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The cheery chirping of Christmas jingles greeted you as you entered your apartment. You brushed the snow from your clothes, closed the door with a tiny click, and shook off your boots.
The living room was dim and warm, partly lit by the lights of the Christmas tree in the corner. You and Robby had squabbled—in good-humor, of course—over the size: large, to fit the festive mood, or small, for dignity’s sake?
In the end, you’d both settled for a modest, middling tree. Sprightly enough for the occasion, with its many, perky branches to make up for the height, but fitting well with the small, cozy space you’d both curated for your home.
You set down your coat on the couch, looking around.
Speaking of Robby, where was he?
You looked down at the many throw blankets on the sofa, fingering idly at the edges. You’d personally collected these yourself: fuzzy browns and creams and the occasional blue and green, the last two a half-hearted input from Robby to match with his jackets.
You glanced at the floor, where your foot had been unconsciously tapping against something soft. More blankets. You tipped your head. Pillows as well, there under the coffee table.
The shape of a realization began to form in your mind. You tracked the pillows, the duvets torn off their beds that were all scattered haphazardly around the room and—as you slowly followed them further—the entire apartment.
It was in one of the bedrooms that you finally found Robby.
The bear-hybrid was tucked soundly into bed, back turned to you, buried under a thick layer of woolly blankets. The lights were off, and the curtains were drawn. Only the light from the hallway behind you illuminated his sleeping form, catching onto his round, fuzzy ears poking out beneath a nest of dark hair.
Your heart immediately warmed, warmer than any fire in the coldest months could ever aspire to make you feel. Slowly and carefully, you crept in beside him, making sure not to disturb the steady rise and fall of his breaths.
It was hibernation period, then. When you and Robby had first started dating, he’d bashfully warned you of this particular syndrome of his.
Everybody knew some animals hibernated in the winter. Hybrids, specifically the ones taking after mammals, followed this behavior. Bear hybrids were no exception to this, even when the conditions that usually applied to the actual animals themselves—such as scarcity of food, the actual trigger of hibernation—didn’t quite apply to the human counterparts.
Either way, it meant that Robby, your handsome grizzly hybrid, and some other mammal hybrids, were about to be bedding down for a bit.
You reached for your phone and typed out a message for Dana, one hand flying across the screen, and the other thrown around Robby, gently carding through his hair.
It’s embarrassing, Robby had told you the first time you experienced one of his hibernation periods. Bears don’t actually go into hibernation. It’s just torpor.
Sure, you’d replied, still a little puzzled. You weren’t exactly sure what to expect—you weren’t a hybrid yourself, after all. A minute later, Robby had conked out beside you, head on your shoulder and large hands knuckled tightly into your top.
Since then, you’d gotten a little better at managing these periods yourself.
The heads-up text to Dana was mandatory, of course. Dana, being a cat hybrid, had the innate coolness of felines, and was, thus, well-suited to the stress of being a charge nurse. She understood what hibernation entailed perfectly well. She’d call in the necessary people to take over for those affected, rearrange the shifts, and reorder the logistics. The master strategist, the queen chess piece of the Pitt, as Robby had explained to you.
For your part, you had your own little war to reckon with at home. The problem with bear-hybrids was that they didn’t sleep the entire time. They got up, every now and then, to avoid muscle atrophy, a behavior also copied after actual bears. What that meant was that Robby would wake up occasionally, walk around for a bit, then fall asleep anywhere else.
And by anywhere, that meant anywhere. The cold, hard tiles of the kitchen? Oh, yes. In the hind brain in Robby’s head, that was a perfectly good spot to sleep in for the next three hours. Against a door that he’d been too sleepy to open in time? Great! Excellent spot, even. The open front door? Don’t mind if I do!
Essentially, you’d have to bear-proof the entire apartment just to make sure your aging bear-hybrid didn’t come out of his torpor with even more aching bones and, worst case scenario, potentially fatal injuries.
Underneath your hand, Robby shifted, and you paused, wondering if you’d waken him up. The man grunted, then turned on his side, facing you, this time. Once he’d made no further moves, you continued rubbing his ears.
You usually covered every inch of the apartment floor with blankets and duvets; hence, your collection of throw blankets on the couch. You’d left them there once December started, just so you’d have a headstart once Robby started hibernating. Then, you’d scatter pillows around, then cushions, and every soft thing you could think of, all covering the ground, just in case. Hard edges were also taken care of, doors properly locked.
