Quackity swears he hates Wilbur Soot.

He hates him for wandering around Las Nevadas like he owns the place, hanging out in the back of the club, lights distracting and flashing but Prime Quackity hates how easily he can see that it's him.

He walks over to him and ignores all the other party goers with grabby hands and honestly ridiculously expensive drinks, pawing at the nearest chest and thigh.

Quackity makes Wilbur leave. He is only thankful Wilbur hasn't drunk or inhaled anything because it means he doesn't have to deal with any people thinking he's just thrown out their golden homeless boy out onto the streets when he isn't in a very stable state.

Another reason he hates Wilbur. The man's somehow made the citizens adore him, hanging out with the rich and bathing in the gifts they give him just to keep his smooth words and smug smile around. Joining the others that don't have the luxury of wealth, showing off his pricey gifts and giving away some just because he thinks it will make them like him more (screw Wilbur, it works) and shouting "a whole round on me!" in the small overly crowded bar the rich never dared to go to.

It's ridiculous, honestly, how Wilbur has found people of all kind, some old, some his age, different jobs and everything, but has toyed them into actually liking him.

Quackity can get a migraine just thinking about it.

Which he does, because apparently golden homeless boy isn't so homeless.

Some rich fuck has been letting Wilbur crash out in some sleek penthouse for the past days.

And Quackity's only now finding out about this because he may or may not have discreetly followed Wilbur.

But hell, oh hell, how- why? He's been living it up in this city, in Quackity's city, despite all the times Quackity has pushed him to the pole with the blinking lights and the flashy sign reading 'Las Nevadas' in bold lettering.

Of course, no matter how much Quackity expresses how unwelcome Wilbur is in his country, he forms himself a place here that is nothing but inviting towards him. In fact, some people here are eager for his company, eyes lighting up when he walks in just because they don't know anything, it seems. They just want energy, gifts, something to look at, and mischief. Which of course Wilbur has no problem morphing himself into it so naturally it might as well be his own skin now.

Quackity's blood boils, his head is clouded with anger because he's never hated a man this badly.

He hates, hates- fucking hates Wilbur.

Because he's here, never listens. Because he left, months ago, when Quackity thought they needed each other. It's stupid but he did. Back when the high ceilings of the casino were just stone, a room carved out in their little ravine, a single flickering lantern set on the nightstand as they mumbled nonsense, rambling about anything late at night, the cold unable to touch them because they so warmly wrapped the others arms around each other.

Quackity hates to look back on it. Back when some days might end up in the same bed, but instead they'd whisper to each other, breathless, bodies hot and pressed close, and lips swollen.

Others they just fell asleep, no conversation, no suggestive stuff, just moving up next to each other and resting.

But now it's different. Wilbur left. Then he came back. And again when Quackity refused to let him join, making Quackity so incredibly frustrated.

Because well, it's impossible to avoid the conflicting emotions that claw their way up his throat whenever he sees Wilbur.

He's learned to be better with it, comparing to when Wilbur first showed up and fought against Quackity's "no". Now he can almost dismiss all of them as nothing more then resentment. Annoyance, too.

And of course, absolute fucking anger.

Which leaves him here, fuming as he knocks on Wilbur's door. Not even his, really, just whoever the hell lended it to him.

So, dressed in a silky white button-up shirt, sleeves pulled up to bunch at his elbows, paired with black, equally fancy yet simple trousers, bathed in the light from behind him, Wilbur opens the door.

"I cannot fucking believe you." Quackity hisses instantly, scowling at him, chest burning and tightening, despising the way Wilbur's brows knot together as he thinks for just a moment, as if testing Quackity's super low patience, before he scoffs.

"Then don't, I don't know what I'm supposed to say." Wilbur rolls out, flat, and he just can't care that Quackity's glaring at him with possible murdous intent. He knows, unfortunately, they both know, Quackity won't kill him anytime soon no matter how much he growls out that he will.

But Quackity also hasn't had a very good day, and finding out Wilbur's stupid penthouse is an extra push over the edge, making Quackity about to snap as his fists clench together.

He can't tell if Wilbur knows or not, just sees him lift a hand. "I suppose I may just be a figment of your imagination, Qua-"

"Get out."

Wilbur's lips press into a thin line. "I live here. No."

"I'm the president," Quackity argues, attempting to hold it together when Wilbur tilts his chin proudly.

"Not mine."

