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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

Note

For a fic prompt! How about Duck and Indrid are childhood best friends who are college roommates. Indrid has been in love with Duck for years, but when Duck starts dating Minerva it throws Indrid into a deep depression. Ideally Duck and Indrid do get together in the end (though hopefully Duck and Minerva’s breakup isn’t nasty) and you can get as angsty as you’d like! Honestly the angstier the better is my motto! Also I’m all for Indrid still having future sight, if you’d like! Thank you SO MUCH!

Here you go!

Quick content note: it contains trans Duck, including a scene where Indrid takes his side when he comes out in PE and, it’s implied, that coming out is not well recieved.

Indrid Cold lays face down on his bed. His phone is shoved under the black cotton of his pillow case, and he’s drawn the windows shut against the warm August air.

This is a misery of his own making, he knows this. He can’t decide if the fact that it’s a misery nearly two decades in the making is impressive or pathetic.

To understand the origins of it, one has to rewind the tape of his life back quite a ways.

——————————————————-

Duck Newton is six years old and hunting for miners lettuce in his backyard, when he feels like he’s being watched.

Looking up, he finds a face framed with shaggy dark hair, glasses perched on a pointy nose, peeking over the fence at him. As soon as the face sees him, it ducks back down.

Weird.

He goes back to foraging, only to find the face watching him again a minute later. This time, when it disappears, he clambers up the oak tree alongside the fence and scoots carefully out onto a limb that sticks out into the neighboring yard. The face, which belongs to a boy about his age, is staring up at him, as if he expected Duck to appear. He’s standing on the edge of the decorative fountain the old neighbors put in the yard.

“Why’re you watchin me?”

“I wanted to know what you were doing.”

“How come?”

“I’m bored. My dads are putting the house together and I don’t want to draw anymore.” He points to a stack of pictures, next to some crayons that are melting in the sun.

Duck thinks; he hasn’t had anyone to play with since school got out. Leo, who lives down the block, is nine, so not as interested in having Duck trailing after him like a little brother as he used to be.

“…You wanna go see a huge crawdad?”

The other boy perks up, “I have no idea what that is. But yes.”

“C’mon, meet me in the front yard. What’s your name?”

“Indrid.”

“That’s a weird name.”

“What’s yours?” Indrid crosses his arms, eyebrow raised

“Duck.”

Indrid stares at him, wide mouth curling up at one side. His stare is a bit unnerving, and Duck feels the need to explain himself.

“It’s a nickname.”

————————————————————

“I think that’s the same large one from last year.” Indrid peers over his sketchpad, staring down at a crawdad scuttling through the clear creek.

“Told you we shoulda put a colored tape on them or somethin so we could keep track.” Duck looks at the crustacean, and then back at the project he’s working on.

They’re nine years old, hazy and sleepy in the summer afternoon. This part of the creek is shaded, keeps them hidden from passersby and parents alike (they’ve learned to tell at least one parent where they’re going, after Greg, one of Indrid’s dad’s, panicked looking for them).

“What are you making?” Indrid wiggles next to him in the grass, gnawing his pencil as Duck shows him.

“S’a reed raft. I’m gonna see how far I can float it down the river.”

“I will draw a flag for it.” Indrid scribbles, and Duck grins at him. He continues, “I’m glad you’re back. I hate when you got to your uncle’s during the summer. I have no one to talk to.”

“You could talk to Dani.”

“She’s busy a lot.”

Duck looks a little guilty, “Did you get the postcards?”

“Uh huh.” Indrid nods, smiling at his friend to show there’s no harm done. He knows it’s not up to Duck where he goes. The postcards are pinned to his wall, along with his own drawings, some horror movie posters, and the postcards from the last two summers.

“Oh, look at what I found while we were at the lake.” Duck reaches into his pocket, pulling out a smooth, wiggly-striped stone, “Uncle Jeff says it’s agate.”

He holds it out and Indrid takes it, runs his fingers along the smooth, cool surface. It feels lovely. And it reminds him of what he likes most about being Duck’s friend; Duck can make anything, even a rock, seem interesting and special.

Indrid is reminded of another reason he is lucky to have Duck the next morning.

All the adults are down in the living room, talking worriedly. There’s been a car crash on the nearby highway, and one of the trucks was carrying something toxic. The school is closed, and everyone has been told to stay home because the air could be unsafe.

Indrid is under all his blankets, his sketchbook thrown to the other side of the room.

“‘Drid?” The door creaks as Duck enters the bedroom.

He wants to beg him to hide under the covers with him. He wants to tell him to go away.

