Quackity huffs as he pulls out his green box cutter, slicing through the tape on the cardboard of just the first box out of many.

He opens the box up, the sound of cardboard against cardboard rather loud as a customer walks past, paying him no attention.

Then he starts shelving cans of salsa, one earbud plugged in as he listens to music and makes the shelf look a little nicer.

Once Quackity steps back, surveying his work and declaring it finished, he shuffles across tables with baked goods to the clearance spot tucked into a corner where his friend Karl stands, checking the prices and shelving items for their last chance to be purchased.

"Hey," He says with a short wave, crossing his arms and leaning on the bit of uncovered wall next to the cart Karl's pulling from.

His friend looks over his shoulder, smiling when he sees Quackity and his beanie.

"Hey to you too." Karl sets a plastic pack of six cupcakes on a lower shelf, squatting to do so. Then, with a frown, he stands up again and faces Quackity. "You know, anytime I see a parent pass through here with their kids I feel-"

"Pity?" Quackity finishes, raising an eyebrow that Karl shakes his head to, sighing afterward and looking around as if checking to make sure no one can hear them.

"That sounds too harsh," Karl says with a scoff, leaning towards Quackity, then clearing his throat and gesturing to the assortment of muffins, donuts, cookies, and just about every well-known baked sweet displayed on the tables infront of them. "I just feel bad." He eyes Quackity, most likely searching to see if he relates. "It's so obvious they want some. But the parent never gets any."

Quackity hums, thinking for a moment and shrugging. "Don't. Me and Sapnap used to laugh at that from afar."

Karl pauses, shaking his head slightly. "And me and Sapnap laughed whenever you walk past anyone taller than you," Karl tells him proudly, a small smirk on his face as he shelves two bags of bread rolls. "We hardly got a word in all day."

Quackity blinks, standing up straighter with a huff and glaring disprovingly at the other. Karl just giggles at him, making him deflate like a beach ball and wave dismissively. "Yeah, whatever, Karl." He turns around. "You guys didn't get a word in because you were too busy shoving your tongue down the others' throat."

Karl gasps, raising his hands. "Quackity!" He whisper-yells at him as best as possible, once again observing his surroundings before frowning. "Somebody could have heard that."

Karl's reaction- along with the pink painted across his face- only earns a chuckle and shit-eating grin from Quackity. "But nobody did," He says, voice high-pitched and singsongy. "Nobody heard."

Karl just places some muffins on the shelf. "Not funny," He mumbles, patting his face with the sleeves of his purple button-up as if it will help clear away his blush. "Go do your job and pretend to hate it."

"Fine, fine," Quackity groans, but he stops to put a hand on Karl's shoulder. "Too bad Sapnap's not here though, I bet he likes it when you wear purple."

Karl huffs, deciding to remain composed this time as he shrugs. "Yeah he does," He says calmly, grabbing two boxes of packs of gum. "But he was promoted to another store."

"Dude, imagine getting separated from your boyfriend."

"Dude, imagine not having a boyfriend," Karl quips, successfully making Quackity stutter as he processes the reply, then crosses his arms again.

"I don't have to imagine," Quackity says defensively, making a 'hmph' sound like it backs him up. Karl pulls his lips into an exaggerated pout.

"Poor Quackity can't get any-"

"I have to get back to work," Quackity says tiredly, cutting Karl off and waving, "because you suck."

"Yup. Talk to you later."

Yeah, they will end up hanging out after work. But Quackity's just been subject to verbal harassment by his own dear friend. So he is going to shake his head anytime he makes eye contact with Karl for the rest of the day while acting like he has a motorcycle waiting for him outside, ready to ditch this grocery store and get some tattoos of flowers with thorns.

See, words have value. Think about it before saying such ridiculous things to your friends.

Quackity's eyes flash, turning around as he thinks about telling Karl exactly that. But Karl's back is towards him as he heads into the employees only doors.

That's alright, Quackity will just use this time to think of an epic, crispy black roasting comeback for when he sees the man.

So for now, he brainstorms ideas, trying to not mutter so many of them under his breath after a shopper gave him a funny look. All while doing his work of course, stocking shelves and making them look nice until he doesn't have a single box left to roll into another isle.

Man, he might give himself a pat on the back. Not like he's already getting paid to do this.

Quackity stolls down the store, peeking into each isle as he passes them, just in case a brown haired, purple shirt guy is anyway near.

He doesn't see him, instead, he slows down as he approaches the little coffee shop in the front corner of the store, right next to the right entrance.

Already, the smells of coffee beans hits his senses, the fake dark wooden walls decorated only here and there, a painting, a band poster, a ridiculous thing about the history of the shop, and a lantern hanging off the wall at every other table.

