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Olivia.

12:10, Wednesday, the 19th of January, 2029.

-----

It was a slow day.

A couple of drained-looking regulars in for their daily forty of firewater, some kids that tried to steal chocolate and one older man I had to explain instant ramen to. It was easy work, but tiring. Tiring in a dull way, like watching grass grow or the rain pour.

Crickets chirped outside, and as the sun beat down on the dusty store, I was left with one slow, creeping realisation. One I was so bored as to actually notice.

Olivia’s crisps seemed to be infinite.

She’d somehow been crunching on the same packet of salt and vinegar for the past hour, and when I left the confines of the counter and walked over to her spot in the corner, by the ice cream and magazine section, I found her.

Olivia.

Laid on her front, phone on the floor, the pink canid hoodie I’d bought her caked in miscellaneous potato chip fragments. She, in front of me, raised another bag from beside her, popped it open and tilted her head back, pouring it straight into her mouth and chewing loudly.

“Olivia,” I said, catching the Golden Aussie’s attention. Her eyes were faintly lined with Mum's makeup, brightening the stark hazel – not red like the gen two’s; Dad had said getting the new treatment was pointless and too expensive.

She looked over, pieces in the fur around her maw shifting with a yawn. “What’s up?” Said in the sly tone of someone who knew what they’d done.

Her tail wagged once, batting loudly against the freezer.

I stared at her; she stared back at me. The crickets chirped again.

“What?” She repeated, fluffy ears flicking, the cheap silver hoops in her ears jingling faintly. “You said I could have a snack.” I walked over to her, nudged her aside with a hand, ignored how warm she was, and found her precious stash. “Hey, no touchies.”

Several empty bags, several full ones. Each of which the camera had likely caught her stealing when I’d been busy. She looked up at me.

I caught the edge of an ear between my finger and thumb – “Don’t you fucking-” – and blew as hard as I could into it.

She yelped, scrambled to her paws and shook her head, sniffing once and scowling up at me, black lips pulled back in a snarl. “So uncool.”

I took my wallet out from my trouser pocket, grabbed a ten pound note, looked over to the camera that faced the front counter, motioned to the crisp pile and then put it in the till – all so I wouldn’t get yelled at again about something she’d done.

She raised a paw and brushed at her hoodie for a moment, flicking bits onto the floor but failing to catch the rest. “Drew,” Olivia whined. “Fix as an apology.”

I scooped up the crisp packets, left her in the store and plodded over to the trash can outside, shared by the short strip of corner shops, and dumped them inside. When I returned, I left the canine to sort her own mess out while I added the few still full packets to my backpack and swept the rest up.

Olivia was still prodding at her hoodie, janky government-issue prosthetic thumbs scraping uselessly. Paws weren’t exactly designed for grace.

I had no clue how she’d even gotten that messy, but she was paying the price for it, which, based on the bashful look on her snout and the slight pink on the skin visible beneath her eyes, was quite a bit. “Drew, come on.”

I finished sweeping, nudged something on the counter and crouched down beside her.

She tried to glare, look commanding. It failed. She was adorable.

“Liv.”

Liv looked away, ears pinned. “...Sorry,” she muttered.

“It’s fine,” I exhaled, rubbing one of her ears on reflex. “Just- come on. Not at work. Johnna already looks at me funny for letting you hang out here.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I repeated, tugging on the last few bits and letting them fall. She looked up at me, watching, as though preparing to say something before sitting back down.

The positioning of her hindlegs stretched the black fabric of her shorts – the one article of clothing my parents had bought for her.

“I kinda blame you,” Olivia said once I'd returned to my post, the newspaper opened to the daily crossword. I looked over. “Leaving me alone and unattended.”

“You’re not a toddler.”

Six-sided (9) = HEXAGONAL

“Still your fault.”

It wasn’t, but I got the sentiment.

She was bored.

I’d been working seven hours and all she’d been able to do the entire time was hang out on her phone. We’d dicked around a bit, but there was only so much two people could do in a corner shop.

Tap.

Tap.

My fingers rapped against the countertop.

“Hey… you want to do something after this?” I asked, leaning down, face propped up in my palm. “Get some food? It’d kinda suck to head straight home after how shitty today’s been.”

Her head shot up. “Food?”

“Yeah, food.” I leaned more heavily against the side. “Mum and Dad don’t need me for anything, so we’ve got time after if you want to. That fish and chip shop should still be open for a while.”

“Food,” she repeated, slower this time, testing it out, and then her tail gave a small, traitorous wag behind her before she forced it still again. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I want food.”

“Thought you might,” I said, like it hadn’t been obvious from the way she’d inhaled half the crisp aisle. “Should be fun.”

#

After finishing up the aisles, making sure the refrigerated section was still running, I began getting ready to go.

Olivia left immediately, darting down the street in search of fish.

I quickly locked the door behind me and caught up, falling into step beside her as we headed down the pavement. She walked just a little ahead at first, light on her paws, a kind of bounce in the way she moved that she’d never quite gotten rid of, hips shifting under the shorts with each step in a way that drew the eye if you let it.

I didn’t let it.

Or I tried not to. I focused on the road, the shop signs, the loitering teenagers, anything that wasn’t her. Still, it was there, at the edge of my vision, something my brain kept circling back to before I forced it somewhere else.

Anywhere but openly ogling my best friend.

“You’re quiet,” she said, glancing over at me, ears angling in my direction.

“Thinking,” I said.