He sniffs, wipes his nose on his arm, and hears Duck turn towards the bed. The covers slowly lift, and Indrid blinks blearily, tearily up at him.

“Have you been cryin?” Duck looks worried.

He nods.

“Did you know someone who got hurt?”

“No. I, I saw it happen. In my head. Over and over last night. I thought I was imagining it. But then it happened. Th-that happens a lot, ever since my birthday. It’s like, like I see things and then sometimes they happen and sometimes they don’t. I draw them but, but I’m afraid if my dad’s find out they’ll, they’ll think I’m wrong, somethings wrong with me.”

As he’s talking, Duck sits down next to him, rests his arm around his shoulders.

“Nothin’s wrong with you ‘Drid. This is weird, but it don’t make you bad. You should tell you dads. They’re nice, they’ll help you.” He squeezes Indrid’s arm, smiling at him as he rests his head on his shoulder, “I’ll help you too.” He slips the agate from his pocket and into Indrid’s hands, moves their fingers over it in tandem until the motion soothes Indrid’s breathing down, then tucks it into Indrid’s pocket.

————————————————————————————–

“You okay ‘Drid?” Duck plops down on a cafeteria bench Kepler Middle School, Indrid poking glumly at his fruit salad.

“We had oral presentations today. I did mine on my moth.” He taps the jar in front of him. A week or so ago it had contained a caterpillar that he and Duck had identified as belonging to a Banded Tiger Moth. Indrid had decided to raise it into adulthood, Duck helping him figure out which weeds to feed it before it went into its cocoon. When it emerges, he and Duck have the perfect spot picked to release it.

“What’s wrong with your moth?”

“Nice glasses, mothman!” A voice yells, two boys high-fiving when Indrid shrinks in on himself.

“Hey, fuck you, mothman rules!” Duck thanks his lucky stars none of the cafeteria monitors heard him. He recognizes those two; they’re in Indrid’s CORE class with him, meaning the nickname has already spread. Indrid, with his tics and his tendency to finish people’s sentences, his glasses and scraggly appearance, has been pegged as a target for months. It makes Duck’s blood boil to see them turn something Indrid spent time looking after into an insult.

That night, he grabs a sharpie and one of his grey t-shirts.

The next day, he turns up with “Mothman Rules” scrawled on his chest. Indrid’s smile is worth the lecture he gets about messing up his clothes.

———————————————————–

Indrid and Duck sit side by side in the principals office. Their gym clothes in Kepler Middle’s colors, grey and maroon, seem even grimmer right now.

They haven’t done anything wrong, not as far as Indrid is concerned.

Duck stood in the boys line-up during P.E, that’s all. When he refused to move to the girls line, the teacher told the rest of the boys to line up all over again, elsewhere. They all moved, except Indrid, who insisted that Duck was in the right line and refused to play along with a bid to deny that.

They have been sent to the principal for “causing trouble.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Duck murmurs.

“I did. You’re my friend, Duck. And Mr. H is an asshole.”

He thinks, but does not say, that it would take far more than a gym teacher and the threat of detention to leave Duck’s side when he’s in trouble.

———————————————————

It’s Indrid’s 16th birthday, and his dads are throwing a very subdued sweet sixteen. He dyed his hair silver, and they’ve ordered an entire table of desserts from a local bakery, and he, Duck, Juno, Dani, and Barclay have stuffed themselves while watching movies and teasing Dani for being ga-ga over her long-distance girlfriend, Aubrey, who she met playing an online tabletop games.

Once the other three leave, Duck grabs Indrid’s jacket and hands it to him.

“C’mon, lets go to the creek. Got somethin to show you.”

Indrid follows him, teasing him as they turn down the creekbed, “We’re not going to have a repeat of the beer incident are we?”

Duck laughs, “No. Learned better than to give that hummingbird palate of yours booze.”

They hit the familiar dirt of their favorite spot, and Duck gets on tiptoe and reaches into the trees above them. Strings of lights, red to match Indrid’s new glasses, and white, snap on. Below them is a blanket, and Indrid sits down with a perplexed smile. Then he checks the futures, and understands.

“Is this entirely sanitary?”

“Enough.” Duck grins, pulling out a lighter and safety pin, “I did it on mine and I still got the ear.”

“Very well.” Indrid crosses his legs, checks the futures it be double sure this won’t end in infection, and braces himself, “left ear please.”

“Right. Okay, one, two-”

“OWowowowow.”

“Done!”

“Ow.” Indrid winces as Duck cleans the newly-pierced ear, loosens his grip on the agate in his fist.

