A moment to relax and eat.

"Luke?" Beatrice's voice cuts away the humming din of traffic and AC fans, lurching you from your mid-drive spacing out.

"Yes, Beatrice?" You give a flicker of a glance to her, noticing a familiar fidget. She's worried again.

"Is... rescue bad?"

"What makes you say that?"

She bites her lip, looking out the window and not at you. "Luke no tell Charlotte. Beatrice rescue. Not Kennel com-pan-ion."

Keeping your eyes forward, you reach over to let your hand rest on her shoulder, thumb lightly rubbing her silky fur. "I didn't tell her because that's your business, Beatrice. It's private."

"Private?"

"Mhmm. If you want people to know, you're welcome to tell them, but I'm not going to gossip about something that might embarrass you. That would be rude."

"Luke not rude!" She blurts immediately, head flicking back toward you. Her immediate defense of you makes you smile.

"Thank you, Beatrice." You leave it at that, giving her time to think.

~

"You're okay with stairs, right?" You probably should have asked sooner. Too late now. Your apartment building's not tall enough to justify an elevator, and even then you're not sure you trust your landlord to not cut corners on installing one. Besides, lots of stairs means you get lots of mini-workouts throughout the day!

Beatrice nods. "All good." Parroting your phrase from before makes her grin, putting a wag in her tail. So ffFFUCKING cute. Flexing her little doggo arms, Beatrice helps you haul up the food and clothes up a few flights of stairs, diligently keeping pace right behind you. As you get to the landing at the very top, you glance back to see her huffing and puffing slightly, her chest wobbling invitingly with each forceful step.

Man, what is with you today? You never used to take much stock in companion appearances. Sure, they're cute, and you've definitely seem some owners strut them about in just their Basics, but that's never stirred you up so much before. They're not humans, so what's the point? You can't have a meaningful relationship with a dog. Not a romantic one. Sure, no one would judge you for letting off some steam, but even that doesn't make a lot of sense to you. What good is sex if you don't feel a connection to the other person?

"Luke? Why stop?"

Blinking away that train of thought, you set down some bags and fish around in your pocket for the keys. "Sorry, I got sidetracked. Alrighty, Beatrice... welcome to home sweet home." Turning the knob and the lock, you push the door open and step inside, immediately setting the bags back down just off to the side. Beatrice moves in past you, looking up and around at the new surroundings, nose sniffing like crazy.

"Home..."

You stand back in your kitchen nook, getting the food in the fridge while you let Beatrice explore, taking stock of your modest apartment. An L-shaped thrift store couch rests just in sight of the door, with a not-too-big TV mounted in front of it on the near wall. A minimalist chandelier hangs from the vaulted ceiling, giving a warm, white glow to the whole living space. Beatrice is quite captivated by the large bay window on the far wall, pattering over to lean and peer down at the city below. There's not too much of a view, you think, but it is kinda neat to see people going by from a few floors up. You can at least see a fair bit of the sky and horizon from this height.

"So big," calls Beatrice in hushed awe. "Lucas live here?"

"And you too, don't forget. It's not that big, but it's comfortable."

"Much bigger than kennel room." Ah, well, fair point there. There's a few more stairs to get up to the loft-style bed space you have, where you begin unpacking and stowing all the clothing you bought. Beatrice opts to join you moments later, looking around again with nose at maximum sniff. "Smells like Luke."

"Does it? I try to keep up with laundry, but... well, college student. I get busy."

"Beatrice help!" To cement her point, she takes the clothes from you, folding them more efficiently than you were, setting them with the ones you'd already packed. Crinkling her nose a little, she pulls all those out and refolds them, making you laugh.

"Been here for two minutes and she's already in work mode."

"Beatrice work! Com-pan-ion work, make owner happy." You catch her tail wagging again, but it has a crisper flick to it. It reminds you a little of a metronome, swishing in time to some silent beat while she focuses on the clothes.

"Well, consider me happy. Very, very happy." She answers you with a pleased hum, smiling to herself as you find your bed and fall onto it. Oh, to be off your feet and in the cool, welcoming embrace of sheets and pillows. You kick off your shoes, letting your toes flex and stretch, craning your head to admire Beatrice at work. Tick tock tick tock goes her little tail. Such a cute, curly tuft of fuzz, swishing happily as she quickly gets the new clothes tucked away. Hopping back onto her feet, she pats off her skirt and pivots to look at you with a bright, eager smile.

"Job done, Luke! Hm?" She catches your eye, but tilts her head at your reclined posture. "Sun up, not bedtime. Luke tired?"

"A little, but that's fine. Also, you reminded me, come look!" You kick yourself into an upright position, leaning over the side of your bed. "Check this out."

Beatrice approaches slowly, leaning to the same side to observe, nose a-twitching in anticipation. When she's in position, you grin and grab hold of a handle near the base of the bed. With a firm tug, what looks like a set of drawers underneath the mattress rolls outward, revealing an additional, smaller mattress! Beatrice's eyes widen and sparkle, the pup gasping softly in wonder.

