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The park was beautiful at golden hour.
DogDay had planned everything carefully—the route along the lake, the bench overlooking the fountain, even a little picnic blanket with snacks that Picky Piggy had helped him prepare. His tail wagged nervously as he walked between Billy Shanks and Baba Chops, his two favorite people who absolutely hated each other.
"The swans are nice today," DogDay offered brightly.
Baba grunted.
Billy said nothing.
They'd been walking for fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of silence so thick DogDay could taste it. He'd tried everything—pointing out flowers, commenting on the weather, even making a joke about Touille's latest garbage find. Nothing worked.
"Okay," DogDay stopped walking. "Can we please talk about the elephant in the park?"
"There's no elephant," Billy said flatly.
"Bubba's not even here."
"Metaphorical elephant." DogDay turned to face them both. "I asked you here because I want you to try. Just try. For me."
Baba's white face was unreadable. Her skull pendant caught the dying sunlight. "I am trying. I haven't stabbed him yet."
"High bar," Billy muttered.
"What was that?"
"You heard me."
The tension snapped like a rubber band.
"You think you're so perfect," Baba stepped toward Billy, her too-wide grin sharpening. "Strutting around with your cashmere sweaters and your fancy loft. You don't know anything about me."
"I know you've hurt him more times than I can count." Billy's wool puffed up, his small horns seeming to glitter. "I know you disappear for days and leave him wondering if you're ever coming back. I know—"
"I know you stalk him!" Baba's voice rose. "I know you follow him to coffee shops and wait outside his apartment like some lovesick creep!"
"I'm protecting him! From you!"
"ENOUGH!"
DogDay's voice cracked like a whip. Both sheep turned to stare at him. His medallion was glowing—actually glowing, golden light spilling across his orange fur.
"I can't do this," he said, quieter now. "I can't be the rope in your tug-of-war. I asked for one thing. One thing. And you couldn't even give me that."
His ears drooped. His tail went limp.
"I'm going home."
He turned and walked away, leaving Billy and Baba standing frozen by the lake.
Neither of them followed.
CatNap had been watching from a distance.
The purple cat was walking with Poe—a rare occurrence, the two quietest members of their respective groups finding unexpected company in each other. They'd been discussing the phases of the moon when Poe's sharp eyes caught the scene unfolding by the water.
"Trouble," Poe said, his voice low and gravelly.
CatNap's white eyes followed his gaze. He saw DogDay walking away, shoulders hunched. He saw the two sheep standing like statues, still glaring at each other.
"Go," Poe said. "I'll handle them."
CatNap didn't need to be told twice.
---—————————————————
Poe approached the sheep with the silent menace of a storm cloud. His dark purple feathers seemed to absorb the remaining light, and his thundercloud pendant crackled faintly.
"You're both idiots," he said without preamble.
"Excuse me?" Billy turned.
"You heard me." Poe crossed his arms. "Follow me. We're going to talk. Somewhere private."
"I don't need to—"
"You do." Poe's eyes glinted. "Unless you want to lose him for good."
That got their attention.
————————————————
Poe led them to an old warehouse on the edge of the park—graffiti-covered, windows boarded up, the perfect setting for a gloomy conversation. He pushed open a rusted door and gestured inside.
"Sit."
Billy and Baba sat on overturned crates, still radiating hostility. Poe stood in front of them, arms crossed, his broody expression somehow even broodier than usual.
"I'm going to say this once," Poe began. "I don't care about your drama. I don't care who loves who more. But I do care that stupid dog, because he's one of the few people in this world who's never treated me like a freak."
Baba looked away.
"So here's the truth." Poe's voice hardened. "You're both so busy fighting over him that you're not seeing what's right in front of you. He's tired. He's been holding you both up while you tear each other apart. And eventually—" He paused, letting the words hang. "Eventually, he's going to stop."
"Stop what?" Billy asked.
"Stop trying. Stop hoping. Stop loving." Poe's thundercloud pendant flickered. "And when that happens, you'll have no one to blame but yourselves."
Billy's jaw tightened. "You don't understand. I've been in love with him for—"
"I don't care how long you've been in love with him." Poe cut him off. "Love isn't a competition. It's not about who wants him more. It's about who shows up for him. Consistently. Without making everything about them."