“About food?”

“...Yep.”

“Same,” she said, and grinned again, slowing down just enough that we were properly side by side now. Her withers brushed my legs once, then again, and she didn’t react to it at all, like it was nothing, like it had always been nothing.

I, meanwhile, kept my hands to myself, tucked them into my coat pockets, and matched her pace as we turned the corner toward the chip shop, the smell hitting me before we even got in there – salt and oil and vinegar.

“Oh my god,” Olivia said under her breath, tail wagging openly.

“Yeah, it’s been a minute,” I said, pushing the door open and holding it for her.

The bell chimed overhead, sharp and too loud, yet the warmth inside wrapped around us immediately. The place was busy enough to have a small queue and a couple of tables already filled. A man in a two piece suit looked up briefly, then away, then back again when he registered Olivia properly.

The canid sapien with her legally required orange collar and glaringly pink hoodie.

The girl behind the counter did the same, her dark, narrow eyes flicking between us in that quick, assessing way people had started doing more and more.

“Hi,” Olivia said brightly, stepping to the counter like nothing about it was unusual and hopping onto her hindlegs, tail wagging as she eyed the fryers.

“...Hello,” the girl replied, a moment too late, lip curling in that sour half-frown some people got when they saw something not quite right.

“Two regular haddock and chips, please,” I asked politely, moving up beside her.

“With salt and vinegar?” The woman’s eyes focused like lasers onto me, like she was trying her hardest to pretend Olivia just did not exist.

“Yeeees,” Olivia said immediately, stretching the word out. “And scraps.”

The woman didn't move. I waited, in case she would, and when she just didn’t, “What the lady said,” spoken as clearly as possible.

She punched it into the dinky cash register.

I paid before it could turn into a conversation, tapping my Halifax card and stepping aside while we waited.

Olivia swayed slightly, watching everything with open interest, ears twitching at the hiss of the fryers, the clatter of trays, and the low murmur of people talking. A couple at one of the tables glanced over again, then at me, then back at her, like they were trying to place what exactly they were looking at. I returned the dirty look with a harsher one. They stopped.

We took a table by the window when the food came, paper-wrapped and already stained through with grease. Olivia sat opposite me at first, then leaned forward, twitching nose close to the food like she could force it to cool faster.

“This smells so good,” she said, grinning, sharp teeth shining in the cheap fluorescence. She then made sure to wipe her paws – being on them all day wasn’t exactly hygienic, but I kept a packet of baby wipes in my bag for her.

“Give it a second,” I said, sliding an open tray over. “It’s hot.”

“I know how hot works,” she said, reaching in anyway and then immediately hissing, pulling her paw back and shaking it. “Fuck!”

“Told you," I snorted.

She shot me a look, then blew on the chunky chips with exaggerated care before trying again, this time managing to get one without burning herself. Her pink pawpads pressed against the underside whilst the metal prosthetic, holding it tightly,, allowed her some measure of control.

The crunch was loud and satisfying, and she closed her eyes for a second like she had to focus on it properly. “Mmm,” she murmured, purring, mouth half-full. “Worth it.”

I laughed, shook my head, and grabbed one myself, the chip shop curry was sharp and perfect on my tongue. She watched me eat, openly, with no attempt to hide it, bright eyes tracking the movement in a way that made me embarrassingly aware of what I was doing with my hands, my mouth, everything.

“What?” I said after a second.

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring at me.”

“...I like watching you eat.”

“That’s… weird.”

“You’re weird,” she shot back, and went back to her meal like that settled it, batter crunching loudly beneath her sharp teeth.

We ate like that for a minute, the noise of the shop filling the awkward space between us, the occasional glance from the counter or the other tables not quite stopping.

It was… like we were being slotted into something I hadn’t yet agreed to, something I wasn’t sure I even understood, and the more I noticed it, the harder it was to ignore. I shifted in my seat, looked down at the paper, at the chips, at anything that wasn’t the way people were watching us.

She leaned forward again at one point, closer than before, probably to say something dumb – her nose wrinkled slightly, oddly long whiskers twitching, eyes flicking to my face – and then it happened so fast I didn’t really process it until it was already over.

She lurched forward over the table, and then a quick flick of her tongue, warm and rough and wet against my cheek, gone as soon as it was there.

We both froze.

Olivia jerked back like she’d been shocked. “Oh- shit, sorry,” she mumbled immediately, voice dropping, cringing in on herself. “Sorry, I didn’t- I wasn’t thinking.”

My face went hot, the flush rising so fast it stung. I wiped at my cheek on reflex and then stopped, because that felt like the wrong thing to do. “It’s fine,” I said too quickly.

“It’s not fine,” she muttered, eyes dropping to the table. “That was weird. I shouldn’t-”

“Reflex,” I hoped, cutting in, making it easier. “Right?”

“Yeah,” she said, wincing. “Reflex.”

I grabbed another chip, mostly so I had something to do with my shaking hands, and shrugged again, like it didn’t matter. “Means the food’s good,” I added, forcing a smile.

She looked up at that, uncertain for a second, and then a small, embarrassed smile tugged at her mouth in return. “Y-Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

I… didn’t believe her.

Or maybe I didn’t want to believe her.

My cheek still felt warm, but there was nothing to do about it, so I ate my fish quietly and ordered a Pepsi that we had to split.

Money wasn’t infinite, and her phone had cost a pretty penny.

