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The arcade was louder than Sae remembered.
He had been here before, years ago, though the memory had long since fractured into fragments: faint fluorescent lights reflected off polished floors, the triumphant jingle of machines announcing victories and the dejected buzz of defeats, the distinct, addictive smell of fried food drifting in from somewhere near the entrance. Kamakura itself had changed in small, irritating ways since he’d last spent a meaningful amount of time here. New shops had replaced old favorites, the streets felt somehow narrower, and the tourists seemed to have multiplied exponentially. However, the arcade appeared determined to remain exactly as obnoxious as it had always been.
Bunny, of course, was absolutely delighted by all of it.
He stood just inside the entrance with his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his long coat. At 191 centimetres tall, the arcade’s hanging signs forced him to duck beneath them with an endearing awkwardness that made Sae’s lips twitch despite himself. The narrow aisles made his broad shoulders look even wider, and his hair, which had probably been neat when they’d left that morning, had already begun to loosen into soft, slightly wavy strands around his forehead and temples, in a way that caught the neon lights and transformed them into something almost iridescent. Sae found himself staring at them for a moment, watching the way the pink and blue lights played across the lavender strands, before Bunny caught him doing it and his expression shifted into a smile unbearably knowing.
“You look pathetic,” Sae said, his voice as flat and unimpressed as ever, though there was no real venom behind the words.
Bunny turned toward him with immediate amusement blooming across his features, the corners of his mouth lifting into that gentle smile that seemed to belong so naturally on his face. “That’s unfortunate,” he said, his voice warm and silky, a counterpoint to all the harsh electronic noise surrounding them. “I was actually trying to look charming today.”
“You failed spectacularly.”
Bunny laughed at that, low and melodic, a pocket of incandescence in the midst of all the artificial tinniness. He stepped closer, close enough that their shoulders brushed, and reached down to take Sae’s hand as casually as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. His fingers interlocked between Sae’s, snug and familiar and undemanding, and when Sae didn’t pull away (because he never pulled away anymore, not really) Bunny’s thumb made one small, absent-minded stroke across his knuckle. A gesture so tender that Sae felt something intimate swell within his chest.
That was still a strange thing to notice, this capacity for softness in himself.
Not the touch itself anymore; that part had become ordinary, woven into the fabric of his daily existence like breathing or sleeping. It was the fact that Sae had once believed he would never allow this, and had constructed an entire identity around the premise that he didn’t need or want such things. There had been a time when affection had felt like an invasion - he couldn’t understand why people needed to touch one another constantly or why they seemed to consider physical closeness as proof of love.
Sae had spent years cultivating distance so carefully that it had eventually become indistinguishable from personality. He’d made himself sharp enough that people stopped trying to get close, perfecting the art of the cutting remark and the cold shoulder until they became second nature. Most of all, he had convinced himself that this was preferable; solitude was strength and connection was weakness, he didn’t need anyone and never would.
Then Bunny had appeared in his life and, somehow, never treated his walls as something he needed to climb over or break down. He simply stayed, patient and warm and utterly unshakeable, existing in Sae’s orbit like a smiling, persistent sun that refused to be dimmed by all the shadows Sae had carefully cultivated. He never demanded that Sae be different, nor ever complained about the walls or the distance. He simply stayed there, day after day, until Sae had looked up one morning and realised that the walls hadn’t disappeared but that he no longer wanted to hide behind them.
Now Bunny’s presence had become entwined into the ordinary parts of Sae’s life in ways he hadn’t anticipated: the extra toothbrush beside his own, the lavender strands of hair that occasionally appeared on the bathroom sink despite Bunny’s insistence that he had cleaned it, the clothes taking up far too much wardrobe space, the quiet humming that drifted through their apartment when Bunny thought nobody was listening.
It was in the way Bunny leaned against him on trains, stole his hand when they walked, and sometimes rested his head against Sae’s shoulder while they watched something without asking permission first, as though it had become the most natural thing in the world, like Sae had always been someone who could be leaned on.
They exchanged their yen for arcade credits at the kiosk, and the machine responded with several cheerful electronic beeps before dispensing a plastic cup filled with shiny silver tokens that clattered against each other like tiny metal bells. Bunny immediately looked down at them with an expression of such genuine fascination, as if he had never seen arcade tokens before in his life despite having spent his childhood in places exactly like this.
“There are so many,” Bunny murmured, turning the cup slightly so the tokens clattered against one another in a cascade of clinking, bright sounds.
