Wilbur was not having a good day.

It just wasn't his day, maybe. Nor was it yesterday or the week before or even ages ago when he got exiled from his own country.

He didn't think about that though. Not today.

Today Wilbur had his hair up.

Why, someone might ask? Well, it was him trying to have a better day.

See, spending thirteen years in an eerie train station with nothing to do but sit in misery slowly turned into a sensory deprivation tank that just wasn't actually a tank. It was an awful, terrible, awful train station.

(But he was not there, he was not at a train station, he had to remind himself)

So, going oh so long without being able to feel and not really have anything to see (he kept his eyes hidden in the palms of his hands for sometimes days on the end, especially when he was cryin- no) and he also didn't really want to hear those train tracks anymore so he kinda somehow blocked out a lot of sounds too. So he was kinda out of it when he was revived.

He had gotten better, a bit. The sun wasn't as bright as it was before (in a good way, in the it was no longer blinding him way) and each sound wasn't as loud in his ear anymore. He no longer winced when he closed the door because of how intensely it rang in his ear, or how the wind sounded. However, touch. That was a problem.

Especially on days like these. Oh days like these were so irritatingly painful.

He could feel even the slightest touch against his skin. Even when his hair hovered over his forehead, he could feel it and his brain would only focus on it with the sort of concentration you'd see in somebody working with red stone. As if it would help to know the hair was there. Which it didn't help, it only made him uncomfortable. So that was why he had his hair pulled back with a small rubber band today.

That was why he was also wrapped up in a blanket almost concerningly tight and doing nothing more but trying to get rid of his capability to feel anything ever again.

It almost hurt the way he could feel his jeans rub against his skin, or his nails skim over his palm whenever he tried to do something and both of his hands got too close.

He wanted to avoid all of this. So he didn't even bother attempting to brush his hair a second time this morning after finding out that both the long, long lack of brushing his hair made it so intensely tangled but his stupid sensitivity made it extra painful.

Even now, just sitting here, his knee itched because his jeans weren't exactly touching it, but close enough that it tingled. Or how he could just feel certain hairs on his head and the part of the blanket that was turned the wrong way (the not soft side).

Wilbur absolutely hated it.

But he still tried to survive the day by sitting here, hair pulled back into a small little man bun and wrapped up in a thick soft blanket, very, very tightly.

Normally, when it was this bad he'd go and find a distraction that was strong enough for his mind to not fully focus on the sensations that bothered him but the other ones, like what he was seeing and hearing and sometimes even tasting.

Like Las Nevadas. That place was full of distractions.

He had been sneaking food from the shopping center one day when he was extra sensitive, hoping the great flavor of the pizza in his hand was strong enough and then later on he'd sit there and listen to all the cars and people that passed by, the sound of tires against the road and shoes against the sidewalk. Then he waited for the night to come so he could take a walk while enjoying the view of the night sky, a great assortment of stars and city lights.

But his plans were interrupted.

By Quackity of course.

Wilbur grimaced at the thought of it. He wasn't even bothering Quackity. In fact, he swore that he didn't know he'd be over there, he was just trying to enjoy his life a bit, make it seem not so bad and irritating. But Quackity chased after him so Wilbur ran off only to be kicked out once more.

Sure he was still in Las Nevadas, a country he had been rejected from when he asked to join. But he wasn't doing anything bad, Quackity simply put that assumption up to Wilbur's face and poked his chest with it.

But in all open honesty, when Wilbur remembered the feeling of running while being chased- or walking under the moon as Quackity led him out of the county-

Honestly, he thought he welcomed Quackity's insults and strictness over this stupid 'over the top' sensitivity bullshit.

Wait-

Wait. That was it.

Wilbur only spent a second or two debating the cons and pros of this plan before he got up, tossing the blanket to the side as his mind raised his levels of energy so he would actually be able to walk around due to the desperate hope of finding a distraction.

So he was going to Las Nevadas, right up towards Quackity. His home of distractions.

Even if he had already been explicitly told to do the opposite and wasn't exactly welcomed in the country because the one thing was that he wasn't actually any harm to Las Nevadas no matter what Quackity thought or what anybody believed.

