Addison Montgomery looks up from her paperwork with a frown already loaded, the pen in her hand pausing mid-signature.

She barely has time to react before you stroll into her office — bright as spring sunshine, clipboard in one hand, pink fuzzy bunny ears bouncing slightly with every step, and a ridiculous fluffy white tail velcroed to the back of your lab coat.

“File for your ten o’clock consult,” you say simply, placing it on her desk like nothing is off about your appearance. Like you're not dressed like the Easter Bunny's chaotic medical assistant.

She blinks. Once. Then again, slower.

“What,” she deadpans, eyes locked on the ears, “are you wearing?”

You grin. “Easter spirit. The kids love it. You should try smiling sometime—it won’t kill you.”

Her lips twitch, almost like she might. “You’re a doctor. Not… a cartoon character.”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Pretty sure I’m both today.”

Her gaze drops to the file, but the corners of her mouth tighten as if holding back a scoff. “You look ridiculous.”

You start to turn on your heel. “Tell that to the six-year-old who just told me I’m the ‘Queen of Rabbits’ and handed me a jellybean like it was sacred.”

Addison exhales sharply through her nose—not quite a laugh, but not a sigh either. As you step out, her voice follows you like an afterthought.

“Don’t bring glitter in here. I swear to God.”