Baba stood up suddenly, her hooves scraping against the concrete. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't lie awake every night hating myself for pushing him away?"
"Then stop."
"I can't just—"
"Then you'll lose him." Poe's voice was flat. Final.
Baba's wide eyes glistened. She sat back down.
Poe looked between them, waiting for something—remorse, understanding, anything. When neither spoke, he let out a long, frustrated sigh.
"Forget it." He turned toward the door. "I'm done. Fix yourselves."
He walked out, leaving Billy and Baba alone in the dusty darkness.
The silence stretched for a full minute.
Then Billy laughed—a hollow, bitter sound. "Well. That went well."
Baba wrapped her arms around herself. "He's right, you know."
"About what part?"
"All of it." She stared at the floor. "I am going to lose him. Eventually. Because I'm broken, and he's not, and broken things cut the hands that hold them."
Billy was quiet for a long moment.
"I followed him," he admitted. "After the coffee shop fight. I waited outside his apartment for three hours."
Baba looked up.
"I know it's wrong. But I couldn't stop myself." Billy ran a hand through his wool. "Mango calls it a hurricane. Byron says I need to be a gentle. But I don't know how to be gentle when it feels like he's slipping away every second."
"Welcome to the club." Baba's too-wide grin softened into something sad. "I alternate between clinging and running. Neither works."
"What does that make us?"
"Psychopats. "
Billy snorted. Despite everything, Baba's mouth twitched.
"We're both terrible for him," Baba said.
"We are."
"He should probably run far away and never look back."
Billy nodded slowly. "But he won't. Because he's DogDay. And DogDay doesn't run."
They sat in silence again, but this time it was different. Less hostile. More... shared.
"So what do we do?" Billy asked eventually.
Baba thought about it. "I don't know about you. But I'm going to spend time with him. Away from you."
"Of course you are."
"Not like that." She paused. "Okay, exactly like that. But not to spite you. Because I need to remind him—and myself—why this is worth fighting for."
Billy's dark eyes studied her. "And if I do the same?"
"Then we'll see who he chooses."
"He won't choose. That's the problem."
Baba stood up, brushing dust from her black wool. "Then maybe we stop waiting for him to choose and start proving we're worth choosing."
She walked toward the door, then paused.
"For what it's worth," she said without turning around, "I don't actually hate you."
"I don't hate you either." Billy's voice was quiet. "I hate what you represent."
"And what's that?"
"Hope. The kind I can't give him."
Baba left.
Billy sat alone in the abandoned building for a long time, staring at the shadows.
CatNap walked beside DogDay in comfortable silence.
The sun had almost set, painting the sky in deep purples and oranges. DogDay's medallion cast a soft glow across the path, illuminating the way home.
"I didn't know," CatNap said eventually.
"Know what?"
"About Billy. About Baba." CatNap's white eyes were fixed ahead. "I thought you were still... recovering. From before."
DogDay's ears drooped. "I am. I was. I don't know." He sighed. "We're trying. All of us. It's just... hard."
"Hard is one word." CatNap's voice was unusually sharp. "Stupid is another."
"CatNap—"
"You deserve better than two people who can't stop fighting long enough to see you." The purple cat stopped walking, turning to face DogDay. "I was angry. When I saw them in the park. I'm still angry."
DogDay reached out and touched CatNap's arm. "I know. But they're trying."
"Trying isn't the same as succeeding."
"No. But it's a start."
CatNap's expression softened—just a fraction. His crescent moon pendant glowed faintly in the twilight.
"You're too forgiving."
"I know that too." DogDay smiled—small, but real. "Walk with me the rest of the way?"
CatNap said nothing. He just fell into step beside DogDay, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
And for the first time all day, DogDay felt like he could breathe.
——————————————
The Smiling Critters' house was warm and loud and exactly what DogDay needed.
Bobby tackled him the moment he walked through the door, wrapping him in a hug so tight his ribs creaked.
"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!" she shrieked. "Crafty made cookies and Picky made a salad and Hoppy broke the TV remote and—"
"Bobby." DogDay's voice was muffled against her fur. "Air."
