Chapter Text
Style brings it up on a random Friday evening. They are on the couch, Fadel scrolling through his phone, Style curled against his side, one leg thrown over Fadel's thigh.
"I've been thinking," Style says, his voice taking on that particular tone that always makes Fadel slightly wary, "we should get a pet."
Fadel doesn't look up from his phone. "A pet."
"Yeah. Something cute. Something that needs us." Style traces patterns on Fadel's chest with his finger. "A companion and little friend."
Fadel considers this for approximately three seconds, scenarios playing out in his head. He imagines a dog barking at dawn, a cat scratching their new sofa, a hamster escaping and dying under the fridge. "I'll think about it," he says, which in Fadel language means no, but in a softer way that buys him time.
Style smiles slowly, a glint in his eye. He sits up, swings a leg over Fadel's lap, and settles there, straddling his lap and facing him. He slings his arms around Fadel's neck, leans in, and pecks his lips softly. Then, before Fadel can react, his hand slides down and cups him through his pants.
Fadel's eyes widen, startled. "What are you doing?"
"Oh," Style says innocently, batting his eyelashes, "I thought you were asking me to convince you."
Fadel blinks at him. "Is this the only way you know how to convince me of anything?"
"It usually works," Style points out, entirely unashamed.
"It won't work over a pet."
Style doesn't argue. He just leans in and kisses Fadel instead. It's intentional and slow, a deep kiss that grows deeper as Fadel parts his lips despite himself. It's wet and warm and distracting in the very best way. When Style finally pulls back, both of them are slightly breathless.
"How about now?" Style whispers against his lips.
Fadel's eyes are still closed. "I forgot to think about it. Kiss me again and convince me some more."
Style grins and does exactly that.
***
Two weeks pass and every time Style brings up the pet conversation, Fadel dodges. He says he's still thinking then always changes the subject. He kisses Style senseless as a distraction, which works beautifully every single time. That’s until the day it doesn't.
Fadel walks through the front door after a long shift at Heart Burger, exhausted and ready to just take a shower, have a quick bite to eat and cuddle his boyfriend to sleep. He takes off his shoes, drops his bag, and heads toward the living room, already planning to collapse on the couch.
But then he stops dead in the doorway.
Style is on their couch and curled up on his lap, sitting perfectly content, is a duck. A real, live, cream-colored duck with beady black eyes and an orange beak. Style is petting its head gently, and the duck looks perfectly at home.
"Baby, you're home!" Style chirps happily when he sees his boyfriend standing there. He picks up one of the duck's wings and waves it at Fadel. "Say hi to your other dad, Waffle."
As if the presence of the duck isn’t shocking enough, Fadel can’t even begin to fathom the fact that it has a name. Who the hell is Waffle and what’s he doing here?
Fadel stares, feeling like he’s dreaming or some shit. The duck stares back at him with those small, unblinking eyes.
"Style," Fadel says slowly, "what the hell is going on?"
"Isn't he cute?" Style asks, ignoring the question entirely. He lifts the duck and kisses its little beak, making a soft cooing sound. "Yes you are, yes you are, papa's perfect little baby."
Fadel's eye twitches. "You're not kissing me with that mouth."
Style laughs, bright and delighted. He cuddles the duck closer. "His name is Waffle. He's an emotional support duck. I got him from a farm outside the city. He's three months old and he already knows how to sit on command. Sort of."
"An emotional support duck," Fadel repeats flatly.
"For me. For us." Style looks up at him with those big, hopeful eyes. "I saw him and I just knew. He was meant to be our son."
Fadel opens his mouth to argue, to point out all the very obvious reasons why a duck does not belong in their apartment, to ask what exactly Style expects a duck to emotionally support. But then Style pouts. His bottom lip pushes out, and he hugs Waffle tighter, and his voice goes small and soft.
"You refused to get me pregnant," Style says quietly, looking down at the duck. "At least let us keep our new son."
Fadel's mouth snaps shut. He looks at Style, at the duck, and finally at the absolutely absurd situation unfolding in his living room. A man who has killed people without flinching, who has stared down threats and survived prison, is now being guilt-tripped by his boyfriend over a duck.
He sighs, long-sufferingly in defeat defeated. "Fine."
Style's face lights up like the sun. "Really?"
"Really." Fadel holds up a warning finger. "But you're cleaning up after it. And it doesn't sleep in our bed."
Style bounces on the couch, jostling Waffle who quacks in mild protest. "You hear that, Waffle? You're staying! Daddy said yes!"
Fadel watches his boyfriend kiss the duck's head again and feels something in his chest. It's not quite happiness, but more like resignation with a warm, fuzzy lilt to it.
***
The first morning, Fadel wakes up because something is staring at him.
