Sometimes anger had a hangover. Even if Michael didn't have a drop of alcohol, or he had succumbed to sleep before ten o'clock - he still woke with a headache and a tormenting sense that he'd fucked up; that he'd acted in some way he shouldn't have. That he hadn't been himself.

Michael woke the next morning on his couch - which was starting to be the norm, now - and remembered vividly that he had a fight with his mom. The words he remembered saying felt like poison in his mouth. He hadn't fought with her in years and, if he did, it was always for good reason. While Susan treated Gabriel with affection and respect, she almost coddled Michael; like she was making up for the years of abuse he had endured with his father that she didn't know about.

Michael hated it. He hated being coddled, he hated people worrying about him. So for the next week, he shut everyone out. He ignored texts, ignored calls; shut himself away in his classroom, burying himself in paperwork and boring little tasks. Anything to take his mind off his life, which was, slowly but surely, crumbling into pieces around him.

He hadn't slept in his bed in days, despite the fact his couch and TV still couldn't keep the nightmares away.

He couldn't remember the last time he went for groceries. Most nights, if he finally gave in to his body's need to be fed, he would stop at the sandwich shop on his way home from work.

What felt like years ago, Michael looked forward to cooking dinner. He still had cook books on his bookshelf. He still had some cooking shows saved in his TV. He remembered Susan saying, one Thanksgiving, that his apple pie was better than hers.

That felt like a world away. And Michael was certain he couldn't go back.

Susan didn't call. She didn't text either. It wasn't very relaxing at all. Some nights, Michael imagined that he was falling asleep in that house across town, in the bedroom he hadn't called his since he was a kid.

Maybe if he were there, the nightmares would stay away.

He didn't dwell on it. There was no way for him to know, and he'd be damned if he let himself find out.

Each day at school, Michael was aware of Samantha bringing him coffee in the morning and casting him worried, sidelong glances. But Michael shrunk away from her more than ever now.

It was early on a Thursday evening when someone pounded on Michael's apartment door. He didn't think much of it - he'd ordered Chinese food from the place down the street, since he seemed to have a menu stashed in every room - and he was just pulling a few bills out of his wallet as he opened the door.

Standing in the hall was not the lanky delivery kid Michael had grown used to, but his younger brother. Gabriel stood in the hall with a smug expression, holding in his hand not any sort of food whatsoever, but the end of a dog leash.

At the end of the leash, chewing on the material so it was soggy and dark, was a puppy.

Michael glanced at the dog then at Gabriel.

"What is that?"

"It's a puppy." Gabriel grinned. "I know you've seen a dog before, Michael."

"I know what a dog is, Gabriel." Michael snipped. The puppy looked up at Michael with big brown eyes, it's tail thumping against the carpet. "What is it doing in my apartment building?"

"Not it," Gabriel corrected, stepping past Michael. Tugging on the leash, the puppy followed, though the material was still clasped between his tiny teeth. "Him."

"Fine, him." Michael said impatiently. "What is he doing in my apartment?"

Michael closed the door, turning around to see Gabriel stroking a hand through his fur. Gabriel looked up at Michael.

"He's yours." He said. Michael just stared.

"Come again?"

Gabriel smiled, even though Michael was having a difficult time finding anything in this situation amusing. Michael didn't do dogs. Dogs drooled and shed and...pee'd.

He was not a dog person. "One of the guys at work," Gabriel explained, "He kinda rescued him from his neighbour. The guy had a dog-fight thing going on. He was gonna be bait."

Whatever Michael's feelings were towards the species, he still grimaced. He wasn't heartless. "Well, it's great he caught a lucky break." Michael crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the counter across from his brother. "It is. But I can't take him. I don't know what to do with a dog. And I'm pretty sure it's illegal in this building."

Michael shrugged, convinced he'd made his point. But Gabriel wasn't discouraged. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few crumpled papers.

"Kali did some digging for me, found a loophole." Gabriel explained. Michael raised an eyebrow at him, taking the papers from him. "Anyone living with a mental illness is allowed to have an animal companion for therapy. It's illegal for someone to turn you down or kick you out."

Michael looked up sharply. "Living with a mental illness?"

Gabriel shot him a kind of don't screw with me look. "Yes, Michael. You were diagnosed with depression and PTSD ages ago. It doesn't just disappear."

"No shit." Michael muttered, flipping through the pages. He spotted the local animal control and his landlords signature. He looked at Gabriel. "You arranged all of this, didn't you?"

Gabriel took a breath, looking at the puppy who was currently chewing on one of his front paws. "You didn't want to move back home, you don't let anyone come over. This was my last resort."

"A dog? A dog is your last resort."

