When Quackity makes it to work he washes his hands under almost unbearably cold water.

Still, his right hand seems to burn.

It's utterly ridiculous, but the scolding sensation of Wilbur clasping their hands together over some similarity is still here, making Quackity feel a little stupid.

It had been so casual, a smile, an excited "Yo, me too!" and they were reaching for each other to bring it in or whatever.

Quackity, however, isn't extremely positive his reactions are oh-so casual.

He can still sort of feel Wilbur's hand, fingertips on the back of his. He can not, for the life of him, get rid of the image where Wilbur is so sweetly smiling, or the one where he hums in agreement before taking a sip from his straw, any small mannerism and movement making Quackity pause to wonder how the heck he's even real.

See that- that right there- lacks nearly every bit of casualty.

So Quackity can't shake off the feeling bubbling in his chest when he catches a glimpse of Karl just barely ahead of him. He almost turns away before either of them acknowledge each other, before Karl can see the possible pink in his cheeks that doesn't belong there.

Because he's such a fool of a human, slight worry overcomes him as he approaches his friend, like Karl knows he coincidentally ended up eating breakfast with Wilbur, like Karl knows they were chatting, like Karl knows all the thoughts that ran through his head during that time period, absolutely crashing his once effective mental filter, one that is now completely broken when it comes to Wilbur.

But he doesn't get the chance to retreat, facing Karl as he musters up a grin when the man spins around, Quackity laughing in two short nervous blocks. "Hey man."

"Quackity." Karl smiles eagerly, lifting a hand to his shoulder Quackity almost fears that he's gonna know Wilbur too once had his hand there, effortlessly sucking the air out of his lungs for three seconds. "You're five minutes late and that like, definitely means something when it comes to you."

"Traffic," Quackity says, he lies. He isn't about to say he lost time because he was previously enjoying a meal with some guy he can't stop thinking about. That feels too wordy and embarrassing.

Karl, however, scoffs and Quackity bites his cheek. "Nice excuse, who gave it to you?" He asks teasingly, lips pulled upwards. "I know it's not a man because you could never. So maybe your mom called?"

Quackity rolls his eyes. He can't with this dude. Still, Karl winks and giggles.

"Did you tell her I miss her?"

Quackity swats Karl's arm away, lightly shoving him away with a huff. "No because she didn't call, no because she would never be interested in you, and no because you're lanky ass somehow ended up with Sapnap."

Karl makes an odd noise, something a little bit like a squawk and a little bit like a gasp. It shouldn't be possible. But it's supposedly a sound he makes when he is offended. "My lanky ass? I'll have you know I have recently started going to the gym three days a week," He states confidently, standing back and flexing his nonexistent muscles.

Quackity smiles. "Yeah to watch Sapnap workout, you know, see him working his muscles and sweating, that shit. You don't fool me, Karl."

Karl sputters, brows furrowing before he manages himself with a shake of his head, making Quackity giggle. "No, actually!"

Any previous worries about unreasonable things and thoughts Quackity once had have officially left him. He sighs, sarcasm all over. "Yes, yes, Karl," He says, "Don't worry, everyone who has ever lived believes you."

Karl hums. "Afraid I can't say the same for you. You're a scary driver, I know it, so beating traffic with a little gamble of life is quite literally nothing for you, 'ts like every fourth experience in the car to you."

Quackity just squints in disagreement.

"Unless there was like, a cop or something," Karl says with a shrug, looking around. "Maybe you finally remembered all those times I told you the cameras on the lights are real and can indeed see your license plate."

"I know that." Quackity argues, crossing his arms. "But traffic can stop anyone nowadays, so let off."

Karl laughs at his defensively dismissive expression, head leaning back and honestly, it's not even that funny. Quackity thinks it's not funny. But his friend thinks otherwise, sighing after and standing up straighter as his eyes slide past Quackity's shoulder, both turning to a waiting customer.

"Do you guys, uh, know where the gluten-free frozen pizzas are? I looked where they usually are and..."

Karl puffs out a low breath of air, stepping forward to the young lady with a hand held out. "Oh, yeah, I can show you." He offers. "I said keep the pizza there, they were all 'no make a new stand closer to the other gluten-free products, not the pizza'-"

Quackity distantly hears the customer laugh a little, returning the wave Karl shoots him as he walks away.

Then, abruptly, "Doesn't exactly look like you're working."

Quackity jumps, whipping around to see Wilbur draped over a shopping cart, a smug look on his face.