"Sorry!" She loosened her grip but didn't let go.
CraftyCorn appeared from the kitchen, her turquoise mane dusted with flour. "DogDay! You're back! I saved you a cookie with the most sprinkles!"
Kickin lounged on the couch, his bow tie slightly askew. "Dude. You missed Hoppy trying to do a backflip off the coffee table. It was epic."
"It was painful," Hoppy corrected, rubbing her shoulder. Her lightning bolt pendant was crooked. "But worth it."
Bubba looked up from his tablet. "Statistically, backflips off coffee tables result in injury 94% of the time. You're lucky you only sprained your pride."
"My pride is very important!"
Picky emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of salad. "Everyone sit down. Dinner's ready. And DogDay—you look like you haven't eaten all day."
"I haven't," he admitted.
Picky's eyes narrowed. "Sit. Eat. I will personally supervise."
DogDay sat.
He ate. He laughed at Hoppy's failed backflip. He helped CraftyCorn hang a new painting on the wall. He let Bobby hug him (gently, for once). He even helped Bubba troubleshoot his tablet when it froze mid-research.
And slowly, the ache in his chest began to fade.
CatNap watched from the corner, his tail swishing slowly.
Better, he thought. He's getting better.
————————————
The knock came at dusk.
DogDay opened the door to find Baba standing on the porch, her black wool illuminated by the porch light. Beside her, Allister lounged against the railing, his sleepy eyes half-closed, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Hey," Baba said.
"Hey." DogDay's ears perked cautiously. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to ask you something." She shifted her weight. "There's this nightclub downtown. Neon Nights. Alister and I were going to check it out. I thought maybe you'd want to come."
DogDay blinked. "A nightclub?"
"With dancing. And music. And..." She gestured vaguely. "Fun."
"Since when do you do fun?"
Baba's too-wide grin flickered. "Since I'm trying. Remember? Trying."
DogDay hesitated. The nightclub scene wasn't really his thing—he preferred quiet evenings, board games with the Smiling Critters, stargazing with CatNap. But Baba was trying. And he'd asked her to try.
"I don't know," he said slowly.
"It's just one night. A few hours. No Billy." She added the last part quickly. "Just us. And Alister. But he'll probably fall asleep in a corner somewhere."
Allister yawned on cue. "Can confirm. Will definitely fall asleep."
DogDay bit his lip.
Say yes, a voice whispered. Give her a chance.
"Okay," he said.
Baba's grin widened—genuine, this time. "Really?"
"Really. Let me get my jacket."
—————————
CatNap appeared in the hallway as DogDay was pulling on his coat.
"Where are you going?"
"Nightclub. With Baba and Alister."
CatNap's white eyes narrowed. "I'm coming."
"You don't have to—"
"I'm coming."
DogDay opened his mouth to argue, then closed it.
"Fine," DogDay sighed. "But try to have fun?"
"I'll try to keep you safe. Different things."
Baba's expression when she saw CatNap at the door was a masterpiece of barely concealed irritation. Her white face went tight, her hooves curling at her sides.
"CatNap," she said flatly.
"Baba."
"Decided to join us?"
"Decided to accompany Day."
Allister, oblivious to the tension, yawned again. "Cool, cool. More the merrier. Can we go now? I'm getting sleepy standing up."
They walked into the night—four figures disappearing into the neon glow of the city.
————————
The club was a sensory explosion.
Strobe lights painted the walls in electric blues and pinks. Bass thrummed through the floor, vibrating up through DogDay's paws. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol, sweat, and something sweet—perfume, maybe, or the syrupy cocktails being served at the bar.
Bodies pressed together on the dance floor. Critters of all kinds—smiling, frowning, dancing, drinking—moved in a chaotic rhythm that made DogDay's head spin.
Baba led them to a booth near the back, sliding into the curved seat. Allister flopped down beside her, already looking half-asleep. DogDay sat across from them, and CatNap positioned himself next to the dog like a purple sentinel.
"I'll get drinks," Baba said.
"I don't drink," CatNap said.
"I know." Baba's grin was sharp. "I wasn't offering."
She returned with four glasses—something blue and fizzy for herself, something vaguely green for Allister, two amber-colored drinks for DogDay and CatNap.
