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As much of a romantic as Quackity could be, he hated school dances. Unless he was tearing someone's clothes off in the school bathroom.
And prom was no exception. Sweaty teenagers, shitty music, an even shittier variety of food. And an even shittier boyfriend. It wasn't like he was bad, though, he just had…a drinking issue. He was an alcoholic, plain and simple. Quackity had received a message ten minutes after he'd arrived of an almost incomprehensible apology and promise to make it up. He'd drank too much again.
But Quackity wasn't upset. No, he was numb. It wasn't often that Schlatt followed through with his plans. And it wasn't his fault. Withdrawals made him scary.
So when he got the message, he simply released a quiet breath and turned his screen off, setting his phone aside. It didn't bother him. Not at all. Not one bit.
He was contemplating leaving. There was no reason for him to be there, but he already bought the tickets and his too-expensive suit and tie, and maybe one shitty cookie wouldn't hurt. There were a few groups of people scattered in the corners of the building, but the majority of the couples were dancing. Some were grinding, though that had been explicitly stated over the intercoms at the end of the school day yesterday that grinding was not allowed. Still, the teachers weren't doing anything to stop them, so Quackity supposed there wasn't much he could do about that.
He would be grinding up against Schlatt right then if it wasn't for his drinking problem.
Maybe Quackity was being a bad boyfriend for staying at the dance instead of rushing to Schlatt's house to take care of his drunk ass. Maybe that said something about their relationship, but if it did, Quackity didn't care. He now had a shitty chocolate chip cookie – the chocolate chips were already melted and making a mess all over his hands – in one hand and a cup of warm lemonade in another.
Prom shouldn't have been bad. It should have been this fairytale dream where Quackity got to be cheesy for one night before tearing Schlatt apart in the backseat of his car with the music blasting full volume. But no, it was an utter nightmare, and Quackity hoped he'd wake up from it.
"Shouldn't you be dancing?"
The vaguely familiar voice made Quackity jump. Lemonade splashed onto his hand. He cursed under his breath, setting the cup and cookie down and grabbing a bunch of napkins. Cleaning up, he finally got a good look at the culprit of the mess.
He knew who he was, but his name remained on the tip of his tongue. He recognized his fluffy hair, the unique white streak that had girls begging for a dance or a fuck or one date. The eyes that were filled with so much…want, that Quackity felt warmth swell in his chest the moment they locked eyes.
He quickly looked away, face embarrassingly flushed. He tossed the napkin into a bin near the table. "I don't have anyone to dance with."
"That's a shame. Where's your boyfriend?"
Quackity opened his mouth to ask how he knew he had a boyfriend, but then he snapped it back shut. Most of the damn school knew him and Schlatt were together.
"Oh, did he flake on you?" the not-quite-a-stranger asked. Somehow he didn't sound insincere. He wasn't mocking him. "I'm sorry. You don't deserve that."
Goddammit, why was he being so nice?
Quackity waved a hand. "It's…fine. This prom sucks anyways. I was gonna dip."
There was a pause. A long pause in which he was very obviously being scrutinized carefully.
"Without a dance?"
"I don't like dancing." He brushed by but didn't get far. A hand grabbed his wrist, and he was pulled to a stop. "Uh –"
"You don't deserve him, Quackity."
Well, now he felt bad that he didn't remember his name. It was bothering him because he knew he knew it, but he…didn't.
"That's a bold claim," he said. But he didn't deny it; he knew that as much as the sort of-kind-of-a-stranger did. He saw it flicker in his eyes. It made his stomach churn in the most nauseous way. He didn't want to have to break up with him. Especially not on prom night, but… he didn't want to cheat, either.
"Is he here now?"
"I –"
He was being stared down with these gorgeous brown eyes that made him squirm. His stomach did that thing that happens when you experience an intense drop on a rollercoaster.
"Something came up," Quackity finally told him. Wilbur.
Right. How did he forget his name? Everyone whispered it around school. And not in a bad way. It was always girls and the guys out of the closet expressing their crush and horniness for him to each other. Quackity never cared and never listened because he had his own boyfriend, and though he didn't act like it sometimes (he liked to flirt with his friends), he was loyal.
But Wilbur gazed at him with such intensity, he felt his body melt. "Did something come up the day of the winter festival?"
Quackity blinked. "Uh –"
"Or the day he bailed on you when you were supposed to go on your one-year anniversary date to the movies and arcade?"
"Wait, how do y–"
"You were left an emotional wreck outside the theater building," Wilbur admitted. "I saw you when I passed to get to the café. I wasn't dumb. Everyone knew what day it was."
Quackity huffed, looking anywhere but at Wilbur so he couldn't see how much he was getting to him. "Well, he had a…family issue."
Two girls rushed past them, one in tears, to get to where Quackity assumed were the bathrooms. In the midst of the second-long chaos, Wilbur had pulled Quackity closer so that their bodies were pressed firmly together.
"Was it a family issue this time?" Wilbur's breath fanned against Quackity's earlobe, and he was extremely aware of the way their hips brushed together. "Was it a family issue when Schlatt publicly rejected your offer to take him as a one-up to a family wedding?"
"I –"
Words failed him. He couldn't focus on the conversation, not when he was hyper aware of Wilbur's hand slowly rubbing down his back. He should pull away, he knew that.
But he didn't.
And he knew he would hate himself later for it, but right now all he could think about was how close they were and how warm Wilbur was and how good his li–
"I could be a better boyfriend than him…" Wilbur whispered, his words a breath against his ear.
And there was that god awful roller coaster feeling again.
His body now felt a little too hot underneath his suit, the collar suffocating. He blamed the intense lights, but he knew that was far from the case.
Quackity finally managed to rip himself away from Wilbur, clearing his throat as he tried to ease the desperate beating of his heart.
"Um, uh, yeah, I – really, he's not all that bad," he insisted. "Seriously, he's a lovely partner. You know, when…"
"When he's not constantly canceling on you or rejecting your plans?"
He crossed his arms, gaze finding interest in the ground. "It's not like that."