Quackity blindly ignores the way his heart suddenly thumps, eager to leap out of his chest as his face instantly heats up.

To cover for it he grimaces, scowling at Wilbur. "What're you doing here?"

"Uhh, what's it look like?" Wilbur asks sarcastically, gesturing to his cart as he stands up properly and tilts his head with a smile as he pats the cart like somebody showing off their expensive car. "I'm shopping, baby."

Quackity's stomach flips at the all-new pet name, ears burning. "Whatever, if you don't have a question go run off."

"Are you this rude to all the customers that try to talk to you?" He huffs, eyes flickering between Quackity and his items before he finally settles on gazing at Quackity expectantly.

"No, just the annoying ones," Quackity says, hoping the tightness in his voice is only something he himself notices.

Maybe so, maybe not, because Wilbur just pouts dramatically. "Oh no, did I misread our awesome accidental breakfast together?"

Quackity despises how easily this man's voice makes him shift where he stands.

"I thought we had a good time." He drags out, eyes practically sparkling with that small, teasing smile of his and Quackity has to force himself not to think about that out of context like the reckless part of him so desperately wants to.

He refrains though, he's got a sense of maturity in him somewhere. However, he isn't saved from the bashful shrug he gives, his voice feeling too small. "Sure." He tries. "Maybe."

Then the playfulness in Wilbur's smile and sparkling eyes nearly turns too sickly sweet for Quackity to bear, like even the hint of genuinely felt kindness from Wilbur could kill him. But it doesn't, and he breathes long enough to get the air stolen from him as Wilbur pulls his cart up closer and towers over him.

Quackity can't care less about all the height jokes anyone has ever made about him, because honestly it's not even funny the way Quackity's insides twist at the feeling this enlights in him, tilting his chin up to meet Wilbur's brown unfairly warm gaze, catching his candied grin.

"That's good," Wilbur says and it's low, it's nearly hummed out, and Quackity is somehow still standing, he's pretty sure he can feel his heartbeat on the roof of his mouth, beating, pulsing with anticipation.

But all that happens is he blinks when Wilbur shifts, the wheels of his cart screeching a bit. "Any idea where I can find some pistachios?"

Quackity frowns, displeased. "Each isle is numbered and labeled, figure it out yourself," He says, forcing out the annoyed edge in his tone.

"That guy showed the other customer where something was." Wilbur defends, complaining with a wave of his hand over to where Karl took off. Quackity crosses his arms.

"The item was moved into a new weird position behind this weird corner-thing." Quackity dismisses, turning his body slightly as he eyes the area, you know, for his boss or whatever. But Wilbur reels in his attention without effort, making him snap back as Wilbur sighs.

"Fine, fine, Quackity."

Of course, Wilbur saying his name has got him pausing for a second, overly pink in the face he hides away and barely registers Wilbur's rambling before he's heading off, stating he never really needed help finding anything in the first place, he was just testing Quackity's capability to be nice which apparently, Quackity has failed.

He huffs under his breath, resisting the thought of trailing after him or reaching up to rub the blush off his face.

Thanks to his awesome willpower, he does neither and sets off in the opposite direction, remembering why he is here in the first place.

It is utterly ridiculous, though, how often he keeps glancing up from cardboard boxes to just about anything that slightly resembles a certain man's mess of brown curls and thin glasses.

He curses himself out for it, shamefully glancing back down at the box cutter knife in his hands after mistakenly snapping up like a spring when he thought it was Wilbur.

Rather, it's an old man. He doesn't even have hair just a hand-knitted winter hat that is somewhat similar in color, the sudden pink and white with the words "Proud Grandpa" written in embroidery across the front.

Quackity really seems to be racking up embarrassment after embarrassment for himself today.

It even feels like another defeat when Quackity finds himself walking into the cafe later that day when he's off work, obnoxious beeping sounds coming from behind the counter and he considers whether he should have headed towards the doors of the supermarket and just left.

But then he sees Wilbur, his dark jacket from earlier discarded somewhere, leaving him in a simple white t-shirt, some sort of logo barely peeking out from underneath his bold black apron.

The shirt leaves Quackity's throat uncomfortably dry because gods he doesn't know how he ended up like this, but the white fabric hugs his upper body so nicely.

It's unfair, the way Quackity's brain goes offline for a good couple of seconds, it's completely uncalled for.

But his eyes can't seem to move away from Wilbur, from his chest and where the apron tightens around his waist, it's all perfect, the brown and white curls on his head bouncing when he leans a hand against the counter and lets out a breath.