“Can’t believe you still carry that thing around.”

“I find it soothing. Ooh, how nice.” Indrid picks up the black moth-shaped earring Duck hands him.

“Figured it’d be better to start with a smaller one. And now that you’re all done, you can officially burn your list.”

Indrid pulls a worn sheet of binder paper from his pocket. When he, and then Duck, turned fifteen, they wrote out lists of things they wanted to do before they hit sixteen. He crosses out get ear pierced, then mutters, “I’m still missing one.”

Duck looks at him quizzically. He turns the paper around and points to first kiss.

“Wait, I thought you and Carlos-”

“Nope. Never got that far before we broke up.”

Duck sits next to him, gets a mischievous grin on his face, “Think I know how to help.”

“How’s tha-”

It’s barely a kiss, Duck bringing their lips together just long enough for Indrid to feel him sigh happily. Then he pulls back, still grinning.

Indrid is certain that if he looked down at himself, his veins would be pulsing technicolor, his body lit up like the cheap neon in their tiny downtown.

“Ta-dah, list complete.” Duck whispers.

“Thank you.” Indrid whispers back.

He doesn’t think much of it for the rest of the night, figures it’s just a meeting of Duck’s goofier side with his desire to help a friend.

It’s only when he’s laying in bed, playing the kiss over and over again like a favorite song, that he realizes he might be in trouble.

————————————————————-

Indrid knows the likely outcome, but that doesn’t stop him from leaping up excitedly when Duck bangs the front door open.

“‘Drid, I got in! did you, oh, hey Mr. Cold, did you?”

“Yes.” Indrid grins from the bottom of the staircase.

“Oh hell yeah! Juno got in too! Maybe we can all be roommates.”

As much as Indrid would like that outcome, the arbitrary housing system of UWV Huntington has other ideas. Duck ends up partnered with an affable if often absent psych major, Juno gets a single in the same dorm, just two floors down, and Indrid is stuck with a frat-boy business major.

That doesn’t stop them from making the most of their first year of college. Indrid crashes on Duck’s floor some nights, and the two of them manage to swing having a film class together during spring semester. They each dip their toes into the wild sea that is college dating, with mixed results, trading advice and anecdotes in the dark of Duck’s room.

And none of that, not one single bit, does anything to dampen Indrid’s romantic feelings for his friend.

It’s not that he doesn’t try, just as he’s been trying every day since his 16th birthday. He loves Duck as a friend, wants to be in his life forever. He can’t afford to love him any other way. It’s too risky. And so he tries, over and over and over, to quash those feelings. Sometimes they ebb, sometimes Indrid happily dates or hooks up with other people.

But they always come back, like a faithful hound finding it’s way home.

Because Duck will laugh in that ridiculous way of his, be vulnerable with Indrid in those private moments, make Indrid feel understood in a way no one else can. And he falls in love all over again.

(And that’s before he even gets to the moments where Duck will strip his shirt off on hot days, or wander into the room in his boxer shorts, and Indrid feels the urge to plead with him for the privilege of feeling him up).

It’s because of all this that, when Duck asks if Indrid wants to move in together their sophomore year, he almost says no.

But then he and Duck are sharing celebratory take-out in a half-unpacked apartment and he’s happier than he ever thought he could be.

It’s not perfect by any means. Indrid can be messy, Duck can be terse, money can be tight. But Indrid is so at home with Duck, all that fades into the background. They have friends over, compare notes on dates, have junk food strewn study sessions on the couch, keep each other company during all nighters.

Then, in May of their Sophomore year, things change.

“‘Drid? Oh good, you’re still up. Um, I wanted to tell you somethin. Minerva and I are goin out.”

“Oh. That’s a bit unexpected.” Indrid sets his drawing aside.

“You tellin me you don’t use that magic-eight ball brain to spy on my love life?” Duck teases, plopping down onto the bed with him.

“Never. So…why the switch from work-out buddies to this?”

“Dunno, just seemed like we’d been spendin a lot of time together. She actually tutored me back in high school, remember, so it’s kinda fun to be around someone who’s known me that long. Y'know, someone who watched me grow up.”

“I see.” Indrid kicks his jealousy until it goes limp and sinks back under the surface of his feelings, “well, that’s awesome then. I’m glad you’re excited Duck.”

And he is. It’s not a lie, goodness knows he’s well aware he has no claim to Duck’s affection or time. And Minerva does seem to make him happy, encourages Duck’s good habits like going to the gym (something Indrid has tried once and will never do again. Yoga and walking are fine by him).

