Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

    "You're stunning," Duck squawked. 

    Red paused in thought, flicking a piece of egg back and forth with his fork. His eyes slowly crossed the kitchen table to meet Duck's. 

    "Don't be weird." He looked back to his meal and put the egg out of its misery. He parted his mop of string with his free hand to allow the bite passage. 

    Duck didn't look back to his breakfast. He dipped into his mug, absentmindedly filtering coffee through his bill as his face cooled down. He kept his eyes upturned, locked on the side of Red's face. He squinted inquisitively.

    Things had been different recently, which didn't happen often, and Duck wasn't all too bothered by it, which happened even less. Though he couldn't quite remember the origins of the change– yesterdays and last weeks were always rather fuzzy– he was quite certain that the nature of he and the stringish one's relationship had developed. 

    The red thing hadn't questioned his complement, for instance, despite how out of character it must have seemed. It could have asked what he meant, or why he had said that word, if it hadn't known. Duck (a perceptive fellow) had picked up on these signs over what he could only assume were the past few weeks. But it required experimentation.

    Duck had been thinking about what he could say, as word choice was very important to him. How to come on just strong enough, which word would best describe the particular characteristics he admired. He had held back, however, with his timing, to the point of nearly putting the project on indefinite hiatus. But in a turn of fate, he had chosen to execute his word experiment that morning with confidence, thanks to the events of the previous night.

    The previous night was clearer to Duck than many other "previous nights" that he'd experienced. The big fellow had offered to make dinner. He'd distracted the smaller one with some game or other. He'd come back to the kitchen and sat closer to Duck than usual. As if he'd planned to give the two of them that particular moment alone. 

     "I feel…" the red one began after a bit, before trailing off. Duck looked at it, startled enough not to talk over the pause. That one one rarely felt. Or if he did, he'd never told Duck. 

    "I think I feel lonely." 

    His hands were clasped on the table in front of him, where Duck's unsure gaze settled. Its head hung just low enough for the ends of his string to partially obscure them. He nervously traced his thumb in circles about his first knuckle. It was quiet, so Duck spoke. 

    "Oh?" He felt like he was in a meeting he hadn't received the memo for. "And what about that?"

    "Do you?"

    "Do I what?"

    "Feel lonely. Even though we're always around each other."

    "Well that's-" Duck stopped. Why would he say that's silly? He knew it wasn't. "That's… normal. To feel."

    "It's not normal. None of this is. But us three? There's something normal ."

    Duck furrowed his brow. None of this was normal? "What about our routine? Like my inventory? Our tidy house? We're perfectly regular."

    Red gripped the ends of his hair and bundled it in front of his mouth, in a sort of violent manner. Duck could tell it was biting down. Like he was being amputated. Like they used to do in the military. It uncurled its fists after regaining some composure. 

   "I hate our routine! And I hate your inventory! And I hate this horrible house and I hate regular !" He hissed through his teeth, like he was trying to whisper. Duck could tell he didn't want to alert the other one. 

    "Regular isn't normal! Or… I don't think it is. Things should be different once in a while, things should be unexpected. Consequential things, not just whichever thing is going to sing at us or whatever tiny fuzzy room we end up in. Things like… where we are, or what we can do. Or what we know about each other. Maybe we could remember something about anything once in a while! That would be normal. It's normal to want things to be new, even for only a short while, isn't it?"

    Duck looked on as Red gesticulated desperately, but he couldn't fully grasp what he meant. How could something new be normal? Red seemed to notice his confusion. Its movements slowed to a defeated stop. He balled his fists. 

    "If every day's a new surprise then how does everything everyday all blend into the same bland goddamn-regurgitated mush ?!" 

    Duck darted his hand across the table just as Red's fist came down. There was a muffled crunch and a puff of feathers. Red pulled away as soon as he noticed what he'd done. 

    "Agk!" Duck began to retract his arm but Red grabbed it first.

    "I didn't mean that! The hell'd you do that for!?" It squeezed the injured fingers with one hand, the other clumsily gathering some stray green feathers and pushing them across the table toward Duck. 

    "You should stop banging the table! It's childish! And loud! And with all your effort not to get the other one's attention! You're welcome for quieting that outburst." Duck scolded in a sharp whisper, trying to tug his hand out of the big one's much stronger grip. Red blinked down at his hands, clasped around Duck's injury (which did ache a bit). He kept his eyes there.  

    "Oh. That's right."

    "Of course I'm right. Now what are you on about with this 'unexpected normal' nonsense? And don't maim me this time if at all possible." 

    Red didn't respond. Not for a while. He gradually loosened his grip on Duck's hand, who didn't think to pull away in his growing confusion. 

     "That doesn't seem like something you'd do. You don't even know why I didn't want him over here."

    Duck didn't feel the need to respond. It was a strange nothing statement firstly, but foremost, the Red one didn't really seem to be asking for a reply. It was busy gazing down at the crushed bit, inspecting it closely, like it'd caught a glimpse of some holy symbol between the ruffled feathers. 

     He met Duck's eyes, with only the sudden swivel of his own. Duck recoiled a bit.

    "Why are you-"

    "Shut up. Let me look at you."

    Duck shut up. 

    But he did not look away. He would not fawn at this attempt to assert dominance, if that was the big one's scheme. Even if the staring contest was strange, and prolonged.

     He hadn't noticed before that the thing's eyes were blue, just around the edge. How hadn't he noticed, after they'd been housemates for… however long? Maybe it was always just that much higher up, or further away. 

     And now, Duck noticed, he was bent forward to just eye level, and he was closer. And then he was even closer. 

    And then, something unexpected happened. 

    "What do you want me to say?" Duck broke the quiet. He tilted his head, trying to catch the red one's gaze over his mug. To his surprise, he returned it (if in an annoyed manner). Its eyes flicked toward the yellow one and back, attempting to communicate something.

   "What? What does he have to do with it?"

    "What does he have to do with what?" The third housemate looked up from pouring his milk, quickly overflowing his cereal bowl while distracted.  

    "The reddish one and I are-"

    "Upset with each other! Because he um. Broke the kettle."

    "But… I used the kettle just a minute ago. Did I?" The yellow one lifted his bowl to lap a stream of milk off the side. Duck gave Red a Look. 

    "No. You didn't." He kicked Duck under the table. Duck attempted to kick back, but it was already out of range of his frustratingly stubby legs.

    The sudden sound of a wooden crank rumbled gently through the walls, cutting through the tense dialogue. The kitchen window ground to a halt to display a friendly yellow sun rising over the green hills, where there had once been a purplish dawn. Red used the cue to force a change in conversation. 

  "I wonder what will happen today?" He defaulted to his usual blasé tone of voice. Duck huffed at the attempt to dissuade him from communication. He preened a couple feathers on his hand, straightening them over his bruise, as he thought the situation over. 

    "Well… I for one am in the mood for a picnic!" Duck pushed out from the table and dropped from his chair. Yellow twisted in his seat to follow him as he made his way to the fridge.

    "A picnic! It's been ages since we did that! I want to picnic!"  

    "Yeah… that does sound quite nice actually. Get out of this stuffy house." The beast eagerly stood to retrieve the picnic basket from the pantry. 

    "Oh, you want to come?" Duck glanced at the yellow thing. "I assumed you didn't like picnics, you seemed put off at the last one if I recall. By the insects, or what all." 

    Yellow's smile faltered. "D'you think that would happen again?"

    Duck scoffed. "Well insects do live outdoors. I imagine we'll see some." 

    "What are you trying?" Red dropped the picnic basket on the table and squinted down at Duck. 

    "What do you mean? Looking out for the child?" 

    "I'm actually not a-"

    "Hush, child." Duck silenced the yellow one. He met Red's suspicion with an even gaze, until the giant's expression faltered. Just for a beat. Duck smiled.

    "Right. Ought to look out for the kid. I do think it's best if you sit this one out." It patted the yellow one twice on the back. "I'll bring you back a flower."

    The child looked disappointed, but he nodded. He looked up at the tall one with big watery eyes. "a green one?"

    "A green flower? I don't know if…" Red cut himself off. It clapped it's hand once more against Yellow's back. "Yeah. A green one. Easy." 

    "Yay!" Yellow, satisfied, finished his cereal and fished his arm around at the bottom of the box. He pulled out a cheap plastic toy shaped like a man in a sweater vest. "I got a Hovris!"

    "Good for you." Duck absentmindedly shoveled snacks into the basket. He felt it would be in his best interest to get out to the hills quickly, in case the red one changed his mind. 

    Before he could fully fill the basket, Red whisked it off the table, as if he were in a rush. Duck, while surprised by the change of heart, appreciated the enthusiasm. He trotted out of the house after him, the sounds of the other one playing with his new toy fading behind them. 

Chapter Text

    "Here I am then. You got me. You can tell me what you're plotting." Red trudged up beside Duck, closing the space between them with a couple strides and keeping pace. 

    Duck snuffed in offense. "Why must I be plotting? We have a nice time when we're out here, you don't want a nice time?" 

    The red thing's expression didn't change. He turned to look straight ahead. 

    "Oh, you're going to pout about it? You're going to pout about it because you're regretting last night? When you-"

    It's arm suddenly lashed out to nab Duck by the back of his suit collar, hoisting him off the ground.

    "ACK! What the hell do you think you're-!?" Before he finished his sentence, he was back on solid ground, a few feet ahead of where he'd been manhandled. 

    "You were about to step on a thistle." Red gestured backward with a tip of his head.

    Duck looked back to see a prickly-leaved plant with bulging red eyes and yellow teeth, hissing and spitting at its evasive prey. He shivered and averted his eyes. Best not to engage with those types.

    "I would've gone around. Obviously I'd see a thing like that." 

    "Sure. We both know how you get when you nag."

    " Nag !? And you're being so much more mature, is that it? And you didn't just want me to shut up about the-"

    "Shut up about the kiss!" The creature whipped around to face Duck, its hair twirling about its shoulders. He pinned Duck with a sharp glare. Once he caught his breath, his expression fell back to its default, and he continued up the hill. 

    Duck clutched the handle of the picnic basket at his chin. He wrung his fists around it once, before grunting indignantly and skittering to catch up. 

    "Have you been calling it a kiss? In your mind? Because for me it was a lot of bony elements. A real sort of teeth and beak situation."

    Duck watched the beast's expression for change. There was none. It was difficult to read him when he wasn't speaking. Just the eyes to go off, really. 

    "Oh look. Here we are." He spoke as if reading off a script. He plopped down on the grass cross legged and stared at the spot where the picnic usually went. Duck kept the basket and blanket hugged to his chest.

   He took a breath in, then out. He ought to try a different approach, if the red thing was really choosing to be like this. 

    "Do you… regret it?" He spoke softer. Maybe his housemate responded poorly to confrontational tone; He felt like he may have picked up on that at some point.

    "I'm beginning to," Red muttered dismissively. 

    "I can try to forget about it. Our type is usually good at that. You know… If you really do hate that you did that." 

    The beast took a deep breath and turned toward Duck. "You don't have to. Let's just… eat, a'right?" 

    Duck furrowed his brow. He would prefer to talk, but it might be no use at this juncture. The red one was a fickle thing, and Duck lamented how invested he was in what came of this new something between them. If there really was something. He shook open the picnic blanket and smoothed it on the grass. Red shuffled onto it and reached for the basket.

    The two sat in relative silence for a while. At some point, Red laid back across the blanket, stretched out long enough to conform slightly to the curvature of the tiny felt hilltop. He chewed on his ham sandwich as he rested his eyes.

    Duck assumed it was enjoying the dewy morning air and cheerful chirps of birds. Though they'd been here before, and there did seem to be a distinct loop in the birdsong, there was still a refreshing quality to it. Duck knew he'd be the one to break the silence eventually, so he got it over with. 

    "If you did it, and you don't regret it, then what's meant to come of it? Why did it happen at all?" 

    Red opened his eyes. He sat up with a grunt. "Does it matter why?" 

    "I'd certainly say so. But you can answer the other part first." Duck sat up on his knees to get closer to eye level. The thing met his stare. Its eyes were still blue. 

    "Well... Given you don't make this much of a deal of it every time… I don't really mind it going somewhere. If you're up for something like that. Or just, Y'know. More of the same."

    Partway through his proposition, his eyes darted to the lower left. Neither of them were too used to prolonged eye contact. 

    Duck sat back on his heels. He looked down at his chicken salad. There was a dead fly in it, from leaving it unattended for a moment too long. But he wasn't really thinking about flies or chicken. 

    "I don't think I'd mind that either," he admitted, after his moment of consideration. "I don't think I've ever been in a…relationship."

    Red drew up his shoulders. "Maybe we wait a bit before we call it a-"

    "Did someone say… RELATIONSHIP ?"

    With a buzz and a twitter, two playful, googly-eyed characters rose up over the hill. One was a sweet looking red bird. Before he could see the other in full, Duck had already instinctively lashed out with a swift left hook. 

    "PAH!" The little hand puppet flew back with a loud squeak.

    "PESKY-" Duck felt the giant grab his shoulders and yank him backward. 

    "Easy, mate!" It restrained Duck against its chest with an arm as the teacher regained it's bearings and buzzed back up beside the little bird. 

    "Oi, 'pologies for the start, mate! Me and my honey here were just so excited to learn that you two were exploring your relationship !" The little bee bobbed about as it spoke. 

    Duck dropped to the ground. He looked backward to see Red shuffling aside a smidge.

   "There's been a misunderstanding, there's no relationship happening. We're not- I don't like him!" 

    "Are you sure? Relationships can come in many forms! Be it boring and platonic, or exciting and passionate! Isn't that right my little chickadee?" The red bird nuzzled the bee. 

    "That's right! In fact-"

    "Wait," Duck interrupted, "didn't one of us already learn about love? From a different bug? And platonic friendship from another bug?" 

    "Well, I'm a bird!" Said the bird.

    Duck – who was nothing if not fair – certainly couldn't argue with that. 

    The bee cleared its throat.  " In fact…

     Life can get so lonely, 

    with no one by your side

    Minutes feel like hours, 

    Near endless time to bide…

    You've got some love to share 

    And he's sure got some too

    When love is in the air,

    There's just one thing to do~

    Hey! It's nice to meet you!

    (If you haven't met before)

    Hey, been thinking 'bout us,

    (If you're wanting something more)

    The bird swooped in to nudge Duck, bumping him into Red's side. He looked up to the creature's blank expression. He never seemed to be fully present during lessons like this. Duck, on the other hand, was intrigued by this one. 

    He prodded an elbow into the beast's side. He jumped and shot a look down at Duck, who gestured towards the teachers. He rolled his eyes, but sighed and–to Duck's appreciation– seemed to put on its listening ears. 

     Let's try going steady

     Hey, it's worth a shot

     I think we're ready

     I like you, ready or not!

      Wouldn't mind bein' joined at the hip!

     That's what you call a relationship! 

     "That sounds like a lot. Why do we have to make it a whole thing with its own word? And not just keep… liking each other?"

    It began the inquiry in exasperation, but reeled back his tone as he finished it. He seemed to have noticed what he'd implied, and was actively avoiding eye contact with Duck. 

   The bee hovered closer to it and winked. "Reckon just for that reason! Seems like you're looking for something that needs a word. Crushes can get tricky, so it's always better to take one more step to get out of that uncomfy situation!"

   "You have a crush on me?" Duck popped up between the bee and the red one's unmoving eyeline. 

   "Gross, no. We're adults." Red grabbed Duck by the lapel and spun him away from the teachers, yanking him forward down the hill. "This doesn't apply to us." 

    Duck pulled his jacket out of the giant's grip. "We can't just leave a lesson!" 

    He looked back up the hill at the teachers, hovering there unbothered. He frowned. Usually they were kept for a lesson in some way, but these two seemed to allow recess. 

    "Are we going home already?"

    Duck jogged to keep pace as he was pulled along. Despite it being a tad quieter than he'd hoped, and the sudden disruption, he'd had a nice time. The beast's mood had, however, shifted slightly at the intrusion. Even Duck–who's theory of mind left something to be desired at the best of times–could make out that much from its behavior. 

    The creature strode down the slope, utilizing every inch of his freakishly long legs to cover ground. Just before they reached the bloodthirsty thistle (Duck was vigilant this time) Red pulled a sharp turn off the path, into the craft foam trees. 

    "Evidently, we are not going home. You have a voice box you know, you could use it to answer my ques-"

    "Shhh."

    It held the mitted equivalent of a finger to it's lips. Duck scowled at the audacity of the gesture, but didn't say another word. Red's antics fascinated him, for one, and for the other, he was halfway hoping this could be something about the two of them. After all, he'd begun acting differently during the lesson. Maybe it had inspired him? 

    The thing slid down to the base of a large tree, pulling Duck down beside him. It peered around the trunk, apparently ensuring they weren't followed. It let out a breath. 

    "What are we doing?" Duck did his best to whisper. 

    "Probably nothing that will do us any good," he huffed, "I'm sure we're not really hidden. But it feels better to be somewhere a bit more hide-ish. Right?"

    Duck had no idea what he meant.

    "Right. Absolutely." 

    Duck twiddled his thumbs as they sat. The red thing appeared to be catching his breath, despite the stroll to the tree being rather short and low-impact. Duck made a note to scold him about his cardio at a later date. 

    The beast slid further down the tree, sinking into the tall grass up to its neck. He began tearing at the greenery under his hands, rolling clumps in his mitts until they stained green. It was restless, even aggressive, the way he did it, but his face looked deep in thought. Or at least not as violent as his hands.

    Duck felt uncomfortable. He did not like this behavior. 

    "You ought to get up from there. I'm not planning on picking any more ticks out of your ratty head." Duck crossed his arms. To his surprise, the thing obeyed. 

    "Right. That's smart."

    It looked back down to the grass and picked one last piece; A long stalk with a large cluster of seeds sprouting from the top. He tucked it behind where his ear might be. Duck looked at him strangely. He looked back. 

    "Green flower. For the third one. Can't forget." 

    Duck chuckled. "That's stupid." 

    "Yeah," he conceded with a shrug, "isn't everything?" 

     He delivered the phrase like a platitude, but Duck thought about it for a moment longer. Obviously he was the smartest one, but was everything else stupid? It was a pretty stupid thing to say.

    "No, not everything. I don't think you're stupid, usually. I don't get you sometimes, which makes me feel stupid. Imagine that. I think you act strange because you want me to think you're stupid."

    Red tilted his head. "What does it matter to me if you think I'm stupid?" His tone seemed confused, but maybe amused as well. 

    "Well… I think you want to blend in. Which is odd, because last night you were so upset about everything being the same. But you try to keep it that way all at once." Duck furrowed his brow as he found his way around the words. "Which might mean you're stupid. But you're not. You're scared." 

     There was a strange noise suddenly, something like a squawk, or a bark. Duck flattened himself against the tree, feathers puffing up from under his lapel.

    It took a beat before he realized the thing had laughed. It wasn't a real laugh though. It was reactive and awkward, like it had escaped before it could be fully cooked.

    "Hah, scared you back then, didn't I?" 

Duck caught Red's eye, and it just as quickly looked the other way. "Ah, sorry. Yeah. Well. What made you- sorry." 

    He stumbled over his words as Duck looked at him, bewildered. Just a moment ago he'd been a sort of stoic mood. Duck wondered what strange spell he'd inflicted, and how he might someday harness its power for his benefit. 

    "What, what did I say?" 

    "What made you think I'm scared? What of? Of you? Of who? Why would I?" He fiddled with the end of a lock of string. 

    "Well I'm sure of it now. You're a lousy actor. I am perceptive, so you can't be blamed for feeling intimidated." Duck huffed and tapped his bill in thought.

    "I don't think you're scared of me or anyone. I don't think you're scared of places or things. Evidently you're scared of situations, like the ones when things are samey, and when things aren't same enough." 

    Duck looked over to find the creature listening intently, as if he'd forgotten his prior bashfulness. He'd slouched forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his face very near. Duck squinted and scooted backward a bit.

    "You like getting into personal space. But you hate when someone gets in yours. So you must love contradictions. It's on theme that your eyes clash so horribly with the rest of you."

    Maybe he was being harsh, but he had a creeping feeling he'd been coerced into providing some sort of therapy, which he had not signed off on. 

    "My eyes? What about them?" The beast acted like it had never considered its own appearance once. 

    "They clash. Light blue and bright red have nothing to do with one another on the color wheel. Not complementary, not analogous. Not even similar saturation. It's really a nightmare aesthetically." He sniffed and inspected his fingertips.

    The red thing stared for a moment, blankly. Duck did not acknowledge him.

    "You really can't help it can you? You're mean. If I didn't know better I'd think you hated me. Reckon I ought to hate you." 

    Duck scoffed. "You don't hate me. That's stupid." Despite its behavior, Duck never doubted the red one held some fondness for him, in one form or another. 

    As if to confirm the theory, he suddenly found Red very close to him, his body crossing over Ducks as he craned to check the path leading to the tree. Duck had nearly forgotten that they'd been hiding, or whatever was the thing's intent. 

    Apparently having determined the coast was clear, it offered Duck an open palm. He accepted and it pulled them both to their feet. 

    "Right. I don't hate you. S'good for you I love contradictions." 

    In a quick motion, he bent at the waist and tipped Duck's chin up on its knuckle. It touched its head to the end of his bill and closed its eyes.

    The two were still for a few seconds. After what felt like much longer, Red opened his eyes, and spoke. 

    "There's no "crushes", a'right?"

    Duck sputtered, tipping his bill down to rest his head against the thing's. He stared at the forest floor.

    "Right. But a "relationship"…?"

    The beast huffed and stood up straight again, so Duck had to crane his neck back to follow.

    "None of that either. That's for the little freaks up the hill. We can't call it anything they do." 

    Duck nearly protested. How would they establish rules and guidelines for this without a teacher? But he kept his bill shut. The creature was wishy-washy, prone to impulsivity. Duck did not want to jeopardize this operation–it had become very important to him, especially in the past few minutes. 

    "What should we call "it" then?" 

    Red shrugged. "Dunno. I prefer we just wait and see wherever it goes." 

    Duck shivered at the suggestion.

    "We need to call it something. Or we won't do it at all."

    He crossed his arms and knocked his heels together, assuming the sturdy posture of a much surer man. The giant considered him from above. 

    "Okay," he offered, "up to you then."

    Duck looked out past the tree, took time to consider, then glanced back up to Red. 

    "Our Situation."

    "Our situation?"

