The two of them, over the past week, had set out some goals for themselves.

Wilbur, after the day he spent with the bedroom door locked, had to admit that he knew he got off easy. He barely said anything of an answer before the two were talking about something completely different. And he knew it wasn't a great 'friend thing' to do. So with the unease of awkward guilt he felt, he set a goal to open up, even if only a little bit. Quackity talked about his life and other slightly more personal experiences a lot of the time. Surely Wilbur could do the same.

Quackity's goal however, was indirectly being made a bit more difficult due to Wilbur's. Quackity was trying to keep the warmth from flooding his chest again, he just knew it was getting unnecessary. Whether the pink on his cheeks was a result of something Wilbur said or Wilbur did, he tried to instantly get rid of it. There was simply no need to be this focused on his friend- even if the guy was suddenly a lot more talkative about things Quackity never thought he would (you see, seeing Wilbur possibly trusting Quackity more sent his mind into a mushy spiral of achievement, an appreciative giddiness, and... maybe even something like adoration?).

Of course, Wilbur has no idea of Quackity's goal, obviously Quackity wasn't ridiculous enough to say such a thing out loud. Wilbur didn't outwardly state his either, but Quackity could tell something had convinced Wilbur to open up.

So now here they are, both attempting to get closer and closer to their secret goals.

Quackity was trying his hardest to ignore the way Wilbur looks under the moon's light, brown fluffy hair and a white streak tinted almost a light blue do to the night sky and the florescent light that somehow still managed to stay on out on the patio.

But that was rather hard, seeing as they were both seated side by side on a small wooden bench that was more a rusty wooden stool that went up to your knees, probably on the verge of breaking and pushed up against the wall so the two had a surface to lean on.

Wilbur was the one who suggested this idea, so it was of course also him who suggested they grab a blanket to keep warm. Quackity nodded, about to grab one for himself and another for Wilbur when the guy so casually stated only one was needed. Quackity of course, played dumb and asked Wilbur "What about your blanket?" to which Wilbur simply took the blanket out of Quackity's hold saying, "It'll be our blanket, that good?"

And Quackity said yes, yes it was good and that's how they ended up pressed into eachother's sides (for maintaining warmth) while gazing up at the admittedly, really pretty night sky under that flickering patio light.

"You know something about the sky," Wilbur starts with a low and thoughtful mumble, breaking the comfortable silence seeing as they were finally situated on the small bench. Quackity hums as a response, curious as to what dances behind Wilbur's eyes as he looks up at the stars scattered across grey and blue.

"Despite how things have changed drastically, no matter how many zombies walk the streets- despite everything," Wilbur says, a calmer passion sinking deep in his tone as he eyes the empty ground below them before returning his gaze upwards. "The sky stays the same."

Quackity identifies the look in his eyes, comfort and contentment- for the one thing that remains at the end of the world.

Quackity glances up, this time with more meaning than just the view. He thinks he understands.

"Cause no matter what, it looks just like it did before. When it's sunny, the sky is blue and it's bright out. When there's heavy grey clouds it rains just like it always has. And when it's the end of the day, night comes, it's constant." Wilbur carries on, voice lowering in volume as he finishes, glancing over at Quackity with wandering and attentive eyes, probably seeing if he sees things similarly.

Quackity returns his gaze with too much ease, nodding at Wilbur's words, an expression of consideration for those same words before he takes a small breath of the crisp cold night air. It fills his lungs in a refreshing manner, he smiles softly. "I suppose you're right about that, Wilbur."

Wilbur's eyes linger a second longer before he turns away with a chuckle, the light casting their blanketed and merged shadow on the pavement of the patio below them. Connected at hips and shoulders, Quackity's mind silently reminds him.

"I tend to be right a lot, just so you know," Wilbur says, lips curled up and head tilted up as he looks up. It makes Quackity wonder about how optimistic he's allowed to be in an apocalypse. He doesn't think about for too long, though.

"I'll be here to see if you're telling the truth about that."

"Of course." He hums, as if he already knew Quackity would be, and he looks pleased with it. Pleased Quackity's here or pleased that he knew Quackity would say something like that? The question isn't in Quackity's mind, left up for debate, rather, it's Wilbur's this time, he doesn't focus on it for now. He instead, focuses on the blanket covering them, pulling a bit further up his shoulder.