But soon he cannot go anywhere with Duck, including his own apartment, without Minerva there. Duck spends all of his time with her, and Indrid learns it’s not just him; while Minerva is gladly included in their group get-togethers, Juno hasn’t seen Duck in weeks. And has barely heard from him. She is also a bit loud and Indrid, who has always had trouble with over-stimulation from noise, finds himself out of the apartment more and more often.

Indrid can’t blame Duck for spending time with Minerva rather than him; she’s jockular, active, attractive (even if she does call Duck by his first name). Indrid is odd, reclusive, and well, weird looking.

It all goes to hell at the end of August.

“‘Drid! The study abroad program offered me a scholarship. I get to go to Brazil. This is so fuckin cool!”

“Wonderful!” Indrid claps his hands, “I know how badly you’ve wanted to go. You have to promise me to send me pictures of brightly colored bugs for art inspiration. Oh, and now we can tell Dani she has somewhere to stay while she and Aubrey look for a shared place.”

“Exactly. And guess what, it gets even better.”

“How-” he sees the answer coming, tries to keep his face neutral.

“Minerva’s comin with me!”

“I wasn’t aware wildlife conservation and management was her area of interest.”

“It ain’t, but she’s comin as part of a grad study program. It’s gonna be so fuckin amazin.”

“I’m sure it will be.” The pull between his true feelings and his need to seem supportive renders his answer flat.

“What’s up?” Duck sits down in the kitchen chair opposite him.

“Nothing. Or, well, I suppose I’ve just now realized that I’ll be without a good friend for a semester. I’ll miss you.”

“Aw, I’ll miss you too, you big sap. Don’t worry, I’ll write you a bunch, send pictures too when I can.”

Indrid looks at the futures, then down at the table, “No, you won’t.”

“Huh? Why wouldn’t I?” Duck looks hurt.

“In all the timelines, you send me one postcard at maximum. In most of them, you send none. I slip your mind entirely, it seems.” His voice is tight.

“The fuck? How is that pos-”

“Any time not spent in the field, you are too engrossed by her to do anything else.”

Duck’s face hardens, “So that’s what this is really about.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He lies.

“You’ve been bothered by her since the start! You don’t think I notice that forced smile you get when she’s around, or the fact you leave the house when she comes over?”

“I get overstimulated when there is too much noise, you know that.” Indrid snaps back.

“You hardly come out with us anymore, and you make it sound like she’s controlin me or some shit.”

“I, I do not. I just don’t enjoy when she barges in randomly.” He rubs his temples with his hands, trying to keep calm.

“Christ, you really makin me choose between my best friend and the first girlfriend who’s made me feel this way? Why the fuck can’t you just be happy for me?”

“Because it should be me and not her!” Indrid spits out, hands dropping to the table and gaze meeting Duck’s own.

Duck blinks back at him, “Really? Really? You had a million goddamn chances to confess how you feel and you choose now?”

“I, I didn’t, I tried so hard to ignore it, but, fuck, I didn’t mean to say it now but since I did: I’ve been in love with you for years. And, and I just, after everything, we’ve been so close-”

“What, you think that what, because we’ve been friends since we were kids and you been pinin after me for however the fuck long, I should just date you? Like it’s destiny or some shit? What the fuck man?” He stands and Indrid mirrors him.

“Do not put words in my mouth. I never wanted to interfere in your life, I never, you can’t possibly know how I feel!”

“Oh yeah? You think I’m really that fuckin oblivious? I suspected you felt some kind of way about me, and I gave you chances to show me I was right!”

“Name one.” Indrid growls, stepping closer.

“Homecomin, my eighteenth birthday, about a dozen times last year where I asked if you had your eye on anyone and you’d change the goddamn subject,” Duck counts out on his fingers, closing the remaining distance, “hell, coulda used those weird powers of yours to see what would happen if you told me.”

“I was too scared to. And if you were so observant, and apparently not opposed to the idea, why didn’t you make a move on me?”

“What do you think me kissin you on your birthday was?”

“A joke! Goodness, Duck, you know I’m not great with social cues. I didn’t think you’d ever care about me that way.”

“You think I’m that fuckin shallow?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He growls.

“So what was your end-game, huh? Just wait out everyone else, circle me like a fuckin vulture until I’d settle for you? Fuck, Minerva was right, you are creepy.”

Duck may as well have punched him. He sort of wishes he had.

“Fuck. you. Wayne.” He hisses out, stepping around him and towards his room.

“Nah, fuck you, Indrid. Fuck you for makin me think you actually cared about me when all you were doin was bidin your goddamn time!”