    "You want to keep it secret from the other one for whatever reason. So we'll be vague. You like to be vague." 

    The giant huffed and turned his face up, trying to mask a laugh, but Duck could tell. "Yeah. Thanks for that." 

    "What's funny?" Duck considered this a very serious conversation.

    "It's something real different we're trying. Have some fun f'you could manage, a'right?" 

   "Oh that's rich coming from you!" 

   "I know. We're both trying something different." The thing's shoulders were more relaxed now. He seemed freshly invigorated, and–like a contagion–Duck began to relax a little as well. 

    "Okay. Then…that will have to do."

    He smoothed his lapel against his chest and brushed some grass seeds from his lap.

    "I think the next part of our Situation is going home and making sure the third hasn't wrecked the place after we've been gone so long." 

    The red one didn't say anything, but Duck assumed he nodded. It shifted to take a step beside him, but before it could lope ahead, Duck shot out to catch it's hand.

    It was a bit of a reach, but he held tight. He felt the thing take a second to register, then squeeze back.

    "Our Situation involves this."

    He did not look up to gauge a reaction. He simply began to march forward, toward home.

    He faced no resistance as the thing followed his lead, and the hand in his own held strong. 

Chapter Text

    "How come you and the other one have been going out together?" Yellow looked up from his model train to Duck, who dropped his newspaper into his lap to stare down at him.  

    "What was the question?" Duck took a quick mental inventory of himself, trying to imagine anything he'd done recently with his red creature which may have left behind anything incriminating on his person or about the area. 

    "You two've been doing activities more. Going out for longer than normal." The child nudged the train engine from hand, watching it rattle across the floor. 

    It was true. For the past few days, Duck had convinced his red one to spend more dedicated time on the Situation. To Ducks delight, it had even initiated romantic gestures itself. It seemed happy, and Duck was happy with that. But of course, that was none of the thirds business, according to the agreement.

    "We're good friends. Obviously." Duck buried his face back into his paper. He focused on a rather dull obituary. 

    "But we're friends, and we don't do all that stuff together. Why can't I ever come with?" 

    "Well adult friends do different grown-up activities."

    "But I am an-"

    "And anyway," Duck interrupted, "it's not like we need to do everything all together always, do we?" 

    "Um, well," Yellow pinched his brow, mildly distressed, "well I would actually, um, I'd like it if we did." 

    Duck moved on to the classified section. He tittered sensibly at a particularly charming used car advert. Yellow eventually went back to fiddling with his toy. 

    "I thought your name was David?" Yellow clicked the train cars together after a few attempts. 

    "I don't think so. Why?" Duck found an advert for a baby blue sport jacket. Unfortunately a bit larger than his size. 

    "Well, why did um, why did the big one call… is your name 'Baves'?"

    Duck focused intently on the baby blue jacket. He gripped the paper tighter. 

    "It certainly is NOT." 

    "But I heard that one say it, when you guys were talking in the other room. Is it a secret name? I don't have one of those. Does the other one have a secret name too?" 

    Duck considered if he'd given his red one any "secret names". He ought to, that was part of a relationship, wasn't it? Maybe it was. Duck certainly knew what had been overheard, in any case. 

    "No, he doesn't. And neither do I, so you must have heard something else." 

    "Oh. Okay." He resumed scooting his train across the floor. Duck went back to ignoring him. After a bit, the clattering of the train paused.

    "I think my secret name would be 'Dog'" Yellow said, matter-of-factly. Duck shook his head. 

    "You can't be called 'Dog' that doesn't make sense." 

    "So you get to be Baves but I can't be Dog? NOT fair…"

    "I'm NOT 'Baves'! You're thick in the head!" Duck pounded the arm of his chair, sending it rocking forward and sending himself tumbling onto the floor with a squawk. 

    "Ey! You'd better be playing nice in there!" Red's voice carried in through the kitchen door. 

    "He started it!" Yellow yelped. Duck stuck him with a sharp look. Yellow glanced back blankly, clutching both feet tight in his lap. "I dunno why I said that, actually."

    The beast entered the sitting room, ducking its head just a bit to clear the doorframe. "I don't care who started what. Dinner's nearly out. Taller one," it pointed to the yellow creature. "Get your hands washed." 

    Yellow scampered off to the washroom. Duck was left on the floor, looking up at the thing. It stooped down and scooped him off the ground, sitting him on its forearm. 

    "Left your peas frozen. Far as I remember that's the way you like them."

   He nuzzled his face into the top of Duck's head.

    Duck felt knobbly and hardly ergonomic pressed against Red's chest. He fidgeted, trying to get comfortable. Red adjusted his hold. 

    "Y'right babes? You're tense," he mumbled. 

    Duck grimaced. "Ech! Put me down!" He shoved his full arms length into the thing's chest and wriggled out of his hold. Red sputtered and dropped him onto his feet. 

    "What'd I do?" The red one groaned and crossed his arms. 

    "It's wrong! It's off!" Duck straightened his lapel. 

    "You said 'more affectionate,' I said fine, here's 'affectionate'. What do you want?"

    "Well it's–!" Duck fumbled for an explanation. The beast wasn't wrong in theory, but neither was Duck. Duck had a feeling, and those were never unfounded. 

    "I'm in a Situation with you aren't I? That was some sort of performance!"

    "I wonder why that could be," Red droned in exaggerated monotone. Duck huffed. 

    "Look mate, I'm trying my best to keep you comfortable, is that possible? That's a real question," Red lowered his voice.

    Duck would've been more offended if it didn't sound so earnest. He hugged his arms and rocked back on his feet. He didn't look up at the thing. 

    "The third one heard you, you know. Calling me 'babes'. Ought to be more careful. If we're to be covert."

    He heard Red blow out a discomforted sigh. 

    "Right. Sorry."

    "I'm not the one who has an issue about secrecy." Duck did not admit he was also somewhat uncomfortable with the third getting involved. Ideally, the Situation would not be so scandalous. He blamed the red one. 

    "Right, Sorry," Red mumbled again. Duck looked up at him. He looked down. 

    "We're still on for later tonight?" 

    "What else are you suggesting," Duck squawked, "you sound like a quitter!" 

    "I'm not, I was looking out for you." It turned it's nose away, pretending to be unconcerned. 

    "That's dumb. I asked for it, didn't I? And we already made the plans. You seem to think I don't know what I'm doing."

    "Mhm." it shifted its eyes back to Duck. "That's good. Let me know though. If you ever don't know." 

    "Guys! Is it food yet? Did you um, get busy?" The medium one peeked into the sitting room from the kitchen. 

    "Are we busy?" Red asked Duck, requesting permission to put the conversation on hold. 

    "No. Not busy at all." 

The third smiled and returned to the table. Duck started to follow but his red one held his shoulder. It dropped down to sit on its heels. 

    "I want to try something, just a second," he whispered.

    Duck eyed him up and down, meeting his gaze across. 

    "Alright."  

    A large hand brushed the back of Duck's head. He shut his eyes. 

    "We still alright?" It sounded nervous. 

    "Get on with it," Duck chirped, tense, but not unwelcoming. 

    It was a shorter kiss this time, and it was, as before, a little keratin-heavy. But Duck leaned in, pushing back a couple handfuls of string for better access. 

    He let go, and briskly finger-combed the hair he'd crumpled. The beast stared as he did it. 