"Hey, you just stole some of the blanket," Quackity says loudly, breaking Wilbur's train of thought that was only focused on getting warmer. He looks up, seeing Quackity's defensive glare.

"It was hardly covering my side." Wilbur reasons, tugging the bit of blanket in his hand that lies in between them. Quackity frowns, attempting to pull the blanket towards the left- so his side.

"But now my legs are cold." He sneaks a hand out of the mess of the sheet to gesture to his exposed legs, as in his knees down. Wilbur raises his eyebrows, scoffing.

"So are mine. Deal with it."

Quackity huffs, tugging on the blanket only for it to be tugged back into place. "I don't want to deal with it."

Wilbur pauses, glancing over at Quackity curiously before shrugging. "Not my problem."

"Actually, it is your problem," Quackity says with a self-satisfied grin and a sharp tone, relishing in the look Wilbur gave him as if to say 'Oh really now?' Quackity leans towards Wilbur despite the lack of space already between them as he nods. "Yup, you're the one who said we only needed on fuckin' blanket."

Quackity waits for a moment, expecting Wilbur to bite back a comment in resentment. But Wilbur remains silent for a few beats, the new silence seeming to last longer than it did before Wilbur sits up straight.

"Yeah, well that's because I thought you wouldn't take the majority of it," Wilbur says with a sarcastic tone that matches his small and mocking smile. There it is, the response Quackity expected and shakes his head at.

"Then you thought wrong, Mr Craft."

"Then that'll be a first," Wilbur quickly shoots back. "Mr err, Duck."

Quackity can't help but laugh a little, a confused look on his face. "Duck?"

"Quackity, quack, like a duck." Wilbur explains, pointing a finger up for each name before shrugging. "You can't tell me a duck was not thought of when the nickname Quackity was made."

"And you can't tell me a cartoon pig wasn't thought of when your parents named you."

Wilbur scrunches his face for a second, having no clue what Quackity was referring to before he makes an "O" noise at the realization. He simply hums. "Hm, probably not."

"Sure." Quackity scoffs.

"Exactly."

"I was being sarcastic, dumbass."

"I knew that, smartass."

Quackity crosses his arms in defiance, ignoring the way Wilbur seems to want to laugh at the action. He bumps Wilbur with his shoulder. "No need to call names."

"You did first."

"So?"

Wilbur sputters with disbelief then disappointment. "You're a hypocrite."

"Oh, I'm a lot of things, Wilbur," Quackity says with a mischievous grin, making the man stop for a quick second to raise his eyebrow in suspicion.

"Do tell." Wilbur urges amusedly.

Quackity sighs. "Well, more like I've been a lot of things. It's a bit hard to really get a title or job in the apocalypse, if ya didn't know." He adds sarcastically, earning a chuckle from Wilbur. "But I've gone places, did things. I was... relatively active I guess. At least, in terms of how long I was actually in my house. If that makes any sense."

"It does," Wilbur says, then tapping the wooden stool as he leans outward. He was practically the embodiment of casual curiosity right now. "So what did you do?"

Quackity's eyes wander around the patio as he tries to remember as much as possible. "Uhm, well one time I worked at this fuckin' massive casino." He smiles at Wilbur's shocked and impressed expression. "Which I don't even know how I got that job, I can hardly play go fish properly." He adds with a laugh, Wilbur joining him with his own light chuckle Quackity knows he's thought about a bit too much.

"Well you know, if you can at least act like you're good at the game, that's something."

"That's true, but luckily I hardly had to hang around with all the gamblers and card games," He says, still feeling that relief he did on his first days of work when he realized that. "I was more like this... Maybe the assistant manager for a bunch of departments. Is that a thing? Assistant Manager? Because that's what I was."

"Congrats to you," Wilbur says honestly, that soft smile Quackity's grown used to. "I've never had a title that high up. I've gotten employee of the month though, loved bragging about that one."

"I'm sure you did. You're the type to brag about being employee of the month." Quackity rolls his eyes, Wilbur only nodding in response. Quackity shakes his head, humming. "So what'd you do that made you earn such a title like that one, Wilbur?"

Wilbur laughs, averting his gaze with a shrug. "Well first off I did a lot of the work, but with good performance too."

"Second off?"

"Well you see, I was competing with this other guy for employee of the month-"

"That's stupid." Quackity deadpans, earning a glare from Wilbur.