He opens his eyes slowly, still half-asleep, and finds himself face-to-face with Waffle. The duck is standing on the pillow beside his head, those beady black eyes fixed on him with scary intensity, its beak is inches from his nose.
Fadel jerks backward so fast he nearly falls off the bed. "What the-" He looks around wildly. Style is still asleep on his other side, completely oblivious.
Waffle quacks, loudly for that matter, and right in Fadel's face.
Fadel, a man who has faced down armed enemies without breaking a sweat, actually flinches. He scrambles out of bed, putting distance between himself and the feathered intruder. Waffle hops off the bed and follows him.
"No," Fadel says firmly, pointing at the duck. "No. Stay."
Waffle keeps following out of the bedroom, down the hall, toward the bathroom. Fadel quickens his pace and Waffle actually matches it, those little webbed feet slapping against the tile floor. Fadel steps into the bathroom and Waffle follows in there.
"Style!" Fadel calls out, his voice nervous. At this point he doesn’t care that he left Style fast asleep and is probably disturbing him. "Style! Your duck is in the bathroom!"
Aftr a few seconds, there’s a sleepy, delighted laugh from the bedroom. "He wants to shower with you! Take a picture, it's so cute!"
Fadel looks down at the duck now standing on his bathmat, watching him expectantly. He has killed people. He has done terrible things in his life. And yet here he is, utterly powerless against a three-month-old duck.
He showers with the door cracked open so Waffle can watch. Because apparently, that's his life now.
***
The second incident happens mid-morning on a Sunday. Fadel is walking to the kitchen to make coffee, still grumpy about the duck situation, when his bare foot steps on something wet and distinctly unpleasantly wet.
He freezes and slowly looks down. "Damn it!" he whispers, adding some curse wors out of disgust and frustration.
On the bottom of his foot, smeared between his toes, is duck poop.
"STYLE!" he roars.
Style comes running from the living room, Waffle waddling behind him. He takes one look at Fadel's face, at the foot hovering awkwardly in the air, and bursts into laughter.
"It's not funny!" Fadel snaps, hopping on one foot toward the bathroom. "This is disgusting!"
"It's a little funny," Style manages between laughs. He grabs his phone and snaps a picture. "For the memories."
Fadel scrubs his foot in the bathroom, muttering complaints under his breath. When he emerges, Style is waiting with a towel and a kiss on the cheek.
"I can't do this anymore," Fadel declares. "The duck goes."
Style's face falls. He looks at Waffle, then back at Fadel. "We can't rehome our son, Fadel. He's part of the family now."
"He's a duck."
"He's our duck." Style scoops Waffle up, cradling him like an infant. "Look at this face. Look at these eyes. How can you look at this and say no?"
Fadel looks. Waffle stares back at him, unblinking. It's impossible to tell what the duck is thinking, but Fadel suspects it's plotting something.
"No," he says firmly.
But Style is already walking away, cuddling the duck and whispering, "Don't listen to Daddy, he doesn't mean it, he just needs more time to adjust."
***
Time passes and Style integrates Waffle into every aspect of their lives. The duck sits on the couch between them while they watch TV, occasionally quacking at the screen. At night, Waffle somehow always ends up on their bed, nestled between the pillows. Style takes him shopping, carrying him in a canvas tote bag, and people on the street stop to take pictures.
Fadel draws the line at the duck in restaurants. Mostly.
He can't believe it when Style starts buying clothes. Tiny little outfits from the pet store like a sailor-themed bandana, a tiny hoodie with a hole for the head, a little raincoat for when it's wet outside. Style dresses Waffle up and takes dozens of photos, cooing over how adorable he looks.
"You're dressing a duck," Fadel points out one evening, watching Style adjust a tiny bow tie around Waffle's neck.
"He's our son," Style corrects without looking up. "Sons deserve to look nice."
Fadel shakes his head, but he doesn't argue. He's too busy watching the way Style's face lights up when Waffle does something cute. And Waffle does do cute things, he has to admit. The way he waddles after Style everywhere, the soft little quacks he makes when Style comes home, the way he sits patiently while Style talks to him about his day.
One afternoon, Fadel comes home early and finds Style in the bathroom. The door is open, and he can hear splashing. He peeks inside.
Style is in the tub, bubbles up to his chin, and Waffle is paddling around happily in the water with him. Style is laughing, gently splashing water at the duck, who flaps his wings in delight.
Fadel leans against the doorframe and watches. A small, unwilling smile tugs at his lips.
Okay so the Duck is emotionally supporting Style. Maybe Fadel too in a way, he thinks. Their home has felt brighter since the little guy joined the family.
Style notices Fadel standing there. “Hi, honey. Welcome home.”
“Hi, baby.” Fadel smiles softly at Style.
"Want to join us? Family bath time."
