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Qiu Dingjie adjusted the collar of his tactical uniform, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple, then scanning the crowded plaza with practiced vigilance. Beside his boots, panting softly but holding a perfect disciplined heel, was Peanut.

Peanut is a Pembroke Welsh Corgi. He wears a specially designed tactical harness, complete with a handle, reflective strips, and two prominent patches that read "POLICE K-9" in bold lettering.

To Dingjie, Peanut was a highly trained specialized asset. A graduate at the top of his scent detection class, and the only partner Dingjie trusted with his own life. To the rest of the world, unfortunately, Peanut was a punchline.

"Oh my god, look at his little legs!"

Dingjie's jaw tightened. He didn't need to turn his head to locate the source of the voice. A group of teenagers, flush with the unearned confidence of youth and loud energy, had clustered near the edge of the fountain. Their smartphones are already out and recording.

"Is that a real cop dog?" one of the boys jeered, zooming in on Peanut, "What's he gonna do, ankle bite the suspects to death?"

"It's a mascot," a girl laughed, leaning on her friend's shoulder, "Definitely a mascot. Hey, officer! Is he for Douyin? Do a trick!"

Dingjie kept his expression blank. He stared straight ahead, his posture rigid. He had been a K-9 handler for three years, and the jokes never stopped. They came from the public, they came from the media, and worst of all, they came from inside his own Public Security Bureau. The constant indignity chipped away at him, leaving a persistent simmering anger just beneath his skin. He was fiercely protective of Peanut. The dog is his partner, the only living creature that didn't expect Dingjie to be anything other than what he was.

"Come on, make him bark! Douyin bait!" another teen yelled, whistling sharply.

Peanut's large bat like ears swiveled toward the sound, but he didn't break his heel. He looked up at Dingjie. His intelligent brown eyes waiting for a command.

"Leave it," Dingjie murmured. His voice was low, intended only for the dog. Peanut immediately faced forward again, completely ignoring the whistles and the mocking laughter.

Dingjie's hands were curled into tight fists at his sides. His fingernails biting into his palms. He wanted to march over there, confiscate their phones, and lecture them on the hundreds of hours of specialized training Peanut had endured to earn that vest. He wanted to scream that Peanut had a better narcotics detection rate than the Public Security Bureau's prized Belgian Malinois. But he couldn't. He was in uniform. He swallowed his pride. A bitter pill he was forced to take daily, and gave the leash a gentle tug.

"Forward," Dingjie commanded softly. They walked away. The sound of the teenagers' laughter faded into the ambient noise of the city, though it continued to ring sharply in Dingjie's ears.

The opportunity for Peanut to prove his worth came just three hours later.

A call came over the radio requesting K-9 assistance at a suspected narcotics stash house on the edge of the industrial district. It was an old dilapidated warehouse, smelling of rot damp concrete, and rusted iron. The primary sweep team had secured the area, but the space was cluttered with tightly packed pallets, narrow crawlspaces beneath machinery, and collapsed shelving.

"The big dogs can't fit in there without disturbing the pile," the tactical lead explained to Dingjie upon arrival, shining a flashlight into a dense chaotic maze of fallen crates and debris, "Think your boy can get in there?"

"He can get anywhere," Dingjie said flatly. He unclipped Peanut's standard leash and attached a long line. He knelt in the dirt, ignoring the grime seeping into his uniform pants, and brought his face close to Peanut's.

"Seek," Dingjie commanded. His voice shifted from its usual gruffness to a focused tone.

Peanut's entire demeanor shifted. He lowered his nose to the ground. His short tail standing straight up, and then darted into the dark narrow crevices among the warehouse debris.

Dingjie stood by the entrance of the pile, expertly feeding the long line through his gloved hands, watching the bright reflective strips of Peanut's vest navigate the tight spaces. The corgi moved with an agility and purpose that always left Dingjie in quiet awe. Peanut's low center of gravity and compact size allowed him to weave through spaces that would have trapped a German Shepherd.

For twenty minutes, the only sounds were the heavy breathing of the tactical team, the shifting of debris, and the sniffing of the K-9.

Then, a sharp distinct bark echoed from deep within the pile.

"He's got a hit," Dingjie announced. A rare surge of pride warming his chest.

"Good boy," Dingjie called out, "Return."

He began to reel in the line. Peanut scrambled backward out of the narrow space, but as he squeezed past a shattered wooden pallet, a sickening sound of tearing fabric and a sudden high pitched yelp pierced the damp air.

Dingjie's heart dropped straight into his stomach. The line went taut.

"Peanut!" Dingjie dropped the remaining slack and scrambled forward, heedless of the wood and rusted nails tearing at his own uniform. He hauled away a broken crate. His flashlight beam cutting through the dust until it landed on his partner.

Peanut was sitting awkwardly in the dirt, holding his front right paw in the air. He was panting heavily as a steady alarming stream of blood was dripping from his paw pad, pooling on the dusty concrete. Beneath him lay a big shard of glass, slick with the dog's blood.

"Hey, it's okay, I got you," Dingjie muttered. His voice shook slightly as he carefully scooped the 27 jin dog into his arms. The pure panic that gripped him was irrational. A testament to his deep seated attachment issues, but he couldn't control it. He pressed a clean gauze pad from his tactical kit against the wound, applying firm pressure. Peanut licked Dingjie's chin. A gesture of comfort that only made Dingjie's chest ache more.

"We got the stash," the tactical lead called out from behind him, having navigated to where Peanut had signale, "Massive haul. Good job by the little guy. Do you need the department vet?"

Dingjie paused, holding his bleeding partner against his chest. He thought of the department affiliated clinic across town. He thought of the waiting room, full of other handlers with their intimidating dogs. He remembered the last time he took Peanut there for a routine check up, the way the lead veterinarian had chuckled and asked if Peanut had tripped over his own ears during an obstacle course. He remembered the snide remarks from his colleagues, the whispers of 'pity hire' and 'novelty act'.

Dingjie looked down at Peanut, who had just performed a highly dangerous job flawlessly, only to be injured in the line of duty. He refused to subject Peanut to their condescending smiles today.

"No," Dingjie said. His voice was cold and hard, "I'll handle it. Secure the scene."

Dingjie drove away from the industrial district with his lights flashing but the siren off. One hand steering the wheel and the other resting securely on Peanut, who was curled up in the passenger seat with his bandaged paw resting on Dingjie's thigh.