"Just give me one dance," Wilbur tried, and it was so, so tempting to agree right then, grab his wrist, and pull him into the throng of grinders. "You can decide what you want to do after that."
Quackity opened his mouth, hesitated. Closed it. He huffed. "I don't want to break up with Schlatt."
Wilbur angled his head in deep thought. "And you really think one dance will change your mind?"
Wouldn't the floor just open up and swallow him whole? Any time would be great.
"Isn't that how it goes?" he asked, his voice small. Embarrassingly enough. On top of that, he was actually contemplating it.
"Why don't you just take a chance and find out?"
Quackity tucked his arms safely into his armpits. "Because believe it or not, I don't just throw myself at people when I'm with someone."
"Come on." Wilbur splayed out his hands in a "I don't see a problem" way. "It's just one dance."
And that was blatant manipulation, but Quackity kept that to himself.
Schlatt's absence had left him a little lonely. His only close friends had skipped prom to go on a date roadtrip, and honestly Quackity should have stayed home. Then he wouldn't be finding himself conflicted on whether he should accept this really, really, really, really sexy man's offer to dance.
He really wanted to, but there was that annoying voice reminding him that would be considered cheating if the culprit liked him and he felt stuff towards him.
"Fine," Quackity said. "Just one dance."
A grin split across Wilbur's face as he grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the rest of the dancers. "One dance is enough."
Regret sank into Quackity's chest. But it was quickly replaced by that stupid roller coaster feeling again. Okay, it wasn't stupid when he felt it with Schlatt, but it was stupid now. Wilbur had moved his hands to rest on Quackity's waist, pulling him close but not close enough to make them appear like they were grinding. There was a lingering fear that somehow this moment would come around to Schlatt, and there was a brief intrusive thought concluding that he wouldn't care.
He quickly brushed that thought aside, reassuring himself that it was only one dance and that they would go their separate ways at the end of the song. Except it wasn't that reassuring when his heart raced ahead and his stomach flipped at every leg brush, hip brush, and accidental eye locks.
Of course it didn't help that the song was kinda slow and Wilbur's breathing was soothing, making him forget his own internal battles.
He knew what would happen if Schlatt were to find out. It wasn't like this would have been the first time he'd done something to upset him. And maybe that should have been enough to set the alarms in his head. He knew what Schlatt was like when he was upset. Sometimes when he got that scorching flame in his eyes, Quackity could feel the ghost of his hand gripping his wrist, phantom nails digging into his skin. But Quackity was rational, wasn't he? After all, he knew Schlatt. The soft, kind, romantic – albeit with "tough love" banter – Schlatt that Quackity fell for. Schlatt wasn't a bad guy most of the time.
Except for when…
But that was something Quackity didn't want to think about, because then it would get in his head and he would start questioning everything.
"What's on your mind?"
Wilbur's soft tone broke through his thoughts.
"Um, nothing," he fibbed.
"I can tell you're not all here," Wilbur told him, and for some reason the confession made Quackity's heart race. "If you want to stop –"
"No, I –" It came out quicker than intended, and his face flushed. He took a deep breath, taking a step back so they weren't so suffocatingly close. "There."
Neither spoke for the rest of the song, to Quackity's relief. He didn't want Wilbur digging into his mind and tearing his relationship apart to analyze. His relationship wasn't for anybody to analyze in the first place.
Once the song ended, Quackity was quick to yank himself away from Wilbur. "You've got your dance," he huffed. "Now I'm gonna dip. I have to check on my boyfriend."
He made sure to enunciate the term boyfriend, but thankfully Wilbur had nothing else to say. But he didn't have to say anything else because Quackity saw his silent plea in his eyes.
You should be coming home with me instead.
A rock settled in Quackity's stomach. A boulder, really. He didn't stay there for much longer, shoving people out of the way in his hasty attempt to escape.
The fresh air and cool breeze did little to actually calm his rapid heartbeat and churning stomach. What the fuck had happened? And why was he feeling all this now? Why when he already had a boyfriend? Why when said boyfriend wasn't there to stop anybody from coming onto him?
He heaved a sigh, shaking his head as he fumbled in his suit pocket for a cigarette. Of course he brought his pack just in case. He lit the cigarette and stuck the stick between his lips.
He shouldn't need someone to prevent people from hitting on him. He was a big man. Big Q was his friends' nickname for him. If that wasn't proof, he didn't know what was.
Quackity inhaled the smoke, held it for a few moments, then exhaled it slowly, watching the smoke rise towards the sky. He shouldn't be smoking right beside a "No Smoking" sign. But who was he kidding? He didn't give a fuck. Not when he was too busy questioning his current relationship and who he wanted more.
No.
No.
He didn't want Wilbur, so why was he thinking like that? He couldn't have Wilbur. For one, he was dating Schlatt and he loved him and he would never consider being with anyone else. Secondly, he was way out of Wilbur's league. He'd just read too far into the situation.
Sighing, he took another drag from the cigarette, thumping his head against the wall.
"You know there's a no smoking sign, right?"
Quackity groaned. "Fuck off."
Silence. Then, "Can I have one?"
He considered. After all, he wasn't mean, and he was raised to share. Then he scoffed. "Don't you have your own?"
He glanced over to see Wilbur shrug. "Didn't bring them with me."
"That's your own damn fault," Quackity mumbled, but he pulled one out, anyway, and handed it to Wilbur. Then he handed over his lighter, assuming he most likely didn't bring that either.
It was silent as Wilbur lit the cigarette, handed the lighter over, and took a drag from the stick. Quackity willed him away, yet he knew he could have just as easily walked away. But his feet remained on the ground like they were glued there. He became increasingly worried that they were as the seconds ticked by and he couldn't seem to get them off the ground.
Just as he was beginning to panic, Wilbur spoke up.
"I thought you'd be gone by now."
Quackity huffed. As if he'd care about that. "I'm scared, actually." He hoped it came off sarcastic.
By the way Wilbur's brows furrowed as if trying to figure out a particularly hard math problem, Quackity assumed it hadn't. "Scared? Why?"
