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Before Kang opens the door, before he even puts his key in the lock, he takes precautions. He twists his shoulder bag around so it’s more at his back than stomach—safely out of the way. He puts the grocery bags down on the step so they won’t fly out of his hands. He sucks in a deep breath, steadying himself, so he’ll be harder to knock over.
Then he unlocks the door, cautiously steps inside, and braces for impact.
For once, probably the first time since he took his new puppy home, no one bowls him over. He’s not immediately jumped. He doesn’t have an adorable human-canine hybrid filling up his arms, clinging to him for dear life, excitedly shouting his name right into his ear. There’s a few seconds where Kang just stands there and blinks, sure it’s going to happen, and then he can’t help but wonder if he somehow fell back in time, to the lonely days of living without a hyperactive and delightful partner.
Then he starts to panic, because the only way Moo wouldn’t be waiting at the door would be if he physically couldn’t. Kang doesn’t even stop to pull the groceries inside—he sets off into the house, calling, “Moo!”
His own voice echoes back to him. There’s no music, the television’s off, his darling puppy isn’t practicing dance moves in the living room or loudly singing a new song. The silence is both telling and terrifying. Moo always calls back to him. ‘Kang’ seems like Moo’s favourite word. But he doesn’t answer. There’s a crisp burning smell the closer Kang gets to the kitchen, which does nothing to mitigate his panic. It’s a huge relief to find only a stack of messy dishes and butchered ingredients smeared all over the walls and cupboards, but no blood or charred body parts. The kitchen’s an atomic wreck, but that’s a problem for later. He’s not even upset that Moo crusted some unknown substance on the counter that’ll likely take hours to clean. None of that matters when Moo’s missing.
Kang practically shouts himself hoarse before he finally hears something else—a tiny whimper. He finds the source a second later. Moo’s huddled up in the corner of the bedroom, sitting on the floor, knees pulled tight to his chest with his back to the room. The human parts of him look fine, but the fuzzy ears poking out from his sleek black hair and the fluffy tail in the back are completely wilted. It gives away his mood. He’s also whining from the back of his throat—a distressed, horrible sound that cuts deep into Kang’s soul.
He’s across the room in a heartbeat. He practically throws himself to the floor, reaching both arms around Moo to pull him in close from behind—Moo whines a tortured, “P’Kaaang!” and turns to bury his face in Kang’s chest. Kang’s instantly petting his hair, making a soothing sound, telling him it’s okay without even knowing what ‘it’ is. It was big enough to stop Moo from tackling him at the door, so someone must’ve died.
Instead, Moo wails, “I messed up the Kai Palo!” and clings to Kang’s shirt like he’s commit a mortal sin.
Kang freezes. He didn’t know Moo could make Kai Palo. Or attempt to make. Or make anything. The kitchen’s Kang’s domain, like happiness is Moo’s. It’s a weird role reversal that Kang doesn’t at all appreciate.
He tries to disentangle himself to get a proper look at Moo’s face, but Moo’s holding him too fiercely and keeps whining. “I wanted to surprise you with dinner, but I was also trying to memorize choreo in between steps, and then I got distracted and burned everything! Then my tail accidentally knocked some stuff over, and my tea spilled, and I broke a plate—”
It’s extremely hard to be mad at Moo. He’s just so cute, even when he’s acting miserably. Kang’s very close. Not because of the mess. Which didn’t even resemble the ingredients necessary to make Kai Palo. It’s because Moo scared him half to death over unimportant things. It probably would’ve felt important if he’d been home. He would’ve been annoyed about Moo mucking up his immaculate cooking space and ruining a plate and who knows how much food, but that pales in comparison to Moo’s well being. He recognizes that Moo’s heart is in the right place. Moo’s too sweet to scold, so instead, Kang bites his tongue and scratches behind the back of Moo’s ears, because that always does Moo in.
Sure enough, his voice stutters as he goes on, “Then I... I... uh... the bowl—” His tail thumps the ground. Kang squirms in Moo’s arms and still can’t get away but manages to twist his arm under so he can scratch beneath Moo’s chin. Moo instantly devolves into a happy moan, and his tail finally picks up, breaking into a quick wag. His tail’s always wagging when Kang’s around. Kang’s never met another dog hybrid like that, but he’s come to expect it of Moo and much prefers it that way.
Finally, as Moo starts panting joyously under the attention, Kang manages to get free. He left the door wide open and the groceries out for nothing. It doesn’t look like Moo was crying, at least—his rosy cheeks are clear of any crusted tears, and his eyes are sparkling but not wetly, crinkled in delight as Kang switches between petting him in different places. Kang knows all his weak points, just like Moo knows his.
Voice soft, more a sigh than admonishment, Kang says, “You should’ve left that to me. If you wanted Kai Palo so badly, I would’ve made you some when I got home.”
“But I wanted to make it for you,” Moo groans, because he’s as selfless as he is adorable. And he’s really adorable. He sheepishly adds, “I’m sorry.”
Kang adores him. “It’s fine, just... answer me when I call. You had me scared.”
“Why?” Moo has the gal to look genuinely confused, as though he hasn’t lovingly assaulted Kang every other time Kang’s come home alone.
A part of Kang realizes he has an opportunity to correct that behaviour and stop the attacks. The rest of him freely admits, “I didn’t get my welcome-home hug.”
For a split second, Moo looks horrified, as though Kang’s been deprived of oxygen on his behalf. Then he’s throwing himself into Kang’s arms again, squeezing him tight, tail wagging furiously as he proclaims, “Welcome home, P’Kang!” He presses a wet kiss to Kang’s cheek and nuzzles affectionately into Kang’s shoulder.
Kang sighs. He’s grateful it’s so easy to fix all of Moo’s problems—a little petting, and it’s over. Moo’s a ray of light again, enough sunshine to last a lifetime. Kang can’t remember how he survived so long in the dark.
Then he remembers he has a kitchen to clean, a door to lock, groceries to get, and dinner to make. So he gathers his puppy up in his arms and heads back to start, carting his best cheerleader with him.