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During that fall, Richard would have never guessed Bunny was Henry’s senior, and he could barely believe it even after Bunny’s death. Bunny was a firecracker—erratic, immature, full of whimsy and laughter. Most of the time Henry would just sit back and watch, his eyes darting between the blonde-haired boy and his translation of The Symposium or whatever he was painstakingly working on. Richard studied the pair often when he wasn’t distracted by Camilla’s beauty and charm. Although he never detected any odd sexual or romantic tension when he was alone with Henry, Richard felt it pulsating whenever Henry and Bunny were together. Sometimes, it was so intense that Richard felt he would be eaten alive with it. Maybe it was a warning of what was to come, or even more tragic, what could have been if Bunny wasn’t so selfish and stupid and if Henry wasn’t so heartless and conniving. Nevertheless, Richard was certain that it was there, like on the day before Camilla stepped on the glass shard at Francis’s country house…
It was only three o’clock in the afternoon, but the Greek class was on the verge of passing out from intoxication. Champagne mixed with pulp-filled orange juice was served at ten, then wine at twelve, gin at one-thirty, and so on. Richard watched Charles, Francis, and Camilla play croquet from afar, which consisted mostly of them mucking about and laughing at their cheap shots. With his divided attention, Richard played a game of blackjack with Henry on the porch. Bunny complained in a slur of words that he didn’t know how to play; thus, he was being excluded, and Henry shot back that he should pick up something other than “go fish.” Richard noticed Henry was equally distracted from the game. The dark-haired man’s eyes continued to glance over at Bunny, who was slumped over in a white wicker chair—his blue eyes fluttering, struggling to stay open.
“Go lie down, Bunny,” Henry said in frustration. “Take a nap.”
“I’m okay, old pal,” Bunny slurred.
The two wore matching white button-down shirts rolled at the sleeves. Bunny took off his wired-rimmed glasses that also reflected Henry’s and rubbed an arm over his forehead. His cheeks were flushed more than usual, and there were patches of sweat on his shirt. Henry sighed and turned back to the game. The air, humid and warm, felt as if summer was visiting once more. It made Richard woozy. Bunny was now messing with the stem of a flower that he had pulled from a small vase filled with blue hydrangeas. Camilla had picked them earlier, saying they should appreciate them before the freeze. With his legs sprawled out on the chair, Bunny lazily reached his hand that held the flower towards Henry. Henry tried to ignore his advances and pretended to focus on the game. Richard’s eyes alternated between the two.
“Yes, I see the flower, Bunny,” Henry said, eventually. But the remark didn’t satisfy Bunny enough, and he tapped his friend on the shoulder. Henry snapped his head toward him. “Yes?”
Bunny threw the flower in Henry’s vicinity. “For you, mademoiselle.”
“Gods, you’re so drunk.”
Henry rubbed his temple with two of his fingers like he was trying to erase the boy next to him from his memory. Bunny just scooted his chair closer to the man and looped an arm around him.
“Bunny, please. Drink some water at least.”
The two observed each other—Bunny with a giant smile plastered to his face and Henry with a confused frown. Then Bunny appeared to forget about the whole ordeal and fell back into his chair with his eyes closed. Henry and Richard continued the game in solace for a few precious minutes until Henry’s attention found its way back to Bunny, who rocked in his chair. His eyelids were still closed, and he for once, looked at peace, but Richard could tell Henry was waiting for something—an inevitable disaster to strike. The man squinted at his sloppy friend in anticipation. Suddenly, Bunny leaned forward and retched. With quick reflex, Henry slapped his hand over Bunny’s mouth that was excreting his day’s alcohol content. Richard stood up, wondering if he should pretend to take any action. “Not on the porch,” Henry grumbled. He led the smaller man inside the house, holding him up. Richard stared at the drops of orangish sludge on the ground and grimaced. A few moments later, he wandered into the downstairs bathroom out of curiosity and found Bunny hurling into the toilet with Henry kneeling next to him, silently watching. His fingers traced over the sweat on the back of Bunny’s neck and traveled down under his shirt collar, rubbing circles into his shoulders. Henry’s own white shirt was off, and Richard spotted it hanging over the showerhead. He stared at it in both horror and fascination. It was stained with Bunny’s excrements. How could Henry have done that so casually? Richard wondered if he would let any of his friends puke into his bare hands and couldn’t imagine being so calm in that situation. However, Henry didn’t have a grasp on many social norms. The next day, he would be covered in Camilla’s blood, so how different was it really?