    "Alright. I'm hungry," Duck stated. He patted the side of Red's face (it seemed happier) and followed the child into the kitchen. 

~~~

    "What's your favorite… band?" The red one spoke up from Duck's lap. He held a cue card in front of his face. Duck looked down from his task picking lint out of its hair. 

    The two were sprawled on Red's bed – Duck's would not have fit the both of them. Duck had insisted they read through his deck of icebreakers. It seemed like the proper activity to stimulate a fresh relationship. 

    "Bad question. Next." 

    "It's the Mifflefones, isn't it?" The thing flicked the card off to the side and looked up at Duck. Duck clicked his tongue. 

    "Nearly had it. It's-"

    "The Mifflefones reunion podcast rerecording, which you count as a separate band because of the subtle rewrites." Red corrected himself. 

   "They may be subtle, but they make all the difference. Swapping 'rarely' with 'barely' in 'Dearest, Alfonso' recontextualizes their entire genre. And their sound is far more mature." Duck tossed a ball of lint to the floor. It promptly scurried off under the bed. 

    "Have I missed any yet?" Red stretched his body out like a lazy panther, pressing against the headboard and footboard. He yawned. 

    "Are you bored?" Duck flipped through the answered cards. He frowned as he realized Red had in fact guessed every question right. According to the manual, this was not the purpose of the game. 

    "Not really. But we already know each other. We live in the same house. You talk. A lot."

    It picked up a few new cards from the top of the deck and shuffled through. 

    "Curry, Iraq, meningitis, May sixth before lunch…" He rattled off answers. 

    "It's not meant to be a quiz! It's meant to spark flavorful banter!"

    "What do we need that for?" 

    "So we don't bore each other!"

    "You're not boring me." Red reached up and scratched under Duck's chin. 

    "Ech. What's the point of a relati– our Situation– if we already know everything about one another? Shouldn't we be learning something?" Duck knocked his head against the wall behind him. 

    "Ugh. Do we have to 'learn' something? We do enough of that. I think the point is… something else," Red mumbled. 

    "When you say something like that… do you just not want to tell me, or are you admitting you don't know either?" Duck was becoming impatient. 

    Red fished the game manual out of the box and flipped through. After a while, Duck decided it wasn't planning on answering. 

    "What have you wanted to do with me but couldn't? When we weren't together. If you're done with the cards," Duck prompted. 

    Red fiddled with the edges of the pages. He rolled his head to hide his face in Duck's jacket. 

    "Hah… well we've done one of the things. Um. Couple times. And y'know. Something like this I reckon." He'd have turned red if he weren't already. Duck felt a tickle in his stomach. 

    "Well that can't be helped. I'm naturally alluring." He smoothed some feathers on his chest. "I didn't realize, though. That it'd been on your mind."

    "Thought I was a bit shit at hiding it to be honest." The beast messed with the ends of its hair. Duck snorted. 

    "I wouldn't be worried about that, frankly." He pet the thing's forehead. It pushed it's head into his hand. He smiled. 

    "You're enigmatic."

    Red opened one eye.

    "Was that from your word-a-day calendar?" 

    "Don't ruin the moment!"

    Red closed the eye.

    Duck sighed. He looked at its face, and watched his fingers move across and back. 

    This felt nicer than usual. It felt like reading the exciting part of a novel, or being full of good food. Pleasant. 

    The beast's hair was softer than it looked. Maybe in part due to Duck's grooming. 

    He wondered if he'd be able to keep it that way; If it might let him. 

    He counted the backs and forths of his hand. 

    He could hear his creature's breaths. 

    He could hear the clock ticking on the nightstand. 

    They synchronized. 

    His legs started to feel a little sore from the weight on his lap. 

    His hand was going a little numb.

    He counted forty backs, and thirty-nine forths. 

    His smile had fallen into neutral. 

    "There must be more to it," Duck thought out loud. "More than…knowing one another. And some touching." 

    He continued to stroke the thing's head, but his movements had slowed. He frowned. It was off.

    "I feel like we might be doing something…wrong." 

    Red huffed. His voice was sleepy when he spoke. Maybe he'd nearly drifted off.

    "No such thing, mate. No rules, remember? We're having a good time, aren't we? That's all we need out of it." 

    Duck was quiet.

    He stroked forth. 

    The thing breathed in. 

    He stroked back. 

    The clock ticked. 

    The timing was thrown off. 

    The beast breathed out. The clock ticked. 

    "Are we?" 

    Both the creature's eyes flicked open. He sat up suddenly, turning away, shifting his legs over the edge of the bed, leaving a bewildered Duck with an empty lap and an unoccupied hand. 

    "What do you mean," it asked, louder than its sleepy voice before. "What do you mean by that?" 

    He was terse, and awake. His hands began to knead the blankets beneath them. Duck imagined the poor grass back in the forest. He thought back on his phrasing. 

    "I didn't mean I'm not ENJOYING all this, it's just not anything spectacular is all I'm saying! I expected the experience of love to be more… revelatory? Joyous? Climactic? Not that there's something entirely wrong you're doing, but maybe something you're not doing? Right now I imagine it's standard. You know. Perfectly passable."

    He saw the beast constrict with each word. Duck hoped it hadn't caught rigamortis. He'd read before that it was contagious.

    "Right. Obviously. You've got standards." 

    Red stared ahead, at the bedroom door. Duck couldn't help but feel he'd misspoke.

    "I started all this. Didn't really ask. S'pose it's my problem," Red mumbled under his breath. Duck wondered if it was talking to him. 

    "What are you on about? I didn't say–"

    "You said plenty. Leave. You can talk at me later."  

    "When is later? We were cuddling!"

    "I said LEAVE!" He squeezed his eyes shut and pointed to the door. 

    Duck squawked in disbelief. Just a moment ago he'd been so content! 

    "You're so sensitive! It's not my fault if you're… not enough!" 

    Duck shoved himself off the side of the bed. He didn't look back at the thing as he stormed out of the room. 

    He made a beeline to his room and collapsed into his bedding. He was fast to bundle it around himself in a nest formation (his most reliable de-stressing method).

    A quiet moment passed. 

    Duck heard his own clock ticking on the nightstand as his heart rate slowed. 

    His hand still felt like string. He wiped his palm on his pillow to get rid of the sensation, then pushed his head beneath it to drown out the clock.

    He began to wonder if he should have said anything. If he couldn't speak his mind in a partnership without being tossed away, it couldn't be a proper one. 

    Still, he found himself wondering if his red thing had been offended enough to call off their Situation. The thought was distressing. 

      "That sure was one heck of a lover's spat!" A small voice chirped from under the bed, muffled by the pillow. Duck pulled his head out to scan his surroundings. 

    "And so sudden! But isn't that just the way it goes, honeybee?" Another voice buzzed from behind his headboard. 

    "Who's there?!" Duck threw off his blankets and tumbled out of bed. He landed face to face with two black bead eyes emerging from beneath the bedframe. He threw his arms over his face. 

    "Sorry for the fright, love! We couldn't help but overhear that shouting match!"

    Duck peeked out from between his elbows. The red bird from the hill hovered in front of him. It's bee-friend fluttered up beside it. Duck caught his breath and resituated himself into a cross-legged sit. 

    "'Shouting match' is a bit dramatic!" He crossed his arms and stared down his bill at the two. "Who do you think you are, listening to our private business?!" 

    "We're relationship experts is who we are," said the bee, "and we know a thing or two about couples disagreements! Don't we, honeycomb?" 

    "We sure do," tittered the bird, "why, just earlier my singsong chickadee thought we ought to leave you alone to figure yourselves out, and I said NO! What kind of happy couple would we be if we left a couple of young loves in need?"

    "It wasn't so difficult an argument to resolve once I overheard what went down a minute ago! What a quarrel!" The bee shook its head sadly. "My honey dewdrop nectarine couldn't have been more right!" 

    Duck squinted. "Your names are confusing." 

    "Yes, love can be confusing! Like your 'situation' at the moment!" The bee laughed. Duck flushed. 

    "How long have you been watching our… together-ness? It's meant to be private!"

    "Oh no…" The bee's face fell. Duck furrowed his brow, uneasy. 

    "What? What's 'oh no' about it?" 

    "That's no good. Poor little loverboy. Don't you know? Relationships in secret don't count." The bird clicked its tongue. 

    Duck's stomach turned. He bristled with indignance. 

    "What's that mean?! We count plenty! Our relationship is–! I mean, our… it's…" His rage faltered. 

    The bee whispered something to the bird. She gasped, and her face crumpled with empathy. "Oh, you poor thing… he told you not to call it that at all, didn't he? Poor, poor boy…" 

    Duck suddenly felt very small, and very stupid. 

    He stared at his hands, clasped at his ankles. His bruise had nearly faded. 

    "This isn't going to work at all, is it?" He spoke softly. The floor blurred as he looked at it.  

    There was a moment of sympathetic silence. 

    "It could be difficult, but…" The bee spoke cautiously. Duck looked up. 

    "Anything is possible! So long as you take the right steps, and push through with love in your heart!" The bee buzzed triumphantly, twirling in the air. 

    "You think so?" Duck looked at the bird.

    "We do! Relationships take work, and dedication! Any relationship can work, with a little TLC!" The bird winked. "You see…"

     Nothing is worth it like Lo-ove!

    So long as you give it your all!

    With just a little water and sun-shine,

    The smallest seed can grow so tall!

    What's a crummy day to a life-time?

    What's a cloudy day to an oak?

    With a little bitta hard work and elbow- grease,

    We'll make a couple outta these coupla folks!

Chapter Text

It was a day after Duck's argument with his beast, and he was feeling a tad more hopeful. He'd managed to find a lead, exactly where the red one had initially pulled him away. That surely proved that it was on Duck's shoulders to nurture this relationship, in cases where his partner proved itself incompetent. 

    He followed the bird and bee through a sunny field of flowers. He wasn't sure how he got there, but that wasn't too alarming. He was used to surprise field trips, despite the minor difference that he was on his own. The others usually tagged along.

    "The first step to a good relationship is stability. While a new relationship can be thrilling, we're not just looking for plain old love, are we?" The bird twittered.

        "We aren't?" He was already lost.

        "No, no! Love is the idea, but we want a love with staying power! And that's not just something you stumble across!"

    "That's right! A relationship is something that can persist through anything, even in the absence of infatuation," the bee hummed.

    "What did you call me?!" 

    " Infatuation is the burning in your heart and loins when you first fall in love!"

    "In my what?" Duck was growing more confused by the minute.

    "But infatuation runs out! Right honey feathers?" The bee inquired.

    "That's right! A relationship can preserve love's beauty long afterwards, and make practical use of it! Sort of like egg blowing! Or taxidermy!"

    "If you follow the proper rules, you can be sure the love appears lifelike, til death truly do you part!" The bee explained cheerfully.

    Duck considered this perspective.

    "Does that not get dull?" 

    "Of course! A little boredom is important," the bee assured, "you have to learn how to sit with it one way or another!"

    This confused Duck. "Then why would I get in a relationship in the first place?"

    "Because it's better than being alone," The bird and bee mused in unison. 

    Duck found, after the initial surprise, that he agreed. There wasn't much point in loving his red creature with all his effort now if it was going to get used up so quickly. That wasn't productive for anyone.

    "I do rather like the rules bit, that helps with the stress and messiness of it. And I can definitely get behind practicality…" He pondered a bit more.

    "But this is all sounding just a little… fake? Maybe, ehm… manufactured?" 

    "Not at all! Stability in a relationship is when you both believe just enough that your love still brings you joy, even after it's gone boring! And if you both believe it, nobody has any business calling it fake!" The bird seemed sure of herself. 

    This made sense to Duck. He often found that readily believing whatever was easiest kept things properly concise, so he was certainly willing to give it a try. Especially after the confusing mess the previous night. 

    "That's reasonable. I wouldn't want any unstable-ness, this whole thing feels proper rickety already," he sighed.

    He looked between the two delightful creatures hovering before him. He settled his gaze to situate both in his view, making it then more apparent the thirty or so centimeters of empty air that separated them. He squinted.

    "So, you two. You both – ehm…" He attempted to properly arrange his words.

    "What about us?" the bird inquired. 

    "You eh… like being together?"

    Just in that short moment, the red bird's bead eyes appeared more as they were – tiny bits of hard black plastic. She and the bee beside her had stopped bobbing in their cheerful way and now hung still in the air. They swayed and twitched in small measure, like a human arm held aloft for a time might tend to do. 

    Duck thought he felt a draft. 

    "What kind of silly question is that?" The bird swung back into a lively bounce, the stillness fizzling out as quick as it had entered – Although it had spoken the question in a slightly harder, louder tone. 

    "We're in a relationship! What good would a relationship be if we didn't?" The bee scolded playfully. 

    They seemed sure of themselves, Duck decided. 

    While some of this explanation didn't strike him as exactly what he'd hoped for in a relationship, it was a process he could follow; it was peer-reviewed. And he was partial to lessons that offered new vocabulary. 

    Besides, there wasn't much of a choice now. 

    "So what's next?" 

    Duck stepped back into the house with a new confidence. The beast was upset with him, sure, but that wasn't an issue, because Duck was equipped with information. Surely now that they had a plan, the thing would be reasonable. 

    Duck's feet pattered down the hall. Then up the hall. Then down. The arrangement of things looked different from the day before, but that was to be expected. He spotted it on his fourth attempt going down, shutting a door behind himself. He waved an arm and approached, hopefully casually. 

     "You! Hello, yes." The other one turned toward him. 

    He noticed just then, however, that he actually was still nervous. And maybe it was still mad at him, or wanted to say something damning about their Situation before Duck could get a chance to say his piece.  This fear was only heightened when the red thing began to walk towards him, sort of quickly. 

    "You." He returned Duck's greeting. 

    "I thought I'd find you in your bedroom."

    "Don't have one today."

    "Oh."

    "Yeah. You know how it is. Prolly gonna sleep in the chair. Tonight."

    Red picked at some lint on his arm.  He didn't say anything else. Duck did not want silence.

    "Well, if you have nothing to say, then I'd like to–" Duck proposed, queueing up his pitch. 

    "Actually, I do. I have something to say," Red interrupted. He didn't look angry, now that Duck looked harder. And the tone of his voice was more sheepish than anything. Maybe it didn't mean the end if he spoke first. 

     "Alright…" Duck squinted. "Go ahead."

     "Firstly, you acted like a prick," Red began, and Duck really wondered if he had made the right choice. "But you also weren't…entirely wrong."

    "Of course–"

    "Let me talk," he said, blunt and authoritative enough that Duck let him talk. "I am…often…scared. Often. And I didn't think I was. But it's all the time. So yeah…you were right about that." He tugged at the ends of his mitts, occupying his eyes with the fidget. 

    "I want to do more. Make it enough. More than enough. I want to make this something we haven't done before, not just more of the same. I thought I was lazy, or I was the type of guy who doesn't want anything special. But that was me being scared, and that's stupid, and I don't want to do that anymore."

    Duck didn't say anything. The last time he'd heard the thing say that much about  what he was feeling was the same night it had all begun. Duck felt the usual rush at being told he was right, until he remembered that he'd since changed his mind.  This was unfortunate.

    "Well I had thought…" Duck paused. The red one had lifted his head to look at him. It looked excited. A hopeful, sensible excitement, like it knew it had really found something here. It was almost frightening how foreign it looked on him. 

    It would be a shame to take it away from him so soon, Duck realized. He couldn't. He liked this happy version. It was rejuvenating, almost, it made Duck feel bigger somehow. But he had instructions, important ones. He couldn't ignore them, but maybe…

    "Sorry, did I make you lose your thought?" Red asked. 

    "No, it's just that, what I was going to say was…" He looked at his thing's fidgeting hands. He sighed. "First, I was going to apologize."

    "You were?" It's hands went still. "You were going to apologize ?"

    "Let me talk!" Duck scolded. "I was going to apologize, and then…say the same thing. So there's no need now." 

    He was hoisted off the ground in an instant and wrapped in far-too-big arms. The beast nuzzled his face into Duck's neck, and it felt, amazingly, like he wanted to. 

    "I'm…happy. About that," it said.

Chapter Text

"What's your favorite…food?" Duck read off a card. Red sat across from him on the sitting room rug, criss-crossed. It was dark blue outside the window. 

He drummed his fingers in twos on his ankles. "That's…hm." It blew out an exerted breath. "That's a tough one."

"It's curry," Duck guessed. 

"That's yours."

"Well that's okay…you can use mine, I have great taste," Duck offered kindly.

"No, I need my own. Everyone has a favorite food."

"I don't mind sharing." It went without saying that he meant the preference, not the curry. 

"I don't have one," the beast insisted, "and I don't have a favorite movie either, or weather, or barn animal or…" 

Duck looked over at the discard pile. They had skipped those few on grounds of difficulty. The thing rubbed its temples. 

"I thought I did, 'cause you're meant to. But I just don't…care. I didn't. But you, you care loads about the things you've got opinions on."

"Thank you." 

"How do you do that? It's hard to do that."

"Have opinions?"

"Yeah. How do you make things matter?"

Duck was puzzled. He thought it over, then over again, turning it over in his brain. He couldn't find a way in. There was something fundamentally wrong–the shape of the question wouldn't fit. 

"'Make things matter'? What do you need to make matter?" 

"Anything. Food, weather. The house. The stuff that happens in it. You know," The beast clarified, like it had only to rephrase an otherwise reasonable question. 

Duck looked at him for a little longer. "But those things matter. How could those not matter?" 

"See? You've made them matter already, so now they matter to you. How did you DO it?"

"I didn't 'do' anything, they just matter! They do it all by themselves! What are you on about?!" Now Duck felt he was being toyed with. 

"Things can't just matter. If that were true, everything would go around mattering."

"Are you thick?" Duck couldn't read sarcasm too well, and the big one liked to use it. He assumed this was one of those instances. "You're not being funny."

There was a pause. Red looked at the ground in front of him.

"You've gone stupid. I didn't think you were stupid," Duck lamented with a sigh, and drew another card.

"Huh. It's not a favourites question. 'Where do you see yourself in 10 years'." Duck stopped. He reread the card. Then he read it again. Another question that just wouldn't fit. He looked up to see the red thing in a similar state. 

"I know what a year is," he replied. 

"That wasn't the question." Duck looked back at the card. 

"In ten years…well ten years ago I was…well I must have been a kid or something. So ten years going forward I would…" He tried to count on his fingers, but remembered it didn't have them. 

"Forget ten," said Duck, waving a hand, "that's nothing. Just the future, then. We know about the future, there was a song."

"Well there's where I think I'll be, and where I'd like to be. I imagine I'll be…here. In ten years, whenever that might be."

"Maybe we'll have flying chairs," Duck proposed. The thing had a hard time seeing the bright side. 

"I don't think we will."

Duck frowned. "Where would you like to be, then?"

"That's harder. But I'll think about it." This appeared to cause him some discomfort. 

"...Are you alright?" 

"Yeah, I reckon. Just out of practice, thinking about…me." 

"Do you need help?" Duck offered. 

Red moved to say something, but didn't. Then he said something else. "Yeah. I wouldn't mind it."

They both thought together. Duck had an easier time. 

"I think you'd like to be here, but with me. And maybe flying chairs, and that child will be all grown."

"Hm. I like bits of that. But I think…I'd like to be out of here, with you, and the other one. That's where we should start."

"Oh…well I suppose we're only imagining it."

"For now. But it's fine that you can't–" He stopped himself. He tried again. "It's okay if you feel better imagining."

Duck didn't like being babied, but he appreciated the effort. "I'd like to imagine we'll live in the city. With a backyard garden to grow sugar snap peas in," Duck offered, not sure if he was doing it right. 

"That might be nice. I'm imagining a window that we can look out of."

"That's not really about your future."

"You're right. I'll imagine…we have friends over sometimes, for dinner. And they leave by nine."

"What kind of friends?"

"All kinds. People I just happen to come by on the street and invite to dinner parties."

Duck imagined this. "That doesn't sound very safe."

"I don't imagine my future being safe," the beast responded, matter-of-fact.

Duck furrowed his brow. "You don't think so?"

"No, I think it will be. But I'd like to imagine it won't," it said wistfully. 

Duck considered this sentiment incredibly moronic. "Okay then…and, ehm…we can prepare hor d'oeuvres. The ones you make with a blowtorch."

"I'm imagining you don't have access to a blowtorch," said the thing through an audible smirk. 

"You're the one who wanted it unsafe! I'm imagining that you shrink a meter," Duck retorted. 

"I'm imagining that you go bald."

"I'm imagining that your teeth fall out!"

"I'm imagining your voice gets an octave higher so only dogs hear it."

"I'm imagining you catch some sort of disease!"

"I'm imagining your knees get even knobbier."

Duck gasped. He lunged forward and delivered the creature a swift smack to the dome. It snickered the whole time. 

Duck put him in an approximation of a chokehold, and was quickly manhandled, practically suplexed, overhead. It plopped him gracefully into its lap. 

"You're funny." He grinned and ruffled the feathers under Duck's chin, avoiding an attempted bite with the elegance of a crocodile wrangler. After an honorable struggle, Duck accepted his fate. 

Once he was still, it was actually rather comfortable. He'd noticed a long time ago that the beast did not feel like he was full of stuffing or foam, the way Duck and the other one did. His fabric was layered over something denser, and stronger, and warm. It made for a very nice piece of furniture. 

Duck slumped into him, thinking about what could be made with snap peas and a blowtorch. He also thought about why planning to live with the thing felt so different than what they were already doing. The thing was quiet while he thought.

"You know…" it said, after a while, "I don't think we're supposed to like one another." 

Duck was surprised. "What gives you that idea? We live in the same house, and we share most things, and we do nearly everything together."

"Of course, people like that are supposed to like one another. That's why it's so strange. I feel like there's some reason we aren't meant to." Red pet Duck's head (who let him) as he explained. 

"But we do like each other. How could you know we're not meant to?" Duck wasn't trying to argue. He was asking, but he was a little rusty on the tone for asking. Red withdrew a bit.

"I dunno. It's just a dumb feeling." He took away his hand. 

"No it's not. There aren't such things as dumb feelings. Just dumb thoughts, and you don't usually have those either," Duck pried. 

The thing shrugged defeatedly. "I don't know, that's about as far as I've gotten. It feels like we're supposed to seem like we would like each other, but not really. I never talked to you really, before the relationship. Not about anything useful."

Duck felt something happen in his chest. His creature had called it a relationship. He looked at his feet. "W–well. If it's any consolation, I like you more than anyone I've met. So whoever is trying to screw it up, they'll have to try a little harder."

The beast laughed, and he let it be a good one, without holding any of it in. "Yeah, I reckon they will."

"And I like to hear you talk…and laugh. You have a nice voice to listen to, when you're not mumbling." 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

The next night, after a grueling lesson on insects, they had scheduled another sitting room date. The child needed to be put to bed first. Duck watched from the door as the beast helped him get ready this time, a chore he normally wasn't at all interested in. 

"You washed your face?" it asked, combing out a couple knots in the yellow one's hair. 

"Yeah–ow." He batted his weird arms at the comb.

"Did I snag you?"

"Yes."

"Sorry," he rubbed the spot on the other one's head, then tried again, gentler. "You brushed your teeth?"

"Yeah."

"Set your alarm?"

"I think so. I did, yeah." He tugged on the sleeve of his pajamas. 

"You brushed your batteries?"

"I…I don't remember." He peered down his shirt.

The creature turned him around and reached for his hatch. The child slapped at him, fending his hands away.

"Ah! I did, I did already!"

Red quickly let go and held his hands up. "Sorry, sorry. Up to you. But it's important, let me see." The third one opened his chest very gingerly, and craned his head to look. The thing pointed.  "See right there, you didn't rinse the backs." It nudged him toward the sink. The third went back to the mirror to flush the leftover toothpaste out with a spray bottle, carefully turning the rusted pieces one at a time in their cavity.

"Can't he do all this himself?" Duck mumbled to his thing. It looked at him. 

"Probably," it whispered with a shrug. "But he likes when I help out."

"But we have a D-A-T-E."

" I like to help out," he rephrased, a touch more forcefully. 

"Why?"

"I just like to. Makes me feel sort of important." 

"You're important already."

"Yeah. But you know how it is."

Duck didn't know how it was, but he didn't press the issue. He saw that the chore made the beast happy, so he decided he might be able to wait a little longer. 

"Am I ready for the…um, bed? To sleep?" The middle one climbed down from his stool and stood at attention so the red one could give him a once over. 

"Seems like it. Anything else?"

"I'm alright, yeah, I think, thanks. Good night!"

"Night, mate." Red watched him trot down the hall to the bedroom (it was a shared one tonight) and shut the door before looking back to Duck. "You’ve got the movie?"

Duck held up a VHS with a battered case labeled "Best War Things, Like Tanks: Vol 6". He turned it over and pointed to some images of very cool planes and rockets on the back. "I didn't know what you might like, but this one is a classic. Crowd pleaser. Nobody could dislike it."

"Sounds promising." He grabbed Duck's hand and let him take the lead down the hall. 