If there was one thing you were grateful for, though, it was that Robby didn’t need to eat or drink or use the bathroom while hibernating. It made things a lot less complicated for you. The thought of having to accompany him while he used the bathroom barely awake made you mentally wince.
So, for what it’s worth, hibernation period was actually relatively uneventful for you after the first year. Once you’d bear-proofed the entire place, you could essentially leave Robby to his own devices and go about your days as normal, save for the fact that you’d have to be putting in a little more effort at work for your coworkers that were also affected by the cold months.
This year, though, you’d chosen to stay at home for a week to spend time with him. A little reward demanded from your harried boss, after the extra work you’d been doing for him the past few months.
A soft ding! came from your phone. You checked it, found a thumbs up from Dana, then, having your mission accomplished, rolled over to nap a little beside your partner.
Robby stared up at you with half-lidded eyes.
“Oh,” you said, a little surprised. “Um, good morning, sleepy?”
He blinked sluggishly at you. Once, twice, then a slow smile spread tiredly across his bearded mouth. “You’re here,” he said, that familiar rasp and gravel amplified tenfold from sleep. He reached out for you with one, knotted hand, and you happily reciprocated, folding your fingers with his. “You stayed, this time.”
Well, if that didn’t twist your heart into knots. You smiled back at him, squeezing his hand. “Yeah. Thought I’d keep you some company. You got started on the bear-proofing already?”
“Mm.” Robby’s nod was more like an unintentional jerk of his head. He closed his eyes, leaning closer towards you. “Realized I was getting real sleepy this morning. Thank God it’s my day off today. Got started. Missed few spots.” A soft sigh left his lips. “‘M sorry.”
You waited for a beat or two, and when nothing else followed, you slid both your hands down to his face, cradling him gently. “Alright. I can finish the rest. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
The both of you basked in comfortable silence for a bit, before Robby spoke again. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“That.” He gestured lazily at where your hands were. You had been tracing the laugh lines around his mouth, and a second before that, you’d been stroking the crow’s feet at his eyes.
Robby had always been a little insecure over these marks of aging on him, unfortunately helped along by the age gap between the two of you. It made him feel guilty, dirty, even, when you were so young and he, very much not.
“You already know the answer,” you replied, tone a little kinder. This song and dance had been repeated many times over the course of your relationship. You never told him properly, only that you loved him even more for these little imperfections, and Robby, playing along, would take your non-answers in stride.
Two, sleepy brown eyes opened to glare at you, before closing again. “You always say that.” Refrain done, he went back to sleep, and you continued lovingly gazing at him.
The next day had you making coffee in the kitchen. You were planning on taking it slow today, a genuine rarity in your life. That meant catching up on shows, lazing about on the sofa, maybe doomscroll a little. And eat a shitton of chips. Oh, yes, that, too.
As you poured the pot into your large mug, the shuffling of a newly-woken grizzly entered the room. A pair of arms slowly wrapped around you from behind, and Robby’s head settled on your shoulder right after. “Makin’ coffee without me?”
You gave him a quick peck on the cheek—he sighed happily—then offered up his mug. “Will you even be awake long enough to finish it?”
“Nnnnnnnnoooooo.”
You set it down. “That’s what I thought. Wanna cuddle on the couch later?”
Promise of a cuddle secured, Robby lumbered over to the living room, his fuzzy brown ears noticeably perked up. You sipped your coffee, tracking his sleepy form clad in a loose t-shirt and baggy pants until he disappeared around a corner.
One thing about bear-hybrids was that they usually lived in large houses. The ones with the money to spare, at least. They buy their homes in anticipation of winter, when they know they’ll be wandering around a lot half-awake, so they usually want a lot of space to comfortably settle in. Three bedrooms, plus a guest room, all that jazz.
Then they’d bear-proof it, usually once it starts to get really cold, and then fall asleep wherever they want.
They had services for that kind of thing. A couple of enterprising hares from college would make a killing come December just from padding up people’s houses. Lots of work, especially the ones with what are essentially manors, but it paid well.
