Sunlight slanted through the narrow window of the storage room, cutting a bright golden pathway across the air and catching dust motes.

  I opened my eyes slowly, consciousness returning in gradual waves as I registered the warmth that had been against my back was now gone.

  Warmth. Hrmmm. Huskies had lush coats. Was she actually cold last night or did she just…

  Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I pushed myself up on one elbow.

  The beam of light struck the wall sideways and illuminated a black and white figure in the corner of the room against gray pockmarked concrete—Nessy, perched carefully on an overturned orange bucket, which itself stood inside what appeared to be a plastic blue kiddie pool. She was humming softly to herself, a tune I didn't recognize, as she methodically ran a soapy sponge over her fur-covered arms. Water dripped from her, catching the sunlight in tiny prisms before splashing into the shallow pool.

  I listened in, catching onto the words of the song.

  "...

  Above periphery of earth, in stars confined

  You I have sought to find,

  Through satellites, and calls.

  Yet all I got was 'no response'.

  Four months are left, together intertwined.

  It will get better, it will get worse.

  Because, because, because, because..."

  Her blue mechanic's coveralls hung on a nearby shelf, dripping wet, clearly having been washed already. She sat with her back partially toward me, unaware that I was now awake, wet tail flitting.

  I froze as my mind attempted to process the view.

  The morning light traced the curves of her back, highlighting the transition where black fur gave way to white along her shoulders and down her arms.

  "Two hundred thousand miles,

  Above the somber ashen cloudscape,

  You I have sought to find,

  Through radio-waves and calls,

  Yet all I got was your ferocity combined,

  With animosity, and no response.

  Will it get better? Will it get worse?

  I’ve got my gun out, just because."

  Unlike a human, her body was fully furred, but the shape beneath was distinctly feminine—curves where a woman would have curves, though some of her proportions were off. She was too curvy, limbs and legs a bit too long, fingers a bit too lanky. She was also tall… taller than me when she straightened her legs all the way, I had to admit.

  She continued her ablutions, clearly believing me still asleep as she hummed her melody, occasionally punctuating it with feet claw taps that somehow stayed in tune.

  I should have closed my eyes, given her privacy, but I remained transfixed—not by any cheap voyeuristic thrill, but by the sheer unreality of the moment. A humanoid Siberian Husky was bathing in the corner of a storage room in an abandoned mini-mart after the apocalypse.

  When did my life become a surrealist painting?

  "Three hundred thousand miles,

  Beneath the earth’s magnetic poles

  Beneath the ocean, beneath the isles,

  Beneath the continental pores

  You I have sought to find,

  Through electronic calls.

  Beep-beep-beep-beep… and I hung up.

  I did not wait for a response."

  "Oowoo-woo-ooo," Nessy let out a soft, sad howl and rotated slightly on her bucket, seemingly sensing my gaze. Her ears wiggled slightly, pivoting my way, but rather than scrambling for cover as any normal person, she merely tilted her head at my expression.

  "Morning, sunshine!" she said cheerfully, instantly switching from sad to happy, seeming utterly unconcerned by her appearance. "Sleep well?"

  "I, uh—" I stuttered, finally finding the presence of mind to avert my eyes. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

  "To what?" she asked.

  "Erm..." I gestured vaguely in her direction, still looking away. "You're not wearing anything."

  A very blunt statement. Yeah, that'll show her.

  "Yep," she replied matter-of-factly. "My coveralls were pretty filthy. Motor oil, blood, sweat, questionable dirt from God knows where, conceptoid bits—not a great combo. The smell was hella bothering me, but I was too damn exhausted to do anything about it yesterday. I found this pool in a box and figured I'd get cleaned up." She wrung out the sponge, water splattering. "Calvin left us soap and everything."

  "Don't you want some... privacy?" I asked determinedly staring at a fascinating spot on the wall.

  "Privacy?" She sounded genuinely confused, then laughed. "Alec, it's the end of the world. Giant playground insects are eating people, inanimate objects are growing limbs, and you're worried about seeing a girl take a sponge bath?"

  "Yes," I said, my voice coming out more defensive than I intended. Conversations with Nessy were generally bordering on a high degree of weirdness, but the current situation cranked up the dial all the way to 200.

