Wilbur slept very uncomfortably that night.

He had tried and tried again to stop thinking, seeing as every second a dulling pain would just appear out of nothing- or out of his thoughts, either way his stomach was done with the sensation of a rock sitting inside, right at the bottom, and so was Wilbur, so he squeezed his eyes and wrapped himself almost in a suffocating manner with the blanket. To suffocate his mind, of course.

And it must've worked, because Wilbur wakes up. Can't do that if you didn't sleep in the first place.

He struggles for a moment, eyes still closed and arms still tired as he gets out of the mess of blankets he's in. He groans when his arms are free, rolling to his side to be met with the back of the couch.

Oh yeah, he slept on the couch. Wilbur opens his eyes, sitting up and holding back a yawn that still makes it's way out as he stretches his arms.

It's rather bright out, light pouring so generously through the window behind the couch, the one in the kitchen and the patio- gods it's too bright.

Wilbur squints, deciding on laying back down and burying his face in the nearest pillow. He sighs tiredly, his breath heating up his face that he lifts away from the pillow due to the unwelcomed feeling of his own breath.

Sitting up, he suddenly feels a bit cold, but not exactly in a hot or cold sense, because he's actually still got his legs swallowed in fuzzy fabric. Except then it is in the hot and cold sense as his side now feels uncomfortably cold, like someone's cut a whole in his shirt. His head unwillingly (perhaps) turns to the patio and suddenly it's night again.

Well, in Wilbur's head it is. He's out on the patio, soft laughs, twinkling stars, a flickering night, pressed side by side with Quackity.

Wilbur's face heats up. Quackity-

Quackity, a couch, limited space, pink cheeks and tired mumbles.

Wilbur recalls it all, he recalls it all coming to a crashing stop, abrupt and confusing, the soft moment lost in Quackity's harsh tone and accusing questions.

Gods, what was he supposed to do now?

Wilbur hides his face in his hands, not even knowing where to start.

'What if we just forgot about the whole last night- act like it never happened?'

He wonders how well that would work for the two of them. If they could carry on like there wasn't a single doubt or hesitation last night, like they never ended up that close to each other at all. Or would there just always be a constant and silent tension between them even if they tried to forget it? Never truly gone out of the mind and making the moments they have awkward?

Oh no, that couldn't happen. That would be one of the worst outcomes. Wilbur doesn't like even the thought of it.

He wants to be able to still talk with Quackity normally, joke around with him or give him the usual side hug he normally did.

He doesn't want to think last night ruined the chance of keeping that.

And, really, what would he be losing this for? Complimenting Quackity?

Wilbur truly wants to know what happened there. One second they were... doing whatever they were doing and Quackity honestly didn't seem to mind it, then the next, Quackity's glaring at him, asking him what the fuck he's doing, and now he very much minded it.

It doesn't make any sense. How could this- last night make any sense?

Wilbur very much remembers it was Quackity's hands on him. Wilbur never touched Quackity, only spoke out his sleepy thoughts. But it- fucking he can still feel it, dammit.

The touch hardly there but it still felt burning all the same, a palm pressing against his chest in curiosity as fingers hover over his shirt, and it was all Quackity...

His throat is painfully soar, his chest dully aching were Quackity's warm hands used to be, where they promised to test the idea of more, whatever that may be.

But then Quackity retreated and got defensive, questioning Wilbur and what Wilbur was doing instead of what the hell he was doing, why his hands were against Wilbur's chest.

It's not fair, it's confusing, it's making his head hurt, apparently, too early in the morning for last night's sudden complications.

But, of course, it's not too early for Quackity to swing the bedroom door open, heading for the kitchen to rummage through the cabinets. And as he does so, Wilbur down right freezes on the couch, his way too loud heartbeat is the only sign he's still alive and not a statue.

He can't even look at Quackity, his body frooze as soon as the door opened so now he's stuck looking at the door. Or maybe, that also might be because he's avoiding the possible glare Quackity might be sending him at this very moment.

Wilbur swallows, sparing a glance at Quackity and immediately his stomach twist because Quackity about looks like he had the best night of sleep in his zombie infested life.

Again, this is the most unfair thing ever because Wilbur barely got any sleep last night despite his desperate efforts and when he finally managed to, it was probably more uncomfortable then when he used to sleep on the road with a thin sheet, waking up to anything that could potentially be a zombie.

The previous bags under Quackity's eyes have, if we were doing math here, cut in half. As in, they aren't as dark, not even close, and his eyes look so energetic Wilbur can't stand it. Not only that, but Quackity's whole posture screams a good night's rest, where here Wilbur is, hunched over on the couch.

