Chapter Text
It’s not that I don’t understand why people get upset at pounds. There’s a lot of dogs, they’re all incredibly cute, and most of them are at their gates, tails wagging and crying for attention as you walk down the horribly cold corridor. It makes you wish you could pick them all up and take them home. That feeling’s ten-fold with the dogs that don’t, the ones that stay in the corner and glance at you with sad, droopy eyes. But as much as you wish you could bundle them all into your car and race home like you’ve just held up a bank; shower them with love and become the cynical, asocial, ‘Dissociated Dog Man’ equivalent of the Crazy Cat Lady, there’s only so much space in your home and funds available for vet bills. Don’t even get me started on the limited patience I have for the tedious paperwork and house inspections.
So, yeah. I get the teary eyed longing and the guilt burdened shoulders of people in these places.
This though, is a bit weird.
“Um,” the receptionist’s eyes are as sharp and pointed as her make-up when they snap to me. “There’s a guy. By the kennels? He’s, um,” I shuffle a bit behind the tall counter, her tangible impatience just making my hesitation worse. I’m not usually like this. I’m pretty straight forward, and I’m good at dealing with my own emotions. But other peoples… “He’s, crying.”
I feel so uncomfortable.
“Crying?” There’s the smallest of fractures in her stone mask in the shape of a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah. I mean, he’s trying really hard not to show it, but he’s obviously crying. And… talking to himself.” I look down at my fidgeting hands, an uneasy sweat binging to break out across my skin. “Actually, it might be sobbing, I don’t-” I fiddle with the bright red handle and shiny chain of the brand new lead in my hands, vaguely noting – in an attempt to distance myself from the awkwardness – that it won’t ever be as clean and nice as this again. If I can bring myself to get close enough to the hysterical man to finally pick Evie up, that is. The odds aren’t looking too good. “He, was shaking too. I don’t really know what’s going on, or what to do.”
“Huh.” I look at her, and for an infuriating second, I think that’s all she’s going to say. “Does he work here?”
“How should I know?” I snap, throwing my arms onto the ridiculously high counter to lean over and sneer at her. “Do you usually have hysterically crying, grown-ass men on your rota? Shouldn’t it be immediately obvious who it is, or is ‘overemotional’ or ‘hard-faced’ the only type of employees you’ve got here?”
What little interest she had falls in an instant, and she turns back to her computer and resumes her furious typing, every harsh clack hitting my already irritated nerves.
“If he’s wearing a light blue or dark green polo, he’s one of ours.” She grumbles, entirely uncaring of whether I’m listening or not. “If he isn’t, he doesn’t work here, and not our problem.”
“Not your problem?” I ask as the fuzzy image of a dark blue hoodie and faded jeans cross my mind. “How am I supposed to pick up my dog if he’s sitting, crying, right next to the kennel?”
The grating clacking stops as she gives me a blank stare.
“Not. My. Problem.”
She goes back to whatever nonsense she’s typing – I refuse to believe she’s actually making coherent words, not with how fast her fingers are moving – and I know that’s all the help I’m going to get. I move away from the desk, and run a hand through my hair, wincing at the thought of having to confront the man myself.
I hate people crying. It’s so awkward and uncomfortable, and I never know what to do. It’s kind of selfish too, really. I don’t see why they can’t just wait until they get home.
“Jean?” I turn to see Sandra - the middle-aged lady who walked me through most of the paperwork and was in charge of the last house visit - come out of the back room and walk round the counter towards me. “I thought you went through to pick Evie up? Is everything okay?”
“No.” I reply instantly. “There’s a guy right next to her crying, and I can’t get her out.” I don’t explain that as soon as I registered the confusing image as someone having an emotional breakdown, I ran the hell away to find someone else to deal with the mess.
“Crying?” I nod as she seems baffled for a moment, before she frowns in thought. “What does he look like?”
Seriously? There are possibilities of who this guy is? Surely I’ve not become so far removed from society, that this – sobbing adults – is normal, public behaviour.
“I don’t know.” I grit out. “I saw someone having a meltdown, and thought it would be best to get someone with some authority to handle it.” A half-truth.
“Did he have dark hair? Kind of tall? Freckles?”
It takes a long while for me to do anything other than stare at her.
“He was kneeling on the floor crying. I didn’t think to take notes on how he would have looked had he been normal, and not sobbing on the floor.” The image of him comes to mind again, and I begrudgingly mumble, “I think he had black hair though.”