Red sat back on the rug while Duck fumbled with the VCR. The green-grey static screen was all that lit the sitting room; they didn't want to draw the other one's attention.

"Y'right? Need any help?" The thing whispered. 

Duck could not whisper. He didn't have the proper muscles for it. "Give me a minute, you haven't given me a minute," he said, not yelling.

"Mhm. Counting on you, babes." 

Duck fumbled and dropped the VHS. He picked it back up to realize he'd been holding it upside down. He pushed it into the machine and held the rewind. 

"You didn't rewind after you watched it first?" the red one commented over his shoulder.

"I didn't ask for a peanut gallery, 'babes'. …Ech. I didn't like that." He cringed. 

"Oh, um. I could pick something else," the thing offered.

"No, I like when you say it. It's handsome in that voice. It just doesn't fit my mouth right. I ought to call you something…what do you think?" He turned to look at his creature. 

"That's good then. About mine, I mean. Handsome, really..." He mumbled distantly. 

"What do you think?" Duck repeated. 

"Call me anything. I don't mind."

"You should mind." 

"Oh, should I?" It considered the advice. "Well then…I'll think about it."

"Good." The hum from the VCR stopped, and Duck pressed play. He shuffled over to sit by his red creature. 

For a while they were both (Duck assumed) enraptured by the sight of cold steel, the sounds of heavy artillery, and the powerful posh voiceover providing technical description and enthralling historical context.

About a quarter through, Duck realized that the jet onscreen required further explanation that he'd since gathered from extracurricular sources. He turned to his date to provide him the knowledge, but caught himself in unexpected eye contact.

The thing was looking at him, and didn't seem to mind being caught. 

"Um. I needed to mention–wait, have you not been watching the movie?!" he demanded, not looking away. 

"I've given it a glance or two," it replied airily, not looking away. 

"Well then you've missed practically everything, we're going to have to restart it now! If I had known you were-"

The thing grabbed his hand, then his other. "Would it be weird if I loved you?"

Duck couldn't speak, which was a new sensation. It took him a while.

"You're always weird."

"Should I? Now?" 

"That's what's meant to happen, I assume."

"I'd like to."

"Then don't ask. You really do need to work on having opin–"

"I love you," said the red thing, sure of it.

Duck squeezed its hands. The words felt very good to hear. It sounded right. And Duck could say for absolute certain that he had the proper feelings about it. He loved the monstrosity, it couldn't be anything else. It was strong, and exciting. It was very good news. 

"Thank you. I…" But he hesitated. He remembered–beyond all the swelling feelings–his knowledge. He recalled an enthusiastic voice: 

Infatuation is the burning in your heart and loins when you first fall in love! But infatuation runs out! Right honey feathers?

Duck yanked his hands away and stumbled to his feet. This was the trick. This was where it could go wrong, if they weren't careful. He began to pace back and forth as the jingling of spent shotgun shells filled the dead air. 

"Not yet, we don't know how yet! It's too fast, it's burning, it's all going to burn out!"

His beloved didn't protest. It was frozen in place. "Wh...Is it?"

"Yes! If it's like this we don't have much time, it won't last, not if I love you this much already! It's hardly been any time at all! We won't be able to do it right, and we won't be able to…to…"

He slowed his pacing. It was quiet. The beast had paused the movie. 

"You love me?" 

"Obviously! That's the problem! You don't pay attention!"

"What do you mean it won't last? Who told you that?" 

Duck opened his mouth to explain, but stopped himself. It wouldn't want to hear the truth. He might feel betrayed, and just after everything had been going so wonderfully. 

"It's…I just feel it. Maybe you don't feel it, you're big, you've probably got a lot. But I'm–I might not have…" He stumbled over himself, avoiding eye contact. There had been too much eye contact recently. Maybe that was what did it. 

"I don't mind sharing," offered the beast. He recaptured Duck's hand, halting his pacing, and pulled him closer. "If it's right, what you're saying. But I don't think I believe you. I think you need to sit down."

Duck sat down, and his beloved thing held onto him. He relaxed a little. "How do you know?" he asked.

"Know what?"

"That you love me. Don't you have a feelings problem?"

"Yeah. But I know. I know I want to, at least. I want to keep feeling how it feels, right now," it said. "Even if it's just for now. It's better than it was, anyway. D'you know what I mean?"

Duck didn't know. But he knew that the red thing sounded at least as confident as the bird and the bee. Maybe more. And he was smart, he had to be. Duck had infallible taste. 

So maybe it wasn't ruined, at least not yet. 

Chapter Text

      "Good morning!"

      "Morning."

      "Good morning." 

      The three usually woke up at about the same time. It was lavender outside the bedroom window, and a white sun was rising over the hills. Duck stretched and turned over. He looked over the yellow one’s bed to see his creature, but the child sat up first, blocking his eyeline. 

      "You stayed up. Really late," he said. "Without me…"

      Duck looked around him to catch Red's eye, which flicked between him and the third one. 

      "Yes, well…I needed help with something. Important thing. Late. Late activity." Duck shrugged at the red one when it made a face. 

      "You were yelling. And watching a gun movie. I couldn't sleep."

"Ah, sorry about that mate…" Red scratched his head. Duck had insisted they turn up the movie a few times over. The sound design was so integral to its message. 

      "I don't like what's happening,” the child whined. “You do a bunch of stuff together but I don't get to. It's good that you're friends, I like that! But I…I just don't like it."

      "Well I just don't understand why–"

      "Let me take this one, babes," the giant cut off Duck's rebuttal. It took a moment for Duck to realize what had happened. He looked at the thing and made a meaningful face. The thing made one back, best he could.

      "We like you. We both like you, but it's…um. Different, yeah? You know it's been different…recently. Smart of you."

      Both the middle one and Duck watched intently as he fidgeted. 

      "The green one and I are…trying something new."

      "Without me? Why…can't I try something new–um–with you?" He seemed upset.

      "Well he–I mean…we decided to keep it under wraps, for a bit. Because we weren't sure exactly what could be…said." He looked at Duck. Maybe he wanted help, but Duck was not in the headspace for that. He soldiered on. 

      "We're in a relationship. A romantic one. You know, love?"

      "Yeah…I know a relationship."

      "No–do you know 'love'?"

      He shifted uncomfortably. "I um…what do you, uh, think? That it is? Maybe I don't…"

      Red looked at Duck with pleading eyes. Duck finally snapped out of his stupor. "Oh! Oh, ehm. That's! Eeehhhumm… we think–me and that one–we think that it's…that love is…"

      "Is it like family?" He guessed. 

      "Sort of? Yes, kind of. But not…yes, right. More or less. But different." Duck looked at the wall past both his housemate's heads. "We're in it, though, love. And we needed the time to be sure, I think. Right?"

      "Right, that's right."

      "Do you love me too?" asked the child.

      "Uhm." Red blew out a long breath. "No?"

      "Why not?" He looked hurt. 

      "I mean, we do! We both do love you, but not the same sort of–"

      Duck sucked a breath through his teeth. "Weeell…" 

      His beast glared at him. "Oh, then why don't you try and explain it?"

      "Excuse me, I already helped! You brought it up!"

      "Oh, OHO, did I?! Did I 'bring it up'?"

      "I think I understand," the child butted in. "So now you told me, you won't need to keep a secret. And we can do things together again?"

      The creature looked at the boy-thing like he'd said something sad. "Of course. Have we not been?"

      "Not as much…"

      "But he is mine now, though. Not yours." Duck clarified. His beloved served him another, more acute glare.

      "We are going to talk." It looked at the other one, softer. "And I'm not going to do that anymore. You're important."

      Duck was important. He pouted. 

      "Okay…I have a question," the child said. 

      "Might have an answer." 

      He looked at the beast. He was doing his puppy-dog eyes. Duck knew those eyes. Duck knew that he knew he had those eyes. 

      "You have secret names, right? Like that one is Baves?"

      "Oh come off it!" Duck squawked. 

      "He's got one. We were just thinking about mine, actually…" The thing didn't sound shy about it, which was surprising. So far the whole morning had been surprising. 

      "Can I pick mine?" 

      "I don't see why not." 

      The child glanced smugly at Duck, who returned him with a withering look. But he was going to let this play out. It was all too surprising not to.

      "Uhm…I don't wanna be 'Dog'."

      "Okay…" Red didn't seem to know what to do with that clarification. "What do you want to be?"

      He stared straight ahead, deep in thought. 

      "Cat," he presented. He was proud of it. 

      Duck groaned and buried his face in his hands. 

      "That's a good one." Red appeared to roll it over in his mind. He looked up. "Would you want to help with mine?" 

     Duck took his hands away to look at him, wide-eyed. "Excuse me, I am not calling you–"

      "You wanted me to pick my own."

      "You're not picking it if he's picking it!"

      "Well I pick what he picks, I'm bad at names."

      "That defeats the whole–" he cut himself off with another groan. He looked at the thing. He wished he hadn't, because it's eyes were hopeful, and they were waiting on his cue. "What if I refuse to use it?"

      "I wouldn't make you. But we should hear it first, shouldn't we?" It smiled with it's eyes, and Duck wished it hadn't, because it's smile could be unfairly convincing. Duck gestured to the third to go on. 

      "Big Cat." He was ready with it. Duck was silent. He looked at his creature. 

      "I like it." He shrugged at Duck.

      "Big Cat?" Duck repeated, making him listen to it again. 

      "Babes?"

      "Big Cat."

      "Babes." It looked like it was having a good time. Duck rolled his eyes. 

      "It could have been worse," He conceded. He couldn't have thought of anything better, and it didn't feel proper to not call it anything when he got a proper one himself. 

      "Yay!" The child clapped. Duck pointed to him.

      "But you don't get to call us those. I already have to call you ‘cat’, that's plenty." The yellow one nodded and zipped his lips. 

      "Now, breakfast." He pushed out of bed and started towards the door, hearing the others follow behind him. He turned the handle and slipped into the hallway and something wasn't right. 

      Duck turned around. The door was gone, and the house was gone, and there was a babbling creek at his feet, and flowers, and trees. 

      "Congratulations!" came a voice from behind his head. He turned to find the bird and bee, looking pleased.

      "Are you mad at me?" Duck blurted. The teachers looked at one another.

      "Why would we be mad? You did it! You're in love!" the bee buzzed. 

      "But love burns out, doesn't it? And there was so much of it all happening at once, I must be running low." Duck wrung his hands. The bird nodded.

      "Good instinct! But it isn't about metering out your love, otherwise it would never take!"

      "But aren't we trying to preserve it?" 

      The bee and bird shared a knowing look. The former smiled at Duck. "You're confused. What say we put it another way?" 

      "What way?"

       I was just a worker bee down on his luck,

      Hopin' that a toad'd hop by n' gobble  me up!

      Didn't have much of a purpose,

      Nothing looked to be worth it,

      That was where I was before~

      I was a pretty bird that's all I had going,

      Wouldn't be long before my age'd start showing!

      Didn't have much of a purpose,

      Nothing really seemed worth it,

      That was what I had before~

      We went about our lives 

      In-dividually,

      Before that blessed day

      We met beneath a tree!

      And it said to me~

      ("What about me?")

      "Pardon me, worker bee, 

      You look like you don't know!

      Have you heard, little bird?

      You've oughta give it a go!"

      Admittedly, we were a wee bit confused,

      But we listened in; not a whole lot to lose!

      We took a look at each other

      "Would you like to like one another?"

      So came the wondrous query 

      from our friend the wise oak tree~

       ("What's that got to do with me?")

      "Ever thought about falling in love?

      Might fit right together--like a glove;

      Full grown, far from home, out on your own!

      Better off sticking together than being alone!"

       We’re a romance for the ages!

      Our joy was simply contagious!

      Love looks just like a bird and a bee 

      Joined–til death–in ma-tri-mo-ny! 

      No fear of growing old,

      Our love had saved my soul!

      No dead ends for me,

      Our love had set me free!

      What price was left to pay,

      Could rot and fade away!

      No need to complicate,

      Our love would save the day!

      Two birds of a feather,

      We're simply meant to bee~!

      Thank the King above we met 

      and thank! our! tree!

      A perfect love! Makes perfect sense

      to me!

      ("That's not about me!")

      That brings us to you!

       ("Finally.")

      You asked what to do?

      It's huge, fast and new!

      What's left for you two? 

      Here comes the hardest part;

      Your hearts are pitter-pattery,

      Kudos on the jump start;

      Keep an eye on the battery!

       A round of applause,

      The spark’s set aglow!

      Now dig in those claws,

      And don't! let! go!

      We can be your tree

      My honey and me

      A bird and a bee!

      Listen care-fully:

      Your taste in men is somewhat… problematic.

      Worry not! We've got a tried and true tactic!

      With your empathy and masterful precision,

      Spare your sweet the chore of making decisions!

      ("it is indecisive…")

       Proportional pairs are awfully rare, they  say;

      N' better halves'll turn up-sure looks that way!

     You're smart, you know your way, you are receptive,

      Your loverboy could use that sort of perspective!

      No shades of grey, 

      you're good at that!

      Lead the way 

      for your big cat!

      Don't wo-rry his big ol' silly head!

      No more than's been said need be said!

      "Won't that be…dangerous?" Duck was reeling, trying to absorb it all. "If he does–somehow–find out? Or if he doesn't, what if it all just gets…egh… tense ? How do I fix a thing like that?" 

      It's natural to consider intervention,

      But the perfect love needs minimal attention

      If the road is smooth why worry 'bout suspension?

      It's the self-fulfilling prophecy of  tension!

      Keep it on a lead,

      Don’t pull in the slack,

      Match him at his speed;

      Guide it by its back!

      No conflict, and no cares,

      Just keep it unawares!

      He thinks he knows what to do,

      He's luc-ky to be-long to you~

      Duck stopped walking. He'd followed his tutors across the field. He'd been shown visuals, as usual, but none made much sense. The flowers in the present area were all red. Recalling his botanical field guide, he identified them as poppies.

      Duck appreciated the compliments. He appreciated the guidance as always. Still, something felt off about what he'd heard. He couldn't peg what it was exactly. Direct instruction was what he'd been looking for, and he'd gotten it. The bird and bee never led him astray. 

      "So, to clarify–"

      Before he could say another word, Duck was in his house, at the kitchen table, with a plate of beans and toast. 

     "Where've you been?" Duck looked up. Both his housemate's were just finishing their breakfasts. Red was eyeing him, poking at his eggs with a spoon (Duck had long given up on telling him not to play with his food).

      "Oh, um…lavatory." Duck hoped the thing didn't have any follow up questions. It very clearly did. He braced himself, trying to scrape together a better excuse.

      "Alright." The beast did that smile again. He'd been doing it a lot lately. He stood and brushed himself off. "Well the cat and I were thinking, we haven't been out in a while."

      "'Out'? Out where?" Duck glanced at the yellow one. He seemed happy too, but that was more common. Even still, the energy at the table was all different that morning.

      "A hike!" The child slipped his arm into the wrong sleeve of his jacket. Duck chuckled as the third tried to puzzle out the issue. He wondered for a moment why he was putting a coat on at all.

      "Hold on, all of us?" Duck huffed to his beloved, swiveling his head as it pased him.

      "All of us. No point in sneaking around. Nice sunny day, lots of woods. Trying something new, right?" Red rinsed his plate. "Other sleeve, mate."

      "New! New! New!" chanted the yellow one, somehow getting his head tangled in his struggle. He didn't really seem to mind. 

      "Him and you and me? But–"

      "We can talk about it once we're out. Sound good, love?"

      It sounded particularly ungood, but Duck recalled his instructions. "Don't pull in the slack". No need to be so blatantly disagreeable. The thing liked having its way, once it knew what it wanted. Either way, Duck had an exceptional weakness to pet names. He knew that his thing knew this.

      Duck didn't didn't want a third wheel, but he'd gotten better at tolerance lately. Transactionally anyway, for the good of seeing his creature content. That was his job now, that's what they'd said. Keep the thing content, and he'd have no reason to try to change anything. Duck didn't want anything to change, especially not now.

      He liked the energy at the table that morning. 

      "It is a nice day. I've been meaning to find a good tanning spot, anyway." He shoveled a bite of breakfast into his bill and tossed his dishes into the sink. He heard multiple things shatter, but he couldn't see them. That was someone else's problem for later. He dismounted his chair, halted by Red's mitt before he could reach his overcoat. 

      "You're going to be pleasant?" it whispered to the top of his head. He wasn't scolding; It felt like dealmaking-proposing a pact of pleasantness. Duck took his hand. It squeezed back.

      "Lead the way, big cat." 

Chapter Text

      Duck watched the ground as he walked, cautious of hazards. He lagged behind his red thing, who hadn't stopped talking to the yellow one. 

      "That rock looks exactly like an animal!" he heard the child shout. And soon after: "Ow!"

      "That'll happen. Told you it wasn't a waste getting you those shots."

      Duck jumped to one foot as a shockingly animal-shaped rock darted past his periphery.

      "Probably not a great idea to touch too many things. You know. The outdoors." The creature didn't talk to the child the way people were meant to talk to children. He did talk differently, however, when Duck wasn't involved in the conversation. Duck hadn't really noticed before (he tended to involve himself in things when possible). 

      It spoke a little easier, a bit more mature. With Duck, he'd sometimes behave like an ornery youth. Prone to tantrums, restless, saying the stupid things he thought when he knew they might be stupid. 

      It wasn't really worse , at all. Sometimes it was preferable. Duck wondered how much realer his version was. He wondered how much realer he wanted it to be. Maybe that was up to him to figure out. How many responsibilities did guiding his beast entail? He still didn't really know. 

      "Legs too small?" 

      Duck looked up to find that his beast had sidled up next to him. He'd been too lost in thought to notice it slowing down.

      "Pardon?"

      "I'm walking five of your steps in one of mine. No shame asking to slow down."

      "Of course there is. Don't patronize me." Duck pulled ahead of Red, but it easily caught up. 

      "The other one's found a creek. We could maybe…sit somewhere. Let him play."

      "I'm fine, I have amazing legs!" Duck scaled a small clay mound in his path. He shot the beast a smug look over his shoulder and immediately tripped on a root, tumbling backward. The thing caught his back and righted him.

      "I know. Just thought you'd want to talk about…well, choices were made."

      "Passive of you. You made a rather large choice." Its hand was still on his back. Despite his accusatory tone, he liked the feeling of it there. 

      "Yeah…I did. There's a good log over there, for sitting." His eyes swiveled down to Duck's. He was checking in. Duck liked when it did that. It hadn't always bothered trying to be respectful. 

      "You didn't want to tell the child when we started. Why now?" Duck sat. He felt his end of the seat lift a tick when the thing plopped down beside him. 

      "I was thinking…do you realize that we forget things?"

      "How do you mean?" Duck knew that memory as a concept was not generally reliable. But if he forgot things, he always assumed they hadn't been important anyway.

      "I'm sure there's been things, I remember that big things have happened, vaguely. But they've never stayed. I’m only certain of the things that are always happening, the ones that stay still. Is it…like that for you?"

      Duck tried to think. Maybe he was onto something, but what did it matter? "I suppose so…are you afraid you'll forget something important?"

      The thing's breathing stopped for a few seconds. When it spoke, it was with a darker tone. "We're doing new, good things, but we're doing them apart from the rest of it. Apart from our regular lives I mean. And I was starting to get…scared. I think. That we're making it too easy. If we somehow forgot all this–the relationship–we could go straight back to how it was, and it wouldn't make a difference."

      "What, forget that we love each other?"

      "Yes! I don't want to, I really–It can't happen." 

      It looked up from its hands, strangling one another in his lap. He was looking at Duck, now, like he was making sure to see all of him. "I didn't plan on telling him this morning. But I needed to do something. If the other guy knows, then this whole thing can be part of our real lives. Make it harder to trim clean off the end. Am I making sense?"

      "Barely." Duck tried to catch up. "You're saying it hasn't felt real enough yet?" 

      "There's something normal about us three, and normal things stay. I want the relationship to stay. If I lost you–this–I'd want to feel the difference." He sounded determined. He sounded like he knew what he wanted. Duck's face felt hotter.

      "I…I do also want to keep you. Staying sounds right. And…how do you suggest we do that?" Duck felt that he might understand, somewhat. The feathers at the back of his neck stood slowly on end as it dawned on him. 

      "We should be a couple. And we should do it all the time, when the third is around, and when we're having lunch, and when we're learning something. I want it all to change because we weren't supposed to like each other. I want everything to be a little bit wrong because of us. Because of something we've done, nobody else."

      Duck looked at his knees. That sounded like so much. But it also sounded an awful lot like establishing stability . Vocabulary had a way of comforting him. 

      "I don't know. I like when our regular lives stay still. Just imagine we make it a 'little bit wrong', and it all gets worse?" Duck felt his heart beating faster. "Everything would be different and nobody could undo it! What if it spreads, and everything ends up even more different, and different again in different ways and we can't ever stop it from being different every day?" 

      "Yes! Exactly! Different every day! Screw it up from the inside out! But even then, even if we make it part of everything from now on, we could just as easily lose it all from the very start, from the night we made it happen. So that can't be all."

      "It can't be?" Duck choked out. He watched the ends of the thing's mop of string swing about in its excitement. "It certainly could be!"

      "What do you like about me?"

      "What?"

      "What do you like about me, why me? Obviously we liked one another before anything ever happened, it was just unsaid. I liked you, I reckon I have for a while. And I know why now, I didn't always. So that's what we do, we take what's happening now and spin it all together with what's already happened, then it stays!"

      The thing was acting manic. Deranged. Duck really, really wanted it to stop. 

      "What the hell are you on about?!" He grabbed his beast's arm. "You're talking nonsense! This isn't how it's meant to go!"

      "How do you know how it's meant to go? This is our thing, we can do what we want with it!" He took the hand off him and held it in both of his own, desperately. It felt grossly familiar. "I'll go first! I love you because you're–"

      "STOP IT!" Duck wrenched his hand away and stumbled a few paces from the log. He looked back at Red, shaking. "You're yelling! It's childish! Tell me when you can act grown!" 

      It was quiet. Its hands lingered in the air where they'd been holding Duck's. It let them down into its lap. 

      "I'm only…I was excited. I didn't yell…" He was mumbling again. Duck hated when he mumbled. 

      "Speak up! What do you want from me? It's sounding like a lot!" Duck crossed his arms over his chest. His heartbeat vibrated in his finger bones. 

      "I don't–You know that's not fair,” It muttered. It looked hurt that he'd ask. Duck looked away. 

      "That's not my fault. If you talked any sense I'd know by now." 

      It scratched at its shoulder, struggling to make words. He had no trouble with that a minute ago. "I want…I don’t think I would…I want to–"

      "Guys! I found a weird thing! Come look with me!" The boy thing called from upstream. The conversation was thrust into a pregnant pause. 

      Red stood, dropping the log–and Duck–their few inches back to earth with a thud. 

      "Hey! Where are you going?!"

      "Over to the weird thing. Did you not hear him?” It looked in the direction of the summon.

      "We're talking!"

      "Yeah…” It glanced at him, then quickly away, like he hadn't meant to at all. “I would rather talk to him. At the moment." The creature trudged through the foliage toward the third's voice. 

      "Oh, VERY mature!" Duck called after him. "You always do this!" But his red thing was out of sight. His heart rate steadied as he stared into the underbrush.

      "Well done standing your ground!" Duck squawked and whirled around. The bird stood where Red had been sitting. The bee emerged from the hollow log to join her. Duck's eyes darted between them. 

      "So soon?! Have I done something wrong again?" Duck groaned. 

      "What, after we just said you did well?" The bird giggled. 

      "Easily. It's called a 'compliment sandwich', I read about them in a magazine. Obviously that was another complete mess…” Duck slumped over the log. The bird patted his head. 

      "Can't help it sometimes, not your fault," the bee tutted. "He's a fickle thing. That's always the problem. Ones like that only know how to talk in riddles.”

      “The problem is, they let their feelings make the big decisions,” the bee hummed. 

      Duck couldn't help but chuckle. “Oh, not my one of them. He’s got an issue with feelings. I think they might be medically inactive.”

      The bee laughed right back. “Him? Why, he hasn't got an ounce of rational thought in him! That's why it's so interested in you! It's why it loves you–but I'm sure you've figured that out by now.”

      “It is? I mean, yes, obviously…but maybe explain? To be sure we're on the same page.” Duck crossed his legs, settling into a better sit. 

      “You're intelligent, you know what you like! You make your decisions out of logic, not feeling!”

      This was true, thought Duck. All three things. These tutors were making concise, evidence-based arguments. Even the fact he'd come to such a conclusion confirmed it. However…

      “But isn't… love a feeling?”

      “Indeed it is,” conceded the bee “but we never claimed to be love experts, now did we?”

      “Didn't you?” Hadn't they? Duck was reasonably and logically confused about this. 