"I said I don't—"
"It's non-alcoholic," Baba cut CatNap off. "See? I can be considerate."
CatNap eyed the glass suspiciously but didn't touch it.
DogDay stared at his. The liquid swirled amber and gold, catching the strobe lights.
"Try it," Baba said softly. "It's sweet. You'll like it."
DogDay took a sip. It was sweet—honey and citrus and something warm that spread through his chest.
"It's good," he admitted.
"Told you."
One drink became two.
Two became three.
Allister, who had been chugging his green concoction like water, was now slumped against the booth, his sleepy eyes completely closed. Every few minutes, he'd mumble something incoherent and shift positions.
Baba drank steadily but carefully, her movements controlled. Her wide eyes stayed sharp, watching DogDay with an intensity that made CatNap's fur bristle.
"CatNap," Allister suddenly slurred, grabbing the purple cat's arm. "CatNap, my friend. My brother. Come dance with me."
"I don't dance."
"Everyone dances!" Allister tugged weakly. "Come on. For like... two minutes. Then I'll pass out. Promise."
CatNap glanced at DogDay.
"I'll be right back," CatNap said reluctantly.
"Take your time!" Baba's grin was too wide. "We'll be fine."
CatNap let Allister drag him toward the dance floor, his white eyes never leaving DogDay until the crowd swallowed him.
Baba struck fast.
"Here," she said, pushing another glass into DogDay's paw. "One more. You're doing great."
DogDay's head was fuzzy—pleasantly so, like his thoughts were wrapped in cotton. The music seemed softer now, the lights gentler. He took the drink and sipped without thinking.
"I'm not angry at you anymore," he heard himself say.
Baba stiffened. "What?"
"At you. At Billy. I was. But I'm not." DogDay's tail wagged loosely. "I just want everyone to be happy. Is that so bad?"
Baba's hoof tightened around his. "No. It's not bad. It's you."
DogDay looked at her—really looked. Her white face was flushed pink from the alcohol, her wide eyes soft and hungry. The skull pendant at her throat caught the strobe lights, throwing strange shadows across her chest.
"Dance with me," DogDay said.
"What?"
"Dance. With me." He stood up, wobbling slightly. "I want to dance. Come on."
Baba's grin spread across her face—genuine, almost giddy. She stood and took his paw, leading him onto the crowded floor.
They danced.
It wasn't graceful—DogDay's coordination was shot, his paws moving in clumsy circles. Baba laughed—actually laughed, a real sound that cut through the thumping bass—and pulled him closer. Her black wool brushed against his orange fur. Her hooves found his hips.
"This is fun," DogDay slurred, grinning.
"You're drunk."
"You're beautiful."
Baba's breath caught. She pulled him even closer, her face inches from his.
"Say that again."
"You're beautiful. Why don't you believe me?"
She didn't answer. She just held him tighter, swaying to the music, her wide eyes drinking him in like he was the last light in a dark world.
CatNap saw them from across the club.
The purple cat had finally escaped Allister—who was now snoring gently against a speaker—and was scanning the crowd for DogDay. He found him in Baba's arms, pressed close, too close, the dog's medallion glowing dimly through his fur.
No.
CatNap moved through the crowd like a shadow, silent and swift. He reached them just as Baba was lifting another glass to DogDay's lips.
"That's enough," CatNap said, his voice low and dangerous.
Baba's eyes flashed. "He's fine."
"He's drunk. He's never drunk. You knew what you were doing."
"I wanted him to have fun."
"You wanted him vulnerable." CatNap's white eyes bored into hers.
The crowd seemed to part around them, sensing the tension. DogDay looked between them, confused, his ears drooping.
"Don't fight," he mumbled. "Please. No fighting."
Baba's jaw tightened. She lowered the glass.
"Fine," she said coldly. "We're leaving."
She wrapped DogDay's arm around her shoulders, supporting his weight. CatNap moved to the other side, steadying the dog's back.
"Allister—" CatNap started.
"Allister can find his own way home. He does it all the time." Baba was already walking toward the exit. "Come on. My place is closer."
CatNap wanted to argue. But DogDay was leaning heavily against him, his eyes half-closed, and getting him home safely was more important than winning a fight with Baba.