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During another weekend at the house, circumstances made themselves slightly clearer to Richard. It was reaching midnight. Francis had found him upstairs and asked if he wanted to join him in the library for a harmless game of backgammon and maybe a drink. Richard was exhausted from spending time with the Greek class all day, but reluctantly agreed. He hadn’t been sleeping well anyway. He kept on hearing strange conversations he couldn’t quite make out, the slamming of doors, and loud clattering from Henry’s corridors throughout the night, but thought it would be best to ignore them. However, he thought to ask Francis about it as they were heading downstairs. The redhead scoffed in annoyance.
“Oh, yes, that. I’ve been hearing it too. They go through these phases. Honestly, none of us understand what’s going on with them this year.”
“Who? Do you mean?”
Before Richard could finish, the pair were faced with Henry and Bunny, who presumably reserved the library for the night. Bunny was a giggling mess lounging across the antique couch with red wine-stained lips and a wrinkled unbuttoned shirt. He was leisurely draped across Henry, who stared down at the boy. He sat upright with legs slightly opened, but it was still the most relaxed Richard had ever seen Henry, and if he could recall, he was sure a small bubble of laughter escaped him, as he amused himself with whatever Bunny was babbling on about. Richard was reminded of the god Apollo admiring the nymph Daphne. He wasn’t sure why, but he could never imagine Bunny reflecting any other figure in Greek mythology. He certainly could never have fit the role of any of the gods or heroes that Henry admired.
Richard was about to enter through the doorframe to make himself known when Francis pulled him back by his shoulder and raised his finger to his lips at Richard. The pair had walked back and turned the corner of the hallway until Francis spoke.
“Bunny would been insufferable the rest of the weekend if he knew you saw him in that position.”
“But it’s not like they were—”
Francis sighed. “You know how he is. It’s not worth bringing attention to. We just ignore what we can.” He hurried upstairs, leaving Richard to his thoughts. He couldn’t help but be drawn back towards Henry and Bunny’s sacred space. Like a sad pervert, he positioned himself to the side of the library door to catch a glimpse of the two. Bunny was still lying across Henry, and let his hands wander over the larger man’s pristine torso that was dressed in a crisp shirt and tweed jacket. Bunny’s mercenary fingertips traced over the jacket’s fabric until they found the pocket they were looking for. He gleamed as he found and took out several hundred-dollar bills. Henry rolled his eyes at him and plucked the money out of the other’s hand, but there was a content smile on his face as he did it. He tossed one up in the air and watched it ripple down into Bunny’s grabby hands. Henry playfully held the smaller one down when he tried to sit up, but Bunny was still able to take hold of the paper.
“Stop it, Hen,” he said, while laughing. “You’re gonna crush me.”
With Bunny’s back against his thighs, Henry continued to hold him there from the strength of one arm. “What if I did? Crush you. Sometimes I want to. Maybe even worse things.”
“Oh, shut up, will you? You know I hate when you talk like that. Such a freak.”
Henry took a second hundred-dollar bill from his hand and inched it towards Bunny’s face. Like a reflex, Bunny licked his chapped, stained lips and opened his mouth. Richard felt his face get hot and began to hear his heart pound in his ears. Henry’s stare was dark, and he flashed an evil-looking white smile while placing the bill between Bunny’s teeth. Bunny grinned up at him with the paper in his mouth and let out a satisfied whine. The god above him traced the curve of his throat with his thumb and index finger, which traveled down to explore the nymph’s bare chest. Bunny stretched out even further on the couch and let out a sigh of relief, as Henry’s gentle touches began to deepen into purposeful grasps. “Ow, you’re pinching me,” Bunny said, spitting out the bill. He looked down and watched his own soft flesh turn flush from the harsh contact. Henry continued to stare at him—his smile now turned into a light smirk as his hand traveled down further to reach for Bunny’s belt. Richard, in his dizzy state, let himself take a sharp breath in. To his relief, he realized Henry wasn’t about to rip Bunny’s pants off when he saw him tug Bunny forcefully by the brown leather—insinuating the boy to sit up in his lap. Bunny did so with a mocking pout and climbed Henry’s body, trying to get comfortable in the new position. The hundred-dollar bills were littered throughout the room, abandoned, and Bunny used what was left of his lucidness to focus on the man’s limbs that appeared to engulf him. Henry wrapped his hands as far and as tight as he could around Bunny’s waist, which gave Bunny enough of an affirmation for him to loop his arms around Henry’s neck and straddle the larger man’s thighs. Richard couldn’t tell if this was new territory for the two. Bunny seemed hesitant. His eyes hid from Henry’s as he stared down at where their two bodies met. This didn’t seem to please Henry—keeping one hand on his waist, he let the other tangle into Bunny’s hair and scratch his scalp. Bunny looked up, his arms still around Henry’s neck, and shifted his body closer, so that their chests connected.
