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Bugs had a unique holiday tradition of his own. Outside his burrow stood an oak tree, a relaxing spot of shade where Bugs would play on his banjo or read throughout the year. In December, he’d decorate the end of the lowest branch with a bundle of mistletoe. Bugs made it a game to see who would walk under and guess what their reaction would be. He entertained himself watching a young couple use the mistletoe as opportunity to confess their deeper feelings to another. He basked in the fuzziness of watching old couples exchange warm reminders of affection. Other times, he was fueled by the thrill of catching an attractive passerby off guard with his brief, playful smooch. If friend (or foe) were caught under, he’d happily laugh at their expression. Whoever it was, he blew a benevolent kiss and wished them well.
Everyone played into the harmless tradition.
Everyone, except Daffy Duck.
The first time Daffy discovered he was under the mistletoe was, as with everyone, an accident. He was lost in thought, talking to himself about his own plans for the holidays and daydreaming what gifts he’d (never) receive, stopping when the mistletoe collided with the tip of his comically large purple stocking-hat. Bugs was minding his business, listening to the radio in his burrow when his sensitive ears detected the approach of offbeat, flat footed steps. He smiled to himself, racing up his stairs to lean on the edge of his entrance, curious if Daffy would sense Bugs’ presence.
The duck froze in his tracks, backed up to observe the plant, lifting his frown to a smile. He laughed, “Ah, Mistletoe!” and kissed his own arm. His arm!
The hare broke into his nasally chuckle once the duck was out of earshot. He shook his head, and looked into the figure fading into the snow.
“Only Daffy,” he fondly mused.
——
Next christmas was more the same. Actually, the one outlier had been a young couple breaking up under his mistletoe. That one, Bugs was happy to eavesdrop on. Their ten minute argument was better than the teledramas he’d binge.
It was December 3rd, when along came Daffy. This time, Bugs made his presence known. As Daffy mindlessly collided with the plant (again), Bugs chomped on his carrot behind him. The duck spun around to make eye contact, the sound of chewing filling the silence.
Daffy looked to the mistletoe, then to the rabbit and made a face. “You’re not gonna kiss me with yer mouth full, are ya?”
Bugs felt he was above that, but didn’t shy away from an opportunity to ruffle his co-star’s feathers. He kept chewing and waggled his eyebrows.
“Pew.” Daffy said. Letting out a tch, he changed topic, “I hear yer mistletoe setup is pretty famous. What, you need footraffic to keep ya entertained alone in your corner of Toontown?”
Bugs swallowed and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m an old coot. People watchin’s fun, sue me.” Without missing a beat, he sauntered toward the duck. “Excuses to kiss others is fun, too….”
Bugs closed his eyes and leaned in. He stopped upon hearing the unmistakable pop of a kiss. He opened his eyes to see the duck wiping away splinters from his beak. He then dusted his scarf, and turned to smile at the rabbit.
“You… kissed the tree?”
“Yep!” Daffy laughed, “Gotta kiss the nearest thing right?” Bugs stood up, unaware he started fiddling with his fingers. Daffy popped forward his cap, saying, “Thems the rules. Happy Holidays, chum!”
With that, Daffy waddled off. A bright whistle rang from his beak.
The rabbit’s brows creased in a most unflattering way. He watched until Daffy’s form faded in the thick of fallen snow, turned, and hopped inside his burrow. Daffy’s taunts rang in his ears, them’s the rules, Sheesh. They both knew Daffy’s favorite pastime was crushing rules under his orange flipper. What he did, molding the rules to a twisted logic, was Bugs’ strength. Stealing a talent wasn’t beneath Daffy, and It was so like him to feign innocence while acting in mischief. It was so like him to be wonderfully unpredictable. Bugs tsk’ed. He should’ve thought ahead when he had the chance.
He fell onto his oversized chair and folded his hands. The bright flames of his fireplace painted a crimson shade on his otherwise grey palette, the rabbit eagerly losing himself in his drama as he looked on the embers that crackled in the air.
Kissing a tree, eh? He knew how to read between the lines. To an outsider, it was simply an invitation to a lighthearted game. But to him, it was more than comedic routine, or thinly veiled foreplay. This, Bugs thought, means war.
—
Daffy couldn’t keep time, habit or routine to save his life, and it kept Bugs on edge. Still, Bugs could wait, he was less impatient than his counterpart— if he was cooly tapping his foot, then Daffy was hastily running to arrive at his destination.