Coffee drained, you followed after Robby. He was already sprawled across the couch, head tucked between two cushions, legs spilling over one end. He’d very thoughtfully left you some space near his head, which you happily sat in.
“You feeling okay, Robby?” You asked, already scrolling through the selection of shows and movies on the TV. There was this one show you’d been really, really itching to finish. You were already on the last season, and there were three episodes until the finale.
When no response came, you looked over at him, and found that he’d practically pressed his face against your thigh, dead asleep. You smiled at the sight, then reached over to lay a blanket on him.
Another thing about bear-hybrids that you were surprised to learn. They were very, very clingy when hibernating.
You rubbed one of his ears as you finally found your show, then leaned back, exhaling in complete bliss as you clicked play and shoved your other hand into a bag of chips.
During your third hibernation with Robby, he’d been surprisingly active, if you could stick such a term to his behavior then. Normally, he would just sleep for a period of time, get up and check in on you, then sleep again. But during that time, he wouldn’t sleep unless you were in the same room as him, which posed a little bit of a problem since you were working from home then.
You usually stayed in the living room, but he had very sweetly allowed you to stay in his private study, instead. The thing was, the distance from his study to the kitchen was a bit of a walk. You had to pass through the bedrooms, the living room, the guest room he’d turned into a mini-library, then, finally, the kitchen.
For you, it wasn’t a big deal. If anything, the little walk to-and-fro helped refresh your mind and stretch your legs while you worked. But for a hibernating Robby, it was a little more troublesome.
How it went was this: you’d be working in the study, and Robby would be napping in the armchair in the corner. You’d get up to get some more coffee, and Robby, alert to your movements however sleepy he was, would follow after you. The both of you would make the walk—you’d walk beside him, just to make sure he didn’t bump into anything—to the kitchen. You’d make more coffee while he rested his head on the dining table, then make the walk back together.
All of this, repeated over and over, throughout the day. Even more unfortunate, the grizzly would follow you to the bathroom, too. You’d been appalled when you heard a soft thump from outside the bathroom door while you did your business, and opened it to find him asleep against the doorframe.
You felt bad for him, even apologized when he had one of his lucid moments, but he’d wave it off with a mumble. Since then, you’d learned to keep a spare coffee pot in the study, and keep your drinks to a minimum to lessen the chances of a bathroom trip. That activeness never happened again, at least not as frequently as that one time.
At some point during your show, you paused and realized you’d ran out of chips. Robby was still dozing against you, so you carefully lifted his head from your lap then made a quick check in the kitchen to see if you had more.
Damn. You stared up at your empty cabinets. Nothing left. You’d eaten away your large stash of junk food and were yet to replenish it.
You bit your lip in thought, before deciding that, yes, you will brave the cold today to go downstairs and buy more chips. You were almost at the end of the season! You had to finish it.
Mind set, you looked for your coat, scarf, and hat. You pressed a kiss against a slumbering Robby’s head, murmuring a soft goodbye, before dashing out the door.
Thank God for the 7-11 literally right next to Robby’s apartment. It’d been a lifesaver for movie nights, cravings, and the occasional condom. You shifted your weight from one leg to the other, watching the floors tick down as you waited in the elevator. The moment the doors opened, you were out and hit face-first with the freezing cold.
You ducked your head down, already shivering, and bundled yourself tighter as you trudged through the snow and into the street.
The warmth of the store did little to comfort your cold body. You resisted the urge to chatter your teeth as you darted into the chips aisle, snagging a few of your favorite brand, and lining up. Your eyes caught the Durex near the counter. You thought about it for a bit, before taking it, too. Better safe than sorry, though you doubted you'd need it any time soon.
You were back in your apartment before you knew it, and you happily dumped your bags of chips on the couch when you noticed that Robby was gone. You paused. The disheveled blanket you’d laid on him was now lying on the floor.
A hint of alarm pricked at your mind. You tried to quiet it, already scurrying through the hallways and into the rooms to check. Your shared bedroom was empty. So was the one next to it.
Robby liked to move around, didn’t he? You thought a little hysterically. That was what bear-hybrids do while hibernating, right? Your hand reached for your phone to call his, but you’d just seen it on his nightstand, and cursed.
The study and bathrooms were empty. So was the library. Heart thudding painfully, you checked the kitchen, your last hope. Maybe he was awake and looking through the fridge for an early lunch. You went through the doorway, praying that you would see his hunched form over the coffeemaker.