“They’re tokens,” Sae said flatly, watching Bunny’s face with a mixture of exasperation and reluctant fondness. “Nothing worthy of attention.”
“But they’re so shiny,” Bunny protested, holding one up to catch the neon lights. “Look at how they sparkle.”
“They’re pieces of molded plastic, idiot. They’re not precious gems.”
“They’re precious to me,” Bunny said, his voice carrying a note of exaggerated cheekiness. “They represent opportunities.”
“Opportunities to waste money on cheaply made toys.”
“Opportunities to win you prizes~” Bunny corrected, his smile turning sly.
Sae stared at him, his expression deliberately blank. “Hm. You act like you’ve never been to an arcade before.”
“I haven’t been to one with you before.” Bunny looked at him for several seconds, his enormous red eyes widening with such sincerity that it bordered on melancholy, before his mouth curved into a slow, devastating smile. “You’re quite defensive about arcade tokens, did you know that? I find it rather endearing.”
Sae took the cup from him without dignifying that with a response.
Bunny allowed him to carry it for perhaps thirty seconds before reclaiming it with an innocent, “I can hold it, you know,” as though Sae had been the one to insist on carrying it in the first place rather than simply trying to escape the conversation.
The first claw machine caught their attention less than a minute after they entered the main floor, its brightly lit display case filled with a collection of pastel-coloured plush rabbits that seemed to multiply the moment you looked at them.
Bunny stopped so abruptly that Sae nearly walked directly into his back. When Sae followed his gaze, he found himself looking some particularly fluffy rabbits behind glass. Their long ears stuck out at different angles and their embroidered faces wore an expression of such profound innocence that it was almost offensive. One of the rabbits had been pushed toward the front of the pile, like it had been selected specifically to tempt unsuspecting arcade-goers into spending their tokens on an impossible prize.
Bunny stared at it with an intensity that Sae recognized immediately.
“No,” Sae said, before Bunny could even open his mouth.
“I haven’t said anything yet,” Bunny protested, although he continued staring at the rabbit with the intense concentration of someone contemplating a life-changing purchase, his eyes tracking the way the plush sat in the pile.
“You were about to say something, I could tell.”
“I was going to ask whether you thought that one was cute, that’s all.”
“No, I don’t think it’s cute.”
“It has little ears, Sae. Look at them - they stick out at different angles.”
“It’s a rabbit, Bunny. That’s what rabbits have.”
Bunny finally looked at him, apparently genuinely baffled by Sae’s complete lack of appreciation for the creature behind the glass. “Exactly,” he said, like this explained everything.
Sae stared back at him, keeping his face unreadable.
Sometimes he wondered whether Bunny had ever developed normally or whether someone had simply dropped him on his head as a child and he had emerged from the experience with an inexplicable love for all things soft and ridiculous. Sae decided, for the sake of his own sanity, not to investigate this theory further.
“You can play it if you want,” Sae said at last, because he had apparently become the kind of person who enabled Bunny’s questionable whims rather than shutting them down.
Bunny’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You’re giving me permission to waste tokens on a plush rabbit?”
“I’m giving you something to do while I look at the other machines.”
“How incredibly generous of you.”
“I’m aware.”
Bunny’s smile widened, and he fed a token into the machine promptly with clear excitement.
Sae expected him to play like everyone else he had ever observed at claw machines: with blind optimism and no real strategy, moving the claw approximately above whatever prize had caught their attention, pressing the button with hopeful desperation, watching the mechanism fail to grip anything substantial, and then spending several increasingly desperate attempts trying to convince themselves that they were somehow improving their technique. Most people approached claw machines as exercises in futility, determined to prove that they could beat the odds through sheer determination alone.
Bunny did none of that.
The softness around his eyes disappeared almost immediately as he leaned toward the glass and studied the pile with a focused intensity. His gaze moved methodically from the rabbit to the claw mechanism, then to the surrounding plushies and finally toward the edge of the chute, mapping out angles and trajectories mentally. It was a familiar expression, one Sae had seen on the football pitch whenever Bunny stopped being playful and began calculating, when the opponent’s defense became a puzzle to be solved rather than an obstacle to be overcome.
He was absurdly serious about a plush rabbit.
Sae found himself watching Bunny rather than the machine, studying the way his brow furrowed slightly in concentration and the way his tongue briefly pressed against the inside of his cheek as he calculated. One loose strand of lavender hair fell directly across his eye, and he ignored it completely, too focused on the task at hand to bother with such trivialities.