The room became silent. The library’s air was stale and static, as if frozen in time. Henry needed more than what the boy was giving him. He clenched the hand in Bunny’s hair into a tight fist, causing Bunny to hiss in pain. Ignoring his reaction, Henry then pulled hard, so that Bunny’s head was thrown back, and was rewarded when the boy moaned. Henry softly shushed him, his breath tingling on Bunny’s exposed neck. Bunny braced himself for Henry’s next advancement, and Richard let out an exhale as he experienced a phantom sensation on his skin when Henry let his tongue graze Bunny’s collarbone. He couldn’t help but tug at his shirt collar after Henry moved to bite at the delicate flesh above the bone. Richard could feel Bunny’s heavy breathing become in sync with his own as Henry’s lips traveled up Bunny’s neck with what seemed like purpose. His movements abruptly stopped as he was about to kiss Bunny’s jawbone. He disconnected his lips from the boy’s skin, turning his head away from him, and then pressed his hand between their chests to create a sense of distance. It was like he was silently scolding himself for becoming lost in the moment. Bunny’s eyes opened reluctantly, and he moved further back in his lap. They stared at each other for a few seconds. Bunny glared into his eyes, never breaking contact—an unspoken defiance to Henry’s actions. Finally, he spoke up. “You used to not be such a coward, Hen.” Bunny tightly clenched his thighs around Henry’s and transferred the weight of his body in one frantic motion to reconnect them. “Kiss me how you used to.” Henry had given up on speaking but silently complied. Richard took it as his cue to leave when Henry’s large hand took hold of Bunny’s jaw and yanked it towards his face. Richard saw undeniable passion, yet deep shame in the younger’s expression.
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Later, Richard endured an even more peculiar occurrence at Charles' and Camilla’s Sunday dinner. As usual, wine was being poured, but Richard didn’t remember any of them being any more than tipsy. It was after the Bacchanal disaster and a few days before they would separate for winter break. Bunny was still making jokes about deer and singing that one tune that drove Henry insane. Everyone was on edge (not that Richard knew at that point). Henry and Bunny arrived together, which was not an uncommon occurrence, but both were in bad spirits. Throughout dinner, Bunny picked at Henry’s food, rolled his eyes, and mocked everything that came out of his friend’s mouth. Henry reciprocated with deadly glares towards the boy, and Richard swore he kicked him underneath the table after Bunny said, “Who reads at the table, Henry? You’re such a bore. Julian’s not here, you know? No need to impress anyone.” Richard observed that Henry was skimming a copy of The Divine Comedy—most likely as preparation for his and Bunny’s upcoming trip to Italy.
During dessert, Bunny stared at Henry in amusement while dramatically licking the last of the tapioca pudding off his spoon. Everyone ignored whatever was going on at their end of the table, but when trying to retrieve his lost napkin, Richard noticed something odd going on underneath the table. Bunny had his foot pressed against Henry’s calf. It was slowly climbing up his leg and up to his knee. When Henry became aware of Richard’s line of sight, he slapped Bunny’s foot down. He saw Henry’s face flush with embarrassment and was certain he heard Bunny sigh in annoyance. The table soon fell silent, and Camilla abruptly jumped out of her seat, holding tightly onto her glass, and crossed the room to browse her and Charles’s bookshelf. Richard scanned the space, and he took in the amount of cigarette butts precariously discarded across the living room, as well as the shards of broken porcelain lining one of the windowsills. Charles tapped on his glass anxiously and muttered something Richard couldn’t make out to Francis. The two got up to search for another bottle of wine in the kitchen. Richard felt as if he should leave Henry and Bunny alone at the table but was worried that he was acting as the sole buffer between Henry strangling Bunny. The tension increased when Bunny looked down at his empty wine glass and then over at Henry’s full one. Richard watched as Henry’s long fingers danced over the rim of his glass, which he had barely touched for the entirety of dinner. Bunny peered up from beneath his eyelashes at Henry and reached across the table to lay his hand over the man's. Richard assumed Bunny was trying to appear coy but understood that Henry had seen through Bunny’s attempt at manipulation for quite some time now. Yes, sometimes he would play the older boy’s games, but it was always by choice.
Henry met the boy’s stare. “Charles is bringing more,” he muttered.
“Why are you being so…” Bunny thought for a moment, his hand still over Henry’s. “Tense.”
“Maybe if you let me drink my wine, I wouldn’t be.”
Bunny lifted his hand from where Henry was fondling the glass and ran it through his disheveled hair. “Fine. It’s all yours, old man.”
Henry finally brought the glass to his mouth and took a sip, his eyes never leaving Bunny’s.
