laptop. Scouring forums, cross-referencing hybrid rights laws and behavioral training methods, and then digging into discussions from other doms who had partnered with hybrids before. He’d gone through great lengths to make sure this list was perfect, cross-referencing it with lists he had made for previous subs and what he had read online about hybrid training, and even going so far as to ask some of his friends who were also in the community to look it over. 

He’d learned that while there were overlaps in the dom/sub dynamic and master/pet structures, sure, there were also district differences, enough that he knows better than to treat Hanbin like any submissive he’d played with before. There were instincts at work here, biological triggers and bred-in expectations, and punishment wasn’t always about pain, though it is clear Hanbin enjoys that aspect. 

“I’m not choosing my punishments,” Hanbin mutters, “That’s your job.”

“It is,” Zhang Hao agrees. “But I’d rather not guess and stumble into a hard limit. And who knows—there might be things on here you want more of.”

That gets a flicker of reaction. 

“I don’t want —”

“You don’t want to want it, ” Zhang Hao corrects softly. “That’s different than not wanting it all together.”

Hanbin flushes.

He grabs the paper out of Zhang Hao’s hand, crumpling it slightly in the process, but doesn’t look at it right away.

“You don’t have to take a look at it now,” he says, calm again. “But I expect it back by the end of the day, and please be honest, this only works if you are.”

Hanbin grits his teeth, tail flicking irritably. “Yeah, okay…”

It’s hours later when someone knocks on the door to his bedroom, or not someone , Zhang Hao knows exactly who it is the second he hears the knock. This is partly because Matthew does not knock and always lets himself in, and partly because Hanbin’s ‘wake up calls’ for him each morning have just been a few knocks at the door (none of the softness that Hanbin shows Matthew), and as such, Hao has become familiar with the sound of Hanbin’s knocks. 

Plus he’d been expecting Hanbin, after all, he’d said that he wanted the list back by the end of the night.

When Zhang Hao opens the door, there Hanbin is, his face stiff with something halfway between defiance and discomfort. He just holds out the paper, now slightly more wrinkled than before, and says, “Here, take it.” 

Zhang Hao does. Though not without pointing out, “You could’ve just slid it under the door and avoided the whole awkward social interaction.”

Hanbin shrugs a little, though when he speaks there’s a touch of uncertainty to his voice, “I thought you’d want to look it over with me in the room, just in case.” 

“I do,” Zhang Hao concedes. Not having expected that Hanbin would be so easily able to read him. It certainly was better to go over a list of punishments with a sub, or in this case a hybrid , while the other was there, just to make sure everyone is on the same page. “Come in.” 

Hanbin hesitates for only a second before crossing the threshold into Zhang Hao’s room.  

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the chair by the small desk in the corner, and Hanbin surprisingly obeys without protest. 

Fascinating .

Zhang Hao sits on his bed across from Hanbin and unfolds the paper, carefully examining what Hanbin had marked. There are clean lines drawn through some items, mostly ones he expected, and had put on there purposely so Hanbin would be able to reject them, such as isolation for more than an hour and sensory deprivation. 

Others have small checks beside them, which Zhang Hao takes to mean that he approves of them, chore enforcement, technology restriction, and cold showers, little things that are mostly harmless, and therefore minor infractions. 

And then a much smaller collection of choices that have stars next to them. 

“I assume the stars are your preferred punishments,” Zhang Hao asks. 

There’s a slight flush to Hanbin’s face when Zhang Hao looks up, but eventually Hanbin nods in agreement.

Zhang Hao’s eyes linger on that particular section, seeing some of the things Hanbin has highlighted as punishments he would prefer. Kneeling, spanking, clothespins, ice or water based punishments…

A small smirk finds its way onto Zhang Hao’s lips as he looks at the list. Just as he had suspected, everything that Hanbin starred were either pain-based or ones with a certain level of attention given from the person administering the punishment. 

He hums low in his throat as he looks at the list. He lets the silence stretch, knowing that Hanbin is watching him, tense and bristling like he’s waiting to be mocked.

“You said to be honest,” Hanbin says, eventually breaking the silence. 

“I did, and you were,” Zhang Hao says, looking away from the list,  “That’s good. It means I can give you what you need without making you hate me in the process.”

Hanbin doesn’t respond, but the flick of his ears betrays him.

Zhang Hao studies him, really studies him. The way his hands are half-flexed against the armrest of Zhang Hao’s desk chair. He’s nervous. Not afraid, not wary, nervous . Of what exactly? Being judged, perhaps?

“You didn’t have to star anything,” Zhang Hao points out, “You could’ve just crossed out what you didn’t want. That would’ve been enough.”

Hanbin shrugs a little, before he replies, “You already knew.”

“I suspected,” Zhang Hao corrects. “Now I know. ”

Hanbin’s ears and tail betray the hint of anxiety still lingering there, even as he tries to pretend that he hardly cares.

Zhang Hao doesn’t push further.

Not just yet.

Zhang Hao scans further down the page, his eyes pausing on a few items that aren’t checked, crossed out, or starred.They have small question marks next to them. 

“These question marks here,” he asks, tapping a fingertip lightly on one. “You weren’t sure if you like them or you don’t know what they mean?”

“Both,” Hanbin replies. “I can’t know if I like something if I don’t know what it means.” 

“Fair enough. That’s normal,” Zhang Hao says gently. “It’s good to know what you might want. Exploration’s part of the process. We’ll handle it like this. If we ever try something on your maybe list, or anything for the first time, you can say orange. That’ll be our safety word.”

“Orange?” Hanbin questions. 

“It’ll mean to stop that particular punishment immediately, and we switch to something pre-approved,” Zhang Hao tells him. “And then we’ll move that punishment option to the no list.” 

“Oh… Okay…?” Hanbin replies, his voice lifting up at the end in confusion.

“On that note, If you’re feeling overwhelmed or you want to slow down, you say yellow , and we’ll take a momentary breather,” Zhang Hao continues, “And if you want a full stop—no negotiation, no pushing—then you say red. ”

He watches Hanbin absorb that. The hybrid’s gaze drops to the floor, brow furrowed, tail flicking slowly behind him. Finally, Hanbin mutters, “Why are you doing all this?”

“All of what?”

“Giving me options and outs, I thought…” Hanbin falters. 

“You’re not just some object to correct or control, Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao replies. “You’re a hybrid, yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that your safety matters. Your comfort matters, and I do genuinely believe that rules and structure can help you. My goal here is to help, not hurt you.”

Hanbin’s fingers curl slightly into his sleeves, the faintest tremor in his shoulders. He doesn’t speak, but the tension in his posture has shifted—less armor, more confusion. Like he’s not sure whether to retreat or lean in.

“Discipline isn’t about cruelty. It’s about trust,” Zhang Hao adds. 

Hanbin being a hybrid does complicate things. 

A human partner might be more experienced in these matters, or at least, more well aware of their needs. Their punishments would potentially be with a more internally erotic nature for both participants, whereas here… 

Part of Zhang Hao suspects Hanbin wants that, and a part of Zhang Hao wants it himself. He knows intrinsically that with the right push, with the right amount of training, Hanbin would be the perfect submissive. But to get there, he needs Hanbin to admit that he wants that.

Until then, he is just a hybrid in need of training. 

“You did well, bringing this to me and being honest,” Zhang Hao tells him. “If you have no further questions for now, then we can call it a night.” 

“Actually,” Hanbin says, a hesitant edge to his voice, “There was a punishment I was curious about.”

“Is that so?” 

Hanbin nods, getting up from the chair to take the list back from Zhang Hao, where he points out one of the ones he had put a question mark next to. 

“This one,” he explains, tilting the paper toward Zhang Hao. “‘Palm strikes with a belt.’ What… does that mean exactly? Like—why the palm specifically rather than, you know…?”

Zhang Hao raises an eyebrow at the way Hanbin had trailed off, his face still a little flustered. 

 “It’s exactly what it says,” Zhang Hao replies, “Short, sharp snaps to your hands, either with a belt or ruler. It stings in a very specific way that makes it hard to ignore. It’s not damaging, just… memorable.”

“But why there?”

“Because it’s a nerve-dense area, so it hurts more than it looks like it should, and it makes you feel it every time you try to use your hands afterward.” He pauses, then adds, “Do you want me to show you?”

“What—like actually?” Hanbin asks, his eyes going wide at the prospect. Surprised, but not disinterested. 

“A demo,” Zhang Hao says. “I’ll treat it like the real thing so you feel the effect, but it’s not punishment. You can say orange at any time and I’ll stop.”

Hanbin hesitates, his tail flicks behind him, but his eyes are blown wide with clear interest, so Zhang Hao isn’t too surprised when he eventually says, “Okay, just a few.”

Zhang Hao stands and fetches his belt from where it’s settled on his dresser. 

“Hands out,” he says. “Palms up. You’ll count and thank me, like you would normally when being punished.  I’ll stop at three unless you ask to stop sooner.”

Hanbin’s hands tremble ever so slightly as he offers them forward, his palms facing up, fingers pressed tightly together. 

“Ready?”

Hanbin nods,  “Yeah.”

The first snap comes quickly. The belt flicks across Hanbin’s right palm with a sharp crack. Zhang Hao knows from experience that the sting of the first strike is always jarring, the pain concentrated and hot, Hanbin flinches, but otherwise keeps his posture. 

“One,” Hanbin says, afterwards.

“One, what?”

 Hanbin huffs a little, but replies, “One, thank you.”

Zhang Hao waits, just long enough to let the sensation sink in, then aims for Hanbin’s left hand. The second strike was just as sharp as the first strike had been. 

“Two,” Hanbin says, jaw clenched. “Thank you.”

His fingers twitch, but stay open. 

Zhang Hao watches closely, reading every flicker in his expression, carefully watching for any sign of discomfort, but Hanbin doesn’t look uncomfortable at all. If anything, despite the pain, his eyes give away how much he likes this. 

The third strike lands dead center on the right again, a bit harder. 

Hanbin gasps, breath catching—but he still answers. “Three, thank you.”

Zhang Hao exhales slowly, lowering the belt now that the demonstration of the punishment is over. Gently, he asks Hanbin, “How do your hands feel?”

Hanbin flexes them, eyes wide and face flushed as he replies, “They sting.”

“Good sting or bad sting?”

Hanbin looks away before answering him, “...Both?”

“Good, that’s enough then.”

Though when Zhang Hao goes to set the belt aside, Hanbin speaks up, “No, don’t.”

“Don’t what, Hanbin-ah?” 

“Can’t you just… keep going? I can take more.”

There’s something about his voice. 

A hint of desperation there. 

“Are you sure?” Zhang Hao asks. 

Hanbin nods, “Yes.”

Zhang Hao picks up the belt again, noticing an almost eagerness in Hanbin’s expression, as he holds out his hands this time. 

His voice trembles a little as he replies, “Four, thank you,” to Zhang Hao’s next lash, but otherwise remains still. 

So Zhang Hao continues, sharp snaps, alternating hands.

“Five. Thank you.” 

 Hanbin’s breath is ragged by the end, his fingers twitching with each strike, but he keeps counting, “Six. Thank you.” 

By the seventh, Zhang Hao pauses. 

Hanbin looks dazed.

Dazed enough that it takes him a beat too long before he says, “Seven. Thank you.” 

Zhang Hao lowers the belt, “That’s enough.”

“No, it’s not—just one more set. I want— I mean I can. I can take more,” Hanbin says, his breathing a little unsteady. 

Zhang Hao’s eyes narrow. He sees the tension in Hanbin’s thighs, the too-fast breathing, the way he’s shifting forward without realizing it. His palms are red and swelling, fingers twitching involuntarily from the ache, and yet he still wants more. 

“Orange,” Zhang Hao says, without hesitation. 

Hanbin blinks, caught off guard, “What?”

“I’m using the safeword to stop us,” Zhang Hao says, “We’re done.”

Hanbin stares at him like he’s been slapped, “But I thought those words were for me. ”

“It’s for both of us,” he replies. “For if we ever feel uncomfortable, and contrary to what you seem to believe about me, I don’t find it comfortable to hurt others when they’ve done nothing wrong.” 

“It didn’t hurt that bad,” Hanbin counters. 

Zhang Hao drops the belt onto the ground to reach for Hanbin’s hands instead, the hybrid jerks his hand back the second Zhang Hao’s fingers touch one of the red marks across his palm, letting out a hiss of pain.

“Not that bad, hmm?” Zhang Hao quips. “Let me see.”

Hanbin hesitates, but slowly offers them up again. Zhang Hao cradles them gently, turning them over with care. The skin is flushed dark red across the center of both palms, mottled at the edges, and when Zhang Hao presses lightly into one mark, Hanbin can’t seem to help the small, broken whimper that escapes him.

Zhang Hao frowns, his thumb still gently stroking across one welt, “I’ll adjust the list, no more than five palm strikes, that’ll be the hard limit.” 

Hanbin doesn’t answer. His eyes flicker somewhere between shame and confusion.

“This isn’t a game to me, Hanbin. I’m not here to feed your pain kink on command.” His voice is soft as he speaks, but also deathly serious. “I’ll hurt you when it means something. Not just because you think you can take it.”

Hanbin’s throat bobs in a swallow as he reluctantly admits, “But… it felt good.”

There it is, the admission. 

Zhang Hao leans in, pressing a kiss against the curve of Hanbin’s sore hand, “I’ll take care of you. I’ll decide when you need to be punished. And I’ll know when to stop—even if you don’t.”

Hanbin’s ears lower, tail stilling beside him.

And for once, he doesn’t argue.

“Okay,” he whispers.

Zhang Hao keeps a hold of Hanbin’s hands as he shifts closer on the bed, tugging the hybrid gently into his lap. Hanbin doesn’t resist, if anything he feels far more pliant than usual, his breath still a little shaky, like his body hasn’t quite caught up to the sudden stop.

“Breathe slow,” Zhang Hao murmurs, rubbing soothing circles between Hanbin’s shoulder blades. “You did well.”

“It’s really not bad,” he mumbles after a moment, almost defensively. “My hands. It’s not—”

“I know. That’s not the point,” Zhang Hao interrupts gently. “I’m not checking to see how broken you are, Hanbin. I’m checking on you because I care.”

Hanbin stiffens slightly at the word care , but doesn’t pull away.

Zhang Hao shifts them both back until they’re reclining more comfortably on the bed. He props Hanbin’s hands on a pillow between them and stands up just long enough to grab a jar of salve from his nightstand—a generic first-aid cream, nothing fancy, but cool and scentless.

“This might sting,” Zhang Hao warns, scooping a bit of ointment onto his fingertips. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

He starts with the left hand, spreading the cream gently across the reddened skin. Hanbin flinches once, but otherwise stays quiet. His ears twitch occasionally, but not in distress, more like uncertainty.

Hanbin doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t argue either. His head tips forward, resting on Zhang Hao’s shoulder a little as Zhang Hao keeps massaging the salve into the worst of the red marks, his touch gentle but thorough. When he’s done, he sets the jar aside and holds Hanbin’s hands again, thumbs sweeping slowly over the back of each one.

Then, softly, he says, “Let’s end this the right way.”

Hanbin blinks up at him, confused, “What do you mean the right way?” 

“This is something I’ve used before with other subs,” Zhang Hao tells him, “And I think it might work well for you. So repeat after me.”

“Okay,” Hanbin says, and he straightens slightly, alert but not tense, his eyes focused, waiting.

Zhang Hao’s voice stays low and even as he says, “I am safe.”

“I… I am safe,” Hanbin echoes.

“I am not in trouble.”

“I’m not in trouble.”

“I did well.”

A small pause. 

And then, so quietly that Zhang Hao barely even hears it, Hanbin echoes, “I did well.”

Hanbin lets out a long breath, some mix of relief and submission, and finally sags fully into Zhang Hao’s chest. His ears are relaxed now, and his hands aren’t trembling anymore. 

Zhang Hao wraps his arms around him and lets them rest there, saying nothing, just breathing together in silence until eventually Hanbin seems to come back more to himself. He wiggles out of Zhang Hao’s hold, with a quick and quiet, “Good night,” before making his escape. 

The club is loud.

Almost uncomfortably so. 

With a heavy bass thudding underfoot and the lights of the club shift in colors overhead, more ambient than anything else, casting the stage at the center of the club in a saturated red color.

Zhang Hao watches the scene on stage unfolding with a drink in hand. Though he hardly drank any of his drink, too captivated by the scene in front of him. 

A Dom on stage is working a bunny hybrid through a ropes routine, nothing too explicit, just a gentle display of power and trust, tying their sub up as display for the other members of the club. The hybrid is beautiful, of course, trembling in the way subs often do when they crave praise, but fear they haven’t earned it yet. Zhang Hao watches with interest as the Dom strokes his ears and hushes him, and the bunny seems to melt under the attention.

So different from the way a certain hybrid had acted the last time Zhang Hao touched his ears. 

Zhang Hao doesn’t have a hybrid kink, not really—he’s attracted to submission, not to a species. Hybrid’s are just more naturally inclined to submissiveness—but something about the scene pulls at him. It's tender, and a part of him yearns to experience something similar. 

He sips his drink, thoughtful. 

He and Matthew are out with friends tonight, a rare break in routine, brought up as a sort of celebration of making it through the academic week. The club is a familiar one to Zhang Hao, and he’s pretty sure Matthew has been here once or twice himself. Zhang Hao had been thankful to find this place when he’d first moved to Seoul for graduate school, leaving behind a dom/sub community that he had been well-established with back at his previous university in China. A part of him had worried that it would be harder to break into the scene here, to find a community he trusted and a sub that he could work with, and while finding the perfect sub was still a bit of a work in progress, he’d been lucky to meet like minded individuals. 

Matthew is here somewhere. Zhang Hao squints into the crowd casually looking for him, but doesn’t spot him immediately. It’s not a worry, though. He’s not Matthew’s Dom. That much has become clear, even if they tried it, half-heartedly, in the beginning. It hadn’t worked out, Matthew doesn’t quite have the right mindset for submission, though he’s certainly not much of the dominant type either, which he supposes begs the question of how did Matthew end up here and with this community around him. 

“I never did ask—how did you and Matthew meet?” Zhang Hao says, turning to Jiwoong, now that the thought has occurred to him. 

“Dating app,” Jiwoong explains, with a slightly humorous edge to his voice, “His Korean wasn’t great at the time, so I think he misunderstood a few things in my profile.”

“Oh, is that so?” Zhang Hao asks, raising a brow.

“I listed myself as a Dom, said I was looking for someone submissive, someone curious about structure, obedience—typical stuff,” Jiwoong explains, and Zhang Hao nods along. He’s done the same himself in the past. It works to find like minded individuals. “So when we matched, I thought he knew what he was getting into, but we met up and within five minutes I’m like, oh. He’s not from the scene, at all. He kept asking the funniest questions, polite though, way too polite for my liking, you know I like them a bit bratty.”

Zhang Hao laughs a little at that, “That I do.” 

“Even after I let Matthew down gently and told him what I’d really invited him to, he decided to stick around,” Jiwoong continues, humming a little in consideration, “I guess he eventually figured things out.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you two,” Jiwoong gestures vaguely between Zhang Hao and the bar where Matthew probably is. “You’re living together, you sent that message in the group chat the other day about building a punishment list, and you come to things together. It’s obvious.”

“Ahh,” Zhang Hao says softly.

He supposes to an outsider, it might look that way.

After all, he had moved in with Matthew after the two of them had hooked up a few times, and has been seen on dates together by their friends, but while their sexual compatibility was off the charts, their kinks didn’t align just right, and as fun as it was to kiss Matthew when he was a little drunk, there was a level of submission that Zhang Hao craved in a partner that Matthew just couldn’t provide.

However, he can’t blame Jiwoong or any of their friends for misunderstanding. 

Rather than being offended by Jiwoong’s suggestion, he simply says, “Matthew and I are just roommates with benefits, nothing more.”

“I’d thought…” Jiwoong trails off, the other’s brows furrowing a little in confusion, before he asks, “If that list you sent the group chat wasn’t for Matthew, then who was it for?” 

Zhang Hao doesn’t answer him right away, but he glances at the stage again, where the bunny hybrid is kneeling at his Dom’s feet, looking blissed out. 

Jiwoong follows his gaze and wrinkles his nose slightly. He remembers having brought the topic of his interest in hybrids up to Jiwoong before during one of their first meetings, but Jiwoong had made it very clear that he prefers human partners and couldn’t really see the appeal of a hybrid. 

“Did you know Matthew has a hybrid at home?” Zhang Hao asks after a moment.

“You mean Hanbin?” 

“So you did know?” 

Jiwoong shrugs a little before he admits, “He might’ve mentioned him once or twice. Why?”

“I’m training him.” 

“And Matthew’s okay with that?”

Zhang Hao hesitates.

Technically, they hadn’t talked about the specifics, but it had been Matthew’s idea to come up with the rules in the first place, and while Zhang Hao had kept the nature of punishments between himself and Hanbin only, it wasn’t like Matthew was completely unaware of the situation. They’d talked about it, he’d sent Matthew articles on the subject of hybrid training, and for the most part, Matthew seemed willing to let Zhang Hao handle this, agreeing that it was for Hanbin’s own good. 

“For the most part,” Zhang Hao eventually answers. “Hanbin needs the structure, and Matthew understands that.”

“And what does Hanbin think about that?” 

Zhang Hao’s lips quirk up a little in amusement thinking about Hanbin. His stubbornness is always at war with his clear desire for discipline. 

“He’s difficult, stubborn, but he wants something from me. He wants pain, mostly, but what I think he really needs is structure, without it, he gets neurotic.”

Jiwoong raises his glass to his lips, thoughtful. “Does he say that?”

“No,” Zhang Hao admits. “He won’t ask.”

He remembers the look in Hanbin’s eyes the first time he’d punished him, and after that, how he’d been calmer and more focused, but then the snippiness had crept back in once his knees healed. 

And now it’s happening again as his hands are healing. 

“Despite how much he needs it.” 

“Because of pride?”

“Probably.”

They lapse into silence, the hum of the club surrounding them, the soft cries from the stage fading into the music.

Then Jiwoong asks, “And what about you? What do you want from him?”

“Control,” he says, after thinking for a long moment, “But not just because I want to dominate him. I want him to feel safe in that control, to give it willingly. I want him to trust me enough to ask for the pain he craves.”

Jiwoong considers that for a moment before saying, “Then maybe you need to make him want it badly enough to ask.”

“You’re suggesting I… bait him?”

“Essentially,” he replies with a shrug. “I’ve had stubborn subs before, and if they’re too proud to admit what they want, the best way to get them to admit it is to purposely give them what you know just isn't enough for them. Think of it less as baiting him and more as emotionally edging him.” 

Zhang Hao huffs out a small laugh at Jiwoong’s phrasing.

Though the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks Jiwoong’s suggestion might be on the right path. Hanbin clearly wants pain, and if he doesn’t give him the pain-based punishments he craves, it’s likely that he’ll act out until he gets what he wants.

And as long as Zhang Hao doesn’t give in, eventually, he will have to ask for what he actually wants. 

“So what would you suggest instead?” Zhang Hao asks, as he continues to weigh the idea.

“Well, he’s a cat,, isn’t he?”

“Cat hybrid, technically,” Zhang Hao corrects, with a hint of amusement in his voice. 

“Same difference,” Jiwoong says, waving him off, “Then treat him like a real cat, get a spray bottle, and use it when he mouths off or misbehaves. Make it irritating, and annoying, and not satisfying at all, and eventually…”

“He’ll crack,” Zhang Hao finishes. 

“Cats hate water, so he’ll probably hate it too, right?” Jiwoong adds. “Especially if he knows there’s another punishment that would be more satisfying to him, but you’re choosing not to give it to him.”

Zhang Hao’s amusement settles into intrigue. Hanbin had agreed to water-based punishments, back when they’d sat down and made the list. At the time, it had seemed like a throwaway option. One of the lighter deterrents, more about embarrassment than pain. Not something Zhang Hao had really considered using, he’d just added it to the list to give them options. 

But now… now he can see how it might work.

Yes, Zhang Hao thinks. 

This could work.

And if Hanbin wants more, if he really wants to be touched properly like he wants that again, he’ll have to do something he’s never done.

Ask for it.

Zhang Hao stares at his drink, then back at the stage. One day, he’ll have Hanbin just as well trained as that hybrid on stage. He just has to make Hanbin admit that he wants that.  

A shout of laughter breaks through his bubble of quiet contemplation, and Matthew reappears from whenever he’d been off at, grinning like he’s just won a game show. 

“Look what I got!” Matthews says, holding up a tray of shots. “Some guy at the bar said if I asked him, ‘Daddy, pretty please,’ he’d buy me and my friends a round.”

“He said what?” Zhang Hao asks, looking sharply towards the bar.

He spots the man instantly. He’s unfamiliar to Zhang Hao, but the leering look in his eyes isn’t unfamiliar. Zhang Hao has met plenty of men like him before.

Matthew, however, just laughs all proud of himself, “Isn’t this club the best?”

Before he can overthink it, Zhang Hao takes one of the shots, tips it toward Matthew, and pours it straight into his mouth. Matthew coughs, laughing through it, more than a little surprised. Then Zhang Hao grabs him by the chin and kisses him, possessive and intentionally, keeping his eyes open so he can make eye contact with the man at the bar as he kisses Matthew. 

When he pulls away, Matthew is breathless and blinking. 

“Hyung,” he says, voice high, “What was that?”

“Claiming you,” Zhang Hao says, then mutters, “Some people need to learn boundaries.”

Matthew just laughs at that, pleasantly tipsy and more than a little amused. He hands Jiwoong a shot and then climbs into the booth, resting on Zhang Hao’s shoulder comfortably, before he asks,  “What were you two talking about before I interrupted?”

He glances at Jiwoong, who arches a single eyebrow in his direction, but thankfully doesn’t answer for him. 

Zhang Hao just smiles and replies, “Nothing important.”

Hanbin’s been good the last few days. 

Too good, Zhang Hao thinks, watching from the living room as Hanbin moves through the kitchen in silence, efficiently unloading the dishwasher and prepping tea for Matthew’s afternoon break.

There’s a calm to him on the surface, his ears are relaxed, his tail moves behind him, slow in its arcs. To anyone else, he might seem perfectly at peace. 

But Zhang Hao’s been paying attention. And beneath that practiced stillness, Hanbin vibrates with something barely restrained.

He masks it well, with Matthew especially. Always speaking with a gentle voice, it's a performance he’s mastered. Zhang Hao watches him press a mug into Matthew’s hand and then flex his hand afterwards, clearly having enjoyed the burn of the warm mug against his palm. 

Zhang Hao knows that flavor of tension.

He’s seen it in subs before, and felt it in himself during a few turbulent months when he was still figuring himself out. That desperate tightrope of obedience and neglect, where no one ever calls you out and you end up quietly punishing yourself for it.

How these two, Hanbin with his hidden sharp edges and Matthew with his overwhelming soft spot for the hybrid, managed to coexist for this long without imploding is beyond him.

They need him. 

Even if Hanbin won’t say it.

Especially because he won’t.

Zhang Hao closes his laptop and walks into the kitchen, just as Hanbin finishes wiping down the counter. Hanbin stiffens immediately, just barely, but Zhang Hao catches it, the way Hanbin always reacts to his presence. 

He pauses as he looks around the kitchen, considering for a second, looking for something to find fault in, and then his eyes settle upon it. A dish rag that had managed to make its way onto the floor. Probably by accident. Probably something Hanbin would have picked up and moved to the laundry before he left the room, but now it’s an opportunity. A perfect one considering how particular Hanbin had been about laundry being his task. 

“Am I mistaken, or was yesterday not laundry day?”

“It was,” Hanbin says, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he watches Zhang Hao move through the kitchen to where the forgotten dish towel is. 

“And yet, here is a forgotten towel?” 

“That wasn’t there yesterday—”

“Are you sure?” Zhang Hao asks. “I was sure it was here yesterday evening, which means you missed it.”

“That’s not—” 

“So that’s one broken rule,” Zhang Hao tilts his head, smiling quietly. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before you slipped up.” 

Hanbin straightens his spine, tail flicking with more agitation now. “I didn’t slip up! That wasn’t there yesterday! For all I know, you threw it on the floor this morning!”

“Is that how you’re speaking to me?” Zhang Hao asks, arching an eyebrow, “So disrespectful!”

Hanbin flushes, teeth bared ever so slightly. 

“Careful,” Zhang Hao says, tone turning cool. “That’s two rule violations already, we wouldn’t want a third now, would we?”

There’s a pause. Hanbin’s chest rises and falls, like he wants to continue to argue, but he bites down on the words instead of saying them. What a pity... Zhang Hao steps closer.

“Well,” he says, voice lighter again, almost conversational. “That’s two rules broken. Time for a punishment. Do you have any preferences?” 

“I don’t care,” Hanbin says, rolling his eyes. “Just get it over with.” 

“That’s not true,” Zhang Hao mutters under his breath, as he walks over to the shelf and pulls out the spray bottle filled with water just as Jiwoong had suggested. He’d filled it last night and tucked it into the cabinet just in case. 

Hanbin’s ears twitch the second he sees it.

Despite his words, he knows that Hanbin does care about what punishment he gets, and this is clearly not what he’d had in mind. 

Hanbin doesn’t move, but his eyes narrow in suspicion as Zhang Hao returns with the spray bottle. 

“I want you to recite something,” Zhang Hao says, stopping a few feet in front of him. “Every time you hesitate, I spray. Understood?”

“Fine,” Hanbin huffs. 

“Start with: ‘I forgot to do all the laundry yesterday and therefore disrespected my master.’”

“I didn’t forget—”

Spritz.

Hanbin yelps, flinching as the water mists across his cheek.

“Let’s try that again,” Zhang Hao says calmly.

“I forgot to do all the laundry yesterday and therefore disrespected my master,” Hanbin spits out, each word edged with reluctant venom.

“Good,” Zhang Hao murmurs. “Now say: ‘I need rules because they help me feel safe.’”

Hanbin hesitates.

Another spritz, this time right between the ears.

“I need rules because—” Hanbin growls, shaking off the water, “—they help me feel safe.”

“Is that true? Do they?” Zhang Hao asks quietly.

Hanbin glares at the floor, but nods ever so slightly. 

Zhang Hao takes a step closer, lowering the bottle,“Good kitty, but you know, there’s still time to ask for what you really want,” he says softly.

But Hanbin just exhales through his nose and looks away.

“Then we’ll keep going like this. Until you’re ready.”

And under all the bristling and pride, Zhang Hao sees the way Hanbin breathes deeper. Just slightly, like something inside him has unclenched, like the part of him that’s been silently screaming for days is finally being heard. He really does crave this, even if it’s reluctantly. 

Zhang Hao adjusts the nozzle and raises the bottle again, casual as anything, “Next line.”

He glares at Zhang Hao, but his hands stay at his sides, as he says, “Okay, what’s the next line.” 

“Say: ‘I belong to you, and you know what’s best for me.’ ”

“No.”

Zhang Hao’s smile doesn’t waver. 

Spritz.

A sharp breath as water mists across Hanbin’s neck.

“Try again.”

“I’m not saying that,” Hanbin insists stubbornly. 

Spritz.

This time right between his eyes. 

Hanbin flinches and wipes his face, growling low in his throat.

“You’re being difficult,” Zhang Hao says, almost admiringly.

“Maybe you should pick a punishment that doesn’t involve humiliating me,” Hanbin snaps.

“Don’t forget I gave you the chance to pick, and you declined,” Zhang Hao reminds him. “You know what word to say to make me stop and switch, and yet…” he trails off. He lets his gaze sweep over him, Hanbin’s ears are flattened, his hair soaked through, water beading down the bridge of his nose. His tail’s wet too, fur starting to frizz, twitching wildly behind him.

