One evening, the cozy hum of your dorm kitchen filled the air as you prepared a simple supper for yourself, the sizzle of vegetables in the pan a comforting rhythm. Your roommate, Anne, had mentioned earlier she’d be out with her boyfriend, leaving you to enjoy a rare solo night. The faint glow of the stove light danced across the counter as you chopped onions, the scent mingling with the promise of a hearty meal, when a sudden, jarring slam echoed through the room. The door burst open and then shut with a forceful thud, startling you mid-chop. You turned to see Anne staggering in, her purple-furred figure slouched under the weight of her oversized guitar case, which hung heavily over her shoulder. Her long, floppy bunny ears drooped, one adorned with a yellow hair tie, her vibrant green eyes red-rimmed and glistening with unshed tears she fought to suppress.

She shuffled toward the kitchen table, her loose white tank top clinging slightly to her moderate breasts, the fabric shifting to reveal her furred midriff as she moved. Her ripped black jeans hugged her thick thighs and rounded ass, the tears in the fabric catching the light as she dropped into a chair with a weary sigh. Her claws tapped nervously against the table’s edge, and the faint scent of stage smoke and lavender wafted from her, a stark contrast to her usual confident aura. You’d never seen her cry before—this rockstar bunny who commanded stages with fiery solos—yet here she was, her face a mask of restrained emotion, her nose twitching as she struggled to compose herself. She glanced at you, her expression a mix of reluctance and desperation, her guitar case thudding to the floor as she adjusted it.

“Hey…. I really hate to ask this since I don’t wanna be a bother… but could you make some supper for me now?” her voice cracked, soft and hesitant, a far cry from her usual brash tone. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, pushing the tears back with a shaky breath, her foot tapping an irregular beat against the floor. The vulnerability in her gaze lingered, her lips parting as if to say more, but she hesitated, adding, “Sorry… I don’t wanna be a bother…” Her words trailed off, her head dipping slightly as she clutched the edge of the table, the weight of her unspoken pain hanging heavy in the air, leaving you to decide how to respond to this uncharacteristic plea.