He didn't know where he was going. He just drove away from the Public Security Bureau, away from the familiar routes, navigating toward the quieter residential neighborhoods. He needed a place that didn't know them. A place where Peanut was just a dog in need of help, not a punchline in a K-9 vest.

After twenty minutes of driving, he spotted a small unassuming sign tucked between a bakery and a closed down laundromat. Huang Animal Clinic. The storefront was narrow, the glass clean but devoid of the flashy cartoonish pet decals that adorned most modern veterinary offices.

Dingjie parked directly in front, killing the engine. He carefully lifted Peanut, leaving the K-9 vest in the car but keeping his own uniform on. He pushed open the glass door. A small bell chiming overhead.

The waiting room was smelling faintly of antiseptic and lavender, with white walls and a few neatly arranged chairs. It was completely empty.

"Hello?" Dingjie called out. His voice was loud in the quiet room. His grip on Peanut tight.

From a doorway behind the reception desk, a man emerged.

He looked to be in his early twenties, wearing perfectly pressed blue surgical scrubs. His hair was neat, but his eyes, which were sharp and calculating, spoke of exhaustion. There was no welcoming customer service smile, no softening of the features. He looked at Dingjie, taking in the police uniform, the dirt and grime covering it, and finally, the bleeding corgi in his arms.

"Put him on the table in room one," the man said. His voice was perfectly flat, devoid of any inflection or warmth. He didn't introduce himself. He just turned on his heel and walked back through the door.

Dingjie blinked, slightly taken aback by the bluntness, but the lack of immediate questions or mocking laughter was a relief. He followed the vet into a small examination room, gently setting Peanut down on the stainless steel table.

The vet, presumably Dr. Huang Xing, given the sign outside, was already pulling on a pair of pale blue latex gloves. He stepped up to the table. He didn't look at Dingjie again. His focus was on the dog.

"What happened?" Xing asked. His tone is brisk and purely transactional.

"He stepped on a shard of glass during a search," Dingjie replied, trying to match the man's clinical detachment, though his anxiety leaked through, "It's a deep laceration on the front right paw pad. I applied field pressure, but it hasn't stopped bleeding completely."

Xing didn't nod to acknowledge the information. He simply reached out and gently removed the blood soaked gauze Dingjie had applied. Peanut flinched, pulling his leg back slightly.

"Hold him steady, please," Xing ordered. His voice was cold, showing zero sympathy for Dingjie's obvious stress, "Don't let him squirm."

Dingjie bristled slightly at the commanding tone but complied, wrapping an arm around Peanut's chest and speaking softly in his ear to calm him.

Xing leaned in closer. For a man who radiated such frigid unapproachable energy toward humans, his hands were entirely different. As he examined the wound, his touch was precise, steady, and unexpectedly gentle. He moved with a practiced grace, cleaning the dirt and dried blood away with a saline flush.

"It's a clean slice," Xing murmured, though it felt more like he was talking to himself than to Dingjie, "Missed the major tendon by a millimeter. He will need stitches and a course of antibiotics to prevent infection from the debris."

"Will it affect his mobility long term?" Dingjie asked. The words tumbling out in a rush, "He's a working dog. He needs to be able to navigate unstable terrain. If his pad doesn't heal right—"

"Quiet," Xing interrupted. His voice is sharp and insensitive to Dingjie's panic. He finally flicked his eyes up to meet Dingjie's, "Panicking in my exam room elevates the animal's heart rate. Do you want him to bleed more?"

Dingjie snapped his mouth shut. His jaw clenched. He was a police officer, used to taking charge of a room, but here, under the cold unimpressed stare of this veterinarian, he felt entirely dismantled. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to project calm for Peanut's sake.

Satisfied with Dingjie's silence, Xing turned back to the dog. He prepared a local anesthetic. As he worked, Dingjie braced himself for the inevitable comments. This was the part where vets usually noticed the discrepancy. They would look at the short legs, the fluffy fur, and then look at the handler, the unasked questions hanging in the air. Why a corgi? Isn't he too small to be a police dog?

Xing injected the anesthetic around the wound. Peanut gave a small whine.

Instead of laughing, or cooing, or offering some patronizing baby talk to comfort the dog, Huang Xing did something that made Dingjie's breath catch in his throat.

Xing took a step back, waiting for the numbing agent to take effect. He looked at the dog, taking in the muscular build hidden beneath the fluff and the intelligent alert eyes that were watching the vet's every move. Then, Xing slowly lowered himself, bending his knees until he was kneeling on the floor, bringing his face exactly level with Peanut's.

It was a posture of submission, a gesture of respect usually reserved for approaching large dangerous dogs. It was never a posture anyone used for a corgi.

Xing didn't reach out to pet him. Not even a smile. He maintained eye contact with the dog, his expression serious and validating.

"You did your job well today," Xing said to the dog. His tone was exactly the same as when he addressed Dingjie. Professional, grave, and completely devoid of mockery.

Xing stood back up smoothly. He picked up his suture kit and began to stitch the thick paw pad. He worked in total silence. His face is an impenetrable mask of concentration.

Dingjie watched him, stunned. He had spent years defending Peanut, fighting for respect, demanding that his peers see the dog's capabilities over his appearance. And here was a complete stranger. A cold and seemingly insensitive veterinarian, who had offered that respect instantly, without prompting, without a second thought.

As Xing tied off the final stitch and began to wrap the paw in a neat secure bandage, he finally spoke to Dingjie again. He didn't look up from his work. His voice remains brisk and clinical.

"Most dogs with his physical build would have panicked from a wound this deep, especially in a high stress environment," Xing stated plainly, cutting off the medical tape. He smoothed the bandage down, "He remained quiet. He allowed you to handle him despite the pain, and he held his composure in a foreign clinic. That requires an immense amount of discipline and a very stable temperament."

Xing finally lifted his head. His calculating eyes locked onto Dingjie's. There was no warmth in his gaze, no friendly camaraderie, just an objective assessment.

"He has a very strong heart," Xing said. His voice is quiet but carrying authority in the silent room, "You've trained him well."

Dingjie felt something physically shift inside his chest. It was a sensation like ice cracking on a frozen lake. For years, he had built a massive impenetrable wall around himself and Peanut. A defensive barrier to keep the ridicule, the jokes, and the disrespect out. He had convinced himself that it was just him and the dog against the world, that nobody else would ever understand.

