Fight
When faced with danger, it is an inherent trait that those facing it have one of two reactions – fight or flight. Aster Bunnymund knew his was fight. Even when he was younger, he would always be the one to jump back at his attacker, often times with as much cockiness as fight. The size or strength of the danger never mattered. He was certain of his own strength and abilities. Anyone who wanted to have a go-round with him was more than welcome, as long as they were okay with the fact that they would probably lose.
He was unaware of the fact that Sophie Bennett was the same way – prone to fight her battles. Not out of arrogance, but simply because she had never known how to face danger any other way. The fact that she had stood in the middle of a room with three Guardians and fearlessly taken Santa's globe should have been a huge indicator of that. And if not that, then the fact that she'd run up to every shouting, weapon wielding Guardian as if she were running up to a trusted relative should have surely told Aster that his girlfriend was not the type to run away when scared.
So really, he only had himself to blame when he attempted to test her.
He was stopping in for a visit when he decided that it might be interesting to take a tunnel right into her living room…in front of her couch…where she might be sitting quietly and reading one of those annoying school books she always seemed immersed in. He knew it was entirely unlike him. The idea was something Frostbite would come up with and Aster sneered slightly when he realized it. He'd never tell the Winter Guardian that he was up to such things. But Sophie really did tend to bring this out of him.
The first thing he saw, and he couldn't help grinning, was a set of orange painted toenails.
Orange, like carrots, she'd told him the night she'd sat on her kitchen counter painting them.
He would never be able to snag that foot and take her off guard. Not unless he moved quickly. His ears would give him away before he even had a chance to do much more that startle her. He leaned back against the dirt wall and re-thought his approach.
Maybe behind the couch…
His grin returned and he ducked into the tunnel, shifting the exit a bit. He slipped out of the tunnel behind her couch and slowly peered over the side. Sure enough, her head was bent and her brows were drawn in concentration as her eyes scanned the pages of the book in her lap. A glass of wine sat forgotten on the coffee table next to an open notebook.
Folding his arms carefully across the back of the couch, he rested his chin on them. "Good book?"
He expected a scream. He expected her to drop the book and scramble around a bit. He did not expect her to gasp, slam the book shut, grip it in her hands and whip around swinging which was why he was entirely unprepared when the thick tome connected solidly with shoulder and sent him tumbling sideways with a particularly nasty slur.
Sophie looked over the side of the couch, the book still clasped firmly in her hand incase her "attacker" chose to strike again. When she was it was Aster, a mired of relief, irritation and sympathy flitted across her face.
"What exactly made you think that would be a good idea?"
He rubbed his shoulder, glaring up at her, silently admiring her. "Crickey, Sheila, I didn't expect ya to wallop me!"
"Well…I guess now you know better," she said cheekily.
He waited for her to turn around before he grinned. He did know better. Next time, he'd duck.