Work Text:
There’s a number of great highlights to working at the hybrid zoo, but there are also downsides, and cleaning the washing rooms is one of them. Every once in a while, Leo considers transferring to one of the furless exhibits—the reptiles rarely leave a mess behind, and Leo’s favourites seem to shed like a tree in fall. He knows he could never actually follow through with it—he loves the hybrids in his care far too much—but it’s still a nice escapist daydream.
He’s diligently scrubbing down the porcelain tub against the back wall when his phone goes off. He has one of the few jobs where he’s actually allowed to text during hours—sometimes it’s even the director, needing him to put out one metaphorical fire or another. More often than not it’s other handlers, needing help in their exhibits or warding off unruly patrons. But every once in a while, it’s today’s messenger: a tiny bubble pops up, reading only: Feed me? ♥
Leo smiles at the screen. He can’t help himself—Guang Hong’s too cute, even in just text. He’s the only hybrid in the zoo willing to even touch a cell phone, even though it’s a ‘silly human thing,’ and it was thoroughly worth gifting him one. As far as Leo can tell, Guang Hong only uses it to text him—nothing else, not even music, and even the texts to Leo come infrequently. But they’re always worth it.
Even though Guang Hong certainly doesn’t need feeding immediately—his exhibit is plenty full of bamboo shoots for him to chow down on—Leo starts packing up his supplies. He knows the text is really just a quiet cry for attention on an otherwise slow day. Some of the red pandas are content to simply sleep away the daylight hours, only getting up at night to munch and patrol their territory, but Guang Hong tries to be more active than most, and he doesn’t have enough space to keep him occupied. So Leo will do what he can—and he was planning to head there soon anyway.
Once he’s put away the cleaning supplies, the mammal tub only half cleaned up, Leo heads for the staff room. He’s got a present in his backpack that he fishes out, thankful for the empty room so he doesn’t have to explain. He only has one gift and far more than just one hybrid. But it’d be impossible not to play favourites, especially with the way that Guang Hong grins when Leo leaves the building and heads straight for his exhibit.
The red panda area is dug out of the ground, a waist-high metal railing holding back the patrons, and the thick trees lift high enough to put their occupants on eye-level with the crowd. Guang Hong’s almost always close to the staff building, and today’s no exception. Sprawled out along his favourite branch, he perks up at Leo’s approach—his fluffy orange ears flick up, striped tail flexing out. As soon as Leo’s at the fence, Guang Hong asks, “What’s that?” It comes out in perfect English, even though Guang Hong was imported straight from China. He says he learned from Leo, but Leo doesn’t want to take that much credit.
He answers, “A present for you,” and tosses the teddy bear right across the gap. Guang Hong reaches out to catch it easily, clamping on with both hands as though pinning it with paws. The teddy bear’s almost as big as his whole torso, which isn’t very large, but it looks particularly oversized in his short arms. He looks at it, wide-eyed, for a moment, and then he rolls onto his back, balance perfect. Leo still tenses, even though he’s never seen a red-panda—part human or just animal—fall out of a tree.
Guang Hong’s too adorable for words. He plays with the teddy bear like a puppy with it’s first chew-toy, kneading it and hugging it and tugging its ear between his teeth. Leo laughs and calls, “It’s not food, you know.”
“I know,” Guang Hong answers, smiling as he looks at Leo upside-down. A flush stains his fair cheeks, and he adds sheepishly, “Thank you.”
Leo nods. He has no explanation to accompany it—he simply saw it at the store when he was shopping for himself, and of course the cute toy made him think of the cutest thing he knows. It was entirely worth it for the shining gratitude on Guang Hong’s face.
When Leo’s gotten used to the priceless picture enough to speak, he says, “I don’t have any more treats for you today, but when I’m finished cleaning up the washing room, I can come pet you, if you like.”
For a second, Guang Hong seems too preoccupied with the teddy bear to notice. His eyes are back on it, his arms wrapped tight around its middle while his tail lashes at its feet. But then his head tilts back again, eyes catching Leo’s, and he blushes almost as deep as his reddish fur. He tells Leo, “Okay, please hurry back.”
And Leo nods and forces himself to leave, feeling as warm and fuzzy as Guang Hong’s flicking tail.