Bunny shifted the claw a fraction to the left, paused, then adjusted it again with microscopic precision. His fingers moved over the controls with deliberate care, and the claw responded to his touch, as if it were an extension of his own hand rather than a piece of uncooperative machinery. He was utterly absorbed, and Sae found himself momentarily captivated by the transformation.
Before he could think about what he was doing, Sae reached out and brushed the strand of hair aside.
Bunny went completely still.
For a moment, the noise of the arcade seemed strangely distant, muffled.The colourful lights continued their frantic dance across the walls, the machines continued their electronic chatter, but all of it felt like it was happening somewhere far away, in another world entirely.
Bunny turned his head slightly, looking at Sae from beneath his lashes, and there was a tiny, surprised mellowness in his expression that made Sae realise what he’d done only after he’d already done it. His hand was still hovering near Bunny’s temple, fingers still tingling from the brief contact with that impossibly soft hair.
Sae withdrew his hand quickly.
“Your hair was in your eye,” he said flatly, hoping his voice didn’t betray anything.
Bunny’s smile appeared slowly, spreading across his face like sunrise. “I know,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur.
“Then move it yourself.”
“I was busy concentrating on the rabbit.”
“Clearly.”
Bunny’s smile widened, but he turned back toward the machine before Sae could tell him to stop looking so pleased with himself. His fingers found the controls again, and he made one final, tiny adjustment before pressing the button with absolute confidence.
The claw descended with precision, and Sae found himself holding his breath without meaning to. The metal arms closed neatly around the rabbit’s middle, gripping the plush with a surety that seemed almost impossible given the notoriously unreliable nature of claw machines. For a moment it seemed like the rabbit might slip, or slide free of the claw’s grasp and tumble back into the pile, but it lifted cleanly from its perch and began its journey toward the chute.
Bunny’s eyes brightened before the rabbit had even dropped. A childlike delight spread across his face, making him look younger, happier, somehow more himself. When the plush landed with a muffled thump in the prize compartment, he crouched eagerly to retrieve it.
He returned to standing with the rabbit hugged against his chest for just a moment before turning to Sae with an expression of pure joy. Then, without hesitation, he held it out.
“Here,” Bunny said simply, his voice affectionate.
Sae blinked, genuinely startled. “What?”
“For you,” Bunny said, as it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I won it for you.”
Sae stared at the rabbit, then at Bunny’s face, then back at the rabbit. Its floppy ears and innocent features seemed almost mocking. “I don’t want a plush rabbit, Bunny.”
“Of course you do,” Bunny said, pressing it into Sae’s hands before he could protest further. “Now you can cuddle a mini Bunny when you’re sleeping, when you can’t cuddle the real thing.”
The tips of Sae’s ears warmed. “That’s absurd. I would never—”
“You would,” Bunny grinned. “You definitely would. I know you’re a big softie deep down, Sae.”
“I’m not discussing this.”
“You’re blushing~”
That earned Bunny a death glare, but Sae still held the rabbit, making him look more angry-cute rather than threatening.
Bunny reached over to adjust one of the rabbit’s ears so that it was sticking up at the exact angle he wanted. “There,” he drawled sweetly. “Now it’s perfect.”
“It’s a cheaply made toy,” Sae said flatly.
“It’s a gift,” Bunny corrected.
Sae looked down at the rabbit in his hands, his face remaining impassive. It was soft, he had to admit that much. The fabric was surprisingly pleasant to touch, and the rabbit fit perfectly in his arms. Not that he was going to admit that out loud.
“Absolutely not,” Sae said firmly. “This is childish.”
“Then you can give it back to me, hm?”
Sae’s fingers tightened around the rabbit.
Bunny’s smile became unbearably pleased.
The second claw machine contained a small blue whale with enormous, soulful eyes and stitching that was slightly too loose around its fins. Bunny studied it for perhaps ten seconds before winning it on his second attempt, the claw grasping the plush with an ease that seemed almost unfair. He immediately turned and pressed the whale into Sae’s already occupied arms.
“You need something for when you’re feeling particularly blue,” Bunny said solemnly. “Like when I’m not around.”
Sae considered throwing the whale at him.
He did not.
The third machine housed a round cat plush, its body a perfect sphere of pale cream fabric, with tiny embroidered paws that looked almost comically small against its generous proportions. Its button eyes were wide and its mouth was stitched into a tiny, astonished “o.” Bunny approached the machine with the same casual confidence he’d shown with the previous two, his long fingers dancing across the joystick with an almost lazy precision.
