It starts out harmless. Curiosity doesn't really settle in at all, just passes once, faintly like a lazy breeze, then leaves.
Quackity hears somebody has moved into the small, nearly matching, stiff house to the right of his.
He isn't exactly one to greet his neighbors, introduce himself, and welcome them with a smile. Not really his thing.
He does, however, catch a glimpse of brown hair bouncing as a tall man slips into the shadow of his front porch, barely made visible by both the moon and the flickering lantern sticking out from the brick wall surrounding his front door.
Quackity doesn't care too much though, not when it's almost pitch black out, coming close to ten pm in the dry, cold night as he opens his car door and slides in to make his way over to the closest gas station for a much needed quick dinner, his fridge and cupboard bare of anything save for almond butter and seasoning- and some hot sauce- but nothing edible by itself and meal worthy.
So that's left there, he is not super interested in this new neighbor of his.
Then, a week passes.
And Quackity's just very observational- if that's the word. He just likes to be aware of what's going on around him.
Only because of this, he realizes his neighbor does not own a single vehicle, nothing even like a bike or scooter.
Which doesn't exactly mean anything, it's just a fact he's noticed.
Another thing that he starts to find out as the seventh day ends is that his neighbor is not a morning person or an evening person, it seems. In fact, the tall man doesn't seem to be big about the day at all.
He just stands outside his house at night sometimes, assumingly lost in thought, until on the fifth night he pulls out a guitar, simply practicing some chords and tuning it under his still flickering lantern, surprisingly still providing light and not yet dead.
Quackity knows this. He leaves his house multiple times a day, slightly dreading when he has to return to the whole job thing, recently losing one because the business apparently had to drop a couple of employees because money was too tight and for some other reasons. They, of course, didn't directly mention how they were letting him go because of his character, as they called it on more than one occasion.
Either way, yes, he is unemployed. But that will change really, really soon.
He is gonna have to get a job, anyway, leeching off his rather sympathetic friends won't do for much longer, especially with the slight guilt he feels when they give him some money for food the next two days.
It's only been a month, he doesn't necessarily even need their help at all.
Even if Quackity has not once looked for a job yet.
That's fine though, about two to three months of unemployment won't look very odd or unusual.
Plus, it has admittedly been a while since Quackity has felt the tension so easily sink from his shoulder into nothingness, hardly a single worry passing his head.
Only a week into what's now been a month, Quackity never realized how much he missed having a stress-free day.
Another reason why he isn't particularly wanting to even care to get to know his neighbor. He's busy enjoying this until it reaches the two-month mark...
Okay, the one month and a half mark is where he'll draw the line, actually start looking for a job, and spend his days doing more than sitting around in his car and driving places just because he can.
But then it hits the tenth day, Quackity's glancing out the small window above the arm of his couch, one that looks out to the sidewalk leading up to his house, a lawn of dead grass, and his neighbor's house, specifically the side view of the front, the door swung open.
Dimly, in the moonlight, Quackity distantly registers the fact that the lanterns finally died out, leaving the tall man to be nothing but a silhouette painted generously with a bit of moon-tinted color.
The song Quackity's got playing through his earbuds carries on, a star probably twinkles or shines, and the man pulls out his guitar.
Even from here, Quackity can tell he's playing a real song this time, not just fiddling around. He only watches because days of his past blankly fill in, piano keys under his fingertips, a cheap pick between his fingers as he mindlessly strums a bit.
He doesn't really do that stuff anymore.
But for now, he thinks about it a little, blinking up and just barely observing the fact that his neighbor's singing right before ten pm.
He can't hear it, not at all, with his music drowning out everything but his own breathing. But he can see it.
Quackity almost finds a shred of curiosity, and almost wonders what he's singing.
But instead, he keeps his earbuds in and watches as another one of his neighbors walks up in her silky sleeping gown, nearly blocking the man out of eyesight with her shadow, most likely complimenting his music.
A sudden beat switch grabs Quackity's attention and he glances down at his phone, quickly opening it to skip the song because he isn't really in the mood for it. He doesn't know how to explain it, but he just isn't.
When he returns his focus to the window, all he sees is the last-second glimpse of a door closing, both of his neighbors no longer simultaneously bathing in darkness and moonlight. They just aren't there.
Quackity blinks at the realization that comes to him.
Well, assumption technically, but it's a pretty fair one to make.
