I stand in front of my sink as chilling water rolls from my temples to my chin, wetting the hem of my shirt. I don't mind; I barely notice the soft tingles it leaves as the rest of the drops slide down my chest. I don't notice how my eyes are bloodshot and my hair is tousled to the point that I can't even recognize it as my own. I don't notice how it's the first time I've gotten out of bed in weeks and how I already forget what sunlight feels like. I shower, brush my teeth, comb my hair, wash my face, but I am a mess beyond repair. I could make myself look fresh and clean, and no one would know that when I open my eyes, the world drains of colour and all I can see is black.

They've been trying to get me out of bed for weeks, my friends. I'm in my mid-twenties, I need a job, I need to get back out there, is what they would tell me. They weren't wrong, I knew they were just trying to help, but there's nothing left for me. I had it, and now I don't. End of story. They think I'm depressed, I think I'm just stubborn.

That's why today is the right day to get up; none of them are here to bother me about it. They're all at a beach house in Cali for Percy's birthday, far from home. All that occupied my loft was the icy winter breeze that flew in through my open window and the sounds of a busy city outside. Perfect motivation to get out, if you ask me.

I rub at my eyes one last time, grabbing my jacket off a hanger as I make my way out.

A sigh escapes my body as I break all over again, memories tearing at my skin. I barely made it ten steps and I already feel like breaking down in sobs. So I take another, and another, slowly and steadily while I try to calm my breathing. I will not cry. Not today.

Today is a quiet day. Midday, middle of winter, everyone's either at school or at work. And here I am, hands shoved in my pockets, sadness radiating off me like a beacon, and no direction to follow other than straight. I would have to get a job, eventually, I can't let Cecil and Lou Ellen pay my rent forever. But for now there is just the light, grey sky that reflects the snow dampening my socks and whatever is in front of me. So, I look to the left instead.

I immediately want to look away, but I know I can't. No matter how hard I try, I can't pull away. All I can do is watch and it hurts to watch and the air thickens so that I'm watching through fog but I don't stop, and before I know it, I'm halfway there. My feet carrying me faster and faster and faster until I have fallen to my knees and my pants are already getting soaked but why would that even matter. I don't know if it's real at first, or if it's just some sick trick my mind conjured up just to torture me. If that was the case, it was definitely working. I look beneath me, as the snow slowly turns to crimson, but it's not my blood. I would rather it be my blood. I take a deep breath, my lungs freezing over and my nose and ears flushing red from the cold, and my gaze flicks back up to the heartbreaking scene before me. A puppy, no bigger than my forearm, looks back at me from under the wire fence, his expression pained and his body shaking from being wet in the cold and from something else that I can't even come close to describing. I reach out my hand to touch him, to console him, to show him that I'm here and that he won't have to worry anymore, but he flinches away and I don't blame him. "I know," I breathe, my fingers shaking and my heart pounding. "I know it sucks," I tell him, but I don't know if he's listening, "but you gotta trust me, okay? We'll get out of this together." And he doesn't know this, but it goes far beyond its literal meaning.

He whimpers, but he lets me touch him this time. He's feeble, all bone and skin and blood. He tries to talk to me, but no sounds come out and I need to help him. How long had be been there? Had no one noticed?

I sit back on my heels and gently run my fingers through his dampened fur, trying to distract him so I can use my free hand to lift the fence off his back leg. He limps forward, barely making distance with his original spot, and collapses. I tell him to come, that he's okay now and doesn't have to be afraid, but he drops his head in the snow and looks away. A look of defeat; I know plenty about those.

I nudge him with my foot, pushing him closer to me until he's resting on my lap. He's still shaking when I take him into my arms, but he doesn't pull away so I cradle him. "Hi," I smile sympathetically at him, placing a light kiss on the top of his head, "my name's Will. I'm a friend."

--- -- ---

"How is he?" I ask as the veterinarian steps into the waiting room. I lost track of how long I had been waiting there. When I arrived, a portrait of blood and tears, the lady immediately took him to the back, where I wasn't allowed to go. I had no idea what they were doing to him, or if he was okay, so I could say I was a little on edge. I must still look like a mess; my leg bouncing, my hands wrung together, my head hung low, but she doesn't seem to notice. She just looks at me sadly.

"He's going to be okay, just one leg short I'm afraid." She sighs and leans against the doorframe, looking distraught. "That's a good dog you have there." I freeze, and she considers something, her head tilted slightly in contemplation as she watches me. "I meant to ask before, but I guess we got a little carried away. He has a name?"

