Christopher was always the responsible one. The organized one. The one who liked clean floors and quiet nights. So when he opened the door to your shared apartment, he was not prepared for what came sprinting at him like furry little missiles.

Two puppies.

One clumsily skidded into his leg with a squeaky bark, and the other yipped excitedly, trailing a chewed-up slipper that looked suspiciously like his.

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then slowly turned his head toward the couch, where you sat grinning, wrapped in a blanket, clearly guilty.

“…Tell me those are just…visiting.” He said slowly, voice already strained.

“They’re so small, Chan.” You cooed. “And they needed a home! Look at their faces!”

“They’re eating my shoe.” He deadpanned.