Alpha's Human Mate

Not So Surprise Guest

A few hours later, Ampha strolled into Gulf's room and gently nudged him awake.

"Gulfie, your Pho and Mae are going out for a couple of days for a site visit related to business," Ampha said, shaking him lightly, which was about as effective as trying to wake a sloth.

"Are you hearing me, son?" she inquired, still giving him gentle shakes.

"Hmm," Gulf mumbled, oblivious, still snuggled in his dreams.

"Alright then, get plenty of rest and don't forget to read the memo!" Ampha said as she rose and wrote a sticky note like a reminder ninja.

Gulf, more like a log than a boy, didn't budge at all, even when his mother tried waking him. This resulted in an unhinged sticky-note bonanza all over the place.

Suddenly, Gulf rolled over and opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling as if it had just recited Shakespeare.

'What time is it?' he asked himself, scouting his bedroom in search of his phone, which lay feigning innocence beside him. He glanced at the screen, which proclaimed it was 10:45 PM.

'It's way past dinner time! Where is Mae Pho? Why is the house quieter than a library on a Sunday?' he thought as he sprang out of bed.

He padded over to the light switch located next to the bedroom door, flicked the light on, and spotted a sticky note on his study table.

'Mae and your Pho are going out for a couple of days,' read the first note.

'Your Pho needs to do a business site visit, and Mae is just tagging along,' read the second note.

'Don't forget to eat your dinner; it's in the fridge,' read the third one.

"Mae, why are you wasting sticky notes by writing on separate pieces of paper when you could just use one?" Gulf chuckled to himself, shaking his head like a bemused teacher.

He strolled downstairs to the kitchen fridge, where he paused to read the sticky notes plastered on it.

'Dinner's inside, and don't go hungry!' read the fourth note.

'Gulfie, my boy, as you know your Mae and I will be gone for a couple of days. But don't worry; I've called your best mate to keep you company while we're away,' proclaimed the fifth note, sitting smugly on the countertop.

"Fuck! Why'd you have to call the beast himself, Mae Pho?" Gulf groaned, reading the last note, incredulity washing over him like a bucket of cold water.

'Why can't I just stay by myself? It's not like I'm going to starve or something. For goodness' sake, they're feeding me to the wolf—literally,' Gulf muttered to himself, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

With a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world, Gulf turned to the fridge, his hand poised to open its door. But before he could retrieve his dinner to heat up, the doorbell chimed, shattering the brief moment of solitude.

Gulf recognised the sound, and an involuntary shiver ran down his spine at the thought of answering. He dreaded Mew's enthusiastic greeting, pregnant with relentless questions that he felt woefully unprepared to answer—more accurately, he didn't want to disclose his pathetic excuse for avoiding them.

The bell rang again, this time echoing through the kitchen, as Gulf stood frozen in place, desperately attempting to remain as quiet as possible. The urgency of the third and fourth rings sent a jolt through him, forcing a reluctant breath in and out as he edged a couple of inches towards the door.

"Open the god-damn door, Gulf!" Mew's voice cut through the air, shifting from ringing the bell to a firm knock.

"Gulf, open the door!" Mew implored again, and this time the fatigue in his tone was palpable.

A turbulent battle raged within Gulf; his mind screamed to retreat to the sanctuary of his bedroom while his heart ached to let his friend in. He wrestled with the choice but found his legs moving of their own accord, leading him to the door.

"No Gulf lives here; you've got the wrong house," he attempted to declare nonchalantly, his girlish Scottish accent failing miserably to mask the tension in his voice.

"Gulf!" Mew warned his tone a low growl, somehow lacking the usual authority.

Now, Mew sounded weary and worn, and the sight of him pulled at Gulf's heartstrings; the urge to envelop him in a comforting embrace was almost overpowering.

The internal struggle continued, but before he realised it, Gulf had opened the door wide, revealing Mew standing there, looking utterly exhausted.

Gulf's breath caught in his throat at the sight—Mew's skin was ashen, the vibrant life that usually radiated from him seemingly drained away at an alarming rate.

"Mew?! Are you okay?" Gulf gasped, concern flooding his voice.

"Hmm," was Mew's noncommittal reply as he stepped inside, the weight of uncertainty hanging thick in the air.

Gulf's instincts flared to life; he knew that Mew wasn't okay and that the feeble hum claiming he was fine was nothing but a white lie.

"Do you want some food?" Gulf asked, attempting to play the role of a caring host amidst the rising tension.

"No, I'm good," Mew responded, trailing after Gulf into the kitchen.

"You don't want anything?" Gulf pressed again, sliding his dinner into the microwave with a hint of desperation.

"I'm good, Gulf. I've eaten before I came back," Mew replied, settling at the dining table as though it required great effort.

"Okay," Gulf murmured, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of apple juice.

"Juice?" he offered, glancing at Mew, who was watching him closely.

"No, thank you," Mew said, his gaze steady, making Gulf feel an unsettling tension.

The microwave beeped, slicing through the silence and announcing that Gulf's dinner was ready. He retrieved his food and approached Mew, who sat silently at the table, the atmosphere thick with unspoken words.