Wilbur feels entirely euphoric at this moment, existing here, engulfed by the warmth of Quackity's hands pulling him closer by his shoulders, chest pressed together as they steal each others' breaths with each prolonged kiss, huffing afterwards only to continue, followed by a small fit of giggles as the two of them bat their eyelashes and let their hands roam and wander with tender touches.

Wilbur loves it, though. By this point he's probably too far busy holding Quackity's waist to remember that zombies aren't just pieces of fiction. In all honesty, he may have even forgotten what a zombie is due to the way Quackity's kissing him until he's near dizzy.

So it's no wonder he smiles like there's nothing else on earth but the two of them as they lean out to gain a far more normal breath and he holds Quackity's hand as caringly as he can.

Because gods/ he cares so much about the man sitting right in front of him, mismatching eyes glistening even with the lack of light in the room, his scar still so beautiful and apparent. Even Quackity's hair has Wilbur stuck in a hazed state of admiration with the way it perfectly frames his face.

Quackity is a very pretty man, Wilbur knows it to be true. And soon, when the two are done kissing each others' face off, Wilbur remembers that zombies are a true thing too as Quackity checks up on Tommy.

Reluctantly, Wilbur allows himself to be part of reality instead of the one world where he and Quackity existed in a room together. Opening the door, Wilbur fully acknowledges the tingle in his chest as he sees Quackity, arms crossed as he leans against a wall.

Wilbur's lips almost feel ticklish but he refuses the urge to press his thumb to his lower lip just as Quackity's own had. And looking at them now, they're still so pink and well, kissed.

Wilbur's stomach twists satisfyingly. The silent fact that he is the cause of that getting a similar reaction to somebody's toes curling when reading a book full of lovely literature and wonderful writing.

In fact, he is so focused on it he doesn't hear Tommy's voice calling his name until the kid is walking towards him. Wilbur tries to clear his mind as Tommy approaches. Of course, not without sparing a glance over at Quackity who looks so special and cute as he watches Shroud with curious eyes. Wait, shit, Tommy, that's right.

"Hey Tommy," Wilbur says with a tight nod as he continues to move his brain's attention from the moment he and Quackity shared to the present where Tommy is standing in front of him.

"Oh, Wilbur, we called you like three times," Tommy says but a smile ever so barely tugs at his lips like he finds it funny. Wilbur doesn't understand how this could be worthy of being comedic, however, he only hums.

"My apologies then."

Tommy's wandering eyes flicker back to Wilbur seemingly out of a brief sense of confusion that's instantly wiped away as he chuckles. "Yeah, apology accepted if you come eat with us now."

"Oh, was that why you were-" But before he can even finish Tommy's nodding.

"Yup, now come on, I'm hungry," Tommy says encouragingly, though the last bit is more of a complaint as he waves Wilbur over. Quackity's already made his way to the kitchen, preparing the familiar meal they've been surviving on: Cheerios.

Honestly, sometimes Wilbur wonders how only eating this cereal has kept them alive and awake but then he remembers how they haven't been running around all the time. They haven't even gone scavenging since he and Quackity got kicked out by zombies.

Wilbur hurries to push that out of his head, no need to recall such things. So he shakes it off and sits down across from Tommy and Quackity ends up in the middle.

Wilbur, despite trying to think of anything else, finds himself sneaking glances at Quackity with almost no thoughts besides how well he looked in the increasing dark, how his hands felt in his own hands, how his lips-

Maybe Wilbur should cut back. Possibly. Another look at Quackity leaves it as an option. So, he might stop thinking about Quackity but it's not a guarantee. Hell, Wilbur even can say it's not likely.

Meanwhile, Quackity and Tommy seem to be having some sort of conversation. With an internal sigh, Wilbur guesses that he should probably listen rather than zone out. If for only this time when they're all eating.

Like a switch, Quackity's voice becomes a lot more profound and understandable now that Wilbur's actually paying attention. Currently, Quackity's questioning Tommy on something he must've said as he tilts his head.

In response, Tommy shrugs. "Just sayin', man."

Wilbur turns to Quackity for some context as he sits up properly. "What was he saying?"

"He's getting tired of Cheerios," Quackity says plainly, his hands dropping to the table until Wilbur nods in understanding and Quackity pops some of the cereal into his mouth. Tommy only scoffs with a defensive cross of his arms.

