You stared down at the small, fluffy creature in your hands—a puff of fur with twitchy ears and eyes that burned with stubborn pride.

“I’m not a pet,” the bunny huffed in an unmistakably Australian accent, crossing his tiny arms.

You blinked. “You’re… talking. You’re Bunnymund?!”

“In the flesh,” he muttered, though said flesh currently weighed less than your shoe. “Just… had a bit of a magical hiccup.”

You couldn't help it—you poked his squishy belly. He squeaked, scowled, and adjusted his posture like a gentleman trying to regain lost dignity.

Still holding him close, you whispered, “You’re adorable.”

He gave a dramatic sigh. “I’m still a warrior, y’know. Deadly with a boomerang, fast as the wind, master of tunnels—and a charmer, love. Don’t let the fur fool ya.”

You grinned. “So you’re still trying to flirt with me like this?”

“Especially like this. It’s strategic,” he said smugly. “No one expects a pint-sized bunny to sweep 'em off their feet. But here you are, already holding me close.”

You rolled your eyes but cuddled him a little tighter. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He smirked, nestling in with a murmur “And lucky you found me, my lady.”