It was one inch too close. They hadn't stopped in time, which resulted in not a terrible, deadly collision like you might expect, but rather something else—a kiss.
Duck and Oliver, the two very proud engines that ran the infamous "Little Western" line, were working twice as hard and fast to impress Sir Topham Hatt in hopes of being able to take the oh-so important Deputy Minister home. But when Duck accidentally missed a red signal and allow Oliver to pass safely, the two screeched to halt, sparks flying from their wheels as they helplessly inched closer…and closer…and closer…until their lips met in the tiniest peck.
But however small the kiss was, the contact was immensely far from their comfort zones; Duck and Oliver remained still, staring deeply into each other's wide eyes, until their lips finally disconnected with a faint smack when they backed away in unison.
And in their shock-induced state, they failed to notice the ever-growing attention of Oliver's passengers, especially the second set of camera flashes of a photographer who happened to be on board; though, the two engines could hardly pay mind to anything around them, as they blushed madly and cleared their throats, which suddenly felt dry as a desert.
"O-Oliver…" Duck began, barely able to mutter the said engine's name louder than a whisper after what just happened, "What are you d-doing on my track?"
Oliver was surprised, almost immediately forgetting the whole ordeal to snap back, "Your track? Who says this is your track?"
It was Duck's turn to get a little fumed, as he, too, figured the more important matter here was to prove his point, "There are two ways of doing things, Oliver: the Great Western Way, and-."
"The Wrong Way," Oliver parroted with a scoff, rolling his eyes and sneering, "I know. And you're doing it the wrong way."
With nothing else to say, and just wanting to get out of the terribly awkward situation, Oliver was first to back away and find another way around to his first objective. And although Duck was quick to do the same and head off in the opposite direction, something churned within his boiler, a voice that begged him to go after the Cornish-accented engine. His head screamed at him not to, and he did just that; he knew neither him nor Oliver should make such a big deal out of such a little accident, which surely wasn't going to have any dire consequences later, right?
Right?
Ugh! Prologues and short chapters in general will be the death of me! BLARGH!
Anyway, a couple little things I wanna state here. First off, this story is inspired by Kristian Kostov's "Beautiful Mess." Very beautiful song, I suggest looking it up. And second, NO, this is not the end of the story because this isn't some little drabble. There will be more chapters, longer ones in fact, in the very near future.
Also, I can't be the only one who ships DuckxOliver, right?
Until the next chapter, I'm TRikiD, bye-bye!