#au challenge

They give the dog the corner run. Two blankets. SENIOR DOG in block caps on the card. Oscar doodled a small star next to it. (For staff, obviously. Not for feelings.)

Day two he breaks his own rule.

“Toast,” he says, as if he’s pointing at a countertop and not committing a crime. “You look like Toast.”

Max appears with an orange kitten drooped over his shoulder like a scarf. “Toast.”

“Because toast is warm,” Oscar says. “He likes laying in the sun.”

Max squints at the dog. The dog squints back. “As your coworker, I refuse to endorse this. As your friend, I am impressed by how quickly you fold.”

Toast learns the yard in three laps. He taps his nails twice on the gate instead of barking, a tiny door-knock. He eats faster if Oscar looks away like they’re pretending not to be at the same table. He hates the squeeky toys in principle. He loves a sun patch like it owes him rent.

Max, who runs the cat corridor like ATC, leans on the yard fence with a kitten now nesting in his hood like a studio apartment. “Your Toast is auditing me.”

“He audits,” Oscar says. “It’s how he loves.”

“Daniel says hi,” Max adds casually, because he never announces his boyfriend without slipping it into the weather. “He’s picking me up later with the good dumplings. You are invited. Try not to cry on them if your dog gets adopted.”

“I don’t cry,” Oscar says deadpan.

“You cry with your shoulders,” Max says. “It counts.”

Time does the shelter trick—long as a lecture, gone like a text. Oscar hums when he cleans Toast’s run. Dumb songs. The tram bell. A jingle. Toast doesn’t care if he’s good. First note, head goes down: there you are.

By the end of week one, Toast has policies. Walk to the yard corner and no further if the wind is a bit much. Sniff the hinge like it holds secrets. Accept forehead kisses as a tax. Tolerate the cone of shame during the post-intake bath; then look personally betrayed for seven minutes forty seconds.

“Do not,” Max says one night, passing with a tabby in a sling. “You are doing the future-sad. You are getting attached again.”

“I’m fine,” Oscar says.

“Sure,” Max says.

The next day is bright. Sky blue like a lie. Oscar is rewriting a med note on the whiteboard. Max is down in cats.

“Hi,” a man says. Not breathless, but close. Hoodie soft and big, but wearing shorts. Black hair doing what hair does when it's signed a contract with gravity. Calves that are unfair on a weekday. Oscar clocks all of it in one professional glance and privately checks a box: unfairly attractive.

“Hey,” Oscar says. Caps the pen. Whiteboard dust on jeans. Shelter smile, dialed down because this one is humming like a power line. “What can I help with?”

“I am looking for my dog,” the man says, careful English, easy mouth and devastating plush lips. “He is older. He ran away. I have checked the pound, the Facebook, the…teenagers who smoke where they are not supposed to. So many Liams. Nothing.”

“Is that him? Where did you lose him?” Oscar asks, taking the flyer the man is strangling politely.

“Tram depot.” The photo shows a grey-muzzled dog with a scarf around him, sitting like sit was his idea. The man swallows. “His name is Piñón.” The ñ lands warm. “Small name, very dignified dog.”

Oscar looks up. He does not say oh. He says, neutral, “Come with me.”

They walk the corridor. Adopted board. Fake grass rectangle someone ordered at 2am on hope. Oscar keeps the pace even because the man is trying not to hurry and failing.

“I’m Oscar,” Oscar says, because the quiet needs an anchor.

“Carlos,” the man says. Hands in hoodie pouch like they might run off. “I put posters everywhere. Even at the Pilates place. I had to pretend I knew what a reformer is.”

“Long bed that bites your socks,” Oscar says. “My friend—Daniel—calls it ‘expensive sliding.’ He’s right.”

Carlos does a quick, unwilling smile. It doesn’t make it to his eyes yet. “Yes. That.”

They stop at the corner run. Oscar doesn’t call a name. He stands where Toast can see him without being boxed. “Hey, mate,” he says. “Visitor.”

Toast lifts his head. Sees Oscar. Sees Carlos. Performs a complete systems check—eyes, heart, joints—and stands. The kind of stand that passes in parliament.

“Hola, mi vida,” Carlos says, dropping into a crouch so fast his hoodie strings thump him. He cups his hands like a bowl. “Piñón.”

Toast walks to the gate and presses his face into those hands like the world finally remembered the answer.

Oscar looks at the hinge with great interest. He is not made of rock. He still hears the laugh Carlos makes into the dog’s fur—ugly-pretty, when a knot comes out all at once.

Carlos looks up. He is doing a face. “He kept the scarf for two hours,” he says. “Then he ate it. It was a bad scarf.”

“Toast also declined our fashion,” Oscar says.

“Toast?” Carlos repeats.

“Temporary name,” Oscar says. “Warm, because he prefers the sun and toast is warm.”

Carlos’ mouth tips. “You named my dog after bread.”

“You named your dog after a pine nut,” Oscar says, solemn as a diagnosis. “We are snack-coded from both ends. Strong theme.”

“Piñón is elegant,” Carlos says.

“Snack with a degree,” Oscar says. “Sure.”

They do the boring bits because that’s how you keep the good bits. Intake date matches. Scanner still says no chip; the universe remains unserious. Carlos scrolls the camera roll: sun patch; couch; scarf he hated; nose like a small shoe. Proof enough.

Oscar prints PIÑÓN on the card, neat, careful. He does not write Toast next to it in brackets. He does not draw a star.

Max drifts by with a kitten now physically installed in his hood like central heating. “Is this the reunion? Do I weep?”

“Later,” Oscar says. “Daniel’s dumplings.”

“Copy,” Max says, smile all straight teeth. “I will weep recreationally.”