But when the paper ran dry of food and the sky had darkened completely, we remained – the others in the shop didn’t, leaving only us and the server, who busied herself with her phone.

And then so did Olivia. She raised it up, aimed the camera at me, dropped it, then tried again, only for me to duck to the side. “Drew, please! I need a background.” She whined, quite literally puppy-dog-eying me.

“Since when did you care about your wallpaper?” I asked, standing up and dodging the camera’s line of sight – only made possible thanks to her wretched grip on the thing. “You’ve had that like a week."

“So? May as well get it right now.”

I stilled.

Not because of her, but rather the huffy server glaring at me, at us, and most of all at Olivia.

It was late, and I was curious about why her wallpaper was of me.

“Yeah, we can do that…” Her eyes lit up. “Outside. It’s getting late, and Mum will want us back eventually.” And then dimmed. “Come on, Liv.”

She put her phone into the buttoned pockets of her shorts and followed after, cheerier and more at ease than she had all day.

That made me happy.

She deserved it more than anyone I knew.

My hands found the inside of my coat again, just so I wouldn't fiddle with them in front of her or look like a moron in front of her. Her. Olivia. The girl who I’d grown up with.

I looked over at her, at the slight smile; at the hoodie we’d gone clothes shopping for; and even at the slight muck still on it, the way-

…Right.

I knelt down before her, putting on a neutral face as I pretended to brush crumbs out just so I could feel how warm and alive she was.

Her brows rose, ears twitching, and earrings rattling.

Heavy gold and black fur, thanks to her breed, with bright brown eyes that sparkled when the dull lamplight hit right. “You’re such a mess,” I exhaled. “Literally. How do you still have crumbs on you?”

“Because snacks taste good,” she snarked, black lips pulling tight before her maw opened wide. “Here – smell my breath," she said. The pooch exhaled, breathing hard.

I pulled back, eyes watering.

Dog breath and salty, vinegary fish weren’t exactly a great combo, crush aside.

“You’re actually nasty,” I whinged, standing up and speed-walking away, pretending not to enjoy it when she chased after me. “Can't even smell the crisp over that rank fish.”

“Smell your cheek then. I got you pretty good.” The pooch grinned, saddling up close, side-brushing mine deliberately. “You taste like salt.”

“Ugh.”

The arch of trees along the path home was in bloom, cherry blossoms on both sides, petals floating down. One caught the top of her head and lingered there like a flower crown.

“I should have let Dad kick you out. Would've saved me so much pain.”

She chuckled, bumping me with her side and glancing sidelong. The petal fell. “Remember when we were pups and I knocked over that mug of your dad’s?”

I baulked, stopping in my tracks before continuing. “How do you remember that? You were an actual dog back then.”

“I can remember before I was this. I also remember how shit-scared you were of what they'd do to me.” And then she laughed – a loud, unhindered barking wheeze. “I still can't believe you buried it! Like a body. Holy shit.”

“I panicked!” I shouted, my face heating instantly. “I was such a friendless loser back then and didn't want them to turn you into a coat or something. Took years of begging to convince them to get a dog.”

“And look how well it's turned out,” she grinned. “You're still such a loser. Your only friend is me.”

“Uhh. No? Ben, Josh, even Alice.” I leaned over to prod at her wet nose. “Nice try though.”

“Eh, none of them are as good as me. Remember my, uh, first heat?”

That made me quiet down for a moment. “I… try not to,” I admitted. “It feels weird now.” We crossed the road after waiting for a bus to pass, made it to the mid-section, and continued.

“Humping my pillow, your pillow, your leg, your other leg. You, when you dared to lie down in my presence. Good times.”

“Bleeding all over the sofa because Dad was an idiot and said it'd pass.”

“Wonder if I'd get away with using your leg again now and pretending I couldn't help myself.” She hummed wistfully, like it was some deep consideration. “Bet you'd like that, though.”

My heart flipped.

“Dad would literally crucify you if he caught you.”

“Then lock your door.”

I rolled my eyes and pretended they didn’t sting with pure nerves. “He’d hear you.”

“Me?” She laughed, offended. “I'd be quiet. It's you I don't trust.” The pooch glanced over her shoulder, eyes half-lidded; the attempt at… that… was ruined by the snack debris still stuck to her muzzle. “You wouldn't be able to handle all this.”

“All this?” I gestured vaguely at her fluffy self and was glad at how utterly empty the streets were. “Really? You’re like three feet tall.”

“Yeah,” she barked. “But I’m me.”

“That’s rough.”

“Rude,” Olivia muttered, though her tail still wagged behind her, hard enough to have her hips swaying.

I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets and kept walking beside her, my leg brushing her withers every few steps. With the conversation dipping, I kept my face neutral.

“...You’re thinking again,” she said, quieter than she’d been all day.

"No, I’m not.”

“You’ve got the face.”

“What face?” I knew the face.

“The weird one.”

I glanced over at her despite the urge not to. Streetlights caught her stark hazel eyes, petals stuck in the fur around one ear. She looked almost unfairly pretty for someone who had been joking about humping my leg not thirty seconds prior.

“And what exactly am I apparently thinking about?” I asked, praying to God that she –

"Me", she said instantly, not a trace of hesitation to her.

To God that she'd say exactly that.

“You're unbearable,” I muttered, hands flexing anxiously in my coat pockets, heart pounding.

She bumped me again, ears flopping with the motion. “Hey, you keep hanging out with me. Kinda sus.”