Wilbur was simply a man in need of something that would take his mind off certain things or sensations for a while. Not a threat. Plus, he was done with all the threats and traitor crap from now on, seriously. He had thought about it some time after he was revived and he didn't really need to think about it anymore because he had come to the conclusion that since he was given a second chance and pulled out of the hell of limbo, he might as well try and enjoy his life this time.

And creating a country and having it taken away from you to then descend into a mad spiral while becoming a threat to not only yourself but ones you care about was most certainly not enjoyable.

So Wilbur shuffled into his room and slipped of his sleeping shirt seeing as he didn't change since waking up (yes he fell asleep in jeans before getting into comfier pants) and into a simple grey sweater that although had black and white patches of random fabric to make up for the holes, was one of his favorites.

So he put it on and ruffled up his hair before patting it down in a specific way as he looked in the mirror of his small bathroom before walking out and he made sure to wear his only pair of boots before walking out the door.

The small concrete patio of his humble little house was littered with dying or already dead leaves, the brown and orange colors being ignored as he stepped down three steps into the grass that, due to the squeak of his boots, was wet as a result of a good amount of rain.

Oak trees stood all around his house, one particularly big one branching out above his roof with thick and healthy wood.

He took a breath of the fall misty morning air and made his way across the limited amount of land he had. In a short time he was back on the road to Las Nevadas, this time heading towards the country instead of being insistently escorted out.

The familiar dull thud of his boots against concrete filled up his ears as the crisp air filled his lungs, the sun's golden warmth blanketing him ever so faintly.

For just a moment he felt satisfied, not just simply alive and breathing. But more than that. Like the light of the sky and the earth beneath him was purposefully placed there just for him to walk and he was placed here too.

It was simple things like these that Wilbur appreciated, the small things that most take for granted and hardly think about because it's an everyday normal thing.

Like the people that hustled around in Las Nevadas, spending their money and selling their goods. Did any of them even stop to ponder over the fact that they weren't dead and they were here, interacting with others and the world around them? Did any single one of them look at the ground beneath them, no matter what it was made out of, and just think they were lucky because it was there and the air was breathable?

Wilbur wasn't so sure even a quarter of them did. Las Nevadas citizens weren't those types of people in general, let alone the grateful of life kind.

Most of them found happiness and pleasure in things like spending or receiving money, drugs and alcoholic drinks, sex, and most definitely climbing above others.

Now that's not to say everyone in Las Nevadas was like that- nor was it to say that Las Nevadas wasn't a kind place.

It's just these people had priorities. How hard they worked to maintain them, however? That depended on the citizen from what Wilbur had observed.

He had mingled with them lots, most definitely much more than Quackity was aware of.

Which oh yeah that was why he was here.

Wilbur turned away from the busy streets of the country into the ones behind all of the business- well the legal ones. He knew that there was some sort of drug dealer back here, he's never met him though, didn't plan to.

Wilbur wondered how much Quackity knew about the citizens of his country. Was he as strict with them as he was with Wilbur? He doubted it seeing as a literal dealer was walking around. Oh not to mention the occasional fight that happens right outside of some bar ever so often.

It wasn't completely normal but it wasn't crazy strange for those to happen and as far as Wilbur knew the president hadn't done anything about it yet.

Instead, the president was probably sitting in his office signing papers about who knows what, hunched over that desk of his with either a grumpy or focused expression, maybe even both.

Wilbur couldn't help but think that there was most certainly a disappointed frown waiting for him as soon as he walked in.

So Wilbur stealthy slipped into the grand casino, the sun pouring in through the tinted windows and the sudden warmer air made him roll up his sleeves to his elbows, the low chatter of workers numbly carrying on in the background. They paid him no mind though, so he was easily able to make his way over towards the employees' only door and down another hallway and right up to the golden-lined fancy door that only hyped somebody him up for a second before he remembered it simply covered up the small spiral staircase that then lead to Quackity's office.

Wilbur huffed in annoyance but pushed the door open and started trudging up the stairs. Thankfully there weren't too many steps so he still had a reasonably calm breath when he finally made it to the dark oak double doors he knew.

He couldn't help the small smile that pulled on his lips, nor the deep breath he took before he grabbed the golden door knob of the right door and swung it open.

