#bunstar

BUNNY: [low, coaxing] hey, estrella.

she lifts her eyes, brows already twisting with apology.

STARRY: i’m okay--sorry, i--i don’t know why i’m--

her voice thins, that much-too-brave smile fraying.

BUNNY: [crossing the room in two quiet steps] come here.

he sits, then pulls her with him, effortless as scoring a goal. starry, though surprised, folds into his lap without hesitation. he wraps his arms around her and tightens, not tentative.

he knows the weight she needs. her knees tuck to the side.

BUNNY: [mouth near her temple] breathe with me.

and so, they breathe--in tandem, on his count. his chest is a metronome against her back and his heartbeat is a sure foot on unfamiliar stairs.

STARRY: [barely audible] i don’t want to be too much.

BUNNY: [a soft huff] too much for who? not me.

his palm spans her sternum through her sweater, not pressing, just present. an anchor stitched into wool. he kisses the crown of her head once, then again, an extra ounce of comfort.

BUNNY: you always take such good care of me. let it be my turn to do the same for you.

he tightens his hold until her breath lengthens, until the clock’s tick recedes into silence.

STARRY: sorry… [small laugh that shivers] i just hate this feeling.

BUNNY: i know. [lighter, teasing] and i hate that you’re wearing my jersey right now. but i’m dealing. [a beat passes, until he feels her smile against his neck] you’re doing so well.

his cheek nuzzles her hair and his voice slips into an ache that belongs only to her.

BUNNY: you’re safe. you’re not alone in any minute of this. you can cry, or not. you can be quiet. none of it changes how i view you.

her breath catches, then loosens. fingers finding his forearm and clinging.

STARRY: [muffled] what if these feelings come back tomorrow?

BUNNY: then i’ll put you right here again.

starry laughs--a small, astonished sound, like a bird remembering it has wings.

later, the evening light has faded to a pearly dusk, and rabbit-hearted starry sits cross-legged on the couch, a notebook on her lap. her pen hesitates above the page; she is somewhere far away in thought--the land where worry rethreads itself, where kindness to herself is the last stitch.

her lover sprawls opposite, long limbs everywhere, watching her with an athlete’s focus repurposed as devotion.

BUNNY: [soft] your head’s somewhere else.

STARRY: [absently] only… wondering if… [falters, looking down]

BUNNY: [with gentle mischief] tsk, that’s a dangerous place. come back.

he rises and crosses to her, a smile tempered for hush. he kneels on the cushion, close enough that his breath warms her cheek.

BUNNY: permission to map the constellations.

STARRY: [puzzled, amused] the what?

BUNNY: [a whisper against her skin] the moles. [tilting her chin] the sky forgot a few stars and left them with you.

he kisses one by her jaw--a light press, reverent. then the one on her cheekbone. a third at her temple, a fourth near her ear. each kiss is a small vow, a cartographer’s mark that says: found, beloved.

bunny catches sight of how her lips purse with concentration when he pulls back momentarily (an old habit, defense against tenderness) and he grins.

BUNNY: [kissing the corner of her mouth] and here’s the moon.