“That's because you'd hump strangers and eat drywall if I left you by yourself.”

“Ooh,” she cooed, head lolling in my direction and eyes crinkling. “You're bringing humping up again? That’s crazy.”

And that was it. She walked forward, chipper. Unbothered. Opportunity gone.

Petals continued to fall around us, broken by the breeze, but I was too distracted to notice the scenery because… god, this had to be something, right? Friends didn’t joke about humping each other’s legs in the middle of the street.

Friends didn’t keep looking at each other like that, I thought, gathering some vestige of courage. And every time she did it, every time she nudged closer or dropped her voice or even looked at me just a little too long, I got halfway to saying something real.

Something. Anything.

My mind ran with possibilities.

Hey, I really like you.

I don’t want to make things weird, but I’ve got to tell you that I’ve always liked you.

You want to go on a date this week?

“H-Hey, Liv?” I began. She glanced up immediately, head tilted toward me, ears twitching.

Open. Attentive. Waiting.

My mouth went dry instantly.

This was it. Literally the exact opening I’d wanted for the past fifteen or so minutes. Maybe years. No joke to hide behind, no stupid flirting to deflect with, just her looking at me like she actually wanted to hear what I had to say.

My legs suddenly felt weirdly shaky beneath me. Palms damp inside my pockets. Breathing wrong. Too shallow. It was humbling and horrible. Like I could suddenly see myself properly and realise how fucking embarrassing I was.

Jesus Christ.

Olivia’s ears dipped slightly. “Drew?”

“I, uh…”

Nothing. I said nothing. Again.

I could feel my heartbeat in my throat, humiliatingly hard, and the longer she waited, the worse it got. She was still just standing there too, watching me.

“You okay?” she asked, seeming genuinely worried.

"Y-Yeah", I lied instantly, voice cracking like the real man I was. “I’m fine.”

A pause. More petals drifted. Cars passed.

Then, because apparently God hated me personally, she smiled a little and bumped her side against mine again. “You’re doing the weird face super hard right now.”

I swallowed, blinked away the failure and nodded. “Shush, gay dog.”

She just laughed.

#

The house – a small, semi-detached place we’d moved into three years ago – was dark apart from the living room, pale light from the TV washing across the carpet and entryway in uneven bursts.

Mum was awake, watching Twilight, of course.

She sat curled into the corner of the old sofa, wrapped beneath an old grey blanket she and Olivia swapped ownership of, her glasses sat crooked on her sharp, angled nose. A half-finished cup of green tea rested on the coffee table before her. Probably long forgotten, knowing her.

The front door shut loud behind us, blown back by the cold draft from an open window. I locked it.

Mum sat up, dark eyes flicking over us. First me, then Olivia. Checking for damage or muck or whatever else mother's thought sons got up to outside of the nest. “Shoes off,” she said absentmindedly, attention already drifting back toward the television before something caught her eye. She paused, then looked again.

Olivia froze halfway through awkwardly pawing at the metal zipper of her new hoodie, ears twitching upright.

Mum leaned forward slightly, then, sounding almost pained, asked, “Are those new earrings?”

My stomach lurched. I'd forgotten.

The little silver hoops caught the television light when Olivia moved, glinting against the golden fur of her ears. Cheap, tiny things, but suddenly they may as well have been diamond-studded.

Olivia glanced at me immediately, then opened her maw. “Uh…” she started intelligently, quickly trailing off.

I tried to play it off, like I always did whenever they ‘caught’ me spending my own money. “They weren't expensive,” I began, moving to the kitchen and putting the kettle on, slipping my coat off as I did. “I saw her staring at them in the centre, and there's that, uh, kiosk near Burger King that does piercings for canids, so I thought-"

Mum shut her eyes briefly, exhaling. Not angry, I could tell, just drained.

“Drew…” She sighed. “You can't keep spending money on her every time you two leave the house. You're meant to be saving up for when you leave.”

Beside me, Olivia's tail lowered completely, then curled harshly between her hindlegs.

“I offered,” I muttered, stopping the kettle early and pouring the not-quite-boiling water into a mug I'd already dropped a teabag into.

“I know you offered,” Mum said, rubbing at her temples. And then she looked at us one more time: at the way I stood to the side, trying to seem collected, and at the way Olivia held her head low, and something in her softened. “Just…just don't let your father see.”

Too late.

The bathroom door creaked open. I drank my tea with shaky hands.

“What am I not to see?”

Everything in me sank.

Dad rounded the corner drying his hands on the front of his jeans before slowing to a stop near the living room entrance. His eyes moved across Olivia in one long sweep.

The earrings. The oversized clean hoodie I’d bought her last month after she’d worn the old one practically to shreds. The phone is sticking out from the pocket of her shorts.

Then finally me.

His expression flattened instantly. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

"Dad-"

“No.” He pointed vaguely toward Olivia without properly looking at her – the same way people pointed at misbehaving pets. “No, absolutely not. Drew, are you seriously still buying her random shit?”

“They’re just earrings.”

“They are not just earrings.” He said, lip curling and voice rising. “It’s always something with you, isn’t it? Hoodies. That phone. Jewellery now apparently.”

Olivia lowered her head slightly beside me. “I told him he didn’t need t-"

“And you-" Dad cut in, finally looking directly at her. “-Need to stop accepting it. You're taking advantage of him.”

