mmh..mreow

The heat of your back porch patio would have been too uncomfortable if you didn't have this stand-up fan.

Sure, it's shaded with a ceiling, and sure you could have just done this inside, but sewing by hand is most enjoyable when you're kicking off—rocking back and forth—on the ceiling-vaulted bench swing.

Here and there sounds of birds, the muffled noise of neighbors equally minding their business, cars passing on by.. The creak of your swing's chains. Your fan working double-time, giving an almost lulling white noise sound.

Hands steadily moving, you steadily moving as you absentmindedly swing in this peace, fingers non-stop with busywork you begged him to let you do.

Mending Dust's jacket of its abhorrent number of cuts and rips.

It's nearly finished, too. You've not been keeping track of the time, but given he's not yet out of his shower, it's at least been a while.

You'd say an hour and a half, give or take.

He… mm.

Dust takes the longest showers you've ever seen. It's almost comical if you weren't so genuinely baffled. And also concerned…—for the cost of resupplying your soap so frequently. Like, hello? He's so expensive.

When you got into this relationship, you didn't think he'd assert himself as a cute little sugar baby.

…He's not actually one in the fricking slightest, but internal banter is how you're choosing to cope.

At least it gives you time to make the final stitch in the final tear.

In time for the back door's hinges to alert you of a presence—statistically Dust's, right? You look up to see who it is, just for that good paranoid measure, and…

It was Dust, yeah, but not wearing what you were expecting.

Instead of a regular lounge fit you were imagining he'd put on, or at least his everyday get-up minus the jacket—it's the everyday get-up, PLUS an identical blue jacket on.

Visibly cleaner. Newer. Like it was literally just freshly acquired from a four-arm rack at a clothing store.

…What. What?

Then what was the point in letting you go through this trouble if he had a replacement?!

He's already crossed the patio and to the bench swing with you. Taking a seat, fishing his phone from his Inventory, and crossing a leg over the other.

All lax and content beside you. Not a tense 'muscle' in his shoulder or anything.

You hear him opening up Minecraft. The main menu music that you only need to register a few notes of to recognize because of how often you two play together.

If you were to stab him with a small sewing needle, would it do anything to bone?

He goes into the survival world you share, and he starts opening and closing all of your chests. The noise making you lose what composure you had, and your brow twitches.

You finally ask, "So.. where'd ya get that?"

He stops his semi-annoying onslaught of looking for an item he's misplaced, and turns his skull just enough to see what you're talking about.

And when you point to his jacket, and then a much more vague gesture to the one in your hand..

"infinite jackets."

—No, right, that makes sense!!!

Dust returns to his game, and you're just as quick to continue interrogating him. Not out of anger or malice or.. maybe frustration, but nothing severe. It's more such raw confusion that you can't place.

The type of bafflement at something where it feels you can only relieve the fog in your head by being theatrical and dramatic, "So. Help me to understand something, right?" Your voice raised a pitch, "What was the point in letting me fix your crap if you have infinite jackets?"

But he doesn't answer. You don't get whatever closure your reflexes were seeking.

You hear him begin to mine stone, and then the creaks of the swing's chains return. What you didn't realize had stopped until he only now took over the kicking for you.

He kills a skeleton in his game, and you briefly wish you could do the same.

With his old jacket in a tighter grip, you snap up the rest of your belongings, and then use the momentum of the swing to push off and to your feet in one motion.

Leaving, marching off inside in a huff that already makes you feel better, "Okay, I'm gonna do whatever I want to your jacket! It's mine now, thanks!!"

Slamming the door shut behind you, not letting him get a word in. Although he wouldn't have to begin with.

…

He didn't answer any questioning because he thought it was cute of you to do something like that for him.

You were quick to recall a popular pet name of his, and had gotten to work. In… what you think to be pettiness? Wanting to pull a reaction from him?

Not that you even remember the purpose of this anymore.

You had, at some point in your endeavors deep within your sewing machine, forgot about what brought you here.

