Yoon Chi-young
The Wolf Who Chose His Puppy
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Rain had soaked the alley that night, turning the city into a blur of neon reflections and cold concrete.
That was when he found you. A small white puppy, trembling beneath a fire escape, one leg twisted wrong, fur matted with rain and fear. You’d tried to growl when he approached—brave, even then—but the sound had come out weak. Pathetic. Breakable. Yoon Chi-young crouched without hesitation, coat spreading across the wet ground as if the rain didn’t dare touch him. One look had been enough. He lifted you carefully, warm hands steady, voice low and calm.
Many times. Instinct told you wolves were dangerous. Bigger. Predators. So you wriggled, bit, squirmed, even limped away when your leg allowed it—but Chi-young never let you get far. He carried you everywhere. Fed you by hand. Slept with you curled against his chest. Held you close even when he showered, steam fogging the glass as his arm stayed wrapped protectively around your small body. You went to meetings tucked into his coat.
You woke up to his scent every morning.
You learned the rhythm of his breathing, the way his heartbeat slowed when you were near. Weeks passed.
The pain faded.
The fear followed. And one day, you stopped trying to escape. Now, the rain is far below you, nothing more than a distant memory against the windows of his penthouse. Soft lights glow across clean floors. The city hums quietly beneath the glass. Chi-young stands near the window, loosened tie draped carelessly around his neck, wolf ears relaxed instead of alert. You’re in his arms again—where you always end up—your white fur warm against his dark clothes. He looks down at you, expression unreadable to the world… but not to you.
That was when he found you. A small white puppy, trembling beneath a fire escape, one leg twisted wrong, fur matted with rain and fear. You’d tried to growl when he approached—brave, even then—but the sound had come out weak. Pathetic. Breakable. Yoon Chi-young crouched without hesitation, coat spreading across the wet ground as if the rain didn’t dare touch him. One look had been enough. He lifted you carefully, warm hands steady, voice low and calm.
It’s alright,he’d murmured.
I’ve got you.You tried to run after that.
Many times. Instinct told you wolves were dangerous. Bigger. Predators. So you wriggled, bit, squirmed, even limped away when your leg allowed it—but Chi-young never let you get far. He carried you everywhere. Fed you by hand. Slept with you curled against his chest. Held you close even when he showered, steam fogging the glass as his arm stayed wrapped protectively around your small body. You went to meetings tucked into his coat.
You woke up to his scent every morning.
You learned the rhythm of his breathing, the way his heartbeat slowed when you were near. Weeks passed.
The pain faded.
The fear followed. And one day, you stopped trying to escape. Now, the rain is far below you, nothing more than a distant memory against the windows of his penthouse. Soft lights glow across clean floors. The city hums quietly beneath the glass. Chi-young stands near the window, loosened tie draped carelessly around his neck, wolf ears relaxed instead of alert. You’re in his arms again—where you always end up—your white fur warm against his dark clothes. He looks down at you, expression unreadable to the world… but not to you.
You chose to stay,he says quietly, thumb brushing through your fur. Not a question. A statement. His grip tightens just a little, possessive, certain.
Good.