She sighs and rubs at her neck tiredly, a sad and sympathetic look crossing her face. “It’s probably Marco.” She says, and then doesn’t move.
“Great. Well I’m glad that mystery’s solved, but can you do something please? I just want my dog. I’m very sorry for Marco’s loss, break-up, accident, whatever; but you guys can work that stuff out somewhere other than right outside Evie’s kennel.”
“It’s nothing like that.” She sighs again, waving her hand in front of her face as if to dismiss my words. “He’s just very attached to Evie. He was so upset when I told him she’d finally been adopted.”
The irritation and awkwardness cinches into a new, surprised tension in my body, and blink at her confused. “What?”
“He tried to adopt her once.” She explains, finally moving towards the corridor and I mindlessly follow her. “But he didn’t pass the house inspections. He’s come in here every day since to see and play with her.”
I suddenly feel bad for the things I said, and how uncomfortable I find the situation. If there was one thing I could empathise with other people, it’s the irrational amount of love you could have for a pet. And Evie was basically this guy’s pet, would have been entirely had those stupidly strict house regulations not been in play. Of course, I’m thankful for them now though, ‘cause as bad as I feel for the guy, if he’d passed, I’d never have had a chance to meet Evie, and she already means so much to me.
“I’ll see if I can-”
“I’ll talk to him.” I interrupt her, surprising myself as much as her. My body already starts to react to my mouth’s betrayal, nervous jitters sending my limbs fidgeting, and an uncomfortable prickling irritating my skin. I’m really not good with other people’s emotions. With any luck, he’s stopped crying by now. Please. Please have stopped crying. “I-it’s probably for the best, right? I should, probably talk to him.”
“Whatever you think.” She placates, slowly opening the door we stopped in front of, and gently guiding me into the hallway. “I’ll be out front, if you want any help.” I nod with a gulp, and take a tentative step into the cold corridor like it’s the Dead Marshes. “He’s very sweet,” she whispers with a sad smile. “He won’t give you trouble.”
I nod again as she closes the door behind me, and only then do I take another step. And another, and another, until the hunched form and soft sniffles become clearer, and I’m actually approaching the man.
Evie notices me first, her tail wagging furiously, but she doesn’t move away from the man and his fingers playing with her fur through the bars. He smiles at her eagerness, wet eyes shining, before it dawns on him why she’s acting like that, and his head whips to the side to meet my eyes as I slowly reach the kennel.
“H-hi.” I stutter out as he shoots to his feet and hurriedly swipes his arms and hands over his face, an embarrassed flush rising to his already rosy cheeks.
I want to run away.
“H-hey,” he chokes, moving his hands to fidget in the pockets of his hoodie, revealing sticky – and indeed freckled – cheeks and disarrayed hair. He forces a weak and wobbling smile, and tries to chirp as if I hadn’t just caught him crying his eyes out. “Are you here to pick her up?”
I just about manage a stiff nod.
“Ah, how nice.” I can see his throat bob as he swallows and turns to the side to look down at Evie. “S-she’s a cute one.” We both wince as his voice cracks, and he seems to realise that the façade he’s putting up isn’t working, that the effort he’s putting into keeping that faltering smile stretched isn’t worth it, as it finally crumbles and a hand comes up to rub at the short hair at the nape of his neck. “Sorry,” he coughs, turning back to me, and I can only assume the forced raising of one side of his lips is compulsive, because the eyes that meet mine are red and unsettlingly dull. “You must think I’m so silly, but these places just make me so sad.” His arm drops limply, and he looks to the side again. “At least this one gets a good home.”
Nothing feels quite as awkward as seeing someone believe their lying is working, when you fully know they’re lying, and you can’t just play along and let the incident pass and be forgotten.
I’m good with confrontation, but when the other guy’s likely to get even more embarrassed, and maybe even cry again…
I scratch at the clammy skin of my forearm and take a deep breath before I just dive in head first.
“They, uh.” My eyes quickly snap to the floor when he looks at me. “They told me you come play with her every day.”
I don’t know what kind of response I was expecting, and when I think about it, what do you say to something like that. But I expect something, and the silence that follows is almost as bad as his muffled sobbing that had welcomed me when I first stepped in.