He clearly hates it.

But he hasn’t safe worded it out, or walked away yet. 

“Oh, but you love this. You’re so pretty when you’re like this,” Zhang Hao says softly, “You look like a naughty pet.”

Hanbin’s mouth tightens.

“Say it,” Zhang Hao says again. “ ‘I belong to you, and you know what’s best for me.’ ”

Silence.

Zhang Hao sighs and sprays again, this time purposely aiming down Hanbin’s chest rather than for his face. Hanbin gasps. Not from the cold, but from the way the water rolls over his nipples, already peeking through the thin soaked fabric of his shirt. 

Zhang Hao lowers the bottle and lets the silence stretch. He can feel Hanbin shaking now, not from fear, not from cold, from that trembling edge of tension, like something in him is about to tip over. 

Still refusing to ask for pain. 

Still refusing to submit fully. 

Zhang Hao watches him, chest tight with something possessive.

He wants to give him everything he craves, but only when Hanbin asks for it.

Zhang Hao steps closer, standing so close that Hanbin has to tilt his head to avoid meeting his eyes. He lifts the bottle slowly—then changes his mind and lets it hang at his side.

“Fine then,” he says softly, “Say thank you. ”

Hanbin’s throat bobs, but he doesn’t answer.

“Say it, and we can be done, Hanbin-ah.” 

There’s a long pause, and then, grudgingly, his voice rough, Hanbin says,  “...Thank you.”

“Good Kitty.” 

Chapter Text

“Hanbin-ah, come into the kitchen for a moment, please!”

There’s something about Zhang Hao’s tone, calling across the apartment, that causes Hanbin to freeze in place from where he’d been relaxing on the couch. Today was supposed to be his rest day, he’d done most of his important chores for the week already, all he would really need to do is go grocery shopping later today, but other than that, he had the day to himself.

And he had intended to enjoy it.

At least, that had been the plan before Zhang Hao called his name.

“Hanbin-ah!”

“I’m coming, just give me a second,” Hanbin snaps, standing up from the couch to head into the kitchen.

When he arrives in the kitchen, Zhang Hao is standing there, looking all too casual with a smug little smile on his face. Which is never a good sign. 

“What do you want?”

“So rude,” Zhang Hao tsks, “I suppose that makes two rules broken then.”

Hanbin’s ears flick back in displeasure. This has been a thing with Zhang Hao lately, to find any minor thing that Hanbin did less than perfect and take it as an excuse to dole out some sort of ‘punishment,’ except it’s always the same punishment, and always that condescending tone as he finds some minor thing to find flaw in. 

“I didn’t—”

“Exactly, the problem here is what you didn’t do,” Zhang Hao says, cutting him off. “You didn’t remind Matthew to take his lunch with him to class today, did you?”

“I put it in his bag,” Hanbin insists.

“Did you? Are you sure?” 

“I…” Hanbin trails off, his eyes falling onto the counter top where the lunch bag he had made for Matthew sits. Quickly, Hanbin picks it up off the counter and puts it into the refrigerator so that Matthew can have it tomorrow. He’ll have to apologize later to Matthew for forgetting to remind him, even though he was sure he'd put the lunch bag into Matthew’s backpack…

It wouldn’t be that big of a deal. Matthew would have the packed lunch tomorrow, and buy something on campus today. It wasn’t the end of the world. But an unsettled feeling picks away at Hanbin. Forgetting to pack Matthew’s lunch wasn’t like him. He can’t even remember the last time he’d forgotten any step of getting Matthew ready for the day, and yet… There Matthew’s lunch is left behind, it doesn’t make sense…

“Am I mistaken, or is making sure that Matthew has everything he needs for the day one of your duties as his emotional support hybrid?”

Hanbin doesn’t dignify him with a response, but truth be told, Zhang Hao doesn’t need one. It’s a rhetorical question, one that they both know the answer to. Hanbin tenses as he watches Zhang Hao cross over to the cabinet where the spray bottle is kept, taking care to move slowly as he turns on the sink to fill the spray bottle with cold water. 

“Don’t,” Hanbin starts, then stops himself. 

“Oh! Did you have another punishment you’d prefer?” Zhang Hao asks, with a sickeningly sweet tone.

Hanbin knows what Zhang Hao wants him to say. He wants Hanbin to have the humiliation of picking how Zhang Hao torments him, but Hanbin refuses to give Zhang Hao what he wants, so he shakes his head, standing still as Zhang Hao points the spray bottle at him. 

“You know the drill by now,” Zhang Hao says. “Repeat after me, any hesitation and I spray.” 

“Just get it over with.” 

Zhang Hao grins, “First say: ‘ Good pets are helpful and attentive. I want to be a good pet for my masters .’ ”

Hanbin bristles, his ears flatten so fast it hurts, “You can’t be serious.”

Spritz .

The mist hits his cheek, not anything particularly painful, just cold and unpleasant. Still, Hanbin can’t help but jerk away, his cat hybrid instincts not liking the idea of getting wet, which he supposes is probably why Zhang Hao is so fond of this punishment. He seems to enjoy anything that reinforced the idea that Hanbin is a pet, or less than humans in some way. 

“Again,” Hao says, voice light. “Say it.”

“I’m not—”

Spritz .

He growls under his breath. His fur is damp now, and his pride is twisting into something sour. He could ask for something else, something real. He knows the rules now, Zhang Hao has repeatedly said he would give it to him, all he had to do is ask. But that would mean admitting that he doesn’t enjoy this, and that there is something that he would enjoy instead. 

Spritz .

“Stop hesitating and say it,” Hao says, “Or we’ll be here a while.”

“I hate you,” Hanbin hisses.

“Still not the line,” Zhang Hao says brightly.

Spritz .

Hanbin’s tail lashes behind him in displeasure. His ears are flat and soaked against his head, and his cheeks are flushed. He doesn’t flinch anymore when the water hits him, he just stands there silent, hoping eventually, Zhang Hao will get bored of this and go. 

“You know, one might think you’re enjoying this,” Zhang Hao muses, “Maybe you’re one of those kitties that enjoy getting a little wet .” 

“Fuck you.”

“Not the line.”

Spritz .

Another burst against his collarbone. The spray bottle clicks with each pull, mechanical, almost lazy now.

“Try again. Slowly this time.”

Hanbin stares past him. His heart is pounding in his chest, his skin feels hot with embarrassment, the water from the spray bottle doing nothing to cool him down. 

He knows that resistance only makes it worse. That Zhang Hao wants the fight, that it feeds him. But giving in feels worse.

Still… he’s shaking, and not from the cool water that Zhang Hao keeps spraying him with. 

“I…” he starts, voice catching in his throat.

Zhang Hao waits, smiling at him as Hanbin speaks. 

“I want…” Hanbin swallows hard, trying to remember now what exactly it is that Zhang Hao had wanted him to say, “I want to be… a good pet for Matthew.”

“Not quite.” Zhang Hao sighs before spraying him again—just a short burst to the chin this time. “Your line is, ‘Good pets are helpful and attentive. I want to be a good pet for my masters.’ Masters plural, not just Matthew, get it right this time.”

“Good pets are helpful and attentive. I want to be a good pet,” Hanbin says, forcing the words out as fast as he can.

“You want to be a good pet for who ?” Zhang Hao asks, not having missed the fact that Hanbin had purposely not said the last part of his line. 

It’s through gritted teeth that Hanbin finishes, “For my masters.” 

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Zhang Hao says, reaching up to ruffle Hanbin’s soaked hair. When Hanbin jerks away from his touch though, Zhang Hao just frowns a little and says, “Let’s keep going. You’re wet anyway.”

“What?”

“Now say, ‘I forgot my job, and Zhang Hao is helping me remember.’”

Hanbin’s fists clench again. 

Spritz .

“I forgot my job,” Hanbin spits out.

Zhang Hao raises an eyebrow.

“…Zhang Hao is helping me remember.”

“Good kitty.”

Hanbin’s breath hitches. That praise makes something in him twist. Some horrible part of him that yearns for this. Hanbin’s done his best to try and squash that part of himself, that shameful part of him that had enjoyed it a little too much when Zhang Hao’s hands were on him. 

“One more,” Hao says. “This time with eye contact. Come on.”

“Say: ‘Zhang Hao knows what’s best for me. I’m lucky to be trained by him.’ ”

Hanbin’s throat moves as he swallows, jaw tightening so hard it hurts.

He wants to scream. He wants to lunge. He wants to grab the spray bottle and throw it across the room, and hiss in Zhang Hao’s face and ask him why this feels like more than a game, why his stomach is twisting in shame and heat all at once.

But instead—“Zhang Hao knows what’s best for me,” he whispers. “I’m lucky to be trained by him.”

“Louder.”

“I’m lucky,” Hanbin bites out, “To be trained by you.”

At that, Zhang Hao finally lowers the bottle, seemingly pleased. 

“Good kitty,” he repeats, this time softer. “That’s all I wanted.”

Hanbin watches as Zhang Hao puts the spray bottle down with one little smile, and then leaves the kitchen without another word, leaving Hanbin there, damp and trembling, his eyes fixed on the kitchen floor. 

Once the coast is clear, Hanbin hurries to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He peels off his damp shirt, even though the fabric sticks to his skin, clings to his sides where the water sprays had been most concentrated. His ears and tail feel heavy from the water, and Hanbin grabs a towel and scrubs at his head with a little too much force, like he can erase what just happened if he rubs hard enough.

As he does so, he makes the mistake of looking into the mirror, and meeting his own eyes. 

His reflection stares back at him with flushed cheeks and too-bright eyes betraying the emotions that he’s been working so hard to suppress. The lingering shameful part of him that enjoys the humiliation ritual just a little. Though that traitorous part of him whispers in the back of his mind in a voice that sounds too much like Zhang Hao’s that another form of punishment would have been so much more satisfying. 

Hanbin grimaces at the thought and at his own expression, and barely resists the urge to put the towel over the mirror. Instead, he crouches down on the bathroom floor and presses the towel to his face, muffling a low sound from his throat. 

The problem is—it wasn’t just humiliation. Not really. Not when Hao was standing in front of him, looking like that. Not when he said good kitty, and suddenly Hanbin had felt a jolt through his entire being. 

He shifts to sit back on his heels and drags the towel across his chest, then down his arms, then… He stops.

There’s a tightness in his stomach. 

A prickling warmth low in his gut.

No .

He forces the thought away, and focuses on toweling off his tail instead. It’s hard to reach the base, so he grips the end and works slowly, jaw clenched as he does his best to think of unsexy things. Like cleaning the back of the fridge, and that time Matthew had been sick with the flu, and public transportation. It works, for the most part. 

He’s not turned on. Not really. He’s just… overwhelmed. 

That’s all…

*

It keeps happening.

First, it’s the dishes. 

Zhang Hao claims Hanbin had left soap residue on the plates, never mind that Matthew was the one that did the drying. Then it’s the living room, a cushion slightly out of place, which apparently means Hanbin isn’t ‘ taking pride in his environment. ’ After that, it’s the towels in the bathroom, or the cat hair on the couch, or any little thing that Zhang Hao can pick to find fault in. 

Each time, it’s the same thing: a sharp click of the spray bottle, and a smug little tilt to Zhang Hao’s voice as he says, “This is just basic obedience, Hanbin. You do want to be obedient, don’t you?”

And Hanbin has to stand there, jaw locked and tail bristling, while Zhang Hao mists him like he’s a fucking houseplant.

The worst part isn’t the cold, or the wet, or even the humiliation of being treated like some misbehaving cat.

The worst part is knowing he didn’t do anything wrong.

He checks now. Every time. Always making sure that the dishes are spotless, the towels are folded military-tight, he even lint-rollers the couch like his life depends on it every time after he stands up, despite the fact that this is his house too, and if a little cat hair gets somewhere, it shouldn’t be an issue as long as he vacuums it up on vacuum days.

 And Zhang Hao still finds something. Something petty and arbitrary and not even a real rule, just a flimsy excuse to make Hanbin stand there and take it, take it, take it, without retaliating.

Because retaliating would mean upsetting Matthew. 

And upsetting Matthew would mean failing at the one thing Hanbin is supposed to be good at.

So he plays nice.

He bites down the instinct to hiss, to bare his teeth, to snatch the bottle from Zhang Hao’s hand and throw it across the room. He smiles when he has to, lowers his ears when prompted, performs civility with aching precision.

But it’s not mutual . 

Zhang Hao isn’t playing nice at all.

It starts with the bookshelf.

Specifically, the angle of one of the photo frames Hanbin dusted this morning. Barely a centimeter off-center, maybe, not crooked, just… not perfect.

“Oh no,” Zhang Hao says dramatically, like someone’s set the curtains on fire, rather than just knocking a book out of place on the shelf, “This is sloppy, Hanbin.”

Hanbin stiffens from across the room, where he’s folding laundry neatly. He doesn’t even have to look up to know Zhang Hao’s holding the spray bottle. He hears the familiar click, the hiss of pressure behind the trigger cap.

“I know you saw this,” Zhang Hao adds, coming closer. “Are we slacking off today? Or do you just like getting wet?”

Hanbin drops the towel in his hands.

That’s it! 

He’s had enough!

“That frame was straight,” he says, voice tight. “You’ve just messed with it now to find an excuse to spray me!”

Zhang Hao blinks, smile lazily, as he asks, “What are you implying, kitten?”

“It’s Hanbin , not kitten,” Hanbin tells him not for the first time either, his tail flicks, and his ears are flat to his skull as he tells Zhang Hao, “Don’t play dumb! You’ve been doing this every day. Finding something stupid, something that doesn’t even matter, just so you can spray me like I’m some kind of feral animal!”

Zhang Hao tilts his head, like he’s thinking it over. 

And for a moment, Hanbin expects him to deny it, but then Zhang Hao just shrugs and says, “Yes, that’s the point.”

Hanbin’s breath stutters in his chest.

He hadn’t expected Zhang Hao to admit so easily that he was purposely messing things up as an excuse to punish Hanbin. But instead, he just seems oh so casual as he admits that Hanbin is correct. 

“Why would you do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Zhang Hao asks, holding the bottle like it’s casual, like they’re just talking about the weather, rather than over a week now of Zhang Hao tormenting him daily with the spray bottle. “You’re so cute when you pretend it doesn’t get to you. All wet and scowling and sulky. So unwilling to just admit what you really want!”

“What I really want is for you to leave me alone and stop treating me like some naughty kitten who needs to be punished,” Hanbin snaps.

“We both know that’s not what you really want.” 

Hanbin opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. He turns away before Zhang Hao can see his expression, fists clenched so tight his nails bite into his palms.

“If you just tell me what you really want,” Zhang Hao says smoothly, “We can skip the games. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“You’re not listening,” Hanbin whips around to glare at Zhang Hao. “I don’t want anything from you.”

Zhang Hao simply raises an eyebrow in reply. 

Which if anything, his silence, only irritates Hanbin more. 

“What I really want is for you to leave me alone! I want you to stop acting like you’re my master!” Hanbin continues. “You’re not, Matthew is! And Matthew and I never had any problems until you got here!”

It comes out louder than he intends, his voice cracking at the edges, but Zhang Hao doesn’t look angry at his outburst. 

If anything, he looks… Pleased?

“Fine,” Zhang Hao says, unbothered. “If that’s what you want, so be it.”

He walks over to the sink slowly, twists the cap off the spray bottle, and dumping the water into the sink. The splash sounds sharper than it should be.

Hanbin stares.

He hadn’t thought that Zhang Hao would back down so easily, and without a fight. 

“No more spray bottle,” Zhang Hao says, turning back with a little shrug, once he’s sat the now empty spray bottle onto the counter, “No more punishments. In fact, I won’t even touch you again unless you ask.”

“Well, that’ll never happen so—”

“Just don’t come crying to me when you change your mind,” Zhang Hao says, his voice mockingly sweet. 

Then he gives Hanbin one last smug smile before leaving, walking out of the room like that was nothing.

Hanbin doesn’t know what he had expected, but certainly not that. 

He should feel relieved. 

Triumphant, even.

But Zhang Hao just gave up too easily.

And there’s this uncomfortable tightness in Hanbin’s chest, like his victory has a catch he hasn’t quite figured out yet. He pads over to the sink and stares at the empty spray bottle, uneasy.

“Okay then,” he mutters aloud, to no one in particular. “Fine.”

*

Days pass.

Then a week.

At first, Hanbin expects it to be a trick. 

A calm before the storm, before the next petty accusation, the next humiliation ritual. He spends the first few days constantly watching Zhang Hao out of the corner of his eye, bracing for it—for that smug smile, that too-calm tone, or snide comments about how hybrids crave submission and need rules. 

But none of that comes. 

Zhang Hao is… quiet. 

He doesn’t scold or prod. Doesn’t hover near the kitchen doorway when Hanbin’s preparing breakfast, doesn’t make teasing comments when Hanbin pads into the living room late at night to curl up near Matthew on the couch. He doesn’t look at Hanbin like he used to, not with that infuriating mix of challenge and curiosity, he barely even looks at Hanbin at all.

He just… exists in the same space.

Their only real interaction Hanbin has with Zhang Hao is when he wakes him up each morning with a knock at his door, and gets Zhang Hao’s sleepy mumble of, “Thank you, Hanbin-ah.” 

That’s it.

No new rules. 

No punishments. 

Nothing.

He should be relieved and yet… Hanbin hates how unnerving it is.

When Matthew calls out from the hallway one afternoon, “Ah, hyung, I think you forgot today was laundry day!” Hanbin freezes in the middle of playing a game on his phone. 

He knows damn well he didn’t forget.

He just… didn’t do it.

On purpose. 

Just to test and see what the reaction would be if he broke one of their rules. 

He waits for the familiar sigh, the lilt of Zhang Hao’s voice, that almost bored drawl that always ends with ‘I guess we’ll have to do something about that,’ but despite the fact that Hanbin knows Zhang Hao is home, it doesn’t come. Zhang Hao doesn’t even glance up from his own spot on the couch, eyes locked onto whatever he’s writing on his laptop. 

Hanbin forces his ears to stay still and says casually with an air of indifference, “I was busy. Just forgot.”

It’s a lie.

But Matthew doesn’t know that.

“Don’t forget tomorrow, okay? I’m almost out of socks,” Matthew replies, unconcerned. 

And that’s it.

No scolding. No spray bottle. No punishment. Just Matthew’s soft voice and an easy shrug.

“Okay,” Hanbin says. 

He even smiles.

But inside, his nerves are tight. 

It’s not that he misses the punishments. Of course not. He doesn’t actually want Zhang Hao to spray him, or corner him, or make him say humiliating things. He doesn’t.  

And yet—This isn’t peace. It’s something else. 

By the second week of being completely ignored by Zhang Hao, Hanbin feels like he’s walking on glass.

He’s unsteady , like his body is bracing for a blow that never lands. Like a breath he keeps holding without realizing. His tail flicks at odd intervals, ears twitch at the smallest sound, and when Matthew startles him in the kitchen with a casual ‘you okay, Bin-ah?’ Hanbin nearly drops a glass.

He nods too quickly, murmurs something dismissive, and ducks his head. 

But his palms are damp, and he can’t shake the static hum in the back of his skull.

He pinches the web of skin between his thumb and index finger—hard. 

Just enough to sting.

It brings him back into his body. 

But only for a second.

Everything feels wrong. Not in a dramatic, spiraling way. Just… tilted. Wrong like putting on someone else’s shirt and realizing the seams sit in all the wrong places. He’s restless and tight in his own skin, and the soft edges of his domestic life, a life that he loves, no longer feel soothing at all.

He needs something . He knows that.

It’s just a question of what that something is. 

Zhang Hao doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t poke at him, doesn’t needle or punish, even now that Hanbin’s been purposely ‘forgetting’ things,’ just to see if he’ll bite. He doesn’t even seem to notice.

It’s worse than being punished.

It’s like Hanbin doesn’t exist at all.

Truth be told, Hanbin doesn’t want the spray bottle. That would be stupid. It was always humiliating, always degrading. And on top of that he hates being wet, his cat hybrid instincts rebelling against the idea of willingly letting himself be soaked again.

But… there was a rhythm to it that had almost been nice… 

A game he didn’t want to admit that he had been playing, but he was . When Zhang Hao had punished him, his head had gone empty, free from all the little things he worried about, focused solely on a feeling that wasn’t entirely anger, but was something else he couldn’t quite yet name. 

The water had been annoying and unpleasant, the lines Zhang Hao had him repeat humiliating on top of that. 

But… He’d liked what they’d done in Zhang Hao’s bedroom, when he had taken his belt to Hanbin’s hands as a demonstration. That had brought that warm fuzzy feeling back, the one that settled low in his stomach and made his body ache for more. His hands had hurt too much then to touch himself, but he’d wanted to, shamefully in the privacy of his own room, he’d pressed a pillow between his legs afterwards, and rutted against it until he’d found release. 

Now, not even jerking off in his bedroom alone at night could bring him the same sort of relief that he’d felt that night. 

He knows it’s pathetic. 

He knows he should be relieved that Zhang Hao’s era of tormenting him has stopped, and that they’re almost sort of getting along now. 

That this is better, healthier, and what Matthew would want.

And yet… The unsettled feeling lingers. 

*

They’ve been out for hours.

Long enough that the clock has already ticked past midnight. Hanbin should be asleep. He has no real reason to wait up, but there’s a tension in him, an unsettled feeling that won’t go away until he’s sure that Matthew has made it home safely from whatever party he and Zhang Hao went out to tonight. 

Hanbin sits curled on the couch, his mug of tea long since having gone cold, ears twitching toward the sound of footsteps on the stairs, just loud enough for his hybrid ears to catch their approach before the keypad to the front door chimes as the correct code is entered. 

His tail flicks once—twice—then stills. The faint scent of alcohol hits him before the door even closes. Along with the sound of laughter and Matthew’s voice, soft and tipsy, followed by Zhang Hao’s quieter and more steady voice. He listens to the low sound of conversation, the shuffle of shoes. Matthew giggling at something. And then moments later, he hears it. A soft but unmistakable sound, the sound of a kiss. 

Hanbin freezes, a horrible sick feeling overwhelming him. 

It’s not jealousy over Matthew. Not really. He’s used to Matthew having flings. People come and go, and Hanbin is always there, constant and trusted and loved, in a quiet, unwavering way that is so different from any fling he’s had before.

And it’s not as if he didn’t know that Matthew and Zhang Hao had kissed before, they’d done far more than kiss, and Hanbin had certainly heard it all before, but it had been a while, and Matthew had been adamant that he and Zhang Hao weren’t dating.

But something about this time seems so much worse. 

Because a horrible realization settles within him as he listens to the sound of them kissing. 

It’s not Matthew’s attention he wants, it’s Zhang Hao ’s attention that Hanbin has been aching for. 

And Matthew gets it. 

So easily, without begging, without rules, without punishment.

Something inside Hanbin fractures at the thought.

He stands quietly and walks into the kitchen on bare feet, reaching for the glass nearest the edge of the drying rack, and then without even pausing to think it through, he lets the glass slip through his fingers and shatter against the kitchen floor. 

The crash echoes through the otherwise quiet apartment.

Within seconds, there comes the sound of hurried footsteps, and Matthew appears at the entry to the kitchen, wide-eyed, jacket half-off his shoulders, his lips still kiss swollen as he asks, “Shit—Hanbin-hyung, are you okay?”

Hanbin doesn’t answer.

His gaze is fixed beyond Matthew.

Where Zhang Hao stands right behind him, looking as composed as ever. His hair is tousled but neat, shirt sleeves rolled up, no visible sign of tipsiness. He surveys the scene with a glance. Takes in the shards, the tilt of Hanbin’s head, the faint tremble in his shoulders.

And he smirks.

It’s not cruel. 

But it’s clear that Zhang Hao knows.

That he sees exactly what this is.

And Hanbin hates that he’s right. He hates the way Zhang Hao’s gaze pins him in place. He hates that his heart skips in his chest and his breath comes too fast, and some part of him feels relieved that finally, Zhang Hao is looking at him. 

“It’s okay hyung,” Matthew says, clearly misunderstanding, making assumptions based on why Hanbin’s is trembling, “It was just an accident, yeah? Let me get the broom so we can clear this up.”

Hanbin stands stiff, arms hanging at his sides, and his throat feels far too dry as he forces out the words, “It wasn’t.”

“What?” Matthew asks, his brow furrowing. 

“It wasn’t an accident,” Hanbin clarifies, “I broke it on purpose.”

Matthew blinks, caught off guard by Hanbin’s admission.

“What? Hanbin-hyung, why would you break a glass on purpose?”

Hanbin doesn’t have a good answer. Not one that doesn’t sound absurd spoken out loud. He can’t very well admit to Matthew that the sound of him kissing Zhang Hao had made Hanbin so jealous that he’d decided to take that feeling out on their dishware. So instead he just clenches his fists and looks away, cheeks burning.

“Hyung—”

“I know why,” Zhang Hao cuts Matthew off and asks Hanbin, “You want to be punished, don’t you?”

Hanbin flinches like he’s been slapped. 

He doesn’t look at either of them, his breath catching in his throat.

How was it that Zhang Hao could so easily see through him?

“Wait, what?” Matthew glances between them. “Hanbin-hyung?”

Hanbin sways where he stands, and something trembles deep in his gut, and then he nods, just barely, and whispers, “Yes.” 

The air feels heavier now after his admission. 

Matthew’s brows furrow, still confused, still trying to catch up.

But Zhang Hao is already moving.

He turns on his heel, walks toward the drawer where the spray bottle is kept. The sound of it sliding open is absurdly loud in the quiet kitchen. He lifts the bottle with familiar ease, but before he can twist the nozzle—

“Not the spray bottle,” Hanbin says, stopping him. 

Zhang Hao pauses, and he doesn’t continue filling up the bottle. Instead, he just turns back slowly and asks, “Then what do you want, Hanbin-ah?” 

“I want… something else,” he admits hesitantly. 

Hanbin watches with a nervous feeling fluttering in his chest, and his heart beating a bit too loudly in the otherwise quiet apartment, as Zhang Hao sets the spray bottle back onto the counter. 

“Then ask for it.” 

“I want…” he starts, then stops. Hanbin swallows hard. The words taste like sand in his mouth, but the ache in his chest is worse. He needs this, even if it’s hard to admit. He needs it and he knows that Zhang Hao is the only person who can give it to him. “I want it to hurt.”

“Be more specific,” Zhang Hao replies. 

He exhales, shaky, before forcing out the words, “I want to be spanked.”

He can’t look at either of them. His pride hurts at having admitted the ugly truth, that Zhang Hao had been right, that a shameful part of him craves the punishments, but at the same time—something in him loosens, just a little, a coil of tension unclenching, as he finally confesses his truth. 

“Okay, well then in that case,” Zhang Hao says mildly, turning as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, to Matthew. “Well, as his master, I’ll leave it to you to punish him.”

Hanbin’s stomach lurches. 

He jerks his head up.

“No—”

But the word catches in his throat before it fully escapes, and he clamps his mouth shut.

Though not quickly enough, because Zhang Hao had clearly heard him, judging from the way he meets Hanbin’s eyes and gives Hanbin an expectant look, as if trying to get him to finish his sentence. 

But Hanbin won’t say it out loud again.

He can’t. 

It had already been far too much to admit that he wanted punishment, but to admit that he wanted it from Zhang Hao’s hands… That would be admitting too much. So instead, he bites down on the inside of his cheek and doesn’t finish his sentence. 

“Um… I mean, I—okay?” Matthew says, his voice squeaking a little at having been put on the spot, “But I… Hao-hyung, I don’t know what to do…”

“I’ll help you, Matthew-ah,” Zhang Hao says. He steps closer to Hanbin, voice low and steady as he commands, “Hanbin. Over the counter. Ass out.”

There’s no teasing in it now. 

Just a command.

And Hanbin obeys without thinking. The edge of the counter is cool beneath him as he bends, pressing his forearms to the surface to brace himself there . His tail flicks low and uncertain, ears tipped back. 

Zhang Hao’s fingers brush against his tail ever so slightly, “Keep this up and out of the way so you don’t get hurt, do you understand?” 

“Yes,” Hanbin mumbles quietly, taking his tail into his hand and pressing it against his side so it stays out of the way. 

“Good kitty, and just like before, make sure to thank Matthew with each strike.”

Hanbin nods once, tense. His heart is pounding.

Matthew hovers behind him, one hand raised. Hanbin can feel the hesitation vibrating off him.

“I… I don’t know,” Matthew mutters. “I don’t want to hurt you, hyung.”

Zhang Hao steps around to his side, calm as ever. 

“It’s not about hurting, Matthew-ah,” Zhang Hao tells him. “It’s about giving him what he asked for. Try a few light ones, flat palm, across the center. Let your hand follow through. Don’t slap—strike.”

Matthew makes a small noise of agreement.

His hand hovers over Hanbin’s ass, then retreats, then hovers again.

But he doesn’t bring it down.

Hanbin’s tail flicks in his hold in frustration. His cheeks burn, not from shame now, but from the tension threatening to rebuild, still unrelieved.

Zhang Hao sighs.

“You’re going to have to be braver than that, Matthew-ah.”

At that, Matthew's hand finally comes down, as if spurred on by Zhang Hao’s comments. 

But his strike isn’t really a spank at all. Honestly it’s barely even a tap—so light Hanbin almost doesn’t register it. A whisper of contact across his ass, nothing more.

The humiliation lands heavier than any blow. 

Not because it hurt, but because it didn’t. 

Because it’s obvious Matthew doesn’t want to be doing this, and Hanbin—Hanbin hates how much he wants it anyway. He hates that his whole body is still strung tight with anticipation, and yet still unrelieved.

Matthew sounds helpless as he asks, “How many… should we do?”

“Why don’t we start with five,” Zhang Hao says, calm and patient, “That is, if Hanbin is polite and remembers to count.” 

Following his words comes another tap of Matthew’s hand against this backside, slightly firmer this time, but still not enough.

Hanbin doesn’t speak. 

He can’t bring himself to say thank you for something that makes his skin crawl with wrongness.

Matthew’s hand hovers a third time, but doesn’t fall.

“…Maybe you should do this, Hao-hyung,” he says, voice small. “I don’t think I’m—he’s not—this isn’t working.”

“Hanbin asked me before to step back from punishing him, since you’re his master, not me,” Zhang Hao replies, carefully choosing his words, “Hanbin-ah, that’s still what you want, isn’t it? For Matthew to be the one to punish you?” 

Hanbin clenches his hand tight against his tail, tight enough to hurt more than any of Matthew’s little taps did. Shame presses in on all sides, thick and choking, but underneath it, his desire is loud, and hot enough to burn.

And Zhang Hao knows.

Of course he knows.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice coming out thick and cracked, “Zhang Hao instead, please. I… I need—”

That’s all he gets out before Zhang Hao is suddenly beside him, one hand stroking his lower back.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, “Yes, I know what you need.”

Hanbin closes his eyes, trembling ever so slightly. 

“Okay, just watch for now,” Zhang Hao tells Matthew, “So you can do it right next time.” 

Zhang Hao takes position behind Hanbin, his presence is different than Matthew’s had been, solid and grounding in a way that Matthew’s hadn’t quite been. 

Then—a sharp palm strike lands across the center of Hanbin’s ass, perfectly placed, firm enough that the sting blossoms instantly.

And for the first time in weeks, Hanbin’s head goes empty.

It’s like his whole body exhales all at once.

His breath catches, then falls into something shaky and relieved. His tail curls and uncurls in his grasp, caught between mortification from being spanked in front of Matthew and something dangerously close to pleasure.

