Wilbur eyes the so far empty and silent street from out of an alleyway. The sense of familiarity from sleeping outside and keeping watch strangely comforts him, perhaps it's because he wasn't such a mess of conflicting emotions back then, at least, not as much.

Because right now, he's stuck wondering, almost questioning whether this is real or not, it doesn't feel like it, he still remembers being in the apartment and packing as much as he could carry, being sure to grab some papers and pens as Quackity stocked his bags too.

He still remembers seeing Quackity's regretful look as he closed the door, a longing frown on his face that Wilbur was about to ask about until Quackity switched up, fastened his straps and walked ahead.

He definitely remembers the silence that fell over them as soon as Quackity stopped acting so concerned. When to him it looked like Wilbur was doing just fine, Quackity was back on the quite game and Wilbur didn't know if talking meant just losing the game or more.

So here he is, apparently, he doesn't feel like he is, curled up against a wall and staring out into the road ahead of him as Quackity sleeps.

Wilbur sighs into the night air, which for some reason, is a bit humid despite the lack of rain recently. But it makes it feel a bit warmer, so he tries to not mind it too much. He wraps his arms tighter around his legs, knees pulled up to his chest, a human ball attempting to get warm enough.

For another time that night, Wilbur glances down at Quackity, his face shoved in the space under a pillow and the thick blanket covering Wilbur. He can't even see Quackity's face, but he can see the top half of his cheat, rising and flowing in a steady manner that helps Wilbur's shoulders go a little slack as he turns back to where any potential threat could be lurking.

He knows Quackity's trying to ignore Wilbur the best somebody could while being alone and surviving with them, he knows Quackity still refuses to talk about that night and even will glare at Wilbur, he's catched it out the corner of his eye whenever he tried to make small talk, probably assuming it'll lead to the topic of that night. Yes, Wilbur is aware that things are getting thinner between them, like a path on the side of a cliff that's becoming more and more smaller in width, more rocks to trip over too. He's actually, painfully aware.

But that doesn't mean he can stop the twist in his stomach when Quackity might possibly be in danger (the more than usual) or he's facing a zombie or heck, even when Quackity goes so still and silent that Wilbur bites his cheek and makes sure he's really breathing.

Just because things are a bit rough right now doesn't mean Wilbur doesn't care for Quackity.

'Cause truth is, he really fucking cares about Quackity. He thinks that's why the silence is slowly gonna kill him even more painfully than being bit by a zombie.

But really, would he even know? Despite never being bitten by a zombie Wilbur would stand by his word and say yes, it is more painful than getting bit.

Wilbur doesn't wake Quackity up when it's his turn to keep watch that night.

And if Quackity had realized it, he doesn't mention it, Wilbur sure doesn't.

At least, not until it's halfway through the next day.

Wilbur's eyes flutter shut again, leaning on the rough brick wall, Quackity kneeling off somewhere to the side as he sorts through a pawn shop for anything useful.

The sun is warm and gentle in light, it makes Wilbur yawn, slumping down and pressing his head against the wall. His eyes are so dry, even with them closed, he hates it.

His legs and arms are so heavy, mind foggy as he leans against the wall even further.

Quackity says something, Wilbur hardly hears it. So he simply hums. "Sure."

His knees bend, his hair falls over his face and he doesn't hear Quackity say anything else.

Wilbur wakes up on the concrete floor, Quackity shaking him until he realizes he's awake. He doesn't remember falling asleep. He wonders how long it's been, they're still at the pawn shop.

He blinks, seeing Quackity's lips move but hardly hearing any sound, it's so muffled. He can hear a rather loud wind blowing in his ears, though. "What?"

Quackity shakes his head and Wilbur lifts his hands to his ears, but then they pop and he can hear everything again. Quackity's breathing, his own, the buzz in the air that's just always there when it's too silent.

"Oh, I can hear now," Wilbur says blandly, crossing his legs and looking up at the sky, it's around the same. "How long was I sleeping for?"

"Half an hour cuz you wouldn't wake up." Quackity more so mutters, arms crossed on the floor next to Wilbur. He pauses, silence filling in before he shifts closer to Wilbur. "Don't do that again."

"Do what?" Wilbur plays with a smile as Quackity stands up, clearly unamused. Wilbur forces himself up too, being a little surprised on how much just thirty minutes of sleep helped. It isn't a lot, not at all, but he does feel somewhat better.

Quackity chews his lip, turning away with a grimace. "Don't just fuckin' pass out like that."

