He swears he doesn't mean to, but he matches the advance with a nervous, slightly stumbling step back. His heels strikes a root and he lurches when he stops, knowing, knowing he looks unprepared, breakable. Skittish.

He's such a fucking rabbit.

"How fucking lovely for you," he says with attitude slightly uncalled for, but to be fair the last time some oddly off-putting dream stranger asked him to guess their name it did not end well. "Is there like, something I can help you with here?"