we're just two black holes, dancing with each other

it's alarming how disarming you can be

Glomgold wanted nothing more than to wash the sand out of his feathers. He instantly regretted not taking off his clothes to dry, now his feathers had become extra salty and sandy compared to Scrooge. He just didn’t want to comply with the Scotsman when he suggested hanging his clothes out to dry. Also, he didn’t have a thin under-layer of clothes as Scrooge did and he didn’t want to be around him bare. 

Instead of getting the relief he desperately desired, he was being dragged on to his feet by Scrooge who was being careful to not bump the swollen wrist. Despite the roughness of pulling Glomgold to his feet, Scrooge’s touch was light and calculated, only using the necessary amount of strength to get him standing. It was an odd sensation to Glomgold. Any time he’s touched another person it was always rough; competitive grips and handshakes, dealing hits, being hit, getting pushed around or slapped. Most of those times were with Scrooge and he far surpasses being familiar with his touch, but this time was different. There’s no animosity, only annoyance, which Scrooge seemed to think doesn’t warrant any harsh gripping. The duck had also seen a vulnerability in Glomgold that he’s never witnessed before today and it’s left him in a state where he doesn’t know how to act around him. So, his grip on Glomgold was hesitant but he also hoped it would be reassuring. It only aggravated Glomgold, to the point where his cheek feathers became soft and spread apart underneath his fake beard. It was a phase Glomgold wasn’t used to, so he filed it under his body’s reaction to unwanted help, not at all thinking about how comfortable it felt compared to it’s normal bristling. 

“Curse you.”

Scrooge’s hands dropped once Glomgold was on his feet, a baffled look on his face. It was wiped away almost immediately, a plain yet tired expression took its place.

“Why am I surprised?”

Glomgold looked away, eyebrows furrowed. He tried to let out a retort. Anything that made him appear as he usually would. But instead, he let out a weak response that was out of his control and thankfully unnoticed by Scrooge, “let me save face.”

Scrooge had his hands on his hips, gazing at the injured wrist hanging limply at Glomgold’s side. He wondered aloud, “what are we goin’ to do ab-”

Without giving Scrooge a chance to finish, Glomgold raced toward the water and a loud splash was heard soon after. 

“What in-- curse me kilts, he’s like a child!” Scrooge grumbled before he made his way to the pond where he found Glomgold shaking his feathers to get them wetter. He seemed to be mindful of his wrist, having it hover to avoid bumping it into anything. Whether Glomgold didn’t notice Scrooge was standing at the edge behind him or he was just ignoring him, he seemed to be enjoying himself, brushing out the sand that was nestled in every available space on his body. It appeared to be the former as the bathing duck jumped at the sudden voice appearing behind him.

Scrooge asked, “what are ye doing?”

Glomgold turned to face him, taking his hand away from his arm and replying, “I needed to get the blasted sand and salt off o’ me! An’ was trying to get away from you.” 

A small huff escaped Scrooge as he listened to Glomgold, finding the whole prospect amusing. He retorted, “y’know, if ye had listened to me and let your clothes out to dry it wouldn’t be as insufferable.”

“Oh and what? Let Scrooge McDuck have the benefit of telling me what ter do? I’d rather have constant chafing than listen ter ye. Besides, I wasn’t going to be naked while you still had on yer shirt.”

Scrooge sighed. He looked down at his body and took in his appearance. Glomgold was right, despite adding in that jab just for his ego’s sake, they were both incredibly filthy and uncomfortable, feathers becoming stiff and feet darkening with dirt.