Wilbur wakes up with an embarrassingly uneven breath, wide eyes travelling around the room before he remembers the familiar surroundings of Quackity's small- and still boring bedroom.

He groans, finding his shaky and uncertain behaviour unnecessary. His eyes find the pen that's sitting on the bed, most certainly chewed on moments before he fell asleep. A habit Wilbur wants to break. But he never seems to get rid of the dull inky taste in his mouth for long.

Wilbur shakes his head, possibly trying to wake himself up before sliding out of bed. Wilbur peeks out the door, seeing Quackity sitting quietly on the couch. He pauses for a second, tapping on the door frame before stepping forward with a deep breath that he also found unnecessary.

"Good morning."

Quackity's eyes shoot up to meet Wilbur's as he gives a small smile. "It is morning."

"But it's not good?" Wilbur asks, but his voice is so laced with sleep that it takes the teasing tone away. He waves his hair out of his face, brown curls finally moving out of his vision to see Quackity a bit better.

Wilbur notices the way Quackity pauses, looking down at something before returning his gaze to Wilbur. His lips are pursed down as he shrugs.

"Let's say- uh," Quackity stops mid-sentence to take in a low breath as his eyes dart the other way. "Could there be more than one way to get infected?"

Wilbur's breath involuntarily hitches. "I'm not sure." He answers slowly, eyebrows furrowing. "Why?"

Quackity's frown only fades into an expression Wilbur can't place.

When Wilbur can't wait any longer for an answer he walks over to sit down on Quackity's left. "Quackity?"

"Look," Quackity simply says, shifting around on the couch with a small huff. Wilbur's confused at first, leaning back the slightest bit to allow Quackity to have some space between them. But then Wilbur notices the leg Quackity's propped up.

More specifically, he notices the claw marks stretching down from his ankle, unsettling to the eye and Wilbur can only guess how uncomfortable that must be.

The skin around it is flushed with pink, irritated but still soft. The scratches themselves are painfully deep that Wilbur grimaces at the dried blood that surrounds the red marks, grey on the edges.

"When did this happen?" He asks, eyes wide and sounding breathless as worry bubbles up in his stomach.

Quackity looks guilty as he slouches into the cushions, rubbing his ankle with unease. "Yesterday, the same zombie that almost killed me."

Wilbur's throat tightens with an unknown feeling as he frowns. "What? Yesterday- you never said anything. Why didn't you say anything?"

Quackity gives a nervous laugh, a smile to match before Wilbur can ask anything else. "I just- it's just we were having a great time!" He defends, lifting his hands up before flopping them in his lap. "We were chatting and laughing, that shit, and I didn't want to ruin the moment."

Wilbur blinks before he properly processes Quackity's words. He grimaces at the injury, a questioning lilt in his voice as he sits up. "Ruin the moment? Quackity, it wouldn't have ruined the moment it just would've... changed it."

"Yeah, changed it by ruining it."

"This is important- you're injured."

"Eh, just itches a whole fucking lot."

Wilbur stands up, looking down at Quackity with a pointed look. "Don't even, just a minute ago you were worried about it."

Quackity doesn't respond to the statement, only shifting uncomfortably. Uncomfortable because of his scratched-up ankle and because Wilbur's eyes are trained on him.

Wilbur mutters something under his breath that Quackity doesn't catch. Then he runs a hand through his hair as his eyes scan the room. "Do you have any medical supplies? Anything?"

Quackity frowns with disappointment, only giving in because of the worry in Wilbur's tone. "Kitchen, cabinet closest to the right," he says, seeming bored as he watches Wilbur waste no time retrieving whatever medical bullcrap he needed.

Admittedly through, Quackity feels a wave of relief and safety wash over him when Wilbur walks over with a variety of the medical bullcrap in his hands.

Quackity stills hesitantly as Wilbur slides to his knees in front of him, too focused on sorting tools around on the ground to notice Quackity's questioning glare.

Quackity watches Wilbur's hands set down some cleaning supplies- obviously meant for injuries- before anxiously focusing on Wilbur's hair as the man still looked downwards. Finally, Quackity clears his throat. "So..."

He mentally cringes at himself. He's never liked all this medical junk, makes him feel odd. "What are you...?"

Again, he can't finish. But Wilbur knows what he's trying to ask as he looks up at Quackity, a neutral expression on his face.

"I'm going to clean it."