Richard’s watch drifted back to Camilla, who had found The Smiths record she purchased the other day. She gingerly took it out of its sleeve and put it onto the player, which rested on top of the bookshelf, then dropped the needle onto the grooves without much thought of where it landed. Richard assumed the contemporary music would not be to Henry’s liking, who had praised the Robert Schumann record the Macaulays had on earlier. They all sat in silence, taking in the eerie voice that filled the room. Richard was able to make out some of the lyrics—Oh, I'm not the man you think I am…I'm not the man you think I am. He decided to abandon the table to Henry and Bunny and joined Camilla on the couch adjacent to them. When Charles and Francis returned with more wine, Henry had lit a fresh cigarette and was back to being immersed in his book. Lately, Richard couldn’t take his gaze off him. He convinced himself the urge was nothing like when he caught himself staring at Camilla for too long and that it was only a sick sense of curiosity brought on by the incident he witnessed in the library. He and Henry had made eye contact an uncomfortable number of times last class, but he tried to assure himself that Henry was oblivious to Richard’s new anxieties.
Richard wasn’t the only one watching Henry. Bunny’s eyes hardly wandered from him as he downed what was about his fourth glass of wine of the night. Everyone was doing their best to ignore the blonde boy. He was squirming in his seat restlessly, but at least he shut up. Eventually, something in Henry snapped. It could have been the way Bunny was tapping his fingers on the table off-beat to the music or smacking his lips every time he drank.
“Come here, Bunny,” he said in a tone Richard had heard him use with the older boy before.
Bunny, who had been staring down at the table, immediately shifted his eyes to the man across from him. He swallowed some spit and backed his chair out with a piercing screech, then sauntered over to the other side of the table in his usual arrogant demeanor. Bunny came around to the back of Henry’s chair, his wine glass grasped in his left hand, and stood above him, waiting for direction, but Henry wasn’t giving him anything. Richard sat in anticipation, watching Henry blow a puff of smoke out with force and turn the page. Bunny crept closer to the man and perched upon the armrest of his chair. He peered down to see what Henry was writing in the margins.
“Can you really read Italian?”
“Well, one of us will need to if we want to survive Rome, and I’m guessing that’s my responsibility.”
“You write in it, too, then? Speak it?”
“Obviously.”
Bunny leaned down further to make out the text, causing his pudgy cheek to almost press together into Henry’s angular one. He pointed to a sentence. “Hm. Then what does this say?”
Henry didn’t move away from him. He just blew out another cloud, which caused Bunny to rub his already red, watering eyes. “Il percorso per il Paradiso comincia dall’Inferno,” Henry said in a near perfect accent.
Bunny turned his head to face him, the tip of his nose brushing the other’s cheek, and then leaned back to get a better view of the man below. He raised an eyebrow and shrugged, insinuating that Henry continue his lesson. Bunny could project aloofness, but Richard noted the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the way his heel bounced up and down from the ground. He also, unfortunately, was aware of the now prominent swelling bulge inside of Bunny’s khaki pants. Henry put out the cigarette on his plate, and the same hand came to rest on Bunny’s thigh to act as a subtle signal to stop his leg’s movement. He twisted his arm around to Bunny’s lower back, which the boy took as an invitation to sit down and straddle the other’s knee. An embarrassing rush of arousal flowed through Richard when he saw Henry’s lips part as Bunny settled down on him. He tore his eyes away from the two. Camilla and Charles were suddenly engrossed in a game of chess, while Francis skimmed a beat-up copy of Othello that he found on the coffee table. Richard was clueless as to why the three were dismissing the scene in front of them as normal. Oh, I don't want to go out tonight…Oh, I don't want to go out tonight, the record sang.
Bunny turned his head around slightly, still wanting a response from Henry.
The younger man sighed. “The path to paradise begins in hell.”
Bunny subtly began rocking against Henry’s leg. “Oh,” he replied, almost breathless, still looking at him.
Richard grasped the couch cushion beneath him.
“Oh,” Henry echoed, a grin forming on his face. He grasped Bunny’s hips to pull him higher up on his body.
Bunny’s rocking evolved into a steady grind on Henry’s strong thigh. “Oh.”
Henry buried his face into Bunny’s hair and led his hand down to ghost over the zipper of his pants. Red liquid splattered from Bunny’s glass and left speckles on the sleeves of Henry’s white shirt. Richard was worried about how far the pair would go in front of their counterparts but was suddenly struck by the belief that this had all been some disastrous joke when Henry turned his head back to look directly at Richard without Bunny’s knowledge. The man flashed him a familiar devilish smile. Richard still wasn’t sure if it was a proposition from Henry that he never accepted or a warning from him of what was to come that winter. Nevertheless, Richard felt a sting of jealous confusion, as he watched Henry guide Bunny by the hand into Camilla’s empty bedroom that evening.