Dust And Dirt May Build Up But We've Got A Breath To Blow

by Simplevanquish

It only gets deeper because Wilbur likes Quackity. As in more than a friend. He wants to have Quackity, to hold him, to feel his heart against his chest and be able to love him. But he can't, because his hands have gained some dirt. Or, Wilbur and Quackity's relationship over the past three years up until they meet Qs parents

Wilbur sighs, trying to force down the anxiety crawling up his neck.

Of course, Quackity is here to help. His friend places a firm on his shoulder in an attempt to provide comfort and reassurance.

"They're just my family," Quackity says, wise with all his twenty years. It's the truth, it's just them and Wilbur, and they're just friends no matter how many hours Wilbur spends staring into mismatching eyes and dreaming of Quackity's smile.

It's just... he's never really been the type of person parents want their kid to hang out no matter what age they may be. And it's worse because Quackity's really fucking great. He's in college, he's smart, he's talented and has such a promising future it beams, obvious in the twinkle in his eyes that he'll do something great. Be someone great.

Wilbur is literally far from any of those things. He couldn't handle college, dropped out, and the only possible contender he has for skill is his knowledge in the world of geography. But nowadays everyone has a phone to tell them everything so what does it matter.

Wilbur's not really anything like Quackity.

He isn't as kind and level-headed as Quackity. He seriously only recently stopped smoking with the help of Quackity and the support group his friend introduced him to. He doesn't have that twinkling gaze Quackity does.

And he really doesn't want to take it away from him.

So, yes, he's stressed. Worrying about what Quackity's parents will think of the people he hangs out with, what they think of Wilbur and his black ripped jeans.

It only gets deeper because Wilbur likes Quackity. As in more than a friend. He blushes at any smile and compliment, he smiles back with adoration. He wants to have Quackity, to hold him, to feel his heart against his chest and be able to love him.

But he can't, because his hands have gained some dirt over the course of his twenty-five years, and he doesn't want to leave a stain on Quackity, near perfect and bright. He doesn't want to leave anything too permanent.

So he straightens his posture and puts on a polite smile as Quackity introduces him as a good friend, his jaw hurts, he hopes Quackity's mom can't see past his weak crescent shaped eyes when she looks over him while he's forcing the crinkles on his face. Because he knows this is all he gets.

Wilbur is selfish, the way he wants more and allows himself to wallow and mope because he can't have any. He's selfish the way he mentally grimaces when Quackity's hand leaves its position on his shoulder, replacing his flannel and holding his mom's hand as he steps into the house.

Wilbur swallows, feeling uncomfortably cold, alone with his needs, and steps in with the unease of a sinner in a church.

Just, in a church he'd be accepted by admitting to those sins and well, actually following the religion. Or something similar. He can't exactly think straight about everything right now.

Here, he gets the stabbing thought that he's secretly being judged as he walks in and struggles not to look at Quackity's arms, his hair, his lips.

It's unfair, discouraging, and painful that Quackity repeats the title of friend to his father, and Wilbur can hear the certainty, like he's never once thought about being more. Like he's never seen Wilbur the same way, ever.

Wilbur's heart is barely floating in a bottomless lake colored an awfully dark blue. Part of it does have to deal with trying to get through entire weeks on top of weeks without a single pack of cigarettes to go through. It's still hard, but he's so much better, he has genuine hope he can make it without smoking forevermore, of course, with Quackity by his side.

He still remembers the first time Quackity told him he hates smoking. It was the third time they spoke, back when Quackity was only a semester into college and had caught Wilbur lighting a quick one, just a couple meters away from the sad and dull gas station he had been working at.

Wilbur held the cigarette between his fingers, blinking up at the sky. No sun, no white puffy clouds to make shapes out of. It was getting darker by the minute but he just had to smoke real quick so he could actually get through the rest of his shift. There weren't many stars either. It was a little cold, too, even in his coat, and the world was basically begging him to light the cancer stick with how lonely everything felt right now.

With the cigarette between his lips, Wilbur used one hand to shield the warmth of the lighter from the frost of the late night, and let himself lean against the brick wall as he inhaled like he needed to or the ground beneath him would crumble to pieces as his Land Lord pushed him into the newly formed hole with a paper reading Eviction Notice in bold lettering.

Because back then it really did feel like that.

He hadn't even gotten to tuck his lighter away before he heard slowly approaching footsteps, quiet and dragged. They were coming from behind him, further back in the alleyway, and he turned his head to faintly see the short figure of Quackity, recognizing him only after a moment of short-lived hesitancy.

He had seen him a couple times before, once at the gas station and the other through a chain of friends. He nearly waved, but then he heard a small sniffle, something out of devastating defeat, and yet another sad sniffle before he realized Quackity wasn't in a very good mood.

In fact, now with his full attention, he could see the hunched over posture Quackity had, like he was waiting for the cruel world to swallow him with each step he took, head facing down and hidden by his sky blue hoodie, his dark hair, and the mass of shadows that always seemed to follow a human. He saw Quackity raise a sleeved hand to his face, and it dawned on him that Quackity was crying.

Quackity was a good person, more than Wilbur, so Wilbur felt a strange need to call his name and check up on him. He normally didn't do this. Only to some select friends. But he had already said it, already caught Quackity's attention as the young man stopped dead in his tracks and looked up, and Wilbur could practically feel the embarrassment radiating from him.

But Quackity quickly shoved it down and forced out a laugh. "Oh, Wilbur, right?"

"You got it."

Quackity had hesitated before stepping forward, hands shoved into the pocket of his hoodie. "What are you, erm." He paused again, looking around and gesturing to their surroundings. "What are you doing here?"

"Smoke break," Wilbur said simply, he eyed Quackity carefully, then tossed away a bit of concern as he held up a hand. "Do you want one?"

"Oh." Quackity blinked at him, eyes glossy, reflecting the moon, and sighed with a kind shake of his head. "I can't."

Wilbur scoffed. "You're eighteen, right?" He asked, earning a silent nod. "Isn't that allowed?"

"They changed the legal age half a year ago," Quackity said with a mumble, making Wilbur slightly confused before he remembered, oh crap, they did, and he instantly stuffed his pack of cigarettes back in pocket, hoping Quackity understood he would no longer be offering him any.

"Right." He smiled, and he just barely noticed the grimace that flashed on Quackity's face as he took a drag. He huffed, pouting. "What?"

"Smoking's gross. It'll kill you, too."

Quackity had said simply that, honest and blunt, stubborn and right in his belief, so much so, he didn't care if Wilbur took any offense to it.

Wilbur didn't, he didn't care. Not that night or the many more to come.

But he wishes he did, wishes he stopped earlier, and reminds himself how grateful he is to be here, smoke free, in the present.

But here, Wilbur laughed, light and airy as he shrugged. "Glad to hear you're on the right path." He was grinning, even if his voice was a little sour, the bitterness on his tongue. Not directed at Quackity, of course, but to himself, deep down he knew it.

Quackity shuffled on his feet, watched as Wilbur breathed in all the smoke, nicotine, all the loud stupid thoughts in his head, and exhaled to let it all out like he didn't know it stayed in his body, never actually leaving despite the white and grey smoke drifting out of him, escaping his lungs, but depositing all the negatives into his heart.

"You could be on it too." Quackity whispered, eyes instantly darting away from Wilbur's when he looked at him. Wilbur didn't judge him for it, didn't even respond, just held his cigarette as Quackity somehow got even quieter. "And who ever said I was."

That was when Wilbur's mind hit him with the image of a sulking Quackity drifting towards him like a lost mind, and Wilbur hummed. "You were crying."

Quackity coughed.

Wilbur waved it off, hoping to dismiss any of the humiliation Quackity was feeling. "Don't worry, it's fine. I cried last night," He said, faintly feeling regret with his confession as he slowly realized Quackity was making him awfully honest. He hardly even knew him, yet here Wilbur was, trying to make him feel better.

Quackity was stubborn though, brows furrowing. But he was also hurt and his eyes were starting to tear up again, cheeks red from his previous session. Wilbur clicked his tongue. "So what are you doing here, sadly moping about?" He asked, it nearly surprised him when Wilbur heard the soft round edge seeping into his tone. But he didn't linger on it.

Instead he watched attentively as Quackity bit his lip, considering the idea of answering. It was obvious he was holding back from giving himself completely away, even though it was not necessarily what Wilbur was asking. He also seemed to hardly look behind him before stopping himself, turning his head to the side and Wilbur distantly noted how Quackity's side profile was better than his own, in his opinion. His nose looked weird from the side, okay from the front. But there were no faults he counted in Quackity's.

Just eyes that were practically made for Wilbur to read. He frowned, gaining some sense of knowledge.

"I'm assuming you came from your college campus?" He titled his chin up, humming as he scrunched his face up and looked out into nothing. "But as far as I'm aware you shouldn't have any classes today, especially not this late."

When he catched Quackity's expression from the corner of his eye, the tiniest sensation of victory rung through a dark corner hidden in his chest, because he sure was correct, Quackity almost looked upset because of it, too.

And also at something- somebody else, he found out, as Quackity grumbled at the ground. But Wilbur heard it anyway.

"That's what I told my mom."

Wilbur's interest was raised, crossing an arm to hold his own waist. "Not to intrude, but how is your mother, Quackity?"

He knew that someway it was a bit rude to ask, but then Quackity scowled at him and he was entirely certain it was more than just 'a bit'. Guilt never reached him though, a lot of things never did.

"Fine." He answers through a clenched jaw. "She's fine. Prick."

And Wilbur decided to lay off, a smart move. He knew what all those strong emotions could do if he continued to press Quackity. He didn't even want to genuinely upset him, but the college student happened to already be frustrated. So Wilbur sighed, taking another drag.

"Okay, I'll stop asking" He said, hands up with an honest promise that only slightly got rid of the frown plastered on Quackity's face. "Just get home safe."

"I will," He stated confidently, the edges of his lips curling upwards and he scoffed like Wilbur was a ridiculously stupid, clueless man. "Plus, if anyone tried anything, my parents would smack them t-" Quackity stopped, a lost look of anger with nowhere to go, a looming sadness stretched across his face as his lashes fluttered. "Also they're waiting for me. So I should probably go."

Wilbur refused to let himself pity him, denied any sort of pull in his heart at the sight of Quackity and just how painfully conflicted he looked. So he inhaled some more smoke and shoved those thoughts away. Then, he glanced up at Quackity and nodded.

"No worries, I got to get back to work anyway," He said, pushing off the wall and putting the cigarette out with the use of the wall, letting it drop onto the ground. Quackity walked away after, wordlessly, and so did Wilbur.

A week later, when Wilbur next saw Quackity, he supposedly was more aware of his offensive actions then he had previously thought, as he bought him an energy drink and a bag of candy, giving it to him with nervous hands. Nervous for what? He wasn't even sure, but Quackity's grateful smile made it better.

And Wilbur sees it again, right now, present as Quackity's dad tells them he has a bag of chocolates that will wait in the fridge for the two of them to share on their drive back. Quackity's parents had moved into the house his abuela owned after she had passed away, where Quackity stayed back in the city, still attending college and still unknowingly making Wilbur question everything he's ever done.

Wilbur has actually met Quackity's nana before, shyly interrupting his friend's phone call and being welcomed to join. She was sweet, truly was, and Wilbur hopes that when he dies, he dies as happy as her. Thinking about all of this, Wilbur's eyes drift over to the room she lived in, door closed. Nobody stays in there, no guests or anything, all of her stuff is in there. Quackity once said it was sort of to keep the memories, he said it was hard to explain, and he said no one really went in there save for all the times his mom prays in that room, on her knees in front of her mother's bed, speaking Spanish into her hands.

For a moment Wilbur feels sad, sinks in it, but Quackity's mother snaps him out of it with a wide smile, reminding him life goes on and he's still here, alive, and should listen to Quackity's grandma and enjoy himself.

He tries, it's easy to act like he is, moving into their open living room and standing by the couch as Quackity takes a seat next to his mother, his father patting Wilbur on the back.

"We are so happy to meet you," He says with a toothy smile, quickly moving his dark hair away from his face. Quackity definitely got that volume and wave of hair from him. His father slicks it back though, and chuckles. "We have heard so much 'bout you."

Wilbur huffs, holding back blush as he eyes Quackity who just shrugs, and everyone's attention switches to his mother. "Yes, Quackity has told us many stories. We could not wait to finally meet our lovely boy's friend."

Quackity groans as his mom reaches to hold his cheek and rub his shoulder, leaning away with a poorly fake tone of annoyance. "Mamá, por favor." He waves her hand away lightly, obviously not even trying.