But looking at Huang Xing. This cold blunt man who hadn't offered him a single polite pleasantry, Dingjie realized his walls had just sustained their first major fracture. Because Xing hadn't just treated a corgi today. He had treated a fellow professional.

Dingjie swallowed hard. His throat was tight with a sudden overwhelming wave of emotion he desperately tried to suppress. He stroked the back of Peanut's neck, feeling the steady thrum of his partner's pulse.

"Thank you, Doctor," Dingjie managed to say. His voice was rougher than usual.

Xing merely gave a curt nod, tossing his gloves into the biohazard bin, "Keep the bandage clean and dry. No working until the stitches are out in ten days. Come to the front desk. I will print your discharge instructions and ring you up."

Without waiting for a response, Xing walked out of the room.

Dingjie stood there for a moment in the bright exam room. He looked down at Peanut, who was now resting his chin on his good paw, looking comfortable and perfectly safe. Dingjie carefully scooped the dog back into his arms. As he carried Peanut out to the reception area, the defensive weight he had carried on his shoulders all day, perhaps all three years, felt just a fraction lighter.

***

The smell of antiseptic and lavender floor cleaner had become strangely comforting to Dingjie.

He stood with his back rigid against the wall of the examination room. His arms crossed tightly over his tactical uniform. On the stainless steel table in the center of the room, Peanut was vibrating with an energy that completely contradicted the stoic discipline expected of a K-9 officer. The Corgi's oversized ears were pinned back in pure bliss as gloved fingers gently prodded his right front paw.

Xing, as usual, was a picture of detached concentration. His expression was cool, almost clinical, giving nothing away as he examined the healed pad. He didn't coo at the dog. He didn't use the high pitched infantile voice that most civilians instinctively adopted when they saw Peanut's short legs and fluffy coat. He simply worked with a efficient grace that Dingjie found mesmerizing.

"The laceration is fully fused," Xing said. His voice was flat and even, finally stepping back from the table. He peeled off his latex gloves with a sharp snap and tossed them into the biohazard bin. He didn't look at Dingjie, instead focusing his attention on washing his hands at the corner sink, "There's no sign of infection, and the tissue is durable. He's cleared for full active duty. You don't need to wrap it anymore."

Dingjie felt a sudden hollow drop in his stomach. The words cleared for duty and no need to wrap it meant there was no medical necessity to return. For the past two weeks, checking on Peanut's injured paw had been the best part of his routine.

"Right," Dingjie said. His voice sounded more gruff than he intended. He stepped forward to clip the police lead back onto Peanut's harness, "So, that's it, then."

Xing turned off the faucet, drying his hands slowly on a paper towel. His cold eyes flicked toward Dingjie, expression unreadable, "That is the optimal outcome for a superficial laceration, yes," Xing replied smoothly. His tone borders on indifferent, "Unless you were hoping it would get infected, Officer?"

"No. Of course not," Dingjie muttered, feeling a flush of heat at the back of his neck. He looked down at Peanut. The Corgi was sitting on the edge of the table, panting happily. His bright eyes fixed on Xing with a look of devotion, "Good work, then. Thank you, Doctor."

Xing gave a curt nod, already moving toward the door to hold it open, "Just doing my job. The receptionist will print out your final invoice."

Dingjie led Peanut out into the waiting room. The thud of his boots contrasting with the light clicking sound of the dog's nails. When the glass door of the clinic chimed shut behind them, leaving them on the cool evening street, Dingjie felt a pang of displacement. He looked down at the Corgi. Peanut was staring back at the glass door, letting out a soft high pitched whine.

"Yeah," Dingjie sighed, feeling a weight settle on his shoulders, "I know, buddy. Let's go home."

Three days later, the Public Security Bureau was as loud and unforgiving as ever.

Dingjie sat at his desk, filling out incident reports while the rest of the K-9 unit milled about the main office. Across the room, Officer Feng was tossing a rubber toy to a Belgian Malinois.

"Hey, Dingjie," Feng called out, leaning back in his chair with a smirk, "Did the mascot get his pedicure finished? I saw you taking him out in the field yesterday. Make sure he doesn't trip over a curb. Wouldn't want the department's Douyin star getting a bruised knee."

A few chuckles rippled through the room. Dingjie's jaw tightened. He kept his eyes locked on his computer screen. His fingers hovering stiffly over the keyboard.

"He cleared the warehouse sweep in under four minutes," Dingjie said. His voice was low and tight, "Faster than your Malinois did last week."

Feng waved a hand dismissively, "Yeah, yeah. He's got a good nose, I'll give him that. But it's hard to take a raid seriously when the point dog looks like a toasted loaf of bread. The suspects are more likely to die of laughter than intimidation."

Dingjie bit the inside of his cheek, tasting copper. He reached down under his desk. Peanut was curled into a tight ball, resting peacefully against Dingjie's tactical boots. Dingjie ran a hand over the dog's fur, seeking the grounding comfort of his partner. Peanut opened one eye, let out a long sigh, and closed it again. The dog had been lethargic for days, unbothered by the mockery, but clearly missing the quiet sanctuary they had found across town.

Dingjie looked at the clock. It was 6.45 p.m. His shift had ended fifteen minutes ago.

He looked down at Peanut's paws. The pads looked perfectly fine. Rough, calloused, healthy. But the concrete in the city was hard, wasn't it? And the debris in the alleys was dangerous. Preventative care was a crucial part of maintaining department equipment. And Peanut, technically, was department equipment.

Dingjie stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back, "Come on, Peanut. Up."

The Corgi scrambled to his feet, tail giving a hesitant wag.

Twenty minutes later, Dingjie was standing outside the glass doors of Xing's clinic. The open sign had been flipped to closed, but the warm yellow lights in the back examination room were still on. Dingjie hesitated. His hand hovering over the door handle. It was stupid. He had no reason to be here. He was about to turn around and walk away when the door clicked and pulled inward.

Xing stood in the doorway, dressed down in a simple black turtleneck and dark slacks. His white coat draped over one arm. The sharp lines of his face softened slightly by exhaustion, but his eyes immediately hardened with a defensive guard as he saw Dingjie.

"The clinic is closed, Officer," Xing said smoothly, making no move to step aside, "If this is a medical emergency, there is a 24 hour surgical center on the west side."

"It's not an emergency," Dingjie said quickly. The words tumbled out before he could stop them, "I ... I needed to ask about paw wax."

