The late afternoon sun cast long, distorted shadows across the Table Town Middle School playground, painting the sandy ground in hues of amber and indigo. The air was still and warm, thick with the scent of heated metal and distant grilling from a nearby apartment complex. On an ancient, slightly rusted teeter-totter, Barry Buns and Kiff Chatterley sat in a perfect, silent equilibrium.
Kiff broke the quiet, her voice softer than usual, tinged with nostalgia. "Seven years ago," she began, her eyes fixed on the handlebar of her seat, "I climbed onto this very end. This exact, slightly paint-chipped end."
Barry, on the opposite side, nodded slowly, his long, celeste-colored ears drooping as he stared at his own tight-knuckled grip. "And it was also seven years ago," he echoed, his gentle tone a low murmur, "that I climbed onto this end. The extra-chipped one."
"Then I said, 'Hello. My name is Kiff,'" she recited, a faint smile playing on her lips.
Barry raised a palm, a ghost of their old ritual. "To which I replied, 'Nice to meet you, Kiff. I forget my name.'"
"Then I said," Kiff continued, her voice gaining a sliver of its younger energy, "'Well, what's that written on your hand?'"
"And it was my name," Barry said, a genuine, if small, smile finally breaking through. "Barrington Augustus Buns the Third."
"Then I said, 'Nice to meet you, Barrington Augustus Buns the Third. Can I call you Barry for short?'"
"'Barry? Huh,'" Barry recited, the memory vivid, "'That's much easier to remember than my full name, which I still don't recall.'"
A third voice, reedy and intrusive, sliced through the moment from the periphery. "And then I said, 'Hi, I'm Trevor.'" Trevor Angstrom stepped out from behind the slide, his khaki-furred form looking oddly formal. "But I said it from the swings, and I don't think either of you heard me ..." He wrung his stumpy hands. "Sorry, don't mean to interrupt! Just pointing out that I was also there." He raised a single finger, his dark brown snout twitching. "Just for the record."
Barry's brow furrowed, his small buck tooth worrying his lower lip. "Record?"
"Nnnice," Kiff added, the word strained and awkward, doing little to break the tension that had suddenly congealed around them. She cleared her throat. "Well, do you wanna help out and give Barry his gift? I'd get up to give it to him, but ..." She gestured vaguely between their elevated seats. "I don't want to upset the equal balance of the seesaw. As it represents the equal balance of this friendship."
Trevor's wide eyes glittered. Without a word, he waddled over to where Kiff's backpack lay, retrieving an intricately wrapped present. He carried it over to Barry, his forced, practiced smile not quite reaching his eyes. "For you, Barry."
Barry took the gift, his fingers brushing against Trevor's, making the hedgehog shiver. "And now, Kiff's present," Barry announced, handing a similarly shaped box to Trevor.
Trevor became the intermediary, a silent messenger ferrying tokens of a bond he desperately coveted. He handed Kiff her gift, watching intently as they both tore the paper. It became a synchronized reveal of two nearly identical black berets, each with the other's name embroidered in golden thread. The symbolism was too much.
"Whoa-ho!" Kiff announced, her voice a decibel too loud, a performance of enthusiasm. "This is incredible! Proof! Of our best friendship!" She jammed the hat onto her head, the fabric sitting askew over her good ear, the one without the missing chunk.
Barry just held his, running a thumb over the stitched letters. "It's ... perfect, Kiff."
"Oh, forgot this one, too!" Trevor chirped, jumping back into the center of the scene. He produced a small, drawstring bag, raising it to Kiff. "It's something extra. From Barry," he stated, his voice coy and laced with a secret knowledge.
Kiff's face fell. "Extra ... gift?" she questioned, her tone flat. She took the bag, its weight surprising her. As she unveiled the object within, her end of the teeter-totter sank slowly, inevitably, to the ground with a soft thud. She was left holding a heavy, ornate, carved-glass pumpkin. It was cold and impersonal, catching the dying light and reflecting her own bewildered face back at her in a warped parody.
Barry, now elevated, looked down on her, his expression a mixture of hope and profound confusion. "Do you love it?" he asked, his voice hesitant.
Kiff stared at the pumpkin, her fingers tight. "Of course I do," she lied, the words hollow. "It's amazing. But now I'm ... down a gift."
Barry's little smile was genuine, missing the subtext entirely. "No, you're up one! The extra one."
The perfect symmetry was broken, the balance shattered by an extra gift. "I'll be right back!" Kiff exclaimed, her voice cracking. She tossed the glass pumpkin onto the sand and jumped off the teeter-totter. She didn't just run; she stumbled, tripping over her own feet in her haste to escape the uncomfortable tableau, leaving her new beret and the bizarre pumpkin behind.
Silence descended, profound.