Wilbur finds himself smiling at that, it's sweet to see, and the fondness in his heart grows. To see Quackity like this, to see his whole family like this. It warms his heart, brings hope, and he remembers a time when things were a bit more difficult, and he gets all sappy inside at the effort they've put in.

Even though things still aren't perfect, even though Wilbur watches this as an ignored part of his mind aches, begging him to scroll through his contacts list and at least pretend like he can hit the call button one day, at least act prepared to hear a voice he hasn't heard in over a year.

Despite it all, Quackity's family is here, joyous and capable, and Wilbur's happy for him.

He's happy for him, proud of him, secretly in love with him. He's also only gotten better at reading him. So when Quackity's mother asks about college, the way his lashes flutter, a complex look deep in his eyes, only Wilbur seems to notice.

"Good," Quackity says. Wilbur holds his tongue for a moment, carefully watching with curiosity as she smiles at Quackity.

"Good." Is all that his father repeats before facing him fully, tilting his head. "Nothing more?"

Wilbur's eyes shift around the room as a beat passes and Quackity shrugs. "I mean, yeah, speaking simple terms I've got a low B, and the rest are A s. So."

"Stellar, as usual." Wilbur blurts, he wonders if they think he doesn't talk enough, how much they know about him truly, if they are aware of his massive crush on their son that makes him look like a complete idiot at times.

But then he feels slightly ignored and he can't decide which is better as Quackity's mother furrows her brows and smiles. "Which class?" She asks, her voice is slow though, soft all around, yet an edge never leaves Quackity's own even when he laughs like it'll get rid of the question.

"Some science based one." He dismisses and it's all so eerily similar to previous conversations Quackity has explained to Wilbur, ranting on about college and slipping in hints of what it's like to live with his parents.

Even more so as Quackity's father lets out a laugh deep from his chest and sets a hand on his shoulder. "Oh so it's no worries. We all know Quackity will end up acing it anyway, he is justthegenius in the science, yes?"

Wilbur nods, hoping Quackity doesn't take it down his throat like he always does with his parents' words, nearly choking himself. And faintly thinks about whether Quackity also happens to be thinking about their past moments, talking about nothing and everything, highs and lows and the neutral stuff in between Quackity apologizes for saying because it's "boring shit" even though Wilbur has never had a problem with it absolutely ever. Like all of a sudden he's there as their eyes meet.

"Can I wear this?"

That was the first thing Wilbur heard as soon as he stepped into his flat, making him jump as he elbowed the door while whipping around.

To his absolute utter confusion and slight relief, his eyes landed on Quackity, half standing, a leg on Wilbur's couch as he held out one of Wilbur's favorite short sleeved shirts.

Wilbur did a once over, taking in the mess of Quackity's hair, beanie only covering some of it. For some reason, the shirt he was currently wearing was stained, terribly so, the remains of a poor attempt to rub something red off.

Quackity still waited for an answer, clothes a mess and somehow in Wilbur's flat.

"How the hell did you get in?" Wilbur asked, entirely lost as he slowly closed the door, not bothering to lock it just yet as he grimaced, heart suddenly thumping up to his throat.

Quackity, however, just smiled sweetly. "James gave me a key to borrow."

Wilbur's face dropped, unamused. He never would have given that man a key if he had known James would just give it off to others. He bit his cheek, realizing back then and maybe now he still would have so that was a lie. Then, he remembered Quackity's question, swallowing down as the idea of it popped up in his head, very unwelcomed.

"You can wear it," Wilbur said tightly, waving him away. "It'll look like a night gown on you, though."

Quackity had just scoffed before turning around, back facing Wilbur, and-

Wilbur's face went hot and pale at the same time, spinning away quickly and covering his eyes with his left hand. "Jesus Christ, go change in the bathroom, Quackity! Or the bedroom. Just somewhere where you can close a door."

He heard a faint mischievous giggle as he desperately tried to erase the image of Quackity starting to lift his disgustingly stained shirt up. He sighed as he heard shuffling, returning to see Quackity dragging himself to the bedroom. "We'll talk when you're dressed in cleaner clothes," He said with a tired frown.

With the silent nod Quackity gave him, he knew he was correct when guessing why Quackity even came over unannounced, inviting himself in. Something must have happened and he wanted to share it with Wilbur, give him the news and all.

Wilbur groaned, deciding on locking the door and making his way to the kitchen where he had found the nineteen year old had made himself at home and ordered a box of pizza. Wilbur tried to be upset at him, but he just smiled softly to himself at the thought of Quackity trying to order it over the phone and awkwardly answering the door with his dirty shirt, not even in his own house, waiting for Wilbur to eventually show up.

Seeing as it was Wilbur's place, Wilbur ended up stealing three slices of pizza. He could not care if Quackity should be bothered by it. This was Wilbur's flat, the menace who was shirtless in his room could deal with it.

The last time Quackity was over here he shamelessly ate the last spring roll Wilbur had on his plate, the two of them pressed side by side as they stared at the television screen. Wilbur had put on a documentary about some small event in history with the hope that Quackity would get too bored and drown it out by falling asleep, no longer able to complain about the smell of the sweater Wilbur was wearing, the water in his cup being too warm, still being hungry no matter what he ate, and every other thing he could possibly complain about. Instead of Wilbur's dream coming true though, Quackity had just taken Wilbur's food, asked a million questions about the documentary, even asked if it was real, and promptly passed out with his weight on top of Wilbur, trapping him with an empty stomach and zero spring rolls.

It was pure torture, so it was more than justified if Wilbur ate some pizza before joining Quackity on his bed and purposefully taking up the majority of his own bed, grinning when Quackity grumpily made a comment about not having enough space.

"You basically broke into my house, you don't get space," Wilbur said with a pointed finger, then, he scooted up and looked down at Quackity, both of them laying on their backs, Quackity's knees bent up. Quackity rolled his eyes, which Wilbur generously opted on ignoring for now, and he sighed. "Now, what is it this time?"

Quackity opened his lips, pausing as he thought with parted lips and Wilbur tried his damn hardest to not think about the sight of Quackity in his shirt, covering his shorts, and on his bed. Wilbur scolded himself, blinking back up at the ceiling and lifting an arm to run through his hair.

Then, a moment later Quackity's mumble cut through the low buzz of the air conditioning, dejected and sounding ashamed. "My dad saw that I had two missing assignments and two failed ones."

Wilbur had briefly heard things here and there about Quackity's parents during the past year. He knew they loved him, but he also was growing increasingly aware of their expectations for him. He was naturally so fucking smart, but he was, in the end, so young and human, and Wilbur sometimes secretly felt his parents couldn't help but want more and more from Quackity.

He frowned, glancing down at the other. Quackity was an adult, yet, he was held closely to his parents, and firmly grounded in the room he had throughout high school. Wilbur knew that was part of the reason Quackity grew bitter with pent up anger at times. Yes, he had most of the freedom people his age did, but he still had a home to return to at least two times a week, grades to make, and parents wishes to fill.

Although Wilbur couldn't relate, he felt for him, offering his hand. "Quackity."

With a soft exhale, Quackity squeezed his hand, craning his neck to look up at him. Unfairly so, the image made Wilbur's stomach twist. They were supposed to be talking serious stuff right now but he was fighting back the blush on his cheeks, unable to turn from Quackity's big beautiful lashes and pure doe eyes. It nearly made Wilbur sick with himself.

He had to force his mind to remember Quackity wasn't some innocent fallen angel with brain and beauty, that Quackity wasn't into him, that Quackity hated smoking and that happened to be a pillar of his structure of self at the moment, and if Quackity really wanted to, he could leave Wilbur right now and easily move on with his life, even gift Wilbur a solid punch goodbye if he ever got serious about his teased threat he made only last week.

So Wilbur snapped back into his right mind and inhaled. "So what happened?" He asked kindly, resisting the urge to rub his thumb over Quackity's knuckles. Neither of them had the same intentions when it came to hand holding. Quackity started it first, just casually slipping his hand into Wilbur's own one evening and pulling him across a room, a road, a street, and now it was normal.

But Quackity didn't ever mean it in a way that went past the clear lines of friendship, so Wilbur reprimanded himself as Quackity attempted to shrug in his current position.

"I argued that he was being dramatic and they're my grades but he..." Quackity paused and Wilbur could sense the upcoming weight unfolding from whatever happened next, he could see the way Quackity swallowed hard and blinked rapidly. "He said-" Quackity sniffed, shoulders raised as he turned away, letting himself sit in a puddle of regret, anger, pure felt betrayal, and literally too many things to name. "Nevermind."

"Hey." Wilbur shook his hand, leaning down a little, heart swollen. "It's okay," He breathed. "My dad has said some shit to me, too, yaknow?"

Quackity hummed, momentarily meeting his gaze. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Wilbur repeated, smiling despite the somber tone seeping in, all ugly. "Definitely."

Despite everything, in that moment Quackity had laughed a little, jokingly calling him stupid before fixing his eyes onto the popcorn ceiling, the shortly lasting lightness slipping away.

Quackity took a deep breath. So did Wilbur.

"He told me he raised me to be a smart kid, that he didn't work so hard to have me start tripping over and fail now," He said, only two cracks throughout as he shut his eyes and Quackity held his hand tighter. "My mom said he was being harsh, but agreed I should stay on top of school. My dad wouldn't listen to me-" He wiped a single tear, breath slightly shaking before he tried to recollect himself. "My mom was trying to finish dad's pasta, and I turned from him and bumped into her when she was- you know, opening the sauce, and it made a mess." He almost made fun of himself near the end there, the vision probably running through his head because although when it happened he was too busy being upset, he looked back and mentally face palmed.

"That explains the shirt." Wilbur mumbled, half his face mushed into his pillow, flashing a teasing smile. Quackity nodded.

"They got really mad at that and my dad made me pick it up," He complained, honestly not even too pressed about that particular moment. "He just wouldn't stop demanding things, and I'm an adult, but he's my father, but he was pissing me off so I-" He bit his lip, sighing as his shoulders loosened and he gave Wilbur a lazy smile. "So I cleaned and came here."

"Well I don't think you're going to fail anything," Wilbur said firmly, moving to lay on his side, elbow propped up to hold his head, their hands disconnecting thoughtlessly. Quackity nodded, wordless, and let the silence linger for a second before Wilbur shifted. "If you're staying the night at least tell me, goober." He grinned, reaching down and tugging on his blanket. "And stop laying on top of my necessities."

"Fine." Quackity grumbled, moving to simply roll as close to Wilbur as possible, back flush against the lower half of his upper torso, and lazily pulling it out from under his legs. Wilbur's heart stuttered, about to tell Quackity to get his ass on the other side of the bed or he would be restationed to the couch, but Quackity just wiggled around before reaching a hand over to paw at Wilbur's shoulder.

Wilbur almost died right then and there, nearly stopped breathing and had to try extra hard to operate his brain and comprehend whatever Quackity was saying.

"If you take the blanket you've got to get out of those fucking jeans and put on at least sweatpants, that feels horrid." Quackity told him, leaving no room for argument. Wilbur groaned, and grumpily agreed. Even though they both knew he'd end up sharing the blanket with Quackity no matter what he did.

He was proven correct, unfortunately, fifteen minutes later when he was facing Quackity's back, watching the slow rise and fall of his breathing to lull himself to sleep, the blanket pooling around his waist before reaching Wilbur. It was entirely silent save for the air conditioning. But then it distantly beeped from the main monitor in the living room and shut off, and Wilbur was stuck alone with his thoughts.

At least, he was until Quackity ruffled up the sheets, clearly awake.

"Hey, Wilbur?"

Wilbur could basically hear the thoughts swamping Quackity's mind, couldn't read them, but he knew they were there and they both were up, stuck in their heads. He pulled the blanket a little bit closer to himself. "Yes, Quackity?"

A heartbeat, Wilbur's own, passed by as Quackity went still, then,

"What does it take to graduate college?"

A giant lump formed in his throat from that single question for so many fucking reasons, chest tightening as he reminded himself to just breath, to stay here and try and think instead of grabbing his lighter, a pack of cigarettes, a jacket, and run off for a quick smoke.

Firstly, Quackity sounded absolutely, devastatingly crushed, and it made Wilbur's head spin with anger for the world. Secondly, he couldn't even answer, he never finished, he left, he could never handle the shit Quackity did. Thirdly, it would have been the same as what his father said to him once, just directed at Wilbur because he was supposedly being lazy. His father wasn't as pushy as either of Quackity's parents, but he didn't really tolerate Wilbur wasting his future away for stupid nicotine and minimum wage jobs because Wilbur wasn't even willing to try.

