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"Oh we're not–"

"He wouldn't shut up about the collar you bought him," another one of his friends laughs. "None of our gifts could compare."

"Oi, I'm about to fall over," you scold your roommate.

"Sorry." He straightens.

You hold up the leash for him to see. You'd grabbed it as an afterthought when you'd been about to leave the apartment and you're glad you did, because his eyes brighten.

"Ready to go home?" You ask.

"Yes." He tips his head up to give you access to his neck. "Can you put it on? Please?"

You curl your fingers around the band of the collar and tug him down so you can easily clip the leash on. You don't miss the way he shudders. He's looking at you like... Well, like he feels something for you. A small part of you argues that there's no way, but you've had countless moments where he looks at you a little too long, or offers to do your chores, and brings you drinks and snacks unprompted. It's just that he's too shy to say anything. You'll have to get to the bottom of it tomorrow.

You bid his friends goodnight and head out to your car, holding the leash casually. It's not like you're going to tug on it, but he follows you readily anyway. It seems like the alcohol haze is wearing off because he's quiet in the car, absentmindedly toying with his collar. He thanks you for driving him home and escapes to his room before you can speak.

The next morning you're in the kitchen when he shuffles in, freezing in the doorway when he sees you.

"Morning!" You say brightly. "Interested in some breakfast? There's enough for both of us."

He nods and leans against the fridge.

"Last night..."

"Was the leash too much?"

"No! I liked it. I mean–" he panicks, and you giggle.

"You were a bit drunk last night, but you seemed to like it, so I played along."

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"You look good with a collar on," you say, taking some plates out of the cupboard.

"I was just goofing around," he laughs, nervous and sheepish.

"You can keep wearing it if you like it," you say.

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

You don't end up getting to the bottom of it, because you're not sure what to say or how to break the ice. Does he have feelings for you? Who knows? As for the collar, it doesn't leave his neck from that day on. Life continues, and you fall back to your routines, sharing meals, having brief conversations, and sometimes playing video games together. You get along well, and you're scared to jeopardize that.

One evening, you both end up in the living room at the same time. It's a first-come, first-served situation with the television, but you've never had to dive for the remote like you are today. You end up in a heap on the couch, grappling for the remote. Intent on getting the upperhand, you grab his collar and give a good tug. He goes limp so quickly you're worried.

"Hey." You pat his cheek. "Did I hurt you?"

His eyes flicker open. The remote is loose in his hand, but you don't try and grab it. His eyes are glassy, unfocused.

"Hmm?" He stares dreamily up at you.

"What's wrong?"

"N-nothing!" He sits up hastily and the remote tumbles onto the carpet. "Sorry, I... It's just that you pulled on my collar."

"Did it hurt?" You slip a finger between the band and his neck to make sure it's not too tight.

He catches your hand. "It didn't hurt. I liked it."

A screw in your head must be loose because you've barely processed his words before you're yanking on his collar again. He melts against you, slipping bonelessly from the couch. He ends up kneeling on the floor with his head in your lap. His eyes dart up to meet yours, questioning, hopeful.

You like this too. You like it a lot.

"What are we doing?" You ask.

"I don't know." Your roommate's voice is breathless. His hand presses against your thigh but you don't brush it away.

"What do you want?"

"I want to be your dog." He admits it softly, his gaze darting away like he's bracing himself for the inevitable rejection.

You smile so hard your cheeks hurt. "Then can you be a good dog and get me the remote? Fetch."

His eyes sparkle. He leans down and picks the remote off the floor with his mouth, dropping it into your palm. You turn the TV on and pat the couch beside you. He clambers up and crowds into your lap, and you pet his head.

"Good dog," you praise, and he whines.

You're hardly paying attention to the television, thinking hard about what the next step is. There's a popular website you've heard about that has extensive information on pet play, particularly with supernaturals and animal hybrids. That would be a good place to start.