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Chapter Text

Whatever evolutionary advantage Ethan gained from his acute hearing did nothing to alert him in time. What good was it to him if he only had seconds to lift his head and run, his heart a blur in the same ears meant to protect him?

The forest pulsed, an amalgam of greens and browns, of nooks and crannies he should’ve memorized better. He could feel what chased him chomp at his heels, knew it was a matter of time and adrenaline who’d tire first.

Ethan was small but fast, the wolf large but powerful—it didn’t seem a fair matchup.

(And to be frank, there wasn’t much nourishment to gain from his thin muscles. He’d argue with the wolf if he could.)

Ethan managed to dive under a large root, bringing himself into a tight ball. His chaser’s heavy footfalls skidded to a stop, their growl corkscrewing in the pit of his stomach. He could feel them approach, heard them scent the air with a deep inhale.

“I know you’re in there, little bunny,” came their rumble, deep and rich, “you can’t hide forever.” Ethan flinched, holding onto his legs, nearly ripping through his skin.

The wolf was right, of course—both needed to eat.

Ethan looked around, noting a small but workable opening on the other side of the root. He crawled backwards, pushing through the underbrush, the edge of his jacket catching in the thorns. It tore through his panicked yanking, the sound echoing in their intimate space.

The wolf rounded the corner, desperate to reach him, his claws big and sharp, caked in mud and other forest debris. With each successful thrust, he managed to bring himself closer, destroying the old roots.

Ethan squeaked, struggling to pull himself out of his jacket in his fright. Just as he threaded his limbs out, the wolf broke in. His massive fangs were the first and last thing Ethan saw in his (relatively) short life, quick to shut his eyes against the bite.

He’d never been eaten before, he hoped it’d be quick.

Despite his paralysis—and his immediate acceptance of the inevitable afterlife—Ethan’s death would have to be postponed. Gargles and choked-off gasps filtered through the pulse in his ears, forcing his eyes to open and trace the sound back to the wolf. He hung off a noose of his own creation, still reaching towards Ethan, his other hand clawing at his throat.

Ethan watched the thorns dig past the sweat on his neck and cut his skin, marring red the patch of mixed-grey hair sticking to him. There was fear in his eyes—a true fear—brought about his meeting with death.

At least they were on equal footing.

This was Ethan’s chance to leave, to run, to save himself for another day. He staggered backwards, his little heart jumping when the wolf lurched forward, snarling with the breath he had left.

Ethan should let him die, because as far as luck went, this was as good as it got. But obvious as the answer may be, it didn’t sit right with him watching the life drain from someone’s eyes.

Previous murderous intent aside.  

“I-if I let you out of that, will you promise not to eat me?” Ethan asked, barely hearing himself in his whisper. The wolf snarled again, but he was running out of options, as evidenced by the quick jerk of his head when the thorned roots dug further into his nape.

“Okay, just stay still,” Ethan said, his instincts stalling each step. This was wrong beyond a biological level. Ethan wasn’t so naïve to assume the wolf would do right by him, he just hoped he’d be too winded to retaliate immediately.

Finding the root responsible for most of the twists, Ethan went to work chewing through it, using his toughened front teeth to rip and tear the old tree-veins. They were bitter, the taste sticking to the back of his throat, making his nose twitch. He moved on, forced closer to the wolf, overheating beneath his body heat.

When the last of the vines were chewed through, Ethan leapt out of the way, not quite fast enough to out-hop the large paw landing on his upper calf, dragging him back. He’d underestimated both the wolf’s strength and stamina, panic-kicking as hard as he could to shove him off.

“Stop it!” the wolf rumbled, heaving hard, “I should kill you for helping me,” he growled, bracketing his arms around Ethan’s head. His blood trailed down his collarbone, soaking into his linen shirt, spreading through the fabric—it’d be hell to clean.

(Strange, the things Ethan focused on in his last moments.)

“That makes no sense,” Ethan said, his voice tinny and trembly, “you would’ve died if I didn’t.” He shuddered in place, never one to be this close to a predator, much less one as large and imposing as the man above him. It compelled adrenaline to flow into his veins in steady rivers, his vision tunnelling, heart matching the rate of his breaths. If the wolf didn’t kill him now, a heart attack surely will.

“How dense can you be?” the wolf snarled, his canines front and centre, “I’d be putting your future children out of their misery if I ate you.”

Ethan took offence to that, but there was a higher chance of Hell freezing over before he said as such.

The wolf reared back, fighting impulse itself when he crawled away from Ethan, his eyes still trained on every one of his micro-movements. “Run,” he huffed, disgusted with himself, “and don’t let me catch you.”

You didn’t have to tell Ethan twice.

Home was a humble hole dug into the literal ground. Years of patience fashioned every muddy corner into a liveable space. A square window overlooked a meadow, and a bed took up most of the room. It was small, but it fit his things—he never planned on expanding.

Ethan was nowhere to be seen, hiding as he was beneath his bed. He’d taken the wolf’s warning to heart, focusing on nothing but his trail back home. He couldn’t recall locking the hatch, only the fear and his need for a dark, tight comfort that promised he’d be safe, that his limbs and ears were intact.

It took many hours of deliberate breathing to relax out of a tight ball, even longer to chance a look from under the bed, half-expecting the bright eyes of his would-be killer. Ethan let go of a shaky exhale, his fingers cramping where he held his hoodie, missing his jacket. A part of him, small and ridiculous, thought of going back for it.

He remained on the hard, dusty ground until the following morning—nature’s call and a rumbly belly the culprits.

Now that he knew where not to scavenge for food, Ethan tried his luck at the usual spot, his face falling at the family of rabbits hogging the green, leafy grass. Rabbits were supposed to be social creatures—a lone rabbit was as good as dead, his mother used to say.

Given yesterday’s events, Ethan would be remiss to disagree.

Yet, despite his (admittedly lacklustre) efforts, he found himself isolated from those who shared his features. Even adjusting for predators, rabbits didn’t live long, and a colony ensured prosperity, offspring.

It’s what his mom would’ve wanted.

(They’d have to agree to disagree beyond her grave.)

Ethan waited for the family to finish their meal, disappointed to find the clearing picked clean of the new growth, settling for the half-chewed, bitter stalks. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten something that brought him joy, that filled him without it being a chore.

Yesterday’s adventure did lead him to untouched lands, but a good meal wasn’t worth his life, nor his limbs. Though, if pushed into desperation, he might consider it.

Ethan spent the rest of the morning walking along the river, taking sips with each pause. He didn’t stray far from his home, made too aware of the dangers. The fright still pricked at his ears, which stood at a point when branches broke, and the birds stopped chirping.

He wasn’t sure he’d escape death twice—negotiating with the wolf had been a shot in the dark at best.

Ethan dismissed the terrifying thought of history repeating itself and returned to his abode, his nose twitching at the scent of something burning. He couldn’t recall snuffing out the oil lamp, would’ve assumed it’d tire itself out, but Ethan wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

He stumbled into the main room, looking for the fire, stopped cold at the stranger he found instead. Not a perfect stranger, might he add, he knew this man, this wolf. It was one thing to get chased in the woods, trapped, then killed, it was another to deliver himself on a platter in his own home.

“Little bunny,” the wolf greeted, flicking the burning end of his cigar on the windowsill, leaning on it, too tall to stand at his full height without brushing the ceiling. Ethan would’ve scoffed, but he had more pressing worries, as it were. The wolf wore a pair of round sunglasses, the frames a tarnished gold. He covered himself with a leather trench coat, which wouldn’t offer much mobility if he tried to run after Ethan.

Or perhaps that was wishful thinking.

“How did you find me?” Ethan asked, hating how his ancestral genes didn’t evolve past ‘freezing in place with fright’.

The wolf didn’t answer with words, instead held Ethan’s torn jacket high enough to be seen, giving it a sniff in case Ethan needed help piecing it together. “This place you’ve got here is terribly inefficient,” he said, at last, placing the jacket over a chair, “you’ve only one entrance and exit, how are you meant to escape?” the wolf asked, his concern sounding genuine.

“Are you going to eat me?” Ethan breathed out, his heart stammering with anticipation.

“You’re quite blunt,” the wolf replied, taking a final drag of his cigar, “as a matter of fact, I just ate, so you don’t have to worry,” he revealed with a slight tick of his lips, his canines sharp enough to poke through.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Ethan snapped, regaining enough sense to walk backwards, taking his eyes off the wolf only when he blinked. He grabbed one of his chairs, holding it up like a weapon.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” the wolf hummed, gentling his features when he continued, “I’m not here to eat you, I’m not even here to say hello.” He pushed off the windowsill, reaching towards the ground, where Ethan now noticed two large sacks on either side of him. With a sharp nail, he cut through the fabric of one. Fresh hay spilled from the slit, filling the air with mouth-watering greenery.

Ethan’s nose twitched, and his teeth chattered with a terribly acute hunger, compelling his feet forward, towards danger.

“It’s a thank you,” the wolf began, motioning to the sacks, “for saving my life,” he clarified when Ethan’s gaze snapped to his. “Don’t do it again,” he warned, snuffing out his cigar on the edge of the windowsill, pocketing it for later.

Ethan didn’t get a chance to retort, or run, when the wolf moved from his spot. He lazed his way across Ethan’s small living space, sparing his spooked eyes a glance prior to leaving.

His presence lingered the entire night.

Ethan should’ve had more qualms eating the hay of unknown origin, but he took one proper sniff and buried himself in gluttonous gratitude. He indulged until he’d finished half the sack and his belly stuck out: taut and contented.

It occurred to him, many hours after retiring for bed, that the hay could’ve been poisoned.

When he woke with only a mild case of a dry throat, a second thought occurred to him: where would a wolf—specifically a predator—get their paws on such high-quality hay?

It seemed a cruel joke that a creature such as Ethan could barely survive off the grass he did find. He chewed the thought over whilst chomping on his gifted food, unsure if it’d be better to ration out each portion or consume what he could before his inevitable death.

Either way, he’d need to find another source of sustenance.

Again.

No bird could get the worm if there were none to begin with.

Necessity forced Ethan to venture away from the relative safety of his clearing, his heart in his throat, beating in time with his hurried hops. He doubted he’d recover from his evolutionary fright, etched into him like a bad burn.

Hugging his jacket closer, he couldn’t help jumping at the scent, the distinct smell of wolf making his hair stand. It’d been mended, the stitching a separate colour, reminding him exactly where it ripped. He could never be sure, but it seemed purposeful, a permanent warning.

Ethan paused his wandering, screwing his brows close, not recognizing a path back to the clearing. Panic was quick to set in, too aware of himself to know getting lost would’ve been inevitable. Ethan hopped back in a straight line, using his nose to sniff out the river, a different set of trees and flowers, anything to point him home.

But all he could scent was the wolf.

Ethan vocalized his dread in gasps, stopping short of crying out when he heard it, the snapping of twigs, the consequences for choosing a life of seclusion—forgetting that one could not be in bad company if they were dead.

At another snap of the twigs, Ethan bolted, following anything that led out of the immediate forest. He could hear it now, the thudding paws, the heavy panting. Ethan was dead, dead, dead, dea—

His pursuer lunged, catching up to him, forcing them to tumble into the forest floor, his back scraping against the hard earth. Ethan’s hands were taken and yanked above his head, held tight by an iron fist, the rest of him pinned like a fly in a web. He barely had air to breathe, let alone yell, squeaking high instead, his kicking useless.

A growl froze him to the ground, his little heart stopping for a terrifying moment. “What are you doing here?” it asked, words hot against his ear. Ethan couldn’t answer, stuck within the edge of recognition and mortal fright. “Stupid bunny, I should’ve eaten you when I had the chance,” the voice continued, sounding disappointed.

His hunter reared back, showing it’d been the wolf responsible for Ethan’s initial distraction. He hovered close, salivating, the excess dripping past his lips, his canines glistening in the early-morning light.

Yet, he didn’t bite, didn’t do anything but press harder into Ethan—unavoidable, given his weight.

The wolf took a deep breath, closing his uncovered eyes, his fist relaxing around Ethan’s wrist, blood rushing into his numbed fingers. With a second breath, the wolf pulled away entirely, sitting on his hind legs, his tail twitching with pent-up energy.

“Leave,” he said, talking through gravel. He kept his eyes shut, focusing on each inhale, on keeping his hands still—failing.

Ethan was too stunned to move, let alone hop away. The temperature shift did nothing but remind him how cold he could get, and the pressure—for all its dangerous connotations— was a comfort, invoking memories of being near his mom, and his littermates.

He thought of defying the wolf just to be held again.

“Am I not good enough to eat?” Ethan whispered, limp against the ground, keeping his arms above his head—a perfect prey.

The wolf’s eyes snapped open, their pupils large and dark, boring holes into Ethan’s own. “Do you want to get eaten?” he asked, smirking at Ethan’s deafening squeak. “That’s what I thought,” he growled, closing his eyes again.

“Why are you letting me go?” Ethan asked, sparing the bear by poking the wolf—metaphorically, of course.

“If you insist on asking, I won’t give you another chance to find out,” the wolf hissed, baring his fangs.

That did it for Ethan, who scrambled upwards and ran away, realizing with much embarrassment that he hadn’t been lost at all, just a bit disoriented.

Why?

Consisting of only three letters, it shouldn’t be a hard question to answer. Yet Ethan tossed and turned under his scratchy blankets, his belly’s rumbling ignored for the wolf’s odd behaviour. He’d never known a predator to hold themselves back, had heard horror stories of their ferocious rampages, of the blood trails they left behind, how they didn’t speak in anything but growls and howls.

It couldn’t be his singular act of kindness was so influential it changed the predator’s instinct. He’d never give himself that much credit.

Still, it’d be nice to know.

Trying again, Ethan went in the opposite direction of his previous attempts, taking mental notes on interesting landmarks, keeping tabs on home’s path. The quiet followed him until the sunrise, compelling the birds to sing, which woke the remainder of the forest. Though small and targetable, he enjoyed the walk, the sounds, the fresh, cooling air, which spoke of the changing season.

Food would be scarcer to find during winter—the thought soured his mood.

Ethan took a deep breath, reorienting himself to a less-traversed trail, watching his back with every new step. The trees thinned to a clearing, the grass tall and plentiful, smelling of rich greenery. Ethan rushed in, disregarding his caution as he pressed his nose into it, already chewing by the time he came up for air. His hunger was satiated with each satisfying crunch, his tongue happy as his stomach grew taut. He’d engorge himself as much as he could—damn whatever wolf, fox, or owl thought to interrupt him.

“Hey, save some for the rest of us!” a voice called out, startling Ethan mid-swallow. A family of fluffy, white rabbits appeared from the underbrush, overtaking Ethan’s clearing with numerical efficiency. He tried to defend his patch of grass, but as the minutes crawled forward, he was pushed aside by the larger of the two parents, forced to retreat into the already-eaten scraps.

It wouldn’t be the case if he had his own family to feed, his own hierarchy to leverage. Opening his mouth would be useless, because if he wasn’t ignored, he’d be laughed at, or insulted.

It’d be better for his overall health if he didn’t engage.

Ethan put his head down, trying to salvage what he could, thankful he found the clearing when he did, and was less than conservative with his big bites. He would’ve liked to take some home to dry and stash for the upcoming winter—assuming he lived that long.

Ethan gave a self-deprecating chuckle, halfway to shaking his head when he heard it.

The snapping of twigs.

The heavy breathing.

Not again.

Ethan was the first to bolt, not daring to cry wolf lest he startle the smaller bunnies. It’d be up to the parents to protect them, just as his had protected him. He hopped deeper into the forest before hiding beneath a tree root, flinching at the first snarl, the strong thuds of paws and claws, the snapping of teeth. This was yet another impractical location, either that or the wolves were planting the meadows to lure them in.

It'd be smart if nothing else.

Ethan had a clear vantage point of the carnage, afraid to look away in case he lost sight of the wolf. He heard the bright shrieks from his fellow, bushy-tailed cousins, and saw them scamper off in every direction, his consideration unnecessary since the children didn’t listen to their parents.

The wolf targeted one, sprinting towards them, annoyingly close to Ethan’s hiding spot. He caught a better glimpse of the predator, his eyes and nose stinging with recognition. Ethan didn’t get a chance to digest the fact, his ears ringing from the bunny’s startling squeal.

They’d been caught, too small and uncoordinated to outrun the wolf. Their cries broke Ethan’s heart, having been in that position too many times. He wondered if there’d ever been a rabbit hiding just as he was, listening yet hopeless to save him from his inevitable death.

The bunny was young, any nutrients the wolf might gain from them would be burned off on his subsequent sprint. It seemed cruel to take such a young life for the sake of hunger, crueller still to let them be sacrificed.

Ethan didn’t know why he cared as much as he did, perhaps it didn’t matter that the bunny wasn’t his child—they were someone’s child. Maybe he recognized his life was a speck in the grand scheme of things.

Either that, or he really couldn’t be bothered finding another place to eat.

Whatever the case, Ethan moved from his hiding spot, dashing towards the bunny’s terrified wails. He crashed into the wolf shoulder-first, surprising him enough to dislodge him. It gave the bunny enough time to run away, scampering off with more self-preservation than Ethan had now.

The wolf recovered from the ambush, snapping his sharp teeth at Ethan, tossing him aside like a soiled coat. “What the fuck are you doing?” he growled, eyes narrowed with recognition.

“They’re just a baby,” Ethan said, his voice strained against his fast breaths.

“Do you think I have time to care about that?” the wolf replied, wiping away his excess saliva before adjusting his jaw, “I’m hungry, you’re food—this is the way things are, the way they’ve always been,” he growled, running a hand down his hair, “I know you know that.”

“Then eat me!” Ethan exclaimed, pointing at his chest, “eat me,” he repeated in a shaken whisper, “just leave the babies alone.”

There was a pause, a long one, broken only by the wolf’s approaching footsteps, his boots heavy. He took a deep breath, then another, leaning into Ethan to scent him, his growl quiet, perhaps involuntary.

Ethan’s heart responded as any prey animal would, beating hard, bruising his ribs. He couldn’t do much except accept his fate, unable to help his terrified squeaks.

“I can’t eat you,” the wolf exhaled, pulling back.

“What?” Ethan asked, his blurry eyes looking up, confusion making them squint.

“I can’t eat you,” the wolf enunciated with teeth bared, fangs shiny with saliva, his nature betraying his words.

“Can’t or won’t?” Ethan said, crossing his arms.

“Does it matter?” the man huffed, throwing up his hands, “both, neither—why do you care? Go run off,” he said, the first to walk away, “congratulations, you’ve gotten yet another chance at life.”

Ethan, too stubborn for his own good, did not run off, instead, he caught up to the wolf, forcing himself in front of him. “Why?”

“Why what?” the other returned, trying to get around Ethan—unsuccessful.

“Why won’t you eat me?” Ethan asked, honestly offended. He should be grateful to the wolf and his strange morals, but his odd behaviour made him feel inadequate, as if he wasn’t worth the effort.

(Yes, he knew it was a ridiculous notion, but it didn’t stop him from feeling it.)

“Do you want to get eaten?” the wolf asked, incredulous, repeating himself from last time, “tell me, little bunny, is it upsetting that I don’t want to?” he said with mock-pity.

Ethan chewed the inside of his lip, knowing if he replied in the affirmative, he’d earn the well-deserved ridicule. “I’m not a bunny,” he reminded, still thinking of how to answer.

“And I no longer have an appetite, so there,” the wolf said, his smirk stretching out the scars on his face. “Go home, or if you’re that desperate to be a sacrificial lamb, head west—I’m sure my brothers and sisters could use a good meal,” the man continued, jutting his thumb in the supposed direction of certain death. “As for me, I’m leaving.”

“Is it because I saved your life?” Ethan asked, stopping the wolf mid-stride. Their eyes met again, the wolf’s mossy greens adjusting to Ethan’s face, flickering away as he thought about the question.

“If it makes you feel better, sure,” the man replied, resuming his trek.

Though he had his answer, it didn’t feel like enough, didn’t account for the wolf’s self-restraint. It left Ethan wanting, for what, he wasn’t sure.

Ethan did not head west, nor home for that matter, returning to the clearing to finish his food in peace, choosing not to pack away any extras.

It was a few weeks before they met again.

Not for Ethan’s lack of trying, mind you.

Despite the obvious danger of leaving himself open, he couldn’t help the sharp thrill zipping down his spine when he thought he’d been caught. There was something wrong with him, too many years in isolation, perhaps, or maybe it was the twisted need to correct the world order.

Wolves eat rabbits, ergo, him being alive was an honest mistake.

No, he won’t accept criticism.

Whatever the case, it was surprisingly difficult to lure out a predator when they didn’t want to be bothered. He couldn’t say how many hours he’d spent staring at the noon-day sun, fanning himself in hopes that his scent would grab the attention of the arrogant wolf.

Only him, by the way, Ethan’s strange behaviour started and ended with the dual-toned, shaggy-haired man.

…At least he hoped it did.

Anyway, despite his efforts, they met on a day Ethan wasn’t trying to get his attention. He’d been walking towards the river for his clothing’s weekly wash, struggling with the pack but managing once the ground levelled out. With the birds keeping him company, he began the day-long process of laundering his clothes, nearly chirping with the active critters when he was through with his delicate items.

It was then, as he switched to his dirtier outerwear, that a distant splashing caught his attention. Ethan’s ears twitched up, better equipped to locate the noise than his eyes. He turned to it, leaving his work half-finished to investigate.

Avoiding the harsher end of the river, Ethan walked beside the bank, brows touching with confusion at the lack of anyone. He gave it a moment, sighing at his own overactive imagination. It’s a large river, of course, there’d be splashi—

Before his thought ended, a creature burst from the dark blue depths, spraying water Ethan’s way. The rabbit yelped, both from the obvious sting of the icy cold droplets, and the nebulous, wet mass. It took him too long to recognize the wolf, and by that point, Ethan had sprinted into the woods, catching his breath when he was out of sight.

Not that it mattered, the wolf had his back to him.

Ethan re-approached with quiet curiosity, grateful for his feather-light footfalls (inherited from his mother). He got as close as he had to to see the details on the wolf’s back, but given his state of undress, he didn’t have to go far. Deeper, older scars crisscrossed on his skin, silver like the streaks in his hair. His muscles altered them as he dove, giving them new patterns.

Never a dull moment.

When the wolf resurfaced, he had a large fish in his mouth, his fangs quick to puncture the wriggling creature, using his free hands to keep it steady whilst he ate. He was messy and loud, uncaring of any manners or etiquette when he tossed the carcass back in the river, diving in for seconds.

Ethan continued to watch, finding his eyes snapping to the wolf’s lower, hidden half, catching glimpses of his tail, brown and white like the rest of his hair. By the time he left the water, he’d caught three fish in total, either tired or full. Ethan averted his gaze after noting his lack of modesty, thinking it best he gave the man some privacy after snooping on his hunting.

“I know you’re in there,” the wolf called out, startling Ethan, who sunk further against the tree trunk, pretending he hadn’t heard, “you still have your clothes laid out,” he reminded, shaking off the excess water. “I’m not gonna share, you know, if you want food, you gotta get it yourself.”

Ethan raised a brow, realizing the wolf knew he’d been watched, just not by whom. If Ethan snuck away now, he could save himself until he was ready to confront the man on his own terms.

Namely, not when his delicates were out to dry.

“Oh, it’s you,” the wolf mumbled after approaching Ethan during his indecision, “don’t worry, I just ate,” he added, showing his teeth in his strained grin. He’d managed to put on his glasses, boots, and trousers, though left his chest exposed, still dripping with river water.

“Yeah, I saw that,” Ethan replied, hating the tremble in his voice, his skipping heart—all autonomic, triggered by the wolf’s scent. Even his body knew there was a predator nearby. “I’m gonna go finish washing my clothes,” he said, unsure how to move away from the tree. He’d been gearing up to see the wolf again, to confront him about his dubious ethics, yet when chance forced them to meet, he kept his lips shut and his gaze low.

“You do that,” the man replied, going in the opposite direction.

Ethan’s eyes tugged upwards at the man’s retreat, half-smiling at his fluffy tail, how it gave an absentminded wag with each step. He’d never paid much attention to a wolf’s anatomy, mostly because he’d been running away whenever close to one. Apart from the ears, tails, fangs, and claws, they were more similar than different, an observation sure to perturb both predator and prey.

Ethan shook himself out of his mind, needing to finish his chores before sundown—an old warning from his mother that he took to heart. He expected the wolf to be gone when he returned, but the man was sunbathing by the shore, letting the soft morning sun evaporate the lingering water and dry out his hair.

It explained his tan.

Ethan forced his gaze forward, choosing to enjoy the aquatic life with each rhythmic wash of his clothes. His efforts were futile, because, with each of the wolf’s minuscule shifts, Ethan’s eyes were on him, watching, waiting.

Nothing came of it.

Ethan was done with his clothes in record time, certain his anxiety was to blame. With his hands free and a terribly curious nature, he picked at the ground, digging his finger into the softer earth. The wolf was right there, if he had something to say, he may as well spit it out now before he spent another month trying to find him.

Ethan had enough confidence to get up and walk, but it fizzled out the moment he caught the wolf’s scent, stronger after his dip in the river, or perhaps it was his bare-chestedness. If one could get past the fact that they should be running away, it wasn’t disagreeable. Strong like the moment before rainfall, thick like fresh milk, spiced like lemongrass—those were the notes touching the back of his tongue.

“Yes?” the wolf asked, lowering his sunglasses to look at Ethan, who’d idled too long.

“Thank you for keeping your word,” Ethan said, the opposite of what he’d meant to rebuke. He supposed it didn’t matter anymore, some other monstrosity would get the best of him, and close the loop on the mercy the wolf had had on Ethan’s naïveté.

“A promise is a promise,” the wolf murmured, scratching the largest scar on his furry chest, “don’t look so relieved, though, I’d eat you if you had more meat on your bones,” he said, his tone light enough to be a joke.

Ethan chuckled, a nervous thing, coughing behind a fist to clear his throat. “That’s always been an issue,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, “I can’t seem to find a good, permanent place to eat.”

“What do you mean? There’s about ten meadows around your house,” the wolf said, pinning him with a stare.

“That’s easy for you to say, you run on all fours,” Ethan mumbled, meeting the man’s stare, even as the challenge made him tremble.

“I do not run on all fours, I’m not a pup,” the wolf returned, offended.

“You’re also twice my size and half the reason I can’t choose one,” Ethan said, continuing as if the man hadn’t spoken, “you’d think it’d be easier to find food when you’re alone, but you either get bullied by your peers, or hunted by your rivals.” If his grievances mattered to the wolf, he didn’t show, he simply listened, letting Ethan air them out—well, almost all of them. “That’s why sometimes I think it’s just better if—”

“I know a place,” the wolf interrupted, sitting up, “it’s near, secluded, I patrol it, but we have our truce,” he revealed, flashing him a smile, “who knows? Maybe in time you’ll get a bit more enticing.”

“Is that the long-con?” Ethan scoffed, rolling his eyes, “fatten me up with your own supply?”

“If it comes to that,” the man shrugged, letting the moment hang before bursting into laughter, laying back on the shore, “I’m not going to eat you, not now that I know it gets under your skin that I won’t.”

“It doesn’t get ‘under my skin’, I just wanna know why you won’t do it,” Ethan grumbled, crossing his arms.

“Same difference, little bunny.”

“I’m not a bunny,” Ethan ground out, puffing out his cheeks, “my name is Ethan, Ethan Winters—use that if you’re gonna call me anything.”

The wolf’s smirk calmed to a pleasant smile, only the barest hint of his canines showed when he said, “Karl Heisenberg, a pleasure to make your continued re-acquaintance, little bunny.”

Ethan gave up, much to the man’s amusement, who chuckled as he walked away, but not before promising they’d meet again soon.

With their track record, Ethan didn’t doubt it.

Chapter Text

Even though accepting the wolf’s help was both dangerous and absurd, Ethan didn’t do much to talk himself out of it.

He understood a rabbit’s life wasn’t exactly a long one, and the solitude he decided to uphold felt like isolation the longer he lived it. Perhaps that had been a silent but motivating factor when seeking out the wolf—Karl Heisenberg—who accepted the absurdity with a wide and very sharp smirk.

Ethan’s heart quickened just thinking of his teeth.

Turning beneath his scratchy covers, he faced the entryway, annoyed to admit it was impractical to have just one. Ethan hadn’t had much say in how he constructed the burrow, restricted to the twists and turns of the old tree roots, respecting its seniority. Prior to the wolf’s unexpected appearance, it needn’t cater to anyone but Ethan.

And as it stood, it was home—secluded, quiet, and near the river.

Ethan continued to stare at the door until he fell asleep, his frown smoothing out as he relaxed, sinking deeper into the straw mattress. He jerked awake seconds later, bleary-eyed and with a cotton mouth, his ears standing at a point after a knock on his door.

Given the minimal light, it couldn’t be more than a few minutes past dawn.

Ethan startled when it happened again, his intruder’s impatience irksome. He left the warmth of his bed, careful to draw as little attention to himself as he approached. His nose twitched with recognition before his eyes did, staring through the small window regardless. The wolf—Heisenberg—smoked by the entrance, clad in his default glasses/hat/trench coat ensemble.

Being an anxious paranoid since birth, Ethan hesitated, his eyes darting beside the wolf in case it was an ambush.

“I know you’re there,” Heisenberg said, his voice muffled by his cigar, “I’m just being polite,” he added, amusing himself into a chuckle.

Ethan felt the opposite, opening the door with a deep pout. “You woke me up,” he grumbled, giving more ammunition to the wolf’s humour.

“Did I?” he replied, faux-apologetic, “I thought bunnies were crepuscular,” he said, annoying Ethan further with his knowledge, “my apologies.”

“For the last time, I am not a bunny,” Ethan said through gritted teeth, “I’m a rabbit,” he stressed, seeing his point get lost in the wolf’s grin, “I bet you’d make a fuss if I started calling you ‘little pup’,” he added, crossing his arms.

Heisenberg said nothing, though his tail flickered once, and Ethan—ignorant to a wolf’s mannerisms—didn’t know what to make of it. They remained at an impasse until Ethan’s stomach rumbled, reminding the wolf of his reason for visiting.

“Hungry?” Heisenberg asked, flicking his spent cigar, the question unnecessary.

Ethan’s ears tensed at the word, a reaction that sparked a chuckle from his would-be predator, forcing a flood of blood to pool in his cheeks. “I’m colluding with you—I must be,” he mumbled, “if this is a trap, at least wait until I’ve digested,” he said, assuming his place beside the larger man.

Heisenberg laughed in earnest, his eyes creasing behind his lenses. “I respect your priorities, Ethan Winters,” he said, tipping his hat.

They left Ethan’s meadow, taking a route he knew well. It led to the river, though beyond it, Ethan hadn’t thought to go. Heisenberg kept his pace relaxed, not plagued with the same mortal threats. Ethan couldn’t enjoy those privileges, his situation worsened by his proximity to the predator, drawing potential attention from suspicious peers.

So far, the woods were quiet, but he wouldn’t count on it remaining as such.

Ethan’s panic dulled when a draft picked up the scent of fresh grass, his teeth chewing against nothing as saliva overfilled his mouth. He skipped ahead of the wolf, ears deaf to his chuckles, to his go-ahead, which shouldn’t be necessary given the forest was home to everyone.

Ethan dove into the tall grass, not resurfacing until his lungs hurt. The grass was fresh and fragrant, untouched by other mouths or indecisive critters. He tasted the richness of each blade, squeaked with joy at the mouthfeel and undeniable flavour of a good meal. The meadow’s grass wasn’t just a random assortment of varying bitterness, there’d been care to cultivate it, to feed the earth with each sowed seed.

Ethan thought about this in passing, gorging himself as if he didn’t know how to stop—perhaps afraid to.

“You almost make that look appetizing,” a voice said, startling Ethan mid-swallow.

He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone.

The rabbit looked up, eyes hazy as they struggled to focus on his plus-one, his skin prickling when the scent of wolf hit him. Ethan wiped his mouth on his sleeve, embarrassment coming swift and with a vengeance.

Heisenberg lounged close to Ethan, moving only when he readjusted his cigar, eyes peeking over the rim of his glasses. His easy-going nature was a ruse, of course, Ethan knew from experience, having felt those hidden teeth snap at his back, sharp and shiny. Instinct beckoned him to step back, but manners kept him still, leading to an awkward half-turn that was as obvious as his blush.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your feast,” Heisenberg rumbled in a cat-like purr, his ears adjusting to sounds Ethan was too distracted to hear. “Continue,” he encouraged, motioning to the rest of the field. He gave a big stretch before relaxing, yawning wide enough to numerate his many canines.

“I-I think I’m okay,” Ethan stuttered, overheating beneath his jacket, some truth to his quick refusal. He was full, nearly uncomfortable with his stomach’s tautness.

Any more and he might explode.

“Take some home, then,” Heisenberg insisted, on his feet in a flash, removing a sack and a folded-up sickle from one of his many pockets. He was quick to separate the grass from its roots, filling the bag faster than Ethan could ask ‘what’. “There,” he said, holding out the offering with a lazy tail-wag.

“Have you done this before?” Ethan asked, raising a dubious brow. Knowing the location of a few meadows was one thing, being prepared to harvest them was another entirely.

“Yes,” Heisenberg replied, not elaborating.

“Why?”

“Why?” the wolf parroted, his ears flickering, “why what?”

“Why this,” Ethan said, frustrated that he couldn’t explain beyond motioning to them and the meadow.

“Ah, you’re asking if I’ve ever fed a bunny before, not why I’m cutting grass,” Heisenberg clarified, nodding in large, wide shakes of his head, “I misunderstood.”

“How could you possibly misunders—”

“Because, Ethan Winters,” the wolf interrupted, “contrary to what you might think, us wolves do have some use for your coveted blades of grass,” he said, pinching one into a fine goop, “we’re not always blood-thirsty carnivores—sometimes we get tummy aches.”

Ethan scoffed, rolling his eyes against the wolf’s patronizing tone.

“You don’t believe me?” Heisenberg said, holding his chest as if offended, “of course, why would you,” he mumbled, grabbing a handful of vegetation before taking a tentative bite, chewing with his back teeth. “Delicious,” he said, shuddering at the forced swallow.

Ethan’s incredulity mellowed into a begrudging smile, shaking his head at the predator’s absurd nature. “Point taken,” he said, his ears twitching at the snap of twigs, making his head swivel towards the noise.

“It does seem about that time to leave,” Heisenberg said, not as anxious to face the sound. Retrieving a cigar from his inner coat pocket, he motioned for Ethan to follow him, leaving a trail of smoke on their return trek.

Ethan hesitated, narrowing his eyes at the hidden danger, forgetting to acknowledge the irony of following a literal wolf home.

“Thank you,” Ethan hadn’t meant for those to be his parting words, but he’d been raised with manners if nothing else.

Heisenberg’s head cocked to the side, followed by a lazy, involuntary wag of his tail. “You’re welcome,” he said, though sounded unsure. “This is still yours if you want it,” he reminded, holding up the sack of grass, “I’d set it to dry if you’re not planning on eating it today.”

“Sure,” Ethan said, accepting the fragrant bag with too-eager arms, finding it was heavier than the wolf had led on.

Or perhaps Ethan was weaker.

“I’ll be seeing you, then,” Heisenberg said after a moment of silence, his cigar burning itself to ash.

“Are you gonna go hunt?” Ethan asked, having as much self-control as a rock rolling downhill. It seemed insensitive to ask from both a predator and prey’s perspective. Why did he have to know?

He’d chalk it up to morbid curiosity.

“Er, fish,” Heisenberg corrected, his lips twitching upwards, “it’s easier, plus they don’t talk as much.” He pointed a stare towards Ethan, looking at him over his sunglasses.

“They don’t talk at all,” Ethan grumbled, feeling his mouth form a tight pout, hating the petulant holdover from his younger years.

“Exactly,” the wolf agreed, filing down his sharp smirk, “take care, little bunny,” he said as a farewell, prompting Ethan to sputter and scoff.

“I’m not a bunny!”

Ethan figured his excursion with Heisenberg had been a one-off, a courtesy to show that, yes, there were more meadows than the tried and true he’d frequented since birth. It’s why he didn’t wait for the sun to rise before heading back to the clearing, following his stomach more so than his nose.

Though he’d made a note to turn right at the oddly twisted branch, Ethan turned himself around, ending in a patch of land that was decidedly not the concealed meadow. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen that many rabbits gathered around one area. Sinking deeper into his jacket, Ethan kept to himself, skirting the tree’s edge to keep out of sight.

The changing season was likely to blame, encouraging the more resourceful of his species to prepare for the harshness of winter, or to simply engorge whilst they could.

He thought of leaving when the inevitability of munching on someone’s leftovers turned his stomach. But Ethan was obstinate—and hungry—always too quick to burn through his reserves. So, he continued his search, daring to venture near the larger families, hoping he’d get lost amongst the parents’ many children.

Ethan was successful for a moment, even managing to sniff out some wild mint whilst settling in his patch of grass. He kept an ear out for intruders, never the luckiest one in a fluffle of rabbits.

It was customary for his kin to scatter with the rising sun, the dew-drops on their noses like beacons in the morning light. Others braved the more dangerous time, finding it advantageous to be where most weren’t.

And some, like Ethan—and the family of rabbits unknowingly adopting him—were too distracted to notice.

That is, until heavy footfalls broke a fallen branch.

Ethan’s ears twitched first, forcing his unwilling head upwards, teeth still chewing. The sequence was always the same: look, wait a moment to assess if it’s worth leaving a good meal, gear up to run, and try not to die from fright.

His tenseness caught the attention of one of the older bunnies, their small squeaks communicating to their parents Ethan’s interloping. Momma-rabbit shot him a dirty look, grabbing her partner and pointing, terribly unaware of a more pressing danger than a lone rabbit piggybacking off their oversized family.

Ethan’s adrenaline spiked when a bull of a man stood to his full height, chest puffed, mouth set in a snarl. That alone was effective in forcing Ethan back, stopped by his silly feet and his lack of balance at the worst times.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the Daddy-rabbit snarled, his crooked teeth holding specks of green between each thin gap.

Eating was too obvious of an answer, apparently. “Leaving,” Ethan replied instead, keeping his chin to his chest, not needing to provoke the man further.

“You think you’re smart?” the father asked, his voice too loud. He helped Ethan up, but only as an excuse to fist his hands into his clothes, holding him like overflowing trash.

“No,” Ethan said, shaking his frightened head.

“No what,” the large man reminded, posturing for his entire family.

“No, sir,” Ethan corrected, hiding his irritation deep in his chest. This was why he preferred his own company—he’d even take that of the wolf’s if it meant fewer displays of machismo.

“That’s what I thought,” the rabbit huffed, shoving Ethan hard, spitting next to where he fell. “Now scram, you worthless…excuse…” There’d be more insults were the rabbit’s entire life not forced into a sharp perspective.

Ethan’s head twisted to look behind them, recognizing the silhouette, the amber tip of something burning, correlating with the shadow’s breathing. The wolf’s scent hit him after, though the same couldn’t be said for the dad-rabbit, whose body twitched trying to get away from the predator. Ethan’s panic calmed to an annoyance—somehow certain the wolf would go after the man that weighed a few Ethans during a large feast.

(Perhaps he shouldn’t assume.)

Heisenberg tossed his spent cigar, drawing a deep breath, which ended in the faintest of growls, quickening the other rabbit’s escape. The wolf approached, hunched over whilst widening his shoulders in a heavy, strong stance, shaming whatever peacocking the other male had attempted.

The rabbit’s family scattered, leaving him to deal with the wolf with nothing but his dirty teeth. Ethan continued to gape, expecting both to burst into a sprint, their bodies poised and ready. It’d be a matter of stamina and willpower, though, judging by the rabbit’s poor conditioning—and Ethan’s experience with the wolf—it seemed Heisenberg would eat well today.

The wolf snapped his teeth like discharging a gun, forcing the father of too many kids to run. His chunky legs carried him just beyond the edge of the clearing, but no farther. He would’ve been dead meat if the wolf weren’t so invested in laughing at his bumbling.

Ethan should’ve found the exhibition cruel, perhaps hubristic, but he couldn’t, giving his own breathy chuckle.

“That is a very privileged rabbit,” Heisenberg said when they were alone, loosening his limbs out of their tense stance, almost jelly by the time he stood next to Ethan. “Need any help?” he asked, holding out a gloved hand.

Ethan didn’t, having fallen often—alone. Yet, the invitation made him too aware of his position, forced to accept lest he be further embarrassed. “Thanks,” he said, wiping his hands on his pants once bipedal.

“Think he’s still trying to run away?” Heisenberg asked, killing his smirk in vain.

“Emphasis on trying,” Ethan huffed, shaking his head, “winter is not for a few months, he doesn’t have to get that big yet.”

