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“Oh well, thank you, mister officer!”
Dogman has never seen Petey this angry before.
Even when they were mortal enemies, Petey had never actually looked mad , more exhilarated, manic, like the thought of beating each other up was the highlight of his day.
He tries to think. To remember the last time Petey had looked like this. There was that one morning he’d stepped into the apartment with muddy boots, tracking shoe prints across the clean floor Petey had just mopped. Then, months back, when Li’l Petey spat out a plate of baked ziti with dramatic flair and said, “It tastes like throw up”. And, of course, the week Petey discovered Dogman had been the one digging up the rose garden he’d worked so hard to maintain.
But none of that even comes close to this.
Petey’s pacing now, tail lashing behind him. His ears are flattened, his fur puffed in uneven patches. His breaths come fast, and he seems to be actually holding himself back from committing a murder.
Dogman reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small notepad decorated with stickers. In the middle, there’s a heart with two cats drawn inside. He grabs a pen and scribbles, “I didn’t mean to follow you.”
He hands it over. Petey snatches it without looking and crumples it before reading a single word.
“Oh no, buddy…” Petey says, voice shaking. “You don’t get to write your way out of this one,”
There really isn’t a clean way to explain himself, so he lowers his hold on the notepad. It’s almost 1 a.m.—Li’l Petey is hopefully asleep, safe behind two locked doors and a night light shaped like a spaceship. Dogman had only just returned from patrol, hoping for a quiet moment. Instead, the argument is blooming here, in the middle of their living room.
“You followed me. Across two neighborhoods,” Petey goes on, pacing in a tight, furious circle. “You crouched behind a newspaper stand like you were in a cartoon. I saw your ears, you idiot. You didn’t even wear a hat!”
Dog Man shifts his weight, ears drooping slightly. He considers signing something— I do trust you , maybe, or I was trying to protect you , but the room feels too fragile now, like anything said would only make it worse. So he stands still, not out of defiance but because he honestly doesn’t know how to step toward someone when he’s the reason they’ve stepped away.
He settles for, “I was checking on you.”
Petey barks a hollow laugh. “Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been monitoring me all week. You changed the locks on the evidence cabinet. Yeah, I know about it—You asked Li’l Petey if I’d been going out somewhere “strange” lately. You even left your police tablet open on the kitchen counter with a report about me on it.”
Dogman hadn’t meant for it to go this far.
At first, it had just been instinct. The message had come anonymously—a yellow envelope slid under the door of the precinct, addressed with jagged letters: He’s next. There wasn’t anything else written on it. No name. No return address. Just a single photo of Petey, grainy and distant, carrying two big plastic bags filled to the brim with groceries. It’d been taken from across a street Dogman recognized instantly. Someone had been watching them.
He hadn’t told anyone. Not the Chief. Not Nurse Lady. And especially not Petey. The thought of telling him had paralyzed him from the beginning. What would he say? That someone out there wanted him dead? That he might be in danger just walking to the corner store or sitting on the front stoop with his son? Dogman couldn’t bring himself to break that kind of peace. Not after everything Petey had done to claw his way toward a new life.
So instead, he did what he knew best. He followed him. From rooftops. Through alleyways. Pretending to run errands while keeping him in sight. Every time Petey went out alone, Dogman’s chest squeezed tighter. Every unfamiliar face nearby became a threat. Every shadow was too long, too dark. The new locks. The reports. The questions.
However, being subtle has never been Dogman’s forte, and Petey’s way too used to all his police tactics for that to work anyway. In retrospect, he should’ve known Petey was smart enough to know when he’s being followed before making a fool of himself. With a jolt, he realizes that from Petey’s view, it all must look the same: surveillance. Doubt. A friend who still treats him like a criminal
A heavy knot forms in the pit of his stomach, and for the first time in a long while, his own fear feels suffocating. The familiar weight of guilt starts to rise in his chest, and his eyes sting.
Bad dog , he thinks. His only goal had been to protect his family and the peace they had built with hard work. But his overwhelming fear of losing it all has turned everything to dust. Every step, every decision he made with the best of intentions, has only pushed him further from Petey. He can only stand there, helpless, as the cat pours out his hurt.
Dogman pockets the notepad again and stares ahead, eyes unfocused. He remembers the note. The picture. It’s still in the drawer in his desk, folded neatly next to the report he never filed. All of it just sitting there, hidden, like a secret too dangerous to share. But secrets have weight. And they have sharp edges when they finally surface.
“I’ve lived with you for a year,” Petey says, voice quieter now, but no softer. “I thought you believed in me, man”
His words hang in the air, and Dogman feels them settle somewhere deep, right beneath his ribs. They echo, not loudly, but in that quiet way that stays with you longer, especially when they come from someone you care about. He thinks back, tracing every moment when he held back just a little too much, every time he caught himself watching Petey too closely, not out of suspicion, but out of fear. Fear of what he couldn't control.
