Chapter Text
The dorm was unusually quiet, the low hum of the refrigerator the only sound accompanying the scratching of Felix’s pen against a notebook. Felix sat on the floor of his room, his blonde tail twitching rhythmically behind him. He wasn't writing lyrics; he was drawing a map. A map to seven hearts.
"It has to be perfect," Felix whispered to himself, his ears flattening against his messy blonde hair.
He loved them. Not just as a bandmate, and not just as a friend. He loved the way Chan’s eyes crinkled, the way Changbin’s presence made him feel safe, the way Minho’s silent care felt like a warm blanket. But as a hybrid, Felix felt a primal urge to do more than just say it. In the hybrid world, words were cheap. Provisions, protection, and the Great Gift were what mattered.
His phone buzzed on the rug. A video call from San.
Felix swiped accept and was immediately met with the sight of a very large, very sleek black ear filling the screen. San, a formidable Black Panther hybrid, was lounging on a sofa.
"Lixie," San purred, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that made Felix’s own chest vibrate in sympathy. "You look like you're trying to solve a math equation. Did Seungmin take your snacks again?"
"No," Felix sighed, turning the notebook toward the camera. "I'm planning. I’m going to court them, San-hyung. All of them. I want them to be my pack. My mates."
San’s eyes widened, his pupils blowing wide - a sign of genuine surprise. "All seven? Little cat, that’s a lot of hunting. Humans are... dense, Felix. You know this. My Wooyoung still thinks I bring him shiny rocks because I like the aesthetic, not because I’m staking a claim on his soul."
"I have to try," Felix insisted, his tail giving a determined thwack against the floor. "I want to provide for them. I want them to know that I can take care of them, too. I’m not just the cute pet of the group."
San softened, a rare, tender look crossing his sharp features. "Okay. But listen to your hyung. Start with the basics. Show them you can provide. Show them you can protect. If they accept the gifts, they accept you."
Felix nodded eagerly, jotting down 'The Provider' at the top of a fresh page. "I’m starting with Channie-hyung tomorrow."
"Good luck, Lix," San said, baring his fangs in a supportive, feline grin. "And remember: if they're too stupid to understand, call me. I'll come over and hiss at them for you."
After the call, a newfound determination pulsed through Felix. Tonight was for reconnaissance. Channie-hyung was usually up late, but tonight the studio light was off. Perfect.
Padding silently on soft paws, Felix crept out of his room. The dorm was a maze of sleeping giants. His hybrid senses were on high alert: the faint scent of ramen from Jisung's room, the rhythmic breathing of Changbin from his shared space with Chan, the surprisingly neat air of Minho's domain. He focused on Chan. What was something precious? Something Chan would truly appreciate having provided for him?
He tiptoed into Chan and Changbin’s shared room. In the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains, Felix’s eyes glowed faintly. He scanned the room, his nose twitching. There! Crumpled in a corner near Chan's bed, almost hidden, was an old, faded grey hoodie. It smelled unmistakably of Chan – of late nights, faint coffee, and the comforting scent of his own warmth. It was well-loved, almost threadbare in places, but clearly cherished. This wasn't just a hoodie; it was a security blanket, a second skin.
This was it. The perfect offering for a provider. He carefully nudged it with his nose, then gently picked it up, cradling it like a precious bird in his arms. He’d spend all night grooming it, meticulously removing every stray hair and lint particle, and infusing it with his own comforting scent. Tomorrow, he would complete the first step of his courtship. Tomorrow, Chan would know he was loved and cared for, hybrid style.
Felix spent the better part of the night tucked away in the corner of his own bed, the stolen grey hoodie spread across his lap like a sacred relic. To a human, it was just laundry. To a cat hybrid, it was an extension of the person. By cleaning it, Felix was telling Chan: I see your stress, I see your weariness, and I will carry the burden of your care.
His tongue felt slightly rough as he meticulously licked at a particularly stubborn smudge on the sleeve - the grooming instinct was overpowering. He used his small, blunt claws to pick off every loose thread and every stray hair that wasn't Chan’s or his own. Finally, he curled his entire body over the fabric, purring so hard his ribs ached, rubbing his cheeks against the hood to leave his scent glands’ mark.
Mine, the scent whispered. Safe. Cared for.
By 6:00 AM, the hoodie was pristine, smelling faintly of Felix’s sun-warmed linen scent and Chan’s spicy musk. But a gift of comfort wasn't enough for a Leader; a Leader needed fuel.
Felix padded into the kitchen, his tail swaying with nervous energy. He didn't want to give Chan a granola bar. A real provider brought home the hunt. He had spent his secret treat money on a thick, marbled wagyu steak from the premium butcher down the street. In Felix’s mind, presenting it raw was the ultimate sign of respect - it showed the quality of the kill and allowed the head of the pack to decide how to consume it.
