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Concentrating hard on his reflection, the duck squints his eyes as he precisely manoeuvres his feathered hand, carefully using a small paintbrush to apply a fresh coat of marigold yellow non-toxic paint onto his beak.
Something he’d done since he was rather young, truth be told. Growing up, he knew there was something that just wasn’t quite right. That there was something about him that didn’t quite make sense.
It wasn’t until he was about to start university that he’d been able to identify exactly what was wrong. He learned that feeling like he wasn’t really meant to be in that body, or have those parts, or look that colour… he discovered that he wasn’t the girl he’d been raised as.
So, he quickly began to work on how he can make his body match his brain. The littlest detail mattered to him, as with everything else in his ridiculously complex life.
After doing some research, he made his first move: going to the drug store. Superdrug was a decent shop - it usually had everything you need if you’re looking for make-up, perfume, supplements… on that day, though, all he purchased was a dozen boxes of dark green hair dye.
Immediately, he opened the boxes, stripped naked, and began applying dye anywhere that any normal person might be able to see them, and set a timer as instructed by the packaging. Of course, he’d added an extra few minutes, juuust to make sure it definitely works properly. After the alarm went off, he took his time walking into his shower, and watched in mild satisfaction as the water dripping from his body was tinted a dark green - and, how even once it ran clear, the feathers on his body seemed to have remained the colour he desired. Turning the knob, he shakes his feathers off, then steps out of the shower. Wiping an arm across the bathroom mirror to clear the steam that had accumulated on it, he can’t help the smile that works its way onto his face. Staring at his once brown, now green feathers, his tail began wagging excitedly. This, this is who he is.
Still, though, as he gazed in delight at his own reflection, he couldn’t help but feel as though something still wasn’t quite right. Not his chest - he was never well endowed enough for anyone to even say he had breasts - in fact, he soon realised that what wasn’t quite right was his beak.
And so, he bought some non-toxic paint the very next day, and clumsily painted his greyish beak a bright, bold yellow. And, as he looked in the mirror at his new face, he couldn’t help his next thought.
Man, I am handsome.
And that’s what led him here, at 4am, in his flat’s bathroom. Perhaps quite a ridiculous time for it, but he had no other choice. Being at uni gave him little free time for a job, so he immediately decided he’d need to stay with some other students. Not an uncommon tactic, however one he feels just a little ashamed he’d had to do. Had his family accepted him, he wouldn’t even need to work a job, but…
Shaking his head, he sighs, getting back to work. He’s nearly done, now. Just a patch on the left to do. Looking down to dip the brush back into the tub, Robin gasps - no, no, no! How could he have run out?! He should have had more than enough to finish this job - and another! Opening the medicine cabinet, he rummages through his shelf, and- fuck, fuck! Where the hell is it?! His emergency tube seems to have vanished. He always kept it by the front, and he saw it just last week!
When he remembers, his heart drops.
Four nights ago.
It’d been a long shift performing at the bar. Entering his shared flat, Harry greets him from the livingroom. “Oh, hey. Y’alright?” he asked. Robin just muttered incoherently, making his way to the couch, sitting down next to the taller one, cuddling into his side. The two weren’t together, but they both enjoyed each other’s company, and liked having little moments to themselves like this. Something about it was just… comforting. Especially on nights like that one. Immediately, Harry wrapped an arm around his smallest flatmate, pulling him in closer, with a short chuckle. “Long day, eh?” he asks. The green haired duck nodded, burying his face contently into Harry’s side. Content, they enjoy the silence in each other’s presence for a while, barely listening to the quiet news broadcast in the background. Then, Harry remembered something, announcing it with a little ‘Oh!’
Sitting up a little, he lightly shook the others shoulder, who merely grumbled in acknowledgement. “I forgot to say, but, uhm… the other one ran out of Yellow paint earlier. Needed more, quick, to finish his project for tomorrow. So, he took the tube in your cabinet. Is that alright?” he asked quietly.
