2p Canada + 2p America -- the pull on my flesh was just too strong
Matt's got this thing about animals.
Alfred watches him pick up strays, take in ragged cats and whimpering dogs until they're better and can find a good home. Hell, he once brought home a bear cub clinging to its dead mother's back because Matt can't say no to big wet eyes and silent despair.
(Alfred secretly thinks Matt understands the animals, hears their weak cries, aches at their unvoiced pain.)
(It's sweet, Alfred thinks to himself with gritted teeth when Matt's newest additions bite at his fingers.)
This time it's a dog. It's a tiny, shivering, white ball of fluff. Matt carries it inside from the rain in one big hand, pressing the trembling little thing to his chest, shielding it with his other hand. He ignores Alfred on his couch and takes the dog to the kitchen and towels it off gently.
Alfred watches him from the doorway, head tilted as Matt rubs its head, dries the wetness around it's eyes. The dog ducks his head and licks his fingers and Matt's smile is so bright that Alfred has to turn away.
Of course, Matt calls the dog 'Mini Matt' and lets him (or her, Alfred never bothered to ask really) sit on his chest. He feeds the dog scraps from his fingers and the dog licks his fingertips, his wrist, and his cheek. The dog curls up on Matt's chest and Alfred notices that Matt looks a little less tired in the morning.
Then, one day, Alfred comes over and Matt is just gone.
He sighs and picks up the anxious, pacing dog. It snaps at him and Alfred winces but picks it up anyways. The dog whines low and looks around. Alfred scratches its ears like he's seen Matt do a thousand times.
He hopes Matt comes back soon because he has no idea how to take care of a dog.