"Well they are getting rather bland. Not to mention how stale they are," He states genuinely, the uninterest of eating them on his face very honest despite the fact he knows it's all they have. Still, his nose wrinkles up as he eyes the cup in front of him. "Plus, they hurt my jaw."

To be fair, they have been eating nothing but loads of wheat cereal ever since Tommy joined them. At first, they all sparingly shared the limited food Tommy had with him at the time since he was apparently so generous. But now it's just Cheerios.

So Wilbur hums, silently agreeing because his jaw also hurts after eating.

Quackity swallows down his food, glancing at Wilbur before he turns to Tommy. "We could always go out scavenge for some shit," He supplies, making Tommy's eyes light up as he quickly accepts the suggestion.

"We can. Totally, I'm down."

Quackity's lips curl up into a light smile as he faces Wilbur with an expecting gaze. "We haven't gone out in a while."

"Yeah come on," Tommy says eagerly and he places a hand on the table with an attempt at a persuasive grin.

With a sigh, Wilbur finds himself giving in. "Sure mate."

Tommy's grin turns into genuine cheerfulness as he leans back with a "Yes" through his teeth. "I love scavenging."

"That checks out," Wilbur mutters, glancing away from Tommy who pauses and snaps his head back curiously.

"What?" He questions, resting his hands in his lap as he tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"You're like a raccoon," Wilbur states simply, making Tommy's nose wrinkle up as Quackity's brows raise and he chuckles.

"A raccoon?" Tommy questions, seemingly thinking about it as he glances upwards and his brows furrow before he's shaking his head. "No- but- I'm not a raccoon, big man. I'm more like the mighty lion."

Quackity shakes his head slightly with an amused expression. "Eh, I wouldn't be so sure about that one."

Tommy huffs, becoming a bit offended. "Why not then?"

Wilbur and Quackity glance at each other and Wilbur can't help but smile before looking away and shrugging. "You're just not a lion."

Quackity shakes his head with fake remorse. "Not a mighty lion."

Tommy, however, disagrees as he tosses his arms to the side and points at them accusingly as he makes a list of all the reasons why he is a mighty lion. They don't come to an agreement about whether he is or isn't, but they all do agree that tomorrow morning they'll be ready to go scavenging. So with that Quackity yawns, telling them he'll be in the bedroom as he stands up and shuffles away.

"You know, I'm not even close to being tired," Tommy says proudly, but he falters as a smirk appears on Wilbur's face as he hums. "What?"

"Makes sense," Wilbur says, turning the other way with a smug look. "Raccoons are nocturnal."

With that Tommy groans, disappointment seeping into his glare. "That's not even fair man. I told you I was a big mighty lion."

"And neither of us agree."

Tommy glances over where Quackity was sitting, then, sighs as he accepts the fact they just don't see it the way he does. "That's because you two have your- like, I just-" Tommy huffs, glancing over at Wilbur. "Ya know?"

Wilbur, however, cannot exactly decipher his incomplete sentence enough to be even a little bit certain. Wilbur shakes his head, a confused and small smile on his face. "No?"

Tommy blinks as if comprehending Wilbur's response then groans in frustration. He places his elbows on the table, hands together as he tries to explain himself. "See, this is me," Tommy points to his right, away from Wilbur, then drags his finger over to Wilbur. "And this is you and Quackity, crowded up in this- this one collective group of co-owned thoughts and opinions."

Wilbur pauses, his nose scrunching up. "So you're saying Quackity and I share a brain?"

Tommy makes a prolonged eh noise before using actual words.

"Well not exactly," Tommy says as he leans back. "More like a heart," Tommy states casually. But, to Wilbur, it's not so casual as one of Tommy's dumb remarks seeing as his chest blossoms with the faint and apparently not completely faded memories of Quackity's hands pulling him closer by his shoulders with a lovely gorgeous smile that's burnt into his brain.

Wilbur's face is burning hot, it might even have competition with a somewhat cooler star somewhere out in space. While on the topic, Quackity's smile is brighter than almost any star he might have seen. Wilbur is too fond of the man's smile, it's melted its own space in his mind and there's no way he's ever forgetting about it.