"I'll pass this time. Gonna get dinner started." Fadel says, but his voice is soft. He watches for another moment, then quietly walks away, the image of Style's happy face staying with him.
***
That night, Fadel makes a decision. If Style loves this ridiculous duck this much, if this feathery little creature makes his boyfriend this happy, then Fadel will try, for Style. Always for Style.
The next morning, he approaches Waffle with determination. The duck is standing by his water bowl, drinking. Fadel squats down.
"Okay," he says quietly. "Truce."
Waffle looks up at him.
Fadel reaches out slowly and cautiously, to pick him up. His fingers close around the duck's body, and for one split second, he thinks it's going to work.
Then Waffle flaps his wings wildly, lets out an earsplitting screech, and Fadel is so startled that he yells too in surprise. He drops the duck, who lands gracefully on his feet and waddles away as if nothing happened.
Style appears in the doorway, eyes wide. "What was that? Are you okay?"
Fadel is standing there, hand over his heart, looking utterly horrified. "The duck screamed at me. I tried to pick him up."
Style presses his lips together, trying not to laugh. "He was probably just surprised."
"He screamed at me," Fadel repeats. "I've never been screamed at by a duck before."
This time Style does laugh, crossing the room to wrap his arms around Fadel. "You're so cute when you're terrorized by poultry."
"I'm not terrorized."
"You yelled."
"That was surprise, not fear."
Style pecks his lips. "Sure, baby. Sure."
But Fadel is stubborn so he refuses to be intimidated by a bird. Over the next few days, he tries again and again, and each time, Waffle protests.
Fadel also perseveres each time. He talks to the duck in his low tone voice, offers treats and sits on the floor and lets Waffle approach him on his own terms.
Finally, one evening, Waffle climbs onto his lap while he's sitting on the couch. Fadel freezes, not daring to move. The duck settles down, tucks his head under his wing, and goes to sleep.
Later when Style finds them like that, he decides to record a little video, misty-eyed and all with emotion. "This is history," he whispers. "My boys bonding."
Fadel looks down at the sleeping duck, then up at Style's glowing face, and he smiles, honestly happy.
***
A few weeks later, they're at a weekend market. Style is browsing clothes, holding Waffle in his tote bag. Fadel wanders ahead and stops at a pet accessories stall.
He spots a rack of small collars. Tiny things, really, meant for kittens or small dogs. One catches his eye, a soft blue band with a little silver bell. He picks it up, turning it over in his hands.
"Find something?" Style appears beside him, peering at the collar.
Fadel holds it up. "For Waffle. A duck's neck could probably fit in these, right? This one's cute."
Style stares at him, and slowly his expression shifts from surprise to something softer. "You want to buy a collar for Waffle."
"He's our son, right?" Fadel says, echoing Style's own words. "Sons deserve to look nice."
Style's eyes glisten a little bit. He leans in and kisses Fadel softly, right there in the middle of the market. "I love you," he whispers against his lips. “You have a good heart. I knew you’d accept him eventually.”
"Love you too," Fadel murmurs back, but he's smiling.
They buy the collar. On the way home, Style holds Fadel's hand the entire time, Waffle sleeping in his tote bag between them.
***
That evening, Fadel carefully fastens the blue collar around Waffle's neck. The bell jingles softly when the duck moves. Waffle seems unbothered by it, tilting his head and waddling in a circle to inspect his new accessory.
"He looks so handsome," Style breathes, kneeling beside them. "Our little guy."
Fadel watches Style watch the duck, seeing the pure and simple joy on his boyfriend's face. He thinks about how Style stuck with him through prison, through rebuilding his life, through all his silent, brooding moments. He thinks about how Style never stopped believing in them.
"We can keep him," Fadel says quietly.
Style looks up, hopeful but cautious. "Really?"
"Really. For real this time." Fadel reaches out and takes Style's hand. "He makes you happy, right? That's enough for me."
Style's eyes well up, his smile so loving and full of gratitude, and then he's launching himself at Fadel, wrapping his arms around his neck. “Thank you, Fadel.”
Afterwards, Style scoops up Waffle and kisses the top of his little head. "Did you hear that, baby?" Style whispers to the duck. "Daddy says you can stay with us forever."
He sets Waffle down gently, and the duck waddles off to investigate his water bowl. Then Style turns back to Fadel, cups his face in both hands, and kisses him deeply.
Fadel kisses back for a moment, then pulls away slightly. "Your lips were literally just on a duck."
Style grins, pulling him close again. "I think our kisses have never tasted better."
Fadel laughs and kisses him again. Because it's ridiculous, because their life is ridiculous, because he has a duck now, apparently, and a boyfriend who kisses ducks, and somehow this chaotic, absurd, beautiful life is exactly the one he wants.
From across the room, a tiny bell jingles as Waffle explores his home.
-The End-