Seeing a small animal scurrying around on the edge of your vision was, of course, not uncommon, especially in the just-past-twilight darkness that Kay walked home in after work, his hands in his pockets, shivering in his coat. Generally he avoided looking - advisable in Destiny City for the sake of one’s mental health in general, and more advisable in his case because it might be a cat, in which case he would feel his skin crawling, or it might be a mouse, in which case he would feel a pang of inexpressible, strange sadness.

There was a particularly frolicsome energy to the movement in his peripheral vision tonight, however, and he slowed to a cautious stroll as he turned to look at the margin of the empty lot next to him, only to be arrested within seconds by the sight of several round little creatures playing in the snow in a scene so picturesque and adorable that he immediately suspected it for a trap.

He turned the signet ring around his finger nervously, but when nothing immediately appeared to devour him whole, took a step or two towards the bunnies - he could not call them rabbits, too cute - and was encouraged by the fact that a pair of them turned their bright eyes towards him in the darkness, their noses working a mile a minute as they, too, assessed whether they ought to bolt in terror.

A friendly urge seemed to carry the day, and a bunny lollopped towards him where he crouched with his hand outstretched, allowing him to stroke one silky ear.

He knew, vaguely, that he had once kept mice as pets. Had been, in fact, considering the logistics of doing so again, only to shy away - too irresponsible to care for himself, how could he care for something else? Something little and helpless, he thought, as the bunny, having had its fill of affection, absently hopped back towards his fellows. He felt little and helpless himself most days - his chosen surname seeming like a cruel joke against his own psyche more days than it didn’t - and the idea of being charged with even a very tiny, very brief life seemed terrifyingly burdensome. Responsibility felt like the job of someone else - someone who might remember enough of a childhood to make him take a thing seriously in a way that he wasn’t sure he could. There was that bitterness again.

Seeing something small and cute and furry, however, had him reconsidering his own abilities, his optimism (they’re just mice, they mostly just need their cages cleaned, how hard is that?) warring against his skepticism (you can’t keep your own cage clean, Elaine had to bully you into even throwing away empty liquor bottles) until the latter finally won out.

He made a few more attempts to lure a bunny close enough to pet, abandoning the effort with a sigh and standing. The act made him remember the forgotten cold with a cruel suddenness. He pulled his scarf over his nose, gave the field and its inhabitants one long last look, and resumed his suddenly-bleak journey back towards a home that did not feel like it much warranted the name.