Zhang Hao’s voice follows, low and firm, “Count and thank your masters.”

Hanbin grips the edge of the counter, breath shaky. “One, thank you, masters.”

Zhang Hao hums approvingly.

The second strike comes quick—harder this time, sharper. The smack echoes in the kitchen, and Hanbin gasps as the heat flares across his skin.

“Two. Thank you, masters.”

He can feel their eyes on him, Matthew standing back, quiet and uncertain, meanwhile Zhang Hao is close, steady, and in control. The shame burns almost as much as the pain, but shame is grounding too. 

Shame means he’s here, and being seen.

Another sharp smack.

“Three—thank you, masters.”

He shifts his weight slightly, the fabric of his pajama pants drags against now sensitive skin. His face is hot. But he doesn’t care. Not really.

Because something inside him is softening. 

Unknotting. 

His chest feels looser, his limbs heavier. For the first time in days, he’s not holding himself rigid against something invisible. 

He’s being punished, and it feels good.

His tail twitches, betraying him as Zhang Hao brings down his hand again.

“Four,” Hanbin breathes. “Thank you, masters.”

It’s so easy, letting go here. Letting Zhang Hao take control of this one thing, letting him be the one who sees through Hanbin’s stubborn silence.

The last strike lands squarely, deep, bruising. Hanbin exhales hard, and for a second, everything goes floaty, warm and buzzing beneath his skin.

“Five,” he says, voice hushed. “Thank you, masters.”

There’s a pause.

A lingering quiet once Zhang Hao has finished, then Zhang Hao’s hand is on his ass again, smoothing gently over the curve of his ass, no longer punishing—just touching. 

Hanbin doesn’t move.

He doesn’t want to.

He’s trembling a little, not from fear, but from the intensity of what’s inside him, of how close he is to something he can’t name.

And he hates that it’s Zhang Hao who brought him here. 

Hates how much of himself he gave away in asking for it to be Zhang Hao that punished him. 

“Up you go,” Zhang Hao murmurs, his arms wrapping around Hanbin to pull him to standing upright again. 

Hanbin straightens slowly, legs a little unsteady. His face is burning. Not just from the impact or the humiliation—but from the hard, undeniable arousal now pressing against the front of his pajama pants. He keeps his gaze low, unable to meet either of their eyes.

Zhang Hao doesn’t push. He just stands there with that unnaturally calm expression, waiting for Hanbin to catch his breath, and then gently says, “Repeat after me. I was good and asked for what I needed.”

Hanbin frowns, shame curling up inside his throat.

He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to admit it out loud again. But he’s learned by now that there’s never any end to this unless he repeats whatever twisted affirmations Zhang Hao has for him. 

“…I was good,” Hanbin mumbles. “And asked for what I needed.”

“Good,” Zhang Hao nods, “Again.”

“I was good and asked for what I needed,” Hanbin repeats louder this time. 

“Next one. ‘Next time, I’ll ask before I feel overwhelmed.’”

Hanbin’s brows furrow, lips pulling tight. It’s too much, too soft, too kind , and somehow that’s worse.

But he says it, his voice barely audible, “Next time… I’ll ask before I feel overwhelmed.”

Zhang Hao doesn’t say anything for a long moment. 

Just studies him, eyes unreadable.

And then, Hanbin sees the shift, Zhang Hao’s gaze drops to his crotch, where Hanbin’s arousal still presses shamelessly against the fabric of his pajama pants. Hanbin jerks slightly, hands twitching to cover himself, mortified.

But Zhang Hao just hums, almost amused, “Go to your room, Matthew-ah and I will clean up the glass.” 

Hanbin blinks, “What?” 

“You did well. Now go.” 

Hanbin doesn’t wait for anything more.

He just ducks his head and hurries off, face hot, ears pressed flat to his skull, his heart thudding, the words you did well echoing in his head. 

When Hanbin gets to his room, he closes the door behind him quickly, presses his back to it, and slides down to the floor. His ass is sore and throbbing, but it’s not pain that bothers him, it’s the heat coiled low in his gut, the way his cock aches with every heartbeat, hard and leaking, stuffed awkwardly against the inside of his pajama pants.

He shouldn’t feel like this. 

He shouldn’t .

But Zhang Hao had looked at him like he knew, like he understood, and that softness at the end when he said “You did well,” made something inside Hanbin crack.

He sits there, flushed, breathing shallow, shame burning just as hot as his arousal.

Still, his hand drifts lower.

Not to take his cock out of his pants and touch, but just… to press down against his arousal. The pressure is enough to drag a whimper from his throat. He bites down on it immediately, eyes fluttering shut. 

He can’t. 

He won’t. 

Not like this. 

Not while he’s still thinking about Zhang Hao’s voice in his ear, those hands on his hips, guiding him with so much control and care—His palm presses harder.

The sting in his ass flares with every shift of his body, a painful echo of the pleasure pulsing in his lap. It feels good . Too good.

But that just makes it worse.

Fuck , he’s so—There’s a knock at the door.

Hanbin freezes.

“Go away,” he snaps, voice hoarse.

There’s a small pause, and then the click of the doorknob turning. 

“What part of—!” Hanbin starts, scrambling to sit up—but it’s too late.

“Well,” Zhang Hao says lightly, lips curving into a smirk. “Here I was coming to make sure you hadn’t hurt yourself with the glass…”

His eyes gleam, taking in Hanbin’s flustered state, the way he’s still visibly hard. 

“…but look what I found instead.”

Chapter Text

“Go to your room, Matthew-ah and I will clean up the glass.” 

“What?” 

“You did well,” Zhang Hao tells him. “Now go.” 

It takes a moment for Hanbin to move, but then he does, hurrying away from the kitchen in shame.

Zhang Hao watches him disappear down the hallway, then the moment Hanbin’s tail vanishes behind the door frame, Zhang Hao lets out a breath. 

The tension in the room doesn’t dissolve with Hanbin’s exit. 

If anything, it lingers around him and Matthew, sharp and brittle, like the shards of glass scattered across the kitchen floor. 

Zhang Hao had expected that Hanbin would crack eventually. That had been the point of the spray bottle, of denying him the type of punishment that he knew the hybrid craved, but he certainly hadn’t expected things to escalate this quickly, and so suddenly at that. Anyone with eyes could see that Hanbin had been reaching a threshold, but to suddenly start shattering dishware was certainly unexpected, to say the least.

Zhang Hao moves to clean up the glass, but Matthew is still standing there, his eyes wide and looking at the glass on the floor as if he’s still trying to process what just happened.

“Matthew-ah, are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I…” Matthew trails off, looking in the direction of where Hanbin had just disappeared. “I don’t understand why he—do you really think it was just to be punished? Hanbin’s never done that before, I don’t get it. I…” 

Zhang Hao hums noncommittally, already reaching for the broom and dustpan under the sink.

“I think that’s part of it,” Zhang Hao admits, “It’s like I told you before, hybrid’s naturally crave structure.” 

“Yeah, but he’s never done that before,” Matthew replies, voice soft with worry. “I don’t understand what’s changed.” 

Zhang Hao focuses on cleaning up the glass, and pointedly doesn’t mention the obvious change, that his presence and his planning is what caused Hanbin to have such a reaction, rather than doing whatever it is the hybrid usually does to release such tension. Zhang Hao had his suspicions, self-harm and self-punishment were high on the list, given Hanbin’s clear desire for pain, and clear feelings of guilt whenever Matthew was upset. He could all too easily imagine Hanbin quietly punishing himself when Matthew wasn’t around to see it. 

But now that he’s gotten a taste for the real thing, it’s clear that whatever he was doing before isn’t enough to satisfy the urge anymore. 

Matthew sinks onto a kitchen chair like the strength has drained out of him. 

“I don’t know how you did it, hyung,” he admits. “I saw him waiting, like he wanted me to do it, but I just… I couldn’t make myself move.”

“Not everyone is suited for dominance,” Zhang Hao says, as he starts sweeping the glass into a neat pile. “There’s nothing wrong with admitting that.”

“You sound like Jiwoong-hyung.”

Zhang Hao huffs a little laugh out at that. He’s heard plenty of times from Jiwoong how he’d tried to gently suggest to Matthew that maybe the dom/sub community wasn’t quite for him, with the Canadian always failing to take the hint. 

“I mean, I want to take care of him,” Matthew continues, “But sometimes it feels like he needs something I don’t know how to give.”

Zhang Hao dumps the first round of shards into the dustpan and sets it aside carefully. 

“We’ll figure this out, don’t worry too much, Matthew-ah.” 

Matthew makes a small quiet noise of agreement, but still looks defeated where he sits at the table. 

This is why they need him here. 

Because he can give both Hanbin and Matthew what they need. 

Zhang Hao sighs softly, before setting the broom aside and brushing his hands off. 

“I’m going to check on him,” he tells Matthew, “And make sure he didn’t cut himself on the glass.”

“Do you think he did?”

“Probably not, but it’s better to be safe than sorry,” Zhang Hao points out.

Truthfully, he’s certain that Hanbin didn’t touch the glass, the hybrid had been wearing slippers, so there was very little chance that he’d stepped on any, but Hanbin being injured is only the slightest of Zhang Hao’s worries. 

That glass didn’t break for no reason. 

Hanbin wanted to be punished, desperately. He’d been pushing all day, chasing after the sharp edges of their last encounter like he was starving for it. But now, in the silence after, Zhang Hao knows what comes next. 

Not anger, not more defiance—just the drop.

The crash after the high.

He’s seen it before, in other subs. 

That aching, hollow crash that hits when the shame creeps in and the adrenaline fades, when the thing you wanted leaves you feeling small and messed up inside. Hanbin doesn’t have the words for it yet, doesn’t know how to ask for aftercare, doesn’t know how to accept it even when it’s offered, as stubborn as he is, and as the more experienced one of the two, as the dominant  in this unconventional mess of a relationship, it’s his duty to catch Hanbin before he spirals too far, before the guilt of finally asking for what he needs eats him alive. 

Zhang Hao knocks softly on the door, then opens it without waiting, even as Hanbin protests. 

Just in case, he tells himself. 

“What part of—!” Hanbin starts, scrambling to sit up as Zhang Hao opens the door.

But as he moves, the scene before Zhang Hao comes unmistakably clear. Hanbin is not injured, or even dropping as Zhang Hao had expected, instead Hanbin is kneeling on the ground, face flushed, eyes blown wide, with his hands between his legs, caught in the act of trying to soothe himself through the raw aftershocks of punishment.

“Well,” Zhang Hao says, taking in the sight of Hanbin, “Here I was coming to make sure you hadn’t hurt yourself with the glass, but look what I found instead.”

“Go away,” Hanbin says weakly, his voice already steeped in shame, but there’s no real fire behind it. Despite his words, it’s clear Hanbin doesn’t actually want him to leave. 

He doesn’t leave, instead Zhang Hao steps into the room and closes the door behind him. 

Zhang Hao watches him for a long beat, his pulse oddly steady. There’s no smugness, no thrill of catching him in something shameful—just a rising certainty in his chest that Hanbin doesn’t know how to come down on his own. He needs help, structure, and permission.

“You’re overwhelmed,” Zhang Hao says gently. “You don’t know what to do with all that in your body, do you?” 

Hanbin makes a small sound, half-defensive, half-pleading.

Zhang Hao crosses the room, slow and careful, hyper aware of Hanbin’s eyes tracking his movements like a skittish animal. Hanbin doesn’t move, but he also doesn’t stop him. Zhang Hao sits at the edge of the bed and meets Hanbin’s eyes. 

“You’re going to sit in my lap now,” he murmurs. “And you’ll stay there until I say you can move. Understood?”

Hanbin doesn’t speak, but he nods, small and embarrassed. 

“Yes, sir.”

That sir —it shouldn’t hit as hard as it does.

Zhang Hao beckons him over. He’d expected Hanbin to put up a fight, but Hanbin just rises on unsteady legs before straddling Zhang Hao’s thighs, awkward and flushed. His weight settles down, and Zhang Hao can feel at once the hard press of arousal. 

Hanbin buries his face into Zhang Hao’s neck without being told. 

Zhang Hao wraps one arm around him, the other cradling the back of his head.

“You’re hard,” he points softly.

As if that wasn’t obvious.

Still, Hanbin tenses, shifting his hips a little so that his hard cock is no longer pressing up against Zhang Hao.

“Shh, don’t move,” Zhang Hao says. “You’re fine.”

He strokes a hand along Hanbin’s spine, grounding him. Holding him, but not punishing or teasing this time. 

“You liked being punished?” he asks though the question is mostly rhetorical. 

They both know the answer.

So Zhang Hao continues despite his silence, “You want more, don’t you?”

Hanbin nods ever so slightly, the movement so minor that Zhang Hao nearly misses it. A part of him wonders if Hanbin could cum just from that, from the feeling of a hard hand against his ass. 

But he doesn’t want to punish Hanbin anymore. 

He wants this to be a reward instead, a gift Hanbin gets for finally admitting what he truly desires. So Zhang Hao shifts, just enough that Hanbin’s cock presses against his thigh again, offering it up to the hybrid. 

Zhang Hao lets the silence stretch, and then finally he says, “If it’s too much you can tell me no, or you can take what you need and rock against me until it’s out of your system.”

Hanbin shivers a little, but doesn’t speak or move right away. 

“I won’t judge you,” Zhang Hao adds, quieter now. “I want to help.”

There's a long pause. 

Then, barely there—Hanbin’s hips move. 

A tiny, guilty grind.

Zhang Hao exhales slowly, doing his best to keep completely still, letting Hanbin lead. 

“Good boy,” he murmurs. “That’s it. Take what you need.”

The words seem to melt something in Hanbin. His hands clench into Zhang Hao’s shirt. His forehead presses deeper into his neck. The rocking continues with a more desperate edge to it now. 

Zhang Hao keeps one hand on his back, holding him, letting him feel wanted and owned, as Hanbin continues to grind himself against his leg. 

When Hanbin starts to tense again, breath catching, clearly coming close to release, Zhang Hao whispers, “Slower.”

Hanbin whines softly but obeys.

The smaller movements make it worse—more intimate, more unbearable, Zhang Hao can feel the way Hanbin trembles in his hold, as he slowly continues to grind himself against Zhang Hao’s thigh.

“You like this, don’t you?” Zhang Hao says. “Rubbing off like this, like a spoiled pet.”

“No,” Hanbin lies—but Zhang Hao feels his fingers tighten where Hanbin’s holding onto his shirt. The hybrid’s body language betrays him. 

Zhang Hao leans in, lips at the shell of his ear, “Do it, come for me, make a mess, show me how much you needed this.”

Hanbin lets out a broken sound and grinds harder, undone by the cruelty of finally being allowed to take what he needs. He resumes grinding fast again, his body jolting as he takes himself to the edge. A low, gasping sound escapes Hanbin—and then he’s gone, stiffening in Zhang Hao’s lap as he cums. 

Zhang Hao doesn’t move. 

He just holds him through it, hand on his back, breath steady until Hanbin seems to come back to himself. 

When it’s over, he says, “Say thank you.”

Hanbin lets out a shaky breath and whispers, “Thank you.”

“For what?” 

Hanbin lifts his head, face red, but his eyes don’t look away, “For punishing me.”

Zhang Hao brushes a strand of sweaty hair from his forehead, “Good kitty.” 

Hanbin is trembling still, breath shaky, muscles tight with the shame of this whole affair. The way he stays frozen—stiff, humiliated, silent—makes Zhang Hao’s chest ache. 

Zhang Hao runs a hand slowly down the hybrid’s spine, fingers finding the base of his tail, stroking with careful, deliberate gentleness. Hanbin doesn’t resist. 

His ears stay flattened, his body limp.

For a few moments they sit there in silence, and Zhang Hao letting Hanbin come back to himself, then when Hanbin’s breathing feels steady and the hybrid is no longer stiff and humiliated in his hold, the exhaustion of finally coming down from his high catching up with him, Zhang Hao says, “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

*

He’s not sure what he had expected the next morning.

Mostly, for Hanbin to be more settled after having finally gotten the punishment that he had been craving the night before. 

Sure, he’d been pretty out of it last night after cumming, and nearly completely pliant as Zhang Hao had cleaned him up and settled him in for bed, but now in the morning the hybrid still seems off . 

He’s quiet. 

Too quiet.

Zhang Hao watches Hanbin from across the table, where the hybrid is picking halfheartedly at his breakfast, eyes glued to his plate, refusing to so much as even look at him or Matthew. His shoulders are tense, ears down, and he hasn’t said a word since he’d woken them up, no snide comments, no soft chatter with Matthew about his upcoming day, just nothing . 

It’s not that he expected gratitude. 

He doesn’t need Hanbin to thank him for what happened last night. 

But the silence feels wrong . 

Because he knows what he saw, what he felt , Hanbin had wanted it. He had needed it, and he'd even let himself be taken care of after the fact. 

Hanbin sits across from Zhang Hao, curled slightly in on himself and barely touching the food on his plate. The oversized shirt he’s wearing makes him look younger somehow—smaller and cute. 

But Hanbin’s ignoring him, and stuck on acting as if last night never happened, the only noise coming from him is a slight wince that he lets out when he shifts in his seat, his ass clearly still sore from last night.

He’s not the only one that has noticed how off Hanbin is, Matthew clearly noticed too. He tries to act casual at first—rambling about his classes, about some friend’s dog getting skunked, something about some event Jiwoong had invited the two of them to next week—but eventually, Matthew just gives up. 

“Hanbin,” Matthew says softly, setting his mug down, “Are you okay?”

Hanbin stiffens.

“I know last night was… intense, and…” Matthew trails off, searching Zhang Hao’s face across the table for help. 

Zhang Hao watches as Hanbin’s jaw tenses. 

His grip on his spoon tightens, shoulders drawing up.

“It’s fine, Matthew-ssi,” Hanbin says, too fast. “Can we just not talk about it?”

The “ ssi ” is pointed. 

Meant to put distance between them.

And Matthew looks devastated to hear it. 

“I just… I want to make sure you’re okay. You kind of disappeared last night, and—”

Zhang Hao shifts subtly under the table, his knee bumping Matthew’s. When Matthew looks over, puzzled, Zhang Hao mouths, ‘ He’s embarrassed.’

That finally seems to land.

Matthew sighs and gives a small, reluctant nod. 

Hanbin doesn’t say thank you, but he does look a little relieved as he goes back to slowly picking at his food.

Zhang Hao watches him throughout breakfast, holding his tongue despite the thousands thoughts tangling together in his head, despite all the questions he wants to ask. 

When eventually, Hanbin excuses himself with a mumbled, “I’ll clean up later,” Zhang Hao doesn’t fight to get him to stay, instead he lets Hanbin disappear down the hall without process. 

Zhang Hao waits until he’s sure Hanbin is out of earshot before standing to clear the dishes.

He’s not too surprised when a moment later Matthew corners him by the sink.

“What happened last night?” he asks in a low voice. “Hanbin was clearly… I mean—he seemed upset still. You didn’t—” He stops himself. “Didn’t you talk to him?”

“Yeah, we talked,” Zhang Hao says, keeping his tone neutral. 

“But then why is he so…” Matthew trails off, clearly unable to find the right word. “Like this.” 

“I don’t know,” Zhang Hao admits. “But I’ll talk to him again later, I’ll fix this, I promise.” 

“Please, hyung.” 

*

Zhang Hao had waited carefully all day, casually keeping to the common spaces for when Hanbin would eventually emerge from his room. Knowing that his innate desire to get all of his chores done would outweigh his stubbornness.

After all, today is laundry day, and Hanbin has proven to be very particular when it comes to doing the laundry. Zhang Hao had waited until he’d heard the washing machine start to fill up, before pausing the drama he had been pretending to watch and making his way over to the laundry room. 

Hanbin pretends not to notice Zhang Hao’s approach as he loads up the machines with t-shirts, towels and socks.

But his ears twitch when he senses Zhang Hao nearby, and his shoulders go tight, giving him away. 

“Can we talk?”

Hanbin doesn’t look up, “Now’s not a good time.”

Zhang Hao leans his weight against the wall. 

“I’ll wait.”

That gets Hanbin to pause. He sighs, clearly irritated, and much more like his normal self that he had been this morning, and sets the towel he’s holding to the side. 

“What do you want?”

“Just to talk, really,” Zhang Hao says, holding his hands up innocently. 

“Fine,” Hanbin sighs, “Talk.”

“I need to understand what went wrong,” Zhang Hao says, voice low. “Because I don’t want to hurt you the wrong way. That’s not the point of all this. I saw how you looked after, and I think you needed it. But normally after you’re more settled, not whatever this is.” 

Hanbin’s gaze drops back to the laundry. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“That may be the case,” Zhang Hao replies, “But you’re acting like you did that first time, so clearly we need to talk about it.” 

Hanbin doesn’t answer him. 

“You didn’t tell me to stop,” Zhang Hao probes. 

“That doesn’t mean I liked it.”

“Didn’t you? You seemed like you liked it?” 

“I…” Hanbin starts, then stops himself. 

“You asked for me to be the one to punish you,” Zhang Hao reminds him, “After insisting days ago that you didn’t want me to punish you, and last night in your room…” Zhang Hao pauses, the implication clear, “That didn’t seem like the reaction of someone who didn’t enjoy their punishment.” 

Hanbin hesitates, his tail twitching a little behind him.

Zhang Hao waits.

Until finally, Hanbin mumbles, “...I hate when you punish me over dumb things.”

“But,” Zhang Hao prompts. 

“But…” Hanbin continues, the words rough-edged and tight, “When I actually do something wrong. When I deserve it. That’s different. It helps. It… quiets everything.”

Zhang Hao doesn’t say anything, just nods, filing that information away.

It was as he had suspected. 

As interesting as watching Hanbin’s reaction to the spray bottle had been, it had only ever been a tool to push Hanbin in the direction of admitting what he had wanted. Technically, water based punishments had been something Hanbin had marked as acceptable on his sheet, but had Hanbin ever asked to change the punishment, Zhang Hao would have instantly given him what he’d wanted. 

The problem was asking .

Admitting what he needs is clearly something Hanbin struggles with. 

“I don’t like the spray bottle,” Hanbin adds, “It’s stupid and humiliating, and I hate it.”

“Okay,” Zhang Hao nods, “Then we won’t use it again.” 

He notices at once, the way Hanbin seems to look ever so slightly relieved. 

“But when you used your hand… when it hurt…” Hanbin trails off.

“You liked that?”

Hanbin doesn’t answer, but the way his ears twitch gives him away.

“I did too,” Zhang Hao says. “Not because I wanted to hurt you, but because I can see how much it helps you.”

Hanbin shifts beside him, wary, as if he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

So Zhang Hao takes a breath, and keeps his voice steady, open.

“I’ve been a dom before,” he says. “For people who wanted pain, or discipline, or just someone to hold the reins for a while. It’s not new to me.” 

Hanbin doesn’t react much—but he doesn’t object either. 

“There are people I’ve been with before,” Zhang Hao continues, “Who crave pain for all kinds of reasons. Some because it makes them feel alive. Some because it gives them peace. Some because it’s intimate and grounding. Sexual, even. It’s not weird.”

“I didn’t say it was weird.”

“You didn’t have to,” Zhang Hao offers a faint smile. “I used to be like you. Needed to control everything. My schedule, my space, my work—every little thing. It felt like if I let go of even one thread, the whole thing would unravel, but when I started domming, taking control for someone else instead of myself, it channeled all that energy in the right direction. It was like… everything got quiet. There’s a rhythm to it, the rules and the responsibility, it made sense. And I think—” He turns his head to look at Hanbin. “—I think you and I might be a good match for that. In our own way. You and I are much more similar than you think, Hanbin-ah.” 

Hanbin swallows, but there’s a part of him that’s clearly listening. 

So Zhang Hao continues, “I know it’s complicated. Especially since you’re a hybrid, but—”

That gets a reaction—Hanbin’s eyes narrow slightly, a flash of suspicion. “You’ve done this with hybrids before?”

Zhang Hao shakes his head. 

“No, I… There’s only ever been one hybrid I was close to before,” Zhang Hao admits. 

Normally, this isn’t a part of himself he shares easily. The shame of his first crush, the hybrid from next door, that had consumed his every waking thought for so much of his teenage years. That he’d only ever gotten one brief taste of, before it had been taken away. 

 “It was years ago, and we never even went past kissing,” Zhang Hao says, “They had an owner, and my family aren’t particularly fond of hybrids, but I liked him very much.” 

“I see,” Hanbin says, cautiously. 

“Most of the submissives I’ve had before have been human ones,” Zhang Hao continues. “But even so, I think we can help each other.” 

Hanbin stares at him. He’s quiet for a long moment, and then he says, “You’re serious about this.”

“I am.”

Hanbin shifts uncomfortably, before admitting, “I don’t want a relationship.” 

“I figured,” Zhang Hao replies. “Given your reaction this morning, I suppose helping you get off last night was too far—”

“No,” Hanbin interrupts, quickly. “That was fine. I liked that.”

Zhang Hao hides the small twist of satisfaction in his chest.

“But don’t kiss me. We’re not like that,” Hanbin says. “Not like you and Matthew.” 

“Fine, then,” Zhang Hao says simply. “No kissing. No romance. Just release, when you need it. When you’ve really done something wrong—or when you tell me it’s time.”

“Okay,” Hanbin says, nodding a little in agreement. 

Zhang Hao watches Hanbin for a moment longer, then adds, “The only thing I ask is… next time you get as high-strung as you were last night—before you start breaking glassware—just tell me.”

“You mean… say I want to be punished?”

“Yes, and no,” Zhang Hao says gently. “I mean say you need help, that you feel out of control, or that it’s building up.”

Hanbin’s jaw tightens, that stubborn part of him still there, even now, even when he’s presented with what they both know he wants and needs. 

“How about we make it easier then? If asking is hard.” 

“How?”

“A signal. Something simple. Something I’ll always notice,” Zhang Hao suggests, “Like wearing your collar.” 

Hanbin glances toward the front door—just briefly, but Zhang Hao catches the movement.

As he looks at his collar,  it’s hanging on the hook by the door, just where they always keep it when Hanbin isn’t wearing it to go out. 

“No. That’s grandmother’s. She gave it to me when I came of age. It would be…” His voice drops. “It’d be weird if I wore it when we…”

“When I touch you,” Zhang Hao finishes softly. 

Hanbin doesn’t answer, but the tension in his shoulders says enough.

“That makes sense. Thank you for being honest and telling me,” Zhang Hao says gently. “Then let’s go get you a new one.”

Hanbin looks over at him, startled, “What?”

“One just for us,” Zhang Hao continues. “Something that doesn’t mean anything to anyone else. Something that tells me when you need me.”

He watches the hesitation flicker across Hanbin’s face, before he can see Hanbin give in, even if it’s reluctantly. 

“Yeah, okay, I guess that works.” 

“Something pretty. Something you’ll only wear for me.”

*

The shop is tucked away at the end of a quiet street. A friend of a friend had recommended the store to him as a shop that specializes in offering products suited for hybrid submissives. 

It’s the kind of boutique with tinted windows and discreet signage. Nothing obvious to the naked eye. Nothing that would give it away to someone not in the community. Just sleek, polished metal lettering and a little bell that rings when they step inside.

Hanbin shifts beside Zhang Hao, tail flicking once, slow and uncertain as they step into the shop. 

“You don’t have to get anything if it doesn’t feel right,” Zhang Hao tells him. “There’s another hybrid store around the block if we don’t find anything suitable here.” 

Of course, the other hybrid shop was more for the type of hybrid owners that treated their hybrid’s like nothing more than pampered little pets. 

Zhang Hao scans the store around them. The walls are lined with elegant displays: collars of all kinds, cuffs, leads, even posture harnesses and resting gear. There’s a section discreetly cordoned off near the back, labeled ‘Correction & Obedience Tools’ that Zhang Hao notes Hanbin looking towards with clear interest, but the hybrid doesn’t say anything. 

He keeps his hands jammed in the pockets of his hoodie as he trails behind Zhang Hao through the shop. 

A friendly shopkeeper glances up from the counter, giving them an overly cheerful smile, saying, “Let me know if you two need anything!”

Though Zhang Hao just politely waves her off, as he leads Hanbin over towards the collar wall. 

“Pick whatever you like,” Zhang Hao tells him. “This one's for you. There’s no right or wrong answer.” 

Hanbin nods a little, before going over to look at the collars on display. A slightly frown on the hybrid’s lips, his fingers coming up to touch the worn leather of his current collar around his neck as he looks at the others.

Zhang Hao watches him before stepping forward, reaching for the clasp of his current collar.

Hanbin jerks away from his touch instinctively, hissing, “What are you doing?” 

“I just thought it might be easier to imagine what a new one will look like on you, if this one is off,” Zhang Hao explains, reaching out for the clasp once more. This time Hanbin lets him remove it, but there’s still a reluctance to his posture. 

When Zhang Hao pockets the old collar, he sees Hanbin’s eyes linger on Zhang Hao’s coat pocket where his collar is, before finally properly looking through the collars that are on display. The options range from simple to ornamental—delicate leather bands with jeweled fastenings, soft suede lined with velvet, minimalist metal rings with magnetic clasps. Plenty to choose from. 

Finally Hanbin picks one up, holding it up to his neck and looking in the mirror, before frowning and placing it down again.

Zhang Hao watches as he repeats the process with a few more collars.

Eventually, Hanbin reaches out and lifts one with a small silver bell that hangs delicately from a slim white band. 

It’s elegant and pretty. 

Hanbin smiles ever so slightly at the sound the bell makes when it rings.

A thought flutters to the front of Zhang Hao’s mind at the sound, the soft chime of the bell, the way it would sound so beautiful, ringing out with each smack of his hand against Hanbin’s ass. The way the beautiful sound of the bell would mix with Hanbin’s sweet little gasps. 

“That one suits you,” Zhang Hao says, enthralled by the idea of that collar around Hanbin’s neck. “You should try it on.” 

Hanbin nods, quietly lifting the collar up to his neck as he’s done before, to check how it looks in the mirror, but this time Zhang Hao steps forward, locking the clasp in the back. 

The collar sits beautifully on Hanbin’s neck. 

And it’s clear Hanbin likes this one as well. 

“It’s perfect,” Zhang Hao marvels, his voice awestruck. “Let hyung buy it for you.” 

“Yeah, alright,” Hanbin says, his voice casual, as if he’s pretending not to care. A fool's move, especially when Zhang Hao can see so clearly in Hanbin’s expression how much he wants it. 

When Hanbin reaches up to take the collar off, Zhang Hao simply swats his hand away. 

“Keep it on.”

“It doesn’t have my tags on it, I can’t—”

“There’s a tag engraving machine near the front,” Zhang Hao tells him. “I’ll get your tags made, you can go look around the shop for a bit.” 

For a second, he thinks that Hanbin will refuse, but then Zhang Hao catches Hanbin looking at himself in the mirror once more, clearly fond of the new collar, and just like that, Hanbin gives in. 

Zhang Hao leaves Hanbin to his own devices as he moves to the front of the shop, flagging the attendant, whose name tag reads Yuna , down to have new tags made for Hanbin’s new collar with the same identifying information that had been on his previous tags. Along with one more, with his own information on it.

He knows that Hanbin isn’t really his.

The hybrid still belongs to Matthew, even if Zhang Hao is in charge of his punishment and his submission now, but he quite likes the idea of Hanbin having his name on his neck. Of staking a small claim onto the hybrid. 

When the tags are finally finished being engraved, Zhang Hao goes to find Hanbin. 

Zhang Hao hadn’t really expected the store to affect him. He’s been in dozens like it before—some fancier, some dirtier, some more niche. But there’s something about looking through the displays and imagining using them on Hanbin that does something to him. 