Not really listening, Robin once again grumbled into Harry’s side, appreciating the warmth the embrace offered. Signing, Harry pulled him close once again. It didn’t take long for Robin to fall asleep, or forget what Harry had told him.
Only now, Robin does remember, but right now he can’t go and get more. That tube in the cabinet was the last one, what the hell does he do now?! He can’t go out looking like this!
Deep, crippling panic begins to set in, and he feels as though his legs can barely hold his own weight. That the room around him is spinning. Leaning against the bathtub, he slides down to the cold tile floor, gripping at the feathers on his head tightly as he tries, and fails, to slow his unstable breathing. Tears form at the corner of his eyes as his thoughts spiral.
What are they going to think when they see me?
They’ll kick me out, too. Like everyone does.
Or maybe they’ll keep me. Force me to stand in the living room all day like some kind of stupid ornament they bought just to laugh at.
Probably won’t even listen to his explanation. They’ll see him sitting here, a pathetic little pile of fake green feathers on the floor.
They probably knew all along. Just playing along to see how long he can uphold his facade.
Pretty pathetic to get so worked up over something as stupid as some paint. Just wash it off and forget about it. If you stop painting it, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. Don’t have to keep lying.
Fuck, they’ll probably tell him he’s-
“Woah, woah, woah - hey! Robin, what’s going on?”
That angelic voice broke him out of his thoughts briefly, the bird quickly glancing up to his large, red friend. At first, he felt relief, wanted to thank him, oh, thank goodness you’re here! I was having the most terrible thoughts…
But, then, he remembered. He remembered those terrible, awful, disgusting thoughts.
Once again in a panic, he used his feet and free hand to scuttle into the farthest corner of the bathroom than the red one, other hand covering his face as he hides it into the corner of his arm, streams of tears falling onto the chequered floor and onto his feathered arm.
Shaking his head, he stutters- “No, no, no, get back…! D-don’t look at me!” He tries to yell, but it comes out as more of a whimper as he shrinks into the corner, making himself as tiny as he possibly can, hoping that maybe he’ll fold in on himself and disappear entirely.
Click.
The bathroom door shut and locked.
Muffled, heavy footsteps approach, and oh, fuck, god, oh fuck, no, please just say back, don’t look…!
A quiet thud emanates a few feet away, and a soft, fluffy hand gently finds itself on Robins shoulder. Freezing up, the bird’s eyes go wide, then squeeze shut as he allows the contact, the comfort of touch from his flatmate. After all, he figures, this’ll probably be the last time he’ll be able to indulge in that luxury.
Thumb rubbing gently back and forth on the duck’s shoulder, the red one speaks, voice hushed: careful, cautious as not to frighten the small creature anymore than he likely already has. “Hey, Robin, it’s ok. It’s just me…”
But that’s exactly the problem. That you’re here, and seeing me like- like this. A Pitiful little disgrace in the corner.
Robin shakes his head, still shuddering, barely able to control the sobs, cries, and raged breaths which he struggles to take in, in the first place. “Gh- gnn… n-no, don’t l-look…” he stutters out, trying to hide as much of himself as possible. Still, though, he doesn’t pull away from the contact.
Signing, Harry shuffles slightly closer to his feathered friend as he bawled his eyes out. Fuck, it hurt his heart to see the little guy hurting so much. In a perfect world, he’d pull the bird into his arms, holding him tight and letting all his woes slip away into nothing, content in a world where he could find comfort in his larger companion.
Persistent in helping the avian fellow, still, he moves his hand from Robin’s shoulder, across his back, and over his other shoulder, bringing him into a half-embrace. Instantly, the green one shoved his face onto the other's chest, and Harry completes the embrace, pulling Robin closer into the hug, off of the cold floor and onto his lap.
“Shhh, it’s okay, you’re alright… I’m here. Just breathe, okay, love?”