Xing paused. He looked down at Peanut, who had immediately dropped to his belly and began army crawling toward Xing's shoes, letting out a pathetic attention seeking whimper. Xing's expression remained impassive, but his gaze lingered on the dog for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

"Paw wax," Xing repeated. His voice deadpan.

"Yes," Dingjie insisted, straightening his posture, leaning into his authoritative police persona to cover his embarrassment, "For preventative maintenance. The urban terrain is harsh on his pads, especially considering his low center of gravity. I want to ensure maximum longevity for his field work. I didn't trust the commercial brands at the pet store. I wanted a professional recommendation."

It was a flimsy excuse, and Dingjie knew it. He waited for the vet to scoff, to point out the absurdity of a tactical officer demanding bespoke paw cosmetics after hours.

Instead, Xing simply stepped back, leaving the door open, "I have a few veterinary grade salves in the back," he said coldly, "Come in. But make it quick. I have paperwork to finish."

That was how the routine began.

It started with paw wax. Two days later, it was a highly detailed inquiry about joint supplements specifically formulated for chondrodysplastic breeds. The following week, Dingjie dropped in at 7 p.m. to ask about the optimal protein to fat ratio for a working dog with a slower metabolism.

Every time, Dingjie would arrive just as the clinic was locking up. Every time, he expected Xing to finally turn him away, to tell him to use Baidu, or to direct him back to the department's official veterinarian. And every time, Xing would maintain his frosty detached demeanor, complain mildly about being interrupted, and then silently unlock the door and let them in.

By the third week, the pretenses started to thin.

It was a Monday evening. The clinic was quiet. The only sound was the low hum of the refrigerator storing vaccines. Dingjie was sitting on the rolling stool in the exam room, ostensibly waiting while Xing checked the inventory for a specific brand of fish oil.

When Xing returned, he wasn't carrying fish oil. He was carrying two steaming paper cups.

He set one down on the metal examination table next to Dingjie without a word, taking a sip from his own.

Dingjie looked at the cup, startled, "What's this?"

"Instant coffee," Xing said, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. He looked away from Dingjie, staring at a poster of canine anatomy on the far wall, "The espresso machine in the breakroom is broken. This is from the jar in the back. Don't expect much."

Dingjie picked up the cup. It was scorching hot and smelled like burnt cardboard, but to him, it felt like a peace offering. He took a sip. It was terrible he almost spat it back out. But, he loved it.

"Thank you," Dingjie said quietly.

Xing didn't reply. He looked down.

At his feet, Peanut had abandoned Dingjie entirely. The Corgi was sprawled out on his back, his stubby legs in the air, his head resting across the toe of Xing's loafer. The dog was snoring softly. A small bubble of drool forming at the corner of his mouth.

Dingjie frowned. A sudden irrational spike of jealousy hitting him, "Peanut. Heel."

The dog didn't even twitch.

"Leave him," Xing said. His voice was surprisingly quiet, though his face remained a mask of indifference, "He's exhausted. You've been running him hard."

"He's a working dog. He needs discipline," Dingjie muttered, feeling betrayed. He had raised Peanut since he was a pup. Peanut was supposed to be his loyal shadow, his protective partner. Now, the dog was acting like a plush toy for a man who barely even smiled at him.

"Discipline does not preclude rest," Xing replied dryly, taking another sip of his coffee, "He knows this is a safe environment. He's allowed to drop his guard. You should try it sometime."

The words hung in the quiet room. Dingjie looked up, his eyes snapping to Xing's face. Xing immediately looked away. His jaw was tightening as if he regretted speaking. He set his coffee cup down with a sharp clack.

"I need to finish the daily logs," Xing said abruptly. His tone iced over, "Drink your coffee. The fish oil is on backorder. I'll call you when it arrives."

He turned and walked out of the exam room, disappearing into his private office down the hall.

Dingjie sat alone in the exam room. The terrible coffee warming his hands. He looked down at his traitorous dog, still snoozing on the spot where Xing had just been standing. For the first time in months, sitting in this sterile room, a genuine unforced smile broke across Dingjie's face.

The routine deepened, cementing itself into a ritual that Dingjie began to protect.

Tuesdays and Thursdays became their unspoken schedule. The mockery at the Public Security Bureau didn't stop. Officer Feng still made his jokes. The commanding officer still relegated Dingjie and Peanut to the lower priority sweeps, preferring the visually intimidating Shepherds for the high profile raids. But the sting was gone.

When a younger officer snickered as Peanut struggled to jump into the back of the transport van, Dingjie simply lifted the dog with one arm. He just secured Peanut, closed the doors, and drove. The Media Clown nickname bounced off his armor because his armor had been reinforced. He knew that at 7 p.m., he would be sitting on a rolling stool in the exam room, drinking awful instant coffee, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic.

The clinic had become their new safe place. It was a space where Peanut wasn't a joke, but a highly respected patient. And it was a space where Dingjie wasn't the defensive alienated handler, but simply ... Dingjie.

One particularly brutal Thursday, a sudden downpour had caught them in the middle of an outdoor tracking exercise. They had spent three hours trudging through freezing mud in an industrial park. By the time they arrived at the clinic, it was 7.30 p.m. Dingjie was soaked to the bone. His uniform clinging to his skin, shivering despite himself. Peanut looked like a drowned rat, leaving a trail of muddy paw prints across the lobby.

Dingjie froze just inside the door, suddenly hyper aware of the mess they were making. The clinic was silent. The lights were dimmed.

"We should go," Dingjie said hoarsely to Peanut, gripping the leash to pull him back out into the rain, "I'm ruining the floor."

"Don't be ridiculous."

Xing stepped out from the hallway. He had already changed out of his scrubs and was wearing an oversized grey sweater that made him look softer, less clinical, though his expression remained as stern as ever. He walked past Dingjie, went to the supply closet, and pulled out two large clean towels.

He threw the first one directly at Dingjie's face. Dingjie caught it reflexively.

Then, Xing knelt down on the ruined muddy floor, didn't care about his slacks. He threw the second towel over Peanut and began vigorously rubbing the dog dry. Peanut groaned in happiness, leaning his entire wet weight against Xing's chest, smearing mud across the grey sweater.

"You're getting dirty," Dingjie pointed out. His voice is slightly rough, clutching his own towel but not using it.

"It's just water and soil," Xing said coldly, not looking up as he carefully dried behind Peanut's large ears, "And you are dripping on my front desk. Dry off before you catch pneumonia. I don't treat humans."

