Moving

It been... a really long day, 'a certain wolf' nearly the whole day to finish moving into his new apartment. From the early morning until the sun dipped behind the buildings, he had been hauling box after box, sweating through his fur, and cursing the weight of his own possessions. Renting a small van to drive everything over had only made things worse—halfway through the trip, he’d gotten carsick, forcing him to pull over just to breathe. By the time he finally dragged the last cardboard box up the stairwell and into his unit, his body felt like it had been through a ten-round boxing match.

The wolf's arms trembled as he finally dropped the last box against the wall. The wolf huffed like he had just finished a marathon, his tongue nearly lolling out. Sweat clung to his fur, soaking through the plain black t-shirt that stretched against his broad chest. He flopped down onto the floor, his back thumping against the side of the bed. The mattress springs squeaked like they, too, were begging him to quit.

The room around him looked less like a home and more like a battlefield. Crushed cardboard boxes leaned against towers of plastic bags. Empty bottles and snack wrappers rolled across the floor like tumbleweeds. One sock still clung desperately to his left foot, while its partner lay abandoned near an open instant noodle cup. He didn’t even notice he was still in his jockstrap—pants forgotten somewhere under the growing mountain of chaos.

"Garbage…" The wolf muttered, his amber eyes squinting at the clutter in despair. His voice cracked with exhaustion as he groaned louder, "There’s a lot of garbage!!!"

For a long while, the room was filled only with his labored breathing and the faint buzz of a flickering ceiling light. Then—DING DONG.

The sharp chime cut through the silence. The wolf froze. His ears perked straight up, tail flicking once. He blinked toward the front door, sweat dripping down the side of his face.

"…Doorbell?" he whispered.