“That’s not, no, nevermind. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

Duck tosses back, “That’s as good as a confession in my book, you creepy, mothman lookin motherfucker,” and Indrid slams the door.

There’s ten minutes of hurried, angry movement in the rest of the apartment, and then the front door bangs shut.

He cycles through anger (at himself, at Duck, at these obnoxious powers for not helping him prevent the fight), hurt, and numb acceptance that he has blown his oldest, closest friendship to smithereens.

When he finally calms down enough to think clearly he realizes that, if nothing else, he doesn’t want that to be the last conversation they have before Duck leaves.

He faceplants onto his bed, pulls out his phone, and types.

Indrid: I’m sorry for losing my temper, and for not telling you the truth sooner. Even though it would have been helpful if you’d been clearer in the past. Can we talk about this tomorrow, and try again?

The answer is immediate.

Duck: Staying with M until we leave. Don’t text me again unless the apartment is on fire.

He stares at the response, then slides the phone under his pillow, presses his face to the mattress, and lays there numbly until he falls asleep.

——————————————————

“Nope, you are not having a sad hook-up on my watch.” Barclay’s tone freezes Indrid in place, and he slumps back down into the booth at the bar.

Barclay is only a year ahead of him, but at times he reminds Indrid of a mother hen. A very, very large mother hen.

“I cannot believe I allowed you to drag me out on Homecoming weekend.”

“Indrid, you’ve been miserable for almost two months, and I’m honestly really worried about you. Plus, this place has super cheap, real good appetizers.”

“Thank you for not saying ‘apps.’’ Indrid sips his soda.

“That word is an abomination. And you’re avoiding the actual topic.”

“I destroyed my best friend’s trust in me, and am wallowing here while he cavorts in the rainforest with his girlfriend. I’ll survive, but there’s no rule that says I have to enjoy it.”

Barclay sighs, “Look, if I give you permission to be miserable while you do it, will you come to trivia night with me, Joe, and Jake? Dani’s usually out fourth, but she’s helping Aubrey get her magic show up and ready to open.”

Indrid blows a strand of hair from his face (the black patches are getting worse, he needs to dye it again), “I can mope as much as I want?”

“You can cry into your beer for all I care, as long as you let me buy it.”

Trivia night turns out to be much better than anticipated, though Joe, Barclay’s boyfriend, is terrifying to behold in a battle of information.

Movie goes better, game night even better still, and soon Indrid is hanging out with the others more days than not. He even helps Aubrey design and draw up some last minute posters for her show.

It’s the morning after opening night (and the following celebration) that his phone alerts him to a new email. The subject simply says “Bug.”

It’s from Duck.

All it contains is a photo, clearly taken at night on a phone, of a moth with bright pink wings and red eyespots.

He types, Neat! Then, after a moment, adds What species?

He doesn’t expect a response. But the next day, another email awaits him.

Dr. Graslie (Entomologist here) thinks it’s Leucanella apollinairei. Here’s someone more familiar

This picture is of a small crustacean. Indrid smiles; it’s a crawdad.

He replies Careful, maybe it followed you all the way from Kepler. Seen anything else interesting?

This time he waits two days for a response, but it opens with, sorry, internet is real spotty. Big shock, I know.

This is followed by two paragraphs describing trees. Indrid has never been so happy to hear about root systems.

Soon Duck is emailing him whenever he can. At first, it’s only about the wildlife, the field work he’s doing, and the terror of trying to practice hygiene in the middle of a rainforest. Slowly, other details appear; the things he’s homesick for, the ways in which he and Minerva are starting to grate at each other (you’d think being in the middle of nowhere’d get you some peace and quiet. Nope).

Indrid responds with updates from school, pictures of the outings he and the others go on, news about the promo art several places in town have hired him to do after seeing the posters for Aubrey’s act. Says he hopes Minerva and Duck are able to work things out.

Winter break comes sooner than seems possible, and he assumes the next time he sees Duck will be when they’re home visiting their folks.

Which is why, when he’s sitting at home reading after his last final, the door opening alarms him (Dani has already moved out). That is, until he glimpses the future.

“Duck?” He calls softly.

His friend appears in the doorway, luggage left behind him in the entryway.

“Hey, ‘Drid.”

“I, ah, assumed you’d be staying with Minerva until you could officially move out.”

Duck shakes his head, “I ain’t movin anywhere. Unless you want me to.”

“No.” Indrid fidgets with the agate, tucked safely in the pocket of his sweatpants.