"I fell asleep, there's a difference." Wilbur corrects calmly, stretching his back a bit. Jeez, what position was he sleeping in? His back only aches and aches, his stretching proves to be futile in efforts so he gives up.

"No you didn't," Quackity's quick to say, quick to argue as he gestures to the wall behind them. "I came out here and you just dropped to floor, fuck- then you wouldn't even wake up for the longest time."

Wilbur isn't a stranger to the stressful tone he picks up in Quackity's voice. It's the same one that's in his own when he tells Quackity about the zombie ahead of them, when he checks on Quackity's breathing just in case, and when Wilbur knows that even with Quackity's silent treatment, he wouldn't think of leaving.

Quackity cares about him too. But really, he should've known, supposedly.

Wilbur suddenly feels very warm, he ignores it and steps back from Quackity. "Then I won't do it anymore."

It falls silent, Wilbur notices the look on Quackity's face. He wants to say something, but just like the last two days, he refuses for some reason. Wilbur takes a risk.

"What is it?" He asks, the way tension leaks out of Quackity's shoulders tells Wilbur he didn't in fact, take a very big risk.

"Why didn't you wake me up last night?" Quackity turns to him, and now it feels like an interigation with the look on his face. "You wouldn't have passed out if you did."

And that's true, he wouldn't have. But apparently hardly sleeping for two days, almost getting killed, and walking for hours does that to you. So it did happen.

"Didn't feel like it," Wilbur says with a shrug, like he's grown bored of this conversation as he looks around and picks up all his bags again. "Let's move on, shall we?"

Quackity frowns, picking up his own luggage with a sigh. "Fine. But next time you're waking me up or I'll be the only one watching from now on."

Wilbur scrunches his face, straightening his posture. "Well that's rather hypocritical, Quackity."

"You've said before," Quackity says with the formality of a business man before walking ahead of Wilbur. "The only way to stop my hypocrisy is to actually wake me up next time."

Wilbur bites his tongue, huffing, he realizes there's no point in this one. "Fine then."

Silence follows after as they walk, Wilbur wonders if he should be used to it by now or still feel like it's suffocating him in a wall of emotions, the air damp and heavy, walls caving in from every side and crushing him, lungs a mess, and now he can't breath.

But Wilbur just has a thing for figurative language, he's actually walking down empty streets full of fresh air, the only other person breathing is Quackity. No car exhaust in the air, no chemicals (well, not as much) and no smoke. He has properly functioning lungs too, so he can very much breath.

Even zombies breath, when they're real life has ended and they move on as mindless, rotten creatures with the single goal to eat and from time to time, sleep.

Sometimes, depending the phrasing, zombies and humans are very alike.

But in the end there's more differences than similarities, zombies should be impossible but somehow walk, zombies aren't capable of any actual owned thoughts and emotions. Zombies are the living dead.

Wilbur's very much just living alive and he wants to keep it that way.

So when he hears the familiar mumbles and groans of what is definitely more then two zombies he instantly stops to look around their surroundings, a variety of small shops and apartments that could be hiding the undead in shadows.

Quackity looks at him expectantly, lowering his voice. "Hear something?"

"You didn't?" Wilbur turns to him with a look of disbelief before pulling his knife out and stepping closer to Quackity. "They're extremely close."

Quackity pauses to listen, not needing even a second before he steps back and adjusts the bags he's carrying. "Okay, then let's get out here."

"Wait," Wilbur stops him, pulling him closer and looking around like the zombies are going to jump at them any second. "What if they're the fast ones? You know those ones, we can't exactly outrun them."

"We can if we leave now." Quackity argues, stepping back and waving for Wilbur to follow. "So let's go."

"I-" Wilbur stops himself and nods, the whisper shouting falling to nothing as the zombies sound like they're getting closer the more they move further down the sidewalk.

They try to keep every move quiet, not give the the zombies any noise to chase after. Wilbur grips tighter on his knife, a sickening feeling in his gut as he takes one step after the other, Quackity right in front of him.

See, it's fine. They're just walking and the zombies aren't going after them-

That is, until they walk past a small alleyway, catching the eye of the zombie lurking in there. The zombie grabs for Quackity, who hadn't noticed it quick enough. But Wilbur does, rushing up to shove the zombie away.

"Wilbur, what the hell!" Quackity curses, standing over Wilbur who was currently trying to tackle a zombie on the ground with impressive success, bags thrown to the side. Quackity drops his and steps on the zombie's arm to try and keep it down while tugging Wilbur back. "Why are you throwing yourself at a damn zombie?"