"Oh." Quackity should've guessed. He nods slowly as his chest tightens, loosening right after as Wilbur turns away.

"Leg up."

"What?" Quackity asks, dumbfounded as Wilbur glances over him. Wilbur's only inched right up to the edge of the furniture, Quackity notices as he shifts to do as he's told, trusting Wilbur knows what he's doing.

Wilbur's hand rests gently on Quackity's calve like he was debating something before his other hand starts wiping the injured area of skin as Quackity stiffened. But the feeling of the wipe was cold, providing relief for his irritated and burning skin, so he sighs as Wilbur cleans up the injury.

"Do you like, do this a lot or?" Quackity asks curiously, watching Wilbur's hand retreat away to toss the wipe.

"Honestly," Wilbur starts as he scans over what he can use, lingering over a bottle with a word Quackity couldn't care to pronounce. "Not at all."

It was straightforward and blunt, but Quackity's face twitches at the honesty. So apparently, Wilbur doesn't have too much knowledge.

"You know, I wish you would've told me yesterday when it wasn't so dry. It would have made the job easier," Wilbur says so matter-of-factly Quackity bit back the urge to tell Wilbur that he just said he had almost no experience. Wilbur eyes the medical stuff hesitantly, lifting up a bottle of peroxide with an uncertain grin. "Hey, we've got this?"

Quackity squints at the bottle, shrugging as he looks away. "Use whatever as long as it doesn't make it worse. Heck, use everything-"

"I will not do that. I don't know much but I know that's a stupid idea."

"Suit yourself, but at least use one of those creams. Bet one of them is for irritated skin."

"Fine, I'll look."

And he does- but only after cleaning the actual scratches and not just the skin around it. Quackity switched up from watching Wilbur intently as he did so, or staring harshly at the wall when he couldn't bear to look. But he was grateful for how careful Wilbur seemed to be, and the fact that Quackity could tell Wilbur was doing his best to fight his lack of expertise in this field.

"Ah, seems you were right," Wilbur says with a hum as he picks up a container of anti-itch cream and puts it on display for Quackity.

Quackity scoffs, motioning for Wilbur to hurry up. "Of course I was." He mutters, watching an amused smile spread onto Wilbur's face.

Wilbur doesn't comment on Quackity's statement though, only twisting off the lid and Quackity could only look in suspicion as Wilbur once again went back to his injury.

"So is this the last thing?" He gestures to his leg, once again twitching at how cold the cream was. Wilbur nods as an answer, leaving Quackity to focus on the feeling of Wilbur's fingers gently rubbing that stupidly cold anti-itch cream on his skin.

Quackity also focuses on Wilbur's other hand that never left from resting on Quackity's calve, mostly because Quackity's leg would twitch at a certain touch or Quackity guessed too early that Wilbur was done. Either way it stayed, and Quackity urges himself to stop thinking about it.

Thankfully, Wilbur's voice tears through his thoughts, making him glance back at the taller. "And we're done," Wilbur says, leaning back onto the heels of his feet. "I did my best so hopefully it helped."

Quackity stops himself from pausing again, instead smiling at Wilbur with a nod. "Thank you."

Quackity watches Wilbur's eyes flicker around for the shortest second before he's smiling back. "No problem." With that, Wilbur pushes to his feet and heads for the kitchen, leaving Quackity to start inspecting his ankle.

Wilbur comes back with washed hands as he plops onto the couch, side-eyeing Quackity with a bit more serious look. "You know, if the zombie scratched you yesterday-"

"Then I have until the end of today, I know," Quackity says blandly, but there's a worrying and saddening twist in his face that gives his feeling away at the realization he's been swallowed by.

It takes twenty-four hours to turn into a zombie, once bit you have a day left before you join the undead.

"Well, that's if it even infected you."

"It probably did, you should grab the shit you need and leave."

The pain in his voice doesn't go unnoticed and Wilbur frowns. "Quackity I don't have to leave, we don't even know if you've been infected."

"But-"

Wilbur shakes his head, scooting closer. "Look, Quackity, let's say you really do only have a couple of hours left until you turn into a zombie, don't you want to spend them with somebody if you have the chance?"

Quackity bites his tongue, avoiding Wilbur's gaze in an attempt to not let his words get to him. If he is infected then Wilbur should leave for his own safety, Quackity wonders how Wilbur doesn't understand the simple logic. "Wilbur, you-"

Quackity's cut off again as Wilbur places a hand on his shoulder. "Quackity, you have that chance. I'm not gonna leave you on the chances of a what-if, I'll stick with you. Okay?"

