A Date Gone Wrong..ish
Donald could hardly believe the luck he was having. Well, lack thereof, that was. You'd think he'd be used to almost nothing going his way by now, and it wasn't like he wasn't. But this time it was particularly devastating, because for what had felt like years since his last, he had finally landed a date, with a brown feathered duck known as Fenton Crackshell Cabrera. Intern to Gyro Gearloose, and apparently working for Scrooge as well.
He had to admit, he was rather taken aback when a nervous and slightly red Fenton approached him while Scrooge was busy talking to Gyro and asked him awkwardly out to a coffee date, which Donald casually obliged to. The intern certainly had a charm to him, and he could tell that by the way Fenton stuttered and stumbled over his words that he tried and failed to ask him before now. It also helped that he was a pretty handsome guy, very much so in fact.
Donald hung his head towards the ground and dragged his feet across the wet sidewalk, the cold and harsh rain pelting his back like tiny bullets as he shivered.
The first disaster was when Donald had thrown his snazzy white tux that he saved only for special occasions into the washing machine, only to have Huey throw one of his red shirts right on in there without looking, completely missing the sight of the white tuxedo that was in there.
Donald looked down at the soaked pink tux that he wore. Although it was a setback, he didn't let it bother him too much. Pink was a nice color, and he was sure he could make it work.
What he couldn't make work, however, was when one of his sleeves got caught by one of the spears held by a statue in the halls, tearing it off completely and leaving one half of his tuxedo entirely sleeveless.
And, that wasn't even to mention that during his struggle from trying to break free from the statue, he bumped right and fell through an open window and into a patch of thorns, resulting in him spending hours picking out every last thorn, making him late for his date.
Donald grumbled, kicking a stone angrily, only to have it ricochet off a sign and hit him right back on the head, and he boiled red. However, it didn't last long as he sighed in defeat, slinking down onto the bench in front of him, hoping that a bus would come soon and he could wallow in his misery privately.
"Stupid, stupid!"
Donald quickly sat up at the sound of a familiar voice walking down the street and coming towards where he was. Whoever it was sounded clearly upset, and even disappointed.
"Of course he stood you up, why wouldn't he?! You literally couldn't even form a coherent sentence around him without stuttering, he probably only agreed to get you to leave him alone. Great work, Fenton."
Donald's heart sank when it was finally revealed to him who was walking down the street and straight towards him, not just because of the fact he had let him down, but because instead of talking ill of him like the duck was expecting, he was speaking ill of himself.
And that was even worse.
His breath hitched in his throat when he realized that Fenton was only inches from where he sat, but had failed to notice him sitting on the bench, lost in his own self depreciating ramble to focus on anything else.
Donald took a deep breath, and with a bit of hesitation he loudly cleared his throat, catching Fenton's attention who looked back at him with eyes that were threatening to tear up, and that only gave the sailor another punch in the gut.
"Oh.. what happened to you? Decided to have another adventure instead of going on our date? I know I'm not the most exciting guy around as myself, but.."
Fenton exhaled sharply, his beak melting into a frown as he collapsed right onto the bench next to Donald.
"I just.. I don't get it. You could've just said no, I'd have understood."
"I wanted to go!" Donald said a bit louder than he expected, the bill of his beak dusting a light pink. "I mean.. I really tried. I looked forward to sharing a cup of coffee with you, I was even expecting to spill a hot cup of coffee into my lap, but at least you'd be there. Ugh it's just.. i didn't think my bad luck would be so terrible that it wouldn't even let me get to you."
The two of them were silent, the tension thick. Donald could only imagine what was going through Fenton's head right now as his fingers brushed through the feathery tuft on his head, and let it rest there for a moment.
"I'm sorry," Donald decided to speak again this time, more mumbling as his leg bounced up and down anxiously. "I'm such a handful."
"That's okay." Fenton turned to him with a tired, sympathetic smile on his beak as he raised both his hands up."I have two hands."
This time, the sailor didn't say anything. He was surprised by the response, and when Fenton grabbed one of his hands, he only blushed.
"Though, I'm guessing that one of my hands is gonna be busy often holding one of yours, but I'm sure we can make it work."
"You're not.. upset??"
"No, I'm not. Besides, you can make it up to me now. Hold my hand for awhile and we can just, talk. That sound alright?"
Donald looked down at their hands, their fingers interlocked together perfectly like they were meant to be together.
"Yeah.. I think I can manage that."