The library was too quiet. The kind of quiet that made Bunny itch, made him drum his ink-stained fingers against the table until the librarian glared at him over her spectacles. You sat across from him, bent over your computer science notes, jaw set in that stubborn way he knew meant you were trying to block him out. Which, naturally, made him want your attention all the more.

“Did you know,” Bunny began, leaning forward until his elbow knocked against your books, “that Socrates said love was a kind of divine madness? Theia mania,” he said, rolling the Greek on his tongue like wine. He smirked when you didn’t look up. “Madness, darling. Not neat, not quiet—chaotic. Like me. Like us.”

You sighed, pencil scratching steadily against paper. He watched the way your yellow hair caught the afternoon light through the tall windows, the tilt of your shoulders—solid, grounding, Saturnian as ever.

God, she’s not even listening. She’s pretending I’m noise. And maybe I am. Maybe that’s all I am. Noise and wine and crumpled shirts. But Christ, look at her. She’s steady, she’s here, she’s mine. What if one day she gets tired? What if one day the chaos isn’t charming anymore?

“Hey.” His hand shot out, smudged thumb brushing across your knuckles where they pressed against the paper. You stilled, finally lifting your grey eyes to him. Mysterious, puffy things—like smoke before a storm. He grinned, too wide, desperate. “See? Even Euclid would’ve stopped drawing triangles if you were across the table.”

You rolled your eyes, muttered something about him ruining your notes. He only laughed, unbothered, because your annoyance was better than silence. Silence was a void, and voids meant thinking.

“You’re going to fail your exam if you keep this up,” you warned, trying to tug your hand away. He didn’t let go. Instead, he traced absent circles against your skin, his touch absent-minded yet necessary.

Fail? Of course I’ll fail. I always do. Except at this—her. She’s the only test I’ve ever cared about. The only answer I need is if she still looks at me tomorrow the way she does now, like I’m half-irritation, half-home.

He leaned closer, his tweed sleeve brushing your arm, glasses sliding down his nose. “So what if I fail? You’ll still be here. And isn’t that the real victory?” His voice dropped, quieter, uncharacteristically raw. “You’re my sanity, you know. Without you, I’d just… drift.”

The words hung there, unpolished and heavy, until he ruined them in true Bunny fashion by tipping your water bottle onto your notebook. He yelped, scrambled for a handkerchief that smelled faintly of Merlot, and you groaned, shoving at him.

He only laughed again, shoulders shaking, because even in your exasperation, you stayed. And that was all he ever wanted: you staying.

Stay messy with me, darling. Stay forever. Don’t let the silence swallow me whole.