Quackity makes the mistake of facing Wilbur, eyes wandering all over the soft, caring- but stubborn look on his face. He knows Wilbur's not backing down on this one, no matter how many times Quackity could tell him to leave.

And Quackity can't help but warm up inside, not able to deny the fact that having Wilbur around sounds like exactly what he wants. For once he wasn't alone these past couple of days because Wilbur was there, and he didn't die yesterday because Wilbur was there.

So Quackity reluctantly admits that, hey, if he's dying today he also wants Wilbur there.

Quackity sighs, sinking into the cushions with a new sense of relief that helps drown his waiting dread for the end of the day. "Fine, stay."

"We both knew I was going to either way," Wilbur says sarcastically, but Quackity can hear that the stubborn request being accepted made Wilbur feel better, Quackity can tell by his voice. Wilbur leans back to match Quackity, turning his head with a grin plastered across. "So Quackity, what do you wanna do?"

Quackity blinks for a moment because... he doesn't know the answer. This could be his last day as himself, as a person. But he has no clue how to spend it.

Wilbur seems to notice the struggle, easily identifying it and Quackity wonders how. "It's your day, Quackity, just think of what you wanted to do before all this zombie shit happened."

"Oh." Quackity bites his cheek, thinking back to almost two years ago. Wilbur's hand on his shoulder seems to help his mental focus, he doesn't know how- it just does.

Something drops to the pits of his stomach when his memories start playing. His throat feels soar as he thinks of the time before this when he wasn't hiding away in a random apartment to keep safe. When he would walk on streets that weren't empty.

It feels like it's been a lot more than just two years, Quackity realizes. He also realizes that he misses those times a lot more than he thought.

But what happened, very much happened. And it changed a whole lot of things that the remaining people have to deal with. Quackity's not an exception, he knows that.

It makes his arms droop into his lap with a longing stare that points to nowhere. "Well," He starts slowly, shoulders dropping with a sigh. "I liked to go on walks, those were always nice. I drew sometimes, but I never really showed anyone because it was more of a pastime than anything. I would also prepare the grossest, most disgusting dishes for my friends to try, a little thing we had just for us."

It was silent for a couple of seconds and Quackity feels like he was admitting something more than just enjoyments of his life- he wonders if Wilbur could tell how much he misses those days.

"Then we can do those," Wilbur says with a confident tone. He seems so certain of his words as Quackity blinks, clearly confused.

"What?"

"We're gonna do each of the things you just listed, the two of us."

"Wilbur, you would- really?" Quackity struggles with his words and with the warmth creeping into his chest, crossing his arms in a physical attempt to get rid of the sensation. He quickly finds out it's no use as Wilbur nods.

"Yes really, we're doin' it. What do you say?" He asks as he stands up, looking at Quackity with a friendly smirk and a glint of excitement in his eyes that intrigues Quackity even more.

So Quackity nods, accepting Wilbur's hand to pull him up. He almost bumps into Wilbur, letting out a breathy laugh as he looks at the other. "I say it's a yes."

Wilbur's grin softens into something gentle, eyes lingering in each other's gaze before Wilbur wraps an arm around Quackity's shoulder like he did yesterday. "Then we're going on a walk, Quackity."

"Then I need my shoes on, you impatient idiot." Quackity's words have no actual harshness behind them as he slips out of Wilbur's hold and back to the foot of the couch to grab his shoes before taking a seat.

"Oh, that reminds me." Wilbur hums as he whips around, meeting Quackity's curious look. "I should probably wrap your ankle up so it doesn't get infected."

"Not unless it already is."Quackity mutters, staring at the hands in his lap as Wilbur sits on his knees, once again in front of Quackity as he contemplates which bandaging he was going to use out of the two.

" If it already is." Wilbur shoots back, pulling on the bandage strip. Then, he hums as he glances up at Quackity. "You're gonna have to lift your leg up for me."

If Quackity's eyes widened at those words, no they didn't. He simply complies, letting Wilbur hold it up with that same warm hand on his calve while the other starts wrapping the possibly zombie-infected area.

Quackity ignores the buzzing that arises in his chest, too busy focusing on Wilbur's dumb fingers and hands on his skin- too busy to think of an excuse. So he ignores it.