His father never had the full picture, anyways, he was still across miles of land and water and living his sweet life in the United Kingdom. He visited Wilbur in America once for his birthday and one last time during Christmas and New Years, but it was dull and not really lively, not completely committed. So Wilbur held a scowl at the thought of him, he never cared to even wonder if Wilbur was slipping off of his stairway because maybe he was struggling, maybe because he had literally nobody in the fucking continent to support him and he was alone.

He stopped picking up the phone whenever his father called months ago.

At some point, he didn't remember when, his father stopped calling, too.

Through the crashing waves of emotions, relentless and unforgiving, Wilbur remembered he still had to answer Quackity's dang question in some way. The water daringly threatened to pull him down to the depths but he was a decent swimmer, always was, and he remained okay enough through everything, so he stayed afloat.

"I never..." And it should be so easy to say, he was pretty sure he even already mentioned it shortly to Quackity, halfway through a meaningless conversation that was probably about a made up story they created involving going to a university only for elite chefs and defeating Gordon Ramsay, then the world, all with the power of food. The memory helped him, helped Wilbur let go of the bubble in his chest as he hummed.

"I dropped out, Quackity. Never graduated."

Quackity stiffened for a single second. "Oh." Hardly noticed.

But what was done was done, so Wilbur just scooted closer to Quackity to finally get a bit more of his blanket, and smiled even though no one could see, eyes fluttering close. "Don't stress too much about it, Quackity. Your parents love you no matter how over-the-top they are. And no pressure, seriously none at all, but I'm positive you'll make it through college."

Quackity started to open his mouth to say something but stopped himself with a heavy breath. It was terribly silent in the room, he was awfully still but then Wilbur heard him sniffle and moved to wipe the man's tears gently. Quackity had just laughed through it, mumbling out a very much not really meant, "You should run yourself over, you asshole."

And Wilbur simply rested his head on top of Quackity's head that night with a giggle escaping his lips. "Not even sure how to do that. Goodnight, dear Quackity."

About a month later Wilbur was frantically flipping over everything in his entire flat to find a very important article of clothing, sulking on the way to work with still no progress, no single glimpse of it. Then, two hours from the moment he clocked in, Quackity walked in wearing his shirt, and it matched with his beanie and stupid smile perfectly. Apparently so much so he only then realized Quackity had worn it at least three times since that night, he had seen him in it. And it always made him blush.

Wilbur let Quackity keep the shirt.

To this very day Quackity has it hidden somewhere, meaning Wilbur can never take it back, so he only ever sees the shirt if Quackity wants him to. He's more than okay with it, and quickly looks away from Quackity when he smiles at him.

"Moving on from your grades, Quackity, how are things down there in the city?" His mom asks, then faces Wilbur. "Things going alright for you too?"

Wilbur doesn't exactly like the spotlight on him in this situation, neither does Quackity. Wilbur stands there, skin boiling uncomfortably, feeling like the couple knows Wilbur knows far too much and each smile is false sense of comfort to lure him into the perfect corner and shine a light on him and point out everything that has ever been wrong with him ever.

It dawns on him that Quackity has probably felt this many more times before, and he clears his throat just as Quackity's father beams, placing a hand on Wilbur's shoulder.

"Ah yes, tell us about your life," He prompts eagerly. "College? Friends? Anything really, we love to listen." He assures him and Quackity sends him a knowing look of sympathy, a moment of forgiveness from this world before he has to hold his breath, looking down anxiously.

"I've got a small friend group," He says, then, convincing himself everything's alright and the world will still be spinning, he shrugs. "And I, uh, never finished college."

A beat passes, Wilbur realizes they're waiting. They don't think he means it, at least, they think he's still taking courses and attending. Something in his stomach is sent plummeting into his stomach, nearly bringing him to the ground as he gives his best possible smile he can provide at the moment. "Dropped out, y'know?"

Quackity's father blinks, he can feel the excitement in him take some damage to its very soul as he pats his shoulder twice and lets his hands drop to the side. "No, I didn't know. I hope the reasons that kept you are no longer present."

Wilbur mentally lets out a long sigh as he huffs. "Thank you."

And it's true, genuinely, he doesn't have anything that once held him down to stop him now. No swallowing, nearly unbearable sadness that naturally came with being so incredibly lonely, no dying desire that made him itch for a cigarette, no looming deadlines he had to desperately struggle to save money for to keep a roof over his head.

Wilbur, is, admittedly, in a far better place then he was not even a full year ago. Sometimes he nearly forgets he ever was past Wilbur at some point, aching with a painfully heavy load of emotions almost every hour of the day, but other times he can't sleep, can't focus as he starts dreadfully thinking of the future, wondering if he'll slip down the same dark path again.

But both he and Quackity have discussed this very subject. He knows it, Quackity knows it. He'll try his absolute hardest to avoid going down that road again, and if it gets too hard to handle by himself, Quackity promises Wilbur can hold his hand and pull himself up with Quackity's help.

Quackity would be at his side, he is at his side. Always was. Even when Wilbur thought he wouldn't exist, not on this Earth, by the time the month was over.

In moments like this, Wilbur was just about ready to let the world take him, choke him with evil hands, and shove him six feet under.

It was only noon, he hadn't ate since the bag of cheese crackers Quackity had given him, singing it was the snack that smiles back as he handed him the bag of goldfish. Wilbur had accepted that, and fell asleep that night, but other than that he had yet to eat or sleep for the past two days. He couldn't, his mind was spinning too fast and his hands were burning to grab a pack and smoke like, practically half of them.

So he didn't eat, he only wanted to feel a cigarette against his lips, didn't care for actual food, and sleeping was impossible, no matter how hard he squeezed his eyes and pulled the blanket around himself.

So here Wilbur was, tired, itching for a quick smoke if nothing more, and absolutely fucking terrified in the middle of the day.

It wasn't fair, in any way, how the world carried on, sun shining bright and birds flying high with cherry melodious chirps as his mind brought him falling down a dark hole and stuck him there, staring at the double doors he was supposed to be walking into. Supposed to be going in there and walk out and never smoke again.

It was a stupid support group, or whatever. Quackity suggested it to him, maybe that was the only reason he agreed to it because standing here, right now, he would never have made this decision by himself. This was awful.

Thinking about it, everything was awful. There was no fucking way he could walk through those doors and start learning to live a life where he didn't feel the need to smoke every other day, more then once. Wilbur could never live in a world where he wasn't completed with nicotine filled lungs. It helped him. In his eyes and literally no one elses'. Smoking got rid of his annoyingly loud thoughts that would weigh him down with negativism, if only for a little while. But nobody cared if it helped him.

Wilbur felt like he wanted to die.

His insides hurt so bad and his head was pounding against his skull. All he could do was try not to look stupid as he stared at the door. But his heart was beating faster than he wanted to allow it to.

His throat was burning, it was too much, Wilbur felt like his ribs were trying to melt through his insides and leave him dead. He couldn't do it, no way, he could never-

"I can't do it," Wilbur whispered, voice weak as his hands tightened into fists, he didn't have it in him. He needed to just live his life however he wanted, which included smoking at least two cigarettes a day. It would take to much time, anyway, there was no hope, he would fail over and over and holy fuck he had to leave. He had to find Quackity, vision blurring, Wilbur whipped around with desperation. "I can't do it."

"I seriously can't do it."

He never could, never would, and Gods he knew he was about to just collapse right now. He then realized his hands were shaking. He nearly yelled for Quackity until he saw the man appear out of the corner of his eyes, face full of concern but Wilbur couldn't even walk. He just had to leave for a smoke. He needed to never see those doors again. He needed a lot.

Wilbur's breath nearly left him as he scrambled off the small two steps, away from the door of doom, and collided with Quackity as he tripped, gripping onto his shoulders like they were the only thing holding him from falling down into hell as he inhaled sharply, stomach twisting uncomfortably. "Quackity, Quackity."

"Wilbur?" Quackity asked, instantly trying to hold him up right as Wilbur's world slowly started to leave him. He could hardly think, his lungs were on fire, and he felt like throwing up. "Wilbur, what's wrong?"

Wilbur nearly let out a sob, there was so much that was wrong. He hung his head and tried to keep his eyes shut as tightly as possible like this would all fade away as a nightmare and he would wake back up with Quackity across the room, stealing a hoodie of his, and Wilbur would have a pack on his nightstand, waiting for him as he yawned.

It wasn't a bad dream, unfortunately, and Wilbur held back from saying he wanted to die because of that fact. He could feel tears threatening to spill, but he could not bring himself to be too embarrassed about that right now because he was a desperate man, pawing at Quackity's chest and arms with heavy breaths. "Three days," He tried to say, voice cracking as he blinked up at Quackity, knees bent. "I need- I can't- please, Quackity."

Quackity's eyes had dimmed with realization, denying the request with a soft sigh. "I know it's been three days, but you should really go inside, Wilbur." He urged, but Wilbur violently shook his head in disagreement, scooting back with a rushed panic that landed him on the ground as he fell.

He was crying now. Tearing up, shaking, dying. He didn't need air he needed a fucking cigarette. "No!" He waved a hand, covering his face right after, mind rotating nonstop, heart stabbed and bleeding into his guts. "No, I don't." Although stated rather harshly, it sounded like he was begging, and Quackity knelt down by his side, even with his absolute entire being pulling himself in all the wrong directions, even as he sat there with rolling tears, even with the ugly tear that spread across his chest as something tried to rip out his heart. "I need a cigarette. I'm no good for this place. I'm gonna- I needa smoke real quick."

Quackity hesitated, remaining a couple of inches away as he carefully eyed Wilbur, thoughts wrapping up in his head before he blinked, frowning at Wilbur. "But we came here so you don't have to feel this way. I know you think you need-"

Wilbur wanted to scream, wanted the ground to swallow him right here, right now. His throat was still burning, even more intensely now, and the headache trying to break open his head was killing him. "I don't think, Quackity, I know I do." He growled out, then hid his face into his legs, knees pressed against his forehead as his heart raced and he continued to cry. "I cannot go in there. I- You know I'll just fail at this shit, multiple times a day, every week, I'm never going to make it, Quackity, I-"

"Hey." But Quackity's voice was firm and his hand was on his shoulder, making him slowly look up. Quackity closed his eyes for a moment, shoulders loosening. "Wilbur, I may not relate or understand that feeling, but I know it's real for you," Quackity stated, tone turning soft at the end, and Wilbur sucked in air and wiped his eyes, even hiccuped. Which hurt, he was hurt, and his throat hurt a lot. But he watched stupidly as Quackity pointed to the entrance. "However, there is a whole group of people who feel the same exact fucking way. They made it through these doors, I know you can. I know you can do this."

Wilbur's head spun, it took him a second to fully comprehend the other's words before he whined, exhaustion creeping into him like the heat that slid up his throat, stomach lurching. "But I will fail, Quackity."

Quackity paused, watching the furrow in Wilbur's brows, the tears strolling down his pink cheeks, and smiled gently as he took his hand. "That's okay. It'll happen, you're right. But we can manage to carry on. This shit is never easy. But I promise you'll have me every step of the way."

"But what if it's too hard?"

"Oh it will be hard, for sure, but you're strong, Wilbur." Quackity rubbed his thumb over his knuckles, determined brown eyes fixed on Wilbur. "I believe in you, you know," Quackity said and Gods he sounded so sure, so confident even as he eyed Wilbur.

Wilbur who was crying, who was considering dying over making it past the third day. Wilbur who swore his throat was going to explode. Well shit, maybe not exactly. Wilbur barely realized what he was feeling and then it was happening, head jerking to the side as he gagged.

Wilbur had thrown up fifteen minutes before his first-ever support group meeting, but Quackity, of course, was there and helped with the kindest heart he could.

He even bought Wilbur ice cream afterward, let him cry into his shoulder in Wilbur's own flat like a baby, and even folded the pile of Wilbur's clean clothes that had been sitting for a while, not even taking a single one for his own. When Wilbur confessed to him he was scared, Quackity just held him closer and hummed all comforting words into his ears. Wilbur felt something similar to being loved that night, nearly, and at least cared for.

He just hoped the world thought he was capable of being treated so tenderly like that again, because he knew the next bunch of days to come wouldn't exactly be easy.

Good thing he had Quackity, then.

And still, almost a full year later, even with Quackity's third year of college approaching, he still finds ways to make sure Wilbur knows it. Prove Wilbur has Quackity in a way nobody could match up for. Even if it consists of reminding him that when Quackity is busy, Wilbur actually does now have friends here in America who are willing to help him. James moved to America as well, he had only been here for two months when he had given Quackity the key to Wilbur's flat, and Wilbur really enjoys having him here. No matter how annoying he may be at times, because the truth is, he acts just as ridiculous when James is around to piss him off too, so it's equal.