“We, uh, we broke up. Minerva and me. It was, uh, mutual, though she was the one to pull the trigger, so to speak. Just found there were some things we didn’t agree on. Weren’t compatible on neither.”

“I’m sorry.”

Duck snorts what’s almost a laugh.

“I mean it.” He stands, voices earnest and gentle, “I know you were happy with her, and the relationship meant a lot to you.”

“Yeah” Duck sounds tired, “It did. But it turns out another one meant more.”

Indrid stops moving. Also, possibly, breathing.

“I…well, I sent you that first email instead of apologizin because I was still kinda hurt, but I realized I missed you. I didn’t want you gone from my life. And the longer I was gone, the more times I turned around wanting to tell you somethin and was sad you weren’t there, got excited at the thought of showin you somethin or sending you pictures, I realized I did plenty to fuck things up. And that’s before we get to the fact I was dreamin about you most nights.”

Duck steps awkwardly forward, until they’re toe to toe, “I missed you, ‘Drid. So fuckin much. And I’m sorry for the things I said durin the fight.”

“As am I. I ought to have thought how my confession would appear to you. I’m sorry I did not.”

“I guess, what I’m tryin to say is I feel like a real dipshit for havin to go halfway across the globe to realize what I really want.”

“And what do you want, Duck?”

Duck cups his cheeks, and then Indrid is tipping forward, into a kiss he’s dreamed of for years. His arms close around Duck’s shoulders, his lips taste chapstick and cold night air. He pulls away to breathe and gets only an instant to do so, Duck chasing his mouth for kiss after kiss, his eagerness sending them tripping onto the bed.

Indrid lands on top of Duck, hears him whimper when his name leaves Indrid’s lips.

“‘Drid, ‘Drid, please-”

“Yes” He kisses his cheek, “whatever it is, the answer is yes.”

Duck giggles into his neck, “You got no idea how bad I wanna make a goof on that. But, fuck, ‘Drid, I can’t, all I want is you.”

“Likewise.” He purrs, hooking Ducks leg around his own, nuzzling up his neck before attacking his lips with kisses.

“That, that a rock in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?” Duck tugs on his lower lip.

“Both. See?” He produces the agate, holds it where Duck can get a look at it.

“Holy shit, is that the one I gave you a million years ago?”

“Indeed. It became a sort of grounding object, because it was pleasant to touch and reminded me of you. Later it morphed into a sort of good luck charm.”

Duck closes Indrid’s fist around the rock and kisses it, grins, “There, now it’s twice as lucky.”

Indrid holds him close, basks in the love radiating from him as he murmurs, “It’s not the luckiest thing in the room, though. That honor, I believe, belongs to you and I.”

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #reader request #college au #duck x indrid

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likeshipsonthesea · 7 years

Text

Ooby Dooby (1/?)

[1] [2]

Inspired by this because I just couldn’t not. The title is from the Wiggles, because Fruit Salad is my jam.

*~*~*

As he sits on a park bench at eight forty-two in the morning, sipping horrible coffee and watching as two toddlers systemically undress a Barbie doll in a sandbox while their mothers gossip about some woman named Susan five feet away, Nursey regrets every decision he ever made. Okay, not every decision, but one decision specifically; his decision to take Lardo up on her bet during their game of flip cup last week.

See, the problem is that Drunk Nursey (an entity deserving of its own capitals) is far more confident than Regular Nursey is on a daily basis. Which means, unfortunately for Nursey’s general wellbeing, that when Drunk Nursey is in control, it usually leads to a further drunken Nursey and also horribly overconfident decisions. So Nursey accepted Lardo’s challenge to a game of flip cup (horrible decision number one) and then, after losing twice, accepted the bet Lardo proposed; if he won, she’d make the cover art for his next novel, but if she won, he had to write a children’s book for her to illustrate.

Neither of them were particularly invested in children’s literature, but Lardo had been itching to do something new since her last gallery opening. Sadly all of the stories she came up with were fairly unimaginative, the best of them being a story about a little girl losing a shoe and realizing in the end that it wasn’t the shoe she had gained, but the friends she made along the way. So yeah, she wanted help.

And Nursey, of course, lost terribly and then proceeded to sign a napkin stating that he couldn’t reneg on his offer, which Shitty got notarized through some definitely sketchy means, so now Nursey was at a children’s park at eight in the morning on a Saturday because he hadn’t had experience with a child since he was one, and he’s pretty sure the nineties was a hundred years ago, kid-wise, and he has no idea what kind of book a child would like to read.