Quackity huffs, fingertips hovering across Wilbur's upper back in a way that sends gold hot tingles all around him and makes it easy to become entranced as Quackity pulls him closer, lips curled upwards.

"I really liked that," Quackity says cheerfully with giddiness, the blush on his face and the flutter of his eyes adding to the warm and pink blanket of adoration he's got wrapped around Wilbur who clears his throat with a flustered expression.

"You did?"

"Mhm," Quackity hums, floppily tilting his head to the side and nodding slightly. Wilbur smiles softly, air lightly passing out of his lungs through a chuckle.

"So kiss me now?" He asks, inviting Quackity into his space impossibly more as he inches forward and Quackity brings a hand to his chin, silently turning him into putty in a way he thinks he's never known before as the man nods and their lips connect once again.

Wilbur brushes off the sensation of warm hands and even warmer smiles and refuses to have any big reaction to Tommy's words. He didn't mean it like that, of course he didn't. Tommy wouldn't ever- surely not. Wilbur holds back a huff or any sort of noise as he contemplates. But glancing back at Tommy he can catch the glint in his eyes, a sign that he means something.

So Wilbur sits up properly, widened eyes instead squinting at the kid before he prepares his voice. "What do you mean by that?" He asks anxiously, clearly, his voice sounds so small. Tommy, however, looks like he's practiced answering this question for a concerning amount of time it makes Wilbur shift in his seat.

"Well, you know," But Tommy trails off and no, Wilbur doesn't know. He has an idea. An idea that he isn't so sure of his chest burns because of somebody who isn't even sitting with them right now.

"No, I don't." It sounds more like a question though and Tommy simply shrugs, an amused look on his face as he blinks away.

"I mean, that's questionable but- no no, it's nothing." He stops himself, leaving Wilbur more confused than before without assuming any sort of explanation.

So Wilbur decides to leave it as such, glancing away and tapping a finger on the table. "Mkay, well, I'm getting pretty tired so I should probably head off since we're going to be scavenging tomorrow."

"Oh shit we are," Tommy says with realization, brows furrowing as he sighs in defeat. "Guess I should too then."

"Yeah, you do that," Wilbur says distractedly as he stands up, mind drifting back to confusion and the lack of answer he has. But he ignores it, pushing in his chair politely. "Night."

Tommy nods and Wilbur can't help but feel awkward as he walks away.

Soon, though, the three of them are very carefully making their way out of the apartment complex, Tommy insisting he leads the way due to his leadership abilities and sense of direction that comes with being a mighty lion. However, neither Wilbur nor Quackity buys it so Quackity ends up deciding which way they're getting down.

"The stairs? Again?" Tommy asks, clearly offended by the fact Quackity would even suggest it. He whips around, facing his back towards them as he shakes his head dramatically. "But we walked up the stairs to get to our place. Now we have to walk down?"

Wilbur crosses his arms, glancing to the side. "Isn't that how stairs work anyway." It's not actually a question but Quackity nods while Tommy buffers, trying to think of some excuse.

"I mean, only ever sometimes should we use the stairs for their intended use," Tommy rants, throwing his arms out at the side before pausing. "Right?"

"No I don't think so," Quackity says calmly. Tommy eyes the staircase, examining the amount of trash littered all over along with the unmistakable rusty red and brown smears on the wall, a painful reminder of why this place looks like a dump. And that it's not always zombies that take a life away.

Tommy blinks, remembering what's at stake as he looks around quizzically before he makes an "ah-hah" and walks over to a window covered with untamable weeds. Wilbur and Quackity spare a glance over each other out of shared confusion which quickly turns to a second of worry as Tommy tries to pry the window open with a very loud and conveniently placed putty knife. Apparently, somebody was busy with either the walls or windows- maybe even both before the outbreak of zombies began. Wilbur watches with an unamused expression as Tommy struggles and Quackity walks over to Tommy to lightly rebuke him.

But Tommy simply shakes his head, arguing in his favor and Wilbur doesn't exactly hear what they're saying until he hears the window somehow open up because somehow, Tommy managed to do just that as he cheers while Quackity shakes his head slowly. Tommy faces both of them and it's clear with his wide eyes that he's proud as he peeks his head out the window and waves away some green leaves at the cost of Quackity's calmness as he worryingly steps closer to him.