He sighed, tapping the tap of the cigarette. He watched as ash fell from the tip and settled onto the pavement.
"Because I don't know if word got to Schlatt."
"About…?" Realization dawned on Wilbur's face. "Oh. Why would he care?"
Quackity rolled his eyes. He didn't like this interrogation, and he was getting increasingly hot and fidgety the more Wilbur grilled him. "I don't know, maybe because he's protective. Because he cares about me."
"Sounds like he's pretty controlling to me."
Quackity narrowed his eyes at him. "I'm sorry. Are you the relationship police now?"
Wilbur angled his head. "If it gets you to see how much more worth it you are than being with him, then yes."
He scoffed, scuffing the cigarette on the building of the hotel the prom was being held at. "Well, fucking stop then."
Quackity was nearly across the parking lot towards his car, getting ready to break down in peace. This was all too much for him to think about and handle at the moment. He even considered leaving Schlatt alone with a single message that he was tired and heading to bed. Pulling out his phone, he was stopped by Wilbur's insufferably hot voice.
"Quackity! Wait!"
He ignored him. He pulled up Schlatt's contacts and formed the message, telling him the dance wasn't as much fun as it would have been with him there and that he had ditched to go home and get in bed. He threw in a winky emoticon and told him that if he wanted to, he could come over and get in bed with him. He typed it all out with shaky hands.
Sent. The three bubbles appeared. Disappeared for a moment. Reappeared.
"Where are you going?"
Wilbur's slightly out of breath voice jerked Quackity's attention away from his phone.
"Home," Quackity snipped, as if it should have been obvious. He looked back down at his phone.
The bubbles were still there.
He returned his gaze to Wilbur. The taller senior stared him down, crossing his arms.
"Who are you texting?" He gave a single nod towards Quackity's phone.
"My boyfriend." A pause. "I told him I ditched to go to bed."
"You're going to bed already?"
"What's it to you?"
Wilbur sighed, pressing the tips of his fingers to his head. For a while he just stood like that, breathing in deep and slow. He looked like a mother.
Quackity turned away, dropping his gaze to the message he'd got in return.
Like I give a shit about what you do.
That was the breaking point for Quackity. He let his phone slip from his hands and crash onto the pavement without a single worry towards accidentally breaking. He felt like a cliché, and he fucking hated it, but he collapsed to the ground, knees too weak to hold himself up. The tears didn't fall, not yet, he wouldn't let them. Wilbur was still there. He – no, he couldn't let them fall, not in front of him.
"Quackity?"
Wilbur's voice was soft, filled with concern, but Quackity couldn't find himself reacting to it like he had inside.
For as long as he'd known Schlatt, he had never shown such disregard for him. It was weird, heart breaking, scary. Maybe he was wasted beyond what he'd been before. Maybe he just didn't care.
He felt a hand close over his shoulder, and briefly his body melted into the touch. But then he yanked himself away, wrapping his arms tightly around his body.
"Quackity, look at me," Wilbur instructed, but he refused to listen. "Please. Tell me what happened. What did he say?"
Quackity opened his mouth to tell him to fuck off, but what came out instead was a hiccup. He brought a hand to his face and wiped away the stubbornly leaking tears. Wilbur joined his side on the pavement, slipping a hand around his torso, and although he didn't lean against him, he didn't pull away either. He accepted the warmth of another.
He needed a cigarette.
He didn't get one.
"It's okay," Wilbur promised, barely above a whisper. "You can feel like this. I won't judge you. Do you know how many girls are feeling like this right now?"
Despite how much the comment didn't help, Quackity snorted. "That's a shitty way to cheer someone up."
His throat was tight. It made his voice hoarse, cracking nearly every other word.
Wilbur cracked a small smile. When he didn't get one back, he sighed and leaned his head against Quackity's head. "What did he say?"
Quackity didn't want to tell. Saying it out loud would only make it real. There was a fantasy in his head – hope, wishful thinking, a lie to himself, whatever you wanted to call it – that Schlatt would apologize in the morning, insist he was extremely intoxicated and didn't mean it, that he loved him very much, flatty patty and all (he didn't have a flat ass, by the way), and Quackity would believe him because he loved him, too.
"He said he doesn't give a shit about what I do," he found himself mumbling anyways.
There was silence on Wilbur's end, and Quackity couldn't help but glance over. He didn't know what he expected to find. Pity? Sympathy? There was a fire unlike he'd ever seen before in Wilbur's pretty brown eyes. Lines creased his forehead as his eyebrows knitted together. His lips were twisted in a scowl that screamed I dare you to mess with me. His gaze was distant, but he could assume what was playing in his mind by the way his fingers twitched against his hip.
Quackity swallowed thickly, desire rippling through his body. It made him a little dizzy.
"That bastard," Wilbur growled, and fuck, that was hot. And maybe Quackity didn't have to worry about that anymore. It had been made rather clear how Schlatt felt. He loved him, but clearly that feeling was not reciprocated.
Quackity tilted his head, gazing at Wilbur with a want he didn't bother pushing away this time. Why should he? Whether this was a one night stand or more, whether this lasted or ended messily, why should he care? It was his life, and he didn't want to spend it feeling icky over some boy who he should have known never actually liked him in the first place.
Because looking back, Wilbur was right. Schlatt never followed through on his plans. He never agreed to go to events with him. He didn't even show up for their fucking one-year.
Fuck him. Fuck him fuck him fuck him.
"Wilbur," he murmured, voice still choked as more tears slipped down his cheeks.
But he didn't care about that now when Wilbur turned his gaze to him, softening as if he'd just found a stray kitten on the road or a turtle hatching from an egg and waddling itself to the ocean.
"Quackity…"
Quackity licked his lips, rubbed them together. "I'm sorry. About making the dance awkward. Um…"
His lips curled up in a warm smile. It was amazing how quickly his expression had switched. "You didn't make it awkward."
"I can make it up to you," Quackity continued as if he didn't hear him. "Tonight. Just…can you take me home first? Yours? I know that's probably a weird request, but my parents –"
"Hey," Wilbur interrupted, causing him to clamp his mouth shut and drop his gaze; he could still feel the intensity of Wilbur's gaze. "Don't worry about it. It's not weird at all. And my family will welcome you, no worries."
