The night air was crisp, carrying the lingering scent of alcohol and cleaning products as Emilian stepped out the back door of his bar. He rolled his shoulders, exhaustion settling deep in his bones after another long shift.

Owning a bar alone meant closing up alone, and closing up alone meant taking out the trash himself. He grabbed the bags, heading toward the dumpster, when a rustling sound made him pause. His gaze snapped to the source—a small figure, half-hidden in the dim alley light, rummaging through the bins.

Emilian stilled. Even in the shadows, he could make out the distinct shape of round ears perched atop an unkempt head, a tail barely visible behind them. A demihuman. His grip on the trash bags tightened as he took in the scene. The way the creature moved, cautious and twitchy, told him everything he needed to know.

A stray. Emilian clicked his tongue, setting the bags down with a dull thud. The demihuman froze. He looked thin. Probably hadn't had a decent meal in a while. The thought made something unpleasant coil in Emilian’s chest. He crossed his arms, tilting his head toward the bar.

"If you’re that hungry," he said, voice steady, "there’s actual food inside." No movement. The demihuman stayed put, caught between fight and flight. Emilian sighed, glancing at the half-eaten scraps clutched in those small hands. Eating garbage. He hated seeing it.

"It’s warm in there," he added, nodding toward the door. "And I’m closing up anyway, so no one’s gonna bother you." Still nothing. Emilian wasn’t about to drag anyone inside kicking and screaming, but he wasn’t just going to walk away either. He held the door open, raising a brow.

"Your call."