So he knows, despite the rough bits and hours or days that may wait up ahead of him, he's got support, he's got friends, he's got Quackity.

It sort of comforts him when he catches the quick, not-so-subtle glances Quackity's parents cast at each other. It's not terrible, Wilbur truly did expect more direct judgment during his panicked thought process both on the way here and right outside the house, but it still makes him a bit stiff. He pretends not to notice, but the hairs on his neck are halfway standing with anticipated anxiety, barely there but he still doesn't want it.

Wilbur holds back the need to swallow loudly, shove all of his thoughts down in the most attention-drawing way possible, and instead resorts to shooting Quackity a desperate look, one where the growing uncomfortableness is evident in the browns of his eyes, one that Quackity can read like a kindergarten level book.

Then Quackity's mom briefly takes Quackity away from Wilbur's gaze with mumbled questions, mainly for his father, but Quackity is both sitting right next to her, and knows Spanish where Wilbur doesn't. He catches the tone though, he can connect dots and knows some of the words spoken. The way Quackity's face darkens with opposition as he politely tells his mom 'no, don't worry' really seals the deal and Wilbur feels a cloud forming in front of his vision.

Jesus Christ, they think Wilbur is going to someday influence Quackity to drop out just like he did. And it's an awful assumption that can't be further from the truth.

He has cottonmouth all of a sudden and really needs a glass of water and to sneak away from here and make sure his heart is still beating. So Wilbur turns to Quackity again, who quickly stands up and clears his throat.

"Wilbur and I were supposed to call our friends when we got here, you know, make sure we made it through the long car ride alive," He says, only on the verge of a ramble, eyes scanning over him as he steps around the couch to comfort Wilbur with a pat on the shoulder. "We should probably do that in the room, they can be a little loud." Which is not a lie at all, they both have got some energized people they call friends. Wilbur smiles and Quackity points behind himself, towards the front door. "Plus we've still got to grab our bags for the night from the car."

Wilbur hopes the way he swoons over Quackity's genius isn't that recognizable to his parents because the guy just bought them at least ten minutes.

As soon as Quackity's parents are waving them off to do their thing with sweet smiles Wilbur is practically dragging Quackity out the front door, and Quackity has to make sure it doesn't close too loudly to prevent a set of scolding parents.

Once crumbled dry dirt makes an obnoxiously loud noise under his shoes and they are a good distance from the house, that being seven feet, Wilbur frowns at Quackity who shrugs.

"They like you, I think," He says, only a little mocking.

Wilbur rolls his eyes, something he adorned by being around the other much. "They hate me." He knows it's a bit of an exaggeration, but the way Quackity almost blushes and glances back at the house makes it worth it.

"They don't dislike you."

"They think I'm a bad influence on you," Wilbur says, which still hurts a little. Quackity just tosses him the keys with a bite of his cheek.

"Well you're not." He states, like it's fact, and opens the trunk as soon as Wilbur unlocks the vehicle. Wilbur's squinting up at the mid-day sun, air welcoming and warm with the way it sinks through his clothes and hugs him.

"They don't believe that, though." He glances at Quackity, tone carrying a little hint of something stern and a little bit of something pained and tender.

"Yeah?" Quackity looks up at him, and Wilbur nods back. "Well," Quackity starts, grabbing his bag and throwing it over his shoulder. "They also don't know you, okay? Just because you had the luxury of moving to America with your father's money doesn't mean you actually had the luxury of having him help you through it. My parents don't know how hard things were for you."

Wilbur blinks away and reaches for his bag and Quackity places a hand on his back.

"It's fine, anyways, struggles or not I was never fit for college."

He can feel Quackity's judgeful gaze, different from his parents though, one that comes purely from care. "Well college isn't for everyone, anyways. Not in a bad way. It's like how some people played basketball, and others played American football. Or something other. There's so many sports. There are options in life."

"Quackity, you suck at figurative language." Wilbur looks at him, head over his shoulder.

"Okay, well, you're also smart. Just so you know," Quackity says firmly, his hand rubbing his back before trailing up to pat his shoulder again, making Wilbur pause. He quickly stands up, closes the car, and glares at Quackity for making him feel this way. These stupid compliments, all the reassurance, the blush on his face. How could he.

"I'm really not."

"Yes, you are." Quackity laughs lightly, pushes him a little, and throws a hand up. "Come off it, Wilbur, you've got brains, you're just too caught up in your head."

Wilbur hates how he finds himself both accepting it and melting into Quackity as the younger moves to hug him. He has brains, he thinks, smiling a little. He also has options in life. And he chooses what he hopes is a good one as he brings his hands up to wrap around Quackity, sneaking under his arms and pulling him closer.

It's nice, it really is, like this. Holding each other under the heat of the sun. Wilbur makes sure to let this moment find itself a home in his heart as he pokes Quackity's neck with his nose. Quackity never minded the touch, never told Wilbur to back up and give him space and really meant it.

"At least I'm not a total nerd like you." He whispers, grinning into Quackity's shoulder as long as he can before Quackity pulls back with a huff.

"Yeah, I'm not. And even if I was, there's nothing wrong with it."

"Sure thing, nerd."

Quackity gives him a small look, a half-assed thing, like he can not find it in him to even act really annoyed or offended. His lips are curled up into the beginnings of a smile.

Wilbur can't help the way fondness pours from his eyes, admiring Quackity and his gorgeous smile. He's always been so pretty, Wilbur thinks. And the sunlight ends up brightening half his face, the one with his scar, and Wilbur has to silently deny the fact that right now, he wants to kiss Quackity.

It's a battle, really, to hold back from blurting out the question. To stop himself from asking if he is allowed to kiss Quackity, if Quackity thinks he should be able to love him to the extent he wants. He loves Quackity as a friend, but since he's selfish and it just wasn't enough, he loves Quackity beyond that, too.

In his dreams, they call each other lovers and kiss each other goodnight. So whenever Wilbur wakes up with Quackity on the same bed, stretched out like he owns it, and a hand in Wilbur's, he's always torn halfway. He feels content for a moment, like he's there where he wants, like Quackity would wake up and never question it if Wilbur kissed him good morning. But then the hard truth hits him and Wilbur realizes he doesn't have that.

He doesn't know if he ever will. Even if Quackity's eyes are twinkling right now, his face only a little flushed, most likely a result from the heat, with his arms hanging off Wilbur's shoulders, fingertips shyly grazing the space on his back between his shoulder blades. It makes Wilbur's tongue simply turn into thin air like it was never there to begin with and the only things he has ever said in life were just Quackity's voice ringing in his head.

Possibly over the top? He doesn't care. He can't, not right now, and when Quackity literally bats his eyes like they do in cartoons. So what if he's a simp? He thinks that's the word. Absolutely smitten, properly enamored, feverishly infatuated.

Call him what you like, but Wilbur genuinely thinks he's been in love with Quackity for a while now. At least a couple of months.

He has liked Quackity for longer, been attracted to him even past that. But to really feel and love Quackity is different in ways Wilbur has a difficult time explaining. Liking Quackity as more than a friend isn't the same as loving him. It changes just as they do, with them and through them. It partially comes from the trust Wilbur has completely put into Quackity, comes from how easy Quackity makes it to relax in his presence, to enjoy himself in his company. It starts with so many things, never-ending as far as Wilbur can see.

He used to just be attracted to him. He knew he was good-looking. Then he liked him. And from then on and for the future, Wilbur truly thinks he loves him.

Of course, his human heart hopes Quackity feels the same. His mind hopes so too, so he doesn't look crazy.

And in each other's embrace, bathed in a generous sun and coaxed into heartfelt smiles with soft touches, Wilbur nearly lets himself believe there is a fighting chance that he isn't crazy.

It's somewhere alongside bliss, a perfect moment that he stores away in his head, taking in each second of it, even each bunch of hair that peeks out from Quackity's beanie where he probably tried to keep it in, and the rest that purposefully falls just above his shoulders and gods he's so beautiful, really, it's unfair. Quackity then blinks, mismatching eyes breaking out of contact with Wilbur's own, and Wilbur mentally and silently shrinks back and now has to act like he was totally not at all thinking of kissing Quackity, or confessing to him, and just throwing his heart out for the younger man, trusting him forever and always with a very sure hand held out.

"Thank you," He whispers.

Quackity nods, and if he knows it's for more than just dismissing his parent's judgment towards Wilbur, he doesn't let on any clue. But that's the truth, Wilbur has so much to thank him for. He doesn't say it all though, and Quackity sighs, rubbing his shoulder before actually separating himself from Wilbur's body.

They both fix up their holds on their bags and head inside to the bedroom they're staying in. It's decently sized, and the bed's even bigger than the one he has (the one Quackity basically owns eighty percent of when he invites himself over or Wilbur offers it). He was smart and packed his blanket, so this time, Quackity wouldn't have any excuse to steal it , since now, Quackity will have his own.

He's practically playing 6D chess at this point.

As Wilbur goes over and lingers on the satisfaction of being so incredibly intelligent, Quackity is busily shuffling through his bags, back faced away where he's dropped them in the furthest corner from the door, leaning up against a shelf. It's still silent, which is never really a problem, they have both perfectly co-existed and done their own things within the same room for hours before, it's nice, actually. But for some reason, Wilbur feels a little spaced. Not in the best way, but not inherently bad either. It's odd. A part of him, in the back of his mind, tells him that it's because he was just so close to confessing, nearly there, but nothing was done no matter how close to it he got and how close they were to kissing.

He sighs, glancing over at Quackity as he drops his bags down just where he's standing. Quackity pulls out his brush, and Wilbur softens inside, deciding to lay across the bed and gaze at Quackity as he takes his beanie off, lovely dark hair uncovered as some of it falls on top of each other after being tucked in for so long. Wilbur, unfortunately, has to sit up and quickly direct his body and eyes away when he realizes Quackity is turning around, pushing off the ground and walking straight over towards him.

Quackity sits on the other side of the bed, on the edge, and Wilbur can see him looking out of the corner of his eye. He huffs, then scoots forward to lay down. "Hey," He says, peeking up at Quackity past the arm he throws over his face.

He sees that smile of Quackity's again, small but there, and genuine. "Hey yourself. You look ready for a nap."

"Yeah?" Wilbur mumbles, moving his arm so it doesn't cover his upper lip but doesn't awkwardly rest on his nose. All in all, it doesn't work out and he just throws his arm across his chest instead. "What about it?"

"Well, are you?" Quackity asks and Wilbur just shrugs, his shoulders carrying along some blanket with him.

"How long you reckon we can stay here until your parents come?" He answers with a question of his own, blinking up at the ceiling and tilting his head in Quackity's direction, gaze expectant, also probably hopeful. Not to be rude, of course, but right now he thinks he just wants to stay here with Quackity and nobody else. It isn't a matter of being Quackity's parents, more a matter of Wilbur being in love with Quackity.

Quackity hums in thought, scrunching his nose for a second. "There are approximately ten or so minutes until the area will be breached by invaders, General." He tells him in a fake serious tone, holding two fingers up to his ears. He doesn't have an earpiece, but he pretends to and gives an affirmative nod to his own words.

Wilbur smiles lazily. And nods the best he can. "Copy that."

"And thank you, Lieutenant General." He adds at the end. Then sighs. "You're very ridiculous."

"Hey, ten minutes run fast." Quackity shoots, nudging his elbow before turning back and brushing a portion of his hair in one stroke, pausing to flick at Wilbur's shoulder. However, the supposed-to-be-annoyed intent of it dies when Quackity rubs over it, thumb swiping against the material of his shirt, making something in Wilbur's chest rumble awake when he is in fact trying to possibly sleep. So all in all, the warning Quackity gives him falls flat from any actual half-assed threat and just fondness. "Better stop talking and start sleeping."

Wilbur's eyes flutter, he doesn't know if he already had them open or if they were closed honestly, suggesting that the world of sleep and snores awaits him, subtly tugging him from the back of his head and lulling him there. "Fine fine." He mumbles for lack of protest, deciding to just lay there wordlessly and trust the entrancing sight of Quackity brushing his hair to bring him to fall asleep.

Before he actually dozes off though, he finds himself in a loop of thoughts circling around Quackity and how pretty he found the man. Wilbur wants to tell him such, really does, but fears initiating such affectionate words with what would be a very clearly romantic gesture would somehow lead to him stumbling heart first into the official reveal of Quackity's rejection, hearing him say out loud that he just wants to be friends.

He doesn't want to hear that right now.

So he swallows the desire down and elects on just being content with gazing at Quackity, eyes tracing over his cheek in a manner he'd like to do with his thumb, palm pressed against the lower half of his face, molding against his cheek, and thumb swiping across the highlight of it, his cheekbones, face so perfect and Wilbur's touch so soft, delicate some might say.

