ds_aprilfools Prompt 26 - Smoking
Prompt - 26. Author's Choice - Smoking. Prompt kindly provided by missapocalyptic.
Fandom - Wilby Wonderful.
Pairing/Characters - Duck/Buddy.
Warnings - none.
Rated - G.
For missapocalyptic.
Smoking
Duck nearly carried right on walking when he saw Buddy, sitting on the rocks down by the Watch. It was like he’d suddenly lost twenty-three years and time had made a side trip back to 1982. The hunched shape, sleeves rolled up, hair every which way courtesy of a stiff breeze and a thin ream of cigarette smoke as he looked out to sea, the sun sparkles on the waves almost to bright to bear - Buddy hadn’t changed much, except when you looked up close, around his eyes where he kept count of the everyday disappointments and the quiet triumphs that came with living on the Island.
That had been some summer. Nineteen years old, money in their pockets, a swagger in their steps, and nothing had seemed too much to hope for. He and Buddy had been the unlikeliest of friends - Buddy’d been smart, popular, funny, confident and athletic, and Duck… hadn’t.
For a start, Duck had only just stopped growing - a late beginner, he’d still had the leggy awkwardness of a boy five years younger. He’d been all bony angles and sinew, while Buddy had been broad and well proportioned. Buddy’d had a date every weekend. Duck’d had a date in 1979. Duck had liked walking, lost in his thoughts for hours on end. Buddy’d had a motorbike and had been forever working on his personal best time from one side of the island to the other.
But Buddy, for whatever reason, had liked Duck. And Duck, for the obvious reason, had liked Buddy.
They’d hung out together - had done ever since eighth grade, when Duck had covered for Buddy one time, when he’d been caught with cigarettes behind the gym. Duck, who had been there before, and was going down anyway, told the irate Mrs. Weitz that Buddy had been attempting to convince him of the error of his ways and had confiscated his cigarettes - hence the pack of Marlboro in Buddy’s possession.
She’d bought it and Duck had gotten a week of detentions. Buddy’d gotten a handshake from the Principal. And a new friend.
Of course on weekends, Buddy would hang out with guys from school or be out with whichever pretty had been lucky enough to catch his eye. But during the week, after school, after dinner, after football practice, and when they were older, after work, Duck and Buddy would find their way to each other. Singing along to the tinny cassette player in Buddy’s bedroom. Laying in the sun on the floor of Duck’s parent’s living room, smoking cigarettes and stealing shots from his old man’s liquor cupboard. Riding around the quiet roads on Buddy’s bike, looking for something to do. Sitting at the Watch, planning ways of getting off the island and getting quiet when they hit on one that might actually work.
Buddy was the one who’d made it, naturally enough. He’d been gone four years and when he came back, he’d had a fiancée, a career and a wariness that Duck had never noticed before he went, but that he’d seen plenty of since.
Duck ran a hand through his hair - not that he cared what he looked like to Buddy anymore - those choices hand been made long ago. But old habits died hard, they said.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Duck,” Buddy murmured, shifting across the long, flat rock in invitation.
Duck sat down and took the cigarette that Buddy offered. He lit it off Buddy’s because it was breezy up there and matches just took too damn long.
“How’s it going?” Duck asked quietly. He hadn’t seen much of Buddy since Carol had gone, what with one thing and another.
“Fine. You know. Different. But fine. How about you? And Dan?”
“Fine,” Duck replied, nodding and flicking ash onto the cold, grey rock.
A fishing boat cut across the sliver sea and they followed it with their eyes, smoking their cigarettes, listening to the wind.
They turned to look at each other at exactly the same moment, smiling, grinning, then laughing quietly.
From high above, a gull cried, echoed a few seconds later by another. Buddy tipped back his head and watched them.
“Thought I might buy a bike,” he said.
Fin.
Fandom - Wilby Wonderful.
Pairing/Characters - Duck/Buddy.
Warnings - none.
Rated - G.
For missapocalyptic.
Smoking
Duck nearly carried right on walking when he saw Buddy, sitting on the rocks down by the Watch. It was like he’d suddenly lost twenty-three years and time had made a side trip back to 1982. The hunched shape, sleeves rolled up, hair every which way courtesy of a stiff breeze and a thin ream of cigarette smoke as he looked out to sea, the sun sparkles on the waves almost to bright to bear - Buddy hadn’t changed much, except when you looked up close, around his eyes where he kept count of the everyday disappointments and the quiet triumphs that came with living on the Island.
That had been some summer. Nineteen years old, money in their pockets, a swagger in their steps, and nothing had seemed too much to hope for. He and Buddy had been the unlikeliest of friends - Buddy’d been smart, popular, funny, confident and athletic, and Duck… hadn’t.
For a start, Duck had only just stopped growing - a late beginner, he’d still had the leggy awkwardness of a boy five years younger. He’d been all bony angles and sinew, while Buddy had been broad and well proportioned. Buddy’d had a date every weekend. Duck’d had a date in 1979. Duck had liked walking, lost in his thoughts for hours on end. Buddy’d had a motorbike and had been forever working on his personal best time from one side of the island to the other.
But Buddy, for whatever reason, had liked Duck. And Duck, for the obvious reason, had liked Buddy.
They’d hung out together - had done ever since eighth grade, when Duck had covered for Buddy one time, when he’d been caught with cigarettes behind the gym. Duck, who had been there before, and was going down anyway, told the irate Mrs. Weitz that Buddy had been attempting to convince him of the error of his ways and had confiscated his cigarettes - hence the pack of Marlboro in Buddy’s possession.
She’d bought it and Duck had gotten a week of detentions. Buddy’d gotten a handshake from the Principal. And a new friend.
Of course on weekends, Buddy would hang out with guys from school or be out with whichever pretty had been lucky enough to catch his eye. But during the week, after school, after dinner, after football practice, and when they were older, after work, Duck and Buddy would find their way to each other. Singing along to the tinny cassette player in Buddy’s bedroom. Laying in the sun on the floor of Duck’s parent’s living room, smoking cigarettes and stealing shots from his old man’s liquor cupboard. Riding around the quiet roads on Buddy’s bike, looking for something to do. Sitting at the Watch, planning ways of getting off the island and getting quiet when they hit on one that might actually work.
Buddy was the one who’d made it, naturally enough. He’d been gone four years and when he came back, he’d had a fiancée, a career and a wariness that Duck had never noticed before he went, but that he’d seen plenty of since.
Duck ran a hand through his hair - not that he cared what he looked like to Buddy anymore - those choices hand been made long ago. But old habits died hard, they said.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Duck,” Buddy murmured, shifting across the long, flat rock in invitation.
Duck sat down and took the cigarette that Buddy offered. He lit it off Buddy’s because it was breezy up there and matches just took too damn long.
“How’s it going?” Duck asked quietly. He hadn’t seen much of Buddy since Carol had gone, what with one thing and another.
“Fine. You know. Different. But fine. How about you? And Dan?”
“Fine,” Duck replied, nodding and flicking ash onto the cold, grey rock.
A fishing boat cut across the sliver sea and they followed it with their eyes, smoking their cigarettes, listening to the wind.
They turned to look at each other at exactly the same moment, smiling, grinning, then laughing quietly.
From high above, a gull cried, echoed a few seconds later by another. Buddy tipped back his head and watched them.
“Thought I might buy a bike,” he said.
Fin.