"Then leave."

Wilbur's nose wrinkles up, a strand of hair falling from it's place when he tilts his chin up and looks down at Quackity, a supposed to be scrutinizingly charged gaze that Quackity's too bothered to care about as the taller grimaces. "This place was given to me," He says pointedly, gesturing with a wave of his hand to display the overly generous gift. Then, he crosses his arms. "If you have a problem, take it up with them."

"You're the damn problem, Wilbur!" He shoots back, hands balled into fists that change momentarily to poke a finger to Wilbur's upper chest, right center, and he grunts with disgust when Wilbur's fingers swat him away. Because ew, Wilbur touched him. How gross.

Quackity is already sick. From Wilbur really pushing his buttons, for stepping over lines and picking and pushing with Quackity when he's already so off the edge.

So when Wilbur opens his mouth, stupidly arrogant, and says, "You done yet?" it's all Quackity needs, spring finally shooting back, revolve snapping as he reaches forward and downright lunges at Wilbur.

He doesn't even see, not with an angry red blocking everything. He just knows one second his hands are at Wilbur's silky collar and his shoulder, pushing him back in hopes of... he isn't even to sure, he's just really angry. The next second, Wilbur's crossed arms are unfolding, one raised right up to press against Quackity's chest as their footing fumbles and Wilbur grasps at the small stand next to the wall, trying to keep them from falling and from Quackity getting any closer.

He huffs, the surprise in his brown eyes slowly being covered up with annoyance. "Calm the fuck out, Quackity."

Quackity doesn't respond just yet, he looks up from the ground when he finds a sense of equilibrium, enough to stand up straighter. Now, he glares at Wilbur, still holding onto his shirt.

The rich material is all wrinkly when Quackity lets go, returning to simply pointing at him. "Try being me dealing with you," He says sharply, nail digging right below Wilbur's throat.

"You really don't have to," Wilbur mutters, eyes sliding over to the wall in a half-assed attempt at rolling his eyes. "I do try to stay out of your hair." With that he looks back at Quackity accusingly, brows furrowed. "You're the one that seems to search for me."

Quackity grimaces, stepping back and crossinghis arms. "I just don't want you in my country, Wilbur. Simple. So simple but you cannot- for the life of you- understand that."

The mundane white walls almost seem to grow closer and closer as Quackity stands there, a small click coming from the kitchen that makes his good eye twitch.

"I do understand, actually," Wilbur says so matter-of-factly, then three beeps follow after, and Wilbur grins. "I'm just a bit too busy to, well, care."

He's an absolute prick.

Almost like nothing happened, as if Quackity isn't standing here, entirely pressed, Wilbur turns to him when the three beeps repeat. "Pizza?"

Quackity nearly bites his cheek. "Hell no."

Wilbur moves to the side, waving dismissively. "Of course you wouldn't want any. You're only desire is to be unhappy."

"No." Quackity corrects, pinching his brow. "I only want you to leave, seriously, so I can actually work."

"Then go do that," Wilbur retorts, sharp and pointed, sighing when Quackity doesn't leave and only carries on, turning his body elsewhere.

"I want you to leave me country alone, I want you to leave my citizens alone-"

Wilbur whirls back, laughing breathlessly like he cannot believe it. Quackity hates him for that too.

"Your citizens?" Wilbur parrots, face scrunched up before he scoffs, smiling a little. "Your citizens fucking love me, Quackity."

Quackity clenches down on his jaw, three more beeps ring by. "They shouldn't."

"Yeah, well, they do. And my pizza's burning." Wilbur faces away, taking off and Quackity has a choice, he knows he does. Follow after Wilbur, try and get him to leave once more while the man stuffs his face with food. Leave, maybe. Not in the 'giving up way' but just the 'I just realized I have better things to do'.

That's right. He's a president, and heating up like a frustrated cartoon character over some pitiful man in a shoddy trench coat isn't the best way to be spending his time.

He nearly regrets even walking up to the door. Same thing as always, he ends up hating the fact that he keeps wasting his time on Wilbur. He isn't even sure how, but Wilbur just always seems to be around when Quackity's already having a rough day. Like the man sensed the edge he grows from his built-up anger and keeps daring to go around it.

It's all so stupid. Quackity knows that. He realizes that it's dumb, how they always end up nearby, waiting for the next moment between them, either Quackity dismissing him or Wilbur making up some dumb excuse before he leaves, just in time to miss Quackity's warning.

