Beep. Beep. Beep.
Six a.m. sharp—the alarm from his phone went off with military precision.
Heavy eyelids twitched in the dark before sharp eyes blinked open to catch the faint light seeping through the curtains. A new morning had arrived.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Clawing sounds came from the other side of the bedroom door, right after the alarm leaked out beyond the room.
Fwshhh~
The white blanket shifted as a tall frame slid out from under it. Bare feet touched the clean floor with a muted thud, the man pushing his messy hair back in his usual tidy manner.
Thud, thud, thud. Click. Creak.
His large hand turned the doorknob, unlocking and pulling it open—revealing a black-and-white Siberian Husky wagging its tail, barking a greeting with its perpetually unimpressed face.
Woof!
"Good morning, BooBoo. Let's brush our teeth," his deep, warm voice greeted the dog with fondness.
Woof!
Thump-thump-thump-thump!
But instead of heading to the bathroom, BooBoo dashed straight for the bed, where a suspiciously large lump lay hidden under a blanket.
Scrape-scrape-scrape.
Slurp. Slurp.
The husky pawed and licked the white blanket as if trying to dig someone out. The lump didn't budge—not even when BooBoo climbed and stomped all over it.
"…"
"You already know he won't move. Stop wasting your energy."
The tall man—dressed in plaid pajamas with his chest partly exposed, muscles flexing with every shift—smiled at the stubborn husky, his tone indulgent.
WOOF! WOOF!
One last bark at the blanket, still no response. BooBoo finally gave up, hopping off the bed with a thump.
"Come on, let's hit the market. See what we can find for breakfast."
He strolled out with easy steps, living his simple routine in a white, minimalist single-story home. After both man and dog freshened up, they headed out for a morning walk, passing the park near the private hospital. It was a familiar sight: joggers, pet lovers, all recognizing the pair.
---
"Wow, look at him. Both the guy and the dog are gorgeous—wish I could take them home!"
"That's the herbal medicine CEO, right? He's loaded."
"Tall, handsome, loves animals, health-conscious—he's basically perfect. Whoever dates him hits the jackpot."
"I've seen him walking his dog here morning and evening, and he even shops for fresh groceries himself. That's beyond romantic—what a dream man."
"Seriously, he looks so warm and gentle… I want to ask for his number. Maybe I'll get to play with the dog too!"
"Don't you dare!"
WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!
"Kyaaa—!!"
"BooBoo, BooBoo, calm down!"
"Told you not to. That dog's crazy protective of his owner. Anyone who gets too close, it's like he'll bite their head off."
"Who knew that silly face hides such a guard dog? My clothes are ruined!"
"Rumor is, he's just guarding his master's wife back home."
"Wife? Never seen one. If he really had someone, no way they'd let a man like that walk around alone."
…
…And so, this was the daily soundtrack—women whispering, wondering if the perfect CEO was single. After all, no one had ever seen his so-called "wife."
But let us clear this up.
Yes, he has a wife.
No, his wife isn't here—he's still asleep at home.
If you asked him to choose between guarding his man or sleeping…
My wife would choose sleep, hands down.
And honestly? That's perfect.
✦𖤐🐺𖤐✦
BooBoo
These human women are seriously annoying. What's with all the screaming over a guy just because he's tall, ripped, health-conscious, good with animals, and can cook?
And on top of that…
He only loves his one lazy-as-hell "wife." Never looks at anyone else. Ugh. Sickening.
But fine, I admit it—kinda enviable. I still don't get what good karma that skinny, long-spined sloth of a human under the blanket upstairs has done to deserve someone like him.
Name's BooBoo. I'm five years old, a Siberian Husky originally bred in Russia. If I were born there, I'd probably be pulling sleds like a champ with my badass cousins.
But being born in hot, humid Asia? Yeah… we huskies lose all the toughness and end up as pretty faces with zero brain cells. Heat makes us crazy, okay?
Anyway, the handsome jerk holding my leash right now isn't even my real owner—he's my owner's husband. His name's Mana.
Yeah. Mana. The lamest old-school name ever, even though he's not from that era. Honestly, who names their kid that?
Still, no matter how outdated the name, he's drop-dead gorgeous, with a killer body, great cooking skills, and a soft spot for animals. No wonder everyone who sees him falls head over heels, ready to throw themselves at him.
Well, tough luck! He's my master's man. No way am I letting anyone else have him.
If I did, I'd end up stuck with that lazy beanpole who can't do anything but sleep all day and "work from home." Half the time when the food runs out, he boils instant noodles and feeds them to me! A Siberian Husky, eating instant noodles! Who does that?