And his fucking eyes too, Quackity thinks they are really pretty.

So, of course, it takes a moment for him to realize they're looking right back at him.

And another moment to realize Wilbur has caught him staring.

Quackity almost runs out of the cafe right then, but the way his gut twist and something in his chest pulls and pulls leads him to walk straight up to Wilbur.

"You here to order?" Wilbur asks noncommitedly, then, lifts his hands and tucks them into the pocket of his apron, shooting Quackity a lazy smile. "Or do you wanna go out to eat again?"

Quackity's heart flips and Wilbur just laughs, light and easy. "You know, but planned out this time."

"I-" Quackity can't help but look down at his feet, shifting his weight and feeling like a nervous little kid. He's an adult, really, but he just feels so incredibly small under Wilbur's gaze, anxious and unfortunately, yes, flustered.

His face is hot, his brain is fried, and looking back up at Wilbur nearly every single thought he's tried to avoid acknowledging runs right back to him, like a flood, and it takes the air from him and drops his eyes to Wilbur's mouth.

No reason behind it. Of course.

Except there absolutely is, and Quackity should look away, has got to look away.

And as sure as Quackity has been about anything, he's positive he needs to stop thinking about kissing Wilbur.

But of course this world isn't known for its merciful course, sparing and saving people from difficulties.

So Wilbur smiles, polite and patient. "Hey, Quackity."

He thinks he's absolutely done for, that Wilbur's just trying to make this less awkward and be nice as he prepared to tell Quackity that he needs to stop staring at him and his lips.

So, with slight dread Quackity glances up, meeting Wilbur's gaze and squander when he can't read his expression.

"Didn't mean to steal your tongue there," Wilbur says, and Quackity can barely dechiper the crinkle in his eyes and the curve of his lips. It's playful, he realizes. He's joking. And he probably actually isn't going to tell Quackity to stop doing anything.

Instead, he's going to look around, eyelashes fluttering in a way that guarantees the pink on Quackity's face. The color that deepens when Wilbur faces him, offering a smile.

"But hey, if you would be up for it, dinner some time sounds quite nice, doesn't it?"

It's a miracle the way Quackity doesn't end up having to cling onto the edge of the counter for balance, mind spinning as he opens his mouth, closes it, swallows, and opens it again.

Because holy shit did Wilbur just ask him out for dinner?

Sure sounds like it. It feels unreal, a little. That out of all days and out of all people, it's Quackity who he is asking.

Is this, like a date? Quackity has no clue, part of him wants so achingly to believe both of them see it as one, that Wilbur thinks this is more than two people getting to food and chit-chatting as friends in the making or whatever.

It hits Quackity like a punch in the gut at the dawning realization.

He wants Wilbur to want him.

Just like he wants Wilbur.

It crawls up his throat, about ready to make Quackity say something along the same lines of it. But he manages to pull himself together and nod and nod again.

"That sounds nice," He says, he breathes out more like, forcing out air and in because he's all too busy swooning to breathe properly without heavy thinking. "It does. I'd- I would definitely be up for it."

Wilbur nearly hesitates for a second, and for some reason Quackity finds a bit of balance there, like he isn't the only one that has to scramble for words, like Wilbur isn't actually as completely unaffected by eveything.

And like breakfast, Quackity again wonders if this is what it looks like when Wilbur is nervous. Only this time he's pretty sure it is.

"Great, that-" Wilbur pulls his hands out from his apron, placing one on the counter and smiling before somebody in the back calls his name and holy hell Quackity swears he bushes. "That's nice to hear, I, uh," Wilbur starts, pointing behind him. "Really should get back to work."

Quackity, like an idiot, nods.

"But!" Wilbur stops, holding his hands out. "But, yeah, dinner. We can definitely sort out a time and place I just-"

"Wilbur!"

Wilbur huffs at his coworker, waving them off. "Okay!" He calls, then turns back to Quackity who can't help but giggle. Wilbur doesn't know why, but he joins him anyway. "You okay if we go over it after my shift?"

"Absolutely," Quackity says, and he still sort of doesn't believe any of it.

But it is in fact real when Wilbur looks at him, all genuine and that and grins. "Great, it ends I'm about an hour and a half."

"Noted."

And well, walking away from the counter with a wave and a smile is also real.

It's undeniable. The same goes for the giddiness filling him up, still unsure how that happened but sure that fine, okay, all these thoughts and feelings do mean something and Quackity knows exactly what.

He knows he most definitely likes Wilbur.