A big part of him likes it, cares that Quackity slept pretty fucking well and seems better. But last night... A part of Wilbur is now convinced Quackity either forgot or he wants to.

But looking at Quackity, Wilbur can't help but feel a sense of helplessness. That's right, he's helpless. Because he still doesn't know what the hell even happened, why Quackity was suddenly upset and asking shit like word for word what are you trying to do here. Wilbur doesn't remember how it could've switched up so fast, he was looking right at Quackity, he could see his reaction and one second he was fine (Wilbur dare say Quackity looked like he enjoyed it), then, Quackity looked completely pissed of and uncomfortable, so Wilbur backed up and asked Quackity what was wrong only to be dismissed.

Quackity's got Wilbur helpless and it's not in the cliche romantic movie type way, because why would it be?

Yes, Wilbur knows he was down right blushing because of Quackity, complimenting him, and they were so, so close. But that doesn't mean Wilbur loves Quackity, because he doesn't, not like that. He loves Quackity in a friend way and thinks he's attractive in a not so friend way.

Simple as that and only that. He thinks Quackity's attractive and he likes him as a friend. It mostly makes sense anyway, they've been alone for almost two weeks now, Quackity's really just getting all his attention, and Quackity was charismatic just by his personality, but throw on his looks and of course Wilbur couldn't lie and say he doesn't find the other attractive at all.

But that doesn't really matter right now because clearly, Quackity made up his mind about Wilbur last night. Even if he never gets to know why, Quackity halfway decided he didn't want any of that, whatever it was to him. The last decision is the one that calls it, makes it count. And Quackity made his when he walked away last night.

Still, despite all the thinking he's done, Wilbur feels dread and anxiety shoot up his spine as he sits up straighter at the sound of his name. Then he realizes the worst, Quackity's looking at him and he can't even read his expression.

"Uhm, yeah?" Wilbur manages out, immediately clearing his throat after hearing the ever present and terribly dry crack in his voice. He reminds himself, if Quackity wants to forget about last night then Wilbur would try his damn hardest to as well, for the both of them. So he forces his shoulders to relax, nothing bad is happening here, he's quite alright and not dramatically aching with a need to know or a heap of nervous energy.

He never liked not knowing something, especially if he was involved. And this time is no different, he doesn't like it one bit.

"We hardly have any food left," Quackity says and Wilbur can now identity the very serious look on his face. "Almost nothing."

Wilbur nods. "That's a problem then."

Quackity turns around with a sigh. "I think we should look for some more food today."

"Oh." Wilbur glances back at the front door. "Okay. I agree."

"Then make sure you're ready," Quackity tells him, sparing a small look his way before his attention is back on something in the kitchen and it falls silent. Wilbur wonders what Quackity thinks of the silence. Is it awkward for him or not at all? Has he even thought about last night? Is he thinking of it right now?

Okay, Wilbur knows he said he'd ignore it if Quackity was. But really, he doesn't know if Quackity is or isn't. And he really, really wants to talk about it. Get to know what happened and if it is or isn't going to "effect" their interactions from now on. So, yes, he knows that talking about it is the opposite of ignoring it, but... he, well he just wants to see.

Can't blame him, not really, well you could. But Quackity never even gave him a why to anything. At least he tried to, even if Quackity left after the first attempt- but he still tried to explain something. Quackity sure didn't. And Wilbur just wants to check, make sure everything's gonna be good, that his great night of rest didn't just make Quackity look better, but he felt better too.

So sue Wilbur for caring about their friendship, he's asking.

But he isn't so sure how. The silence is loud and a bit intimidating in a way that goes with the same way Quackity's back facing him does. He'll live though.

"Quackity," Easy. He starts off easy. But the level of difficulty bumps up one when Quackity actually faces him, bored but Wilbur can tell Quackity's thinking about something. He sighs, he thinks for a second, now's not the time to be overly nervous.

"Wilbur." Quackity sinks in the stool he's sitting in, now no longer keeping eye contact.

Wilbur, however, wonders if it's better he can't see Quackity's possible glare. Just in case it was real. "About last night, I-"

Quackity's hands stop tapping the counter in time with a steady beat that must be playing in his head, well, was playing. "What about it?"

"I just want," His mouth shuts before he regains himself, prepared and all for anything Quackity might say. "Listen, if it was me that did something I just wanna know what, and I'm sorry if-"

"Yeah, and I wanted to know what the hell you were doing. Didn't get an answer then." Quackity basically snaps at him, sending a glare over at Wilbur, eyeing the couch before staring intensely at the counter. The raise of his voice did, admittedly, catch Wilbur off guard, but not for long as he frowns.