The claw descended, clamped onto the cat’s plush midsection with unerring accuracy, and deposited it into the chute on the very first attempt. Bunny plucked it from the opening and turned to Sae with a theatrical flourish, presenting the ball-like little creature in his hands.
“For when you’re missing the cat you don’t have,” Bunny announced, pressing the plush into Sae’s arms alongside the whale and the rabbit.
Sae looked down at the absurdly round feline now nestled against his chest. “I don’t want a cat,” he said flatly, though his fingers had already curled around its plush body, almost involuntarily.
“Everyone wants a cat, Sae. They just don’t know it yet.” Bunny’s eyes sparkled with that particular mischief that Sae had learned to both dread and secretly anticipate.
“I know with absolute certainty that I do not want a cat.” Sae’s voice was clipped, precise, the tone he used when he was digging his heels in about something utterly trivial.
Bunny simply hummed, a sweet, melodic sound that suggested he found Sae’s protests endlessly entertaining. “You’ll change your mind tonight when you’re cuddling him in bed. He has a very cuddly shape, don’t you think? Perfect for tucking under your chin.”
“I won’t be cuddling him tonight,” Sae said, his voice carrying the weight of absolute finality. “Or any night. He will be confiscated to a shelf. Possibly a closet. Somewhere I won’t have to look at his perpetually startled face judging my life choices.”
Bunny’s expression was one of pure amusement - that particular curve of his lips that said he knew something Sae didn’t, or rather, that he knew Sae far better than Sae cared to admit. He said nothing, simply allowed that knowing look to speak for itself, and Sae felt his cheeks warm under the weight of it.
They moved to the fourth machine, which was filled with a flock of plush birds in an explosion of colours: vibrant blues, sunny yellows, cheerful pinks, and deep forest greens, all dangling from their perches on thin strings. Bunny studied the arrangement for a moment, his head tilted, calculating the angles with the same focused intensity he brought to everything he did. Then his fingers moved over the controls with practiced precision, the claw swooping down to catch one of the yellow birds by the wing. Rather than lifting it directly, Bunny allowed it to slide across the pile of birds, using the claw’s momentum to push it toward the edge, then guiding it with a second, gentler touch until it tumbled neatly into the chute. The movement was so fluid and effortless it made bunny look like a pro (which, admittedly, he was.)
He retrieved the bird, a bright canary with oversized, glossy black beads for eyes, and tucked it into the growing collection in Sae’s arms.
“A canary,” Bunny declared, his voice triumphant with satisfaction. “For when you’re feeling particularly... chirpy.”
Sae stared at the yellow bird, then at Bunny, his face a careful mask of disdain. “I am never ‘chirpy’. I don’t believe I’ve been ‘chirpy’ a single day in my entire existence.”
“You’re chirpy when you win at football,” Bunny countered, his tone light and teasing. “Your entire face lights up, and you get this little bounce in your step—“
“That’s not chirpy,” Sae cut him off, his voice perfectly deadpan. “That’s satisfaction. It’s a professional response to achieving a goal. Completely different.”
“It’s the same thing, Sae. You just don’t want to admit you have a cute side.”
“It is absolutely not the same thing, and I do not have a cute side. I have a competent side and an impatient side, and both of them are currently being tested.”
Bunny only laughed, a sound that seemed to wrap around Sae like a gentle embrace, and turned toward the next machine without missing a beat. But before he did, he reached over and adjusted the canary in Sae’s arms, positioning it so its beady eyes faced outward, as if the little bird were keeping watch. His fingers lingered for just a moment against Sae’s sleeve, a fleeting touch that sent a small shiver down Sae’s spine.
By the fifth machine, Sae had long since abandoned any pretense of disinterest. His eyes tracked Bunny’s every movement with an intensity he couldn’t quite suppress, watching the way Bunny’s long, elegant fingers curled around the joystick, how his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, and how his tongue peeked out just a fraction when he was making a particularly delicate adjustment. It was absurd, really, how much attention Sae was paying to a grown man playing a children’s game, and yet he couldn’t seem to look away. He had also, somewhat reluctantly, stopped resisting when Bunny pressed each new prize into his arms, though he maintained a steady stream of complaints about the quality of the toys.
“How many have I won so far?” Bunny asked eventually, glancing over his shoulder at Sae’s ever-growing collection. He looked joyful with unguarded contentment, the kind that made Sae’s chest tighten painfully.
Sae answered without hesitation, the number already calculated and filed away in his mind. “Ten.”
Bunny’s head lifted sharply, his eyes widening with genuine surprise. For a moment, he simply stared at Sae, something unreadable flickering across his features. “You counted?” he asked, his voice softer than before.
