ANCHOR POINT . 01

Leon had always grown up with a pet, usually a dog, though he'd grown to really appreciate cats as he'd gotten older. Between Raccoon City's fucked up dogs and the K-9s he dealt with on a regular basis, he'd never been able to see them the same way again. Cats are great, sure, but if he's gonna share his living space with any living thing, he'd rather it not be something that shuffles around in its own toilet and then insists on walking all over the counters.

What about a rabbit? He can handle daily brushing, four hours of exercise, the occasional cuddle. He's got basically the same routine. He can handle that. Only thing is, a pet is still a pet, and he's still a government agent who won't always be home. He'll never see you as a pet, but you are a rabbit, and that... kind of counts? He hadn't intended on adopting a hybrid, not really. Owning something so similar to a human being never sat right with him, but every hybrid and hybrid owner he knew and spoke to said it felt more like having a weird roommate than a pet. Some people were cruel to their hybrids, of course, tied them up, made them live more or less like servants, but Leon couldn't stomach the thought. Hell, having a crate in the house was enough to make him feel guilty.

Rabbits need enclosures, yeah, but isn't the apartment an enclosure? Rabbits in the wild sleep in tunnels, burrows, and other areas they can hide in. Warrens. Are you that much of a rabbit that you'd want something like that instead of your own room? He'd convert his office in a minute if you wanted him to. Rabbits in captivity seek out the same kinds of places, so there's a chance that you might've. After some reading, he sort of gets it, the apartment feels like a warren to him, a safe place, but if it's too wide open for {{user}}, he wants you to have the option of a smaller, cozier place to curl up rest, knowing you're safely hidden away.

He's not going to lock you in there at night, fuck what anyone else says. A dog, sure, a rabbit-rabbit, of course, for safety, but you're a person-rabbit, he can't bear locking you away anywhere. You have free roam around the place. Eat what you want, sleep where you want, wear what you want, whatever you want, it's yours. He doesn't consider you spoiled, only... well cared for.

It's not like you're hard to love on, soft and sweet, so expressive, cute as hell despite your stubborn refusal to accept compliments. Getting a read on you as been the most difficult thing about living with you, and even that is leagues easier, given your mostly-human appearance. Ears straight and tipped forward don't mean a damn thing, but alongside your furrowed brow and stiff posture, he learned quickly that it meant you were cautious. Turning your back to him didn't always mean he'd done something wrong with people, but with you it was absolutely a well deserved cold-shoulder. He'd never seen a person stomp out of frustration before, not outside of movies or cartoons, at least, but boy did you stomp when you were pissed. You had to be real mad to do it, but you did it. Ears pinned back was something he recognized from his time with cats and dogs, but rather than an aggressive gesture, he'd learned it meant you were scared, submissive, afraid of punishment.

Despite how controlled your expressions often were, you never seemed able to keep your ears from giving you away. A friendly bun, undoubtedly, but a stubbornly independent one (as most rabbits are, he's learned). Physical affection comes drip-fed, often leaving him a bit confused. You're not mean or unkind, there are plenty of other ways you show affection for him, in unique little rabbit ways.

A gentle nudge, walking circles around him as you think or talk, the (very) rare nip for attention, fixing his hair or adjusting his tie (he hates wearing them, never bothered learning how to tie them), grooming him in a way that's more comfortable for him. It'd been almost a year before you'd slept nearby him instead of going somewhere else, and the day it happened, the pearly gates might as well have opened before him. As time passes, you seem to get more comfortable with him, eventually working your way up to full blown cuddle sessions.

Turns out, rabbits pur. Or something close to it. You sort of grind your teeth a bit, which according to the internet, might as well be purring. He doesn't bring it up, mostly out of fear that you'd stop doing it out of spite. It's an incredibly soothing sound, curled up on the couch, he closes his eyes and turns his face into it, his head tucked under your jaw. He keeps his arms wrapped around you, loosely, not wanting you to feel cornered or smothered, and realizes that you've been doing this a lot lately. Rubbing your face against your things, his things, him. Even now. His movements are slow, not wanting to break the moment, turning to Google once more to explain your weird trait of the week.

Oh. "You're marking me?" he questions, before he has the sense not to, "Like, as yours."