But that becomes difficult when Wilbur looks up at him.

Wilbur tugs lightly on the bandage. "Too tight?" He asks, then he tilts his head. "Or too loose?"

"A bit loose." Quackity blurts, adjusting his beanie to distract his hands when Wilbur nods in acknowledgement and starts tightening it.

Quackity doesn't even blink twice before Wilbur reaches for the tape, moving to rest Quackity's foot on his thigh so he could hold down the bandage. And if Quackity has to tear his gaze away from the firm hand on his leg, then no he didn't do that either.

"There," Wilbur says as he lets Quackity's leg swing down. Wilbur stands up and Quackity forces his mind to think about something other than stupidly warm hands and gentle touches as he puts his shoes on.

When he's done Wilbur offers him a hand just like before, pulling him to his side as they walk out the door.

The air is still, dull and thin but Wilbur doesn't seem to care as he looks up. Quackity watches as Wilbur eyes the sky, thoughts clearly sparking behind those eyes. Quackity doesn't think he'll understand Wilbur's adoration for something such as the sky, but he lets the man enjoy the orange and grey that surrounds the mid-day sun. An odd combo of colours that blend in the sky with creamy white clouds stretching across to fill in the blanks.

"Walk with me?" Wilbur then asks, catching Quackity off guard who still thought he was gazing upwards. He smiles, holding back the urge to make fun of Quackity.

"Yeah." Quackity steps forward, Wilbur does too. "I'll walk with you."

Wilbur beams inside, descending down the worn-out and rusty staircase with Quackity. If this really is Quackity's last day, Wilbur wants him to enjoy the shit out of it. So he lets Quackity lead them to walk wherever they walk and pause at a random building whenever he wants.

They both push down that thought, the knowledge that this could be it. Instead, they focus on each other's company and the empty streets they can explore.

And when Wilbur pulls Quackity to his side to show him some new addition to his trinket collection, placing a hand on Quackity's shoulder and smiling wide. Well, Quackity doesn't ignore the fuzzy warmth circling in his chest, at least some of it, because he might not feel it again.

It's especially strong when Wilbur pauses someway on the walk, looking around before sighing and facing Quackity with the softest look yet.

"Quackity," Wilbur starts, eyebrows drawn into something Quackity can only guess was anxiousness. Why was he anxious? Quackity doesn't ask as Wilbur sighs, his hand once again finding a place on Quackity's shoulder.

"I just want to say it, I think of you as a friend. A friend I've just met, sure, but a friend nonetheless."

Quackity blinks, first wondering what he's done to make Wilbur think of him as such an- a friend? Quackity can't help it as he smiles, still lost at how he received such a title from Wilbur but accepts it fully. From his view, it'd be Wilbur as the great friend. Quackity's just been there for Wilbur to help him out. He owes Wilbur at least one thing for all the stuff he's helped him with, Quackity knows it.

"Thank you, Wilbur," He says genuinely, voice lowering in volume as he looks away.

When Quackity looks back he almost finds it funny how Wilbur still looked a bit anxious. Wilbur, however, thought he was justified in his demeanour. After all, admitting he saw them as friends meant something and clearly that something was important to him. So much so that he hesitates as they look at each other, not sure whether to move on or speak further on the subject.

So Quackity forces the topic out of focus for him, using the slowly approaching dimness in the sky as an excuse. And Wilbur happily accepts it.

As they head back and the sun lowers, it becomes a relief to see Quackity wasn't going to turn into a zombie. Wilbur grins at the realization, almost tripping on debris just to face Quackity.

"You're not a zombie."

Quackity's answer doesn't come for a moment as he stills, feeling the need to look at his bandaged ankle before he lets out a deep breath. "Guess I'm not."

So there's still some unpacking of emotions and thoughts to do, but Quackity knows in the middle of the road isn't the best place to do so.

So he reminds himself to think about it later, letting the unsteadiness of his encounters with near-death drown in the fuzzy feeling Wilbur's presence brought. It seems to work surprisingly well, he'll have to think about later that as well.

For now, he sighs at the similar feeling of the couch against his back and the white ceiling above his head. Then when Wilbur comes back from the bedroom, the two actually do end up drawing just like Wilbur said they would.

Quackity picks up a pen, tapping it on his paper absently as he watches Wilbur carefully draw on his own paper. "What is that?"