Wilbur gets pulled back by Quackity and the zombie foot that kicks his stomach in the chaos of all three trying to get away, sending Wilbur to stumble back while he's still sitting, tripping Quackity on accident who tries to step back only to fall down too.

Quackity's still cursing at Wilbur, just now for making him fall as he puts a hand on the ground for support. Wilbur doesn't listen to any of it though, much more focused on the two new zombies that decide to join them.

Wilbur jumps to his feet, the zombie he was previously fighting now on it's feet too. Finally, Quackity notices them, sighing dramatically and grabbing his knife.

"What if we just make a run for it." Quackity suggests but it sounds more like an instruction, one that Wilbur frowns at.

"Right, because there's not three zombie's blocking us in."

Quackity doesn't appreciate any of it, but Wilbur's right. So he braces himself as a zombie eyes him, then attempts to lunge at him with a low growl. Wilbur tries to turn to help him when he sees the zombie reach for him, but the third zombie steps in front of him, back facing Wilbur and trudging over to Quackity. So Wilbur does what anyone would do and plunges his knife in it's back, the zombie stumbling around with a hunched posture in pain, letting Wilbur walk, but his arm gets painfully yanked right back by the first zombie, crashing him right into the dead thing.

And surviving in the apocalypse really teaches you some things, like if you can't just run away from a zombie, kill it before it kills you or until you're able to escape. Simple stuff anyone could've guessed, but it works.

So of course, already an inch away from the zombie trapping him, Wilbur grips his knife tightly and goes for the throat, hating the raspy cry it let out before it cut short, throat slit open and sluggishly still clawing at Wilbur until he finishes the job and it goes limp against him, dead for good.

Wilbur's quick to push it off, turning to Quackity and the zombie arm he's currently holding, making Wilbur pause and eye the scene in front of him.

"You just stomp on it's shoulder and yank it's arm, their bones are like thick noodles." Quackity explains calmly, as if it's known knowledge and Wilbur should've been dismembering zombies the whole time. Quackity's sure to kneel down to it, tapping it's forehead. "Then you make sure it's actually dead, of course," and with that Wilbur watches as Quackity stabs it ever so efficiently and clean, right where the heart is, the sound slicing through before they remember the third zombie slumping against the wall with a heavy breath even for the undead.

"Uhm, it's not even fighting us for our brains," Quackity says, pointing out the obvious and picking up his bags. Wilbur nods, thinking for a second before his eyebrows raise in realization.

"Oh, that's the one I stabbed in the back." He snaps his fingers, pointing at with a nod.

"Huh, well, guess we can go now."

"Guess we can," Wilbur says with a shrug, grinning as Quackity awkwardly tiptoes around it, making eye contact with the zombie before looking away with a confused look. Wilbur holds back a laugh, grabbing his packed bags and walking up to the zombie, waving goodbye as it just stared at him. He shifts, standing right in front of it. "Well, then, hopefully we won't be seeing you around anytime soon, yeah?"

And still, the zombie stares, it's eyes flicker though, like it's drifting between zombie dead and for real dead, shoulders rising and falling drastically.

"Right..." Wilbur walks away.

He joins Quackity on his right, the rush of the zombie attack still making him slightly more energetic than he'd normally be. Maybe someday Wilbur will find a simile or metaphor for the way humans get an odd energy boost in a last attempt to save themselves. But he also has to admit, seeing Quackity just standing there with an actual zombie arm he pulled of like it was nothing, his hair messily peeking out his beanie- okay, Wilbur has to admit that it sure doesn't help his breathing slow down, like, at all.

Speaking of it, Wilbur smiles at Quackity, going to compliment him on how he practically handled the zombie effortlessly. "You know, it was pretty cool-"

"What?" Quackity turns to him. Wilbur frowns, all energy lost to the sharp and biting tone in Quackity's voice and pinch of his nose. More of a 'God, what do you want now?' then an actual question. And Wilbur doesn't like it.

"Well jeez, way to ruin the mood," Wilbur mutters, definitely loud enough for Quackity to hear as he looks to the side.

Quackity, however, only scoffs. "Mood? Yeah, and what mood is that? The hey we almost just died one?"

"We live in an apocalypse, that happens sometimes," Wilbur says sharply, waving around to their surroundings to prove his point further.

"But it wouldn't have happened at all if you didn't throw yourself at a fucking zombie." Quackity accuses, pointing at Wilbur with downturned lips and furrowed brows, very clearly upset.

