STRAY // JJK x HYBRID (bunny)✔️ Re-Writing

·CHAPTER 6·

BO-YOUNG

I take a sip of the hot chocolate. It's amazing, like nothing I've tasted before, even when I lived at my first and only home. I savour it, hoping to etch every detail into memory—not only flavour but also the distinct warmth.

"It's pretty good, huh," Jungkook hums. I put my drink down and nod, only for Jungkook to start chuckling.

"What's so funny?" I ask. He shakes his head and reaches over, wiping a small tuft of whipped cream off my nose with his finger.

"That's the danger of eating or drinking anything with whipped cream," he chuckles. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand to make sure it's gone, hoping the pink in my cheeks can't be seen in the low light.

"I had almost forgotten sugar tasted this good," I say, taking another sip and closing my eyes briefly. Jungkook looks at me sadly.

"Sometimes I forget how good I have it," he tells me quietly. "Or how starved of basic luxuries strays are."

"Don't fret over it—there's no point in dwelling on something you can't change," I tell him, not meaning to sound so cynical. "Besides, I get to enjoy this now. I can't say I won't start a business stealing chocolate and marshmallows once I'm back on the streets, though. You've awoken a monster in me," I laugh.

He chuckles too, but I can see he's not fully paying attention. He glances away, deep in thought, before looking at me as if to say something. For a moment, he struggles to find the words.

"What if-" he pauses. "What if I told you that you don't have to go back."

"What are you implying?" I ask, but I know very well where he's going with this.

"What if you moved in? You could have the spare room, decorate it however you want, have your own clothes..." he trails off, rushing through his pitch. "...you could have a home."

I stare at him, struggling to process what he's offering me. "You want to... adopt me?"

He nods.

I rub my temples, my ears ringing as I try to organize my thoughts. My heart and my mind are at war, each unrelenting. For years, I've thought that living on the streets is better than relying on a human, but here comes Jungkook, who's making me question the way I think. I don't know whether my need to be independent is stubbornness or survival anymore.

"I know the world isn't kind to hybrids, so I understand your apprehension. Above all else, we'll be equals," he promises.

"Can I have some time to think about it?" I ask, finally raising my eyes to meet his once more.

"Of course," he smiles. "However long you need."

The tension dies down, and I take a sip of the hot chocolate.

"You know, there are many nicer hybrids out there who don't have homes," I say.

"Like you?"

I shake my head. "No, they're actually looking for a home. I, on the other hand, am fine living on the streets."

"You can't honestly tell me you want to live in the cold, sleeping on top of a bag of old clothes, never sure that you'll survive to see the season change," he says bluntly.

"I-" I stutter, trying to find a way to justify it, but I know there's nothing I can say that won't be a lie of some kind. "I admit, it's not ideal."

"What happened to you, if I may ask?" he says cautiously.

"It's not the tragic backstory you might be thinking of—in fact, it's rather mundane," I reply with a shrug.

"What, the FBI's not after you? How about the mafia?" he jokes.

I snort at his antics.

"No, no—I'm completely average. The feds won't be knocking down your door for harbouring me," I laugh.

I take another sip, only to find that my mug is almost empty, save for the accumulation of whipped cream and half-melted marshmallows at the bottom.

"Sorry about the serious question," Jungkook apologizes before noticing me looking down into my mug. "I can give you a spoon for that if you want."

"Yes, please," I answer, watching him take out two spoons before sitting back down across from me and handing me one. "So, now that you've asked about my life, I think it's only fair I get a turn too. Tell me about yourself, Picasso."

"Well, for starters, I prefer Van Gogh," he laughs.

"Picasso is easier to say," I interject.

"I work at a boring office job, but I also am a freelance artist—that's how I make enough money to keep this place. I've done a few galleries here and there, but they're a lot of work," he tells me, seemingly reminiscing about long nights working on piece after piece. "I also sing," he adds.

"You sing?" I ask in surprise. "I'd love to hear you sing, but I doubt the neighbours would appreciate it at..." I glance at the oven clock behind him, "...3 AM. God, it's late."

"Are you tired?" he asks, but I shake my head. "We could watch TV until you are."

"Aren't you tired?" I question.

"I'm an artist; one sleepless night is nothing," he laughs.

Jungkook tells me to head over to the couch and pick something out while he places the mugs in the sink. After a moment, we're both sitting underneath soft quilts, our eyes trained on the screen. Under the blanket, it doesn't take long for me to feel the tiredness creep in. I barely last an episode before I lean back, the last thing I remember being the quiet laugh track of the show.