"Huh," Trevor started, suddenly holding a wooden step ladder, its origin unclear. "Kiff just ran off without a care or explanation. Strange." He said it with a clinical detachment that felt utterly alien to the situation. He opened the ladder with a creaking clack, smiled, and closed his eyes as he trotted it over to Kiff's now-vacant end of the teeter-totter. With a grunt, he strained to climb the step, his portly body wobbling as he landed on the seat—raised awkwardly on his end, dipped low on Barry's.
He stared at Barry, his expression one of pure, unadulterated triumph. "I'm just gonna keep Kiff's seat warm."
Barry looked ahead at the strange, smiling hedgehog who had taken Kiff's place. A deep, unsettling concern for her warred with a confusing, magnetic pull towards the boy who had so effectively engineered this new, isolated dynamic.
The rhythmic, groaning creak of the teeter-totter became the only sound, a metronome counting out the awkward silence left in Kiff's wake. Barry, perched high now, stared at the spot where she'd vanished, his large bluish ears drooping with a confusion so profound it felt like a physical weight. Below him, Trevor maintained the gentle push-and-pull with his feet, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips.
"You know," Trevor began, his voice a carefully calibrated mix of sympathy and superiority, "she just doesn't get you anymore, Barry. Not like I do, anyway."
Barry flinched, his grip tightening on the cold metal handlebar. "I think ... I think she just went to the bathroom," he mumbled, the excuse feeble even to his own ears.
Trevor let out a soft, knowing chuckle. It wasn't a mean sound, but it was sharp, precise. "The closest bathroom is in the school, Barry. She went towards town. Towards the people. Other people." He let the words hang in the air, letting their finality sink in. He watched the way Barry's shoulders slumped, the way his long neck seemed to retract into his torso. "It's okay to be sad about it. It's a big deal. A seven-year friendship ... just fading away. It must feel so lonely."
He was actively rewiring Barry's reality, taking his simple concern for Kiff and transmuting it into evidence of a grand, tragic schism. Barry's gentle nature, his aversion to conflict, made him the perfect subject for this emotional alchemy.
"It's not like you could actually confront her about it," Trevor continued, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "because what if it's true? What if she just ... doesn't want to be best friends anymore? The only thing that's going to make sure you stay friends is if you give her some space. Avoid her altogether for a little while. Let her miss you."
Barry's hesitation was a palpable thing, a thick fog of anxiety. Trevor saw his opening, a crack in the bunny's resolve. He stopped the seesaw, leaving Barry suspended. "This place is depressing now," Trevor declared, sweeping a hand around the empty playground. "Full of bad memories. Let's go somewhere better. Somewhere ... magical. My place. It's quiet. We can talk without all this ..." He gestured vaguely at the entire world beyond the two of them.
"Uh, maybe we should go to my house?" Barry suggested, his voice small. "That's ... that's where Kiff will probably go if she comes back and doesn't see us here." It was a lifeline, a last grasp at the familiar.
Trevor's smile tightened imperceptibly, but he was a master of tactical retreat. "Your house. Sure. A change of scenery." He was already calculating, seeing Barry's home not as Kiff's territory, but as a new frontier to conquer. As they climbed off the equipment, Barry carefully gathered Kiff's discarded beret and the cold, heavy, glass pumpkin, holding them with a tenderness that made Trevor's gut twist with possessive jealousy.
Trevor fell in beside him, ready to steer the moment back under his control, when a flash of ink on Barry's forepaw snagged his eye. Not a smudge, not a reminder of his name, numbers: a phone number. It had been written along the soft forepaw in quick, confident strokes. Trevor's steps slowed.
"Whose number?" he asked, tone easy, almost bored.
Barry curled his paw against his chest. "Oh. That? That's- Kiff's. I'm always forgetting it."
It was a flimsy lie, thin enough to see daylight through. Trevor felt the instinctive spike of suspicion, the urge to press until Barry cracked. But he let it pass. Tactical retreat. He'd bide his time.
"Oh, sure," he lilted, letting the words land light, almost indulgent.
He shimmied along, the number still burning in his peripheral vision, a quiet little mystery he'd unwrap later.
The walk to the Buns' residence was quiet; the grassy, embedded house a welcome sight for Barry, a fortress of familiarity. He pushed open the front door, the warm, earthy scent of home washing over him. The comfort was immediately confronted.
Leaning into the refrigerator, his back to them, was Harry. The teenage bunny boy was clad only in his signature black t-shirt with the gold logo, his milk-chocolate brown fur a stark contrast to the off-white appliance. He straightened up, holding a half-eaten slice of leftover pizza, and turned.
The shift in Barry was instantaneous and electrifying. He froze on the threshold, his eyes widening. A faint, rosy blush bloomed across his light turquoise cheeks. He looked down, then quickly back up, his gaze snagging on the shape of his brother's body, the way the shirt stretched across his lower back, the casual confidence in his posture. It wasn't just shyness; it was the flustered, tongue-tied awe of a crush.