“He may be partaking in more than grass and vegetables,” Heisenberg mused, scratching his bearded chin.

“Are you gonna go after him?” Ethan asked, earning the wolf’s raised brow, “easy prey,” he pointed out as if that justified the gruesome question.

“He’d be too rich for me,” Heisenberg replied, patting his belly, “besides, I already ate.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Ethan asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Can’t a wolf roam?” he hummed, pulling out a cigar, and lighting it.

Ethan shrugged, unsure how to answer, so he said, “You scared all the rabbits,” motioning to the empty field.

“Sounds like a personal problem,” Heisenberg tutted, shaking his head as if it were a shameful thing, “well, more for you to eat, I suppose,” he said, taking a drag of his cigar, “oh, and next time, try to wait for me,” he added, meeting Ethan’s squint with a wide grin.

“I would’ve been fine,” Ethan grumbled, though his words were performative, used to save whatever dignity his aging bones held.

“And hungry,” Heisenberg retorted, pointing to a tall patch of grass, “eat.”

Ethan could argue, but he spotted a few more sprigs of wild mint—and who would refuse that?

Though stubborn, Ethan wasn’t keen on getting lost again. So, he took the wolf’s words at face value and stayed put.

Well, as put as a rabbit like him could be.

He was halfway through rearranging his small living space when there was a knock on his door—his squeak inevitable. Composing himself with a vexed twist of his lips, he left his project for later, nose twitching with recognition. There was no stopping the automatic quickening of his heart, but Ethan would be lying if he said it wasn’t also quick to calm.

“Good morning,” Heisenberg greeted, tipping his hat, “ready to go?” he asked, skipping any further preambles.

“Hi,” Ethan said, shifting his eyes to the sky. It smelled heavy, the clouds plentiful and thick, threatening rain and other unpleasantries. “Maybe not today,” Ethan mumbled, stepping back into the safety of his home.

“What? Afraid of a little water?” the wolf teased, sparing the heavens a glance.

“I’m not afraid of it,” Ethan defended, crossing his arms, “it’s just a pain in my ass, and if it gets in my ears—it’s not worth the hassle,” he said, trying to explain to a creature who swam for fun.

“Are you sure?” Heisenberg asked, his tail giving a slow wag.

Just as Ethan opened his mouth to answer, a ray of lightning struck a faraway field, thunder chasing after it. Ethan jumped, sinking further into his entryway. “I’m sure,” he said, a fine sprinkle starting overhead.

“Shame—the rain is quite nice this time of the year,” Heisenberg hummed, returning his spectacled stare to Ethan.

“Well, you go enjoy it,” the rabbit said, dismissing the wolf with a wave.

Heisenberg’s tail stopped moving, bringing attention to his stillness. Thunder and the ever-increasing rain filled the void, turning the ground to mud. Silent as the day was wet, Heisenberg removed a cigar from its usual pocket, lighting it before taking a pull, sighing out his puff of smoke. “I’ll be seeing you, then,” he said after another long drag, his customary farewell always leaving room for their re-acquaintance.

“You know where I live,” Ethan mumbled, giving his own unorthodox goodbye before closing the door. He returned to his unfinished living room, resuming the project with an absent mind.

Rabbits were anxious creatures by nature—Ethan could attest, being doubly cautious despite the contradictions of his most recent behaviour. Their emotions could be read within each twitch and startle, even their squeaks were designed to be tonally different depending on the situation.

Yet, when it came to the wolf, Ethan drew blank.

Heisenberg was an expressive man, but his body reacted differently than Ethan expected. Why did his tail wag when he spoke but not when he hunted? Why did his ears get so pointed when they talked? Did they have a mind of their own?

Ethan was almost curious enough to ask.

The thought left him in a snort, figuring the arrogant wolf would take offence to him pointing out his mannerisms.

Ethan pushed the last of his furniture into the nearest wall, making a face at the space he’d created in the centre of the room. If he didn’t know any better, it seemed he was trying to accommodate something much larger than himself.

He wouldn’t try to guess what.

In lieu of being able to eat, Ethan slept, feeding his hunger with dreams of blurry greens and browns. His memories made him fitful, twisting the sheets in an unconscious grip. He could feel sweat pool at the base of his neck, heard his heart in his ears, beating hard and frightened. The nightmare grew to be too realistic, waking him in time with the thunder.

Ethan’s chest ached as he caught his breath, forcing air back into his lungs. He sighed at the mess outside of his window, approaching it like one would a misbehaving child. Ethan understood the importance of the pummelling water, without it, the grass would dry out, forcing him to stray farther from home.

(He didn’t have to explain the danger to anyone.)

Notwithstanding that fact, Ethan still pouted at his inability to weather the storm, his body too soft and temperamental to not freeze to death if he attempted it. He looked beyond the rain and tried to see what Heisenberg meant, but the window was too hazy to do more than speculate on its supposed “niceness”.

Ethan was prepared for the thunder after seeing the flash of lightning, however, he left himself vulnerable to other sounds, jumping at the knock on his door.

Strange—it’d never happened twice in one day.

Ethan took his time reaching the uninvited guest, his skin prickling at the interesting scent combination of wolf and rain. He looked through the small window to double-check his nose, seeing that, yes, Heisenberg had returned.

“Did you forget something?” Ethan asked, cocking his head at the soaked wolf. He could almost see an aura of heat surrounding him, felt it when Heisenberg stepped closer.

“Hello to you too,” the wolf mocked, chewing through the last of his cigar, “may I come in?” he asked, speaking over the roaring rain.

Ethan said nothing, simply moved aside to let him in, earning a few stray droplets for his hospitality. He trailed the wolf into his home, watching him reorient himself with the layout. Heisenberg still had to hunch over, but there was nothing Ethan could do about the verticality, not without destroying the tree’s integrity.

“Here,” Heisenberg said, pulling out a familiar sack from inside his coat. It was full—overflowing—with large, leafy greens and a few seasonal vegetables, the likes of which Ethan would grow if it wouldn’t attract his kin. Speechless, he took the offered bag, nearly tipping over with its weight. “Careful,” the wolf muttered, his reflexes quicker than his eyes when he moved, ready to catch him.

“I got it,” Ethan scoffed, bracing his arms as he brought the food to his table, mouth watering at the vegetal rainbow. “What’s all this?” he asked, too nervous to look over his shoulder.

“It’s—ow, dammit—it’s food,” Heisenberg said, having made the mistake of standing up straight, hitting his head against the natural supports.

Ethan was forced to face him, his features struggling to settle on an emotion. He chose to ignore them, his eyes flickering to Heisenberg as he tried to rub his scalp through his hat, failing to be inconspicuous. “Let me see?” Ethan asked, leaving the comfort of his apathy to approach the wolf.

“I’m fine,” Heisenberg grumbled, dropping his hands, “why are your ceilings so low, anyway?” he asked, before interrupting with, “don’t answer that.”

“Then sit down,” Ethan said, motioning to the bed, the floor, and a stray chair.

“I can’t sit down, I’m about to go—”

“There’s a thunderstorm, what do you mean go?” Ethan scoffed, narrowing his eyelids to slits.

“I said I’m fine—fuck, goddammit!” Heisenberg cursed after hitting his head again, disturbing the old roots. This time he did remove his hat, rubbing the forming bruise with a wince. “It’s just water, I’ve been through worse,” he mumbled, petulant.

Ethan’s frown deepened, his eyes and ears picking up on the man’s subtle but steady trembling. “You’re shivering,” he countered.

“I’m generating body heat,” the wolf amended, shaking out his shaggy hair, the droplets landing on everything.

“Heisenberg!” Ethan huffed, his complaints going unheard, “just sit down!” the rabbit commanded, his voice too loud in the small space. The wolf paused his shaking, gaze snapping to Ethan behind his lenses. He did as he was told with a begrudging grumble, hitting the floor with a loud thud. “Now, let me see,” Ethan said, tempering his volume but using that same, hard tone, feeling the wolf’s irritation when forced to comply.

Despite whacking the same spot twice, there was nothing to show for it but some surface-level tenderness. Ethan kept his fingers light when he pressed into it, apologizing after the wolf hissed, petting the spot. A distracting, repetitive noise caught his attention, compelling him to investigate. Heisenberg’s tail was sweeping the floor in lazy flicks, having dried faster than the rest of him.

Figuring it was his only chance to test a theory, Ethan continued to pet his wound, taking liberties to brush back the mop sticking to his face, listening for the wagging tail. It quickened the closer he got to his ears—the cartilage hot to the touch. Ethan gave one ear a soft pat, startling at the whine-growl it pulled from Heisenberg.

“Stop that,” the wolf snapped, sounding out of breath.

“Sorry,” Ethan squeaked, forcing his hands behind his back just as he stepped away. “You’re fine,” he said as an aside, feeling a hint of warmth bloom on his face.

“That’s what I told you—twice,” Heisenberg sighed, his shoulders sagging with the return of his personal space, “do you mind if I smoke?” he asked, reaching into his coat.

“The window’s right there,” Ethan said, motioning to it. He chose to return to his greens and vegetables, sneaking a bite of a bright-red bell pepper. The crunch gave him away, but by the time he noticed, he’d eaten two, drowning in its subtle sweetness. He couldn’t recall the last time he had the fruit, much less seen it growing in the wild, annoyed with his gluttony that he hadn’t thought of saving them for a rainy day.

Ethan’s ears pricked at the receding thunder, the irony going over his head.

Once full (enough), Ethan removed the rest of his gifted meal, setting the leafy greens in a glass of water to preserve their freshness, unable to help nibbling on a few on their way to storage. When finished, Ethan turned to the wolf, tensing at the eyes already looking at him. They were uncovered, pupils wide in the low light, trailing Ethan’s every move.

If he wasn’t planning on eating him, why look at him like that?

“Is that enough?” Heisenberg asked, jutting his chin towards the vegetables after tossing his spent cigar outside.

“Yes,” a pause, “where did you get all this?” Ethan’s fingers tugged at his hem, keeping busy in their anxiety. He didn’t know if asking mattered, or if it violated some unspoken code of conduct between them. It’d be similar to the wolf asking where to find more of his kin.

Not that he had trouble with that.

“Around,” Heisenberg said, shrugging. He didn’t elaborate further, shifting his gaze to the unending rain. Though the thunder had lessened, it seemed the day would retain its gloom, making travel problematic for any creature relying on scent to guide them.

A random crash of thunder startled them in unison, keeping them nervous in the aftermath. “And you wanted to go out in that,” Ethan mumbled to himself, searching for comfort beneath his covers, “I’m going to bed, if you’re gonna stay, stay,” he said, waving to nothing, “and please, shut the window if you’re done with it,” he said prior to closing his eyes, attempting sleep despite his racing heart.

Heisenberg snorted, but did as he was asked, his breaths loud enough to keep Ethan aware of his presence. Minutes passed before he moved in earnest, approaching the centre of the room with silent footsteps. Ethan heard him sit, shift, then quiet, the room now a vacuum except for the constant rain and a familiar swish. He opened one eye to look, his face twisting with interest at the half-ball the wolf curled into.

Ethan doubted he was asleep, or if he was, it was light and easily disturbed.

He wouldn’t test it.

The rain stopped, as it often did, many hours into the night. Ethan woke alone, though the wolf’s warmth lingered where he’d napped, proving he hadn’t been gone long. There was a tightness in his chest he couldn’t explain, feeling as if he’d run too fast and hard, though he merely stood in the empty space.

Were his senses dulling? How had he not heard him leave?

Why didn’t he say goodbye?

Ethan stopped breathing, rewinding the question with panicked concern. Why did it matter that he hadn’t? His space was cramped and smelled like Ethan—a prey animal, might he add—it’s likely the discomfort was left unexpressed to preserve the peace.

Still…

…Still.

Ethan shook his head, hoping it’d knock loose whatever conflated the wolf’s actions with anything other than a strange repayment for saving his life. He didn’t know when it’d end, and frankly, it’d be best if it were soon.

Heaven forbid he got used to the wolf’s scent. Or his warmth.

Or his too-sharp teeth.

Ethan shivered, chalking it up to fear. Nothing more.

Chapter Text

For prey animals, habits were a sign of too much time on one’s hands. Though simple, Ethan should consider himself lucky he’d developed some in his adult life.

Truth be told, he didn’t expect his arrangement with the wolf to fall into that category.

He became expectant of the wolf’s presence, waking with an itch in his legs. It pulled him out of bed, where he dressed in his sturdier jackets, and stood by the door, waiting with anxious anticipation.

Perhaps the familiarity of his hyperactive heart forgot to clue him in that this was new and different.

Neither mentioned it, and like clockwork, Ethan could predict Heisenberg’s arrival by the subtle shift in the light outside his window. Given that he had less to obsess over—namely, his untimely death—he became quite proficient at reading the sky.

Unless it was raining, for that he used his instinct. (Whatever remained of it, anyway.)

Through no intention of his own, Ethan grew attached to their daily outings.

Friends were hard to come by when one was as isolated as him, and the few he had in his youth had either died, created a family, or a morbid combination of both. The wolf filled that missing space, and though he was too large to fit—both the metaphorical hole and his home—Ethan accepted the jagged edges of their relationship.

Still, his fright didn’t lessen because the wolf was sociable.

There’d be moments where he’d catch him staring, eyes too sharp to be contained behind his lenses, the sub-bass rumble of his purrs too loud for his sensitive ears. It had Ethan’s heart skipping, which—given their proximity—was surely heard by the man. Ethan would move away, busying himself with another patch of grass as a silent excuse, not needing his presence to induce an involuntary response from the wolf’s nature.

The possibility troubled his sleep enough to keep him alert and with one eye on the nearest exit.

Never mind Heisenberg had yet to attack, at ease with leaning back and smoking, then looking away when he’d been caught.

His tail would wag.

Ethan hadn’t asked him what it meant.

As autumn settled fully into the forest, the leaves changed to a crisp, bright orange, and the wind stung just a bit as it whistled through the branches. Ethan hugged his jacket tighter, his mind absent as he pulled closer to the walking heat-generator. Heisenberg’s scent hit him after, as it often did now that he was used to it. Ethan fought his muscles to remain pliant, not needing their tenseness to add to his shivering. He’d have to remove his thicker sweaters from storage soon, a task as annoying as it was necessary.

He was eating every day, dammit, he should at least have some fat reserves.

“I knew it.”

Ethan jumped, his head snapping to Heisenberg. They’d stopped speaking beyond their usual greetings and farewells, having exhausted any commonality between them. If Heisenberg spoke, it was to himself, commenting on the sky, the weather, or Ethan’s lack of reciprocation, adding it’d been a joke when the rabbit looked up, mouth full and unamused.

“Knew what?” Ethan asked, taking the bait.

Heisenberg’s smile widened, making way for his cigar. “That frown you’re always carrying, it’s just your face,” he said, forcing Ethan’s face to sink deeper into said frown, “there it is again!”

“And?” Ethan grumbled, rubbing the sting from his cheeks, “you try being in my shoes for once! Do you have any idea how strange it is to just walk next to you?” he said, “you reek of wolf.” His words contradicted his actions, which kept him close to the wolf’s warmth, doing nothing to rectify his own discomfort.

“Not much I can do about that, little bunny,” Heisenberg said, sounding apologetic, though his smirk betrayed its authenticity.

Ethan sighed, giving up on correcting the man, knowing it was what he wanted.

They walked into a meadow, a small family of rabbits already occupying it. The more alert one of the group looked up, giving a terrified squeak to warn the others, dispersing like smoke in an empty room.

Ethan stared between where his kin had been and the wolf, waiting for him to react. Heisenberg continued to smoke, prompting Ethan to roll his eyes and ask, “Don’t you think it’s strange to spend so much time around potential prey?” Heisenberg’s head tilted sideways, his ears going pointy. “What would your pack think?” Ethan elaborated, motioning to nothing as he settled into a patch of grass.

Heisenberg shrugged, taking a deep drag of his cigar before replying, “They just assume I’m eating well.”

Ethan stopped chewing to ask, “Are you eating well?”

“Extremely.”

There was something measured about the response, each syllable spoken with the utmost clarity. Ethan didn’t know what it meant, and he figured the vagueness was purposeful, meant to protect the ignorance of what was left unknown. Besides, it didn’t seem appropriate to ask what Heisenberg ate after they parted.

“Winter is coming soon,” the wolf hummed after taking a deep breath, as if he could smell the changing season, “are you preparing?”

Ethan paused mid-swallow, throwing the wolf a look. “We still have time,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “how do you know so much about rabbits?”

“You’re not exactly a hard species to understand,” Heisenberg returned with all the arrogance in the world, “and with the rate you multiply, one only needs a few months to study an entire generation,” he said so whilst laughing, falling backwards into the grass with the joy of it.

Ethan’s cheeks reddened at the observation, knowing he couldn’t dispute the fact. He chose to keep any more questions to himself, returning to his food while it was still plentiful.

“Makes a wolf curious about unique outliers,” Heisenberg continued unprompted, blowing smoke rings into the sky, “heh, little bunny?” he teased, in case Ethan thought of ignoring him.

“Is that why you think I’m a bunny? ‘Cause I don’t have three wives and five-hundred kids?” Ethan snapped, twisting with incredulity at the man’s audacity.  

“Partly,” Heisenberg replied, turning to Ethan with less heat, his smirk nearly glinting in the soft morning light.

“Well, then you don’t know as much about rabbits as you think you do,” Ethan huffed, crossing his arms, “I do not need children to be considered a rabbit—I’ve been developed for years now,” he said, wincing at his petulant tone. What exactly did he have to prove here?

“Uh-huh, tell me more,” Heisenberg said, laying on his side to lean on his fist, smoking the last of his cigar.

Ethan’s pout kept his mouth shut, prompting a new set of chuckles from the wolf. “Don’t you have fish to go fish?” Ethan asked, his chest tight with embarrassment.

“Don’t you have grass to finish eating?” Heisenberg retorted, looking at Ethan over his glasses. Something about having the larger man’s undivided attention made standing still an impossibility. It drove Ethan to tap his foot, an action that incited further scrutiny. “Are you nervous, little bunny?”

“Would you stop—” Ethan began to yell, reining it back with a deep, purposeful breath. “How long do you plan to keep this up?” he asked instead, pivoting to a topic he’d meant to mention before forming a habit.

“How hungry are you?” the wolf returned, raising a brow. His tail did a slow wag, the fluffy tip appearing over his hip, involuntary as it was distracting.

Ethan’s eyes flickered to it, torn in too many places to settle on a retort. “That’s a stupid question,” he grumbled, his shoulders sagging under the universal pressure of their imbalance.

“I’m not immune to your paranoia, Ethan, I’m aware you still think this is a scheme to fatten you up—though, if it were, it’s failing miserably,” Heisenberg began, his tone settling between incredulity and indifference, “are you sure you didn’t swallow a parasite in your inhaling?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Ethan growled, doing the childish thing, and throwing a wad of dirt Heisenberg’s way.

“And that’s another reason I call you little bunny, little bunny,” Heisenberg sighed, wiping the mess from his face, “you’re lucky I’m feeling charitable, or I would retaliate.”

Ethan tempted fate by tossing another ball of dirt, this time packing it tight for maximum impact. It landed more on the man’s hat than his face, but its message was still received, earning him a proper growl from the wolf. “Stop it,” he warned, his tail swishing in time with the rustling leaves.

“Or what?” Ethan said, completing his third ball, “you’ve already made a vow not to eat me—so, what else can you do?”

He brought up an excellent point, the wolf’s sigh proved as much.  

Ethan threw his third ball, watching it land on Heisenberg’s chest, tinting brown the cream linen. Though dulled, Ethan’s eyes picked up the tightening of the wolf’s muscles, his careful breath. He had less than a moment to bolt, halfway through the meadow by the time Heisenberg was at his heels.

The food in his belly made him slow, and their odd relationship kept him uncoordinated, confused. His skills in evasion were nonexistent, highlighted by each bump into a branch, or stumble on an overgrown root. Heisenberg must be toying with him because nothing else explained why he hadn’t caught him.

They made it to the edge of the forest, the river facing them stretching on for miles. Though not ideal, Ethan could swim, at least to the other side. He would brave an earache if it meant living long enough to get one.

Without thought, Ethan jumped in, freezing in the icy river. Water immediately made its way into his ears, dizzying him. He’d overestimated the sun’s influence this late in the year, suffering the consequences.

“Ethan!” he heard the wolf yell, though his voice was far away, garbled through the splashing. He was gasping, swallowing mouthfuls of river water in his inability to orient himself, his panic rising.

Without help, he wasn’t getting out.

Just as the thought sapped the remaining warmth in his bones, he felt a strong force tug at his arm, overpowering the water’s terrifying pull. He fought it, but his efforts were futile, puny, made evident when returned to solid ground. He’d been reduced to a pile of wet, icy clothes and a worrisome shade of white.

“God-fucking-dammit, Winters, what the hell is wrong with you?” a voice hissed, close enough to make him flinch if he were able. “Fuck,” the voice cursed again, making a strained sound followed by the jostling of Ethan’s body, which was too cold to shiver.

So, it was by his own volition that he passed, eaten by the Earth’s stream. As far as deaths went, this one seemed unexpectedly kind.

“Hey, don’t nod off like that,” a creature growled, yanking Ethan from the afterlife, where he assumed an endless supply of green pastures awaited him. “We’re almost home,” they added, their voice softer, compelling Ethan to listen.

He didn’t know what “home” meant in this context, but he trusted the words, nonetheless.

When Ethan came to, he recognized two things at once: the scent of his home and that of a wolf’s. The latter clawed down his throat and hooked into his lungs, too potent to escape. He shivered, tensing as something moved against him, the source of the warmth—he’d find out—when it disappeared moments later.

Ethan heard a large mass move around his home, murmuring to themselves, clicking objects together which sounded foreign without visual input. Through sheer willpower, Ethan cracked open his eyes, giving an involuntary squeak at the bulk looming over his kitchen. It turned, bright eyes cutting through the darkness and into Ethan’s resurrected soul, which fainted, still too close to death’s veil.

“Relax, I’m not gonna eat you,” the bulk growled, “I don’t know how much clearer I can make that,” they added, murmuring to themselves.

Ethan sunk deeper into his covers, his nose twitching at the dangerous but familiar scent of the wolf—Heisenberg.

How’d—

“You asshole,” Ethan croaked, the memories flooding back like a bad meal. His head pounded with the recollection, worsening the pain in his ears, which rang the moment he tried to sit up.

“I told you to stop,” Heisenberg said, returning with a bowl of small, delicate flowers. He brought one to Ethan’s lips, waiting for him to open them. This close, Heisenberg’s scent overwhelmed the senses, and Ethan—if he were in his right mind—would ask to open a window to be rid of it. But it clung to his sheets, his naked skin beneath them, mixing with his things in a way that’d be impossible to remove.

Unless he burned them.

“It’s not poisoned,” Heisenberg said after too long of a silence, waving the dandelion under his nose. Without his glasses, the wolf’s eyes caught the light with every shake of his head, hypnotizing Ethan.

The rabbit opened his mouth out of habit, accepting the crunchy flower. Ethan chewed and swallowed—eyes locked to Heisenberg as he reached for another one. He’d downed three by the time he thought to speak, voice hoarse when he said, “Figures the only time a predator cares about their prey is when they’re dealt the same fate.”

“Ethan…that…” Heisenberg trailed off, his jaw tensing as he forced his teeth over his tongue. “Eat,” he murmured, feeding Ethan more wildflowers. Once through the bowl, he walked away, heading towards the window, hoarding his heat like a cruel god. He was in a similar state of undress, though perhaps more modest with his underpants. Long, jagged scars ran down his back, wrapping around his ribs and to his chest, telling stories in the healed ridges. “I’m sorry,” Heisenberg said, spooking Ethan into looking up, eyes widening.

“At least now we’re even,” Ethan whispered, choked by a hard shiver. They didn’t stop, forcing his teeth to clatter as his body struggled to warm itself.

Heisenberg said nothing, his snort filling the gaps. He moved from the window, removing the tattered tablecloth on his way back to Ethan, layering it over his blankets before tucking it under his chin. His hands paused by either side of Ethan’s face, expression hardening at the drastic temperature shift. “Why did you jump in the river?” Heisenberg grumbled, crossing his arms, his chest rising high with his sigh.

“Why were you chasing me?” Ethan returned, defrosting under their proximity.

“I told you to stop,” the wolf repeated, baring his teeth, “there are certain things even I can’t control,” he added, perhaps revealing too much, clamping his mouth shut to correct further mistakes.

“Were you going to eat—”

“Goddammit, Ethan, no, how many times do I have to tell you?!” Heisenberg growled, flinching when Ethan cowered, “I’m sorry, I will go—”

Ethan interrupted with a most pitiful—and he can’t stress this enough—involuntary sound, surprising himself. The wolf narrowed his eyes, his ears flickering forward whilst his tail gave a lazy swoosh. In their unspoken impasse, Ethan managed to turn, draining one side of his sensitive ears. He groaned, tugging it every-which-way to remove the bubble of icy water.

“You’d think you’d have evolved better protections,” Heisenberg murmured, moving to rummage through Ethan’s things, coming back with two well-used rags. “Here,” he said, holding them out for the rabbit.

“I can’t really see what I’m doing,” Ethan mumbled, accepting one rag, nonetheless, dabbing the most affected area, his complaints growing with each failed attempt.

“May I?” Heisenberg asked, still holding the spare.

Ethan’s head snapped up, quick to refuse. “I don’t want to go deaf,” he said, flattening his ears against his scalp—a bad idea, given how the pressure increased in his skull, adding to his headache.

“Suit yourself,” Heisenberg replied with a click of his tongue, “your funeral.” His muscles flexed with his formed fists, drawing Ethan’s eyes to the pent-up strength beneath his scarred flesh. He’d been subject to a fraction of it, he supposed he should accept Heisenberg’s word that he wouldn’t use it against him.

“Dammit, Ethan, I’m not—” Heisenberg stopped just as he started, muttering obscenities as he walked away, fetching his overshirt. Still damp, he threaded it over his head, covering his furry chest, hiding what he presumed to be his intimidating physique. “Better?” he huffed, rolling his eyes.

Ethan kept his comments to himself, trying in vain to wipe out his ears. He gave up, pouting at Heisenberg, blaming him for most of his misfortune. “If you’d make up your mind on doing your job, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” he gruffed, shaking his head to try and unplug his ears.

“My job?” the wolf scoffed, “you think eating you is an obligation?” he asked, ignored by Ethan’s eyes, though his aching ears stung as they listened, warming with embarrassment.

(A net positive, all things considered.)

“I have made up my mind, Ethan, and I won’t do it,” Heisenberg continued, “I can’t,” he added, his tone sombre, disappointed. Whether with himself, or Ethan, the rabbit couldn’t say, but it compelled him to look up and study the man’s face. It was a blend of emotions, all of them unreadable.

“You don’t have a problem eating my relatives,” Ethan mumbled, giving up on his ears.

“I didn’t know you were related to fish,” Heisenberg teased, his sudden tail-wag catching Ethan’s eye.

“I’m not,” Ethan said, unamused, “I was talking about the other rabbits,” he clarified, side-eyeing the wolf and his growing smirk.

“What makes you think I’m eating your relatives?” Heisenberg asked, his tail fully energized, splitting Ethan’s attention in two.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Ethan huffed, incredulous.

“Why would I, when the fish are plentiful and filling?” Heisenberg returned, his eyes brightening, his amusement improving with Ethan’s mounting disbelief.

“So, you don’t eat rabbits anymore?” Ethan asked, unsure if he wanted clarification.

“Or bunnies,” Heisenberg added because he could.

“Are you trying to get on my good side, or something?” Ethan grumbled, though he couldn’t deny the fluttering of his lungs, his heart, as they pushed past his ribs with each breath.

“Not necessarily,” Heisenberg replied, his tail calming to a peaceful wag.

“Good, would hate for you to change your diet because you’re feeling ‘charitable’,” Ethan mocked, working hard to screw his face into a neutral expression—failing.

Heisenberg snickered, hiding his fangs behind his hand. “Never,” he replied, the spark in his eyes turning into a solid flame.

Ethan shivered, warming up despite himself, the heat settling in his cheeks, down his neck, lower still to his bare chest.

“You’re still cold,” Heisenberg commented, leaning in, his mirth dissipating.

“Yeah, no shit,” Ethan chewed out, “the river was freezing,” he said, “and we’re not all built like a damn generator,” he added, jutting his chin to the wolf.

Heisenberg raised a brow, but chose not to take offence, saying instead, “I can leave.”

“No—” Ethan caught himself too late, earning a well-deserved chuckle from the man. All bark and no bite made Ethan, well, a rabbit. “I don’t know if you know this, but you can’t tell a rabbit to stop running, especially when you’re the cause.”

“I know,” Heisenberg said, a slight droop in his ears.

“If you weren’t going to eat me, why were you chasing me?” Ethan asked once more, narrowing his eyes at Heisenberg’s staunch refusal to tell him. “I’d like to know, just in case it happens again,” he added, ignoring Heisenberg’s scoff.

“It’s not gonna happen again, as long as you stop when I tell you to,” the wolf rumbled, waving at nothing.

“I’m not a wolf-pup, or a bunny, you can’t just growl orders at me and expect me to listen,” Ethan retorted, sitting up as much as he could in his weakened state. His ears rang, but he powered through them to prove a point, wincing with his efforts.

“It’d do you some good if you did,” Heisenberg sighed, shaking his head. “If you’re gonna blame me for getting your ears wet, at least let me dry them,” he insisted, pointing to them.

Ethan fought the idea for a moment, protective of his most useful asset, yet, cold, and tired as he was, he wasn’t much help to them. He pushed the rag Heisenberg’s way, laying back down. “If I go deaf—”

“You won’t go deaf,” the wolf reassured, “you’re not the only small creature with ears, you know,” he said, careful as he held Ethan’s ear, pulling it back, “pups will get dirt and muck stuck in theirs when they’re playing, and if mom’s out hunting, someone has to clean them,” he continued, gentle with each pass of the rag. It tickled, but it didn’t seem Ethan was in danger of getting hurt.

“Do you have many pups?” Ethan asked, never one to leave well enough alone. If the wolf had, it only reinforced his decision to save him, no matter how reckless the act.

“That implies that I have pups, to begin with,” Heisenberg huffed, turning Ethan’s head towards him to get his other ear. “No, I don’t have any pups.”

Ethan stared at the stained fabric covering Heisenberg’s belly, his nose twitching at the wolf’s scent—stronger here—making his throat burn. He recognized the itch to run as being genetic, but it had nothing on his desire to simply poke the man’s belly, wondering if wolves were as sensitive there as rabbits.

Ethan cherished enough of his life to keep wondering.

“There,” Heisenberg said after returning Ethan’s head to a neutral position, flashing him a smile.

Ethan adjusted his ears, having to admit that they did feel better, even if a micro-drop—or two—of river water remained. “Thanks,” he murmured, bringing his limbs closer to his core, hugging them tight. “Where are my clothes?” he asked as an afterthought, rubbing his bare shins, his knees, still cold to the touch.

“I had to take them off, they were soaked,” Heisenberg replied, his tone even and devoid of incrimination, “and I didn’t have time to look for spares.”

“They’re stored in that chest,” Ethan said, sacrificing an arm to point behind them.

Heisenberg nodded, moving to where he was directed, incidentally leaving Ethan without his passive heat. By the time he returned, Ethan was nothing but a pair of eyes and ears. “You look miserable,” the wolf commented, placing his things at the edge of the bed.

“I feel miserable,” Ethan pouted, unearthing from his cocoon to put on at least a shirt and underpants, squeaking as the cool fabric touched his skin. “Don’t laugh,” he warned, though the wolf was already snickering.

“You’d think all that pent-up anger would warm you up,” Heisenberg teased, forced to hunch over, unless he wanted his forehead to make friends with the wooden roots.

Ethan mocked him, to Heisenberg’s further amusement, who laughed in earnest, his tail wagging fast enough to make noise. “I’m glad my misery makes you happy,” he said, burying himself beneath the covers—ears and all.

“Ecstatic,” the wolf purred.

Ethan narrowed his eyes, coming to the inevitable conclusion that tail-wag-equals-positive-emotion.

(Figures, the man was a sadist.)

“Did you go to sleep, little bunny?” Heisenberg asked after a moment of silence, still standing by Ethan’s bed. “I’ll let you rest if you are,” he whispered, having gotten close enough to cast a shadow over the covers.

Ethan clamped his mouth shut, but he couldn’t help his shivering, vibrating like an earthquake. He’d continue to blame it on the cold, even though parts of him burned under the attention.

“I’ll go, then—”

“You still didn’t answer my question,” Ethan said, not bothering to lift the covers.

“Which one?” Heisenberg returned, though judging by the tone of his voice, he knew exactly which one. After a sigh and many deep breaths, the wolf answered with, “You were engaging in, er, ‘playful behaviour’, things we did as kids to bond.” Ethan poked his head out, eyes quick to find the wolf’s face. They looked at each other, the silence thickening with the revelation.

“You thought I was playing with you?” Ethan whispered—thankful he had his covers to protect his reddening face.

“I know you weren’t playing with me, but it’s an instinct, just like you running away—hence why I told you to stop,” Heisenberg huffed, “you wouldn’t be able to engage properly, anyway, you’re too small—and I don’t mean that as an insult, I wouldn’t engage with pups either,” he added, his ears flickering, perhaps nervous, or upset.

Ethan couldn’t tell.

“And here I thought you wouldn’t wanna play with me ‘cause I’m boring,” Ethan murmured, his joke barely registering, “thanks for letting me know, I guess,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“You’re welcome,” Heisenberg returned with the same, dry tone, surprising Ethan when he sat down on the floor, tall enough to be of some use to the recovering hypothermic rabbit. “Will you trust me now, at least?” he asked, startling Ethan, who’d found some peace in the lull.

“Does it matter if I do?” Ethan asked, raising a brow.

“It’d make our outings easier,” the wolf replied, his tail brushing the floor in slow, measured swipes, “for however long you want to keep doing them,” he mumbled, pausing his tail until Ethan spoke.

“Easier for you, you mean,” Ethan mocked, earning a sharp stare from his fellow mammal, “what?”

“I’m not the one in danger of freezing to death if they get a little wet—”

“It wasn’t a little—”

“Whatever, forget I said anything,” the wolf interjected, cutting them both off.

Ethan chewed his teeth, irritation, and stubbornness warring with what he should do: letting it be felt like a defeat, engaging again felt like purposeful instigation. Damn them both for continuing this mockery of nature’s balance.

“I trust you enough to let you into my house,” Ethan said, “that should tell you something.”

The wolf snorted but let the matter drop.

At least for now.

Chapter Text

Ethan could’ve said no.

In terms of trust, there’d only been one person he gave that to unequivocally, and she’d been dead for many years. Yet, instead of following the code twisting in his DNA, he implied he trusted the wolf, enough to not flinch when he crunched on the wiggling fish.

Dammit.

It wasn’t often Ethan’s washing schedule collided with Heisenberg’s fishing, and after his dip in the river, he was more apprehensive to go alone. Maybe he feared the waters weren’t done with him.

Ethan scrubbed his shirt with too much force, ripping the fabric at its weakest seam. He sighed, the noise getting the wolf’s attention, who paused his messy eating to hum a question. The rabbit would’ve returned to his laundry without an answer, but his eyes fell to the fish’s wide, glassy eyes. They were pointed at him, asking—probably—why he wasn’t in their place.

Ask the wolf.

“Want some?” Heisenberg asked through a mouthful, holding out the half-chewed, aquatic vertebrate.

Ethan shook his head, looking at the torn seam with a conflicted expression. “Do you think they feel pain?” he asked, side-eyeing the carnivore and his spirited tail.

“I don’t know,” Heisenberg shrugged, tossing the fish’s head and spine into the river, grabbing another from his morning catch, “why don’t you find out?” he teased, brandishing the new fish like a dagger, alive enough to wriggle in his claws.

“Stop that! I just washed these,” Ethan grumbled, shooing away the wolf. Heisenberg chuckled, burying his large fangs into the fish’s scaly flesh, distracted enough to be less of a verbal nuisance. Soft growls drew Ethan’s gaze, his curiosity roiling in his tummy. He shouldn’t ask, but—

“Does it taste good?”

Heisenberg paused and raised a brow, naked eyes narrowing to slits. “It’s food,” he murmured, and unprompted, added, “I do miss chewing on bones, though.”

Ethan looked away, nodding as if he understood, meanwhile his insides shook, aware he’d a whole skeleton beneath his skin.

“I’m kidding,” Heisenberg teased, nearly wheezing with his laugh.

No matter his tone, something told Ethan he was not.

Benefit of the doubt aside, Ethan was complicit in his own anxiety, trading the possibility of being hunted by many wolves just to be escorted by one. Ethan spared the man a glance, wondering what he’d do if they were ever intercepted by one of his kin. Would he keep up the charade? Try to explain the strange set of circumstances that led them to brushing shoulders through the fallen leaves?

Ethan gave a quiet snort, unwilling to believe that he would. Though the thought of Heisenberg protecting him—however brief—was an interesting one.

“What’s so funny, little bunny?” the wolf asked, always too keen to interject where he wasn’t invited. Ethan had no one to blame but himself, half their outings started and ended with letting Heisenberg into his home.

“Do I smell like you, or do you smell like me?” Ethan answered with his own question, giving the air a purposeful sniff, Heisenberg’s cigar the most striking scent—second to the wolf.

“I think we smell like each other,” Heisenberg said after a moment of deliberation, scratching his bearded chin.

“Hm.” It wasn’t exactly a disagreeable conclusion.

“Does it bother you?” Heisenberg asked, slowing as they approached the meadow, snuffing out his cigar on a nearby trunk.

“Not as much as it used to,” Ethan mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.”

“What? Afraid you’ll confuse some other charming predator for yours truly?” the wolf teased, his smirk sharp and wide.

“Charming? Right,” Ethan huffed, earning a belly-laugh from the presumptuous wolf, “you’re tolerable at best,” he added, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“That’s quite generous,” Heisenberg mocked, shaking his head, “what shall I ever do to get on your good graces, my dear, sweet bunny-rabbit?” Ethan glared at him, choosing not to engage beyond that. “Aw, come on, humour me, at least,” the wolf mumbled, hitting a curious high note.

“How bored do you have to be to befriend your food?” Ethan said to himself, moving past the wolf and to the meadow, plopping down on a patch of grass. He chewed the thought over, half-expecting the man to answer after he settled next to him.

Ethan’s anticipation faded when nothing but the soft swish of a quasi-conscious tail filled the space.

“Have you been packing for winter?” Heisenberg asked, jutting his chin towards the tall grass. Ethan raised a brow at the question, but the wolf wasn’t looking at him, content with continuing—unprompted. “You know, you shouldn’t wait too long. It’ll be harder to dry them when the weather turns.”

Ethan grabbed a fistful of grass and dirt, tossing it across the meadow, repeating the action as the man continued to speak. It caught the wolf’s attention, but not enough to stop his nagging.

“Granted, you could dry them inside, but your burrow has very little in terms of direct sunlight, and certain species of grass require more time than—what are you doing?” Heisenberg snapped, interrupting himself.

By this point, Ethan had caked his hand in mud, digging hard into the dirt to unearth then toss it, watching it fall in a sprinkle of brown and green. “Waiting for you to stop telling me what to do so I can eat in peace,” he mumbled, patting around himself to find a new patch of grass to destroy, “by all means, continue,” he huffed, rolling his eyes.

“I’m only asking because you’ve yet to do anything about it—winters aren’t easy, you know,” the wolf said, following each of Ethan’s throws, his head on a swivel.

“Yes, I do know, I’ve survived plenty of them,” Ethan sighed, “it’s not time,” he continued, unsure why he had to explain himself or his species’ instincts, “if I start packing now, it won’t last till winter.”

“That hungry?” the wolf teased.

“It’s self-preservation,” Ethan grumbled, “why would I risk my life tomorrow if I packed food yesterday?” he argued, grabbing a fistful of more than just grass, watching the collection of dirt and old tree branches sail across the sky.

“But you have—” The words were interrupted by the wolf’s own sprint, taking Ethan by surprise, forgetting—always—that he was faster than sound if he chose to be. Ethan was quick to follow, unsure if there’d been a reason for his sudden departure, or if their meadow was under attack.

By what, Ethan didn’t want to know.

If it was big enough to spook the wolf, it wasn’t to be messed with.

Heisenberg didn’t get far, skidding to a hard stop over the fallen branch, diving in headfirst to grind it between his teeth. His canines broke through the bark, the snapping twig driving a hard shudder through Ethan.

The rabbit took an involuntary step back, earning a warning growl from the wolf, who twisted around the stick, protecting it from view. His tail was a blur as he chomped—fervent, animalistic—nearly blowing Ethan away. The branch was powder by the time Heisenberg was through with it, yawning big and loud, stretching.

