Quackity, in an understatement, felt rather ecstatic right now.

Normally these things don't work out for him. But- somehow- it seems like it is working out? Worked out?

He doesn't know how to describe it exactly.

No matter. Whether or not Quackity can put it into proper words doesn't change the fact that holy hell he just got invited to dinner (was it dinner?) by Wilbur, the man whose been on his mind lately.

Brown curly hair and dreamy eyes of even warmer brown, nearly gold in the light, all stuck in his head. And Quackity is more then okay with it.

Still, though, he wonders if he could call it a date or not. Wilbur didn't say "date", did he? Well, no. But the optimistic side of himself comes to the conclusion it was probably implied anyway, so he didn't have to say it outright. The swooning part of him agrees as well. It's a date, Wilbur knows it too.

Of course, Quackity has some sense of reason in him. He can not, and he is sure of it, read anyone's minds. So there is still a possibility that Wilbur sees it as two people going out to eat and 'get to know each other' in a totally platonic way unrelated to the type of date Quackity wants.

Quackity guesses the only way to really find out would involve asking Wilbur. Well, that just is the solution. Simple as that but for some reason it's landed Quackity in a fit of uncertainty to go up and ask him.

In short, he's too nervous.

There would, sometimes, be some sort of metaphor about being a shy schoolboy all over again, unable to talk to the student he likes. But he was fairly confident back then. He sort of wishes he could maintain that level of certainty again when it comes to this type of stuff.

It wouldn't take much. Just find Wilbur, which after exchanging numbers and even giving the other their Instagram won't be difficult, and go up to him with a polite smile saying, "So, hey, about dinner, is it a date? Or a total friend type of thing?"

And of course, with a short laugh. "I'm good with either one. Just confirming with you."

Still, Quackity doesn't say it. Instead of even looking for Wilbur (he'd still be in the coffee shop) he returns to the isles of the super market to hunt down Karl.

He knows he's here somewhere, Karl doesn't get off work until about an hour. All minutes he cannot wait for, to eager and fidgety.

So when he sees Karl, Quackity jumps towards him and grabs his shoulders. "Karl!"

He definitely got a look from one customer, probably also thanks to the way Karl yelps, whips around, then both men burst into a fit of giggles. Not exactly work behavior, but whatever.

"Jeez, almost scared me there, man," Karl mumbles. It earns a questioning glance from Quackity who crosses his arms.

"Almost?"

Karl huffs it away along with a dismissive wave, turning to the shelf he's fixing the prices for, marking them down and all that good stuff. "So, did you come to keep me company while I finish off my shift?"

Quackity rolls his eyes at that. "You wish I would."

"Maybe," Karl says simply, placing the $3.98 price tag underneath some two pound bags of white rice. Then he flashes a smile in Quackity's direction. "Or maybe I prefer the solo life."

"You literally asked."

Karl pauses then just laughs. "Yeah, whatever. What are you here then for? Aren't you off work?"

"Yes I am." Quackity nods, contemplating how to start his wonderful story of an attractive man asking him to go out for dinner. "I just need to tell you something amazing."

He does not sound cringey at all. No way. He just sounds like he very well might have a hot date soon.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Quackity repeats, and the smile on his face grows as he rocks on the soles of his shoes, replaying the scene out in his head when Wilbur asked him out to dinner.

Karl squints, standing up properly and gesturing for him to continue like an old man. "Well, go on."

Quackity holds back from asking if he's really fifty yeara old or in his younger twenties like he claims. Instead he tries not to blush and act overly giddy as he holds his hands together.

"I've got plans with someone," He says, even leans back and tilts his head up like he's posing for some shoot he's doing for a magazine. He's not though, he just feels cool admitting he's got this date-sort-of-thing. "We are gonna go out for dinner."

Karl blinks like he doesn't buy a second of Quackity's confession, not one turn of the head or bat of the eye is lip. But then he does a once over, catching the way Quackity is currently failing to reduce the pink on his face. But he's far too proud and flustered for it to work, so Karl sees it and he gasps.

"Tonight?"

Quackity laughs. "Jesus, no, not tonight," He says lightly, throwing his hands up. "I would have dragged you out of the store to help me pick out something to wear already if that was the case."

Karl nods.

Then pauses.

"Wait, with who?"

"Uh," Quackity stalls for a moment as he looks around, wondering whether or not Karl has already met Wilbur or not. He shrugs. "This new guy at the coffee shop down over there." He points generally in the direction, giving Karl a big smile as he waits for a response.