No one there.
It was here that you started to actually panic. There was no way you’d lost a 6’1 bear-hybrid right? Your mind skittered frantically. What were you going to do? Your first thought was to call Dana—Dana, queen chess piece, master strategist, always knew what to do. She’d be on-shift right now, but your racing mind didn’t care; you needed someone else to help you out right now.
She picked up instantly. “You need help, kid?”
“I’ve lost Robby,” you burst out immediately. You walked back to the living room, pathetically checking under the cushions of the sofa like Robby was waiting under one of them. “I don’t know—I just—I left him here! He was just here, on the couch!”
“Slow down, I need you to take a few deep breaths for me, okay?” Dana’s voice was both commanding but kind. “What happened?”
You babbled through your explanation, close to tears.
“I think, I think I should call the concierge,” you said, hiccuping. “Oh, God, Dana, what if he fell off—“
“Let’s not jump to any conclusions,” she cut off. “Ah, give me a second, kid, let me just—“
You heard her shout a few orders, and you wiped hastily at your eyes while waiting. You were on the couch, holding onto the blanket that’d fallen off of him when he moved. Oh, where was he?
“Alright, I’m back, sorry. It’s Robby, kid, he won’t wander off just for the sake of it. Jumping off, though …”
“Dana!” The thought made you sick. You knew that he wasn’t exactly alright mentally, and you’d long accepted it even before you started dating. But for him to jump? Or, or—
Thinking of his shattered body lying somewhere made you sob, and the tears came anew.
“I’m just messing with you! If he’s not in the apartment, then chances are that he’s outside. You did go outside, right? Maybe he’s downstairs. Did you lock the front door when you left?”
Nausea filled you immediately. “Fuck,” you breathed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—I didn’t think—I thought he wouldn’t open it.”
When you went out, you didn’t bother locking the door—the proper, bear-proofed way of locking it that utilized locking from the outside. Firstly, you knew you’d be in and out in less than five minutes, so bear-proof locking wouldn’t be necessary. Secondly, Robby was deep in the hibernation cycle right now and was sleeping when you’d left him, so you didn’t think—
You didn’t think he would try to follow you outside.
Suddenly, air became a lot harder to breathe in. The lump in your throat swelled painfully, and you began to cry again in earnest, sobs racking your body.
Dana said your name, growing a little more frantic with each call, but you barely found the sense to reply.
The first thing you’d been taught in bear-proofing was to lock the doors. Underlined many times in forums, bolded and text set to a hundred, repeated ad nauseum. Bear-proof the doors when a bear-hybrid is hibernating.
Not because they would purposefully open it. No, they had enough of themselves intact to know to stay within their territories; but because they would try to follow their mates wherever they went, trusting them as a red thread of safety.
Your mind went to the little study and the kitchen, how closely Robby would follow you, sometimes to the point he would step on your heels because he wanted to stay near you.
Oh, God. This was completely your fault.
“I’m calling the concierge,” you said faintly, as Dana continued to shout your name.
You flew out the door and to the elevators. There were two of them, but one was under maintenance. You waited impatiently for the other one while you talked to the nice concierge lady on your phone, Dana momentarily on hold. You rattled off a quick description of him, and she promised that they’d look out for him, and in fact, two of their guards were already outside the premises searching.
When you returned to Dana’s call, the elevator still hadn’t come, still stuck in the upper floors. “I haven’t gone down yet,” you said worriedly to her. “But they said that they have people looking already.”
“Well, that’s good,” Dana said. Her voice was a little muffled, as if she had her phone on her shoulder. She probably did; she was most likely writing something down. “You know, there was a bill proposed that there be mandatory hound-hybrids around residential areas during winter. Lots of folks in a torpor accidentally walking out of their own homes.”
“That sounds nice.” Your attention to her words was half-mast, eyes firmly on the counter. 48, 47, 46 … Fuck it, it was taking too long. “Listen, Dana, I’ll call you back. I’m gonna take the stairs.”
“Are you sure?” She fretted. “Aren’t you on the eighteenth floor?”
You were already in the stairwell and descending at a rapid clip by the time she finished her question. “Yeah, yeah.” You were taking two at a time, lungs pumping furiously and legs long used to being sedentary beginning to protest. “Call you back, bye!”