"Well what the fuck did you what me to say, Quackity?" Wilbur asks, waving a hand to the side. "It's not exactly the easiest thing to answer a question when you don't really know what's being asked."

Quackity visibly tenses, firmly gesturing the couch like it brings him bad memories, Wilbur doesn't like that. "It's simple, what were you trying to do."

And well, you know when desperation and stress mix together in a nasty emotion that makes your throat burn ever so painfully and you just can't handle it so the best way is to pass it off as growing anger? Yeah, Wilbur knows that too. So he finds himself scoffing at Quackity's words, an ever present and strong biting tone in his words.

"Trying to do?" Wilbur repeats, a breathy laugh following, his chest is starting to feel too tight. It might be funny, or it might not, but a part of him is convinced the pain means he will soon explode if it doesn't stop soon. Fuck. "Quackity, what could I possibly be trying to do? I was complimenting you. Didn't know it'd piss you off like that, my gods."

Quackity looks terribly upset and Wilbur realizes it was himself who just ruined every bit of Quackity's well rested look. The look he managed to get after leaving Wilbur to the opposite experience.

His chest grows tighter, his shoulders hurt from being this tense, and he rubs his throat in a failed attempt to make it feel better.

"You fuckin," Quackity huffs, loosening the grip he previously had on the counter and crossing his arms. His cheeks are pink and this time Wilbur knows not to mistake it for anything else but anger. "You were tellin' me shit. Wilbur, you- you dick, you had me on the couch! And I was fucking under you and- and that is not just complimenting a friend."

"And you're the one who had your hands on me." Wilbur shot back, not able to stop from biting his lip rather harshly afterward. He blinks, for some reason he has to do that, and it's not because his eyes are suddenly all glossy.

Quackity greatly falters at those words, sucking in a sharp breath and sharply looking away.

It's quiet, causing a sense of anxiety to buzz in the air that doesn't do anything for Wilbur, in fact it worsens his situation. He wishes he had his pen, even if he doesn't want to, biting on it would provide some relief and it's better than sitting on his hands to stop himself from reaching up to his hair. But he doesn't, so he keeps his hands under his thighs as nothing improves.

Finally, Quackity opens his mouth. Wilbur almost doesn't hear it. "Why do you even care?"

"Why did you care so much last night?" Wilbur responds, the aching need to know cracking in his voice as he sets his hands at his side, gripping onto and letting go of the couch seems to help, even if only a little.

Again, Quackity takes a while to answer, looking down at the ground with a shrug, voice a mumble. "I didn't know how we even got there... I was confused."

"And you think I had any better of a guess?" Wilbur questions, eyes expectant and mind lingering on how Quackity's words felt like only half of what they should be, like once again, there's something he refuses to say.

Quackity meets his gaze, shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath before he stands up. "We need to look for more food."

"We need to talk about this," Wilbur says firmly, he doesn't want to be left with more questions than answers here. But Quackity does nothing to show he agrees, walking out to the bedroom to grab something. Wilbur feels like he's been punched in his stomach, shoulders dropping. But hey, at least his body looks more relaxed and he doesn't feel like there's a running fuse inside his gut. But that's just because he's once again, all to aware of his helpess attempts and how they failed.

"Quackity," He doesn't even care for the ugly and pure desperation in his throat. Quackity walks out of the bedroom, looking at him and Wilbur knows it's wishful thinking when he sees regret in Quackity's eyes, regret for not being able to just answer. But yeah, it's definitely wishful thinking. "Come on, Quackity. Just talk to me?"

But Quackity hands him a fucking bag to store anything they find out there and nudges at the door. "Get ready and don't forget your weapons."

Wilbur bites his tongue, hesitating a quick second before he takes the bag. And as Quackity walks away, not sparing a single look or word, Wilbur thinks he's just made things worse.

It becomes even more obvious to him when they leave, carefully navigating their way to a supermarket that screamed the harsh reality of zombie's existing. It's painfully obvious in the clipped responses Quackity gives him only when necessary, otherwise, it remains harshly cold and quiet between them despite the burning tension between them. It's so hot and cold at the same time Wilbur almost wants to go numb.