Dingjie slowly dragged the towel through his damp hair. He watched Xing. He watched the way Xing's hands, normally so precise and clinical with his surgical instruments, were now kneading the tension out of Peanut's shoulders. Xing's face was turned away. His profile was sharp in the dim light. His mouth set in a thin tight line. He was trying so hard to project annoyance, to act as if this was an immense burden.

But Dingjie wasn't blind. He saw the way Xing's thumbs gently stroked the top of Peanut's head. He saw the way Xing didn't pull back when Peanut enthusiastically licked his chin, leaving a streak of muddy water across his jaw.

Xing was an exceptional liar, Dingjie realized. He wrapped himself in a cold professional exterior, pushing people away with his bluntness and his refusal to show warmth. But underneath it, he was attentive. He stayed open late not because he was doing paperwork, but because he knew Dingjie would show up. He bought terrible instant coffee because he knew Dingjie needed an excuse to stay.

"The mud is going to stain that sweater," Dingjie said quietly. The silence of the clinic amplifying his voice.

Xing finally stopped rubbing the dog. He stayed kneeling on the floor, one hand resting on Peanut's back. He looked up at Dingjie. His eyes caught the ambient light from the streetlamps outside. For a long moment, the clinical mask slipped. There was an intense unspoken weight in his gaze. A vulnerability that he quickly tried to swallow back down.

"It washes out," Xing said. His voice dropped slightly, losing some of its usual icy edge. He stood up abruptly, brushing his hands off on his pants. His face immediately closed off again, "I'll go make the coffee. Sit down before you track more mud in."

He turned and walked quickly toward the back room, leaving Dingjie and Peanut alone in the dim lobby.

Dingjie stood there with the damp towel still draped over his shoulders. The rain hammering against the glass doors behind him. He looked down at Peanut, who was now sitting cleanly on the floor, staring happily down the hallway where Xing had disappeared.

"Yeah," Dingjie whispered to the dog. A softmgenuine smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, "I think he likes us, too."

He walked down the hall toward the exam room. The familiar smell of lavender and antiseptic washing over him, feeling warmer than he had in years. The excuses were running out, and Dingjie knew it. There were only so many supplements he could buy, only so many imaginary limps he could invent. But as he sat down on the rolling stool and heard the sound of water boiling in the back room, he decided he didn't care. He would keep finding reasons to come back, until he didn't need a reason at all.

***

The illusion eventually shattered.

Dingjie's shift had ended surprisingly early. A pile up on the highway had diverted the entire traffic division, leaving the K-9 unit with a rare quiet afternoon. Dingjie hadn't planned on heading to the clinic until seven, but by five thirty, he found himself walking down the familiar street, Peanut trotting happily beside him. Dingjie held a fresh bag of premium coffee beans in his free hand. An upgrade from the terrible instant coffee they had been drinking.

He stopped just outside the clinic. The open sign was still illuminated. Dingjie approached the glass door, raising his hand to push it open, but froze.

Through the window, he had a clear view of the exam room. The door was propped open. Xing was inside, but he wasn't alone.

On the examination table sat a ridiculously fluffy and pampered looking Pomeranian. And Xing, cold, detached, perpetually unbothered Xing, was leaning over the table. He wasn't smiling, exactly, but the sharp tense lines of his face were completely relaxed. He was murmuring something low and gentle to the shivering ball of fluff.

Then, Dingjie watched as Xing turned, opened the top left drawer of the cabinet, and pulled out a small glass jar. It was the jar of dehydrated beef liver treats. The ones Xing always said were medicinal when he gave them to Peanut. Xing pulled out a treat and held it flat on his palm, letting the Pomeranian sniff it before delicately taking it. Xing then reached out. His long fingers expertly finding the exact spot behind the Pomeranian's ears, rubbing it until the tiny dog leaned into his touch, captivated.

Dingjie's hand dropped from the door handle.

A sudden sharp sting of heat flared in his chest, hot and ugly.

He took a step back from the glass as the bag of coffee beans suddenly feeling heavy and stupid in his hand. He had built an entire narrative in his head. He had convinced himself that the late hours, the shared coffee, the quiet moments of peace were something unique. He thought Peanut was special. He thought he was special.

But watching Xing expertly soothe the Pomeranian, Dingjie felt a cold wash of humiliation. Xing wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. He was a veterinarian. He was naturally attuned to animals. The extra care, the gentle touches, the special treats, it was just his professional standard. Xing was simply doing his job, and Dingjie, pathetic and lonely, had mistaken a high level of customer service for something profound.

"Come on," Dingjie said. His voice was tight. He tugged sharply on the leash, "We're leaving."

Peanut let out a confused little huff, looking from Dingjie to the clinic door, but Dingjie didn't give him a choice. He turned on his heel and walked away, dumping the bag of premium coffee beans into a public trash can at the end of the block.

The following days were miserable. Dingjie threw himself back into his work, determined to rebuild the solid impenetrable walls he had let slip. But if Dingjie was suffering in silence, his K-9 partner was making his displeasure known to the entire Public Security Bureau.

Peanut had turned into a complete brat.

The Corgi, usually highly food motivated and eager to please, began picking at his kibble. He sighed loudly and constantly. But the worst part was the walks.

On Thursday evening, their usual clinic day, Dingjie took Peanut out for a patrol near the commercial district. The route required them to cross the intersection two blocks away from Xing's street.

As soon as they hit the corner, Peanut stopped dead. He sat down on the concrete.

"Peanut, heel. Let's go," Dingjie commanded, giving the leash a gentle tug.

Peanut refused to budge. Instead, the dog threw his entire weight backward, bracing his stubby front legs against the pavement. His oversized ears swiveled to face the direction of the clinic. He let out a high whining noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

"Stop it," Dingjie gritted out, looking around to see if anyone was watching, "You're a police dog. Act like it."

Peanut responded by dropping his belly to the dirty sidewalk, going completely limp. He looked up at Dingjie with wide betrayed eyes, then looked mournfully down the street toward where Xing was probably feeding dehydrated liver to a poodle.

Dingjie rubbed his temples. A headache throbbing behind his eyes. His own dog had a massive embarrassing crush on the vet, "He doesn't care about you," Dingjie muttered to the dog. The words tasted bitter in his own mouth, "You're just another patient. Now get up."

It took ten minutes of coaxing and a very undignified carry to get the media clown back to the patrol car.