Bugs paused from his gingerbread cookie construction, craning his head involuntarily as he heard the faint crunches of snow above him. Daffy was a mile away, running at a breakneck speed only to careen to a halt, slip up, and crash into what sounded like a heavy pile of snow. Bugs counted to himself— on cue, Daffy muttered expletives and began to walk as if nothing had gone wrong. Bugs looked to his calendar, then to the roof of his hole, and began his ascent. Once on the chilly surface, he got into position.
December 10th on a cold morning, along came Daffy. Bugs this time, stood against the tree, filing his nails. He made sure not to look as if he’d been eagerly waiting for him for the past hour, lazily staring at his yellow gloves. It wasn’t until the second time Daffy cleared his throat that he looked up.
Bugs couldn’t help but laugh. He dropped his file and stood up from the tree to take it in. Daffy was engulfed in a snowman, the only sign of his person was his orange beak protruding from the snowman’s head.
“Looks like ya made a new friend, Daff,” Bugs chirped.
Daffy burst from the snowman, breaking into his staircase laughter as the the snow and accessories flew through the air and somehow, fell perfectly back into place beside him. The snowman’s coal lips rematerialized from thin air.
Daffy happily announced,”Been meanin to introduce you to Shirly. Shirly, Bugsy. We quite literally uh… ran into each other. I say we fit like a glove!”
“You sure fit, alright. Almost didn’t see you there.” Bugs looked to the naked branches, a bundle of mistletoe perfectly above them, then to the duck, beginning to close the gap between them, “I dunno how to break it to your pal, but three’s a crowd…”
Daffy didn’t skip a beat. “Couldn’t have said it better myself, Bugsy. C’mere you—“ he shoved the rabbit away, grabbing the snowman by its brittle arms and kissed it deeply. Daffy’s head snapped back into place, his lips in a dark rouge. The snowman’s once placid smile rearranged into a bashful curl. It looked to Daffy with lidded eyes. He continued, “we should get to know each other better over some cocoa, whadya say, hot st—-er, cool stuff?”
Bugs sat up from the cold ground, staring at them harshly. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by an angry shout echoing out of view. Before anyone could identify the voice, a snowball shot through the air and decapitated Daffy. He searched frantically, then hastily readjusted his head backwards.
Approaching them was another snowman, its top hat aflame with fury and stick arms sharpened to a deadly point. Daffy screamed as he ran in circles around the trees in the distance, apologizing for ‘stealing’ it’s significant other. Shirly looked helplessly at its lovers, then to Bugs.
Calmly, Bugs stood up and dusted himself. He shrugged in apathy, “Looks like they’re your problem now, bub. If I was you, I wouldn’t choose the Duck.” Bugs walked over his entrance, now transformed into an escalator. Bugs smoothly crossed his arms behind him, tilting his head at the torn snowman, chuckling as he descended. “He don’t got a steady head on his shoulders, now do he?”
———
Before they knew it, they lost themselves in their silent feud. Days passed, and the holidays drew near, Daffy would sometimes bring a prop, sometimes he would start with a quip. Or Bugs would be the first to open his mouth. Every time, his lips would never meet Daffy’s. Bugs hated to admit despite the entertainment from Daffy’s occasional injury, his pride was wounded when he was denied his victory.
One evening, after an eventful day of meetings, shootings, interviews and mingling, Bugs suggested they change pace and walk to his burrow from the studio. Daffy agreed, though not for the respite of solitude or as the healthier alternative to driving, but for the implication he’d get a free meal. While Bugs’ cooking wasn’t entirely to his taste—everything, from main course, to appetizers, even his water, had traces of carrot—it was leagues beyond the takeout he’d normally order on these tiring nights. Plus, Daffy had noticed Bugs recently shifted his pantry to accommodate his diet. It wasn’t cheap and his preferred ingredients had criminally short shelf lives. If anything, Daffy coming over was a favor. He couldn’t let all that free food go to waste.
The white noise of the dry human city of Burbank eventually faded into color, their surroundings no longer bathed in harsh realistic headlights and neon signs, but warm strings of lights hanging off the snow coated arms of the trees of Toontown, the curled lantern posts guiding them through paths buried underneath soft snow.
Bugs hardly needed a strategy to keep Daffy occupied. Before they clocked out he asked how his day was, and for the better part of forty minutes Daffy occupied them both with entertaining—if conflated— stories of his shift.
As Daffy wildly gestured into the open air, Bugs’ eyes set on a bundle of green slowly coming into view. His famous mistletoe was in the spot it always was, glowing brightly against the new lights, bows and tinsel he decorated the tree with. Few occasions, even fewer people, brought out his urge to express this kind of sentimentality. Looking at it now, Bugs figured it wouldn’t hurt to decorate his resting tree like this every year. It made his burrow look all the more inviting.