"The zombie went for you. You should be thanking me for that and you're the one who shouted at me for doing so," Wilbur says defensively, matching Quackity's scowl with a glare.

Quackity stops walking, a pointed look right at Wilbur as the man turns around to face him. "Then don't be a dumbass and throw yourself at it."

"Then don't shout at me for it." Wilbur raises his voice, only ever so slightly of course. He isn't about to do something he's telling Quackity not to, that's way more Quackity's style.

Quackity groans, shaking his head after. "It was your fault. We could've only had to deal with one damn zombie."

"My fault?" Wilbur puts a hand on his own chest before gesturing a hand over to Quackity. "No, that was your fault. If you wanna be mad, be mad at yourself-"

"I'm not the one who tackled the zombie," Quackity says, crossing his arms with a firm stance. "It's not my fault."

"Of course it's not," Wilbur says sarcastically, tone sharp and words targeted as he waves a hand around dramatically. "Because when is it ever your fault?"

Quackity, of course, just looks at him with distaste. "Wilbur, what're you on about." It's not even a question, he's just trying to tell Wilbur to shut up, but he does the opposite.

"It's not like the zombies were your fault, right, because you weren't the one who shouted in an area full of them when they happen to be attracted to sound." Wilbur went on, frustration never once leaving his expression or tone and not caring for the way Quackity told him to shut up again. "Which of course, makes me the dumbass and the one to blame-"

"You're being an idiot," Quackity mumbles, still so biting even when he isn't as loud. "This argument is ridiculous."

Wilbur huffs at that, trying to keep his voice level. "No, what's ridiculous is how you keep blaming me for your own shit."

Quackity takes a step forward, like he's moving on from the conversation as a whole. And he actually is, much to Wilbur's disliking. "Drop it, Wilbur."

"You always want to drop it, you can never talk about it." Wilbur looks away with almost an annoyed expression. Quackity ignores it and just frowns like he's bored when Wilbur's facing him again, frustration being joined by something just a bit desperate in his voice. "You can't talk about how it was your fault because you're too busy blaming me."

"I don't-"

"Anytime I try and talk about it, you ignore me or start acting like a dick."

"I'm not acting like a dick." Quackity argues, a lilt in his voice like he's confused on why Wilbur's even saying it.

Wilbur laughs bitterly at it, like he's recalling exact moments that make his face twist sourly. "Well you sure aren't being nice."

Quackity struggles for a moment, huffing in defeat after. "We're talking about fucking zombies here."

"And I'm talking about that night!" Wilbur shouts, and it earns silence from Quackity and a deep breath from Wilbur himself that does absolutely not help as he steps back, avoiding Quackity's gaze with a small voice. "You act like that night was my fault, like every second of silence between us is my fault, like it all is. But you can't even give me a why?"

Quackity clears his throat, Wilbur peeking at him to see him look up from the ground. "I never said that."

"You didn't have to." Wilbur takes a step back when Quackity adjusts the straps on his bags, like he's already expecting Quackity to move on from it all again and the silence will continue.

But Quackity doesn't, he just moves to Wilbur with a hesitant frown as he bites his lip. "Wilbur, it isn't like that. Just- you never stop bringing it up."

"Never stop? It's been nothing but quiet between us unless it's necessary." Wilbur points out, turning around with his head hanging low. "And you don't look like you have any plans of changing that, so we should just go."

Quackity's quick to follow after Wilbur, soft grass parting under their shoes now that they've stepped into what was a park, trees just feet ahead of them. "Okay, maybe you're right about the whole quiet stuff-"

Wilbur shakes his head. "Maybe?"

"Okay, you are right. But I can still tell you want to bring it up. You almost always do. Why?"

Wilbur stops with a sigh at that one, "Are you actually going to talk about it now?"

Quackity looks around at the trees around them, stalling as he looks at their roots before walking up to Wilbur, about to say something until they hear the leaves and grass shuffle under them and neither register what's happening before a net of chains is lifting them up off the ground, both losing balance and falling into the net right as it captures them both with surprised shouts.

Wilbur looks up, groaning at the sight of them swaying in a net hanging on a thick tree branch. "Since fucking when."

Well, since a couple seconds ago they got whipped up into this trap. Wilbur's uncomfortably hunched over, legs squished on top of Quackity's, his back against the net and head looking down at the top of Quackity's who got a bit better luck, basically stuck leaning against the chain with his legs bent.

"Whoever built this sucks." Quackity deadpans, trying to fight the panic rising in him. Wilbur nods in agreement, shifting around like he's trying to get out and failing miserably.