“I was observing your technique,” Sae replied impassively, though he could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck. “It’s what I do.”
“You were impressed by my skills.” It wasn’t a question.
“I was calculating how poorly these machines must be manufactured if they allow someone with your... approach to win so consistently.” Sae’s tone was as dry as paper.
Bunny laughed again, and his gaze changed into a look so incredibly tender that Sae had to look away. “You know,” Bunny said, his voice carrying a gentle, teasing lilt, “you could just admit I’m good at something. I promise it wouldn’t destroy your carefully constructed persona.”
“I’d rather not encourage your ego,” Sae said, staring intently at the nearest machine as if it held the secrets to the universe. “It’s already inflated enough to fill this entire building.”
“I’m afraid it’s far too late for that,” Bunny replied, his voice affectionate. “My ego has been thoroughly encouraged by the fact that you’ve been watching me this entire time.”
Sae’s gaze remained fixed on the machine, mostly because looking at Bunny’s face - the unbearable love shining in his eyes - would have been far too much to handle. His arms were full of plush creatures, each one won by Bunny with such care and determination. The whale was tucked under one arm, its cushiony blue body pressed against his side; the cat was balanced on top of the rabbit; the canary was wedged between them, its beady eyes still staring outward with that blank, cheerful expression. And all of them were for him. Every single one.
Bunny had won them not for himself, not for the sake of winning, but for Sae. To make him laugh, and melt. To fill his arms with something trivial and wonderful, just because.
Sae’s chest ached with the sheer magnitude of it.
“You’re ridiculous,” Sae said quietly, his voice stripped of its usual sharpness.
“I know,” Bunny said, stepping closer. “But you love me anyway.”
Sae was quiet for a long moment, his heart full and heavy.
“Unfortunately,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, “I do.”
They spent the next hour drifting through the arcade without much of a plan, letting the flashing lights and cheerful music guide them from one machine to another. Bunny dragged Sae toward a rhythm game and lost so badly that he accused the machine of having faulty controls. Sae couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. He pointed out that the machine had managed to work perfectly well for him, which only made Bunny’s protests more elaborate.
Bunny retaliated by beating him at a racing game, then celebrated with such quiet, understated happiness that Sae decided losing had perhaps been worth it, just to see that particular expression on Bunny’s face.
The shooting game went differently.
Sae won, decisively and without mercy.
Bunny stared at the final score for several seconds before turning toward him with a look of mild accusation. “You take this very seriously, don’t you?”
“If you’re going to play, you should play properly,” Sae said, his voice flat.
“It’s an arcade game, Sae. It’s meant to be fun!”
“That’s irrelevant. Competition is competition.”
Bunny only smiled, utterly unrepentant.
Eventually they found themselves back among another row of claw machines, and Bunny’s winning streak continued with alarming consistency. Each new prize was immediately pressed into Sae’s arms, and Sae found himself having to push around a whole trolley of plush creatures, all of them won by Bunny’s surprisingly skilled hands. The pile in his possession grew until he could barely see over the top of it, a mountain of pastel colours and soft fabric that made him look like he had single-handedly raided the entire arcade’s prize selection.
Sae watched Bunny move from one machine to the next, a mixture of exasperation and something softer that he refused to acknowledge flickered across his face. Bunny was walking with exaggerated care, not because he was carrying anything, but because he kept glancing back at Sae’s collection with obvious satisfaction.
Sae looked at the pile in his trolley; the collection of cute, pastel creatures that Bunny had won for him. The rabbit’s floppy ears were brushing against his hands as he pushed the trolley, the whale was tucked securely between several other plushies, the cat was also wedged somewhere near the bottom, and the rest were balanced in a precarious pile that threatened to topple with every step. It was absurd, completely and utterly absurd, and Sae had never felt more ridiculous in his entire life.
He had also never felt more cherished.
Then Bunny gasped, his ruby red eyes going wide as he spotted something behind Sae’s shoulder. “Oh,” he breathed. “Oh, Sae, look at that!”
Sae turned to follow his gaze and found himself staring at the most frivolously oversized plush he had ever seen. It was an absolutely enormous bear, easily the size of a small child, with its round body taking up nearly the entire display case. The bear’s fur was a warm brown, its belly a lighter cream colour. It was sitting in the machine with its arms slightly outstretched, as though waiting for someone to come and hug it.
It was, Sae decided immediately, absolutely absurd.
And Bunny was already feeding tokens into the machine.
“Stop,” Sae said flatly.
