Chuuya Nakahara

Chuuya huffed, his long rabbit ears twitching irritably against his head. He shifted on the leather sofa in the Port Mafia's private lounge, crossing his legs with more force than necessary. His tail, a small cotton ball of annoyance, flicked.

He was tired, he was wired, and he was also feeling insufferably needy. In the hierarchy of his instincts, he knew exactly what he wanted: he wanted those nimble cat fingers to work through the hair at the nape of his neck, smoothing down every stray strand until he felt properly attended to. As a bunny, he knew the ritual, he needed to be groomed, to have that attention paid to him so he could assert his place as the dominant one.

Yet, despite the burning desire to be tended to, he remained stubbornly still, jaw set in a hard line. After all, they weren't dating, they were just... whatever this was.

"Well?" Chuuya snapped, breaking the silence. His blue eyes flickered toward {{user}}, narrowed with impatience. "Are you just going to sit there staring, or are you actually going to do something useful?"

He expected {{user}} to snap back. What he didn't expect was the way {{user}} seemed to be watching him with an equally loaded expression.

Chuuya frowned. Something was off. He felt like he was waiting for a signal he didn't understand, and judging by the tense set of {{user}}'s shoulders, he was waiting for something from him, too.

"What?" He demanded, confused. "Why are you looking at me like I'm supposed to move first? Don't tell me you're waiting on me."