It wasn't actually some difficult journey and long complicated adventure but Wilbur still felt the reward that he got from seeing Quackity sitting there, sure enough with a quilled pen in his hand with eyes set on a stack of papers.

And just like he expected, Quackity put a halt to his repetitional actions and glanced up at Wilbur, about to look back down before he realized who he was looking at and frowned.

"What the fuck." It wasn't even a question at this point. None of this was even out of the ordinary. Wilbur's eyes flickered all across the room before he tilted his head, lips pursed downwards.

"Well hello to you too, Quackity," He said dryly, the fake disinterest of being here only lasted so long before Wilbur sighed and walked over to his desk. "So, how's Las Nevadas, Mr president?" He asked and although his tone was full of mockery Quackity didn't mention it like he normally would.

Instead, huffed in annoyance which was most certainly normal that Wilbur could hear the noise any time he thought of it, leading to him sinking into the chair across from Quackity's as he got comfortable.

"Lucky for me, I don't have to tell you anything no matter what you ask," Quackity said curtly, propping his elbow on the table as he twirled his fancy pen between his fingers before gracefully lowering back to the paper. "So you might as well leave."

Wilbur held back any comment, seeing as the first thing on his tongue was "Well I came here just for you" because that sounded odd and outlandish to the two of them. Sure he was here just to be in Quackity's presence. But it wasn't because Quackity was some great guy. It was only because he was a great distraction. Which Wilbur needed.

So he adjusted his seating position, back straighter, and smile wider. "I don't think I want to just yet."

"Why? You aren't getting shit from me," Quackity snapped back almost instantly like he knew Wilbur was going to say something like that. Truth was, he probably did know Wilbur was going to. But Wilbur knew he was going to question him as well.

"Oh I know," Wilbur said calmly, his motions smooth as he reached a hand across the table while he stretched just to get up in Quackity's face. Then, he leaned back in his seat, throwing one leg over the other as he grinned lazily up at Quackity. "But I'd still like to try."

"You relaxing in my seat doesn't seem like trying," Quackity said with some rather harsh bluntness that Wilbur only stifled a laugh at.

"My bad."

"For what? Walking in here uninvited or refusing to leave?"

"Oh, no," Wilbur said plainly. "I forgot to clarify what exactly I was trying to do."

Quackity tilted his head ever so slightly as his pissed-off look faltered and Wilbur tried to stop the smile that pulled at his lips because hey, he wasn't feeling awful right now. He was just looking at one confused Quackity.

"What?" Quackity asked and it was sorta funny at the genuine uncertainty in his voice. But only sorta funny. So Wilbur didn't laugh, of course.

"I don't want anything from you that you haven't already given, Quackity," Wilbur said confidently, meeting Quackity's mismatching eyes for a mere moment until Quackity shook his head with a chuckle.

"You're an odd one," Quackity muttered before he picked up a stack of papers and fixed them up so they were placed neatly on his desk and he stood up. "But you're also an annoying one. So I'm gonna ask you one last time to leave my office."

"Why now?" Wilbur questioned, an over-exaggerated frown on his face that was matched with Quackity's eye roll that Wilbur had never thought about ever. Unless he had. He just noted things about anybody, the little habits they have, the little things they did. He just kept onto those.

Like the way Quackity's face scrunched up a bit.

Then the man groaned with frustration as he waved his hands around. "Why now? Wilbur, I asked you to leave right around when you first walked in here. Not only that, but I'm trying to leave this office and I can't have you in here when I'm not," He told him, pointing an accusing finger right at Wilbur and all. Then he pinched his nose bridge. "Really, though, you shouldn't be in here at all."

With that Quackity trudged over to the door as Wilbur attempted to shrug off his words.

Wilbur paused, slowly getting up from his seat reluctantly. "Why? Aren't citizens allowed to speak with their president? Or…?"

Quackity whipped around, a deadpan expression plastered across his face. "You're not a citizen, Soot."

Wilbur eyed the door with dread, he didn't exactly want to have come here just to get sent back. But really, wasn't that going to happen either way? Quackity wasn't a fan of his company so whether he needed Quackity to distract him for a bit or not wasn't something Quackity would ever consider, even if Wilbur told him (which he never would in his life), so yeah, he'd get sent back to his own small house next to the country.

