I held her and didn’t speak.
My fingers slowly combed through her hair, sliding from roots to tips, over and over again.
Her hair was soft, slipping through my fingers like silk.
Her breathing gradually steadied, from rapid to long and deep, and her body stopped trembling.
Outside the window, moonlight leaked through the gap in the curtains, drawing a thin white line on the floor.
A car passed in the distance, tires rumbling over the pavement—a low hum that quickly faded away.
We both lay on the bed, neither of us moving.
She was on her side, and I held her from behind, my chin resting in the crook of her shoulder.
Her hair spread across the pillow, brushing against my nose.
My hand rested on her waist.
I could feel her warmth through her clothes, a soft, gentle heat.
“Your mom and dad are really nice,”
I said softly.
“I was so nervous at first, but then I wasn’t scared anymore.”
She placed her hand over mine, her fingers threading through mine, locking in one by one.
Her hand was a little bigger than mine, completely enveloping it.
“I’ll bring you back again,”
Her voice came from ahead, soft and sleepy.
“When my parents aren’t home, we’ll curl up under the covers and watch anime all day.”
Her fingers traced slow circles on my stomach, one after another.
Her nails grazed my skin, ticklish.
I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of her hair.
It wasn’t strawberry-scented—it was something else, faint, hard to describe.
Like laundry detergent, or the smell of sun-dried clothes, mixed with a little bit of her own scent.
The moonlight slowly shifted outside, climbing from the floor to the wall, from the wall to the ceiling.
When it was time to part, she stood at the door and pulled out a paper bag from behind her.
“For you,”
She shoved the bag into my hands, the tips of her ears turning red.
The paper bag was light blue, printed with star patterns.
I opened it. Inside were two things.
One was that rabbit toy.
White, fluffy, with soft ears and round eyes.
I took it out and held it in my palms.
Its fur brushed against my skin, warm.
I froze for a moment.
This rabbit—wasn’t it…?
“Isn’t this—?”
I looked up at her, confused.
“Yeah, the one from my childhood,”
Her voice was very quiet.
“The one my mom sewed back together. The one I cried all night holding.”
My throat tightened instantly.
“You… why are you giving it to me~”
“Because it’s you,”
She lowered her head, her fingers rubbing against the doorframe.
“Keeping it with you is more fitting than keeping it with me.”
I clutched the rabbit, saying nothing.
My fingertip traced its ear—soft, ticklish.
The stitching marks were still there.
A thin thread line at the base of the ear, barely visible unless you looked closely.
Her mom had sewn it well; you could hardly tell it had been torn.
There was one more thing in the bag.
I reached in and touched something hard and circular.
I pulled it out—a rabbit ear headband.
Fluffy, with two long ears standing up, matching the toy.
“This one’s for you too.”
Xiao Yan’s voice trembled a little.
I held the headband, looking at her.
Her eyes were starting to redden again.
“Put it on and try,” she said.
Without hesitation, I lifted the headband to the top of my head and clipped it into my hair.
The ears stood up, brushing against my scalp, ticklish.
She reached out and helped adjust the long rabbit ears.
Her fingertips traced across my forehead, tucking stray strands of hair behind my ears, smoothing them one by one.
Her movements were gentle and slow, like she was arranging something precious.
Her fingers touched my ears, cool.
“All done,”
She took a step back and looked at me.
Her eyes were bright, and the corners of her mouth slowly lifted.
“Now this stuffed little rabbit,”
She glanced down at the toy in my hand, then up at the headband on my head, her voice soft,
“Has turned into a big rabbit that can move.”
I smiled too and reached up to touch the ears on my head.
“Do I look like one?”
“Yeah.”
She said it, smiling.
But as she smiled, her eyes reddened.
Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, rolling down her cheekbones.
She didn’t wipe them away.
She just looked at me, smiling, tears streaming.
“What’s wrong?”
I panicked and stepped forward.
“Nothing.”
She shook her head, but the tears fell even harder.
“It’s just… when I was little, I thought that rabbit was lost forever. Then my mom sewed it back, and I held it and cried all night. Back then, I wished someone could make me into a little rabbit too.”
She sniffled, then reached out and pinched the ear on my head.
“Now I have that.”
My eyes grew warm too.
I reached out and gently wiped the tears from her face.
My thumb brushed across her cheekbone—damp, cool.
“Don’t cry,”
I said, my voice a little hoarse.
“I’m not crying,”
She smiled through reddened eyes.
“I’m laughing so hard I’m crying.”
“Liar.”
She pulled me into her arms and hugged me, her chin resting on top of my head, rubbing against the rabbit ears.
“Little rabbit,”
Her voice was muffled above my head.
“Mine.”
I buried my face in her chest, saying nothing, holding the rabbit toy in my hands—soft, warm.
After a long moment, she let go.
“Go now. It’s too late.”
“Mm.”
I turned and walked down the stairs.
When I reached the landing, I looked back.
She was still standing at the door, leaning against the frame, waving at me.
Her ponytail rested on her shoulder, and the light behind her outlined her figure in a soft glow.
Tear streaks were still on her face, but the corners of her mouth were lifted.
I walked home.
The streetlights stretched my shadow long.
The rabbit ear headband was still in the bag.
I reached out and touched it—soft.
The wind blew, making the ears sway.
Their shadow fell on the ground, like a real little rabbit.
I clutched the toy in my hand, my fingertip tracing the stitching on its ear.
She had held it and cried all night as a child.
Now it was in my hands.
Back home, I closed the door and leaned against it.
My heart was still pounding fast.
The living room was dark, with only a little light from the streetlamp outside filtering in.
I groped my way into my room, turned on the desk lamp, and sat on the bed.
The mattress creaked.
I placed the rabbit toy beside my pillow, then took off the headband and held it in my hands.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Xiao Yan:
“Do you like the rabbit ears? See you at club activity tomorrow.”
I stared at the screen, the corners of my mouth lifted high.
I replied with one word:
“Yeah.”
Then I added:
“I really like them.”
She replied instantly:
“Good. Good night, little rabbit.”
I stared at the words “little rabbit,” my face burning hot.
My phone buzzed again.
Xiao Yan:
“Oh, and about tomorrow’s starry night observation—are you coming?”
I replied:
“I’ll be there.”
She replied instantly:
“See you tomorrow then.”
I closed the window, drew the curtains, and lay back on the bed.
I held the rabbit toy up in front of me and spun it around.
Its ears were soft, brushing against my nose, ticklish.
I picked up the headband again and put it on.
The ears stood up, brushing against the pillow.
Xiao Yan sent me a photo.
It was a picture of her as a child holding that rabbit.
She had two little pigtails, tear droplets on her face, clutching the doll with the missing arm.
Below the photo, a line of text:
“Now it’s yours. Take good care of it. And I’ll take good care of my big rabbit.”
My eyes grew warm too.
I closed my eyes, and my mind was full of how she looked tonight—the look in her eyes when she held up the sports vest, the way she cried while lying on top of me.
And the coolness of her fingertips when she helped me put on the rabbit ears, the way she smiled and said I’d turned into a big rabbit that could move, and then the tears that spilled out.