He remembers a night a few months ago. It was late, quiet, Li’l Petey already asleep upstairs, as it seems like most of their actual conversations happen after midnight.
Petey had sat on the kitchen counter, peeling an orange and talking more than usual. Not a confession, exactly, but a string of memories. How things used to be. He talked about lifting wallets when he was a teenager, at first, for money, and then, because he felt like it was the only thing he knew how to do. He said he used to think people like him didn’t get second chances, until Dogman and Li’l Petey showed up and, without meaning to, showed him that even a rotten villain could become a better person.
It hadn’t been some big emotional moment. Petey had rolled his eyes at himself the whole time, muttered something like, “Don’t get weird about it,” and tossed the orange peel in the trash, leaving Dogman with a weird fluttery feeling growing in his gut.
It wouldn’t be a lie to say he’s always trusted Petey. Back when they were enemies, he trusted him to go all in, never pulling punches, but never crossing certain lines either. Petey had a strange sort of code, and Dogman had come to rely on it.
Now, the trust is different. He trusts him to be there in the mornings, to take care of Li’l Petey without needing to be asked, to cook their meals and give Dogman a hug goodbye before leaving for work. He trusts him to keep trying, even when no one is watching.
He lifts his eyes slowly, only to find Petey watching him, his gaze not as sharp as before, but still guarded. There’s something in the way he’s standing, something that says he’s waiting for something more than just an apology.
Dogman’s throat feels dry. “I’m sorry,” he starts, hands trembling with emotion. “I was scared. I don’t want to lose you”. He finishes his sentence with a sad whine, and tries his best to not let it show how Petey being disappointed in him affected him this much.
As soon as he finishes his sentence, his breath hitches. He blinks a few times, but that doesn’t quite stop the tears from welling up. He hates this. Hates how small he feels under the weight of Petey’s disappointment. Hates how badly he wants to close the space between them but doesn’t know if he’s allowed.
Petey shifts slightly, his posture stiffening like something in him has braced, caught off guard by the way Dogman’s shoulders start to shake.
It takes a long second, but Petey finally exhales. A low, careful sound. “You’re not gonna lose me,” he mumbles, more to the air than to Dogman. Then, with the same steadiness, “Just... don’t lie to me. If something’s going on, I deserve to know.”
Dogman nods, sniffling. He wipes his face with the sleeve of his uniform like it’s no big deal, but his chest is still trembling. In front of him, Petey lets out a resigned sigh and steps forward, expression sour like gravity had reached for him without his consent. Dogman thinks Petey might slap him, so he braces himself for it, thinking he probably deserves it anyway. But then Petey leans in, hesitating only for a brief second before wrapping an arm around his shoulder.
It’s clumsy. Petey’s arms are very stiff and they circle around Dogman in a strange way so that they don’t actually make physical contact. He seems to hesitate a bit more and then decides to throw every bit of reasoning out the window. Petey shifts, and suddenly he’s pulling Dogman close. From this distance, Dogman can hear the agitated heartbeat inside Petey’s warm chest, but the cat doesn’t let go.
“I shouldn’t have yelled at you”, Petey whispers. Dogman freezes for a second, breath caught somewhere between shame and relief, then he eases into it. Just a little. Enough to lean his weight forward, to feel the warmth of Petey’s fur against his cheek, the slight hitch in the cat’s breathing. Petey doesn’t say anything else. His chin lingers near Dogman’s ear, breath faint and even, and his fingers curl into the edge of Dogman’s uniform.
It isn’t the kind of hug people talk about. It’s not cinematic, not polished. It’s awkward, and warm, and a little messy in the way things between them always seem to be. And it makes Dogman ache. The scent of motor oil and oranges lingers, the telltale signs that Petey had refused to fall asleep until Dogman came back from work.
He’d thought he was protecting Petey by keeping him in the dark. After Knight died, everything felt like it could fall apart at any second, so he clung too tightly to what was left. Petey, Li’l Petey, their little routine. It had seemed safer to carry the weight alone. But now, with Petey’s arms around him and that steady silence between them, Dogman realizes Petey doesn’t need protecting. He’s angry, sarcastic, kind of impossible, but strong, stronger than anyone else he’s ever known.
When Dogman finally pulls back his eyes are red-rimmed and uncertain. Petey’s brow draws slightly, and Dogman doesn’t need to be told to know exactly what he wants him to do.
The hallway creaks under his boots, every step feeling louder than it should. He kneels by the bottom drawer—third one down, the one he never uses for anything else. The letter’s still there, exactly where he left it, pressed between a training manual and the old photo of the three of them from last summer, Li’l Petey mid-sneeze and ruining the shot.