When they reach the backrooms, however, Wilbur can't help but be amazed at how they were, see, he needs some positivity here and he hasn't ever been in a backroom of a store ever. All of the boxes of food does give him hope and the way it wraps around almost the whole building was just... exciting. He could peek into the messy isles of the store through the coolers people used to grab milk from or juice or-

"Wilbur, I need your help," Quackity calls him over, making him stand up straight and brush off his pants like he wasn't just trying to save himself from the suffocating density by finding even simple things completely outstanding and interesting and amazing and oh so fascinating-

Wilbur shakes his head, turning back around and walking over to Quackity who is currently very busy trying to look through loads of boxes for something the tiniest bit edible.

"With what?"

"Looking for food." Quackity deadpans, grunting as he lifts up a heavy box only to grimace at the sight of unreasonably large glass jars of salsa, which unfortunately, isn't something they could live of off.

When Quackity takes one, ya know, for flavor in case they have anything to go with it, Wilbur blinks, remembering both what Quackity said and how it felt like an unforgiving pinch. So he's sure to be quick as he walks over to a tower of big cardboard boxes. Again, his brain starts simplifying to be just a bit less unhappy, a smile pulling at his lips as he picks one up.

"There's so many boxes, honestly it's crazy how much is left, huh?" He chuckles, putting the box on the ground. "You'd think it'd be taken by somebody else by now."

The loud sound of duck tape being pulled of another box rips through, Wilbur glancing over at Quackity, who just opened that said box. "Yeah, well, most people are dead. There's hardly anyone who could take this shit."

Oh. Yeah. They are dead, aren't they?

Wilbur turns back around to hide his frown, opening the box to a bunch of honey nut Cheerios, a genuine excitement washing over him. "Quackity, we've got food!"

Quackity looks his way, kicking aside yet another salsa box and making his way over with ever the questioning gaze. "Really?"

And yes really, they do, because it hasn't even been a full two years and living in the apocalypse already forces you to lower your standards.

Quackity, for the first time that day, smiles as he leans down to grab some boxes. "My god, I think this'll last us a good while along with the applesauce I got."

Wilbur beams, standing up when they're both done stocking up. "Hopefully you like your cereal, Quackity."

And Quackity actually laughs, Wilbur feels a bit better. "If it means I don't starve to death I'll never be complaining about always having Cheerios for dinner."

"Well then let's get back to have some," Wilbur says and it's been the easiest thing to say all day, the walk back isn't as tensely awkward, and he wonders it it's too early to start having hope.

Wilbur's careful as he walks up the rusty stairs, stretching over the missing steps just as Quackity does, both mindful enough to not rush up the stairs just because they're hungry.

But then Quackity stops, making Wilbur bump into his back, dumbfounded as he backs up. But Quackity simply looks past Wilbur's shoulders, eyeing the stairs before his gaze travels up to the top of the stairs.

Wilbur huffs, ever the more curious. "What is it?"

Quackity squints, turning his back to Wilbur once more and leaning down to inspect something on the ground that Wilbur's ashamed of how his breath hitches, having to take one last step backwards. He straightnes his posture, trying his best to give Quackity space while avoiding the large lack of steps behind him.

He's stuck between falling to his death or regaining himself and some sense of maturity, thankfully he's able to choose and walk forward (a bit slower to keep space this time) as Quackity finally does so too.

"I swear to god." Quackity mutters under his breath, Wilbur hears it, his confusion doubling up into dread as Quackity pulls out his knife. What did he need that for?

The slow and silent steps to the front door are making Wilbur's heart hammer painfully loud in his ears, but it all comes to a harsh halt when the doors cracked open. Fuck fuck-

Wilbur steps back, sending an urgent look over at Quackity who is already inching closer to the door while Wilbur freezes up.

And Quackity tries to open the door as quietly as possible, the short-lived creak still sending a wave of panic over them.

Wilbur decides it's best to pull out his knife too, sneaking in after Quackity as they eye every corner of all that they can see.

Wilbur's heart sinks as he hears Quackity open the bedroom door, hoping nothing happens to him. He's suddenly aware of the very heavy and laboured breathing he can hear. Is that his?

He takes one step into the kitchen before he finds out, yelping as two zombies lunge out, hunched over so low at first they were hidden by the counter.

Wilbur's head painfully hits the cold tile, his breath leaving his body at the impact as his back slams down onto the floor.

"Quackity-" He shouts out to be cut off as the first zombie climbs on top of him, it's bony knee digging right into his stomach that all that comes out is a large huff. It's some scary shit, having a zombie literally on you as they try to desperately eat you, but Wilbur's also very desperate to live, so he grips his knife and digs it in the zombie's side, wincing at it's pained groan.