"He was the second best, I suppose. Gods, what was his name?" Wilbur tilts his head for a second as he thinks, clicking his tongue after. "Ah yes, fucking Jared. I hated him, he hated me. We had the same job so obviously we competed in everything, including employee of the month."

"You two sound awfully annoying to work with."

Wilbur scoffs at that, an smile on his face like Quackity's words held some truth to it. "Yeah, well, they wouldn't last a fuckin' week without at least one of us," He says, Quackity's face lighting up with amusement at what he thought was a rather bold statement.

"Oh yeah?" Quackity asks, Wilbur simply nods like it's obvious. "What was your job?"

"Nothin' special, just an office job."

Quackity pauses for a second, eyeing Wilbur to figure out if he was serious or not. When he finds the answer he shakes his head with a small laugh, eyebrows raised. "I never took you as somebody who'd work in an office."

"Can't expect all your assumptions about me to be correct, Quackity." Wilbur smirks.

"Guess I'll keep that in mind." Quackity hums. "So what was the second reason?"

"Oh yes." Wilbur claps his hands, remembering that he still hasn't answered. "It's quite simple, you just buy your boss some lunch and tell them how good they are at their job no matter how big of a lie that may be, then, hopefully, they'll notice how good you are at your job."

"You- what?"

Wilbur turns to Quackity, realizing what he was thinking and shake his head furiously. "Oh- oh no. Not like that. That's- fuck that's gross. No, I assure you, Quackity, it wasn't like that."

Quackity watches as Wilbur struggles, seeming extremely against that idea and very eager to assure Quackity knew it. So he can't help but smile. "Oh, I'm sure."

"What? No, really, it was not-"

"Relax, I'm messing with you," Quackity says, it's not appreciated at all as Wilbur scowls. "But, you know, the way you're getting all defensive..."

Wilbur huffs, refusing to face Quackity. "Uh-huh, you should have met the guy then."

Quackity only shakes his head, bringing a hand out of the warm blanket to Wilbur's shoulder. "Gosh, so tense. I thought I was the tense one." He teases, fully sliding off the bench and grinning at Wilbur who grins right back, smug as ever.

"Then I guess I've loosened you up, now we've switched."

Quackity pulls his hand back, poorly hiding his look of surprise at those words. He coughs, ignoring the heat on his cheeks and hoping Wilbur would do the same. "Well, uh, Imma head inside now. Probably headin' to bed. Yo- Are you gonna stay? Out here that is."

He hardly focuses on what Wilbur's saying, walking back inside when he hears something close to "soon" with a nod. He plops down on the couch as soon as he's close enough, rubbing his cheeks even with the knowledge it never helps.

Fuck, fuck- I really shouldn't be thinking like this. But he is and it's making his chest hum with tons of hyper butterflies all flapping their wings like crazy. He wonders if he were to cough again at least one would fly out.

There was no way that wasn't intentional right?

Quackity hopes there is, he hopes there's a way that was so very unintentional and it was simply him trying to scrap any crumbs off a practically empty plate. He hopes he's just losing himself over nothing and that Wilbur didn't say it on purpose because- Oh god, oh no, that would mean he knows. It means he knows about all the times Quackity's snuck just an extra glance or two. He knows about the pink dusting Quackity's cheeks when he does the bare minimum of placing a hand on his shoulder, bumping their sides and hell, even just checking any and all of Quackity's injuries.

That would be awful, right? Yes, fuck yes it would be. Wilbur being aware of those minutes Quackity spent way too focused on Wilbur's dumb laugh and even dumber jokes. Or the embarrassing way Quackity woke up looking forward to hanging out with Wilbur, basking in his presence like it was a warm yellow light and Quackity was the ridiculous lizard who could soak in the light all day any day. If Wilbur knows any of this, Quackity knows it'll be the most painfully humiliating thing.

So for now, for future times when Quackity's mind will replay those words, for Quackity's own assurance, what Wilbur said was unintentional and there's no reason Quackity should be thinking this hard about it.

Oh but shit, he just realizes how hard that's going to be as Wilbur walks in with the same blanket they both were just previously sharing, still lazily wrapped around him, but heavy enough to tug up his shirt a bit when he stretches, revealing the clear skin of his side. The view brings Quackity's mind elsewhere, and for the first time he is forced to admit:

That thought isn't super platonic.

Oops.

A very big oops at that. Quackity turns his face away from Wilbur, shoving those thoughts out of his mind. Because really, who thought of their friend that way?