      “We're relationship experts, to the very core!” The bird bowed. “While love is important in a relationship, it's only the kindling to the fire that will warm your hearth for years and years to come!”

      “You said ‘heart’ wrong.”

      “A relationship is a house you build around that fire, a house you fill with furniture, and kitchenware, and homeowners insurance!”

      “And maybe even a few ducklings…” the bird cooed with a wink.

      “What?”

      “You both bring different things to the table! Your lover is so good at loving you, and needing you, and keeping it all burning! Now you're responsible for taking all that garbled mess of feelings and making it into something useful, like a proper architect!”

      “An architect…” This all made sense. No wonder Duck had such trouble! He'd involved himself where he wasn't required. “So I shouldn't worry about the feeling?”

      “You’ll have feelings, of course! But don't get caught up with them. This is very common in relationships–In fact, it can be the most functional way of going about it when properly maintained!”

      Duck realized why leading had felt wrong. His beast was smart, of course it was, he wouldn't love someone who wasn't. But its brand of smarts was fundamentally different; perhaps the confusion was by design. 

      Duck was greatly relieved. 

      “So I should focus on…keeping it all together? With furniture and insurance?

      “Now you're getting it! Remember, we're here for you if you have any other questions. We’re never too far away!”

      “Perfect! Actually, um…he seems to have run off, presently. I think he's upset with me. How should I…?”

      “Apologies, apologies, apologies! All it takes is an apology!” The bird twirled through the air.

      “Oh. Well I don't actually know what I did…and I usually only do and say the things I intend. So I'm probably not sorry.”

      “Not a problem! Part of a relationship is getting the ones with the feelings upset, it's unavoidable! Apologies, apologies, apologies! They love apologies!”

      Duck wasn't too big on apologies, but the way the tutors described them, they sounded promising. If what they were saying was true, practicing the everyday apology might be the trick to finally keeping things on the straight and narrow. After all, the red one’s job was to be content with the state of things, not to bother itself with who actually meant what. 

      “Okay…apology. You’ll be around?”

      “Always!” With that, they drifted backward into the briars and out of sight. 

      Duck stood and made his way through the incidental tunnel his beast had hollowed from the brittle foliage. (Unfortunately, he couldn't help but admire its knack for leaving an impression on its surroundings without even knowing. It frustrated him to no end.)

      As he came up on the spot, he began to hear the muttering of familiar voices.

      “We’d best leave it alone for now. I’m…not really sure what I’m looking at….”

      “The thing. Should I touch it?”

      “Definitely not. Let's head back, actually. It feels…unhealthy to look at.”

      Faux leaves rustled, growing closer. One set of footsteps stopped.

      “When we get back…will the other guy be upset?”

      The other set stopped.

      “By what?”

      “Me?”

      Duck was third to stop walking. He listened, hidden behind a turn in the trail. The red thing sighed.

      “You don't upset him, not more than he’s upset by everything. He’s just…” It sighed through its nose (wherever that was). Duck took another step forward. 

      “He has his ideas about how our thing is supposed to go. You know how he gets about his ideas. You're just…not part of this one.”

      Duck didn't appreciate being spoken for.

       “Oh…well, that's okay then. When will it be back to normal?”

       There was a bit of quiet, just long enough to let the unease set in.  

      “Not long. Reckon he'll find some other idea soon enough.” 

       “ What's that supposed to mean!?” Duck thought, loudly, and the thought came out of his mouth. He clamped his bill shut a moment too late. 

      The conversation went silent; Even the breaths between the sentences. 

       “Do you think that was him?” whispered the child. The other one didn't respond. 

      Duck grimaced. So much for a strategic approach. He strolled out of his hiding spot, behaving–best he could–like it hadn't been a hiding spot. 

       “What's that supposed to mean?” he said again, in a more level, respectable tone.

      The red one paid his full attention to bits of the forest where Duck wasn't. Its arms were crossed. Duck narrowed his eyes at the side of its head. He was peripherally aware of the third glancing between them. 

      He sighed. It seemed like as good a time as any. 

      He tapped his foot. He looked at the leaves by the thing's feet.

      He squeezed and unsqueezed his hands. 

      “I’m…” 

      The beast’s eyes swiveled to acknowledge him. It made things worse. 

      His jaw felt wired shut. He only needed the words. He dug in his heels. 

      “I'm sorry.” 

      It stayed still. There was a twitch somewhere in its face. It shrugged one shoulder and cast it's eyes down. 

      “What for?”

      This could be a trick. Was it saying an apology wasn't necessary? Or was it looking for specifics? Either option felt like a trap. 

      “For…the thing that I said.” 

      “Which thing?” He made eye contact. Duck nearly looked away, but thought better of it. He searched his memory for what he'd said immediately before the problem took place. It was already foggy. 

      “Um. Calling you childish.” He closely monitored its response as he spoke. Clues were scant. It was a stone wall.

      “And! Eh…saying you yelled. I actually did. Yell.” He cleared his throat. “So those are the things that I said. That I’m apologizing for. I’m sorry.” 

      His creature softened; His eyes, then the rest of him. It searched his face, looking mystified. Duck held back a sigh of relief.

      “Are you?”

      “Yes!” He bristled. “Would I say something I didn't mean!? Really…” 

      “That's the…second time. Ever. And the first in those words.” 

      Duck felt the disbelief was getting to be  a bit heavy-handed. He planted his fists on his hips.

      “Cut that out! Don't say that! I know when to be sorry! I'm attentive to your needs!” he huffed. Why did it feel the need to be so finicky?

      Red pointed at the yellow one. Duck blinked. 

      “What about him?”

      “Him next.” 

      He looked at Duck like he might be serious.

      “Don't be greedy–!” Duck stopped himself. Apologies, apologies, apologies . He glanced at the third. He straightened the sleeve of his overcoat.

      The boy pointed to himself. “Me? But I thought you said–”

      “Shush.” The red one didn't look at him. He kept Duck’s attention. It gestured to the boy once more. “Only if you mean it.”

      Another trap. Duck looked over, and was immediately struck with a hot saccharine beam that nearly put him off his balance. 

      The child’s puppy-dog eyes. They didn't work on Duck, they never had. But this time something was different. They permeated his defenses. They were patient, and hopeful, and annoying, and unrelenting. 

      “Eugh.” Duck wrung his hands. They love apologies .

      “And to you,” he mumbled in the yellow one's direction. 

      “What for?” Red prodded.

      “You're an insane person!”

      It only shrugged again in response. The third looked nervous, which only compounded the eyes’ effect. 

       “Sorry for…” What was he supposed to say? Being with his thing? That was the only thing he could think of that could have somehow upset the child–it was the only thing that had changed. That couldn't be what the red one was asking of him, it made no sense. Duck sequenced his words with great care.

      “Sorry I got to him first. Hard for you. Finders keepers though. Not that that makes it easier. Very sad for you.” 

      “What?” said the child. 

      “The hell are you talking about?” The thing stood straight, like he was surprised. This surprised Duck. 

      “You told me to apologize to him! What, was it not up to your standards?”

      It was making a face at him. Nothing recognizable, despite desperate effort on Duck’s end. After a painful lull in conversation, the beast sat. It crossed its legs in front of itself on a pile of perfectly orange, yellow, and red cutout leaves. 

      “I feel like…I picked the wrong conversation to have first.”

      Duck sat hesitantly, followed by the third, who looked on in what Duck imagined was some sick, morbid curiosity.  

      “How many conversations do you have on queue?” 

      “It's not like that exactly. But you know. A few.” He let that odd clarification hang in the air for a while. 

      “Everything is new. Finally. But I'm not…as good at it as I would like to be. I'm trying to do the love thing, but what's not helpful, babes, is you getting jealous–” 

      “‘JEALOUS’?!” Duck was aghast. If anyone was jealous it was the child. If anyone was helpful with “the love thing” it was Duck. He was doing all the heavy lifting! But he let it explain itself.

      “You're a jealous person. It's one of your things! And that's–” He looked among the triangle, then outside the perimeter. The clearing was densely surrounded. Duck wondered if the bird and bee were still watching. If they were, the beast didn't see them.

      “And that's what I wanted to say, I wanted to tell you why I like you. Forget about whatever I was trying to explain, I want you to help me out here. It's getting really annoying having to get in fights. I have things to say. I just don't know how to yet.”

      Duck perked up. Helping the thing organize his love feelings into something legible was exactly what he should be doing. He’d ended up right where he needed to be, and all it took was a couple apologies. He wasn't surprised; the tutors had told him as much. 

      “Should, um…should I go?” The two of them looked at the third. He was picking at something on the bottom of his shoe, looking a little out of place. Duck was about to tell him yes, that they had it handled without him, but he didn't. 

      “Um. So were you trying to say something about him? To me?” Duck said instead. 

      “Right! Yes!” The thing shook out its hands and set its shoulders. “This morning you said I’m yours. I hated that.”

      Duck’s feathers ruffled at his shoulders, just a smidge. “Oh?” he replied.

      “I have different feelings that happen with both of you, and that's my problem. But we're a group of three, that's the only fact I'm sure of and you will not touch it. That's all I want to say about that. Fair?”

      Duck had a lot of things he wanted to say, but he was nothing if not responsible. He picked through the pile first, sorting out the ones that weren't his job to worry about. 

      “Fair.” He sifted through once more. There wasn't much else to say. And no fights had begun yet. No need to poke the bear. “Go on then. What do you like me for?” 

      Red sat back a little, looking oddly caught off guard. Duck was amazed. He’d gotten shy already, at his own idea. He rolled his eyes. Another contradiction.

      “Can I go?” The child spoke up.

      “Oh right. You're dismissed.” Duck had forgotten he was there. 

      “No, I mean…’go’ like…so um, I can say what I like about you guys. And then maybe, you won't be uhm… nervous!” 

      “I'm not nervous I'm just…thinking.” The thing was embarrassed. Rightfully so. 

      “But um. While you think, should I?” He offered. The creature nodded sheepishly. It was sort of cute, the way he did it…Duck wasn't very used to thoughts like that. 

      He realized the third was looking at him, once he snapped out of it. 

      “You're looking at me.”

      “Should I?” Those stupid eyes. Those dumb idiot eyes. 

       “Out with it.” 

       “Who wants firsties?”

      Red shrugged, squishing around a handful of string, not looking up from the activity. 

      “Okay then, hum…Eeny, meeney miney…” he pointed at Red, “you!” 

      Of course, Duck was not a jealous person, so permitting this game was not difficult. It might be, hypothetically, for a relationshipper who was more insecure. 

      “I like you a lot,” said the boy. “I like that you're so big. You let me nap on you, and uhh…you make sure I don't hurt myself on–in the…the kitchen. Because of the knives. And fire, and you tell us stories, when we can't sleep, and, um, you name the guys in it after us, and that feels good to listen to…

“And you help to do things! Like teeth, and washing. And dishes. And you check under the bed for dust bunnies, and you hold the umbrella, so none of us guys gets wet. And uh…yeah! And you lift me up to reach the cereal! Uhmm. How much do I say? More or…um…not more?” 

      Ducks eyes scoured the side of his beloved’s face. Its knees had, over the course of the speech, risen to touch under his chin. He was otherwise not moving much at all. Duck spoke for him:

      “Yes, that's quite enough. Very sweet, thank you.” The yellow one grinned at the approval. He always looked at Duck like he wanted something. He scoffed.

      “Your turn! I love you because–”

      “Nice try! You think you did so well, don't you?! I can be sweet too! I can make the red whatever feel special! You!” He rose on his knees and pointed to the beast. It straightened its back. It looked a bit like a prairie dog. 

      “I love you! That's a feeling that I have! And I have reasons for it!”

      “Okay-”

      “I'm talking!” Duck wanted to ride this energy. Bashfulness could not exist where rage did. “You…! You're a great important thing in life! I like you because I– well, let me list the ways!” 

      He stopped. He thought. “I love you because…” He thought more. “Because…”

      “He's big?” The child offered unhelpfully. 

      “No! Be quiet! Look, now I've lost my train of thought! I was going to say that I actually love him because it's…he doesn't…it's that it always…”

      The beast slowly decompressed, looking less embarrassed and more…sad? Nervous? Frustrated? Duck tried to look for a way out, but he stayed there, a confession hanging halfway out of his mouth. Because…

      “I don't…know. That's not right…I definitely love you, that's…” He fell back onto his heels. His head hurt. 

       “I…” the thing started to say. 

      “No, hold on! You think I don't love you, let me–”

      “I don't.” Duck looked up from the leaves. His beast didn't look distraught, or enraged. It looked…to hell with it, Duck had not once ever had a single clue how it looked. It was two eyes on a tassel. This wasn't his job anyway, talking about his feelings. 

      “You don't what?”

      “I'm not calling the kettle black, mate. What am I supposed to do, tell you to get better at feelings?” 

      Duck didn't say anything.

      “This is exactly why I wanted to talk about this. We liked each other before the first…” He glanced at the child, briefly. “Before the first kiss. Agree? Disagree?”

      “Um…Agree. I think.”

      “Why?”

      “Because…” Duck knew his memory wasn't very reliable, but that didn't feel exactly like the issue. 

      “Right. I don't really know for sure either.”

      “You…what do you mean you don't know!? I'm lovable for all kinds of distinct reasons!” 

      “Maybe not my reasons, we don't know.”

      “What is that–‘not my reasons’, what a load of–!”

      “I'm not fighting, nobody is fighting!” It was surprisingly loud, and Duck obliged. 

      The yellow one raised his hand. “I can still uh…tell you. Um. If you want. That.”

      “This isn't about you!” Duck snapped. 

      “I think I love you because you say what you mean,” said Red, ignoring whatever else was being said. “You're never a mystery. There's nothing between your head and the air.”

      Duck blinked. “My mouth and teeth?”

      “No. I think I love you because everything matters to you, even if you don't like it. You care what comes of it.”

      “Well that isn't even–”

      “I think I love how you move around. I think it's funny. I think you…phrase things in a pleasing way. You're a good cook…” He paused. “This is easier than I thought.” 

       “No.” Duck couldn't accept that. It was harder than either thought, that was why it was so hard.

      “Say ‘I think’. So if it's wrong, you’ll be right anyway. Because you’ll think it.” Now it looked comfortable, somehow. Duck hated this. 

      “I think…I love you because you're…you have…I think I love you because you have…” There had to be another approach. He shuffled words around, he expanded and contracted the amount and configuration of things in his head. 

      “I think I love you because you're red, and I like red. And I like blue, sort of. But not…not until recently.” He scratched the back of his hand. 

      “I think I love you because you make me feel like I'm full of cotton balls…and hot water. And goldfish, sometimes. I think I love you because…” His brain still hurt. “Because I think you love me. And that makes me feel…nice.”

      “Mhm.” He looked at the thing, and it looked at him. It looked pleased. “Hey. I love you because you're good to look at.”

      “I love you for that reason, also.” Duck shifted. He looked around the triangle. He thought that he felt good. “Did you…still need my help with something?” 

      “I think we handled it.” 

      “Oh…okay.” 

Chapter Text

Duck put another tally in his planner. He smiled and rocked back in his chair. It was the fourteenth in a row. He drew a box around the last seven, and doodled a smiley face in the margin.

      It had officially been two weeks since he and his beloved had engaged in a pointless argument. Nothing major, at least. 

      “Y’right up there mate?” Red looked up from the rug. He was helping the third put together what could have been a model airplane, a model car, or a colorful wad of paste and cardboard. If it was the third, it was going splendidly. 

      “Of course.” Duck shut his planner and flipped open his half-finished crossword. “Should I not be?” 

      “You haven't talked much all day.” It sat up, dusting cardboard shavings off its lap. 

      “I don't have much to say. Can't complain about a morning like this.” He looked at his activity book. Seven across, third letter “N”. Something held within something else, such as a box or newspaper (usually plural) .

    “I'm sure we could come up with something,” the thing quipped, uncoiling into a stretch. Its spine crackled like bubble wrap. He had a tendency to forget the arrangement of his body when he was absorbed in an activity. It was as charming as it was detrimental to his health. 

      “Maybe you could. But just look at that sun!” Duck propped his feet on his armrest, in the path of a sunbeam. He sighed. 

      “It looks bright.” Duck peeked down at the yellow one. He was looking at the sun. “Oh, hmn…I can't see it now.”

      “Don't burn your eyes out!” Duck clapped, forcing a blink from the child. He rubbed his eyelids. “There you go. No use going blind, you're in charge of supper tonight.” He settled back into his lounge, propping his crossword on his knees. 

      “What’ve you got?” The thing's face appeared over Duck’s shoulder. He adjusted his posture to show his work. “Nice. I like these.” 

      “You do?” Duck glanced at its very close face. He reached up to fix an awkward lock of string that poked out from the rest. 

      “I always fill them out in the dailies.”

       “I know that. You said that you “like” them. You haven't said that before.” Duck had made a habit of pointing out the thing’s opinions when they presented themselves. It seemed to appreciate the help so far.

      “Huh. Reckon I do then… Need any help?”

      Obviously he didn't. “You can.” He pointed. “Work on this one. Ten down. Starts with “C”, Third letter ‘M’. ‘Bring into harm's way by reckless behavior’.” 

      The red thing rested his head on Duck's shoulder to think. The chair creaked under his weight. He backed off. 

      “Ah…I’ll move to the floor.” Duck slipped off the chair. Before he could take a step towards the rug, the thing had him scooped into its lap. 

     Duck was more open now to the affectionate manhandling–with some parameters. He handed the thing the crossword book to hold for the both of them. It enjoyed being a chair and a book stand, and Duck liked sitting and reading. A mutually beneficial activity. 

He brought his pen to Seven Across, Third Letter N. He marked down ‘ content’ .

      “Try ‘complicate’...” It counted out the boxes. 

      “Hm. That doesn't really match the definition.”

      “Try…uhm…‘push accidentally into a volcano hole’,” the child suggested. 

      “It’s not that.” Duck held back some more choice words. Being kinder to the boy thing helped. And it was in some way rewarding each time he managed to let some minor idiocy slide. 

      “Any plans yet for supper?” The thing leaned back onto its elbow to watch the third struggle with his fake vehicle. 

      Duck, having entrusted his full weight to his furniture’s whims, slumped into the curve of its reclined belly. It steadied him with a hand around his back.

    “I was gonna make…I think…mac and cheese,” the child replied.

      “Again?” The beast sounded disappointed. 

      “Or, um. Something else. I like mac n cheese...”

      “I like it. But we've had it every night this week already. Kind of…bored of it.”

      Duck moved to the next word. Six down, third letter ‘C’. The exterior front wall of a building, often more decorative .

      Things had been good. Once Duck had adjusted to his new apologetic, mature character, it wasn't long before their routine had settled back into…much of the same. Aside from a touch more sappiness, it really felt like nothing had changed. It was a major relief. A more polished domestic life, a happy family. And the bird and bee had been there every step of the way to make sure it went just so. 

      “Babes?” The thing nudged him. 

      “Big cat?” 

      “What do you think? Macaroni again? Or throw something else together?”

      “Well, we all like macaroni. You said so just a minute ago, remember?”

      “Right, I did…maybe with a side salad? Garlic bread?” It was doing a voice like something was wrong. 

      “Why?” He attuned his attention to its response. He'd become an expert of its behaviors. 

      “Do I need a reason? Just…some variety would be nice. Too much of a good thing.”

      Duck analyzed the situation with everything he’d been taught. Was this a logical or feelings-based problem? Likely feelings. They had macaroni ingredients after all, and they'd enjoyed the dish with no issue in the past. 

      As a feelings-based problem, was it consequential, or inconsequential? Probably the latter. Duck didn't care what they had for dinner. 

      As an inconsequential, feelings-based problem, was it worth Duck’s guidance? No. Therefore: Apologize and give him what he wants. 

      “Right. Sorry. Middle one, make something else. We don't want that.” He went back to his crossword, chewing the end of his pen to think.  

      “Um. Okay.” A sticky jet wing broke off in the boy’s hand. “Aw…”

      The red one plucked the pen from Duck’s bill and filled in Ten Down: Compromise . He capped it and returned it to Duck’s teeth, who resumed his gnawing. It sighed.

      “...Was that a good sigh?” Duck craned his neck back to meet his dearest’s eyes. It glanced at him, not surrendering any hints. 

      “S’just breathing, mate.” it petted his chin with its thumb in an affectionate manner. Success. He returned to the book. Six Down, Third Letter ‘C’ proved difficult. He decided to come back to it later. 

      Seven tally marks later, the guys were underwater. They were learning about the ocean from an abnormally ambitious goldfish. 

      They'd been taken to a beautiful place made up of colorful, funny-shaped rocks and little animals.  

       So many colors and creatures to see!

      A seahorse! A blue tang! An anemone!

      “Ugh…” The red creature’s voice sounded tinny through the water. “Are we re-breathing our breath?” He tapped at his diving helmet. 

       “Maybe you should brush your teeth better.” Duck flapped his arms, struggling to stay upright (clearly a consequence of his waterfowlish buoyancy). He was having a nice time regardless, and the inside of his own helmet was minty fresh. 

      The yellowest of the three had busied himself getting attacked by an octopus. He giggled as tentacles constricted his neck. 

      “Four hugs!” he probably said. It was a bit too muffled to know for sure. He looked to be enjoying himself.

      “Big cat?” Duck noticed his beloved wasn't looking as invested. He'd found a nook beneath some fan coral a ways away, watching a cluster of barnacles and trying to ignore the singing. 

      It wasn't that surprising. He had never been quite as outwardly passionate about these things. Duck had let it slide in the past, but now that they were a couple…should Duck be more concerned with its education? 

      Duck swam toward his creature. “Hey you.”

      His red one looked over with a flash of irritation, but it left as quickly as it came. 

      “Are you planning to join us? This is a good one. There's a turtle over there, did you see the turtle?” 

      “No.” he didn't look at Duck, but he didn't ask him to leave, either. It poked at the sand by its feet. Little murky clouds followed his hand.

      “You never look at things. You know, if you ever tried to experience something before hating it outright, you might have an easier time finding your opinions. Have you ever tried that?’

      The thing slowly turned its head, still scratching at the sand, which had formed into a thick haze. 

      “It's one of my things, isn't it. You've never had a problem with it before.” He looked past Duck, and scooted further into his hideaway.

      “You weren't–I mean, we weren't an item before. But now I'd like to be with someone I can like things with. Or a guy who tries at the very least.”

      Red stared. “Huh.” He looked back at the barnacles. “The hell'd you pick me for then?”

      Duck truly did not want to argue. That would break the streak. He sighed. This would be classified as a logic based consequential. If he and the thing couldn't work this out like adults, their future together could be in jeopardy.

      “What a dumb question. You can't just–”

      A force slammed into Duck, throwing him head over heels. He held onto his helmet, spinning, blinded in a torrent of bubbles. The quartet were freighted out to sea in seconds. 

The Reef is bright and warm, and always in motion!

      But it's a mighty different story in the Open Ocean! 

      The riptide dispersed, leaving the four to find their bearings and one another.  Duck managed to swallow back his motion sickness. The child had not been so lucky. His face was hidden behind a spatter of greenish sludge.

      “Wow!” He coughed. “Where did I go?” 

      “Where's the ground?” asked the red one. Duck looked down. It went from blue to black, with some big fish in between. No ground. Duck looked up to find his dearest had paddled up next to him. 

      “Hah! No place to hide away now, is there?” He looked at the thing smugly, but it didn't notice. It grabbed his arm.

      “Yeah. Right. But where is the ground?” It's grip was just tight enough to make Duck’s hand tingle. 

      “Are you alright?” Duck gently inquired. 

      “Just…used to more things being around. Mostly a floor, and furniture and…walls and whatall...” His breathing was funny. Duck considered reminding him of their limited oxygen supply, but something told him that might be counterintuitive. 

      A school of lumpy, repulsive silver fish darted out from the darkness, momentarily swathing the group of four in their ranks as they passed around them. The thing made a frightened little sound. Duck’s arm was nearly numb now.

      Duck looked at the spot where his thing held on. It didn't seem like he'd be letting go if he could help it. He seized the opportunity to practice more relationship skills. This would be a feelings-based consequential. 

      According to protocol, his responsibility would not be to solve the issue (feelings were not his responsibility). But because of the greater stakes–the thing’s trust in Duck as a capable protector in its moment of weakness–it was his obligation to offer mild moral support. His creature was now holding him with both mitts, his eyes squeezed shut. Duck nobley tolerated the ache (probably bruising) under its grip. He patted its hand.

      “There there…it's only water. There's just more of it. I'm a good swimmer, so there won't be any trouble–”

      “If you’ll look on our starboard side,” the goldfish bubbled from behind them. Red flinched. Duck held him steady. He gave the teacher a frigid side eye. The fish continued, unaffected: “You’ll see a majestic creature, known as the blue whale !”