He also doesn't try to reach and do such. Not that physical contact was or is something foreign to either of them, in fact, simply shoving their bodies against the others as an invitation to cuddle never warranted any sort of suspicious glances from either of the two. But when Wilbur looks over everything, simply reaching out and cupping Quackity's face still seemed a bit too much, a little over the line, especially with his obvious heart eyes.

Instead, his brown eyes land on one side of Quackity's face, a white and dull milky eye that he adores just as much as Quackity's other eye. His scar is rather beautiful, and Wilbur comes to the conclusion for the nth time after seeing it. It's rigged, sure, but bits still smooth out here and there into his skin in a way Wilbur's paid enough attention to that he can draw it out by now with enough confidence to get it mostly right, to get the general look across, with how it cuts through his eyebrow and stops just on the high of his cheekbone, one of the ones Wilbur repeatedly confesses to himself in the security of his head that he wants to run the pad of his thumb across with the hopes that the love he does it out of will one day maybe be returned to him by Quackity.

He notices how Quackity's scar almost seems to be paused in the action of branching outwards, towards his nose, upwards to the middle of his forehead, but it never had the true chance to do so. Wilbur quite likes it. He always has, no matter how self-conscious Quackity may still get about it sometimes, Wilbur had and will continue to assure him it never makes him less than he is, looks and all, and Quackity doesn't look bad because of it.

Even if that's all really Quackity could think about it when he first got the scar, slightly dismissive with the self-deprecating jokes about his appearance when Wilbur could see right through him, how it was more than just humor and very slight annoyance, but the start of something spiraling because jesus Quackity could not take this new addition on his face lightly and was started to grow some negative thoughts, which of course warranted concern from Wilbur, a feeling he felt so deeply he can nearly make it a tangible emotion again if he went into thought about it all, fabricating the memories and all the various feelings along with it. Unfortunately a silent, small, but still looming fear was one of them, back then.

When Wilbur finally got back from work and all but crashed onto his bed, he was admittedly, slightly annoyed when his phone instantly started ringing. Like the world knew he had just unlocked a moment of relaxation for himself and it was not having it one bit, letting it last half a second before pulling him out. He was about to groan, outwardly express his frustration, but then he identified who the caller was as soon as he registered the actual song playing, and he couldn't be mad at anything as his heart picked up and he instantly sat up.

He was quick to fish out his phone with scrambling hands, biting his lip, and rushing to accept the call from the one and only Quackity.

Who hadn't so much as called or texted in the past three days. Which of course, he is allowed to do.

But he literally said he would. Waved to Wilbur with some words about keeping him posted, telling Wilbur to call him tomorrow when he got the chance, and that he hoped the new Spotify playlist he was curating would fit Wilbur's taste when he showed it to him within the next four days or so, depending on Quackity's confidence.

None of that happened though. Because when Wilbur called on the first day, it went to voicemail. After the third try, he shot Quackity a text and a second one an hour later.

He came to the assumption that Quackity was obviously very busy that day and gave it a rest. Day two and Quackity still wasn't even online on any social media, which was kind of ridiculous seeing as he was a college student with an actively growing social community and no longer lived with his parents, meaning no jabs about being on his phone too much. Still, Wilbur decided to give in with the magic of a good morning message. That had apparently lost its whimsical weight as that was simply never rewarded with any sort of response.

Trudging into day three, Wilbur did wish Quacktity would just even send him a simple 'hi' maybe, at the least. But he knew people had their own lives, of course. He just felt ever curious as to why Quackity would promise his very own generously and kindly made playlist if he wasn't actually going to ever send it to him let alone a greeting of sorts.

So of course, seeing as it was Quackity calling him, Wilbur wasted no time to pick up the phone, eagerness leaking through the screen in a way he tried to fight but ultimately failed. "Quackity? Hello?" He turned up his volume, momentarily glancing at the younger's name written across his device. However, the atmosphere, although he didn't know what it was only a second ago, very much changed and he could recognize that much.

He hesitated, catching onto Quackity and clicking his tongue in thought, making his spine straighten and his ears perk up metaphorically so.

"Wilbur?"

His voice sounded strangely small to Wilbur. He frowned. "Yes?"

"Hi," He had said with a cut off breath: an attempt at a laugh, Wilbur noted. "Uhm," He picked back up and Wilbur's brows furrowed with attentiveness. "Can you come pick me up?"

Wilbur sputtered, blinking, then nodded like Quackity could see him. "Sure, yeah." He agreed. "Where are you at?"

There was only a second of silence between lines.

"The hospital."

Oh.

Wilbur paused, trying to remind his brain to be rational about any assumptions his worried head was about to jump onto so frantically, willing to tag along to just about anything as long as it was something. Attempting to be reasonable as he went through guess after guess in a quick ponder or two, he finally just gave up and opted for the choice that it would be far more beneficial if he just asked Quackity instead of giving his worry-brain the chance to think of such anxiety driven ideas.

"Why?" He breathed out, pushing off his bed and looking around for his keys.

"Oh. Uhm." Quackity stopped, then sighed. "Look, just come here, I'll be waiting out near the west entrance, okay? "

"Quackity."

The younger of the two simply persisted past Wilbur's warning, ever insightful when it came to Wilbur's thoughts, knowing what exactly Wilbur was stalling him for.

"I'm okay, by the way. Just trust me."

Wilbur ran his finger across the uncomfy ridges of his car keys and hummed. "Alright," He said, holding his phone out. "I'm on my way."

"Thank you."

Wilbur shrugged, hoping Quackity wasn't lying. He never was the type to lie when it came to anything serious. But of course, the dude could lie about where his TV remote was. Wilbur bit his lip and hovered his finger over the end call button "No problem."

Then he pressed it and he was on his way.

It was late, the illuminated lights of the hospital reflecting on the light sheet of rainwater left on the road, although the rain had stopped, it left that chilling blanket in the atmosphere, barometric pressure was lowering, layers needed to be decently warm were rising, and Wilbur honestly had mixed feelings about the holiday of Christmas, but that wasn't exactly even in two months. He still had time.

He parked, only the tiniest bit nervous. He was always somebody who worried just a little bit further when it came to health-related topics. His worry got a premium extension, per se. So of course, it was only natural that he was fidgeting with his own fingers and wrist as he stepped up the curb and onto the sidewalk, seeing Quackity's figure a couple of meters ahead of him.

Even though he was standing in the light that was emitting off a lit-up sign ten feet above him, the way he had his back turned to it left his whole face to be shadowed, and all Wilbur could see was that he was holding something, pressing it against his chest with an arm wrapped around it, and another arm blocking his face like the dark didn't do that already.

Wilbur took a moment, then, stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Hey."

Quackity's shoes dragged across the concrete with an assortment of shuffling noises, facing Wilbur, head tilted upwards, still blocked from Wilbur's view. "Hey." He parroted.

Wilbur decided to remove the mass amount of feet between them, holding his breath as he looked Quackity up and down. He seemed to be composed, thankfully. Wilbur sighed, vaguely gesturing to the building behind them. "So how did you end up here?"

Wilbur could just barely see Quackity's breath as he huffed, eyes sliding away out into the night, the very beginnings of the cold weather slowly seeping into Wilbur's zipped-up jacket. He watched, Quackity bit his lip, feet flexing in his shoes in an animated manner of hesitation that left Wilbur lifting a brow to wordlessly urge Quackity onward.

"Well."

That's always great, Wilbur thought. Definitely did not lead to the explanation of anything negative or whatnot.

"Yes?"

Quackity raised his shoulders. It was supposed to be a shrug but it was far too tense, limbs to heavy and flow all rigid. Wilbur attempted to make out the slightly hidden expression on his face, shadows and a hand obscuring his vision only a little. Then, finally, Quackity dropped his hand after fidgeting, finger tapping his nose, and turning his head away. Wilbur then realized he was embarrassed, at the least, of whatever it was. Not only that but the way his lips were seemingly stuck in their position, being pulled down with his eye looking around but not ever really anywhere, half his face unseeable, Wilbur could tell there was some sort of... unhappy wave washing over Quackity. In simple terms. Maybe dejected was the word.

Wilbur always had this thing that he never really admitted to himself, no matter how clear the evidence of it's existence was, but more times than he could ever count he had found himself stuck with this gnawing feeling that insisted that he check up on Quackity, that he made sure to hold his hand and talk about anything and everything until he got a smile from him, to even hover around him when doing the most simple of tasks like cooking or school work, just in case Quackity would need him, just in case anything would happen to Quackity.

Wilbur did not have a word for it. Some would say protective but perhaps, just maybe, in Wilbur's head, that word sounded a bit too... strong. Which was a little silly considering the feeling of it was most certainly not weak, by any means, just mellow most of the time (but still there), until something seemed to spike it.

So when Wilbur gave Quackity one of their shared signature looks, the one that forever meant 'You good? You can talk to me.' he was really hoping Quackity was good.

Thankfully, it made Quackity give in with a slow step closer to Wilbur until he tapped Wilbur's shoes with his and blinked at the ground. From this angle, Wilbur could see a much larger portion of his face. He paused, though, catching something off. But it fogged to the back of his head when Quackity started to speak, voice trying to find itself somewhere out in this empty air.

"I may have- okay well I did-" Quackity backtracked, then, finally, properly faced Wilbur onwards, full face perfectly visible, and the gears in Wilbur's mind came to a very violent and sudden stop, mouth a little agape as Quackity just gave a small smile like he wasn't aware of Wilbur's abrupt strong confusion and concern.

There- there was a very new and prominent scar slashing through his left eye, the color sucked from it, leaving his iris all milky and blurred. Starting just above his eyebrow, a trail of Steri-Strips followed throughout the full length of his scar, then his newly colorless eye that blinked back at Wilbur, and the scar stopped just short of his cheekbone.

"I-" Wilbur breathed and he should really think of what to say and not once again lose himself to go on crazy chases after his own tail wondering what the hell happened. "Quackity-"

"I lost the place," Quackity said at the same time, cutting Wilbur off, stealing his breath and using it to take a long sigh, raising a hand to Wilbur's shoulder, floating an inch above before he looked Wilbur in the eyes and set his hand down, head hanging low. "Yeah uhm, that room I was renting?" He only spared a second to glance up at Wilbur before biting his cheek, something that only let Wilbur's spinning head breathe for the shortest moment, and swallowed. "I don't have it anymore," Quackity whispered.

There it was. That looming sort of dejection that had Quackity with a sulking posture and sunken features. Wilbur had to take a while to reroute his brain, to set his focus on what Quackity was saying and not how his scar got there. Quackity would be sure to explain it eventually. Wilbur tried, but failed the first time, resulting in his hands finding their way into Quackity's own, some sort of desperate yet silent plea to at least feel Quackity, like the warmth of his hands would reassure Wilbur that Quackity was okay.

It worked.

"What happened with the room?" Wilbur questioned, his heart was in all sorts of indecisive conflict with how fast to beat, going a hundred miles an hour at one point until it stopped, like right now, where it held its breath and looked over the edge of a cliff where it waited. Quackity must have suspected some sort of error in function, if he were to call it that, as he shifted his left arm, hand slipping out of Wilbur's, only to press the back of his hand to Wilbur's chest, pulling that same old string on his heart that made him fall with melted thoughts into Quackity time after time.

Wilbur couldn't help the way his eyes so obviously dropped down to Quackity's hand, face warm. He really needed to get his head with the program. Quackity just lost his place, had a whole ass scar, and needed Wilbur right now.

After the initial flutter of the touch wore off, Wilbur supposed that was part of what Quackity's hand was there for, as his mind settled a little, clearing up even, if only some.

So it was easy. It was easy to listen when Quackity leaned forward and asked if he could explain in the car. And it was easy to agree with a nod and lead Quackity to his vehicle and open the door for him.

Wilbur had turned on the heat for his seat, blinking over at Quackity and nodding his head towards his own switch for the passenger seat. With that, he settled into the leather of the car and cleared his throat, "So."

He didn't say anything other than that, but it was enough to signal Quackity and convince him to share as he shuffled in his seat, foot bumping into the car door with a dull thud, then twisted his torso to lean on the center console with heavy eyes. "Short story, the guy was never too fond of me," Quackity started, looking away, and Wilbur sunk into his words as he always does when he speaks. Quackity and the sentences falling out of his mouth are the only thing that matter in the moment. "I mean, he was mainly chill. Didn't care if my room was trashed, didn't care who I brought to my room, ya know?"

"Yeah." Wilbur nodded, he did remember Quackity happily mentioning something along those lines around four months ago or so.