Anxiety was what kept you running down the stairs, what-ifs and worst-case scenarios turning endlessly in your mind. This was your fault, you couldn’t help but think. You should’ve locked the door properly. What were you thinking?
With only your thoughts and your heaving breaths for company, all you thought of as you practically flew down the stairwell was the most horrible things: Robby dead, Robby run over, Robby robbed, Robby declaring he’d never want to want to see you again after you failed so spectacularly in the one time he trusted you to take care of him.
What kind of mate were you?
Tears blurred your vision, and it was only because you’d slowed down just to wipe them away that you saw a lump on the landing a few steps down from you.
A familiar-shaped lump, with a loose shirt and baggy pants, curled on the floor and dozing off.
“Robby!” You cried out, flinging yourself at him.
That startled him awake, and he let out an undignified noise as you crashed beside him, wrapping your arms so firmly around his neck that he sputtered confusedly.
He called your name, those soft, brown eyes creased in worry, though he was offering an exhausted smile down at you. “Woah, woah. You okay?” He asked, reaching up to take your hand in his. “Was just looking for you.”
You launched into a tearful retelling, holding him tighter and tighter, and he gave a short, sleepy chuckle. Then he buried his face in your neck, his sigh tickling the little hairs there.
“Oh, stop that,” you said, a little cross. “Why’d you even try to follow me anyways?”
“Mmm, because you promised a cuddle?” The rasp of his beard scratched across your skin, the ghost of a kiss felt keenly at your nape. “And y’didn’t give me one!”
You playfully cuffed the back of his neck in return. “I’m still not forgiving you for scaring me like that, by the way. And Dana.”
Robby stiffened beneath you. “Dana?”
“I called her,” you confirmed, “when I couldn’t find you.”
Thank God for Dana. She’d been there from the start—from you first meeting Robby, to helpfully mediating the occasional argument here and there. She was always busy, yet still made time to help you through your little crises. But then again, juggling emergencies was her bread-and-butter, wasn’t it?
“I’m never going to hear the end of it,” he mumbled into your neck, before pulling back. The both of you gazed deeply into each other’s eyes for a full three seconds.
“I am about to fall asleep again,” he announced.
That bomb being dropped, you hauled both of yourselves off of the stairs and into the elevators. If the neighbors heard you loudly berating a drowsing Robby, then that was your business, not theirs.
Later that night, after an afternoon of sleepy cuddles, you turned over in your shared bed to look at Robby, who’d been spooning you from behind.
He glanced down at you through long lashes and made a soft, questioning noise.
“Why were you on the stairs, Robby?” You asked, bringing your hands to his hair. “You could’ve fallen. Or tripped.”
He leaned into your touch, humming. He closed his eyes. “Moment you went out,” he murmured, “tried to follow you. You were usin’ the only elevator. Thought I could catch up with the stairs. But I got sleepy.” He nosed into your neck, sighing. “At least I fell asleep on the landing, right?”
Arms secured tightly around your waist, he brought you closer to him—so close, that his warmth and yours were indistinguishable. The steady thump, thump, thumping of his heart beat against your chest. Your hands drifted to his face, and your thumbs began to languidly stroke the lines gathered at the sides of his eyes. Both of you were cloaked in soft, intimate shadow, but you knew you could identify every mark that was drawn across his entire body even in complete darkness.
“I’d much prefer that you hadn’t been outside at all, actually,” you said quietly.
You would talk about this … situation later on, when Robby was in his right mind again. And untangle the ball of feelings that had formed in your chest when you thought you’d lost him.
For now, though, you leaned in to press a tender kiss to his lips, very much happy that your handsome grizzly was still with you right now.
When his breaths had evened out, you stayed awake for a few seconds more, simply watching him. The way his eyelids fluttered in his sleep, the subtle, little twitches of his lips, the wisp of a sigh that would occasionally leave him.
So many people hated the traces of aging on their faces, Robby included. But you? Oh, how you loved them. You mapped out the lines across his face and traced each one with reverence. How could you not? They were signs of a life well-lived, every laugh and smile stamped brightly there in the corners of the eyes.
Not everyone can say the same. After all, not everyone can live long enough to be so lovingly marked by time.