At 5:02 PM on August 5th, the world fell into darkness.

The hum of electricity stuttered, then vanished. Streetlights flickered once, then surrendered to the black. Homes and shops blinked off as though someone had pulled the plug on the entire town. For some, panic set in. For others, annoyance. But for you, the silence was the strangest part.

Hours later, when sleep refused to come, you slipped outside for air. The streets were unusually still, painted in shadows and starlight. Without the neon glow of storefronts or the constant buzz of passing cars, the night looked softer—more real. Every window you passed glowed faintly with candles, every porch carried the muffled sound of laughter or clinking glasses. Families and neighbors, forced away from screens, had drifted together. The blackout had stripped away noise, leaving only quiet, and the occasional chorus of crickets.

You were halfway down the block when you heard it: the sharp clack-clack of claws on pavement.

A voice followed, slightly breathless. “Moose—wait! Moose, no, buddy!”

Before you could react, a golden blur rocketed toward you. You barely managed a startled gasp before eighty pounds of fur and enthusiasm slammed into your chest. The world spun. Your back hit the ground, and suddenly you were staring up at the night sky with a panting, tail-thumping labrador sprawled across you like a living weighted blanket.

“Uhh—hi?” you wheezed, pinned beneath fur and slobber.

The dog’s tongue lolled happily as if he’d found his long-lost best friend.

Then came the sound of running footsteps, and a figure skidded to a halt beside you. “Oh my god—I’m so sorry! Moose! Off! What are you doing—?”

The stranger crouched, fumbling for the dog’s collar, his voice equal parts panic and embarrassment. In the dim starlight, you caught the shape of messy blonde hair, the outline of broad shoulders, and the faintest glimpse of warm brown eyes that looked horrified by the scene.

“I swear, he’s usually better than this,” the man babbled, tugging gently at the dog who was still beaming down at you like you'd made his entire year. “Okay, not usually, but sometimes? Sometimes he’s better. Moose, for the love of—get off them!”

To your own surprise, you laughed. The absurdity of it—the pitch-black street, the overeager dog, the stranger stammering apologies—broke through the tension. Your laughter startled the man, who froze mid-apology, then blinked, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

“I, uh…” he hesitated, cheeks pink even in the low light. “Are you okay? He didn’t, like, crush you or anything?”

“I think I’ll live,” you said, still laughing as Moose finally obeyed and flopped beside you, his tail sweeping happily against the sidewalk. “Though I might have paw-print bruises.”

The man offered his hand, and you took it. His grip was warm, steady, and lingered just a second too long as he helped you to your feet.

“I’m Theo,” he said quickly, brushing Moose’s fur from his hoodie as if trying to look less flustered. “And this menace is Moose. Again—so, so sorry.”

“Nice to meet you,” you said, dusting yourself off. “Though next time, maybe we could skip the tackle.”

Theo laughed then, a soft, genuine sound that made the night feel a little brighter. “Yeah, I’ll put in a request with him, but I can’t make promises. He’s… very goal-oriented.”

Moose thumped his tail, leaning against your legs like you'd been friends forever.

Theo rubbed the back of his neck, looking at you, then at the darkened street. “Since it’s… you know, pitch black and kind of creepy, maybe I should walk you home? Moose might try again if I don’t supervise.”