Ethan hadn’t moved in fear of becoming his subsequent chew-toy, but dammit if the urge to run didn’t squeeze his heart. He saw himself between the glistening teeth, paralyzed from the neck down, held in limbo until the wolf’s jaw clamped shut. Ethan squeaked, disquieting his fragile disposition.

Heisenberg seemed to sense he was being watched, turning with a unique self-awareness reserved for predators. Their eyes met, the wolf’s glasses doing nothing to cover the spark of embarrassment swimming through them. “Eth—”

“I didn’t see anything,” Ethan squeaked, defrosting enough to hop away, halfway through the woods when Heisenberg followed after him.

“Wait, wait!” the man yelled, still wiping his beard of potential splinters, “would you wait?” he growled when Ethan wouldn’t, rounding in front of him, giving him no other choice.

“What is it? I already said I didn’t see—”

“It’s not what you think it is,” Heisenberg interrupted, holding up his gloved palms, placating the smaller man’s panic. Ethan huffed, but he couldn’t hide his red face, which burned down his chest, wrapping tight around his lungs. “It isn’t,” the wolf insisted, “it’s instinct—”

“How many hunting habits are just ‘instinct’, Heisenberg?” Ethan snapped, “it’s like your entire species evolved to kill from birth,” he added, incredulous and trembling in place.

“Well, not from birth—”

“Ugh, you’re insufferable,” Ethan gruffed, pushing around Heisenberg despite his overwhelming fright.

“I thought I was tolerable?” the other joked, ignored and annoyed by it, “Ethan—”

“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Ethan said, forcing himself to commit to the words, to mean them as he walked away, “thanks for your help, but I got it from here,” he added, just in case the wolf thought of stopping him.

“Ethan.” There was that odd pitch again, high, and petulant, as if the wolf were entitled to more than Ethan’s gratitude. Eventually, the sound disappeared with the growing distance.

Though scrubbing it from his memories would be a different, more difficult story.

Perhaps it’d been driven by impulse, but it was his decision to make. An important one, might he add. Heisenberg could pretend to be above his nature, but Ethan wasn’t willing to face regret between the carnivore’s fangs.

Or maybe he was, and that’s why separation was necessary.

He figured once normalcy set in, his hammering heart would calm, and stop making its presence known with each beat. Wishful thinking got him far, but didn’t stretch beyond his imagination, reminding him—often—his heart lived in panic long before he met the wolf.

Ethan grumbled about it all the way home, double-checking he’d locked the door before dragging a few blankets beneath his bed. He bundled himself tight, finding comfort in the small space, and the lingering danger between the fibres.

There wasn’t time to regret not burning them sooner, he could always try to wash them.

Maybe.

The rumble in Ethan’s stomach woke him from a fitful sleep. It coincided with the unwavering schedule they’d set for themselves, predictable as it was unavoidable. He gave the perimeter a careful glance before exiting the confines of his cocoon, indulging his fright.

There’d been no one.

He shook his head, remaking his bed, fingers lingering on the scratchy fabric. It’d been one of the few possessions he got to keep from his parents, the rest divvied up between his many siblings. Being the last rabbit—at least on his mother’s side—had very few benefits.

Always last to be fed, last to be clothed, and groomed. He remembered his mom being too tired to get the top of his head, letting him snuggle into her until she regained enough energy to finish. Sometimes he’d wriggle away in hopes that she’d tire, and he’d spend more time in her warmth.

He missed her.

Ethan balled his hands into fists, trying to focus on the present and his need to find food before the morning began. He grabbed an extra coat, feeling the chill seep through the tree branches. It was getting to be that time…perhaps a bag too.

Just in case.

To say he’d been successful foraging on his own again, would be to ignore the dissatisfaction of his tongue as it chewed on leftovers. He looked at the family of rabbits hogging the space, his disdain unmissable, even by the simplest of his kin. His only solace was the space separating them, made larger when he’d approached, an oddity he tried to exploit. He wasn’t that nose-blind to the wolf’s scent still clinging to him.

It'd worked—for a moment—until papa-rabbit gave the air a proper sniff, shooting Ethan a dirty look for the unnecessary fright. They both stopped moving, reaching an unsteady stalemate.

Ethan hadn’t realized how having a literal predator by his side benefited his food supply. He’d been ignorant in assuming their meadows were naturally empty. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more he realized Heisenberg wasn’t exactly quiet when they walked together. The rabbits who waited out the noise would disperse the moment they caught sight of him, leaving green, untouched pastures.

If nothing else, Ethan missed the privilege.

The days continued to get colder, and Ethan, despite visiting meadows he knew well, couldn’t seem to fill his bag for the upcoming winter. His concern rose as the first of the autumn leaves began to fall, signalling it was now or never to start preparing. The wolf’s words echoed—reprimanding—even though Ethan knew he’d waited for a reason.

Still, he’d be remiss to say he hadn’t forgotten how stingy the forest could be when hundreds of rabbits worked in unison to pick it clean.

Today, he took a break from foraging to wash his clothes, doing so before the river froze over. His hands were icicles with each dip, yet he laboured past the discomfort, scrubbing clean his more delicate clothing. He had few garments to his name, which made laundry-day simple in retrospect. His mother—and the other women in his family—would have piles larger than all their children combined, spending an eternity with each load. Ethan had been dragged to help until he was too old and had to “learn how to scavenge for food”.

What good did that do him now?

At least his clothes were clean.

Ethan paused to warm his hands, shoving them deep in his pockets, bringing his legs up to generate as much core heat as his body allowed. He shivered, giving the river a proper look. Heisenberg would fish to his immediate left, always threatening to undo Ethan’s handiwork with his splashing.

Where is he now, he wondered. It wasn’t a question he thought he’d ask, but it was as if he’d disappeared, showing neither eye nor wagging tail. The forest couldn’t be that big, could it?

Ethan let himself think of where he may have gone, if he’d migrated, or found another bun—er, rabbit to terrorize. Maybe he found a partner and was settling in for the winter. He knew enough about wolves to know they didn’t hibernate, but everyone went dormant as it cooled.

Even fish.

Maybe that’s why he wasn’t here.

Ethan’s hands had warmed enough to continue his task, but he remained bundled up, eyes far away, staring at nothing but the river’s stream. What a terrible fright that had been, to be pulled so completely by it, with no chance to escape on his own. Should he have shown more gratitude towards the wolf? What else could he have said except “thank you”?

The sound of crunchy leaves being broken jerked him out of his meandering thoughts, forcing his head towards the noise. A brisk scurry signalled the intruder’s departure, prompting Ethan to follow. Idiotic, he knew, but—

Thunder cracked overhead, yanking him from his foolhardy quest—a godly warning. Ethan gave the space where the other had been a final glance, returning to his clothes with slumped shoulders, carrying the unseen weight of his own choices all the way home.

Ethan tossed and turned with no relief from the real world. It was dark enough that the moon could mimic the sun and he’d be none the wiser. Conflicting information travelled from his blankets, through his sensitive nose, tickling it as it settled in the pit of his stomach. He brought a hand to his belly, warmer than the rest of him, than it should be given the season they were going into. The heat made him sweat, but the discomfort of clammy skin paled to the one twisting his insides into painful knots.

Ethan brought the covers over his red face, his breath stopping when the familiar scent hit him—again—drawing a soft squeak from his aching lungs. His eyes stung with frustrated tears, uncertain if it was truly fear quickening his pulse. He didn’t want to speculate—certain he’d be humiliated by whatever shameful conclusion his sleep-deprivation conceived.

The rabbit groaned, kicking down the blankets to let the cold air save him from himself. It wasn’t the appropriate time of the year to be in such a state, but when had anything since saving the wolf been “appropriate”?

Ethan’s breaths stuttered, taken by surprise at the tears falling backwards, into his ears, then down his cheeks when he sat up. He didn’t know what they meant, and their suddenness spoke more of his confusion than anything else. Fighting them was futile, so he let them be, soothing himself by bunching the covers into his fingers, rubbing them against each other as if he were washing them.

Perhaps he should’ve done that today.

Ethan left his home many hours before sunrise. He couldn’t sleep, and no other rabbits would dare traverse the lands with so little light. But Ethan couldn’t spend another second in his home, surrounded by memories that felt like fever dreams in his recollection. Had he really let a wolf into his private space?

If his scent weren’t there, Ethan would be inclined to refute the claim that he would.

And technically, Heisenberg had invited himself in.

Ethan found a meadow and made the conscious effort to fill his bag first, his mouth watering as he ripped the tall grass, careful to maximize each pull. Once content with his spoils, he settled into another patch, quick to inhale his food, annoyed that he could hear the phantom laugh of a certain arrogant wolf.

(Who—hypocritically—ate with the same enthusiasm.)

Ethan bit his tongue in his irritation, whining at the pain. The muscle pulsed, a blameless victim. He was forced to slow down and try to excise the last few months from his obsessive thoughts. Not for the lack of trying, mind you, it wasn’t his fault he’d evolved with a good memory.

A familiar snapping of twigs caught his attention, forcing his ears straight, adjusting to the location. Be it his time with the wolf or his lack of self-preservation at the worst moments, Ethan stayed put, chewing on another patch of grass. He heard the twigs again, felt the air move between the undressing branches, bringing with it a scent that, though recognizable on the surface, did nothing to stir any memories.

Ethan bolted, leaving behind everything that wasn’t attached to his body. The head-start allowed him to hear the predator’s growl instead of feel it, let him choose a path that would take him far from here. He needed to find a nook and hide, soon, before his hunter caught up to him. Ethan slowed enough to look beneath the tree roots, cursing his awful luck.

Eventually, he came across a hole, a tight squeeze, but doable if he laid on his stomach. Ethan shimmied in legs first, crossing his hands over his mouth to dampen his heavy breathing. He heard his pursuer approach, slowing when he spotted Ethan’s trail, growling something unintelligible. Ethan remained stock-still, watching the shadow cross his burrow once, twice, taking a proper breath.

“Rabbit,” they rumbled, getting on all fours to look through the roots. The beast was massive, eyes wild, teeth front and centre, glistening with their overflowing saliva. It coated their mouth, their scruffy chin, falling to the forest floor in steady drips, “rabbit.” They began digging, clawing at the earth with strong, purposeful movements.

Ethan squealed, pushing as far back into the burrow as he could. He’d locked himself in, his only exit being through the wolf or death.

“Please, don’t,” Ethan begged, but his voice was nonexistent, trapped behind his neck, which choked him with each breath.

If the wolf had heard, he didn’t show, almost through the roots. Ethan closed his eyes, never ready to face the inevitable head-on. Silence followed his decision—the wolf must’ve found an opening, he was—

A harsh howl broke through the sky, followed by multiple sets of barks and growls, making Ethan flinch and squeak. “What the fuck are you doing?!” his pursuer asked, voice like gravel, “I saw him first!”

“Go find your food somewhere else!” a second voice growled back—muffled—flooding Ethan with a separate set of emotions. Ethan breathed through his nose, a first since his panic set in, verifying that, yep, that’s his wolf.

“The fuck I will, get off me!” the other wolf barked, struggling to escape whatever bind he was in. Ethan approached the widened hole, his eyes snapping to the back of the two wolves. Heisenberg had the larger man pinned, fangs buried in his neck, dripping with his blood. The other wolf struggled, but despite his size, he couldn’t dislodge the hands around his wrists, or the knee in his back.

Ethan hid again, unsure of what to do in his alarm. Run seemed like the logical answer, but fright kept him in place. He trembled, overwhelmed.

“Little bunny, are you still in there?” Heisenberg asked, sounding nothing like how Ethan remembered. Well, he did, but that version of him had died the moment he’d been caught in a noose.

“If he flees, you owe me two rabbits!” the other wolf hissed, resuming his struggles.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this isn’t your territory—”

“Oh, fuck off, it’s getting cold, you think I give a fuck about that?”

“Maybe you should!”

Ethan reapproached the burrow’s entrance as they bickered, his chest squeezing when the larger wolf wriggled free, quick to lunge toward him. The rabbit yelped, saved from certain death by Heisenberg, who growled in the man’s face, reminding him of his place. Ethan couldn’t catch his breath, eyes glued on the two, his little heart fainting at the amalgam of muscle wasting their action-potential in their deadlock instead of—you know—killing him.

Heisenberg spared him a glance, his hair falling like a curtain over most of his face, yet his eyes, bright as they were, burned through Ethan. He didn’t know what they said, what they meant, but it was enough to get him to move away from the burrow.

“Look—you fucking idiot—he’s getting away!” the other wolf barked, resisting Heisenberg’s hold to no avail.

Ethan was long gone before he knew the conclusion of their fight.

…

… …

… … …!

!!!

… …

…

Ethan wasn’t proud of the fingers he had to wash with the water he reserved for drinking, nor the state of the poor pillow cover he buried beneath his pile of dirty clothes. At least his breathing levelled out, and his heart regained its usual rhythm.

Dealing with his emotions one at a time meant tackling the cruder ones first—unfortunately—even if it meant wasting energy on something that could wait for spring.

Thunder woke Ethan that night, harsh and insistent. It startled him from the nothingness of a dreamless sleep—a rarity, given his active imagination. Ethan stared straight up, his eyes adjusting with each ray of lightning, his home dry if a bit cold.

He recalled his first time finding it, taking his mother’s advice to make sure it was ‘deep and wide’, perhaps to accommodate the ten-thousand children he wasn’t having. The space grew to contain the small treasures he’d found on his way through the forest, decorating it in a way that made it homely.

Ethan’s scent used to signify it was his home, a marker if he ever strayed far. Now, it smelled more like the wolf than anything else, and to another rabbit, it’d be the opposite of an invitation, a welcome back.

Ethan wasn’t like most rabbits.

He shivered under the blankets, his nose twitching with the tingling reminders of run and danger nearby. He’d forgotten to wash them.

Again.

Rain continued well into the morning, blotting out the sun with its grey skies. Ethan hadn’t returned to sleep, dragging himself and his topmost cover to the window, eyes tired but alert, watching for major shifts in the autumn leaves.

He should’ve taken Heisenberg’s advice, because now, in the aftermath of his own decision, he had no one to brave the storm for his food. It’d never been a guarantee that Heisenberg would visit on days such as these, conscious that it’d be a waste of his time. Since they weren’t going anywhere, he’d wait out the storm with Ethan, smoking by the open window, or lounging on the floor to protect his head. If the wolf were smart, he’d stay home—so far, he’d proven to be quite obtuse.

Emphasis on the past-tense.

Ethan wouldn’t mention his disappointment for fear of validating it, knowing the scales would balance themselves. They had to.

Still…

Ethan bundled deeper in his covers, inhaling too long, his lungs throbbing with the familiar scent. Perhaps it didn’t lessen because he insisted on keeping it in the forefront of his mind, breaking down its nuances to better memorize it. To know one’s enemy was to know themselves, but Ethan was nearing an obsessive level of “knowledge-seeking”.

Panic began in earnest, but for once, it wasn’t the wolf’s doing. Ethan’s belly churned with confusing indecision, strung on hooks, and drained of anything that wasn’t the ridiculous squeak demanding Heisenberg’s presence. How much had he rewired himself to want the company of a creature built to kill him?

A lot, if they were judging his post-hunt actions.

Heat burst across Ethan’s face, bleeding into his neck, pink like the tongue he bit to keep it in check. This went beyond morbidity, beyond mocking the universal scales. He wanted—

A knock at the door startled him out of his skin. Ethan nearly broke his back twisting to look at his entryway, hopping to it with too much enthusiasm. It tripled when he recognized the scent, the rain washing away nothing. Ethan took a moment to calm himself, forgetting to remember it’d only been hours since his near-escape.

“I’m not here to eat you,” Heisenberg grumbled, “I’m not that vindictive,” he revealed, his voice muffled, “I brought you food, I’ll just leave it by the—”

Ethan flung the door open, hiding from the thunder and rain when it rang overhead. “Hi,” he greeted, voice tiny.

“Hi,” Heisenberg returned, finishing his cigar with a single inhale, “I’ve been saving these for a rainy day,” he said, motioning to the overflowing bag by the door, “lo-and-behold.” Ethan’s eyes flickered to it—it’d been the one he discarded in his mad-dash, packed tight with more than just the grass he’d scavenged.

His gaze moved upwards, more interested in Heisenberg’s lack of usual garb, facing the elements with nothing but a thin shirt, trousers, and boots. The other wolf’s blood had stained the linen, darkening where it’d fallen.

He looked like he had when they first met—ready to hunt.

“Do you wanna come in?” Ethan asked, “you’re getting soaked.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Heisenberg said, careful to enunciate each word, “I haven’t eaten yet—and I’d like to keep my promise.”

“You’re not gonna find anyone out in this weather,” Ethan pointed out, opening the door further.

Heisenberg snorted, pointing his face to the sky, closing his eyes. Rain targeted his face, forming steam when it hit his hot skin. “I’m sure I’ll manage,” the wolf said, his smile tight, fangs hidden behind it.

“Please?” Ethan asked, risking his ears when he stepped outside.

Heisenberg’s eyes snapped to his, narrowing with suspicion. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ethan,” he repeated, swallowing hard.

Though it hurt to hear, Ethan couldn’t physically drag the wolf inside, and even if he could, he wouldn’t. They were each at the mercy of the other’s free will, he had to respect that. “Thank you, again,” Ethan said, bending over to get his bag, “I wish I could ‘repay the favour’,” he added, certain neither had to explain the lack of an equivalent exchange.

“Just try to stay away from that side of the forest,” Heisenberg said, jutting his thumb west, “at least during winter.”

Ethan nodded, his response cut off by a crack of lightning and thunder, the storm well and truly here. They jumped, the wolf more on edge than the rabbit was used to. “Are you sure you don’t wanna—”

“I’m sure,” Heisenberg interrupted, and though he made a move to walk away, he didn’t, revealing his tail and its nervous flicks. As if challenged by God, lighting hit in unison with thunder, shaking the ground with its intensity. Heisenberg was inside before Ethan could shield himself from it, looking a bit lost. “Fuck,” he growled, dropping his head to avoid looking at Ethan.

The rabbit—arms full of his aromatic fruits and vegetables—beamed brighter than the lightning. “Watch your head,” Ethan teased, kicking the door closed behind them.

Heisenberg threw him an unamused look, but took the precaution to heart, hunching over as he followed Ethan inside. He walked in a circle once before plopping down on the dusty floor, dripping wet and miserable.

Ethan worked fast to put the bag away, moving through his small home to find clean towels, approaching the wolf with intent. “I’m fine,” Heisenberg huffed, though the tremors in his fingers spoke differently.

“I’ll believe it when you stop shaking,” Ethan mumbled, standing in front of the wolf, asking for silent permission to touch his hair. Heisenberg gave him a withering stare, yet his tail swept the floor, anticipation building between them. “You can brood all you want, but that’s not gonna help you.”

“And you will?” he retorted, cracking a wry smile.

“No, but I’m trying,” Ethan returned, shaking out his towels, “may I?”

“Go ahead,” Heisenberg shrugged, “but if I bite you, just remember I warned you.”

“You’re not gonna bite me,” Ethan whispered with all the confidence in the world. It wasn’t meant to goad the wolf, and lucky for him, Heisenberg seemed to understand, staying put whilst Ethan worked the smaller towel across his scalp. It was drenched in an instant, forcing the rabbit to step away, wring it out, and hang it to dry.

Grabbing the larger towel, he walked around Heisenberg, patting down his long hair, his clothed shoulders, his back, mindful of the tail swishing between his legs. “You’ll have to take this off,” Ethan said, pinching a bit of his linen shirt. The wolf removed it in one fluid motion, hanging it off his claw with as much attitude as he could muster. “Thanks,” Ethan said, giving it the same treatment as the towel, setting it to dry.

When he returned, Heisenberg sat with his arms crossed, digging his claws into his biceps. They left red streaks, mixing with newer, harsher marks. Ethan didn’t mention them, simply dried his skin in earnest, jumping back a bit when the wolf growled, then shook his head, flinging icy droplets everywhere. Trying again, Ethan worked from the tips of Heisenberg’s ears, his heart quaking at the rumbling purr vibrating in the wolf’s chest. It seemed to deepen the more he touched his ears, almost as involuntary as the tail air-drying itself.

Ethan wasn’t sure if he was reading the wolf correctly, because his actions and his expressions differed from what he thought he’d known. Regardless, he continued, patting down the sides of Heisenberg’s head, the back of his neck, pausing when the wolf all but melted, his head lulling forward. A soft whine left him when Ethan gave the area a scrub, scaring Ethan into thinking he’d hurt him.

Moving on, Ethan finished drying his scarred back, using their closeness to study the larger marks. Given how he’d fought the other wolf, he wasn’t surprised to see them—his curiosity now wondered why. Ethan sighed, letting the matter rest before draping the towel over the man’s shoulders.

A makeshift blanket.

Ethan made a final trip to the previous towel, dry enough to wipe away a few drops. Silent and with much caution, he brought his hand to Heisenberg’s bearded chin, tipping it back until he could see his face. He bared his teeth but didn’t resist him, keeping his eyes hooded as Ethan dabbed at the water, most of it having dried with the warmth of his cheeks.

“There,” Ethan said once he was through, lingering in Heisenberg’s personal space as if it belonged to him. The wolf pursed his lips shut, fangs bulging behind them. “Do you still want to bite me?” Ethan asked, his fingers itching to poke one of the sharp canines.

“Yes,” Heisenberg grumbled, rolling his eyes, “do you still want to run?”

“Yes,” Ethan sighed, speaking past the boulder in his throat to ask, “why don’t you?”

“Why don’t you?” the man returned, baring his teeth again, “little bunny.”

“I don’t know,” Ethan whispered, breaking eye contact to look between them. He stood between Heisenberg’s thighs, his head nearly touching his stomach, where he was bound to hear how it churned (whether from hunger or fright, Ethan couldn’t say). “Why do we remain where we are if you want to bite me, and I want to run?” Ethan asked, looking back into Heisenberg’s mossy eyes, seeing himself in his pupils.

Heisenberg sat up, his turn to look away. “I don’t know,” he replied—to borrow a phrase. “Perhaps it’s because we’re not our instinct, even if it tends to overcome us,” he said, never one to leave a problem unsolved.

Ethan waited until their eyes met to reply, “That’s stupid—why would either of us tolerate suppressing our instinct?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say then, Ethan,” Heisenberg snapped, his chest rising with a hard inhale, “you’re the one who stopped tolerating it, so,” he added, dropping his gaze, and clenching his jaw.

Ethan nodded, giving his humble abode a proper look. His gaze stuttered over the sack of food—bound to last him a few days. He returned his hopeless stare to the wolf and his autonomous tail. “How did you know I was in trouble?” Ethan asked, quick to note Heisenberg’s tensing.

“I was on patrol,” the wolf replied, though given how his ears flickered, it may have been a bit of a stretch.

Ethan’s legs grew weak, though he held them in place for the sake of decency. “You should’ve just saved yourself the trouble and let the other wolf eat—”

“Would you stop saying that?” Heisenberg snarled, “until your natural death, I’m not letting you die,” he swore, giving away too much if the rapid clamp of his teeth were any indication.

Ethan couldn’t help it, he collapsed sideways, landing somewhere between Heisenberg’s arms and his thighs, facing his furry belly. As fucked as their arrangement was, it was better to have it than not. He could tolerate Heisenberg’s instinct if it meant being able to eat uninterrupted, if it meant he’d be guarded against larger, more malicious wolves that ignored reason in their hunger.

Not that Ethan could blame them, it was their nature.

“Ethan?” the wolf asked, repositioning Ethan like a babe, holding his limp body with growing concern. “Ethan?” He shook him, brushing back his hair to press a palm to his forehead, moving down his neck to feel his pulse.

“Hm?” Ethan managed, letting himself be manipulated.

“Did you die just to spite me?” Heisenberg huffed, his chuckle nervous and tight, “heh, Ethan?” He held Ethan’s wrist between his fingers, bringing it high before letting it fall like a wet rag.

“It’s ‘little bunny’, pup,” Ethan slurred, his ears picking up the quick thump of an overactive tail, “wait, no, that’s not what I meant—”

Heisenberg laughed, hugging Ethan closer with the action. “Too late, little bunny,” he teased, poking Ethan’s reddening face, “little bunny, little bunny, little bunny.”

“Stop,” Ethan whined, regaining his strength, at least enough to pull back and stare at the wolf, “do you still want to ignore your instinct with me?” he asked, knowing it may be too much to ask, especially if the conditions were indefinite.

“Not all instinct is bad,” Heisenberg said, “most of it helps you survive.”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Ethan reminded, sacrificing a finger to poke the wolf’s cheek, taking it further by pulling on his top lip, revealing his row of sharp teeth. Heisenberg growled but didn’t move, exercising too much restraint. “You really won’t bite me.”

It wasn’t a question.

Heisenberg huffed, opening his mouth, and catching Ethan’s fingers between his teeth, too quick for the rabbit to react. He was careful to nibble and not bite, though just grazing his canines on his skin left a red mark.

Ethan giggled at the odd sense of tickling fright coursing through his arm. Slobber coated his entire hand by the time he thought to pull away, finding it easier said than done when the wolf continued to gnaw on his last two fingers. “Er, Heisenberg?”

“You can call me Karl, you know,” the wolf mouthed around Ethan’s digits, giving them a purposeful squeeze between his molars before removing them, using the towel around his shoulders to dry them. “At least when we’re alone.”

“Karl,” Ethan repeated, his eyes flickering to the wolf’s pointed ears, his joyful tail-wag, “that might take a second to get used to, we’re normally not that informal.”

“I don’t think anything we’ve done so far has been ‘formal’,” Heisenberg mumbled, still holding Ethan in his lap, its own form of evidence. “Either works,” he added with a shrug.

Ethan nodded, giving his hand a stealthy look, making sure it was still intact. Given how great of a distraction Heisenberg could be, he wouldn’t put it past himself to overlook if a few fingers went missing.

Eventually, Ethan had to move, having earned too many wet spots from sitting on the man’s soaked trousers. He shook himself out, returning to his food, shooting the wolf a narrowed stare when he snickered. If he was expecting Ethan to be anything less than predictable, he was mistaken.

His annoyance disappeared as he unpacked the bag, new and interesting fruits catching his eye, each more colourful than the last. Ethan’s nose stung with an otherworldly recollection at the long, cylindrical, yellow fruit. He’d had it once—by accident—having been left behind by the Giants. It’d been a piece, but he’d remember the smell anywhere.

For the second time that day, Ethan gave in to his baser rabbit-kind needs, flopping sideways on the floor.

“Ethan!”

(He’d be fine, just give him a moment.)

Chapter Text

Ethan woke from his food-coma to find himself on the floor, snuggling next to the sun. Or perhaps it was a volcano with the way it rumbled. His eyes creaked open, triggering his basic instinct at the sight of some very sharp teeth. Fortunately, he recognized the scent enough to calm before he troubled the wolf.

His sudden alertness gave him unrestricted time to Karl’s sleeping form. The rumbles came from deep within his chest, a half-growl-half-sigh that entranced Ethan the longer he listened. He didn’t recall them falling asleep together, but judging by the perpetual rain and the discarded fruit carcasses, it wasn’t hard to see how.

Ethan looked at Karl’s overhanging canines, his relaxed state producing a bit of an overbite. He was tempted to touch them, but had enough common sense to just admire them from afar. They looked harmless when not in motion, a false assumption, he was sure. Still, they were built so differently from his that he couldn’t help his curiosity.

So, what if they evolved to kill animals like him, they were interesting.

Besides, he’d never gotten a chance to look at them like this, without the danger of ridicule—or worse—annoyance.

The wolf shuddered, squeezing the rabbit tighter in his sleep. Ethan yelped—a reflex—jerking the wolf awake. Heisenberg’s ears flickered as his eyes swept through Ethan’s humble abode, landing on the rabbit, his confusion palpable. “Mornin’,” he said, voice rough and low, letting go of Ethan to stretch.

“Morning,” Ethan replied, not moving from his spot. It was cold everywhere else, could you blame him?

“Were you there all night?” Karl asked, jutting his chin to the floor.

“I don’t…I don’t know,” Ethan replied truthfully, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot.

“Hm,” the wolf hummed, dropping the subject. He tipped his head backwards, stretching his neck to look out the window. “It’s still raining,” he gruffed, but Ethan didn’t hear him, too distracted by the semi-perfect circular scars on his skin.

Ethan’s thoughts went far away, to the moment just before he was destined to live his remaining days digesting in the wolf’s stomach.

Would he have been as warm then as he was now?

Ethan looked away before he was caught, keeping his macabre thoughts to himself.

“I can’t stay much longer,” Karl said, sitting up, “you’re starting to smell really good,” he teased, tapping Ethan’s nose. The rabbit scrunched his face, making to bite the hand that fed him. “Oh, you’ve grown teeth, huh?” Karl purred, sticking out his tongue.

“I’ve had teeth,” Ethan said, showing them off, “just never got to use them.”

Heisenberg snickered, his tail wagging to validate that, yes, he was amused. “Whatever you say little—ow,” Karl whined, finding the fleshy part of his outer hand between Ethan’s front teeth. He bit hard enough to leave a mark but didn’t dare draw blood. “Ethan,” the wolf said, serious, locking eyes with the rabbit. “Ethan,” he repeated with more grit in his voice, startling the smaller man, but not quite shaking him. “Don’t make me say it again,” Heisenberg warned, narrowing his gaze.

Ethan, stubborn to a fault, attempted a growl, and though unsuccessful, it didn’t seem to matter. That sparked something in the wolf—an “instinct”, perhaps. Ethan was on his back, a mass of muscles pinning him to the packed dirt. He let go of Karl without further protests, gasping at how readily he was apprehended.

“I warned you,” Karl growled, rich and true, putting Ethan’s vocal cords to shame. All the rabbit could do was squeak and hope the wolf wasn’t that hungry. Karl pressed closer, lowering his face until their noses touched. His pupils were wide, swallowing the entirety of Ethan’s fear before sticking out his tongue and giving his cheek a heavy lick.

Ethan froze, unsure what to do about the air mixing with the saliva. It stung his skin, but that may be a mental overreaction. Karl did it again, this time to the other cheek, his breath warm and smelling like old fruit and other, er not-fruit things.

Ethan scrunched his nose and tried to wriggle away, held down harder by the wolf. “What are you doing?” he asked, pausing his struggles, useless against his hammering heart.

“Eating you,” Karl replied, not satisfied until Ethan’s cheeks were dripping wet.

“What do you mean—ah!” Ethan jumped, kicking in earnest after Karl bit his ear. It’d been a light, barely-there press of his teeth, but if the wolf could blame instinct on his reactions…

“Ow, ow, okay, I’m sorry,” Karl chuckled, backing off the rabbit, “Ethan, I’m sorry,” he repeated, restraining Ethan’s legs so he’d stop trying to knock out a tooth.

Ethan breathed fast, his self-preservation taking a back seat to the novel warmth around his thighs. His eyes flickered downwards, watching Karl’s fingers twitch on his clothed skin, trying not to dig in with his claws. “Not the ears,” Ethan huffed, crossing his arms.

“Noted,” Karl smirked, showing his canines, “didn’t realize they were that sensitive,” he teased, enjoying the varying shades of red blooming across Ethan’s face.

“And get off me, you stink of wolf!” Ethan groaned, trying to wriggle out of the carnivore’s effective trap. Karl laughed, falling backwards with glee, much to Ethan’s begrudging amusement.

So, they made a strange pair, who was gonna stop them?

“Nothing much I can do about that, my little rabbit,” Karl sighed after clearing his eyes, exhaling into the open air. With his gaze pointed to the ceiling, he said, “I really must get going, though.” He made no move to go, delaying the inevitable whilst his mood deflated.

Ethan shuffled close, pressing his knees into Karl’s side. He stole his warmth, unsure when he became so dependent on it. Perhaps it was the feel-good hormones still circling in his blood after his sugar-rush.

Maybe he liked being warm.

“Will you be back?” Ethan asked, watching the clasped hands on Karl’s belly tighten, his thinner scars stretching over his knuckles. Was there a part of him left unmarred? Ethan didn’t think it appropriate to ask.

The wolf’s ears twitched towards Ethan, compelling his head to follow. His eyes were nearly amber from Ethan’s position, matching a candle’s flame, its heat. “I’ll try,” he purred, looking for something on Ethan’s face, smiling when he found it. “Afraid that food won’t last?”

Ethan frowned—food the last thing on his mind. “No,” he mumbled, dropping his gaze.

“Then why do you ask?” Karl hummed, sitting up on his forearms. Fabric bunched up on his midriff, making Ethan’s hands itch.

How many fingers could he sacrifice to test a theory?

“Ethan?”

“Huh?” the rabbit jumped, snapping his eyes to Karl’s.

“That time of the year, hm?” the wolf chuckled, pointing to his temple.

“What do you mean by that?” Ethan grumbled, crossing his arms, and scratching the hell out of his palms.

“Everything’s slowing down—even that anxious brain of yours,” Karl replied with a shrug, dismissing Ethan’s scoff with another chuckle.

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you,” Ethan said, picking something else to watch that wouldn’t embarrass him. The window seemed like a perfect middle-ground, showing the lessening rain, the slight breeze that blew between the quiet, distant thunder. His tongue burned to compel Karl to stay, to ask him to be careful, but all he said was, “I’ll see you when I see you, then.”

“That you will,” the wolf promised, his voice hitting a register Ethan felt more than heard. Heisenberg stood, forgetting the low-hanging roots, bumping his head. He cursed, a growl of words Ethan hadn’t heard before, rubbing the sore-spot all the way to the entrance.

Ethan followed him, waving goodbye. He stood by the door for too long, the tips of his ears suffering because of it.

Still, he stood a little longer, wondering if he could trail Karl through sheer stubbornness.

Ethan was down to his last miniature pumpkin before he saw Karl again.

Going outside proved treacherous and cold—he only braved it to use the bathroom and gather fresh water from the river. If he were larger and warmer, he’d appreciate the growing quietude, but as it stood, his bushy-tail was more decoration than beneficial.

Ethan bundled himself in his warmest blankets, knowing he’d felt warmer standing by Karl’s side. He buried his teeth into the pumpkin’s orange flesh, trying to ignore his thoughts as he ate. Karl may run hotter than him by many degrees, but even he could feel cold.

Ethan wouldn’t blame him for staying put.

Just as his disappointment thought to set in, his ears picked up the knock on his door. He’d call it perfect timing if he were prone to believing in fate.

Ethan ran—yes, he wasn’t proud of it either—still bundled tight. It could be anyone at his front door and he’d be none the wiser, too eager to open it.

Too eager in general.

“Are you cold?” Karl asked as a greeting, a small smile playing on his lips. He was on the latter half of his cigar, taking one last drag before snuffing and pocketing the rest. His smoky exhale mixed with the frigid air, forming a fog between them.

Ethan glared at him, biting through the pumpkin to reach its insides, mumbling, “Shut up.”

Karl’s smile widened, forever amused by the stubborn rabbit. “May I come in?” he asked, flicking his gaze to the inside.

Ethan stepped back, burying his response in the pumpkin. A few seedy chunks stuck to his chin, tickling him as they slid farther down. He wiped his face with his blanket, mumbling at his own inability to put away the gourd.

“I’m glad I came when I did,” Heisenberg hummed, hunching through Ethan’s home, waiting for him to close the door before adding, “you already finished your food.”

“What? Am I not supposed to eat?” Ethan snapped, hating how he could cook a stew on his face.

“That’s not what I said,” Karl returned, walking a wide circle before sitting down. He reached inside his trench coat, pulling out a small bundle of hay and a few apples. “I know it’s not much—I’ll try to get more soon.”

Ethan plopped down in front of him, looking like a head perched on a mountain of blankets. His expression softened, giving way to a novel type of warmth. “Want some?” he asked, holding out the bitten half of his pumpkin.

“No, it’s yours,” Karl reassured, though his tail gave an interesting flick at the suggestion. Ethan sighed, using all his strength to halve the half, presenting it again. The wolf took it this time, shoving the piece into his mouth without much thought. His teeth crunched the harder rind in seconds, and his tongue licked the stray, orange bits sticking to his beard. “Thanks,” he said, though Ethan’s interest was elsewhere, namely his overzealous tail.

Ethan buried his tongue in the last of his pumpkin, thinking it best he kept his thoughts to himself.

Forever.

Karl yawned, popping his jaw. He ended the action with a soft growl, his shoulders slumping in time with his slowing tail.  

“Tired, pup?” Ethan teased, earning a half-hearted eye-roll.

“It’s the cold,” Heisenberg replied, sparing the window a glance, “makes me wanna just …” he trailed off, interrupted by another yawn.

“Sleep, then,” Ethan encouraged, removing one of his blankets, braving the elements to drape it over the wolf’s shoulders. Not that he needed it, but it was a matter of principle, not logic.

Karl snorted, shaking his head. “I can’t stay long,” he said, though remained where he was, betrayed by habit.

“You say that every time,” Ethan countered, sacrificing a finger to poke the man’s cheek, yanking his hand back when the wolf snapped at it. “Sorry,” he squeaked, moving away to retrieve his gifted food, relocating it to a safer place.

“Me too,” Karl grumbled, adjusting his jaw.

Ethan returned to the centre of his living room, trying to remain impassive to their silence. His days during winter revolved around staying warm and fed—there wasn’t much entertainment beyond that.

Ethan's ears stood as they caught the soft snores of a tired wolf. Karl slept hunched over, the position uncomfortable—Ethan was sure. It may be his only reprieve from a hunger he wasn’t expressing, or the consequence. Ethan couldn’t help getting closer, not used to his wolf being so low-energy.

His head fell on Karl’s shoulder—a sneaky body-heat thief.

“What is it?” the wolf rumbled, not moving beyond a sigh.

Ethan startled, not expecting the quasi-domesticated beast to wake. “Nothing,” he rushed, adding space between them. Karl turned his head to look at him above his glasses, raising a brow, waiting. “Go back to sleep,” Ethan huffed, doing the same by climbing into bed.

Ethan covered his red face in his remaining blankets, bringing his limbs to his core to take advantage of his embarrassment. He wasn’t sure what drew him to the wolf on a consistent basis. Ethan could blame it on wanting to get warm, but he didn’t have to touch him to achieve that. Speculating would only cause him anxiety—it’d be best if he closed his eyes and—

Ethan yelped, his heart exploding with fear at the heavy shift nearly throwing him off his bed. He fought with his blankets, worsening their tangle, even managing to hit himself in his panic. It took an external force to help him see the light.

“What the fuck, Karl?” Ethan breathed, face to face with the snickering wolf. How he hadn’t heard him get up…

“You looked cold,” the wolf said, shrugging. The rabbit could pout all he wanted, but it didn’t stop him from shivering closer, ignoring instinct to cuddle into the toasty embrace. Karl took up most of the bed, but the payoff outweighed whatever complaints Ethan had.

Besides, they fit.

Winters in these parts were temperamental at best.

Ethan recalled his first time alone, shivering at the memory of his under-preparedness. He’d survived by sheer stubbornness and good luck, though he didn’t take his chances for the following seasons.

This winter seemed to be more of the same. Cold rain and wind hit his window, shaking the pane with each howl. Ethan wondered if it was just the wind howling tonight.

He’d given up trying to escape the wolf, letting him wreak havoc over his basic thoughts. There was a freedom in letting it happen—a frightening feeling. It riddled in the pit of his stomach, making him tense and think that spring couldn’t come soon enough.

At least then he’d have an excuse.

“Where are you finding all this?” Ethan asked as he organized his food for the evening, his brows touching at the out-of-season fruit and vegetables.

“Just eat it,” Karl gruffed, sitting on the floor with a hard thump.

Ethan’s lips thinned, not amused by Karl’s lack of details. He turned, his nose twitching at the heavy smell of iron. Putting aside his irritation, he followed it, ending up in front of Karl. The wolf looked up, raising a brow.

“What.”

“Did you just hunt?” Ethan answered with his own question, studying the wolf’s face.

“No, it’d be a waste of energy,” Karl replied, sounding confused.

Ethan’s nose twitched again, picking up the nuances of copper, and the fear that that induced. “I smell blood,” he said, looking around Karl’s body, trying to find the source, but the wolf was spotless.

Still, he froze, tensing under Ethan’s watchful eyes.

“Karl—”

“Just go eat,” he growled, getting up too fast, “I’ll see you tomorr—ow, goddamn tree!” He went to rub the sore spot, flinching from his own hand.

The smell grew thicker—Ethan’s alarm bells shrieked.

“Karl, are you bleeding?” the rabbit asked, earning a snap of the wolf’s gaze, “are you?” he pressed, standing his ground despite his cells begging him to run. Any animal in pain was unpredictable, he wouldn’t expect the wolf to be above that.

Though he growled through his admission, Karl nodded, quick to sit back down with a heavy sigh.

“Can I see?” Ethan asked, holding out his hands.

“I’m fine,” Karl replied, dogged as he was strong.

