You arrive at your best friend’s house. As you stuff your keys in one pocket strolling toward the porch, you pull out your cell and shoot a text to him: “Here.” You can hear the ping of his phone notification even through the door and put on a smirk. After a purposeful pause, the door creaks open, revealing a small-framed, brown-furred rabbit with long smooth black hair. Your best friend since freshman year in high school, Janis. He’s swallowed by a baggy black tee and his fluffy feet peek out from below his sweats. Turning and waving behind him as a silent greeting is his attempt at apathy, but as you follow his t-shirt has ridden up over an active cotton tail betraying his excitement. That and he is not as good at acting as he thinks, being almost too excited to walk normally.

Janis plops down onto the bed in his small room, barely catching the Switch controller that is launched from the motion. You look at the typical mess, which he nudges some of under the bed with one paw.

“Sup, Jan?”

Rabbit nose scrunch. Success.

“Nothin’, asshat,” He squeaks, tossing his pillow at you. You catch it easily. “Same as ever,” he continues, “Just work, work and game, game.”

You take a seat next to him, lying back on his pile of pillows. How did he even fit on the small bed with all of these? Your shirt rides up. You came from the gym, and your progress is paying off. Of course, you chose this shirt on purpose. You pretend to let out a long sigh and steal a glance at him. He’s leaning back on both hands, his shirt silhouetting his much more slim torso, and slyly peeking at your abs out of the corner of his eyes. His tail twitches, and he leans over to grab his second remote. Well, it’s your turn to steal a peek. His sweats are too loose, and it’s a good moonrise. He doesn’t notice and shoves his remote in your direction.

“Wanna play Smash?”

You wait a moment, letting his question sit there.

Feigned shock in your voice, you mimic a gasp, “Did you just ask me if I wanted to smash, Jan?”

He punches your shoulder, but it doesn’t hurt even a little. If only he would be so honest with himself. That goes for you, too, you think to yourself.

Another time.

You’re both seated on the bed, by the necessity of the small room. You don’t care because it lets you be closer to Janis. His hair falls like a curtain between you as his brown eyes focus intensely on the TV screen, lost in his video game. You’re close enough to smell his shampoo. It’s fruity and fragrant. If only you could bury your face in there and—

“Damn it! Died again,” he shouts and huffs in frustration. “Fuckin’ stupid ass game!”

A voice from somewhere in the depths of the home, his mom’s characteristic vocal fry, “Janis? Everything okay in there?”

“Yeah, sorry mom!” The rabbit’s ears sink low.

“You really gotta move out, man,” you tell him.

“I’m working on it, damnit. Believe me, you think I wanna be 20 and live with my parents still?” He falls back, huffing. “I’m saving, but it’s so slow. I mean, I’m pent up here. I can’t shout. I can’t bring home a doe to get dirty with.” He thrusts his hips into the air, getting a laugh out of you.

“You don’t have to worry about that one, Jan.”

“What do you mean?” He sneers at the nickname.

“Like you get any bitches, anyway,” you cackle as he swings his pillow at you. You flex, showing the months and months of hard work apparent in your physique. “Maybe if you hit the gym, you could attract a mate.” But you hope not, secretly. You like to tease the lithe rabbit, but you like his build. Slim, feminine, sometimes you think he’s prettier than any girl you know. Pretty gay thoughts, but he pulled them out of you. You like to think the same from his side because his eyes are on your biceps, the hint of abs below your lifting shirt.

Janis flops back onto the bed, his sigh audible.

“Man, who has time for that, meathead? The 9-5 rat race wipes me out.”

“That’s okay, Jan. I like you just the way you are.” You’re sure the pink inner parts of his long ears grew a shade darker. Thump! The pillow connects with your face. “Plus, if you worked out more, that might actually hurt.” More cackling.