Work Text:
Bunny's laughing.
That horrible, grating, knowing laugh — half-drunk and all-too-pleased with himself — echoing through the pines as the cold wind cuts through their coats.
“You’re serious?” Bunny scoffs, arms flung wide. “You dragged me out here to what — beg me to shut up? Threaten me? Oh, that’s rich, Henry. That’s fucking rich.”
Henry’s standing too still.
Too composed.
One step forward.
One.
That’s all it would take.
The cliff behind Bunny yawns open like a mouth.
And Henry thinks about it.
God, he thinks about it.
It would be so easy.
Just a push.
And then it would all be quiet again.
The circle would hold.
The world would reset.
But then Bunny says something. Not particularly cruel, not particularly smart, just—
“You never gave a shit about me anyway.”
And Henry freezes.
Because that’s the lie that breaks him.
He doesn’t lunge.
He laughs.
Sharp, bitter, cracked — like glass shattering in the snow.
And then — it starts. The fight.
A real one. The kind with screaming.
Bunny yells first.
Henry yells back.
It builds, fast and vicious, accusations and confessions thrown like stones:
“You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“I made you interesting, Henry!”
“You’re a parasite—”
“You’re a goddamn liar!”
It escalates until Henry is trembling, eyes wide, mouth twitching with something volatile.
And then — he snaps.
“I would’ve done it.”
He doesn’t mean to say it.
Bunny freezes.
“Done what.”
“Pushed you,” Henry spits. “I almost did. I was going to. You make me want to. You are infuriating and impossible and every day I wish I’d never met you and yet—”
He stops. Chokes on the fury.
Bunny’s face is pale and stunned, but not afraid. Just… waiting.
Henry’s hands clench. His voice drops.
“And yet I’d let the world and everything in it burn for you.”
The words are out before he can think them.
Ash in the air.
Breath turned to smoke.
“You are a terrible person,” Henry whispers. “And I love you. Isn’t that horrible?”
Silence.
Only the wind moves now.
Bunny swallows hard. Eyes flicking to the cliff. Then to Henry.
There’s a long moment.
Bunny’s blinking, almost dazed — like the words I love you knocked the wind out of him harder than any shove could have.
He stares at Henry like he’s a stranger.
And then something flickers. A twitch of the lip. A shift in the brow.
Something cold. Something old.
And Bunny laughs — sharp, biting, nothing like before.
“Oh, Jesus, you’re serious.”
Henry’s breathing has gone thin. His throat burns. “Yes,” he says, voice low, steeled.
“God, that explains so much,” Bunny snaps. “All this time, I thought you were just a stuck-up bastard, but no, turns out you’re a fucking faggot.”
The word lands like a bullet.
Louder than the wind.
Louder than the birds scattering from the trees above.
Henry doesn’t flinch.
Not visibly.
But something behind his eyes fractures, and for a moment he looks less like a boy and more like a monument cracked by frost.
“You’re disgusting,” Bunny says, louder now, breathless with adrenaline and panic and something that isn’t hatred but wears it like armour. “Is that why you’re always watching me? Is that why you dragged me out here, like some twisted love confession?”
He’s pacing now. Arms flailing. The kind of motion that says please look anywhere but inside me.
Henry watches him.
Silent.
Still.
And then, slowly, quietly:
“You’re afraid.”
“Go to hell, Winter.”
“You’re afraid because I said it out loud. Because you’ve thought about it too.”
That stops Bunny in his tracks.
Face red, fists clenched.
“Don’t you dare—”
“You have, haven’t you?” Henry’s voice is ragged now. Not angry. Not cold. Just tired. “You’ve thought about it in the dark, in the quiet. About what it would mean. About why it felt good when I touched you. About why you never pulled away.”
“Shut up.”
“But you don’t know how to love anything without ruining it, do you? Not even yourself.”
That’s the one that does it. Bunny lunges — not to hit, not really, just to push, to shove, to interrupt, to make it stop.
Henry stumbles back, and shoves Bunny back in defence.
Bunny’s foot hits the edge of the cliff.
They both freeze.
And in that silence, it finally sinks in:
He almost did it.
He almost killed him.
And Bunny almost let him.
The moment hovers like held breath.
Then Henry steps back — away from him — straightens his coat, buttons it with slow, mechanical hands.
When he finally speaks, his voice is numb.
“You’re right, you know.”
“What?” Bunny spits.
Henry doesn’t meet his eyes.
“It is disgusting. All of it. Wanting you. Loving you. Being who I am.”
He brushes a speck of snow from his sleeve.
“But not for the reasons you think.”
And with that, he walks away from Bunny.
No drama. No last look.
Just snow crunching beneath his shoes, and the unbearable weight.