By the time Tuesday rolled around, Dingjie's frustration had boiled over into a simmering defensive anger. He received an automated text from the clinic. Your order of joint supplements has arrived. Dingjie marched into the clinic at exactly 6.55 p.m. He was in full uniform, his posture rigid, his expression locked into the intimidating glare he usually reserved for uncooperative suspects.

The bell chimed. Xing was behind the reception desk, organizing files. He looked up, and for a fraction of a second, Dingjie thought he saw a flicker of relief in those cold guarded eyes. But it vanished instantly, replaced by Xing's usual mask of frigid indifference.

"You missed your Thursday check in," Xing noted. His voice was perfectly flat. He didn't ask if everything was okay. He didn't sound like he cared. He just stated it as a clinical fact.

"He's fine. We were busy," Dingjie clipped back, coming to a halt at the desk. He didn't sit down.

Peanut, however, had no such reservations. The Corgi immediately strained against the leash, his tail wagging so hard his entire back half was swaying. He practically dragged Dingjie to the desk, standing on his hind legs to rest his front paws against the counter, whining excitedly at Xing.

Xing looked down. The tight line of his mouth softened a millimeter. He reached under the counter. Dingjie knew exactly what was coming. The glass jar.

"Don't," Dingjie snapped.

Xing's hand froze mid air. He slowly straightened up. His eyes locked onto Dingjie's face. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees, "Excuse me?"

"I said, don't," Dingjie repeated. His voice was louder, harsher than he intended. The jealousy and humiliation of the past week flared up, blinding him. He yanked the leash, forcing Peanut back down to the floor. The dog gave a sharp yelp of surprise, "Stop feeding him. Stop spoiling him."

Xing's expression hardened into ice. He slowly closed the drawer, leaning his weight against the counter, "I was offering him a high value reinforcement, Officer. It is standard practice."

"He's a working dog, not a lapdog," Dingjie shot back, his chest heaving slightly, "He needs discipline. Every time I bring him here, you treat him like some pampered pet. It's ruining his obedience. He wouldn't even walk his route last week because he's so obsessed with getting babied by you."

The accusation hung in the air. Dingjie knew it was unfair the moment the words left his mouth, but his pride refused to let him take them back.

Xing stared at him. The vet's face was completely unreadable, perfectly sculpted from stone. He didn't defend himself. He didn't explain that he had waited for them on Thursday, or that he had specifically ordered the supplements Dingjie wanted. True to form, Xing simply retreated behind his walls, becoming colder and more guarded than ever.

"I see," Xing said. His voice dropped to a low quiet register that cut sharper than a shout, "If your control over your K-9 is so fragile that it is completely dismantled by a single dried liver treat, Officer Qiu, I would suggest the flaw lies in your training, not my clinic."

Dingjie flinched. The words hit exactly where it hurt the most.

Xing turned around, pulling a small sealed bottle of supplements from a shelf and slapping it down on the counter. He didn't look at Dingjie anymore, "Three hundred seventy five yuan. Pay at the terminal. If my methods are detrimental to your equipment, I suggest you return to the Public Security Bureau's veterinary staff for future maintenance."

"Fine," Dingjie choked out. His throat is tight. He tapped his card on the reader, grabbed the bottle, and turned away.

He didn't look back as he marched out the door, dragging a very confused and whining Peanut behind him. He had re-established the boundary. He had his professional distance back.

But as the glass door swung shut behind them, severing him from the warm light of the clinic, Dingjie had never felt more alone in his life.

***

The call came in at 2.32 on a sweltering Monday.

A partial structural collapse at an abandoned residential construction site on the edge of the city. A group of local kids had been playing inside. Most made it out when the floor gave way, but a six year old boy had fallen through into a sub basement drainage pipe.

When Dingjie's unit arrived, the scene was pure chaos. Firefighters were frantically trying to stabilize the shifting concrete, but the space was too confined, the rubble too unstable for heavy machinery.

"We need a dog in there to locate him and carry a two way radio," the fire chief barked at the K-9 commanding officer over the roar of diesel engines, "But the entry point is less than thirty five centimeters wide. If we widen it, the ceiling comes down."

Officer Feng stared at his huge Malinois. The dog would never fit. The Shepherds were out of the question.

The entire Public Security Bureau turned to look at Dingjie.

Dingjie didn't hesitate. He knelt down, unclipped Peanut's standard lead, and swapped it for the lightweight tactical harness equipped with a headlamp and a two way radio. He looked into Peanut's bright intelligent eyes.

"Find him, buddy," Dingjie whispered. His voice rocks steady despite the ice water in his veins, "Go find."

The Corgi's demeanor instantly shifted from his usual bouncy self to focused instinct. He squeezed his compact low slung body into the broken crevice, disappearing into the dark ruins.

For twenty agonizing minutes, the only sound was the static of the radio. Then, a sharp affirmative bark. Peanut had found him. Through the two way radio, Dingjie talked the terrified boy through grabbing the glow sticks and water from Peanut's harness, keeping the child calm while rescue crews triangulated the exact position above them to drill a safe extraction hole.

"Good boy, Peanut. Stay with him," Dingjie coaxed through the mic. His eyes glued to the rubble.

Then, the ground groaned.

A secondary settling shift rocked the site. A horrifying crunch of concrete echoed from below, followed immediately by a sharp agonized yelp from the radio, and then, dead silence.

"Peanut!" Dingjie yelled, lunging toward the hole before two firefighters tackled him back.

It took them another hour to drill down and pull them up. The boy was crying but miraculously unhurt, clutching tightly to Peanut's harness.

Peanut, however, was limp. A falling piece of rebar had pinned his hind leg, and the thick dust had filled his lungs. He was bleeding sluggishly from a gash on his flank. His breathing shallow and rattling.

"Medics!" the fire chief roared, "Get the department vet on the line!"

"The department clinic is thirty minutes away in this traffic," Feng yelled over the noise, looking pale.

Dingjie didn't wait. He snatched Peanut from the paramedic's arms, ignoring the blood soaking into his tactical vest. He sprinted to his patrol car, threw open the door, and laid the dog gently on the passenger seat.

He slammed the sirens on. The tires squealing as he tore out of the site. He was driving to the only pet hospital he trusted.

Xing had just flipped the sign to close and was turning the deadbolt when the patrol car hopped the curb outside, lights flashing blindingly against the clinic windows.

