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When the cameras go out, the facade doesn't fall.
Not at first, in any case.
There are reputations to maintain, people to greet (or in Daffy's case, sullenly ignore).
When the cameras fade to black, Bugs leads the way to the studio entrance, waving and smiling as per the expectation. Daffy, following behind and hiding behind the curve of his shoulder and beaming grin, says nothing.
Bugs waves down his car, personal driver ready to go.
Daffy always gets in first, slides over to the left side silently. Neither acknowledge that fact, and so no one else does, either.
Bugs’ driver already knows where he's going, but Bugs still tells him aloud to take them to his burrow. He plays the role of the easy-going, if chatty, star on the ride home. The driver says little back, which both stars appreciate.
Daffy says nothing, and the driver doesn't acknowledge his presence.
It's only when they get to the burrow, Bugs helping Daffy with the hole of an entrance, that the facade properly fades.
While Daffy's introverted nature is not faked, the extent of his sulleness and tiredness are.
While Bugs is truly friendly and cheerful, he finally allows his annoyance at the day to show on his face.
They collapse onto the couch together in an ungraceful heap, both groaning in comfort as the last of the fakery they supply to the outside world is washed away.
In the walls of Bugs' well-constructed warren, Daffy isn't half as temperamental, isn't half as constantly on edge from dealing with people that hate him and he hates right back. He isn't as exhausted, either, because his social battery finally has a chance to recharge. (Bugs has never truly managed to drain it the way everyone else does.)
In Daffy's arms, Bugs isn't nearly as put together as he is in the real world. He allows himself to express emotions other than his famed easy smugness. He presses his face into soft downy feathers and feels annoyance at script writers, at studio execs, at costumers. He lets himself be upset about that jerk of a security guard and the budget cuts on the latest short.
Sometimes they talk, words traded syrupy and slow between the scant inches keeping their faces from touching. Sometimes they don't.
But every day, without fail, the walls come down.
And they stay down.
Bugs cooks dinner (because Daffy cannot be trusted around the stove), and they put a record on (because Bugs insists that ‘modern music players’ don't have good quality sound), and they eat and they chat. They crack jokes and they laugh. Sometimes they push the table back and Daffy lets Bugs twirl him around to Sinatra or Fitzgerald, warm hands cradling his back and tucked between his own. Sometimes they crack into the nice wine, or sit on the couch criticizing the latest Disney shorts, or watch one of those terrible made-for-TV romcoms that they both find hilarious.
Every night, the walls stay down.
Every night, they are easy equals in a world all their own.
So no, the facade doesn't go down as soon as the cameras fade to black.
But when it does, Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck find peace. And they find it in each other.