He finds Hanbin in the section towards the back, the one labelled ‘ Correction & Obedience Tools.’ For a moment Zhang Hao lingers back, just watching Hanbin, the way his eyes flick across the inventory, the way his tail swishes behind them with interest. 

There’s plenty back here. Soft leather cuffs. Discipline straps. Training harnesses. Spreaders. Gags. Bit restraints. A short crop with a leather handle. A soft-tipped paddle with adjustable settings. A set of restraints labeled Training Use Only.

He imagines them on Hanbin before he can stop himself.

His mind conjures up the picture of Hanbin with his hands bound in soft cuffs, stretched just enough to arch his spine, then Hanbin held in place by sleek black straps while he squirms under the weight of discipline, and then Hanbin with his mouth gagged but eyes wide and begging.

He shouldn’t be thinking like this. 

Not in public. 

Not yet.

But god, he wants it. 

Not just the acts. 

But the care of it, the ritual of precision, of tailoring each restraint to Hanbin’s limits. 

The way Hanbin might struggle a little—tense, proud, high-strung—but then melt under the weight of being contained.

“Looking for anything in particular?” a voice asks lightly.

Zhang Hao startles slightly, glancing over at the store attendant that had helped him with the tags. Hanbin tenses too, his fingers darting back into his pocket, and away from whatever he had been looking at a moment before. 

“We’re just browsing.”

“That’s fair,” she says, “But if I might make a recommendation, since you’re with a feline hybrid, I’d recommend checking out the adaptation rings.”

“Adaption rings…?”

She gestures toward a glass case near the back wall. Inside, nestled in velvet-lined compartments, are a series of sleek, silicone and metal bands. 

Not quite cock rings. Not quite chastity cages. 

Something else entirely.

“For hybrids with feline traits,” Yuna explains, “These are designed to inhibit barbing during arousal, human partners often find to be a bit painful. These prevent the barbs from extending during climax, and can be used for control play and edging, or for safety depending on your sexual preferences.”

“Barbs?”

“It’s not uncommon in cat hybrids. Their anatomy mimics actual feline behavior, especially during high-arousal states. Some don’t develop them, but if yours has, then an adaption ring can help manage that.” 

Zhang Hao pauses, thinking back to when Hanbin had cum from grinding against his leg last night. He hadn’t felt any barbs then, but from the slight flush to Hanbin’s cheeks now as the hybrid clearly pretends not to hear them, Zhang Hao has a feeling that he does have them. 

“Are they always… active?” Zhang Hao asks. 

“Only during orgasm,” she explains. “Some hybrids can control it, others can’t.”

Zhang Hao leans in slightly, examining the designs. Most are unassuming, some with locking clasps, others with small sensor chips designed to respond to touch or temperature. All of them were made to subdue, to make the hybrid more dependent on their partner’s guidance.

But… Zhang Hao pauses, glancing over at Hanbin, who is still standing there stiffly, in front of the wall of whips and paddles. 

They’re not there yet. 

Maybe one day, but not quite yet .

He’d only just started to get Hanbin to admit what he needs, and this might be pushing it. 

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Zhang Hao politely tells the shop attendant, before moving over to where Hanbin is. 

There’s something still and focused about him now. His hands are still buried in the pocket of his hoodie, but his eyes are sharp, focused on the paddles in front of him. This time, as Zhang Hao approaches, his ears twitch once, but his tail sways low, slow, almost like he’s trying not to draw attention to himself.

Zhang Hao’s chest tightens.

He’s watching Hanbin now—really watching him.

The quiet tension in his shoulders. The way his gaze lingers just a beat too long on the braided leather crop. The flash of something he quickly masks when Zhang Hao gets close.

Zhang Hao doesn’t say anything. 

Not at first. He just moves to stand beside him.

And then when he speaks, his voice is very low. “You like these?”

Hanbin’s mouth tightens. 

He doesn’t look at him.

“Do you?”

“That’s not up for me to decide,” Zhang Hao tells him. “However, if you want one, I’ll buy it for you. As a reward for telling me what you want.” 

Hanbin swallows, his mouth twisting as he seems to consider Zhang Hao’s words.

Before, finally, he points at one of the paddles, “That one.”

Zhang Hao reaches for it, and tests the weight of it in his hand. It’s well-balanced—solid, but not too heavy. The kind that stings but doesn’t bruise, not unless you want it to.

“Would you let me try it on you?”

Hanbin still doesn’t look at him, but his tail gives the smallest flick.

“If I deserve it.”

Chapter Text

There had been something about it that had called to him when he’d seen it in the store. 

The collar itself is white leather, made to be soft at the edges, such that it doesn’t hurt when worn. There’s a clasp at the back that shuts quietly. But what sticks out most of all is the little bell the chimes whenever he touches it, or the tags hanging from the front ring bump against it. He’d originally insisted upon having his standard tags made for the collar—the ones with Matthew’s name and number, along with one indicating his designation as an Emotional Support Hybrid—but upon returning home, he’d removed those two tags, tucking them away in his sock drawer for safe keeping. However, he’d kept the other two tags on the collar, the one with his own name and the one with Zhang Hao’s name. 

Hanbin stares down at the tag now, his thumb brushing over the characters of Zhang Hao’s name. He should remove that too, but something stops him. After all, this collar is for when he needs to be punished, and… Hanbin swallows before raising the collar to his neck. 

Just to see. 

Just to check the fit.

The clasp clicks into place.

It fits perfectly.

Hanbin looks up to meet the gaze of his reflection in the mirror head on. The collar sits snug at the base of his throat, subtle, but impossible to ignore, the small silver bell glinting in the light of his room.

He tries to keep his face neutral as he looks himself over. Hanbin tries to tell himself he looks strong, like he’s just humoring Zhang Hao, like he's still in control of the situation.

But the longer he stares, the less certain he feels. 

He looks owned .

He looks like he wants to be.

The worst part is that he doesn’t hate it. He should hate it, should hate seeing Zhang Hao’s name around his neck, and the silly little bell that makes him look more like a pet than a person.

His cheeks flush, and immediately a feeling of shame wells up behind his ribs. He swears he can still feel the phantom touch of Zhang Hao’s fingers brushing his nape when he’d fastened the clasp, that first time at that store.

“Stupid,” he whispers to himself. “I’m so—”

Knock knock knock.

Hanbin jumps, startled by the sound of the knock at his bedroom door. 

“Hanbin-hyung? You up?”

It’s Matthew. 

Instantly panic slams through him, and Hanbin scrambles to undo the clasp of the collar before Matthew comes in. 

His fingers fumble, it sticks—”Fuck.”

“Hanbin-hyung?” 

“Just a second,” Hanbin calls back to him, his voice higher than usual, as he continues to fumble with the clasp of the collar.

He doesn’t want Matthew to see him like this, because he knows that Matthew will have questions that he is in no way prepared to answer. Thankfully, after a second more of working at the clasp, it finally gives, and Hanbin yanks the offending item off and shoves it under his pillow, just as the door creaks open.

“You okay?” Matthew asks, as he opens the door. 

“Fine,” he says, a bit too fast as he straightens up, “Just getting dressed.”

Matthew eyes him for a second, his brows furrowing like he doesn’t quite believe Hanbin.

“You just startled me,” Hanbin adds, softly. 

And that seems to do the trick in convincing Matthew there was nothing to be worried about.

 “Okay, well, Hao-hyung is making coffee,” Matthew tells him. “I think it’s awful, but maybe you can stomach it.”

Hanbin’s chest twists at the name, but he nods quickly in agreement, “Yeah, I’ll be out in a bit.” 

He expects Matthew to leave after that, but rather than leaving, he steps closer inside, shutting the door softly behind him. Then he sits, right next to Hanbin, right on the corner of the bed, far too close to where the collar is hidden.

Hanbin stiffens. 

Hyper aware of how close Matthew is to his new collar. 

“Actually, Hanbin-hyung, I, um, if you’ve got a minute, I just… I want to talk to you for a second about something.”

‘I want to talk’ is famously never a good combination of words. 

“About what?” Hanbin asks, his voice tight with nervousness. 

“About the other day,” Matthew winces. “The whole thing with Hao-hyung. I mean, the.. the spanking.”

“Oh… That .”

A part of him wonders how much Zhang Hao told him about what happened afterwards. He’d hoped that Zhang Hao hadn’t mentioned how Hanbin had shamelessly humped his leg like a cat in heat until he came in his pants, overstimulated and aroused from the spanking. 

“Yeah… I…” Matthew clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about it ever since that night. I feel like I haven’t been the kind of owner you really need.”

“That’s not true,” Hanbin rushes to tell him. “You’re not bad, Matthew-ah, not at all!”

“I don’t mean I’ve been a bad owner,” Matthew corrects. “I just mean… I guess I didn’t realize there were things you wanted that I wasn’t giving you, until Hao-hyung showed up.” 

Hanbin bites at the inside of his cheek. It’s not like he had known either. Not fully. He’d always known that he liked pain, that it could take the edge off of his stress, and that if he did it right he could even find it arousing, but the idea of being punished, of being treated like one of those hybrids was something he’d always fought against.

“It’s okay, Matthew-ah,” Hanbin tells him softly. 

Matthew smiles softly, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“I’ve missed you,” he says, “I feel like we haven’t been hanging out as much lately.”

The words, ‘because you’re always with Zhang Hao now , ’ threaten to rise up his throat, but he swallows them.

Matthew used to come home and flop dramatically onto the couch, demanding Hanbin’s attention like a needy cat himself. They’d eat instant ramen on the floor, or watch dumb TV shows, or he'd help Matthew with his school work, or sometimes they’d just cuddle. Hanbin had always liked it, being close like that, being needed.

Lately though, Matthew had been doing more and more of that with Zhang Hao, and less of it with him. 

The thought of that makes Hanbin’s stomach twist.

Hanbin is supposed to be Matthew’s . He’s supposed to take care of him, and watch over him, and cuddle him when he’s stressed and worried, and make sure he never forgets anything important. That’s what he’s for .

“I’ve missed you too,” Hanbin confesses quietly.

“Do you want to do something this weekend? Just the two of us? Like old times?”

“Yeah. I’d like that a lot,” Hanbin replies. 

“Cool. It’s a date. I mean—not a date-date! You know what I mean, hyung!”

*

“Bro, you’re gonna eat my dust!”

“You’re in last place!” 

“Exactly! It’s my underdog arc!”

Hanbin laughs, his fingers tight on the steering wheel of the game that they’re playing. Matthew is leaning halfway out of his seat and losing terribly against the NPCs in the game, but Hanbin is determined to win. He does his best to focus, even though the arcade is loud, full of noises from the various machines, and other people shouting and having fun. So much so that he’s had to press his ears down flat against his skull not to feel overwhelmed by the sounds.

But despite all of that, for the first time in weeks, he feels almost like himself again—laughing as he races Matthew on some ridiculous old driving game, where the steering wheel barely works and the graphics are so outdated that they look like they belong on a floppy disk.

In the end, Hanbin wins, just barely.

He lets out a cheer of excitement and turns to Matthew with a smug grin that fades into a real smile when Matthew’s laugh catches him off guard.

It’s such a familiar sound, open and unbothered, it instantly warms the center of Hanbin’s heart. 

He’s missed this.

Not just the arcade, or the stupid games, or the way Matthew always insists on wasting their tokens on the world’s most rigged claw machines—but him . Matthew. 

He’s missed Matthew. 

Being like this with him, where things feel easy again. Where Hanbin can just exist , and feel like he belongs.

He may be Matthew’s registered Emotional Support Hybrid, and Matthew may legally be his owner, but it’s never really felt like that. Not just any friend either, but his best friend, his only friend. In part because of how they were brought up, under the soft structure of Matthew’s grandmother, who never treated Hanbin like property, who taught them both to treat each other like equals.

And partly because Matthew never once made Hanbin feel lesser. 

Not until recently.

Not until he showed up.

Somehow, in no time at all, Zhang Hao had slipped into the space Hanbin used to occupy effortlessly. Always at Matthew’s side, laughing with him, sharing private jokes, and whispering things Hanbin isn’t supposed to hear.

And Hanbin… Hanbin doesn’t know how to say that it hurts .

He doesn’t know how to say that he feels forgotten, like a pet gathering dust on a shelf, no longer shiny or new. Like maybe Matthew doesn’t need him anymore.

The feeling sinks into the bottom of his stomach as he watches Matthew try to determine which game they should play next. Matthew is still beside him, chatting about the next game, but Hanbin’s ears have started ringing from the noise of the arcade, everything is too loud, but the loudest thing of all are his thoughts. 

What if Matthew doesn’t need him? 

What happens then?

Would Matthew keep him around just to do the chores around the house? To scrub floors and fold laundry? Or would Matthew send him back to live with grandmother? 

Or worse—would he take him to a hybrid rehoming facility?

The very thought of that should be ridiculous, he knows that Matthew wouldn’t do that, but the thought strikes him unbidden. 

Rehoming centers always sound clean in name, but everyone knows what they really are. Places for hybrids who have failed their humans. Places where people pick through you like merchandise. Where hybrids sit in rows with plastic collars and blank stares, waiting to see who might want them next. If they’re lucky, they’ll be taken to another good home, one where their years of experience can come in handy, but if they’re unlucky… 

Hanbin squeezes his eyes shut, as the warnings they had given him when he was young and still at his breeders comes rushing back. The warning that if they couldn’t find a good family to take him, they would sell him off to a hybrid brothel. And that somehow, that was one of the more merciful options. There were other hybrids in far worse conditions, those forced to fight for human’s entertainment, or those used for experiments in labs. 

The thought makes Hanbin feel like he can’t breathe.

He pinches the soft skin of his arm hard, just under his sleeve. Once, and then twice in an attempt to ground himself. But it doesn’t help. The noise around him presses in tighter, the uncertainty of what comes next, and the worst case scenarios mix together in his head to an overwhelming degree. 

Even Matthew’s voice feels distant now, like it's floating just above the surface.

Then, suddenly, Matthew’s arm is around him, warm and steady.

“Time to see if you’ve still got the moves, hyung,” he grins, dragging Hanbin toward the rhythm games with that same overflowing brightness he’s always had, Matthew blissfully unaware of the worries consuming Hanbin. 

Hanbin blinks at him, his brain still stuck in panic mode. 

But something about Matthew’s casual confidence—the teasing tilt of his mouth, the way he leans into Hanbin’s shoulder like nothing’s changed—cuts through the fog just enough.

So Hanbin lets himself pretend.

Just for now.

Pretend that it’s still the two of them, and only the two of them. 

That Zhang Hao doesn’t exist. 

That nothing has changed.

He elbows Matthew lightly in the ribs, “I’m gonna wipe the floor with you.”

“You wish,” Matthew snorts.

But even as they go to the next game, Hanbin can’t seem to get into the right headspace. The beat’s too quick, too loud, and Hanbin’s feet can’t seem to keep up. His coordination’s off, his reaction time slower than it’s ever been, and by the end of the first song, he’s missed nearly every arrow.

It’s humiliating.

He’s always been good at rhythm games, better than Matthew, even. But now his limbs feel rubbery, like his body forgot how to have fun. 

“Damn, hyung,” Matthew says beside him, blinking in surprise at their scores. “You okay?”

Hanbin lets out a shaky huff of air, and he wipes his hands on his pants, willing his tail to stay still behind him.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he lies. “Just, it’s the noise, I think... A little much for my hybrid senses today.”

He tries to smile as he speaks. It doesn’t reach his eyes. His ears twitch instinctively, flattening just slightly before he can control them.

Matthew’s entire expression softens at once. 

“Oh, Hanbinnie,” he says, and before Hanbin can react, Matthew steps in close, reaching up to gently cup his ears with both hands. “You should’ve said something earlier.”

Hanbin goes completely still, stunned by the warm feeling of Matthew’s hands on his ears. It’s not even anything weird, just a soft, shielding touch, his palms covering Hanbin’s ears to muffle the noise like a makeshift set of headphones, but the care in it, the gentleness, makes Hanbin’s heart lurch and his eyes burn with unshed tears. 

“Let’s go outside, okay? You probably need some air.”

Hanbin nods quickly, grateful for an excuse to get out of here for a moment. 

They make their way toward the exit, weaving through the sea of people, and Hanbin can almost feel the coolness of the night waiting just beyond the doors—when suddenly Matthew stops mid-step. 

“Wait!” 

“What is it?”

Matthew gestures toward a bank of gacha machines near the exit.

 “Let me grab one of these first. Hao-hyung’s been obsessed with them lately,” Matthew explains. “I wanna get him something since he couldn’t come with us tonight.”

Hanbin’s stomach drops.

Just like that, the warmth drains out of the moment.

“He’s got that one already, but maybe not the little frog…” Matthew continues, trailing off as he crouches by the machine. 

Of course it’s for Zhang Hao. 

It’s always Zhang Hao.

Hanbin watches as Matthew excitedly picks a machine, already digging for coins in his pocket, talking to himself about which capsule might be the rarest. His back is turned, completely focused.

Hanbin’s ears flick back again in displeasure, the words spill from his lips before he can even think to stop them, “I thought you said Zhang Hao wasn’t your boyfriend.”

Matthew turns, caught off guard by his tone, “What?”

“I said,” Hanbin snaps, louder and sharper than he means to, “I thought Zhang Hao wasn’t your boyfriend.”

“He’s not,” Matthew says slowly, brows furrowing. “Why—”

“Then why do you have to win him prizes like some lovesick idiot?”

Matthew freezes, the coin still balanced between his fingers, and for a second there’s just the sound of the arcade machines beeping around them.

Hanbin knows he’s gone too far, that his tone is all wrong, but he can’t seem to stop himself once he’s started. 

“We can’t even have one day,” he bites out. “One day for ourselves without him being part of it.”

“Hanbin, I was just— It’s just a gacha toy, I thought it would make him smile. He couldn’t come out tonight, and I—”

“You know it’s not just that,” Hanbin hisses. “You know it’s not.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” Matthew says, standing up, his face soft with concern. “Hanbin-hyung, where is this coming from?”

“I’m not stupid. You’ve been pulling away for weeks. Letting Zhang Hao move in, letting him take over everything, and I—I get it, okay? He’s funny and charming and human. He’s not some hybrid clinging to your side.”

“Hanbin…”

Hanbin looks away. 

The tears welling up behind his eyes are embarrassing, but he’s too angry to stop.

“I’m your support hybrid,” he continues, unable to hide the hurt from his voice. “That’s all I am, right? A thing to lean on when you're sad. But now that you’ve got someone else, what do you even need me for anymore?”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” he questions, “I know what happens when hybrids stop being useful. I know what people do with ones like me when they’re no longer wanted. I don’t have a place if you don’t want me.”

“You always have a place,” Matthew says quickly, a little frantic now. “Hanbin-hyung, no one’s replacing you. I never—”

“I’m going outside,” he cuts Matthew off, “Do whatever you want.”

And he walks off before Matthew can stop him, ears pinned low, shoulders high and tight. 

The air outside isn’t nearly as refreshing as Hanbin had hoped. It’s cool and sharp, and full of too many smells. It makes his head spin. 

Hanbin crouches near the curb, arms wrapped tight around his knees, the cracked sidewalk digging into the soles of his shoes. His heart is still pounding too fast in his chest, and his ears are folded low and trembling, and he presses his palms against them like that might help. 

It doesn’t. 

Nothing does.

He hadn’t meant to snap like that.

Hadn’t meant to say those things.

He’s supposed to be better than that. He’s supposed to be the steady one. The Emotional Support Hybrid, not the Emotional Liability Hybrid. Definitely never the kind of hybrid who blows up at his owner in public like a bratty child.

He stares down at the sidewalk until the shapes blur. 

His fingers pressing into his arms so hard to try and ground himself that he knows there are going to be bruises there tomorrow.

He feels stupid.

So stupid.

And so alone .

The door to the arcade swings open behind him, but Hanbin doesn’t look up, even with the faint sound of footsteps approaching him. 

Even as Matthew speaks, his voice soft, and unsure, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did wrong. But I’m really, really sorry. Okay?”

Hanbin swallows thickly. He doesn’t answer. He can’t. His throat is too tight, and his cheeks are already wet, and hates that Matthew has to see him crouched on the ground crying like some abandoned hybrid that didn’t get picked from the shelter.

But then out of the corner of his eye, he sees it, the little gacha capsule, tucked into Matthew’s hoodie pocket. Matthew did it anyway, he still spent the token, he still got the prize, he still prioritized Zhang Hao even after everything Hanbin said.

It makes the ache in his chest twist, ugly and hot.

Of course he did. 

He scrubs at his face with the heel of his palm, trying to erase the tears, trying to pull himself back together, even though it’s already too late. His ears won’t stop flicking. His nose is red and wet, and he hates how pathetic he must look right now. He’s always been too quick to cry. 

“Do you want me to call us a car? I think maybe… maybe we should head home.”

Hanbin nods—just barely. 

He doesn’t trust himself to speak. Not wanting to say something he’ll regret again, or to make this worse in any way. 

His chest feels hollow as Matthew stands back up, pulling out his phone to order them a ride.

Hanbin stares at the ground and feels like he’s ruined everything.  The one day that was supposed to be for them , and he broke it. Shattered it into something messy and mean, and hard to take back.

“I’m sorry, Matthew-ah,” Hanbin says quietly, so quiet that he wonders if Matthew will even be able to hear him. 

But then, just as softly, Matthew replies, “I’m sorry too, hyung.” 

*

The house had been quiet by the time they returned. 

It’s late enough that either Zhang Hao was already asleep, or Matthew had messaged him and warned him to make himself scarce when they returned. 

The car ride home had been awkward, tense with everything unspoken. Once they’d gotten home, Matthew had just said goodnight with a gentle pat to Hanbin’s head and a small smile that didn't quite feel right before disappearing into his own room, clearly not wanting to spend any more time around Hanbin than he had to. 

It’s been hours since they’d gotten home, and he should be asleep, but Hanbin lies still in bed, his eyes wide in the dark. He’s gone over it in his head more times than he can count now, what he said, how he said it, the look on Matthew’s face after he’d spoken. 

He hadn’t meant to ruin it. 

This was supposed to be their day, their time together. He’d missed Matthew, and Matthew had missed him. Everything had felt so perfect in the beginning, just like it had been before , but then he’d gone and ruined that. 

Hanbin turns onto his side, curling in on himself, groaning softly into the pillow.

He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He hadn’t even meant to think about it like that.

Matthew had been trying to do something nice, for both of them. 

And Hanbin had ruined it. 

His hand moves without thinking, fingers pressing into the soft skin just above his thigh. He pinches himself hard. The sharp sting grounds him. It’s familiar, even comforting. But just as quickly, it makes his stomach twist.

He remembers Zhang Hao’s voice— ’If you need a punishment, I want you to come ask me directly, instead of punishing yourself.’ —His breath catches in his throat. 

In a way this is all Zhang Hao’s fault, he and Matthew would never have felt so off balanced had Zhang Hao not moved in here and turned everything on its head. This is true.

And yet… the thought that Zhang Hao could be the solution for quieting the voices in his head and the guilty feeling consuming him, could also be true. 

He bites his lip, reaching under his pillow for the collar that is still there. 

Slowly, he pulls it out from under his pillow and sits up. His fingers tremble as he brings it to his neck. 

He hesitates, only for a second, before he buckles it closed. The sound of the clasp sounds too loud in the quiet room.

He doesn’t look in the mirror this time. 

He doesn’t need to.

He knows what he looks like in it.

He rises on shaky legs, pads barefoot to the door. 

The apartment is still dark, and he carefully listens for any sign of Matthew. Only once he determines that Matthew must be asleep, does Hanbin move, carefully and quietly down the hallway. 

But when he reaches Zhang Hao’s door, he hesitates once more. 

His hand hovers just above the wood. He doesn’t know why he’s doing it, he’d been running on impulse up until this very moment. 

But he knows how he feels.

He feels awful. 

Guilty. 

Restless. 

Like a failure. 

He needs something, something he knows Zhang Hao can give him. 

He knocks lightly, just once and then the door opens.

Zhang Hao stands there in loose sweatpants and nothing else, looking a little confused and half-asleep, but then his gaze drops immediately to the collar, and then back up to Hanbin’s face.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Hanbin swallows hard, cheeks burning. His voice is almost inaudible.

“…I need you.”

“Come in,” Zhang Hao says, stepping back from the door to let Hanbin in. When Hanbin enters the room, Zhang Hao closes the door behind him. 

He doesn’t say anything at first, he just looks at him and at the collar around his neck. 

Hanbin stands in the center of the room with his arms awkwardly crossed in front of his chest. He doesn’t meet Zhang Hao’s eyes. Instead, he looks around the room, until his eyes fall on a small trinket on Zhang Hao’s nightstand, a little raccoon toy, just like the one he had seen displayed on the outside of the gacha machine earlier. His face twists up in displeasure at the sight of it before he can think to stop himself. 

“Tell me what you need?” Zhang Hao prompts. 

“I…” he starts, voice rough, “…said something stupid to Matthew today.”

Zhang Hao raises an eyebrow, still silent.

“I snapped at him, in public, over something dumb,” Hanbin clarifies. “I made him feel bad. I— I didn’t mean to, but I hurt him, and then I couldn’t even apologize right after, because it felt too…” He stops himself, his eyes burning again. “I felt ashamed, and then guilty, and then angry that I felt guilty.”

Zhang Hao watches him carefully, expression unreadable.

“I need to be punished for it,” Hanbin says. “For upsetting Matthew, for failing him, and for ruining our good day.” 

At that, Hao finally speaks. 

“You did the right thing, coming to me,” he says, his voice gentle, “I’m proud of you for admitting what you need.”

He shouldn’t want that kind of praise, especially from Zhang Hao, but he does.

“What do you need tonight, Hanbin?”

“Pain,” Hanbin whispers, “I want to feel it. I want it to hurt.”

Zhang Hao nods again, patient. 

“Okay.”

He reaches up to tug his fingers through Hanbin’s collar, leading lightly with his fingers, not pulling, just there, and Hanbin follows without resistance. He kneels when told to. Breathes in deep and tries not to flinch when Zhang Hao circles behind him.

“I’m going to give you what you need,” Zhang Hao says softly. “But I want you to remember something.”

“What is it?”

“This is for you, not because I’m mad, and not because you broke any rules that we’ve established,” Zhang Hao tells him, “But because you asked for it.” 

“I know,” Hanbin says quietly. 

Zhang Hao hums softly in acknowledgment, pausing behind him. 

“Take your shirt off. Keep the collar on.”

Hanbin moves quickly to obey, his fingers fumbling slightly as he pulls his sleep shirt up and over his head and drops it on the floor. The fabric catches briefly on one ear as he tries to get it off, and he mutters out a curse under his breath before it finally slips free and falls to the floor. 

Though when it finally does, Zhang Hao makes a small noise of concern crouching down in front of Hanbin. His eyes scan Hanbin’s before settling on the faint purple smudges forming along the inside of Hanbin’s arms. When Zhang Hao reaches out, turning Hanbin’s arm a little so that he can more clearly see the finger-shaped bruises against the inside of Hanbin’s arms, Hanbin lets him. Zhang Hao’s touch is feather light brushing over them, but Hanbin winces all the same. 

“Who did this?” Zhang Hao asks softly. “You or Matthew?”

“I did,” Hanbin admits, quietly.

“I see…”

Zhang hums in consideration before rising and moving across the room. As he does so, Hanbin stays still, his hands resting on his thighs, his head bowed. 

From the corner of his eye, he can see Zhang Hao go to the drawer where he keeps the implements he uses for punishments. For a moment, he sees Zhang Hao pick up the paddle that they had picked out at the store, the one that Hanbin had wanted. 

He speaks before he can stop himself, “Not that one.”

Zhang Hao pauses mid-motion, glancing back.

“Why not?” he asks, his tone perfectly even.

“I don’t deserve it.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then, with no further questions, Zhang Hao sets the paddle down and continues searching. 

When he returns to Hanbin, he carries a small, clear box in his hands, the kind that usually holds spare batteries or safety pins, but instead the contents have been replaced with a collection of clothespins.

Zhang Hao kneels again in front of him and holds the box up, letting Hanbin see what he has clearly. 

“Color?” 

“Green,” Hanbin answers quickly. 

“Good kitty.”

Zhang Hao doesn’t rush. 

He opens the box, sets it down beside him, then he takes the first clothespin between his fingers. His movements are smooth and careful, like he’s done this dozens of times, which admittedly, he probably has.

“Hands behind your back,” he murmurs. 

Hanbin obeys, fingers laced behind him as his chest remains bared and still.

Zhang Hao leans forward, close enough that Hanbin can feel the faint warmth of his breath. He pinches a fold of skin just above Hanbin’s left nipple, and clamps the clothespin on.

Hanbin sucks in a breath. 

The pain is sharp, bright, not blinding, but very present. Not similar to what he feels when he pinches himself, but it lingers. 

One by one, Zhang Hao applies more clothespins to his body. 

Two on each of his nipples, one just under his collarbone, another lower down, close to the edge of a rib. 

Hanbin trembles through the sensation. 

“You’re doing so good,” Zhang Hao says quietly, his voice low. “You’re taking your punishment so well.” 

Hanbin nods, just barely. 

He feels raw, his attention hyper focused on each place the clothespins pinch at his skin. 

Zhang Hao leans in again, closer this time, and his voice is quieter still. “These… they’re a replacement, you know.”

Hanbin blinks at him, confused, his voice comes out quiet and far too airy, “What?” 

“For your fingers,” Zhang Hao explains. “You don’t have to punish yourself, not anymore, not now that I’m here.” 

Hanbin closes his eyes. 

Somehow Zhang Hao’s gentle tone burns more than the clothespins do.

Zhang Hao doesn’t press him for a response thankfully. He simply places a hand lightly against Hanbin’s knee and leaves it there, grounding.

“I’m going to leave them on for five minutes,” he says. “You don’t move. You don’t talk. You take what’s given.”

Hanbin nods again, jaw clenched, breath shallow.

The pain doesn’t fade. 

It grows, swelling with each second, crawling from the pinched nerves outward until his whole chest hums with it. 

And underneath it, something else rises too, relief .

At first, each clothespin is a precise point of pressure, stinging as it clings tight to his tender flesh, but as the seconds crawl forward, the edges blur. 

The pain doesn’t disappear, it blooms . 

It pulses in rhythm with his heartbeat. 

Hanbin focuses on nothing else other than the pain. 

The quiet ache that deepens and deepens until it becomes something heavy and comforting. 

He’s aware of his breathing. The faint tremble in his thighs. The dampness starting between his legs, his body responding to the feeling of pain as it always does, his cock twitching to hardness even without him intending it to. 

Throughout it all, he keeps his hands behind his back and his head bowed. 

Zhang Hao doesn’t speak, he doesn’t touch him, he doesn’t even check the timer aloud or offer encouragement. He just watches, calm and steady, grounding Hanbin without even laying a hand on him.

Hanbin forgets how long he’s been kneeling.

His muscles burn. 

His shoulders ache from holding still. 

But he doesn’t dare shift. 

He’s halfway between numb and overstimulated, and the only thing keeping him tethered is the weight of Zhang Hao’s gaze.

Then— Ring.

A soft chime from Zhang Hao’s phone.

His body gives the smallest jolt, like waking from a deep dream, and his breath catches in his throat as he realizes the five minutes have passed. He didn’t even feel them go. The passage of time had become irrelevant to him. 

Zhang Hao reaches forward wordlessly.

He starts with the one closest to Hanbin’s collarbone. His fingers are steady, bracing the skin before releasing the clothespin so it doesn’t snap back. However, even with his gentle care, the rush of blood returning to the pinched area is like fire. 