Wilbur's so busy with this zombie he almost forgot about the other one until an undead wrinkly and tattered hand comes into view, eyes widening right as the hand tries to grab at his face like the dead, animalistic monster these things are.

He drives the knife deeper into the zombie's side, another groan and blood starting to leak out with the sound of a knife cutting flesh as a zombie hand covers his eyes, even more panic spreading through him, gods, as if his vision isn't already blurry from falling.

So, he shakes his head furiously, not minding any dizziness that comes from it or from when he hit his head while dragging his blade across the first zombie, the sound of it's thin skin and flesh being torn making him cringe as blood drops onto him, his hand practically layered in it by now.

And when the hands finally off of his face, Wilbur tilts his head back as the hand comes back and he- he fucking bites the zombie's hand, lucky for his dull sense of taste at this very moment as teeth dig into dry yet rubbery thin skin until blood unfortunately but expectantly, slowly sinks into the mouth. He's pretty sure he hears a crunching sound, feels it too, but it's worth it as the second zombie screams out and backs away, letting him focus on the first one.

Wilbur uses his legs to push it off himself, stabbing the zombie right where it's not supposed to be beating heart is, a dark red that was too close to purple drenching it's torn up shirt, starting from under it's armpit to it's heart. When he twists the knife, he can safely look up and sigh at the slightly fuzzy sight of Quackity slitting a zombie's throat, a bloody and dead hand never fully clawing at Quackity before it falls lifelessly (well, lifelessly again) to the ground.

Wilbur pulls out his knife only when the zombie stops struggling, it's last breath calming him as he takes a deep and shaky breath.

"Holy shit, are you okay?" Quackity asks, very worried as he rushes over to kneel at Wilbur's side.

Wilbur lifts a hand up to his mouth and coughs in it, grimacing at the new spit and blood that speckles across his hand. He rubs it off, turning to Quackity with a smile. "Of course."

"What the fuck?" Quackity blurts and he's close enough Wilbur can see the surprised but disgusted look on his face. Wilbur knows what that's about, laughing despite barely having a breath before he gathers up some spit and spits, hearing Quackity make a grossed out noise.

"Zombies don't taste too good." He jokes with a floppy smile that falls when he realizes how rapidly his chest was rising and falling, he rubs his wrist, turning back to Quackity and trying his best to ignore the feeling of wind blowing harshly in his head, and the fuzzy vision, and the sharp pain in his back- oh and his stomach.

Wow those zombies caught him off guard.

Quackity doesn't seem to like the joke, eyes scanning all over Wilbur with concern, Wilbur wonders if Quackity didn't like it when he did this to him, because right now he isn't really enjoying it, Quackity's eyes on his now very bloody shirt and hands with a hurt, panting body isn't exactly the best. He feels like he's being scrutinizingly looked at despite the faint sight that tells him otherwise.

"Seriously, are you okay?"

"Yes, just two zombies," Wilbur says with a preppy voice that makes him clear his throat, trying to sound a bit more believable as he pushes off the ground. "Of course I am."

Quackity pauses, not asking again as Wilbur's legs unhelpfully wobble underneath, jeez, and it's not like Quackity can hear the pounding in his head-

Quackity shakes his head as Wilbur topples onto the counter for support, eyes shut tight that only relax when Wilbur feels a kind hand on his shoulder.

"So, zombies can be a bit rough huh?" Wilbur once again, tries to joke with a teethy grin, tilting his head up to face Quackity before letting his forehead rest against the cold counter.

"I'm sorry." Quackity groans, dragging a hand over his face like this is giving him grey hairs. "I heard you and went to help but a zombie pulled me back, apparently it was hiding in the closet."

Wilbur reminds himself Quackity was quite alright to counter the second of worry that flashes over him. He shrugs. "You're fine. Don't worry 'bout it."

Quackity looks like he is having an internal war about Wilbur's words before he glances over him one time, hesitantly bites his lip and swallows. "Okay then. Be sure to take care of yourself though."

"I will and already do," Wilbur says, such a blatant lie he sings with a smirk as he stands up straight with such little satisfaction in how his pain isn't gone yet, but he doesn't comment on it, only in his head.

It falls silent, three officially dead zombies and Wilbur and Quackity.

Wilbur knows he doesn't want this situation to happen again, he looks around with a deep sigh, taking in the view of the place before facing Quackity. "I think we have to leave this place, Quackity."

The way Quackity's eyes shut and he takes in a breath makes Wilbur frown, but not with regret because he knows it'll be safer. And then Quackity meets his gaze, shoulders going slack as he tilts his head up.

"You're right, we're leaving."