Her ears pinned back hard against her hood almost immediately and her mouth shut with an audible click of teeth. The joking ease she’d carried disappeared so fast it was like somebody had turned a switch off. I hated it. It made my teeth grind because how dare he.

“She never asks for anything,” I snapped before I could stop myself.

Dad looked at me instead. “That isn’t the point.”

"Yes, it is!” I could feel my pulse in my throat, hot and unpleasant. “She literally never asks me for anything,” I continued. “I offered because I wanted to.”

“She’s taking advantage of you.”

"No, she fucking isn’t.”

“She lives here rent-free, Drew.”

“She can’t get work!” The words came out louder than I meant them to. “Nobody hires canids unless it’s mascot shit or weird online stuff, and you know that.”

Dad’s jaw tightened slightly.

“And she’s always there for me,” I added before he could speak again, my voice rougher now. “Like-Like all the time. She’s my best friend. Of course I buy her things she can't buy herself.”

Silence settled over the hallway afterwards.

Twilight kept playing in the background. The baseball scene I knew for a fact Mum and Olivia both loved, but Mum just looked exhausted.

Dad looked irritated in that restrained way that meant he was trying not to start a proper argument.

Olivia looked down at the floorboards, small and worthless.

Which somehow made me angrier.

Dad exhaled sharply through his nose eventually. “You’re nineteen, Drew. Start acting like your money actually matters.”

“Fuck you.”

…

…

Nobody moved at first.

Mum stared at me past the rim of her crooked glasses, like she couldn’t quite believe what I’d said out loud. Olivia’s head jerked toward me so fast her earrings clicked faintly together.

Dad didn’t shout. He never did.

I wasn’t worth the effort.

His teeth ground, jaw flexing visibly before, with visible effort, he ‘relaxed’. “Excuse me?”

My pulse hammered viciously in my ears now, but backing down suddenly felt not only impossible but also suicidal. Like Olivia wasn’t worth it. “You heard me," I said, stepping forward.

“Drew,” Mum snapped quietly.

“No,” he began, calmer than he had any right to be. “Apparently he’s grown up enough to speak to me however he likes now. He’s a man, aye.” Dad took a step forward into the hallway light, folding the towel in his hands once before throwing it onto the kitchen counter.

I swallowed hard as I took a reflexive step back, fingers tightening around the mug until the ceramic creaked faintly. “She’s my friend,” I said again, hating how defensive I sounded. How my voice wavered.

“She’s a dog.”

Olivia flinched.

I saw it out of the corner of my eye – her ears flattening so hard they disappeared into her scalp, her body shrinking inward instinctively. My stomach twisted violently, bile rising at seeing her like that, and my head tilted to see her better.

Dad noticed too, his expression flat. “See? That. Exactly that.” He pointed between us sharply. “You look at her like somebody just kicked your girlfriend.”

I felt my chest flush hot, the prickly heat rising into my throat.

“Matt, stop,” Mum warned, voice rising, but he ignored her.

“No, because this is starting to get weird.” He looked directly at me now, anger finally bleeding through properly. “You buy her jewellery. Clothes. A phone. Christ, Drew, you orbit around her. When was the last time you actually talked to a woman?”

“She can hear you,” I snapped.

“I know she can hear me!” His voice rose suddenly. “Maybe somebody should say it to her too because clearly neither of you understand boundaries anymore.”

Olivia still hadn’t moved. Her tail was curled sharply between her hindlegs, eyes wide and terrified.

Dad laughed once under his breath, harsh and humourless. “Jesus Christ. Y-You really don’t see how this looks, do you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” We both knew exactly how it looked.

“It means people aren’t staring at you two just because she talks. She's not that interesting!” He jabbed a finger toward the front door. “They’re staring because you walk around attached to her like some lovesick idiot.”

The flush faded, replaced with nothing but cold, as every moment came rushing back to me.

Every glance at the chip shop.

Every look in the street.

…People at school.

“You think this is normal?” Dad continued, dragging a rough hand through his short blonde hair. “A nineteen-year-old lad spending all his money dressing up a dog and dragging her around town like she’s his girlfriend? The only reason she doesn’t care is because she’s not smart enough to notice.”

“Stop calling her that.”

“What? A dog? Stupid?” He scoffed, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “That’s what she is.”

“She’s right there!”

“And you need to stop pretending this-" he gestured violently between us. "-isn't becoming something seriously unhealthy.”

Silence crashed down again.

Twilight kept playing in the living room behind him. The evil vampires had shown up – I recognised the dialogue even through the blood pounding in my ears.

Olivia still wouldn’t look up.

“You’re obsessed with her.”

I shoved past him before anybody could say another word, tea abandoned on the counter hard enough to splash over my hand.

“Drew!” Mum shouted after me.

I ignored her, shoes hammering against the stairs. Olivia followed after me, almost knocking me over.

Behind me I heard Dad yell, finally shouting, finally putting in some effort, “And don’t you dare lock that fucking door!”

The lock clicked shut behind me.

Silence.

Not real silence, obviously. Mum was already screaming downstairs, her voice sharp and desperate enough to cut through the floorboards even with the television still going beneath it. Dad barked something back, lower, rougher; the words blurred together by the walls.

I couldn’t make them out, not that I wanted to. I was too busy pacing instead.

Obsessed with her.

“You’re fucking unbelievable,” I muttered to myself, though I wasn’t even sure who I meant anymore.

Dad?

Me?