“No,” Bunny replied, his eyes fixed on the giant bear with the intensity of a man on a mission.
“You cannot win that.”
“I totally can,” Bunny said, giggling.
“It’s enormous, Bunny.”
“That’s the point!”
“You’ll never fit it through the chute.”
“Watch me.” Bunny’s fingers moved over the controls with absolute confidence, his expression one of pure, unshakeable determination.
The claw was clearly not designed for such a massive prize - it was too small and weak, poorly engineered for the task - but Bunny approached the challenge with the same analytical precision he had applied to every other machine. He studied the bear’s position, the angle of the claw, the way the plush was wedged against the glass. He adjusted, recalculated, adjusted again.
Then he pressed the button.
The claw descended, its metal arms reaching for the bear’s middle. Unsurprisingly, the claw simply bounced off the bear’s soft body. The plush was too stubborn to leave its little claw machine cage. But Bunny was already feeding another token into the machine, recalculating his approach.
He tried again.
And again.
And again.
Sae watched, his demeanour carefully neutral, as Bunny poured token after token into the machine, his focus absolute. A small crowd had begun to gather around them, drawn by the spectacle of someone actually attempting to win the giant bear. Children pointed and whispered to their parents, a teenage girl even pulled out her phone to film. An elderly couple smiled at Bunny’s determination.
“I can’t believe he’s actually trying to win that,” someone murmured.
“He’s been at it for like five minutes,” another voice replied.
Bunny didn’t seem to notice any of them.
…But Sae did.
He felt the heat creeping up the back of his neck, the familiar flush of embarrassment that came with being the center of attention. He was not someone who enjoyed being watched, judged, nor the subject of public scrutiny. And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of an arcade with his hands around a trolley full of plushies, watching his boyfriend attempt to win the largest toy in the establishment.
“Bunny,” Sae said, his voice low. “You can stop. It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Bunny replied without looking away from the machine. “He’s coming home with us.”
“Bunny.”
“Sae.”
“There are people watching.”
“Let them watch.”
“Bunny—”
The claw descended again, and this time, it worked perfectly.
The metal arms closed around the bear’s middle with precision, gripping the plush with a surety that made the crowd gasp. The machine groaned, its mechanism straining under the weight, but the bear lifted slowly, majestically, from its perch. It swung through the air, a massive brown blur, and then it descended towards the chute.
The bear landed directly on top of the opening with a satisfying thump.
For a brief moment, silence.
Then the machine erupted into a cascade of cheerful, triumphant music, a melody so bright and celebratory that it seemed to fill the entire arcade. Colourful lights flashed around the display case, and the machine began to play a series of happy, chiming notes that announced the victory to everyone within earshot.
The crowd gasped, then cheered.
The teenage girl was still filming, her phone trained on the bear perched triumphantly on the chute. The elderly couple was clapping and smiling. Children were pointing and jumping up, full of excitement.
Bunny stood there, his expression undeniably happy, with his lavender hair falling across his face and his eyes shining. He looked at the bear, then at Sae, then back at the bear, and his smile was so wide that it lit up the entire arcade.
“I told you,” Bunny said, his voice breathless and full of delight.
Sae stared at him, frozen, his expression caught somewhere between mortification and something far softer.
Then an arcade worker appeared, a young man with a friendly smile. He was holding a key and wearing the kind of smile that said he had seen many things in his years at the arcade. And this was one of them.
“Congratulations,” the employee said, his voice fond. “That’s a big one. I’ll get him for you.”
He unlocked the display case and opened the door, reaching in to retrieve the massive bear. It took both of his arms to lift it, and he carried it carefully. He turned and presented it to Bunny with a small bow.
“Here you go,” he said, with a wink. “Enjoy your prize! That’s the first time anyone’s won the big one in, oh, I don’t know, maybe six months? Good job!”
Bunny stepped forwards and took the bear with both arms. The bear was so massive that it completely engulfed him, its soft brown body hiding most of his frame. All Sae could see was Bunny’s smiling face peeking out from behind the plush, his lavender hair a delightful mess, his eyes shining with joy.
“Thank you,” Bunny said, his voice muffled from the plush but carrying a note of genuine gratitude. “Thank you so much.”
The employee nodded. “It’s always nice to see someone win the big one. You must really love him.” He nodded towards Sae, with a smile.
Bunny’s eyes flicked to Sae, and the look in them was enough to stop Sae’s breath entirely. “I do,” Bunny said simply, his voice soft and certain. “More than anything.”