      “Excuse us, we were having a conversation.” Disrespectful. It was clear that they were in the middle of something. He turned back to the beast. “I was going to say that if you– What is that?!” 

      Something massive passed underfoot. It was dark, and rough, just meters below where Duck treaded water. It churned its flat, crusted limbs, horribly silent–until it was equally horribly loud.

      It wailed, vibrating Duck’s bones. Its gargantuan tail beat the water, slowly, but thrust the huge thing forward at an astounding pace. 

      “Woah…” Duck looked toward the voice. The yellow one was directly in its path. 

      “Get out of the way!” Duck barked. He covered his eyes. This was the end. The impact was imminent. The poor boy was so small and so young, he was easy pickings. Like a jellybean.

      What a shame , he thought, as the child-thing was certainly swallowed, I liked having him around .

      “Haha! Wow! It likes me!” 

      Duck peeked from between his fingers. The whale had flown just over the yellow one’s head. He'd outstretched his hand to run it along its pale belly. 

      “Don't worry–this isn't a scary one! Blue whales only eat krill and plankton, tiny little buggers!” 

      The goldfish uncurled its fin to reveal a little shrimp-like thing inside.

      “Huh…” Duck squinted at the tiny animal. It looked up at him with shiny, minuscule eyes. 

      “Mercy,” it peeped in a small, frail voice. Though Duck could've imagined it. Either way, the goldfish tossed it over its shoulder as the whale circled back overhead, consuming every little alive thing in its path with dead, sagging eyes. 

      “Those funny-looking teeth are called ‘baleen’!” 

      It was closer now. It moaned through every atom of seawater, a vocalization like a lighthouse damned to Hell. The goldfish giggled.

      “The blue whale is the largest animal to ever exist! It’s slow-moving and warm-blooded, very different from its scaly neighbors!”

      Duck noticed he was holding his creature now in return, rather tensely. He could see the barnacles on the monster’s ribbed stomach, trailing strings of seagrass.

      “Not only is it humongous, but it's not actually a fish at all! It's part of a rare group of mammals who, after leaving the sea to take the land for a spin, decided that wasn't quite for them either. They went back into the water, but it was too late!”

      The wretched animal coasted overhead, casting the crew in shadow. Duck assumed his own beast must be terrified. He took its hand, and felt a bit more secure–or it did, rather…The goldfish rambled away without a care.

      “Their family and friends didn't recognize them! Perhaps a punishment for their indecision. If they were to ever return to land, their alien form would never allow for it! So they roam the open seas, surfacing only to breathe, as is their sisyphean birthright!”

      Duck watched the horrible thing’s outline fade into the dark blue. 

      “Ecgh…well, can't blame it for being a dumb animal, I suppose.” He let out a sigh of relief, turning triumphantly to his sweetheart. 

      “See? It didn't even think to come after you. And you were shaking like a leaf! You ought to trust I can keep you…Hey. I'm talking.”

      “Hey babe?” The creature's eyes came slowly into focus, still looking after the vanished whale. He looked down at Duck, decidedly unterrified. Its eyes were shiny with something like awe, or reverence. 

      “...Big cat?” Duck had lost his train of thought.

      “I know what my favorite animal is.”

      Ten more tally marks later, Red tossed Duck a tomato. He caught it, wiped his knife clean on his apron, and started dicing it into a pile of onion and garlic. 

      “Did you start the oven?” The creature shut the fridge door with his foot and dropped a block of cold cheddar onto his own cutting board. 

      “Half an hour ago. It was your job to remember, you know,” Duck scolded.

      “Can't help that you have the better memory…and like doing things for me.” The thing glanced over to Duck’s cutting board. It nabbed a chunk of tomato and pulled its mop of hair aside to pop it in its mouth. 

      “Stop doing that! You don't even like tomatoes!” Duck scooted his cutting board further down the counter. 

      “Oh yeah… See? Better memory.” He paused. “You really keep track of things I like?”

      Duck shrugged. “Some. Ones I have thoughts about.” He scraped the chopped things into the mixing bowl. 

      “What's your thought about my tomato thought?” It leaned over Duck’s head to dump a handful of shredded cheddar into the mix. 

      “I think it's stupid. Tomatoes are the perfect fruit. It's why we keep them around.” 

      “Ah, f'course. Forgot you know best.” The beast ruffled the thinning feathers on top of Duck's head. He'd have complained if it didn't feel nice.

      The two worked in comfortable silence for a while. Duck was proud of that–the tolerability of all the silence between them. He knew that was a marker of good maintenance. A quiet like this felt very stable, and particularly lovelike.

     “So, tomatoes…” the beast broke the silence. 

      “Very high in vitamin C. And potassium.”

      Duck could feel it watching him on the back of his head. It had something else to say. Duck put a pot of water on to boil.  

      “Do you remember when you died?” 

     Duck collected his thoughts. Unexpected, but not too complicated. 

      “Mhm. We had a party. Lovely event.” He couldn't recall too much. Just another day or two really. 

      “I didn't like you very much. I mean, I did, I reckon. But I didn't know.”

       That's because you don't think , thought Duck. He knew better than to say it, even if he thought it endearing. 

      “When you died…you do that a lot, actually. Those are some of the things I remember best. Even when I didn't like you, it never felt good, seeing that. Frustrating, right. That that can just happen to us. I might hate watching it more than… eh, can't say that.”

     Some feathers pushed at Duck's collar. He patted them down. The thing was trying to talk again. It did this sometimes. It was one of the few imperfections that bled through the domesticity. The red one wasn't supposed to try to talk about things that didn't matter anymore. It hadn't been this talkative before. 

      “That's nice.” Duck climbed onto his stool and checked the water. A few little bubbles were just starting to climb up the sides of the saucepan. He could've sworn it had been longer than that since he'd set the stove. 

      “It's not normal. I haven't stopped thinking that, you know.” 

       This again . “Oh?”

      “I love this. It's been good for me, I think. Hoping its been alright for you. It all feels normal. You've noticed, right? That I'm different?”

      Duck looked at him. By its almost bashful tone, he had expected it to be looking away. That would have been predictable. Instead, it was looking right back. Duck's face grew warm, despite the chilly pit in his stomach. 

      “Well?” it prompted. 

      “Well…” What was wrong with the way you were before? And why do we have to be normal? You still haven't explained that.

      But that would be an argument, wouldn't it? He was presented with a logic based inconsequential. A case where if nothing particularly significant were to be said or done, everything would simmer down on its own. Yet, the situation demanded something of him, a response, to keep everything moving smoothly. An inconsequential white lie–or a handful of them. Whatever it needed to hear to sate its appetite. 

      “Yes… It is normaler now.” That earned him a smile. His dearest’s strange mouthless smile. 

      “I didn't think that change mattered here, but we haven't lost this yet, something permanent's happened. It's not day after day anymore, computer, tin can, fuse box, talking and talking, it's been weeks, I know it has! I know for sure that it's been weeks. We've done something by being together, you feel it too, don't you?”

      “Of course I feel it. All different from before, no doubt about that.” It was talking crazy, but it would come down from this episode like it always had before. Eventually. Soon, Duck hoped. He didn't like talking about the past like that. Like it was in the past. 

      Duck awoke on a red pillow, arms around his slumbering beast. He blinked his sticky eyes and looked out the window. It was set to sunrise. 

      The episode the night before had taken much longer than usual. The creature hadn't stopped, or even slowed. It kept going on, until Duck had finally, with extreme romantic effort, shut him up. It had taken a hushed voice, cooing, humming, combing fingers through tangled yarn until they ran smooth, but he'd successfully lulled his restless beast to sleep.

He'd kept up his diplomatic answers for hours, grueling work, but he'd managed. Not only that, he was confident. It felt amazing, doing his part with such vigor. He was one of the best at this, surely. He'd built the most competent, stable relationship he knew to have ever existed. 

      “Mnh. Morning.” Duck looked down. The pile of yarn rolled over on his stomach to reveal a couple sleepy eyes. 

      “Good morning.” Duck spoke as softly as he was able. The third was still asleep in the next bed. “You were an okay blanket. A little heavy.”

      “I’ll make a note.” The thing rolled off of Duck and pulled him to his chest to kiss the side of his head. 

      “How are you feeling?” Duck tucked his bill under his creature's chin.

      “How do you mean?”

      “You were agitated. Last night. Are you feeling better?”

      “What, like I'm ill?” The thing snorted. “You're changing too. Worrying about me. I like it.” 

      “So you still think all that? From last night?” Duck prodded. 

      “I said it didn't I? What, you don't agree?” He was calm, but Duck knew how quickly that could change. 

      “Of course I agree! We agree on all the important things! I was just…making sure. That your ideals are consistent. A lover does that.”

      It watched him like he was a curious little animal. Something entertaining, but not fully comprehensible. That was okay. Duck could be that for him. 

      “Well then you're a good one of those.” 

      “I am, aren't I?” 

Chapter Text

     Duck looked up from his inventory. He sniffed the air. Some heavenly scent had found its way into the computer room. His stomach picked up on the memo, loudly voicing its approval. He’d been working hard all afternoon; he could afford a break to investigate. He put up his clipboard, orienting his pen to indicate where he'd left off, and hopped out of his desk chair.  

      He followed his nose to the kitchen, and was greeted by the familiar sight of his dearest, maneuvering gracefully from one task to another. Pans of something were frying on the stove, and the counter was strewn with various cooking implements and foodstuffs.  

      “What are you making up there?” Duck craned his neck as he approached. The thing twirled to face him, the strings of its apron following through with a flutter. 

      “Wouldn't you like to know.” It rinsed its mitts and wrung them out over the sink. 

      Duck approached his sweet, signaling him closer with a tug at his hip. It gave its hands a final shake and knelt down to meet Duck at eye level. 

      “It's a surprise. But I'm open to interruptions.” It glanced down to dust something off Duck's collar, bringing its hand to rest under his chin. Duck knew a cue when he saw one. He leaned in.

      “Fabulous. I'm here to interrupt.” He looped an arm around his beast's shoulders and pulled him into a kiss. It was tender, brief, and familiar. 

      “You're the sweetest.” The thing kissed him on the cheek, and the forehead, cradling his head in both hands. 

      “Ah, stop that…” Duck halfheartedly protested. “You're the sweetest.” He wound a lock of well-groomed yarn loosely through his fingers, watching it fall back into place one bit at a time. Letting the moment simmer. He never really was all that concerned with reigning in the schmaltz.

      “Mm.” The creature opened its eyes. “Tell me you remembered?” 

      “Of course I did!” Of course he did. It was their anniversary–how could he ever forget? 

      “Of course you did… How’d I get so lucky?” His darling beast sighed and stroked his thumb along Duck’s cheek. 

      “Who could say?” Duck was lost in the blue of its eyes, which didn't look so unpleasant anymore. There was a more subtle cohesion to his color palette, he'd come to understand. Like the first breath of cool air after a sauna.

      There was a sizzling, popping sound from the stove top. “Ah! My bad–” The red thing sprung to his feet to turn down the dial, hurrying to move something around with a spatula. “Hm. Looks about done. Wanna set the table, love?”

      “Of course, dearest.”

      Duck pulled out his darling's chair before taking a seat for himself. An assortment of various dishes were spread across a lace tablecloth, in the nice china. The meal was candlelit, topped off with a bouquet of dark red roses. The big one filled Duck's glass with something equally red. 

      “How is everything?”

      “Delicious, my dear.” Duck gathered a bit of rosemary roast potato and offered his fork to his beast. As if practiced, it pushed its hair back and leaned in to take the bite in its teeth. Duck grinned, chin in hand. 

      “You're so pretty.”

      “Mm. I knew there was a reason you kept me around.” It grinned.

      “Don't say that!” Duck squawked.

      “I'm kidding.”

      “I know,” he hummed. He dipped into his drink, watching red blobs of candlelight light wobble about in the glass. The thing had done well selecting a rich, romantic beverage. The whole scene was warm and filling. The thing was still staring at him when he resurfaced. “Yes, dear?”

      “Speaking of sticking around…” The thing straightened in his chair and tucked a stray bit of string behind his shoulder. Duck set his glass aside. “I do have…another surprise.”

      “Another? You've outdone yourself.”

      “What kind of lover would I be if I didn't make an effort once in a while?” It shrugged. Duck leaned in, on the edge of his seat. His heart felt primed to burst already, what else could there be?

      “It's more of an announcement, actually. One I thought you'd probably be happy to hear.” It paused for effect. “Uh...I'm better now.”

      Duck gasped. “You mean that?”

      “I found out just recently; whatever I've been feeling, it's better! I'm not scared or sad or what all I had going on. I know exactly what I want.”

      “And what is that? What do you want?” Duck could feel his eyes sparkling. 

      “I want…to be here, with you. If it's with you, I could be anywhere in the world.” 

      It offered its hand, and Duck grasped it tightly in his own. His ring shone in the candlelight, alongside a band of gold embroidered in the fabric where the beast's ring finger would be. He pulled his beloved into an embrace, falling from his chair to be caught in plush arms and gleefully twirled around the kitchen. 

      “I love you, I love you, I–”

      “Hey!”

      Duck felt a strange sensation. He opened his eyes. His red thing was tapping on his skull. 

      “Agh, what are you–”

      “Hey. Babes.” A tongue clicking noise, Like he was calling a puppy. 

      “What's gotten ingoo…yugh….” Duck's bill went slack. He opened his eyes for a second time. His beast's face was still there, but it was lit a bit less romantically. Sitting room light, and the high pitched drone of a static TV. 

      “There you are. How long have you been out?”

      Duck groaned. He looked around the room. The TV was paused on a frame of the supremely uninteresting sitcom his beloved had insisted they watch.

      “...How long has the television been on?” 

      The thing rolled his eyes. “So we're even then. On the ‘not paying attention to shows’ account.”

      “Oh. Right. Sorry.” Duck looked at the television. It was frozen on the image of the titular lanky, dark-haired man, looking like he was in the middle of delivering one of his “zingers”. Duck steeled himself. “If you want to start over, We could-”

      “Nah, no biggie. Suppose you can't teach taste.”

      “Pardon?” 

      “I'm kidding.” He moved his arm. Duck realized it had been draped around his shoulders. “I've got…something I need to check on, anyway. You can catch up if you really want to.”

      “Engh…I don't.” 

      The thing chuckled and kissed the top of his head. “We'll make it up. Cram an extra date in somewhere.” It lumbered to the front door. “I'll be back before supper, a’right?” 

      “Don't be late! I'm not letting you reheat yours, it ruins the moisture balance!”

      “I know, I know, I won't be. Love you!”

      “Love you too!” That was very easy and very regular to say. He hardly noticed it come out of his mouth. The beast shut the door behind it. 

      Duck sighed, folding his hands under his chin. Dreaming of him was a good sign, he thought. Their waking dynamic (to an extent) wasn't far off, either. Conflict was a thing of the past; Duck couldn't resist patting himself on the back for that one. He had yet to look away from the front door, futzing absentmindedly with his ring finger. 

      “Would you look at that?” A chirp came from the other end of the sofa. Duck looked over his shoulder. “We'll all wind up with cavities if you keep this up!” 

       “Bravo, mate! Look how all your hard work's paid off!” buzzed the bee. 

      Duck waved his hand. “Oh, stoppit, really it was nothing. Easy peasy.” He couldn't help but blush under his feathers. 

      “You've just about settled into a routine it looks like!”

      “It does look that way, doesn't it?” Duck glanced again at the door. “He’s a wild one, but I've got him. He's got me. It acts differently now. Happier, I think. It seems excited.” Duck realized it as he spoke. Obviously he was leaving out the more unsavory details of the change, but there was good too – Duck always was one to find the bright side. The thing was just as excited as Duck to settle down, just like in his dreams. Sharing a bed on purpose every night, having its hair kept tidy, holding books where they were needed. It was the kind of excitement that burned less like a wildfire, and more like a lightbulb. Burning in, not out. Controlled. Stable.

      “How's about you? Are you excited?”

      “Of course!” That was even easier. What would be the point if he weren't? He was excited to sit in his chair, and to look across the sitting room, where his dearest monstrosity would be doing the same. He was excited to do that every day, for the foreseeable future. And Duck was great at foreseeing the future – it wasn't ever too complicated.  

      “Well…where's it gone now?”

      “Hm?”

      “Where's the big fella off to? Somewhere you can't be?” The bee hovered around Duck's head, investigating the room. 

      “Oh! He's just on one of his walkabouts. He likes a little air sometimes. I think it's good for his condition. Awfully large lungs. I imagine they need a lot of air.” He shrugged one shoulder. He had no reason to consider it further.

      “And you need a break from him, do you?” The bird perched on Duck's knee. 

      “What? What are you on about, I didn't say anything like that!” Duck resented the notion – or the accusation, more like – that he'd have a need to escape his dearest.

      “‘Pologies! It's just a bit confusing! If you can be there, and you want to be around him, why not join him?” The bee laid it out in a way which was very logically sound. Duck blinked. 

      “Well we don't always do things together. We're back to about the way things were, and they were never like that, going everywhere together.”

      “You can do better than how things were! Remember, you've got him now! Might as well make use of that.” The bird fluttered off Duck's knee and landed on his overcoat, hung up by the door. “Be around him! It's the best part of a relationship, isn't it?” 

      Odd. They were saying all true things… “He doesn't expect me to go with.” Duck was already off the couch.

      “What a happy surprise it'll be then!” The bee opened the door. Duck put on his coat. 

      Duck followed the path the beast inevitably left wherever it went. Imprints of gargantuan feet in the papery grass, broken twigs, little bits of red fuzz caught on a briar or two. Duck had begun to understand how nice that was. He would never go anywhere Duck couldn't follow.

      As he hiked, he began to recognize the scenery. A particular hollow log. A mossy, difficult-to-climb mound. A leafy clearing in the distance. It was just a bit impressive; The forest was very, very big, and they usually couldn't do more than wander aimlessly unless there was a good reason to be put back where they'd been before. Either something had brought the red one here, or he'd made quite the effort to find it again for himself. 

      “Hello?” It came out quieter than Duck had intended, just below speaking volume. Being alone outdoors brought with it a level of apprehension. Purely physiological. Something rustled in the shrubbery up ahead. 

      “Dearest?” A sudden twinge in his spine shook it out of him. Duck had never called it that aloud before. The rustling stopped. A mass of red emerged from the brown-green undergrowth. It blinked down at him. 

      “Hello. Did you need something?” He sounded surprised, though Duck couldn't tell yet if it was a happy one.

      “I've yet to be made aware of what goes on during these outings. Have you noticed that? I got a bit curious.” Duck glanced to its eyes. “I take it I'm welcome?”

      “Uh…” Red looked over his shoulder. He shifted his weight to his other foot, then back, looking at whatever he was looking at like it was something untoward. Duck was briefly concerned. 

      “Of course I'm welcome,” Duck answered on behalf of the thing, just in case. “And you're welcome. For coming to join you.”

      “I didn't really think you'd…I mean, I've just been checking on my…” The beast was nervous. Why was it nervous? There was no reason to be. What was the reason? 

      “Don't act like you've got something to hide, dear. Makes me itchy.” Duck did his best to tamp down the suspicion in his tone. 

      The thing had abruptly returned his attention to Duck halfway through his sentence, looking put off balance; a response to the accusation, the new pet name, or a little of both. “Not hiding anything, really…as such. I was just…I wasn't planning on telling you just yet.”

      Duck walked over and tugged at its hip. It flinched a bit and gave him an odd look.

      “What was that?”

      Duck sighed and rolled his eyes. “It means get down here.”

      “Does it?” Red knelt on the leaves.

      “Yes, it does, now tell me what all is going on that I have yet to be told.” He had practiced, over the course of their relationship, the art of keeping an even tone. He'd become relatively good at it.

      “Now?” It seemed to be running the numbers in its big fluffy head. Duck set his jaw into a tight smile. 

      “Now, if you please.” 

      The big thing didn't really look fearful, at least. It looked more conflicted than that.

      “I was meaning to show the both of you soon enough anyway, I reckon…I needed to make sure it was safe. Do you promise you won't do anything stupid?”

      “Me?” Duck squawked. His beast sighed and looked again over his shoulder. 

      “Follow me.” It offered its hand. Duck took it, slowly. It pulled him through the brush, taking care not to let any twigs snap backward as he bent them out of his way. Duck squeezed his mitt. 

      “There.” The thing stopped suddenly, and pointed. Duck looked around. They were just past the clearing, where Duck had never been. It looked like the rest of the woods, with a few less trees. 

      “What am I looking for?”

      “When we were all here, the last time, maybe a couple months ago – that's a long ways back to remember, but that's besides the point – the other one found something…weird.” 

      “What sort of ‘weird’?” Duck tried to see past the trees.

      “Maybe you can't see it from here…It's sort of subtle, here–” It started moving again, tugging Duck along. 

      “Here!” it barked, making Duck jump. He looked up at its face. It had lost all trace of the hesitation from a minute ago; it was recklessly excited, proud, like a dog showing off a fresh kill. “This tree, look at it. It's different.”

      Duck followed its fingerless pseudo-point with his eyes. The trunk of a tree. He might have truly lost it this time.

      “It's just a tree. It's a little bumpier, maybe…? Is this actually what you've been coming out here for?”

      “Come on, look closer!” It crouched by the tree and scooped Duck to its side, pressing his head up against its own to match his line of sight. It motioned again to the bark. 

      This was one of those situations, wasn't it? Duck was well near disappointed; to have thought there might have actually been something interesting going on. He'd just have to humor its game until it cooled down, as per usual. He leaned forward and inspected the tree. 

      It was brown. It was a little bit bumpier, a little bit greyer. It looked old, now that Duck was closer. All cracked and peeling, with notches and nubs of various textures. It was quite far from the smooth brown foam of the surrounding woods. 

      “Is it sick?” Duck looked at his dearest’s closeby face. Still crazed in expression, but it spoke in a more collected fashion.

      “I don't think so. It's more than that. The material is different, I reckon. It's harder, and cold…and there's something in it.”

      “Have you touched it?” Duck reached forward but his arm was quickly pinned back to his chest. 

      “Don't! Don't touch it yet. Ugh…how do I…?” It closed its eyes and took a steady breath, like it was preparing for an oral report. “I came back here, after we found it. The next day. I think it's a mistake.”

       “What's a mistake?” 

      “A glitch. Like, put here by accident. I touched it, and everything sort of…” it made a nonsensical, complicated hand gesture, firework-adjacent – a brief interpretive dance, maybe. 

      “Use your words.” Duck looked back at the bark. It did look wrong. It looked more wrong by the minute. 

      “I think we can use it. I think this is the way out.” 

      Those words didn't seem to fit together. They were the kind that didn't click into Duck's brain. “This ugly thing is the way out? Of where?”

      The beast made another grandiose gesture. It couldn't seem to speak properly. It was doing its smiling thing. It was doing a whole lot of it. All for a gnarled grey stick. Duck pinched the bridge of his bill. “Dammit, say something useful! What's so special about what I'm looking at?!”

      In place of a response, the thing grabbed his wrist, uncurled his palm against its own, and transferred it flat against the cold bark. 

      It was coarse and crumbly under his fingers, smooth in random patches, and there was indeed something inside. He almost didn't notice the beast fading out of his periphery. He couldn't describe what he felt, or how he felt it. There was a breathing energy, a living essence, like feeling blood move under flesh. An aliveness that Duck scarcely felt even within himself. It was everything their real, colorful world wasn't meant to have, uncharacteristic of trees as Duck knew them to be.

      He looked up, and the woods were different. The trees were too tall, far too tall, and all of them were grey, and rough, and crumbly. Their leaves blanketed the ground in shades of dirt brown, weird orange, sad red. They made dry, scraping noises as they skittered in the wind, misaligned with the properties of fabric. The sky was bright grey and endless, emitting a blinding light of its own. Ghostly wisps of white strung the stratosphere where there should have been clouds. The frigid air burnt his throat with each inhale. It all smelled of decomposing vegetables. 

      Something in the trees cawed, loud, jagged, and nearby. Duck pulled his hand away and stumbled backward, coughing up the remnants of the awful scent. Fuzzy hands caught his back and pulled him into his beloved’s chest. 

      “Explaining wasn't…really an option, I reckon,” it mumbled apologetically. It looked at Duck trembling in his arms. It smoothed back the fuzz on his forehead. “Y'right mate?”

      Nothing was right. That thing, place, whatever it was – was very wrong.  “Why did you do that to me?” Duck was not arguing. The thing rested his head on top of Duck's. Its yarn was warm on his face. 

      “We did this,” it said, not answering the question. Duck felt his voice through his chest. It would have sounded like a condemnation if it weren't spoken so proudly. “We broke it open.” Again, said with glee.

      It pulled back to look into Duck's eyes, and finally noticed he wasn't sharing in the celebration. “Are you excited?” 

      Duck was quiet. The thing's eyes scoured his face, looking halfway between delight and discomfort. He squeezed his shoulders.