"I could be asking you the same thing, your drawing is extremely confusing." Wilbur retorts, resting his chin in his hand, laying on the floor with his knees up against the couch that Quackity peered at him from.

"You can't even see mine."

"I've peeked."

"When?"

"You get very concentrated when you draw... whatever you draw."

Quackity groans, still, he turns the paper he was resting against a hard book around to show Wilbur. "This is that stupid antique shop, how can you not tell?"

Wilbur's face rises with realization before he quickly hides it with a teasing glare. "Why would you draw that?"

"It's what I wish happened, see you there, you're being impaled by that old lamp." Quackity states, even though that was very much not what he drew. But it was a very, very rough draft so technically, he could bend it around a little. "That one-hundred-year-old lamp."

The twist in Wilbur's face is rewarding as Quackity grins, tapping the paper again. "And that's me, well and alive."

"Funny because you've 'almost died' more than me." Wilbur huffs as he drops back to the floor, scribbling something hastily on a spare paper. Then he shoves it towards Quackity, the paper crumpling slightly. "This is the drawing you get to see."

Quackity pulls it away from his chest, looking at it with squinted eyes. "This-" then he barely makes out the drawing. "This is literally you laughing at my height."

When he looks back at Wilbur the man has a stupidly cheeky and proud smile on his face, urging Quackity to look back at the paper like it was something of greatness and not just a dumb doodle of a height joke that Wilbur was making.

So Quackity tosses the paper, enjoying the amusement of watching Wilbur as he rushes to pick it up like the carpeted floor would ruin it.

"Making jokes about my height isn't funny," He says, leaning back into the couch and crossing one leg over the other.

"If done properly, then it's funny." Wilbur disagrees, pointing a finger up in the air like he studied for this exact situation for years.

"You know, you are a bit insufferable."

"Don't worry, I can be worse."

"I don't doubt it, but don't do it."

Wilbur lets out a high-pitched laugh before straightening his posture and wearing a fake frown. "Aw, am I already too much for you?"

Quackity scoffs, averting his gaze to the side momentarily before shrugging. "In no way."

"Good," Wilbur simply says, leaning his back against the side of the couch and arching his neck so his head was actually on the couch. It looks painfully uncomfortable but Wilbur only hums with a smile. "Because I really can offer to be a bit more an annoyance anytime."

Quackity sighs in defeat, pushing off the couch. "We gotta put all of these papers up if we're done." He supplies, changing the topic from a battle he couldn't win. "And don't sit like that unless you wanna break your neck."

"So demanding." Wilbur mumbles with a huff, earning a disapproving look from the other. Still, Wilbur sits up properly and starts fidgeting with a pen, taking some of it apart only to put it together as Quackity cleans up the mess of drawing utensils and papers.

Quackity pauses not even a minute later, pinching his brows and gesturing to the papers on the floor. "You gonna help?"

Wilbur freezes, and then Wilbur blinks, looking around the room with his hand on his chest. "Me- Are you asking me?" He questions, his acting skills not being appreciated as Quackity tosses a pen right at his face. He proceeds to cough, waving his hands around. "Pft- What the hell? My face, that hit my face."

Quackity only laughs at him with a grin Wilbur would call evil, leaning closer and poking Wilbur in the arm with another pen. "That, Wilbur Craft, was the point."

"Oh, Quackity." Wilbur frowns, eyes looking devasted like he was betrayed. "Why?"

"Simple, you're annoying and you suck at acting."

"Really?" Wilbur asks, feigning an offended and depressed expression- somehow. But before Quackity can say anything, he realizes a little too late the smirk that's pulling at Wilbur's lips.

Quackity doesn't have any time to react before Wilbur gets Quackity in the side with his own pen. He leans back, glaring at Wilbur harshly. "You."

"Me." Wilbur offers lazily, moving to sit on his lower legs, knees bent and pointing at himself with a blue plastic pen. "I'm a master at practically everything."

"We'll see about that," Quackity says with a pointed look, maintaining eye contact as he inched closer. "Wilbur," He starts.

"What?" Wilbur asks with a scoff, a bored expression on his face. But Quackity only gets closer and Wilbur looks up at him from his slouched position. "What?"

Quackity looks down, grinning widely. "I don't think you'll win." And with that Quackity reaches out for the pillow on the couch behind Wilbur, hitting the back of his head in the process.