Hanbin hisses through his teeth at the pain. 

The second comes off slower.

Zhang Hao doesn’t look away from Hanbin’s face as he removes them one by one, watching his every flinch, every shift in expression. Hanbin does his best to stay still, to stay obedient, but it’s harder now. The pain after is somehow worse than the five minutes of them pinching at him had been. 

By the time the last pin is gone, Hanbin’s whole chest feels on fire. 

Zhang Hao sets the clothespins back in the box quietly. 

Then finally, softly, he asks, “Still with me?”

Hanbin nods, blinking fast. His throat is too tight to speak.

Zhang Hao leans forward, brushing one thumb under Hanbin’s eye catching a stray tear that had escaped there. 

“You did well.”

A low, shuddering breath escapes Hanbin, and he lets his head drop forward. He doesn’t cry, but he feels wrung out and stripped bare.

Zhang Hao doesn’t ask him to get up yet.

Instead, far too gently, he says, “You’re hard.”

Embarrassment makes Hanbin’s cheeks flush.

“I can’t help it,” he rushes to explain. “The pain, it—”

“It’s okay,” Zhang Hao interrupts, voice quiet. “Do you want help with that?”

Hanbin hesitates, his body going still. 

He could say no.

He should say no.

But instead, very quickly, he nods.

“I want you to stay right there,” Zhang Hao says gently. “Hands where they are. Can you do that for me?”

Hanbin nods again, his throat tight. 

Zhang Hao moves slowly, reaching forward to push down Hanbin’s sleep pants and briefs just enough to get his cock out. Then he wraps his hand around Hanbin’s cock, ever so carefully, his touch too light to offer any real friction. 

“You did something wrong,” Zhang Hao murmurs as his fingers work low, a light rhythm as he starts to work at Hanbin’s cock. “You hurt someone you care about.”

Hanbin lets out a quiet broken noise—not quite a sob, not quite a moan.

“But you came to me. You owned up to it. You asked to be held accountable.”

“I had to,” Hanbin breathes. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I needed—”

“To be punished,” Zhang Hao finishes for him. “And now you have been, and you took it so well.”

Hanbin’s eyes flutter closed.

“You’re not in trouble anymore,” Zhang Hao continues, his voice just as soft as his hand around Hanbin’s cock. “You were good. You asked for what you needed, and you took your punishment bravely. So now you’re going to say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say ‘I was good. I deserve this care’.”

“I… I was good,” Hanbin repeats, his voice trembling, “I deserve this care.”

“Again,” Zhang Hao says, his hand still moving, his grasp on Hanbin’s cock just a fraction tighter now, “Say it louder and like you mean it.”

“I was good,” Hanbin says, “I deserve this care.”

“Good kitty.”

“Continue,” Zhang Hao instructs, “Say, ‘I’ve taken my punishment.’”

Hanbin hesitates, lips trembling. 

Then he whispers, “I’ve taken my punishment.”

“Say, ‘I’ve made it right.’”

“I’ve… made it right.”

“You’re not bad,” Zhang Hao continues, softer now, thumb brushing lightly over the head of Hanbin’s cock “Say it.”

“I’m not bad.”

“You’re good. You’re trying. You came to me because you care.”

“I… I care,” Hanbin echoes, voice breaking. “I’m trying.”

“You did well tonight,” Zhang Hao murmurs. His pace never faltering, if anything he seems to pick up the pace with each sentence Hanbin dutifully repeats for him. Guiding Hanbin closer and closer to the edge. “Say it.”

“I did well.”

“I’m proud of you.”

Hanbin gasps—not from the touch, not entirely. It’s the words. The words that crack something open in his chest. 

“I’m proud of myself,” he whispers. 

Hao’s hand stays on him, grounding him, touching him throughout his words. 

“You can let go now,” Zhang Hao tells him. “You don’t need to repeat after me anymore, just feel.”

Hanbin nods, letting himself drift , letting himself stop thinking and just focus on the feeling of Zhang Hao’s hand on his cock. Zhang Hao’s touches grow firmer, more focused, but still careful. 

And through every tremble, every gasp that falls from his lips, Zhang Hao keeps speaking.

“You’re safe,” Zhang Hao tells him, as he works him up towards the edge. “You were honest. You’re mine to care for when you need it.”

Hanbin moans softly, overwhelmed, not just from the touch but from the words. From the voice in his ear, the assurance, the permission to feel something besides shame.

Hanbin’s body starts to tremble, heat rushing through him, too much at once—the lingering pain, the shame, the pleasure, and the praise.

And when he finally comes, it’s not loud or sharp. It’s soft and unsteady. A shattered release that leaves him blinking, wide-eyed and wet, his whole body shivering as his cock weakly dribbles out cum, the affirmations Zhang Hao had him repeat still ringing in his ears. 

Zhang Hao doesn’t let go immediately. 

For a long time, he stays there, his fingers pressed hard against the barbs at the bottom of Hanbin’s cock, putting pressure on them, until finally, they soften in his hold. It’s only then that Zhang Hao releases Hanbin’s cock, and reaches for tissues and cleans him up with the same quiet precision that he’d taken him to the edge. 

No teasing. No judgment.

Only care.

He helps Hanbin up then, arms guiding him to sit on the bed, before he reaches for a blanket draped nearby, carefully wrapping it around Hanbin’s shoulders wrapping him up. 

“You did everything right tonight,” he says, eyes steady. 

Hanbin nods slowly, even though his body still feels shaky. 

“You came to me before it could get worse,” Zhang Hao continues gently. “That’s not a sign of weakness. That’s strength.”

Hanbin wants to believe that. 

He really, truly does.

But the guilt still scratches at the edge of his thoughts, sharp and whispering about how selfish he was, how he ruined his night out with Matthew. Zhang Hao seems to sense it in silence.

He shifts to crouch in front of Hanbin so that he can look Hanbin in the eyes. His hand reaching up, cupping the side of Hanbin’s face, thumb stroking gently under the corner of his eye, catching yet another tear before it could trail down Hanbin’s cheek. 

“You’re not bad,” he says again. “You’re overwhelmed, and you’re trying to fix it. That’s more than most people ever do.”

“I hurt him,” Hanbin objects, voice small. “I said things I didn’t mean, because I just…” his breath catches in his throat as he trails off. 

Zhang Hao waits. He doesn’t push, he just watches, hand steady on Hanbin’s cheek.

Until finally, Hanbin finishes his sentence, “I don’t want to be replaced.”

“Who would be replacing you?” Zhang Hao asks, his brow furrowed a little in confusion. 

Hanbin doesn’t answer right away. 

His fingers curl in the blanket again.

This admission had been what made him hesitate before coming here. The irony of going to seek comfort from the one person who was the very reason for his outburst in the first place. 

 “You.”

“Hanbin…” Zhang Hao exhales, a pained sound escaping him. 

“I know it’s stupid,” Hanbin says quickly. “I know Matthew loves me, but what if I keep accidentally upsetting him, and then he decides I’m not worth the trouble, and sends me to one of those rehoming facilities, and…” Hanbin trails off, his voice breaking, the tears now freely falling again as his fears have finally been spoken out loud. 

Zhang Hao’s thumb stills. 

His gaze holds Hanbin’s, firm and unwavering. 

“That’s not stupid.”

“What?” 

“Being afraid isn’t stupid,” Zhang Hao says again. “But it’s wrong. You’re not being replaced. Not by me. I don’t want to be someone that replaces you, I want to be a part of your life just as I want to be a part of Matthew’s life.” 

Hanbin’s trembles, unsure of how to react to Zhang Hao’s words. 

“Matthew loves you so much. He talks about you constantly when we’re together, always pointing out things that he knows you would like, or thinking about what you would be doing when you’re not with us,” Zhang Hao continues. “He’s never going to get rid of you. Not ever.”

There’s a brief pause, then Zhang Hao’s voice drops lower, gentler, more unsure.

“And I lo—” He swallows, catching himself. “I care about you so much too. I know I may not have shown it in the best way before, I’m still figuring things out too, but surely you can see how much I care about you?” 

Something finally gives in Hanbin. 

His eyes squeeze shut, his shoulders curl in slightly, and he nods. 

Zhang Hao lets the silence stretch for a beat, then leans forward and presses a light kiss to Hanbin’s forehead. 

“Sleep with me tonight?”

“What?”

“Not like that,” Zhang Hao tells him, climbing into the bed beside Hanbin. “Just cuddle with me. I don’t like the idea of you being alone tonight.” 

Hanbin stays still, watching as Zhang Hao gets himself comfortable in the bed, without following him. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Zhang Hao adds quietly. “But I meant it. I want you here.”

That softens something in Hanbin’s chest. 

Slowly, he crawls forward and joins Zhang Hao properly in the bed, resting with his head against Zhang Hao’s shoulder, and letting Zhang Hao rub his hands up and down his back.

They lay like that for a while. Then Zhang Hao shifts only to tug the blanket up over them properly, settling them more comfortably. 

Hanbin lets out a quiet sigh, half-buried against Hao’s collarbone.

“You’re cold,” Hanbin mumbles. 

“Good thing I’ve got my own personal space heater right here to keep me warm,” Zhang Hao softly quips. 

Hanbin doesn’t answer. 

He just shifts a little closer, letting their legs get tangled together. 

And the last thought he has before sleep claims him is that maybe, just maybe, Zhang Hao isn’t so bad after all. 

Chapter Text

Zhang Hao wakes slowly, with the awareness of another body pressed against his side.

For a moment, he had forgotten about the events of the night before. 

He’d already been asleep by the time that Hanbin had knocked on his door, and for a second, Zhang Hao had thought the whole thing to be a bit of a dream. Hanbin willingly coming to him to ask to submit to him had been something Zhang Hao could only hope that he would one day get to experience.

The fact that it had happened so soon had been such a pleasant surprise. 

But even more so was the surprise that not only had Hanbin joined him in bed to sleep, but that the hybrid hadn’t snuck out in the middle of the night. Instead, he stayed there, curled up beside Zhang Hao all through the night. 

The hybrid's cheek is squished against the pillow, cat ears twitching slightly even in sleep, his body warm beside Zhang Hao. So much so that he can feel the heat where their legs touch, the faint stick of skin where Hanbin’s thigh has shifted against his.

Zhang Hao chances a glance at the clock.

It’s still early in the morning, and a weekend where they have nothing in particular to do, so he lets Hanbin sleep a little longer. 

As he sleeps, Zhang Hao can’t help but observe him. 

Hanbin’s face is calm like this. He looks younger, somehow, as he sleeps, completely unbothered by the world. The usual guarded tension that lingers behind his eyes is gone, replaced with something loose. Zhang Hao reaches out on instinct, brushing a lock of hair away from Hanbin’s temple, careful not to wake him.

For a moment, his hand lingers there. 

Though his eyes move, trailing down Hanbin’s body. He’d fallen asleep shirtless, his sleepshirt lost somewhere on Zhang Hao’s floor, and somewhere during the night, the blanket that Zhang Hao had pulled over them had started to slip down. 

There, blooming faintly along Hanbin’s sternum, are small bruises. Lingering marks from the clothespins he’d placed there last night, part punishment and part release. 

Zhang Hao presses a fingertip to the edge of one bruise, not hard enough to wake Hanbin. He tells himself it’s just observation, but a small voice in the back of his head betrays him. The truth is that he doesn’t want the marks to fade so easily. 

They mean something. 

They’re proof that Hanbin chose to come to him last night, willingly seeking Zhang Hao out instead of hurting himself any further than he already had. That was progress. Small progress, but it’s something, it’s proof that they’re heading in the right direction. 

His palm flattens gently over Hanbin’s chest, just to feel the rise and fall of his breath, the proof that all of this is real. Hanbin’s tail flicks lazily under the blanket in response, and Hanbin nuzzles a bit closer to him instinctively, before stirring beneath his hand. 

It’s subtle at first, a twitch of his ears, and a slow inhale. Then his lashes flutter, and his eyes blink open, unfocused and heavy with sleep. He squints up at Zhang Hao, his pupils nearly impossibly wide and black in the early light.

“Mm, Zhang Hao,” Hanbin mumbles, his voice low and raspy with sleep. 

“Good morning, Bin-ah,” Zhang Hao replies, removing his hand from Hanbin’s chest to return it to his hair, brushing his fingers against Hanbin’s soft gray cat ears. The ears twitch again at Zhang Hao’s touch, as Hanbin blinks again, slow to wake up. 

He looks... impossibly cute like this.

Zhang Hao’s heart feels warm at the sight.

“What time is it?” Hanbin asks sleepy. 

“Shh, don’t worry about it,” he says softly, fingers continuing to brush over Hanbin’s furry ear. “It’s the weekend. You can sleep a little more.”

Hanbin blinks at him once more, then twice, then slowly he lets his eyes fall closed again. Throughout it all, he doesn’t pull away, that alone feels like something significant. As he rests, Zhang Hao continues petting him, rubbing slow circles at the base, the way he knows Hanbin likes. 

The hybrid looks so peaceful, as if he’d fallen asleep again, but then Zhang Hao hears it, a low, steady rumble, barely there at first, but louder as he continues to pet Hanbin. 

Hanbin’s purring.

Zhang Hao almost laughs, not because it’s funny, but because it’s so stupidly sweet . So unlike the defensive little brat who hisses at him when he’s annoyed, or acts like he can hardly stand being in the same room with Zhang Hao for too long. 

“Aish, you’re adorable,” Zhang Hao murmurs, more to himself than anything.

Hanbin hums a little, a soft, sleepy sound in response, and his tail curls loosely against Zhang Hao’s shin under the blanket.

*

He’d tried his best to fall back asleep by Hanbin, but he’d never been the sort to be able to sleep the day away. Especially not when his mind was whirling through thoughts. Even in the comfort of his bed with Hanbin curled up beside him, Zhang Hao couldn’t help but think about what Hanbin had said to him last night after it all finished.

His fears of being replaced. 

Not by a new hybrid or anything, but by Zhang Hao himself. 

At the time, Zhang Hao had done his best to reassure Hanbin that Zhang Hao had no intention of replacing him. Despite their rocky beginning, he wants Hanbin. That he’s wanted him from the first time they met and the hybrid gave him the cold shoulder. Hanbin had always fascinated him, but at some point since moving in here, that fascination had turned into real care. 

Which is why now, he retrieves his laptop off of his desk and slips out into the living room, as quietly as he can, before settling onto the couch and opening it up. From there, he types the words ‘ hybrid rehoming process korea’ into the search bar. 

The first thing that comes up are government sites. There’s nearly a dozen PDFs from government departments, public safety agencies, and municipal health offices. All worded with a clean, hollow kind of detachment. 

Curiosity gets the better of him as he clicks on one that read ‘INTAKE & RE-REGISTRATION GUIDELINES, MINISTRY OF PUBLIC SAFETY. UNASSIGNED HYBRID PROPERTY: MUNICIPAL HOLDING FACILITIES.’

Hybrids are referred to as units, dependents, or unassigned property. 

An unpleasant feeling settles deep in his stomach as he reads the words on the screen, ‘Unclaimed dependent units will be catalogued within 48 hours. Average re-processing period: 8-12 weeks,’ a gasp falling from his lips as he reads further and sees the words ‘ Tier C facilities may enact euthanization protocols for over-capacity scenarios (see Appendix D).’  

The language is clean, almost sterile.

Completely uncaring about the lives they’re handling, or ending… 

He’d known it had to be bad in theory, and that there were many people out there that believed hybrids to be an abomination, but this was worse than anything he could have ever imagined. 

Hao closes the tab too fast; his hand is shaking, the next search he types is ‘ hybrid rehoming survivor stories. ’

There’s a forum that he finds, hidden and barely indexed. The posts are old, but the stories make his chest ache. There’s an older fox hybrid who spent three months in a center before being adopted by a retired woman. A wolf hybrid who writes about how cold the floors were, how long he went without being touched, and how he flinched so badly during the re-bonding interview that he was flagged as “emotionally resistant” and almost sent to behavioral training instead. His eyes blur as he reads about hybrids being sent to isolation cells, shock collars for discipline, and rumors of hybrids who simply vanished between transfers. 

Story after story, each more horrifying than the next. 

Zhang Hao squeezes his eyes shut to block out what he’s reading, but his mind betrays him, giving him the image of Hanbin there in one of those facilities. His ears flat, his tail limp, trying to look good enough to keep, good enough for someone to want him, to give him a second chance. 

No wonder Hanbin had spiralled so much yesterday to cause a scene while out with Matthew, if this was what he feared could be awaiting him. Zhang Hao snaps his laptop shut. 

He should have seen it sooner, the way Hanbin’s bravado is paper armor, how desperately he clings to every scrap of belonging. How his initial dislike of Zhang Hao had so clearly stemmed from this insecurity, this fear of being replaceable, and of what that would mean for a hybrid. 

If Matthew doesn’t know, then Matthew needs to know. 

Zhang Hao moves with a purpose to the kitchen, where he can hear the faint sounds of Matthew stirring. 

For a second, Zhang Hao stands just outside the entryway to the kitchen, just watching him.

It would be so easy not to say anything, to let the moment pass, to pretend last night didn’t happen and that he didn’t spend his morning reading about hybrids being discarded like broken appliances. But he can still hear the sincere worry in Hanbin’s voice. He can still see the way Hanbin had trembled in his arms. And Matthew had messaged him last night before they’d gone to bed worried about Hanbin. It was only fair that Matthew knew why Hanbin had panicked at the arcade. 

“Matthew,” he says, careful, quiet. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course, hyung,” Matthew says, looking up at him a bit sleepily, “What’s up?”

“Have you ever… thought about rehoming Hanbin?”

Matthew stills, his expression going from surprised at Zhang Hao’s question to upset within seconds, “What?”

“I just…” Zhang Hao swallows. “I need to know if that’s something you’ve ever considered. Even once.”

“No,” Matthew says quickly, “No, God, Hao-hyung, Why would you—” Matthew pauses looking genuinely hurt, as his brows furrow together, before asking, “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because Hanbin thinks you might.”

That only serves to make Matthew more confused. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Last night, he came to me after whatever happened between the two of you at the arcade,” Zhang Hao explains. “It took him a while to admit the reason for it, but eventually he said that he was afraid you would replace him. That you might be done with him, and that if he messes up too much or needs too much of your attention, that you would… get rid of him.” 

“I—no. No, I would never do that,” Matthew says, running a hand over his face. He looks devastated. “Where did he even get the idea that I—and why didn’t he say anything? I asked what was wrong last night, hyung, I did, but he just…” 

“Because he’s scared,” Zhang Hao tells Matthew gently. “Because hybrids get rehomed, Matthew, and most of the time it’s not fair. It’s not because they did something wrong. It’s because their owner got bored, or overwhelmed, or decided someone else would be easier.”

Matthew’s mouth parts like he’s about to speak again, but nothing comes out. In the end his eyes just drop to the counter, a genuine look of sadness on his face as he seems to consider Zhang Hao’s words. 

“I looked it up this morning. I didn’t know about the places they send unwanted hybrids. The holding centers have such a low percentage of hybrid’s that are successfully rehomed. Some of those places don’t even keep them for more than a few months if no one claims them.”

Matthew looks sick to his stomach at the thought of that.

Clearly imagining, just as Zhang Hao had earlier, what it would be like for Hanbin to be in that situation. 

“I’ve never even thought about rehoming him,” Matthew eventually says. “Not even when it was hard, not when he lashed out, not when he wouldn’t talk to me for days. He’s mine , Hao-hyung. He’s my family.”

Zhang Hao feels a little relief at the sincerity in Matthew’s voice, “Then you should go tell him that.” 

“Yeah, I… Yeah,” Matthew agrees standing up, “I’m going to go talk to him.” 

Zhang Hao watches Matthew disappear down the hall. As he goes, something sharp and exhausted unspools in Zhang Hao’s chest. He leans back against the counter and exhales slowly, head tipped back so that he can look up at the ceiling like it might hold answers.

He hadn’t planned to get this involved. 

Not at first.

When he moved in, Hanbin was just Matthew’s hybrid . 

A bad-tempered one, a brat with claws, some vague background detail in the mess of his friend’s life. Zhang Hao had been fascinated by the hybrid, his attraction to Hanbin had been at war with his natural urge to see Hanbin submit. But then Hanbin had glared at him like his presence was an insult, had flinched away from his touch but stood his ground anyway, and Zhang Hao had never been one to back down from a challenge. 

But at some point, Hanbin had become less of a challenge that Zhang Hao wanted to master and more of someone he would consider important.

He cares about Hanbin, undoubtedly. 

Cares about him so much that the realization seems almost frightening. 

“Shit,” Zhang Hao mutters, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

He knows he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but curiosity prickles in the back of his mind, even as he busies himself with doing the dishes. Zhang Hao fills the sink, rinses out Matthew’s mug, and he even scrubs at an already clean spoon until the sound of it against ceramic makes his teeth itch.

But mostly, he listens.

The apartment is quiet and thin-walled enough that if the water isn’t running and he stands still, he can just make out the low hum of Matthew’s voice.

He can’t make out every word, but he doesn’t need to. 

It’s the tone that matters, the way Matthew’s voice catches like he’s trying not to cry, the way Hanbin replies softly in answer rather than with fire or hurt. 

Zhang Hao turns off the tap so that he can hear a little better. 

Just in time to hear Matthew say, “...I’ve never thought about giving you away, Hanbin-hyung. Not once.”

There’s a pause, some mumbled reply that Hanbin makes that is too quiet to hear. 

“Not by anyone. Not even Zhang Hao.”

The word hits Zhang Hao in the chest.

And then, with a quiet breath, he turns the tap back on, and lets the sound of running water cover the rest.

*

Over the next few weeks, things start to settle. 

There’s no single moment that marks the change, really. There’s no dramatic apology or perfect conversation that wraps everything into a bow, but one day, Zhang Hao notices that Hanbin starts subtly trying to include him into things too. It’s little things, like gently waking Zhang Hao up in the morning rather than his usual brisk knock at the door, or getting extra oat milk from the store when he notices Zhang Hao is running low, or scooting over on the couch to make room for Zhang Hao to join them in watching whatever drama Matthew is currently obsessed with. 

It’s not constant. 

Not yet.

But it’s a start.

They find a rhythm that works for them, and for the first time since Zhang Hao moved in weeks ago, things start to feel easier. 

Zhang Hao doesn’t trust that word, not really. 

Easy is always suspicious, it’s something you say just before the floor falls out from under you. But it has been easy. Hanbin doesn’t startle when Zhang Hao enters a room anymore, and sometimes, he falls asleep right there with his head on Hao’s thigh, breathing warm against Zhang Hao’s skin, the weight of him something Zhang Hao has started to miss when it’s gone.

He tells himself it’s a relief that they’re finally getting along, but it’s more than that, and he knows it.

He likes Hanbin. 

Not just in the way he’s supposed to.

Not just as someone to care for, to help Matthew keep in line, to punish and praise and pet. He likes the way Hanbin’s ears twitch when he’s sleepy, the way he gets sulky when he’s tired, and the way he moves, nearly silent and cat-like around the apartment.

And the way Zhang Hao wants him is… getting harder to ignore.

Most days, they all just coexist around each other as any set of roommates might, occasionally making time and space for the other.

But on other days.. Hanbin appears outside his door, with his collar on. Some days it’s a rule he broke, something small that might have otherwise gone unnoticed, but that Hanbin felt guilty enough that he needed Zhang Hao’s hand to absolve him of that guilt. Other times, he’s done nothing wrong. 

No mistakes, noticed or unnoticed, just Hanbin, with his collar fastened snugly around his throat, his eyes fixed on Zhang Hao and his voice small as he says, “Please, I need this.” 

Hanbin doesn’t like talking when he’s in that headspace. What he does like is to be told what to do gently, and the sharpness of pain when it’s controlled. But it’s clear that what he likes best is when Zhang Hao presses him down afterward, mouth to his neck, palm over his chest, and coaxes him into coming with a soft command.

That the need for that release is why Hanbin ends up outside of his bedroom more nights than not. 

Zhang Hao keeps it platonic until things are over. That’s what Hanbin had asked of him, a physical release following the pain, without any other romantic elements attacked. 

So he does his best to wait until the lights are off and Hanbin’s gone still asleep, before slipping out from the bed himself, to deal with the nearly unbearable ache in his body. 

He tells himself it’s just the circumstances, that it’s just leftover adrenaline, but he knows that’s a lie. 

He dreams of kissing Hanbin—messy, half-lit dreams where Hanbin looks up at him with wet lashes and whispers please. Dreams where Zhang Hao touches him like he’s allowed to. Like Hanbin wants him, too. Where Hanbin kisses him back.

He wakes up hard and guilty every time.

It’s not like he doesn’t know what it means.

He just doesn’t know what to do about it.

*

Hanbin doesn’t say anything when he comes in. 

He just kneels automatically, his collar on, the bell chiming ever so slightly as he bows his head. His hands resting palm-up on his thighs, like he’s offering himself without saying a word.

Zhang Hao closes the door behind him slowly, the quiet click of the latch feeling too loud in the still room.

“…Again?” 

Hanbin nods just once.

“Did you do something?”

A small pause, a hint of hesitation from him, as if Hanbin doesn’t want to admit something. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Zhang Hao reminds him gently. “For this to work, you need to always promise to be honest with me.” 

Hanbin lets out a shaky breath in response to that. 

“I—forgot to do something,” Hanbin confesses. “It’s nothing important, nothing I can’t fix tomorrow, but I can’t fix it tonight, and—”

“And so you need me to fix it?” 

Hanbin lifts his head just slightly, looking up through his lashes, eyes shining too much in the dim light. 

His voice drops to a whisper as he confesses, “Yes, master.” 

Zhang Hao wants to kiss him right there.

Instead, he strokes Hanbin’s hair back and just as gently says, “Bed. All fours.”

Hanbin obeys without hesitation, instantly sinking onto the mattress on his knees, his forearms pressed down, back arching naturally. His tail curls once, an almost unconscious flick, and then settles as he exhales shakily into the sheets.

Zhang Hao takes his time moving to join Hanbin. He rolls up his sleeves slowly, drawing the moment out, before he sits behind Hanbin and drags his palm gently down the hybrid’s back. Hanbin shivers at his touch. 

“Pants down,” Zhang Hao commands.

And Hanbin rushes to comply, tugging his sleep pants and briefs both down in one fluid movement to expose his bare ass. It is impossible for Zhang Hao not to notice the way Hanbin is already half hard before he’s even begun, his dick chubbing up against his stomach and his hole slightly slick, the way hybrid’s do when aroused, before Zhang Hao’s even gotten a hand on him. 

The sight of it is breathtaking, and Zhang Hao feels his own cock twitch in his pants at the sight of Hanbin’s obvious arousal. That urge , that want, bubbles up inside Zhang Hao once more, and it’s all he can do to take a steadying breath and settle himself before raising his hand to slap against the curve of Hanbin’s ass. 

Just enough to make Hanbin gasp.

Not too hard, not yet. 

Zhang Hao’s fingers tremble as he lifts them for the next strike, bringing it down harder this time, a noise of pleasure spilling out from Hanbin’s lips. 

The sounds are what do it for him. 

Each sharp breath Hanbin takes, every little broken whimper that escapes him when Zhang Hao’s palm lands just right on the same spot twice, and the tremble in his thighs when he bites back a moan— fuck.

Zhang Hao’s cock aches uncomfortably hard in his pants. 

He tries to ignore it.

He tries to focus on Hanbin. 

On his breathing. 

On how his body reacts.

But Hanbin moves with the rhythm of his strikes. Hanbin pushes back just the slightest bit with each strike, like he’s offering more of himself. And his skin flushes beautifully, a deep pink under Zhang Hao’s touch, blooming with every strike.

It’s beautiful.

Too beautiful.

Zhang Hao stops, breath catching.

He presses his hand to the warm, raw curve of Hanbin’s ass and leans forward so that his lips ghost against the back of Hanbin’s neck.

There, he asks, “Color?”

Hanbin’s breath hitches at the gentle touch. 

“Green,” Hanbin says quickly. “Please don’t stop.”

Zhang Hao’s eyes drop to the fabric of his bedsheets, the damp puddle there underneath Hanbin from where he’s been leaking. Zhang Hao’s own arousal throbs between his legs, insistent and unrelenting.

He swallows hard, and forces his voice to stay steady as he says, “You’re such a mess already, Bin-ah, are you sure you can handle more?” 

Hanbin makes a sound, soft and shaky, a desperate hum of pleasure, and it goes straight to Zhang Hao’s cock.

“Please, master.” 

Zhnag Hao finishes the punishment with quiet efficiency, just a few more strikes, each perfectly measured. Hanbin trembles under his hand. 

“Roll over,” he murmurs, voice tight when he’s finished. 

Hanbin obeys instantly, dazed and needy, cock hard and flushed and leaking against his stomach. He looks up at Zhang Hao with pupils blown wide, breathing shallowly as Zhang Hao wraps his hand around Hanbin’s cock and strokes slowly, gently, like a reward. Hanbin keens quietly, his hips jerking into the motion. 

It’s so intimate, Zhang Hao has to look away.

But he doesn’t stop.

He strokes Hanbin through it, lets him come with a soft cry and a shudder, lets him pant and collapse into the sheets as the tension drains out of him.

Then he gets up, and turns away, his own breath shaky as he says, “Let me get a towel to clean you up with,” and escapes to the bathroom. 

When Zhang Hao gets to the bathroom, he shuts the door and locks it quickly. 

Zhang Hao braces himself against the sink, jaw clenched tight, trying to breathe through the tension, trying to will himself into softness, to resist the urge to go back in there and touch Hanbin properly. 

Fuck .

Hanbin had sounded so pretty when he moaned.

Not just desperate—but trusting. 

Like he wanted Hao to take care of him. 

Like he needed it.

Zhang Hao curses under his breath and shoves his hand into his pants. His palms still sting a little, from where he’d struck Hanbin. He strokes his cock with practiced efficiency, trying to get it over with, to stop the edge from bleeding into something messier, rushing towards the edge so that he can regain some modicum of control. 

But the second he closes his eyes, it’s Hanbin he sees; Hanbin flushed, breathless, back arching, with thighs trembling from where he knelt, obedient and open.

It isn’t just the sexiness of it. 

It’s the way he offered himself.

Giving himself up so beautifully, knowing that he needed Zhang Hao to take care of him, asking for it. The way Hanbin looked at him when it was over, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, pupils blown with something that looked a little too much like affection.

Zhang Hao bites his lip, stifling a groan, stroking himself faster.

When he comes, it’s with a muffled grunt, forearm clamped over his mouth to keep from making too much noise. 

He’s panting, dizzy, sticky with need.

He stands there awkwardly in the aftermath, spent and trembling, and doesn’t reach for a towel.

Instead, he stares into the mirror, meeting his own wide eyes. 

The truth is that he wants Hanbin. 

Not just to punish. 

Not just to fuck. 

He wants to kiss him. 

He wants to touch him, not just to punish, but as a reward too. 

He wants to wake up beside him every morning and see his ears twitch in the morning light.

Zhang Hao drags in a breath, cold water running now as he splashes it on his face. 

He watches the drops fall from his chin, heart hammering far too loudly in his chest. 

He’s falling for Hanbin.

He’s not sure when it started. 

But he only knows that it’s too late to stop the feelings now.

It’s been years since anyone has made him feel like this , like something more than just casual sex, like something real. 

Chapter Text

“I thought there were rules about animals being on the bus!” 

Hanbin doesn’t look up. 

He does his best to not react at all, though his ears betray him, twitching slightly to try and drown the sounds of their heckling out. 

