The hottie put the bouquet of roses down on the coffee table near Dream, squatting on his heels. When I glanced at his crisp white socks and then at Dream's once-white shirt… damn, why did I suddenly feel embarrassed like I wanted to shove my face under my own balls at the sheer contrast?
He just kept staring at Dream's face for ages, frozen like someone hit the stop button.
What's there to stare at on that blank, slack-jawed mug anyway? Plainer than tofu, lazier than a pig. If this guy could eat dog food, he'd never waste his precious nap time ordering takeout, I swear.
"Does he work at night? Is that why he sleeps all day? And this house is… kinda messy too."
Mr. Handsome brushed a strand of hair off Dream's face, careful like he was handling glass, scared he might wake him up.
If I could talk, I'd scream in your ear: even if an EDM festival broke out right here, this pale, long-spined bastard wouldn't wake up. For real.
But then suddenly, the hottie rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. That gentle face of his hardens into something serious… wait, is he about to…?
"Buboo, where's the broom?"
…Huh?
What did you just say?
I thought you were about to whip out a knife and rob this place (not that there's anything worth robbing in this minimalist dump), and you ask me about cleaning supplies?!
"The broom, mop, cleaning detergent—do you know where they are?"
Oh, I know what those are, dumbass. But newsflash: this house doesn't have any of that shit! Every time Dream's parents visit, they gotta buy a new set, 'cause I swear this slob eats them out of laziness instead of ordering food.
So I just stared at Mr. Handsome, wagged my tail, and stuck out my tongue at him.
"Mind if I look around then?"
Knock yourself out. I'm not stopping you. I circled around his legs once—the guy smells so much better than my actual owner, I'll give him that.
He smiled at me and stroked my fur so warm and gentle… damn, this guy's the real microwave daddy.
He checked the kitchen, the bathroom, outside the house—but didn't even step into Dream's bedroom. Hell, he even closed the door behind him. Sweat trickled down his perfect face to his chest until he had to undo a button, showing off that healthy broad torso. I swear, Dream should crawl off that couch and worship him already.
"Nope, nothing here. Guess I'll have to go buy some. Buboo, wanna come with me?"
Oh. My. God. Heaven-sent blessing!
This so-called lunatic hottie just invited me out of my prison with Lazyass Dream! I love him already. Please, let him be my owner instead! I clung to him, circling his legs nonstop, afraid he might change his mind.
He spotted a brand-new leash covered in cobwebs by the door, clipped it on me, and led me outside the gate. My chest swelled with indescribable joy. So this is what freedom smells like.
Aaaah, paradise~
He took me to his sleek black eco-friendly car parked nearby. I would've preferred walking, but I guess the store's far. Honestly, even if he dragged me onto a bus or a tuk-tuk, I'd go. Anything to leave that damn house!
And holy crap, the car was spotless. Not a speck of dust anywhere. He even let my dirty paws step right onto the seat in the front like I was some VIP passenger. I really, really want this guy as my new master.
"Buboo, what does Khun Dream like to eat?"
Right, I forgot he knows both our names from the random clips I sent him. But… what the hell is with this "Khun Dream" crap? Goosebumps, man.
Don't tell me this guy's actually into Lazyass Dream…
"Buboo, you're so cool. Never seen a Husky this smart before—using a phone, being like a bodyguard watching over Khun Dream."
Cool? Smart? Fine, I'll take that. But bodyguard? No way in hell am I guarding that lazy bum. You, mister, must really be into him. You're looking at me like I'm the castle guard of some sleeping prince.
"Here we are. Pets are allowed inside, right Buboo? You won't bite anyone, will you?"
Maybe you should've asked that before putting me on the leash, genius.
But the way his deep voice rumbled while stroking my fur so tenderly made my skin prickle. Since I was born, I'd only ever been trained with loud commands, scolding, beatings, starvation if I didn't obey. Then Dream came along—total opposite. Easy life, yeah, but boring as hell. Foreign breeds like me are picky, high-maintenance, not like Thai dogs. Maybe fate sent this hottie to balance things out between me and Dream.
His name's Kind. He introduced himself that way. The name sounds old-fashioned, but he's handsome, warm, well-mannered—like he was raised in some aristocrat's mansion by doting parents.
"Buboo, what do you want to eat? This place has all kinds of stuff. I always wanted a pet, but I was too busy with my company before. Never had the time."
He plopped me in a shopping cart like a baby. And guess what? I let him. Like I said, Dream's killed off any feral bite left in me.
Don't bother asking what brand's good—I eat whatever's cheapest or on sale, 'cause that's all Dream ever buys. But Mana didn't just glance and grab. He actually checked labels, thought carefully, and picked out a bag that looked classy as hell compared to Dream's bargain-bin crap.
And he didn't stop there. He bought not only cleaning supplies but also dog food, shampoo, fresh groceries, fruit—like he was stocking his own damn house.
Weird as hell for someone who's only chatted through random phone pics. But you know what? I like him. A lot.