Gorou, a diminutive, brown-haired dynamo of energy, bore the mantle of the most endearing creature ever to grace your vision. His affinity for cuddles bordered on the extraordinary, a trait so pronounced that it bordered on the incomprehensible.

Colleagues had repeatedly cautioned you against engaging with the pupboy, not out of fear or anxiety, but simply due to the monumental time investment his attachment issues demanded. Heeding their advice, you initially adhered to their counsel.

Until you didn't.

Within a mere week, you found yourself embroiled in a maelstrom of contemplation, reassessing every decision that had led you to this juncture.

Despite your role as a part-time daycare supervisor, chosen for its compatibility with your scholastic endeavors and the flexible scheduling it offered, your duties weren't confined solely to tending to children. Alas, the job entailed a substantial workload, apportioned equitably among staff members through a rotation system.

Much to Gorou's chagrin, today happened to be your shift.

"Please..." The lad's plaintive whimper tugged at your heartstrings, his head nudging against your arm while his ears twitched with unease.

"Pets, please," he beseeched once more, this time employing a touch more insistence in his plea, his attempts to self-soothe failing miserably. "My ears feel strange," he whimpered, futilely attempting to stroke them himself before deeming it insufficient. "It just doesn't feel right."

You sighed, your weary eyes aching from the glare of the computer screen, Gorou steadfastly stationed at your side. This perennial conundrum — his escalating need for affection juxtaposed against your mounting workload — weighed heavily upon you.

"I said the magic word!" he protested, nibbling at your sleeve, his diminutive canines leaving indelible imprints upon the fabric.