All of your supplies lain out, along with a blue pillow case you tore up for its fabric (a spare you got for Dust), and a 3g pillow you pull apart for its stuffing when making other crafts.

So locked in on a project the past two hours that you've lost sense of everything outside your room.

..Well. You kind of need to be, when operating something that could so easily go through your finger.

And after all the crafty labor, the problem-solving creativity you've hard-earned from past practice and experimentation, and an annoying amount of pulling stitches to re-do it all.. It's done.

With one last and very firm tug to the ears, borderline abusing them to see if it's actually done, and will stay done for a long time—it is.

Quick to put it on, excited to bask in the euphoria of having finished a project (and also to stand up straight), you don't even bother zipping it up before you're already playing with the ears that… you find drapes all the way down to your chest.

Okay, that was an oversight and not how long you meant for the ears to be, but it's still cute and fun!!

Rocking back and forth, side to side, watching them bounce and swing and sway..

And then you bump into something hard behind you.

Dust, who you forgot was here, had at some point entered the room under your notice and was right there watching you for an unknown amount of time.

You back away on startled instinct, hitting the desk, knocking over your chair, the bunny ears swishing hard and fast; before it all finally settles. Your heartrate, too.

The two of you staring at each other.

"I literally forgot you were here. Hi. Hi?"

You're graced with a hum in the back of his throat, but otherwise no actual response. Meanwhile, the staring contest goes on.

Eye contact not any broken when he takes the two steps into your space to reach a hand for you—for the ears you've desecrated his past(?) jacket with.

He looks at you a little longer before being the one to glance away first. To the ears, where he gives them a small tug that takes you an inch with it.

You want to hit him with a snarky 'Okay, buddy.' But your desire to see where this'll go overrides the sass.

Wondering how he'll react, what he'll do, how he'll handle what you did. Staying put where he has you by the ear, and letting him explore what you've done to his hood.

But you can't read him. Not this time, at least.

…Up until he suddenly loosens his hold, and you catch an amused huff under his breath.

With the long and draping ear still held in his lax palm, his tone having a.. flair to it? If you didn't know him so well, you wouldn't have noticed the change in voice.

"swap me."

You blink, "…What?"

He lets go, though not bothering to take a step back as he starts to strip his newer hoodie off. And like nothing is wrong with his behavior, now clad in just his light grey turtleneck, he offers you what he was wearing.

"trade."

…You do. Mindlessly, because a part of you has decided that blanking out and doing as told would be better than questioning his impossible behavior ANY further. Taking off your bunny one, and you swap.

His grab carrying a wisp of excitement that you notice, but he just.. holds it in his one hand. Looking down at the lump of fabric like… You don't know, actually.

He's being weird—and he's gone. What. What?

Dust shortcutted away out of literally nowhere. No cue, social or otherwise; just gone.

Okay.

Well. Another morning without word from Dust.

You don't know what it is Dust does when he absolutely fucks off like that, but.. whatever.

Not picking up your calls or texts, either.

He'll eventually come around, you suppose. He's never vanished longer than a week, and it's been…You don't remember.

Like, what, three days? He's fine.

Not quite sure why 'three days' was so hard for you to remember. Maybe because you've only just woken up not long ago.

Dust used to not come back for almost two months, so wow, what an improvement!

…You shouldn't be so snarky this early in the.. 9am is not that early, calm down.

—The air shifts.

Turning to greet your (intruder) GUEST, this routine of him showing up unannounced a normalcy between you two, though he can still somehow manage to catch you by surprise.

Though this time, the 'surprise' being he's wearing the bunny ear modified hoodie.

The exaggeratedly long fabric framing his face as he keeps his head and posture low, looking up at you from beneath lidded sockets.

Morning sunlight from a window creeps onto his cheekbones, revealing a dusting of lilac flush. Barely there, but you see it.

He lifts his head the slightest inch, and the ears shift with him.

"morning."

…Dust Bunny.