What kind of life could possibly be built from that?
Vince is still standing over the sink in the loo when the front door opens, a skitter of claws on the linoleum forcing a smile to Vince’s lips.
“Finny and Adventure Pup return triumphant!” comes a slightly breathless voice. Distracted, “Christ, you’re big now. Why did your dad keep feeding you?”
Vince shuffles out into the entryway to rub Alfie’s ears, card a hand through the fur of his back. There’s almost no evidence he was ever found bleeding on the floor of Vince’s flat, damaged nearly beyond repair by a maniac and kept alive only by the grace of a sociopath. The dog snuffles a bit, more or less over the incident, even if Vince might never be.
Not like he had to put in that much effort, you know? Do what he did.
He buries the th