He knows you don't gush over your friend's looks, their smile, their personality- fuck basically, seemingly everything about your friend. You don't find yourself thinking of very not kid friendly things when you see the slightest bit of not normally showed skin.

This is bad, he can't be thinking of Wilbur like this. He shouldn't. Not really. Supposedly-

Quackity shakes his head, opening his eyes despite never remembering he closed them. Then he turns to his right only to nearly jump at the company of Wilbur sitting on the couch, blanket poorly tossed over his legs and breathing calmly as he leans deep into the couch with closed eyes.

Despite how the last reasonable and working part of his brain screams not to, Quackity's eyes skim over Wilbur with a breath that catches itself in his throat, both in hopes of not getting caught and at the way Wilbur looks when one finally allows themselves to gaze without restraints and hesitations.

Eyelashes too long to be fair, smooth and clear skin with a single beauty mark, thin soft lips and Quackity knows it's impossible for him to ever look at Wilbur the same. Not when he can so clearly see the adams apple in Wilbur's throat, or his light skin that's engulfed under the fabric of his sweater just as it was about to reach his collarbones.

Man, if Wilbur isn't attractive then zombie's don't exist.

Quackity bites his lip, gazing elsewhere and pathetically clearing his throat. "Wilbur? Are you uh, falling asleep?"

He wishes this world would allow people to re-say something to get rid of any very obvious stutters or cracks. That would be extremely nice.

Wilbur opens his eyes ever so slightly, squinting to see the back of Quackity's head, almost black hair almost reaching his shoulders. A worn out dark grey hoodie on that almost swallows all of Quackity's hands, one almost resting on top of Wilbur's own.

Almost is something their both familiar with, and they've almost figured that out time from time. Only for the word to make itself a permanent home in the back of their minds until it's used again.

"Possibly." Wilbur whispers, gaining Quackity's gaze back on him and nothing else. Wilbur's currently the only thing those dark chocolate eyes are focusing on, Wilbur thinks he liked dark chocolate back when both the sweet treat and his working taste buds were around. No wonder he likes Quackity's eyes, or maybe his brain just likes silly thoughts late at night.

Quackity huffs, a small smile before it fades and he's cautiously looking around the room like he doesn't know what to say, then, returning to Wilbur with a mumble that's so clearly trying to be more than a mumble. "Well then either you should go sleep in the bed or I will."

Wilbur stops short of a response, realizing this is the first time he's been allowed to sleep outside of a locked bedroom (even if Quackity never really told him he had to keep on locking it, he more so did it for Quackity's comfort- just in case). It's trust, it's so greatly appreciated and it's making Wilbur's chest feel warm. Which is odd because the blanket's on his lower body, but he doesn't mind it, his sleepy brain accepts the warmth just like it accepts each new observation of Quackity's face. Iconic scar running through one of his eyes. One of those eyes that looks at him, expecting an answer he realizes he has yet to give.

But Quackity seems a step ahead of him.

"If you want the bed you're gonna have to hurry up, otherwise I'm taking it," Quackity says.

Wilbur blinks.

Quackity sighs.

"Goodnight, Wilbur," Quackity says with a yawn, planting his hands on the couch firmly to help himself up onto his tired legs.

"Wait, wait." Wilbur mumbles, lazily waving a hand before Quackity can even stand up. So he's still sitting, now facing Wilbur with a questioning look. Wilbur huffs. "I wanna sleep in the bed."

Quackity hums teasingly, but the approaching drowsiness makes itself very evident. "But you always sleep in the bed." Then Quackity stops to smile. "I think you're going to have to race me for it."

And again, Wilbur's telling him to wait just as he's about to stand up. He raises his eyebrows, seemingly unimpressed of the sleepy man whose barely even moved since the start.

But Wilbur only waves his hand again. "At least do a count down so it's fair."

Quackity tiredly groans in defeat, bracing himself to get to the bed first and when he glances at Wilbur, he seems to be doing the same, hands wrapped around the blanket to throw it off. "Fine."

He eyes the open bedroom door, a soft matress and even a softer comforter waiting for him. It's been almost two weeks and he can just feel the white, puffy pillow against his face. He prepares for victory, grinning at he knows will happen. There's no way he loses. "3...2," and he can see it now, the easy win that'll take five seconds to acquire. His feet are already in place. "1, go-"

But as Quackity's pushing himself off the couch Wilbur's blanket covered arm comes in to view and once more he's not even able to stand up as it wraps around him and he falls back onto the couch, his head resting right where Wilbur used to be sitting before he even registers what's just happened.