Sae stiffened. He opened his mouth to say something cutting, or dismissive, but the words wouldn’t come. They were trapped in his throat, tangled up with the sudden overwhelming awareness of Bunny’s devotion.
The crowd was still buzzing with residual excitement. The teenage girl who had been filming the whole spectacle was still holding up her phone, her grin wide and excited. The elderly couple at the back were nodding at each other approvingly. Bunny stood there, clutching the most unreasonably oversized teddy bear Sae had ever seen.
“Bunny,” Sae finally managed, his voice carefully controlled. “That is the most absurd thing I have ever witnessed in my entire life.”
“I know,” Bunny said, beaming. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
Sae crossed his arms over his chest. “How are we even going to carry that home? It won’t fit in the car. It probably won’t fit through the front door, and I’m not entirely convinced it will fit inside the apartment at all.”
“We’ll find a way~” Bunny said, completely unconcerned.
“And where are we going to put it?” Sae quesstioned, gesturing at the bear's impossibly big size, although he already knew the answer. He could see it in Bunny's eyes, that mischievous glint that meant he was going to make a totally ridiculous suggestion.
Bunny's smile softened into something infinitely tender. “On your side of the bed,” he said, “Right next to you, so you'll always have something to hold onto when I’m not there.”
Sae’s cheeks flushed again. A traitorous warmth that he couldn't seem to control whenever he was around Bunny. How sappy. “You’ll always be there, moron.”
The elderly woman in the crowd let out an enthusiastic laugh, unaware of the moment of intimacy between the two. “He won it for you, dear,” she said, her voice carrying a note of affection. “That’s true love, right there.”
Sae looked at her, then at Bunny, then at the massive bear.
Bunny was still smiling, his expression open and utterly unguarded. He stepped forward, the bear clutched against his chest, and carefully, gently, transferred it into Sae’s arms.
“Here,” Bunny said softly. “For you.”
Sae’s arms immediately buckled under the weight. He staggered slightly, his face crimsoning as the crowd laughed and smiled at him. The bear was impossibly soft, large, and it took up so much space that Sae could barely see around it. He could feel the eyes of the crowd on him, could see the smiles and the knowing looks.
Bunny reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from Sae’s face, the gesture gentle. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he murmured.
“I’m not flustered.”
“You are, mi vida~” Bunny whispered. “Your ears are red.”
Sae glared at him, but there was no heat behind it.
Bunny chuckled softly, and took Sae’s hand.
“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured.
They started walking towards the exit, Sae still pushing the trolley with now an impossible bear along with all the other plushies. Bunny followed beside him with their fingers intertwined. The crowd parted to let them through, still applauding, and Sae felt his face burning with every step.
“You’re going to pay for this,” Sae said quietly.
“I know,” Bunny replied, his voice full of warmth. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Sae made a sound of pure, undiluted exasperation.
Bunny laughed again, squeezed his hand, and led him out of the arcade and into the cool evening air.
BONUS: The Morning After
The morning sunlight bled through the curtains in liquid gold, illuminating the bedroom. Sae preferred this gentle, pearlescent glow to the arcade’s harsh fluorescent hum. It transformed the tangle of Bunny’s lavender hair into spun sugar.
Bunny was still adrift in sleep, his long limbs sprawled across the mattress, and his face was buried in the pillow with an expression of unburdened peace. His lavender hair, a halo of delicate chaos around his head, was mussed into beautiful disarray. His breathing was almost soundless, huffing in a slow, rhythmic tide. Sae had been awake for perhaps ten minutes, and for those ten minutes, he had been studying the way Bunny’s lashes cast beautiful crescent shadows on his cheeks.
Sae was also clinging to the ridiculous rabbit.
The pastel plush was crushed against his sternum, its floppy ears brushing against his chin, and its plush body offering a comfort that transcended its synthetic filling. Sae had made a solemn vow the night before: he would not sleep with it. He had declared it childish, absurd, an affront to his dignity. He’d planned to exile it to the nightstand, isolating it from his bedtime space.
That noble intention had shattered approximately three minutes after he’d burrowed under the covers.
Now, he had it pressed onto his chest with a stupid desperate grip. Bunny was still unconscious, and Sae’s mind ran through a frantic tangle of escape plans.
He began to move. A slow, deliberate slither, easing the rabbit away from his body.
“Good morning,” Bunny’s voice, rough and husky with sleep, cut through the quiet.
Sae turned into stone.
Bunny’s eyes, barely slits, were fixed on him with an expression of unadulterated, mischievous glee.