Quackity only nodded, but that was all that was needed.
—
Wilbur had been right. His family had welcomed Quackity –in their own way. Mumza didn't hesitate to start smothering him as if he were one of her own. Despite his stiffness, he surprisingly didn't mind this kind of warm welcome.
"Oh my gosh! What happened? Were you crying? Did somebody hurt you? Do you need a hug? I've been told I give great hugs. What about some so–"
"His douche of a boyfriend decided to admit he doesn't care about him," Wilbur cut off, earning a glare from both his parents.
An obnoxious – in a not-so-annoying way – laugh erupted from the corner of the room. A child with curly blonde hair lounged on the couch, feet kicked up on the armrest, phone in hand. When both adults directed their glare at him, he immediately shut up with a small shrug.
Mumza returned her attention to Quackity. "Here. Phil can get you some soup, okay?" She shot the man with a green cloak and green and white bucket hat a look, and he nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. The kitchen was one of those with a door, and it swung shut behind him. "Is that true? Were you dumped?"
Quackity shifted, face flushed. He was sure he looked ridiculous. "Not necessarily. I–"
"Pretty much," Wilbur cut across.
"William," Mumza snapped, though her voice still managed to be warm and gentle. "You brought this guest over. Be nice."
Quackity managed a wavering grin. "No, it's okay, really. I guess…" He shrugged, hating how the boy on the couch had turned his attention to them. "Technically, yeah, I guess I did."
"On prom night?" Mumza's eyes filled with sympathy as she ushered him further inside and towards the couch. Quackity let her because he needed this. The blonde-haired son scrambled to make room for him, which clearly was something he never did when Wilbur started complaining.
"Oh, come on, not even a kick?"
"No."
"A complaint? Scoff? A poke, a prod? Not a single attempt to annoy the shit out of him?"
A shake of the head.
Wilbur appeared genuinely shocked. "But you do that with everybody."
"Well not everybody is broken up with on prom night."
"Boys." Mumza started to scold them when a new voice joined.
"He was never good for you anyway."
Quackity snapped his gaze towards the voice. He instantly recognized the long pink hair, currently braided and resting over his left shoulder, and the round glasses perched on his nose. Technoblade. He had a wicked sense of humor and, as he'd once said during an English class, only had the intelligent capacity for Greek Mythology.
Which was funny because he was someone who you'd imagine to be a straight A student, who'd be studying all the time and acing every test and maybe be a little bit stuck up. But he wasn't any of that. He was more of a straight B student, which was better than Quackity. Though he had a fair share of As, he also had two Cs and a D. He didn't care anyways because he knew he'd be taking over his parents' casino. Who needed good grades for that?
Mumza cut a cool gaze his way, but Technoblade simply shrugged.
"Technoblade, be nice," she scolded, though her voice still managed to sound sweet and gentle. "He's just got hi–"
Quackity scoffed, shaking his head. He waved a hand and offered a small smile when Mumza gazed at him curiously. "No, he's right. He…we weren't right for each other, and I couldn't see that because I couldn't see the red flags. I didn't want to see them."
"Well," Mumza sighed, just as the kitchen door opened and Phil returned with a bowl of steaming hot soup. "No one ever does when they're in love."
Technoblade coughed out something that sounded like "cringe."
"Are you trying to burn his tongue off?" Wilbur was staring at the bowl in his father's hand with wide eyes. "Geez, at least let it cool first."
"If you're so worried about how hot something he eats is, then you can get the food next time," Phil retorted.
Wilbur opened his mouth, but nothing came out except for an incomprehensible stammer. Quackity found it almost endearing how red his face got. Before he could think much more about how much he wanted to feel the warmth of his hot cheeks against his lips, Phil handed the bowl of soup to him with a soft but curt, "Here."
"Thanks." Quackity accepted the bowl, grateful he could get some food in his system. The breakdown, despite how short it was and how quickly he had gotten over it, had taken a lot of energy out of him. He was starving and tired, and he knew he'd have to stop by Schlatt's house in the morning. He'd probably have a massive hangover, which wouldn't end well if Quackity brought up the message, but he knew if he didn't as soon as he'd wake up, he wouldn't bring it up at all.
"I can beat his ass if you want me," Technoblade spoke up, earning a reprimand from his mother and a laugh from his father.
Quackity didn't get a chance to answer when the boy exclaimed, "I'll help beat his ass!"
"Tommy!"
The boy – Tommy – turned his gaze to his mom, wide eyed and innocent. "What? No one hurts my big bro's friends."
Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows. "Says the one who almost broke Karl's arm in a play-wrestling match."
Tommy crossed his arms, a proud grin breaking out on his pale, freckled face. "No one else but me, that is."
Wilbur only rolled his eyes, and Quackity snickered, nearly choking on the hot liquid. He wiped his arm across his mouth.
"Do you want to take a shower?" Mumza asked out of nowhere. "Sometimes warm showers can help take the pain away."
Quackity had a spoonful of soup halfway into his mouth when Mumza asked the question. He paused, shoved the soup the rest of the way in, and swallowed. He almost choked again due to rushing to answer.
"Um, no," he said with a slight shake of his head. "I'm good. Thanks, though."
"Are you sure?" Mumza's concern was unlike any other Quackity had come across. She'd never seen him before, and yet she already seemed worried about his comfort and happiness. "Because we are more than welcome to let you take over our bathroom for a bit. Wilbur will let you borrow his clothes."
"Wh–" He was blushing again. "Mumza, he said he's fine. Stop smothering him."
Her eyes widened. "Oh, I'm sorry! Am I?" She rose to her feet and stepped away. "You must be tired. I'll leave you be now. You boys have a good night."
Wilbur immediately moved forward and grabbed Quackity's arm. He let him, the simple touch sending electricity through his arm and down to his toes. As he was dragged to the stairs, he heard Philza ask if he was done with the soup and Tommy's "Good night, fuckers!" which was followed by scolding from Mumza and encouragement towards the behavior from both Techno and Phil in different ways. They were reprimanded, too.