He was half-expecting some indignant mother to come up to him and accuse him of being a pedo or something when something big and fast hits him in the head and knocks the living beejesus out of him.

His coffee, which was shit to begin with because apparently no one thought to start up a good coffee shop near where exhausted parents hang out (really poor decision making on Starbucks’ part), goes everywhere, including Nursey’s pants, leaving a giant brownish stain surrounding the crotch, which implies a confusing mix of pissing and shitting himself at the same time.

“Shit,” he hears someone say, and he’s about to wholeheartedly agree when he looks up and sees the most beautiful lumberjack he’s ever seen in his life. The man, who Nursey can only assume is the lovechild of Aphrodite and Hephaestus who got the best of both worlds from his parents’ genes, has a grimace on his face, holding a blue rubber ball in one hand and a child in his other.

Oh sweet lord who thought it was okay to give this man a child? Nursey thinks helplessly, watching as the wind blows at the man’s gorgeous, soft looking orange hair, ruffling it prettily. He’s got on a red flannel, a t-shirt on under that, and a tan leather jacket over the whole thing that looks worn and soft and Nursey wants to live inside this man’s jacket, what the fuck.

“Are you okay?” the man asks, and Nursey wants to tell him no, no I am not, I just realized that actual mythical beings live among us and I need to sit down for a second, but he doesn’t say that because he has been walking around and talking to people for about twenty four years now, and if that’s taught him anything, you cannot disclose your belief in the supernatural during a first meeting. (He takes a moment to mourn that one date back in sophomore year of college where he rambled on about ghosts for forty minutes and then, when he asked the girl out again via text, she’d just sent back the ghost emoji and a thumbs down. Nursey shakes his head; so harsh.)

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Nursey says. Then he realizes that no, hot coffee in your nether regions doesn’t really put you in the Fine column, but chooses not to correct himself. Hot Lumberjack Father already looks so upset, and Nursey thinks he’s probably about to be arrested for violating the Geneva Convention just by putting that frown on Hot Lumberjack Father’s face.

“I can reimburse you for the dry-cleaning,” the man says, which Nursey almost laughs at because he’s wearing jeans, not a three-piece suit.

“It’s fine, man, they’re just jeans.” He shrugs, frowning down at himself a little because the coffee’s getting cold. “I’ll just put them in the wash.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Hot Lumberjack Father rubs at the back of his neck, sheepish, as the adorable child in his arms has taken the ball from him. The child, Nursey realizes, is obviously HLF’s son (he decides then that he needs an initialism or he’s just be saying Hot Lumberjack Father in his head, which is too many syllables and will take time away from staring at HLF’s face and sighing) as he’s got the same color hair, the same nose, and the same adorable smattering of freckles all over his face. The kid, it seems, is also three seconds from crying.

“Hurt?” the kid asks, whimpering a little, and HLF curses again, softly.

“No, no, Parker, it’s fine, you didn’t hurt him.” It’s instant, HLF turns all of his attention to his kid, bouncing a little instinctively and murmuring soft noises, and Nursey already wants to marry this man just so he can watch him soothe children on a daily basis.

“It’s fine, little dude,” Nursey says, grinning at the kid, Parker, in a way he hopes is charming and not going to get him arrested. “I needed a shower anyway.”

Parker blinks slowly and he’s got the same pretty eyes as his dad does (which Nursey means in a non-creepy, totally factual way) and his lip wobbles. “Weally?” he asks, and fuck it, both HLF and his son have stolen Nursey’s heart, mind, and soul, he is done, he can lie down on the ground and die now because this is everything he will ever need to see.

“Of course,” Nursey says, brightly despite his inner utter collapse of everything he ever thought he knew. “Look at these jeans, they’ve got holes in them.” Nursey adopts a solemn expression. “You’ve done me a big favor, really. Now I can go buy new ones.”

Parker looks hesitant for a moment before smiling shyly, which makes his father sigh in relief, and Nursey is inordinately proud of himself for causing it. “Shopping good,” he says after a moment. “Spidaman.”

HLF waves his free hand haphazardly. “We went shopping the other day,” he explains, “and he got Spiderman pajamas. I think he loves them more than me.” The man rolls his eyes (and Nursey is like three seconds away from telling HLF that Nursey can love him enough for the whole world which is way too much) and adjusts Parker on his hip.

“I hear that. I got a Captain America t-shirt a few months back and it’s the best thing I’ve ever bought.” Nursey is delighted when Parker, and therefore his father, lights up at the mention of Captain America. Which is how he ends up in a half-hour conversation with a two year old about Civil War, which is mostly the both of them agreeing and raving about Sam Wilson, so that’s awesome.

