Dean had sustained a severe shoulder injury from going to fight club at night after a long day of work at the office where he had been a software engineer, which led him to having to make up an excuse to tell his boss and he'd ended up telling him that he'd fallen down the stairs on the way up to his house one day.
Needless to say, that conversation had ended in him being fired, and he'd had to look for work elsewhere.
He was good with stuff like computers and phones, so it was only logical that he'd get a job doing something that had to do with one or the other. His friend Daniel had suggested being a transcriptionist since it meant he could stay at home and watch TV all day. Kinda. He had to watch a wrestling show and transcribe everything the people were saying, and it kinda bothered his bum shoulder, but a hot shower and some arnica salve usually helped in taking some of his pain and discomfort away.
After he'd gotten the job and knew what exactly he was supposed to do, he decided his little set up would be in front of a large window in the den, since it had good lighting and made him feel a little bit less like a hermit. And one morning, while he had his headphones on and was watching a video clip his employer had e-mailed him, ready to type all the trash talk the guy was spitting into the microphone at some other dude, he glanced up only to see one of his neighbors walking their small dog down the strip of sidewalk directly in front of his window.
He'd never properly introduced himself to the man before, never had a conversation with him that lasted more than fifteen seconds, but he lived across the street from him and had occasionally seen him outside his house picking up mail, always holding the little dog in his arms. He's pretty sure the breed is a yorkie, but he isn't all that well-versed on subject of small yappy dogs.
There was also that one time he'd seen the man who was currently shirtless, medium-length hair tied in a low bun, dropping some mail off on his doorstep that'd been sent to his house by mistake. Dean may or may not have been wearing a sling for his arm along with a five o'clock shadow and a bathrobe at the time, opening the door and giving the man a blank stare as he dropped off the magazines and spam, the fucking dog cradled in his arms.
He let out a loud huff, replaying the last thirty seconds of the video clip and typing what the man was saying before he could get distracted by shirtless men walking tiny dogs again.
It was half an hour later when he was taking a short break from listening to the video and typing until his shoulder was all but begging him to stop, that he'd got up and stretched a bit before making himself a plain and simple turkey sandwich with lettuce because he's a healthy son of a bitch. He'd also grabbed a beer out of the fridge to go along with it since it was a Monday and he had no friends and nowhere to go, so why not get buzzed?
He'd just finished his sandwich, brushing crumbs out of his light stubble and lifting the beer can to his lips, when he'd made the mistake of looking up and seeing the man from earlier jogging past his house rather than just walking. The yappy little dog now cradled in his big, bulked up arms. Guess he's trying to get his and his dog's workout done all in one trip. He's indeed one strange, strange man.
He mopped up the slight mess of liquid he'd spat on the table using a random shirt he'd found on the floor before putting his headphones back on and cranking up the volume up on his laptop to drown out all potential distractions.
The man had continued walking his dog every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday since the first time Dean had witnessed the strange sight. Why the guy continued to walk his tiny pooch only to jog home holding it, he didn't know. He himself had never been much of an outdoorsy kinda guy, usually just went to the gym and hit the treadmill for a couple of hours after a lazy week. He also didn't get the whole 'dog being your best friend' thing. He never had a pet. Never really had a family or a home either.
And even now that he has a place to call his own he doesn't feel much of a pull toward adopting a pet. He sees golden retrievers and.. uh, other big and small dogs alike with their owners, looking happy as clams when they go on walks together, yet he feels no need to have a bond like that with an animal himself.
Suddenly remembering he had work to do, he rewound the last three minutes of the video he was watching and forced himself to start paying attention.