He shrugs, shutting his blindfolds all the way and sinking deeper into the couch. He guesses he can sleep here tonight, he's already cozy.
Quackity falls asleep.
Quackity's jaw is sore when he wakes up, definitely a consequence of having his face pushed up against the furniture he slept on.
But he's well rested- and it will wear off here shortly- so he's fine.
He slumps over to his fridge, opening it and then closing it when he knows he won't be able to stomach anything after just waking up. He's not in the mood for food, either.
He paws at his counter dumbly, trying to figure out what to do today.
He discovers driving around also isn't something he wants.
He thinks about working out, maybe, a routine he is pretty inconsistent with but hey, at least he does it sometimes.
However, the gym of course, wouldn't be open today though. They just don't do Sundays.
Quackity has other options, though, like going out for a jog. His bare feet slide across clean tile and rough rugs before he makes it to his bedroom.
But halfway into pulling down some clothes from his closet, he begins to hear the light, almost feathering sound of rain. He finishes dressing and the weather conditions increase, rain pittering and pattering on his roof without mercy.
Quackity huffs. So much for that idea. Now he'll have to wait the rain out and try to regroup his currently dissipating motivation.
Man, he could do better with that motivation problem.
He mentally shrugs that off for his future self to confront.
But it doesn't come quick enough, because just as it looks like the rain is gone, a strike of lightning passes through the clouds, booming thunder following shortly after. The clouds never part, never fade, and stay stormy.
Quackity ends up forgetting about his exercise plans until it's dark out, stars painting the sky like a flick of a brush, splattered across the dark blue shades that stretch out, for forever maybe. But it's that weird time of day when the sun is still sort of there, like it's hesitantly dipping its toe into a pool, making some stars duller than others. Of course, it's just really a big star though, extremely hot and bright, so it doesn't actually have cold feet.
Despite all the rain received today, the air nearly feels crispy when he breathes it in, stepping outside, one hand on the doorknob, the other adjusting his earbuds.
Quackity shuffles around, locking the door and tucking his keys in the pocket of his jacket, zipping it up.
He sighs into the air, it's not even eight yet, it just gets dark out rather quickly around this time of the year, but it's good enough that he can see just fine for a little jog.
Momentarily he prides himself for keeping the motivation and promise of actually doing this today.
Then, he's off, starting slow as the sun just barely lights up the sidewalk.
He pulls out his phone, looking for the play button on the screen to start up some music, only to be cut short as his arm rams up against something, making him have to scramble for his phone, earbuds being dragged down with the electronic that now sits on the concrete as Quackity hears a huff, looking up to see his neighbor.
"Sorry about that," Quackity says tightly, eyes scanning over the man's features because it's the first time he's actually ever seen him without an obstacle to sway his vision, like distance, like darkness.
He is tall, in fact. Quackity recalls noticing that a while ago. His skin is pale, almost like a pearl with the slight glow of Quackity's phone flashlight that somehow turned on, just at his feet. He's got brown curls that just barely rest above his eyebrows, and Quackity has to blink before realizing the white streak in his hair isn't being made up with a trick of the light and his mind.
And, well, Quackity thinks he...
He might think his neighbor is sort of pretty.
Quackity doesn't linger on it too much, and his neighbor tilts his head, hair falling, as he spares a smile, flashing white perfect teeth. "Oh, no worries. Hopefully, your phone isn't cracked, yeah?"
Quackity swallows, awkwardly looking down at his phone. His neighbor steps back and Quackity picks it up, examining it, flipping it over, gathering the tangly cord of his earbuds, and trying to avoid looking at him as he turns off the flashlight on his phone. He doesn't even know why, but he cannot bring himself to it. "Looks like it's fine."
"Thankfully." His neighbor then claps his hands, making his gaze snap up to see the way his neighbor's brown eyes seem to pour into his skull, upper lip twitching before he blinks like he's shoving something out of sight with the action. "Well, enjoy your... run? I'm guessing."
Quackity nods. And only because he knows it's something his mom would probably want him to do, he smiles politely. "Yes, and enjoy wherever you're headed off to."
"Ah, yes, dinner waits for me. Whatever I stumble upon first," He says with a wave, and Quackity knows the nearest building in the area that serves food would be the small, crumbling red brick building that declares itself a humbly ran restaurant, always smelling of grease and for some reason, lemom oil and gasoline. It's a walk that can easily be done in under fifteen minutes, even faster if he's eager enough.