Outside, Carlos eases the harness on. Piñón leans into his knee, his tail knocks against Carlos’ shin. Knock knock. They are next to the hedge everyone at the shelter calls the pee hedge, because every dog goes there after being at the waiting area of the shelter too long.

“He taps the gate twice when he wants the yard,” Oscar says, because giving small secrets back is part of goodbye and he isn't ready to say goodbye quite yet. “Hates the squeaky toys. Loves the sun patch by the hose reel. Three laps. On the fourth he judges you for being clever.”

Carlos’ eyes actually smile this time. “Yes. That’s him.”

Carlos offers his number like he’s asking permission to hope. “For meds,” he says. “Or questions. Or if you—” he stops, grimaces at his own honesty— “miss him.”

“I’ll take it,” Oscar says. Folds the paper like it deserves it.

Out front, Piñón reintroduces himself to the hedge and pees on it. The road hums. A tram dings. The wind does the small mean thing it does at the end of winter.

They stand in it for a minute. The afternoon is exactly as big as it is.

“I should go,” Carlos says finally. He glances at Oscar’s mouth like his sentence took a shortcut. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Oscar says. “He’s yours.”

Carlos looks at him for a quiet second like he’s checking a blind spot. Then he straightens his courage like a jacket. “I am going to ask you a crazy thing,” he says. “If you say no, I will pretend I talked about the weather.”

“Okay,” Oscar says, suspicious.

“Would you like to have coffee with me,” Carlos says, formal as a form, “Tomorrow. I will bring Piñón. He is strict. He will judge your coffee order.”

Oscar’s brain forgets verbs. The world does a short, soft zoom. Attractive was already ticked; now the rest of the boxes start appearing like a form he didn’t know he wanted to fill. He becomes very aware of his dirty shoes and the shirt where a puppy had peed on him minutes earlier. “I—sorry—what,” he says, eloquent. “You’re—asking me? Out. Here. In front of the pee hedge.”

“The pee- What? Yes,” Carlos says, very calm for a man in shorts in winter. “ If you want.”

“Oh,” Oscar says, which is not policy. “Yes. Yeah. Sorry. Yes.” He clears his throat. “Tomorrow is…good. I can be judged by Toast...I mean Piñón.”

“Excellent,” Carlos says, as if he won a raffle. Relief moves through him like central heating turning on. “I will not tell my mother you tried to rename Piñón to Toast.”

“I will absolutely tell her,” Oscar says. “Pin-yon Toast. Breakfast deluxe.” And wants to slap himself immediately. Waaay too soon for any parent interactions.

“Do not,” Carlos says, scandalized. “She will serve it with jam.”

Max ghost-waves through the glass with a paper bag of greasy food. Daniel appears next to him mimicking crying over the bag. Max laughs as if that's the funniest thing in the world. They look smug about the concept of love. It helps.

Oscar looks back and Carlos leans in and kisses Oscar’s cheek—brief, careful, a test push on the fence. It's ridiculous and makes his knees wobbly. “Gracias,” Carlos says, quiet. “For the time.”

Oscar rubs the spot with the back of his wrist like that’s how you file a moment. “Go home,” he says, softer than he means to. “Your dog is waiting.”

They take two steps. Carlos looks back. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Oscar echoes, surprised into smiling.

Piñón does the tail again—two polite knocks.

Max sidles up as the door swings shut behind Oscar. “You look like you got hit by a bus.”

"Don't worry, I got the emotional support dumplings, mate. I'm sorry your dog got adopted," Daniel adds with a pat on his shoulder.

“Carlos asked me out at the pee hedge,” Oscar says, still a little static.

Max blinks. “The owner? The guy in shorts?”

“In shorts,” Oscar confirms, dazed. “Criminal.”

He looks at the empty corner run. Clean. Warm the way a room is warm right after someone leaves. “I named a dog Toast and bullied a man about pine nuts and still got a date,” he adds, amazed at himself.

“You’re unbearable,” Max says, fond. “Should I take your shift tomorrow?”

@squarebysquare

- Square by Square Bingo: ShunStarrk Card - Sharing a Bed for Warmth - Square by Square Bingo: February Flash Event 2026 - A Touch That Lingers // Love, Unspoken

@fourseasonsbingo

- Four Seasons Bingo - Cozy Blankets

10prompts Challenge on DW

- 10 Prompts Challenge: Table "Touch" - 04: Possessive

@fandombingo

- Winter Medley Bingo 2025 - Eternal Winter // Frozen Wasteland

@fandom-free-bingo

- Fandom-Free Bingo: World Book Night Edition - Cold Hands - Fandom-Free Bingo: Maritime May Edition - Losing Sleep Worrying - Fandom-Free Bingo: Pride Edition - Long Sigh - Fandom-Free Bingo: Bug Edition - Gasping For Breath - Fandom-Free Bingo: Medical Edition - Holding Their Hips - Fandom-Free Bingo: Dream Edition - Shivering // Jerking Awake - Fandom-Free Bingo: Heroic Edition - Always There When They Need Them - Fandom-Free Bingo: Mystic Edition - Nightmares

@julybreakbingo

- July Break Bingo 2025 - Post-Apocalyptic AU // The End or and The Beginning // Nightmares or Day Dreams // Location: Cabin

Tic Tac Woe on DW

- Tic Tac Woe - Wild Card: Ice Age/Endless Winter

@seasonaldelightsbingo

- Seasonal Delights Bingo: Winter Wonderland - freezing temperatures - Seasonal Delights Bingo: Types of Love - long nights spent talking - Seasonal Delights Bingo: Cozy Feels - buried under layers of blankets

@anyfandomangstbingo

- Any Fandom Angst Bingo - Nightmares

AU Challenge on DW