It comes a couple seconds later after Karl's done squinting his eyes and thinking. Then, he just hums and says, "Don't know him. I'll go see if he's there right now."

Technically he might not be, he is off the clock. But Wilbur said something about hanging around until a friend of his of something other pulls up out front and takes him to the car shop (when they ate breakfast Wilbur did mention something about balding tyres and iffy breaks).

Either way, the thought of Quackity and Karl going over there to see Wilbur makes his guts twist as he clears his throat nervously.

"Oh, well, you don't have to-"

But Karl is already beelining for the coffee shop, clearly not willing to be convinced to stay here and just guess who he may be.

Quackity caves in and trails after Karl, neck hot as he rambles to Karl how it's, well, "Not a date date," he says, all rushed as his heart picks up with the same pace he's scrambling after his friend through a grocery store.

Karl just looks at him, about to roll his eyes. "But you do like him, right?"

Jeses yes it's almost embarrassing how much he likes Wilbur already, how effortlessly and quickly that man got him hooked.

So Quackity shrugs to hide a bit of that fact. "Yes."

Karl grins slowly as he looks forward, Quackity hates it and rushes up to make sure he can whisper to him.

"Don't be weird," He blurts as quietly as he can, seeing as the shop is literally two feet in front of them. He prays Karl listens to his word of advice because as they walk in Quackity's eyes scan the room and indeed sits Wilbur, scribbling something into a notebook with his headphones in one ear.

He doesn't even know he's stopped, not until Karl glances at him and walks back over and leans towards him, whispering obnoxiously loud.

"So where is he? Is he here?"

Quackity hushes him and tries his best to look casual as he waves Karl over to the closest table with more then one seat.

Karl sits down and is instantly looking at him expectantly. Quackity holds back the urge to glance behind himself to catch another glimpse of Wilbur. That would make it far too obvious.

He clears his throat. "He's behind me, brown hair, writing in a notebook."

Karl squints past him, so very bad at being subtle. "What is he wearing?" He asks, because apparently it wasn't enough what he said before.

Quackity thinks for a second then clicks his tongue.

"A white shirt, has some sort of logo on it, dunno," He says, "Didn't get to really see what it was because of his dark jacket, then his apron." He pauses, then, unnecessarily, "Oh, he's got brown eyes too."

Karl snorts at him and he raises his brows and shoulders in defense.

"What?"

"Shit, man." Karl smiles, placing his elbows on the table and laughing softly. "You're like, really into him, huh?"

Quackity scoffs and his eyes drift away, brows furrowed. "Don't know what that's supposed to mean. So shut up."

"Hey, it's not a bad thing or something like that." Karl adds with a finger pointed in the air, then he looks past Quackity again and shrugs. "Plus it's fairly understandable, he's handsome."

Quackity grins at that, chuckling as he slouches in his seat. "Yeah..." He presses his lips into a flat line, that darn feeling of shameless want tugging at him again. Fuck he's so far down. He groans out of frustration, resting his head against the cool table before looking up at Karl. "I want it to be an actual date so bad."

"Then when it happens, just think of it as one," Karl says noncommittally, like it's common knowledge as he taps a finger on the table. "You know, be delusional, give yourself a night to enjoy. Whatever the saying is."

Quackity recoils, dismissing him. "Don't think there's any saying like that." He frowns. "And I think I'm struggling to believe you even said that."

Karl sighs at him, shaking his head slightly and Quackity, like he has been since Wilbur asked, has to stop thinking about what the 'date' might be like. He's just a bit too impatient for it. But he can in fact wait.

Karl opens his mouth, but pauses as he glances at something, then smiles, instantly sending a strike of anxiety down Quackity's back because Wilbur is over there, and he can not see what may or may not be going, and he despises not knowing things.

"What is it?" He asks urgently, Karl just looks at him and lowers his head and poorly wiggles his eyebrows.

"I think somebody noticed that you're here."

Quackity's stomach flips. "Wilbur?"

Karl nods, lifting his hand up and resting his chin on it. "If that's his name yeah, he got up when you were talking about him and now he's heading right over here with-"

"Quackity." Wilbur chirps, stepping right up to the table with a bright smile and a drink in one hand.

Quackity looks up at him too and the smile he gives in return comes to him so naturally he doesn't even think about it. It's almost embarrassing realizing such, especially with Karl sitting there watching it with the most amused look ever, that prick.