Eventually, as toddlers are wont to do, Parker gets distracted and toddles off towards the sandbox, leaving Nursey alone with HLF (who introduced himself as Dex when there was a break in the conversation. “Hockey nickname,” he’d explained, and Nursey wondered where he could get an engagement ring close by.)

“He doesn’t usually like strangers,” Dex says, watching his son with a practiced ease while still kind of looking at Nursey. He smiles, though, and looks at Nursey fully for a full moment. “You must be special.”

“I like kids,” Nursey manages to get out between internally combusting and thanking Drunk Nursey for getting him into this situation. He doesn’t give Drunk Nursey nearly enough credit sometimes.

Dex’s eyebrows go up just slightly. “You have any?” he asks, and Nursey realizes that sitting on a park bench on a Saturday morning, watching children play, is so exceedingly creepy when you don’t actually have a kid of your own. And he can’t just explain that he’s only here because his drunk self makes horrible decisions, not if he doesn’t want Dex to pick up his son and run away horrified, and Nursey is just about to panic when his mouth somehow gains control without his knowing and answers for him.

“Yeah, he’s about Parker’s age.” What the fuck.

“Oh.” Dex smiles and looks towards the playground. “Which one is yours?”

“He’s not here,” Nursey gets out quickly before his mouth can fuck him over again and point to any random kid out here to claim as his own. He doesn’t care how gorgeous Dex is, he isn’t going to go pick up a random child and risk getting his name on some list just to earn Dex’s affection. “He’s with his mom,” he says, thanking the Lord that he is a writer and can make up fairly good bullshit on the spot. “It’s her weekend.” As an afterthought, he adds, “I missed the noise.”

Dex’s expression goes soft and understanding, and holy fuck Nursey is taking advantage of a young father almost exclusively because he can actually see Dex’s arm definition through three layers of fabric. He is going to hell. “Yeah, I get that.” He looks over at Parker, who is now smiling happily at a handful of sand. “Whenever he stays with my parents I go out of my mind missing him.”

“His mom doesn’t keep you company?” Nursey thought he was hella smooth, inquiring after Dex’s singleness like that, but then Dex’s expression kind of crumbles and Nursey hisses idiot silently to himself.

“Parker’s mom doesn’t really want anything to do with us,” he says, his eyes darkening.

Nursey panics, trying to think of a way to salvage this (which, he’s already fucked, he made up a fictitious child, he isn’t going to save this unless can impregnate a woman like two years ago and/or steal a child, which, nah) and he says, “Her loss, then,” with as much earnest emphasis as he can manage.

Dex looks back at him, his expression turning lighter, considering, as he looks at Nursey. Nursey hopes he’s thinking something along the lines of “You’re really cute and good with my son and I’ll totally forgive you for making up the existence of a human being because I can tell you give good head” but is probably actually “This guy is weird and I should probably get Parker out of here before we end up on the news”.

Dex surprises him, however, because he says, “We have to get going- I have a shift I can’t miss and I need to drop him off at my sister’s beforehand- but we should meet up sometime. Maybe have a playdate?” Dex looks so beautiful, so carefully hopeful like he knows Nursey is going to turn him down, and, look. Really, Nursey is about to turn him down, something about being too busy or how his kid is allergic to the sun (he doesn’t fucking know) but then Dex says, “Parker doesn’t really have any friends his age and it’d be nice if- well, it’d be nice.” And then he smiles, soft and kind and all gorgeous and shit, and come on, you can’t expect Nursey to have that much self control (see: how he got in this situation in the first place).

So he says yes. He gives Dex his number and Dex texts him and then Dex is in his phone, beautifully, godlike, lumberjack, hockey-playing Dex, and Nursey only just manages to keep himself from caressing the screen in front of Dex. Dex calls Parker back over and picks him up again, and they both wave bye with the best matching grins on their faces, and Nursey watches them leave, sighing, because he hadn’t even been thinking about his future beyond this stupid children’s book an hour ago but now he knows, knows, that Dex and Parker are all he wants in his life.

When father and son are finally out of his sight, Nursey makes a group chat on his phone with everyone his knows and trusts (so, like, Shitty, Lardo, and Ransom and Holster, and then he adds Jack for good measure). He sends one message

Nursey to All

anyone know where I can get a toddler?

#nurseydex #dexnursey #derek nurse #nursey #check please #william poindexter #dex #kid fic #ficlet #my writing #i love that tweet okay #and i guess i'm in a writing mood lately #it's better than homework at least

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