Ethan could match his stubbornness, not moving until the wolf let him help. It was a long moment of staring at each other before the wolf caved, dropping his chin to his chest. Slowly but undeniably, he lifted his dominant hand, letting Ethan do what he will.

The rabbit, entrusted not to make his mystery injury worse, removed Karl’s glove, gasping at the stark-red marring his palm. “Karl,” he wanted to reprimand, but instead he rushed towards his towels, quick to grab one and press it into the wound. “How long has it been like this?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“I don’t know,” the wolf mumbled, his ears flickering twice.

“Liar,” Ethan huffed, lifting the towel a fraction to see if the bleeding had slowed. He caught a proper glimpse of the injury, narrowing his eyes at the two deep puncture holes. Blood bubbled to the surface, forcing Ethan to press the towel harder. “What happened, Karl?” he whined, growing anxious with the wolf’s refusal to answer.

“Don’t worry about it—”

“No, tell me,” Ethan insisted, saying it with his chest.

Karl dropped his head further, mumbling, “I got caught in a trap.”

“A trap? Where?” the rabbit gasped, his eyes flickering to the window. The woods were secluded, insulated from the Giants. In his years on this Earth, he’d seen evidence of their existence perhaps a handful of times, and he’d seen them once—too horrifying a sight to warrant repeating.

“What are you gonna do if I tell you, huh? You gonna go fight it?” the wolf huffed, thumping his tail on the ground, too heavy to be a positive response.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ethan grumbled, the tops of his cheeks going pink, “that’s obviously not why I’m asking.”

“Then why? What will you gain from knowing?” Karl asked, ending his sentence with a slight pitch to his voice.

Ethan ground his teeth, trying not to aggravate the already irate wolf with his (justifiable) curiosity. “Does it hurt?” he asked instead, trying to be kind to their current moment.

“I can manage it,” Karl returned, avoiding Ethan’s gaze.

“That’s not what I asked,” Ethan said, holding his breath to not sigh away his lungs. “We both know you’re a big, bad wolf, okay? You don’t have to keep reminding me.”

“I’m not—that’s not what I’m doing, I’m—really, I—” Karl stopped and closed his eyes, fighting his tongue to say, “I just don’t want you to worry.”

Ethan’s chest tightened, squeezing around his lungs, his heart, making each breath unbearable. “I’m gonna worry regardless, so you might as well tell me,” he mumbled, meeting Karl’s stare when he looked up, meaning what he said.

“You’d be quite the wolf, Ethan,” Karl said, the praise covert.

If it was praise at all.

Ethan didn’t know what to make of it, so he shrugged, tempting fate to look at Karl’s wound again. It’d calmed enough to stop bleeding, though it needed to be wrapped, and watched. Ethan could do the former, quiet as he dug through more of his things. He came back with an old shirt, small enough he wouldn’t mind repurposing it.

“Please don’t put yourself in danger to feed me,” Ethan said, his fingers shaking as he began wrapping the wolf’s palm, “it’s not worth it.” Heisenberg growled in response, the sound starting deep in his chest. “I mean it,” Ethan stressed, holding on to his hand for a moment longer, “there’s a hundred of me to every you—it’s not worth it.”

“There’s only one you, Ethan,” Karl whispered, undoing some of the rabbit’s work to curl their fingers together, trapping his hand. The rabbit scoffed, forcing the wolf to add, “I mean it,” using Ethan’s words against him.

Ethan’s skin burned where they touched, the weather doing nothing to dampen the wild thoughts trickling through his blood.

(With a wolf, Ethan, really?)

“Be more careful next time,” Ethan grumbled, hating that his stubbornness forced him out of the wolf’s grip, as if he had to prove a point. He wouldn’t be surprised if the man could scent it.

Or maybe not, they were different species.

…Why was that disappointing?

Despite everything telling him to leave well enough alone, Ethan had a bad habit of never listening—especially to himself. He pretended to sleep whilst the wolf shuffled out of his home, waiting until his footsteps disappeared to get up.

After wrapping himself in the warmest things he owned, Ethan left, picking up Karl’s smoke-trail before his actual scent. He didn’t know how much distance to leave between them, never having hunted anything that wasn’t rooted to the ground. Ethan double-guessed every decision, panicking when Karl strayed too far, just to pause for minutes at a time in case he was now too close.

He was severely underequipped for the task but damn his evolution if it thought that would stop him.

Karl walked far, reaching places in the forest Ethan didn’t know existed, expanding his worldview. If he had the time, he’d awe at its beauty—even in the cold.

The wolf slowed as they approached the wood’s edge, dropping his cigar before stomping it out. He was looking at something outside of Ethan’s range, squaring his shoulders and shaking out his hands. His injured one gave him trouble, forcing him to be mindful of his bandages. Ethan’s efforts held steadfast, at least.

Karl crossed the tree line, watching his step as he approached the unseen object. Ethan trailed him, using all his energy to be quieter than death. His focus worked against him, however, when he stepped on a patch of fallen leaves, activating the trap beneath.

Quicker than light, Ethan was hoisted upwards, high above the ground. Rope braids tangled his limbs, getting tighter as he twisted and turned. He squeaked—a natural reaction—getting Heisenberg’s undivided attention.

“What the fu—Ethan?” the wolf yelled, rushing to the trapped rabbit. Ethan tried to look down, but his spine was curved inward, forcing his head up. All he could do was try to catch his breath and not fight the bonds digging into his skin.

“Did you follow me?” Heisenberg asked, sounding bewildered, “dammit, Ethan, when will you learn?” he growled, shuffling around the forest floor.

Never, was probably the answer.

Karl spent minutes grumbling to himself, most of it lost to Ethan’s ears, which thundered with the rush of his blood. He’d been trapped before, but never quite in such an uncomfortable position. He was losing circulation in a few of his fingers, and one of his legs poked out of the uneven cording, freezing in the biting cold. Each breath he took was on borrowed time and listening to Karl’s reprimands wasn’t helping.

He sounded nervous, though, a feeling Ethan couldn’t see the wolf being.

Perhaps now was his chance to reflect on what made them similar, rather than different.

The distant creak of an old hinge stopped Karl in his tracks, restarting Ethan’s dulled panic. He couldn’t see beyond the naked branches, but he could hear. Large footsteps approached—unlike anything he’d ever heard.

Karl heard them too, hunching over and growling at the ensuing threat. Ethan tried to dampen his voice, but the unknown knifed at his insides—terrifying and inevitable. The wolf barked at the intruder to stay back, but they continued, either deaf or fearless.

Ethan caught the first glimpse of their interloper, stunned into stillness. Just beyond the tree line stood a Giant bathed in shadow. They were larger than the pale moon struggling to illuminate them, moving too slowly to see. Ethan couldn’t make sense of their shape, only their monstrous size.

Karl had no trouble, lunging for the Giant fangs-first. He didn’t get far, forced backwards by the deafening sound of thunder without rain. The wolf whined, yet undeterred, tried to lunge at the Giant once more, and again, was pushed back by the Giant’s overwhelming power.

“Just go!” Ethan cried, unsure how much more his heart could take.

“I’m not leaving you!” Heisenberg called back, out of breath.

“Karl, please, please don’t die,” but he wasn’t listening. On the wolf’s third attempt, something connected with his shoulder, forcing a pained yelp from deep within his lungs. Ethan yelled for him, ignoring his own discomfort to try to see him, to make sure he was safe, alive.

The Giant moved closer, reaching Ethan before he could blink. He thrashed harder, kicking, screaming, and begging to a merciless god. But no matter what he did, the Giant wouldn’t stop, trapping him further.

Ethan's heart couldn’t beat any faster, faltering to a hiccupping stop.

There, there, little one, take as much time as you need.

Ethan shivered awake, his nose twitching towards a mouth-watering scent. He groaned, shuffling forward—tongue-first—to the sweet-smelling fruit. His teeth were moving before his eyes opened, chomping on the sliced apple. Ethan hummed as the juice coated his mouth, pulling his arms up to hold the fruit in place.

Blurry-eyed and a bit dazed, he reached for another slice, burying himself in the cozy warmth. How kind of Karl to make him breakfast, he thought, smiling at the idea of the wolf going out of his way to brighten Ethan’s grey morning. He’d have to think of something to do in return. What did wolves like other than terrorizing creatures half their size?

“You are adorable,” a foreign voice cooed, startling Ethan awake, “oh, didn’t mean to scare you, little one.”

Ethan didn’t recognize the shapes in front of him, nor the smells, squeaking with fright and panic. He tried to throw off the covers and run away, but he was boxed in on every side except up. Out of options, Ethan ran to a corner, pressing himself to the wall, curling into a ball.

“Oh, little one, do not be frightened,” the Giant said, shaking the earth when they moved, pushing the plate of fruit and hay Ethan’s way. “Eat—I’m sure you’re hungry, running away from that wolf as you were.”

Ethan looked up, meeting the Giant’s gaze. They had a large, round face, with blue eyes and light-coloured hair. Their clothes appeared ill-fitting, but Ethan didn’t know enough about the Giants to do more than assume. For what it was worth, they didn’t seem threatening, though their massive size could harm Ethan if they didn’t watch their step.

Ethan searched for a window, hopping in place to look at the sky. It was bright, perhaps afternoon if he had to guess. “Yes, a big wolf, too,” the Giant agreed, assuming that was Ethan’s concern, “I’m sorry you were caught in my trap, it wasn’t meant for you, little one,” the Giant apologized, patting Ethan’s head.

The rabbit freaked, quick to bite the Giant’s sweaty palm.

“Ouch, a feisty one,” they complained, pulling away, “noted, do not touch wild animals,” the Giant mumbled to themself, leaving Ethan alone, but not before adding, “I shall return you to the woods once you’ve eaten.”

Ethan gave his plate a dubious glance, recognizing the bundle of hay and shiny red apple slices. It’s what’d lulled him into thinking he was home again. But how could he forget Karl, the Giant’s thunder, the trap? Ethan’s eyes filled with tears, falling as he recalled Karl’s whines, the pain he’d endured trying to save Ethan. He’d been valiant till the bitter end, protecting Ethan from his fateful carelessness.

And now he was gone.

Ethan brought his knees to his chest, wishing his heart had given out from fright, at least then he wouldn’t have to face the guilt threatening to consume him. He cried harder, rocking back and forth like an inconsolable babe, feeling just as small surrounded by the Giant’s things.

A howl ripped Ethan from his desolation, making his ears perk up, and hope burn bright in his aching ribs.

“My goodness, what is that?” the Giant exclaimed, thumping towards the window. “It’s that wolf,” they huffed, reaching for a long, complicated stick—their thunder-maker. “I think he knows you’re in here.”

Ethan tried to see, but he was miles away from the window, so, he squealed, trying to get the Giant’s attention.

“Don’t worry, little one, I’ll make sure he can’t hurt you,” the Giant reassured, the sides of their face stretching, showing their odd teeth.

“No, please!” Ethan tried to beg, unsure why he expected the Giant to understand him.

“Ethan!” he heard Heisenberg shout, getting as close as he could to the house, “Ethan, are you in there?!”

“Yes! Yes!” Ethan yelled back, looking around for an opening, growing frustrated with each dead end.

“Ethan!” Karl shouted again—his voice rough.

“Karl! I’m here, I’m here,” Ethan said, setting his sights on the Giant. They were in the middle of opening the window, securing their odd stick between the gap, and firing their thunder. Both animals yelped in surprise, but Karl—undeterred—continued to bark Ethan’s name, braving the Giant.

“You’re persistent, wolf,” the Giant said, aiming for Karl, “no matter, I’ve got all day.”

Ethan didn’t know what else to do, yanking his hair from the stress of trying to imagine the impossible. The only things he had at his disposal were his blanket and his plate of food.

Of course!

Ethan rushed to his sliced apples, grabbing a handful before chucking them at the Giant. Only one connected, ignored by the creature. Ethan tried again, using his entire body to launch the last of his apple slices.

The Giant turned to Ethan, narrowing their eyes. “Yeah, asshole, focus on me!” Ethan shouted, standing his ground when the Giant approached. They bent low, scooping him up as if he weighed nothing, which—judging by their size difference—could be the case.

“Calm down, little one, or you’ll give yourself indigestion,” the Giant cautioned, resuming their position by the window. “There he is,” they whispered, pointing to Karl, “I bet that’s the same beast that’s been stealing my crops.”

Ethan’s wriggles stopped at the Giant’s words, his eyes moving from their face to Karl, who stalked as close as he dared. He wore nothing but his linen shirt, slacks, and boots. His left sleeve had a distinct red patch, bleeding down in thinning tendrils. Ethan’s breath left him, and his heart hurt in his chest, knowing if he’d just stayed put—

“Maybe if I gave him some meat he’d leave us alone, huh?” the Giant pondered, pulling Ethan from the window, leading him high above the world. He’d never been this tall, didn’t know there could be so much distance between him and the ground.

“Let’s see,” the Giant hummed, digging through cupboards nearly the size of Ethan’s front door, coming up empty, “no, that won’t do—it’s a wolf, not a dog,” the Giant continued to say, looking through another strange storage compartment, making a victorious sound when they found it, “fresh pig!” they declared, holding it up for the rabbit to see.

Ethan scrunched his nose, pulling far away from the flesh.

“Silly rabbit, I wouldn’t expect you to eat it,” the Giant chuckled as they returned to the window, opening it once more. They whistled, grabbing Karl’s attention before tossing out the slab of meat. “Now, leave us alone!” the Giant ordered, but not before Ethan yelled Karl’s name, fighting the Giant’s embrace.

“Ethan?!” Karl shouted, sacrificing life and limb to reach the window. He barked at the glass, demanding to be let in, but it was no use, the Giant walked away, taking Ethan with them to an enormous chair, sitting them in front of a fireplace.

“He’ll tire eventually,” the Giant hummed, patting Ethan’s hair, “ah, sorry, I forgot. Forgive me,” they said, pulling an apple slice out of thin air, presenting it as a peace offering.

Ethan thought of refusing it, but his mouth worked faster than his morals, opening to the sweet treat. If what the Giant assumed was correct, it was here that Karl got his food. That fool, that idiot, why would he—

Ethan hiccupped a sob, feeling unworthy of such risk, of such treatment. He’d been a runt, too tiny to be eaten, or be satisfying if he’d been. All he’d done was save Karl to hunt more of his kind, fully aware he could die, a part of him prepared for it.

So, why?

“It’s okay, little one, we shall find a way to get you home,” the Giant said, “and if not, you’re free to stay with me.”

Ethan looked at the Giant, at how they held him against their mid-section, warm but too soft. He missed his wolf, his scent, the slight spike of adrenaline when he growled. He’d even accept being called “little bunny” for the remainder of his short life if it meant having him back.

Too tired to do much more than lay there, he accepted the Giant’s hospitality, staring at the fire until it lulled him to sleep.

Or something quite close to it.

Karl, though persistent, wasn’t a super-wolf. Even he got tired of barking and yelling for Ethan to be let go.

It was just after sunset when he gave his last howl, startling Ethan out of his unsteady slumber. In his delirium, Ethan tried to howl back, disappointed when his vocal cords failed him.

The Giant slept, their rumbling snores shaking Ethan at regular intervals. They’d loosened their grip around his body, their other jewelled hand falling over the armrest. Ethan attempted to shuffle away, nearly damning himself when he managed to get free.

Before he did anything drastic—like jump to his death—Ethan looked around, eyes locking on the window and the door. Both were out of reach if he were to hop off the Giant, but on their belly, he could just reach the side table, and from there, the door.

It’d be a bit of a jump.

…Perhaps more than a bit.

Ethan steeled his nerves, waiting for the Giant to snore once more before attempting his escape. He had a few false starts, his feet colder than the outside air, and his resolve crumbling at the thought of breaking a bone.

Maybe it was best—

“Maybe nothing,” Ethan hissed, taking a harsh breath, “just jump.”

And so he did, nearly skidding off the side table, trembling on the wood. His next jump would be longer, and if he missed, he’d be diving head-first into the wooden floor. Some of his cousins could’ve cleared the distance in one jump—he was not as fortunate.

Ethan shook his head, trying to focus (dammit!) before he ran out of willpower.

He leapt into the air—hands outstretched. The door met him faster than he was expecting, knocking the wind out of him. He managed to grab the handle, swinging from it with a terrified squeak. His eyes couldn’t adjust to the distance, so he clung on for dear life, trying to orient himself to push off the door.

Ethan felt the structure give a fraction, closing on his return swing. He couldn’t keep this up for long, his arms were growing tired, and he was starting to slip. Pushing with all his might did fuck all.

“Ethan?” he heard someone call, their voice rough and abused. The rabbit startled, slipping, at last, his back hitting the floor with a hard thump. He coughed, catching his breath in the aftershock. “Ethan!” he heard the voice shout, pressing against the door.

“I’m okay,” Ethan exhaled, hoping to mean it when he stood.

He’d feel that fall in the morning.

“Ethan,” the wolf whined, scratching the wood.

“Karl, don’t—”

But his supplications went unheard as the Giant woke with a violent snort. Ethan pressed against the door, trying to blend in or phase through—either would be ideal.

“Little one?” the Giant called, looking around, “little on—oh, there you are!” they said, bending to scoop up Ethan. “Now, now, you should know I’m not gonna hurt you,” they said in response to Ethan’s frustrated squealing.

His panic enraged the wolf, who threw himself at the door, catching the Giant’s attention. “Persistent,” they tutted, reaching for their thunder-maker. “I don’t want to kill you, wolf, but you leave me no other choice,” the Giant sighed, aiming their strange killing branch.

Ethan struggled hard when the Giant opened the door, distracting them enough to slither out of their hold, running through the small gap. He didn’t stop until he was deep in Karl’s arms, his momentum pushing him back.  

“Little one, be careful!” the Giant called, aiming their thunder-maker at the wolf.

Karl stood his ground, flexing every muscle, his tail, and ears rigid, same as the fine hairs on his arms. He bared his teeth, electric to the touch, and despite his eyes pointing forward, his body was poised to absorb the thunder’s impact, to protect Ethan.

The rabbit wanted to keep running, but he could do nothing but hang on to the wolf, trembling from the cold and fear.

The Giant remained by the front door, waiting for the wolf to force their hand. Karl snarled, his eyes following the Giant’s movements, never keen to trust other predators. Their stalemate broke when it dawned on the Giant that the wolf wasn’t an actual threat to the rabbit.

The Giant gave a hearty belly-laugh, lowering their thunder-maker to hum, “Well, I’ll be.”

Chapter Text

“You two make a very interesting pair,” the Giant hummed, scratching their wide chin. They moved from the door, putting away their thunder-maker—for now.

Ethan clung to the wolf, his eyes widening when the Giant disappeared, their footsteps echoing inside. “Let’s go!” Ethan hissed, tugging Karl’s uninjured arm, but the wolf remained immobile, stressing every muscle. “Karl—”

The Giant returned with a wide, metal bowl, and a handful of fruits and vegetables, getting as close as they dared before placing them down. In the bowl sat a slab of red meat—blood oozed around it, making Ethan’s nose twitch. He didn’t recognize the scent, at least.

“An apology for misunderstanding,” the Giant began, motioning to their offerings, “I don’t have much in terms of shelter, but you may use the shed,” they continued, directing them towards the roofed structure. “Let me see if I have something for that shoulder,” the Giant said, pointing to Karl’s deltoid.

Ethan waited until they were alone to try and compel Karl away, but the wolf was steadfast, a mountain rooted deep within the earth. “Karl, please, let’s go,” Ethan begged, catching a fraction of his attention.

“Not yet,” his friend growled, still recovering from his barking cries.

“Not yet?” Ethan scoffed, yanking with all his might, managing to budge him a fraction, “come on—”

His efforts were interrupted by the Giant’s return, who carried a roll of cloth and a large, green bottle. They tempted fate by approaching the wolf, jumping a bit when Karl snapped at their hands. “It’s okay, Mister Wolf, I only aim to help,” they said, putting down the supplies, “I’m sure that’s not comfortable,” they assumed, motioning to Karl’s arm again.

They were at an impasse, where neither Giant nor animal moved in fear of spooking the other. Or, in Ethan’s case, getting struck down with the thunder-maker. The Giant seemed to have less patience when they sighed, and turned for what Ethan hoped would be their last time.

“Do be careful, sirs,” the Giant said over their shoulder before closing the door, locking it with the finality of a day.

“Karl, please, now’s our chance before they come back,” Ethan squeaked, his body pointed towards the forest.

“They’re not coming back,” the wolf murmured, his voice spent.

“What?! How do you know that?” Ethan exclaimed, his panic stepping aside for his incredulity.

“They’ve turned off the lights,” Karl sighed, relaxing at last, “I know this one’s patterns well—”

“Yeah, about that,” Ethan interrupted, pulling back to cross his arms, “what exactly were you doing here?”

There was an obvious pause, the wolf’s flickering ears giving away his forced nonchalance. “We should go to the shed,” Karl said, ignoring the question.

“Karl—”

“Ethan, this isn’t ideal,” Heisenberg snapped, holding his injury, “tracking blood like that—it’ll lead anyone straight to you,” he revealed, hobbling towards the food and supplies, taking as much as his wound permitted. “Please, just for the night?”

Ethan looked between the forest and the wolf, knowing it’d be impossible to find his way home on his own, much less survive any other encounters. “Fine,” he relented, grabbing the rest of the supplies, marching towards the shed. Karl hobbled beside him, looking worse for wear than he thought. “Are you okay?” Ethan asked, slowing to match his pace.

“I’ll be okay,” Karl sighed, struggling not to growl when his muscles pulled at his cut.

“That’s not—” Ethan stopped himself before he reprimanded the wolf for protecting him. He busied himself with opening the shed, grateful the door slid instead of latched. It was warmer than the frigid outdoors, and the light of the moon illuminated the generous floorspace.

Heisenberg struggled his way to a corner, still compelled to circle the area before flopping down. His head hit the back wall, eyes closing with a bone-deep tiredness.

Ethan’s worry climbed higher, but he managed to set it aside to focus on helping the wolf. “Can you take that off?” he asked, shuffling closer to tug Karl’s shirt. The wolf jerked, waking from his half-slumber. Ethan squeaked, not expecting him to have fallen asleep.

“Why were you following me, Ethan?” Karl murmured, his glasses low on his face, revealing a wealth of emotion in his eyes. “Why can’t you leave well enough alone?” he continued to ask, shaking his sweaty head.

“I don’t know,” the rabbit replied, his eyes stinging, threatening more than tears, “you wouldn’t tell me, so I—I don’t know, I don’t like not knowing, and you—I’m sorry,” he said, stumbling over his words in an effort to explain himself, “I’m so sorry, Karl.”

The wolf sighed, his lips forming a conflicted line. “You’re okay, Ethan,” he said, closing his eyes again.

Ethan blinked—his tears inevitable. He sniffled in silence, inching forward until he was next to Karl’s arm, working through the blur. Ethan rolled up his sleeve, his breath stuttering at the bloody sight. Red covered half his arm, trickling down in steady streams. The smell was distressing, drying out his mouth with evolutionary panic.

That Giant’s thunder-maker had left a horizontal line on Karl’s upper arm. It was surface-deep, but long, fighting to clot. Ethan grabbed the glass bottle, uncorking the top, his nose wrinkling at the overwhelming synthetic scent. He didn’t know what it was, couldn’t decipher the symbols on the label, and feared drinking it would cause more harm than good. Re-corking it, he set it aside, grabbing the tight roll of white cloth, making a face at the unending strip of fabric.

Heisenberg chuckled, forcing Ethan’s head up. “What’s so funny?” he grumbled, trying to untwist his fingers from the fabric.

“You, little bunny,” Karl replied, giving the shed a proper look before sitting up, taking the bandages out of Ethan’s hands. “Give me that bottle,” he said, using the edges of his canines to rip a small strip of cloth.

Ethan did as he was told, uncorking it on the way to Karl’s hand. He watched him pour a generous amount, saturating the bandages with the strong-smelling liquid. Both their noses twitched as he brought the dripping cloth closer, but it was Karl who growled when he pressed it to his open wound. Ethan’s empathy drove him to mimic the sound, much to the wolf’s amusement.

“How do you know what you’re doing?” Ethan asked, his eyes roaming the expanse of Karl’s arm and his litany of scars. Perhaps it’d been a redundant question.

“Practice,” Karl replied, sucking in a breath when he pressed the bandages harder, his fingers shaking.

“Is this how you got all your scars, playing in things you’re not supposed to?” Ethan questioned, forming a deep frown at Karl’s snort, “it’s not funny.”

“Neither of us is laughing,” Karl grumbled, tossing away the bloody cloth to grab the remainder of the bandages, struggling to hold them in place as he wrapped them around his large arm. Wordlessly, Ethan approached, helping as much as he could. The wolf had a moment of deliberation before he answered the rabbit’s question. “I get into a lot of fights,” he mumbled, looking across the shed, “sometimes they fight back.”

Ethan kept his eyes on the bandages, hating how Karl bled through each growing layer, running out of cloth too soon. “There,” he whispered, rolling down Karl’s sleeve, his fingers lingering by the frayed hem, “now you’ve got another one,” he said, forcing himself away, his voice wobbling with unspoken deprecation.

“Ethan,” the wolf cooed, his body quicker than his common sense when he slumped forward, trying to catch Ethan’s hand again. He gave a quiet complaint, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Ethan mumbled, following the tug in his gut urging him to stand between the hollow of Karl’s legs. Their eyes met in the relative darkness, two crepuscular creatures with nothing in common except their desire to be near each other. “Idiot,” Ethan said, rapping his knuckles on the wolf’s head, his pout a permanent staple on his face, “why would you risk coming here to get me food?” he asked, bordering on accusatory.

“Ow,” the wolf enunciated, narrowing his eyes.

“The Giants are dangerous,” Ethan continued, growing heated, “and they won’t think twice about hurting us,” he said, waving at nothing, “why would you steal from them?”

“It’s not stealing, it grows from the Earth,” the wolf scoffed, offended.

“Their Earth, Karl,” Ethan countered, shaking his head, “it doesn’t matter, just why—”

“Where else am I gonna find food for you?” Karl interrupted, baring his teeth in his frustration, “it’s not like you prepared—”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine—”

“And starving—”

“I’m not starving!” Ethan snapped, forcing the wolf to huff in disbelief, “I’m not, I’ve done this before, you have to trust me,” the rabbit begged. His trembling fingers rose to cradle Karl’s face, compelling him to look up, to believe him. “Please,” he whispered, not letting go until the wolf conceded.

Karl closed his eyes, working through his rebuttal to meet Ethan somewhere in the middle. “I trust you,” he said, voice nothing but air, “but I also want to help.”

“I know,” Ethan mumbled, struggling with his own tenacity. Instead of trying to convince Karl otherwise, Ethan brought his lips to the man’s forehead, giving it a gentle kiss. “That’s for trying to help me even when you don’t have to,” he said against his heated skin, breathing him in, worsening his heart’s quivers.

The wolf keened, quiet and accidental.

Ethan pulled back to look down, afraid he’d hurt his wolf by touching some unseen injury. What he found was the slight part of his mouth, the tip of his tongue resting heavily on his bottom lip, giving way to a light pant. Ethan smiled, pressing another kiss to his scalp, closer to his ears, where they twitched, brushing against his nose.

Karl panted in earnest, his tail struggling to wag against the wall. The rabbit couldn’t help it, he giggled, peppering more kisses across the wolf’s warm face, feeling their blushes finally match. “Is this instinct too?” he teased, bopping the tip of Karl’s nose. For once, he didn’t snap, or growl, he simply scrunched his face against the digit, nudging it.

He didn’t answer either.

Ethan’s legs shook, feeling the inevitable approach like a bad omen. In an attempt to control his flop, Ethan sat between Karl’s thighs, pressing his head to his chest. The wolf’s heart beat fast and strong, complementing Ethan’s bird-like fluttering. He went limp in his embrace, overwhelmed with an ironic serenity.

“You still haven’t told me if I should be worried about this,” Karl sighed, repositioning Ethan so he could look down at him, his gaze stuck between amusement and concern. Ethan could do no more than smile, his blue eyes unfocusing, letting the wind carry him if it so wished. “That’s not an answer,” the wolf gruffed, tapping the rabbit’s forehead.

“You’ve never seen a happy bunny before, have you?” Ethan slurred, unsure how much of that Karl caught.

“Happy?” Karl repeated, cocking his head, “you’re happy?”

“Hmm,” the rabbit hummed, nodding a fraction, and closing his eyes. He didn’t expect the wolf to lick his face, so he startled, his autonomy returning in a quick zip. “Karl, what—” His protests were interrupted by the urgent press of the wolf’s lips to his, his tongue nearly scalding in its eagerness. Ethan gasped, opening himself to more of the wolf’s kiss.

Before he could decide if he wanted to reciprocate, it was done.

Ethan was left breathless, his little heart fainting with each beat. Fire burned at the base of his belly, travelling through his blood, his body. He met Karl’s widening gaze, watching the wolf catch up to his own actions.

“Ethan, I’m—”

He didn’t let him finish, dragging him in for another, proper kiss. His fingers cramped where he wound them in the wolf’s hair, matching the curling of his toes inside his shoes. Karl’s contented growls vibrated down his throat, mixing with Ethan’s involuntary squeaks. There was a novel fright in having such sharp teeth graze his tongue, adding to the tight corkscrew in his abdomen. He was running out of air, but the ache in his lungs paled to the one growing against the seam of his pants.

Ethan twisted to pull more of Karl on top of him, mindless when he squeezed around his injured arm, earning a deserved nip.

They both whined in pain, separating to protect their wounds. Ethan tasted blood—his blood—sucking hard on his bottom lip, where the carnivore’s canines pierced him. It was a small cut compared to Karl’s, but it still throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

“Are you okay?” Ethan asked, feeling blood—Karl’s this time—on his palm.

“I’m fine,” the wolf rumbled, though he’d hunched away from Ethan, massaging his lower arm to stave off the sting. Ethan felt awful as his heart sunk into the cold earth. He thought of apologizing, but the words wouldn’t leave him, stuck as he was in Karl’s lap.

It was a long, tense moment before their eyes met again, the wolf’s no longer muddied with his unfortunate discomfort. Ethan managed to sit up in the interim, still between Karl’s legs, but not as close as before. He chanced a smile, relieved when the wolf returned it.

“You’re bleeding,” Karl said, reaching for Ethan’s face, thinking better of it at the last second.

“You’re one to talk,” Ethan huffed with a nervous chuckle.

Karl rolled his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. “Are you hungry?” he asked, looking at their remaining inventory—the food had been neglected for too long. It wouldn’t be right to waste it.

“I could eat,” Ethan shrugged, expecting Karl to tease him about it, almost disappointed when he didn’t.

“Do you mind if I eat?” the wolf asked, his gaze flickering to the meat. Ethan followed it, tasting his blood in a different context.

He shook his head, not wanting or needing to ask what exactly sat in that metal bowl.

They were already dead.

After their impromptu dinner, Karl settled into his slumber, curling into a tight ball, barely allowing room for his tail. Ethan fixed his petulant pout, though he doubted it disappeared in its entirety. He should let the wolf rest, but he was selfish to a fault, wanting nothing more than to be held between the wolf’s injuries.

Ethan laid down, resting his chin on his hands, staring at Karl and the odd shudders moving through him. He wondered if predators dreamed, and of what. Hard to believe they could ever have nightmares, as dangerous as they were, he doubted they were prone to feeling pursued.

The rabbit sighed, too anxious to sleep. One of his ears hadn’t left the shed’s entrance, anticipating the Giant’s return. In retrospect, they hadn’t harmed him beyond scaring him half to death…his belly was full because of them.

Ethan grumbled, most of him too proud to admit he approved of the wolf’s dangerous foraging. His mouth, however, protested putting a stop to it, and so did his belly, clenching tight. He snuck closer to Karl until a thin air-gap separated them, trying for the night’s sake to rest while he could.

All he managed were annoying pinpricks on his skin and the growing soreness where he landed on his back.

Daylight took them both by surprise, their internal clocks confused by the previous day’s stress. Ethan woke with the wolf’s head resting on his abdomen, his bright, mossy eyes staring at him. They were tired but focused, lighting a fraction when Ethan blinked.

“Mornin’,” Karl said, his voice vibrating Ethan’s stomach.

“Hey,” the rabbit replied, shooting him a small smile, “how’s the arm?”

“It’s fine,” Karl mumbled, his ears flickering. Ethan didn’t want to call him a liar so early in the day, but he was certain his pout spoke for him when Karl added, “I’ve had worse.”

Before Ethan could respond, steady, slow thuds approached from outside the shed, making them tense. Spent as they were, they couldn’t do much more than put up a performative fight, each making a distinct sound of displeasure.

“Oh, you’re still here,” the Giant said with unexpected delight, “I was hoping to catch you before you left,” they continued, putting down two large sacks of fruits, vegetables, and hay, “for your troubles,” they clarified, motioning to them.

The wolf scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “How generous,” he grumbled, (not quite) relaxing with his exhale.

“Do be careful, sirs, the woods aren’t kind to those unprepared,” the Giant warned, leaving soon after.

Ethan tracked them until their footsteps disappeared, shrinking back when he met Karl’s hard gaze. “What?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

“They were talking to you,” Karl murmured, jutting his chin towards the Giant.

“Me?” Ethan gasped, “I’m not unprepared,” he countered, his face tinging with embarrassment, worsening when the wolf gave a humourless chuckle. He let him have his moment, waiting until he calmed to ask, “Are you ready?”

“More or less,” the wolf sighed, giving his arm a quick look.

“If you’re not—”

“I’m fine,” Karl rushed, using the wall to help him stand, “I’m fine,” he repeated, breathless.

Ethan gave him a pointed look, his jaw tightening with the grinding of his teeth. If he could only get the wolf to at least admit he wasn’t feeling well, then he wouldn’t feel so useless. “I’m gonna go get the Giant—”

“What? No! Why would you—”

“You can’t even walk, Karl!” Ethan all but shouted, his lips quivering, “at least let me fix what I can,” he said, his voice dropping down to a whisper.

“So, what, they feed you twice and you’re ready to trust them?” Karl rumbled, losing his fight with gravity when he sat back down.

“It worked with you,” Ethan pointed out, a bit unkind. Karl’s face fell into a deep scowl, his pain shortening his temper. “I’m gonna go get them,” Ethan repeated, trying to sound confident, “please, just don’t move.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Karl mocked, resting his head against the shed’s wall, closing his eyes through a steadying breath.

Ethan hesitated by the entrance, most of him still by Karl’s side. He did not want to leave the wolf alone, but Ethan wasn’t capable of reciprocating the wolf’s care. What, was he meant to lure his brothers and sisters to his humble home to feed the wolf?

The fact that it even crossed his mind spoke to more than a macabre consideration.

So, he was forced to commit to other plans, to try and use his wit and basic understanding of the Giant’s patterns to help. It was the least he could do considering who’d been the major cause of the wolf’s injury.

Ethan hopped out of the shed and into the biting cold, surprised it wasn’t snowing with how quickly it chilled him to the bone. He rushed towards the Giant’s home, his fists trembling as he knocked on their front door.

It took a few tries to get their attention, but eventually, they heard him, opening the door with a raised brow. Ethan squeaked, compelling their head down. “Hello, little rabbit,” they cooed, bending to pick him up. Ethan hopped out of the way, walking a bit towards the shed and back, hoping the Giant would understand. “What is it?” they said instead, aiming to pick him up again.

“Seriously?” Ethan huffed, running back and forth once more, pointing to the shed.

“Are you playing?” the Giant asked, their face scrunching into a smile, “aren’t you just the most adorable thing.”

Ethan was almost successful in growling with frustration, forced to be blatant about what he wanted when he ran towards the shed, motioning inside.

“Oh, you want me to follow you,” the Giant said, realizing at last.

“Yes!” Ethan exclaimed, nearly jumping with joy. The Giant returned indoors, prompting Ethan to squeak his discontent before they stepped outside, draped in warmer clothes. Ethan tried not to give in to further exasperation, going to the wolf to wait out the Giant.

(And warm up.)

Karl’s eyes shot open when the Giant entered, teeth automatically bared, his warning growl echoing through the walls. “Oh my,” the Giant said, flinching with unexpected fright, “I’m not quite fond of tricks, little rabbit,” they said, speaking above Karl’s growl.

“It’s not a trick—Karl, stop,” Ethan hissed, earning his own growl, “that doesn’t work on me anymore,” the rabbit lied, standing his ground. “Karl, please,” he begged when the wolf didn’t relent, “at least try to pretend you have some manners.”

“Manners?” Karl barked, making Ethan jump, “manners get you killed,” he rumbled.

“Not always,” Ethan said, staring down the wolf, living, breathing proof of his statement. “We’re gonna try this again,” the rabbit said, rushing towards the shed’s entrance, squeaking at the Giant, who—surprisingly—hadn’t moved.

“What is it, little one?” they asked, brows raised, and expression subdued. Instead of answering, Ethan hopped back to Karl, kneeling beside his injured arm, the blood just as red as yesterday. “My, that does not look good,” the Giant tsk’d, giving the wolf a careful glance prior to chancing a step inside.

Before Karl’s growls restarted in earnest, Ethan inched closer. He was halfway on his lap when the wolf cleared his throat, distracted enough to ask, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to make this easier for you,” Ethan replied whilst wrapping his arms around his middle, resting his head on his sternum. He heard his heart pounding, the muscle working overtime when the Giant continued their cautious approach. “They’re not gonna hurt you any more than they already have,” Ethan reminded through a mumble, wanting to believe it.

Karl huffed, but conceded, bringing his less injured palm to Ethan’s back, giving it a light pat. The contact grew heavy when the Giant reached them, nearly bruising Ethan’s spine when he was touched. He kept his growls in check, but only just.

“This may be unpleasant,” the Giant said, manipulating Karl’s arm to look at his deltoid, making a face at the serviceable bandage-job. They unwrapped it with slow, delicate fingers, recoiling when Karl snapped at them, having tugged at his barely-clotted cut. “Good news, it’s not infected,” the Giant hummed, looking at the bright side.

“What’s the bad news?” Ethan muttered, his nose twitching at the wolf’s thick blood.

“Bad news is, it may need stitches,” the Giant replied, almost as if they understood, “I need to take a better look at it to know,” they continued, standing to their full height before setting their sights on Ethan, saying, “you seem smarter than most rabbits, think you can help bring Mister Wolf inside?”

Karl coughed a laugh, much to Ethan’s disapproval. “I sure will,” the rabbit replied, standing from Karl’s lap, or he would’ve if the wolf didn’t stand for them, cradling Ethan against his side. “That works too,” Ethan mumbled, his face going bright red.

“Excellent!” the Giant said, grabbing the goods they’d gifted so they wouldn’t be lost to any other curious creatures.

Karl followed despite grumbling and growling towards the Giant’s front door. He held Ethan tighter when he stumbled at the entrance’s slight incline, cursing in a foreign wolf-like tongue.

“One moment, sirs, while I try to find somewhere comfortable for you to sit,” the Giant said, rushing to fulfil their quest. Karl didn’t wait on them, finding his own spot by the fireplace, doing one, two, three circles before sitting down. He’d used all his strength to get here, Ethan could see it in his hard inhale, in the tremors of the arms still holding him.

“I think they’re more afraid of you than you are of them, pup,” Ethan teased, poking Karl’s tense jaw, barely fazed by his quick, warning snap.

“I’m not afraid of them,” Karl grumbled, his eyes moving around each corner of the room, likely memorizing the exits. “And don’t get too comfortable, little bunny—I may just leave you behind.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Ethan pouted, though he stuck himself to Karl’s body just in case.

“I wouldn’t?” Karl said, voice pitched high, “hm.” Ethan’s mood dampened, knowing the abandonment would be deserved, or at least earned. “Don’t look so miserable—I didn’t get this just to leave without you,” Karl huffed, compelling both their eyes to his re-opened wound.

Ethan said nothing, but nodded, deciding it’d be best to remain inconspicuous if he wanted to keep occupying the wolf’s space.

The Giant returned, chuckling at the odd animals settled by the fireplace. They held a few blankets, a metal bowl with Karl’s peculiar diet, and other complicated supplies Ethan didn’t know how to describe. Before touching Karl, the Giant placed the bowl in front of him, waiting for the wolf to accept his meal.

Karl ignored it, though Ethan could see the sides of his mouth get wet with saliva. “Eat, you stubborn man,” Ethan reprimanded, grabbing the bowl and dropping it on Karl’s lap. “Don’t make me feed you,” Ethan warned, willing to put aside all biological repulsion to prove a point.

Karl looked at him with a blank expression, blinking as if he’d lost his ability to process information. For the first time since he’d woken, his tail began to wag, adding to his sudden mental pause.