"See? We use these!" Tommy declares, tugging a thick vine-ish plant from wherever the hell it's previously from. He can't wrap his hand around it, seemingly making him more confident.

Wilbur instantly refuses as he shrinks back. "That thing isn't secure at all, plus bugs, plus rashes, plus-"

"Bugs?" Tommy asks, rather bewildered. "We live in a zombie apocalypse and you're worried about fucking bugs?"

Wilbur bites his tongue, brows furrowing as he crosses his arms. "Oi, don't be cussin' at me now."

Quackity who was glancing over at Wilbur copies his body movements, arms crossing across his chest as he examines the window and hums.

"To be fair-"

"I'm not cussing at you I'm more so cussing at the bugs," Tommy quickly says, placing his hands on his hips as he gives Wilbur a look consisting of raised brows and a tilted head. Quackity's lips draw into a thin line. "If you think about it."

Wilbur doesn't spend much too long thinking before he seemingly gives up with a huff and waves him off dismissively. "Yeah, sure."

"Now, to be fair, Tommy," Quackity starts, getting both of their attention this time as he gestures to the window decorated with moss, weeds, and vines. "We have no idea how long that vine is or where it's planted. As Wilbur said," Quackity doesn't miss the way Wilbur straightens his posture with a satisfied smile as Tommy does just the opposite. "This isn't secure."

Tommy's about to open his mouth, probably to protest but Wilbur claps his hands together and takes the moment to nod. "Right then, stair time."

Tommy glances out the window, down at the vine still in his hand, and back at them. Then, he sighs in defeat and rolls his eyes. "Fine, hell man I'll use the stairs."

Much to Wilbur and Quackity's liking, that is. But soon Tommy doesn't have a single trace of resentment for the stairs as they reach the bottom, instead, much more focused on any unusual but similar sounds that could mean any level of danger. Wilbur's done the same too, it seems, as he squints down their second to last turn in the staircase with a still body and an attentive mind.

He also mindlessly steps ever so slightly in front of Quackity, hovering in front of the man with a slow breath as all three of them wait and listen. They don't hear anything, Quackity glancing down at the arm Wilbur's outstretched ahead of him as it slowly returns to his side. Involuntarily Quackity glances back at Tommy who's just on the step above him and it almost resembles some dumb teenager looking around the classroom with notecards full of answers in their hand. Quackity misses how Tommy's eyes drift over to Wilbur as he turns back to follow after Wilbur. Tommy swallow and does the same.

Reaching the front doors of the complex, the three of them wordlessly exchange cues with their hands and expressions as they peek down the long hallway that traps them on both sides. Then, after it's confirmed there's nothing there, they make sure to check outside. There's nothing there either, they're getting extremely lucky today.

So they step outside, the sunlight finally bathing their skin feeling like a gift after walking down dark and cold staircases. Tommy soaks it in with a smile, adjusting the bag he's got thrown over his shoulder and next the one strapped on his back.

"Feels nice out today, doesn't it?" Tommy asks genially, vision centered on the bright baby blue sky with dull white smudged across almost in the way ink looks when somebody might find it randomly on their hand. To say it calmed Wilbur is an understatement with the way his shoulders loosen, tension sinking out like a beach ball that's been popped. Of course, that doesn't mean the three of them aren't still alert at all times when they're out here.

So Quackity blinks before responding with a hum. "Definitely. Staying inside for long really makes the outside seem more pleasant than I last remembered."

Wilbur silently nods, deciding not to verbally agree as he kicks some rubble to the side, the dry sound of it skidding across the pavement scratching the insides of his ears that is has him diverting his attention back to the other two due to the lack of amusement rubble brought. With a tilt of his head, his eyes trace Quackity's stature and he grins, waving them both over. "Right, should we get started then?"

Tommy whips around, instantly joining him. "Hell yes, let's go."

"Yeah, come on, Quackity," Wilbur says, grin widening as Quackity attempts to seem reluctant by rolling his eyes. But he's got a smile on his face that ruins the act as he shuffles over, fixing his backpack and giggling. Wilbur has to take a quick moment after hearing it, grin faltering for a second so short it's not even noticeable as the sun suddenly warms up his chest too and he laughs. "Yeah, we should start now if we want to make some good progress."