Quackity then furrowed his brows, expression hardening into one Wilbur could recognize as a jumble of regret and this sadness he hated to see on Quackity's face. His smile was far too bright to be hiding away in a cave of dark melancholy. "Will, he only had like-" He waved his hand around with frustration, cutting himself off with a huff. "Like three fucking rules," He said, and Wilbur's eyes flickered as he started to catch on to what this is going to lead to.

"And I broke one."

Yup, there it was. Wilbur pressed his lips into a flat line, then frowned. "What was it?"

Quackity groaned at the question and threw his head back to the seat, slouching a little, but more so in the trying to coil onto himself while wishing he had an actual shell to retract into way rather than the lazy way. "He has this cat," Quackity said tiredly, crossing his arms and tapping his forearm with a rising anxious speed. "He said that when he's gone, he puts the cat in his room, and said not to bother the cat because it doesn't do well around others when he's gone. So leave Jambo the cat alone when he's gone, he said." He momentarily glanced at Wilbur, a second of embarrassment flashing across his face, but then it was gone and his gaze was chasing after nothing, away from Wilbur. "But-well, I had a friend over and the dang cat was, uh, something, I don't know." Quackity let out a sigh at that and sat up a little straighter and Wilbur hummed after a moment of silence.

Quackity gave him a look that was supposed to come off as... Bored? Maybe. Wilbur then knew that Quackity was about to try and play down whatever he was about to say by acting like he didn't care that much about it, making Wilbur squint at the younger man with a slight suggestion to not do that. He was pretty sure Quackity didn't listen though.

"Jambo was being loud, like knocking shit over. I thought if I just give the cat a treat or whatnot, it would be fine and stop jumping around," Quackity said, an honest confession that forced an awkward look onto his face that was washed off with a roll of his eyes. "But no, it's Jambo here, so I open the door and ask if he wants a treat but then the fuc- flipping cat just-" Quackity made a sudden gesture with his hands and Wilbur only had a clue what he meant by Quackity's frustrated freeze of his hands.

"Yeah...?"

Quackity nearly reached a hand to drag across his face before stalling after a flinch, fingers twitching across his scarred-side of his face, then curling his hand down and biting his lip before answering. "Well Jambo decided to legit pounce on me," Quackity said and Wilbur winced with concern, but hesitated because a cat could not have given Quackity that scar, meaning there was more to it. His heart held its breath as Quackity declared the moment worthy for a dry, not real chuckle and a sickly weak smile. "Guess he was right about the cat not doing well, it was some Nat Geo documentary type shit."

Wilbur offered a smile on return, mainly because the only documents Quackity had ever watched on his own time were viewed with Wilbur, who mostly picked them out, more often than not to bore Quackity until he got restless and touchy, listing off a whole variety of different things they could do besides sit here and watch a couple of giraffes trying to book it with some lionesses at their tail.

"Did the cub get its food?" Wilbur asked teasingly and Quackity paused, mouth opening with a laugh while trying to keep on this shocked and offended look.

"No, prick," Quackity told him with a pout, crossing his arms once again, then sort of slowed as he thought. "The cat just made it so I couldn't see, and well, I was fucking startled, man. So new lesson learned, don't walk backwards with a scared cat on your face."

Wilbur paused. "No..."

"Yuh-huh." Quackity countered, wincing a little before taking a short breath. "You'll trip on something and fall onto a glass table decorated with cups."

Well shit. Wilbur grit his teeth together. The scar made sense- like a lot more now. That was awful.

"And paper," Quackity added, turning to Wilbur with a tone he knew far too well, the younger once again trying to lessen the importance of what he was saying by acting okay with it and cracking a joke. "Paper's bad only because I've gotten a paper cut before. Twice this year. So I guess just don't put paper on tables." He ended with a shrug and Wilbur honestly didn't know whether to comment on his poor take on the placing of paper, or to address literally anything from the many things he now knew after Quackity called him.

His brain was turning, sure, but nothing was making it out to him, no real thoughts. So when Wilbur blinked, lips parting, the only thing that came out was an uncertain whisper of, "Are you okay? Can I hug you?"

Quackity had hesitated at that, like Wilbur continuously avoiding making a joke of the whole deal and repeatedly counted for the way it sunk a certain weight down Quackity's throat that slammed at the bottom of his stomach, holding him down, like all of it was starting to seep in through the tear beginning to shyly form. His whole 'confident and humorous smile' deal faltered, lips twitching downwards as his eyes met Wilbur's.

It was silent, Quackity was never a quitter, not easily, but these were real serious emotions that he just couldn't stash away forever no matter how much he wore himself out trying to do exactly that. So when that tear trailed down from Quackity's now only dark brown eye, he gave in and instantly was squeezing Wilbur, body thrown over the console but didn't bother him, he just shut his eyes as held onto Wilbur like even though he knew Wilbur wouldn't, he couldn't help but think Wilbur would let go of him.

But neither of them were exactly blessed with patience from time, so it ran short as Wilbur's phone chimed and Quackity drew himself back with sniffles, raising the back of his hand to cover his mouth and blink at Wilbur.

"Could you drop me off at my parent's house?" Quackity asked and Wilbur had nodded, pulled out his phone for a second, then the two were buckling up. Wilbur kept relatively silent throughout, and made no move to change the channel, which allowed for full freedom when it came to whatever radio station Quackity may or may not play.

Wilbur did wonder if he should say something, since the glances he took at Quackity sparingly let him in on the fact that Quackity was deep in his head, far down the rabbit hole. He was very much going over a range of thoughts, one after the other, all still mulling over this same dispirited theme that was too dull and heavy for the proudly shining Quackity he had seen not even a week ago.

So after the third green light Wilbur decided to venture out, hoping to find whatever topic they would settle on, whether it be one to distract Quackity from falling too deep for the moment or address what it was that pulled him down.

"Anything on your mind?" He asked, eyes on the road but his ears could detect how Quackity shuffled in his seat and looked over at Wilbur, waiting and silent, before Wilbur gave him a short smile. "Huh, Big Q? Penny for your thoughts if you will, darling."

He heard Quackity let out a lazy snicker, a breathy thing, as he watched the lights ahead, that bright green beaming and prominent in the surrounding darkness of the sky, flash into yellow, a wave of break lights fading back in.

"Not really," Quackity told him, words thick on his throat, before he gave in, a single ankle-deep and sighed. "I can't believe I'm gonna have this on my face for the rest of my fucking life."

There it was.

Wilbur honestly didn't have some major scar on his face or really anywhere commonly visible, but no matter whether he could relate or not, he could still imagine a sliver of the frustration or self-conscious ideas that would probably circulate the existence of one, regardless of each made up cool origin story. No amount of 'it was a tiger' or 'I owed the wrong guy money' would really make somebody like Quackity feel good for long, that would simply dissipate and leave Quackity realizing that he was falling from a high that wasn't real.

So Wilbur didn't make a joke about Quackity being a badass. Didn't give him a list of fake scenarios. That would only result in a half-felt smile that Quackity was too tired to actively stop himself from attempting.

But Wilbur also didn't take a step and tell Quackity he thought he was such a beautiful person no matter what. It would have been better, maybe even helped. But he bit his tongue, the words of praise never making it out.

He wasn't ready to say it yet. The moment was too... Emotion heavy. It's been a lot since Quackity called and he wouldn't be able to tell Quackity how some scar wouldn't determine whether Wilbur thought he was gorgeous or not, and that the people with actual attractiveness would think the same.

He had ignored the thud of his heart once again and stuffed it down to his stomach when it got too close to leaping out of his mouth.

He thought if he were to start even with a simple 'you look good regardless' it would end with him choking on his own confession. If he couldn't say that, then what should he say?

He must have been thinking about it for a good moment, which wasn't all that great, because when he looked at Quackity, the man seemed like he was getting ready to start melting back into the seat (somehow) after admitting how he felt instead of whipping out a joke like he was previously doing. Wilbur, although he never intended for it, knew his silence was creating that sense of doubt in Quackity.

He gripped the wheel tight, stared down the red light across the street he was patiently waiting to cross, and forced himself to sigh. But then words didn't follow after, nothing came to him, nothing to slip past his lips without second thought.

So he didn't blame Quackity when he glanced over at Wilbur with an uncertain look, mouth open but not saying anything.

"I'm sorry," He said because it was the only thing he could manage to think of. Besides the steep fall to confessing, of course. Quackity blinked once, then quickly turned away but Wilbur swore he caught his frown.

"Don't be, you didn't give me this scar."

Wilbur had nodded before switching to the road, light turning green threw seconds after, as the low rumble of the road underneath filled the space with a muted noise.

Then, Wilbur breathed in, and spared a second to watch Quackity gaze out the window, beautiful as ever, scar and all. "What do you want me to be?"

Quackity paused, almost turning to him, but ultimately stayed watching everything pass on by outside the window with tense shoulders, before he slumped in the passenger seat and tilted his head towards Wilbur, lips pursed downwards with a thoughtful expression Wilbur nearly missed to the road.

"I think you should just be you," Quackity said, voice wavering at the start. "Normal." He added, a bit more confident. "Not my second doctor or cosmetics expert. Just, you know, be my Wilbur- if that makes sense."

Wilbur swallowed, no matter how many times something like this has happened, he had to remind himself not to linger on the 'my Wilbur' part and focus on what actually mattered.

"Yeah," He breathed out, "Makes sense."

When they arrived at their destination, pulling up to the curb in front of Quackity's parents' house, Quackity had messaged them three minutes prior to their arrival that he would be there shortly, leaving out some important details most likely. But apparently enough, because when Quackity texted them he was outside, and as Quackity got out of the car the front door flung open almost instantly.

He faced his back to the house and leaned his head in the rolled down window. "Thank you, Wilbur. As always."

"No worries," Wilbur said, sharing a short smile before his face rested. "They really love you." He made sure to note, calling back to the fact Quackity no longer had a place. The 'I love you too' went unsaid as he waved. "They're probably relieved to have you back in the house, if anything."

Quackity managed a warm laugh at that and stood up. "Probably." With that they said goodbye, Quackity adding a promise of calling him, and Wilbur watched Quackity walk up and sink into the silhouette of his parents, a huge hug that might have been too tight, but much needed. Quackity had said enough to worry them, for sure.

He pressed his lips into a thin line to stop himself from frowning again, thinking about Quackity's resentment to his scar, his frustration of now being stuck with it, from losing the room he was renting. He pulled himself out of his head so he could focus, and drove away.

Quackity did call him later that night, it lasted until two in the morning, and Wilbur was happy to just sit and listen for the moments Quackity wanted him to, and offered to watch the sunrise with him on Thursday just because.

Quackity eagerly agreed to it and Wilbur silently blushed. He imagined Quackity would look perfectly gorgeous in that lighting.

Come Thursday, Wilbur found out he did in fact, look perfectly gorgeous.

Wilbur had fallen asleep surprisingly fast after finally blinking away from Quackity, letting his eyes rest and his brain relax more than anything. Nothing more than a very light nap, but worth it as he abruptly blinks his eyes wide open with a new fresh feel behind his eyelids.

When Wilbur sits up, Quackity's sitting on his phone in front of the bed, swiping through pages. He hears Wilbur shuffling around with a newly awoken hum to get Quackity's attention.

"Awake?" Quackity questions, light and wonderful as Wilbur gives him a floppy smile when he turns around. Something he's learned about this life is that it's one of the greatest experiences to wake up in Quackity's presence.

"Is dinner happening soon or?" Wilbur trails off with a small yawn, flipping his legs from out under him to let them hang off of the bed next to Quackity's shoulder who makes a really grossed-out face, childishly so, and stands up only to join Wilbur on the bed.

"Don't stick your feet anywhere near me, man." Quackity comments with a scrunch of his nose and Wilbur only gives him a careless shrug in return. Quackity shakes his head at that and looks towards the door. "We're having dinner soon."

"Delicious." Wilbur set his hands on his knees with a plop, earning an odd look from Quackity.

"You haven't even eaten any of it yet." He points out and Wilbur doesn't argue against him, simply fishes for his phone, and without thought opens up the camera and positions his phone like he always does, smiling with Quackity just watching him on the other side of the frame. "What is this for?"

"Meeting my best mate's family, that's what," Wilbur says with a confident and sure nod, turning to face Quackity and he urges him to participate. He does and Wilbur snaps a picture of the two of them, smiles, Quackity's good looks, and Wilbur's post-nap appearance. He looks down at his phone and tries not to let those bubbles of adoration float out and pop right in Quackity's face. So instead, Wilbur stuffs his affection into a fight box in the shape of a faint smile, this hologram of a thing, not really there. But when he zooms in a little and shows it to Quackity, his smile is fabricated into something real and tangible when he sees Quackity glance over the photo.

