Sunggyu had been the toddler more comforted by solitude than in anyone’s arms. The words physically affectionate had never applied to him. There is a collection of home videos immortalizing his aversion to touch -- every holiday spent kicking and screaming at relatives excited to pinch his chubby cheeks. Hell, there’s one clip of him elbowing his way out of his grandfather’s hugs as if they burned on contact. He spent twenty-four years complaining that his father was smothering him, his sister was breathing his air, and his friends were stealing his germs.
He didn’t think it was possible for a body to completely rewire itself overnight.
The boy whose personal bubble once might as well been sealed behind a steel fortress now craves touch. Sunggyu doesn’t require a full moon looming overhead to feel the magnetic pull of other people, especially his pack mates. He latches onto others and cuddle as though starved for affection. Not to mention how much he loves wrestling like every other energetic, newborn pup. No matter how much he resists, he can’t fight against mother nature.
But he’s sure as hell been giving it his best try.
Three days with minimal contact is his limit before he starts latching onto strangers like a barnacle, and he’s reached day four. There’s no specific reason he chose to visit Mark, save for the fact his apartment was closer than Johnny’s place. Honestly, he hasn’t been in the pack long enough to properly introduce himself beyond scowling and unintended sniffing.
His knocks the door stronger than necessary and with his other hand, grips the handle of a fancy bread basket so hard that his knuckles go white. Emergency or not, he never shows up to someone’s house without bringing something for the table. “This is so stupid,” he thinks. “Sometimes I think this social animal crap is a prank -- who the actual fuck dies from not liking hugs? What am I even supposed to say? Hey dude, want to snuggle?”
Gyu stands there fumbling his way through conversation with a thick, russian accent. “Don’t make this weird, okay?” he mumbles. “We need to cuddle and if you laugh, I swear...” He doesn’t finish his empty, halfhearted threat because he’s already flung himself into Mark’s arms. Bread goes flying everywhere (especially that one stick of French bread that just launched itself at a lamp like a javelin), but he’s too busy rubbing their faces together to notice.