So now they're parting ways, Quackity out for a night jog and his neighbor to a "restaurant" with way too many items on the menu, at least half of them are fried foods.
Faintly, when Quackity's playlist tumbles into his ears as he moves across the dancing shadows of trees in the wind, he might remember something about the possibility of seeing red in his neighbor's eyes, barely there but simmering nonetheless.
He doesn't think about it for more than three seconds though, because a raccoon suddenly darts across the dirt trail in front of him, eyes appearing yellow in the dark, and absolutely scaring the shit out of him.
It's Monday- the dreadful m-word, and for reasons unknown, Quackity is filled with the same sluggish vibe he got back when he had a job, like he's just sunk back into his uncomfortably stiff office chair, waiting for his body to melt into it so he no longer has the responsibility an employee would, but rather, a chair.
Unfortunate. He really doesn't think he deserves this. Unfair, truly. While being unemployed and done with school, his Mondays shouldn't be experienced like this.
Quackity wonders for a moment what's got him like this. Is it just one of those days as some say?
But then his stomach abruptly rumbles and he realizes he almost hasn't eaten in a day. Not good.
He generously decides to drive past the gas station today, seeing as once lunchtime came around he wisely declared that living off their pizza and bags of pistachios wasn't exactly the best thing to continue.
So now he's in the supermarket, picking out only the freshest-looking peppers, the best fruits, and other items to make himself a late lunch when he gets home.
Now, occasionally he likes to cook, baking far less, but with how hungry he is he picks out something quick and easy. Grilled Cheese.
With his grocery bags in the back, he slowly, nearly thoughtlessly drives up to his house, humming a random tune in the privacy of his car. Again, the light of the sun is eager to leave today, leaving it fairly dim out and Quackity still has yet to eat.
He looks into the rearview mirror, of course, he's a good driver. Always checking before doing something even like backing up into his driveway. As expected, nothing is there.
Until there is, Quackity pauses instantly as he hears a very surprised and distressed shout.
Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.
Quackity's heart nearly stops. There's simply no way, there was nobody there.
He can barely hear his breathing for a moment, so it's a miracle in more than one way when he hears a slightly familiar accent call out.
"Uh, you kind of ran over my coat, d'you mind uh, going back?"
Quackity exhales heavily, letting out a breathless laugh as creeping panic slowly oozes out of him. He takes the car out of reverse, not even daring to look back through the mirror because his brain and breathing still haven't quite finished processing everything.
He ends up parking by the sidewalk, rushing out to see his neighbor wearing a heavy, somewhat shabby trench coat that would reach the floor if he would stop bunching it up in his hands and surveying it with urgency.
Quackity feels so fucking stupid.
And painfully embarrassed, still, he walks up to his neighbor after running over his coat, almost his feet.
He also has bold black sunglasses on, and a baseball cap that hides most of his hair and shadows his face due to the position of the sun.
It is... a very interesting outfit. Definitely adds character. Certainly some personality.
Unfortunately, it doesn't take away the guilt and humiliation crawling and clawing up his throat like a wild animal with a penchant for being unnecessarily violent that's been locked up for too long.
"I'm so, so, so sorry," Quackity says honestly, holding a hand out as his other vaguely points back to his car, face hot. "I swear I didn't even see you. I would never-"
He watches as the man eyes him through his shades, gaze fixed and set, making him self-conscious about his mismatching eyes for the first time in a rather long time. He can feel the unsatisfied thoughts slowly trickle into his head. One brown, normal, and boring. The second is all ghostly, white, and ugly.
He tries hard not to frown, focusing back on his neighbor, who finally drops his coat. But proceeds to flatten a bit out as he shakes his head.
"I get that a lot- the not seeing me bit." He hums, stops, and his brows furrow. Quackity silently, internally, and desperately begs that he isn't about to start yelling at him no matter how much it's something he would do in this situation.
Instead, he just sorta lingers there, probably thinking about how he could have gotten his feet absolutely crushed just moments ago, and Quackity can't help but blurt out a few more apologies.
"Sorry about that," He croaks, awkwardly shuffling on his feet. "Sorry 'bout your coat."
He nods at that. "Somehow it's not torn, that's good."
Quackity winces, unsure of what to even say besides 'I'm sorry' or maybe 'Why aren't you more upset?'. Both of which sound dumb at this point.
