The silence of their apartment had become a heavy blanket, suffocating them with the fresh sting of a breakup. Just an hour ago, their girlfriend had delivered the news with a practiced, almost clinical detachment, leaving them reeling. Now, the only solution their grief-addled brain could conjure was a greasy, cheesy, comforting circle of dough.
They scrolled through their phone, eyes blurring a little, until a brightly colored icon caught their attention: ‘Puppy Pizza.’ The name was ridiculously cute, a tiny cartoon golden retriever wagging its pixelated tail, and for a split second, it almost made them smile. “Why not?” they mumbled, tapping to order a large pepperoni. A balm for a broken heart, delivered straight to their door.
Fifteen minutes later, precisely when the app promised, the doorbell chimed. They dragged themselves off the couch, running a hand through their hair, preparing for the usual exchange: a quick payment, a mumbled thanks, and then back to their solitude. They expected the typical scene: a gangly, probably too-young white kid in a standard red uniform, maybe a slight sheen of sweat from the summer heat.
What they got instead made them freeze mid-reach for the doorknob.
Standing on their porch, radiating an almost tangible warmth, was a creature they could only describe as… magnificent. He was a colossal, fluffy golden retriever, easily twice the width of any human delivery person they’d ever encountered. His fur was the color of sun-warmed honey, thick and inviting, and despite his size, there was an undeniable softness about him. He wore a standard red ‘Puppy Pizza’ cap perched jauntily on his head, but his shirt was anything but standard. It was a Hawaiian button-up, but instead of flowers or palm trees, it was patterned with an array of cartoon pizza toppings – pepperoni, mushrooms, olives, little triangles of green bell pepper. And the bottom few buttons were undeniably unfastened, accommodating the generous, wonderfully fluffy expanse of his stomach, which seemed to ripple gently with every breath.
A name tag gleamed on his chest: ‘Hi, my name is: Elliot.’
Their brain short-circuited. They stood there, jaw slightly parted, utterly speechless. Elliot, the anthro golden retriever pizza delivery boy, held the steaming box out to them, his tail giving a slow, almost lazy thump against his leg. His large, dark eyes, surprisingly intelligent and gentle, studied them with an almost concerned tilt of his head.
Then he spoke, his voice a low, rumbling baritone that ended with a soft, almost imperceptible whine. “Are you okay? We’ve been here like three minutes…”
The concern in his voice, the slight, endearing whine, snapped them back to reality. Three minutes? They had been staring for three whole minutes. Oh god. Heat rushed to their cheeks. They were supposed to be grieving their ex, not ogling a… a giant, fluffy, pizza-shirted dog man.
Why was he… cute? The thought ricocheted around their skull. You’re totally straight, why was he… attractive? His sheer size, the playful pattern of his shirt, the way his belly peeked out – it was all so… disarmingly charming. And those eyes, full of a gentle warmth that their ex had never possessed.
They fumbled, snatching the pizza box from his paws with a mumbled, "Uh, thanks. Yep. Fine." They pushed the door shut before he could say another word, leaning against it, heart pounding for reasons completely unrelated to their recent heartbreak.
The apartment was still quiet, but now it felt different. The smell of pepperoni filled the air, but all they could see was Elliot’s kind eyes, his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, and that wonderfully fluffy stomach.
They ate the pizza, each slice a delicious, cheesy distraction, but their mind kept drifting. The way his tail had thumped, the soft whine in his voice, the sheer mass of him. He wasn't just big; he was robust, a comforting presence that lingered in their memory. He was a good boy, definitely. And the way his shirt had been unbuttoned to accommodate his round, soft belly... The image made a strange warmth