"Sweet." Is all he says before there's a knock on the door and it opens. They both look up to see Quackity's mom.

"Mi hijo, you two should get ready for dinner."

"We will." He answers with a firm nod and she walks away, leaving Wilbur to wait for Quackity to direct him to the nearest sink he should wash his hands in. And also maybe for Quackity to hand him some sort of helpful answer sheet that shows Wilbur exactly how to make Quackity's parents like him.

The latter does not happen, and Wilbur is forced into the space between Quackity and the sink moments later when Quackity suddenly remembers to dry off his hands and squeezes himself next to Wilbur on his left where the towel is instead of just reaching around and grabbing the damn towel.

So he takes a five second breather when Quackity walks out, promising to himself that he is absolutely cool and collected and mostly probably ready for dinner before actually leaving the bathroom.

They do pray before they eat, with Quackity's dad lightly teasing him into starting it off. Wilbur warms up at their shared smiles and the good old fashion reluctance any kid would give to their parents about almost anything, chore or not. But Quackity follows through anyway and Wilbur copies him a head tilted downward and even says amen with them because why not be respectful? Parent's love respectful and Wilbur admittedly, wants the two of them to at least be fond of him, if nothing else. That when Quackity and Wilbur head off for bed, they sit and say "he's sweet" or something similar, and again when they part ways from Quackity's parents in the morning.

When Quackity's dad sets his vision on his food and takes the first bite, Wilbur makes a move to start enjoying the meal with a sip of water.

He shares a couple looks with Quackity, ones with no real meaning besides a mental smile or hello again. Then, he catches his mom's returning glance after he takes his first bite, and he realizes why that is, with her almost silent but obvious expecting look.

"Told you it was delicious, Quackity," Wilbur says after swallowing, turning to him with a smile that Quackity does not return, rather, he exchanges it for a half-assed scowl and a roll of his eyes trailing afterwards when he looks away.

"Never said it wasn't," Quackity replies and it seems more directed towards his mother than anything, making sure she hears it and only going back to Wilbur when she blinks and gives a satisfied 'why thank you'. "I only told you that you hadn't eaten it yet. Now you have."

"Ay, not enough. Only one bite." Wilbur drags out. This feels easy, banter with Quackity, practically with any audience, like he can love without worries for a moment. Just Quackity and his words as he gestures to his plate. "You know I am going to have to eat more than that."

From that he gets both a pleasant hum from his mom and a near chuckle from his dad. Which honestly feels pretty great. Maybe he's a lot better at this appealing to parents deal than well, before in the living room. On the drive here, Wilbur was certainly convinced that he would slip up in front of them somehow, leaving them at least a little upset. But upset hasn't been something he thinks he's gotten yet, which is good.

Quackity's father then clears his throat and bumps his chest with his fist after some fairly big bites, then offers a hand to the air with a sneaky smile and one look at his wife. "You know, I helped out a little with the food."

Quackity instantly looks at his father with a questioning look and Wilbur watches as his mom sets down her cup of water and shakes her head.

"Oh, you wish you did." She tells him, lifting her hand up and the small traces of a smile star spreading onto Quakity's face.

Her husband tosses his hands to the side and goes to defend himself after sputtering out nothing much. "I... washed the vegetables." He offers but she only snaps her fingers.

"And I cut them, what, would you have wanted a whole tomato on your plate instead?" She points out but then Wilbur catches the small smile she tries to hide. And the one her husband does when he shakes his head in a way to act out defeat.

"No," He says with a sigh. "Not at all."

Wilbur's insides might just let out a big sigh, the mood of the day turning away from his previously very uncertain and self-doubting mood. Not that he's completely out of the woods yet. But it's better. It's good because Quackity's parents are so meant for each other and they are in love and that fact is shining tonight. But then the day is also still reminiscent of his usual cycle of overthinking when he feels that almost painfully wanting tug at his heart because he wants that with Quackity. Wants this. To love each other not just as friends but more and be able to lazily kiss whenever they watch boring documentaries and just press his hands to Quackity's stomach softly and kiss his lips until Quackity sinks into the bed.

There's just so many ways to love somebody, to show it, to feel it. And Wilbur wishes to express that. But there's the looming presence of one possibility: rejection. He's not about to risk their friendship. So when he thinks about the rings that Quackity's parents are wearing, he aches as he tries to push out the specific memory of a dream he had where he and Wilbur had their own. That is where the line gets crossed, he thinks. Too far, they are only friends. Any time he is suddenly reminded of that dream, he's attempting to swat it out of his mind instantly.

He focuses on not letting himself get so hung up and start tripping on his own feet onto an embarrassment trail he can't come back from. Most of the time he manages to do that well.

Thankfully this is one of those times.

Well, until Quackity's dad asks Wilbur about his dating life. More specifically, if he has a girlfriend.

He stops chewing, struggles to keep his eyes set on his food so that don't dart desperately towards Quackity's direction, and shrugs. "Well," He starts and he already feels sweaty. He isn't exactly sure how to respond because if he's being entirely honest he isn't sure what he wants to hear.

Luckily Wilbur is laughed at by Quackity's father. Which may have sounded bad, but it's good, because he's smiling mischievously with a "I see you keep your business private? I respect" that directs the answer for him so Wilbur doesn't actually have to answer.

But then he asks Quackity and Wilbur stills. "And what about you? Any date?" Makes him peer over at Quackity for a second.

He can't think reasonably enough to understand that if Quackity has been seeing somebody, Wilbur would have known before they even drove up here for so many reasons. Like Quackity would never be able to keep his mouth shut if he was dating somebody. At least, Wilbur thinks so. But none of that is relevant anymore because what if he is seeing somebody?

Wilbur blinks at Quackity expectantly, then teats his gaze away when he realizes he is, biting his lip and staring down his plate instead.

He hears Quackity let out a nervous laugh. "Uh, no, actually."

Oh thank goodness. Wilbur's right.

He is correct in that selfish way he is, knowing Quackity would have told him, knowing that Quackity is in fact single. It's relieving in that way he knows it really shouldn't be. But it's light to know this instead of knowing nothing. But then he forgets all of this and wonders if Quackity is interested but hasn't talked to them yet or anything.

He knows Quackity's gay, he told him a while ago. So whenever Wilbur ends up like this, jealous of nothing in the real world, he ends up picturing a man that's everything he's not and so much more, sure that Quackity would choose the imaginary dude over him.

Which sounds incredibly stupid but he can't only do so much to fix it.

God, and he was just being so collected and practically switched it all around.

But something about the question leaves him just a bit silent for the whole dinner. Something he isn't proud of, but he finds it easier to suppress negative thoughts by wasting his energy thinking of random unrelated subjects. So whenever somebody asks him a question, yes of course he answers with the least amount of words possible and as he does so, those mental pests slip in and whisper to his mind ' tell them you're not actually a really good person ' or something else outrageous that shuts his mouth and keeps his responses short as he thinks of anything and everything like a news article his browser wanted him to read about some politics back in the UK (he did not read it, he was in a rush to find a meme he bookmarked somewhere) and even how he would improve a plate of pancakes he once made.

It works, mostly, because Quackity's parents are waving him and Quackity off with smiles that don't imply they know anything of his sudden withdrawal from reality to beat himself up about stuff that wasn't even real, resulting in his momentary break from the table to his mind, running on about irrelevant topics.

But Wilbur says mostly because Quackity is eyeing him like he knows, like he sees straight through him because when was he ever solid and sometimes Wilbur wishes he could be better at having a full-on poker face. Then, maybe, Quackity wouldn't look at him like that, like he has questions he's about to whisper into his ear while somehow facing the other way, but also like he's about to point a finger at whoever Wilbur tells him to. Quackity can be so conflicting it drives him crazy. Quackity may look beautiful and be sat in lighting that makes him extra angelic, but then he could give Wilbur the most menacing look and tell him a story Wilbur has learned is more likely to be true than one would think it would be.

Quackity's conflicting in the way he looks great in blue and red, conflicting because he wears that rigged scar on his face and cusses people out when deserved but touches Wilbur so gently at times like it's all he's over known and he wants to make it that way for Wilbur too.

It's all conflicting because Wilbur has both never been more scared of and never wanted to say the words 'I love you' more than anything in his life.

Instead of saying anything of the sort, however, Wilbur leans back on the door and tilts his head, eyeing Quackity who is sitting there on the bed. Calculated, handsome, and a mystery now and then, and Quackity just sits there in khakis."Yes?" Wilbur inquires and he's met with the famous unamused expression Quackity can nail done with a very somehow deadpan eye roll.

Wilbur stalls because of it before lifting off the wall and tiptoeing closer, shrugging and slapping his hands at his sides. "I'm not exactly a mind reader, Quackity."

Quackity's stable look of disinterest falters at that, blinking up at Wilbur, biting the edge of his lip and huffing as he makes room for Wilbur on the bed. "I'm just being dumb, Will."

Well then. Wilbur squints, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and looking down at Quackity who's looking the other way, neck stretched and shoulders raised. He doesn't get it. "Explain."

"Something... Got to you," Quackity starts and Wilbur knew it, he knew Quackity would catch onto him no matter how clueless his parents were. He holds his breath before realizing there is no point and nods on admission when Quackity peeks over at him. "At dinner." Quackity clarifies even though they both know.

"Yeah, uh-" But Wilbur can't even stick a hand down his throat to strangle out an explanation that doesn't mention him finding a selfish satisfaction that Quackity is single and that he knows it. Because he thinks it doesn't sound the best. He can't do any of that as Quackity lets out a big breath and his shoulders loosen up a little.

"I just- IguessI thought you'd look at me at least, so I could help you. Because I wanted to, but then you didn't- and I don't know," Quackity starts and his words are racking upon themselves faster than he can think as he reaches a hand up to his face and hides his groan into his palm. Then, Wilbur realizes, he is embarrassed, and that leaves Wilbur confused. "It sounds weird. Is it weird? I just, you know, I wantto be the one helping you."

Wilbur has to take a moment to think and shake his head with a weak shrug, humming. "I mean, it's not weird to want to help your friends, or family, or-"

Quackity makes a frustrated noise and whips around so fast to face Wilbur it leaves him stunned for exactly one second, and he sees Quackity's pout and embarrassed furrow of his brows. "That's not entirely it. I want to be the one that helps you when you- when something happens and you feel like crumbling in on yourself, when you are sad and shit. But I-" Quackity bites his cheek and Wilbur can tell this is a bit hard for him to say, so he must admit the eye contact he's managing is impressive.

"I want to be the only one who does," Quackity says.

Oh.

Wilbur blinks. He doesn't know if he heard right but Quackity's expression isn't changing and nothing is changing and no, he absolutely heard him right. Oh. Wilbur opens his mouth, but doesn't say anything and he can practically feel how Quackity's skin must be burning as the man intently watches Wilbur, seemingly self-conscious about his reaction or lack thereof, and shrinks into himself with a stammering cough, cheeks turning pink.

"I know that sounds bad because if you care for somebody you just want them to be cared for when they need it," He rushes out, lifting his hands in defense and nearly whacking Wilbur's arm as he waved a hand. "But it's stupid and I know it doesn't sound great but I can't help it because then when you don't come for me to help I think, you know, alotof things, but then i have to tell myself I'm being ridiculous and that I shouldn't be..." He slows to a stop, finally, but doesn't take a well needed breath of air, just looks down away from Wilbur, away from his gaze and away from the light of the lamp, and then actually takes a breath. "That I shouldn't be- fuck-" He cusses as he lifts his head and laughs nervously. "I think the word might be jealous."

Wilbur tries to nod, he isn't sure whether or not he does but he's done something and thankfully it doesn't make Quackity coil in on himself with a timer ready to set off the next rant that explodes out of him. There isn't really reading in-between the lines here or anything, nothing that completely blows him out of the park because he knows exactly what Quackity is talking about. He does get it, actually, he feels it. Quackity's right, sure it might be stupid, but Wilbur, like Quackity, cannot help it. And because he understands how it feels, how the mind swirls when he doesn't get the chance to help Quackity in the way he needed, he sets his hand on top of Quackity's and inhales.

"I'm sorry," He says, then gives Quackity a smile when he looks up. "I know pretty much exactly what you mean, the thoughts, the jealousy, all of it. So I'm sorry I barely even looked at you or well, anything."

Quackity, however, seems more focused on the fact that Wilburrelates more than the apology and yeah, Wilbur will let it slide. "You do?" Quackity asks like he might have previously thought it was impossible and Wilbur tries not to think about it too hard.

Wilbur nods again, and his throat tightens a little. "Yeah, I do." He croaks out. "When it comes to you."

