Ryo blinked awake, brain rebooting like a 2004 desktop.
Something was on his feet.
Heavy. Warm. Breathing.
First thought: poltergeist.
Second thought: Kaito bought a pet rock and it evolved.
Third thought: There's something alive on me.
He sat up so fast his spine made a Windows error sound.
And there it was.
A mountain of fluff. Tongue out. Eyes sparkling with illegal levels of cuteness. Tail wagging like a toddler on espresso.
The dog.
THE dog.
Momo.
Ryo's soul immediately tried to file for divorce from his body.
"You," he whispered. "Why are you here?"
Momo sneezed. Like a punctuation mark of chaos.
Ryo grabbed his blanket like it was a holy relic. "This must be her fault. This is that gremlin woman's doing."
He tiptoed to the kitchen like a man avoiding landmines. Saw a note on the counter.
"Went out. Have fun with the guest. Don't die. —Kaito"
He stared at it with the rage of a thousand unpaid interns. "He abandoned me. With a domesticated cotton ball. I'm living with a traitor"
Behind him—trot-trot-trot.
He turned.
It was following him.
"No," Ryo pointed like an exorcist. "Stay."
Momo sat obediently, tail still slamming the floor like it owed him money.
"…Suspiciously well-trained," Ryo muttered. "What are you plotting on me, demon?"
Momo blinked. Innocently. Sinisterly.
---
8:12 AM: Kitchen of Doom
Ryo sipped his coffee like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.
Momo laid under the table like a fluffy landmine.
"Okay. Ground rules," Ryo muttered. "No barking. No drooling. No… existing loudly."
Momo sneezed. Directly onto Ryo's sock.
He almost yeeted the coffee into another dimension.
"You are a jumpscare wrapped in a teddy bear," Ryo gritted, backing into the counter like a final girl in a horror movie.
Momo followed. Of course. He stepped on Ryo's heel like it was tradition.
"Why are you like this?"
Momo tilted his head. The betrayal was personal.
"Don't you dare tilt at me. I've seen your kind in anime. First it's cuddles. Then it's world domination."
---
8:45 AM: Toast Trauma
Toast. Easy. Foolproof. Even cavemen did it.
Ryo popped in the bread. Momo stared at the toaster like it was a religious experience.
Three minutes later—POP.
Both jumped. Momo barked. Ryo barked back.
Then—Ryo dropped a slice.
Momo: SPEED MODE ACTIVATED
"NO—"
Too late. The fluff-thief claimed it mid-air like an Olympic athlete.
"You carb-goblin!"
Momo munched. Blissfully. Tail wagged like he was winning a game show.
Ryo held the last slice to his chest. "You take my breakfast, you take my will to live."
---
9:10 AM: The Bathroom Betrayal
All Ryo wanted was minty peace.
He squeezed toothpaste. Momo appeared. Like a summon spell.
He leaned closer.
Too close.
"Back up," Ryo grumbled around the toothbrush. "This isn't a demo for mouthwash."
Then Momo sneezed.
Directly. On. The. Mirror.
Ryo stared. Mirror. Dog. Mirror.
"You need a license to breathe."
---
9:40 AM: Sockpocalypse
Ryo: Dressed. Except for one sock.
Momo: Sock in mouth. Tail wagging like he was being paid.
Standoff.
"Drop it."
Momo bolted like he heard the word "vet."
Ten minutes later, Ryo was army-crawling under the couch, whispering threats and sins.
Momo, victorious, strutted past him. Wearing the sock like a hat.
---
10:30 AM: Acceptance
Ryo stared into his coffee, hollow-eyed.
Momo snored on the couch, legs in the air like he owned property here.
"This is my life now," Ryo whispered. "I'm living in a sitcom. And I'm not the main character."
He dragged himself to his desk.
Time to stream.
Time to pretend this wasn't rock bottom with fur.
---
11:00 AM: Streamageddon
Headset on. Face deadpan.
"Yo," he greeted. "Let's keep this short before I delete the internet."
>"RYO LOOKS DERANGED"
>"Did he lose a fight with a pillow?"
>"He looks like he hasn't slept since 2003."
>"Hot."
Then—THUMP.