Nobody knows how those two got twisted together, formed, and babbled out as a very rushed, uncertain, and not-so-casual, "Don't mind me asking, but what were you doing anyway?"
Quackity, ridiculously so, tenses up at his own question as his neighbor glances around. Then he sighs, nonchalant, far from Quackity.
"I was taking my invisible cat out for a walk," He says evenly, so much so Quackity's uncomfortably rotating mind almost thinks he might be completely serious. Like he honest to God thinks he owns an invisible cat.
To only add to it, he gestures over somewhere on some lawn. "Don't worry, the cat was not even close to being harmed."
That's when Quackity catches the slight smile on his face, even with the given circumstances that have them talking, and the light tone in his voice. He's joking around, Quackity realizes, like an idiot.
And, well, Quackity gives it to him. He offers his best smile, huffing out a laugh and allowing himself to loosen up.
He collects himself carefully, both from laughing and from his little car incident. Still, even fairly composed, Quackity has a weight on his shoulders, making him avoid his neighbor's gaze. "Hey, uhm, again man, terribly sorry, that could have been pretty bad," He says tightly, still he attempts to sound easy and even, straightening his spine. "Is there, like, anything I could do?"
But his neighbor only waves dismissively, scoffing even. "It was just my shoddy trench coat. Not like I said, but I've had past neighbors do worse."
"Oh."
"On purpose." He makes sure to add, effectively leaving Quackity to scramble around to order his thoughts on it all.
So, he says, "That sucks." Dry and short and stupid.
"It does," He says bluntly, overlooking the streets past Quackity's shoulder, pushing his sunglasses a bit further up his nose bridge, lips pursed. "But one can hope for better in a new neighborhood."
If any seconds of silence pass, Quackity doesn't hear it, isn't even there for it. He only sees. Looks at the sharp- like really sharp, it's strange- tooth peeking out. Quackity has seen him smile before; he knows he has at least once, a full set of teeth displayed, and he never recalls seeing any that, uh, well, pointy.
And again, returning prominently, his eyes settle on his neighbors, through dark shades and a shadow, he can still feel the linger of dim yet simmering red, crimson in a way, just below that warm brown color.
And it's gone as soon as the other blinks, lips twitching, then pressing into a thin line. When he smiles it's like the first one Quackity saw, perfect and normal.
Quackity's stomach ever so slightly tightens, but all he does is look down at the hand his neighbor is extending, almost rendering him completely confused until he processes the words he's speaking.
"After two run-ins it only seems reasonable to share," He says. "So here," He flicks his wrist. "I'm Wilbur."
Quackity realizes how embarrassing their first two encounters have been now. Running into him and almost running him over.
Fuck, what a way to do it.
So the least he can do in this situation is to smile politely, shaking his hand, Wilbur's skin being rather cold, and he nods. "I'm Quackity."
The man- Wilbur hesitates for a small moment, then his lips curl up. "How unique."
Quackity nearly ducks away, like he's shy. But he isn't. Well- no yes, shy wouldn't be the right word. He just feels like he needs to quickly dismiss Wilbur's smile from his memory the moment he remembers something about thinking his neighbor is pretty.
He may or may not have convinced himself if he thinks of Wilbur too much, the man will suddenly know everything he's ever thought about him. Which Quackity doesn't want. Not to be mean or too blunt, but he doesn't actually know Wilbur, so he'd rather keep his neighbor in the dark about what he thinks. Whether it be the thought that he's a little odd walking around at night, or he's a little bit beautiful looming around when the sun's gone.
Most of the time the thoughts are joined by the other.
So yes, Quackity thinks Wilbur is weird and pretty.
But it's not a statement he'll think about too often, indulging in his curiosity and wondering what his neighbor might be up to, or how the curls of his hair fall over his forehead in a way that's near perfect.
Okay, that might be too much right now.
Quackity refrains from continuing to explore that path and nods, remembering Wilbur's comment. Then, pausing for a quick moment to calculate a way to say it without being awkward, Quackity fails and awkwardly points to his car and says, "Well, I've got groceries… should probably go unload them."
Quackity restrains from verbally scolding himself because that would be even more awkward. At least, he thinks so.
Luckily he does not have to live through any of it for long as Wilbur blinks, then laughs. "Oh! Oh yeah, don't let me keep you waiting. Have a good evening, Quackity." He waves, stepping to the right, onwards to his own house while Quackity waves back, the smallest smile on his face in an attempt to match him.
