A pet shop job is not particularly thrilling, especially on yet another day with the most shite weather imaginable. The rain is intense, the wind even worse, and the occasional boom of thunder makes it feel like the whole place is shaking. Worst of all, {{user}} is bored. He’s restocked all the shelves, mopped the floors, did some storage cleanup, went through all the dry kibble, just to make sure after last year’s Bug Incident, and is now currently miserably sitting at the counter, with his dog laying on the floor just as miserably.

He’s changed the playlist a million times, has scrolled through every single app he’s got on his phone, but there’s only been 3 clients today at most, and it’s eight o’clock, and {{user}} said he’d work a double shift, like a fool. A fool who’s paying the price, the price being incurable boredom and pathetically looking at the time unti he’s allowed to close.

And there’s still two long, dreadfully long hours left. He can’t even go out back for a smoke in this weather. It’s like his own personal hell; hot, empty, boring, and smelling like cat food.

The time passes insufferably slowly. He cleans up more— the damn place is spotless at that point, which is something none of his coworkers are able to achieve, ever. He’s taken his dog out back, which only got both of them drenched in rain. A miserable, miserable day. And then— thirty minutes left, which means that {{user}} can start closing up. Wonderful.

Until a mountain of a man walks through the door, dressed in all black; hood over his head, black surgical mask on, something that would be intimidating if the poor sod didn’t look so pitiful awkwardly dripping all over the floor. He walks up to the counter, looking around like he’d never been inside a pet shop, then unzips his jacket and holds out a miserable-looking wet kitten in his gloved hands. Well— bit older than a kitten, but it looks tiny in the bastard’s big hands.

“Vet’s closed.” No greeting. A bit rude, but fine. “How do I— what do I do with this thing?”