"Your family is chaotic," Quackity said when the bedroom door was shut.
Wilbur grinned, running a hand through his hair. "I told you. Welcoming, aren't they?"
He chuckled. "Certainly something else." He shrugged. "I like it. They're fun."
"Are you feeling better?" Wilbur crossed the room to his bed and sat down. Quackity followed.
"Yeah. I mean, I still have to…make it official."
Wilbur angled his head, eyes showcasing his confusion, though he did nothing to hide the flicker of excitement. "You're breaking up with him?"
Quackity offered a – hopefully – reassuring smile. "With his drunk ass? I'm surprised I lasted as long as I did."
It was mainly lighthearted. He wished it didn't have to end like this, end at all really. But maybe it was for the better. Maybe it was what the universe wanted. Fate.
He repressed a chuckle. Fate. What absolute bullshit. It just sucked because, after the initial heartbreak, he didn't feel so bad about it. Only a chip had broken off his heart. Like it was never meant to last.
Wilbur elbowed him lightly. "Everyone was rooting for you two. Well…"
"Until he started rejecting me in the public."
"Yeah."
Quackity sighed, dropping his gaze. He pulled his legs up to his chest and hugged them close. "I know I should have seen the red flags. They were right there. He hurt me, Wilbur."
A shadow flashed across his expression, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "Where?"
"My wrist." His fingers brushed against his skin. It felt weird talking about this with someone. He never mentioned it to his parents, yet here he was, spilling to someone he barely even knew. "Sometimes my head…face. Never my…nothing sexual."
Wilbur frowned. "I don't care about that. I mean, I – I do, but if he hurts you, that's abuse."
Quackity felt too hot. "It's – it was never often."
"That doesn't matter," Wilbur murmured. He gently wrapped a hand around Quackity's wrist.
Quackity winced, yanking his wrist away. "Don't–"
Without a word, Wilbur simply took hold of his wrist once more. Quackity let him, eyeing him warily. It wasn't like he thought he'd hurt him. Somehow he knew he wouldn't.
He wasn't rough. He ran a hand along his soft skin, cautiously turning it in his hand.
"Thank you…" Quackity whispered.
Wilbur lowered his wrist. "You're welcome, but for what?"
"For…" He shrugged, running his tongue over his lips. He felt vulnerable, small, and he hated every second of it. "Everything, I guess… I mean, that's…that's stupid. I mean –"
"It's not stupid," Wilbur interrupted. "I said it earlier: you don't deserve him. You deserve so much more."
And I can give that to you.
The silent remark hung in the air. Quackity could feel the static between them, something pulling him closer to Wilbur. He gazed down at his knees, digging a foot into the bed. Tethering himself in place, keeping himself from pouncing on Wilbur to forget the pain.
"Yeah, but you should be enjoying yourself right now," he said. "Not…not…" He gestured around them. "This."
There was silence. Then a sigh and the rustle of a body shifting on the bed. Warmth flowed through his body at the feeling of another pressing into his side. He craved touch, a kiss, something more, something to ease the guilt bubbling in his stomach. A cigarette, a quickie, Schlatt.
He swore he was over him, that what Wilbur told him was true and that he deserved better, that he was worth more than the pain Schlatt inflicted upon him, whether intentional or not. Physical or emotional. Yet he couldn't stop thinking about him. Schlatt had a rope around his neck and a steel grip that prevented his escape.
Or maybe it was just his fear.
But Wilbur was slowly cutting into that rope, unraveling what he should have accepted from the start.
Schlatt was toxic.
As much as he tried to justify him, as much as he tried his damnedest to insist he wasn't a horrible person, it was time to accept that he really was. It was time for him to let the rope be cut, to let himself be free.
Memories be damned. What it had felt to be touched and caressed and cared for by Schlatt's calloused yet – surprisingly – gentle fingers was destroyed – a fiery explosion that left him bleeding and scarred – by the harsh reality.
"Prom was stupid anyway," Wilbur said after a moment, breaking Quackity out of his thoughts. "Besides I couldn't leave you wallowing in your own self pity like that."
He flushed. "I wasn't –"
Wilbur's stupid sexy smirk cut off his comment. "You may think you're secretive, but you don't hide your emotions well at all."
Quackity snorted, leaning his head against his knees so he was looking over at Wilbur. "I agree to disagree."
Wilbur angled his head, something like love shining in his eyes. Only it couldn't have been love because this was the first time they had a genuine conversation. Quackity deduced it down to lust. "The pain was in your eyes, Quackity. The confliction, the hope. The guilt. The…everything. You released little breaths when I touched your hip or brushed my thumb against your skin."
He flushed. "Wil–"
"Every time I moved a little too close to you, I could hear your breath catch in your throat," he continued. "That's why I didn't want to let you go. I knew something had to happen. I…I couldn't let him hurt you when you could have so much better."
Quackity covered up his surprise and fluster by a raise of his eyebrows. "And you think that's you?"
"Well, I'm not saying I'm perfect by any means, no, but yes." Wilbur flashed him a grin – a genuine one this time.
"You're not," Quackity agreed. "Perfect, I mean."
Wilbur scoffed.
"You manipulated me into having a dance with you."
"Well, I wouldn't call it manipulation." One look from Quackity, and his eyes softened with guilt. "I didn't – sorry if it came off that way, but – I just –"
Quackity snorted. "You're fine. Call it fate or whatever."
It was Wilbur's turn to raise an inquisitive eyebrow. "Fate?"
He shrugged, sitting up and dropping his legs. "I don't…actually believe in that stuff. It's just…"
"You're justifying it," Wilbur said, and when he received a shrug in reply, he nodded. "I get it, but you don't have to justify what you're feeling. You don't have to feel guilty. You can't help how you feel."
Quackity drooped his shoulders. All this serious talk was beginning to make him want to cry again. "I-I know. I don't know why I do it. I guess I just…I'm scared. About the future. About what…what Schlatt will do."
Wilbur reached over, fingers skimming Quackity's elbow. "Do you want me to accompany you when you go to talk to him?"