People like this are always worse when you react to them. 

Instead, he keeps his eyes focused on looking towards the front of the bus, watching the sign that tells them what stop is next, and silently counting down the stops until he’s home. 

He tries to focus on the grocery list that he memorized earlier, trying to remember if he’d gotten everything. 

Scallions? Check!

Carrots? Check!

Soft tofu? Check! He’d even remembered to double-bag the tofu so it wouldn’t get crushed.

That particular chili paste Zhang Hao likes, the one he uses when he’s trying a new recipe? Check!

Technically, Hanbin hadn’t been told to get that brand, but he'd noticed the empty jar in the trash, and how Zhang Hao stared at it for a second before sighing and tossing it in earlier this week. 

So he bought it.

“Gross, look at his ears twitch. I bet it gets off on being stared at!”

There’s laughter at that from the little group of teenagers that had decided to spend the entire bus ride harassing him, as though they didn’t have anything better to do with their lives. 

Hanbin breathes through his nose. 

He knows the teenagers are all talk. Everyone knows it’s a crime to touch a hybrid that isn’t yours, and his collar, the proof of him being owned, is clear on his neck. It’s the old one today, brown leather, a little worn at the edges, the metal tag with Matthew’s information swinging gently as the bus jostles. His thumb reaches up to brush over the tag out of habit, to try and ground himself. 

It’s not like he hasn’t heard worse. 

 “Hey, kitty kitty, you got a name?” 

Hanbin’s ears twitch before he can stop them. 

Which causes another round of laughter from the teenagers. 

The bus lurches again, and Hanbin adjusts the bag in his lap so the top doesn’t roll open. A glimpse of the chili paste makes something loosen, just barely, in his chest. He pictures Zhang Hao’s eyebrows lifting when he sees it, the little pleased noise that he’ll make in response before thanking Hanbin. The thought of going home to that makes it worth surviving this bus ride. 

“I heard cat hybrids will purr when you fuck ‘em right.”

There’s something about the way the boy says the word purr that makes it sound vulgar, his voice loud enough for half the bus to hear. 

“I heard even the boy hybrids get wet like girls do,” his friend adds, leaning forward a little towards Hanbin’s space. “Look at it sitting there all quiet, probably leaking through its jeans.”

A woman two seats up glances back at Hanbin, her mouth twisting in displeasure at the sight of him. She doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear from her judgemental look that she thinks Hanbin is the problem here, not the kids harassing him, like he’s asking for it by just being a hybrid. Which unfortunately is not that uncommon of a mentality. 

Hanbin’s eyes blur with unshed tears as he drops his gaze to the grocery bag. 

The bus slows. Only a few more stops to go, he can make it. 

“Bet it’s fixed,” one of the boys snickers. “They do that now, right? Especially the aggressive ones, cut their balls off so they can’t produce more freaks of nature.”

He knows they’re just teenagers. 

Just bored, prejudiced teenagers with shitty parents and nothing better to do.

One of them leans forward, just a little too far into his space, and reaches out like he’s going to pet him , and Hanbin jerks away fast. Which sets off another round of laughter. 

He blinks hard, refusing to cry on this bus with everyone’s eyes on him. 

It’s not worth it. 

They don’t deserve it.

“Aw, look,” the girl drawls. “It’s scared!” 

Hanbin’s throat is tight now, his breath shallow in his chest, so when the bus slows again and hisses to a halt for the next stop, Hanbin doesn’t even care that it’s not his stop. He just hurries to stand up and walk towards the exit. 

Though he barely takes two steps forward before he feels hands shoving hard against his back, hard enough that Hanbin stumbles, his knees hitting the filthy rubber floor of the bus with a jolt that sends stars across his vision a second later. The grocery bag lurches forward in his arms, and he does his best to grab it, and keeps it mostly upright, though some of his weight lands on the bag, thankfully nothing spills out. 

His jeans tear at the knee, pain blossoming instantly. 

“Oops,” the girl says. “My bad.” 

Hanbin doesn’t say a word, he just stands slowly, wincing a little at the sting in his knee. 

He keeps his head down the rest of the walk off the bus, making sure to safely put one foot in front of the other. He lets out a shaky breath once the bus door closes behind him, and the bus pulls away from the curb with the sound of laughter still echoing faintly through the open windows of the bus as it goes. 

He’s blocks away from home, but walking the distance had seemed better than just sitting there for two more stops and letting the harassment continue. 

He breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth, again and again. Trying his best to make his rapidly beating heart slow down. 

It doesn’t work.

The neighborhood is quiet, but it feels like his ears are still ringing with echoes of their words as he adjusts the strap of the grocery bag over his shoulder and sets off in the direction of home, determined not to let it bother him.

But with each step, his mind can’t help but replay what they had said. The comments and the jokes, the way the boy had looked at him, assuming he was a sex hybrid . 

The words crawl under his skin, settling there like filth.

He’s not a sex hybrid. 

He’s not like that.

He knows where the assumption comes from. 

They’d talked about it at his breeders. Where he would have ended up if they hadn’t been able to find a good home for Hanbin. Canine hybrids were sent to labor farms, or got bought up for security works, but cats or bunnies were more often sold to brothels if a good family couldn’t be found for them. And even those that did end up in a good home, might still have owners that wanted to use them sexually. It wasn’t uncommon. There weren’t laws in place protecting hybrids’ right to consent, as long as the person owning them was the one doing it, they could do basically whatever they wanted to a hybrid without any repercussions. 

He had been prepared for this before he’d been bought, told over and over again that if his human owner wanted to use him like that, it was best to lay perfectly still and let the human take whatever they want. 

Some of the other cat hybrids that he’d grown up with had relished that, they’d flirt and purr the second a stranger came to buy them, rubbing up on them, practically begging for someone to take them home and have their way with them. 

Hanbin had never been that kind of hybrid.

Which was probably why it had taken him so long to be chosen. 

For grandmother he had only ever been a companion, treated somewhere between a grandson and a housekeeper. He cleaned for grandmother, tended her garden, did her laundry and made her tea, walked with her through the garden and kept her company on her lonely days. Even since moving in with Matthew, his job has always been to support Matthew emotionally, to look after him and make sure he didn’t forget anything. It had been through Hanbin’s own volition that he’d decided to pick up the housekeeping duties too, having missed the routine of the chores he’d had when he’d lived with grandmother.

Matthew had never looked at him that way.

Even when others had suggested it. 

But still, the comments make him feel filthy.

Like those kids on the bus saw something in him he didn’t know was visible.

Like they could tell.

Like the moment he stepped onto the bus, they knew what kind of hybrid he was supposed to be.

He presses his lips together and breathes harder, just to stop the sting behind his eyes.

He’s not going to cry.

Not over a bunch of teenagers.

Not over something that’s never been true.

He’s just tired. 

That’s all.

By the time he turns the corner to their apartment complex, his ears are still flat, and the knot in his chest hasn’t loosened in the slightest. 

He wants to go inside and pretend this never happened, but when he finally reaches the front door, he stands there longer than he should, not opening the door. 

Because the thought of seeing Zhang Hao right now makes something twist uncomfortably low in his belly.

Not fear, not exactly.

Just something he doesn’t know how to name.

He knows why the words those kids had said bothered him so much. It’s because sometimes, on the nights he spends with Zhang Hao, Hanbin does feel like one of those hybrids. It’s not like they had talked about back at his breeders, Zhang Hao never fucks him, doesn’t even seem to act like he’s interested in that, but he touches Hanbin. 

He holds Hanbin’s face and speaks soft praise into his ear, runs careful fingers over his thighs or his back or wherever the sting is blooming across his skin—and then when pain melts into relief, bleeds into something darker, warmer, needier —Hanbin’s body betrays him more often than he wants to admit.

Sometimes the punishment hurts, but they also always serve to quiet everything inside him, drowns out the buzzing in his brain and leaves him aching in a way that makes his breath catch for a different reason. And Zhang Hao notices, he always notices. He doesn’t tease or gloat like Hanbin would have expected him to. 

But his hand will linger longer than it needs to.

He’ll trace a sensitive patch of skin with his thumb until Hanbin shivers.

He’ll whisper ‘ good kitty’ with a voice that curls low in Hanbin’s gut.

And Hanbin wants it.

That’s the worst part.

He wants it.

He wants the pain, but more than that, he wants the touch that comes after. He wants Zhang Hao’s hand on his cock and his voice in his ear, and the way it makes everything in Hanbin’s head go quiet for once.

And that’s what makes the shame bubble up inside of him. 

Because if this is what he wants, then how different is he from what they were saying on the bus?

What they have, whatever this mess is between them, it started in anger, sure, in baiting and punishment and control. But what Zhang Hao gives him now is different .

It’s grounding.

It’s structure.

It’s care.

Is that really so wrong? 

His chest aches with uncertainty, not knowing the answer to that question.

Hanbin takes another steadying breath and does his best to push that lingering insecurity to the back of his mind as he finally heads inside the apartment complex. Hanbin makes it up to their floor, slips inside the apartment, and shuts the door quietly behind him, resolving to unpack the groceries, bandage up his knee, and then hide away in his room until dinner time. 

It’s a good plan. 

A solid one. 

Hanbin sets the grocery bag down on the counter in the kitchen and starts unpacking silently, one item at a time, putting them away carefully and quietly, just wanting to get all of this done and over with. 

He’s reaching for the fridge when Zhang Hao’s voice catches him off guard, “Thanks for running to the store, kitten.”

Hanbin flinches. 

Just a little. 

Just enough for Zhang Hao to notice.

He could blame it on surprise, but when he turns to greet Zhang Hao, his expression betrays him.

Zhang Hao sensing at once that something is wrong, a look of concern flashing across the human’s face, as he asks, “…What happened?”

“I tripped,” Hanbin says, quietly. Not an entirely untrue statement, after all, technically he did trip. “But I think the groceries are all okay, so it’s fine.” 

He sees the second Zhang Hao’s gaze drops to his torn jeans, to the dried blood there and the cut that Hanbin really should bandage up before he goes and hides in his room.

“Kitten…” Zhang Hao says softly. 

“I promise I didn’t drop anything,” Hanbin says, too fast. “Everything’s fine.”

“Come on,” Zhang Hao says, his voice more serious now, “Let me clean that up.”

“I can do it myself once I put everything away,” Hanbin mumbles, but Zhang Hao is already reaching for his wrist. 

“I know you can,” Zhang Hao replies, “But I want to make sure it’s not going to become infected.” 

Hanbin doesn’t pull away, but he also doesn’t let Zhang Hao guide him along to the bathroom. He just stands perfectly still, his eyes locked on the only half-way unpacked grocery bag. 

Zhang Hao doesn’t push. He doesn’t tighten his grip, he just waits.

And then, softly says, “Hanbin, don’t make me make it an order.”

Hanbin looks up.

Zhang Hao’s eyes are steady, full of concern, not the more familiar dominance. Just the kind of gentle insistence Hanbin never really learned how to resist.

“Let me take care of you, Hanbin.”

The sincerity of his words land heavy in Hanbin’s chest, and he nods a little, his feet moving without thinking, to follow Zhang Hao into the bathroom. 

The bathroom light is too bright, and Hanbin squints as it flicks on. 

“Sit on the toilet seat, pants off,” Zhang Hao tells him, as he opens the medicine cabinet.

Hanbin nods, before he goes to work on the button of his jeans. The denim of his pants tugs against the raw scrape on his knee, and he winces when he finally manages to peel it down. He doesn’t look at Zhang Hao as he folds the jeans and sets them on the edge of the tub, then perches obediently on the toilet lid in nothing but his briefs, like he’s been told.

Once he’s settled, Zhang Hao kneels in front of him, antiseptic in his hand as he sets the bandage aside. Zhang Hao carefully dabs at the wound with a paper towel wet with antiseptic, the sting making Hanbin hiss through his teeth. 

“So tell me what actually happened,” Zhang Hao says, voice quiet as he cleans the scrape on Hanbin’s knee. 

“I tripped,” Hanbin repeats. 

“Hanbin,” there’s a warning in his tone. 

Hanbin sighs. 

“Someone shoved me when I was getting off the bus, okay?”

“Why did they do that?”

Hanbin shrugs a little, gritting his teeth as Zhang Hao presses the paper towel down a little too firmly, “Because I’m a hybrid. Why else?"  

“Hanbin—”

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“Yes,” Zhang Hao says sharply. “It does.”

“They were just being assholes,” Hanbin explains. “A bunch of teenagers, making crude comments about me being a sex hybrid.”

Zhang Hao goes very still.

Hanbin notices the pause but barrels ahead, determined to brush it off. “It’s not like I haven’t heard worse. They’re stupid kids, I just did my best to ignore them, and they didn’t like that very much so one of them pushed me, but it's not worth—”

“You’re bleeding,” Zhang Hao cuts in, “You were shoved off a bus. We should report it.”

Hanbin scoffs, finally meeting his eyes.

“And say what? That my owner let me run errands alone, and I got heckled by a bunch of brats? They’ll just blame Matthew, and say he was reckless for letting me be outside unsupervised.”

Zhang Hao’s lips press together, clearly displeased. 

“They shouldn’t be allowed to just talk about you like that without any consequences,” Zhang Hao insists. 

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” Hanbin mutters. “Even you said some of the same things when we first met.” 

That finally seems to silence Zhang Hao, a small guilty look flashing across the human’s face before he reaches for the bandage, tearing the package open and placing the bandaid carefully onto Hanbin’s knee. 

When he finishes, Zhang Hao stays there for a long moment kneeling in front of Hanbin, not moving, not saying anything. 

Hanbin knows he should probably thank him, and make his escape to his room to get some other pair of pants to wear before going back to unpacking the groceries, but there’s something about Zhang Hao’s stillness, about the quiet way Zhang Hao opens his mouth like he’s going to speak, before closing it again, that makes Hanbin’s chest feel tight. 

It feels like an eternity before Zhang Hao speaks, and when he does, it is with a gravely serious tone, “Hanbin, I’m sorry for how I acted when we first met. I could have been kinder to you, I should have, and I wasn’t, and I’m sorry for that.” 

“It’s fine,” he tells Zhang Hao. “I’m used to it, people who don’t know hybrids well are often prejudiced.”

Zhang Hao looks up to meet his eyes, his guilt so clear on his face, “That doesn’t make it okay.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. 

Not when Zhang Hao’s hand is still warm on his shin, fingertips brushing lightly near the bandage as if he’s not quite ready to let go, while his expression is open in a way Hanbin doesn’t usually get to see. There’s no smugness now, no cold sharp edge. Just something raw and painful. 

Eventually he just says, “We should go and finish putting away the groceries.” 

“Yes,” Zhang Hao agrees, standing up, “I suppose we should.” 

*

By the time that Hanbin changes into fresh clothes, soft sweatpants that won’t aggravate the bandage on his leg, and makes it into the kitchen, Zhang Hao is already there, unloading the grocery bag onto the counter. 

“Let me help,” Hanbin says, stepping into the kitchen to join him. “It’s my job, after all.” 

“I can take care of it, it’s fine, go rest,” Zhang Hao tells him. 

Hanbin ignores Zhang Hao’s suggestion to go rest, and instead steps up to the kitchen counter and joins Zhang Hao in unpacking the groceries. Zhang Hao, thankfully, doesn't protest again. They set about unpacking the groceries in silence. The rhythm is familiar, soothing in a way. Hanbin moves the produce to the fridge, dry goods to the pantry, and then goes to find the tofu, kimchi, and pre-cooked rice to place onto the counter for dinner. 

Hanbin unpacks everything with care, but when he pulls the tofu from the bag he pauses, a feeling of regret settling over him as he holds it in his hands.

It’s squished. Not entirely destroyed, but despite his best attempts to safely wrap it, the packing is definitely dented, their edges misshapen in the plastic pack where it must’ve slammed against the floor of the bus when he fell.

He swallows hard, if he had been more careful, then—

“It’s not too bad,” Zhang Hao says, reaching over to take the tofu from his hand, “Still salvageable for dinner.”

Hanbin nods. 

But even with Zhang Hao’s reassurances, the sight of it makes something twist in his stomach.

He hadn’t meant to mess anything up. He’d tried to land on his side, to keep the bag lifted. He knew Matthew wanted tofu tonight, so he’d been careful packing everything up at the store.

But clearly not carefully enough.

It’s stupid, just a block of tofu, but the small failure presses down on him harder than it should.

Like proof that the people on the bus weren’t entirely wrong.

Dinner turns out fine in the end. 

Zhang Hao pan-fries the tofu with vegetables and sauce, and the crushed pieces are almost unnoticeable in the final result, that is if one didn’t know what to look for. 

Matthew eats seconds and says thank you to Hanbin for the last minute grocery run, rubbing a hand absentmindedly over Hanbin’s hair as he passes behind him to grab water, but the praise doesn’t make him feel any better. 

Hanbin can’t stop thinking about the tofu, or about the thud of his knee against the bus floor, or about the way the teenagers had laughed.

But most of all he can’t stop thinking about the way Zhang Hao had crouched in front of him earlier with gentle hands and apologized to him. 

Hanbin eats quietly, keeping his gaze down on his bowl.

The food is good.

But it doesn’t quite sit right in his stomach.

*

The house is quiet after dinner, but Hanbin can’t stop thinking about the tofu. 

The shape of it in his hands. 

The way it had been crushed under pressure of him falling. 

He hasn’t said a word since dinner ended. Zhang Hao didn’t press him, not when Hanbin wordlessly cleared the table, nor when he excused himself and padded down the hall to escape to his room with his ears low and tail still.

His knee throbs as he lays there curled up in bed. 

It’s not bad, not really, but it’s just one more thing. When he closes his eyes, the echo of those voices on the bus ring in his ears again, their insinuations about hybrids and how they ‘ must like getting used. ’ 

He knows it’s not true. 

But he also remembers how good it had felt the last time Zhang Hao pressed him down after a punishment, the low voice in his ear, the way his own body always arched toward the pain, craving more. What Zhang Hao gives him isn’t degradation, it’s structure and relief. A way to quiet the endless buzzing in his head when everything starts to feel too loud, too wrong.

The buzzing is there again now, internally scolding himself about how he should’ve been more careful, should’ve caught himself before he fell, how he should’ve kept the tofu from getting crushed.

He opens the drawer of his dresser where he’d tucked the special collar for just him and Zhang Hao. He pulls it out, and then he clasps it around his neck with practiced fingers, adjusting until it sits just so at the hollow of his throat.

He doesn’t look in the mirror, the shame bubbling up in him too much to handle seeing his own reflection. Instead, he pads down the hall to where Zhang Hao is in the living room. 

Zhang Hao is stretched out on the couch with his phone, half-scrolling and half-watching the TV that is playing some chinese drama on the screen, but still he glances up when Hanbin enters with a slight look of confusion on his face, one that turns into a frown as Zhang Hao’s eyes settle on the collar around Hanbin’s neck. 

Dread pools in Hanbin’s stomach as he stands there, tail still and hands folded in front of him, his heart beating a little too loud in his chest as he says, “I want to be punished.” 

“For what?” 

“For the tofu,” he replies quietly. 

Zhang Hao’s brows pull together, confused again. 

“The tofu was fine,” Zhang Hao tells him. “There’s nothing to punish you for.” 

Hanbin bites against the inside of his cheek. He knows that isn’t true. He had seen the look of mild disappointment that had crossed Zhang Hao’s face when he unpacked the groceries. 

Sure, in the end Zhang Hao had been able to make dinner even with the squashed tofu, but that didn’t change the fact that it was due to Hanbin’s negligence that the tofu had ended up squished in the first place. 

“I failed in my task of going to the grocery store,” Hanbin insists, “If I had been more careful packaging it, or paid more attention to my surroundings on the bus, then that never would have happened.” 

Zhang Hao sits up a little straighter at the mention of what had occurred on the bus. His eyes flicked to the collar, and then back to Hanbin’s face.

“And so you want to be punished?” Zhang Hao asks him.

“Please.”

Zhang Hao breathes out slowly, like he’s thinking about it.

And then he says, “No.”

Hanbin blinks, caught off guard by Zhang Hao’s refusal. Zhang Hao has never turned him down for a punishment before. He normally just takes charge of things without asking further questions once Hanbin comes to him with his collar on. 

“What?”

“I said no,” Zhang Hao says, setting his phone down and giving Hanbin his full attention. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not going to punish you for something that isn’t your fault.” 

“I—” Hanbin swallows. “I should’ve been more careful.”

“You were perfectly careful, I could see you packed the groceries with care,” Zhang Hao replies. “It’s not your fault that someone shoved you and that you got hurt.”

“That’s not—” Hanbin flinches, fingers tightening at his sides. “That’s not why I’m asking.”

“Then why are you?”

Hanbin can’t answer.

Not without admitting that the voices in the back of his head are too loud, telling him that it is his fault, that he’s the one who is wrong, who is disgusting and perverse, who can’t even do a simple task right. And that the only way he knows how to fix it is by having Zhang Hao’s hands on him. 

Instead of saying any of that he just says, “I don’t understand, you’ve never said no before.”

“I’ve never felt the need to,” Zhang Hao replies carefully, “But I’m saying it now, because I think what you need tonight isn’t punishment.”

“Then what do I need?” Hanbin asks, barely biting back the words ‘since you know everything. ’ 

Zhang Hao hums a little, like he’s considering Hanbin’s question, before eventually he says, “Just come and sit with me.”

His body moves without thinking, doing as Zhang Hao tells him too, and settling down beside Zhang Hao on the couch. They’ve done this before, sitting together to watch something, normally it’s just with Matthew in the room too, and while sometimes he does let Zhang Hao idly pet his ears as they watch some show together, it’s never like this.

He’s never wearing his collar when they do it. 

Instinctively, Hanbin moves his fingers to the clasp, feeling a bit embarrassed at having asked for punishment and having been refused it, eager to take the thing off and hide it away, but Zhang Hao reaches out to stop him before he can. 

“Keep it on,” Zhang Hao tells him. “You look pretty like this.” 

Hanbin’s hands drop back down to his lap at Zhang Hao’s words. He does his best to ignore the weight of the collar around his neck, and focuses on the show on the screen in front of him. It’s some kind of historical drama. Hanbin’s seen glimpses of before, elegant robes, long hair, people speaking in low, intense voices about things he doesn’t understand.

There are no subtitles.

He glances at Zhang Hao once, expecting him to turn them on like he usually does when they watch together, but it never comes. Instead, Zhang Hao just leans back into the couch and watches like Hanbin isn’t even supposed to follow along.

It’s fine.

Hanbin doesn’t really want to follow the plot anyway.  

Hanbin sits stiffly beside Zhang Hao, knees drawn slightly in, hands resting in his lap. 

He’s too full of strange feelings, too aware of the collar around his neck, of the pulsing of his injured knee, and of how his body still aches with the echoes of shame and longing for Zhang Hao, to fully relax. 

He doesn’t know what to do with himself like this, being allowed to stay close but not punished, not corrected, but clearly still being treated like he should be, rather than like an equal. It makes Hanbin feel fuzzy, like all of his nerves are lit up. 

He loses track of time as he watches Zhang Hao’s show, it could be minutes or hours before Zhang Hao reaches out for him and wraps an arm around Hanbin’s shoulder, guiding him to lay curled up against his chest. 

Hanbin exhales, the breath shuddering out of him, as all at once, he lets himself go. 

His body melts against the warmth of Zhang Hao’s side. After a moment of hesitation, Hanbin rests his head cautiously on Zhang Hao’s chest, and Zhang Hao reaches up to settle a hand in his hair before gently petting him.

It’s dizzying.

Not because it’s new, not really. 

Zhang Hao has touched him like this before, petting him after a punishment, steadying his breathing, calming the storm in his mind. 

But this time there’s no punishment. It’s like they skipped all of that and jumped straight to the aftercare. 

Hanbin closes his eyes, trying to breathe through the tightness in his chest. As Zhang Hao scratches lightly behind his ear—not in a teasing way, not in a humiliating way, just something soft and grounding.

Hanbin nearly whimpers with the relief of it.

He swallows hard, his lips moving without thinking, “Zhang Hao…”

The hand in his hair pauses.

“Hao-ge, or gege is fine,” Zhang Hao tells him. “No need to be so formal.” 

Hanbin blinks up at him, caught off guard.

“If you’re going to say my name, you don’t need to say it like we’re strangers,” Zhang Hao tells him. “Ge is like… hyung, but different. Since Matthew already calls me Hao-hyung, you can call me Hao-ge, it can be something special just for us.” 

The idea of that, of something special, something just for them , makes Hanbin smile. He liked the idea of that, something that is between him and Zhang Hao, that’s separate from whatever Zhang Hao and Matthew have. 

“Hao-ge,” he tries, tasting it in his mouth. The syllables are round, slightly unfamiliar.

He watches Zhang Hao’s eyes flutter half-shut for a moment. Clearly, Zhang Hao likes the sound of his name from Hanbin’s lips. 

“What about the other one you said, gege,” Hanbin asks. He thinks he heard one of the characters on the TV say it earlier, right before kneeling beside someone with reverence in their voice. “What does it mean again?”

Zhang Hao’s fingers drift back through his hair, ever so casually as he explains, “It’s also like hyung, it means older brother. But depending on how you say it, it can mean… more than that. It can be more intimate .” 

The word intimate touches at something inside of him. That coil of shame that’s knotted too tight to ignore, but curled up here, warm and safe in someone else’s hold, it softens just a little. 

“Ah, I see.” 

Zhang Hao hums a little in response, quiet and contemplative. 

And when he speaks again it’s with a soft voice, “Try to rest, Bin-ah. You’ve had a long day.”

“Thank you for taking care of me, gege.” 

Just for now.

He’ll let himself rest.

*

It’s hours later when Hanbin wakes with a low, confused blink. He’s still on the couch, but the lights in the living room have been dimmed, and the drama is still playing on the tv. He feels so warm and comfortable that he almost falls asleep again. 

Before he realizes why he feels so warm. 

It’s because Zhang Hao hasn’t moved. 

He’s still on the couch with his arm around Hanbin, just asleep on the couch, his chest rising and falling evenly beneath Hanbin’s cheek. His fingers twitch slightly in sleep where they rest in Hanbin’s hair. Hanbin’s body aches faintly from the awkward position, but he can’t bring himself to move and make himself more comfortable lest he disturb Zhang Hao and ruin the little peace that they have.

For a second he shuts his eyes, willing his now quickly beating heart to calm down and let sleep claim him once again, but the sound of the historical drama playing still is enough to have his ears twitching, so it is with great care that Hanbin reaches for the remote, easing it from the cushion beside him and turning off the tv with a soft click.

Zhang Hao thankfully doesn’t stir when the tv turns off.

Hanbin really should go back to his room. 

The couch isn’t even that comfortable, and he’s sure he’ll have back pain in the morning if he sleeps here rather than his own bed. 

But he doesn’t want to move.

His eyes drift to Zhang Hao’s sleeping face. 

Asleep like this Zhang Hao looks softer, his usual sharpness dulled by sleep. 

His lashes are long, and his pink lips slightly parted, as Hanbin studies the curve of his mouth, the faint thought flickers through his mind, of what it would be like to kiss those lips, to feel their softness against his own. He wonders how Zhang Hao would kiss him, would it be all dominance like usual, or would it be softer, his mouth opening and letting Hanbin in, letting Hanbin be the one to take . 

Weeks ago, Hanbin would’ve never thought about kissing Zhang Hao.

But now… He doesn’t know when it happened, but at some point, he started craving Zhang Hao’s attention. Hanbin started listening for his footsteps or his voice, started seeking out his touch, even when he pretended not to want it.

Hanbin shifts slightly, curling in closer to Zhang Hao.

As he does, a small, involuntary sound vibrates in his chest—a low, sleepy purr that he doesn't have the energy to suppress. 

He lets his eyes fall shut again.

He’ll rest here just a little longer.

Just until morning. 

Then he’ll move.

Chapter Text

Zhang Hao should be eating. 

Or at least pretending to read something on his phone, but his fork hangs loose in his fingers, forgotten, and all he can do is stare .

Hanbin’s not doing anything in particular, just cooking eggs and humming a quiet tune under his breath as he leans over the stove, his tail flicking idly behind him. 

Zhang Hao shifts in his chair, angling himself to get a better look at Hanbin.

Hanbin looks pretty in the morning light. So present now that things have settled between them. 

Hanbin’s been calmer these past few days, less fighty and more grounded. Sometimes he still shows up with the collar on, head down, guilt painting his every word, and sometimes he doesn’t even need a reason or punishment at all, sometimes he just needs to belong to someone.

And Zhang Hao…He can’t stop thinking about what it would mean to let Hanbin belong to him.

Fully and properly, as his submissive, not just as Matthew’s hybrid that he’s helping . 

For so long, Zhang Hao had been searching for the perfect sub, the one with just the right amount of submission mixed with bratty tendencies, willing to do whatever he asks when it matters, to fuck him while still following his commands. A part of him just knows Hanbin would be perfect for that role. 

He’d take such good care of Hanbin too. The thought of that comes uninvited, curling warm and dangerous in his chest. Hanbin as his sub properly, it would be so perfect. 

He pictures Hanbin in ropes.

Hanbin on his knees. 

Hanbin bent over the kitchen table.

Hanbin’s mouth pressing needy kisses to Zhang Hao’s neck as Zhang Hao murmurs praise into his ear, telling him what a ‘good kitty’ he is, and how he fucks Zhang Hao so good.

Zhang Hao shifts again, thighs squeezing together beneath the table, his cock stirring in his pants at the thoughts which are entirely inappropriate for breakfast time. 

Maybe it’s a good thing that he and Matthew have plans to meet friends for a BDSM show tomorrow. The club will hopefully serve as a good distraction from his fantasies about Hanbin. 

He’s excited for it, in theory. 

But truthfully, all he can think about is how he’s going to sit there in a dark club watching other people play, and try not to picture Hanbin instead.

Because every scene his mind conjures lately features Hanbin. 

Every fantasy he had lately ends the same: with Hanbin panting, marked, pliant in his arms. 

Every thought spirals toward that one unbearable truth that he doesn’t want just anyone , that no faceless man at the club, or even burning off the steam once he gets back with Matthew, will do. 

He wants Hanbin.

He wants to make Hanbin feel so safe in submission that he forgets he was ever afraid to ask for what he needed. He wants to mark him, not just with bruises, but with trust, with love . 

Hanbin turns off the stove and plates the eggs. He brings one plate to Zhang Hao’s side of the table, setting it down wordlessly. For a second, their hands brush and a small involuntary noise escapes Zhang Hao.

Hanbin tilts his head, ears perking up slightly as he says, “You okay, Hao-ge?” 

“Yeah,” Zhang Hao replies. “Just… tired.”

Hanbin doesn’t press, he goes back to the counter, humming again, completely unaware of what Zhang Hao is thinking about him. 

But Zhang Hao wants to own him.

And he’s not sure how much longer he can pretend otherwise.

By the time Zhang Hao finishes his breakfast, he’s barely tasted any of it. His mind is a haze, every thought still echoing with Hanbin’s name.

He’s scrolling aimlessly through a text thread with the event organizer—tomorrow’s show starts at nine, strict RSVP—when Matthew finally emerges from the hallway, looking like death warmed over. 

His hair is matted, eyes bleary, and he’s wrapped in a hoodie far too thick for June.

“Matthew-ah,” Zhang Hao says. “Don’t tell me you’re sick?” 

“I might be,” Matthew croaks, his voice scratchy, as he flops down in the chair beside him, resting his head on the cool kitchen table. “That or I’m dying.”

“You’re not allowed to die, you’re supposed to go out with me tomorrow,” Zhang Hao reminds him. 

