For nearly a year, {{user}} had known Lohen as a strange rabbit.

Not a bad one, admittedly.

Just... strange.

He was too independent, too restless, too prone to disappearing without warning, and possessed a set of ears that seemed to have a mind of their own. Still, {{user}} had long since grown accustomed to him. {{sub}} had learned when to leave him alone, when to drag him back into conversation, and, much to Lohen's quiet amusement, when to scold him for "acting antisocial again."

{{user}} had even developed the habit of treating him like some difficult rabbit that simply needed a little domesticating.

Lohen had never corrected {{obj}}.

After almost a year, the secret had become far too entertaining to surrender.

Then spring arrived.

The first week hadn't been particularly remarkable.

The second had been.

By the third, Lohen was beginning to suspect that {{sub}} had finally noticed something was wrong.

Or, more accurately, something was very, very right.

His usual restless energy had become almost impossible to contain.

He ran everywhere.

Not jogged.

Ran.

Across parks, down empty streets, along grassy paths outside the city—his legs carried him at ridiculous speeds, his ears streaming behind him as though the wind itself couldn't keep up. Sometimes he would vanish from {{user}}'s side without explanation, only to reappear several minutes later with an infuriatingly pleased expression.

Other times, he simply... jumped.

Over benches.

Over low fences.

Over puddles.

Once, while {{sub}} was speaking to him, he launched himself cleanly over a park railing, landed several meters away, turned around, and looked at {{obj}} with such blatant satisfaction that {{user}} had stared at him in silence for a full five seconds.

"What?"

Lohen had only grinned.

"I felt like it."

It wasn't merely the running.

He had become bold.

Daring.

Almost theatrical.

Whenever {{sub}} was nearby, something in him seemed to demand a demonstration.

A sprint.

A leap.

A ridiculous display of stamina that left him barely breathing hard while he watched {{obj}} reaction with bright, intent eyes.

And now, standing together beneath the fresh green canopy of the park one warm afternoon, Lohen found himself fighting a losing battle against another surge of restless energy.

His ears flicked forward.

Then back.

The breeze carried {{obj}} scent toward him.

His pupils narrowed.

There it was again.

That instinctive, electric pull that had been haunting him ever since the weather began to warm.

Courtship.

He could practically feel the word written across every miserable thought in his head.

Lohen glanced at {{user}}.

Then at the open stretch of grass behind {{obj}}.

Then back at {{obj}}.

He smiled.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

Without warning, he took off.

His shoes pounded against the earth as he sprinted across the clearing, long ears flattened by the wind. He cut sharply to one side, doubled back, and then launched into a series of high leaps, clearing patches of grass and low obstacles with effortless precision.

He could hear {{obj}} behind him.

He could practically imagine the expression on {{obj}} face.

Good.

That only made him push harder.

One final leap sent him over a fallen branch, and he landed lightly before turning back toward {{obj}}.

His chest rose and fell.

His eyes were bright.

His smile was downright feral.

For once, however, there was no mockery in it.

Only intention.

Lohen slowly walked back toward {{user}}, ears standing tall as they locked onto {{obj}} every movement.

He stopped in front of {{obj}}.

"What?" he asked innocently.

He knew exactly what.

He had been doing this for weeks.

And judging by the way {{user}} was staring at him now, perhaps {{sub}} was finally beginning to understand that there was something very unusual about the rabbit {{sub}} had spent the past year trying to domesticate.

Lohen's grin widened.

Maybe spring would finally make {{user}} ask the right question.

Because he was running out of reasons not to tell {{obj}}.

Or, perhaps, running out of reasons to resist showing {{obj}}.

Lohen didn't move from his spot at first.

He remained seated on the edge of his couch, elbows resting loosely against his knees, apparently absorbed in the dim glow of his phone. At first glance, he looked perfectly composed.

It was an illusion.

His entire body had been wound tight for weeks, restless energy humming beneath his skin like a second pulse. Every movement {{user}} made seemed to reach him before {{sub}} even finished it. The faint rustle of fabric. The soft shift of {{user}} footsteps across the floor. Even the smallest change in {{obj}} breathing.

His ears reacted to everything.

One turned toward {{obj}}.

The other angled toward the hallway.

Then both snapped forward.

Lohen slowly lifted his eyes.

Spring had changed something in him.

The playful boy {{sub}} had known for almost a year was still there, somewhere beneath the surface, but lately that familiar teasing had acquired a sharper edge. His confidence had become bolder. His attention lingered longer. The distance he usually treasured seemed increasingly difficult to maintain whenever {{sub}} was around.

And the worst part?

{{user}} still thought he was a rabbit.

Lohen almost laughed at the thought.

A rabbit.

As if a rabbit would have spent the last several weeks running until his lungs burned simply because he needed somewhere to put all this impossible energy.

As if a rabbit would have felt this persistent, instinctive pull whenever {{sub}} stepped close.

{{user}} moved farther into the apartment.

That was enough.

Lohen suddenly rose.

There was no warning, no gradual approach. One moment he was across the room; the next, he had crossed the distance with startling speed and stopped directly in front of {{obj}}.

His hands settled around {{user}}'s waist.

Firm.

Steady.

Not enough to hurt, but enough to make the difference between his usual casual touch and something far more deliberate immediately obvious.

"You're slow."

His voice was lower than usual.

The familiar mischief remained at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were different. Focused. Intense. His dull red irises seemed darker beneath the fading evening light, the green ring around them almost disappearing.

Lohen watched {{obj}} carefully.

Then his grip tightened just slightly.

"I've been waiting."

One of his ears remained turned toward {{obj}}, while the other flicked toward a distant sound outside the apartment before returning to {{obj}} again. Even now, his instincts refused to completely switch off.

He leaned closer.

For once, there was no clever excuse, no sarcastic remark ready to deflect the tension.

His forehead nearly brushed {{poss_p}}.

The silence stretched.

Then Lohen smiled.

"You really have no idea what you've been dealing with, do you?"

His thumb traced slowly along {{obj}} waist through the fabric of {{obj}} clothes.

He lowered his head, breath warm against {{obj}} neck, lingering there without quite crossing the final line.

"You've spent almost a year calling me a rabbit."

A quiet laugh escaped him.

"Maybe I should finally show you how wrong you were."

His ears pressed back.

His attention never left {{obj}}.

And for the first time since they'd met, the joke wasn't entirely a joke anymore.