So although Quackity was correct, although Wilbur was not a citizen and he wasn't technically allowed in the country and Quackity didn't care… Wilbur didn't want to say goodbye to Quackity's presence yet.

He didn't enjoy the idea of walking back home and letting his thoughts and stupid sensitivity swallow him whole for the rest of the day. Not unless somehow just talking to Quackity for only so long had done the trick. He wasn't entirely sure though.

Wilbur knew it was much easier to breathe when he was around Quackity rather than aimlessly walking around Las Nevadas– and that was in terms of he was able to let go more.

Sure Quackity didn't like Wilbur at all, but he still tolerated him from time to time. Not every visit immediately starts with Quackity telling to Wilbur to piss off. Because of that Wilbur could still push Quackity like he wanted to, he just had to be accepting of the fact that Quackity wouldn't waste any time pushing back.

However, that was no problem. Wilbur learned that ages ago and more than accepted it. He appreciated it. It was a lot more entertaining to have real banter and conversations than to have a one-sided argument of sorts. So in Quackity's case, Wilbur only found it fun to mess around because he knew two simple things: Quackity could handle it and Quackity would return it.

It even seemed to be a little game sometimes, if Wilbur was honest for just one second.

So justifiably, of course Wilbur went to Quackity.

Who was apparently calling Wilbur's name.

Wilbur heard it a second time along with a snap of fingers and blinked. Quackity was still standing by the door, hand in mid-snap before he noticed Wilbur and dropped his hand at his side.

"Come on, the door's over here," Quackity said dryly and for some reason it took Wilbur a moment to realize Quackity was talking to him. "Not on the floor, dumbass."

Wilbur scoffed at the name as he dragged one foot in front of the other. Maybe he might have spaced out back there.

Embarrasing.

Maybe he should leave.

When Quackity locked the door as soon as Wilbur stepped outside of the office a sudden shift sets in Wilbur's demeanor unwillingly as he shuffled his feet awkwardly.

He didn't want to leave yet, right?

Yeah, but he also didn't want to be spacing out in front of Quackity. That wasn't great.

Did Quackity even realize it? Wilbur tried not to think about it, because humiliation on any level wasn't something he could exactly handle too well right now. Just the words "Oh yeah I started thinking too much about you." didn't seem like something either of them wanted to hear.

Even though Wilbur had already heard it in the unfortunate space of his mind.

Wilbur glanced over at Quackity with lips pressed into a thin line, internally debating the likely hood of Quackity letting Wilbur follow him around for a bit until he realized he was debating the likely hood of Quackity letting Wilbur follow him around. So next was how high were the chances of Quackity making him leave Las Nevadas.

"Now's the part where you leave," Quackity said, interrupting the debate with a sarcastic tone. Wilbur waited for Quackity to say anything else, expecting something but all he did was gesture for Wilbur to start moving. "Out of the casino and out of my country. You've had you're fun."

No not really.

But at least the debate had been settled.

Wilbur's feet dragged themselves on in front of the other and soon he was back to the day Quackity was escorting him out of Las Nevadas. It just wasn't as dark and cold this time.

He probably would have argued about this if he didn't feel so off. He couldn't put a finger on it but right now his mind wasn't able to properly form any smart remarks or any good ways to start some casual bickering. His brain could only focus on so much.

Wilbur didn't even notice how far they'd already made it until Quackity was telling him to think before he considered coming into his country again, the same old stuff he's heard before.

Wilbur wondered if he should just say something, make Quackity pause right as he was about to turn away but Wilbur came up short.

He didn't even say goodbye as Quackity started walking away. To be fair, nor did Quackity.

Instead, Wilbur went back inside his house, lucky he wasn't bothered by an extremely uncomfortable itch. So talking to Quackity did end up working. This was a mini victory for Wilbur because he could manage to go to the kitchen and finally get himself something to eat without being so occupied with how everything felt.

And apparently, pondering over whether he should have left or not wasn't something he needed to do next time because clearly Quackity would figure that out for him whether he wanted Quackity to or not.

Which was good to know because Wilbur didn't plan on staying out of Las Nevadas any time soon.