Chapter Text
Mickey tried to keep his eye on his task even as he heard Donald busily shuffling away behind him. It had been a particularly rowdy show that evening in the House of Mouse, so Donald had offered to help tidy up to make the time go faster. Unfortunately for the nervous mouse, time was going even slower than ever before as he swept the stage. See, what Donald didn't know was that Mickey had been feeling some kind of way about him rather out of nowhere since that morning:
There hadn't been a grand gesture or a huge romantic epiphany, he simply glanced over at his friend's excited grin and sighed, feeling a warmth in his chest. It was so natural a feeling, Mickey didn't even register it as romantic at first. Until he started realizing that he had begun seeking Donald out in between performances just to catch one more glimpse of his sweet face.
Wait... what am I doing...? You see Donald every day, silly brain, stop getting distracted and get on with the show!
And he did, right up until he felt the urge to see him again, and that's when it finally clicked.
He had somehow developed a crush.
A crush on his oldest friend.
An enormous blush erupted over his neck, his cheeks, and his ears as his heart fluttered in surprise. He was at work and therefore had no time to deal with all of that in the moment, so he tried his best to avoid Donald for the rest of the day. A goal that nearly would have worked, if Donald wasn't so selfless and generous to offer to help clean as the guests started clearing out.
Which takes us back to the present.
Mickey staring steadfastly down at the floor, trying to hide his red face from his oblivious companion. Donald was just whistling away as he tucked in chairs and adjusted the centerpieces, completely unaware of Mickey's heightened state. Mickey hoped that once Donald was finished HIS portion of the chores, he would just head home so Mickey could have some privacy to compose himself. But you can't always get what you want.
"Hey there, Mickey!" came the chipper voice from below, "You've been working on that stage for awhile, you good over there?"
Mickey startled, nearly dropping the broom but scrambled to catch it just in time. He turned around bashfully, gripping the broom to his chest as he let out a meek chuckle.
"Oh, sure, D-Donald! N-nothing to worry about here!" he stammered through his awkward laughter, shuffling his feet as Donald cocked an eyebrow, "I guess I'm just a little clumsy today, heh heh. Clumsy and slow, heh heh heh, You know me, always getting up to something around here, heh heh. You know, I was just saying to Goofy-"
Mickey cursed inwardly, knowing he was acting like a fool but physically unable to stop himself as he continued to ramble on about absolutely nothing. Mickey's hands were wringing the handle so tight as he talked, his knuckles were turning white and his face had gotten clammy and hot. Donald just stared at him, hands on his hips in confusion over this strange behavior.
"You don't look so good..." Donald said as he lifted himself onto the stage and approached, "Your skin is a little flushed."
Donald, not thinking anything of it, reached forward to put the back of his hand against his forehead to feel for a fever, but Mickey grabbed his wrist to stop him before he could make contact.
"NO, DON'T, I-" Mickey burst out, surprising them both, "I-I'm fine, but thank you." Mickey finished lamely, trying for his best smile, but it came out rather crooked.
"Why are you acting so weird all of a sudden?? Are you sick or something?" Donald huffed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.
Mickey looked him in the face for the first time all day and felt his heart pinch when he saw the underlying, genuine concern. The pounding in his heart eased, feeling so at peace whenever Donald was near him. To put him in an awkward position would be the LAST thing Mickey would ever want. So, for the sake of their friendship, he kept his mouth shut.
"Yeah... Maybe I am... That must be it," he chuckled weakly, shaking his head free of unwanted thoughts. "I'm not myself today..."
Donald's brow furrowed, not quite believing the thinly veiled lie, but sensing that Mickey didn't want the subject broached of whatever was bothering him. Mickey had gone back to avoiding eye contact, looking anywhere except at his dearest friend.
"Do you want me to finish up here?" Donald offered, holding out his hand for the broom, "Maybe a little rest will do ya good?"
Mickey smiled tensely, releasing his hold and letting the duck take over. His legs felt shaky and his mind was racing a mile a minute, but he forced himself to wave goodbye to Donald and numbly headed home.