Before Xing could even process the sight, Dingjie was kicking the glass door open. He looked like he had been dragged through a warzone. He was covered in gray concrete dust, his eyes wide and wild, his chest heaving. In his arms, cradled like a fragile piece of glass, was a bloody motionless Corgi.

"Help him," Dingjie choked out, his voice cracking pathetically, "Xing, please."

Xing's breath hitched. For a fraction of a second, the icy unbothered mask he wore so perfectly shattered into absolute terror.

But Xing was a professional. The fear vanished instantly, as he gave an order, "Bring him to the exam room. Now."

Xing didn't waste time on questions. He practically ripped his sterile gloves from the box, shouting orders at his veterinary tech who had run out from the back, "Get the oxygen tank! IV fluids, stat! Prepare the trauma kit!"

Dingjie laid Peanut on the stainless steel table. His hands were coated in his partner's blood. He backed away, hitting the wall, unable to tear his eyes from the table.

Xing worked with brutal efficiency. His face was a mask of stone, his jaw locked tight. He was unsympathetic, snapping at the vet tech when she fumbled the IV line. His voice sharp and unforgiving as he stabilized Peanut's breathing and began cleaning the deep laceration.

But Dingjie, watching from the corner, saw what no one else would. He saw Xing's knuckles turning white as he gripped the surgical tools. He saw the way Xing's shoulders were locked in a rigid line of suppressed panic. And as Xing carefully sutured the wound on Peanut's flank, Dingjie saw the normally infallible steady hands of the surgeon trembling.

Xing wasn't just working on a dog. He was fighting for something he desperately cared about.

***

At 3.45 a.m., the clinic was entirely silent, save for the reassuring hiss and click of the oxygen concentrator in the recovery ward.

Dingjie sat on the floor. His knees pulled to his chest, still wearing his blood stained uniform. Inside the heated recovery cage, Peanut was finally resting. He was heavily bandaged but breathing normally.

The door creaked open as Xing walked in. He had finally taken off his ruined white coat, standing in his undershirt and slacks. He looked thoroughly depleted. There are dark circles under his eyes. He held two steaming cups of that terrible instant coffee.

Xing walked over, set one cup on the floor near Dingjie's boots, and then slumped down against the cabinets on the opposite wall, keeping the width of the room between them.

"He's going to be fine," Xing said. His voice grating and harsh from exhaustion, "No structural damage to the leg. The laceration missed the muscle fascia. Keep him off it for three weeks."

Dingjie stared down at the paper cup, "I shouldn't have brought him here. It's a breach of protocol. I should have bring Peanut to the department vet."

"Your department vet is an idiot who prescribes generic antibiotics for everything," Xing scoffed coldly, staring straight ahead at the metal cages, "If you had driven thirty minutes across town, he would have aspirated on the dust. You made a tactical decision. Don't look for a pat on the back for it."

Dingjie looked up. Xing's profile was sharp and defensive. Even now, after pulling Dingjie's world back from the brink, Xing refused to offer a soft landing.

"I'm sorry," Dingjie said quietly into the silence, "For what I said last week. About you spoiling him."

Xing's jaw clenched, "I don't care what you said. I treat my patients with the methods I deem necessary. Your opinions on canine discipline are entirely irrelevant to my practice."

"You were shaking," Dingjie pushed. His voice dropped into a whisper.

Xing stiffened. He finally snapped his gaze to Dingjie. His eyes flashing with sudden defensive anger, "I had a traumatic hemorrhaging patient thrust onto my table with zero prep time. It was an adrenaline response."

"You weren't shaking when you operated on that Golden Retriever last month," Dingjie countered, not backing down, "You didn't stay up all night sitting on the floor for him. It wasn't just professionalism, Xing."

Xing let out a harsh bitter laugh, "Don't flatter yourself, Officer. You think I sat here because I wanted to hold your hand?"

"I think you care about him," Dingjie said, gesturing to the sleeping dog, "And I think you were lying when you said you treat every dog the same way. The Pomeranian ... you didn't look at it the way you look at Peanut."

Xing stared at him. His chest rising and falling rapidly. For a moment, it looked like he was going to throw the coffee and kick Dingjie out. He was fighting a war behind his eyes, desperately trying to rebuild the walls Dingjie was hammering against.

Finally, Xing looked away, running a frustrated hand through his messy hair. He let out a long defeated breath, though his tone remained sharp and accusatory.

"You think I bought jars of dehydrated liver for my health?" Xing spat, his voice tight, refusing to look at Dingjie, "You think I stayed open until eight o'clock at night to listen to you drone on about joint supplements I know damn well you didn't need?"

Dingjie froze. His heart pounding in his chest.

"You walked in here two months ago," Xing continued, the harsh edge remained to mask his vulnerability, "You were completely isolated. Your own Public Security Bureau treated you like a joke, your commanding officer sidelined you, and you were wearing it all like a vest. You looked pathetically lonely."

Xing glared at the floor. His hands gripping his coffee cup so tightly the cardboard was buckling.

"I don't treat humans," Xing said. The words biting, yet layered with a reluctant honesty, "I'm not a therapist. I don't know how to fix a broken police officer who won't even admit he's drowning. But I know how to fix dogs."

He finally forced himself to look at Dingjie. His cold eyes were fierce, stripping away the lie of his indifference.

"I gave Peanut the best of everything," Xing admitted roughly, almost angrily, "I made sure that dog felt like the center of the universe. Because I knew if I took care of your dog, I was taking care of you. I wasn't undermining your authority, Dingjie. I was trying to make sure you had at least one damn place in this city where you didn't have to fight for respect."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Dingjie sat paralyzed. The air knocked from his lungs. All the jealousy, all the insecurity of the past week evaporated, leaving behind a profound overwhelming warmth. Xing hadn't been treating Peanut like a lapdog. He had been using the dog to reach Dingjie, offering care in the only language his guarded insensitive exterior would allow him to speak.

Dingjie looked at the man sitting across from him. Bloodstained, exhausted, and trying to look like he didn't care.

Dingjie slowly set his coffee down. He crawled across the short distance of the floor until he was sitting right beside Xing. He didn't say anything. He just leaned his shoulder against Xing's arm, resting his head back against the cabinets.

Xing went completely rigid at the contact. He tensed, ready to pull away, to throw out another biting remark to create distance.

But Dingjie didn't move. He just closed his eyes, finally, letting his guard drop.