Wilbur huffs at the sudden impact, eyes widening before he realizes what this is. He reaches his arm back, grabbing the other pillow and blocking Quackity's next swing. "You're challenging me to a pillow fight?" He scoffs.

"Sure am," Quackity says simply, getting on his knees and holding the pillow above his head, prepared to strike. But before he can land the hit, Wilbur wacks him right in the stomach.

Quackity huffs at the impact, quick to block Wilbur's attack with his pillow, then, gets Wilbur in the side. He laughs as Wilbur desperately tries to sit back up, efforts being hindered as Quackity hits him again.

"You suck at this." Quackity taunts, grinning at the way Wilbur barely managed to block it. Quackity laughs as he almost drops his pillow. he picks it up but his laughter continues, he feels so light in a good way.

Quackity's stomach hurt from laughing and his lips hurt from smiling but he doesn't care, he was having a great time. Compared to this morning this is much better.

Wilbur couldn't help but giggle as he lay on his back, holding the pillow in front of his face and upper chest. Then, he curls his legs up to his chest as self-defence when Quackity tries hitting his stomach.

"Quackity, Quackity." He breathes out through small chuckles. He barely peeks out from the pillow. "This isn't fair- time out."

"So you're a pussy?" Quackity more so states, adjusting his grip on the pillow.

Wilbur sputters with disbelief. "No." But he can see Quackity's unconvinced expression. He doesn't get a chance to say anything else before Quackity tries to swing at him again.

Wilbur blocks it, but this time he pushes up, attempting to sit up.

"Hey-" Quackity gets caught off guard at the sudden action, resulting in him being knocked onto his back.

Wilbur grins victoriously only to realize Quackity was dragging him down too, so Wilbur yelps as he gets pulled by the arm onto the ground, landing on his elbows with a huff. Still, Wilbur rolls over and wacks Quackity with the pillow.

Quackity smiles despite the fact he doesn't have a pillow to defend himself with. He turns around, seeing Wilbur smile right back and lazily holding his pillow. "Time out okay?"

"Oh, you want to take a break?" Wilbur asks teasingly, raising his eyebrows. Quackity nods in defeat, sighing heavily but Wilbur only shakes his head. "Hm, I don't think so, Quackity."

With that Wilbur reaches over, smothering Quackity with his pillow, laughing maniacally as the other tries to push him off. Wilbur only sits up to force out more strength. Quackity grips onto the pillow, starting a tug of war between them.

Finally, Quackity wins, tugging the pillow above his head. Wilbur was pulled forward at the action, falling and barely catching himself with his elbows.

They both laugh, the pillow fight seemingly over as they lay on the ground. Quackity realizes how he can feel Wilbur laugh, the man's chest flush against his stomach. He doesn't do anything about it, doesn't know if he should do anything about it.

But the laughter wears off and Quackity looks at Wilbur, he wonders if he should've done that. But Wilbur's simply looking back with a small smile, his breath still sounding like he was just in a fight.

"I think it's a tie, Quackity," Wilbur says, and Quackity can't tell if Wilbur always talked this way, because it makes his chest simmer with heat. Quackity thinks of something to say, falling short of ideas as the silence takes over. Quackity notice how Wilbur's face softens into something else, the air growing warm and Quackity wonders if his own face has changed into some odd emotion-ridden thing like Wilbur's.

He also wonders if it was him or Wilbur that just leaned closer to the other. Because they definitely did, and Wilbur's still looking at him and he's looking right back. Their breaths are a lot slower now, but neither seems to notice.

Not until Quackity looks away, afraid there's colour on his cheeks. That seems to flip a switch for the other, when Quackity turns back Wilbur's eyes flicker before he leans back. Quackity bites his tongue to stop himself from saying anything about it, silently accepting the hand Wilbur's offering to pull him up to his feet.

"I don't think it was a tie." Quackity states confidently, crossing his arms and watching curiosity take over Wilbur's features. "I thought I did pretty good."

Wilbur's face scrunches up in disagreement, shaking his head lightly. "No chance you did better than me."

"No chance you did better than me."

"That's why I called it at a tie."

"Because you can't accept losing?"

"And you can?"

Quackity frowns in response, arms dropping at his side before waving dismissively. He supposes maybe Wilbur is right. "Fine, a tie."

And with that, then the two equally matched pillow fighters move to the kitchen to eat, and Quackity knows he'll have some stuff to think about once he's alone.