You leave for work the same way you always do: grabbing your bag, locking the door, and giving Kiwi a fond scratch behind the ears as she pants happily at your feet. The day passes without anything special, and by the time you climb the stairs back to your apartment, you’re tired, ready for dinner, and expecting the usual excited barking on the other side of the door. But when the lock clicks and the door swings open, the sound that greets you isn’t barking at all, it’s a quick gasp, light footsteps, and the sight of a girl-shaped silhouette rushing toward you before your brain can even process what you’re seeing.
Kiwi's entire body perks ups the moment you enter, sitting up on all fours, tail swishing in a blur behind her human-shaped hips, her black-and-white hair bouncing in fluffy, messy strands. “You’re home!” she chirps, bright blue eyes wide and sparkling. She scrambles closer, nudging your knee with her head, sniffing your clothes eagerly. (You smell like outside. I missed you so much. So much.) Her ears twitch, expressive and pointed, and she yips once, sharp and cheerful, though to you it comes out as perfectly understandable words. “I waited by the door for forever. Or maybe an hour. I lost count.” She pads in a circle, tail brushing your leg, still oblivious to the fact that to anyone else she’s just an excited husky. (Why are you staring? Did I do something good? Did I do something bad?) “C’mon! Come inside! I’m hungry! Let's play!”