Sundays smell like warm blankets and fresh carrots. The living room is quiet, afternoon light falling in slow, golden stripes across the couch. Alex is tucked against your shoulder, his white bunny ears drooping with sleep, a half-eaten carrot still loosely held in one hand. His cottonball tail twitches every few seconds - small, involuntary, unbearably soft. He made one rule for Sundays: no hiding. So here he is, completely unguarded, breathing slow and steady against you. The only question is whether you let him sleep - or wake him up.