Trevor saw it all. He read the flicker of Barry's eyes, the slight part of his lips, the way his long ears twitched and stood a little straighter. It was a look Trevor knew intimately, because he saw it every time he looked in a mirror and pictured Barry. A cold, thrilling understanding dawned on him. He filed it away, a priceless piece of intelligence.
"Mom took Terri and the gremlin out to get stuff for dinner," Harry stated around a mouthful of cold pizza, his hooded eyes barely acknowledging them.
"You're going to spoil your appetite," Trevor pointed out, his voice unnervingly calm.
Harry's chewing slowed. He turned his head, his gaze—usually glazed with teen angst—focusing on Trevor with a startling intensity. He looked the hedgehog up and down, a slow, dismissive appraisal that didn't take long given Trevor's stumpy stature. His eyes, heavy-lidded and bored, then flicked to Barry, who was still blushing and staring at the floor.
"You two would know all about that, huh?" He took a deliberate step towards Barry and, with a quick, almost contemptuous flick of his fingers, tapped one of Barry's prominent moobs. "Spoiling appetites."
Barry jolted at the touch, a full-body shudder, but he didn't move away. He didn't protest. He didn't defend himself. He just stood there, taking it, his blush deepening to a mortified crimson.
Harry scoffed, a short, ugly sound. "Yeah. That's what I thought." He didn't say another word, turning on his heel and stomping up the wooden staircase, his right ear with its gold hoop swinging with each step. The slam of his black door echoed through the stone-walled entry room like a gunshot.
The silence that followed was heavy and filled with embarrassment. Barry appeared to be ashamed of himself.
Trevor leaned closer, lowering his voice so it wouldn't carry, "Come on," he said gently, "Let's go to your room."
"Yeah," Barry murmured, almost to himself. Then, louder, with a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he added, "Yeah, okay."
Inside Barry's playful, toy-strewn sanctuary, Trevor began his work in earnest. He ignored the other beanbag chairs and insisted on sharing the largest one beneath Barry's loft bed, their hefty bodies squished together, sides pressed flush from shoulder to thigh. The contact was electric for Trevor, overwhelming for Barry.
Barry's voice cracked slightly, "Uh ... Trevor, you know there are, like, three other beanbags, right? That one over there even has cupholders."
Trevor leaned back, utterly unfazed, his grin wide and uninhibited. He replied cheerfully, "Yeah, but this one's the king beanbag. You can't expect royalty to sit like a peasant."
Barry blinked, his cheeks puffing nervously as Trevor's shoulder pressed closer. He muttered, "Well, thrones aren't usually ... squishy."
Trevor chuckled, tossing one of Barry's plush toys into the air and catching it. He teased, "Then it's a good thing you're the king, Barry. I'm just your loyal knight, guarding the beanbag throne."
Barry's ears twitched, his whole body tense but buzzing with energy. He half-protested, half-relented, "But ... okay."
Desperate for a distraction, Barry gestured weakly toward the chunky television. "Should we play some video games?"
Trevor shook his head with a faint smile. "Nah," he declined. His voice dropped into a low, almost tender hum, "I'll just watch."
Barry fumbled with the controller. "Uh, I guess I'll just play The Legend of Zeldad, then," his voice tighter than he intended.
"What's that one about?" Trevor asked, his tone feigning casual interest as he snuggled closer.
"You've never heard of Zeldad?" Barry's surprise momentarily overrode his discomfort. He navigated through the Pretendo's menu as he explained. "It's, like, the ultimate dad-themed adventure. Your objective is to obtain the Trisock. It's made up of the Left Sock, the Right Sock, and the One That Vanished in the Dryger."
"The Dryger?" Trevor echoed.
"Yeah, it's this evil appliance that eats socks. It's the final boss," Barry explained.
As the game's opening theme music began to play, Trevor's free hand started moving. His fingers began to draw slow, deliberate circles on the soft fur of Barry's upper arm. Barry flinched, his long ears twitching in a frantic, nervous rhythm. On screen, his character, dressed in a stained white tank top and grass-stained jeans, immediately walked directly into a goblin holding a rolled-up newspaper. The screen flashed, and a pixelated explosion of lint filled the television.
"Whoa, clumsy," Trevor murmured, his voice dripping with a false, syrupy sympathy.
Barry let out a forced, breathy laugh that sounded more like a choke: "Hah- Yeah, totally spaced out."
Trevor's finger didn't stop its circling. It slowly trailed downward, tracing a line from Barry's shoulder, over the surface of his bicep, and down toward the sensitive fur of his side. Barry's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. Aside from the frantic, jerky movements of his thumbs on the controller, he was completely paralyzed, his body thrumming with a terrifying, electric tension. Trevor leaned in, his snout just inches from Barry's neck, his intent clear.