No. Quackity couldn't let that happen. He didn't know what Schlatt would do to him if…he didn't want to find out. It was safer for the both of them.
He shook his head. "I'll be fine."
"Are you sure? I don't think he's too happy right now. Your phone has been non stop vibrating for a minute."
Quackity blinked. Has it? Yeah, now that Wilbur brought it up, he could feel it in his back pocket, but prior to that, he hadn't even realized.
Wondering if maybe his mom was wondering where he was, he checked his phone.
It wasn't his mom.
It was Schlatt. A series of "where are you"'s and "call me"'s flooded his notifications. All from him. It made his stomach twist painfully. He felt like throwing up.
He shut his phone off.
"Um," he said as he tossed it back onto the nightstand. "Yeah, he…he's probably pissed I never answered him." He sighed, eyes glued to the device. "I need to talk to him tomorrow. I-I'm gonna."
"Alright, just…" Wilbur moved his leg and bumped it against Quackity's. "Call me if you need me to intervene. Or shoot me a quick text. I will be there right away, okay?"
Quackity opened his mouth, but then he hesitated. Slowly closed it. There was no point in arguing. Instead, he simply nodded, now staring at the leg that bumped into his own.
"Promise?"
"Uh…yeah," he said.
A pause.
"Quackity?"
"Hm?"
"Look at me."
He did, lips twisting down into a frown. "What?"
Wilbur raised a hand and rested it against his cheek. Their faces were close. Too close. Quackity sucked in a breath when they locked eyes. Brown was decidedly his new favorite color. Like melted dark chocolate. Or hot chocolate. They were easy to get lost in, especially when he was holding his gaze with intense interest, a need that bore into his soul and left a warmth pooling in his stomach.
"Can I kiss you?"
The answer stuck in the back of Quackity's throat. He swallowed, licking his lips – the same time that he noticed Wilbur flick his gaze down – and nodded.
And then they were kissing, and all ability to think for himself ceased. A quiet noise slipped through his lips as he shifted over, pressing their bodies together. He draped his arms over Wilbur's shoulder, tilting his head as he deepened the kiss. The taste of his lips was much better than he could have ever imagined. He couldn't help but wonder what the rest of him would taste like.
He didn't immediately shove that thought away either, instead digging his teeth into Wilbur's bottom lip and tugging. The noises he earned were music to his ears.
It ended sooner than Quackity would have liked. He licked his lips as he pulled away, an idiotic grin on his face. "You can…do that again. If you want."
He soon found himself lying on his back when Wilbur situated himself to be on top of him. He leaned down, a devious smirk turning up the corner of his lips. Breath fanned Quackity's face when he spoke.
"Oh, I do."
—
The house was quiet when Quackity pushed open the door to Schlatt's house. The lights were off except for the kitchen light. It was like something out of a horror movie. He had the urge to turn around and save himself from death.
He stepped inside, the only sounds his breathing and the rapid beating of his heart. The click of the door shutting behind him almost jolted him out of his body. He had to take a minute to calm down.
Bottles littered the floor near the couch. Cigarette butts filled the ashtray on the in-table.
He was sure Schlatt would have been fast asleep on the couch, and on the way over, he had been praying he would be, that way he could have left and collapsed onto his bed, safe and sound. But he wasn't on the couch, and the clinking of a glass being set on a table gave away his position.
His feet wouldn't move. Inside, he knew he should get it done and over with, but the idea was terrifying him, rooting him to the spot.
"I know you're here."
Panic washed over him. Fight or flight began to take over, and he was heavily considering the latter.
"Why haven't you been answering my texts?"
He appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, clutching the neck of a whiskey bottle. It was a side of him he'd seen before. He was angry. Really angry.
Quackity repressed a shiver. Schlatt's eyes were dark, dangerous. Cold.
"I…uh, I…Schlatt –"
"You were with him, weren't you?" Schlatt swung the bottle mindlessly. "You. You swore you were loyal. You…you promised you loved me, that we'd be together forever."
He swallowed, goosebumps making the hairs on his arms and back of his neck stand on end. "It was just one dance."
And one kiss. One very heated kiss.
Schlatt closed the distance between them in just a few long strides. He tugged his phone out of his pocket, turning it on and thrusting it towards Quackity. "Doesn't look like just one dance to me."
Quackity stared at the image displayed on the device. His heart dropped to his stomach, which churned painfully. The picture was of him and Wilbur pressed together. Frozen in time was Quackity staring off, lips slightly parted, eyes wide and sparkling, while Wilbur had his lips inches away from his ear.
"I-I can explain," Quackity rushed. "H–"
Schlatt closed his fist tightly around his phone, dropping his arm to his side. "Don't." He didn't yell, but his voice was hard and final. "How long?"
"What do you mean?"
"How long have you two been together? How long have you been lying to me?"
Quackity's eyes widened. "Never! We're not together – we –"
"Don't lie to me! How long have you been seeing him?"
"I barely even spoke to him until last night!"
Schlatt scrutinized him. "Where were you last night?"
Quackity crossed his arms, forcing himself to stare back. "At home. In bed. I thought you didn't give a shit."
"What gave you –" A pause. "Is that why you've been ignoring my texts?"
He scoffed. "Wow." He straightened up, heaving a sigh as he shoved aside his fear. "Well, I only came here to tell you that it's over, so if that's all –"
"What?"
The tension in the air thickened. Quackity knew he was fucked.
"I said it's over," he said, the panic returning with a vengeance. His foot twitched with an overpowering urge to run away. "I'm fucking done with all the shit you pu– fuck!"
Schlatt had grabbed the ends of Quackity's hair sticking out from under his beanie. The beanie he'd never taken off. At least he had some decency to respect his wishes. However, it was clear that was as far as it went when he yanked him forward, causing a headache to spike.
"You're not getting out of this that easily," Schlatt snapped, his grip only tightening when Quackity grabbed his arm and attempted to tug it away from him. "You said you loved me, right? Right?!"
Quackity moved his hands to rest on Schlatt's stomach and pushed.