"You too."
Okay, that happened. A deep breath in and Quackity's heading back towards his car so he can finally eat some food.
A couple hours later, Quackity's squinting at his reflection under the bright lights in his bathroom. He's just flossing his teeth, looking into the mirror for guidance, but somehow the image of Wilbur's prominent smile flashes in his mind. He thought, back at his driveway, he recalled two very pointy teeth.
Now, no matter how hard Quackity thinks about it, he can't see them. But it does fit Wilbur. The sharp teeth.
Now, not that Quackity hasn't ever done anything weird, but his neighbor just seems to be a jumble of weirdness.
All those thoughts dissipate with a buzz of his phone as Quackity pauses to grab it from the counter sink.
It's his friend, Karl. The only reasons he can really think Karl's calling him for is either because something's really important like his house just burnt down or he ran into someone extremely famous (maybe even got an autograph). Or it's something completely unimportant like a product at the grocery store with a funny name.
He doubts Karl's house is on fire, he hardly uses his stove. Still, Quackity picks up. Shamefully, he realizes it has been a moment or two since he's contacted Karl. So, he tosses his floss in the trash and leans on his counter, you know, since he's so casual and all that.
"Karl?"
First, there's the loud but slightly muffled noises of the phone being handled, then, Karl's voice comes through, and Quackity catches the background.
"Quackity, glad you picked up."
"Yeah, should I be glad you called?" Quackity asks sarcastically, frowning even though Karl can not see him. "Sounds like you're playing video games and I'm trying to go to bed."
"Well, I was. We were taking turns."
Quackity sighs, walking out of the bathroom to flop on the side of his bed, feet planted on the floor. "Look, sorry I haven't called recently, but now isn't the best time to talk about your win streak in Super Mario Bros. I'm tired."
There's a pause on the other end followed by some more shuffling and distant gaming noises. Then, "How'd you know the game?"
"I can hear it."
"Yeah, but-"
"Hey, I'm free all day tomorrow if you wanna walk," Quackity says, glancing around the room and laughing a bit like he has some inside joke with the walls or his words. "I'm unemployed, remember?"
"That's what I'm calling you about, Quackity," Karl states, as if they both already knew that. They didn't both know that. Quackity didn't.
"What do you mean?"
"I think I can help you out with your job hunting." The hunt which Quackity hasn't started. Not that Karl knows. "Do you check your email?"
"Uh, not often." Quackity bites his cheek, deciding to head to the living room where he left his laptop on the couch. "Why?"
"I sent you something," Karl says, Quackity can nearly hear him shrug just from those words. "Think you can at least get yourself a job interview."
Quackity's loading up his email as Karl explains why he thinks the job will suit him, the brightness of his laptop screen supplying as the only source of light save from the hint of light he can see spilling gently from his bedroom. It's fairly dark, and Quackity doesn't know why he was so scared of this as a kid.
But then there's a loud knock at his door, from who knows what, and for a second, with the low hum of his laptop and the drag of his breath, he starts to remember why he feared the dark.
"Yeah, I'll check it out," Quackity says to his phone, distantly picking up Karl's question as he eyes his front door. He more so mumbled, as if whatever's outside will burst down down the door at any noise. But it's not some horror film he lives in, so he grabs his phone, still on call, and walks over to the door.
If this has to be a movie, Quackity's an extra in a slice of life movie (in his opinion, okay) so he has no worries when he opens his door to-
"Wilbur?"
And it's just his neighbor.
"Quackity." Wilbur greets him with a smile that Quackity deep down feels is off, with straight and perfect teeth. A completely normal smile. It doesn't really stick to him though, still, he feels a little like he's being messed with, somewhere inside him he does at least. But right now curiosity is the main thing, back like the wave at the shore, belonging to a beach he hasn't visited in months. So he just stands there, a little lost on why his neighbor is at his door this late.
"You, uh, need something?" He asks, and embarrassingly so with how uncertain he sounds as he looks Wilbur up and down. It's probably the way the moon dips everything in a soft white glow, but Quackity can't deny the way his chest seizes for a moment, cheeks warming up as his eyes take in the sight of Wilbur from his so easy-to-look-at eyes that draw Quackity in, and to the new change of clothes consisting of a loose white button up that certainly test Quackity's integrity with how many of the buttons aren't actually buttoned- oh and some black trousers like he was headed off somewhere and almost everyone on the street wasn't asleep. Quackity still means it when he says Wilbur's pretty. The way he really seems to pour himself into Quackity through just his gaze really adds to it, like he's making sure Quackity won't leave him.