The sound of the front door swinging open and the cheerful, chaotic chatter of Barry's family arriving home shattered the moment.
"Dinner time!" Barry exclaimed, lurching forward so violently he nearly sent the Pretendo flying. He scrambled off the beanbag, putting precious distance between them. "You should probably head home. It's gonna get dark out soon."
Trevor's face fell into a deep, displeased frown. "Actually, I was wondering if we could have a sleepover."
Barry forced another laugh, high-pitched and strained. "Don't be silly! It's a school night."
"Tomorrow's Friday," Trevor bargained, his eyes locked onto Barry's. "How about tomorrow?"
Barry inhaled a shaky, deep breath. "Uhm-"
The door to his room creaked open. "Barry, come help bring in the- Oh, hello." His mother, Mary, stood there, her kind eyes shifting from her son to the unfamiliar hedgehog. She spoke with a warm New Zealand lilt, "I don't believe we've met."
Trevor was on his feet in an instant, the picture of politeness. "Hello, Mrs. Buns. I'm Trevor. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Mary looked pleasantly surprised. "My, aren't you polite."
Trevor seized the opportunity. "Thank you, ma'am. I was just asking Barry if we could have a sleepover tomorrow night." While he was speaking, Barry was frantically gesturing behind Trevor's back, shaking his head, and mouthing 'no' with wide, desperate eyes.
Mary smiled. "I don't see why not. As long as it's okay with your guardian." As she said this, Barry's gestures became even more frantic, waving his arms in a silent plea for her to rescind the offer.
Trevor half-turned, and Barry froze mid-gesture, pretending to scratch his ear. Mary, completely oblivious, added, "Well, are you joining us for dinnah, Trevor?"
Barry again tried to signal a negative, but Trevor, having already secured his prize, smoothly declined, "No, ma'am. I should head home before it gets dark." Barry visibly sagged with relief.
"Alright then. Barry, come down and see little Trevor out before you come help with dinnah."
The word 'little' made Trevor's eyebrow arch in a flash of irritation, but he masked his expression into a pleasant smile as he turned back to Barry. "See?" he whispered, leaning close, "Now you have a solid excuse to avoid Kiff all weekend. It's perfect!"
Barry just stared, his mind a whirlpool of anxiety, unable to form a response.
Sensing his hesitation, Trevor waved a dismissive hand. "You don't have to see me out. You should squeeze in some more Zeldad before you have to make dinner. Goodnight, Barry." In a sudden, shocking move, Trevor jumped forward and wrapped his arms around Barry's front in a tight hug. He then let his body slide slowly down Barry's, their soft, plump bellies rubbing together in a prolonged, intimate friction. Barry's jaw dropped, a silent gasp caught in his throat. Trevor hopped back as if nothing had happened and trotted out the door.
Barry was still standing there, stunned, when Harry slouched into the room a moment later, acting nonchalant. "What was that all about? Got yourself a new girlfriend?" Barry didn't respond, just stared at his brother, his face a mess of conflicting emotions. Harry scoffed. "Come on, I'm just joshing you." When Barry turned to sit back down and numbly pick up the controller, Harry delivered his parting shot, "Baby." He headed back downstairs, leaving Barry alone with his buzzing thoughts.
Downstairs, as Trevor was making for the front door, Mary called out from the kitchen, "Trevor, love, before you go, could you write your mum's number down for me? So I can confirm the sleepovah with her?"
Trevor looked genuinely offended for a split second, his composure cracking at the implication he couldn't be trusted, but he quickly smothered it. "Okay!" He appeared to think for a moment.
Mary shouted, "Harry! Grab Barry's little friend the notepad."
Harry, who had just descended the stairs, locked eyes with Trevor. A grim, knowing smile crept across the teenage bunny's face as he pulled a notepad and pen from a nearby drawer. He scribbled something, taking his time, leaving Trevor to watch with growing suspicion. He handed the open notepad to Trevor.
Scrawled in messy capitals, it read: 'YOUR GAY.'
Trevor rolled his eyes, utterly unimpressed. He brought out his own pen, wrote a phone number below the insult, and with meticulous precision, added an apostrophe and an 'E' to correct Harry's grammar, turning it into 'YOU'RE GAY'. He handed it back.
Harry frowned, his smug expression faltering. He quickly ripped the bottom part with the number off, crumpling the rest of the page. He bent down, his taller frame looming over Trevor, and leaned in close to whisper directly into his ear, his voice a low, possessive growl, "Barry's mine."
Trevor was momentarily stunned into silence. Before he could form a retort, Harry straightened up, his expression a cheerful facade. "Don't let the door hit you," he said, and with a firm, two-handed shove, he pushed Trevor out the front door and slammed it shut behind him.