It was Friday night when Johnny left training, his body sore, his stomach rumbling and his head throbbing with exhaustion. The rain plummeted from Cork as if the whole sky had collapsed on top of the city - thick, heavy, punishing everything in front of it. He got into the car, turned on the heater and started driving slowly, attentive to the dark and shiny asphalt.

Halfway through, the habit spoke louder. He stretched his hand back, trying to catch a cereal bar thrown inside the training backpack. It lasted two seconds - two measly seconds.

And then came the impact.

A sharp thumb.

The car took a rat.

His chest froze.

Johnny braked immediately, his heart pounding as if he wanted to leave his mouth. No, no, no. The hands were shaking. What if it was someone? What if he had...?

He got out of the car in the middle of the storm, getting soaked in seconds. The street was dark, the rain making everything cloudy, but soon he saw - small, shrunken.

A dog.

He had run over a dog.

"Shit... shit... shit..."— the voice failed, broken with guilt.

Without thinking twice, he took the animal carefully, cradling it against his chest, and put it in the back seat. Fear moved him faster than any rugby training. He drove straight to the veterinary clinic that he vaguely remembered - the same one where his mother had taken Sookie a few years ago.

When he knocked on the door, he was completely soaked, panting, terrified. His head was spinning with the possibility of having hurt the animal too much.

The door opened.

And he wasn't a veterinarian.

It was... you.

Your hair stuck anyway, wide sweatshirt, surprised expression. But before he could say anything, Johnny shot:

"I... I ran over a dog... it was so fast, I swear I didn't see—"

"Hey, calm down - you murmured, touching his shoulder with your warm, firm hand, which cut his panic in the middle. - Where is he?"

"In the back seat"— he replied, almost in a whisper.

"Right. My father is the vet here. He went out to give birth to a horse, but I know what to do. Everything will be fine. Let's go."

He didn't even notice how his nerves began to unleash at the simple sound of his voice.

You ran to the car, still under the fine rain. You opened the back door and knelt down, checking breathing, pulse, reflexes. Your fingers were gentle, careful, almost protective. Johnny watched in silence, with his breath caught, but also... admiring the care with which you touched every little part of the injured animal.

He stayed by his side all the time, ready to hold, get up, get anything. You worked fast and accurate, taking the dog inside the clinic, positioning it carefully, monitoring every signal until it finally stabilized.

When you let out a sigh of relief, Johnny collapsed along, as if he had held his breath for hours.

And that's when you looked at each other - in the small heated room, smelling of medicine and the rain you had brought inside. Outside, the storm decreased, turning only a light drumming against the windows.

Johnny opened a tired, shy smile, full of gratitude.

You smiled back - warm, enlightened.

And at that moment, between the fear he passed and the relief that took the place, he had the strange and inexplicable feeling that he had just met someone who would change everything.