"He's—" not my dog, I start to say, yet the words don't find their way out my mouth. I know they would find a good home for him here, but it would still feel like abandonment. I didn't want to sit by and watch as they brought him to the shelter to be thrown with all the other dogs who might not be given the kind of attention they deserve. I felt attached now, I need him and he needs me. So when she asks me for his name, I panic and say the first thing that rolls off my tongue, even though it stings like spitting out acid. I still can't say his name without my heart doing summersaults in my chest, even though he's no longer here. "Nico," I breathe, swallow, avert my gaze. "His name is Nico."

She nods, she's not dumb, she knows something is up and that it's a touchy subject, but she doesn't push. "It's a good thing you brought him in, Mister Solace. He was losing blood fast; I'm not sure how much longer he would've had."

I nod once, and she's gone in a blur.

Nico. His name is Nico.

I go to pick him up a couple days later, and he's looking a lot better. His white and beige fur no longer stained red and his eyes are wild and alive. I find myself smiling, truly truly smiling for the first time in a while, as the little ball of fluff tries jumping into my arms, which looked kinda funny since he is basically hopping on one leg until he falls to the ground and restarts the procedure. I give in quite easily, taking Nico in my arms, a chuckle escaping me as he tries to lick my face.

I laugh, "I know, boy. I know." He squirms until his head is in the crook of my elbow and I'm basically forced to rub his tummy. "Come on, let's take you home."

--- -- ---

My friends are all waiting at the door to my loft when I get there, apparently waiting for me to open from the inside. They take turns exchanging glances, pondering and betting on how long it would take me to get out of bed. Little did they know...

I clear my throat and they all whirl to face me, their expressions turing from confused to overjoyed. They take turns giving me hugs, asking me too many questions to follow.

"I'm good. Yeah, I found a dog. He's good too, just a little beaten up. We all are, in some way. His is just more apparent."

They shift awkwardly for a moment, probably remembering how beaten up we've all been these past few weeks, and Piper places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "We're proud of you, Will," she said, followed by some scattered "yeah"'s and "definitely"'s.

"Thanks guys," I nod, and push past them to my apartment. I have some cleaning to do.

--- -- ---

It's been a year since I lost him. Nico, that is. Not the puppy, but the real, human one. The one I thought I was gonna spend the rest of my days with. But, alas, we can't all get what we want. However, it has also been around eleven months since I rescued the other Nico (the puppy this time) and a lot has changed since then. I got a job, I go out a lot more, and he's basically the root of my happiness now. I go to the kitchens in the morning to grab my coffee and he's already there, bouncing around without a care in the world. He makes everything a lot more tolerable.

But today was different, he felt it too. There was a certain heaviness that hung in the air, suffocating me. I spend most of the day in bed and even Nico can barely lift himself on all threes. He joins me eventually, but even then all we do is lie together and wait. And wait. But I don't know what we're waiting for and it gets to be too much. So I get up and it doesn't feel good but I keep going until we're both in the car and the engine's running and all there's left to do is drive.

You'd expect there to be a giant downpour of rain at this point, a thunderstorm even; that's how it always is in the movies. But tonight it's completely, and dreadfully dry. As if the earth is all dried out and it's our job to refill the empty sea-bottoms. It's pitch black, nighttime surrounding us and adding to the solemness, yet I still feel like there should be rain.

I bring myself to drive, finally, until all there is is road and pavement and the world is bare in front of my eyes. The colours seep in and out of focus, it's hard to notice, but it's there. Things were always much duller without him around, even before.

I can't tell whether coming here makes things better or worse, but I can't seem to stop myself. My self-control is pitiful. I miss him.

I miss him.

I park the car in an empty lot and place Nico on the ground as I fetch the flowers out of the trunk. Purple tulips, because they're pretty, and because I never saw the point in tulip festivals but he always did.

Tears are falling freely down my face as I plop down next to his grave (his is the one farthest from all the others). Nico crawls into my lap, and I stroke his hair back.

I don't really know what to say to him, so I tell him about my day. My year. My new job as an intern at a health clinic. I talk to him as if he's still sitting across from me on our couch, his legs crossed and a lazy grin plastered to his face. I can almost imagine what he would say, how he would find a way to tease me about it then make up for it by peppering me with practiced kisses. There's still a dent in our coffee table from when we fell onto it, a little too hard.

And then I laugh, but he doesn't laugh back like he usually would. Because he's still gone, no matter how many times I call out to him. I go out to get the newspaper every day now instead of every second day, when we would alternate. I brush my teeth without being able to mock him for his weird taste in toothpaste brands. I turn around to tell him a joke, or something I heard at work that day, but he's still not there.

Tomorrow's another day, I remind myself. Tomorrow's another day, and even though he's not there, somehow, we'll make it okay.

---

Happy National Doggo Day !!!! (even though dog appreciation day should be every day)