"Wilbur." He greets him, ignoring the way his terribly filtered thoughts suddenly try to tell him that Wilbur himself is hot, but his height adds to it because he most definitely has a thing for taller men. It's a lie, guys, his brain says shit all the time that's not true. Totally. Even though he just bit his lip like an idiot.

It's a unexpecte miracle that Karl doesn't comment on it, just spares a secret smile over at Quackity as Wilbur adjusts his hold on the chocolate drizzled drink in his hand.

"This is for you, mate." Then Wilbur holds the cup out for him, topped with whip cream and looking, admittedly, rather sweet and tasty.

Of course it makes Quackity blush. "Oh? I mean, I didn't order anything." He knows, they all know, but he's got a fixated mind set that may or may not be craving to hear Wilbur admit it's from him to Quackity. He knows it's painfully ridiculous, okay.

Karl sighs sarcastically, and Wilbur tilts his head with a grin. "I know. I bought it for you, Einstein."

There it is, Quackity's heard it, live and very clear, and he's stumbling to not burst out and confess all the thoughts he's had about this man. That is a bad idea, here, in front of him, his friend whose laughing at Wilbur's quip, and the rest of the people here in the coffee shop. So he backpedals into himself, messing with his sleeve and internally cringing'. "Oh, you didn't have to."

Wilbur cocks a brow. "So you don't want it?" He questions playfully.

Well that isn't what he meant.

"Okay, well-"

"You said okay." Wilbur states, holding the drink up and gesturing over to Karl. "Maybe I'll give it to," He squints at his name tag, "Karl over here."

"Gosh, Wilbur," Quackity complains, dragging it out as Karl teasingly agrees along with Wilbur.

Wilbur huffs out a laugh. "Yes?"

"I want the fucking drink," He says in admission, grimacing at Wilbur for his stupid jokes and rolling his eyes. "I'd like it."

Wilbur sets it down, all smug and crosses his arms with a satisfied hum Quackity tries not to think about too deeply.

Then, he sees the card sticking out of the papper wrapping around the cup, grabbing it and holding it up to Wilbur. "What's this?" He asks, even though yes, he really can just read it himself.

Wilbur blinks then shrugs. "Business card."

Quackity glances over at Karl who gives him a look that shows he doesn't have the explanation he may be looking for, he's just as lost. Quackity squints at Wilbur. "What for?"

"I don't doubt you can read, Quackity," He says simply, before clapping his hands together and stepping back as he drops his hands at his side. "Well, my friend's here, really got to go get my car now."

Quackity pauses, just processing his slightly rushed out words just as Wilbur kindly says goodbye to both of them, runs behind him, then back out of the store so quick Quackity almost doesn't get the chance to say bye back. Thankfully he does, hardly catching even a glimpse of Wilbur's friend from how widely and quietly he was moving.

It nearly makes him laugh. "That's him," He says with a soft smile, tapping the so-called business card on the table.

"Yeah, your boyfriend and all."

"Pft, no." Quackity corrects, shooting him a look. "Slow down, we haven't even gone out yet."

Karl stares at him, unphased. "Uh huh. Because you definitely haven't thought about kissing him multiple times already?"

Quackity glares at him, thinking of a good response to that as heat smarts underneath his cheeks. So, maturely, he answers with a stubbon, "That doesn't matter, Karl." before finally looking at the business card to avoid seeing Karl's stupid face.

It's not a business card, he quickly realizes, Wilbur's an absolute liar. His name's neatly written on here 'from Wilbur :D', which yeah he knows the drink is from him. He huffs, flipping it over and coming to a stop as he reads it, blinks like he might be crazy, and reads it again as his heart flips over and over.

It's so stupid.

'Forgot to say I like your beanie, you look cute in it'

He breathes out a breath of air and sinks into his chair like melting putty, flicking the card and mentally cussing at Wilbur for leaving him to possibly turning into a flustered mess as he nonchalantly goes and gets his car.

Karl leans over, a skeptical look on his face. "You alright?"

"Dumbass business card," Quackity says and waits as Karl squints at him curiously before picking it up and reading it. Then he gasps with a grin, his torso basically on the table as he leans closer.

"I think this is an actual date, Quackity."

Quackity's chest blossoms with warmth and he rereads the card again just because.

And God, Karl may be right.

He keeps the card, even after Karl's returned to working and his drink is gone. He thinks about Wilbur thinking about him being cute and resists the urge to message Wilbur an outlandish analysis of everything he likes about him.

When realizes that, he sighs, in his car, and can't deny that man, he is whipped.

He can only hope, with pink cheeks and a thrumming heart, that Wilbur genuinely feels the same.