I raise my eyes when he still doesn’t reply, and he looks suitably surprised. “You’re Marco, right?” Of course his fucking Marco you idiot! You know that, he knows that. Evie probably knows that!
He actually takes a step back when I say his name, and then a strange mixture of embarrassment and betrayal contorts his face and makes his body fidget.
“I, didn’t see anyone familiar when I walked in here. Did they,” he frowns at the floor, glancing at me quickly. “Did they warn you about me?”
“No!” My hands rise quickly in front of me. “No, of course not! I er. I came in, a bit earlier, and er, saw you. Cr-crying.” I mumble, and we both blush in embarrassment. “And I went to get hel- actually, if I’m honest, I ran away and tried to find someone else to deal with it, and that’s when they told me it was probably you.”
His face is impossibly red, and he shuffles a bit further away from me as if that’ll change what I’ve seen, heard, and said. Another beat of silence, and not for the first time, I wish I was better at handling these situations.
Not this situation. Confronting a crying man beside the kennel of the dog I’m adopting, is not a frequent occurrence in my life. And I’ve got to be really unlucky if this happens to me again.
But situations with feelings. Emotions that can’t, and - even I know - shouldn’t be ignored. Where I need to converse somewhere in the No Man’s Land between the polite, passing small talk of strangers, and the filter-less chatter of friends.
Thankfully, Marco, like everyone else, quickly realises that he’s going to have to be the more active role if there’s going any progress beyond awkwardly standing in silence.
He looks at me with a more sturdy quick of his lips, though his face is still flushed and his eyes remain sad.
“You ran away?”
Well. That certainly wasn’t what I was expecting, but I’ll fucking snatch it and grip onto it for dear life.
“Uh. Yeah. Sorry.” I try my own shaky smile and rub at my shoulder. “I’m just, I’m not very good with… tears, y’know?”
“Oh?” He faces me a bit more fully, and though it’s small, his smile is genuine and teasing. “Macho Man are we?”
“No, no. Nothing like that.” I scoff, but suddenly, I’m acutely aware of my aggressive nature, physical recoiling from other people’s feelings, and my highly valued, mile long front. I run a nervous hand through my hair as I feel a ridiculous heat in my cheeks. “…Well, maybe.”
Marco laughs.
It’s not loud, and it doesn’t last long, but it’s heartfelt and poorly hidden behind a polite hand, and it eases some of the tension from my body.
An excited yelp and soft a clang draws both our attention to Evie who’s jumped up against the bars next to me, wagging her tail, begging for some attention from me and no doubt eyeing the forgotten lead in my hand with some anticipation.
I chuckle and crouch down, pushing my fingers through the gaps to stroke her nose as she bounces back down, barely noticing the way she evaporates my lingering unease. I smile as she pants and licks relentlessly at my hand, and I’m reminded of how I can’t wait to take her home.
“I’ll leave you to it.” Marco whispers, and I turn just in time to see a forlorn smile before he takes a step away.
“Wait! You don’t have to go.” He shakes his head.
“This, this is a special moment. I don’t want to intrude anymore.”
He’s right, it is special. But… well, I wouldn’t say the day was already ruined, but it certainly hadn’t gone the way I had imagined it would over and over again last night. Him staying a little longer isn’t going to make a difference.
“I don’t mind.” I offer, even if he still looks a little emotional for my comfort. But I can imagine what it must feel like, to see the dog you fell in love with being taken home by someone else, and if I was him… “They… they told me you tried to adopt her.” I honestly don’t know why he seems so surprised, but his watery eyes widen, and I have to force myself to keep eye contact. “Don’t you want to say a proper goodbye?”
I stand as he takes his time in answering, only moving to unlock the door when he gives a single, downcast nod.
As soon as she hears the click, Evie can barely contain herself. She starts bouncing by the door, barking high and loud amongst the other dogs’ constant noise.
“Alright, alright.” I shuffle the gate open slowly, and she quiets as I bend down awkwardly to clip the lead to her collar with one hand, though she never stops wriggling.
I know I must have the dorkiest smile on my face, but I don’t care.
She bounds out as soon as the door’s open enough, and makes her way to Marco in a weird, excited squirming. He chuckles as he crouches down to meet her, his hands instantly burying in her thick coat with a breathless, “Heya girly.”
I lock up the beautifully empty kennel, and kneel next to them, stroking a hand repeatedly along her back. It’s apparently an invitation for Marco to open up to me.