"Alright, seems we're ready now," Quackity says jokingly, walking past Wilbur that their shoulders brush and Wilbur can't help it as he glances over his shoulder, fondness for the man washing over him that he only looks away when Tommy hops at Quackity's side eagerly. So Wilbur trails behind, quickly catching up to them.

Soon enough Wilbur finds himself rummaging through a small bookstore, the window walls completely crashed into parts on the ground that he steps over, though, it's much harder to avoid stepping on a book with how much are thrown all over the worn-out dark beige carpet that covers the floor. But hey, the books help cover up the glaringly obvious dried stains sunk into the carpet, an ugly rust color compared to the carpet but Wilbur manages to ignore it for the most part. As in, it's a reminder to be careful, but he's not wistfully pondering over what's come of the world. Not today at least.

Now, he knows they're technically supposed to be looking for items key to their survival like food, weapons, or even blankets. But when Wilbur saw this little collection of stories crammed together between brick buildings, the curioisy and plain old want took over. He'll just say it's necessary for his brain to mentally survive in case Tommy or Quackity catches him. Wilbur pauses, a title catching his eyes along with the bright blue cover of the book. With a swift motion, he has bent over to pick it up, then, he stands up properly and dusts the book clear of any dust and litter.

With a scrunch at his nose from the flying dirt, he squints outside of the store briefly before examining the book. He hums, the title reading Goodbye Days by Jeff Zentner. An author Wilbur has never heard of, but willing to read as the book pulls in his interest like an excellent fisherman and he reads the summary on the back. So after looking around the open building, he tucks it away in his bag.

It's a good four to five books later when Wilbur decides he should really start rejoining the other two again, leaving the wrecked bookstore in favor of returning to them. His boots echo dully on the concrete, and the sun still beats softly against his back. This feels familiar. This is pretty nice, actually. Just walking around independently, warm weather coating him generously and newly picked out stores to read when he gets home. This is something he could be doing on a normal Friday when zombies weren't creeping around and only existed within the pages his newest purchase that he couldn't wait to read. For a moment, it feels refreshing in the way listening to a song that used to be your favorite a while ago. Only realizing the song hits just as much as it did back then. Sometimes bringing those little things back give life a moment that allows for contentment to release all worries. It's great.

But it's also dangerous. Letting yourself fade back into the old life where death wasn't as big of a worry isn't something you should do. It leaves you off guard, unalert, and distracted.

Wilbur quickly remembers that as walks straight into a traffic light pole, eyes widening as he flickers back to what's reality as he lets out a surprised and pained noise sort of resembling an "agh". He reaches to cup his nose, hissing through his teeth as his forehead pulses with an aching pain and he doesn't even have time to react before he realizes he's tipping backwards. His breath leaves him with an off as he lands on the pavement below him, the back of his hand scrapping the hard grainy ground so now it stings, adding to the sharp burning in his nose.

He tries to calm his breathing, the sudden event haven quickened it up quite a bit. He has to tilt his head up as he recognizes the warm and wet sensation covering the hand he has covering his nose. As he squints due to the rush of pain that surges through his head, he notes how foolish it is to ever forget that zombies are in fact real and there are no doctors open around the corner, nor is it just generally smart to not pay attention to where you're walking. With a small gasp, he bows his head as it becomes a little too much.

But really, he should be fine. He's fought zombies, for fucks sake.

So Wilbur swallows, only twisting his torso as he grabs hold of his bag again, ignoring the blood that trickles down onto his lips and a few drops make it to the ground. Standing up, Wilbur idly notes how now a little bit of his blood stains the ground underneath his boots. There's a lot of dried blood around, but now he's added some fresh drops to the gallery. But just like all the rest of the people, his blood will dry up and become part of the scenery.

Blood stains decorated the places he goes like trees would. You don't even really acknowledge them unless you're actively trying to.

For that reason, Wilbur wipes his nose and turns around, bag securely in his grip and whole body fully alert.

Shortly after, Wilbur catches a glimpse of dull blonde hair bouncing around somewhere higher up past the low roof he's spying over. He rounds the building, seeing Tommy perched on a roof, one hand lined up horizontally with his eyebrows as he overlooks anything and everything he possibly can. The sharpness in his eyes and the stiffness of his stature tells Wilbur he's definitely looking for something. What? He has no clue but he does know they should regroup with Quackity so he clears his throat.