The room suddenly felt tiny. Hot. I shoved the sleeves of my work uniform up my arms and paced harder, trainers thudding against the thin carpet. Olivia hovered awkwardly near the door, ears low and silent. Watching me carefully in that way dogs did when they thought somebody might start shouting again.

Which somehow made everything worse.

Because Dad was wrong. He had to be wrong.

Except-

Heather had asked me out twice in sixth form.

Sweet girl. Soft Polish accent. Pretty in that effortless way some girls were. We’d eaten lunch together for almost a year, and she used to always bring extra pastries from the bakery her aunt owned and pretended she didn’t know I liked the cherry ones best.

And I’d still turned her down.

Not cruelly. Just…

Busy.

Next time.

Maybe.

Lies, basically, because every time I’d thought about actually going out with her, all I could picture was Olivia sat alone at home waiting for me to come back.

Pathetic.

Downstairs, Mum shouted again. Something heavy slammed, and someone left the house – Dad, probably. He and Mum never normally argued. Olivia flinched at the sound, short claws clicking faintly against the floorboards near the door before she calmed herself.

I looked over before I could stop myself.

She’d pulled the hoodie sleeves over her paws without noticing, black fabric bunching around her wrists. Tail low. Ears pinned halfway back.

Jewellery. Clothes. Phones.

My eyes dropped lower before I could stop them.

Shorts. Thighs beneath black tights.

The curve of her haunches.

Warm fur around a just barely exposed belly.

She’s a dog.

Except she wasn’t. Not fully. Not anymore. She talked and laughed and sulked and got embarrassed and made stupid jokes and stole crisps and watched Twilight with Mum.

And maybe that was the problem. Maybe I’d blurred something in my own head years ago and never fixed it. Or maybe there had always been something wrong with me and I just needed an excuse.

Olivia shifted slightly near the door. “Drew…”

What if Dad was right about her not understanding?

The memory of her joking on the walk home suddenly made my stomach feel sick instead of fluttery and opportunistic. Had she even meant anything by it?

Or was I just some creep projecting human meaning onto animal behaviour because I was lonely and weird and emotionally stunted enough to fall for the one person who physically couldn’t leave?

I stopped pacing, because in my own mind I'd reached a conclusion.

The room tilted unpleasantly for a second. “Oh my god", I muttered, voice thin and distorted.

I fell backward onto the bed, the mattress springs groaning beneath me as the ceiling smeared strangely above me, and for one horrible second I thought I was going to throw up. My chest tightened hard enough to hurt, the air catching halfway down my throat before stuttering back out wrong.

My heartbeat thudded painfully against my ribs, too hard, too fast; every pulse made my fingertips buzz. Heat crawled up the back of my neck. My lungs suddenly felt too small for my body.

“Drew?”

She sounded so far away.

The mattress dipped beside me, and then there was warmth. Soft, heavy fur and a weight against my ribs, pressing in uncomfortably hard. Paws and claws scraped the chest of my shirt, harsh enough to make me wince.

Usually she'd complain that I was too bony and long. Didn't make a good pillow, apparently. Instead, all I could think about was warmth and pressure, and the smell of her vanilla shampoo.

My eyes stung; my chest ached as I heaved.

“Drew?” she repeated. I tried to calm my breathing, or whatever was happening to me, but the best I could do was roll over and stare at the wall and choke. “O-Oh shit.”

“I’m fine, just… just a headache,” I stammered. “Ignore me.”

“Drew.” She didn’t move. She remained there, laid beside me, whilst I blurrily stared at the wall, breathing heavily. But then, 'Your dad’s an idiot. He doesn’t get it.”

I didn’t say anything.

“He’s old so he doesn’t know that’s just how we are. I’ll pay you back for all the stuff when I get money.”

That’s how we are.

Succinct, I thought, feeling the warmth of her ease the constriction in my lungs. Always there for me. Always, and what was I doing to return that affection?

“...It’s not about money,” I said, eyes still on the wall, too repulsive to meet her gaze.

And I paused. I didn't mean to. I wasn't some dramatic idiot who took a breath to let the melodrama settle; I simply couldn't talk.

My throat locked up, because this was the end. I'd wanted an in to confess to Olivia, and it'd come in the worst possible way.

“What is it then?”

It all fell out.

“He's right.” I could feel her freeze up. “I stare at you when you turn around because you have curvy hind legs, and when I egg you on it's just so you'll try to pin me, and I get to touch you. Nothing Dad said was wrong.”

Silence.

“I am obsessed with you.”

Complete and utter silence. I couldn’t even hear her breathing anymore.

“I-I love you.”

But I could still feel her beside me. She hadn’t left just yet.

“Oh.”

Oh, she’d said.

“I had… maybe a feeling that you, um, felt like that, Drew.”

At least I’d told her, I reminded myself, sucking in breaths carefully.

“But I-I wasn’t, like, I wasn’t flirting with you. I thought we were both having fun, and I was just being silly thinking you took it… seriously.”

I rolled over onto my back, just barely catching the edge of her muzzle as she watched over me, and it set in, a slow horror, that, like with too many things in life, my dad was right.

Olivia really didn’t know.

Dad was right.

“Right.”

"Drew –" she cut in.

“It’s fine.” It wasn't; it really wasn’t. Everything in me was breaking apart. I considered therapy. I considered talking to Alice or maybe even contacting Heather. Telling my dad he was right. “I got it wrong. I’m sorry.”

“Drew, knock it off. Let me talk. You always do this.”