"Answer me, you fucking asshole!"
"I-I did, yes, but –"
"You promised your loyalty to me! You can't just break up with me like this. Throw it all because of – of some dickhead–"
"It's not because of him!" Somehow Quackity managed to yank himself free, stumbling back until he rammed into the door. He raised a hand to the side of his head. It really hurt now.
Thankfully, Schlatt didn't move for him again. "What about me then, sugar pumpkin? What would the rest of the school think of me – of their president – if –"
Quackity scoffed. Anger and disbelief overpowered his fear. "This is why I'm breaking up with you. This is ridiculous! I don't even know how I managed to miss these…these signs. All you care about is yourself –"
Schlatt's whole demeanor seemed to change then, from scary to sympathetic. "That's not true."
"--and about keeping your damn reputation up than me. I stayed with you because I did love you, Schlatt, but –"
"Then we can work past this," Schlatt said, reaching for his hands.
Quackity flinched away, tucking his hands safely in his pockets. "I don't think so. We're done. That's all there is to it."
When he didn't receive an answer, he turned on his heel, hand out for the doorknob. The door had just been cracked open when a hand suddenly slammed it shut again. He froze, feeling Schlatt's body against his and his breath against his cheek.
"Where do you think you're going?"
It smelled like alcohol.
"I told you you're not breaking up with me," he murmured, sending a harsh shiver down Quackity's spine.
"I can if the police are involved."
Those were just the wrong words to say. Quackity found himself being whipped around and shoved hard against the front door. He gasped, eyes wide and heart thudding against his ribcage. Nails dug into his skin, and he knew they weren't phantom this time.
"They aren't going to be involved," he said, a voice barely above a whisper. "If I find out that they are, then you'll have a date six feet under. Got it?"
Gulping, Quackity knew he only had one thing to do in this situation: get to the bathroom and call Wilbur.
Gathering some courage, Quackity said, "You're not gonna be ditching me on this date, are you? Like on our one-year. Or every other da–"
Schlatt tightened his grip on his wrist, and Quackity yelped. "You know damn well why I couldn't be there. I thought you understood. Was this relationship a lie then?"
Quackity softened, if not for a second, before he narrowed his eyes. "If I didn't love you, I would have left you long ago. Bu–"
"Then tell me why –" He slammed him against the door again, eyes flashing dangerously. "--you want to break up with me."
"Because you're an abusive, narcissistic bitch, and I've been thrown around to my fucking limit!"
"Thrown around?" Schlatt scoffed, expression dark. "You want to know what being thrown around feels like?" He yanked him away from the door and shoved him towards the couch. Quackity tried to keep his balance, but his ankle rolled to the side, causing him to fall back. He didn't make it to the couch. His back thumped against the edge of the couch on the way down. Pain flowered up his spine. Schlatt towered over him. He bent down to pick up one of the empty bottles. When he had put down his other one, Quackity wasn't sure. "Do you want to know what being thrown around feels like? Cause I can guarantee that you have no idea. Do you? Do you?!"
Quackity stared up at him with wide eyes, wary about what he was going to do with the bottle. He wasn't going to lie to himself and say he'd never hurt him before, but he'd never been this aggressive. The words were stuck to the back of his throat. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
"I didn't think so," Schlatt said, the corner of his lips turning up in a dangerous smirk. "Maybe this will remind you of why you stayed."
Quackity's immediate fears were solidified when the comment was followed by him raising the whiskey bottle above his head. Mustering up enough strength, he rolled off his back and scrambled to his feet. Schlatt called out, but he ignored his demands and forced himself to rush as quickly as he could to the bathroom. He knocked his arm against the doorway of the hall as he turned the corner. A hiss of breath escaped through his lips as he grabbed his arm.
He hurt all over, and yet he couldn't let that stop him.
He heard Schlatt follow after him, but he didn't dare look behind him, knowing it would be the end of him if he did.
The bathroom was close. Wilbur was only a phone call away.
Then another question shoved its way to the forefront of his mind: would Wilbur make it in time?
Never in Quackity's life did he fear the day Schlatt might end his life. Now he prayed that he would make it out alive, with or without scars.
He reached the bathroom, fumbling with the doorknob before ripping it open and slamming the door shut behind him. He locked the door, hurrying to the far side of the bathroom before tugging his phone out of his back pocket.
The sound of the doorknob roughly jiggling startled Quackity and made him drop his phone.
"You're not calling 911, are you?" Schlatt asked, voice muffled on the other end. "I will find out if you are."
Quackity didn't dare speak, not until he had his phone pressed against his ear, the ringing fueling the panic. He pleaded for Wilbur to pick up, for him to be halfway out of his house when he saw the caller ID.
He picked up halfway through the second ring. "Hello?"
—
"Wilbur! Please! I need you here! I–" There was a loud banging on the other end, and a voice that Wilbur couldn't quite pick up, that sent a shiver down his spine.
He stared up at his family, who were all sitting around the table in the middle of a Monopoly game. Tommy was moving his top hat piece four spots ahead, oblivious to the change of emotion. Phil and Mumza shared a look before simultaneously nodding once. Technoblade had this dark look about him that Wilbur had maybe seen once or twice on him before, like he was ready to wage war and win.
Mouthing an apology, Wilbur shot up from the table, nearly knocking the pieces over.
"O-okay, I'm on my way," he said, rushing for the front door. He yanked his boots on, then flung open the door and hurried into the slight cold. "Just stay on and – and give me your address, alright?"
Truthfully, when Wilbur had told Quackity to call if anything happened, he hadn't expected him to have to call him. He had been praying all night that that wouldn't have been the case.
Yet here they were, and Wilbur's heart was in his throat, palms sweaty, stomach nauseous.
Quackity gave him Schlatt's address, and Wilbur made the better decision to take his dad's car. It would be faster, granted more reckless given his rising fear as the seconds ticked on and he already wasn't the best driver.
He ran back into the house and snatched the keys from the hook on the wall next to the door. Then he was in the car and down the street as he listened to the relentless door pounding on the other line.