Shit, Harry thinks to himself, love? Seriously? You nitwit, Harry… saying shit like that at a time like this…
Through Harry’s inner turmoil, he brings a hand up to Robins head, delicately rubbing his pawed fingers through his soft feathers in an attempt to calm him. Simultaneously, duck had began to calm slightly, breathing in Harry’s scent, listening to his slightly-too-fast heart beat, and allowing himself to enjoy the sensation of the gentle giant’s hand on his scalp. Sobs quieting down to sniffs, hiccups, and choppy breathing, Harry feels like now might be a good time to ask the bird what caused him such a panic.
“Hey, Rob… you feeling any better?” he asks first, treading lightly to ensure he doesn’t startle or upset his friend again. Against the fluffy chest he’s nestled into, Robin nods. A good enough answer for Harry.
“Good.” He replies softly, hand on the smaller housemate’s head slowing, moving down to lightly rest on the other’s neck. After a moment, he speaks again.
“So… um, what… do you wanna tell me what happened?” he enquires, though near instantaneously regrets his word choice, cringing as the bird curls up further in his grasp. “N-no… I can’t- you… you can’t… I-I-” he stutters out, but harry shushes him quietly. “Shh… take your time, Rob. There’s no rush…”
God, the way Harry was so patient with him during moments like these despite how often he tests the red one’s patience… it makes his heart throb, adoration for the beast growing tenfold. Part of him hates himself for feeling that way. Another part just wants to gush about how he truly feels to the larger one. But… he’s always been scared to. Scared of rejection. Scared of being found out.
Like he is now.
“Hn… I-I didn’t want you to… to find out. N-not like this, I… I don’t know what to do, Harry…” he confesses, tears blurring his vision of the soft fur before him.
Swallowing, Harry pauses. He’s… unsure what exactly duck is trying to say. But, it definitely seems as though he has more to say but doesn’t know how. Or… maybe he doesn’t want to. Am I the problem…? He wonders.
“Um… d-do you… not want to tell me about it?” He asks, unable to help the hurt tone that seeps through his words. Scared that his little friend doesn’t trust him, or is afraid of him, or-
“N-no… well, I… I-I do, but I’m… I’m scared.” the bird whispers, cries fall to silent tears once again. His voice hurts, and his voice is a little more hoarse than usual.
Harry’s heart sinks.
“Scared… are you scared of… of me…?” Harry asks, worried. Each day he tries so hard not to be the monster he believes himself to be in front of his peers. What has he done to show his true colours, he wonders? He doesn’t want Robin to be afraid of him. To hate him. To-
“N-no, not you… uhm, but…” he sniffs, shifting slightly against the bigger one. “I, um… I’m scared of how you might… f-feel…” he explains, “... if I tell you. If y-you see…”
Tears pooling once again at the corners of his eyes.
“If you- if… if you know who I… am…”
Shocked, Harry’s moth falls agape under the long strands of string he calls his hair. Afraid of Harry… knowing him? Closing his mouth, he smiles endearingly down at the smaller figure, letting out a quiet chuckle.
“Rob, you say the craziest things sometimes. Silly bird..” he fawns, hand on the others neck moving back to the top of his little head. “Nothing could change the way I feel about you. You’re funny, smart, cute…” he lists, a little bashful after that little confession.
“Please, Rob… trust me when I say that there’s nothing you could ever say or do that could possibly make me think ill of you.”
Moving his face a few centimetres off the beasts chest, now wet with tears, he looks up through his eyelids at the other. “R-really…? You… y-you really feel that way…?” he questions.
Harry nods.
Robin sighs, looking down.
Well.
Some part of his brain still urges him to hide away, to never let his secret see the light of day. But…
Maybe letting Harry know would be good. Maybe he could help him. Going through it alone is tough. And he likes being able to tell him things. What a good listener the red one is.
Having thought over his options, he breathes in deeply, then exhales, fixing his posture slightly against the other.
“Right. I’ve made my choice. I’ll… I’ll show you. But you must promise you shall never tell another soul. A-and… you won’t hate me.” he commands, though near the end of his statement he sounds more as though he’s begging the creature not to hate him. Not to abandon him in his time of absolute utmost need.
Felt hands find their way either side of the birds face, gently holding his head in his hands. “Of course, Robin. I could never hate you.” he reassures softly, thumbs caressing his feathery cheeks.