Prime that man is so infuriating. It puzzles Quackity, honestly, why his own citizens find something in him worthy of a their big smiles and patting hands.

So, momentarily, he pauses and glances back at Wilbur whose pulling the pizza out of the oven. "Two days."

Wilbur shoots him a look, confused. "What?"

Quackity steadies himself, standing up straight and firmly nodding. "I'm tired of you. So, I'll give you two days to roam around in my country, no interruptions from my team and I. You get it all out, go to all your stupid parties and meet-ups. Then you're out."

Wilbur sets the pizza on the stove, looking around and biting his cheek, exhaling afterward. "You serious?"

"Very."

"I'd rather keep up what I've got going now, thanks."

Quackity scoffs, crossing his arms. "Why do you want to even be in Las Nevadas anyway?" He asks. "Or do you just like bothering me?"

"No, not really," Wilbur says with a tilt of his head. Quackity grimaces.

"You just want in because you were denied." He states and Wilbur blinks, Quackity huffs. "I told you no and you, being the excuse of a man you are, didn't want to take that as an answer."

"That's not it." Wilbur bites back, Quackity almost rolls his eyes.

"Then why?" Quackity steps forward. "Why stay around in a country you aren't welcomed in? Where somebody tells you to leave every day?"

Wilbur grips onto the pizza cutter, glancing sharply at Quackity. "Yeah, well, there's also people telling me to come back, so, it's not really too complicated to see why I hang out with them."

"They ask for your company." It's not even really a question, they both know it, and it upsets Quackity. Honestly.

"And I give," Wilbur confirms, driving the cutter down the middle.

"Why?"

"Jeez, I wonder why," Wilbur says sarcastically, waving the pizza cutter around for a moment. "Why would anyone want to be around people who actually want you there?"

"I'm sure you can find somebody outside of my country." Quackity laughs bitterly. Wilbur just shrugs.

"Nope."

"You're lying," Quackity tells him.

Wilbur shakes his head. "I've looked. They're just like you. Or, well, either like you or they fear me."

"Fear you?" Quackity asks, he's supposed to be mocking him but Wilbur clearly doesn't catch on, at least, probably not by the way he stares.

"Yeah," He says. "It's worse. I think."

"So you bother my citizens. Just because you want people around."

"Don't you?" Wilbur asks, Quackity bites his cheek and pretends like he doesn't hear him. So he hates Wilbur for repeating the stupid question, an eyebrow quirked. "I mean, you do want at least one person to keep you company, right?"

Quackity swallows. "Don't know."

Wilbur chuckles. "Yeah, well, every human secretly does. Pretty positive about it. No matter how much they deny it."

"That's ridiculous," Quackity mutters.

Then again, he's standing here watching Wilbur slice up a pizza while they talk. Even after his outburst of anger. So really everything is ridiculous about this.

Quackity frowns. "So you seriously aren't going to take up the two days?"

"I don't want to, no." Wilbur admits. "People here actually like me, it's very different outside of the city."

Quackity most definitely does not sympathize or whatever the hell. Because Wilbur is wrong. Quackity doesn't want anyone around, at least, in any ways besides business and all the related sorts. He only contacts people when he needs to for his country.

It's not like in the furthest corners of his mind he- ridiocusly so- says it's not only anger that drives him towards Wilbur's presence, even when it's the only thing he gives the man. It's one of the most stupidest things, but maybe it's that humanly desire to be around someone too.

To be fair yes, he is only human. But, that doesn't mean all that occurs is excused. Especially if it's something like stooping down from a stool and searching for a man like Wilbur Soot just to catch sight of a white streak in brown curls and a playful grin. Just like a large handful of Las Nevadas' citizens, Quackity has unfortunately found himself holding some sense of desire for Wilbur's company, despite everything.

Even with how much he scoffs at them for it, raises his more and judges, acting confused on how they ever could want such a thing.

But he is the same, isn't he?

In the end they all just happen to be people looking for other people that make them feel like a human. Because it just feels like having a connection of sorts, being around somebody, all that stuff- it just feels like a human thing to do.

Because he only is such. A human. Quackity blinks with uncertainty.

He's not even sure what for. Great, he feels unsure of what he feels unsure of.

"It is," He says quietly. It is different outside of the city.

He can agree with that.

And at least he's sure of one thing.