White blur. Into his lap.
Momo. Again. Back like a clingy sequel.
Ryo froze. Mid-sentence. Mid-thought. Mid-life crisis.
Then—a lick.
"NO—NOPE—UNCONSENTED AFFECTION—" He shoved the dog gently. Firmly. In terror.
>"RYO HAS A DOG??"
>"HE'S A DOG DAD NOW??"
>"SOFT BOY ARC UNLOCKED!!!"
>"He got a girlfriend??"
"I don't own this creature," Ryo snapped. "I'm being held hostage by fluff. This is a kidnapping with cuddles."
Momo sneezed. Into the mic.
>"CUTEST SNEEZE EVER"
>"DOG MIC. I'M DEAD."
>"CLIP THAT SNEEZE RN."
>"Ryo's soul is leaking."
"Stop breathing into my career," Ryo muttered, batting fur off his hoodie.
Then—Momo flopped on the keyboard.
The game launched. Then crashed. Then opened Chrome. Then started playing smooth jazz.
"…Is this… sabotage?" Ryo asked the heavens.
>"DOG'S A TECH WIZARD."
>"He's speedrunning Windows."
>"He just opened a spreadsheet."
Ryo snatched the keyboard back. "Off. OFF. DOWN. NO—"
Momo stepped on the power strip.
BZZZZT.
"AHHHHHH—" Ryo screeched. Mic blew out.
Momo barked into the mic like he had an audience.
>"DOG'S A CONTENT GENIUS."
>"NEW STREAMER JUST DROPPED."
>"Pet cam WHEN??"
"I will unplug reality," Ryo growled. "Name this dog and I'm throwing myself out a window."
>"FLUFFY."
>"Ryo Jr confirmed."
>"Fluff Daddy!"
Ryo inhaled for a long, calming scream.
Momo curled in his lap. Snoring like a baby with no regrets.
Silence.
"I'm fine," Ryo deadpanned. "This is fine. Everything's fine. Let's play before my mental state files a lawsuit."
1 Hour Later: Aftermath
The game barely survived. Momo barked at every kill. Snored during boss fights. Hit the soundboard so often the stream turned into a one-man talent show.
Ryo's streamer persona?
Dead. Buried. Replaced with a man who had seen war.
"Thanks for watching," he croaked. "Don't forget to like, subscribe, and start a prayer circle."
>"10/10 content."
>"I've never laughed this hard."
>"The dog is the star now."
>"Stream of the year."
Ryo ended stream.
Collapsed in the chair.
Stared at the ceiling like he was contemplating the void.
Momo, blissfully unaware, growled in his sleep.
Ryo blinked. "I'm gonna kill Kaito."
Momo barked. Like it was funny.
---
1:20 PM: Aftermath II — Flatlined
Ryo didn't move for a solid five minutes.
His headset dangled from the chair. The screen blinked with the silent judgment of a stream ended too late. Crumbs clung to his hoodie like tragic battle scars.
Momo let out a sigh and flopped dramatically onto Ryo's lap—again.
Ryo didn't protest this time.
"…Fine," he muttered, voice hoarse. "Win. You win. Take the channel. Take the merch line. Just let me die in peace."
Momo snuggled in, warm and soft and completely unaware of the emotional toll he'd caused.
Ryo leaned back in his chair.
Head thudded against the headrest.
Eyes shut.
He lasted ten seconds before the inevitable happened.
Momo climbed higher, curling into his chest like a fluffy parasite with separation anxiety.
"Can't breathe," Ryo groaned. "You're like a weighted blanket with opinions…"
But his arms stayed where they were.
Wrapped around the fluff.
Chest rising slowly.
Breath evening out.
A full day of emotional damage, tech sabotage, and uninvited snuggles finally caught up to him.
Sleep took over.
---
1:48 PM: Apartment — Silent
One: twitchy, hoodie-clad, mouth slightly open.
The other: upside down, tongue out, paw smushed into Ryo's face.
Somewhere on the floor, a forgotten sock lay like a fallen soldier.
And in that quiet little apartment, chaos finally paused for breath.
Just for now.
Because tomorrow? Tomorrow would bring round two.
And Ryo… wouldn't be ready.