Okay, well. This is it. The bird thinks to himself.
Slowly, the bird lifts his head up, looking up towards the red one. His feathers are dishevelled, and his eyes are swollen and pink and there’s tear tracks running all down his face. But Harry doesn’t care. He’s gorgeous, as always. But he does notice something… different.
One of the hands on the avian’s face moves towards his beak, and he squeezes his eyes shut as the other’s paw pads gently move across the areas he’d not long since painted, and rest near the patch he’d not been able to fill in.
“What… happened…?” Harry asks carefully, noting the tacky sensation his beak strangely had, and watching as little yellow flakes fall off, revealing more grey patches below.
Opening his eyes again, the green one can barely see the other through wet eyes. “Did you… put paint on your beak?” Harry asks.
Robin’s heart sinks.
Oh, god… he doesn’t even know. Fuck, why would he? He’s not a duck…! Well, it’s too late now. Better than anyone, Robin knows that the red one isn’t dull. He won’t accept a bad answer or an excuse now that he knows there’s more to it.
“U-uhm, well… yes…”
He confesses, heartbeat soaring as the red one continues to run his fingers along the smooth surface of his beak, gently removing the spoiled paintwork.
“... and… I dye my feathers green…”
Harry stops.
“What?” he questions, perplexed by the confession.
“Aren’t all duck’s feathers green? You are a duck, aren’t you?” he follows up, now totally lost.
Duck shakes his head, letting out a stifled laugh at the silly question he’d been asked. “Yes, I’m a duck.” he replies. Then, lets out a sigh.
“But… I shouldn’t really be green.” he begins, “When I was born… my feathers were brown. My beak was greyish. Like my sister’s beaks all were.”
Uncomfortable in their current position, the duck moves, turning his back so it’s pressed against reds, and he comfortably sits on the large man’s lap.
“But… my brothers, they all had green feathers, and yellow beaks. Like… like my dads.”
“I can’t remember when I really knew, but… I realised I wasn’t right. Why were my feathers brown? It didn’t make any sense…”
He pauses, looking up at Harry, who’s looking down at him, listening intently. Robin frowns, looking down at the bathroom tiles. Counting them subconsciously.
“... I told mum, and I told dad, but… they said I was silly. My feathers were fine the way they were. My beak was meant to be grey. But I- I knew it was wrong!” he exclaims, suddenly letting go of the fear he’d felt of telling the other what happened. “They didn’t listen to me when I told them what was happening to my body wasn’t right. That I should be more like Jay, or Sparrow, or- or any of them! But they didn’t care!”
Tears threaten once again to fall from his eyes, but Harry’s hands reach up, wiping the fresh tears away from the birds face. “They didn’t care…” he whispered. “They didn’t care that I… that I wasn’t… a girl . Because to them I was. I had brown feathers, and I had a grey beak. That was proof.”
Harry wrapped his arms around the other, who placed his hands over the larger pair of arms, holding on tight.
“So… I started dying them. And painting it. And it’s like…” he smiles. “It’s like, when I looked in the mirror, the person staring back was… me. It was actually me…” he whispers, nuzzling his face into the soft arms cuddling him.
Moments of silence pass, before Harry leans forward, placing his head by Robin’s own. Mouth to the place where the duck’s shoulders and neck meet, he stares at the handsome man in his arms.
“Robin…” he mutters into his feathers. “... I’m… sorry.” he apologises.
Now, Robin was confused.
“You’re… sorry? For what? Harry…” he whines, wanting the beast to spit it out already so he can… go back to bed, or something.
“I’m… I’m sorry you felt like you had to hide from me.” he starts, and Robins heart begins to melt. “And I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you through this sooner. And… I’m sorry you had to go through that, with your family. I…” Shaking his head, he stops.
“I’m sorry.” he finishes.
Robin smiles warmly, turning his head to Harry, tears falling from his eyes. Worried he might have said something to upset duck, Harry’s eyes clearly display worry- but, before he can even get a word in, Robin’s speaking again.
“Thank you.”