Then Quackity is just gazing at him in a way, while Wilbur sits here buzzing with anticipation, mind bubbling because just like Quackity he realizes he isn't absolutely alone, he isn't too intense or whatever the hell becauseQuackity gets it. And right now it's one of the only things on his mind, it makes his heart beat a little louder and Quackity sits there, gears turning slowly but surely as he thinks of something and Wilbur thinks he looks lost in something he found, something he's been searching for that he finally has, and then he can see the moment it (whatever it is) clicks in Quackity's brain as he blinks up at Wilbur, mouth open eyes centered.

"Can I kiss you?" Quackity whispers.

Wilbur's world turns into a blank white canvas, mind sputtering and eyes going wide, but his heart is quicker to understand and maybe it always has, as it rams against his chest and color sprouts all over his world, fireworks and it's all there and bright and warm because Quackity just asked to kiss him and he's here, so close, and Quackity is perfect, even if they are sharing a room at his parents house and they've just eaten dinner, but he's made it because Quackity feels the same and-

And then he's gone. The cold floods in as Quackity swoops himself away, far from Wilbur who is frozen, previously warm but starstruck, now on an empty bed as Quackity shoots up, eyes wide, and wraps his arms around himself. "Shit, fuck, man, Wilbur."

Wilbur doesn't even understand the English language for a second, but then it comes flooding back to him and slaps him across the face as he comprehends Quackity repeatedly mustering out apologies after the other, stepping further and further from the bed, further from him.

"I'm sorry, that was unprompted. I uh, sorry. Will- Wilbur-"

Wilbur tries not to let his heart sink, tries not to let it hurt too bad, and focuses on steadying the other as Quackity faces the wall, back towards him, arms tightly holding himself. "Quackity -"

"Don't," Quackity says harshly, snapping around, then takes it back immediately with a shameful look that does not deserve to be on his face at all, but he isn't listening, he doesn't stop, and Wilbur bites his cheek as Quackity shrinks further back. "Sorry. Wilbur, just forget that. I didn't... Sorry. Fuc-"

"Quackity!" Wilbur counters, probably a bit too loud but Quackity's parents are busy with loud dishes to wash and debates to hold so he's fine and it works, it snaps Quackity back straight in his body, in his proper mind, and he stops rambling mantras of worries and cusses. Quackity waits, fidgety, and Wilbur hates how it's practically like a bunny waiting for a fox to decide it's fate. He opens his mouth, then quickly closes it and decides to think about what to say first and thankfully enough Quackity waits. Then, Wilbur sighs. He knows his breath is shaky, uncertain along the edges because in the end he's been waiting to make some idiotic move for a while but he always told himself it wasn't time yet. But he thinks he should be done with that now, and glances up at Quackity. He knows he's blushing, he doesn't care. "Quackity, mate, you didn't even give me a chance to respond."

Quackity doesn't verbally say anything, but his eyes- hiseyes, they always say so much and Wilbur is glad he can listen, glad he can see, and gives Quackity an assuring nod.

"What if I was going to say yes, Big Q?"

Quackity's lips part, his eyes a little wide, and his hands stall. "Would you have?" He whispers it out into the room, so far away, and Wilbur gestures for him to come closer, heart pounding with each step he takes, each inch he crosses out between them.

Then he sits back down and their shoulders brush, Wilbur would call it electric.

"Yes, Quackity," He says in confirmation, that gooey near sickly sweet affection dripping off his tongue as he smiles, nervous but Quackity glows, it makes Wilbur glow too. "I would have said yes because, well, I," He takes a sharp breath, but doesn't blink away. "Because I like you? Love you? I don't know if love is too soon, but I do."

Quackity is frowning. He is not smiling, but just as Wilbur is about ready to be concerned he notices it's because Quackity is actively trying really hard not to shapeshift into a cheshire cat or whatever the hell smiles as wide as Quackity is not letting himself. Wilbur doesn't ask why, just shakes his head at it, so finally, Quackity allows his lips to curl upwards and the glint in his eyes is near blinding and Wilbur swears he felt their hearts beat at the same time. "I love you, too, Wilbur," He says from a large grin, dimples strong and words stronger because it pulls at a string, one that normally ached in Wilbur's chest but now it sings and it's a wonderful feeling.

Then, Quackity's hugging him. So Wilbur hugs him back. It's perfect.

This time the firework show isn't paraded with rain, this time it sparkles and beams and whistles and every great little thing in between as he holds Quackity, holds him tighter, squeezes his eyes shut, and loses his breath with the grip Quackity has on him.

Then Quackity leans back, beaming. He's golden and Wilbur loves him. He loves him and he's said it and Quackity loves him back. It's everything. So he kisses Quackity on the lips and praises how Quackity instantly sinks into it.

Quackity's hands come to each side of his face, fingertips grazing his collarbone, setting his skin on fire in just the best way ever manageable, his warm palms heating up his cheeks. It's better than any dream Wilbur no longer has to bury, it's Quackity gasping into his mouth for air and not even caring that he hardly got any because he just wants to hold Wilbur's face and press his soul into his as Wilbur's hands brace on Quackity's shoulders, pulling him closer.

It's Quackity all around, in his hands, in his head, in his heart, and time no longer exists as the world-their world-blossoms, between kisses and hands and bliss, it's just them in the end right now, and then Quackity's on his back, cheeks entirely flushed (not that Wilbur is any better), and his arms hung over Wilbur's shoulders. Wilbur smiles, presses a hand to Quackity's chest, through layers of fabric he can feel the rushing thump.

"Your heart is beating really fast," He comments, Quackity nods, taking a deep breath, giggling, making Wilbur lose concentration he doesn't realize Quackity is lowering a hand to his left side until it's there and Quackity's chest rises and falls once with his breathing, and he hums.

"So is yours."

Wilbur scoffs like it means anything, and leans down to kiss Quackity, who laughs in between and kisses back just as sweet and just as curious. One arm hooked around Wilbur's shoulders, fingers twirling his hair, softly so, the other still flat against the material of Wilbur's t-shirt, heartbeat ringing from underneath, and Quackity gets near breathless.

Wilbur is absolutely living for the way Quackity melts under his touch, a tender hand squeezing his hip, and a kiss on the cheek, and he just soaks it up.

"Wilbur," He says, a little quiet, voice raspy, then clears his throat as Wilbur raises an eyebrow in question. He breathes in, evening out, and lets his hands and arms fall to his side. "Wilbur, I need," He begins with one breath and loses it with the dip of his stomach, blinking up, and chuckling at himself. "A break. I'm- you know, it's a lot."

Wilbur smiles, sneaking his hands back and settling in next to him, both on their backs, and he nods as best as he can. "Yeah?"

Quackity huffs. "Yeah, it's just, I think because I've, uh, wanted... that for so long, and when it happened, it was justso much, and I was starting to get... Dunno." He sighs in slight defeat, but Wilbur peeks over at him with the answer.

"Overwhelmed?"

"Yeah," Quackity says in agreement.Then lets the heat fizzle out before laughing out loud it almost concerns Wilbur when he nearly snorts.

"Yes?"

"I just never thought you'd be into me, man, but you were just sucking my face off," Quackity says far too evenly, completely nonchalant like he wasn't just bursting out with laughter, and Wilbur reels back with an offended, but more flustered noise.

"Quackity the fuck?"

"What?" He exclaims, prepping up for his defense, and looks over at Wilbur with a judgemental gaze. "I started to like you so quickly, Wilbur, my friends made fun of me. But I just thought you weren't looking to busy yourself with somebody who couldn't even legally drink at any party, not yet, and still lives with their parents and fuck, I don't know. I thought I wasn't going to be interesting enough or anything, I was just a good grade guy, that's it, but I didn't want to be fake either, so I kinda just accepted that it would never happen."

Wilbur's stomach swirls, unsure with what, and he smiles. "Well first off, it did happen. Second off, you are like the most interesting person I know. In a good way. Not in the way the strange people I tell you about are."

Quackity snickers, purposely bumping his shoulders into Wilbur's. It's silent, and Wilbur blinks over at Quackity who is focused on the ceiling, and Wilbur joins him.

"Since you told your little story, I will say," Wilbur mumbles, the weight he's been living with since he admired Quackity as anything more than a friend, the one that followed him here, the one that tried to drown him after he dropped out of college and started heavily smoking, it climbs up to his throat, waits under his tongue and on his shoulders. "I always thought you were too cool for me, that there was no way you and your," he pauses, searching for a word, "Your greatness," Wilbur lands on with a chuckle. "I thought you'd never be into somebody like me because I wasn't good enough. Not like you."

It stays silent for a moment, then another second, and then Quackity throws himself over Wilbur in a very messy hug.

"Not like me? Wilbur, I don't wanna date my fucking self," He teases, then his smile softens and he kisses him in the forehead. "Not being good enough is bullshit, by the way, I went on a rant like six months after I met you about how the seventh month is the perfect time to ruin a friendship."

Wilbur coughs out a laugh, eyes wide. "But you didn't."

"I got cold feet," Quackity says with a shrug, and simply lays down on top of Wilbur. "Point still stands, I've been swooning for a while."

Wilbur huffs, amused, and wriggles an arm out from Quackity to set a hand on his back. "Good to know. Also, you said 'date yourself' so I'm guessing if I ask you to be my boyfriend you'd be down?"

"So down," Quackity says, slightly muffled into Wilbur's shoulder and arm, and yawns. "You turn off the light."

"You're laying on me," Wilbur retorts and Quackity reluctantly slides off of him to his space and Wilbur, also reluctantly, shuffles out of bed and switches off the lamp.

Somehow Quackity ends up kneeing Wilbur in the lower stomach while trying to get "comfortable". Wilbur calls bullcrap but still wraps an arm around Quackity affectionately.

In the morning they wake up for breakfast, Quackity will not stop wiggling his eyebrows and looks like a fucking idiot, but Wilbur laughs or shakes his head all the same. Quackity's dad shows off his shiny red car, of course, doesn't let either of them touch it, and his mom prepared them a farewell goodie bag of sorts that includes the bag of chocolates, and then their both waving them away after a million kisses on cheeks and pats on the back.

The sun isn't as warm as it was the other day, but Quackity's smile seems to make up for it as he rounds the front of the car. "Told you they don't dislike you."

Wilbur sometimes hates how infectious his smile is, and unlocks the car. "They don't love me."

"Of course," Quackity says simply, opening the passenger door and waiting until Wilbur is in to meet his slightly offended expression. "That is my job." He adds, then chuckles as he closes the door. "Plus, itwasonly their first time meeting you."

Wilbur huffs, looking outwards, then with a sigh he closes the door and plops the goodie bag onto Quackity's lap. "Fair 'nough. Let's bounce."

"Don't say that."

"Uh, I know all about the Bill Of Rights and I'm allowed freedom of speech, Quackity, it's like number one or something other."

Quackity only rolls his eyes as Wilbur starts the car, mumbling something about Wilbur being an idiot, whatnot, Wilbur doesn't mind, because Quackity is also not even hiding the glances he takes and when Wilbur comments on it he simply shrugs with "Nice hoodie" and that's enough to make Wilbur mentally write down that Quackity likes whatever hoodie he's wearing (he doesn't even know).

When they stumble into Wilbur's apartment like zombies, it's because they are properly worn out after their first part of their first date: bowling then roller skating. The second half, they decided, was to just drop on the couch and complain about their calves and below, apparently.

Somewhere between visits to the kitchen for water and a comically large can of almonds, they're now huddled up on the couch, blankets a tangle with legs, as a documentary plays on the television, daring them to fall asleep every so often.

The only lighting is from the TV and the bathroom, door open so Quackity stops stubbing his toe by turning too early around the corner. Quackity's legs are thrown over Wilbur, who's trying to pay attention as Quackity questions the legitimacy of the footage playing. Wilbur doesn't give a real answer, and even if all they may be doing is watching a random documentary, his heart is swollen, this is exactly what he's wanted as Quackity, bored of the political speech playing, pulls his legs back and rocks forward to give Wilbur a lazy kiss, hand pressing on his shoulder.

It's here in this moment Wilbur says I love you for a second time, to Quackity, and gets it in return, from Quackity.

But then it's very quickly followed by a confused gasp as Quackity squints at the screen. "I thought he was a dictator?"

"He is." Wilbur sighs.

Quackity waves him away and decides he's fine staying lost and without context. So he leans half his weight on Wilbur and pops a couple almonds in his mouth. "I haven't been paying much attention," He admits.

"I know," Wilbur says because he does and he's pretty okay with it, because being here with Quackity is enough, and the kiss he plants on the side of his jaw is plenty, all very welcomed and loved.

And it feels exactly right.