“I tried to adopt her a couple months ago.” He starts, eyes never leaving Evie and fond smile holding up a lot stronger than any of his previous. “They rejected me ‘cause my apartment’s too small. I mean, it is small, and I understand why they’d have reservations, but I live on Jinae street.” He pauses to look at me. “You know it?”
“Uh, yeah.” I look away as I try to recollect where I know the name. “It’s by King’s Park right?”
“Yep.” He goes back to fussing over Evie. “My front door is literally 4 meters away from the entrance. And it’s a huge park. I figured it was as good as having a garden, especially since I’m on ground level too. But the guy who came round was like,” Marco frowns dramatically and pushes his chin into his neck to drop his voice. “This place isn’t suitable for any dog, never mind one as energetic as an Australian Shepherd. What were you thinking?”
“What a dick.” I snort, and Marco gives me a small, appreciative smile.
“Yeah. But that was it then. Once he made his report, they weren’t interested in my ideas or explanations, and he certainly never was. I mean, they’re probably right, but I was kinda upset they wouldn’t even try listening.” There’s a small, awkward pause before Marco thankfully continues. “I kept coming in because I really lov-loved her, y’know? And I didn’t want her to be lonely any more. I was actually kinda surprised it took so long for someone else to show interest.”
I hum in agreement, fixatedly watching our hands thoroughly spoil her. “I fell in love as soon as I saw her to be honest.” I don’t dare look up, but I can feel his eyes on me. “But I guess people look for younger dogs. And Aussie’s are pretty high maintenance, not to mention merle’s come with their fair share of health problems.” I scratch at her ear and watch her tilt into my hand. “She’s ok now, but it can be a bit much for some people to handle. I guess their patterning isn’t to everyone’s taste either.” I shrug.
“It’s worth it though, isn’t it?”
I grin and rub her head vigorously, making her ears flap with soft claps. “Absolutely!”
I laugh as she bounces closer to me and starts licking underneath my jaw. Her tail wags harder with every weak protest I make, as if she’s hearing praise rather than faux-commands, but through the commotion and noise, I catch the way Marco curls and strokes his fingers along her neck with a soft smile and even softer whisper.
“You’re a lucky girl, huh?”
I eventually manager to push her away, and face Marco again. “Y’know, I live pretty close by.” He looks at me with a raised eyebrow, so I continue. “Just down Trost way? I’ll probably take her to King’s Park now and then; you’re welcome to come say ‘hi’ anytime you spot us.”
“Really?”
“Of course.” I laugh a little at his surprise, but swallow harshly as I try to get the next words out as quickly as possible. “She’ll miss you, you know.” There’s a pause that I’m certain is only awkward for me – because who the hell else is too incompetent to even talk about a dog’s feelings – so I quickly try to inject some poor humour with a smirk. “Besides, if what they say about dogs looking like their owners is true, I guess that’s kind of what you’ve been this whole time, even if it is unofficially.”
He seems partially pleased at the comment, but he also looks thoroughly confused, and given the frequency with which it happens, I shouldn’t still find it so jarring to realise when someone isn’t on the same wavelength.
Cue awkward, fumbling explanation.
Why do I ever fucking bother?
“Uh, b-because she has all these black spots, and you’ve got freckles? And they kinda-”
He thankfully cuts me off with a surprised nudge and a roll of the eyes, but his cheeks are pink for whatever reason. Probably second hand embarrassment. Fuck knows what my own face looks like.
“I mean it.” I say, somehow finding the nerve to meet his eyes again. “Anytime.”
He smiles, and gives Evie one last, long stroke.
“Thanks, er…”
“Jean.”
“Thanks, Jean.” He smiles again and stands up. “I’m really glad I met you.”
I smile back, and surprise myself with how genuine my reply is. “Me too, Marco.”
With a final pat to Evie’s head, and a happier smile at me, Marco makes his way down the corridor, never once looking back. It’s only when I hear the door click shut that I turn back to Evie and rub both my hands up and down her thick tuff with a wide grin. I kiss the top of her head as I finally stand back up and unravel the lead a bit from my hand.
“‘Bout time we left, don’cha think?”
Evie happily pulls ahead as soon as I take a step away from her old kennel, and we walk to our last check in with Sandra and the stuck-up receptionist, before we finally, get to go home.
I can’t wait.