"Fine," he said. "But I'm staying."
Baba's expression flickered—irritation, calculation, then smooth acceptance.
"Of course you are."
——————
The Nightmare Critters' house loomed at the end of a dark street—a Victorian relic with creaky stairs and windows that seemed to watch.
Rabie Baby met them at the door, her pink bat wings fluttering.
"Oh! DogDay! He looks terrible! Is he drunk? Did you drug him? Simon, come look!"
"I'm not drugged," DogDay mumbled. "Just... fuzzy."
Simon Smoke appeared from the living room, his yellow mohawk glowing under the porch light. His gold dollar-sign necklace swung as he took in the scene.
"Interesting," he drawled. "The sunshine dog, wasted. This is going to be fun."
"Help me get CatNap inside," Baba ordered. "Keep him busy."
"Why would I—"
"Because I'm asking."
Simon's eyes narrowed, but something in Baba's expression made him shrug. "Fine. Purple cat, come with me. Rabie made tea. It's terrible. You'll love it."
"I'm not leaving DogDay—" CatNap started.
"Just for a few minutes." Baba's voice was smooth. "I'll put him in my room to sleep. You can check on him when you're done."
CatNap hesitated. But DogDay was already nodding off against Baba's shoulder, and Simon was pulling at his arm, and Rabie was chattering about the tea's "mysterious origins."
"Ten minutes," CatNap said.
"We'll see."
Baba's room was at the end of the hall—dark, cluttered with sketches, smelling faintly of rain and wool. She pushed open the door and guided DogDay inside.
"Almost there," she murmured. "Just a little further."
DogDay's paws caught on the rug. He stumbled. Baba caught him, her hooves strong against his chest.
"Oops," he giggled.
Giggled. DogDay never giggled.
Baba's heart slammed against her ribs. She guided him to the bed and let him fall—a soft, controlled drop onto the mattress. The springs creaked.
DogDay stretched out his arms, his tail wagging lazily. The bed was soft. Too soft. He sank into it like it was made of clouds.
"Baba," he said, his voice dreamy. "Your ceiling has stars."
It didn't. But she didn't correct him.
She lay down beside him, her black wool pressing against his orange fur. Her hooves wrapped around his waist, pulling him close. Her nose buried itself in his neck, inhaling deeply—vanilla, sunshine, him.
"You smell like home," she whispered.
DogDay didn't respond. His eyes were closed, his breathing slowing.
————————
The knock came after a few minutes.
Baba ignored it.
It came again—harder this time, more insistent.
"Baba! I know he's in there!"
Billy's voice.
Baba's teeth clenched. She tightened her grip on DogDay.
"He's not in any condition to talk to you," she called out. "Go away."
She heard it open. Heavy footsteps crossed the threshold. Billy stood in the doorway, his white wool disheveled, his dark eyes wild. He'd been running—his shirt was damp with sweat, his small horns catching the faint light from the window.
"Billy," Baba warned. "Leave."
"I heard he was drunk. I heard you got him drunk." Billy stepped closer. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"I was thinking I wanted to spend time with him. Without you hovering."
"So you drugged him?!"
"It was alcohol. He chose to drink it."
"He doesn't drink!"
"He does now."
Billy's hands curled into fists. His wool puffed up, making him seem even larger. "I should—"
"You should what?" Baba stood, positioning herself between Billy and the bed. "Hit me? Threaten me? Go ahead. Prove exactly who you are."
They glared at each other across the dim room.
"Stop."
DogDay was sitting up—barely. His eyes were glassy, his fur rumpled. But there was something clear in his expression.
"Both of you," he said, his words slurring together. "Stop fighting. Please. Just... just come here."
Baba and Billy exchanged a glance.
"Come here," DogDay repeated, patting the bed. "Both of you. Now."
Billy moved first. He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to cup DogDay's cheek.
"You're burning up," he said softly.
"Too many blankets."
Baba sat on the other side, her hoof finding DogDay's paw.
"This is weird," she said.
"Everything about us is weird," DogDay mumbled. "I'm too drunk to care. Lie down. Both of you."
They hesitated.
"Lie down."