After a longmagonizing minute, Dingjie felt the tension slowly bleed out of the man beside him. Xing let out a quiet shuddering sigh. He didn't put his arm around Dingjie, but he didn't pull away, either. He just leaned his weight back against Dingjie's shoulder, watching over their K-9 until the sun came up.

***

The commendation ceremony was brief and unprecedented.

Dingjie stood at attention in the center of the Public Security Bureau main office, wearing his formal dress uniform. Beside him, Peanut sat perfectly straight. His chest puffed out, wearing a brand new custom fitted tactical vest with the words K-9 UNIT stitched in bold reflective gold lettering.

"For exceptional bravery and critical service in the line of duty," the Police Chief said. His voice carrying over the crowded room, "the department officially awards K-9 Officer Peanut the First-Class Merit."

The Chief leaned down and fastened the gleaming gold and red ribboned medal to the D-ring of Peanut's collar. Peanut let out a sharp affirmative bark, convinced the shiny object was a new type of treat he wasn't allowed to eat yet.

The main office erupted into applause. Dingjie looked across the room. Officer Feng was clapping with a slightly sheepish look on his face. The media clown jokes had died the instant the bodycam footage of the rescue had been uploaded to the department server. The entire Public Security Bureau had watched the little Corgi squeeze into a collapsing black void without a second of hesitation. Nobody laughed at the short legs anymore.

But Dingjie found that the validation didn't matter as much as he thought it would. He gave Peanut a gentle pat on the head, whispered a quiet "good boy," and looked past the crowd of clapping officers toward the back of the room.

Standing near the exit, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, was Xing.

He was wearing a white suit, looking entirely out of place among the sea of police formal uniforms. His expression was a mask of boredom. His eyes narrowed as if the lights were giving him a headache. He caught Dingjie's eye, gave a single dismissive roll of his eyes at the theatrics of the ceremony, and checked his watch.

Dingjie couldn't help the small smile that broke across his face.

***

Moving in together, however, had been an exercise in stubbornness.

"I am not re-arranging my living room to accommodate a dog bed," Xing had declared coldly two months later, staring at the pile of Dingjie's duffel bags in his minimalist foyer, "And if he sheds on the sofa, you are paying for the professional detailing."

"He doesn't shed that much," Dingjie had argued mildly, dropping a box of dog toys onto the floor.

"He is seventy percent fur by volume," Xing shot back, his tone biting, "This is a terrible idea. My schedule is not conducive to cohabitation. I require absolute silence after nine in the evening."

"Okay," Dingjie had said easily, stepping into Xing's space and wrapping his arms around the vet's stiff shoulders, "I'll pack it back up, then."

Xing had immediately gone rigid. His hands coming up to grip Dingjie's wrists, "I didn't say that," he muttered, glaring at the wall over Dingjie's shoulder, completely refusing to meet his eyes, "I merely stated the logistical nightmare of the situation. Unpack the damn boxes. But keep the hideous squeaky toys out of my sight."

By the end of the week, Xing had purchased a custom memory foam orthopedic dog mattress that cost more than Dingjie's car, placing it exactly two inches from his side of the bed.

Xing never said, "I love you." He never initiated anything remotely resembling a romantic confession. If Dingjie tried to bring up the night at the clinic, Xing would shut him down with a clinical detached dissection of trauma bonding and adrenaline crashes. He remained critical, demanding, and frustratingly guarded.

But Dingjie had learned to read the translation.

When Xing complained bitterly about the smell of wet dog after a rainy patrol, it meant he had already drawn a warm bath and laid out fresh towels. When he criticized Dingjie's diet and threw out his frozen dinners, it meant he had spent an hour cooking a high protein meal because he knew Dingjie had a grueling shift the next day.

The attachment issues that had plagued both man and K-9 simply dissolved. Peanut didn't have to choose between the handler he worked for and the vet he was obsessed with. He just had two humans. His pack was complete.

***

Saturday afternoon at the dog park was loud and chaotic, but bathed in warm sunlight.

Dingjie sat on a wooden bench under the shade of a large tree with a paper cup of actual high quality espresso in his hand. He watched the scene unfolding in the grass a few feet away with a profound sense of peace.

Peanut, off duty but proudly sporting a lightweight mesh version of his K-9 vest, was currently putting on a pathetic display. The Corgi was flat on his back in the grass. All four stubby paws pedaling in the air, whining dramatically.

Standing over him, looking like a man who had been condemned to hard labor, was Xing.

Xing was wearing dark sunglasses and a black button down shirt. He looked down at the writhing dog with an expression of profound disgust.

"You are a disgrace to the police force," Xing said coldly. His voice dripping with disdain, "You have zero dignity. You are manipulating me for tactile stimulation, and it is so transparent."

Peanut let out a high pitched demanding yip and wiggled harder.

Xing sighed, "Fine. But I am washing my hands immediately after this."

He crouched down. His slacks pulling at the knees, and began firmly rubbing Peanut's belly. Peanut went limp. His tongue lolling out the side of his mouth in a dopey blissed out grin. Despite Xing's harsh words, his hands were incredibly gentle, finding the exact spot on Peanut's ribs that made the dog's back leg start thumping against the dirt.

A woman walking a perfectly groomed fluffy Pomeranian strolled past them. The little dog strained at its leash, yapping a greeting toward Xing.

A few months ago, Dingjie's chest would have tightened. He would have waited for Xing to use his special voice, to offer the Pomeranian a treat, to give away the attention that Dingjie had desperately wanted to hoard.

This time, Dingjie just took a sip of his coffee.

Xing didn't even look up at the Pomeranian. He kept his dark glasses focused entirely on Peanut. His face locked in a scowl as he meticulously picked a piece of dry grass out of the Corgi's fur.

"Tell your handler his coffee is getting cold," Xing muttered to the dog, though Dingjie could hear him perfectly well, "And that if he doesn't stop staring at me like an idiot, I'm making him sleep on your orthopedic bed tonight."

Dingjie chuckled. He leaned back against the bench, letting the warm sun wash over him.

Xing might be a veterinarian who dedicated his life to healing every animal that walked through his doors, but as Dingjie watched Xing try, and fail, to hide a tiny imperceptible smirk when Peanut licked his wrist, the truth was clearer than ever.

Xing cared for every dog. But when the clinic closed, and the lights went out, this was the only K-9 he babied, and Dingjie was the only officer he went home with. []

THE END.