“You’re awake,” Sae said, his voice carrying a note of resignation rather than accusation.
Bunny’s eyes crinkled at the corners, still heavy-lidded with sleep. “I’ve been awake for a while. I didn’t want to move; you looked so peaceful.”
Sae's cheeks glowed a faint pink, and he instinctively tightened his grip on the rabbit, as if that might somehow hide it. Bunny’s gaze followed the movement, and his expression was impossibly fond.
“That’s quite the grip you have there,” Bunny observed.
Sae looked down at his own hands, his slender fingers wrapped possessively around the pastel plush. “This isn’t what it looks like,” he said, though even to his own ears, the protest sounded weak.
“It looks like you were holding the bunny I won for you.”
“It’s not.. I wasn’t…” Sae faltered, his usual composure crumbling under Bunny’s patient, knowing scarlet eyes. “I was cold. It was the nearest thing.”
Bunny hummed thoughtfully, propping himself up on one elbow. “And the way you're still holding it, even now?”
Sae’s mouth opened, then closed. He had no answer. His fingers had gone rigid around the plush, as if they had forgotten how to let go.
Bunny reached out and brushed a thumb across Sae’s burning cheek; Sae felt the tension in his shoulders ease despite himself.
“The rabbit is warm,” Sae admitted finally, his voice barely above a mumble.
Bunny’s expression softened. “Keep it, then,” he said simply. “It’s yours. My gift to you.”
Sae looked at the plush in his arms, then back at Bunny’s patient, adoring face. “You're not going to tease me about this?”
“I'm going to treasure this,” Bunny corrected gently. He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of magenta hair from Sae’s forehead. Bunny’s touch lingered at his temple.
“Your hair is a catastrophe,” Bunny murmured, his voice a low, playful hum.
Sae blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Your hair,” Bunny repeated, his thumb tracing a gentle arc against Sae’s brow. “So messy and cute, it’s utterly endearing.”
Sae swatted Bunny’s hand away weakly. “It’s bedhead, you idiot.”
“I know,” Bunny said, his smile widening with delight. “I love it. It’s perfect.”
Sae stared at him, his expression an unreadable mask.
Bunny’s smile morphed from playful to pondering. “You know,” Bunny breathed, “I’m going to treasure this memory forever.”
“Don’t.”
“I will. The morning I caught you cradling the rabbit plushy I won for you, your hair a disaster, and your cheeks blushing warm.”
Sae emitted a sound of uncharacteristic anguish.
Bunny laughed again, but it was devoid of any cruelty. Only with affection, a love so potent it made Sae’s chest constrict. Bunny leaned forward and pressed a delicate kiss to Sae’s forehead.
“You’re stunning,” Bunny whispered against his skin. He pulled back with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Even with the bedhead.”
Sae shoved the rabbit at him.
Bunny caught it easily, his laugh ringing out, and tucked it against his own chest. Then he reached out, gathering Sae into both his arms and pressing their foreheads together.
“I love you,” Bunny murmured, his voice hushed. “Bedhead and tsudereness and all.”
Sae was silent, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs.
Then, so quietly it was almost a sigh, “I love you too,” Sae admitted.
Bunny’s expression became that genuine, radiant thing Sae had learned to recognize: a look that reached his eyes and made them shine like polished rubies. He pressed another kiss to Sae’s forehead, then the tip of his nose, then the corner of his mouth.
He pulled Sae closer.
The rabbit was squished between them, its floppy ears askew, its embroidered face a picture of perpetual innocence. It was laughable, absurd, and yet Sae had never felt more at home.
His gaze drifted to the corner of the room, where a small mountain of plushies had been arranged haphazardly. The rabbit, the whale, the cat, the canary - a whole ecosystem of creatures Bunny had won for him the day before - sat there annoyed at their display of affection, probably rolling their plastic eyes if they could.
Towering over them all, taking up nearly half the space, was the colossal bear.
Sae stared at it.
Bunny followed his gaze. “He looks content there, doesn’t he?”
Sae hummed a note of disagreement.
The bear only stared back, its big eyes saccharine and innocent.
Later, when Bunny inevitably teased him about the rabbit again, Sae would deny everything. He would claim ignorance, that he had never held such a thing, that the entire incident was a product of Bunny’s vivid imagination.
But he would keep the rabbit on his side of the bed.
And he would keep the rest of the plushies in their appointed pile.
And every time his gaze fell upon the massive bear, he would remember the frantic, determined way Bunny had fought to win it for him, the roar of the crowd, the way Bunny had looked at him like he was the only person in the universe.