Billy stretched out on DogDay's right side, his tall frame curving around the dog like a shield. His arm wrapped across DogDay's chest, pulling him close. His nose pressed into DogDay's ear.
"I was so worried," Billy whispered. "When I heard where you were. When I heard what she—"
"Billy."
"Sorry."
Baba lay down on DogDay's left side, her black wool curling around him like shadows. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him tight against her chest. Her nose buried itself in his neck again, breathing him in.
They lay like that—the black ram and the black sheep, bracketing the golden dog between them. Billy's hand stroked DogDay's arm in slow, steady motions. Baba's hooves held him close, her grip possessive but not painful.
DogDay's breathing evened out.
"I love you both," he whispered. "Even when you're terrible."
"We love you too," Billy said.
"Unfortunately," Baba added.
Billy reached across DogDay's body and grabbed Baba's arm. She stiffened.
"Truce," he said. "For tonight."
Baba looked at his hand. At his face. At the golden dog sleeping between them.
"Truce," she agreed.
They didn't let go of each other.
Downstairs, the tea had gone cold.
Simon leaned against the kitchen counter, watching CatNap stare into his untouched cup.
"So," Simon said, "what's the deal with you and the sunshine dog?"
"The deal?" CatNap's voice was flat.
"Yeah. You follow him everywhere. You glare at anyone who gets too close. You're like... a shadow. But purple."
CatNap was silent for a long moment.
"I protect what matters," he finally said.
"And DogDay matters."
"More than most things."
Simon's gold pendant swung as he tilted his head. "More than Billy? More than Baba?"
CatNap's white eyes flickered. "They're not the ones who need protection. He is."
Rabie fluttered down from the ceiling, landing on the table. "That's actually kind of sweet. In a creepy, obsessive way."
"I'm not obsessive."
"You literally followed him to a nightclub because you didn't trust his girlfriend."
"She's not his—" CatNap stopped. "It's complicated."
"Everything about that dog is complicated," Simon sighed. "But he's got everyone wrapped around his little paw. Even me, and I don't even like him."
Rabie gasped. "You do like him!"
"I tolerate him. There's a difference."
"You like him!"
Simon's mohawk bristled. "Shut up, Rabie."
CatNap stood, leaving his tea untouched. "I'm going to check on him."
"Good luck," Rabie called after him. "Billy and Baba are up there too. It's gonna be a party."
CatNap climbed the stairs, his paws silent on the old wood. He paused outside Baba's door, which was cracked open.
Billy's arm across DogDay's chest. Baba's hooves around his waist. The golden dog nestled between them, his medallion glowing softly in the dark.
CatNap watched for a long moment.
Then he turned and walked back downstairs.
He's safe, CatNap thought. For now.
DogDay woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows.
His head throbbed. His mouth tasted like something had died in it. And he was sandwiched between two very warm, very present bodies.
Billy's arm was still across his chest. Baba's hooves were still around his waist.
They were all three tangled together, limbs intertwined, breath mingling.
DogDay groaned.
"Morning," Billy murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
"Kill me," DogDay whispered.
"No can do. I like you too much."
Baba stirred, her white face appearing over DogDay's shoulder. Her too-wide grin was softer in the morning light—almost gentle.
"How do you feel?"
"Like I was run over by a truck. Then the truck backed up. Then it ran over me again."
"That's the alcohol." Baba's hoof brushed his cheek. "You handled it well. For a first-timer."
"I'm never drinking again."
"You said that three times last night."
"Then I meant it three times."
Billy laughed—a real laugh, warm and unguarded. DogDay felt the vibration through the ram's chest.
"We should do this more often," Billy said.
"What? Get me drunk and trap me in bed?"
"No." Billy's arm tightened. "This. The three of us. Together. Without fighting."
Baba was quiet for a moment.
"It wasn't terrible," she admitted.
"High praise."
"Shut up, Billy."
DogDay closed his eyes. The headache was still there. The confusion was still there. But something else was there too—something warm and fragile and possible.
"Same time next week?" he mumbled.
Baba and Billy exchanged a glance across his body.
"Same time next week," they said together.
DogDay smiled.
And for the first time in a long time, the sun didn't feel so alone.