I cringed at the bite in her voice, my eyes squeezing shut. “Sorry.”

“Don't- Just please stop talking.” She took a breath, let it out, and then… said nothing. She breathed slowly, watching me, the floor, then the wall and back to me. “I never thought we were like that because it just… It doesn't make sense. I-I didn't think that was… possible.” Her tail jerked to the side, sudden and anxious. “I thought you were playing with me, and that you bought me things just to be nice.”

“I was,” I said immediately. “I didn't buy you things to try and seduce you or whatever. I did it because you couldn't. That's it.”

Silence.

Twilight kept playing downstairs.

Dad was probably halfway to the pub.

Lucky.

“...You really like me?”

Christ.

“Just ignore me.” A pause, my fingers curling into the sheets of my small bed. “It’s fine.”

“It doesn’t sound fine.”

My chest flickered with indignant heat, because what else did she want from me?

“Yeah, well, it is.” I sat up more fully, pressing the back of my head against the cold headboard of my bed. The sight of it made me feel worse, because why was I even snapping at her? “It’s fine… Really, Liv. I got it wrong. That’s all.”

“You didn’t get it all wrong,” she said quietly. I made to speak, but she cut me off immediately. “I didn’t think that… that that was an option.”

It was funny. With my tantrum done and her shock fading, all that was left in the expression on her muzzle and the tone of her voice was confusion. Not revulsion or horror, she just seemed… lost.

“What?”

"The flirting thing. The romance thing. The..." She gestured vaguely at herself. "That."

I pause. Stared at her. "What are you talking about?"

Olivia looked genuinely bewildered. "I'm a talking dog in a hoodie,” she clarified. “S-So you acting like I’m not, that I’m pretty is just so…” She trailed off, whiskers twitching. “Weird.”

“You're not wrong,” I admitted, choosing my words carefully. “I get it, but, like, you're Olivia. You’re annoying and loud and funny and you eat drywall—"

“Once!”

“And you’re my best friend.” I kept up the eye contact, even when she broke it to look at her paws, ears flat. “Why wouldn’t I fall for you? No matter what you look like.”

She didn’t answer.

The TV downstairs was still loud; louder, maybe. Mum had probably turned it up and probably heard us. It didn’t matter. I got up, swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, plodding over to the television and the slightly busted-looking Xbox beneath it.

In the drawers were DVDs. Old ones, newer ones. A few Blu-rays I’d gotten for Christmas, but what I got was a comedy show older than me. I slotted it into the console and loaded the menu, setting the volume high.

Olivia watched me, curious, tense, wholly uncertain.

But I just wanted to watch TV.

“You know what?” I said, smiling the best I could as I slumped down beside her on the bed, head against the backboard.

“What?”

“It’s fine.” Her ears twitched, earrings glinting dull. "No, no. Seriously. It’s out there. It’s all done. Clean slate.”

“Clean slate?” Olivia's ears twitched.

Downstairs, I could hear cupboards opening and closing in the kitchen and the occasional muffled sound of Mum moving around. Normal house noises. Normal and good.

“What does that mean?” Olivia asked.

I shrugged. "It means it's done. No more weird secrets. No more pretending.”

“A-And then?”

“Then we just...” I gestured vaguely between us. “Keep doing what we've been doing.”

She looked down at her paws. The cheap hoodie sleeves had ridden halfway over them again, one prosthetic thumb scraping idly against the fabric while she thought.

“And that's enough?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“What would even change?” The canid asked eventually.

I frowned. “What?”

“If we did it.”

“Did what?”

“The dating thing.”

For a moment I genuinely thought I'd misheard her. “Dating?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Her tail flicked once against the mattress. “I don't understand.”

“You don't understand dating?”

“I understand dating.” She growled. “I watch Netflix.”

“Then what don't you understand?”

Olivia gestured vaguely between us. “This. What's supposed to change?”

I opened my mouth, then immediately closed it again. And then, uncertain, “We'd hang out.”

Olivia tilted her head. “We already do that.”

“Right.”

“We eat together.”

“Yeah.” I nodded, not sure where she was going with it. The menu music looped faintly in the background. I rubbed both hands over my face. It felt somehow worse than being outright rejected. “Okay. We'd spend more time together.”

“Drew.”

I sighed. “Yeah?”

Her tail wagged once, not mockingly, more like she'd just successfully identified a flaw in my logic. “We already spend basically all our time together,” she pointed out, grinning faintly.

“We do.”

“See?”

I groaned and let my head fall back against the wall. The television menu looped again. Somewhere downstairs a floorboard creaked. “I actually hate you,” I lied again.

“I know.”

The irritating thing was that she wasn't even trying to be difficult. She genuinely seemed curious, like real life romance was some bizarre process she'd never encountered before.

“Okay,” I said eventually. “Dates.”

“What about them?”

“We'd go on dates.”

Olivia frowned. “What's the difference between a date and getting fish and chips?”

I pointed at her immediately. “That was one.”

“What?”

“That was basically a date.”

“...Really? We just ate food.”

“That's most dates.”

“Huh.” She sat with that information for a moment, ears twitching thoughtfully. “That's a terrible system.”

Benidorm finally loaded without input. The menu vanished and the opening music started playing quietly through the speakers. Neither of us paid much attention to it.

“What else?” Olivia asked.

I thought about it properly. “People would know.”

Olivia's ears twitched. “Know what?”

I swallowed and sat up straighter. “That you're my girlfriend.”

