#i was gonna draw an aubrey to go along w this but i gave up lmfaooooo

[stroobae]

“is dani cute?”

[thiswasinevitableid]

i really love the way you write meet-uglies/meet-cutes so,, "i’m having a snowball fight with my friend in the park and i hit you instead" prompt w indruck?

Indrid is slowly, begrudgingly, starting to enjoy winter. 

After all, the lake is pretty when it’s frozen, and it’s fun to see the whole neighborhood out and about in the fresh snowfall, early enough in the winter that snow is still a joyful thing rather than the unwelcome phenomenon it becomes around March. 

Also, the coffee shop around the corner just started selling eggnog lattes, which are the pinnacle of seasonal beverages. Which is why he’s strolling along the lake, drink in hand, thinking about how nice it will be to curl up with his sketchbook in his little apartment that’s all his. Just him and the cat. Alone. 

And those thoughts are why he doesn’t see it coming.

Something cold collides with his face, and he loses his balance, slipping on the icy ground and tumbling back into the snowy lawn, sending his drink down his front.

“Oh shit!” 

“Oh man, bad luck dude!”

“Duck Newton, that was not the intended target!”

Snow crunches by his ears as he sits up, dazed and nutmeg-scented, eyes still stinging.

“I’m so, so fuckin sorry man, I was aimin’ for my friend, didn’t mean to hit you, fuck, uh, lemme see your eye.” 

His red glasses come off, and he blinks in bright winter light. 

A pair of mis-matched eyes look over his face, shining with worry. Faded blue dye in dark hair frames a soft face, and gloved hand, still chilly with snow, touches his cheek. He winces when a finger traces below his eye.

“Aw, fuck, I gave you a black eye.”

“Goodness, I didn’t think someone could throw a snowball that hard.”

“Got kinda a knack for it, I guess.” The man, Duck, scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Yes, well” he’s trying so hard not to be upset. He’s trying so hard to hold on to his positivity, “I would have preferred not to be on the receiving end of ow, ow.” His whole body hurts as he stands. Duck braces him.

“Shit, oh man, I made you spill your drink too. Um, fuck” he looks helplessly in the direction of the friends he was, presumably, trying to hit with a snowball instead. One friend, a young woman with fiery streaks in her black her, mouths something his way. 

“Can I buy you a new one to, uh make up for it?”

“No, it’s, it’s fine. I ought to go home and ice my eye. And change. Ow.”

“Do you want me to walk back with you? You ain’t lookin too steady.”

“I wonder why.” He mutters.

“Sorry.” Duck mumbles. 

Indrid looks him up and down; he’s built in a sturdy way (Indrid can hear his mother in his head uttering the words, “husky”), and it would be safer than walking home on sore, unsteady legs and falling again.

“Very well, I suppose you can help me get home. It’s not far.”

The man slouches with relief, and offers Indrid his arm. 

----------------------------------------

He feels better after a bath (alright, so it’s a large washtub that he shoves in his shower and then sits in, but it does the trick). Dries his hair, wraps himself in a fluffy pink and yellow bathrobe and nestles down into his chair to draw. Taco blinks sleepily at him from the nearby heater vent, and he scritches his ears. 

There’s a knock on the door. That’s odd, given that he’s not expecting anyone. He opens it to find the man from earlier, wearing slightly fewer layers and holding a carrier with two to-go cups and a small bag. 

“Uh, hey again.”

“Hello.” Indrid responds, flatly.

“Got you an eggnog latte.” He holds out one cup. 

“How did-”

“Aubrey, my friend, looked at the cup after you dropped it.”

“Ah, of course, thank you.” 

Duck hesitates, then offers him the bag, “can’t have a drink without somethin to eat. Weren’t sure what you’d like, so got a few different things from the pastry case.” A blush creeps up his cheeks, from the heater no doubt.

“They aren’t exaggerating when they say southern boys have good manners.” Indrid smirks.

“Tend to come out more when we’re feelin guilty.”