"Tommy-"

The boy addressed flails his arms and legs, landing on his bum with a yelp as he snaps his head down at Wilbur. Almost instantly, he sits criss-cross and grins, one hand shoving something purple behind his back. "Wilbur!" He exclaims rather loudly, light laughing following afterward as he glances to the side and Wilbur shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "I was just- are we heading back now?"

"Uh..." Wilbur tries to hide his skeptical expression, succeeding at doing so as he steps back and nods. "Yeah. Yes, we really should," He says, patting down his hair and wiping his bloody nose which draws Tommy's attention as his eyes flicker and he frowns, for some reason looking above his nose deepens his frown.

"Well that happened to you?" Tommy asks with a raise of his brow, carefully making his way down to the ground and facing Wilbur with a questioning look.

Wilbur shrugs dismissively. "Nothing serious. Just being a fucking idiot," He says with a firm nod, already making his way towards where Quackity should be. "Sometimes it's just like that," He adds when Tommy doesn't follow.

"Okay then," Tommy says compliantly with a low volume and then, he follows after Wilbur.

And then they're walking up to Quackity who stuffs up his backpack when he hears their footsteps and whips around with a defensive look that only relaxes when he sees them, a grounded smile pulling at his lips that doesn't match Wilbur's dragged-down expression nor Tommy's shifty glances all around as he taps his fingers on anything he can.

"So, how'd it go?" Quackity inquires, patting his very clearly full backpack that Wilbur can't help but be very aware of how light his own must be compared to the other two. Quackity's eyes catch onto the hand Wilbur has got blocking his noise from Quackity's view very poorly. "Well shit, how'd this even happen?"

Wilbur doesn't say anything. He simply shrugs as Quackity invades his space with a grimace. Though, Wilbur doesn't think it's invading if it's welcomed, right? Still, the moment of comfort Wilbur gets is lost as he catches Tommy glancing with an odd look, almost perplexed about something until he faces Quackity and Wilbur and he nearly makes a reaction face until he sees Wilbur and quickly blinks away.

"Wilbur, dude, you've got a huge fuckin' bruised lump on your head," Quackity says firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder with a grip that's a little tight. Still, Wilbur lets it happen as Quackity tilts his head. Honestly, Wilbur didn't even know about the lump on his head until now, but it's nothing that won't heal. So he steps back despite liking being in Quackity's space and pointedly ignores seeing Tommy's possible expression right now with a sigh.

"I was just being dumb and didn't look where I was going." He waits as Tommy pauses and Quackity remains exactly where he is. Wilbur groans. "That's not a lie, it was some pole."

The flash of concern on Quackity's face is ruined by Tommy's faint snicker that erupts into a fit of giggles when he removes his hand from covering his mouth. Wilbur inhales, lips pressing into a thin line as he watches Tommy find humor in this. Tommy stops when the two are both looking at him with blank faces.

"What?" He asks defensively, throwing his arms out to his sides, the bag he's carrying bumping against his legs. "A pole? That's- the image is pretty funny."

Wilbur gives up on being so stiff seeing as it just adds to his headache and huffs. "If it is, then it is. I suppose."

Quackity smiles lightly, looking behind his shoulder as he misses a simple paper in the wind that Tommy and Wilbur see. "Time to head back?" He suggests, facing them as he gestures to the rapidly growing darkness around them. Wilbur hums in agreement, the sun so very dim and barely shining through darker grey clouds.

"Yes, it's that time," Tommy says with a low voice that is so forced it actually gets a light breath out of Wilbur, the current closest thing to a laugh he can manage.

So, the three of them walk back to their apartment and when they arrive Wilbur busies himself with cleaning up his injuries as Quackity and Tommy go over what they collected in their scavenging.

Now, even though there is still some pain from running into the pole, Wilbur feels a bit better when he walks out to see them laughing at something. It's even better when he sits down and Quackity hands him a dark blue hacky sack that, for whatever reason, is hanging from a gold chain. Quackity tells him it's for his trinket collection, and Wilbur nods appreciatively. He quickly finds enjoyment in tossing at them and saying, "take the blue" with a smug smile and an amused, teasing tone that ends up with the three of them playing all sorts of games like catch, silent ball, and monkey in the middle until they're all worn out and it's smart to finally get some rest.