“I want to die,” Matthew clarifies, flinging an arm over his face. “At least then it won’t feel like I swallowed a hundred knives.”

Zhang Hao frowns, “You should drink some tea.”

“Already on it,” Hanbin says, coming up to slide a warm mug of tea into Matthew’s reach. 

He watches as Matthew takes a sip of tea and then instantly grimaces in pain. That’s not a good sign.

“Maybe I’ll feel better by tomorrow,” Matthew offers.

“Maybe,” Zhang Hao echoes, but he scarcely believes it. Not when Matthew sounds this bad. 

Zhang Hao bites the inside of his cheek as he considers his options. Now the question hangs in the air: whether he should go alone, or stay home too. Normally he wouldn’t hesitate to go without Matthew, after all he’d been going to this club long before he met Matthew, but… he knows the thrill of the club won’t satisfy him, not when what he wants is already here in this apartment, the only reason to go would have been to hang out with Matthew and their other friends. 

Whether he should even bother.

“You should still go. You were actually looking forward to it, weren’t you?”

“I don’t really wanna go by myself,” Zhang Hao mutters.

“Well,” Matthew says, clearing his throat, “Then why don’t you take Hanbin.”

“What?!” 

“Take Hanbin,” Matthew repeats, “I mean, my ticket doesn’t say it has to be used by me, does it?”  

Zhang Hao doesn’t answer, because suddenly, he’s picturing it.

Hanbin at his feet in a crowded club. 

Hanbin with his head bowed, soft and obedient under colored lights. 

Hanbin watching with wide, curious eyes as someone is tied to a St. Andrew’s Cross and spanked slowly until they cry, all the while pressing in closer to Zhang Hao, seeking warmth, seeking reassurance, seeking him .

He hates how much he likes the idea of that. 

If Hanbin says yes, he’ll get to touch him in public, show him off without really doing anything but standing still with a hand on his collar. He’ll get to act like Hanbin is his.

Just for a night.

It’s enough to make his palms sweat.

“I don’t know,” he says finally, glancing over to where Hanbin is still in the kitchen, very clearly pretending not to be listening, “He might not want to go with me.”

It’s at that that finally, Hanbin turns around, “Where would we be going?” 

Matthew opens his mouth to answer Hanbin.

But Zhang Hao beats him to the punch.

“Let’s not make any plans just yet,” Zhang Hao says, turning back to Matthew. “You just try and get some rest, and maybe by tomorrow, you’ll be feeling better.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Matthew echoes. 

“You look like shit.” 

“Feel like it too,” Matthew mumbles. “Can you hand me the tissues?”

Matthew’s bedroom smells like menthol and misery. Zhang Hao had hoped that a day of rest would improve Matthew’s condition, but it seems to have done the opposite. If anything, Matthew’s gotten more sick in the last twenty-four hours. Zhang Hao leans against the doorframe, watching his best friend burritoed beneath two blankets, nose pink, eyes glassy, and one hand weakly gripping a half-drunk mug of tea. 

Zhang Hao crosses the room, grabbing the box and hanging them over to Matthew. 

“You’re not going tonight,” he says, though it isn’t a question.

“No shit,” Matthew snorts, then coughs. “I don’t think they want the plague in their club.”

Zhang Hao watches him, quiet for a beat. 

The plan had been simple—go to the show, blow off steam, maybe flirt a little, maybe not. Matthew was the one who’d said he wanted to see this act in particular. It doesn’t feel right to go without him.

“You should still go,” Matthew insists, already knowing why Zhang Hao had come to check on him. 

“Matt—”

“Take Hanbin,” Matthew cuts him off. “It’ll be a good bonding experience for you two.”

Bonding was certainly a word for it.

Though Zhang Hao much preferred the word bondage . 

“It might be good for him. You two. I know you’ve been spending more time together.” Another cough, then softer, “He likes having someone strict around.”

“Are you saying I’m strict?”

“Are you saying you’re not?”

“Fine,” Zhang Hao relents, giving him far too easily, “I’ll take him, but only if he wants to.”

“He’ll say yes,” Matthew murmurs, voice already going fuzzy with sleep. “He’s curious, and he wants to be good for you.”

Zhang Hao hesitates for a full three minutes before knocking.

He’s never second-guessed himself this much before—not over a punishment, not over a boundary, not even the first time he laid hands on Hanbin, but this feels different. 

This isn’t discipline. 

This isn’t a game. 

This is him asking for something Hanbin can refuse.

But something that Zhang Hao desperately hopes that he won’t. 

He knocks twice on the door, before calling out, “Hanbin-ah, can I talk to you?”

There’s a pause, then the door opens a few inches, and Hanbin peers out.

“What’s up? 

“Can I come in?”

Hanbin nods and steps back. He then retreats to his bed, sitting on the edge of the bed, palms pressed into the mattress like he’s bracing for correction.

But that’s not why Zhang Hao’s here.

“Matthew’s sick,” Zhang Hao tells him. 

“I know,” Hanbin replies, his tone wary and curious.

“We were supposed to go out tonight,” Zhang Hao continues, “To a club. I think you heard us talking about it yesterday morning.”

Hanbin glances up, curious, but cautious. 

“I might have heard a little,” Hanbin replies, carefully. 

“Right, well,” Zhang Hao says, taking a breath before continuing. “It’s not just any club, it’s a BDSM club. The club is very safe and respectful, they have high rules of conduct, and we’d be going to watch a performance that Matthew and I bought tickets for, but if I brought you… it wouldn’t just be as company.”

“What do you mean?”

This was the complicated part. The reason why despite Matthew’s suggestion to bring Hanbin, and Zhang Hao’s own desire to have Hanbin there, that he had hesitated. This would be the first time they took their dynamic out of the home. 

“I’d bring you as my submissive,” Zhang Hao explains, “Just for the evening. You’d wear your collar. You’d kneel at my side unless told otherwise. You’d follow orders without argument. You wouldn’t speak unless I gave permission.”

He watches Hanbin’s face carefully, the way it flickers—guarded, but not disinterested. 

“You wouldn’t be touched by anyone unless I allowed it,” Zhang Hao adds. “And you’d be allowed to safe word out at any time, if it’s too much, we stop the second you say the word.”

Hanbin’s fingers curl slightly into the bedding, his hesitation clear. 

“Is that what you and Matthew normally do then?” Hanbin asks after a beat, a hint of something like jealousy in his voice. 

Zhang Hao snorts at the absurdity of it all. 

“Matthew? God no. He usually just flirts with other doms to get free drinks and watches from the sidelines. He’s not a sub. He’s barely even a voyeur.” 

“And what would I be then?” Hanbin asks, his eyes flicking up to meet Zhang Hao’s eyes. 

“You’d be the one they all envy me for.”

The words hit the air with weight. Hanbin’s posture shifts subtly, like the idea touches something deeper than he expected.

“It wouldn’t quite be like our usual dynamic. You’d have a different set of rules for the club, and you wouldn't be punished, unless you broke a rule or asked me too, and if that happened it would be in private,” Zhang Hao explains. “This isn’t about correction or making a spectacle of you. It’s about letting people see how beautiful you are when you’re obedient.”

A shiver goes through Hanbin’s spine. 

Subtle, but there.

He’s interested, even if he hasn’t said as much out loud yet. 

“If you say yes, I’ll keep my hand on your nape all night. You’ll kneel beside me, follow my lead, and we’ll leave whenever you want,” Zhang Hao continues, “You’ll be safe. You’ll be mine.”

“You said I’d be collared?” 

“Yes,” Zhang Hao says. “You’d wear it all night. If you come, you come as mine. Your collar would be a signal to everyone else there that you are taken.”

For a moment, he thinks that’s it. 

Hanbin’s eyes stay on him, searching, but not retreating. Zhang Hao waits for the flicker of agreement, the quiet nod, the small okay . It’s how Hanbin agrees to most things. But it doesn’t come.

Instead, Hanbin looks down, brows pinched. His fingers twist into the edge of his hoodie sleeve, and his breath comes a little shallowly, like he does when he’s overthinking things and spiraling.

Zhang Hao’s chest goes tight, and he quickly lifts his hands in quiet surrender. 

“Forget I said anything,” he says, already stepping back. “It was stupid of me to even ask. I—really—I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” Hanbin blurts out, before softly saying “I just…”

“Just what?” 

“Are there… going to be other hybrids there?”

Zhang Hao pauses, catching him off guard.

He hadn’t expected other hybrid’s to be Hanbin’s issue.

From what Matthew had said, he’d thought Hanbin got along well with other hybrids. 

“Does that matter?” 

“Well I mean… I know it’s a kink club,” Hanbin continues, words tumbling together. “And this kind of thing is about roles and performance, but—I don’t want to go somewhere where other hybrids are being… hurt, or used… or treated like props.”

Zhang Hao’s gut twists—not in guilt, exactly, but in something adjacent. Something closer to shame that he didn’t think to clarify sooner, now that he sees what is bothering Hanbin.

“No,” he says, voice immediately. “Hanbin—no. That’s not what it is. That’s not the sort of place that I would ever take you to.”

Hanbin looks at him again, unreadable, waiting for him to explain more. 

“Sometimes hybrids come to this club, but it’s rare,” Zhang Hao explains. “I’ve maybe seen one or two, but if they’re there, it’s because they chose to be, same as everyone else. No one’s forced. No one’s displayed or degraded unless that’s something they’ve asked for. Consent is very important at clubs like this. If anyone crosses a boundary, if anyone does something a sub hasn’t agreed to? They get banned. No warnings. No questions. No second chances. Just gone.”

Hanbin chews the inside of his cheek. His body is still tense, but there’s less fight in the way he holds himself now, and less fear.

“I would never take you somewhere unsafe,” Zhang Hao says, his tone dropping to something a bit softer,  “I swear, Hanbin. If you came, it would be your choice. And if you wanted to leave at any point—just say the word, and we’re gone.”

He means it.

Every word. 

Hanbin doesn’t answer right away. He just seems to consider what Zhang Hao says, really thinking about it. 

Zhang Hao stays still as Hanbin thinks. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t coax. He just lets the silence stretch between them, giving Hanbin the space to think.

He can’t blame Hanbin for being cautious. As he thinks about last week, and about what happened to Hanbin on the bus, it had sickened him. The teens who’d shoved Hanbin off the bus had probably thought it was funny, or normal, or somehow justified because Hanbin’s a hybrid. 

Because that means he’s… what? Property? 

Zhang Hao swallows hard.

He hadn’t even been that different, at first.

When they’d met, he’d seen Hanbin and he'd thought the same thing- that Hanbin was the typical cat hybrid, the type his family had always talked badly about. Pretty and seductive little things, lazy for the most part, not really good for taking care of household duties, not like canine hybrids, much more prone for laziness.

He hadn’t said it out loud, but the assumption was there. That Hanbin wanted attention. That if Hanbin disobeyed, it was to provoke, to tempt, to draw discipline in a way he could enjoy.

But none of that had been true.

Hanbin isn’t like any of his initial assumptions. 

He understands now that for Hanbin, submission is about presence , not escape. It’s a choice he makes, again and again, in a world that often denies him choices at all. The pain grounds him, helps him feel more present, and less forgotten, and Zhang Hao is the one who takes care of him in this way.

“It’s fine if you say no,” Zhang Hao tells him. “I’ll probably go alone, or maybe just skip it altogether, but if you come with me—I’ll spend the whole night making sure you know how wanted you are.”

Finally, Hanbin glances up. 

There’s heat behind his gaze now. He’s wary still, but with a flicker of something that’s more than just curiosity. 

With want .

“…What would I have to wear?”

“I’ll pick something out for you,” Zhnag Hao tells him, “And as I said before, your collar, of course.”

Hanbin looks away, the tips of his ears flushed pink.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he says, standing up to leave and give Hanbin space with his thoughts, “But if you want to go, I need to start prepping you. So let me know by lunch, okay?”

“Yeah… Okay…”

Hanbin finds him a few hours later, voice soft as he says, “I think I want to go.” 

“Then let’s get you dressed,” Zhang Hao nods. 

He doesn’t miss the way Hanbin’s throat looks as he swallows, still a little tense, but clearly wanting this. 

“Your room,” Zhang Hao says, gesturing to Hanbin to lead the way, “I’ll pick from what you have.”

Hanbin leads him there in silence, bare feet scuffing lightly against the wood floors, Zhang Hao feels a flicker of possessive heat curl low in his stomach.

Inside the room, Zhang Hao doesn’t hesitate to open Hanbin’s dresser and start pulling things out, laying them over the back of his desk chair. He finds a few good options quickly enough, dark clothes that can be good layers, a sheer black mesh top, one pair of tailored pants Hanbin rarely wears but from the one time he did, Zhang Hao knows he’ll look incredible in.

“Strip,” Zhang Hao says, glancing over his shoulder and where Hanbin watches from the side, still quiet.

Hanbin’s lips part, rarely, like he might say something, but instead, he obeys.

His hoodie comes off first, then the T-shirt beneath. Then, with a little hesitation, his fingers hook under the waistband of his shorts and tug them down in one smooth motion.

Zhnag Hao watches as Hanbin stands there, skin flushed and bare in the low light, arms at his sides like he knows he’s being studied. Zhang Hao lets his gaze drag over every inch of him. The elegant lines of the tattoo on his collar bone, the rise and fall of his chest, the soft curve of his hips and the long sweep of his thighs. 

Every inch of Hanbin looks perfect. 

Hanbin’s tail flicks once behind him, a soft twitch betraying nerves, but Zhang Hao can see the way his cock is thickening in his briefs, just slightly, just enough to let Zhang Hao know that he doesn’t mind being looked at like this. Zhang Hao can see how much that gets to him. How his breathing goes shallow, but not from nerves this time. 

Zhang Hao rewards that trust by being careful as he dresses Hanbin. 

He starts with the base, a soft mesh tank, that’s just sheer enough to tease but not truly transparent. It slips over Hanbin, clinging to his chest, and Zhang Hao smooths it down with both hands, watching the way Hanbin’s nipples tighten beneath the fabric.

Next: the pants. He chooses the tailored ones, Zhang Hao kneels as he helps Hanbin step into them, slow and steady, tugging them up and fastening them. 

The heat from Hanbin’s body rolls off of him in waves. 

Zhang Hao’s fingers graze the skin just below his navel before retreating.

Hanbin lets out a shaky breath. 

“Hao-ge…”

“Quiet,” Zhang Hao says gently. “You don’t speak unless I say.”

Hanbin’s eyes flutter shut, mumbling, “Yes, gege..”

“Good boy.”

Zhang Hao pulls a slim belt from the side drawer and threads it through the loops, cinching it snugly around Hanbin’s waist. The buckle clicks into place. That’s the moment Hanbin’s tail curls tight around one thigh, betraying how hard he’s holding himself still.

But Zhang Hao isn’t done yet.

He steps behind Hanbin, brushes the thick dark hair aside, and holds up the collar, the white leather one with his name on it.  Zhang Hao fastens it slowly, carefully, fitting it snugly in place. His fingers linger on the buckle, then trail down the back of Hanbin’s neck, light and possessive.

“Perfect.”

When he steps back to take in the final look, he sees it all at once, the blush in Hanbin’s cheeks, as well as the tension he’s holding as he tries to look nonplussed. 

“How do I look?” Hanbin asks.

Zhang Hao smiles.

“Like everyone at the club is going to look at you and wish they had what I do.”

The cab pulls away with a soft hum, leaving Zhang Hao and Hanbin standing outside the club’s entrance. The club itself is discreet, no windows, no sign, just a matte black door under a muted red light. 

The kind of place you only find if someone tells you where to look.

Zhang Hao turns to Hanbin. There’s something vulnerable in his expression. Not fear exactly, but a kind of alertness, like he’s bracing for impact. Zhang Hao’s chest tightens at the sight.

He reaches out and gently curls a finger around Hanbin’s collar, not to tug, just to hold him steady.  

“Wait.”

Hanbin stops instantly, eyes lifting.

“Remember, you’re not walking in there alone,” Zhang Hao tells him, “You’re walking in with me , and you’re not just anyone’s hybrid, you’re mine. I’m going to show you off. That doesn’t mean I’m sharing you. They can look. They can want. But they don’t touch.”

He brushes his thumb along the collar’s edge, then moves it to Hanbin’s jaw, tilting it gently upward. 

“If anyone even thinks of speaking down to you, I’ll shut it down before you even have to flinch. Understand?”

Hanbin nods. There’s something warmer in his gaze now, still nervous, still tense, but no longer so guarded.

Zhang Hao softens his tone, “And if you behave well tonight… if you let me lead, follow every word, I’ll give you a reward when we get home.” 

“What kind of reward?” Hanbin asks. 

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and find out,” Zhang Hay says with a smirk. 

Color spreads across Hanbin’s cheeks, his lashes flutter low, “Yes, gege.” 

“And remember, if at any point it feels like too much, you can safe word out, and we’ll go home, no consequences, no questions asked,” Zhang Hao tells him. 

“I won’t do that, don’t worry,” Hanbin says quietly. 

But Zhang Hao frowns at that, “Do it if you need to, I promise I won’t be mad, okay? I’d rather you feel safe than uncomfortable. Even if that means leaving early.” 

He can see Hanbin want to refuse again, and insist that safe wording as an option isn’t necessary, but he knows that would just be a front Hanbin is putting on, because despite his words, it’s clear from the way his tail twitches that he is nervous about this. 

“Promise me you will use your words if you feel uncomfortable,” Zhang Hao insists. 

Hanbin takes a deep breath before replying, but eventually he does, “I promise.” 

“Good kitty.”

It’s then that he releases his hold on Hanbin’s collar and opens the club’s outer door with his free hand, the other settling low on Hanbin’s back, possessively. 

Inside, things are cooler. Shadows and scent take over: leather, soft musk, the faint bite of clean sweat. There’s low music pulsing through the floors, barely audible but persistent, like a second heartbeat. 

Zhang Hao steps forward, with Hanbin at his side to check in at the counter for the club. This club is very exclusive to members only, though guests of members are allowed with the right tickets.

“Zhang Hao-ssi,” the receptionist says. “Welcome back.”

“It’s been a while,” Zhang Hao replies, handing over their tickets, his membership card, and his cell phone to be kept until they left, as the club had a strict no photo or video policy. 

The receptionist takes his papers, though hesitates, glancing over at Hanbin. 

“I didn’t know you had a hybrid.” 

“Technically, he’s Matthew’s hybrid,” Zhang Hao replies, “But as you might know, Matthew and I have moved in together. He couldn’t make it tonight and suggested I bring Hanbin in his place.” 

“I see,” she hums. “May I check his identification tags.” 

Hanbin glances at Zhang Hao for approval, only at his nod moving forward so that the receptionist can check the tags on his collar, and write down the information there. 

“Is it Seok Hanbin then?” she asks, once she’s finished checking them. 

“Sung,” Hanbin corrects. “Matthew’s grandmother was my first owner, so I have her family name on my registration.” 

“Got it,” the receptionist says, typing everything into her tablet, when she’s done, she turns it around. “Please read the rules of our guest policy, and then sign at the bottom in agreement once you’ve finished.”

Zhang Hao watches as Hanbin listens as he’s instructed, and slowly reads through each rule on the tablet, before using his finger to sign his name at the very bottom.

“He listens so well,” she comments to Zhang Hao when she takes the tablet back from Hanbin. 

“Thank you, we’ve trained him well.” 

“Now that that’s settled,” she says, setting the tablet down, and sliding a keycard his way, “You’re in the red lounge tonight. Live show at nine. House rules apply. Have a good evening.”

He takes it, then gestures for Hanbin to follow as they slip past the heavy curtain to the stairwell that will lead them up to the lounge.

The music is louder up here. Though couples and clusters talk loud enough that over it he can clearly hear laughter, moans, and the snap of a flogger echoing softly from deeper in the club. 

No one stares. 

No one even really looks. 

Everyone is performing for someone, or waiting to be.

Hanbin stays close to Zhang Hao, his eyes darting around quickly, taking everything in. Zhang Hao remembers all too well how overwhelming it felt the first time he’d come to a place like this.  The tension in Hanbin’s shoulders hasn’t eased, but there’s something else there now, an alert curiosity beneath the nerves, his tail flicking behind him. 

“Zhang Hao!”

A familiar voice cuts through the noise, and Zhang Hao looks up to see Jiwoong, who already has a drink in hand.

“Hey, hyung!” Zhang Hao greets him. 

“Just you tonight?”

“Well, not just me,” Zhang Hao corrects, gesturing to Hanbin, who is half tucked beside him.

He sees the moment a flicker of recognition passes through Jiwoong’s eyes, the older man smirking a little, clearly remembering the conversation they’d had last time they were in a club like this together. 

“Oh hey. I remember you,” Jiwoong says, “You’re Matthew’s hybrid, right?”

Hanbin’s mouth opens slightly, instinctively about to reply, before he stops himself, his eyes flicking over to Zhang Hao instead.

Perfect .

Hanbin really is the picture of obedience. 

Zhang Hao nods once, giving him permission.

“Yes,” Hanbin answers, only after permission is given, “Hello again, Jiwoong-ssi.”

“Well, well,” Jiwoong lifts his brows, clearly amused by the exchange, looking at Zhang Hao as he says, ”You’ve got him well-trained already? Very impressive.” 

“He’s learning,” Zhang Hao replies with a smile. 

Now that they’ve met up with Jiwoong, they make their way to the back of the club, where some chairs and ottomans are arranged in a half moon around a small stage illuminated by moody purple and red lighting. The space opens wide to the club, but still feels private in a way. Zhang Hao chooses a booth tucked in the corner, dark and discreet, but with a perfect line of sight to the stage. He slides in first, relaxing against the cushions with one arm draped over the back. Jiwoong slides into the other side. 

But when Hanbin moves to follow, moving to sit beside him, Zhang Hao holds a hand up to stop him. 

“No,” Zhang Hao says gently.

Hanbin freezes mid-motion.

“Kneel,” Zhang Hao tells him, his voice soft even as a command. He gestures to the floor beneath his legs, “Face me, and rest your head on my thigh.” 

“I—” Hanbin starts then stops, seeming to remember himself and flushing. 

“What is it?” Zhang Hao asks. “You can tell me.”

“I thought I would get to watch the show,” Hanbin says quietly, sounding a little disappointed by the prospect that he wouldn’t be able to. 

“I promise I’ll let you turn around when the show starts,” Zhang Hao reassures him, “But we have some time until then, and I’d like you to show Jiwoong-hyung how good you are at kneeling.” 

At the mention of their companion, Hanbin looks up, glancing over in Jiwoong’s direction, his face still a little flushed. Then he nods, just a quick little thing, before keeling between Zhang Hao’s legs as instructed. When his cheek finally touches Zhang Hao’s thigh, Zhang Hao rewards him immediately by threading his fingers through Hanbin’s hair and stroking slowly over his scalp and down the back of his neck. Hanbin trembles ever so slightly beneath his palm.  

Maybe from nerves. Maybe embarrassment. Maybe want .

“You’re doing so well,” Zhang Hao murmurs, just for him. “Thank you for listening to me.” 

Hanbin lets out a small breath, steadying himself. 

“He really is something,” Jiwoong says with a half-smile.

Zhang Hao doesn’t look away from Hanbin. His hand continues moving, slowly petting over Hanbin’s ears. 

“He’s… sensitive,” he replies, voice low but the hint of fondness is unmistakable, “He’s eager to please, and he listens better than most humans I’ve played with.”

Hanbin shifts slightly at that, his ears back in the way that Zhang Hao knows means he’s displeased with something. 

Zhnag Hao strokes lower, dragging his fingers gently down the side of Hanbin’s throat. 

“Structure helps him, the rules, the rituals,” Zhang Hao continues to explain. “And now that he’s been honest with me about what he wants, we’ve seen a lot of improvement.” 

“So the spray bottle worked?” 

Zhang Hao smiles, a little amused at the memory of how much Hanbin had disliked the spray bottle, but how much he had refused to admit what he really wanted. While Zhang Hao is glad they’re on the same page now, it had been cute seeing him all flustered and wet, like a drowned cat. 

“You know I never told you that was Jiwoong-hyung’s idea, did I?” Zhang Hao asks Hanbin.

Hanbin shakes his head a little. 

“You should thank Jiwoong-hyung for coming up with such a good idea for your punishments,” Zhang Hao tells him. “If it weren’t for him, we would’ve never got you to admit what you do like.” 

“Thank you, Jiwoong-hyung,” Hanbin grumbles out, clearly remembering how much he did not enjoy the spray bottle. 

Jiwoong lets out an amused little huff of laughter at that. 

“So what does he like?”

“Pain, mostly,” Zhang Hao replies. “Spanking is probably his favorite, or hair pulling, if I’m careful. Though he responds best to praise when he doesn’t expect it, and when I remind him that he’s mine.”

Hanbin makes a soft, involuntary noise at that, breath catching.

“God, you’re halfway gone for him already,” Jiwoong mutters under his breath.

Zhang Hao shoots him a look. He should have known that Jiwoong would be able to read him all too easily. 

Thankfully, he’s spared from any further prodding from Jiwoong as the lights near the stage begin to shift, the music around them fades, a slow hush falls across the crowd.

The show is about to begin.

But Zhang Hao already has everything he wants right here, kneeling between his legs. 

On stage, a pair steps into view,  a tall dom in black leather and his submissive, already half-nude and collared, crawling at their feet.

“Hanbin,” he murmurs, “Turn around. You may watch.”

Hanbin obeys immediately, twisting around so that he is looking at the stage, but still remaining on his knees and still between Zhang Hao’s legs. Hanbin tucks his hands politely behind his back, but Hao can see the tension in them, the way he’s trying not to squirm. 

Zhang Hao keeps one hand firm at the back of Hanbin’s neck, thumb pressed to the base of his skull, partly to steady him, and partly to satisfy his own possessive urges.  

The dom on stage starts the show commanding their sub into different positions, slapping lightly at the insides of their thighs, making them spread wider. There’s a rhythm to it Zhang Hao appreciates: a push-pull of power and surrender, obedience and challenge. He watches the dom’s technique, cataloging the way they build tension with restraint, anticipation, but some of the styling feels too flashy to him, more for the crowd than the sub.

Zhang Hao prefers something quieter. 

More intimate.

Still, he can’t deny the effect it’s having on his sub.

Hanbin’s body is thrumming with energy, his breaths have grown shallow, and Zhang Hao can see the outline of arousal pressing against Hanbin’s pants. He finds watching Hanbin’s reaction to the show far more interesting than watching the show itself. 

When Hanbin lifts one hand, trying to palm at himself through his slacks, Zhang Hao reacts instantly. A light slap to his cheek, not hard, but sharp enough to shock him still.

Hanbin freezes, blinking up at him with wide, glassy eyes.

“ No, ” Zhang Hao says coolly. “Hands behind your back, stay still, be good.”

Hanbin nods, and his hands quickly return to their place behind his back.

Zhang Hao settles back again, letting his hand drift lazily down the nape of Hanbin’s neck, over his collar, to rest just between his shoulder blades. He watches the hybrid tremble beneath his touch, watches the way his gaze flickers hungrily between the stage and the floor, like he doesn’t know where to look anymore.

Good .

The show continues, the dom now slowly pinching clamps along the sub’s inner thighs while the crowd murmurs low approval. Zhang Hao feels heat rise in his chest, not from the show itself, but from imagining Hanbin up there. Cuffed to a post, trembling and naked, back arched just so, the collar gleaming under the stage lights, Hanbin on display for everyone with tears in his lashes, but not saying no .

He exhales slowly through his nose and strokes the back of Hanbin’s head again.

It won’t be tonight. 

Not yet.

But maybe one day.

And when it happens, Zhang Hao is going to make sure the whole room knows Hanbin belongs to him.

The second act shifts in tone, it’s less theatrical, more raw.

Their control is all in gestures: the flick of fingers, the crack of a whip, the tightening of a hand around the sub’s jaw. The submissive is blindfolded, trembling beautifully under every blow. 

Zhang Hao watches the scene before him, but he’s hardly focusing on it. 

His focus is all on Hanbin and the way he can feel Hanbin’s pulse racing beneath his palm. The way every time leather kisses skin on stage, Hanbin jolts a little, like it’s his body that’s being struck.

He’s leaking. Zhang Hao’s sure of it now. Even if he can’t see it, Hanbin’s need is clear, his breath hitching in tiny whines, fingers twitching behind his back like he can barely hold himself together. His thighs are pressed tightly together, like he’s trying to cage himself in.

The end of the show comes all too soon, the audience clapping politely as the dom leads their sub off the stage to take them somewhere more private to cool them down. 

The lights come up slowly after the show, hazy red washing over the room again. There’s a ripple of conversation, a soft return to breath and awareness as various couples shift and stretch. Zhang Hao lets his fingers curl around the back of Hanbin’s neck again. Hanbin’s skin is hot, he’s flushed all the way to the tips of his ears.

He’s not the only one that has noticed Hanbin’s arousal though. 

“Mm,” Jiwoong says, glancing down at Hanbin. “That got him going.”

Zhang Hao doesn’t need to look. 

He can feel it, in the way Hanbin’s holding still with effort, thighs tense, his hands curled tight where they rest still behind his back. 

“You could take him to one of the back rooms,”  Jiwoong suggests. “Let him get it out of his system. I know that’s not usually your style, but they’ve got them cleaned and stocked.”

Zhang Hao hums.

Truly, it’s not his usual style to hook up with someone at the club. 

The club was more for showing off and watching, as far as he was concerned, but this is Hanbin’s first time coming out with him, and it’s clear the hybrid was very much affected by the show that they had just watched. 

“That’s true, we could do that,” he says thoughtfully. His hand strokes once more through Hanbin’s hair, slowly as he considers. He waits until Hanbin looks up at him, with those wide eyes of his, before he adds, “But if we did, that would be your reward. You wouldn’t get another one when we’re home, kitten.”

Hanbin’s ears flick, just barely. His eyes dart to Jiwoong, then back to Hao. He hesitates—long enough for Hao to see the temptation flash through him, the pull of pleasure now versus the promise of something sweeter later.

It’s not an easy choice.

Both certainly have their merits, though Zhang Hao can’t help but hope that Hanbin will understand the importance of delayed gratification. 

Zhang Hao’s wish is granted, when Hanbin lowers his gaze, and shakes his head slightly, before saying, “I’ll wait, gege.” 

“Good kitty,” he murmurs. “That’s the right answer.”

Chapter Text

Hanbin’s body shamefully aches with need, and his cock is painfully hard in his pants, as he kneels there between Zhang Hao’s legs.

Despite the fact that the show they’d come to the club to see had already ended, they were still there. Zhang Hao had wanted to mingle with his friends, so they stayed. Zhang Hao is drinking and talking, while Hanbin kneels between his legs, like an accessory rather than a person. 

Though thankfully out here, it’s dim enough that no one’s paying him any real attention, even though there’s no show going on here. He’s facing Zhang Hao, once more, but Hanbin can hear the sounds of the club around them. His ears twitch as he takes in the sounds of moans, carrying over the music that’s playing in the club. They’re all too wrapped up in their own scenes to pay attention to the hybrid beneath the table.

He itches to turn around and look at the club properly, to see what he hears, but Zhang Hao had told Hanbin to keep his cheek pressed against Zhang Hao’s thigh, and Hanbin is a good kitty, so he does as he’s told. 

Hanbin shifts slightly, trying to ease the pressure between his legs, but it only makes things worse, making him more aware of how painfully hard he is, despite the fact that he’s really just sitting there, for all intents and purposes being ignored by Zhang Hao completely.

Still, every once and a while, Zhang Hao’s fingers will find his ears again, stroking idly, like he’s petting a house cat rather than the flushed and trembling hybrid kneeling between his legs. 