Wilbur's arm is trapped between the couch and Quackity, hand under Quackity's back that's laying against the couch. Wilbur's only halfway on the couch, knee pressing into the cushioned seating and right up against Quackity's leg as the man tries to wrap Quackity in the blanket that's very much wrapped around himself.

So here they are, Wilbur grinning down at Quackity while heavily relying on his tired arms to trap Quackity in fabric while Quackity's eyes dance around before he huffs.

"This is cheating," He says, very aware of what this could be in some very distant, very strange, alternative alternate universe that probably doesn't exist. Seriously, their both on the same couch, a blanket covering both of them from the world with Wilbur looking down at him with hands planted at Quackity's side and Quackity looking right back up, hands stuck not knowing what to do in the small space between their bodies. He feels like he might close his eyes and open them up to a sun he gets to see for a second before he goes blind from the brightness and melts from the heat.

"Is it?" Wilbur asks in mock curiosity, hands stalling to focus more on holding himself up than trapping Quackity. His other foot's barely touching the ground, so he pulls it up to the couch to stop stretching it in a completely odd way. "I don't remember you saying anything about keeping you here so it's me who wins."

Quackity scoffs, his chest and face feels to hot too even speak. At least, for a good few seconds before he gains a small part of himself with a flustered breath. "This isn't gonna help you win."

"It isn't?"

"Yeah," Quackity says with a grin, ignoring the part of him telling him to stop while he has the chance, that he's too tired to think so maybe he should just go to bed. But then again, despite the embarrassment that could come with it, Quackity wants to know if Wilbur really does know about all those glances, the blush- any of it. "I think this just helps you get a better look at me."

Quackity watches closely, seeing Wilbur clearly taken aback by the assumption, eyes widening for a second before he looks out to the bedroom and Quackity can tell he's biting his cheek. And oh- Quackity can just faintly see in the dark the particular shade of pink that's making it's way on Wilbur's face.

Quackity's brain halts, focused on any little action and trying to decipher them just as he can start to hear his heartbeat so clearly in his ears. He decides he'll think about it another time, maybe when he's not so tired and he doesn't exactly feel like he's been stuck in an oven.

Wilbur mumbles something and Quackity doesn't catch it, refocusing his attention back to Wilbur who is still looking the other way. Quackity, fighting his tight throat, speaks up. "What'd you say?" He doesn't really like how quiet his voice was when he said that, but he can't change it so instead he waits.

Wilbur turns back to him, huffing and Quackity can most definitely feel the hints of his hot breath. And thankfully, his voice isn't any better than Quackity's. In fact, it's probably worst, small and hardly a whisper. "I said, you don't know that."

There's a crease in his brows and a tone in his voice that almost makes it a question like he's asking it, 'You don't know that? You don't, right?' Quackity can hear the question.

"You're right, I don't know that," Quackity says, he doesn't know when but his hands find a good distraction by pressing against Wilbur's chest, feather light and barely there. Still, Wilbur seems to give a pretty sharp reaction, breath catching in his throat and swallowing it. It makes Quackity's sleepy mind curious. "I don't know unless you tell me."

Wilbur doesn't answer for a moment, only studying Quackity's face and he's left to wonder what's going on in Wilbur's brain. But then, Wilbur's expression shifts into something Quackity's seen once before, possibly, and impossibly, Quackity's face gets pinker because of it.

"I could tell you this," Wilbur starts, seeming a bit uncertain of himself that it makes Quackity all the more interested- or nervous- or maybe both. He instantly figures out it's both when Wilbur's eyes meet his, warm and brown and god Quackity doesn't know when they got here. But Wilbur seems just as clueless, hesitation washing over him for a second. "You- I think your eyes are pretty."

Quackity freezes, eyes widening, heart hammering, he wonders if it should be a concern how fast it picked up. "What?"

"I think your eyes are pretty, Quackity," Wilbur says, much more confident than the first time, words and tone so soft and smooth, Quackity's left with no words. But Wilbur only gives a nervous but warm and small smile, waiting for Quackity to say something.

It takes Quackity a moment because first off, 'Oh my fucking god- holy shit!' but also second off, Wilbur's right there, a risky part of Quackity says there's no risk in doing something about it (Doing what? He doesn't know), but then third off, there's no fucking way.