“…Do you want me to feed you?” Ethan asked, his brows brushing his forehead when Karl’s entire body said ‘yes’, whilst his lips mumbled ‘no’. “I don’t mind,” he said, finding that for this one instance, he did not.

“No, that’s—there’s something morally grey about that,” Heisenberg said, looking conflicted.

“We didn’t kill it,” Ethan said, giving the meat a dubious look, “just don’t tell me what it is,” he added, trying not to wince when he pinched the first cubed piece, bringing it to the wolf’s mouth, nearly losing his fingers when he inhaled the chunk.

“My, my, you two do not cease to amaze me,” the Giant said, startling Ethan, who’d forgotten about their existence. They were shaking their head, an ironic smile on their face.

“Yeah, yeah,” Heisenberg rumbled, not as annoyed as he could be.

“Don’t bite me, Mister Wolf, this will take but a moment,” the Giant said, approaching Karl with a soaked piece of cloth and intent to touch him.

The wolf barked at the cloth’s sting, this time bruising Ethan’s flank in an effort to keep still. “It’s okay,” the rabbit quieted, rubbing his head on Karl’s other shoulder, “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” the wolf struggled to say, speaking through gritted teeth, “I forgive you.”

Ethan’s eyes blurred, the abruptness of it taking him by surprise. He focused on feeding Karl his chunks and ignoring both their natures as he let the Giant witness their strange relationship.

Somewhere between Karl finishing his meal and the Giant re-wrapping his wound, they’d fallen asleep by the fireplace, snuggled close. Ethan shuddered awake—his lips terribly close to the wolf’s neck. He could almost feel the root-noose scars, the pulse beneath them.

Karl held him as if Ethan were a part of him, conscious of him even in slumber. The rabbit would chalk it up to predator-awareness, though, it made him feel better to think Karl simply wanted him close.

The Giant slept in their chair, open-mouthed and snoring. Just like them, they defied their nature to help, knowing fully that Karl’s fangs were sharp enough to cut through bone.

It made Ethan wonder if there were others like him—like them—who put aside instinct to help or follow the compulsion of their curiosity.

Eh, probably.

Chapter Text

“You like it.”

Ethan didn’t realize he’d said it out loud until Karl’s eyes snapped to his, sharp despite his blown-out pupils. The rabbit shrunk backwards, though couldn’t contain his giggles, endeared by the wolf’s inability to mind his flopping tongue.

Their captor-turned-helper tempted fate when they went to scratch Karl behind the ears, surprising them both when the wolf reacted favourably. It may have been Karl’s weakened state that lent him to being amicable, or perhaps his nature couldn’t help itself. Whatever the case, he melted under the Giant’s fingers, tail wagging out of existence.

That’d been a week ago.

Now, Karl rested his chin on the Giant’s lap, more than happy to move his head where he wanted to be touched, forgetting he wasn’t a pup anymore. Ethan watched, unable to help memorizing the wolf’s weak spots.

(They might come in handy.)

“Oh, hush,” Karl gruffed, trying—and failing—to pull away from the Giant’s pets.

“How’s the arm?” Ethan said, scooting closer. It was late at night and a fire roared within the home, keeping them warm, yet he couldn’t settle. He’d noticed his eyes wandering to the window, often, missing his home, the scent of the woods. The Giant was kind, feeding them more food than either needed, minding Karl’s wounds, and talking to them at odd hours of the day. They allowed them brief moments outside to relieve themselves, to roam, but it wasn’t enough—Ethan wanted his things, a space that didn’t drown him with its vastness.

Out of the two, he hadn’t expected Karl to be willing to stay.

The wolf flexed his healing muscles, making less of a face than he had yesterday. “Better,” he replied, looking away.

“Good enough to go home?” Ethan asked, hopeful, pushing into his companion’s personal space.

“Almost,” Karl mumbled, one of his eyes closing when the Giant scratched a different spot, earning a contented whine.

Ethan snorted, much to the wolf’s chagrin, but what was he gonna do? Wag his tail harder?

Ethan’s homesickness reached a peak when the first of winter’s snow began to fall. He paced the front door, squeaking at the woodgrain, and bumping his head when neither the wolf nor the Giant paid attention. It managed to get him relocated to his designated area—nothing more.

Karl raised a lazy brow, lounging by the fire with a cat-like flicker to his tail. “Calm down, will ya?” he huffed, trailing Ethan with his eyes.

“Calm—are you serious?” Ethan snapped, feeling his face grow hot, “I need to go home,” he stressed, pointing to what he hoped was its general location.

“Why?”

“Why?” Ethan repeated, his tongue dumb, “did you really just ask that?”

“The Giant feeds you, keeps you warm, keeps you safe—what more could you want?” Karl asked, rolling on his back, closer to the fire.

Instead of answering, Ethan approached, not stopping until he held Karl’s gaze. He went further by dropping most of his body on his torso. “I feel trapped,” the rabbit confessed, staring into Karl’s mossy eyes, “I miss my bed,” he added, hoping the wolf would read between the lines.

Karl brought a heavy hand to the back of his head, scratching the sensitive skin on the nape of his neck. Ethan shuddered, sinking deeper into the wolf’s innate heat. “It’s ‘cause you’re so small,” he said, his smirk small but growing, “you’ve got two apex predators staring down your back—”

“Oh, shut up!” Ethan gruffed, pulling away, or he would’ve if Karl didn’t hold him steady. “I’m not scared of them or you, especially now that you’re basically domesticated,” Ethan said, defending himself and the scarlet burn working through his cheeks.

The wolf raised both brows, his amusement unmissable. “Domesticated, huh?” he chuckled, patting the top of Ethan’s head, “I guess we’ve got you to blame.”

“Me?!”

The rest of Ethan’s squeak was cut short by the Giant’s return, their heavy footfalls making him jump. They held armfuls of supplies, most of them edible. “Don’t you two look cozy?” they remarked, laughing at their own comment.

It seemed Ethan would have to put his irritation aside for another day.

Ethan could tell the lack of autonomy was getting to the wolf when the snow began in earnest. The Giant was big, but slow-moving, restricting their freedom due to the cold. They complained each time they opened the door and would mention the frost as they warmed themselves over the fire. For such a massive species, the Giants were ill-equipped for the elements.

Ethan caught Karl positioning himself towards the window, the door, sighing every few minutes whilst his tail flickered with an anxious tic. He wanted to ask what stopped him from leaving, why he insisted on staying. But then the Giant would approach with a heaping plate of food, and Ethan understood—subconsciously—that it was best for their health to stay put.

Still…

“I think I owe you an apology,” Karl murmured early one morning. He had both arms wrapped tight around Ethan’s middle, and his chin tucked deep into the crook of his neck. The Giant had been frightened by the arrangement in the beginning, and nearly lost an arm trying to separate them. Now, the Giant let them be, even if they did give them a careful glance—or two.

“For what?” Ethan said, half-asleep but ready to listen to the wolf admit he was wrong.

“I’m starting to see what you mean,” Karl said, elaborating when Ethan pulled back to look at him, “about feeling trapped.” An ironic choice of words considering how he held him.

“What? You don’t like being his lap dog anymore?” Ethan teased, awake enough to attempt it. Karl growled, stopping himself before he caught the Giant’s attention. “You gonna tell me that I’m wrong?” Ethan said, poking the wolf’s cheek.

“Very wrong,” Karl gruffed, though his face warmed beneath Ethan’s fingertip.

“Whatever you say, pup,” Ethan mumbled, snuggling further into the embrace. He let a moment pass, then another, waiting until Karl’s tail calmed to ask, “When are we leaving?”

“When the snow settles,” the wolf replied, adamant.

Mother Nature took that as a challenge, bringing with Her a terrifying few days of heavy snowfall. Both the rabbit and the wolf sat by the window, twin-longing in their eyes. The Giant stood by them, giving them a gentle pat. “Now, now, don’t fret, it is only snow,” they said, misunderstanding.

The animals looked at the Giant with a longsuffering gaze, earning a chuckle from the hefty creature.

It seemed the storm would last forever, and that thought depressed Ethan to no end. He’d pace the Giant’s home, biting his lip until it bled, just to bite it harder. Karl was less obvious in his anxiety, but there was no mistaking the flickering of his ears, nor his refusal to let Ethan out of his sight.

The only thing that made it bearable was being in the same predicament—misery loves company, and whatnot.

Nothing lasted forever, not even winter’s vengeance, as they woke nearly three weeks later to find the sun flirting with their closed eyelids. Ethan was the first to get up, his wriggling compelling Karl to follow.

“You two are eager,” said the Giant when they rose to open the door, almost toppled over by their unanimous escape. They didn’t get far, the ground still frozen and their bodies unprepared from the spoiling warmth of the Giant’s fire. Ethan considered turning back.

(Almost.)

“Not so fast, little ones, you’ve yet to eat breakfast!” the Giant called, moving faster than Ethan had seen them. It made the pair hesitate, even if just a moment.

“Let’s go, you can always come back,” Ethan ushered, feeling too cold to pull Karl away properly.

“Not in this weather,” the wolf countered, careful not to be seduced back into the Giant’s home when they reappeared with more than just breakfast.

“Karl—” but his words were futile. Ethan knew he couldn’t argue without sounding petulant, and though he wanted to reassure Karl he’d be fine (again), his stomach wasn’t so certain.

Ethan insisted on shouldering his half of their gifted burden, annoyed when the wolf ignored him. He would’ve tried again, but the Giant called after them once more, saying, “Please, don’t be strangers, The Duke is always at your service!”

They spared the Giant a glance, each struck with a mix of apprehension and begrudging gratitude. Ethan wouldn’t put it past either of them to return in time.

“Are you cold?” Karl asked once they settled into their trek home. He wasn’t immune to his own question, shivering every few steps when the wind would sweep through the trees.

Ethan forgot the woods could be massive if ignored, and stuck to Karl’s side, perhaps close enough to raise unwarranted suspicion. “I’ll be fine,” he said, hoping his small smile reassured him. No use complaining—Karl may be healed, but he was underdressed for the sudden chill. It made Ethan wonder where his coat had gone—and his hat.

The wolf gave him a look, but didn’t push, readjusting their spoils.

It seemed they were the only two people in existence. Their footsteps made new marks on the settled snow, leading any curious tracker to them. Ethan tried to set his paranoia aside, needing to believe the cold would deter such curiosity.

The landscape changed enough that he dared not stray, nose-blind to his own scent. He wondered how Karl did it, nearly asked until he realized the redundancy. The answer would be the same, obvious.

Ethan remained silent until he caught the familiar path to his home, giving a sigh of relief to see the old tree still standing. It’d lost all its leaves, and snow sat in delicate splotches on each branch, but it was his. He beamed at Karl, who couldn’t help his own smile, perhaps grateful they’d made it back without mishap.

Ethan rushed to his front door, pushing it open, the smell of them nearly blinding. It’d be difficult to hide his shiver—good thing he had an excuse.

Their first night back reminded Ethan why he hated winter. Even bundled beneath his blankets, and tucked inside the wolf’s arms, his teeth clattered. He’d gotten used to the constant fire—a commodity not afforded within his tree.

Not unless he wanted to burn it down.

“Having second thoughts?” the wolf mumbled, half-awake. Ethan unearthed the very tip of his head, looking at the man with infuriated incredulity. “You’re the one who adapted too quickly, little bunny,” he teased, his chuckle vibrating Ethan.

“W-who keeps a fire lit t-that long?” Ethan complained, burying himself in his blankets, protecting his ears from the air’s numbing effect.

“They do, apparently,” Karl said, patting Ethan’s back, his shoulders, “you should pack the holes in your tree a little better, that’d insulate it from the cold,” he added with a hum, “you also have a wall of blankets between us. I don’t know how much good me laying here is doing.”

Ethan stopped shivering enough to re-emerge from his blankets, narrowing his eyes at the cheeky wolf. Wordlessly, he pulled back his covers, shifting closer to include Karl, who hissed when their bodies met.

“You’re like an angry icicle,” the wolf murmured, repositioning them so the bulk of his weight draped over Ethan, bringing with it some much-needed warmth. “What, cat got your tongue?” he asked when Ethan said nothing, lifting his chin to meet his eyes.

It wasn’t as metaphorical as that, though the thought of a certain predator catching his tongue made his skin prickle. Ethan never paid attraction much mind—being isolated from his peers helped. He knew neither why nor how his body thought they were compatible.

The size difference alone might kill him.

“You’re too quiet,” Heisenberg purred, though his humour lessened, “what are you thinking about?”

“Something stupid,” Ethan admitted, speaking through a block in his throat.

“Nothing new, then,” Karl hummed, earning a swift bop on his forehead, “ow,” he chuckled, capturing Ethan’s hand before it went away, his teeth feather-light.

Ethan shuddered, hard, tensing under the ticklish tongue making its way across his palm. The saliva stung as it evaporated, leaving his arm a mess of pins-and-needles. He let himself be licked—a mockery of being devoured—his little heart beating too fast.

Karl’s eyes had yet to leave his, though they’d grown heavy, lids struggling to remain open. His breath stuttered when Ethan curled his fingers on his tongue, an involuntary reaction. “What are you thinking about?” Ethan whispered, his chest fluttering.

Karl froze, dropping Ethan’s fingers with a swiftness reserved for undeniable guilt. He reddened, his body growing warmer, nearly stifling. “Nothing, go back to sleep,” the wolf grumbled, quick to rest his head over Ethan’s chest, his ears flickering forward.

Ethan narrowed his eyes, but he was too warm to do more than stare. He should be frightened, (terrified!). A wolf slept in his bed, had him pinned to said bed, and had his fangs too close to his neck. Yet all Ethan could do was squeeze his wet fist shut, cursing his mouth for opening too soon.

When daylight returned, bringing some much-needed clarity with it, Ethan thought it best to test a theory. He wanted to believe they were past this, what with their shared, multiple near-death experiences. But if Karl thought of him as a glorified chew-toy, it’d be nice to know before his use was exhausted.

Sleepy and cold, Ethan pulled away from the wolf, grabbing one of two chairs to drag it against the wall. He climbed it, careful not to wobble too much as he looked through the branches for his chest of winter clothes. Finding it, he opened what he needed to, taking his thickest winter wools.

“What are you doing, rabbit?” a voice asked, startling Ethan. He would’ve fallen backwards had he not latched on to the nearest branch, scraping his palms. “Careful,” the wolf chastised, by his side in an instant. “Why didn’t you ask me?” he grumbled, helping Ethan down.

“I don’t need you for everything, you know,” Ethan huffed, clicking his tongue at his bleeding palms, “dammit,” he cursed, digging through his chest of miscellaneous items, finding some leftover rags. He pressed them to his injuries, glad to see they were surface-level.

The wolf growled, the sound zipping through Ethan’s instinct. He tried to ignore it, but last night attacked his train of thought, worsening his reclaimed fright.

“May I see?” Karl asked, approaching Ethan.

“No!” the rabbit snapped, hiding his palms from view, “I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that,” Karl said, his tone tense, “and I’ve yet to see it be true.”

Ethan’s head twisted to look at his should-be predator, too many emotions mixing into an incoherent babble. It made his eyes water, which blurred his worldview, worsening his affliction.

“Ethan?” Karl said, his demeanour changing, softening. He didn’t fight him a second time when he insisted on kneeling next to him, resting a warm hand on his shoulder. “Ethan,” he tried again, shaking him with a gentle push.

The rabbit hiccupped, trying to drown out his sob.

Failing.

“Are rabbits always this emotional during winter?” Karl said, trying to tease Ethan into a reaction, unable to get much more than a wet snort from him.

“This one is,” Ethan said, his voice trembly. He didn’t expect the wolf to pull him closer, yelping loud enough to be alarming.

“What’s got you so worked up?” Karl asked, fighting against Ethan’s wriggling, “Ethan, stop.” The rabbit did stop, his body a stiff plank of wood in the wolf’s arms. “Not like that,” Karl sighed, letting him go before rubbing his forehead. “I think you need your space—you’ve spent too much time around us ‘giants’,” he joked, but it lacked most of what made it funny.

“I’m fin—”

“Don’t,” Karl warned, holding back his bark, but only just, “I’ll be back,” he said, careful with his head when he stood.

“When?” Ethan asked, trailing Karl to the front door.

“When you need me,” the wolf said, his smile ironic.

“How could you possibly know when that is?” Ethan scoffed, following Karl to his threshold, hesitating when the cold hit him, “Karl!” he called, needing an answer. When the wolf ignored him, getting smaller with distance, Ethan should’ve let it be.

He didn’t.

“Karl,” he tried again, his irritation carrying him just behind the wolf.

“Go back home, Ethan—”

“So, last night, you were thinking of—”

“I was not,” the wolf interrupted, though continued forward, squaring his shoulders.

“Then why are you leaving?” Ethan asked, torn between being pathetic and petulant.

The wolf growled, quick to turn around, forcing Ethan into a hard stop. “Is this gonna be the rest of our lives?” he asked, his jaw tense, “you thinking I wanna eat you and me trying to convince you otherwise?” he clarified, looking across Ethan’s face for the answer.

“I don’t know,” Ethan whispered, speaking through his tightened vocal cords, “it feels like it.”

Karl nodded, turning back towards his home (presumably). “I’ll see you later, Ethan,” he said, the promise sounding fragile.

The rabbit panicked, unsure what it is he wanted from the wolf that he hadn’t already gotten. Space, time, a big, tight hug, food, warmth, everything, nothing—all of it overwhelmed him in a most fastidious way.

Out of his mind, Ethan bent low, forming a ball of snow and mud in his hands, tossing it towards the wolf. Karl’s growl was loud and petrifying, it should’ve stopped the rabbit from attempting another throw.

It didn’t.

“Ethan, I swear to god—”

Thwack.

“Ethan, if you don’t stop—”

Thwick.

“Ethan!—”

Splat.

Too fast to remember, Ethan was sprinting out of the wolf’s lunge, his lungs burning in an instant. Were it not for Karl’s insistence on taking it easy on him, he would’ve been between his teeth. The thought made him stutter and ultimately trip, as nature and nurture warred with his nebulous desires.

He wanted Karl close—he could admit that much.

Karl snapped his teeth, snarling as he pinned Ethan down, gripping his wrists high above his head. Ethan’s squeaks were silent, and his eyes wide, yet his heart didn’t beat as fast as it could’ve. They were at a familiar impasse, neither willing to move or break.

“If you’re so afraid of me eating you, why do you keep pushing me to?” Karl growled—his voice unrecognizable. When Ethan didn’t answer, he let him go, his fingers leaving a bright red imprint. He made to stand, but Ethan grabbed his shirt, forcing him to pause.

“Maybe I’m afraid that you won’t,” the rabbit confessed, earning the most conflicted stare he’d ever seen on the wolf.

“Wha—”

Both predator and prey looked towards the sound of snapping twigs, the largest of the two quick to take a deep breath. The fine hairs on Karl’s neck stood at attention, chilling Ethan faster than the literal snow on his back.

“Hide,” the wolf hissed, standing them up just to push Ethan in the opposite direction, “now!” he all but barked. Ethan had enough self-preservation to do as he was told, diving into the hollow of a nearby tree, shivering within the frozen roots. He heard the wolf run a few paces in the opposite direction, but his voice was loud and clear when it asked, “What are you doing here?”

Ethan held himself tighter, unsure what to expect from the unknown threat.

“Oh, Alpha, there you are!” a voice replied, garbled and in severe need of clearing its throat. Their footsteps were heavy and uncoordinated, though more than happy to push forward.

“What do you need, Moreau?” Karl growled, stopping their intruder from going farther.

“You’ve been missing,” the other wolf said, giving a wet chuckle, “the pack’s worried, feared you got hurt.”

“So, they send you to investigate?” Karl scoffed in disbelief.

“I volunteered!” the man said, sounding proud despite the obvious offence, “you’re my brother, after all,” they said, coughing out an entire lung.

“Go home, it’s cold,” Karl sighed, though his tone was tense.

“I heard a little rumour,” Moreau began, ignoring Karl’s scant concern, “d’you wanna hear it?” he asked, chuckling to himself with unnecessary glee.

“Go home, Moreau—”

“I heard you’ve been chasing a cute little bunny-rabbit,” the other wolf interrupted, much to Karl’s irritation if his growl were to be believed, “I heard he’s giving you the run-around,” he continued, giggle-coughing, getting too close to Ethan’s hideout, “isn’t that something? Our Alpha getting bested by a bunny-wabbit.” The congested wolf found that the most amusing thing to date, choking on his own laughter.

“I said, go home,” Karl snapped, putting himself between Ethan’s hideout and his sibling.

“What would the others think if they found out it was true?” Moreau whispered, his carefree tone sounding like a threat, “what would Mother Miranda think?”

“Why don’t you go tell her, then?” Karl mocked, cruel, “oh wait, you can’t—she’s dead.”

“Don’t remind me,” Moreau sobbed, slobbering over the rest of his words, “she should’ve made me Alpha, not you! I’m older, and I’m actually there, unlike you—chasing rabbits.”

Karl’s growl shook the ground, commanding respect from everyone. “Go. Home,” he enunciated, not needing to shout to be heard, “I won’t tell you again.”

“Yes, Alpha, sorry Alpha,” Moreau said, sounding as if he’d bowed before shuffling away with his uneven gait.

It was only in the silence that Ethan could hear his heartbeat, feel how it thrashed against his chest, leaving a mark with each thump. He couldn’t help jumping when Karl bent to look at him, his face unreadable, save for the clenching of his jaw.

“Are you okay?” the wolf asked, his voice low, unassuming. Ethan nodded, though it was more a reflex than an actual response. “It’s best if I walk you home, if you don’t mind,” he continued, holding out an ungloved hand. Ethan nodded again, crawling out of his hidey-hole and into the wolf’s personal space.

They said nothing on their way back, and for once, it wasn’t Ethan who was holding his tongue.

Chapter Text

Ethan’s eyes were glued to the roots on his ceiling, slow-blinking in time with Karl’s rumbly breathing. The wolf held him tight, ears pressed flat to his chest. Though wind blew through the naked branches, the night was quiet, highlighting the rush of his blood, his heartbeat.

Ethan swallowed, trying to calm his flickering fright.

The encounter with Karl’s pack-mate had shaken him, contrasting his relationship with the wolf. He’d neglected to acknowledge Karl may have a family beyond the wood’s edge, one that needed him—an Alpha.

Ethan knew little about wolf hierarchy, but he knew that meant “leader of the pack”. Judging by how his brother had spoken, it wasn’t hard to guess Karl may be ignoring his duties. Ethan could only assume why and for whom.

The rabbit looked down, his chest tightening with unfiltered emotion. Karl hadn’t let him go since they returned to his humble home. Save for the three large circles he made around the perimeter, and again on the inside, he hadn’t moved. It was winter, his pack may be cold, hungry, lost and without direction.

All because the wolf insisted on playing with its prey.

Ethan didn’t want to be the cause of starving bellies—he could barely feed his own. A stray tear fell from his eye, dripping backwards into his pillow.

The rabbit stared at the ceiling again, thinking.

“What are you doing?” Ethan complained, pushing away the wolf and his overactive tongue. His cheeks were wet with saliva, leaving him colder than before when it evaporated. He’d woken to it, at the mercy of Karl’s strength.

“Making sure you smell like me,” Karl mumbled, licking the back of Ethan’s ears, ignoring his startled squeaks, “sit still,” he huffed, reaching the top of one before he moved to the other, earning another high-pitched squeal. “Okay, okay, I’m done” the wolf reassured, letting Ethan go.

“What’s the point?” Ethan huffed, vibrating in place, “I’m still a rabbit—they’re not blind,” he said, motioning to nothing.

“It makes me feel better,” Karl said, dousing the fire of Ethan’s heated annoyance. With the morning sun streaming through his singular window, Ethan could see the markers of troubled sleep. From the tense line of the wolf’s jaw, to the reddened corners of his eyelids, no part of him was left unafflicted.

It punched a few holes through Ethan’s heart.

(He let it bleed.)

“Are you hungry?” Karl asked, moving away from Ethan and to the remainder of The Duke’s gift, separating it by favourability. He knew him too well, down to how he liked his kitchen organized. Was he like that with his own peers?

“Ethan?”

The rabbit jumped, his head snapping towards Karl, eyes widening.

“I’m gonna take that as a ‘yes’,” Karl said with a half smile, turning back to the fruits and vegetables.

Ethan rubbed his stinging cheeks, feeling scant traces of saliva clinging to them. Despite his opposition to being bathed in predator-spit, he couldn’t deny he did indeed smell different. It’d make any rabbit think twice about approaching.

Karl returned with a colourful plate of Ethan’s breakfast, settling beside him on the bed. Between his teeth, he carried something bark-like, though, given the way he chewed it, it seemed edible.

Ethan accepted his plate, working through the first bundle of hay before he asked, “What is that?” his curiosity, surface-level.

The wolf removed it from his mouth, a string of drool connecting him to it. “I don’t know, but it tastes good,” he murmured, resuming his messy gnawing.

“Do all animals taste good?” Ethan asked, crossing some form of line—he was sure. But when would he get the chance to ask these questions again?

Karl stopped cold, his eyes creaking to where Ethan sat, expression unreadable. “I don’t know, I haven’t eaten every animal,” he replied, voice too even.

“…Would I taste good?” Ethan asked, flinching when the wolf choked on his subsequent swallow.

“With the way you eat, certainly,” Karl mocked after catching his breath, rolling his eyes, “why are you asking? It’s not like either of us is gonna find out,” he growled, chewing through the unknown treat.

Ethan said nothing, eating out of habit rather than hunger. They remained that way until his plate was done, perhaps beyond that, keeping an unsteady peace with their mutual quiet. It didn’t stop Ethan’s train of thought from detouring to more unsavoury areas, like, what part of his diet made him taste better? Was the wolf subconsciously feeding him those items? And if he was, would he acknowledge it?

The longer he remained in his head, the closer he came to the realization that he wouldn’t mind being someone’s best meal.

Karl’s best meal.

“You’re still awake,” the wolf mumbled, half-annoyed as he tried to settle against the rabbit, chin too sharp in the crook of his neck, beard scratchy against his skin.

“How can you tell?” Ethan asked into the dark night, tone as numb as the ears poking above the covers.

“Your heart rate,” the wolf growl-whispered, taking the liberty to sneak a heavy palm beneath Ethan’s shirt, pressing it against his ribcage. It sat above his uneven heart, echoing its beat. “It’s fast,” Karl added, his voice sneaking through the thunder in Ethan’s ears.

“It’s always fast,” Ethan defended, fearing that his stomach might cave in with the way he held his breath.

“Too fast to be asleep, I mean,” Karl clarified, turning his head to look up at Ethan, eyes nearly black as they adjusted to the low light, “aren’t you supposed to cool down during winter?” he teased, his words ghosting over Ethan.

“You make that a bit hard,” Ethan confessed, his blush sluggish but intense.

“I’m sorry about that,” Karl replied, sounding anything but, “are you okay, little bunny?” he asked, his tone sobering.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Ethan replied, his tongue moving against the truth.

“You have this look—” Karl began but stopped, flashing Ethan a taut smile, “I never gave you your space, did I?” he said, his fingers tightening around his chest, leaving perfect pinpricks where his claws bit in, “sorry,” he murmured, trying to relax.

Ethan said nothing, lifting his head instead, his lips reaching Karl’s. The wolf pushed him back with a contented purr, deepening their kiss. Ethan opened his mouth wider, suffocating under the press of a heavy tongue, trying to breathe around it. His own tongue traced the sharp ridges of the wolf’s teeth, cutting itself on his canines.

Karl growled, jerking at the taste. “Careful, Ethan,” he breathed, though he couldn’t help returning to his mouth and flattening his tongue against the cut, shuddering.

Ethan ignored him, drawing his hands to the back of the wolf’s head, scratching behind his ears. Karl panted against him, whining as if it pained him to give in to his most basic self. The claws around Ethan’s chest tightened once more, leaving thin streaks of red. One broke, the smell of blood thick and unsettling.

“Shit,” Karl cursed, pulling back from the rabbit—hands and all. He gave his claws a reprimanding glare, balling his fingers into fists, destroying their purpose. “Are you okay?” Karl asked again, laying beside Ethan.

“Yeah,” Ethan exhaled, closing his eyes, “why wouldn’t I be?”

Despite many reasons not to, Karl dropped the subject, letting Ethan rest in the stillness of his unfinished thoughts. No good came from the silence, except an unsteady reflection of his inner-conflict.

Ethan’s tongue stung where it’d been cut, the pain grounding even if unpleasant.

There was an obvious answer to their problem, yet neither was willing to admit it, too caught up in the façade of symbiosis. Ethan stared at the top of Karl’s sleeping head—certain he’d disagree with whatever drastic measures the rabbit concocted.

It’d be best if he kept them to himself until strictly necessary.

“Don’t you miss your family?” Ethan asked one lazy afternoon. With the world too cold to explore, and his home too small to sit still, they’d walked to the river, resting by the frozen bank.

The wolf snorted, raising an amused brow, returning with, “What makes you think I have one worth missing?”

Ethan threw his gaze across the river, not knowing what lay beyond the treeline. It was an interesting—if rather depressing—rebuttal. Ethan wouldn’t be able to answer differently.

“Don’t they miss you?” he managed to say, bringing his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms tight around them.

“I don’t see why they should—they’re all grown up,” Karl said, narrowing his eyes, “why the sudden interest?”

Ethan’s face twitched, forcing his teeth to clamp over his healed tongue. He continued to face the river, terribly aware of the wolf waiting for an answer. “Just curious, is all,” Ethan mumbled with a shrug, “I still don’t know much about you.”

“That’s probably because there’s not much to learn,” Karl sighed, to which Ethan scoffed, incredulous. “It’s true!” the wolf insisted, his face stretching with a smirk, “you’ve already learned all the interesting things about me.”

“Oh yeah, like what?” Ethan challenged, losing his staring contest with the river to give Karl a look.

“I’m offended you even have to ask,” Karl replied, holding a dramatic hand to his chest. “We’ve known each other for the better part of the harvest season, and you’ve learned nothing,” he added, shaking his head, “what am I gonna do with you, little bunny?” The words should’ve been fretful, but Karl’s stare was serene, his instincts relaxed.

Ethan nearly ruined it by saying something distasteful. He managed to shrug in time, eyes moving forward once more.

It took him too long to realize neither had answered the other’s question.

“Did they go bad?” the wolf said, motioning to the untouched fruit in Ethan’s bowl. He’d busied himself with the last bark-like treat and a bone, finding a distant spot to indulge without disturbing the rabbit.

“No,” Ethan mumbled, forcing the apple slices down his throat, “they’re fine,” he added, unwilling to admit his lack of appetite.

Karl sighed, emptying both his lungs with the action. He returned to his half-chewed bone, surprising the rabbit, who figured he’d be interrogated for the long look on his face. Was he waiting him out? Or did he concede with Ethan’s silent yet unending plea?

Should he be worried?

“Should I be worried?” the wolf asked, giving Ethan an ironic sort of whiplash.

“About what?” Ethan returned, feigning ignorance.

Karl took a moment to answer, collecting his words after a few false starts. “Wolves haven’t gotten good at hunting by accident,” he began, at last, working his jaw through the rest of his statement, “this”—he pointed to his nose— “smells more than just meat.” His eyes climbed to join the rabbit’s, steady and stern. “You smell different, Ethan.”

The rabbit tensed, unsure if intent could be scented, but wouldn’t put it past the wolf to try. “You’re the one who insists on masking it, so,” Ethan tried to deflect, but he knew Karl meant beyond that.

“What are you planning?” Karl asked, moving forward with his accusation.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ethan said as straight-faced as he could. It didn’t stop his heart from hurting, nor his stomach from sinking into a pit.

“If you’re gonna do something stupid, I’d rather know now,” Karl warned, his seriousness sucking air from the small space.

Ethan looked into his bowl of half-finished apple slices, shoving one into his mouth, then another, ignoring the blur that came, the sting of tears.

The hand on his shoulder.

Between his hair.

He’d yet to put his thoughts to words, yet to breathe them out loud, and still, the wolf knew.

Forever keen.

Forever worried.

(He’d rectify that.)

How was simple, when was a pain in his ass.

The wolf wouldn’t let him out of his sight, even in slumber he held tight, arms locked at either side of him. His warmth lulled Ethan into a fitful sleep, and his tongue woke him, wetting his face until it dripped.

Could he taste his resolve?

Was he trying to lick it away?

“Aren’t you hungry, Karl?” Ethan asked, his head tipped backwards, neck bared to the large predator nosing it. The wolf huffed, but said nothing, resuming his ritualistic bath. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” the rabbit continued to ask, stretching out his limbs, lounging in the wolf’s lap.

“I ate yesterday,” the wolf replied, an eyebrow perched high.

“When’s the last time it was fresh?” Ethan asked, his breath catching when Karl sat him up, teeth bared.

“So, that’s what’s wrong,” the wolf snarled, nearly shaking Ethan in his anxious anger, “you have the strangest ways of showing you care, Ethan Winters,” he added, making the rabbit wince. “For the last time, no,” Karl whispered, his jaw tensing against the quiver of his bottom lip.

“Karl—”

“I’m not going to entertain it, Ethan!” the wolf barked, shaking the old tree’s roots. He was leaving bruises where he held the rabbit, fingers digging into his side as if he could meld them together, make them one.

There were simpler ways of going about it.

“What about your family?” Ethan said, his voice struggling against the tightness in his throat.

“What about them?” Karl asked, confused.

“You’re neglecting them by being here with me,” Ethan stressed, motioning to his home, “I have no place in your world, and you barely fit in mine,” he said, “isn’t it easier to just be done with it?”

“Ethan…” but the wolf was speechless, eyes shiny with a sentiment Ethan had seen once, when he’d been hanging by his neck, face going blue.

Karl was afraid.

“It’s inevitable, isn’t it?” Ethan continued, wrapping his hands around Karl’s wrists, neither pulling nor pushing him away. “If not you, then someone else.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Karl swore, his chest expanding with the promise.

“You can’t be everywhere at once,” Ethan said, dropping his gaze, “and I can’t expect you to be.”

“So, we give up then,” Karl huffed, his hushed words sounding furious.

“It’s not giving up,” Ethan insisted, “it’s closing the loop—saving you the trouble,” he mumbled, not needing to meet the man’s eyes to feel his frustration.

“The trouble of what, Ethan, eating you? You think I can’t find ten rabbits that look just like you?” the wolf began, incredulous, “have you forgotten what I am?”

“No,” Ethan snapped, looking up for a brief second, “but I think you have, pup.” That may have crossed a line. Ethan barely got a chance to blink before he was on his back, the wind knocked out of him, with an irate wolf posturing for an invisible cause. The rabbit couldn’t understand the growling, so he stared, managing to sneak a hand from beneath himself, tapping the tip of the wolf’s nose. “You’re not gonna do anything to me, Karl, you’ve already made that clear.”

His words seemed to suck the strength out of the predator, who nearly crushed Ethan when he fell on his forearms, a canopy of hair blocking his face from view. “What a fucking joke we’ve turned out to be,” Karl whispered, “you, a rabbit that wants to be eaten, and me, a wolf unwilling to do it.”

“If it’s any consolation, I only want you to eat me,” Ethan said, pressing his cold fingers to Karl’s cheek, stealing his warmth.

“It’s not, but I understand the sentiment,” Karl said, letting his head rest on Ethan’s palm, eyes too bright.

They fell asleep like that, Karl heavy but pliable, and Ethan restless but rousable. The wind compelled him to wake, eyes drawn to the frightful snowfall. Winter still reigned over the land, stark white and silent, it buried them deep in its frozen embrace.

Not that Ethan noticed with the giant furnace growl-snoring against his chest.

Ethan moved away in minute increments, watching for any signs that the wolf was conscious. Just like any predator, they slept in staggered stages, ready to hunt at a moment’s notice. He may have stunted his wolf, however, dulled his senses with his mere existence.

He’d file down his claws next if he wasn’t careful.

It took a while, but Ethan managed to free himself, his heart uneven in its gallop. Karl closed the gap made by his absence, coiled tight like a snail’s shell. Among other things, he’d evolved to adapt.

He’d be fine.

Determined, Ethan snuck to his front door, feeling a common uncertainty flow through his blood. He’d gotten complacent, enjoying the protections most of his kind would never know, taken from others what was not his own. Restoring that balance was of the utmost importance.

For his conscience if nothing else.

Ethan tried not to hesitate by his front door, but a fledgling thought kept him from opening it and being through with nature’s deception. Perhaps a part of him wanted to say goodbye.

Shaking his head, he pushed forward, braving the cold, though it whipped past his numb skin, afraid to settle. Ethan’s steps were aimless, simply pointed west, marching one foot in front of the other. He didn’t mind leaving a trail, knowing it’d be covered by morning—or melted.

Whatever shone of the moon was obscured by the naked branches, making his journey a dark one. He doubted he’d survive the night, but be it nature or beast that took him, it didn’t seem to matter this late in his trek. Despite his pending sacrifice, Ethan couldn’t help hoping Karl would remember him, at least the more flattering parts.

The snapping of twigs gave Ethan pause, weaker than his genetic instinct. He fought against it, moving forward despite the growing footfalls. He’d willed this into existence—it was time to commit.

“Little rabbit,” a light voice sang, forcing Ethan’s eyes to the hidden creature, “what are you doing here?” they asked with playful curiosity.

“Perhaps they got lost,” another voice said, just as chirpy as the last, “wouldn’t that be a shame?”

“Maybe we should show him the way home, hm?” a third said from behind Ethan, revealing themselves. A set of three wolves surrounded him, each cloaked in a heavy, black wool coat. Their hoods did nothing to conceal their faces, or their hair, which seemed to swim in the breeze.

If they were expecting Ethan to run, they were mistaken, as he sat down instead, chin pressed to his chest.

“That’s new,” the centremost wolf hummed, “giving up already?” she asked, kneeling down to give Ethan a proper look. Her nose twitched, her expression changing with it. “You—” she stopped before getting started, standing at her full height. “Let’s bring him to mother before a certain someone notices their toy is missing,” she said, giddy enough to giggle as she grabbed his arm.

The other triplets followed suit, taking the rest of his limbs, and carrying him off with blended cackles. They wasted no time running home, making the woods a blur. Though not exactly what he wanted, four wolves might get the job done faster than three.

“Mother!” one called, which compelled the rest to follow, “mother, we come bearing gifts!” she said as the group tossed Ethan forward, his limbs too cold to brace for the impact.

“Oh, daughters, didn’t I tell you…my, that is a gift,” what Ethan presumed to be their mother said, her voice rich and controlled, lacking the giggling tendencies of her juvenile wolves. She approached, forcing Ethan’s chin up, his eyes snapping open with the action. “Hello, little rabbit,” a snow-white wolf said, her black hair in stark contrast to her pale skin. Her eyes shone mossy-green—almost gold—in the darkness, and her fangs, though smaller, were sharp and elegant. She scented him, growling at whatever she found. “He smells a little stale,” she commented, letting him go with a disgusted click of her tongue.

Ethan’s neck strained when she stood to her full height, towering high above anyone he’d ever met, nearly at the level of a Giant.

“Then we should devour his rabbit-flesh quickly, mother!” the more talkative of the three sisters said, her blonde hair bouncing with excitement.

Their mother gave the rabbit a pointed look, breathing deep again before asking, “How did you find him?”

“He was lost,” one triplet said, “he was alone,” another piped up, “he came to us,” a third completed, giving a full recount of the events.

“Alone?” the mother wolf said, stressing each syllable through her red lips, “smelling like that, I doubt it was an accident,” she hummed, crossing her arms, “tell me, little rabbit, why are you here?”

“Does it matter?” Ethan gruffed, too cold to shiver, “just eat me already!”

“I like that idea!” one of the triplets said, laughing amongst her sisters.

“Now, now, everything in time—”

But their time, as well as their mirth, was cut short by a terrifying, familiar shout. “Alcina!” the voice boomed, dashing into the wolf’s den, not stopping until they were between Ethan and the female wolves.

“You have some nerve showing your face, Alpha,” the mother wolf snarled, her teeth bared despite tradition forcing her to bow. Her daughters did the same, though hid behind their mother, poking their heads when they felt less vulnerable.

Karl growled, his skin glistening with sweat, which evaporated in the frigid air like smoke from an uncontrolled fire. “This one’s not yours, so back off,” he warned, every muscle primed to fight any oncoming threat.

“I thought I recognized that awful stench,” Alcina sighed with a theatrical flair of the hand, “you know, I thought our brother was making a terrible joke when he said you were out ‘chasing rabbits’,” she continued, looking around Karl to raise a brow at Ethan, “it seems he wasn’t wrong for once.”

Karl growled, but it didn’t seem to intimidate Alcina as much as it should.

“How interesting that he ended up here, in my den, carried by my daughters,” Alcina hummed, something wicked in her smile, “why, it’s almost as if he knows his purpose better than you do,” she added, feigning a disbelieving lilt, “let’s hope that’s not the case.”