He stares at it for a moment. It doesn’t look like much. A single sheet of paper, folded once, edges soft from being handled too many times. Still, it feels heavy in his hand.
Back in the living room, Petey’s standing in the same spot, arms crossed loosely and eyes heavy with sleep. His ears twitch when Dogman returns. He doesn't say anything when Dogman holds out the letter, just takes it with the same cautious fingers he’d used before.
There’s a beat. Two. Then his expression doesn’t so much harden as... shift. Confused. Amused, even.
He huffs—an almost laugh—and looks up at Dogman with something like disbelief flashing behind his eyes. “This?” he mutters, not quite masking the humor curling in his mouth.
Dogman blinks, caught completely off guard.
“I’ve had worse,” Petey says, flicking the corner of the page with a claw like he’s holding a parking ticket. “You should see the stuff I used to get in the mail. ‘Rot in a flaming dumpster,’ ‘choke on your own fur’—real poetry.” His tone’s light, casual, almost flippant, but not cruel.
A quiet rustle follows as Dogman shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His fingers move quickly, signing, “I didn’t want to scare you” . His hands linger in the air for a moment, as if part of him wishes the words could be taken back.
Instead of responding right away, Petey folds the letter, this time precisely, corners lined up, crease sharp. He doesn’t hand it back, but he doesn’t toss it either. It stays tucked against his side, held steady by a loose arm across his chest.
He glances sideways, something unreadable flickering across his face. “You thought I couldn’t handle it?” The tilt of his mouth says he’s trying to be smug, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Dogman stands still for a second too long. Then his whining, roughened slightly by nerves, breaks the silence. “I thought if anything happened to you, I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”
That knocks the smile from Petey’s face, just for a second. His posture changes again, less smug now, softer. His voice lowers. “Stupid dog,” he says, but there’s no heat in it. No real bite.
They’re standing very close now, breaths mingling. Dogman feels the warmth between them shift. He should say something, do something, but the moment folds in on itself before he can find words.
Before he considers apologizing again, Petey leans in. It’s cautious and slow, like he’s giving Dogman a chance to back away. But Dogman doesn’t move.
Their mouths meet in a kiss that’s surprisingly soft for how much tension’s been building between them. Messy in the way two people collide when they’ve been orbiting the same grief, the same fear, for too long. Dogman sighs against Petey’s lips, shoulders finally relaxing, and Petey’s hand comes up to his face to hold him there, just for a second longer.
When they part, Petey’s breath brushes Dogman’s cheek. “Next time,” he murmurs, eyes not quite meeting his, “just tell me. I don’t break that easy.”
The quiet after the kiss is heavy, but not uncomfortable. Dogman stands there, still processing, like he can’t quite believe the moment is real. Petey, for all his bravado, looks a little unsure now, still standing too close but unsure of how to act. His posture is stiff again, his arms crossed, but the way his eyes flicker toward Dogman betrays a vulnerability he doesn’t usually let show.
Petey clears his throat, breaking the silence, but it’s soft, almost like he’s embarrassed now, even if he won’t admit it. He looks at Dogman once more, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and then turns to walk toward the kitchen. The lightness in his steps as he walks away tells Dogman everything he needs to know: Petey’s okay, too.
Dogman stands there for a beat longer, the last traces of tension from the letter and the fear of losing him slowly melting away. He takes a deep breath and takes notice of the quiet warmth in his chest, a contentment he didn’t realize he was waiting for. It’s strange, how something so simple, just being near someone, not even needing to say everything, feels exactly what he’s been waiting for all this time. Petey’s alive. Petey’s okay. Petey kissed him. That’s more than he ever let himself hope for.
At his lack of movement, Petey peeks back around the corner. “You coming, or are you just gonna stand there and make heart eyes at me like an idiot?”
He barks a laugh, startled back into motion, and jogs to catch up, a grin tugging at his mouth. In the kitchen, the rhythm between them clicks into place like it never broke, passing plates, opening the fridge, moving around each other with easy, familiar momentum. Petey hums softly, the letter still tucked under one arm. A quiet reminder: in the morning, they'll probably have to go down to the police station and file a report. Together.
They eat on the couch, bowls balanced on their knees, shoulders brushing every so often. No need to speak, no need to explain. Dogman feels the tension draining from his body, replaced by something firmer, something rooted. He knows now that he’s not standing on the edge of losing anything. Not anymore.
Petey is here. After everything, he stayed.
Dogman doesn’t need to ask why. It’s in the ease of Petey’s movements, in the way he fills the space in Dogman’s life like it’s always been his. He has something now. Someone he can rely on instead of carrying everyone’s burdens by himself.
Dogman glances over at him and smiles, quiet and sure.
He doesn’t have to fight to keep Petey. Just hold on.
And he will.