      “This is what I've been talking about. We can finally leave this place, all three of us. We were never supposed to be this close together for this long.” It sat back in the leaves, looking at the tree as he spoke. “We're together. We've learned one another, and how to talk. You know this place isn't built for guys who can talk to each other.” 

      What a crazy thing to say. Unfortunately, Duck couldn't entirely disagree.

       “We can get out of here, out into the real world! Without the songs and the nonsense rooms and the memory loss, all the dumb injuries! I knew there had to be one, a real world!” 

      Duck was incredulous. “Out there?! Out in that horrifying place?!” None of this was supposed to be happening.  

      “I know you've wanted it too, we know each other. You're self-sufficient. You want to be free to go where you please, nobody telling you what to do and think, this– ” another wild gesture at the terrifying plant “–is our ticket!” 

      Duck didn't know what he would want to think, given the choice. He was having a difficult time thinking of anything. The beast was glowing. Duck realized, with slow-sinking dread, that this was the happiest he'd ever seen the mad thing. 

      “Why do you want–” Duck stopped himself. Why did it want to leave? He couldn't ask that, obviously. He'd been told the answer, time and time again, and he'd agreed, aloud, wholeheartedly, whether he understood the ramblings or not. He'd agreed sweetly into the lunatic's ear like a lullaby, the only way to restore its peace of mind. White lies. And this was the happiest he'd ever seen his poor thing. 

      “I think…” Duck's face crumpled at hearing his voice crack. “I think I need a minute.”

      It's eagerness softened into a more manageable sympathy. It sat back, retracting its hands into its lap. “Course, yeah. Lot to process. 

      Duck sat as well, heavy and breathless as if he'd just run a mile. He stared at the leaves by his feet, of three distinct colors, and one distinct shape. He sucked in a breath of lukewarm air. 

      “I'm…excited.” He didn't want to see his beloved’s reaction. He scratched at the back of his hand. “And hungry. We ought to go home.” 

      His beast didn't press further. He had heard what he was asking for. He offered a hand, and Duck took it. It closed its other on top. 

      “I love you.” 

      Duck swallowed his nausea and met its eyes. Very blue in this light. “Take me home.”

Chapter Text

      “You're smiling,” said the yellow one. 

      “Don't be daft. That's just how he looks. Can't even see his mouth,” Duck mumbled. He picked at his french toast. It was breakfast. He hadn't spoken to his beast since the evening before. So far it’d been frustratingly respectful of his request for space to think. 

      “I can tell when he's smiling, though,” the boy insisted.

      “That's inane.” 

      “Is not!”

     “It is! You're just a–”

      “Cat didn't do anything, leave’m be,” the beast interjected with the demeanor of a passing breeze. Duck gave it an incredulous side-eye. It hadn't even looked up from its food. He scoffed. The nerve of that thing. 

      Unfortunately, it was a beautiful morning. The food tasted lovely, the sun was bright, and the energy at the table was immaculate. The weirdly pleasant creature glanced at Duck.

       “How's everything?” it asked, feigning innocence. That was a cheap shot. The thing had made everyone breakfast that morning. Obviously to butter him up, to make him receptive to its harebrained scheme. He wasn't falling for it.

       “It's okay.” Duck shrugged and poked at his piece. It was overdone. Just the way he liked it. The thing was watching him now as he ate – a tactful turn of the tables. His lovesick little face was not fooling Duck. Mocking him. He'd tolerate exactly three more seconds of this.

      Birds chirped outside the window. The sun warmed his feathers. The kitchen smelled like maple syrup and orange juice. Three peaceful seconds passed. 

      Duck dropped his fork and knife with a clatter and shoved out from the table. “I'm going somewhere else,” he announced. He dropped from his seat and stormed out of the room, trying his best not to look at his housemates as he passed them. He hated the way their faces looked; they'd both managed convincing shows of concern. 

      He was barely four steps down the hallway when he felt a looming presence at his shoulders. 

      “You're in for quite the challenge, eh?” buzzed the bee. 

      “Go away!” Duck continued his march, not sparing a glance. “I'm not in the mood!”

      “No need to panic! Remember, nothing is worth it like love!” whistled the bird in her soothing notes. 

      “How can you expect me not to panic?!’ Duck slammed the door to the bedroom and began to pace. “All this time! All this time I thought we were becoming a better couple, and now look, all of a sudden he's at his happiest over some– hellish obsession that's got nothing at all to do with me! After all I've done for him!” He grabbed the closest object and threw it against the far wall, bursting it into wet, glittering shards. Must've belonged to the child's snowglobe collection. 

      “Easy, mate! That's a lot of feelings!” The bee advised.

      “No it's not!” Duck resumed his pacing, heaving steam through his teeth. “I'm the logical one! I think I'm well within my right to be… frazzled at that thing's complete lack of basic reason!”

      “There you have it!” The bird chirped. Duck's confusion outweighed his anger for a brief moment. He slowed to a halt.

      “Have what? What am I meant to have?” 

      “It comes back down to your types! You're the logical one, and that wily thing is the opposite! You can't be expected to understand all the games the feelingsy ones like to play.”

      “The…the games?” 

      “Quite possibly!” The bee nodded. “It's tough to be certain, but some of the irrational ones’ favorite pastimes are tests and mind games ! It's just another way to show affection, and to make sure you're doing your part!” 

      Duck took a moment to process this. His breathing recovered a bit. “Oh, yes…so it um. It could be alright, then…” He looked at the wall, where a wet spot was dripping glitter and bits of glass into the moulding. “But…how am I to be sure that's what this is?”

      The bee offered him a sympathetic smile. “There's no way of knowing for sure. Either way, It's important to handle the situation with care.”

      “Whether it's serious about its nutty ideas or not,” the bird chimed in, “there's only one way to get everyone's thoughts in order.” 

      “What's that?” 

      The bee and bird spoke in unison: “ Communication !”

      Duck was perplexed. He hadn't heard this vocab word before. “Pardon?”

      “When a relationship seems to have gone this out of control, sometimes you need to take drastic measures!” The bird landed on Duck's shoulder. 

      “A good conversation can help get your finger on the pulse of a sticky situation!” The bee landed on his other shoulder. Duck looked between them.

      “But didn't you say not to worry about things going bad? The ‘self fulfilling’…what was it?” 

      “The self fulfilling prophecy of tension! That's right! But at this point we're well past prophecy, wouldn't you say? Never fear! Just because it's a last resort, doesn't mean it's doomed to fail!” The bee's reasoning was encouraging. 

      “Right…” Duck wrung his hands. “So I should start a conversation, somehow. What about? What all do I say? Surely I don't tell it everything there is to know?”

      “Heavens no!” The bird tittered, “you want information from him, no need for too much talk about yourself. We need to know what he's really after. It's your job to figure out another way to make him happy! A way that doesn't involve…what did you call it? His ‘hellish obsession’?” 

      “That would be ideal.” Duck looked to the door. If he listened very closely he could hear his family chattering across the house. 

      “‘Ideal’?” The bee laughed. “That makes it sound like you're actually considering its suggestion!” 

      “What? No, of course not!” He wasn't, not anywhere in the front of his mind. In the back of it, though…he didn't want to examine that. 

      “Easy, then! Have a chat with loverboy, come back to us. We'll help you dig your way out of this hole; we haven't done you wrong yet!” The bee left his shoulder, and the bird followed after. By the time he turned around, they were gone. 

      Duck returned to his breakfast. The other two cast him glances, but didn't bother pausing their conversation. 

      “And then what happened?” The red one tried very hard not to get syrup in his hair as he took a bite. 

      “And then the sky, um, turned blood – like red. And you were there! Mm…you died, though. Lightning. Or maybe horseflies, for that time.” The child prattled on about what Duck assumed was one of his dreams. These were never very interesting, but that didn't stop the big one from acting riveted all the same. 

      “And that was the third time I died in that one, was it?” It cut itself another bite and let the excess syrup dribble onto the plate. Duck folded his hands under his chin.

      It wasn't that he minded his darling acting a little friendly. He'd dreamed of it, actually: a red thing that was interested in things, and cared about acting like a proper family. But he'd recently come to find that he preferred some things to be left to the imagination. In practice it was…uncanny. Too much – spooky, even. Duck could assume this was just for the fact that he knew the reason behind it. 

      “Fine.” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. The other two looked at him. 

      “Fine?” The red one prompted. 

      “Fine, we can discuss. Somewhere private.”

      The beast might as well have heard the word “treat”. He picked up his breakfast and scraped his leftovers onto the third's plate.

      “Huh?” The boy looked at Duck. “Something's private?” 

      “Just for a bit, we'll tell you about it soon as we're done, a'right?” The thing explained in a rush. Duck cringed.

      “You promise?” The child stared at his heaped plate. 

      “Yea–”

      “Big cat!” Duck snapped his fingers to disrupt any undue promises. “I'm ready now .”

      “Right! Yes!” He joined Duck at the door and bent down to grab his hand. He gave it a squeeze. “After you.” 

      Duck climbed onto the largest bed after his beast. It sat at attention on the edge, it's back straighter than it should be. It tapped its mitts idly on its thighs.

      “So.” Duck crossed his legs to face the thing. “I thought it might benefit everyone involved if we had a chat about what all this… plan might entail. For us. And the feelings that may be involved.” 

      “Course.” The rhythm of his tapping was a little distracting. It was fast and complicated. Duck reached over to still his hand. 

      “You're excited. Explain the excitement.”

      “Haven't I told you?” It looked at the fuzzy hand on top of its own. 

      Duck clicked his tongue. “Well obviously. But it would be helpful to lay it all out in one.” 

      It nodded slowly. “Okay. Well…this place–” he gestured to everything “–feels horrible to be in. It's boring, the painful way. And I know it's fake, and something is keeping us here, and I don't like to be kept.” He turned his hand over so Duck's lay in his palm. “That tree, or whatever it is, can take us somewhere breathable. When I'm out there, it feels like…like the open ocean?”

      Duck knit his brow. “But you…didn't like the open ocean. It got you all twitchy.” 

      “For a bit, yeah. But that's good! Meant I wasn't used to it.” Red shrugged.

      “That's…didn't you ask for the walls and the floor?” Duck recalled the thing's grip, nearly severing his poor arm.

      “I didn't ask for anything.” He shrugged a second time and smiled. Duck didn't. “The tree puts us someplace different. Different in a different way, not like the places those singing things take us. Did you feel the air?”

      Duck had felt it. Burning cold and full of the stench of dirt and dead plants. He winced. “I did.”

      “It fills you up, right? It's there by itself, even when we aren't there to breathe it. If a tree fell in that forest…well, I don't know. But it wouldn't care if we knew.”

      Duck imagined living in a world that didn't care if he was in it or not. Goosebumps pushed at his feathers. He cleared his throat. “Say we all went out there, into the bizarro forest…what comes next? What do we do? Where do we sleep? What do we eat?”   

      “You don't need to worry about all that, I'll keep us all safe. It's my plan, it's my funeral, right?” He gave Duck's hand a reassuring little shake. Duck was appalled.

      “Don't joke about that! Lord, what is wrong with you?!” He pulled his hand away but the creature recaptured it. 

      “Sorry, sorry! I shouldn't've…” He shook his head. “What I meant was that I know it's risky. And I think it's worth it, because I really believe we’ll find something better! D'you remember when we were talking about what we'd want? In ten years?”

      “Um…I think so.” Duck recalled sugar snap peas, and a window. 

      “We can find something like that. I can almost picture ten years now, even – I've been feeling time more. That's part of how I know this is the big one. We'll find some sort of people, and we'll figure out how to live.”

      “That's awfully presumptuous…” Duck stammered. “How can you be so sure that big grey-brownish place doesn't go on forever?”

      There was a bit of quiet. “I can't be, I guess. But I know that whatever’s out there, you'll be there, and the other one, and we'll be away from here. Those are the things I care about more than anything.”

      Duck gulped. “More than anything? What about having a sure future with one another? What about stability? Even if we get to the city, with the dinner parties and the hors d'oeuvres, what does that even mean ?” Duck leaned into his beloved’s side. The thing wrapped an arm around him. “If we meet new people, if everything changes, what are the chances our…our relationship …won't?” 

      There was a longer quiet. This one was cruel. It had to be malicious, there was no other explanation. The beast wasn't even looking at him anymore. It was gazing at the bright blue window, arm still around his shoulders. It spoke after a long, long time.

      “I trust you. And I know you'll listen, and you'll try to understand me. You've gotten better at that. I love that about you.” It took a deep breath. “You promise to hear me out?”

      Duck stared up at him. Dread weighed heavy in his gut. If the beast was under the impression that none of its prior revelations required such a precursor, what could possibly be the next thing out of its mouth? Duck nodded, slow and uneasy. 

      “Thanks…” It shifted uncomfortably. “Us three, me and you and him…we've lived in this house for as long as any of us can remember. We didn't pick each other. We never really liked one another, the traditional way. We weren't supposed to, right?”

      Duck watched him formulate his speech. His heart thudded. 

      “And it's been really important – liking one another, and now loving one another, it's been really, really nice. Being with you. I love you.”

       Yes. Stop there. Full stop. Please. Duck begged in his mind, hoping some of it came through his eyes. 

      “But it's never been…a forever thing, you know?”

       “What?” 

      “Each of us only know two other people. And something made us to be three-way opposites. And despite all that, y'know. We love each other. But we forget. We always forget, n’ so I assumed at some point…” He rolled a lock of yarn in his free hand. “But, um…when we didn't, I started thinking about getting out. And about…meeting more than two people.”

      Duck chucked. It came out more like a whimper. “You can't be serious…?” The cold, unfeeling thing glowered down at him with eyes that pretended to have empathy. 

      “I can't see a future where our… family is ever apart, not completely. But if we're all meant to find what we really want out there…” He seemed to prefer that Duck fill in the blank himself, but decided against it. At least he had that much compassion. He filled his own blank: “I don't think that I'm what you really want. If there were to be more options.” 

       And? You've already said this much, might as well push the knife the rest of the way through. 

      “And…I think it's at least possible that the same goes for me.”

      Duck couldn't do anything but stare.

      “You could find a guy who likes learning, and tanks, and tomatoes. Who can talk to you about opinions. Someone closer in size, so you could share clothes, and kiss properly. And I could…” He stopped there. This time he left the blank unfilled. He met Duck's eyes.

      “Are you serious?” he asked again. The arm around Duck was too heavy, and too hot, and too large. Just how he liked it. “You're not being funny…”

      “I'm not ending anything, right? It's just…something to consider. I know a lot of this has been about me, and I want you to feel like you have a choice too. The point of all this is to be free and happy, whatever does that for you.”

       He wants to be free from me. He's wanted to get away all this time. He'd never have stayed if it hadn't shown him a way out, someplace away from me. “You make me happy,” Duck peeped like a duckling. 

      The thing pulled him into its lap and kissed his head. “Happy as anyone can be here,” he mumbled, with (somehow) no bitterness at all. He hugged him to his chest. Duck wasn't crying. He felt like he should be crying. “You make me happy, too.”

       Happy as anyone can be here…

      “When?” mumbled Duck, dull and resigned.

      “Soon. I can tell the third one tomorrow, then it'll be whenever we're all ready.” He lifted Duck's chin on his knuckle to look into his eyes. “Sound a’right babes?”

      Duck couldn't imagine being in the thing's position and saying something as stupid as that. He couldn't imagine being in its position in any scenario, in its tangled, disreputable mind. He nodded.

      “Okay.”

Chapter Text

      Duck slept in his own bed that night. Or he tried to, at least. It was pitch black outside. He could hear the yellow one’s breath; light, interrupted by the occasional strangled snore. He could never be convinced to wear his CPAP. 

      Duck focused his ears past him, to the slumbering creature by the far wall. Much slower breaths, and much smoother. The thing slept like a corpse; ironic, contrasted by its oppressive aliveness when awake.

      Duck was mad, but he was struggling with where to put it. As it stood, his emotional symptoms were on hold. He could only gaze blankly into the dark room.

     Logically, he should be mad at the red thing for trying to destroy what he'd worked so hard to build for the both of them. He was mad at him. But a very unusual new feeling had crawled inside his chest, a little growling animal, batting away any brief thought of ill will. The word “guilt” had come to mind when he'd first felt it, but that made very little sense.

      Was there any possible solution? Duck had been chasing solutions the whole afternoon and evening, into the single digit hours. The thing had brought him home, made sure he was comfortable, made another lovely meal with the help of the third. It even wore an apron. But it was too late for all that. 

      Any solution he could think of would drive a rift between them, it was just a matter of quickness. On one hand, he could let everything play out the beast’s way: leave the house, find a new life past the terrifying forest, only to lose him once he got bored. On the other, he could dispatch the beast altogether, right that moment, and be over with it. Neither was conceivable. Duck let out a warm breath. He was wasting time.

      He slipped out from under his covers, feeling for the edge of the bed, and lowered himself to the floor. Even if he had no clue what to do, “nothing” was surely the worst course of action. He crept blindly across the room.

      His hand found the door with a thud–a touch more forceful than intended. It clicked and whined into the plush silence. He glanced over his shoulder. The hallway night light gave off just enough of a glow to distinguish two silhouettes, asleep in their beds. The beast rolled over in his sleep, but didn't stir. The smaller one choked again on his own drool. Duck shut the door. 

      He was not in the hallway. He was outdoors, dressed in his coat and his most adorable hat. He could still see very little, but the brisk yet tolerable breeze helped him find his bearings. He knew what to expect, and waited patiently for their arrival. 

      A minute or two passed. That was concerning. Duck had been relieved to receive guidance, and he'd already prepared to face the shame that would accompany it. His hope was waning. But he was here for a reason, wasn't he?

      “Hello?” He cleared his throat. He hadn't spoken in hours. “Hello, um…you two? Two little things? You’ll have to speak up, it's night.” They likely knew that already, but he covered his bases. 

      It was very odd that there were no stars. The place they lived rarely experienced full cloud cover. The stars were always there at night, evenly spaced and twinkling, with either a round or perfectly crescent-shaped moon to accompany them.

      Duck scanned the very slight grey silhouette of the tall grass around him. Or it was quite possible he only felt it on his shins, and his mind filled in the blanks. Something rustled a few feet behind him.

      He turned to find two sets of eyes glinting out at him, moving slowly forward, with no trace of whimsical bobbing. Their bright colors rendered them practically glow-in-the-dark. The bee emerged first, silent, like a simple object waved on a stick. His partner joined him, wings dangling at its sides.    

      “Eh…why are you like that?”

      A musical cue, in minor key.

What else is there to say?

If he isn't cruel he’s stupid

determined to wander astray

Declaring his war against cupid

      The winged creatures began to slowly circle Duck, limp-winged, their voices dark.

You've kept away from offense

You've matched him at his speed

And this is how he thanks you?

He's bitten through the lead!

Unstable! Collapsing! 

Why is this happening? How is this happening? 

Everything's falling apart! Has this been your fate from the start?

     Flashes of red and yellow blinked by like the blades of a slow moving ceiling fan. Duck began to feel queasy.

It's time to put your foot down, 

You've kept it entertained

Its skull is stuffed with dryer lint

You'll need to be his brains

He's acting like a singlet!

Like he hasn't got a home

Like he'd rather a risk than a promise

And he'd rather he risk it alone

Independent! Outgrown! 

Bullocks to how he feels, take off the training wheels!

Better off being alone!  Fitting to hang up the phone!

      “Stop! Slow down!” Duck shut his eyes, swallowing whatever was threatening to climb up his throat. Thoughts sloshed in his head, inhibiting his rationality.  These tutors weren't being who they needed to be. They weren't offering anything productive.

      Duck's shame rapidly hardened into frustration. He crossed his arms, ignored his quickening heartbeat, brought his heels together;

All an easy assessment

But what is there to do?

To be crude, he's been quite the investment

And I've put all my stock into you. 

I haven't a clue what he's thinking!

Why would he do what he's done?

Going solely off breadcrumbs it's left me

I'd suppose that he harms me for fun.

      Words dropped from his beak like stones (though he was sure he hadn't swallowed any recently). 

The tutors kept to one spot. Some motion returned to their hover, and a modicum of sympathy to their eyes. They came closer.

He doesn't mean a lick of it

What more is there to say?

It's just a greater challenge

It's just another day

The measures are more drastic

The prospects may be grim

But he's fighting you with fire

You've a right to set fire to him!

      A right. Duck mulled that over, kneading it in his brain. The conversation was making more sense. Or he was following it better, at least. He wrung his hands behind his back, squinting past the grass. A right…

The laws of war are quite sound…

And if I'm to trust that you're right…

He's fired off the first round

Im fully permitted to fight.

      The tutors’ seemed to glow with approval. Duck clung to the tracks of his train of thought, growing more self-assured with every word:

I'll take no compromise;

That isn't what he needs

Love is a battlefield 

And he'd best be ready to bleed! 

Metaphorically-

      In tandem, the couple rushed to quell his doubt:

Whats a battle if nobody bleeds?

Forget about matching his speed

Show that poor thing what it needs

Show him he's already freed!

Elbow grease! Sweat and toil!

Love looks like motor oil, head to toe motor oil!

Simple to file for a claim. No need to fret over flames.

      They were almost back to normal. More positive. It was comforting, but Duck didn't let his expression betray him. They'd let him down once. Any decision would be his. 

       The bird approached his face, fiery passion softening into understanding.

Our dearest, patient loverboy

You've done the best you can 

They say that love's a battlefield

You'll need to be a man

We know it must hurt to upset him

To put your dear beast through it all 

But you will be right there to catch him 

If he just so happens to fall

Play checkers, play chess! You always know best, you can tidy a mess!

Get ahold of the proper supplies, the menace will never catch wise

      They were moving. Duck hadn't noticed. Slowly, they’d been leading him into a different part of the dark. 

      Duck was more sure now that he could see the grass; sunlight was just creeping in from the east, turning the black sky purplish. The grass gave way to the silhouettes of trees to the north, and the black barrier of the house, just a few feet to the south. 

      To the east was a smaller structure, but large enough to block the rising sun on the horizon. And of course, Duck knew where he was. This was the side yard, and that was the garden shed. It was where they kept their things covered in dirt. 

The tutors were leading him towards it. 

Measures must be taken

To keep him by your side

we all know his decision

Its your turn to decide

He's made you face the music 

Take charge and face the facts:

One way or another

He's giving you the axe…

Chapter Text

      The door was mostly splinters. They rarely found a need to go inside. Duck cast a quick glance over his shoulder. The tutors (as they were wont to do) had vanished as quickly as they'd appeared.

      Duck felt no more than a moment of anxiety, which was (so went his talent) swiftly overtaken by anger. He gave the door a violent tug, dislodging the weathered wood from its frame. A handful of moths escaped into the night, bouncing along on translucent strings.

      It was dusty. Duck eased the door further open. There was a scraping, then a clang as something fell at his feet. He squinted into the dark as his eyes adjusted. It was a filthy shovel. Someone careless had left it leaned up against the door. 

      Duck kicked it into the mess of tools heaped by the walls, navigating through sharp and rusty implements to the far wall of the shed. It had been a while since they'd had a use for firewood. It took some digging until he was able to unearth what he was searching for.

      Halfway beneath the old manual lawn mower, resting in bits of wood chips and rodent droppings, was a handaxe. Duck watched it for a beat, as if he expected it to get up and move. The head was dull gray, though the cutting end looked surprisingly polished, as though it’d been recently sharpened. The handle was plain wood, brittle, and nearly as splinter-laden as its surroundings. 

      Duck's fury rolled at a steady boil, cut with a generous portion of exhaustion. The concoction resulted in a cold certainty. He'd hurt himself on those splinters. 

      He waddled back some paces and reached into a drawer that hung open on the workbench. He retracted his hand, clutching a delightfully quaint pair of floral gardening gloves. He tugged them on, opening and closing his fists to break them in. 

      He wasn't too big a fan of outdoorsy labor, particularly when nobody was around to help. The red one liked to garden sometimes, he recalled. It'd been a while since they'd tended to their backyard. Maybe Duck could join him in fixing it up, share interests, once everything settled down again. He fetched the axe. 

      The forest became incrementally less dark as Duck trudged through the leaves. He kept ahead, in a straight line. He was doing what he was meant to, so it wasn't a concern whether he'd end up where he needed to be. The awful plant would find him. 