“Duck, it was an accident. And you’ve more than apologized.” He shudders as a gust of cold air rushes up from the downstairs hall, “would you like to come in?”

“Uhhhh no, uh, fuck, uh, I mean, fuck. Yes.”

“Oh good. It would be nice to share these with someone.” He steps aside so Duck can enter the apartment. As he gets down plates, Taco sidles over to give their visitor a cursory head-bump, followed by a demand for back scratches while he sips his coffee. 

“Do you have pets?” He takes a large sugar cookie from the bag, while Duck helps himself to an apple scone. 

“Yeah, got a cat too. Not near as sleek as this fella though, mine’s a big fuckin fluffball. Gonna start usin her to insulate the front door and keep the draft out.”

Indrid chuckles at the image, and Duck grins. 

“So, uh, you in town for school?’

“No, actually. I’m finishing up an apprenticeship at Rag and Bone downtown.”

“No shit, you’re a tattoo artist?”

“Soon to be, yes.”

“That’s so fuckin cool! I got this one done there when I first moved to town.” He rolls his sleeve up to reveal a line drawing of a pine tree in deep green ink.

“Oooh” This is familiar territory for Indrid, and welcome as well; he likes seeing other artists’ work, and learning the stories behind people’s tattoos. 

“Got another on my bicep, a succulent. Ironically enough, got it before I started workin’ at Green Thumb.”

“That’s where I’ve seen you!” Indrid slaps the table, “I come in after work sometimes. And usually resist the urge to add another plant to my, ah, collection.” He nods at his sickly houseplants on the nearby shelf. 

“I can take a look at those for you, bettin they’re salvageable. Most of those ones are pretty hard to kill.”

“So people say. Bear in mind, I have killed not one, but two, airplants.”

“Jesus,” Duck giggles, “how?”

And so Indrid regales him with the story of his ill-fated air-plants that went brittle no matter where in the house he put them. Which leads to Duck getting the surviving houseplants down and examining them, before showing Indrid where to place them so they’ll thrive. And as Indrid is lifting one onto the bookshelf, his cuff slides up and Duck asks about his rosy maple moth tattoo. So Indrid tells him, and once their coffees are done he makes them tea as Duck asks about how he got into this line of work. 

Then, it only seems natural that Duck offer to order pizza while they swap stories about growing up gay in small towns, and then eat while heckling a “documentary” about Bigfoot (“Black bears, you saw a black bear! Lord Christ almighty how do people forget there’s bears in those woods that walk on two feet?”)

“Damn, how many tattoos do you have?” Duck says, spotting the black rabbit on Indrid’s chest when his bathrobe slips to the side.

“Six.”

Duck counts on his fingers, looking at each in turn, “where’s number six?”

“It’s, ah, it’s on my thigh.”

“Oh” Duck turns bright red, “uh, you don’t got to share it if you don’t want to.”

“I can, if you’re alright with it.” Indrid pulls one side of his robe up until the stylized ouroboros is visible. 

“Damn, the colors on that are amazin’” Duck traces a finger along the snake’s body. Indrid gasps, softly, and Duck pulls back, “fuck, sorry, shoulda asked first.”

“I don't mind. It felt rather nice.”

Duck’s eyes flick quickly to Indrids, then down to the tattoo. Cautiously, he reaches out and traces it again in slow, steady circles. 

“I oughta be headin out soon, need to feed Winnie and get my lunch ready for tomorrow.” He says, making no move to stand.

“Would you like to come back? Tomorrow, I mean.” Indrid taps his nail on the side of his mug.

“Yeah” Duck looks up at him with a rather more mischievous smile than before, “yeah I would.”

He leans in, lifts Indrids glasses up, and plants the softest kiss on record to the bruise below his eye. 

Then he stands, grabbing his coat and slipping on his boots, Indrid staring all the while with a dreamy smile. 

Duck winks to him as he steps out the door, “see you tomorrow.” He blows a kiss, and heads out into the snowy night.