"We're gonna die." Quackity mumbles, not doing so well in his fight against fear. Wilbur looks down at him, pausing his escape attempts to think about the possibility.

And thinking about it doesn't help the situation, because the answer is extremely likely. Either zombies find them first or a person will decide to kill them and take their recourses or take the recourses and leave them for the zombies. Very, very likely. Dying is unfortunately more possible then not dying.

"Shit, we need to get out of this." Wilbur curses, the desperation in his actions as he tries to reach for the top of the net doesn't do anything to help Quackity because it means he's right. He's right and they're going to die and-

"I think I prefer the zombies from earlier." Quackity whispers, looking up at Wilbur.

Wilbur focuses on trying to sneak his arm through the net with a knife in his hand, sighing when he fails. "So do I."

Quackity looks around, grabbing onto the chained net with frustration. "How the hell do we get out?"

Wilbur, unlike Quackity, has at least looked relativity calm this whole time, but it starts to break as he goes slack. "I don't know, I-"

Both of them perk up at the sound of leaves and grass- something walking. Quackity looks around for whatever's moving as Wilbur frantically tries to grab any line of chain at the top so he can get closer.

The noise stops, Wilbur doesn't. But then a voice makes them both freeze. "Wait- oh my god, no way!"

Well, that just confirms that somebody's heading towards them, making Quackity grab onto the chains again. "Wilbur, somebody's fucking here."

"I know, I know!" Wilbur whisper shouts, scanning over the net again. "Shit, shit, shit-"

"I gottem!" They both stop to see the shadow of someone walking behind the trees, making them go still out of suspicion.

"Was that a kid?" Quackity asks, peeking up at Wilbur. He doesn't get an answer as a blonde and tall figure steps out from behind a tree, carrying a glass jar with a wide grin and a blue cardigan sweater on top of a red and white shirt.

"It's a fucking kid." Wilbur's face plummets.

The kid holds the jar close to his face. "I finally caught one, that's right." Then he carefully sets it down, looking up to the net. "I finally captured a- what the fuck?" His smile instantly drops at the sight, arms falling to his side. "What the fuck?"

"You already said that," Wilbur says unhelpfully, leaning on the net with a grimace.

"That's- I- you're not a zombie." The kid struggles, looking dumbfounded at the two.

"Got that right." Wilbur adds with a fake grin. Quackity rolls his eyes at him.

"Shroud, Shroud-" The kid rushes over to the jar again, kneeling down and pointing at the net, leaving Wilbur and Quackity absolutely confused. "They're not zombies, fuck, Shroud, what do I do?"

"Is he talking to a glass container?" Quackity question genuinely.

"Glass jar."

Quackity shakes his head and watches as the boy stands up, walking over to the net with curiosity.

"Why'd you walk in my trap?"

Quackity looks almost disappointed where as Wilbur down right tries to kick the kid, the chains rattling. "You fuckin' set it down, that's why. Why else would we have fallen into a hiden fuckin' trap?"

"I don't know," The kid confesses with a shrug, seemingly unbothered by Wilbur's anger and Quackity's judgement.

"Are you gonna kill us yes or no?" Quackity asks, earning a nudge from Wilbur for even bringing it up. The kid's eyes go wide before he starts laughing loudly, making both of them uncertain.

Finally, he calms down, smiling smugly at them. "Of course not. I'm a good and big man."

Wilbur only shows his relief for a second as he crosses his arms. "But you're a kid."

The kid gasps, offended as he steps back. "I'll have you know, stranger, that I am eighteen. I am legally an adult."

Before Wilbur could say anything else Quackity jumps in, attempting to keep Wilbur back. "Great! Look, as one responsible-"

"I am rather responsible," The kid says with a nod.

"Okay, so do you think from one responsible adult to another, you could let us out of your pretty impressive trap?" Quackity asks, waiting as the kid thought about it.

"If I did, would you kill me?" The kid looks up at them quizzically, taking a step back.

And both of them immediately answer no, genuinely too.

The kid hesitates, but then he walks away, behind some more trees as the other two sigh out of disappointment. But then they hear chains clinking and they're tumbling onto the ground.

Wilbur huffs as his feet hit the ground, stumbling over Quackity and quickly pushing himself up and standing face to face with the kid. "Well, then, thanks."

The kid offers a hand to Quackity, pulling him to his feet and flashing a smile at Wilbur. "No problem, just helping out my fellow grown-ups."