      He held the head of the axe in his opposite hand, turning it over and over on his fuzzy palm. A drop of water flecked his cheek. Then a second, and third. It was raining. Best be quick about it. 

      He upped his pace, keeping to what looked like predetermined trails. The rain came down harder, becoming an issue much faster than Duck had accounted for. Water soaked through to his skin.

      A soggy leaf slipped out from underfoot. Duck caught himself, suffusing his gloves with thick brown water. 

      “Ugh…” He braced himself on a foam tree and struggled to his feet. He spotted the axe a couple paces ahead, lodged headfirst in the damp trail. He grumbled, bracing his feet on either side to steady his grip, and yanked it out with a shlorp . He glanced back up to the trail. 

      The tree was there, in his path. The trail ended where its roots began. Its pale bark was dark with moisture, more hydrophilic than its crayon-brown neighbors. Duck wrung his filthy gloves around the handle of his weapon. 

      “You know what you did.” He blinked away the rain that dribbled off his brow, into his eyes. “It's always something with you, isn't it?” 

      The tree didn't answer. A leaf shook off in the wind, just missing Duck's foot, sticking in the mud. Ugly. 

      “You have something to say, have you?!” He brandished his defense, approaching until he could smell the dead insects, and the dripping lichens. With only a minor flash of uncertainty, he pressed his hand to the bark. 

      It was much louder on this side, a deafening roar nearly overpowering Duck's senses. The towering trees reached into stratospheric winds he had no precedent to comprehend. They trembled ferociously, rattling their shriveled leaves in thunderous applause. 

      Duck turned out from the tree to find his bearings. His foot landed with a crunch. The remains of a snail bubbled up between his toes. He shivered. Everything here was foul. 

      He looked through the canopy, into a sky that was green and grey and miles and miles away. 

      “What do you have?!” His voice was swept away by leaves and rain, then thunder that shook him like the bellow of a blue whale. He growled back. “I'm not scared of you!” 

      He heard a tree fall in the woods. He hoped, for a moment, that it was a reply, but it was too far away. It was all too far away.  There was a flash of lightning. He dug his fingers into the bark. 

      “You don't even want him! What do you have?!” The sound around him was loud, but no louder. Rain had made its way through his feathers, through his skin, into whatever was underneath. He felt he might mould.

      He yanked his hand off the bark, grasping his axe with both hands. The roar was no quieter in the familiar woods; The white noise of the storm sounded no different than the blood rumbling through Duck's head, and the vicious splitting of wood. 

      “Mm. Morning.” It mumbled, when its eyes opened.

      “Good morning.” Duck rolled onto his back and stretched out across the large bed. 

      “Rested up?” 

      “Never awaker.”

      “Big day,” said the thing.

      “Big day,” said Duck, with a smile. “We ought to get packed haven't we?” 

      “You're best at that sort of thing. You mind making sure everything's thought of?” 

      “Not at all.” The thing was contagiously cheerful; Duck couldn't help but agree to whatever assignment. 

      “I can fill in the other one on what’s happening. Shouldn't take long.” 

      “Right-” The beast leaned in and pecked Duck on the brow. He chirped in surprise. “Oh…huh!”

       It pulled back. “Y'right?”

       Duck looked into its somehow glittery eyes. He glanced down at where his nonsensical mouth would be. He moved some yarn out of the way. 

      “Perfectly.” 

      “What’s happening to tell the other one?” The child interrupted from his bed just as mouths clacked together. The red thing sighed. 

       “Later,” it whispered. It sat up to address The boy. “We're leaving,” it said, louder. Duck slipped out of bed to retrieve his clipboard from his nightstand. 

      “What's leaving? From where?” 

      “You ‘member that weird thing you found in the forest a while back?” 

      “No.”

      “We're using it to get out of here. Today. Do you know where your backpack went? It wasn't with the other two-”

     “Like leaving our house? But my bed is here.”

      “We'll find you a bed, easy.” It stood from its bed, brushing blanket lint off its lap.

      “But…” He was obviously confused. Duck pitied the poor child. The red one was terrible at these things, he knew that firsthand. 

      “It's nothing to worry about!” Duck marked A few arbitrary boxes off his checklist, remembering to look busy. “It's his idea and I'm one to trust him. Says he'll keep us safe.” He caught his dearest’s eye. That was definitely the correct thing to say. It was much easier now, to say things like that.

      “Oh…okay. Where are we going?” The third was the last to get out of bed. He stretched his lanky arms. 

      “Dress for a hike, you'll want to keep warm.” The red one was in the closet now, stuffing things into a backpack. Duck cringed. He'd need to teach it the proper way to pack clothing when they got back. 

Chapter Text

      "What will we do with the food?” The child poked at his oatmeal.

      The thing came up for air after chugging a glass of orange juice. “We eat it. What d'you mean?”

      “The rest of it, in the house. Will it go bad?”

      “Whoever’s still around can help themselves. You know. The clock, the fuse box. All them. I reckon.” He glanced to Duck. 

      “We'll find more food where we're going,” Duck added. “Don't overthink it. You're always overthinking.” He stirred a third tablespoon of sugar into his tea. His beloved nodded.

      “Right…” The yellow one still looked unsure. He prodded his breakfast one too many times. It growled in annoyance and slithered out of his bowl, disappearing under the table. “Aw…”

      “Bummer. Here.” The red one tossed him a half eaten granola bar. “Best to fill up.” He reached up to catch it, and missed completely. 

      The thing was already up and moving. Duck watched it rifle through the cupboards, scouring the shelves for anything useful. 

      “You already checked those,” he reminded it. “Twice now.”

      “What? Oh. Right.” It seemed to finally notice its energy. It leaned back against the countertop, pausing to breathe. 

      He finished on a long exhale, looking more sober than he had since the day before. “Right. Are you…feeling alright?” 

      Duck pointed to himself. “Me? Obviously. Am I not supposed to be?” 

       “You're being helpful.”

       “Pardon?” Duck balked. The big one reconsidered his response.

       “Oh. I said that wrong, didn't I?”

       “Depends on what you meant for it to mean.” 

       “It meant, y’know. Things going smooth. It's nice. I wasn't picturing it going nice.” 

       It took Duck a second to process that sentence. Who else would be so excited for something they'd expected to be un-nice? 

      “You weren't?” 

      “Hoping is different. And harder.” He was staring. “But some things've been turning out better than I expect them to. Lately. Still getting used to it.” 

      “I have that effect,” replied Duck, with a little animal in his gut. 

      “S'pose so.” He sighed, and then: “...You're sure you're ready?” 

      Duck frowned. “Do you think I can't handle myself?”

      “That wouldn't be the problem.” 

      Duck gave himself time to reply. It cooked in his head for a few moments. Something itched inside him. As this was a logic-based consequential, he shouldn't say what he'd already decided to. 

      ‘Hypothetically,” he began. He glanced at the yellow one, who was picking hard bits out of his granola bar. “If I decided I couldn't. That this was all a horrible mistake you've made. What would you…do about that?”

      The mood in the room shifted with enough force to generate friction. The air smelled like static electricity. The beast contemplated, still and silent.

      “Hypothetically…” he repeated. “If I'm honest about it I'd prob'ly hate you.”

      Duck stopped breathing for a second. He furrowed his brow.  “No you wouldn't.”

      The thing picked at the ends of his string. “But that wouldn't matter. I'd get over it, wouldn't I? And I couldn't stop you.”

      “You could try,” Duck snapped back. 

      “I wouldn't.” He stopped fidgeting with his hair. Duck sputtered, trying to form a sensible thought.   

      “You'd leave me behind?!” 

      It stared at him. For an uncomfortable stretch of time. It truly had lost whatever was left of his brain. Duck could swear he could see straight through those eyes, into that plush, hollow head. The yellow one made a noise.

      “Um. What, uh…what's going on?” He'd finished his granola bar and looked lost. 

      The red one acknowledged him, looking softer in the face. “…Reckon it wouldn't hurt to hold off a bit longer.” He took his weight off the counter and rubbed his elbow. Duck was speechless. He hadn't planned for whatever this was. 

      “Sorry ‘bout the short notice. You can um…do another round of goodbyes.” 

      “Oh…okay. And we'll sleep in beds tonight?”

      The red thing nodded. The child seemed relieved. It looked at Duck. 

      “D'you wanna go for a picnic?” 

      Duck followed quietly at his love’s heels. Today's path led to the regular picnic spot. Duck recognized the landmarks. He yawned, realizing he hadn't properly slept since he'd been here last. He'd need a nap when they got back. 

      He went back through the agenda in his mind, detailing how he'd expected the morning to go. The beast had woken up happy. Duck had been an upstanding boyfriend, helping with whatever needed doing. He’d said only what the creature would want to hear, and – most importantly – he’d readied his shoulder to be cried on. 

      That was where it had gone awry. He'd wanted to get it over with. He'd rehearsed what to say when they came across the empty clearing: Perhaps the anomalous tree was corrected by some force, or was never even there. It was a confusing world, after all. And it wasn't so bad, they were all still together, and safe, and wasn't that most important? The thing would have cried, or come close to it. Duck would have loved it all the same.

      “What's this for?” He spoke first, breaking the silence. 

      “Thought you'd want to do something familiar. Y'know. Before we go.” He wasn't looking at Duck. That was unideal. 

      “I'm doing perfectly well.” Duck waved his hand. “You mustn't coddle me. What I’d like to do is get out of here, I'm excited about that. You'll do wonderfully keeping the family safe and we’ll all wish we left sooner once we get there.” 

      The beast set the basket on the grass and sat down next to it. “That's good.” 

      Duck didn't join him on the ground. He crossed his arms. “Have I done something to upset you?” 

      Red matched his stare with a vague expression. “Can I be honest?”

      Duck adjusted his fingers on his arms. “I'm counting on it.”

      “I have a bad feeling about this,” it said. Duck frowned. He sat next to the thing. It pulled him to its side. 

      “Why?”

      “Not sure. ‘S a feeling. Probably came from somewhere…” It pondered. “S’pose it's all the same problem. I'm not used to…”

      “Having your way?”

      “Not failing. Staying happy. Have you noticed?”

      “Noticed what?”

      It laid back on the grass. Duck looked down at him. He could see its mouth move as it spoke. Weird.

      “I’m happy. I've been happy for so long now, It's sort’ve taken it out of me.” His eyes swiveled to Duck. “It's exhausting. How do you handle it? How are you so happy? 

      Duck crammed the puzzle pieces together, forcing the question to fit. He'd been managing these sorts of questions more efficiently. They got into his head, even if they bent and broke, and gave him a headache in the process. 

      “I suppose…” He mixed around the words like scrabble tiles, narrowing in on his play. “You make me happy.” 

      “Stop that,” it said, firm and angular against all its wishy-washy ramblings. 

      Duck squawked, sitting up straight to point an accusatory finger. “See, you are upset with me! I knew you were!” Feathers poked at his shoulder pads.

      The thing sat up and pushed his hand back into his lap. “Know what? Let's say I am.”

     “Why?!” Duck couldn't keep the pleading from his voice. “Everything is going wonderfully!”

      “Yes,” it said, “Exactly.” 

      “You're so difficult! Listen to yourself! Upset over nothing, on the day you wanted!”

     The red thing turned away and reached into the basket. It took out a pack of Chuddle Dollops.

      “...Are you joking?” Duck watched, baffled, as it opened the bag.

      “Hungry. Actually.”

      “You're being childish.”

      “Am I?” 

      Duck scoffed. “Unbelievable. I'm doing all of this for you!”  

      The bag of dollops crumpled in its hands as he shed his nonchalance. “And you don't see the problem with that?!” 

      Duck's feathers fell flat. He had no retort. However he trimmed it, that reply made no sense at all. 

      The creature sighed. “You were happier before.” 

      “Before…?”

      “Before we tried this. Before you…made me happy, I suppose.” 

      Such a somber tone. Duck rolled his eyes. “That's ridiculous. I love making you happy, It's one of my favorite pastimes.” 

      It gestured to him. “Listen to that. What's the point in saying that? D’you think it's cute? Congrats. It is.”

      Duck needn't reply. His beast was being self-righteous again. He only glared. It searched his face. 

      “You don't know how much I know you.” It handed Duck the bag of crisps. “You're piss-poor at lying.” 

      Duck rolled his eyes a second time, grinning violently. “If that were true, you wouldn't be so ‘exhausted’ over your own happiness, I can promise that!”

      It jabbed a mitt in his direction. Now he was prosecuting. “What's that mean? Hm?” 

      Duck clamped his mouth shut, but anger burst past his better judgment. “It means you ought to thank me! For all that smiling you do these days!” 

      The beast growled. He turned aside, biting a clump of string like a bullet. His breath hissed through teeth and yarn. He spit it out and spoke again, curt and even. “I don't want to be happy,” it enunciated, “if it takes being lied to.” 

      “So you'd rather be sad?!”

      “Yes!”

      Duck searched his face, finding nothing helpful. “That's asinine!”

      “We don't LIKE each other!” 

      Duck fell back on his heels. The red one caught his breath. The signature loop of birdsong had fallen quiet.

      “You mean…because we love each other?” offered Duck.

      The beast sank back into his own sit. He spit out a piece of yarn that had found its way into his shouting maw. His hair was a mess. He hadn't had time to brush it that morning. “Sure.”

      He reached over and took a dollop. Duck watched him part his hair and pop it in his mouth. 

      “I do love you,” said Duck, in spite of his self-respect. 

      His thing sighed and picked at the frayed ends of some bespittled string. “I love you too…” 

      Duck reached over and fixed some of its hair, parting it over his shoulder at the correct point. It took his hand before he could finish, and held it. 

      “I wish you'd try harder,” he scolded softly. “You're still learning.”

      His red one took a while to think it over, seeming primarily focused on the hand it its possession. “You know…I have learned something.”

      “Hm?” Duck leaned into its side, letting it inspect the feathers. 

      “I should quit hoping. Generally.”

      “Oh, come off it.” 

      “Doesn't have to be a bad thing.” He shrugged, returning Duck's hand.

      “Why shouldn't you? We could still go. We just need the other one, and then you can take us wherever you want.”

      “Better not.”

      “What do you mean? We can go there right now, we're already packed, and–”

      “Babes.” Duck looked up as it looked down. “Why do you love me?” asked the creature. 

      “You already asked that.”

      “I didn't believe you.” 

      Duck huffed and pinched the thing's thigh. 

      “Ow!” He swatted his hand away and rubbed the spot. “Ach…fair play…”

      Duck closed his eyes. “You're horrible to me.” 

      “Maybe.” The beast pet his head, slowly, smoothing down his feathers. Duck did his best not to melt. He counted ten strokes.

      He grumbled. “Well then, if you must know…” He tried to recall what he'd said the last time. He gave up. “I don't know. ‘Why’. That's just the way it is.” 

     “That's sort of a bummer, huh?” 

     “Yes, well…” 

     They sat for a while, cuddling. The grass was still damp from the rain, but nothing intolerable. 

     “Have you changed your mind, then?” asked Duck.

      “Bout what?” 

      “You want to stay here?”

      “Oh, no. Never in my life. But, you know. I figure…” his cool tone faltered for a breif moment. “We could go back, all three of us, and the tree-thing is there, and it works. You'd be miserable, and something would go wrong. If we…want to be realistic.”

      Duck nodded slowly. This thing was sounding much smarter. 

      “Or it's not there. ‘N that would mean one of two possible things.”

      “Two?” Duck was enraptured by his logic. 

      “One of ‘em’s the standard. Goes away on its own, cause it was only ever there to mess with us. Me. I reckon.”

      Duck nodded again. “That…very well could happen.”

      “And the second…” It stopped petting his head. Duck heard it open its mouth, but it took quite a while longer for more words to come out. “I couldn't love you. If that were the case.” 

      Duck swallowed. His little animal clawed his intestine to ribbons. “What do you mean?”

      “Rather you didn't say anything. Don't care to know why you’ve been so keen all morning. And helpful. It'd just be worse for everybody.”

      Duck didn't make a sound.

      “I’d like to keep loving you. Seems the best option. So let's just…do that.” He laid his head on top of Duck's. It was heavy. 

      The information swam around Duck's head. He'd been listening close for a catch, some sort of trick. The total lack of malice was difficult to conceptualize. If it wasn't mad, if it was willing to let this go…

      “So…” Duck said softly, after giving it some time. “We can get back to our relationship?” 

      “Reckon so. For whatever’s left of it.”

      “Forever. Relationships are forever,” Duck muttered. 

      “Whatever you say…” it said. Duck was surprised by his delivery. Monotone. He hadn't noticed how rare that had become. “Anyways…you wanna know why I think you love me?” 

       “Why not.” 

       It picked a bit of wet grass off Duck's lap and flicked it aside. “You were curious. About what it would be like.”

       “HA!” Duck squawked, smacking the things chest with the backside of his knuckles. “That's not a reason! You sound like an idiot.”

       “And you're so stubborn that you tricked yourself. You're stubborn, and selfish. Those are some of your things,” it swooned. 

      “And what are you then?!”

      “How should I know? I don't know me.”

      “You're stubborn, and selfish.” 

      It nodded. “Right…thanks for telling me, then.”

      “Somebody had to.” He huffed, crossing his arms and slumping back against the thing. “And you're wrong about that. I wouldn't start something like this on a whim.”

      Red didn't respond. He was quiet for too long. Duck looked up at him. It was staring off into the woods. 

     “Big cat?” 

      “Hm?” It didn't stop staring. 

      “Do you think I'd care this much if I didn't love you from the start of it all?” He hoped it would look at him, but it didn't.

      “You're always caring about things. Starting things you can't finish.” It mumbled. 

      “It won't finish. Relationships aren't to be finished,” Duck insisted. “I'm doing this right.”

      “Course you are.” It finally looked away from the trees, down at him. “You made cucumber sandwiches, didn't you?”

      Duck blinked. “I did! Yes.” He sat up to fetch the picnic basket. “They're on brioche,” he added proudly.

      “Fantastic.”   

      “So…I can take my things out the bags then?” The child looked at his backpack by the door, filled just shy of bursting with belongings. 

      “I'd certainly recommend it.” Duck reached up to ruffle the boy-thing’s ratty hair in an affectionate manner. “It’d be silly living out of a bag when you've got a house, wouldn't it?

      “Oh!” He put both hands on top of his head, where he'd just been tousled. He smiled, confusion scrubbed away just like that. “Okay!” 

      Duck watched him skip off to unpack. He breathed a contented sigh. “See? This is much simpler.” He looked to his dearest, who'd busied himself making tea. 

      “Hm?” It set the kettle aside, giving Duck a dumb look.

      “I said ‘See? This is much simpler’!” Duck trotted over and tugged at the thing's thigh. It met him at his height, leaning back against the cabinets. It glanced at the yellow one, humming to himself at the other end of the room as he tossed his belongings all over the floor. 

      “Mh. S'pose he does look happier…” 

      “Who knew he was so against the idea?” Duck shook his head. “Poor thing.” 

      His love was quiet. It had been quiet through the picnic, and the whole walk back. Who could blame him? He'd been expending so much energy lately. It must've been some sort of relief, everything settling back into normalcy. It was just fatigue, reasoned Duck. 

      “Are you…feeling alright?” He asked, quiet enough that the boy wouldn't hear. The beast was zoning out again, as he had on the trees. This time on the door. Duck waved a hand in front of his face. 

      “Am I feeling alright?” It mumbled.

      “Yes, that's what I asked.”

      “I uh…yeah. I reckon.” He kept staring forward. Duck frowned. 

      “If you aren't feeling well, you can tell me. I’ll make you a broth. I'm very good at making broth, it helps with all sorts of things.” He sat on the tile, between his beast and the door. 

      “That…” It finally met his eyes. “...Sounds nice, actually.” 

      Duck smiled. “Lovely…and shall I finish up that tea for you?” 

      It nodded. Duck smiled. He stood, giving it a quick peck on the head before going to get the kettle.

       The little animal slept soundly in his stomach. How lucky his beloved was, he thought, as he poured him his afternoon tea. 

       “Should we kiss?” 

      “Hmn?” Duck rolled over in bed to face the red one. Only the whites of its eyes reflected the meager sliver of moonlight.

      “Third's asleep. Do you want to?” 

      Duck rubbed his eye, and spoke through a yawn. “Just for a bit. I didn't get much sleep last night.”

      Bedding rustled as the thing turned onto its side. “Hm. Was it the nerves?” 

      Duck reached for his shoulders, brushing string out of the way. “Doesn't matter now. I sleep better in this bed.” 

      His dearest pulled him into a standard, fantastic kiss. Duck wrapped his arms around its neck, sighing pleasantly against its teeth. It forever amazed Duck how impossibly tender such a rigid, fleshless maneuver managed to be. It hadn't grown old, and it never would.

      “Not so bad…” muttered the beast under his breath. 

      “What are you mumbling about?” Duck yawned again, nuzzling into his thing's shoulder. He pictured doing the same the next night, and every night after that. He fantasized for what he realized was quite a while. 

      “Did you say something?” he asked again. it didn't reply. He wondered if it may have drifted off, until the arms wrapped around him began to tremble. It gripped him tighter, curling around him, practically cocooning him in fleece, and choked up an awful sound. It took a while, until he felt dampness on his shoulder, before Duck put together that it was crying.

      “Oh…” He tried to recall what he'd prepared that morning. Nothing came to mind. This was important. This was very important. He threaded a arm out of the cocoon, around to its back, and gave it a reassuring rub. 

      “There there…you’re okay. Nothing to cry over.” He cooed. “But you can if you must, of course,” he quickly added. 

      The sobbing was not stopping. It made more horrible noises, worsened by its attempts to keep quiet. Duck tried to escape its arms to no avail. He pushed his arms into its chest.

      “Look at me? Will you please?”

      “I don't want to.” The voice that came out of the beast was frail and raspy. Duck felt ill. “You're just the same as you'll be tomorrow.”

      Duck set his chin on his beloved’s shoulder. It was tense, but the trembling had died down. He smiled to himself. “Well…okay.” He closed his eyes with a sigh. “Look at me tomorrow, then.” 

Chapter Text

      Duck awoke to the feeling of being suffocated. He thrashed, stretching out his limbs in an attempt to escape whatever death trap had him in its clutches. 

      “OW! Who'sa Wha-?!” The red thing sat bolt upright beside him, holding where it's nose should be. It spotted Duck, and immediately kicked him off the bed. He hit the floor in a bundle of red duvet. 

      “Wah! Hey!” Duck squawked, scrambling to his feet. 

       “What you mean ‘hey’?! Lookit this, I'm bleeding!” It removed its mitt from where its nose wasn't and thrust it towards Duck. He squinted. While hard to tell, he was fairly certain there was no blood. 

      “Don't be dramatic!”

      “Don't sleep in my bed! We talked about this!” 

      While he couldn't recall getting into the bed that particular night, Duck had plenty to say about the subject. 

      “I don't see why you ought to have the biggest one. It's about the principles of equality! We split everything three ways, what's the difference?!”

      “I'm bigger!” It gestured to itself.

      Duck rolled his eyes. “Oh, of course you bring that up! Just because you've got a few more kilos on you doesn't mean You're entitled to–”

      “I can't sleep in either of yours!”

      “Oh pish, you fall asleep in your armchair half the nights!”

      “Don't sleep in my bed!” It threw a pillow, which Duck expertly dodged. 

      He snuffed. It was resorting to repetition now. Never too skilled with rhetoric, that one. “Fine. You hog the sheets anyway.” 

      "You're weird!"

      “Guys?” The child was awake. He looked concerned. “Are you fighting?”

      “No,” said the red thing. 

      “Oh, that's good.” He still looked unsure. “You didn't break apart then?”

      “No, no. The floor is quite soft,” Duck reassured him. “And that one is very weak.” 

      “Mhm.” The giant stood and stretched, adjusting some fleece that had twisted around his leg overnight. “Anyone want eggs?” 

      “Meee!” The yellow one waved his hand and hopped out of his own bed to tag along at the big one's heels. 

      Duck gathered the duvet and tossed it in a lump on the mattress – no need to make a bed that ‘wasn't his’. 

      “–and so then you got swallowed by it and you couldn't breathe so you drowned, and I was sad so I ate it and I started with the tail which kind of was like a tofu…but harder, like rubber band, and–”

      “Have you had any dreams I don't die in…?” The red thing called over his shoulder as he poured himself a cup of English breakfast. Duck basked in the reprieve. The child couldn't go a morning without spouting off about some deranged nightmare. 

      “Uhm…I don't think so. One time you got turned to a crab but you weren't you anymore after you did that, you were a crab.”

       Duck tapped his spoon on the edge of his porridge bowl as if calling a toast. The child looked over. “Let's have a different conversation.”

      “Okay! Hmm…” The boy thought it over, humming to himself. Duck sniffed the air.

      “Is something burning?” He looked over to the red one, posted by the stove, looking at nothing while a skillet smoked on the burner. He clapped in its direction. “HEY! Wake up!” 

      “What? Smoke. Oh, right!” It grabbed the pan and tossed it into the sink, sending up a flume of steam. 

      “Can't even cook an egg,” Duck tutted. 

      “Yeah…guess not.” It trailed off, in some kind of daze. 

      “I got one!” The yellow one raised his hand. 

      “One what?” Duck prompted.

      “A conversation!”

      “Oh? Let's hear it.” 

      “I got a girlfriend.” 

      Nobody talked for a moment. The red one hurried over to sit in his chair.

      “When?!” Duck balked. 

      “Just lately. When you two guys been busy with your love things. She does IT for a veterinary hospital!”

      “Our what things?”

      “What's IT?” 

      “It's computers,” said the boy-thing proudly.

      “Wow…” Duck whispered. “Can you show her to me?” 

      “Well, not yet I don't think. She says we're prob’ly not at that step yet in our relationship-”

       A sudden draft blew the kitchen window ajar, and two bright-eyed winged beasts tumbled in on the breeze. They wobbled to a halt in front of the yellow thing.

      “Did someone say…RELATIONSHIP?”