Only One

wednesdays

*TW: SA warning for this one shot, please don't read if you are sensative to this topic.*

I fucking hate Wednesdays.

I know Mondays get a pretty bad rap, but I think that's seriously unfair, because Wednesdays are by far the most useless, pointless, and draining days of the week. By the time Wednesday rolls around, you've lost whatever energy you regained and recovered over the previous weekend, but still have two full more eight hour or more work week days to attempt to survive before the next weekend rolls around. Not to mention the spelling of it is just dumb. Why can't words just sound the way they're spelled? Why does everything about this day have to be more difficult than it needs to be? Did I mention I hate Wednesdays?

The only thing that makes my Wednesdays a little bit brighter is the fluffy boy with a tail that never seems to stop wagging that greets me as I use the spare key to open the door to Steve's apartment.

"Well hello there Walter!" I grin, bending down to scratch him behind his ears.

Walter is the mixed breed furball and limitless bundle of joy and energy that belongs to Steve, a co-worker and close friend of mine. We'd known eachother for years now. So many years that I was scared too count on account of it revealing my age. I'd always had a crush on him, but I knew he'd never feel the same. He loved me in his own way, but he'd never take me seriously. While I'd overheard Steve describe me as carefree, fun, and spontaneous, I'd also heard him imply that I wasn't the most reliable when it came to tasks that required a lot of responsibility. Yeah, I'd be lying if I said that didn't crush the ego a little bit. Okay, a lot a bit. In some ways it was called for. I was reliably late to pretty much every meeting and appointment, and frequently resorted to making sarcastic, stupid jokes to get out of having serious discussions, but that didn't mean I couldn't handle something that took any sort of adult responsibility.

When Steve asked me a couple months ago if I could start taking Walter for a walk and watching him for a few hours on Wednesdays since he usually worked late on them, I jumped at the chance. Not just because I loved Walter like he was my own, but because I knew this was my chance to prove to Steve that I wasn't just his goofy, can't-get-her-life-together friend. If I could just do this right, I could prove to him that I could be serious too, that he could trust me with the big things, not just when he needed someone for a laugh.

Today, like every other Wednesday, Walter's tail bangs against the side of my leg as I clip his leash onto his collar.

"What do you say Bubba? Want to go the park and  hunt down some cute bitches?" I ask as he bounces up and down in excitement.

Walter and I had our usual Wednesday routine down pat. We'd walk uptown to the park, head straight to the dog run where I could let him off leash to play with other dogs, sending Steve a selfie of the two of us once we were safely back home at his apartment and wait for him to come home a few hours later. Today was no different, but even so, I can't help but grin to myself as I watch how excited Walter gets as we approach the dog run. I have to be quick to unlatch the gate. I found that out the hard way on our first trip to the park when Walter lept over the fence that separates the dog run from the rest of the park, pulling me straight into the railing and sending me flying over it's pointy edge and onto the ground.

I head straight for a bench, taking a seat along the edge of the park where I can keep a close eye on Walter as he runs around. He bounds all over the place, playing with some of the other dogs, although there's only a few others around tonight, not giving him many options. There's a pair of toy poodles who looked like they'd rather be anywhere else than the dog run, a pug who is laying on the ground half asleep, and a boxer taking a drink of water. Walter, apparently displeased by the sad prospects of playmates, runs back to me.