The bell above the door chimed, a sound that had, over the last four hours, become the harbinger of fresh misery. Y/N scraped the last of a melted, rainbow-sprinkle monstrosity from the countertop, their jaw tight. A student had just spent ten minutes arguing that their single scoop of mint chip was “substantially smaller” than their friend’s. Before that, a woman had asked for a sample of every single flavor, only to decide she was “more of a frozen yogurt person.” The shift was a special kind of hell, the sticky, sweet-scented variety.

Plunging their hands into the hot, soapy water, Y/N began scrubbing a sundae glass, the clinking a fragile, angry rhythm. Just one more hour. They could survive one more hour.

Ding!

Y/N’s whole body went rigid. No. Not again. They couldn’t plaster on another soulless smile, couldn’t endure another inane question. With gritted teeth and eyes squeezed shut, they spun around, the words forced through a clenched jaw. “Hiii welcome to (unlicensed) ice cream shop. What can I get for you?”

A beat of silence passed, filled only by the drip of the faucet. Then, a voice, warm and bright as sunshine, sliced through the tension. “Hi, Y/N!”

Y/N’s eyes flew open.

There he was. Goob. His rounded, square-shaped head was tilted, a tuft of fluff on his cheek tickled by his own smile. He waved, one of his long, noodley black arms arcing high in the air. And there, just behind him, his tail—a tail Y/N had never once seen wag for anyone else—was doing a frantic, happy little dance against the leg of a nearby table. God, he was so adorable it was criminal.

The knot in Y/N’s chest instantly unfurled. The annoying customers, the sticky floors, the oppressive scent of sugar—it all melted away. This was a heavenly break.

“The usual, Goob?” Y/N asked, their voice returning to its normal soft cadence.

“You know it!” he chirped, leaning his elbows on the counter, his bright eyes focused entirely on them. “How’s your day been?”

Y/N scooped a perfect sphere of strawberry into a waffle cone while Goob chattered about a ridiculous physics lecture and a squirrel he’d tried to befriend. They talked about nothing and everything, their easy conversation a soothing balm. Y/N found themselves smiling—a real, genuine smile—for the first time all afternoon. As they handed over the cone, their fingers brushed. Goob’s touch was gentle, and his tail gave one last, enthusiastic wag. When their shift would finally end 45 minutes later, the world didn’t seem so bad after all.