I would like to start by saying I do not own any part of any of Kurt Vonnegut's works. This is written purely to satisfy my own selfish, human desires to see talented homosexual men with hard lives be happy. I will try my very hardest to stay true to the book, but I may end up taking some artistic liberties that I would like to ask you all to excuse as of right now (as with Milo, you'll see). Also, certain spelling errors are intentional and are used to create sound imagery (which I rely quite heavily on with my poor eyesight).

I read Kurt Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions last year, more out of curiosity than anything. It was... unusual, to say the least. Bunny Hoover was my favorite of the multitude of characters, but after finishing the book I began to worry. Did he get a happy ending? I had to make sure he did, so I brainstormed this story up. I'm not new to (I've been reading and reviewing on here for years), but this is my first time attempting to publish anything. If you have any pointers, I would love the help. Thanks!

Bunny Hoover awoke three weeks later with a headache. He was unable to see. He didn't know where he was or why he wasn't in his bed in the Holiday Inn. He waved his arms, trying to reach out for something – anything – that would tell him why this was going on. He tried reaching up to his face, but found his wrists bound by leather straps. Panicking, he tried to yell. No words, just a strangled, frustrated noise came out. He couldn't even open his mouth. He heard footsteps, felt hands on him, and stopped.
"George Hoover?" said a strange voice.

"Nnn!" he struggled under the hands on his chest.

"His name is Bunny." Chided a voice that sounded vaguely familiar.

"Whhuy cnn't oii tauk?" Bunny tried to calm himself, tried to meditate, but his head hurt, and his mouth wouldn't open to make actual words come out. He arched away from the hands on his chest and reached toward the familiar voice.

"Bunny? You can't talk because your jaw is wired shut." Soft, thin hands found his. It was Milo. It had to have been Milo.

"Maailo. Whhutz goeen onnn?" he moaned, trying not to cry.

He felt Milo stroking his hands. "Do you remember what happened?" he asked, trying to think of how to break it gently to him. "Bunny, do you remember what happened just as you were playing the piano?" The doctor left, letting the door slam behind him and Bunny squeezed Milo's hand and shook his head. "Bunny, your dad went insane. He grabbed you and slammed you into the piano. You're in the hospital right now because he hurt you so bad."

Bunny choked back a sob and heard Milo sniffle. He was crying too. "Whhuy cn't oii see err muvv?" he drew his unoccupied wrist up to show Milo in case he couldn't see.

Now Milo really was crying. "You kept on making a scene. Blaming yourself for what happened and all. They restrained you because you kept trying to hurt yourself. They called me in because I knew you and there was no one else to call."

Bunny took a shaking breath and began to cry now. "B-but whhuy cn't oii see?" He pulled at his restraints, arching his back with the sudden, violent effort to see what was over his eyes.

Milo pressed his hands onto Bunny's chest and the young man collapsed back onto the bed like wet rag. "There are bandages over your eyes. Your eyes were swollen shut and the doctors didn't know what to do because they got damaged. They – they don't know if you'll be able to see." Bunny's broken nose was bleeding now and Milo dabbed at it with a handkerchief.

"Ah-aii dun't rememmburr." He sobbed. "Whhuuy dun't ai rememmburr?" Milo stroked Bunny's soft red hair. It was long and had gotten tangled and dirty in the three weeks.

"I don't know, Bunny. I don't know." He'd bring a brush tomorrow, he decided, and brush Bunny's hair for him.