Bugs stopped a little past the entrance, Daffy’s bill contorting into a zigzagged shape as he pressed a finger to silence him. The duck’s eyes flashed in confusion and indignation at the gesture. Bugs cleared his throat.
“Kiss me.”
“What??” Daffy cried out. Flocks of birds flittered away as his voice rang through the snow-fallen air.
“What? After all this time, my brilliant, meticulous schemes go to this? You stoop so low as to make me walk two miles, then demand I kiss you? You cheating, lazy, no good— What a way to wave off all the hard work I’ve been pullin’! Do you know how long it takes to get to your side of the city, how I gotta plan for an interaction that lasts less than ten minutes? It’s pathetic! Downright crazy!” Daffy had taken to pacing around the snow, nearly burying himself in his own anger before jumping up to regain his footing. He took a deep breath and smoothed his feathers, the steam of his nostrils tickling the whiskers of the rabbit, who’s cheeky smile never wavered.
The angry toon poked the rabbit in the chest saying, “Nah, if I’m the one that started this, then yer gonna finish it. Capeesh?”
“Capeesh,” Bugs said. He took Daffy’s accusing hand, intertwining it in his own, closing the gap to kiss his cheek.
Daffy blinked. He brought his hands to the spot, feeling for the residual phantom sensation in disbelief. His eyes hardened and his mouth curled into a sneer, gritting his teeth at the innocently smiling rabbit. He tore his hand away from his grasp, seized the rabbit’s shoulders and shoved him against the bark of the tree.
The wind nearly escaped from Bugs’ lungs as he struggled to comprehend what happened. Daffy’s eyes, pools of constantly mixing emotions now swam with passion. Bugs couldn’t make heads or tails if it was positive or not. Either way, it was overwhelming—green speckled eyes were all that occupied his vision, and Daffy’s electric air of uncertainty excited him.
“I’m not settling for a goddamn peck.” Daffy growled.
Daffy drew in a sharp breath, then met his lips, violently. The rabbit’s eyes widened, insides burning just as Daffy’s eyes were, the searing mix of feathers and fur turning his brain into mush. From either of them, came the sound of a whistling kettle. Any longer, and Bugs swore the snow would melt around them. The shorter of the two broke apart to catch a breath, then continued. Daffy leaned even further, turning his head to deepen the kiss.
The rabbit’s mind snapped to his senses as his co-star expressed himself with a newfound tenderness. He was kissing his co-worker. He was kissing his co-star. His best friend. Someone the chairman and board wouldn’t approve of him doing this to. Reality hit him like a train. This wasn’t part of a larger gag, they weren’t on stage. To his memory, this was their only kiss outside of the studio. For the hare, this was new in the sense of honesty and rawness. The whole thing contradicted his amorous reputation, and it would’ve embarrassed him were he not enjoying how his friend’s lips fought to merge with his own. Their character designs made anything beyond a peck of the cheek difficult, but Daffy, being himself, ignored the unspoken rules in pursuit of his own pleasure. Now, he was stroking the ears of his friend between his fingers as their flavors mixed.
The mallard had a way of showing exactly what he felt with the slight of a gesture or push of the brow. He revealed everything to his friend under the mistletoe. The spine crushing pressure said he was livid. The roaming hands said he was playful. His lips betrayed a timid affection. Bugs wanted so badly to open his eyes, even by an eyelash, to see his friend’s eyes, if his eyebrows were still creased in his usual furrow or if they had shifted a to something different. If he saw, then he’d understand what to feel.
His friend was doing a wonderful job distracting him from finding out. Bugs thought on what they were, and figured it best he never knew. This ignorance, strangely, let him relax into the kiss. He breathed a sigh of contentment, finally holding his friend back.
The moment couldn’t last. Desperate for air, they broke apart and fluttered their eyes open. They were surprised to see they were equally flushed. Their egos wouldn’t let them hear the end of it—so, they fell into signature expressions. One glaring, the other coquettish.
“Geez louis, ya really gave in, eh? I win.” Bugs sang, “but, that’s nothin’ new. Let’s go for some grub, doc.”
His co-star was silent at first, then muttered, “Fine.”
They removed themselves from the tree, Bugs groaning in soreness as the bark no doubt left marks. Daffy cast an apologetic grin in response. They walked towards the burrow, where a garish welcome sign and over decorated mailbox stood out against the dull surroundings. They fell into conversation about the holidays and weather, spending the evening watching holiday specials and eating dinner as friends.
Bugs committed the night to memory, curious of the foreign warmth that spread when their kiss replayed in his mind.