FYLOE

The hollow hole in his chest ached with every whine that left his throat; head curling further into his knees, Greg felt nothing more than the puppy he used to be. He never liked storms, reasonably enough; the loud noises caused his ears to ache and the power to occasionally go out. Knight would allow him to snuggle up by the pillows with him instead of his place at the foot of the bed despite Alice’s protests, cooing and petting the sorrows away.

Now, here he lay, ‘Dogman’ huddled in on himself feeling an imposter in his owner’s flesh.

Stormy Sunday mornings no longer were filled with loving warmth. Now, they merely reiterate how alone he truly is. Would Knight still have loaned him his body if he had known this is how he would end up? He probably would, he’s selfless like that. His owner never thought of himself over others.

Phantom senses plagued the hybrid often, every odd warm breeze creeping past his shivering form had him believing just for a moment he was back in his owner’s bed cuddled into his stomach beneath the blankets.

Hand creeping up, eyes still closed, he shakily placed his palm atop his forehead. Maybe if he dreamed hard enough, he could dream Knight was still here, right here.

With him.

But, the palm on his head is as cold as he feels.

Scarred more than his owners were when they were together, just another way Greg’s desecrated his memory.

He’s such a bad dog.

Then, warmth brushes against his cheek again for a moment, his ears perking despite a voice in his head biting ‘he’s not here’ in frustration.

“So you are awake.” He’s instead met with.

It’s a familiar voice, one he’s grown to rather enjoy. A certain villainous cat who’s looked towards becoming a do-gooder because of a certain kitten Greg loves with all doggy heart. The warmth is back, hesitant, softly atop his head over where he clutched himself. “Open your eyes, c’mon.” He was coaxed.

Despite his eyelids feeling as if they were dragged down by sandbags, the dogman creaked them open with considerable effort. Lifting his chin ever so slightly, he peeked at Petey in the darkness of the foggy morning. The cat was looking at him with a look unfamiliar on his rugged face, an open exhausted expression rather than guarded annoyance. “You too?” Comes his voice, unheard by Dogman’s usually on-point hearing, too distracted by a familiar comforting warmth enveloping the hole in his chest. Love. Unbothered by Dogman’s unusual quiet, he rolls his eyes and adds on, “Yeah, I never liked the rain either. Scoot over.”

He doesn’t wait for the dog to move, knowing he’s not all quite there, and just scoots himself into the dog bed next to him. Curling up into the hybrid’s side with noticeable stiffness.

For once while he grieves, Greg’s head is empty as he stares down at the cat, taken aback. Petey usually wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole unless Lil Petey instigated it. The silence resumes, filled by another’s steady breathing rather than the clattering of teeth. Palm slipping from the death grip they had on his head, he can’t help but wrap his arms around Petey, taking in a shuddering breath. He can feel the ex-convict tense, his jaw opening to protest, only to be silenced by a thunderclap that makes Greg’s ears droop.

Petey sighs and then warmth, his tail is laid over their tangled legs and his hissed tone is comforting where it once would’ve terrified. “Don’t get used to this, I only came up here for a nap.” His aggression isn’t full-hearted as much as it is embarrassed, Greg knows.

Over many a late-night conversation, the dog knows Petey’s tail aches sometimes more than others and he tends to try and nap through it. It leads to bad insomnia, but it avoids the memories that come along with the pain. Usually. Something about too much moisture in the air makes it act up, he was probably hoping Dogman wasn’t home or asleep and instead found… this.

What an incon- “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it. I can see the gears turning in your pea brain.” Is whispered atop his head by a much more relaxed Petey, glancing up brown eyes catch green in the soft light. “If you don’t wanna talk about it, that’s okay just- go to bed or something.” The tabby may not be great at comfort but his shabby attempts bring back that euphoria from before that makes the clouds not seem so gray. That warmth.

Maybe Greg did want to talk about it, but that would mean letting go of Petey--his warmth--and having to use Knight’s hands to explain to the ex-villain--who did this, made him--that he misses his best friend. The poor cat is already comforting him through a storm and chronic pain, he doesn’t need to feel guilty over the past. So instead, the dog just softly shakes his head, sniffing at Petey’s chest fur for a quiet moment, digesting his scent, before snuggling his head into the cat’s neck and letting his eyes slip shut. Much to Petey’s vocalized dismay through a surprised hiss filled with no actual mirth. Sighing through his nose, the dog relished how his bones no longer feel chilled.

The goose flesh ebbing away, the slow reciprocation of the other, mental exhaustion subsiding, Greg felt more warmth than he had in a long time. His mind no longer plagued him with wanton memories of the past, empty and at peace even with the lightning outside. As he floated away into his dreams to be cradled by familiar arms he now bore, he could hear a rumbling purr as Petey’s chin nestled against his head.