Sweet, kind Steven.

He would let you do anything to him, so long as you asked him for it. It’s endearing, really, how much he trusts you; how much he loves you.

It also means that you can get away with a lot of things, not that he’d really complain about anything you suggested to him. He was good that way.

It’s what brought you two to this moment.

You’d come home, a small shopping bag in hand, and told Steven that you’d gotten something for him. He looked at you so eagerly—wide-eyed and excited to see what it is that you’d gotten him.

When he takes out the item in question—a light blue collar, complete with a little bell and a silver ring fit for a leash—he gives you a questioning look.

“Love, we don’t.. we don’t have a dog.”

His expression softens when you give him a knowing look, and he vocalizes his realization.

“It’s f’me, isn’t it?”