Gabriel looked up at him. "This'll be good for you. You'll have some company, someone to look after and be responsible for."

Michael shook his head. "Someone else to let down, Gabriel. I can hardly get off my ass to look after myself."

Gabriel pursed his lips. "You don't give yourself enough credit."

Michael gave a short, humorless laugh.

"Michael," Gabriel said, his voice level, "I wouldn't have brought him here if I didn't think you could do it. I trust you, alright? I think you'll both be good for each other."

Michael looked at Gabriel, before flicking his eyes to the dog.

He was kind of cute. He had a full tan coat, but Michael could see he had a bit of white on his chest. His snout was a slightly darker brown, almost black. His eyes were brown too, reminding Michael of another pair of brown eyes he couldn't get out of his mind. As he looked at him, the puppy's tail thumped against the floor enthusiastically, stretching out on his belly to lick Michael's toes. He sighed, recognising defeat.

"What's his name?"

Gabriel tried to hold back a triumphant smile. "He doesn't have one. That's up to you."

Michael glared at the puppy who was now biting his feet. "I suck at naming things."

Gabriel stood up, reaching into his pocket only to pull out more papers. "That's all his info. He's only four months, so he'll need to be fixed soon. He's up to date on his shots, too."

Michael took the papers reluctantly, still not fully convinced.

"I dunno, man. I don't even know what a dog eats. What if he wrecks stuff? Or gets hurt?" He said, eyebrows knitting together as he looked through the papers.

"We'll go and get him stuff right now." Gabriel said, "He'll need a crate, some toys, too. And dishes. If he gets sick or hurt, there's a vet right around the corner. You can't go wrong." Gabriel clapped Michael on the shoulder, and the puppy barked at them. Michael threw Gabriel a traitorous glance.

Two hours and an exhausting trip later, Michael found himself standing in his kitchen watching the puppy tear, what had been a perfectly good, stuffed toy to pieces. There were other toys scattered around him - a tennis ball, a bone made out of cloth, a rubber pig that oinked every goddamn time it was touched - and a pair of ceramic dishes sat beside the fridge with a bag of dog food. A crate was tucked behind the couch.

Michael stared at the dog for a little while. "I'm just doing this for Gabriel, you know." He informed him. The puppy glanced up, teeth still chewing on the toy. "One wrong move, you're going back to where you came from."

The puppy's tail wagged, as if calling Michael's bluff. He frowned.

"Look, there are some rules to this place, alright?" He said. The puppy stopped chewing, his head tilting at Michael's voice. He regarded him with curious eyes and Michael stood up straight. He was not going to be swayed by a pair of (quite literal) puppy dog eyes.

"Rule one," He said, not caring he was addressing a dog who had absolutely no idea what he was saying. "No dogs in the car. Tonight was an exception, because I couldn't leave you here to tear everything up, could I?"

The dog whined.

"Two," Michael held up a second finger, "You sleep in the crate. No exceptions. Capiche?"

The whine turned into a playful growl.

"And three - don't wreck my stuff. My clothes, the bed and the couch are off limits. You're a dog. Dogs stay on the floor. We'll get a plaque if you don't understand." The dog licked his lips and tilted his head. Michael pushed off the counter and headed for the couch, the dog followed quickly at his heels.

"Woah." He said, turning around, "Personal space. Go play with your toys." The puppy proceeded to grab the hem of Michael's jeans in his mouth.

"Cut it out." Michael shook his leg a little. The puppy latched on tighter and Michael groaned. He bent down and pried the fabric out of the dog's mouth.

Once settled on the couch, Michael flicked through the channels until he found a tv show. He didn't have any papers to grade and the next day was Friday. He had no plans for the weekend, apart from ignoring phone calls and housework, using the free time to sleep his life away, convinced that was the only thing he was good at.

His eyes were starting to droop when he felt something drop onto his chest. He opened his eyes as the puppy began licking his face enthusiastically, drool and slobber swiping across his chin. "Really?" Michael griped, picking the dog up and carrying him to the crate behind the couch. He shut the door firmly. The puppy whined.

"Life sucks, kid." He rolled over the top of the couch and settled onto it. "The sooner you realise that the better."

He fell asleep soon after, but before midnight came around, he was awakened by forlorn howling. Rubbing his eyes blearily, Michael stumbled from the couch and over to the crate. "Alright, fine." He growled, opening the door. The puppy bounded out and he picked him up and carried him over to the couch. He fell onto his back, settling the dog on his chest. He wagged his tail rapidly, licking Michael's face as he scrunched his nose up.

"Don't get used to this." He said groggily. "One-time thing."

The dog didn't argue, just settled onto Michael's chest happily. Within minutes they were both asleep.