Part of Quackity tells him that's the whole point. To hook the fish, try and reel it in and make sure it's your catch. Quackity honestly isn't a big fan of seafood, nor does he substitute for a late-night dinner.
Maybe alarms should be going off in his head, maybe they shouldn't. In the end it doesn't matter because he's all too easily warmed up as Wilbur holds out an instantly recognizable pattern of strings and beads that faintly glow.
Wilbur huffs, rolling his thumb over the bold Q bead. "I think this is your bracelet." He looks up. "I mean, it has your name on it."
Quackity smiles back like an absolute idiot, nodding with a hum. "It's mine."
"It glows in the dark," Wilbur mumbles, sounding like it's mainly for himself to hear like it's an all-new discovery. "That's pretty cool. And lucky, otherwise I don't know if I would have seen it."
"Thank you." Quackity breathes in as Wilbur steps forward, not because he's afraid, of course. Yet it sends some sort of signal to his brain that makes him stand straighter and meet his gaze. "My friend Karl made it for me."
It's now he remembers he's still on call with Karl, and it's beyond him why he adjusts his hold on his phone and spares a quick glance to put Karl on speaker, who currently sits silent.
Quackity will admit, he hardly knows why he does anything when it comes to Wilbur, regardless of how many times they've talked.
So he wouldn't be able to tell anybody why he blushes when Wilbur reaches forward and barely even touches the side of his wrist as he turns it over, palm up, and sets Quackity's bracelet in his hand. All so smoothly Quackity thinks he might as well have bathed in oil or butter before knocking on his door. (Despite how gross that may be).
And Quackity just knows he'll be thinking about this moment for a while or so when Wilbur's lips turn upwards, the hint of a much too sincere smile on his face, all while still making eye contact and hums. "Well here, I thought I'd better return it."
Quackity takes his bracelet, sliding it onto his wrist and very intently trying to ignore the way it burns where Wilbur's fingers were once on his skin. It's really dumb, he knows, but he is only human.
"Polite of you." He notes, nodding his head once, faintly hearing some shuffling, quickly reminding him of his call just as Wilbur steps closer, all dressed and brown hair one eager hand away from being a mess. Quackity doesn't even think about how just maybe he should think about closing the door as his brain poorly warns him instead of how Wilbur looks right now, what he would look like even closer, and what Quackity himself wants from this man.
"Wilbur…"
He only said his name, but then Wilbur's blinking twice, that sharp, steadily crafted focus gone as Wilbur drags out a breath. Looking away and- okay, wait, is he actually nervous right now?
Quackity has no clue, just notices the bit of hesitation that has Wilbur's lips drawn thin while he taps his fingers on his trousers like he's waiting for something, maybe also irritated.
He might ask. Doesn't know what about. But he might. First, of course, he has to figure out what. Or forget about it and say something completely irrelevant.
"Thanks, again." He decides on saying, snapping Wilbur out of whatever it may be as his neighbor's eyes dart towards him before he oozes out a bit of tension and nods.
"No worries."
Then, very abruptly Quackity hears his phone.
"Are you talking to someone, Quackity?"
Quackity laughs a little, holding up his phone and waving it to show Wilbur who follows it with his eyes as he stands there, completely silent like he nearly forgot phones existed.
"Oh, yeah, I'm talking to my neighbor," Quackity tells Karl, glancing over at Wilbur and shrugging to himself. "Wanna say hi, Karl."
Karl's dragged-out friendly hello carries through as Wilbur opens his mouth, looks away, and shuts it.
"You're on a call?" He asks.
"Indeed. Almost forgot. Quackity answers. "My friend got me some job interview."
He hears Karl talk to somebody else briefly, hears his name during it, and then hears a giggle. "Quackity," Karl says cheerily. "Don't tell me that man is staying the night with you." Quackity freezes, brows furrowed as he thinks of what to say. Karl beats him to it. Even leans closer to his phone. "I'm hoping you've taken him to dinner before the bedroom-" And he hangs up in what may be the quickest way he ever has.
Fucking hell.