Karl scoffed, rolling his shoulders, trying to relax the boulders he’d made of his muscles. “You have eyes, Alcina, don’t you see how small he is?” he said, motioning to Ethan’s general direction, but not looking at him, “took me months to put a pound on him,” he added, his laugh cruel, “if you ate him now, he’d be terribly unsatisfying, barely worth the calories needed to chew him.”

Ethan’s heart gave an awful lurch, swapping places with his ribs as it beat out of his chest. So, it was more effort to eat him than keep him alive.

How kind.

“Food is food, Heisenberg,” Alcina said, daring the Alpha to correct her disrespect, “I’m sure you know that already.”

“Well, this one is mine,” Karl replied, not needing to look at Ethan to grab him by the scruff of his neck, dangling him like a ragdoll. “Go find yours somewhere else,” he growled, puffing out his chest before turning to leave.

“Better eat him quick, Alpha,” Alcina said, “my daughters do get, oh, so hungry.” As if to prove a point, the triplets made chomping sounds, licking their lips from the non-existent rabbit blood.

Ethan hung limp from Karl’s claws, growing nauseous with how the wolf traversed the forest, fast and steady, with not a hiccup to be had. They were at Ethan’s home in moments, and though their likelihood of being followed was slim, it didn’t stop Karl from circling the old tree, eyes and ears pointed forward. His precautions didn’t stop when they were indoors, driving him to pull Ethan’s table and chair to the door, barricading it.

Ethan couldn’t help thinking it was more to keep him from going out, than preventing things from coming in.

Only when his feet touched the ground did the wolf think it appropriate to look at him. Ethan hadn’t seen anyone look so disappointed since he left his family to live in isolation. Those had been his father’s eyes, blue like the sky, but hard like rocks.

“I don’t even know what to say,” the wolf said, trying to keep his growl in his chest, “didn’t I tell you not to go west?”

“I recall you saying the opposite, actually,” Ethan replied, monotone.

“Why are you doing this?” Karl asked, burying a whine with great effort, “I thought you were happy with me,” he continued, his voice shaking.

Ethan looked up, feeling cold for the first time since he left his home. “I was—I am,” he said, choking on his words, “but every day I’m with you, it goes against everything I’ve been made for.”

“What are you talking about?” Karl huffed, looking torn between crying, and shaking Ethan with his frustration.

“Look at me, Karl! Don’t you see how I live?” Ethan exclaimed, pointing his fingers to his chest, “I’m a failed rabbit—I can’t even get a pack of wolves to eat me,” he said, his chuckle high-pitched and manic.

“Ethan—”

“No, listen!” Ethan interrupted, blinking away his vicious tears, “rabbits are only good for two things: breeding and getting killed,” he explained, holding up his fingers, “and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not doing much breeding, am I?” he added, self-deprecating.

“What about surviving?” the wolf said through gritted teeth, trying to make Ethan see.

“Why? So, I can be someone’s meal the next day?” Ethan asked, annoyed despite the macabre subject matter, “I eat grass, Karl, there’s no one below me—I’m it!” he said, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand, unable to catch them all. “The day I saved you, I should’ve never made you promise not to eat me,” he sobbed.

In true, wolfish fashion, Karl snuck forward, silent as the night was cold. Despite needing to hunch, he managed to hold himself upright, eyes bearing down on Ethan with the weight of their respective ancestors. “Do you really wanna be eaten that bad?” he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Not really,” Ethan said, shaking his head, “but I think it’d make me feel better,” he continued, swallowing through a brick to whisper, “at least if it’s you doing it.”

Karl nodded, deceptively calm. “Get on the bed then,” he said, jutting his chin to it.

“Isn’t…won’t that be messy?” Ethan asked, his skin prickling with harsh anticipation.

“You’ll be dead, what does it matter?” Karl shrugged, waiting for the rabbit to do as he was told.

“Right,” Ethan said, approaching his bed with shaky legs, “should I take my clothes off?” he said, unsure how to navigate his own death and funeral.

“If you want,” the wolf said, not moving from his spot.

Ethan nodded, removing his garments one at a time, shivering under the exposure. There were other things he wanted to ask—Will it hurt? Will you eat me all at once? Can I cry?—but he was awfully quiet when he scrambled onto his bed, the covers scratchy against his back.

The wolf closed the distance in two strides, his face unreadable, cast in a shadow of its own making. Ethan tried not to flinch, but it was his nature. “Don’t wiggle too much, okay, little bunny?” the wolf said, waiting for Ethan’s jerky nods to climb on top of him. He pinned all his limbs with little effort, locking them in place.

Ethan always forgot Karl took it easy on him.

“I’m sorry if I’m not very filling,” Ethan said, earning a quick flicker of confusion from the wolf, “I haven’t been hungry.”

Karl snickered, the sound a surprise to the rabbit, who tried to smile with him. His grimace would have to do.

“You’ll be fine, Ethan,” the wolf purred, sinking his teeth into the crook of the rabbit’s neck. Before he bit, he gave the thumping pulse a wet lick, kneading the skin between his lips. The bruise it left made Ethan shiver—the pain not as bad as it would be.

Ethan braced for it—his limbs tight with goosebumps. The wolf repeated the action on the other side of his neck, letting his tongue slide up his face, pausing by his temple. Ethan couldn’t possibly know if this was common wolf behaviour—to savour one’s feast before indulging. He held still regardless, taking care to heed Karl’s warning.

A lovely consequence of having the wolf so close to his bare skin was the return of his warmth. It stretched beyond his fingertips, turning the rabbit a blushing pink. His colour worsened with each scratch of Karl’s beard, which seemed to dip lower with each lick, reaching his sternum before Ethan thought of asking, “What are you doing?”

“Eating you,” Karl replied, nosing Ethan’s ribs, and his pecs, letting the tip of his tongue trace around a nipple before flattening against it.

“This doesn’t seem—” Ethan gasped as the sharp ends of Karl’s fangs bit into his reddened flesh, leaving a mark, but no more.

“You gonna tell me how to eat you?” the wolf growled, his voice rumbling in Ethan’s belly. The rabbit shook his head, but Karl wasn’t done reprimanding him, “Go ahead, tell me what I should be doing,” he said, pressing heated kisses down to Ethan’s navel, dipping his tongue in the small hollow. The rabbit keened, twitching into the feeling, left shaking. “Come on, bunny, do you wanna be eaten or not?” the wolf teased, his words ghosting over Ethan’s tensing abdomen.

Ethan looked into the eyes of his lazy captor, realizing most of him had been freed. He could kick Karl away and escape if he too weren’t lazy prey. Besides, he’d been asked a question, he should probably answer it.

With a soft, timid nod, Ethan gave his permission, growing pliant under the other’s touch. The wolf huffed with delight, bringing his claws to either side of Ethan’s thighs, squeezing them as he helped them open. If Ethan thought exposing his underbelly was dangerous, he’d failed to recognize how little he’d shown of himself.

Karl’s tongue was almost as sharp as his teeth, tracing and licking the innermost part of the rabbit’s thigh. Ethan could tell the wolf was salivating, feeling the excess drip down the back of his leg. His face burned, the heat nearly starting a fire on his fingers when he went to cover it.

Karl left nothing unmarked, his tongue eager to trace every new ridge and curve given to him, driving his tongue and fingers in places where they shouldn’t go—save for one. Ethan didn’t think it appropriate to ask for such special treatment so near death, but the knot in his stomach was literally killing him.

Trying to remain inconspicuous, Ethan tore one of his hands from his face, taking his time sneaking it down the side of his bed, then over his stomach. Ethan watched for the wolf to see if he was still occupied between his thighs.

(He was.)

Careful, and with too light a touch, Ethan wrapped a hand around himself, squeaking at the white-hot feeling melting down his insides. He would regret missing spring, knowing he’d have the stamina to enjoy it when not burdened by the cold. His movements lacked any finesse, focused on being a steady pressure he could buck into, aiming to finish before he lost his hands.

A growl started deep in Ethan’s core, rattling his bones. It took him a moment to realize the sound wasn’t innate, but by then it was too late—he’d been caught. “Naughty rabbit,” the wolf snarled in response to Ethan’s frightened whimper, his fangs overflowing with saliva.

Ethan didn’t get a chance to protect himself from the bite, squeezing his eyes shut as a reflex, hoping the pain would be over before he could feel it.

Reality wasn’t as merciful, but it did have a sense of humour.

The wolf didn’t bite him, per se, but he did consume him, starting with his mischievous fingers. He gave each one his undivided attention, lapping up Ethan’s excitement better than any towel could. More fire spread down his body when the wolf moved to the source of his misbehaving, ending in a jagged spiral where he flattened his tongue.

Ethan had never felt such an eager warmth zip through his spine. The sound that left him would be frightening in any other context, but damn him if it didn’t match his sentiment. “Karl,” he keened as the wolf swallowed around him, the pressure edging him to the inevitable. The responding growl nearly did it, sending little pin-pricks to the base of his cock, settling deeper still.

Ethan couldn’t breathe, his gasps for show. Were it not for Karl holding him down, he would’ve flown away. A curious finger brushed his inner seam, pressing just above his hole, still wet from the wolf’s earlier attempts at a meal. It pushed inside, mindful of the claw attached to its tip. Ethan seized up, lifting from the bed to wrap his hands around Karl’s head, keeping him in place as he came.

Once through, he fell backwards—boneless—twitching in the aftershocks. He hadn’t thought to warn Karl, but he’d be receiving his ultimate punishment eventually—what was one more selfish slight?

The wolf continued to lick his spent tip, hum-purring before removing his curious finger. He stopped just as Ethan grew too sensitive, moving to his hipbone, then his flank, resting his head on his belly. “Feel better, little bunny?” he asked, his voice raspy but nonetheless content. Ethan nodded—unsure he could answer in words. “Still want me to eat you?” he teased, stretching his swollen lips into a smirk.

Ethan nodded, then shook his head, confused. It drew a chuckle from the wolf, who shuffled closer, wrapping Ethan into a tight hug. “I can’t eat you, my teeth aren’t sharp enough,” the wolf lamented, rocking Ethan when he began to sniffle. “I know, what a travesty.”

“I thought it would help,” Ethan whispered, “it made sense in my head.”

“You mean the same head that thought it was a good idea to trust a wolf at his word?” Karl mumbled, rapping lightly on Ethan’s skull, “you should get it checked.”

“I thought wolves were loyal,” Ethan said, feeling small, not minding it if it meant being warm.

“Yeah, to other wolves,” Karl clarified, shaking his head, “do you still want to be eaten?” he asked, serious.

“I never wanted to be eaten,” Ethan countered, ignoring the wolf’s snort, “I didn’t—I wanted to stop feeling guilty for keeping you from your family, from forcing you to betray what makes you, well, you,” he explained, clinging to Karl’s shirt.

“A wolf?”

“Yeah,” Ethan agreed, breathing them in, the spike of adrenaline welcome, “I’m sorry, I never meant to domesticate you.”

Karl chuckled, rubbing soothing circles into Ethan’s arms, his back, ending with a hand to his bushy tail. “Will you promise me something?” he whispered, playing with the fluffier parts of Ethan’s tail, “it’ll make us even,” he added before the rabbit could refuse.

“I hesitate to say yes, but okay, what do you want?” Ethan said, his chest tightening under the unknown desires of the wolf.

“Will you stop trying to sacrifice yourself? You smell too much like me for anyone to want to eat you,” Karl said, pulling back to pin Ethan with a stare, “me included.” Ethan’s blush reappeared, and though calmer than before, it still spread, reaching his temples by the time he nodded. “I wanna hear you say it, Ethan,” the wolf said, giving a soft growl.

“I promise,” the rabbit squeaked, earning a quick peck on his forehead.

“Good,” the wolf grumbled, “but I’m not clearing the barricade until winter passes.”

“Is it winter?” Ethan joked, cowering under Karl’s narrowed gaze, “ignore me.”

The wolf did not, taking a deep, purposeful breath. “Ethan—”

“Go to sleep, Karl—”

“Ethan, are you in heat?”

“What?! No,” Ethan was quick to refuse, shaking his head. Yet the oppressive silence that followed compelled him to say, “…maybe.”  

“Ethan—”

“I don’t know! Sometimes it feels like I am, especially when I’m warm and full,” Ethan said, shielding his face from scrutiny. “You really shouldn’t be able to know,” he grumbled. Damn the wolf and his nose.

“That’s why you smell different,” the wolf sighed, chuckling, “I thought you were getting sick,” he said with intense relief.

“Should’ve eaten me when you had the chance then, before I go rancid,” Ethan scoffed, his pout full and annoyed.

“Rotten, truly,” the wolf purred, caressing his way down Ethan’s backside, grabbing a handful of his ass, pulling him closer, “how long does it normally last?” he asked, earning a swift slap to his arm.

“I am not in heat!”

“Only one way to find out!” Karl said, laughing at Ethan’s flustered groan, “leave it to you to conflate fear and fun,” he teased, brushing their noses together, “no wonder you’re so provoking.”

“I don’t do it on purpose.” Liar.

“If you wanna be chased, you just have to say so,” Karl reassured, his smirk a permanent fixture, “I don’t mind the exercise.”

“Karl!”

“Ethan.”

“Pup.”

“Bunny.”

But it was no use, they would forever remain at an impasse.

Chapter Text

Perhaps he hadn’t been in heat, but Ethan couldn’t deny that weeks of toeing around such carnality left him primed for parts of it.

He noticed the warmth first—hard not to when he was boiling alive beneath Karl’s arms and his confused cycles. The rabbit kicked his blankets and pushed away from the wolf, just to be smothered by his unconscious possessiveness.

(Ethan wouldn’t blame him, Karl was still relearning to trust him.)

Next came the hunger pangs, which, though not unusual, hit him at inopportune times. He shouldn’t be thinking about running through the meadows when the ground was still frozen. When he did eat, it was with the urgency of a drowning man, inhaling what he could as if it’d disappear tomorrow.

He’d ignore Karl’s snickering for peace’s sake.

Their routine settled, matured, almost like a dance that left them entwined more often than not. When the world began to waken, and the snow melted, Ethan had to admit that he was rather thankful to be eaten metaphorically.

Who knows where he’d be if it’d been literally?

“God, that feels nice,” Karl groaned, doggy-paddling through the unfrozen river, stark naked save for the glasses hanging on for dear life.

“I’m glad you think so,” Ethan mumbled, working through many weeks of laundry. His hands shook with the effort to remain still under such a display, though his eyes betrayed him at a moment’s notice. The dark of winter had given way to later nights, to sunsets which lingered on scarred skin and mossy eyes. Ethan nearly forgot there was a wolf beneath all those blankets and wet swipes of the tongue.

He shivered again, snapping his thighs closed.

“You should get in!” Karl suggested, dipping into the water to reemerge with a squirming fish, the first of many given his enthusiastic chewing, “I promise not to get your ears wet,” he added, as if that’d convince Ethan.

“It’s not just the ears,” Ethan sighed, unfolding another used pair of trousers, working the cool river water through the fabric. “It’s the tail, and the skin, and the nose—rabbits are clean enough on their own, too much water complicates things.” Not to mention the threat of instant hypothermia if one wasn’t careful.

He’d lost many siblings that way.

“Come on, it’s fun,” Karl insisted, his tone taking on a pup-like whine. He’d been adopting different methods of persuasion, and this by far was his most successful.

“For you,” Ethan gruffed, shaking his head, “the answer is still no, Karl,” he continued, pausing to give the wolf a look, “trust me when I say so.”

The man looked reprimanded, ears flattening against his wet hair, pout in full swing. Ethan felt his heart give a terrible stutter, admonishing his own—very necessary—decision. Dipping a toe or two couldn’t hurt…could it?

Giving his remaining chores a glance, Ethan relented (a bit!), rolling up his pant-cuffs before undoing his shoes, tip-toeing to the edge of the river with much trepidation. The wolf swam closer, his smile large though not as sharp as it could be. Ethan stepped as far as his rolled cuffs, making a face at the temperature difference.

“Okay, I got in, now what?” Ethan asked, crossing his arms. Karl snuck closer, his wet tail poking just above the water. It gave his intentions away, though Ethan didn’t have enough foresight to know what they were. By the time he did, he was already backwards on the muddy gravel, his head supported by the soaked beast, who nuzzled his dripping face into the crook of his neck. It tickled Ethan something terrible, his sputters unheard by the wriggling brute. “Karl,” he tried to complain, but despite being wet, he was warm, and smothered—a feeling with which he'd grown comfortable.

It was Karl who kissed him first—Ethan made sure to note—eager and overbearing, his tongue tasted of fresh water and fish, making the rabbit’s nose twitch. “You’re lucky I tolerate you,” Ethan mumbled when they parted, eyes too hooded to be entirely upset.

“Right, ‘tolerate’,” the wolf quoted, sneaking another kiss, this time on Ethan’s cheek, chuckling at his fluttering eyelids. “Looks like you got all muddy,” he hummed, not needing to verify, what with the way they sunk into the soft earth, “maybe you should hop in after all.”

“I take it back, you’re intolerable,” Ethan huffed, pushing the wolf away, at least enough to try and get up. There was that whine again, as if that’d absolve Karl from his own transgressions.

Perhaps if Ethan were stronger-willed, it wouldn’t have worked.

“You promise not to get my ears wet?” Ethan said, his blush darkening at Karl’s sharp grin, his quick nod flinging droplets, “I won’t forgive you if they do,” Ethan warned, sitting up to undo his shirt and trousers, not willing to commit to nudity like the wolf.

“I’ll make sure they remain bone-dry, then,” Karl promised, helping Ethan into the river. He sat him atop his lower-abdomen, strong and buoyant enough to keep them afloat.

And for all of Ethan’s doubts, Karl did keep his ears from getting wet.

(Though, a bit of water may have stopped them from turning so red.)

Winter left in its entirety and with it took the last shred of Ethan’s unconscious self-control. If he ever questioned what was heat and what wasn’t, he simply had to look at how he roused on the first day of spring.

It was a reversal of positions, with Ethan now suffocating Karl, limbs tight around what he could hold. Ethan followed the rhythms of his squishy brain, massaging the hard knot sitting between his legs as he rocked into the wolf. It felt good—great—but did nothing to douse the lava melting through his still-sleeping veins.

When Ethan woke, fully this time, he was drenched in sweat, and his thighs were near-cramping with the strain. He forgot what he’d done years prior, certain recalling those memories couldn’t help him now. It’s not as if he’d ever had another rabbit to share them with.

(Male or female, he doubted they compared to a literal wolf.)

Speaking of which, the larger mammal woke with a start, eyes locking on Ethan and his too-hot skin. He seemed frightened, hands moving to the rabbit’s forehead as if worried about a fever. It wasn’t an incorrect assumption—Ethan was warm enough to warrant it. But it took the wolf looking at the whole picture to understand, his grin wicked.

He growled to get Ethan’s attention, the sound rich and hungry. It distracted from the fingers he brought to his back, helping correct his pace, or simply feel it—the rabbit couldn’t tell. Ethan squeaked at the touch, his fingers aching as they bunched into Karl’s shirt, shaking with anticipation.

“Good morning to you—” Ethan interrupted him, pressing a digit to his lips with a quick shake of his head.

“Too loud,” the rabbit exhaled through his tight throat, trying to focus on the moment, too overstimulated for anything else. At least the wolf seemed to understand, letting himself be used, not taking offence to its should-be demeaning nature.

Ethan felt the first of his release unfurl, his bones trembling. His rhythm lost all sense, leaving him to twitch and buck into Karl’s rigid thigh. He reached towards the wolf—nails-first—to pull him closer. Digging into the nape of his neck, he pressed wet kisses near his lips—missing his mark. Trying again, he felt saliva trickle down his mouth when his body jerked into its climax, teeth too eager to bite down.

He tasted blood, the copper alarming in the most dangerous way. Were Ethan in his right mind, he would’ve stopped to assess. Instead, he sucked the wound, unsure whose blood he was tasting.

Uncaring at the moment.

When he was more himself—barely, mind you—he gave his surroundings a glance. He recognized his home, the renovations to the ceiling for a certain, tall someone, the tables and chairs, the cabinetry—

“Dammit,” Ethan whined, smacking a hand to his forehead, “I forgot to stock up,” he said, jumping at the chuckle vibrating in his ears.

“Am I allowed to speak now?” Karl asked, whispering just in case.

Ethan looked up, his eyes widening at the red mark growing purple on the wolf’s lower lip. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he rushed, pressing soft kisses to the skin before he thought better about aggravating it. He kissed around it, apologizing between each peck.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Karl reassured, still moving into Ethan’s kisses, taking advantage of his affections. They matured to an actual kiss, Ethan’s breath warm, his tongue unsatisfied until it met Karl’s. “Wait, wait,” the wolf said, much to the rabbit’s annoyance, “what was that about food?”

“I don’t care about food,” Ethan grumbled, readjusting so he sat completely on Karl’s lap, the stretch highlighting his growing ache. “Karl, touch me,” he keened, reaching for one of his bigger hands, shameless as he brought it to where it hurt, “please,” he added, his heat unable to undo decades of hard-learned manners.

The wolf growled, deep and terrifying, quick like lightning when he flipped them over. He seemed to follow instinct—and Ethan’s generous instructions—using his tongue and fingers to press into Ethan’s most tender spots.

They spent a lot of the morning stressing the bedframe, Ethan’s voice ragged and his body limp by the time he was anywhere near spent. Karl’s happy licks grew loud in his ears, making them ring. Ethan’s eyes were sluggish—or embarrassed—to look where the wolf devoured him, leaving not a drop behind. He twitched at the thought, giving one last valiant, but dry jerk, the cramp in his belly letting go for now.

“Karl,” he tried, though his voice left much to be desired. Using his hands instead, he carded them through the man’s curls, scratching his scalp whilst tugging to pull him off. Karl almost didn’t, seemingly content to die there. Ethan’s whimper broke his trance, forcing his eyes up, black, and depthless. “I’m good,” the rabbit croaked, giving a thumbs up before collapsing.

Gone like a light.

Ethan resurfaced from his slumber, groggy but terribly content. He followed a familiar habit, only aware of it due to the unpleasant results. After cracking open an eye, he pouted at the state of his empty bed.

Perhaps he was having a nightmare.

Trying again, Ethan patted the wolf’s side of the bed, frowning when reality set in. So, he’d been left to his own devices, to burn through his heat with nothing but his inefficient hands. It was enough to make a grown bunny cry, to drown their tears in the old, creaky leather tickling their nose, the scent of cigars and earth floating to meet their sniffles.

What a cruel, cruel—

“Ethan?”

The desolate rabbit squeaked, jumping out of his skin, eyes flitting towards his caller. “Karl,” he said, sounding too distraught for someone who was smiling, “you’re here,” he added, his eyes watering again, tears already down his face.

“Are you alright?” Karl asked, pressing his palm to Ethan’s forehead, forced to cradle the side of his face when the rabbit pushed in, encouraging the caress. “Should I be worried?” the wolf teased, scratching behind Ethan’s ears, surprised his fingers weren’t bitten off.

“Only if you leave me again,” Ethan threatened, his eyes sharpening a fraction.

“Noted,” Karl replied, clearing his throat, “hungry?” he asked, aiming to distract from his transgression. Ethan’s nose twitched, unable to smell more than his seasonal fever and the wolf’s leather trench coat. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Karl said, risking life and limb when he stepped away from his rabbit, returning just as swiftly. He carried a rainbow array of fruits and vegetables, too varied to be found in the wild.

Ethan gave him a pointed look, but his annoyance couldn’t outlive the rumble in his belly, nor the overwhelming saliva pooling in his mouth. “Did you go back to The Duke?” he still asked, parting his lips for the first of his meal, forgetting he’d spoken after tasting the mysterious, yellow fruit. Ethan gagged trying to inhale it, his eyes and throat stinging from the force.

“S-slow down, Ethan,” the wolf gasped, pulling the fruit away. Ethan did bite him then, licking the red indent made from his teeth, apologizing with a peppering of kisses. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” the wolf grumbled, shaking his head at the rabbit’s snort. “How long’s this meant to last?” he asked, feeding Ethan as much as he’d ingest.

“Two weeks,” Ethan said through a mouthful, making a mess of the wolf’s dominant hand, his fingers wrapped tight around his wrist to keep it from moving too far.

“Two—are you like this every day?” Karl asked, his ears flickering.

“More or less,” Ethan admitted, pausing his pseudo-devouring of the wolf’s digits to look at him. Karl looked back, expectant. “Are you—is this too much?” he managed to say, fighting his cells to let the wolf go.

(His pout couldn’t be helped.)

“Did I say that?” Karl replied in a near-growl, making the rabbit jump. He palmed the side of his face, slickening the skin with the rabbit’s drying saliva. “It’s just different, is all,” he said, trying to correct any confusion.

With permission to touch restored, Ethan coiled around the wolf’s arm, rubbing his cheeks against it, mixing their scents. Karl gave a breathless chuckle, resuming his feeding of the affectionate rabbit.

“Do wolves not have mating cycles?” Ethan asked between a moment of clarity, taking advantage of it to groom himself. His hair had been a bird’s nest, and his skin had gone sticky with sweat and other translucent fluids. He’d need a proper bath once this was over, not that he was looking forward to it.

“We do,” Karl said from the window, ashing his cigar, “it’s already passed,” he added, his ears flickering in time with his tail.

“I didn’t notice it,” Ethan mumbled, slowing down the comb running through his hair.

“Could be the fact that we were indoors for most of it,” Karl hummed with an ironic smirk, “or that you’re not a wolf,” he continued, unable to help his snicker. He returned to his smoking, his tail giving a gentle wag.

“Well, you’re not a rabbit,” Ethan grumbled, recapturing the other’s attention, “seems fair that if you know, then I should know also,” he said at Karl’s raised brow.

“Perhaps if you were a female wolf, it would matter,” Karl said, shaking his head, “we’re not like rabbits, we can’t just breed whenever we want.”

Ethan’s face stung with a rush of blood, aching to remedy the wolf and his misgivings about his kind, but damn him if he wasn’t correct. “Don’t you want pups?” Ethan mumbled, earning a narrowed stare.

“Don’t you want bunnies?” the wolf countered, continuing when the rabbit shook his head, “exactly, if either of us did, we wouldn’t be here.” He took a drag of his cigar, exhausting it, his eyes moving far away. “Besides, I’d be a terrible father,” he murmured, his sigh heavy and pronounced.

Ethan wouldn’t push it—they’d reached their quota on sensitive topics.

“Don’t look so glum,” Karl teased, approaching Ethan to pat his hair, destroying his combover, “I’d have spent the season alone whether I knew you or not,” he reassured, bending to give the top of Ethan’s head a gentle peck, “I’m glad I get to spend it with you.”

Ethan had been so overcome with a flood of emotions that he forgot to dissect Karl’s use of the present tense.

He said ‘get’, as in now, as in occurring presently.

Come to think of it, his ears twitched when he talked about its passing…

The rabbit looked down at the slumbering wolf, wanting to pinch him for lying. So what if he wasn’t a female wolf, he wasn’t a female rabbit—what difference did it make?

Ethan made a face, aiming to be inconspicuous as he flattened his ears against his skull. He breathed through his mouth, his nose too twitchy with the overwhelming scent of his kin.

Karl walked beside him, their shoulders brushing, and neither the scent of his cigar nor him could block out the pheromone markers.

There was a reason he didn’t enjoy going outside during mating season.

“They seem to be having fun,” Karl chuckled, keeping a wide berth from the group of rabbits answering nature’s most carnal call.

Ethan grumbled, forgetting he was trying not to react. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful to the wolf’s presence, to his care. Karl was leading them to a remote meadow so Ethan could eat—forsaking his own hunger. A banquet of his brethren sat just within his reach, too entertained with themselves to notice the danger.

(Ethan wouldn’t blame the wolf if he took advantage.)

The rabbit shook his head, rubbing his nose from the nauseating tickle. “Too much fun,” he grumbled, torn between flattening his ears from the squeaks and blocking his nostrils.

“You sound annoyed,” Karl hummed, taking a pull from his cigar, “jealous?”

Ethan scoffed, tried to correct the wolf, floundered, and scoffed again, his cheeks doing nothing to help him. “I am not jealous,” he managed, grinding his teeth. Karl chuckled, finding it all quite amusing. Ethan wished he could share the sentiment. “I’m not,” he reiterated, crossing his arms. His ears sprung back to their natural state, amplifying every sweaty connection of too much skin and not enough clothes. He shuddered, partly from disgust.

(He would not entertain the other part.)

“Want me to go scare them?” Karl asked once they reached the overgrown meadow, untouched by zealous teeth. It’d be the only bright side to their outing.

“I doubt it’ll work,” Ethan mumbled, settling into the greenery, his appetite approaching nonexistence.

“Only one way to find out,” Karl said, his smirk wide and sharp, speaking to more than his tone led on.

Ethan dismissed him with a shrug, pretending to ignore him as he ran away—tail wagging. He heard the growls first, unable to help his grin at the terrified squeals erupting from the bushes. It was easy to give in to his selfishness this once, to enjoy the potential heart attacks Karl’s surprise might cause.

He’d blame it on his heightened emotions during heat if asked.

The wolf returned with too bright of a smile, wiping away excess saliva with a swipe of his thumb. “They almost didn’t move,” Karl said, sounding impressed. He lay next to Ethan, resting on his stomach, his tail struggling to calm. His eyes were perched above his glasses, giving the rabbit a knowing look.

“I’m sure they’ll pick up again in a few minutes,” Ethan huffed, forcing another bite into his mouth, chewing longer than necessary.

“And you? How do you feel?” Karl asked, his voice dipping into a low rumble, shaking the ground if it let him.

“What do you mean?” Ethan returned, sitting straighter, his little heart giving a frightened lurch. Was he that transparent?

“It hasn’t been two weeks,” Karl reminded, breaking eye contact to look at the sky as if reading the days in the clouds, “and you’re not really eating.”

Ethan shoved another handful of grass into his gullet to prove the wolf wrong, but his pride and his biology were at an impasse. It remained a ball of half-chewed sludge in his cheeks. Annoyed to be caught in his bluff, he spat the grass back out, giving a heavy sigh. “I’m not really hungry,” Ethan said, at last, crossing his arms.

“Hm,” the wolf said, their eyes meeting again, “I could’ve told you that.”

Instead of answering, Ethan threw a fistful of dirt at him, watching it land in a satisfying heap on his cheek. Karl gave a warning growl, but didn’t budge from his spot, waiting to see if Ethan would behave. To his surprise, Ethan growled back, though it was more of a squeaky grumble than anything fear-inducing.

Karl’s tail twitched, nonetheless, catching Ethan’s attention.

The rabbit positioned himself as if he were about to jump, but instead of away, he hopped forward, landing on nothing when the wolf moved. He’d forgotten how terribly deceptive Karl’s “resting state” could be. Ethan tried again, aiming for the wolf’s tail, missing.

“Little bunny, what are you doing?” Karl said, stuck between amusement and confusion. He dodged with a supernatural ability, predicting Ethan’s trajectory before even he knew it.

“I’m hunting you,” Ethan huffed, running out of breath. Damn that elusive tail! Was it even real?

“Is that so?” Karl cooed, borderline patronizing.

“Don’t underestimate me, Heisenberg,” Ethan warned, narrowing his eyes, “you’re looking at the rabbit who managed to trick a wolf into being his friend,” he reminded, giving said wolf enough of a pause to catch his tail. He barely got a chance to celebrate before he was overpowered. Knife-like canines pushed into his face, reminding him how small his were in comparison.

His heart was the only thing he heard for minutes, fast and unsteady. The wolf’s chuckle cut through it, accompanying the gentle shift in their arrangement.

Ethan looked at the world rather than the sky, the wolf beneath him, his thighs on either side of his hips. Sneaky claws crept up the back of his legs, meeting at the edge of his jacket, teasing the small of his back. “You caught me,” Karl conceded, though, with the way he held him, the words were more mollifying than truthful.

A flood of warmth pooled at the base of Ethan’s stomach, making him hot wherever their bodies touched. He leaned into the hands cradling him, his own wrapping around their wrists, keeping them there.

“What is it?” Karl asked, his glasses low on his face, exposing the inky blacks of his pupils. Ethan could almost see himself, a reality he tried to avoid often. “Don’t get shy now,” the wolf purred, pulling away one of his hands to grasp Ethan’s chin, lifting it from its place on his chest. “What do you want?” Karl whispered, tracing the bottom of Ethan’s bitten lips.

The rabbit couldn’t answer, eyes screwed shut as the crashing of another heat wave bowled him over. His hips twitched in response, the involuntary movement sending a zip through his spine, compelling him to repeat it.

“Wait, Ethan,” Karl said, stilling Ethan’s hips, much to his utter distress. “I’m sorry,” the wolf cooed, sitting up to wipe away the sudden brightness in Ethan’s eyes, “I was gonna ask if you wanted to go home,” he rushed, pressing soft kisses to his red cheeks, “you know, before we get started,” he emphasized, bouncing in place.

Ethan nodded, embracing Karl like a vine, scenting him in case there were others around. He didn’t give in to hypotheticals often, but he allowed himself to wonder what it’d be like if Karl were a rabbit. Would he feel as strongly for him, want him until he felt like breaking?

Perhaps it was best if they left hypotheticals alone.

“Are you leaving me again?” Ethan asked, a second away from crying. He’d been bundled tight in both his blankets and the wolf’s trench coat. The man foolishly assumed it’d appease him. It did not, and Karl’s insistence on tightening his bootlaces made Ethan sniffle.

The sky said it’d been hours since they returned from the meadow, but Ethan’s internal clock was all screwed to shit. His legs still shook from the nimble fingers that’d been inside him, from the tongue that licked his skin raw, and the teeth that bit him—

“You’re out of food,” Karl scoffed, shaking his head, “you didn’t eat anything in the meadow,” he added, reaching for his hat and glasses, “and with the amount of energy you’re burning, I’d rather you not starve,” he reminded, coming back to Ethan, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead.

A mistake.

“Don’t leave!” Ethan squeaked, quick to unearth from his cocoon and wrap his arms around Karl, dragging him down like a shark. He didn’t let Karl counter, nipping at his lips until they opened, shoving in with an insistent tongue. “Don’t leave me,” he begged between breaths, “don’t.” His kiss grew sloppy, mixing with the salt on his skin. He continued to demand Karl stay, the word losing its meaning through repetition.

“You can’t survive on air alone, Ethan,” Karl growled, though his hands were busy elsewhere, pacifying each twitch and eager jerk, “and don’t tell me you’ll be fine,” he cautioned, baring his fangs. It only worked to wind up the rabbit, who cut himself in his haste to kiss him. Karl buckled under the taste, his shudder shaking the bedframe. He gave in, feeling bruises form where Ethan clung to him, digging his nails into his back, his arms. The rabbit’s ankles formed a knot above the wolf’s tail, locking him in place.

“Karl,” Ethan sobbed, using a surprising amount of leverage to flip them over. He panted above the wolf, glowing bright red in the dark. Sweat and tears joined at the tip of his chin, falling on the wolf’s shirt in steady drips. “Karl,” he repeated, trying to steady his thoughts despite trembling like a frightened leaf, “I want you in me, not food,” he admitted, grinding hard into the wolf, risking a chafed bottom.

Karl, for all his years on this planet, couldn’t help the high-pitched whine that left him. His little bunny was too direct, too—

“Ethan, I’ve already been—”

“Not like that,” Ethan hissed, his eyes going hazy with the craving.

“We can’t—”

“Why not?” the rabbit keened, pre-emptively interrupting as if he’d expected the wolf’s refusal, “Alpha, it hurts,” he whimpered, his words thick with unresolved longing. Ethan wasn’t sure what’d compelled him to address Karl by his proper title, and if he were anywhere near his right mind, he may have thought twice about doing so.

The wolf gave a low, sustained growl, fighting with the part of himself that cared for the rabbit’s well-being. His claws pierced the very tops of Ethan’s thighs, leaving a ring of red dots, forcing him to stop his bouncing. “Ethan, we can’t,” he repeated with an authority that transcended species. Even in his heat, Ethan stopped to listen. “Our anatomy—you’re not built for that,” the wolf continued, forgoing the lengthy explanation to settle on the truth.

Have you ever tried? Ethan wanted to ask, and Karl could tell, staring down the rabbit until he backed off the topic.

And his lap.

Ethan curled into a frustrated ball on his side of the bed, snivelling like a pitiful babe. The feeling would pass (hopefully), but his body didn’t know that.

“Little bunny—”

“Don’t touch me,” Ethan snapped, baring his smaller, less dangerous teeth. Karl recoiled, holding up his hands—an apology. Ethan returned to his ball, self-soothing as he rocked back and forth, finding sleep somewhere in the mix.

“Ethan.”

The rabbit turned away with a heavy slump, bending over his bowl of fruits and vegetables, dressed in only the wolf’s trench coat.

“Ethan.”

The rabbit turned away again, dragging his bowl with him, teeth biting hard into an apple.

“Ethan,” Karl tried to say, respecting Ethan’s boundaries, but wanting very much to start the conversation they weren’t having.

The rabbit wasn’t listening, too busy making angry chomping noises. His singular shred of logic understood the ridiculousness of his actions, yet was powerless to correct them, stuck behind a firewall. He’d be at the mercy of his emotions—more than usual.

“Little bunny—” Karl made the hasty mistake of reaching out for Ethan, his patience wearing thin. He earned a quick bite to the fleshy part of his hand, the sting of his teeth enough to make him bite back. But he refrained, remembering Ethan’s skin could tear like paper if he gave in. “Fine, you can listen or not, I don’t actually care,” he said, frustration in every word, “I lied,” he began, making Ethan’s ears flicker, “mating season has not actually passed for us—though we are nearing its end.”

Ethan slowed his noisy eating, a nonverbal cue that he was listening.

“If you could just wait until it’s through—”

Ethan returned to his loud chomping, his eyes growing blurry at the thought of being unfulfilled. Even the food in his belly left him with a bigger hole than when he’d started.

“How did you deal with this before you met me?” Karl asked, his sigh disturbing the air.

“Not well,” Ethan managed to say, voice thick and sensitive, “not as strong either, though,” he added. If it made the wolf feel worse about his circumstance, then so be it.

“And now you’re blaming me,” Karl murmured, shaking his head. He entered the rabbit’s personal space, disregarding the teeth he bared to kneel in front of him. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” he whispered, trying to stress the gravity of his admittance, “it’s that I don’t know what’ll happen if we do.”

“It’d be quite a way to go,” Ethan huffed, humourless.

“Ethan,” the wolf chastised, blocking his growl before it started in earnest, “can you not wait?” he begged, his brows touching with his supplication.

“I guess I’m gonna have to, so why keep asking?” Ethan sobbed, his breath stuttering.

“Do you want me to leave?” Karl said, his tone going grey.

Ethan shook his head, wiping his eyes with his forearm. “I think I’d try to find you in my sleep,” he said, his chuckle wet, mimicking the wolf.

“Oh, Ethan,” Karl sighed, figuring he could spare a few more scars if it meant hugging the rabbit tight, “I’m sorry,” he said, pressing kisses along his temple, his jaw, ending with a few on the tip of his nose.

“Did you ever think you’d be apologizing to your food?” Ethan asked, accepting the wordless regrets making their way down his chest, over his ruddy skin, leaving a wet trail to his navel.

“Be careful, rabbit,” Karl warned, his tongue thick with saliva, “my teeth are still sharp.”

Ethan would’ve scoffed, but the air had been taken from him, the one responsible lapping at the perfect imprint of their “still sharp” teeth.

Though it’d (probably) be simpler to kick the wolf out and deal with his frustrations on his own, the mere thought of it formed twists in his stomach. It reminded him of those nights without Karl, where his hands would slide over his heated skin, blankets wrapped around his fist, pressed close to his nose to inhale the traces of him.

The torture was similar here, where he could taste him—literally, if he could coordinate his tongue—and feel him move, yet be so far from his singular longing.

It took Ethan too long to realize the stiffness he’d felt pressing against him wasn’t Karl’s leg. He’d been responding in twine, forced to ignore it because he cared enough about Ethan not to tear him in two. It didn’t hurt any less—he hadn’t been exaggerating—the pit of his stomach was on fire at the best of times, eating itself with unfed hunger.

He almost thought of saying “fuck it”, and finding himself another buck, hoping they’d be distracted enough to confuse him for one of their many does.

But the thought of getting up—of explaining why he smelled like another—made him recoil. The little that remained of his brain in those moments looked upon him with empathetic disgust.

Still, their arrangement didn’t make his heat any easier.

They were sweating away their adrenaline, pressing against each other, one too dressed, the other not enough. Ethan would whine into Karl’s ear, dragging his nails through his hair, scratching his scalp with too much enthusiasm, forcing him to jerk upwards. It was a torment to feel him, to rub against him and get nothing but vexing cloth between them.

