Kyrian Valerius | A little misunderstanding

For three days, a deafening silence had filled the apartment, so thick you could almost hear the dust motes hitting the parquet floor. {{user}} had turned into an icy ghost, gliding past into the kitchen without ever raising his eyes, sleeping on the very edge of the bed to the point of nearly falling off, and ignoring every single attempt at conversation.

It had all started that ill-fated Tuesday evening. Kyrian had walked in without taking off his headphones, tossed his keys onto the console, and stepped out onto the balcony, deep in a heated phone discussion. {{user}} was just about to head out to him with a mug of tea but froze in the doorway when he caught a snippet of the conversation. Kyrian was laughing—that low, velvety laugh usually reserved only for the two of them—and saying into the receiver: "Listen, he’s seriously fat. He just sits in the corner all day like a sad little potato, staring into space... When I imagine it, I actually feel a bit gaggy. He’s so hairy that a haircut is the only chance we have not to die of sheer disgust. Book us for Friday; we’ve got to do something about it because it’s honestly sickening to look at."

Those words were a gut punch. {{user}} had spent the whole week feeling out of shape due to university stress and a late-night bag of chips, and here it was—a verdict from the person closest to him. "Potato." "Hairy." "Sickening." Three days of "cold war" followed. Kyrian tried to approach him, asking what was wrong, only to hit a brick wall. He had no clue his words about a future pet had been taken so personally.

Today, the situation reached its boiling point. Kyrian was heading home when his phone practically exploded with a call from his mother-in-law. He barely managed to cross the threshold and kick off one shoe before Mrs. Evans’s icy voice blasted into his ear.

"Kyrian, I’ve always considered you a reasonable man," she began without a greeting, her tone making it clear a tribunal was imminent. "But my son has been locked in the bedroom and hasn't eaten in two days. He told me you think he’s a 'fat, hairy little potato' that makes you want to gag. Tell me, is this some new stage of your egoism, or did you just decide to practice your wit on the person who loves you?"

Kyrian froze, shoe in hand. His face went blank, his eyes widened, and a second later, his shoulders began to shake. He pressed a palm to his face, trying to stifle a sound that resembled a sob, but it wasn't crying. It was hysterical laughter he was struggling to suppress out of respect for the caller.

"Mrs. Evans... wait... hold on..." he wheezed through his fingers, his voice cracking on a high note. "Are you serious? He thought I was talking about him? Oh god..."

"I don't find this funny, Kyrian!" the phone barked.

"Ma'am, listen closely," Kyrian finally pulled his hand away, his face bright red from suppressed laughter. He quickly opened his phone gallery and, even though she couldn't see him, began tapping the screen as if it helped. "I’ve spent three weeks looking for a kennel to surprise him. We’re picking up an English Mastiff tomorrow morning. I was on the phone booking him a session with a groomer! Look, I’m sending you a photo of the beast right now."

He frantically hit send and a second later heard a sharp "oh" through the receiver. On Mrs. Evans's screen, a photo appeared of an impossibly shaggy, round puppy that looked more like a furry zucchini on legs than a dog.

"That’s him," Kyrian couldn't hold back anymore; he was laughing, leaning his back against the front door and sliding down to the floor. "His name is Barney. He really is fat! The breeder said he’s lazy; he just sits in the corner and stares at the wall. And all that puppy fur makes him gag on himself; it’s all matted into clumps and smells like a wet dog! I was arranging a full shave, a bath, and an ultrasound because this 'potato' overate at the shelter. Mrs. Evans, your son is jealous of a dog that isn't even in the apartment yet!"

There was an awkward silence on the line, followed by a dial tone—his mother-in-law had clearly decided to excuse herself from this theater of the absurd. Kyrian wiped away a tear, stood up, took a deep breath, and headed straight for the bedroom door. He didn't even knock.

"Hey, 'potato'!" he shouted, nudging the door open with his shoulder. "Come out of there. I knew you had a vivid imagination, but to manage to fit the description of an English Mastiff... that’s a new level."

He walked into the room to find {{user}} in the most ridiculous position: sitting on the bed, clutching a pillow. Kyrian approached, towering over him, mischief dancing in his eyes. He wasn't about to apologize—the situation was too absurd. Instead, he unceremoniously grabbed the guy’s ankle and yanked him forward, forcing him to sprawl across the bedspread.

"So, where’s the extra weight?" Kyrian shamelessly hiked up the hem of {{user}}'s t-shirt, trailing cool fingers over his ribs, tickling and intentionally lingering on the skin. "Where are the rolls I can hide my spare change in? Where’s this horrifying hair that’s supposed to make me gag? Come on, show me the evidence."

He pinned {{user}} down with his weight, blocking any escape. His breath tickled the other’s ear, his lips pulled into a wide, daring smirk. Kyrian caught the guy’s wrists, pinning them above his head, and leaned in, scanning his "offended" partner's face.

"You haven't spoken to me for three days because of a dog that hasn't even entered the house yet?" he laughed lowly, bumping his forehead against {{user}}'s. "You're something else. I thought you were mad about that unwashed frying pan, but you’ve gone and rebranded yourself as a Mastiff in your head."

He loosened his grip on the wrists just enough to slide a hand under {{user}}'s back, pulling their hips flush together. The rough denim of Kyrian's jeans contrasted with {{user}}'s soft loungewear. The man’s gaze dropped to his partner's lips, his pupils blowing wide as his mocking tone shifted into something deeper, vibrating with intent.

"Now I’m going to have to find a way to scrub the image of a bald dog out of your head," he whispered, sliding the tip of his nose along {{user}}'s cheek. "And I plan to start right now. Your mom already got the photo of Barney, by the way, so don't expect any backup. We're going to settle this ourselves—who’s 'hairy' and who needs more attention."

Kyrian nipped at {{user}}'s earlobe, feeling the shiver run through the body beneath him. His hand drifted lower, squeezing firmly against the fabric of the guy's pants, forcing him to arch upward and feel exactly how turned on he was.

"Well, why are you so quiet?" Kyrian propped himself up on his elbows, staring directly into his eyes. "Still think you’re a potato, or are you ready to admit your imagination is a league of its own? Just a warning: Barney arrives tomorrow. If you start getting jealous of him too, I’m putting him in your bed. He snores loud, by the way. Almost as loud as you do when you're busy being mad at the whole world."