But fine, I can't really blame him—he's just lazy, unbothered, and uninterested in anything that isn't eating or sleeping. That's exactly why his parents got me in the first place: to teach him responsibility. Not that it worked. He's still the same sloth. The one who has to adapt to this lifestyle is me!
"What's wrong, BooBoo?"
Handsome Mana asked when I suddenly stopped in front of a congee stall.
Woof!
"Oh, Dream's congee, huh? Thanks for the reminder."
He reached down to ruffle my fur with one hand while balancing grocery bags in the other, smiling that gentle, princely smile of his. Honestly, my life's been a hell of a lot better ever since I downloaded that Tinder-for-dogs app and found him for Dream three years ago…
Three Years Ago
Creak—slam!
A small one-story house sat in a quiet neighborhood, surrounded by overgrown grass and fallen fruit leaves. Its white paint had long been swallowed by dust, turning almost brown, covering the roof, trees, and fences.
The front door creaked open as an elderly couple stepped inside, dressed neatly in traditional clothes that smelled faintly of fresh fabric softener. Their eyes swept across what was once a tidy home—now buried in chaos.
Cardboard boxes, foam containers, and overflowing trash bags piled by the door. Dust and cobwebs coated the furniture. Empty snack wrappers and takeaway containers cluttered the table, while the floor was littered with sunflower seed shells, peanut husks, soda cans, and beer bottles.
On the couch, towels, shirts, pants—and even underwear—hung messily over the backrest.
Thud!
"DREAM! WAKE UP THIS INSTANT!"
The elderly man in a plaid shirt bellowed so loudly that his wife flinched, covering her ears. But the thin young man sprawled across the couch, long wavy hair covering his face, candy still in his mouth, didn't stir in the slightest.
"…." He lay there like a corpse practicing for his funeral.
"Oh, so you're not gonna get up?"
"…."
Stomp, stomp, stomp—SMACK!
"OWWW!"
"You're twenty-five already, Dream. Graduated three years ago, and this is still how you live? Disgusting!"
"…I—"
"Didn't your mother teach you not to be such a slob? You're so skinny you look like a drug addict—no girl would look twice at you! Acting useless like this, who'd ever want you?"
"Aw, Mom…"
"Your father and I are staying here for three days!"
"Three days?! But what about the garden back in Nan?"
"At first we didn't want to come all the way to Bangkok, but we knew it'd be like this. From now on, we'll be visiting often, you ungrateful brat!"
"C'mon, Dad—you know I'm just an artsy type. The mess helps with inspiration."
"Inspiration, my ass! This isn't artsy, this is filth. Lazy, feral, a parasite leeching off humanity!"
He ranted until he was out of breath.
"You get what I'm saying, Dream?"
Snoreee~
"…He fell asleep the moment you started yelling."
The old woman sighed as she swept the floor, glancing at her husband—arms crossed, face red with anger, while their only son snored peacefully.
"Sweet dreams, son!"
"…Yes, Mom…"
✦𖤐🐺𖤐✦
Sweet Dream
The only son of two retired teachers who had moved back to their countryside home in Nan. His parents had always wanted him to return, but Dream chose city life—alone, detached, tucked away in a little white house his parents gifted him "for when you get married someday."
When they were together, his parents never stopped nagging their wayward son. Unlike them, Dream wasn't tidy, kind, or sociable. He didn't care about people, didn't love animals, didn't dream of anything. At twenty-five, his one passion was… sleep.
He once even slept three days straight just to "prepare" for an exam. Strange? Maybe. But his parents always tried to understand, hoping he'd change once he grew older and found love.
Spoiler: he didn't. He just cut himself off from society, did freelance work at home, ordered delivery every day, never cleaned, and rushed through assignments just to crawl back into bed.
Every visit, his parents found the same chaos—until one day…
"Get a dog."
Dream's half-lidded eyes flew wide open.
"Yes. Since you won't date anyone, won't show up to blind dates, and ignore dating apps, then at least learn responsibility by raising a dog."
His father spoke casually, sipping tea, already expecting his son's protests.
"I can't even wake up to feed it, Dad."
Dream flopped against his father's leg, rubbing his face against him like an oversized cat.
"I'll call you when to feed it, when to walk it, when to take it to the vet—"
"Isn't that too much trouble?"
"It's worth it, if it cures your death-sleeping disease."
"No, Dad, it's me who'll suffer!"
"You're doing it!"
"Then you order the dog. I'm too lazy to choose."
"No need."
"…Why?"
Ding-dong! Ding-dong!
"Who's that?"
"Answer the door, Dream."
Creeeak…
"Delivery for you, sir."
"I didn't order—holy crap, that box is huge—"
WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!
"AHHH! A WOLF!"