The Puppy Rescue: A Chance Encounter (and a Group Reaction)
Felix's words, "My family hates public messes like this," echoed in my head, branding me. Even after he'd somehow vanished the article and, according to Lisa (who'd heard it from Cal), gotten the person who leaked it fired, the sting remained. He hadn't apologized for his words, just for the "problem." To him, I was the problem. A scandal he had to clean up.
So, I avoided him. It wasn't hard on a sprawling campus, but it required conscious effort. I found new routes to classes, lingered in the library until I was sure he'd left, and even started eating lunch at slightly different times. Badminton practice became a torturous exercise in strategic court placement, always ensuring there were at least two other people between us. He'd try to talk sometimes, a gruff comment about my swing or a terse update on a club matter. I'd give him short, clipped answers, my eyes refusing to meet his. I could feel his frustration, his usual arrogance replaced by a simmering annoyance, but I didn't care. The hurt ran deeper than his current irritation.
One afternoon, a week after the article vanished, I was leaving the campus café, balancing a tray with a steaming coffee and a precarious stack of textbooks. My mind was miles away, still replaying Felix's condescending tone. Just as I stepped onto the main path, a small, yelping puppy, no bigger than my hand, darted out from behind a bush, directly into my path. I gasped, stumbling, coffee sloshing precariously, trying desperately not to trip over the tiny creature. My books began to slide.
Before I could fall, a hand shot out, steadying my arm. The other hand, quick as lightning, scooped up the trembling puppy just before I stepped on it. I looked up, startled, and met the intense gaze of Felix.
He still held the puppy gently in one hand, its tiny tail thumping against his arm. His expression was softer than I'd ever seen it, a flicker of genuine concern in his eyes as he looked from the unharmed puppy to my still-sloshing coffee. "You alright?" he asked, his voice unexpectedly gentle, completely devoid of his usual snark.
I just stared. Felix Alaric Thorne, holding a puppy? The image was so incongruous, so utterly at odds with the "arrogant jerk" I knew, that my mind momentarily short-circuited.
The puppy gave a tiny bark, licking Felix's chin, and he actually, genuinely smiled. Not the smirk, not the practiced polite smile, but a real, warm smile that transformed his face, softening the sharp edges. "Lost little guy," he murmured to the puppy, before looking back at me. "Looks like you almost became puppy-pancake."
My lips twitched. The absurdity of the situation, combined with his uncharacteristic tenderness towards the animal, finally broke through my carefully constructed wall of avoidance. "I almost did," I admitted, a small, genuine laugh escaping me. The sound felt foreign after weeks of guarding my every interaction with him.
"Here," he said, carefully placing the puppy in my arms. It immediately snuggled into my chest, tiny paws kneading my shirt. Its fur was impossibly soft. "Its owner must be around here somewhere. Someone just left it tied to a tree." He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze distant, a rare flash of vulnerability. "It's… not right."
Just then, a chorus of voices chimed in. "Elisa! Felix! What's going on?" Cal, Lisa, and Leo were rounding the corner, having clearly just finished a study session.
Lisa's eyes widened, first at the puppy, then at Felix, and finally at me, a silent question in her gaze. "Oh my gosh, a puppy!" she squealed, rushing over.
Caleb, ever the quick thinker, immediately assessed the situation. "A stray? Good job, Felix! You alright, Elisa?" He gave me a reassuring look, then turned to Felix. "We should take it to the campus vet, or at least the lost and found office."
Leo, typically reserved, actually stepped closer, a small, uncharacteristic frown on his face as he looked at the abandoned puppy. He nodded in agreement with Caleb.
Felix, who had just been showing a rare moment of softness, quickly reverted to his usual guarded self under the sudden group attention. He cleared his throat. "I was just about to do that." His eyes, however, still held a lingering hint of the warmth I'd just witnessed. He watched as Lisa cooed over the puppy in my arms, and Caleb efficiently started planning its rescue.
"Well, let's go then!" Lisa declared, beaming. "Puppy rescue mission!" She linked arms with me, pulling me along. As we walked, the three of them chatting about the puppy's fate, I risked a glance back at Felix. He was walking a few paces behind, arms crossed, his expression back to its usual controlled mask. But I knew what I'd seen. And the way he occasionally glanced at the puppy, then at me, told me he knew I knew. It wasn't an apology for his words, not directly. But in that moment, seeing the soft look in his eyes, the gentle way he held the puppy, it was an undeniable, unexpected olive branch. It didn't erase the hurt completely, but it certainly cracked the door open for another chance. The weight of his "public messes" comment felt, for a fleeting moment, a little lighter.
Felix's POV
I was just trying to get some air, escaping the suffocating pressure of a call with my father's old business partner – another 'situation' that needed 'handling.' The constant scrutiny, the endless expectations… it was suffocating. I needed a clear head, but the campus was still buzzing.
Then, out of nowhere, a tiny yelp. A flash of brown fur darted onto the path, right in front of Elisa. My reflexes, honed by years of quick decisions (and the occasional near-collision), kicked in. My hand shot out, steadying her as her books started to tumble, and with the other, I scooped up the tiny, yelping ball of fluff before she could trip over it.
"You alright?" The words came out before I could censor them, softer than I usually allowed around her. The dog was trembling in my hand, impossibly small. It gave a tiny bark, licking my chin, and a genuine smile, unbidden, actually tugged at my lips. God. "Lost little guy," I muttered, half to the puppy, half to myself. Then, to Elisa: "Looks like you almost became puppy-pancake."
She actually laughed. A real laugh. Not the nervous kind, not the sarcastic one. It was a clear, genuine sound that cut through the usual tension between us. It was… disarming.
"Here," I said, carefully placing the puppy in her arms. It nestled into her, instantly calm. "Its owner must be around here somewhere. Someone just left it tied to a tree." The casual cruelty of it made my stomach turn. "It's… not right." The words felt oddly vulnerable, a rare chink in my armor.
Just then, a chorus of familiar voices. "Elisa! Felix! What's going on?" It was Cal, ever the cheerful golden retriever, with Lisa and Leo in tow. Great. My moment of unguardedness was instantly shattered.
Lisa practically shrieked, rushing over to coo at the puppy in Elisa's arms. Caleb, ever the Boy Scout, immediately took charge. "A stray? Good job, Felix! You alright, Elisa? We should take it to the campus vet, or at least the lost and found office." Leo, surprisingly, even showed a flicker of concern, nodding in agreement.
I felt my usual mask slide back into place. The moment was over. The soft edge vanished, replaced by the familiar control. "I was just about to do that," I grunted, my voice back to its usual neutral tone. It was easier to be the aloof one. Easier than explaining why a stray dog made me feel… something. Easier than dealing with the odd, quiet warmth that had just passed between Elisa and me.
As Lisa hooked her arm through Elisa's, pulling her along, I watched them. Elisa was looking at the puppy, a soft expression on her face. Then she glanced at me, a brief, thoughtful look that told me she'd seen past the facade, just for a second. The way she'd avoided me these past few weeks, the quiet sting of my words echoing back at me – it was still there. I had fixed the public mess, but her private hurt remained.
I fell in step behind them, arms crossed. This wasn't about an apology. Not yet. But maybe… maybe this was a start. A small, yelping creature, and an accidental collision. It was all so damn inconvenient, and yet, oddly, something had shifted.