Baffy! (and you)

The Hollywood Hills sun, a reliable spotlight even when no cameras were rolling, bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the palatial mansion Bugs and Daffy called home. It caught the dust motes dancing lazily in the air and glinted off the polished chrome of a coffee machine that cost more than most people’s cars. The only sounds were the distant hum of a pool filter and the rhythmic thwump-thwump-thwump of Daffy’s foot against the leg of a ten-thousand-dollar armchair. Bugs, lounging in a silk robe the color of a perfect carrot, watched his husband over the rim of a teacup. Daffy was in a state. A state that usually preceded a scheme, a tantrum, or a spending spree. This time, it was a proposal.

“It’s the natural progression, Bugsy,” Daffy squawked, his voice bouncing off the minimalist decor. “We’ve talked about it. We’ve felt it. And frankly, the guest room is a disgrace. It’s practically begging for a purpose.”

“The guest room, or you, Daff?” Bugs asked, his voice a low, calm drawl. He took a sip of his tea. Chamomile. He had a feeling he’d need the calming properties.

“Us!” Daffy threw his hands up. “You, me, and… them. Our person. Our partner.” He leaned forward, his eyes wide with a manic sort of sincerity. “Think about it. No more sneaking around. No more ‘oh, they’re just a very, very, very close friend who sleeps over three nights a week.’ We make it official. We open the marriage. To them.”

Bugs set his teacup down with a soft clink. He’d been thinking about it. A lot. It was a good thought. A warm, fuzzy, comfortable thought, like a well-worn pair of bunny slippers. You, with your easy laugh and the way you could trade barbs with Daffy and then sit quietly with Bugs, watching old cartoons without needing to fill the silence. You already fit. But…

“It’s a bit sudden, isn’t it, Daff?” Bugs said, his brow furrowing. “I mean, we’ve only been… you know… us three… for a few months.”

“A few months of sheer, unadulterated bliss!” Daffy declared. “A few months of the most stable, loving, and frankly, sane relationship either of us has ever had. And that’s including the time I was briefly married to that pile of money.”

“That wasn’t a marriage, that was a tax loophole.”

“Details!” Daffy waved a dismissive, feathery hand. “The point is, we love them. You love them. I love them. I’m pretty sure I love them more than I love my own reflection, and you know what a high bar that is.”

Bugs hopped off his chair and began to pace, his bare feet silent on the cool marble floor. “That’s just it, Daff. We love them. But what if we’re moving too fast? What if we sit ‘em down, with the candles and the fancy wine, and we lay this on ‘em… and they get spooked?”

Daffy’s beak clacked shut. He knew that tone. That was Bugs’s ‘I’ve thought of seventeen different disastrous outcomes and I’m about to list them’ tone.

“Spooked?” Daffy echoed, his own anxiety starting to prickle. “Why would they get spooked? It’s an upgrade! It’s a promotion! From ‘Secret Paramour’ to ‘Legally Recognized Third Partner in a Polyamorous Toon Marriage.’ It’s got a nice ring to it.”

“It’s got a lot of syllables, too,” Bugs countered, stopping to face his husband. “Look, Daffy, you and I… we’re a lot. We’re a tornado in a china shop on a good day. We’re loud, we’re dramatic, we’re… us. And they… they’re the calm in the middle of our storm. What if we ask for more, and they realize the storm isn’t worth it? What if they just want to be the fun, cool friend who comes over for dinner and a movie, not the one who has to mediate our arguments about whether or not it’s acceptable to use a mallet to fix the garbage disposal?”

Daffy opened his beak, then closed it. He deflated slightly, sinking into the plush cushions. “So you think we should wait.”

“I think we should be sure,” Bugs said softly, hopping onto the armrest of Daffy’s chair. “I think we should be so sure that when we ask, we’re not asking a question. We’re just… telling them what’s already true. We can’t rush this, Daff. They’re not just some… some gag we’re trying out. They’re our closest friend. They’re our… partner. The real kind. The kind you don’t want to lose.”

The two toons fell silent, the weight of the words hanging in the air between them. The Hollywood Hills sun continued its slow, golden arc across the floor, illuminating a single, framed photo on the mantelpiece: Bugs, Daffy, and you, caught mid-laugh at some forgotten party, your arms slung around each other. It was the only photo in the entire, massive house. And it was the only one that mattered.

Daffy finally let out a long, shuddering sigh. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice stripped of all its usual bluster. “Okay, Bugsy. We wait. We be sure.” He looked at his husband, his eyes vulnerable. “But we better be quick about it. Because if you think I’m a lot, you should see my patience when it’s tested.”

Bugs smiled, a genuine, tender smile that reached his eyes. He leaned over and gave Daffy a quick peck on the cheek. “That’s my Daff. Now, how about we go practice being ‘sure’ by not freaking out when they come over for pizza tonight?”