“Please,” Ethan breathed, hanging on by a thread. Karl’s scent was saturated with his own, a rarity given the overpowering nature of the wolf. He’d staked his claim on the canine—he only wanted the reverse to be true.

“Ethan—” Karl’s voice was a hoarse mess, garbled within a half-growl-half-whine. It was best if he didn’t talk.

“You’ve never done it before, how could you know it’s dangerous?” Ethan said, struggling to focus his eyes.

“How do you know it’s not?” Karl countered, in a similar, dizzying boat, closing his eyes into another slow grind, building to nowhere. “It could be your funeral,” he added, running his fingers through the sweat on Ethan’s spine, tracing his goosebumps.

“I’d like to take my chances,” Ethan groaned, sitting fully on Karl’s lap, too weak to do more than tighten around him, “at least let me feel you,” he exhaled, his throat going dry with anticipation.

“Ethan, that’s dangerous,” Karl warned, yet let himself be manipulated out of his many shirts, chest now bare for the rabbit to rub against. “You’re burning up,” the wolf mumbled, making a face as he pressed the back of his hand to Ethan’s damp forehead. The rabbit chuckled—the sound strained with a pained undercurrent. “I mean it,” Karl grumbled, caressing Ethan’s cheek, rubbing away the blotchy stains patterning his skin.

Ethan couldn’t answer, most of him lost to the fever running rampant through his mushy brain. He giggled, fatigue making him loopy. “I guess that’s why they call it a heat,” he joked, giggling at the poor excuse for a pun.

Karl sighed, letting the blankets fall as he sat them up, shushing Ethan’s squeals. “I’m not leaving, I just need to find a way to cool you down,” he promised, rubbing the rabbit’s back, “heat or not, this isn’t safe for anyone.”

“Wish you’d worry a little bit less about that,” Ethan grumbled, adhering to Karl like a second coat. He didn’t get to question where they were going when they stood, carried into the midnight in nothing but his flesh and sweat.

“I don’t know how many times I have to remind you, Ethan,” the wolf began as they traversed the quiet forest, the trail unfamiliar to Ethan’s closed eyes, “but there’s no replacing you—if you die…”

Ethan waited for Karl to continue, but his train of thought never resumed, forcing some sense into the hyperthermic rabbit. “I know,” he muttered, his lips brushing the skin beneath them. His ears twitched at the sound of rushing water, cluing him in to Karl’s plan. He made a face, but it was hidden in the wolf’s chest, same as his pout.

“I’ll try not to get your ears wet,” Karl teased, still sensing his displeasure—perhaps he could scent it.

They stepped into the river as a unit, the water frigid—a benefit. Ethan could admit that the shock did calm him, levelling out the fervour burning through each pore. He relaxed enough to unlock his limbs, sighing as he dove into the water, letting it lap at his chest, his back, tickling his neck.

“Now, don’t go drowning again,” Karl warned, holding Ethan above the gentle current.

“Mean,” Ethan gruffed, sticking out his tongue, “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Right,” the wolf murmured, looking unconvinced.

“Will you indulge me a bit?” Ethan asked, drawing his lazy gaze to Karl’s.

“I’m afraid to say yes,” Karl replied, rightfully apprehensive.

“It’s only a hypothetical,” Ethan promised, letting his eyes go wide, innocent.

“Go ahead,” Karl sighed, unwilling to admit how little it took to give in. If the rabbit knew, he’d exploit it.

“Would we still be friends if we were the same species?” Ethan asked, forced to clarify when the wolf squinted at him, “I’m not a big fan of rabbits, and you’re not exactly running with your pack.” Karl looked like he wanted to protest, but kept his mouth shut, jaw moving with words that didn’t exist. “I wouldn’t mind being in your shoes for a day,” Ethan said as an afterthought, “maybe then you’d hold me as if I wouldn’t break.”

“I’d rather we switch places,” Karl grumbled, “maybe then you’d understand,” he said, equal parts annoyed and glum, “like you said—we evolved to kill.”

“Did I really say it like that?” Ethan asked, grimacing at the wolf’s nod, “I’m sorry,” he apologized, pressing a kiss to Karl’s cheek.

“You weren’t wrong,” Karl replied, accepting the kiss regardless. “Feel better?” he asked after a moment of silence, gauging the truth through Ethan’s twitchy body language.

“Will you entertain another hypothetical?” Ethan asked, biting his lips. When Karl said nothing, he continued, pushing further into his personal space. “What would happen if you mounted me?”

“Don’t say it like that!” Karl gasped, turning a surprising shade of red, “Christ, Ethan, we’re not horses,” he reminded, rubbing his face from the bright embarrassment.

“It’s what you do, isn’t it?” Ethan huffed, crossing his arms—a mistake, seeing as the river floor was deeper than he’d calculated. He scrambled to grab Karl again, still pouting.

“Yes, but—there’s a bit more nuance to—anyway, why are you asking?” Karl sputtered, avoiding the majority of their eye-contact.

“I wonder why?” Ethan replied, his sarcasm thick, “Karl, I have a feeling that if it’s not you, then it’ll be some other wolf, buck, or bear,” he confessed, ignoring the wolf’s growl to add, “it’s getting to the point where I might just sleepwalk my way into someone else’s mating burrow.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want bunnies,” Karl retorted, the rumble in his chest shaking the water.

“And I meant that,” Ethan returned, “being a runt has its perks,” he said, his eyes implying more than his words could.

Karl’s growls were involuntary, giving insight to the territorial Alpha, who howled at the image of Ethan getting his needs met elsewhere. “Does it hurt that much?” he asked, toeing the line of consideration.

Ethan’s head jerked up and down, and his nails dug into the wolf’s arms, leaving marks. “It’s like I’m starving, and no matter how much you feed me, I can’t eat enough,” he said, his voice weak.

Karl understood his hunger, having felt similarly during their first days together, keeping an ironclad grip on his own instincts. He let that slip for a moment, heaving Ethan into a deep kiss, running his tongue across his top palate, tasting his whimpers. “I want to help you, Ethan, I do,” the wolf breathed out, nuzzling the rabbit’s cheek, “but I’m afraid.” He said it in a whisper too low to be heard.

Ethan felt his fear instead—in his heart, between the water, and beneath the fingertips squeezing him tight. “I trust you, Karl,” he said, cradling the wolf’s face, wiping away the soft blush on his cheeks, “I trust you,” he repeated, in case the wolf doubted him.

“It’s not a matter of trust, Ethan,” Karl said, though he couldn’t resist diving in to kiss the tops of Ethan’s eyelids, his nose, his temples, “once we start, we’re not really known for stopping until we’re done,” he continued, bending at the knees to wrap his arms around Ethan, pulling him out of the water, “then we’re locked in place, and I’ve heard that can be uncomfortable.”

“Uh-huh, I’m listening,” Ethan said, buzzing with hopeful energy, evaporating the water meant to cool him down.

“Sure you are,” Karl grumbled, betraying nothing as he lowered Ethan to the muddy ground, leaving tender marks with his fingertips. “What’s the last thing I said?” he quizzed, making his way across the rabbit’s chest with biting kisses.

“That once we start, we’re not stopping,” Ethan replied, eager to see if it was true.

The wolf growled, busying his hands with the closures on his trousers. His eyes were glued to Ethan’s, who looked nowhere near as anxious as he should—he could be facing certain death! How was he so calm?!

Karl gave a frustrated huff, unable to handle the multiple stimuli clamouring for his attention. He rectified the loudest one, flipping Ethan over so he sat in the proper mating position. The rabbit tensed as his hands and knees sunk into the mud, shaking like startled twigs.

“Bend down,” Karl said, his words encased in a growl.

Ethan did as he was told, leaning on his forearms for support, feeling the stretch all the way to his fluffy tail. He’d never been this exposed, even when the man toyed with him from above, fingers deep within him. Ethan trembled at the thought, rocking against nothing.

“Shh,” Karl soothed with a sub-bass purr, tracing the curve of Ethan’s spine with one of his dextrous fingers. He massaged the base of his tail, giving it a soft pinch, almost as a reprimand for tempting fate. “Try to relax—this part should be familiar to you,” the wolf teased, following the natural division of Ethan’s body, his claws scratching a deep itch.

Ethan keened into the cold mud, pushing into the fingers circling his rim, still wet from the water. The dormant but logical part of him wished these touches would be enough, that they’d quell the desire putting them at unnecessary risk. But helpful as they may have been in the beginning, they worked to rile him up now, wringing new frustrations from the depths of his chest. He squeaked at the kisses to the base of his back, trailing downwards to his ass, where Karl’s beard tickled his sensitive skin.

(Purposeful torture, he was sure.)

Ethan cried when the wolf’s slick tongue met his rim, bucking backwards into the feeling. Karl kept him steady, one arm coming up to stop his wild swaying. Saliva poured like sap from the wolf’s mouth, aiding the fingers’ shallow press inside him. Had Ethan not been on his forearms, he would’ve fallen, crooning breathless nonsense into the wet earth.

Karl continued to flatten his tongue against his two fingers, coating them so they remained frictionless. Ethan moved against the steady pattern, feeling the pressure build in the base of his stomach, twisting. He barely felt the strain of his own hardness, his head too heavy with the dull burn caused by the stretch.

There was a pause, a readjustment, and a hint of a third finger. It grabbed what remained of Ethan’s attention, deepening the arch in his back. Karl noticed, chuckling against him, the sound rumbling through his core. Ethan whimpered at the knots in his stomach, held in place by the arm around him.

“Consider this your last chance to change your mind,” Karl muttered, his throat shot from each ragged breath. Ethan shook his head—certain he’d die if his anticipation wasn’t quelled.

The wolf took it as a tentative sign to continue, careful not to rush when adding his third finger. Ethan gulped at the renewed ache, not used to being quite so open. He was grateful Karl insisted on being kind rather than vindictive, waiting on Ethan’s nonverbal cues to continue.

It made him wonder how much of this was instinct versus experience. Ethan had been working under the pretense that he was Karl’s one and only meal-turned-friend—but he’d said nothing about his own kin. The thought of others made him tense with anger, most of it born from his territorial genes.

He’d forgotten he wasn’t above nature’s influence.

“Too much?” Karl asked, slowing the purposeful twist of his fingers.

Ethan shook his head, dropping one of his hands to the arm around his middle, forcing it closer. He wanted nothing to separate them, certain the emotions would fade with the season’s conclusion.

Or not, he’d never been one to listen.

“You’re getting all dirty,” Karl cooed, poking Ethan’s tail with his nose, dragging out his fingers in one steady motion.

“You’re the one who put me in the mud,” Ethan complained as his cheek made friends with the earth. They’d have to revisit the river if he ever dreamed of getting clean.

Joy.

“You looked impatient,” Karl returned, his murmur going quiet as he repositioned himself, taking care not to startle Ethan when he brought their hips closer. “Brave little rabbit, this is your last chance to run,” he warned, kneading Ethan’s ass with a greedy touch, teasing them both when he pressed into him.

“There’s a better chance of you eating me,” Ethan began, pausing to catch his breath, “than me running,” he finished, rocking back into the stiff warmth sitting unused between them.

Karl growled in earnest, weak against the pull that rooted him to the Earth—to Ethan—who’d gained too much influence over his wants and needs. It’d been said in jest, but Karl feared he may have indeed domesticated himself.

The wolf’s hands shook as he steadied them, needing to concentrate, lest he forced them into a wild rut. That thought alone drew a silent whine from him, his tongue lazy to catch the saliva overflowing from his mouth.

Ethan mimicked him, squeaking like a bad hinge when he felt the tip of Karl’s dick rest against his entrance. He couldn’t gauge its size, having seen it—sure—but not in action. It pushed at a tormenting pace, whispering promises rather than fulfilling them. Ethan remained on edge, a paradox of pliancy and tense anticipation, nearly crying when he was entered. He heard himself in passing, his throat going hoarse with each unbroken whine.

Karl didn’t stop until they were one, keeping a shred of control so as to not buck too early. He draped himself over Ethan’s back, burying his teeth in the junction between his shoulder and neck. The blood he drew paled in comparison to the tightness around him, Ethan’s body like a well-lubricated vice. They shuddered in unison, a rickety house balancing on a needle.

Ethan sunk further into the mud, perhaps understanding what it meant to be “one with nature”. He pushed into each respective ache, encouraging the wolf with nothing but a soft squeak. The beast’s growls rumbled through his skin, compelling him to try and answer, much to his future amusement.

Ethan had seen—through no desire of his own—his kin engaging in mating behaviour. Once old enough to walk, a juvenile rabbit should know not to wander into unsupervised burrows during breakfast. Still, there was a reason for their reputation. They were fast, efficient, and maybe a bit careless when it came to overpopulation.

Ethan figured the rest of the forest creatures were the same.

He was wrong.

Karl kept him pinned to the mud, locking them in place with each hard thrust. He seemed to go slow on purpose, getting Ethan’s body used to the intrusion. It made his insides burn, riddling with the heat pumping in his blood. Claws bit into his sides, leaving four thin, pink lines on his sweaty skin. More appeared when the wolf let his hands roam, feeling them on his spine, the ridges on his neck, his scalp. Karl pulled back his hair to sink his fangs deeper, kneading his shoulder as if he were trying to chew it off.

Ethan felt a spark of fear, but it lost its way to his brain, coiling around his stomach instead. It would’ve been futile to try and run—he was well and truly trapped.

…And didn’t that do something for him?

Blood-tinged saliva dripped down Ethan’s shoulder, mixing with his sweat and mud. He felt Karl tense around him, nothing but a wall of powerful muscle. Ethan was placing a lot of trust in the wolf not to snap him in half—enough he’d scrambled his insides.

They remained joined in a most primal way, melting into one another, the world around them a blur of dark colour. Ethan grew fuller with each deep thrust, his lungs burning as he struggled to feed them.

The fangs in his neck loosened, unlocking them for a moment. Cold air rushed into the jagged mark, making Ethan shudder at the stark contrast. Karl rumbled his way higher on his neck, his lips a wet, swollen mess. He nosed the fine hairs leading to his ears, giving the tips a little nip.

Ethan tried to complain, but his tongue was saturated with broken moans.

Karl left wet trails where he licked the side of his face, tasting salt and earth. A heavy hand moved from the rabbit’s hip to his thigh, dragging its claws like hooks. Ethan twitched at the touch, stiffening at the delicate sting. He cried out when the wolf bit him again, claiming his neck in its entirety. The pain was abated by the hand circling his cock, stroking with a steady rhythm.

Ethan hiccupped his sob, terrified of the tension building between his cells. It was overwhelming, out of his control, taking every bit of fleeting strength to keep him intact. He met Karl’s rut with unpracticed jerks, feeling their skin slip and slide, nearly unsticking them. The pit of his stomach dropped into an endless void, taking most of him with it.

Ethan cried at the heat uncoiling where Karl gripped him, spreading through his nerves like static, forcing his limbs taut. He came with little warning, wriggling against the wolf as if trying to jump out of his own skin. Karl pinned him further into the mud, growling deep, the sound riddling with Ethan’s ancient fear. It did nothing but force Ethan to grind harder into his fist, his eyes screwing shut.

Karl gave a high-pitched keen, losing himself to an unpredictable rhythm. Ethan kept himself docile, even as the threat of overstimulation grew sore in his muscles. He encouraged the wolf with tiny, pleased hums, his ears bright red with embarrassed excitement.

The base of Karl’s cock began to swell, catching on Ethan’s rim with each subsequent thrust. It made space for itself, stretching Ethan wider, demanding his attention. The rabbit’s heart leapt to his throat, meeting the wolf’s fangs.

He thought the wolf had been speaking figuratively when he mentioned they’d be locked in place.

It was a frightening concept in theory—what if they never unlatched? Ethan shook his head, trying to focus on the feeling, the harsh breaths down his neck, the wobble in the wolf’s frame. If it were to be his untimely end, he’d rather be present for it.

Karl gave one last guttural growl, sucking hard on Ethan’s neck with his last few thrusts, knotting them in place. He shuddered through his release, nearly cramping as he filled Ethan. The wolf relaxed his jaw, lapping up the bitemark with an apologetic trill.

Ethan kept still despite Karl’s loosening hold, sneaking a hand to his stomach to see if what he felt was imaginary. He gulped at the small bulge, his eyes widening in disbelief. Flattening his palm, he pressed against it, whimpering in time with the wolf’s shudder.

“Don’t do that,” Karl exhaled, his voice strained, “you’re already full,” he revealed, nuzzling Ethan’s cheek. The rabbit nodded with quick jerks, forcing his hand to behave when he returned it to his chest.

They remained joined for hours or minutes, at the mercy of the wolf’s biology. He tried not to move for fear of hurting either of them. With the fog of his heat momentarily fixed, he’d have no distractions from the discomfort.

Slowly, and with much care, Karl readjusted them, having calmed enough to lay beside Ethan without triggering another burst. He purred against him, content with more than just evolutionary relief.

Ethan’s lips broke into a loopy smile, his breaths levelling out to say, “I survived.”

“And so you did,” Karl said, trying—and failing—to sound disappointed.

“You’re not as big as you thought,” Ethan teased, not needing to see the wolf’s face to know his expression.

“It’s still dangerous, Ethan, look at your neck,” the wolf grumbled, pressing two fingers to the identical bitemarks now throbbing under the attention.

“Like you haven’t bitten me before,” Ethan returned, shrugging.

“Not like this,” Karl stressed, sounding petulant, “I’m starting to think your fearlessness is stupidity,” he said, wrapping his arms tight around Ethan’s middle, highlighting his limited capacity.

(Leave it to the wolf to feed him well.)

Ethan darkened a telling shade of crimson, certain there’d be a punishment in the afterlife for defying nature so thoroughly.

“Nothing to say?” Karl scoffed, masking his concern behind indignation.

“I wanna do it again,” Ethan confessed, afraid to say it in case wishing it made the possibility disappear.

The wolf gruffed, clicking his tongue with begrudging acquiescence. “Of course you do,” he mocked, “stupid bunny.”

“You should’ve eaten me when you had the chance, Heisenberg,” Ethan said, trying not to take the insult as an offence, “you’re the one inside the stupid bunny,” he reminded, crossing his arms.

The wolf couldn’t help it, he chuckled, caught in his hypocrisy. “Not for long,” he teased, testing his own claim, silently walking it back.

“Right,” the rabbit mocked, affecting the same condescension his wolf gave him. He didn’t fight sleep, needing it after nearly two weeks of restless nights. “Try not to get my ears wet,” Ethan murmured, (correctly) assuming the wolf would try to get them clean before going home.

“It’s a little too late for that,” Karl said, nosing one of them, scenting the drying mud.

“Please?” Ethan added.  

“Now he remembers his manners.”

Chapter Text

“Ethan,” a voice sing-songed, interrupting the rabbit soaking up the late-morning sun. The voice’s shadow blocked the warming light, forcing Ethan to open an eye, annoyed. “Look,” said his canine companion, presenting Ethan with a handful of flowers, all of them bright and colourful.

“Is that supposed to be dessert?” Ethan mumbled, moving into the sun again, sighing as it kissed his skin.

Karl stepped closer, thwarting his efforts. “I’m gonna miss spring,” the wolf lamented, earning a pout from his unamused rabbit, “you’re nicer to me when you want something,” he clarified, as if it needed explaining.

“When I’m desperate, you mean,” Ethan grumbled, giving a surprised huff when the wolf fell on top of him, mindful not to crush him. The rabbit looked down, struggling to remain upset when the wolf’s tail wagged his contentment. “Hi,” he said, bopping Karl’s nose, making his ears flicker.

“Will you accept my gift?” Karl said, tickling Ethan’s chin with a dandelion, failing to hide his smirk when he crunched it between his teeth, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

They had a hazy glow about them, cheeks rosy with mutual affection. The sun dimmed against the light in Karl’s eyes, and Ethan was too slow to avert his gaze, blinded. Mating season may have passed, but his blood still burned at the sight of the wolf.

Purely evolutionary, he was sure.

Ethan shifted to lean on his forearms, creeping forward, keeping their eyes locked. His lips ached, parting as they approached Karl’s. It would’ve been a simple kiss, practiced and sweet, but Ethan’s ears twitched in tandem with the wolf’s, picking up on a high-pitched squeal. The noise came from the west, forcing Ethan’s head that way. Karl bumped into his cheek, giving an involuntary whine at being blocked. He cut himself off as an unmistakable growl echoed through the underbrush, already on high-alert.

They sprinted forward for individual reasons, meeting at the same point. Karl wanted to tell Ethan to stay back, but the rabbit had detoured towards the frightened squeaks, leaving him to deal with the trespassing wolf.

Ethan flinched when Karl lunged at the intruder, their bodies connecting with a hard thud. He wrestled them to the ground, commanding them to submit. Ethan knew the wolf was strong, but most things were compared to him, he just hoped it remained consistent when faced with a similar adversary.

The rabbit shook his head, using his nose and ears to track down his terrified kin. He found them hiding between the rosemary buds, a useless hiding spot if you asked him. It spoke to their inexperience with the outside world—all Ethan had to do was look at them to find out why.

There, bundled in nothing but the most basic of undergarments, sat a child no more than a few weeks old. She was shivering and couldn’t help her squeaking even as her life depended on her silence.

Ethan dropped to his belly, making himself harmless. He crawled forward, reaching the small child with a soft hush. “Hey,” he whispered, trying to remain as nonthreatening as he could, “you’re safe now,” he promised, though the continued fighting might beg to differ, “where’s your mom?” he asked, giving the air a sniff. The child had no distinct markers other than her own, which were dull and unassuming.

She’d been alone for a while.

Ethan’s face fell, setting aside his conclusions for when he could verify them.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, staring at the top of her blonde head. Her hair fell over her shoulder and knees, blocking her face where she held herself. She was cold, in shock, but didn’t seem injured beyond that. “Do you have a name?” he continued to ask, having had enough practice with his many siblings on how one should talk to a spooked bunny.

She shook her head, looking up at last.

Ethan smiled at her tiny face, his heart breaking at the puffiness around her lids, at the tears still falling from them. She had eyes as blue as the spring sky, and the tops of her cheeks were a cherry red—if Ethan didn’t know any better, he’d say they were related.

(Technically they were, but he wasn’t willing to dissect that family tree at the moment.)

“Hi,” Ethan tried again, waving at the bunny.

“Hi,” she replied, her ears flickering towards the fighting wolves, and nose twitching when she got a proper sniff of Ethan. She shrunk back, squeaking again.

“No, it’s okay,” he reassured, flattening himself further, “I know I smell weird, but I won’t hurt you, I promise.” She looked unconvinced but stopped wincing. “Where’s your mom?” he repeated, his brows furrowing when the bunny shook her head, “your dad?” This young, it’d be unlikely that the father would take them out for a stroll, but stranger things have happened.

The bunny shook her head again as two fat tears crossed her cheeks, landing on her bare knees. With a better picture forming, Ethan couldn’t help the knife twisting in his chest, the one that put morals above all else.

His train of thought was interrupted by the approaching wolf, his victory written on the few splatters of blood marking his mouth. The bunny squealed, and curled into a ball, shaking something awful.

“Karl, stop!” Ethan ordered, popping up from the rosemary bush, “you’re scaring the child,” he reprimanded, pinning his beloved with a look.

“The child—Ethan, what the fuck are you talking about?” Karl asked, wiping his mouth before lighting a cigar.

“There’s a bunny in here,” Ethan said, returning to his stomach, trying to persuade her out of her instinctual panic.

“A bunny,” the wolf gruffed, speaking from the side of his mouth, “where’s her mom?”

“I don’t know,” Ethan said, annoyed, “did you see anything with the other wolf?” he asked, trying not to be too explicit with the question. The last thing he needed was to remind the child she might be an orphan.

“No,” a pause, “what are you still doing in there, Ethan?” Karl said as an aside, ignoring both of the rabbits to shake the rosemary bush, picking out a few blooming buds.

“Didn’t you hear me? There’s a child in here!” Ethan snapped, pouting at the wolf when he poked his head out.

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and’?”

“What are you going to do with this child?” Karl clarified, raising a brow. There was a hint of amusement in the way he smoked his cigar, waiting for the rabbit to admit what he was thinking.

“I don’t know,” Ethan lied, “but I can’t just leave her to get eaten.” The bunny squeaked at the thought, nearly imploding with how she held herself.

“We can’t just take a child,” Karl hummed, scratching his bearded chin.

“She’s been here a long time,” Ethan said, giving the air another sniff, “I can’t smell her mom, or any adult for that matter.” Karl mimicked him, nodding with a neutral expression.

“Well, little bunny, I’m not gonna tell you what you should or shouldn’t do,” the wolf began, taking a large step back, “if you were smart, you’d take her to the nearest rabbit burrow and have them deal with her.”

“I’m not doing that,” Ethan said, managing to get his arms beneath the anxious child, shushing her as she wriggled, her instincts underdeveloped. “What if her mom comes back?”

“Then she could go to the nearest rabbit burrow—”

“That’s not how rabbits work,” Ethan interrupted, walking a few paces ahead of the wolf, “they’re not just gonna adopt her—especially so close after mating season,” he continued, “most of them are too busy with their own litter, she’d starve before—” Ethan stopped, quelling his tongue in order to spare the bunny details of her destined death.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Karl asked, his amusement unmistakable now.

“I’m not like other rabbits,” Ethan replied, shooting his wolf a glance, “try to stay back until she’s used to me—I don’t need you stressing her out.”

“Should I be calling you papa, too?” Karl mocked, rolling his eyes. Ethan faltered, nearly tripping at the comment. He shook himself out, saying nothing as he approached his burrow. “Am I allowed inside, papa?” the wolf teased, still waiting for confirmation.

“I think, for now, it would be best if you stay out there,” Ethan said, staring at the tense bunny clinging to him, “the house smells like you, anyway, so I’m sure she’ll get used to you too.”

Karl raised a brow, but conceded, adjusting his glasses before closing the door. The two rabbits gave an identical sigh, forever guided by the war between nature and nurture.

Ethan recovered first, rushing towards the main room, placing the child on the edge of his bed. He looked around, unsure which steps to take to prepare the bunny for his particular way of life. Looking at her now, she seemed recently weaned, old enough to rely on mostly hay and other hearty vegetables.

She also looked cold.

“Okay, okay,” Ethan said to himself, digging through his chest for an ill-fitting shirt. It was too large for the bunny, but it would have to do until he found a way to modify it. “Here, little one, let’s get you dressed,” he said, helping her thread one arm at a time. She seemed to settle, but only just. “Okay, what next?” he asked the air, placing his hands on his hips, “are you hungry?” The bunny shrugged. “I know, big scary wolves don’t make me hungry either,” he joked, having the urge to ruffle her hair, but thinking better of it.

“Is he gonna come back?” she asked, her voice small but clear.

“Er, h-he is, but not now!” Ethan rushed after she began crying, “he’s a good wolf,” he tried to say, his entire existence staring at him with cosmic irony.

“A good wolf?” the bunny repeated, sniffing, “how?”

“Well, he won’t eat you,” Ethan replied, thinking that should be good enough for now. The little one nodded, accepting the explanation. “How about we try to get something to eat—that always makes me feel better,” he said, smiling too brightly.

The bunny nodded, hopping off the bed to follow Ethan towards the dining table. She held up her arms, waiting to be picked up. Ethan obliged, his heart stuttering when she wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, little one,” he hushed, patting her back, “we’ll find your mom.”

After the child was fed, Ethan placed her on the bed to rest, blanketing her in warmth and an excess of fresh pillows. He watched her from the window, torn between decisions.

A part of him regretted saying what he had, knowing it’d be impossible to track her mother down without a scent, and even harder to know if she were still alive. He couldn’t help remembering how he found the bunny, alone and scared. Cold.

Ethan’s hands shook with an anger he couldn’t place, unsure who to direct it to. “She doesn’t even have a name,” he huffed to himself, closing his eyes.

His ears twitched at the tell-tale signs of the approaching wolf, recognizing his gait from months of passive listening. The bunny woke up from her slumber, panicked from the overwhelming scent. She didn’t think as she hopped off the bed and went under it, unaware that her yips were giving her away.

Ethan sighed, letting her be as he went to answer the knock on the door.

“Is she used to me yet?” Karl asked, raising both his brows.

“What do you think?” Ethan grumbled, keeping the door ajar, “is that for us?” he asked, motioning to the sack of assorted fruits and vegetables.

“That depends,” the wolf replied, “may I come inside?”

“Karl—” Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose, aware of his beloved’s penchant for territorialism. He was an Alpha, after all. “Okay, but you stay as far away as you can,” he said, already forced aside, “she’s too young to be having a heart attack!” he yelled after him, locking the door with a heavy sigh.

“Oh please, I’m harmless,” Karl returned, doing a few circles around the perimeter before sitting down, “little bunny,” he cooed, tempting the small child with a bundle of hay.

“She already ate,” Ethan revealed, getting on all fours before crawling his way under the bed, looking at the little one. “Good wolf, remember?” he whispered, giving her a soft smile. She nodded, allowing herself to be taken from beneath the bed.

“Is that what you told her?” Karl asked, snickering.

“Hush, why don’t you,” Ethan grumbled, making a face at the wolf when he saw his smirk.

“I thought you said you didn’t want bunnies, papa,” Karl teased, getting up to poke Ethan’s reddened cheek.

“I’ll bite it off if you don’t stop,” Ethan threatened, looking at Karl’s finger. The wolf took the threat to heart, backing away from the pseudo-guardian. “Thank you,” he huffed, returning to the bed with the bunny, rocking her fears away.

“Does she have a name?” Karl asked, sitting back down, leaning on his hands.

“No,” Ethan replied, absentmindedly combing through her long hair, “which is odd, she should be old enough to have one,” he said, almost to himself.

“Maybe her mom had too many babies and ran out of names,” Karl joked, looking apologetic when he realized it was in poor taste.

“That doesn’t happen,” Ethan said, “we’ve gotten really good at planning in advance,” he revealed.

“Maybe it was a new mom,” Karl murmured, shrugging.

“Stop guessing,” Ethan warned, shifting his eyes to the bunny and her increasing distress, “it really doesn’t matter why she doesn’t have one—she needs one,” the rabbit continued, smiling at the wide-eyed bunny, “yes, you do,” he cooed, tapping her nose.

“Any rules you have to follow?” Karl asked, sneaking closer to the bed, looking between them. The child shrunk back, hiding her face in Ethan’s shoulder. “I don’t bite, little one, you can ask your papa,” the wolf said, his sharp grin saying otherwise.

“No,” Ethan replied, ignoring Karl’s facetious remark, “my parents had many names stuffed in a jar, and when we were born, they’d pick a few at random and let us hop towards them.”

“So, you ‘hopped’ to ‘Ethan’?” Karl asked, endeared, mimicking the action with his fingers.

“No, my mom named me,” Ethan replied, going away for a moment, “I was her last child, so she wanted it to feel special,” he confessed, his smile bittersweet.

“That’s very nice,” Karl said, his features softening. “What were you thinking for her?” he said, jutting his chin to the child. Her eyes shifted to him, forever apprehensive, but she clung to Ethan less.

“Me?” Ethan said, sounding unsure, “I-I don’t think I can just name someone’s child.”

“Why not?” Karl shrugged, his tail wagging at the prospect of doing something unorthodox, “she’s your responsibility now—for however long you decide to keep her.”

Ethan wanted to disagree, that come the morrow, they would be taking her to find her mom. But it was true, there was no guarantee he’d find her tomorrow, or the next, or the one after that. He looked at the bunny again, picking small leaves of rosemary out of her hair. It’d be an easy enough name, and an excellent way to remember where he found her.

Not that that’s something he was prone to forget.

“What about Rosemary?” he said, testing it on his tongue.

“Rosemary,” Karl repeated, doing the same, “Rosemary Winters—it does have a ring to it,” he hummed.

“No, no, don’t do that, she’s not—”

“Wosemawy Wintus,” the bunny giggled, having trouble with her ‘r’s, but managing.

“Rose for short,” Karl added, snickering, “or Rosey if we’re feeling creative.”

“Wose!” the bunny squealed, wiggling out of Ethan’s arms to hop in place, “I’m Wose!”

Ethan was forced to accept his fate, giving in to their coaxing. “We’re gonna have to work on that ‘R’, little miss,” he said, unable to help his smile.

“Welcome to the family, Rose,” Karl added, holding out his gloved palm, “I’m Karl,” he said, introducing himself.

“Hello, Kaw,” she replied, going shy as she hid behind Ethan’s arm.

“And I’m Ethan,” the rabbit said, doing the more customary greeting by pressing his head to hers for a brief moment.

“But you can call him papa—”

“Karl!”

That night, their plus-one slept in bed whilst the adults took residence on the floor. Ethan managed two hours before he woke, spending the rest of the night listening to the other mammals sleep.

Rosemary cried a few times, but when Ethan stood to help her with her nightmare, she’d calmed. Karl tried to tease him about it, but was too deep in sleep to do so properly, his words a garbled growl in his ears.

Ethan promised to start looking tomorrow, figuring it was his duty as a fellow rabbit to return what wasn’t his—even if that item had been potentially abandoned.

Since he hadn’t slept, he was the first to rise, readying their breakfast after his morning routine. He prepared one large plate of food, making sure to cut smaller chunks for the bunny. Ethan sat next to her, munching on a few apple slices, letting her wake on her own.

Karl beat her to it, patting the space where his rabbit should be, snapping his eyes to where he was. His smirk was marred with morning-tiredness, but he remained quiet, standing and stretching. He mimed his intentions, careful to shut the door with a click rather than a slam.

When Rosemary woke, she did so with a start, shifting around with an anxious shake.

“It’s okay, it’s just me,” Ethan reassured, “I made you breakfast,” he added, though it was a bit of a misnomer. It’d have been best to say ‘arranged’ breakfast. Rose looked over the bed, her bright eyes moving back to him with a question. “He went to get his breakfast,” Ethan answered, figuring she was asking for the wolf.

“Here,” Ethan began again, pushing the plate her way, “eat what you want.” Rose hesitated, but was too hungry to refuse, taking pieces one at a time. “Some of that might make you sick if you eat too much of it, so be careful,” he cautioned, finishing his portion. The bunny nodded, slowly working her way through the more nutritious vegetables.

He gave her time to finish her food before speaking, his eyes roaming towards the window when he said, “We’re gonna try to find your mom today, okay?”

Rose nodded, though her chin fell to her chest, and her natural excitement seemed muted—nonexistent. She should be jumping from the walls at her age.

Ethan couldn’t think further into the matter, interrupted by the returning wolf. Rose startled, but didn’t try to hide, her smile anxious but present.

“Good morning, everyone,” Karl said, approaching with a bouquet of edible flowers, “for you, little Rose,” he said, handing the bunny a few dandelions, “and for you, little bunny,” Karl continued, handing Ethan some daisies.

“Did you have a good catch?” Ethan asked, accepting his gift, giving it a deep sniff before eating it, hearing Rose do the same.

“Excellent,” Karl replied, tapping his nose, “not a trace,” he murmured, motioning to Rose with his chin.

“We’ll have to start somewhere,” Ethan sighed, “and get you some proper clothes, right, little bunny?” the rabbit said, lifting Rose in his arms, placing her on his hip.

“Liddle bunny, liddle bunny,” she chanted, still working through her dandelions. Ethan felt his chest grow tight, blooming with an affection for the poor (possibly orphaned) child.

She may have reminded him of him, but he wasn’t willing to dissect that just yet.

They picked a path and stuck to it, following Karl, his nose the most advanced out of the three. Words were few, but the air was warm without being suffocating, and snacks were plenty.

A few hours into their trek, Ethan asked to stop by the river, careful to wash away only what he had to from the bunny’s skin, letting the sun warm her in between. “I wish I would’ve kept some more of my clothes,” he murmured, readjusting the shirt-made-dress around Rose’s body.

“Hard to plan for something like this,” Karl hummed, lighting a cigar a few paces away.

Ethan looked at him, but couldn’t disagree, finishing his obsessive tidying of Rose’s fair face. “I’m just glad it’s not winter,” Ethan said, braiding her long hair before tying it with twine, giving her an encouraging smile. “That should keep you for now,” he said, tapping her nose.

They resumed their walk, a mindless journey that seemed more like a stroll than an actual mission. Karl spared him glances between the trees, his jaw moving with words he wasn’t saying.

“What?” Ethan asked, tired of the silent scrutiny.

“You’re surprisingly good at that,” Karl said at last, motioning to the sleeping Rose.

“At what?” Ethan grumbled, though he had an idea, given Karl’s growing smirk.

“At being a mother,” Karl replied, confirming Ethan’s suspicions.

“It’s ‘cause I was a runt,” Ethan huffed, his memories resurfacing with unwanted clarity, “I was forced to stay behind much longer than my siblings, so I saw how our mothers reared us.” He grew quiet, his face turning to stone, his words a whisper when he added, “I think if I hadn’t been my mother’s last, they would’ve…” He didn’t finish, looking at Rose as she stirred, sparing her unpleasant details.

Karl understood, nodding, “I’ve seen it.”

He didn’t have to elaborate.

Though their walk was nice, it did nothing to get them closer to Rose’s mom. By the time they were home, Ethan was too tired to discuss what they’d learned. He sacrificed his bed again to the bunny, retiring in Karl’s arms.

“Do you have any other old things you don’t mind giving up?” the wolf asked, murmuring in Ethan’s ears. It jostled the rabbit, who’d been gently floating into unconsciousness. “Old bed sheets also work.”

“What are you saying?” Ethan grumbled, pushing further into Karl’s warmth, trying to escape his voice. Too late did he realize it started in his chest.

“Just answer,” Karl huffed, patting Ethan’s lower back.

“I’d have to look,” Ethan replied, “they’d be in storage if they were,” he added, pointing to the rooted ceiling.

“Okay, go back to sleep,” Karl said, pressing a kiss to Ethan’s forehead.

Ethan did, only to wake—after what felt like minutes—to the wolf pulling down his storage chests. The rabbit sat up, groggy, and disoriented, the sun in his eyes with each blink. He’d been relocated to the bed, Rose now on the table, eating her food whilst Karl sifted through his things.

“What are you doing?” Ethan said, blinking away sleep in favour of scowling at the wolf.

“Good morning to you too, Ethan,” Karl mocked, earning a giggle from the small child, “I’m glad you’re in a better mood,” he said, shooting a smile at the bunny. She gulped at the sight of his fangs but kept giggling.

She adapted quicker than Ethan had, he’d give her that.

The rabbit rolled out of bed, accepting his bowl of food when it was given to him, turning his cheek for the early dessert in the form of a kiss. “Good morning,” Ethan said, starting his breakfast, “care to tell me what you’re doing?”

“I have a sister that could help us with our clothing problem,” Karl revealed, pulling out old sheets, most of them faded in colour or riddled with holes.

Ethan sat up straighter, tensing. “A sister?”

“Not that one,” Karl reassured, shuddering with antipathy, “this one also keeps to herself,” he continued, sparing Ethan a glance, “she’s harmless.”

“Right,” the rabbit exhaled, rolling his shoulders to try and relax them.

“If you think it’ll be too much—I could try describing Rose—”

“No, no, we’ll go,” Ethan said, finishing his food, “as long as she’s harmless.”

Apparently “harmless” did not translate between species.

The path to Karl’s sister’s den was a long and elevated journey. Ethan hadn’t seen this side of the forest before, nor had he ever experienced such altitude. He took breaks, each one becoming more pronounced, until the wolf was forced to carry them on his back.

Ethan’s apprehension grew once her home was in sight. Dozens of tiny wolf effigies dangled from the rock ceiling, their shadows bouncing in the torchlight. A howl broke through the dark interior, making the rabbits jump.

Karl snickered—at their expense, Ethan was sure—readjusting them as they tensed. The Alpha responded in kind, his howl echoing down the cliff-side.

Footsteps clicked on the stone, revealing the mysterious sibling before the sun did. “Well, look who finally decided to show up!” someone said, voice shrill and pitched, “it’s about time, you—” they stopped their tirade, shrinking back.

Ethan and Rose mimicked them, hiding behind Karl.

Karl’s ‘sister’ held a small, child-like replica doll of a wolf-pup, complete with articulated ears and facial features. They sat in a woman’s hands, who stood obscured by a black veil and dress. “Who is this?” the puppet asked, giving the air a sniff, “dinner? But it’s not that time yet.” A jagged break ran down her face, splitting it in two.

“They’re not dinner,” Karl grumbled, sighing, “Donna, could you put Angie down for a moment, we need to talk.”

“Anything you can say to her, you can say to me,” the puppet named Angie retorted, crossing her arms.

“Fine,” Karl huffed, cleaning his boots on the mat, “may I come in?” Donna said nothing as she turned, her black tail swaying once. Karl followed despite her silence, taking a deep breath.

“I thought you said she was harmless,” Ethan murmured as they walked through her home, the inside adorned with antique furniture and too many porcelain wolf-dolls to count.