The words sounded ridiculous spoken aloud. Not because I didn't mean them, obviously, but because I'd spent three years very carefully avoiding saying anything remotely similar.

Outside, a car rolled slowly past the house. Headlights swept briefly across the ceiling before disappearing. Olivia watched them go. “Oh. What else would we do?” she asked quietly, and it took everything in me not to hear hope in her voice.

I hesitated, then shrugged. “Kissing, maybe.”

Her ears flicked up immediately. My own face heated. “Not that we'd have to or anything.”

“I-I know what kissing is…”

“Right.”

“I'm not stupid,” she mumbled, petulant.

“I didn't say you were.”

“You implied it.”

“I really didn't.”

She huffed, and for a second it almost felt normal again, but then I looked over. Really looked. I saw how nervous she seemed. The rigid posture. The way her paws kept fidgeting with her sleeves.

“I'd get to tell you you're pretty.”

Olivia froze; even her whiskers stilled in place. “You already do that,” she said eventually, her voice wavering with the effort of keeping it steady.

“Not really.”

“You call me cute.”

“That's different.”

“How?”

I thought about it, then shrugged. “Cute's cute.”

“That explains nothing.”

“You know what I mean.” I folded my arms over my chest, leaned back, and looked up at the ceiling.

“No, I don't.”

I looked down and over at her. At the bright amber eyes. The floppy ears.

At Olivia.

“You really don't…?"

The skin beneath her eyes had gone faintly pink. I’d never seen her blush like that. Not once.

“...No.”

“That's kind of adorable.”

“Drew.”

“Sorry.” It was impossible to stop the grin.

Her tail thumped against the mattress.

The episode played in the background. Some jokes landed. Neither of us watched. Minutes passed. Not awkward ones, finally. Thinking ones. I watched her, hopeful, scared.

Eventually Olivia shifted slightly beside me. Closer, just enough that our shoulders brushed. Warm, familiar, and comforting. The same way it had always been.

She stared at the television for a while longer.

“Maybe…”

I looked over. Her eyes remained stubbornly fixed on the screen. “Maybe what?” My heart felt like it was about to jump free.

“Maybe I could try,” she said gently, head turning to regard me, but when she did, her face fell and a long groan escaped her. “Oh my god.”

“W-What?” I sat back, lost.

“Your face.”

“My what face?” I reached up to touch my nose.

“You look too happy.”

I laughed. Her tail wagged, and for the first time since Dad opened his mouth downstairs, neither of us looked miserable. “You really want to try? I don’t want to pressure you into anything.”

She nodded once. “You couldn’t make me do anything, Drew. I want to try, so I’ll try.” Her head leaned to the side, resting atop my shoulder. “And… I like you calling me pretty.”

I didn’t say anything more. I didn’t want to ruin it, so I lay there, close to her, watching terrible, dated television, and when some of the tension had faded, she brought up work – regulars who drank too much; kids that smelt of weed and even her friends and their owners.

Ophelia, a fox she knew, apparently tormented this one farmer in the countryside. She sounded… interesting, though I was glad I’d never met her.

The night faded. My clothes were stripped, replaced with a shirt and shorts, and both of us wrapped up in a quilt in the bed I’d had since high school.

She laid her head across my chest and watched me, hazel eyes bright and aware.

And more than anything in the world, I wondered what she was thinking.

Was she thinking about me? About whatever awkward relationship we’d been in when we both woke up? Dad? Her earrings?

I didn’t ask.

Her eyes closed, and so did mine.

#

Breakfast was awkward.

Dad had already left for work. Mum mentioned it once, then spent the rest of the meal fussing over the baby, pretending she wasn't watching us, that nothing had happened last night, and that Olivia wasn't still wearing the earrings. She wasn't very good at pretending, but we were.

Olivia sat beside me instead of across from me, and every time our eyes met, we both immediately looked away.

It was ridiculous.

We'd spent half the night talking about dating, and somehow eating toast together was the most embarrassing part.

By the time breakfast was over, I was almost relieved to leave the house.

The walk to the bus stop was quiet.

Olivia kept close to me, wearing the same hoodie as yesterday -- she only had two, so I couldn't blame her, but I did make a mental note to buy a third. The earrings caught the sunlight whenever she moved.

"You're doing it again," she said, half grumbling.

"What?" I knew what.

"The weird face."

I laughed. She groaned.

The bus was already pulling into view. "So..." I said, hands in the pockets of my clean black trousers. The kind I wore for school only.

"So?" She mimicked, not meeting my eyes.

I glanced at her. "You still want to try?"

"Yeah." The answer came so easily it caught me off guard.

"Nice."

A small smile tugged at her muzzle -- a small, tense, almost nervous thing. One I'd rarely seen on her. She was always so... so much better than me. It made me stare.

And before I could think about it too much, I leaned down and kissed her cheek. She was warm, and the fur there was soft and clean, smelling faintly of her strawberry conditioner.

Olivia froze. The bus pulled up beside us with a hiss of brakes.

"Oh."

That was apparently all she had. Just oh. Then, slowly at first, her tail started wagging. "Was that okay?" I asked, hand still on the side of her neck.

"Yeah." People began to climb onto the bus. First mothers with prams, then students. "Oh. Right." She glanced at the bus. "School."

"School."

I got my pass out and climbed aboard.

Halfway through the doors I risked a quick look back.

She was still smiling. Staring at the floor and smiling like an idiot.

The bus pulled away.