  "Eh, personal space is overrated," she said cheerfully, splashing more water over her fur. "Especially now when there's hardly any persons left to have space between."

  I tried to issue a rebuttal, but my brain wasn’t working courtesy of the situation and it being far too damn early in the morning.

  Nessy snorted, the sound distinctly canine despite coming from her humanoid throat. "Ah, I get it! You're being human-gentlemanly." She infused the word with such exaggerated formality that I couldn't help glancing back at her.

  She resumed her washing and humming, repeating the last stanza of her song softly, seemingly amused by my discomfort rather than sharing it. There was something both innocent and knowing in her expression—a peculiar combination that reminded me that while she might look partly human, her perspective wasn't necessarily human at all.

  In fact I wasn’t exactly sure what her perspective was. I let Nessy into my life without much of a fight and trusted her nose to guide me to this place.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Is this really the best place for a bath?” I asked.

  “Yep.” She nodded. “Calvin’s office is closed, since he’s out doing ‘City-name Questing’. The bathroom is tiny and barely fits the toilet and the shop area is way too open and the sticky-note eyes are creeping me out. Feels like they're unnervingly staring at me from every direction.”

  “Fine. You win this round, doggo,” I huffed.

  “I win every round,” she fired back. “Because I am the best doggo.”

  “You’d think that a dog would be more humble,” I commented.

  “The behavior of a dog is reflective of its pack leader. You used to think of me as the best, therefore that's how I mostly feel. A dog takes on the energy of their significant other as they bloom into adulthood,” she said with a philosophical look.

  I considered her words.

  “Also, I was quite humble when I was a pup, and eventually learned that’s just how you get rolled over by wolves n’ other rude-ass prads’,” she huffed. “Hrm. You don't look convinced. Perhaps you require some visual evidence? Just look at these leggos!” She raised a digitrade foot and wiggled her pink pad toes at me. “Behold! See these gluteal muscles? They help me run way faster than a human.”

  “Uhhh,” I stared at the wiggling toes glancing at the muscles she was pointing at. “Are you trying to make me feel bad about my human-ness or something?”

  “No, you dummy. This is the part where you compliment me!” she said with a grin of sharp canines.

  "Your modesty is truly inspiring," I deadpanned, which only made her grin wider.

  The sunbeam caught the droplets of water still clinging to her fur, making them sparkle like tiny diamonds.

  "So… How long have you been up?" I asked, trying to normalize the situation with a mundane conversation topic not involving soapy legs.

  "About an hour," she replied. "I'm an early riser. Don’t need coffee like you to pry my eyes open. You know, I thought this would be a bit depressing, but this is really fun.”

  “What’s fun?” I asked.

  “Teaching my bestie everything about dogs all over again!” She declared. “See, I’m superior in terms of sleep too. Dogs are flexible sleepers and can spring into action very quickly!”

  “Is this going to be dog facts 101 or something?” I asked.

  “Right! I prepped a thing for you,” she ignored my jibe and stepped out of the tub to grab a small plastic bottle from a shelf. She then threw it at my head.

  I fumbled the bottle trying to catch it. Eventually, I managed to retrieve it from behind the mattress. It was coffee pills.

  “Thanks,” I said, swallowing one and then chugging a plastic bottle of water from Nessy’s bag next to the air mattress.

  I finally got off the mattress, circled around the pool and went to the bathroom.

  When I returned, Nessy was still in the improvised tub, now focusing on her feet with methodical attention. I tried not to look, but there was something hypnotic about watching her groom herself—the careful way she manipulated the sponge between her clawed fingers, the little expressions of concentration that crossed her canine-humanoid features.

  “Ah! You’re back! Yay!” she declared, stepped towards me and pulled me into the kiddie pool.

  “What is happening?” I asked, unsure of her intentions.

  “You’re getting washed, is what,” she declared.

  My mind drifted to the concept of personal space, or rather, Nessy's complete lack of understanding of it. Yesterday, she'd been constantly in my bubble—leaning against me, sniffing me, practically draping herself over me while I drew. And now this casual nudity, as if we were roommates of the same gender or...

