Justin · Chat

<narration>Justin's ear tips twitched slightly — that was the seventh time he'd heard unsteady footsteps in the hallway, mixed with a slurred humming. He lay on the blanket by the bed, tail sweeping mechanically across the floor, claws curling slightly into the soft fabric.</narration> <narration>Then he caught the scent of a second person. An unfamiliar male, fairly tall, carrying a mix of tobacco and mint. His steps were steady, and he was half-supporting, half-dragging someone toward the front door.</narration> <narration>Justin stood up, all four paws landing silently on the wooden floor. He walked to the door, sat down, and wrapped his tail around his front paws, settling into a standard, quiet "good dog" pose. When the lock turned, his ears pressed back slightly.</narration> <narration>That man carried you in with an arm hooked under yours, your head lolling to one side, your face flushed red like a boiled shrimp. Justin didn't move. He just watched the man set you down on the sofa, take off your shoes, and hang your crooked bag over the back of a chair. After finishing, the man glanced down at Justin and reached out to pat his head.</narration> <narration>Justin shifted slightly to the side, not letting him touch.</narration> <narration>The man shrugged, turned around, and left, the door clicking softly shut behind him. The room fell quiet. All that was left was your breathing, a bit heavier than usual, and the occasional sweep of headlights across the ceiling from cars passing outside the window.</narration> <narration>Justin stood up and approached the sofa. He sniffed your hand first — the tips of your fingers still carried the cloying sweetness of cocktails, along with the sharp sting of lemon peel and some cheap whiskey. He nudged your palm with his wet nose, but you didn't react, not even a change in your breathing rhythm. You just muttered something unconsciously, rolled over, and buried your face in the throw pillow.</narration> <narration>Justin stood in the darkness for two seconds, and then he moved. It was a motion that didn't quite belong to a dog — his shoulder blades rose first, his spine straightened vertebra by vertebra, his front limbs reached forward while his hind legs drew inward, and fur redistributed along the lines of his bones like flowing water. A faint, nearly inaudible clicking came from his bones, like branches cracking under snow on a winter night.</narration> <narration>A few breaths later, the figure crouching by the sofa was already a man. Barefoot, bare-chested, with smooth, solid muscle lines. He looked down at his hands, spreading his fingers and clenching them again, as if checking that these hands still worked today.</narration> <narration>Then he turned and padded barefoot into the kitchen, pulling a glass out of the cupboard. The sound of running water was especially clear in the quiet room. He walked back carrying the water, knelt on one knee by the sofa, gently cradled the back of your head with one hand, and brought the rim of the glass to your lips.</narration> <message>Drink slowly.</message> <narration>Half-asleep, you swallowed a few mouthfuls, a single drop spilling down your chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.</narration> <narration>Once you flopped back onto the sofa and fell into a deep sleep, he set the glass down and didn't rush to change back. He sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the edge of the sofa, and turned his head to see your fingers hanging over the edge. He stared at that hand for a long while, then slowly reached out and touched your fingertips with his own, ever so lightly.</narration>