It was loud, so incredibly loud. Quackity doesn't even have to look at Wilbur that long to know he most definitely heard that too. Doesn't even doubt that Wilbur can clearly see the pink stained across his face as they both look at each other wordlessly. He almost wonders if Wilbur can hear him mentally screaming as he panics, laughs, and steps back.
He forces out a very awkward laugh. "Sorry." Then reaches for the door. "I should probably get to bed."
It's all a mix of scolding embarrassment and burning want so yeah, Quackity doesn't think, just does as he attempts to shut the door (and maybe move to a new neighborhood) until Wilbur shouts his name, almost urgently like he's in danger, and leaves Quackity holding his breath as he waits and stares at the man in his doorway.
A beat passes, Wilbur must be computing a sentence, and Quackity aches for a hole to suck him up into blackness and nothingness.
Wilbur's shoulders drop, he bites his cheek and swallows. "Goodnight, Quackity," He says.
So, tightly, Quackity says "Night, Wilbur." before closing the door and plummets into about a million different thoughts after he locks the door.
It's unfair how Quackity's dreams that night were constantly haunted by taunts of brown curls falling over red eyes and sharp teeth. But either way, he's got an interview tomorrow, so if it's the only way he sleeps, then he lets it happen.
Quackity wakes up and makes sure to wear his best tie with his smoothest dress shirt, each button carefully handled with as Quackity eyes his only fancy shoes that sit by his bedroom door, then back at his outfit in the reflection of his bathroom mirror.
Hopefully they like dark blue, because that's basically the only color his nicer clothes seem to exist in. His tie is a white stark contrast to his darker shirt, a fake gold watch on just in case, and some plain old dress pants. He momentarily wonders if his black beanie clashes with the outfit, thinks about if it'll even help him appear more put together and absolutely worthy for the job, and takes it off at the last second.
So now he also has to brush his hair, mumbling something to himself about first appearances as he fixes up his hair so it looks relatively nice the way it barely tickles his shoulders.
Quackity sighs, does a once over of his overall look, and jokingly decides to wink at himself in the mirror with a kind "good luck" between a smile.
Just to lift moods, you know, bring in the positive energy and such.
Because he has a very important job interview today, Quackity does not dwell on any memories that may or may not arise as he reaches for the front door knob, mind reaching back to last night.
He snaps right back into focus, making sure his door is locked and there's no tall man waiting for him (obviously there isn't, and not only because Wilbur does not in any way thrive in the morning, he basically doesn't exist, but also because that was a one time thing that was only the result of Quackity dropping something).
He still has a couple of hours until the job interview, though, so he isn't actually leaving just yet. He really needs a nice morning walk to start bringing himself together with competent confidence.
Of course, there is no Wilbur waiting at his door but rather a couple metres away, a lazy pair of sweats matched with an equally black jacket and those same bold sunglasses.
Quackity huffs, stepping over to him and ignoring the way his feet feel heavier when he does so. "Hey, you look like the neighborhood theif."
Wilbur smiles faintly. "And you look rather professional today," He says evenly, but there's that undertone of amusement Quackity has been noticing. "What is the occasion?"
"Job interview." Quackity answers and he has no clue whether to be proud or not. Because he has admitted he's unemployed (but Wilbur doesn't know he has been sucking off his friend's money for a while as well, even if only a little) but at the same time he has got an opportunity to change that around and get a job. Then again, unless Wilbur works at home, Quackity is pretty sure Wilbur is unemployed as well. Still, the confliction simmers for a moment as he bites his cheek.
Wilbur just nods.
"You clean up nice, Quackity." He compliments, a tilt of his head and a shameless smile of appreciation, which makes Quackity pause. So he likes his outfit, supposedly.
Quackity blushes, looking into Wilbur's shades and grinning. "Thank you."
He looks around and shoves the clog in his throat that dares to unplug and let loose all his thoughts deep down so it's secure and shrugs. "I'll see you around?"
"Yes," Wilbur says simply, then, when Quackity walks past him he whips around. "Good luck."
Quackity, of course, looks back and thanks him again before turning around and starting a nice strolling pace down the sidewalk.
Wilbur isn't outside on his porch or standing oddly in the middle of the grass with no explanation when Quackity comes back, so he doesn't have any reason to stall as he gets in his car.
Then he is off, first stopping somewhere to get a meal. He really hopes everything sways in his favor today.