It hits Quackity, he sucks in a sharp breath because despite what he tried to convince himself, past mumbles and almosts, it's actually intentional and Wilbur knows.

Wilbur knows about Quackity's ridiculous fixation on him, the times he's blushed and the times he wished Wilbur was doing the same just for some sort of hope (What the hope was for is still unknown). Each time Quackity's gaze lasted a little too long for it to not mean anything, but the shortage of words that make it mean anything because hell, there's no chance Quackity's admitting something like this.

But then it also hits Quackity, Wilbur knows and this is how he's testing it. Playing it, even, perhaps. Fucking pinning Quackity to the couch and whispering a compliment in the small space between them just to see the proof, the reaction, the confirmation that he's right.

Quackity's throat still feels tight, but not exactly for the same reason. Because, well, Wilbur knows and it's an embarrassment, even worse, the man's playing it up for reactions. That's it, Quackity knows it is. He's been here before and he doesn't really want to be here again. Not even if there's a slowly shrinking part of him that begs him to stay and that Wilbur's full of nothing but the truth, and maybe, just maybe, the two of them could do something with this.

"You really think so?" Quackity asks, absolutely despising how it barely sounds intact. His heart's still hammering, just know with anxious energy as his eyes fleet across Wilbur's expression for any sort of hint, clue- anything.

Wilbur nods in admission. "I do."

It's so simple and short and- it could be real and couldn't, Quackity can't tell. But he does know the feeling that's creeping into him, making his shoulders stiffen and his legs itch to get away. He doesn't know if he should be thinking about any of this right now. After all, weren't they just two friends sitting on a patio?

What happened to that? Did things really change that fast as soon as Wilbur figured it out?

Quackity tenses his jaw. Of course it did, Wilbur's looking for answers here, and if he knows how to get them, why wait?

Quackity takes a deep breath, hating how familiar this situation is and trying to swallow his anxiety. It doesn't work, he gives up. "What are you doing?"

Wilbur tilts his head at the question, brows furrowing like he has no clue what he's saying and Quackity knows something he doesn't. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what are you trying to do right now?" Quackity asks, raising his voice to save from anymore unwanted cracks as he gestures between them with a sharp tone. "Wh- fucking what is this?"

Wilbur frowns, Quackity scoffs at it. "Quackity I don't understand-"

"Mhm, sure you don't," Quackity says, cutting him off before he waits, Wilbur staying absolutely still except his eyes that search for something on Quackity's face. Quackity gives up on this too. "Just forget it."

Wilbur almost looks startled, leaning back to sit on the couch, Quackity sits up as well and avoids Wilbur's confused glare (It's probably fake anyway). "No, no, no- what are you talking about?"

Quackity sits up, stretching his arms and dismissively glaring at Wilbur before grimacing. "I'm going to sleep, like usual, don't wake me up-"

"But, Quackity," Wilbur gives a very distressed huff that almost makes Quackity glance back, but only almost. "Quackity just tell me what you mean. I didn't- I don't-"

Quackity's yawn is perfectly timed, he notes. "You should get some sleep too, I guess."

"Not until you answer me," Wilbur says, Quackity turning around to see him cross his arms despite the (Quackity knows it's fake) practically desperate and confused look in his eyes. Quackity copies him, arms crossed.

"I just wanted to know what all of that," He waves over to the couch before crossing his arms again, "was about."

Wilbur glances back where Quackity gestured to, shifting awkwardly where he sits and he fidgets with his hands for a couple beats. "That was- I'm- look, I don't honestly know. I thought-I guess I was just..."

And when Quackity urges him to continue with an expectant raise of his eyebrows Wilbur just sheepishly looks away. Quackity doesn't even try a second time. "Well, I'm sleeping in the bed. Goodnight, I guess."

Quackity walks to the bedroom and Wilbur doesn't say goodnight back. But that's fine, Quackity's okay with that because his tired mind needs some sleep and there's only one thing he's certain of, right now he feels pissed and embarrassed and it's all because of Wilbur.

But Quackity forces those thoughts out of his mind as he shuts the door, a clear mind is better for some good sleep. So he plops down onto the bed with a sigh, refusing to curl up and think, instead, he lays there with the hope his mind will get the hint and go to sleep.

Maybe he'll think in the morning.