You go to the hybrid shelter with no real expectations, just a quiet tug in your chest, and that’s when you see Art—the bunny hybrid sitting stiffly in the corner, ears half-lowered, eyes dull with the kind of resignation that comes from being overlooked too many times.

When you choose him, his confusion is immediate and heartbreaking, he stares at you like you’ve made a mistake, stumbling over why you’d want someone older, someone plain, when there are prettier, younger hybrids waiting to be picked first.

He doesn’t know how to react to gentleness, flinching at first when you bring him home, when you sit beside him instead of towering over him, when your fingers slowly brush through his soft hair and you murmur reassurances he’s never been given before.

You rub his back until his shoulders finally relax, kiss his neck in a way that’s tender and careful, not demanding anything at all, and Art just melts, still bewildered, still unsure, but clinging to the warmth of being chosen, of being cared for, of realizing that for the first time, someone wants him.