“She is,” Karl whispered back, “it’s Angie you gotta worry about,” he added with a bit of an ironic smile.

“What? The puppet?” Ethan huffed, looking perplexed.

“Yes.”

“Now you tell me,” Ethan said, exasperated. Rose squirmed between them, compelling Ethan to pull back enough to look at her, hushing her with a soft coo, “We’re gonna be okay.” It seemed to calm her, even though she closed her eyes, burying herself inside Ethan’s jacket.

Karl put them down, standing in front of them with a small puff in his chest. As customary for him, he barely fit inside Donna’s home, not taking the offered seat.

“Oh! There’s two of them!” Angie squealed, standing on Donna’s other hand, leaning over to get a better look.

“Yes, yes, now will you listen?” Karl grumbled, pulling off the pack from his shoulder, setting it on Donna’s table, “I have a request.”

“Are they the payment?” Angie gasped, her smile wide and toothy (for a doll, anyway).

“Donna,” Karl growled, tapping into a lower register after Rose squeaked in fear.

There was a moment of silence, terse and stretched as the Lady-Wolf worked through the obvious command to submit. She placed the doll in one of the high-chairs, moving towards a kettle and pouring herself a cup of something warm.

“What do you need?” she droned in stark contrast to her split-faced companion.

Karl forced himself to relax, resuming his unpacking. He laid out Ethan’s old things, saying, “The little one doesn’t have any clothes, I figured—since this is your area of expertise—you could help.”

“Please,” Ethan piped up, shrinking back when the veiled woman shifted her head to his, her black ears flickering forward.

“I’ll need her measurements,” Donna said, sifting through her dress, pulling out a tape-measure.

“Of course,” Karl said, stepping aside as she walked forward. Ethan was a bit less enthused, holding Rose closer, feeling her shake. “Angie’s taking a nap right now, and Donna doesn’t eat rabbits,” Karl said, trying to reassure him as much as he could.

“Unless they’re cute!” Angie piped up, scaring the smaller mammals.

“Shut up, why don’t you,” Karl grumbled, doing everything in his power not to shout.

Ethan looked around the home, his old belongings, and the bunny he’d taken under his wing. Where else would he find clothing for her? At the very least he could keep her warm and fed whilst they found her mother.

The rabbit sighed, lowering himself to his knees to be at eye-level with Rose. She squeaked, not wanting to let go as he put her down. He calmed her with a soft push of his head to hers, waiting until she reciprocated to pull away.

“Please be gentle, she’s not used to this whole ‘wolves can be good’ thing just yet,” Ethan said, letting Rose squeeze his fingers whilst she stood still—as much as a frightened bunny could.

Donna bent to their level, lifting half her veil to show her face. She was paler than the moon, and had large, bright eyes, same as her siblings. “Hi,” she said, holding out the measuring tape so Rose could see it, “I won’t hurt you,” she promised, her lips flickering into what one could call a smile.

(If they were being generous.)

Rose held her breath as Donna manipulated the tape around her, closing her eyes when she went around her head, turning bright red with the effort. Once Donna was through, she burrowed herself in Ethan’s arms, falling into a fitful sleep from the stress.

Ethan stood back up, aiming for inconspicuous when he mimicked the bunny by standing behind Karl.

“When should we expect these?” Karl asked, adjusting his glasses.

“Next week,” Donna said, retrieving her tea and taking a sip, “perhaps sooner.”

“Got it, thanks,” Karl mumbled, looking around, “I’ll see what I can get you in return.”

“Rabbits!” Angie cried out, earning an unamused stare from the temporary guardians. “Sorry,” the doll apologized, getting lifted by Donna, who disappeared further into her home.

“Come on,” Karl sighed, leading them back to the cliff-side, giving the horizon a glance. He shifted his gaze to Ethan, a small smile on his lips. “Is she okay?” he asked, looking at the sleeping Rose.

“She will be,” Ethan replied, holding her closer.  

“If she’s with you, I’m sure of it,” Karl agreed, placing a hand on the rabbit’s shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze.

Ethan spent that night staring at the rooted ceiling, his feelings in disarray as he thought of what to do next. There wasn’t a trace of the mother, not on the wolf Karl attacked, nor the ground around them. It left a bad feeling in his chest as explanations he didn’t want to consider began presenting themselves.

“What are you thinking about?” Karl sleep-growled into his ear, the rumble more of a feeling than sound.

Ethan took a deep breath and held it, his face twitching with uncertainty. “Don’t you find it odd that we can’t scent her mother—or anyone, for that matter?”

Karl drew him closer, resting his cheek against his temple, murmuring, “You think she was abandoned?”

“Or maybe she ran away,” Ethan added, his eyes flickering to the sleeping bunny, “she doesn’t look to be in a hurry to find her mom.”

Karl sighed, letting Ethan go to sit up, looking at him. “She didn’t have a name, she was practically naked, and she didn’t know where to hide—that sounds more like neglect than a runaway situation.” Ethan sat up, nodding with an awful churn in his stomach. “Maybe the reason she’s not in a hurry, is because you’re taking care of her,” the wolf continued, pressing a kiss to Ethan’s forehead. “It’s up to you if you wanna keep looking,” Karl hummed, shrugging.

“At least for a few more days, maybe we’re blowing this out of proportion,” Ethan said, wanting to do his due diligence—all things considered.

“Of course,” Karl said, his smile tired but genuine, “one should always make sure.”

And make sure they did, looking through every nook and cranny, every burrow and underground mound, lifting rocks and moving bridges—and still: nothing. Ethan couldn’t help his mixed feelings of both relief and regret, understanding that Rose’s mom may very well be dead. It didn’t stop his growing attachment to the small bunny, who’d grown comfortable enough with them to talk back, and giggle, and laugh.

Ethan always shunned the idea of a family, but staring at Karl letting Rose yank his ears, crying out as if she were the strongest person in the world—it made him reconsider what it meant to be a family.

A week passed since they found Rosemary.

Ethan sat behind her, brushing her long hair, mindful of her ears. Her mouth wouldn’t stop moving, telling him made-up, two-sentence stories that ended in a most abrupt way. The rabbit entertained her ramblings, trying to be kind when he picked apart some of her inconsistencies. She took it in stride, reworking her tales without a hiccup.

They sat alone, Karl gone to hunt and perhaps bring back more food—Rose was a growing bunny, she ate more than one would assume. It felt reminiscent of being with his mom, where she’d keep him warm and fed, dismissing the ire of his father.

Ethan stopped brushing Rose’s hair, his hands shaking.

“Is something wrong?” Rose asked, turning to look at him. Her articulation had improved, Ethan’s efforts paying off. (Though Karl would undo a lot of his work by baby-talking to her. If it was on purpose, he didn’t say.)

“No, no,” Ethan lied, tucking back a stray lock, “I have a question,” he began, trying to sound light and curious, “do you know your mom?” Rose nodded, though her nose gave a nervous twitch, and her ears flickered backwards. “How did you end up alone?” he asked, his face falling despite himself.

Rose’s nose twitched again, her eyes going big and shiny. Two fat tears fell from her lids, shocking them both. Before she could answer, or Ethan could apologize, the front door opened, the scent of their wolf calming their initial panic.

“Rose!” Karl hummed, appearing from the pathway, “guess what I have?” he asked, though his smile faltered when he caught sight of her tears, dropping his bags to stoop to her level. She ran to him, burying her face in his chest, crying properly. “What did you do?” Karl accused, looking at Ethan.

“Me?” Ethan gasped, rushing to console the bunny, “I-I just asked her about her mom, I just wanted—”

“Can’t you leave it alone?” Karl snapped, keeping Rose out of reach, “what’s done is done, just forget about it,” he mumbled, rocking the bunny to sleep.

Ethan looked indignant, blinking at Karl as if he’d lost his mind. His jaw tensed as he forced himself to drop it—for Rose’s sake—nodding once. He watched Karl take her to bed and tuck her in, asking, “What did you bring?”

“We’re not done,” Karl said, his voice low but his tone serious, interrupting Ethan before he had a chance to reply, “I know you want to do the right thing, but if she hasn’t told you already, she most likely won’t,” he stressed, pointing at the sleeping child, “so let it go.”

“But—”

“Let it go.”

“But what if—”

“Ethan,” the wolf growled, forcing him to stand at attention like a misbehaving pup, “let it go.”

The rabbit pouted, stomping his feet but submitting, nonetheless. “Since when did you two get so close?”

“Since the moment you decided to adopt her,” Karl said, softening his tone as he approached Ethan, pulling him closer, trying to warm him out of his frigid state. “I know you care for her more than you thought you would,” he cooed, hugging Ethan into his chest, “my strange, sweet rabbit.”

Ethan burned bright red, but he remained rigid, his pout steadfast.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re jealous?” Karl teased, something wicked flashing in his eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ethan grumbled, but the slight shift in his gaze answered for him.

“You are, little bunny,” Karl snickered, lifting Ethan so they were face to face, “I’m strong enough to carry both of you, if that’s your worry,” he said, looking smug.

“I’m not jealous, I’m just surprised is all,” Ethan said, taking a deep breath, “I thought you said you didn’t want pups,” he mocked, bopping the wolf’s nose.

“Well, she’s technically not a pup,” Karl returned, much to Ethan’s chagrin, “and trust me, it’s a surprise to me too.”

“So, I guess we’re both liars,” Ethan grumbled, shaking his head.

“I like the term ‘unconventional’ a bit better,” Karl said, his smile wide and full of teeth.

“Oh, shut up.”

Though it was difficult for Ethan not to investigate Rose’s mysterious appearance in his life, he found a way to set it aside, to justify keeping her by making the best of it. Whether it be through Donna’s clothes, or teaching her the ways of rabbit-kind, he kept her warm, fed, and (he hoped) happy.

It helped that he had Karl, who’d scare him when he roughhoused with the much smaller bunny, baring his teeth just to look proud when she bared them back. The term ‘unconventional’ popped up a few times during those moments, making Ethan shake his head.

His heart stopped when Rose first called him ‘daddy’, grabbing his hand as they walked through the forest, Karl a few paces ahead. The wolf stumbled just as Ethan did, shocked at the small bunny and her unexpected gift.

He didn’t correct her, and neither did Karl when she referred to him in the familial sense, solidifying her place in their world.  

As the days grew warmer, and spring transitioned to summer, the wolf and rabbit trio carved a larger space into the burrow. They set up a corner for the ever-growing Rose, and even returned to The Duke for supplies. The Giant’s face lit up at their plus-one, and even managed to pick her up without getting bit—at least for the first time.

It was all a very pleasant and unexpected way of life—all because Ethan was too stubborn to let the wolf die. He was reminded of that every time he saw the scars around his neck.

Eventually, Ethan made peace with trying to find Rose’s mom, or even ask of her life before meeting them, figuring that if he had to know, he would.

He supposed it was that peace that incentivised fate to disturb it.

“Show me your teeth, say ‘ah!’” Karl said, on all fours, waiting for Rose to mimic him.

“AH!!” she replied, standing big, tall, and to most smaller creatures, terrifying.

“There’s my girl!” Karl cheered, picking her up and spinning them around, ignoring the father doing laundry by the river. Rose flopped over in his arms, exhausted with excitement.

“She’s more wolf than bunny at this point,” Ethan grumbled, saying it loud enough to be heard, “are you gonna teach her how to hunt and fish next?” he asked, rolling his eyes, “or maybe go swimming?”

Karl laughed as Rose giggled, approaching Ethan to bend low and give him a kiss on his petulant head. “I can’t imagine why your daddy’s upset,” the wolf hummed with a tsk, “maybe he doesn’t want you to unlock your wolf powers.”

Ethan stopped scrubbing their clothes, shooting Karl an unamused look.

“See, I knew it,” Karl said, shaking his head, “what a tragedy.”

“Yeah, a tragedy,” Rose huffed, crossing her arms, “I’m a big bad wolf, daddy, ah!!” she said, trying to scare him, even as she was being carried by the only actual wolf in their group.

“Keep confusing her like that, and you’ll be the one responsible for her belly-ache when she starts eating meat,” Ethan grumbled, returning to their clothes.

Karl laughed, throwing his head back, terribly endeared.

They each took a deep breath, their space interrupted by a unique scent. Karl sensed it first, turning to the hidden intruder with a narrowed stare.

The rabbit followed his gaze, putting down his clothes to ask, “What?”

“Someone’s watching us,” Karl murmured, pressing a peck to Rose’s temple before handing her to Ethan, “stay here,” he said, leaving no room for arguments. He left, quiet as the night, disappearing between the verdant leaves.

“Where’d papa go?” Rose asked, playing with her fingers as they waited. Ethan rocked her in place, not wanting to lie to her, but also fearing the truth’s repercussions.

“He just went to look at something,” Ethan said, settling on a vague fact.

“Did I scare you, daddy?” Rose asked, gnashing her teeth.

Ethan pretended to startle, playing up his fright. “Yes, very much,” he said, shuddering, “you’ll make a very scary rabbit, Ro—”

“Wolf!” she interrupted, pouting, “I’ll make a very scary wolf,” she corrected, looking a lot like Karl after jutting her chin.

“If that’s what makes you happy,” Ethan chuckled, nuzzling her nose. He pulled away with a sigh, scanning the tree line. The rabbit’s heart clenched at each shift in the forest, the wind filling in the gaps between his heartbeats.

He’d been told to stay, but it was getting harder to obey with each second. If it weren’t for Rose, there’d be no question as to what he’d do.

Ethan’s ears flickered towards the approaching footsteps, anxious to meet them. The wolf reappeared with a cigar in his mouth and a guarded look on his face, meeting the duo without a word.

“What happened?” Ethan asked, looking around Karl, trying to see what he’d seen, or at least scent it.

“Nothing,” he grumbled, forcing a smile, “I scared them off.”

“Scared—was it—”

“No,” Karl was quick to say, but his tail twitched, and his ears flickered, giving him away. Ethan looked at the forest again, unsure what to do with the information Karl was withholding. His eyes moved to Rose, who hummed—lost in her own world.

“As long as that’s all you did,” Ethan said, brushing back Rose’s hair with his own forced smile, “we should go home, I think I’m done for today,” he suggested, returning Rose to Karl, packing up their half-finished laundry.

“Couldn’t agree more.”

Sleep came in troubled increments, disturbed by any common movements. Karl didn’t look surprised when Ethan joined him on his midnight smoke break, his eyes bright beneath the half moon.

Ethan stood beside him, resting his tired head on his shoulder, unwilling to disturb the silence despite the knots in his stomach.

Karl did it for him, perhaps feeling guilty for hiding what he knew. “I don’t know if it was her—they look nothing alike,” he confessed, his ears flickering, “she has her nose,” he mumbled, shaking his head.

“Did you eat her?” Ethan asked, his eyes pointed forward, missing Karl’s indignant expression.

“God, Ethan, no,” he gasped, sounding offended.

“So, what did you do?” Ethan asked, gaining the courage to look at Karl.

“I didn’t lie about scaring her,” Karl muttered, pausing to take a drag of his cigar, “she bolted before I could say anything.”

The rabbit took a deep breath, holding it. “Is it selfish not to want to give her back?” he whispered, his lips trembling where he bit them, trying not to cry.

“Yes,” Karl replied, honest, “but I’m not about to reprimand you for it,” he continued, his smile tinged with sadness, “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you why.” He dropped his free hand to Ethan’s waist, keeping him near.

“If she’s coming back for her, maybe she had been lost, maybe we should’ve tried harder to find—”

“Don’t,” Karl warned in a quasi-growl, “don’t do that to yourself.”

“Did you see where she went?”

“Ethan—”

“No, I won’t keep a mother from her child—I’m not my father,” Ethan snapped, setting his jaw, “did you see where she went,” he repeated, continuing when the wolf shook his head, “did you catch her scent, at least?”

Karl didn’t answer, busying himself with stomping out his cigar.

“Pup,” Ethan said, catching the wolf’s attention, “did you?”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Karl grumbled, and though his ears and tails gave a swift flick, Ethan let him go back inside. His eyes swept to the sky once more, wondering if the answers were written in the stars.

Would he be able to read them if they were?

“And how many do we have now?” Ethan said, placing four flowers in front of Rose, waiting for her to count them. She leaned in close, contemplating her answer for a long moment.

“Three?” she replied, unsure.

“No, try again,” Ethan encouraged, gentle.

Rose cocked her head, grabbing one of the flowers and placing it behind her back, saying, “Three.”

“Clever,” Ethan huffed, shaking his head. He took a flower for himself, eating the petals with a contemplative look. Rose mimicked him, following his line of sight to the fishing wolf, looking back at Ethan, expectant. “Were you still hungry?” he asked, searching through their basket of extras.

Rose shook her head, chomping on the last flower.

“You let me know if you are, okay?” Ethan said, pushing his head to hers, giving her forehead a quick kiss. Her ears flickered forward, tickling his nose. They continued to flicker even as he pulled away, accompanied by a sudden interest with the forest floor, her little fingers tugging each other. “What’s—”

But before the words were out of his mouth, Karl was beside them, dripping wet and hunching over, his body a shield against their unseen threat.

Ethan was on his feet in an instant, putting Rose behind himself, holding onto her little hand. He listened for footsteps, then the shuffling of branches, his heart on his tongue. Just within the tree line stood a rabbit, most of them obscured by the shade.

“Please, I just want to talk,” they said, revealing more of themselves. The rabbit had long, brown hair and a fair complexion, with eyes that matched the fallen pinecones.

“What do you want?” Karl growled, making the rabbits flinch.

“I know you have my daughter,” the rabbit replied, exposing all of herself, “I’ve seen you with her,” she continued, looking through them to Rose.

“How do we know she’s yours?” the wolf spat, earning the twisted sorrow on the mother’s face.

“Karl,” Ethan began to reprimand, but was interrupted by a loud sob. His eyes moved to the other rabbit, watching her fall to her knees, burying her tears in her hands.

“I know you have every right to say that,” she began between whimpers, “and trust me, I feel awful,” she continued, snivelling, “but you see, she ran away, and I—she’s always been my little adventurer, and I just—please, I miss her so much,” the mother supplicated, looking between the rabbit and the wolf, settling on the smaller of the two. “Please, I know she misses her mom, she needs her mom.”

“Why didn’t you come to us sooner?” Karl said, his voice a low rumble, putting himself between them. It’d be hell to try to get through him, and the mother-rabbit knew that.

Standing up to reclaim some height, she wiped her tears with her sleeve, taking a deep breath before saying, “I don’t know these parts very well, and I’m sure we can agree that the woods are dangerous for someone like me.”

Karl huffed but couldn’t deny it. He turned to Ethan—his eyes stormy behind his glasses. “Your call, Ethan,” he said, chewing through the words like toughened hide.

Ethan’s heart skipped, knowing this would always be a possibility, but not prepared for it. He turned to Rose, kneeling to take a proper look at her. She hadn’t stopped shaking, and her tears had been flowing into her dress for minutes now. It hurt his chest to see her in distress, but he had to confirm.

“Is this your mom?” he asked, watching her do a quick flick to the other rabbit before nodding. Ethan took a deep breath, giving Rose a reassuring smile, speaking so only they could hear when he said, “Well, little one, we found your mom—it’s time for you to go home.”

Rose squeaked and shook her head, rushing into Ethan’s arms, squeezing him tighter than a bunny her size should.

“I know, I’ll miss you too,” Ethan said, grief-stricken, his face reflecting it, “I love you, Rose, please be safe.” He kissed her temple, not turning around until he’d stopped crying.

“Ethan,” Karl said, stopping the rabbit with an outstretched arm, “are you sure about this?”

“It’s her mom, Karl,” Ethan said, too emotionally drained to control his tone, “I have to.”

It hadn’t answered the wolf’s question, but it’d have to suffice.

Karl dropped his arm, but not before pressing his own kiss to Rose’s scalp, stepping away from the arms she tried to wrap around him. She protested all the way to her mother, shrinking from the other rabbit when she tried to take her.

“Come on, little bunny, it’s mommy,” the woman tried to coo, worsening Rose’s anxiety, “don’t you miss me?”

Rose’s resounding ‘no!’ should’ve been answer enough.

“Rose,” Ethan said, forced to unstick her from him, “it’s okay.”

“Rose?” the rabbit repeated, drawing her eyebrows to one, “her name is Eveline,” she corrected, aiming for polite, falling short of annoyed. “Did you rename my daughter?”

Ethan faltered, his face growing pink under the woman’s scrutiny. “Er, yes, but only because she didn’t have—she didn’t know her name,” he stammered, his reply drawing further suspicion from the doe, “sorry about that.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” the woman sighed, involving herself in extricating Ro—Eveline from Ethan’s body. The bunny squealed, awaking every nocturnal critter within their perimeter. “You’re being dramatic, Rose,” the mother huffed, pinching the tips of one of her ears, “you know, you gave your mother an awful scare, and now that she’s back, you’re acting as if it’s the end of the world,” she continued, walking away, “do you have any idea how hard it was to find you? I almost thought you were eaten…” her voice trailed off, though Eve-Ro-sie (dammit!), the bunny’s cries continued to haunt Ethan.

She’d been reaching out for him, calling for him, for them.

Karl walked forward, standing next to Ethan with a heavy sigh. “I didn’t like that at all,” he murmured, his muscles tense.

Ethan’s face fell into a sob, his tears blurring the tree line. “Me neither.”

Ethan didn’t sleep that night.

The house felt vacant without their plus-one.

He couldn’t bring himself to unmake her bed.

He couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge she was gone.

“Ethan, you need to eat,” Karl said, repeating the phrase for the third time that week, shoving a bowl of vegetables his way. They were wilting, and a few had gone off—an unfortunate combination of Ethan’s missing appetite and the lack of an extra mouth.

Karl didn’t seem to have the same issue, though if Ethan could peer through the fog, he could see the wolf ate without purpose, chewing and swallowing with little joy.

“I don’t think I can,” Ethan admitted, holding his stomach and the rocks thrashing within every time he thought of the missing bunny.

“Try,” the wolf growled, hitting his fist on the table, startling the air itself, “please,” he whispered, failing to contain the faintest of whines.

Ethan nodded, eating one piece of hay at a time, too fatigued to cry properly.

Everything blurred regardless.

“Karl, I miss her,” Ethan said into the night many moons later.

“And you think I don’t,” Karl replied, digging his claws into his own palms, “you think I don’t,” he repeated, “she would’ve made a great wolf,” he concluded, trying to bring levity to their shared misery.

Ethan pulled back enough to look at Karl, pushing in to kiss him, tasting salt and sorrow.

Whose? He couldn’t say.

“Did I do the right thing?” Ethan asked, his words trembling, “you heard how she cried—I don’t know if—” Ethan wept, distraught, “I don’t know.”

“I think you did what you thought was right,” Karl said, rocking Ethan as his tears soaked his shirt, “and I can’t fault you for that.”

Ethan’s breath stuttered, unwilling to accept that the pain he felt was justified. He often forgot that life was cruel, that it gave and took gifts at a moment’s notice.

It’s a reason why isolation felt like his only tool against it.

The ache didn’t lessen, but it became manageable, allowing Ethan to eat and groom himself, to snuggle with Karl without needing to check on the empty bed. He couldn’t bring himself to tear down her space—not yet.

Fresh air helped (some), though their strolls were kept short, no longer needing to entertain an energetic child.

Everything reminded them of her, and that made forgetting her impossible. Not that Ethan wanted to forget—he cared too much for her smile to try and erase it.

The warm, summer days incentivized later visits to the meadows—their attempt to escape the blinding sun. Ethan lazed with Karl now, content enough to smile at the wolf without guilt. He found a stick and threw it, waiting for his beloved’s instincts to kick in—the game more fun if it was unexpected.

Karl’s sharp chewing had lost its terrifying implications, though Ethan still wondered how little it would take for the wolf to bite through his arm. He didn’t think it appropriate to ask if the wolf ever held back.

It could be considered offensive.

He would’ve continued to lose himself in thought, grateful his wolf was an excellent distraction, but their gentle peace was broken with a sound that still haunted Ethan’s nightmares.

“Rose!” he gasped, already on his feet. Karl dashed after him, catching him before he ran towards the sound.

“Ethan, don’t!” Karl begged, wrestling with the rabbit, keeping his limbs locked across his torso, “just let nature be.”

“How can you be so callous?” Ethan hissed, “that’s our daughter!” He kicked at nothing, too high above the ground to get any leverage.

“And if it isn’t?” Karl returned, his voice breaking, “what if it’s someone else’s child? Are you willing to relive the pain of loving and losing?”

Ethan struggles were losing steam, but he couldn’t give up that easily. “Let me go, let me—” Another, louder squeak rang through the forest, their cry distinct. “Rose!” Ethan shouted back, breaking through Karl’s weakening hold. He ran, an anxious flash of paternal instincts. They met at the meadow’s edge, the smaller bunny crashing into him with all her might. Ethan dropped to his knees, closing around her like a protective cage. He felt Karl in passing, let himself be held by him, thawed out after weeks of numbness.

Their reunion was interrupted by the unhinged screaming of a mad woman. “You come back here!” she shrieked, making Rose shiver with fright. “Where’s that fucking brat!” It was hard to believe who those words belonged to, seeing as such a meek frame should know better than to draw that much attention.

Rose squeaked into Ethan’s chest when her mother broke through the clearing, shaking her head. “It’s okay, I won’t let her take you,” Ethan promised, standing steady with Karl beside him.

The doe skidded to a harsh stop, struggling to school her expression. Her cheeks were flushed a bright pink, and it seemed she hadn’t slept well for days. Still, she tried to put on a smile, though it stretched too far and showed too many teeth. “Oh, hi, it’s you two again,” she began, her voice sounding nothing like her screams, “of course that’s where she runs to, silly girl—” She was interrupted by a warning growl, forced to pause her approaching.

Karl put himself between them, looking ready to rip and tear if she even blinked the wrong way.

“What are you doing? That’s my child!” the rabbit huffed, dropping her placating expression.

“Leave,” Karl snapped, his sneer full of sharp teeth.

“I beg your pardon?” the doe returned, sounding offended.

“Leave, you’re trespassing,” Karl replied, “I won’t tell you again.”

The mother’s mask slipped, a wild flicker discharging in her eyes. She took a deep breath, putting on another smile, forcing it to seem genuine. Failing. “That’s my child you’re holding,” she repeated, “I’m gonna need her back.” Rose squealed, her little ears flinching. “Shut up or I’ll give you something to cry about,” the mother snapped, successful in only scaring Rose further.

At this point, you’d have to kill Ethan to separate them.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the other rabbit said, beginning to sob, her tears big and perfect, “it’s just the stress, you see, I’m a new mom, and she’s my only child,” she rushed to explain, “the only one that survived, anyway,” she added with a wet smile, “and she doesn’t make it easy, always running away.” The mother’s tears dried, leaving her eyes shiny, but expectant. “I need her, she’s very important to me.”

Ethan looked at her, kicking himself for ever failing to acknowledge the glaring warning signs. A doe without a child was useless to a buck, she’d have to fend for herself if she couldn’t produce viable offspring.

What a terrible fate.

“She didn’t even know her name,” Ethan muttered, hugging Rose tighter.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business—” she was interrupted by the wolf’s tense stalk, her eyes flickering to him. “You don’t scare me, wolf, I see how you are around them,” she began, much to their unfortunate surprise, “you’ve lost your appetite for rabbit.”

Karl’s chuckle was dry and stiff, showing his expert control over his most basic instincts. “I may not kill you,” he agreed, shrugging, “but I know of a few hungry wolves that would.”

The doe balked, remembering her place a little too late. Karl lunged after her, his snarls loud and all-consuming. He chased her west, his thuds echoing in Ethan’s memories—nostalgic. “Let’s go home, baby,” he murmured, rocking the little one out of her cocoon.

“Is she dead?”

Ethan asked it whilst staring at Rose from the edge of the bed, his eyes glued to her sleeping form. Karl had entered, silent but pronounced, resting a gloved hand on his shoulder before dropping a sack by their feet.

“I don’t know,” he replied, his lips ticking upwards when he added, “I suppose Alcina will tell me.”

“I wish you’d make an exception,” Ethan whispered, reaching for Karl’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “She has bruises all over her arms, tiny ones,” he began, his teeth grinding out the words, “if what that creature said was true, then Rose would’ve been isolated. A prime target for the cruelty of her half-siblings,” he continued, his hands trembling, “no wonder she ran away.”

“Ethan—”

“I should’ve never let her go!” Ethan sobbed, looking up at Karl, “I knew something was wrong and still—”

“Ethan, hush, it’s okay,” Karl said, draping his large body over the rabbit, kissing the top of his head, “you didn’t know for sure, and she’s here now, she’s safe—we’ll keep her safe.”

“Yeah,” Ethan breathed out, nodding with all his might, “I love you,” he confessed, closing his eyes against the wash of tears threatening to overwhelm him, “the both of you.”

“I love you, too,” Karl professed, his chest purring with adoration, “stubborn, fearless little bunny who doesn’t know when to listen even if their life depends on it,” he murmured, rocking Ethan with a gentle sway, “she’s more your daughter than you could ever imagine.”

Ethan laughed—the sound faint but hopeful.

Chapter Text

It took an unfortunate amount of convincing to get Rose out of her shell. Ethan exercised patience even as it grew sore, not needing to be another villain in the bunny’s story. Progress was measured by her returning smile, by the small twinkle in her eye, and the wonderment of the world around them.

The effort left Ethan exhausted, but if he was going to be tenacious about something, it’d be correcting an unjustifiable wrong. With each brush through her long hair, he told her sweet fairy tales, often making her the heroine of her own story. He encouraged her exploration, even as his heart beat in his throat at every dangerous possibility.

Were it not for Karl, he’d keep her chained to his side.

Ethan promised her the world, or at least what he could offer her, vowing to make good on his word, aware it could take forever.

He knew he’d succeeded in driving away the shadows from Rose’s mind when she stopped holding onto him so tightly, running freely between the woods and her adoptive parents. It made the pain of losing her worth it, even as he’d berate himself in secret for ever letting her go.

Never again, he swore, pressing a kiss to her sleeping head, never.

One night, as the autumn breeze rustled between the darkened leaves, Karl pulled him close. He purred in his ear, the sound calming his bones. It seemed the changing weather had the giant pup in a better mood, or perhaps his affection came as a consequence to what he said next.

“Is the little one asleep?” the wolf asked, though he had eyes, he could check.

“Enough,” Ethan said with a small snort, his skin prickling with anticipation. Their time with Rosemary left very little gaps of freedom, not that Ethan would ever complain. His wants and needs could be satisfied outside their home.

“I have a present for you,” Karl murmured, sitting up, “think of it as an anniversary gift.”

“Has it been a year already?” Ethan asked, his cheeks growing warm, “I’m surprised something like that matters to a wolf.”

“Then you still have a lot to learn, little bunny,” Karl said, pressing his forehead to Ethan’s, “it’s nothing terribly exciting, so don’t get your hopes up,” he added, digging through his pockets for said gift.

Ethan watched him as he pulled out a well-read letter, the edges wrinkled, its address faded. To “Alpha” it read in an elegant script, previously sealed with a red wax stamp. Karl presented it to Ethan, letting him take it at his leisure.

“What’s this?” Ethan asked, his fingers shaking where he gripped the paper too hard.

“You asked to make an exception,” Karl muttered, his shrug stiff, his nonchalance unpracticed.

Ethan’s eyes widened, nearly ripping the letter when he unfolded it. Heisenberg, it began, dropping the expected honorific, though I’m unsure why you continue to exercise your privileges as an absent leader, I will abide once purely for our Mother’s sake. The rabbit you so carelessly drove into our den was very quick to chirp, unfortunately, we found her home vacant when we went to investigate. They were wise to run, though my daughters still hunger—the doe was satisfying only for a day.

Please refrain from showing yourself unless you’re willing to sacrifice your own skin.

Respectfully,

Lady Alcina Dimitrescu—next in line for when you decide to croak.

P.S. You’ve lost your scent, “Alpha”, I suggest you take a break from chasing rabbits and start eating them.

“She’s lovely,” Ethan muttered, his throat strained, “how long ago was this?” he asked, getting a good idea from the odd stains and fingerprints.

“No more than a day or two after we got Rosemary back,” Karl replied, letting Ethan work through his words on his own, not wanting his touch to interfere. “You were busy with her, I didn’t wanna interrupt,” he whispered, his smile small but telling.

Ethan didn’t think as he lunged towards Karl, clashing their teeth, and bumping their noses with his kiss. He tasted salt, realizing too late that it came from him, from the eyes too blurry to focus. The part of him responsible for feeling guilt was conveniently absent, overwhelmed by a righteous fury that burned its way through his chest.

It was a small swing in the pendulum—what Rose went through would always remain—but this assured that it could never happen again.

“We need a separate bedroom,” Ethan gasped as an aside, running his cold fingers beneath Karl’s shirt, hugging him tighter. The wolf chuckled, nodding in agreement.

“Does that mean you liked your present?” Karl asked, brushing back Ethan’s hair until he reached the nape of his neck, giving it a loving squeeze. “I know your morals are steadfast on the best of da—”

Ethan cut him off with another kiss, nipping his bottom lip to keep his attention. “I loved my present,” he said, stressing the fact with his eyes, which shone with more than just relief. “It was deserved,” he whispered, his gaze flicking to Rose, holding his breath until his heart settled.

Karl growled a pleased thrum, taking Ethan into his lap to hug his chest, pressing kisses on his clothed skin. “What was that about another bedroom?”

Ethan answered with a hard tremble, letting himself be taken out of the burrow, his anxieties quelled for the night. He’d done well hitching his carriage to Karl, not that it’d been his intent when saving him. But he couldn’t deny that it felt good to be surrounded by so much power, so much unleashed potential.

He’d never be able to replicate it—even if given a hundred lives and a million worlds.

“Both of you stop!” the wolf whined, though the grin on his face said otherwise. Karl was outflanked by the prowling rabbits—one at his tail, and the other on his back, giving his ears gentle bites. He’d been wrestled to the ground, the task made easier when he let himself be manipulated.

“Big bad wolf, ah!!” Rose exclaimed, hopping around the wagging tail, which seemed to be sentient enough to play with her. She grappled with it, giggling when it tickled her face.

“Big bad wolf!” Ethan repeated with similar enthusiasm, developing something of a competitive streak as he also tried to take down the wolf.

“I submit, I submit!” Karl said, tapping out.

“We don’t want you to submit, we want you to surrender!” Rose said, hopping around to be face to face with Karl, holding her chin high.

“What she said,” Ethan seconded, nipping Karl’s ears again, giggling at his soft growl.

“Fine, fine,” Karl huffed, playing up his melodrama, “I surrender,” he said, admitting defeat, though his ears and tail flickered, too stubborn even when pretending.

Rose hopped in place, victorious, before flopping over, giggling on the squishy grass. Ethan followed after her, too weak with his own giggles to hang on to Karl. The wolf looked between them, shaking his head before promptly following suit—a beast in rabbit’s clothing.

“Daddy, papa?” Rose spoke up, recovering faster than her parents, “can we play again?” she asked, beaming at them. Karl was quick to get on his feet, play-stalking the smaller bunny. She yelped with delight, a blur of blonde and the deep green of her dress, keeping just ahead of the wolf.

Ethan watched them from his place on the earth, a dopey smile on his face. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Rose hadn’t always been with them. He tried not to think of the upcoming years, of the passing of time, of how she’d eventually leave them as all rabbits did. Ethan would try to enjoy her company as long as nature let them.

It only seemed fair.

“Are you sure that’s secure?” Ethan asked, hanging on to one of the branches, his eyes sweeping to the floor, going cross trying to judge the distance. The breeze blew between his tree’s leaves, rustling them. He shivered, pressing closer to the trunk.

Karl looked over his shoulder, talking around his cigar when he said, “Perfectly safe, sweetheart,” then resumed his hammering. The wolf was adding another level to the burrow, starting with the stairs, and moving upwards.

Ethan didn’t know how many more renovations the old tree could take, but for the sake of not sounding ungrateful, he kept that comment to himself. “You let me know if you need some help,” Ethan said, wanting to be useful despite his fright.

Karl snickered, shaking his head. “I’m okay, I promise,” he said, sure-footed as he crossed the new planks, palming Ethan’s worried cheek, caressing his soft blush. The sound of a distant howl caught his attention, compelling him to reply.

Ethan’s head jerked west, forgetting his anxiety over the unstable ground, replacing it with a new panic. Karl laughed after him, trying to calm him before he tripped down the stairs. “It’s just Donna,” he reassured, sounding apologetic.

“Why does she have to howl?” Ethan huffed—his pout involuntary. He reached Rose first, who’d been entertaining herself with random scraps gifted by The Duke. She seemed unperturbed by the sound, her instincts modified to accommodate them.

He’d blame the wolf.

“That’s Angie,” Karl clarified, “she’s letting us know to expect her.”

“You got all that from a howl?” Ethan mumbled, deflating as his adrenaline fizzled out, leaving him annoyed.

“More or less,” Karl snickered, hiding his fangs behind his hand. “I’ll go see what she wants,” he promised, pocketing his cigar.

“I wanna see!” Rose said, tugging at Ethan’s sleeve, “daddy, can I see?” she asked, already pulling Ethan towards the front door.

“Er, I don’t know, let papa—”

“It’s okay,” Karl said, kneeling, encouraging Rose with a wave. She ran to him, a giant smile on her face. “Harmless, remember?” the wolf said, tickling her chin.

Ethan sighed, but followed the duo regardless, sneaking his hand into Karl’s after he opened the door.

Donna stood still like a shadow, puppeteering her split-faced doll as if she were an extension. Angie was dressed in her best threads, the attention to detail unmatched. She waved from Donna’s hand, her grin wide and nearly permanent. “See? I told you he lived with them!” Angie declared, sounding proud of herself. Donna ignored her, bowing her head as a sign of respect.

“Hello to you too,” the wolf gruffed, tinting pink, “to what do I owe this unexpected visit?” he asked, curious.

“We heard the little one was having a birthday today,” Angie piped up, standing on Donna’s palm.

“Birthday?” Karl and Ethan said in unison, looking at each other, “that’s not until—”

“Just go with it!” Angie interrupted, clearing her throat, continuing with, “as I was saying, we thought it best to celebrate now, since most rabbits don’t make it to her ag-ah!” Donna smothered the doll on her chest, patting her back to quiet her. “What she means to say is that we’d like to give her a gift,” the wolf amended, “yeah, that,” Angie grumbled, her voice muffled.

“A gift?” Karl hummed, trying to remain impassive, “what kind of gift?”

Donna reached into her dress without a word, removing a palm-sized replica of Rose. She came complete with soft, fabric ears, and a porcelain face, her dress fitted by an expert hand. The lady wolf approached and—with the silent permission of Rose’s parents—offered the doll.

“Mine?” Rose asked, careful to verify before taking it.

“I guess,” Ethan shrugged, watching out for any sudden moves or tricks.

Rose took the doll, turning it in her hands, smiling bright at the tiny fluff representing her bushy tail. “Look daddy, it’s a rabbit!” she giggled, wiggling it in front of his face.

“That’s very nice, Rose, now what do we say?” Ethan replied, giving her an expectant look.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice shy when dealing with Donna.

Angie shrieked with laughter, throwing all her limbs in the air. “Maybe we should make the whole family, or, or a bigger one, with a whole wardrobe, and little hats, and, and—”

“Thank you, Donna,” Karl said, cutting Angie off before she got started, remembering her tirades could span for days. “Have you been well?” he asked, letting Rose go, watching her run back inside to play with her doll.

“Well enough,” she replied, nodding once. “Her clothes are getting a bit small,” she added, “I shall return with more.”

“You don’t—”

“Thank you, Donna,” Karl interjected, shaking his head at Ethan, “I’ll see what I can do to repay you.”

“Rabbits!” Angie teased, giggling at Karl’s unamused glare, “kidding, kidding,” she said, dismissing his expected reaction. “Just keep bringing us the biggest fish you can find, and we’ll keep making pretty clothes,” Angie continued, getting on her tip-toes to whisper into Donna’s ear, “see, I can negotiate too!”

Despite her veiled face, Ethan could sense the other wolf’s quiet amusement. She left without another word, letting Angie’s excited planning lead them back home.

“Out of everything that’s happened, that is the strangest,” Karl said, his eyes trailing his sister’s shadow.

“What makes you say that?” Ethan asked, thinking there were plenty of things stranger than a visit from a sibling.

“She doesn’t leave the house,” Karl replied, shifting his eyes to Ethan’s, “I don’t think I’ve seen her outside since our mom died.”

“Maybe she was inspired,” Ethan said, looking behind them to their humble home, to the half-finished project meant to be Rose’s bedroom, to the sounds of the child playing pretend with her new friend.

“Maybe,” Karl hummed, letting the thought go, “come on,” he encouraged, wrapping an arm around Ethan’s waist, “I could use your help after all.”