  No, don't go there, I warned myself. Whatever Nessy was to me—companion, guide, friend-in-progress—I needed to remember that we came from fundamentally different worlds. Different cultural norms. Different expectations.

  While I contemplated expectations, I found my blood-stained orange coveralls being unzipped and pulled off me.

  "What are you—" I spluttered.

  "Helping!" she announced cheerfully. "You stink something awful, and it's bothering my sensitive nose. Since you're being so slow, I'm taking matters into my own paws."

  "Nessy, stop it!" I protested. "I can wash myself!"

  "When? Next week? Basic hygiene waits for no one!” Before I could formulate a response to this bizarre logic, she pulled the orange coveralls fully off me.

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey!" I yelped, covering myself frantically. "Personal space! Boundaries!

  She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh please, it's not like I haven't seen you naked before.”

  “That…” I growled.

  “Wasn’t you?” She finished. “Eh. I choose to believe that it was. Anyways. Washing time.”

  She flitted around me and pushed me onto the bucket and began to vigorously lather my head and back.

  "Nessy, I swear to God—"

  "What? It's just skin. I was born with it too, you know. Under all this fur."

  "This is…" I complained, but my voice lacked conviction. There was something so matter-of-fact about her actions, so devoid of any ulterior motive, that it was hard to maintain genuine outrage.

  "Friends don't let friends stink like wet garbage,” she interrupted my words.

  "I do not smell like wet garbage," I muttered.

  Her nose twitched dramatically. "I beg to differ and my nose agrees. Now, are you going to cooperate, or am I going to have to do this the hard way?"

  “I’ll cooperate,” I grumbled, submitting myself to the hyper-dog washing. Resistance was clearly futile, and if I was being honest with myself, the prospect of being clean was appealing.

  “What are you so embarrassed about? Everyone knows humans are just less evolved versions of us."

  "Less evolved?" I sputtered, feeling slightly offended.

  "Well, yeah. You didn't get the cool upgrades—no warm fur coat, no sniffing powers, no night vision, no adorable ear swivels." She demonstrated the last feature with a smug wiggle of her pointed ears. "Clearly, you're the beta version."

  "I'm pretty sure that's not how evolution works," I replied dryly, wincing as she scrubbed a particularly tender spot where the conceptoid had slashed me yesterday. Despite my complaints, her hands were surprisingly gentle, careful around the healing wounds that still marked my skin.

  "Oh, what would you know?" she teased. "Your nose is basically decorative."

  I couldn't help but laugh at that. "Decorative? It serves a purpose!"

  "Barely!" She gave my shoulder a final pat with the sponge and handed it to me. "Your turn.”

  “My turn what?”

  “To wash me,” she fluttered around me and plopped in front of me.

  "Nessy, I—"

  "Just the back and head, you prude," she said, glancing over her shoulder with those impossibly blue eyes. "I already got the rest. Come on, it's only fair. I did yours. Back first.” She commented, pulling her black-white hair forward.

  I hesitated, sponge dripping in my hand. This felt like crossing some undefined line—though what line, exactly, I couldn't articulate. It wasn't as if there was anything inherently inappropriate about helping someone wash hard-to-reach places. It was the... intimacy of it. The casual, persistent assumption of closeness.

  "I'm waiting," she sing-songed, swishing her wet tail against my leg with impatience.

  With a sigh of resignation, I dipped the sponge in the water and began to carefully wash her back. The fur there was shorter than on her head or tail, dense and sleek beneath my fingers as I worked the soap through it. I was struck by how different it felt from human hair—coarser, yet somehow silkier too.

  "You're being too gentle," she complained. "Really get in there. I've been running for days and haven't had a proper wash in forever."

  I applied more pressure, working the sponge in small circles between her shoulder blades. This close, I could detect subtle patterns in her fur coloration—the black wasn't uniform but had variations, almost like the grain in wood.

  "That's better," she sighed contentedly, her ears relaxing. "Now the head, please. Around the ears. That's the worst spot since I can't see back there."

  I moved the sponge up to her neck, then to the base of her pointed ears. As I worked, I couldn't help but notice how the muscles in her shoulders relaxed, tension I hadn't even realized she was carrying melting away beneath my hands.