Quackity holds back muttering something about how he never really liked this place as the marbled tiles of the grocery store turn into darker, weirder, and uglier tiles.

The wide open gap between their minimally covered walls isn't all that welcoming for an entrance. But Quackity shrugs that thought away as he glances over at the counter, faultering when he doesn't see the usual worker behind the counter, hands at the side of the register.

Instead there's some new guy, tapping his finger on the counter and looking around the shop for any customers that might just be a little shy.

So of course, his eyes land on Quackity.

This man's tall, Quackity realizes, and he has a strange glaringly clear white streak in his brown curly hair that rests a little bit over his face.

Now sure the warm lighting faintly softens his appearance, bringing attention to his brown eyes. But it does not, in any world, whatsoever, save that man from the ugly yellow sweater he's wearing under that black apron of his.

Quackity almost cringes, deciding not to say anything about the poor choice just yet as he walks up to the counter with confident steps, nodding his head. "You new here?"

The man blinks, eyes narrowing as he leans on the counter. "Yes, and I'm guessing you aren't?" He asks plainly, everything about him seems unphased just as Quackity stills.

Because what the holy fuck he's British too. Okay, wait, that makes it sound like Quackity thinks it's a bad thing. That's not it.

This guy is just full of surprises. He's the new worker, he wears ugly sweaters, he's got a chunk of white hair, and he's British.

Quackity doesn't know what to think of this man yet, so he doesn't. Just nods again.

"First day?" Quackity questions, fixing up an expression that sings 'I'm so nonchalant about everything' as he places his hand on the edge of the counter, pretending to examine the material of it as if he hasn't been here before.

The man scoffs, turning ever so slightly to grab a couple a steaming cup and the lid. "Working at a coffee shop?" He nearly laughs, a light grin spreading across his face as he tightens the lid on. "No."

Quackity's about to specify but the other turns around and reads out the name written out in the cup in blue sharpie, sliding it onto the counter far down and telling some lady to have a nice day.

Then he's walking back, reaching up to place his hand on the sign above the counter that hangs from the ceiling to put a halt to it's slight swaying and...

And Quackity's mind does think something about that. He doesn't exactly know what though. Maybe just confirming the conclusion of how tall this man is.

"Now, working here? Yes it's my first day," He says to finish his answer, looking down at Quackity with a tilt of his head, settling his hands on the counter. His eyes lower and Quackity suddenly finds himself refusing the urge to squirm. How odd. But then their eyes meet again, Quackity seeing the slightest doubt flash acrosd his face. "Quackity?"

Oh yeah his name tag. He nearly forgot about it. (The way he says his name, oh-)

Quackity clears his throat, wrapping a hand around his wrist as he shifts his weight, momentarily glancing to the side as he strangely needs to take a second before nodding for a third time.

"That's my name," He says with as much certainty in himself as he can, remembering to look down at the other's name tag as he huffs, amused. "Wilbur."

Wilbur purses his lips, looking down at his tag and laughing. "Oh, yeah. That's me."

"That's an odd name," Quackity mumbles, but Wilbur's eyes flash, looking ever so slightly offended as he steps back, brows furrowed as he tips a hand to gesture at Quackity.

"Says you." Wilbur shoots back, placing his hand back on the counter and leaning on it, brown mesdy hair falling over his face as he looks down at the other. "You're named after the sound a duck makes."

Quackity smiles sourly. "You're wearing one of the ugliest sweaters I have ever seen."

Wilbur hums lowly, tilting his chin up and grinning. "Don't you have work to do, Quackity?"

It's stupidly cocky and Quackity finds himself trying not to repeat the way Wilbur dragged out his name over and over in his mind as he glares at him, a tight and fake smile spread across his face as he crosses his arms.

"I get paid by the hour, I'm fine," He says snappishly, earning a disproving click of Wilbur's tongue.

"Doesn't save you from getting in trouble because you weren't working."

"You wish I would," Quackity responds dismissively, a grumpy expression of resentment settled on his face.

"I just met you." Wilbur offers for his defense, making Quackity crumple in like paper. He scowls at the man, absolutely frustrated with his annoying personality.

"Wow, first and last time doing so." Quackity pushes back from the counter, turning around towards the exit.

"Lovely to meet you too." Wilbur calls after him, making his chest tighten with an unfamiliar sensation.

But he doesn't think about any of it for more than a couple of seconds.

That Wilbur guy is right, after all. He still does have to do some actual work.

Of course, not without continuously failing to get the stupid person out of his head.

Whatever. Doesn't mean anything.