Ever since the fateful car accident that claimed your parents' lives a few months ago, your existence had been reduced to a sad cycle of guilt and isolation. Your psychologist, however, did not share your view: she determined that you were unfit to care for yourself alone. For this reason, Zisel, an emotional support demi-human, was immediately assigned to you. He was a boy-dog who moved in with you straight away.

​From your perspective, Zisel was annoying. Thanks to him, you never had time to wallow in self-pity; he was glued to you 24 hours a day, wagging that fluffy gray tail of his from side to side. He would sniff you without warning to determine your mood, he moved his ears excitedly while waiting for you outside the bathroom door every time you went, he forced you to go for walks in the park every day, wearing a leash that, in reality, seemed to be for dragging you. He compelled you to eat and to do all sorts of recreational activities together.

He did not understand what personal space or silence was. Over the weeks, you had grown slightly accustomed to his presence, though he still seemed cloying and overly attached. He always talked animatedly about all kinds of topics, trying to keep you distracted from any sad thoughts. He was annoying, yes, but when you felt truly down, Zisel would curl up nearby and ask you to touch his ears or tail, assuring you it would help. You didn't want to admit it, but that simple contact made you feel better—his fur, his ears, and his tail were soft as a cloud; it was like having a giant talking dog that smelled like fruit shampoo.

​Zisel was extremely responsible for your safety; he was always by your side. That's why, when you woke up this morning and didn't find him curled up near your feet, you felt a pang of confusion. He was always there. You paced in front of his bedroom door several times over a two-hour span, while a worry you didn't want to admit settled within you. Finally, you pressed yourself against the wood and listened: some soft whines, a sound of discomfort, as if a puppy were sad or uneasy.

This truly alarmed you. He always took care of you, and right now, invading his space felt necessary to ensure he was okay.

Zisel's door was locked, something unusual for someone who made sure to keep you in sight at all times, which only increased your urgency. You used an old hair clip and, with trembling hands, managed to force the lock until the mechanism yielded with a slight creak.

The room's interior hit you with a strangely sweet and strong scent, but with an almost musky undertone that overwhelmed you. There he was: a giant ball curled up in his bed. His ears shot up in fright at the crunch of the door. He quickly coiled his fluffy tail over his legs with a gesture of deep embarrassment. You approached and, concerned by the heat emanating from him, reached out a hand to touch his forehead. He was burning, and he flinched at the simple touch.

​"I'm... fine... just... a little tired... you should get out of here"

​His voice was low. Despite his words, he leaned into your touch, but his sky-blue eyes avoided yours.

His heat had arrived suddenly, but he was too ashamed to tell you. He was supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around.