"Bed had puppy!"

You sputter, collapsing fully on the side of the bed to cackle heartily. Your companion tilts her head at your uproarious response, but eventually joins you with bubbly giggles.

"Well, that's one way to put it," you sigh, wiping your eyes and shaking your head. "I altered the bed to make room for you."

Beatrice gasps again. "Beatrice get puppy bed?!"

You nod with a broad grin. "Yes, you get the 'puppy bed.' You get to sleep right next to me! I hope that's okay."

She nods emphatically, hurrying over to clasp your hands in hers with sparkles in her eyes. "Beatrice love puppy bed! Luke best owner!"

That... sits a little crooked in your head. Best owner? What about her original owner? Who in the world would give up or abandon such a wonderful, upbeat little dog? You want to ask, but... you'd just made a deal of that business being private. If Beatrice deigns to tell you one day, that's on her. It might be too fresh a wound for her to deal with. It stings to imagine, but you hope that her peppy, diligent attitude isn't just a means of coping with some loss she isn't showing.

Not that you'd know anything about that. Nope.

"So, Beatrice... how's about we get started on dinner?"

"Yessir!"

"Nose-nose!"

When Beatrice first started cooking, you had no idea why she kept answering your questions with that infectiously cute response. You're clueless as to how she got so quickly adept at cooking, or when she even started learning it. If she's only twelve, about two years out of K.A... is that enough time to be able to independently prepare meals? Maybe she was privately tutored instead of K.A. reared, and this is something she's just always been able to do. Either way, here you are, having to help a lot less than you expected to. Beatrice sways and swishes atop her little stepstool, happily adding seasoning and flipping the sizzling meat in the pan. It's almost done, too, as far as you can tell.

You don't have a dining area in your apartment, so plates are taken to the coffee table and lumpy-but-loved sectional. The whole place is filled with the pleasant aroma of seared chicken and veggies, hot enough on your plate to almost still sizzle. Both of you have been staring for a while; you at your food, and Beatrice at you, tail flicking about with anticipation. When her gaze finally gets your attention, you cock your eyebrow at her.

"Luke eat! Is good, promise!"

It isn't that you don't trust her. You're already confident that Beatrice isn't going to intentionally poison you or anything like that. The food smells amazing, and you can't recall ever using dill in anything. You were pretty sure that's just a type of pickle before today.

It's just the word intentional that's got you hung up. Did she cook it long enough? Did she play it by ear or does she have a recipe memorized? Is she capable of memorizing recipes? Canidus are smart, sure, but how smart? How much of her confidence is based in experience and not in blissfully ignorant hope?

...if you keep asking yourself questions, Beatrice is going to wind up crawling into your lap with gravitous anticipation. You'd better throw in your chips and take a bite. Pleasing her is worth a potential tummy ache, right? It can't be that bad—

Oh. Oh, my. It's not bad at all. No, shit, holy shit, this is one of the best things you've ever tasted! Sorry Mom, but you just got shunted down to silver medal in cooking! It's just chicken, vegetables, and seasoning, but the way the flavors all marry together, blending into a unique experience... You could eat all of the ingredients separately and not come to this decadent conclusion. Your eyes bare down on Beatrice in elated wonder, your hands working on their own to shovel more of this ambrosia into your face hole.

Beatrice, in contrast, has a cool, almost matronly smile on her face, delicately taking her cutlery and eating quietly. She dines like a proper lady, eyes half-lidded as she enjoys her own creation. Even her tail is wagging in a smooth, subdued sway behind her, adding a composed period onto her dignified statement.

She has better table manners than you, you trash monkey. Not that you're taking time to notice with the way you're snarfing the meal before you. Crass as you are, Beatrice seems smugly pleased that you're taking to her cooking so well. That cute little snoot sits confidently up in the air, a cool smile curled on her lips as she politely nibbles her portion.

"Beatrice, how in the world did you make this? I-It's fantastic!"

She just giggles again, giving you the same answer, a finger tapping her snoot. "Nose-nose!"

"Okay, you keep saying that, but... what?"

She levels a stare at you, mouth curling to the side as she thinks. "Mmm.. Beatrice smell when food done. Stop cook right away. Not dry, not tough. Just right." Your own companion giggles at the dawning childish realization glowing on your face.

Her nose knows. God, you're dumb. With a soulful cackle, you smack your forehead and wipe an errant tear away. "Haaa, you're something else," you mutter through your fading laughter. The meal finished, you recline back into the couch, eyes closed and hands behind your head. Today has been absolutely wonderful, in ways you hadn't expected. Your new companion isn't at all what you imagined, but you wouldn't change your decision for the world. There's not another one out there more perfect. You're sure of it.

"I love you, Beatrice."

"No you don't."

...huh?