Quackity glances over at Wilbur, both not knowing what to do now. So Quackity goes to pick up his bags, Wilbur decides to do the same.

"So," The kid starts slowly, eyeing them and placing his hands on his hips. "How are you two?" They can tell he's holding back a laugh.

"Tired," Wilbur says, pushing past both of them and grabbing his knife of the floor.

Quackity doesn't linger on it, turning to the kid. "Anyone else with you?" That question earns him a look from Wilbur.

"Nope, been livin' with nobody but Shroud," He answers with a grin, receiving confused glances.

"Shroud?" Wilbur finally speaks up from the silence. Tommy shakes his head, walking back and picking up his jar, carefully making his way over and showing it off, revealing a black fuzzy spider and a bunch of twigs and leaves, Quackity noticing the punctured holes on the lid.

"Oh." Wilbur turns away from the eight-legged fuzz.

Quackity slightly frowns at the spider and the boy, stepping back. "Well, I'm Quackity, but I don't know yours?"

He takes a good moment to finally give in. "I'm Tommy."

"Right, well, Tommy, could you give me a second?"

When the boy shrugs, Quackity walks over to Wilbur, glancing back at the boy. "So, he is alone."

"Clearly, he talks to a spider." Wilbur points out.

"What do we do?" Quackity asks, Wilbur raising an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?" Wilbur doesn't focus on the we, not now, not as their previous and interrupted conversation pokes him in the brain.

Quackity sighs, gesturing behind him and lowering his voice. "What do we do about the damn kid. Ya know, Tommy?"

"I-" Wilbur pauses, looking around like he's been accused and shrugging as he steps away. "I don't fucking know."

"Really? Seems like you had an idea for a second," Quackity says, crossing his arms for maybe just the hundredth time today. Wilbur silently shakes his head. "Okay then, well what if we let him tag along?"

"To where?"

"I mean he stays with us, he's alone and just barely eighteen by the looks of it," Quackity says confidently, watching Wilbur's face go through a whole load of emotions until he leans towards Quackity with an uncertain whisper.

"I tried to kick him- he's gonna kill me in my sleep or something. I can feel it. Quackity, we can't, I will die."

"Well why'd you try to kick him?" Quackity waves a hand over at Tommy that Wilbur follows until he frowns at the sight of the boy.

He shrugs. "I was mad, thought I was gonna die because of a kid." Then he looks backmat Quackity. "But now I actually am going to."

Quackity shakes his head, placing his hands on Wilbur's shoulders. "Are you still mad at the Tommy?"

Wilbur bites his tongue at first, then, his shoulders go slack. "No."

"Okay then," Quackity gives him a smile, stepping back and nodding towards the boy. "Say some shit like an apology and ask him if he wants to join us."

"What?" Wilbur doesn't even get a choice as Quackity shoves him forward, earning the blonde's attention. He tries to clear his his head from Quackity, stepping next to the other and holding a hand out. "If you want to stay with us shake my hand."

The other pauses, eyeing the hand before meeting Wilbur's eyes. "Like a deal?"

"Not really, I mean, we're okay if you want to join us. Like, stay with us and that shit. You know?"

He looks back at Quackity before turning to Wilbur, standing up and tilting his head. "Then why'd you ask me to shake your hand?"

"We- I don't know." Wilbur admits, taking his hand back. "Just, do you want to?"

It's silent for a second, and then another and then it's a whole minute until the boy lifts a hand up like he's in class. "Can I grab my stuff first?"

"Make it quick."

With that the boy grins with a nod, rushing off. Part of Wilbur wishes he'd ask to carry literally anything so he wouldn't be alone with Quackity because he's still looming over what they were interrupted from, how he didn't even get an answer.

But Tommy returns with impressive speed, only one backpack to carry that Wilbur genuinely frowns at the sight, but it goes away at the fact that he'll be with them now.

Wilbur turns to Quackity, not surprised on how he does the opposite. Now the new company finally official, the two are back where they started. But what does do something for Wilbur is how Quackity walks up to Tommy, so casually and easily sparking up a conversation with him. Wilbur pretends to ignore it, trailing behind them and if Tommy ever turns around to him, he'll simply wave him off because Quackity's clearly busy chatting with him.

But Wilbur's very much not ignoring it, because Quackity's talking to this new kid- literally- Tommy and avoiding Wilbur again. Because Quackity still never gave his answer.

Wilbur decides he's not a fan of Tommy and that Quackity dragged him along so he isn't alone with Wilbur anymore.

And if it is true, because to Wilbur it already is, then this sucks.