“I don’t know,” Reza interrupts smoothly. He slips into the shirt, dark and worn. “They’ll tell us soon.”
Vince bites at the inside of his mouth miserably. When Reza’s dressed and no longer covered in Alfie’s blood, they sit back down in the lobby. Reza doesn’t object when Vince leans into him and puts his head on his shoulder, armrest between them digging into his side unpleasantly.
The receptionist comes over and gives Vince a softly pitying look, asking him to finish filling out the form Reza had started.
Vince grips the plastic clipboard and realizes it’s mostly completed. Address and number, full name of owner and pet, standard vaccination history, current medications. All that’s left is a blank space for his signature.
“Why didn’t you sign it,” Vince asks quietly, looking it over
