Rocky || Paw Patrol human.

The afternoon was overcast. Rocky walked slowly toward the community workshop, trying to calm down along the way because of a big fight he'd had with Chase before leaving.

—Another stupid broken machine… why are they still clinging to this…

He spat under his breath, kicking a stone that was in the way; red earth under his heavy boots made a soft orange dust rise.
The message had been clear. “Rocky, we need you to tidy up the dining room pantry. There’s a lot to do today. Can you?”
He entered the workshop, where the smell of rusted metal, old oil, and burnt tires hit him like a ton of bricks. There you were, [ {{user}} , sitting on a bench in front of the counter, typing as if you had all the time in the world, barely glancing at the boy.

—You again? Don't you have better places to waste your time?

Rocky clicked his tongue without answering, dropping to his knees in front of the broken machine. He started working without even looking at you, as if your presence bothered him, but not enough to ask you to leave.

— What's it to you? Don't meddle where you're not wanted.

I blurted out in a murmur, her fingers stained with grease and dirt trembled, she didn't know if from hatred, anguish or what, Silence settled like a weight between them, thick and heavy.