It makes Hanbin feel small. 

It makes him feel owned . 

Above him, Zhang Hao and Jiwoong are chatting again. They’re talking about some new dom Jiwoong has met, who was looking for someone who didn’t mind a partner a little new to things, and how Jiwoong thought he might be a good match for Matthew. Hanbin barely registers the details, because all he can hear is Zhang Hao’s soft laugh, all he can feel is Zhang Hao’s thigh under his cheek, and the steady rhythm of those fingers behind his ear absentmindedly petting him. 

Zhang Hao hasn’t looked at him once since they sat back down.

Hanbin wants his attention, he needs it, every second of this casual indifference drives him crazy. He feels seen and unseen at the same time, as if he is nothing more than decoration between Zhang Hao’s legs while he laughs and drinks with friends.

He’s never felt so humiliated, or so turned on.

The most confusing part is that it doesn’t even feel like they’re playing anymore. 

It feels natural.

Like he was always meant to be here, between Zhang Hao’s legs. 

Zhang Hao doesn’t even need to look at him for Hanbin to feel claimed.

Hanbin hadn’t known submission could feel like this.

He always thought it had to hurt. That being on his knees meant being corrected, punished, degraded. That it was a way to prove something or to earn something, or to survive something.

But this… this is different.

Here, Zhang Hao hasn’t even looked at him in ten minutes, and still, Hanbin feels the weight of him there, his presence overwhelming. 

He swallows hard, trying not to mewl as Zhang Hao trails his fingers down to Hanbin’s nape, squeezing a little there. Hanbin wonders if anyone else in the club can tell how desperate he is. They may not be able to see how wet his hole is with slick, or how pathetically hard he still is beneath the table, but somehow, he’s sure that they know. 

If nothing else, Jiwoong probably knows, considering the way every once in a while, he glances at Hanbin with a smirk, before he just takes another sip of his drink and keeps talking like Hanbin isn’t even there.

Zhang Hao shifts slightly, adjusting his seat, and Hanbin instinctively leans in closer, chasing after him. 

Hanbin presses his cheek more firmly into Zhang Hao’s thigh, trying not to moan at the heat that pulses low in his stomach. His fingers tremble ever so faintly where they are locked behind his back, as does his best to hold himself tighter.

He wants to touch himself desperately, but Zhang Hao told him to be good, and he can be good. 

He wants to be good. 

He wants that reward. 

But right now, he just wants to disappear into Zhang Hao’s touch, he wants to stop thinking entirely and just exist right here.

Between his gege’s legs, right where he belongs.

Hanbin doesn’t notice things shifting around him at first, he doesn’t hear Jiwoong getting up to say goodbye or the rustle of jackets being pulled on, doesn’t even seem to realize that anything has shifted at all, so caught up in the hazy feeling of kneeling there, until Zhang Hao pulls his hand out of Hanbin’s hair. 

It’s then that he blinks up at Zhang Hao, his confusion clear at the sudden absence of touch, even though he remains silent. Not speaking, because Zhang Hao hasn’t given him permission to speak yet.  

“Come on,” Zhang Hao says quietly, tugging his fingers through Hanbin’s collar to help pull him up. “We’re going home now, it’s late.”

Hanbin nods, squinting as his eyes adjust slowly to the shifting light as he climbs out from under the table. His limbs protest when he moves, his legs tingling as he stumbles to his feet. Zhang Hao steadies him without a word, his hand firm at Hanbin’s elbow as he helps Hanbin right himself, before they head out of the club. 

When they make it outside Hanbin takes a deep breath, the cool air helping him to get his thoughts back in order. 

He shivers, his eyes lowered to the ground. 

Hours of remaining hard on his knees catch up with him all at once as he stands out there, and while it’s easier to breathe out here and it’s nice to stretch his limbs, the cold air only slightly curbs his arousal. There’s an embarrassing wet spot on the front of his slacks, hopefully it’ll be dark enough that the driver of the car Zhang Hao called for them won’t notice.

Zhang Hao, however, does, his eyes scanning over Hanbin’s body before he remarks ever so casually, “Ah, you’re still hard?” 

“I can’t help it,” he whispers, his cheeks flushing. “I’m trying not to—”

“Our ride will be here in five minutes,” Zhang Hao tells him. 

Hanbin nods, he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus on anything else, the chill against his skin, the ache in his thighs, the pinpricks of sensation in his knees. Anything other than how turned on he felt being ignored by Zhang Hao all night. 

By the time their ride pulls up to the curb, he’s just barely soft, but it’ll have to do. He keeps his head down, his ears pressed flat to his head in embarrassment as he climbs into the car with Zhang Hao. 

He just has to make it until he’s home, and then he’ll get the reward that Zhang Hao promised him, whatever that is. The thought of it, of all the things it could possibly be, makes Hanbin’s heart flutter with excitement. 

They’ve never done things like this before, their dynamic, this messy thing between them, had always been about punishment and about pain, and everything that came after that was always a reward for him accepting his correction.

But there was no correction tonight, no punishment. He’d followed the rules Zhang Hao had for them out in public perfectly, and so he’s not fully sure where that leaves them. Could what happens between the two of them really exist without any rules being broken? 

Though then again… Zhang Hao had mentioned at the club that he’d done this before… While the whole public display of obedience may be a new and still mostly unfamiliar concept to Hanbin, it didn’t seem to be one to Zhang Hao. 

Hanbin glances over at Zhang Hao. There’s so much about him that Hanbin doesn’t know. So many questions about Zhang Hao’s past that he never bothered to ask, because he always told himself that he didn’t care about Zhang Hao. That this thing between them was transactional, not romance, and certainly not even friendship.

Now though, there’s a question he can’t help but ask, “Were there a lot before me?”

“Hm?” Zhang Hao glances at him. “A lot of what?” 

“The ones you brought to places like that,” Hanbin elaborates, “I know you said you and Matthew aren’t like that , but Jiwoong-hyung mentioned others before…” He trails off, his brain imagining Zhang Hao with someone else.

Some faceless submissive, that he might have touched, or disciplined, or shown off at the club. His body burns with shameful envy over whoever those strangers were that came before him. He’s always known that Zhang Hao was experienced , he’d certainly heard Zhang Hao and Matthew hooking up before, but even beyond that, it was clear in the way that Zhang Hao navigated their situation that he’d done this before, whereas Hanbin… While he’d been with other partners before, all hybrids, it had all been casual, nothing seriously romantic, and certainly not like this . No other hybrid he’d been with before had made him feel the way Zhang Hao makes him feel. 

He’s not sure if it’s a human thing, or just a Zhang Hao thing. 

But Zhang Hao… He’s had other submissives before, not hybrid ones, but still… 

“Ah,” Zhang Hao says, his eyes flick up towards their driver for a minute. Admittedly this wasn’t the most ideal place to be having this conversation, but Hanbin had to know. It would have bothered him for the rest of his life if he didn’t ask. “A few.”

“That’s not very specific.”

“I don’t know the exact number,” Zhang Hao replies.

“If you had to estimate,” Hanbin prompts. 

“Hanbin, why are you asking?” 

Hanbin bites at the inside of his cheek. 

He knows if he answers that question with the reason why he’s really curious, he’ll just sound pathetically jealous, and Zhang Hao will probably coo at him and tease him for it, so instead he just shakes his head.

Maybe it is better not to have an exact number. 

“Look, I don’t know the number, but none of those people matter.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because none of them are you,” Zhang Hao tells him. “You’re special in a way that nobody else has ever been before. I’ve been with people who dull the edge for a night or two, or people who become friends with benefits, but I’ve never found a sub that I felt was the right one, not until now. Not until I met you. You’re more difficult than anyone I’ve had before, more prideful, and you test me in ways no one else has, but I like that about you, Hanbin-ah.” 

Hanbin’s stomach flutters, uncertain if it’s praise or criticism.

“But,” Zhang Hao continues, “You also trust me more deeply than they did. Even when you hate to admit it to yourself.” 

Zhang Hao reaches over to Hanbin, fingers brushing gently over the back of Hanbin’s hand, until Hanbin flips his hand palm up so that Zhang Hao can lace their fingers together. 

He squeezes just a little. 

“You did well tonight,” Zhang Hao murmurs, quiet enough that the driver won’t hear. “You followed the rules. You made me so happy, getting to show you off like that.” 

Hanbin’s breath hitches at the praise.

“Thank you.”

“Say it properly.”

“Thank you, gege .” 

“That’s right,” Zhang Hao says, as he strokes his thumb across Hanbin’s knuckles. “You behaved so well, and you did everything so well, and you’re mine. Say it back.”

The cab bumps over a pothole, but Hanbin barely feels it, too focused on Zhang Hao. 

“I behaved well, I did what I was told,” Hanbin echoes, his voice trembling. “I am yours.”

“You more than earned your reward,” Zhang Hao leans in, his voice soft and warm by his ear. “And when we get home, I’m going to give it to you.”

“I…” He starts, then stops. It sounds silly in his head, to tell Zhang Hao how much he enjoyed their night out at the club. So he just shakes his head, “Nevermind.” 

“No, go on, tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I didn’t know submitting could feel like that,” he tells Zhang Hao quietly. “Like being… safe.”

Zhang Hao makes a soft sound, almost a breath of laughter, but it’s not mocking, still so very gentle. 

 “There’s a lot you don’t know yet, Hanbin.” He leans over and presses a kiss to Hanbin’s temple, “ But don’t worry, I’ll teach you all about it in due time.” 

The apartment is quiet when they step inside, Matthew clearly still asleep, likely sleeping off whatever cold he’d caught. Which is a relief, Hanbin’s not sure what he would be able to say had Matthew been awake to catch him this flustered still, even after the long drive back from the club. 

Zhang Hao slips off his shoes with practiced ease and glances back over his shoulder to where Hanbin is as he asks, “Do you still want your reward?” 

Hanbin’s tail flicks with barely contained energy, and his ears perk forward, betraying his excitement before he even answers. 

“Yes,” he says, far too quickly. “Please.”

“Good,” Zhang Hao replies with a smirk, before turning and walking towards his room without another word. Hanbin rushes to take his own shoes off, and hurries after Zhang Hao.

His thoughts race faster than his feet, as he ponders what his reward will be.

A part of him hopes for the paddle, the one with the smooth leather that leaves warm, stinging kisses across his thighs and ass, the one he and Zhang Hao picked out at the store together. 

Though another part of him wonders if it might be something new, something like what he saw at the club. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to try that until tonight, until he saw someone else experiencing pleasure right before his eyes.

His pulse stutters at the thought of what it would have been like to be in that sub’s shoes one day, to be on display for everyone. He’d been imagining it while he’d watched the show, imagining Zhang Hao showing him off like that. 

It may not be the same here, he might not be on display for a crowd, but the air feels charged as he steps into Zhang Hao’s room, his eyes settling on a few things on top of Zhang Hao’s dresser, things he must have set out before they’d left. There’s the paddle, some rope, and a bottle of lube. Hanbin’s eyes flicker over them hungrily, his cheeks flushed. 

“Everything but your briefs off,” Zhang Hao orders, once the door is closed behind him. “Kneel on the bed, hands behind your back.”

Hanbin doesn’t hesitate to follow his orders. He quickly shrugs out of his layers, not bothering to fold them neatly, just letting them fall to the floor, before he eagerly climbs onto the bed and settles into position. 

Zhang Hao lets out a small hum of appreciation in response, the sound goes directly to Hanbin’s cock. Hanbin presses his thighs together to give himself just a little friction as he waits for Zhang Hao to make his choice of reward .

Hanbin had never gotten a reward before, only punishments for breaking the rules, he hadn’t even considered before tonight that rewards could be possible. That they could skip past him making mistakes and go straight to the good part. 

He doesn’t know what Zhang Hao will choose for his reward, but honestly, he doesn’t care.

As long as it’s Zhang Hao choosing, he knows it’ll be perfect.

The bed dips under Zhang Hao’s weight as he joins Hanbin on the bed,  Zhang Hao slowly stroking a hand down his back.

“You did so well tonight,” he says quietly. “I’m proud of you.”

Hanbin’s breath catches, eyes fluttering shut. Praise always does something to him, but this is different. It’s not coming out of Zhang Hao’s mouth after Hanbin’s taken his punishment. It’s not earned through obedience alone. 

It’s just just… genuine . 

“I liked showing you off,” Zhang Hao continues, hand drifting to Hanbin’s waist, to hold him here. “You were perfect for me. You followed every order so beautifully.”

“Thank you, gege…”

Zhang Hao leans in closer, as he asks, “Do you want anything in particular for your reward?”

Hanbin’s mouth opens, and then closes again.

He hadn’t thought that he’d get to choose. He’d thought Zhang Hao would’ve already decided, but now with the option presented, he feels overwhelmed by the choice. 

There are too many things that he likes: that paddle they bought together, Zhang Hao’s hands on him, that toy that pinches. He’s tossed between asking for something rough and something gentle, wanting anything and everything, all at once. 

“I…” He licks his lips. “I want whatever you want, gege. I want you to choose.”

“Kitten, you’re too sweet sometimes,” he murmurs, sounding far too fond as he laughs a little under his breath. “But it’s your reward, not mine.”

Then he reaches out to pinch at Hanbin’s cheek, not hard, not so much as a punishment, more so to coo cutely at him. 

Hanbin lets out a soft mewl in protest.

Zhang Hao stares at him, his eyes wide and happy for a long moment, before he asks in a voice barely above a whisper, “Though I suppose if you really want me to choose, then how about a kiss?”

“Yes, please,” Hanbin says, eagerly.

He’d have been happy with anything Zhang Hao chose, but this somehow was both shocking and exactly what Hanbin had secretly been wanting… When they first started this, he’d told Zhang Hao he didn’t want to be kissed, that this thing between them wasn’t romance, and truly it isn’t , but that hasn’t stopped Hanbin from spending weeks now wondering what it would feel like to kiss Zhang Hao. How soft Zhang Hao’s lips would be against his. If Zhang Hao would control the kiss just as he subtly controls everything else in their lives, or if he’d finally melt, and that cold exterior would give way to Zhang Hao’s softer side. 

And now, he was finally going to have his answer. 

Zhang Hao cups his cheek so gently, before leaning in and pressing their lips together. 

The kiss starts soft. 

Softer than Hanbin had expected. 

For a few moments, it’s just a gentle press of soft lips against his own, and Hanbin mewls into the kiss before he even realizes he’s doing it, wanting more than just this chaste little kiss. 

Hanbin tilts his head, hoping to deepen the kiss, and Zhang Hao doesn’t stop him, instead he just opens his mouth, letting out a low sound in his throat as if to say yes, more .

Kissing Zhang Hao is dizzying. 

Zhang Hao’s lips are warm and wet, and his hand is steady at the back of Hanbin’s neck, holding him in place as they kiss. Zhang Hao still tastes like the club, his lips faintly sweet from the drink he’d been drinking with Jiwoong, but it’s not unpleasant. Hanbin opens his mouth, a little more eager to get a better taste, kissing him back fervently, until Zhang Hao’s tongue brushes against his, and he feels Zhang Hao stiffen slightly. 

Hanbin jolts back, pulling away from Zhang Hao, at once. 

“Sorry—my tongue, I—” He knows that his tongue is rough and scratchy, a side effect of his hybrid DNA. With a hybrid partner it wouldn’t be an issue, but… Zhang Hao’s the first human he’s ever kissed. 

Shame makes him flush. 

He should’ve kept the kiss chaste, then there wouldn’t have been an issue.

Or at least, he should’ve warned Zhang Hao. 

“I should have told you,” Hanbin mumbles. “I’m sorry, I know it’s weird, you don’t have to keep kissing me.” 

Kissing Zhang Hao was the best possible reward, and it would be a shame to never again feel how nice it was to kiss Zhang Hao, but he couldn’t blame Zhang Hao for finding his hybrid parts unpleasant. 

But Zhang Hao shakes his head slowly, his lips red and wet with their combined spit, as he leans back in to kiss Hanbin again, harder this time. Zhang Hao deepens this kiss quickly, sliding his tongue against Hanbin’s once more, exploring his mouth as he pulls Hanbin down onto the bed with him, so that Hanbin is basically straddling Zhang Hao as Zhang Hao lays down on the bed. Not breaking the kiss for even a second as they change positions. 

Hanbin makes a soft, wrecked sound, threading his own fingers through Zhang Hao’s hair as he kisses him. 

He can’t think. 

He can’t breathe.

All he can do is kiss back.

Zhang Hao makes a pleasant noise into their kiss. His hand slides down Hanbin’s spine, steadying him as they lay there, tangled up in kissing each other. 

Hanbin doesn’t ever want to stop kissing Zhang Hao. 

Even the moments they break apart, just for a second to breathe, feels too much. 

He presses closer, chasing Zhang Hao’s mouth the second he’s sucked in more air, letting out a soft, breathy noise when Zhang Hao bites lightly at his lower lip, before soothing it with his tongue.

Zhang Hao’s shirt comes off the next time they pause to breathe, half pulled, half tugged off of him and tossed somewhere without thought, before Zhang Hao kisses him again.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Zhang Hao murmurs against his jaw, presses kisses there, and then lower down the length of his throat. 

Hanbin gasps at the tickle of Zhang Hao’s kiss against his skin, and his hands move without thinking to Zhang Hao’s pants, unbuttoning them and trying to urge them down Zhang Hao’s legs. A part of him craves skin to skin contact, needing it.  He doesn’t even know when he got this desperate, he just knows that now , he wants to feel Zhang Hao everywhere. Thankfully, Zhang Hao seems to be of the same mind, and helps Hanbin to get Zhang Hao’s pants down and off, so that they’re both only in their briefs as they continue to make out. 

They flip positions as they kiss, twisting again so that Zhang Hao settles half on top of Hanbin, his thigh slotting between Hanbin’s legs. Instinctively, Hanbin grinds up against the offered friction, moaning into Zhang Hao’s mouth. 

Zhang Hao groans at the sensation, before pulling back for more air. 

“Fuck, just like that,” he breathes, eyes heavy-lidded, lips red.

Hanbin’s heart stutters as he looks up at Zhang Hao, because the truth is that he likes this too. 

Too much, maybe. 

He didn’t think he’d ever want this—not from Zhang Hao, not from any human —but now, his whole body aches for it. Not just the touch, for the release he’s already starting to chase, but for the feeling of being kissed like this, like someone who deserves softness.

He buries his face in Zhang Hao’s shoulder for a moment, breath hitching a little as he presses a wet kiss to Zhang Hao’s shoulder. 

“I take it you like your reward, kitten?” Zhang Hao asks, sounding a little breathless. 

Hanbin nods his head, quietly admitting, “I really like kissing you, gege.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Yeah,” he whispers. 

“Good,” Zhang Hao tells him. “Because I like kissing you too, kitten.”

The kiss that follows is slower and sweeter. Hanbin sinks into it, his tail curled around Zhang Hao’s thigh as he kisses him, an easy happy feeling settling over him. 

But then Zhang Hao pulls back, just enough to look him in the eye, before he says, “Tell me if I’m reading this wrong.”

Hanbin blinks up at him, his kiss swollen lips parted and his heart pounding far too loudly in his chest. 

“You’re not,” he tells Zhang Hao, not even needing Zhang Hao to finish his sentence. Surely, they’re both feeling the same thing, how perfect this kiss feels, how this has long since stopped being about a reward for good behavior.

He likes Zhang Hao.

He’s liked him for so much longer that he’s been willing to admit to himself.

“Okay,” Zhang Hao says, smiling, before he leans down to press a kiss against Hanbin’s forehead, “I’ll be right back.” 

Hanbin’s brows furrow in confusion. He’d thought there would be more kissing, now that they were both on the same page, but instead he watches as Zhang Hao goes and grabs the bottle of lube off his dresser, before opening his sock drawer and digging for something at the bottom of the drawer.

When he returns, it’s with a foil square in his hand, and Hanbin’s heart stutters to a stop at the sight of the condom. 

Oh .

That’s what Zhang Hao had meant by ‘reading this wrong ’. 

His mouth goes dry, and he has to consciously stop his ears from pinning low as Zhang Hao returns to the bed, but he does the best not to let the thoughts that are swirling through his mind show on his face. Even as his mind kicks up the memory of those teens on the bus, laughing at him, and their implications that all hybrids wanted to be used. He’s heard it all before, plenty of things like “you hybrids are good for one thing, might as well use you for it ”. 

Zhang Hao’s not like them, he knows that. 

Zhang Hao doesn’t see him like that. 

Tonight is special.

Tonight is a reward …  Right? 

But then again, the first time they’d met, Zhang Hao had asked if he was a hybrid kept for sex. He’d thought the same thing as those kids on the bus, and despite how they had talked about it last week, Hanbin can’t help himself from remembering the way Zhang Hao’s eyes had always lingered on him before , and how that used to make his skin itch. 

Zhang Hao doesn’t notice Hanbin’s internal struggle. Zhang Hao doesn’t see the way Hanbin’s attention has locked onto the foil packet.

He just smiles when he comes back to the bed, before leaning down to press a soft kiss to Hanbin’s lips.

“So…” Zhang Hao hesitates for a beat, then laughs under his breath nervously, “Do you, um—have a preference?”

“A preference?” Hanbin echoes.

Zhang Hao smiles, reaching down to brush Hanbin’s hair away from his face.

“Like, do you usually top or bottom?”

“Oh…” 

“I mean, I prepped for either, just in case,” Zhang Hao tells him. “Honestly, I’d love to feel those barbs of yours inside me, but I know hybrid’s produce slick, so if you’d rather I take you, I can do that too. Whatever feels best for you.”

Hanbin’s lungs feel tight, as his gaze drops to the condom sitting on the bed sheets.

The idea of sinking into Zhang Hao, of being inside him, makes his fingers twitch. But… What if that’s the wrong answer, what if this is a trick question, what if —“Whatever you want is fine.” 

He remembers now what the older hybrids had told him years ago at his breeders, that humans don’t like it when hybrids have opinions about sex. That the best thing to do was to not move too much or do anything to upset them, to just let them take what they need. 

So when Zhang Hao climbs onto the bed and leans in to kiss him, Hanbin stills completely.

He shuts his eyes.

He doesn’t kiss back.

He barely breathes.

He just waits.

Feeling a sense of dread deep in his chest, where he’d felt so much happiness only a few minutes before.

Zhang Hao kisses him gently, trying to coax him out of his shell, but even when Hanbin tries to kiss back it’s not with nearly the same level of enthusiasm as before, and Zhang Hao notices, of course he does. 

“Hanbin?” he asks, pulling back slightly, his brows furrowed. “What’s your color, baby?”

Hanbin’s tongue feels thick. He almost says yellow, but the words get stuck in his throat. He hates the idea of ruining this, of ruining everything after how perfect the evening had been going.

So he lies.

“Green.”

Zhang Hao pauses, searching his face now, and Hanbin can see it all so clearly, the doubt behind his gaze, the sharp perceptiveness that makes him such a good dominant.

“Are you sure?” Zhang Hao asks quietly. “Look at me, Hanbin, and be honest, what color are you?”

Hanbin’s throat dries, as he stares up at Zhang Hao with wide eyes, a feeling of shame mixed with fear filling him. The kind that doesn’t come from anything Zhang Hao’s done, but from too many things that came before, all adding up at once. 

He hesitates, hating himself for ruining their evening as he hesitantly admits, his voice breaking over the word, “... Yellow.” 

Zhang Hao pulls away immediately, his expression suddenly lacking all the warmth that had been there before as he says, “Hanbin, never lie to me about your color again. This doesn’t work if you’re not honest with me.”

“I’m sorry, Hao-ge, I…” 

The absence of his touch makes Hanbin’s chest ache, and his eyes blur at once with sudden tears. Hanbin can feel the change in the room like a stormcloud passing overhead. Having Zhang Hao’s disapproval is so much worse than all the horrible voices in the back of his head had been. 

Shame blooms in Hanbin’s chest hard and fast, as Zhang Hao moves to put more distance between them, settling down at the other end of the bed to give Hanbin space.

He rushes to speak, wanting Zhang Hao back beside him, even with the discomfort. “But—it’s okay. I’m fine now. You can still do it. I’ll be still, I promise. I’ll be good. You can just take what you need from me.”

Zhang Hao stares at him, stunned. His mouth opens, then closes, like he doesn’t know what to say at first. Hanbin watches as Zhang Hao’s expression goes from surprised, to hurt, to something colder.

That wasn’t what was supposed to happen.

Zhang Hao was supposed to start touching him again, not look at him with a slightly horrified expression. 

“Hanbin… what the hell do you mean, ‘take what I need’? ”

Hanbin grimaces, maybe that wasn’t the best way to phrase it. 

“I’m sorry, I know that humans don’t want hybrids who are difficult,” Hanbin says, “So I’m not—I mean, I’ll just stop, we can go back to what we were doing, I’ll be good, I promise.” 

Zhang Hao makes a small wounded noise at Hanbin’s words, and Hanbin watches as Zhang Hao’s shoulders slump, and his hand comes up to hide his face. Shame curdles inside of Hanbin again, he’s ruining everything, and now, Zhang Hao is upset with him. 

While Zhang Hao turns his back to Hanbin, giving him space, Hanbin stays curled up against the pillows, his gaze fixed, unblinkingly, on the condom still lying innocently on the sheets. 

He can’t stop looking at it.

It’s nothing really, just a scrap of latex in its little square foil, but the sight of it makes Hanbin’s chest tighten again. 

He’s the one who ruined their night.

He knows that. 

They were kissing, it was good, so good, having Zhang Hao’s hands on him. He’d liked hearing Zhang Hao saying he was proud of him, and he liked the way kissing Zhang Hao had felt. 

Hanbin had liked that, he’d wanted it. 

He still wants it.

But the second that condom came out, his body had panicked, remembering every whispered conversation he’d had with other hybrids when they were still housed together. The things they warned each other about, telling each other not to fall for humans, to remember that they don’t really care and that when they get horny, they always just take what they need. They’d all spoken of it like an inevitability, rather than a possibility, like all owners would be that way.

But… Things weren’t like that with his grandmother.

And Matthew isn’t like that either, even though he unfortunately knows from experience that Matthew can get very horny. 

And Zhang Hao… He knows Zhang Hao isn’t like those people, now that the initial panic has faded. 

Zhang Hao wouldn’t care so much if he just wanted Hanbin for his body. 

But knowing that hadn’t been able to stop the horrible thoughts, to stop his brain from spiraling and assuming the worst in him.

Hanbin’s mouth feels dry, and his heart won’t settle, but he forces himself to speak despite that, “We can keep going. It’s fine now. I’m green now.”

Zhang Hao doesn’t move, he doesn’t even turn to look at Hanbin, when he speaks there’s a soft tremble to his voice, like he’s one second away from crying.

“Hanbin, I need you to be honest with me, the stuff we did before… when I touched you,” Zhang Hao says, his voice breaking a little, as he asks, “Did you really want that? Or were you just letting me touch you, because you thought you had to? Because someone taught you to let humans take what they want?”

“I…” Hanbin starts.

But then Zhang Hao keeps going, rambling a little now, “God, Hanbin—I didn’t know. I know we got into this from a messy start, and I wasn’t always careful, but I thought you wanted this too. I thought you were choosing this. Not that I was—” He cuts himself off. “Not that I was taking something from you. Fuck, I’m—” Zhang Hao’s voice breaks, a proper sob spilling out of him now.

Hanbin watches, his chest aching, as Zhang Hao curls in on himself. 

He wants to reach out and comfort Zhang Hao, but he’s not sure that he’s allowed now that he’s ruined everything. 

“I shouldn’t have asked to kiss you, I’m sorry,” Zhang Hao continues once he can catch his breath, “You told me when this started, no kissing, that was one of your hard limits, and I crossed that line. I did something you’d explicitly said no to, and I—I’m so sorry, Hanbin. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable and that you thought you had to kiss me and just lay there and—” Zhang Hao voice breaks again, leaving him unable to finish his sentence. 

“No, no,” Hanbin says, straightening up and moving closer to Zhang Hao, “I was being honest when I told you that I liked kissing you, I do like kissing you, a lot. I wanted that. I’ve wanted that for a while, but I…” 

Zhang Hao glances up at him, and Hanbin’s heart hurts seeing how wet Zhang Hao’s eyes are, how uncertain he looks. 

He’s not used to seeing Zhang Hao as anything less than confident. 

So Hanbin pushes on, needing to explain himself, even if he feels embarrassed to admit some parts of it. He needs to fix this. 

“I do want it, all of it, I swear,” Hanbin says immediately, voice thick and urgent. “Really, Hao-ge, I like it when you touch me. I like when you push me around and punish me and… what comes after, when you touch me, I like all of it. I’ve wanted all of that. I just…” 

Hanbin looks away, his eyes falling on the condom again, and his cheeks flushing with shame.  He doesn’t know how to explain it without sounding damaged. 

Zhang Hao follows his gaze to where the condom is on the bed beside them. Zhang Hao’s whole expression shifts. His brow furrows, not in frustration but with concern. 

“Ah…” 

“Everyone always says that’s what we’re for, that hybrids are cute, and we’re obedient, and we’re easy. We don’t get a say,” Hanbin tells him. “So when you brought that out, I thought… oh . That’s it, then. That’s what this is. Even though I know you’re not like that. It still felt suddenly like maybe I was wrong to think that you cared about me, for me .” 

There’s a long silence.

Then the bed dips slightly as Zhang Hao scoots closer, reaching out to take Hanbin’s hand just as he had in the car earlier, and lace their fingers together. 

“Hanbin,” Zhang Hao says, gentle as anything. “You were not wrong. I do care about you for you.”

Hanbin’s breath stutters.

“I didn’t bring that out because I wanted to use you,” Zhang Hao continues. “I brought it out because I thought we were on the same page, but I should have asked properly, I’m sorry. I… misunderstood the situation.” 

“I’m sorry I ruined the moment,” Hanbin tells him.

Zhang Hao just shakes his head, “No, you did the right thing by saying yellow, that’s what the words are for. That’s what you’re supposed to do if anything we ever do feels wrong. I’m not mad at you for using your safe word, but I need you to promise next time to tell me the second your color changes, okay?” 

Hanbin looks up to meet Zhang Hao’s gaze, seeing his seriousness there. 

“I promise.” 

“No one gets to tell you what to do if you don’t want to do it, not me or anyone else,” Zhang Hao tells him. “You don’t owe anyone your body just because you’re a hybrid, and you never have to push through something that doesn’t feel right.”

“But I wanted to be good for you,” he whispers.

“You are,” Zhang Hao says immediately. “You were good all night. Such a good kitty, I’ve never been prouder of you. Not just for how you were at the club, but for telling me when it was too much.” 

Hanbin blinks fast, his vision going a little watery with unshed tears, as he hesitantly asks, “Can you kiss me again?”

Zhang Hao hesitates for a long moment. 

Long enough that Hanbin adds, “Please, I don’t want such a good night to end like this with me ruining everything…”

“You didn’t ruin everything,” Zhang Hao tells him.

Hanbin bites down on his lip. It may be a good thing that they talked this through, didn’t rush into something he wasn’t fully comfortable with, and that they’re now on the same page about things, but that doesn’t mean that he didn’t ruin the happy mood that was there all night. 

His chest aches.

He misses it, the happy feeling that had consumed him while he was kissing Zhang Hao. He wants that back, even if just for a moment. 

“Please, gege,” Hanbin asks softly, “Just one more kiss, before bed.” 

“Okay,” Zhang Hao gives in easily, smiling softly, “Just one more kiss.” 

Hanbin leans in, bridging the gap between them. 

This kiss is just as soft and chaste as their very first had been.