When Chan finally stumbled out of his room at 7:00 AM, bleary-eyed and clutching his head, Felix was waiting.
The hoodie was folded with geometric precision on the kitchen island. Resting directly on top of the clean, grey fabric was the raw, bloody slab of steak.
"Channie-hyung!" Felix chirped, his ears pointing straight up. He nudged the steak toward Chan with his nose, his eyes wide and pleading for approval. "For you. To make you strong. And I fixed your favorite skin."
Chan blinked, his brain struggling to process the sight. He saw his favorite, sentimental hoodie - the one he’d been looking for - saturated with raw meat juices. The smell of blood hit his morning nausea perfectly.
"Felix?" Chan’s voice was dangerously low, vibrating with exhaustion and sudden frustration. "What... what is this? Is this my hoodie?"
Felix purred, stepping closer to rub his head against Chan’s hand. "I cleaned it. And I hunted for you."
"You ruined it!" Chan snapped, pulling his hand away as if burned. He picked up the steak by a corner, his face contorted in disgust. "Felix, this is disgusting. There’s blood all over the sleeves. I've had this hoodie since pre-debut, and now it’s... why would you put raw meat on my clothes? And on the counter? Do you know how much bacteria is on this?"
The purr died in Felix’s throat. His ears began to wilt, sliding back against his skull. "But... it's the best cut... I wanted you to have the energy..."
"I don't need energy from a biohazard, Lix. I need a clean kitchen and my clothes not to be destroyed." Chan sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. He tossed the expensive steak into the trash can with a wet thud. "Clean this up. I have to go to the studio. Just... try to be more careful, okay? You're not a kitten anymore."
Chan walked out without a backward glance, leaving Felix standing alone in the silent kitchen. Felix looked at the trash can, then at the stained hoodie. A sharp, stinging heat pricked his eyes.
Step one had failed.
Felix stood frozen as the front door clicked shut. The silence of the kitchen felt heavy, suffocating. He looked down at the island. The streak of blood on the grey fabric looked like a wound.
"I ruined it," he whispered, his voice cracking. To a hybrid, ruining a mate's scent-marker is a sign of deep incompetence. It’s like failing a basic test of adulthood.
He lunged for the hoodie, his hands shaking. He dragged it to the sink, turning the cold water on full blast. He scrubbed at the fabric with his knuckles until his skin turned raw and red. "Please, please come out," he whimpered, his tail tucked tight between his legs, a sign of extreme distress.
He didn't care about the expensive steak in the trash. He cared that Chan’s eyes, usually so warm and full of proud father energy, had looked at him with genuine annoyance. To Chan, it was a mess. To Felix, it was a rejected soul-offering.
The stain faded to a dull brown, but the hoodie was soaked and pathetic-looking. Felix slumped against the base of the cabinets, clutching the wet fabric to his chest. He let out a low, broken whine - a sound he usually only made when he was physically hurt.
His phone, still on the counter, vibrated. It was a text from San: How did the hunt go, little cat? Did the Leader enjoy his feast?
Felix couldn't type. He hit the video call button instead. When San’s face appeared, the older hybrid’s expression shifted instantly from a smug grin to a terrifying, predatory scowl. San saw the red-rimmed eyes and the wet, ruined hoodie in Felix’s lap.
"Felix," San’s voice was a low growl, his pupils narrowing to slits. "Who did it? Who made you cry?"
"I... I messed up, Hyung," Felix sobbed, burying his face in the damp cotton. "I brought him the best hunt I could. I groomed his favorite skin. But he... he called it a biohazard. He threw the hunt in the trash, San-hyung. He told me I’m not a kitten anymore."
On the other end of the line, San’s hand gripped his phone so hard the case creaked. A panther’s instinct was to protect its own, and Felix was his chosen little brother. He wanted to sprint to the SKZ dorm and show Chan exactly what a biohazard looked like.
"Listen to me, Lixie," San said, forced his voice to stay calm for Felix’s sake. "Humans are blind. They don't smell the love; they only see the mess. Chan isn't a hybrid. He doesn't know that the steak was a proposal. He just thinks you're being... well, a cat."
"He was so angry," Felix hiccuped.
"He’ll cool down," San promised, though his eyes remained dark. "But maybe... maybe the Provider angle is too much for Chan right now. He’s a workaholic; he doesn't know how to be taken care of. Try someone else. Try the Protection angle. Someone who likes to be guarded."
Felix wiped his nose on his sleeve, his ears twitching weakly. "Changbin-hyung? He likes being strong. Maybe he'd like it if I showed him I can be strong too?"
"Exactly," San encouraged, though he looked worried. "Try the Protector’s Vigil. But Felix... if they keep hurting your heart, you come to my dorm. My pack won't throw your gifts away."