A roar of thunder rattles the window and shakes me awake. My heart skips a beat before firing blood to my head, dissolving the sleep that hangs in the corners of my eyes. It takes me a moment to remember where I am and how I got here, but the panic only lasts a split-second. I'm awake, I'm alert. I'm secure.

I wriggle a little to adjust my position on the bed, taking care not to disturb my passenger. I'm uncomfortable: this bed is far too small; it's way too hot in here; the pillow supports my head about as well as a sheet of tissue, and the mattress springs are digging into my back. But she seems content, so I can suffer it for now. I can sleep in my own bed and get a drink of water some other time, but I don't get many chances to do stuff like this.

I don't remember when or how she ended up falling asleep on me. I don't think she did it intentionally. Heck, I don't think we were meant to fall asleep at all. All I can recall is the storm came as we were walking home from our shift, and as her place was nearest she invited me in so I wouldn't have to walk home in the weather. How we went from there to here is anyone's guess. Perhaps we were lying against the wall and we both sort of fell down, or maybe she's mistaken me for the cuddly toy wedged against the wall. Not that it matters how we came to be where we are, I'm just grateful for the opportunity.

My eyes sink down to the floor of their sockets, and I see her again. A flutter in my stomach twists the corners of my lips into a smile. I don't think she's moved an inch in however long it's been since I last looked at her, but the gentle twitching of her nose tells me it's just pure, fitful slumber. She must have been asleep for a good few hours now, and the alarm clock says it's only half past nine. I don't blame her though – she pours her heart and soul into her job, and a little bunny can only carry so much energy. Work and sleep are probably the only things she ever does.

Cautiously I reach down and lay a paw over her back. Her only response is to sink deeper into my chest, which draws the pink out in my cheeks. Somehow she's found one of the gaps between the buttons of my shirt, and I can feel the soft fur of her cheek against my breastbone. I wonder if she can feel me. Can she feel my heart beating against her face? Can she feel my arms cradling her? Can she feel the mixed emotions tearing through my head?

I knew something was missing when I came back to consciousness, and slowly but surely it's crawled its way back into my mind: the squeeze. A horrible tightness in my stomach that's only grown stronger the more aware I've become of my surroundings. I feel it twist my gut into a tight knot of insecurity, which quickly pushes upwards until it's a dull ache in my head. I sigh as quietly as I can. I'm not frustrated because I feel bad, but because I know the source of it: it's not hunger or illness, it's the little ball of fluff using me as a pillow.

The thunder rumbles again, and she grips my ribs tighter. I put my second arm on her back to reassure her, and sure enough she settles again. She's calm, but with her securely in my grip it only makes me feel worse. If only she knew how she makes me feel. She…inspires me. No one else throws themselves into life quite like she does. Every shift she starts and ends bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like she's raring to go, even if the first thing she does after she gets home is collapse into bed. I've never seen someone enjoy their job as much as she has. Traffic duty or criminal investigation, she's into it every step of the way; never lets up, never looks back, and always smiling. She never gives up on anything, not even me. Mr. Sly, Untrustworthy Predator, whom she met as a con-artist who preyed on her naivety and generally treated her as a dumb little kid. And now I'm her partner in law, who she picked up off the street and recruited as her one and only companion on the beat. Who she has defended at every turn from every critic with nothing but pure, heartfelt sincerity.

She's one of a kind, she really is. Before her I had nothing. I had a decent amount of money, I guess, but money can only fill so many holes; it's paper over the cracks. She's filled the holes I didn't even know I had, however, and I feel privileged to know her, let alone have her as a friend. The fact that she's hanging onto me like she needs me to survive is only a bonus, but it's a bonus that comes at a price.

I love her, and I'm not afraid to say that to myself. I'm just afraid to say it to her. She's amazing in every sense: thoughtful, charming, caring, beautiful, I could spend days listing off the adjectives. She's the perfect partner on the job, and I would love to have her as the partner to my life as well. But I've said nothing so far, and I don't intend to say anything either. There's just too much at stake.

Say we start dating: what will her parents say? What will my mother say? What will all of those people out there say about a fox dating a bunny? And what if it all goes wrong? We work together – every day would just be one, long reminder of a failed romance. Worst of all, though: what if I lost her in the emotional sense? Right now she treats me as her best friend. If I go on to join her locker of failed boyfriends, will that change her? Will she no longer look at me with that same caring expression? No longer go with me to places and get lunch with? Would she request a new beat partner entirely? The very thought of it makes me shudder. And anyway, what if I'm reading her intentions incorrectly? I sorta feel like she likes me as well. She's sleeping on me, after all, but what does that prove? For all I know she might be dreaming about Gazelle's dancers or that pie-baking fox back home she once told me about. What if I'm just her prop, a stand-in, when really this tender hug and contented face are for someone else's chest? Maybe she just sees me as her friend, and if I were to ask her out and she said no…well, at least a failed romance was still a romance even for a little while. Losing someone special because of my own delusions would just be too much to take.

I yawn and my eyes flicker. I guess it's all this thinking that's made me so tired, but I'm thankful for it. It'll give me some respite from my emotions. I settle down into the bedsheets and steal one last look at her before my eyes shut. Still happy to be where she is, but I resist the urge to dwell on it even as I curl my arms tightly around her body. It's just not worth it. It's a pain, but one worth enduring when the alternative could be even more excruciating. I've had my heart ripped apart before and bounced back, but if it were her paws doing it I don't think life would be worth living anymore. As much as I love her, I live by my motto: never let anyone know that they get to you. Even if you want them to.

Ahh, how good it feels to be back in the swing of things. ^_^

This is an idea I've had swirling around my head the past few days. It sounded better in my mind than has been executed here (same with all things, I guess), but I wouldn't be publishing it if I didn't think I'd done it some kind of justice.

I did my best, so I hope you like it. Reviews and feedback are always appreciated. :)