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

we never think about you and me

The cool of the night reached under Scrooge’s feathers. They were puffed out and quivering, his skin iced and shivering. Noticeably the only part of him that was warm was his legs that were tucked underneath his body, reminiscent of the primitive ducks but effective in his circumstance. After being woken up by the decreasing temperature he was noticing that his legs weren’t the only warm part of his body, but his side was also unaffected by the bite of the air. He felt a softness pressed against him, smooth but also shivering, edging on his entire right side and almost on top of him. 

There was a suspicion itching in his mind, but when faced with the warmth that threatened to overlap him it still shocked him. He’s no stranger to huddling for warmth but there was an irony to the sight that laid before him. Scrooge could recall Glomgold perching the furthest distance away from him, claiming that he would rather choke on sand than willingly share his personal space, even if it would be the death of him. Regardless of his claims, Glomgold still ventured to his side, almost laying on top of him. Whether or not he was conscious when it happened, he still went back on his word and Glomgold was going to be pissed when he awakes to discover that. 

Scrooge couldn’t help but be amused. He knew he should be less accepting of this. Shouldn’t worry or care about a duck who has more-or-less tried to kill him multiple times - all incredibly ridiculous attempts that Scrooge couldn’t believe were honest ventures to be rid of him - yet the shivers that collided with his own washed his brain with sympathy. The feeling was always there, lit like a soft flame that flickered with guilt every time he saw Glomgold. In the beginning, Scrooge only saw Glomgold as an arrogant and greatly disillusioned duck that only strived to see him fail. Until further along Scrooge could see that there was more underlying the aggressiveness of Glomgold’s personality. Unfortunately, Scrooge never could figure out what was hiding behind Glomgold’s forthright persona. Admittedly, Scrooge was never good at reading people. But at his realisation, he started being less aggressive towards Glomgold. There was no doubt that he could rile up Scrooge effortlessly at certain moments - it was a skill of the younger duck - but he couldn’t really blame him. There was more happening behind the face of Glomgold and it frustrated Scrooge to no end that he couldn’t figure out what. 

There was no way he could fight the affection that showed on his face. The softness in Scrooge’s eyes increased in the glow of the dimming fire, the light barely travelling through the curtains of the shelter. He wasn’t going to push Glomgold away, for many reasons, but he surprised himself when he reached his arm over Glomgold’s back and let his hand rest at his exposed side. It was still late into the night, or possibly early morning, so the cold temperature wasn’t going to wither for another few hours. It was a benefit to the both of them - more-so Glomgold now that Scrooge’s arm is no longer nestled in the other’s side - but he was going to blame it on his body’s desperation for warmth when the shorter duck eventually wakes. 

Scrooge was hoping the breach of boundaries was going to be worth the aftermath.

Surprisingly, Scrooge was the first to wake up. At least, he assumed so from the weight still pressed against him. But with the contact of their bodies, Scrooge could feel the irregular heartbeat filling the gaps between his own. Glomgold’s breath was even, though, and that’s what confused him. Flintheart had to be asleep; he wouldn’t put up with the arrangement otherwise. 

The light filtering through the curtain was all the motivation he needed to get off the ground and step outside. As he shifted from his sleeping position, he felt the movement of the duck next to him, filling the air with pitiful murmurings. 

“Ye woke me up, McFuck,” Glomgold groaned, his voice hoarse.

“Excuse me, what was that?”