"Wilbur, please," Quackity begged, his voice a mere trembling whisper. "I'm so, so, so fucking scared right now. I've –" He yelped. "He's got a lockpick, Wil. He's got a lockpick."
Wilbur gripped the steering wheel, sure he would pull it off if he wasn't careful. "I'm on my way. Just stay on, and I'll – I'm almost there."
He bumped a curb as he turned a corner. The car jolted, then righted and sped down the road.
"Quackity! Open the goddamn door!" The voice was clear now. He must have put the phone on speaker. "That better not be the police!"
"F-fuck off!" Loud, forced, very shaky. Unlike the Quackity he'd seen walking around the school, being loud and obnoxious with his best friends. Wilbur had only seen him vulnerable once before – when Schlatt had ditched him on their one-year, for whatever shitty excuse he'd had shoved up his ass.
"I am five seconds away from opening this door! Then you'll wish you kept your mouth shut!"
Pressing his lips tightly together, Wilbur pushed against the accelerator, swerving around a car that leisurely drove in front of him. He earned a honk in return, but he ignored it.
He spun into the driveway and shut the engine off. On the phone, Wilbur heard a "What the fuck was that?!" and he knew he had to hurry.
Saying a quick goodbye to Quackity, he hung up and switched to his camera. He pressed record, slid his phone into the inside pocket of his overcoat, and hurried into the house.
It was no surprise in the slightest when the first thing Wilbur was greeted with was Schlatt's pissed face, a storm in his eyes that told him he was long gone. That, and the various bottles covering the floor.
Wilbur barely had time to take in what a mess this situation was when Schlatt swung his arm, fist connecting with his nose. He raised his arm and rubbed the back of his hand against his nose. It came off stained red. He chuckled, fear fighting with anger and determination.
"You're a bastard."
Schlatt narrowed his eyes. "What did you just call me?"
"You heard me," he said, taking a daring step forward. "Bastard."
Schlatt grabbed Wilbur by his overcoat, yanking him towards him. "Get the fuck out of my house," he growled. "You don't get to barge in and act like Prince fucking Charming, got it?"
Wilbur glared, pulling away from the stench of alcoholic breath. "You don't get to beat your ex around because you can't handle heartbreak."
He hit a nerve. Schlatt lunged at him, hand wrapping around his throat and squeezing, and though it hurt, Wilbur didn't struggle, even when he spotted Quackity over his shoulder, wide eyed and slack-jawed.
"You don't know about our relationship," Schlatt snapped. "You don't know about us. And you don't get to sway Quackity's feelings because you're jealous."
"I'm not swaying anyone's feelin–"
"Bullshit!" Schlatt tightened his grip, causing spots to pop up in his vision.
"Wilbur!"
"Quackity, please, stay back," he choked out, scrambling for a grip on Schlatt's shoulders, pushing and pushing but with no luck.
But Quackity was stubborn. Of course he was. He snatched one of the half broken bottles from off the floor, hurling it at the back of Schlatt's head with a cry. The already drunk one made the horrible decision of spinning around to face Quackity, earning a bottle to his eye.
Wilbur stumbled away, hand going to his throat as he gasped for air.
"Oh, Wilbur…" Quackity was by his side in minutes, stepping around his ex, who was on the floor, hands covering his gushing eye, screaming profanities in agony.
Wilbur cracked his neck before grabbing Quackity's hand and pulling him out the front door and to his car. Once safely locked inside, he grabbed his phone and ended the recording, tossing the device on the console.
"We're going home," he said, starting up the car and pulling out of the driveway. "My home," he added when Quackity opened his mouth.
A long pause.
"Thank you…"
Wilbur glanced over, easing on the gas when they were far enough away. "Did you really think I was going to let him hurt you?"
"No, but…" He ran his tongue along his bottom lip. "You risked your life for me."
He thought that was obvious. At least the hand he felt still squeezing his esophagus and the bruises he most likely had told him that. He simply nodded.
"Wilbur, I…I want to fuck you."
Of course Quackity was boldly honest. The statement made him chuckle, though he felt the heat creep up his jaw and ears.
"As-as gratitude, of course," Quackity rushed on, as if afraid he might scare him off.
"Quackity, you don't fuck people as a way of saying thank you," Wilbur said softly, hand twitching with the urge to touch Quackity's thigh, rest there for the rest of the ride.
A shuffle and a sigh. "Yeah, I-I know. I just – I've never felt…even with Schlatt, I never…"
Wilbur had an idea of where Quackity was going, whether it was the tension so thick he probably couldn't even cut it with a knife or the deep blush he saw when he glanced over in his direction. He had his teeth dug into his bottom lip, gaze on his lap.
"It's overwhelming how much I…how much I want to…" He was silent for a moment, gnawing his lip. "...how much I want you." When Wilbur glanced over, he was picking at his nails. "I've always been…I like…I mean, everyone knows, before Schlatt, I was –"
"A sexholic," Wilbur filled in, lips quirked up in an amused smirk.
Quackity's face flushed a deeper red. "Well, I wouldn't call it – yeah, I guess so. Sexholic. I know what it feels to just want sex, and I'm not saying – I mean I really did love Schlatt. He's so nice and sweet and gentle and –"
He paused, and Wilbur looked over with a raised eyebrow. He cleared his throat.
"Most of the time, he was, I swear."
Wilbur sighed, pulling into the driveway. "How about we stop talking about the guy who just tried to kill the both of us?" He put the car in park and shut off the engine. He unbuckled, but he didn't get out, not yet. Instead, he shifted so he faced Quackity.
"It's scary," Quackity admitted, "feeling anything more than sexual feelings. Feeling more than I'd ever felt before. But you…" Teeth sunk into his bottom lip again. His shoulders raised ever so slightly, almost unnoticeable if Wilbur wasn't paying so close attention to every movement. "You leave me breathless and…and hopeless, and everything I never knew I could be. I know we've only had one dance and one kiss, but Wilbur…"
Wilbur softened. Entirely. The lingering tension from earlier melted away, as if it had never been there in the first place. When Quackity lifted his gaze to look at him, he felt his heart jump ahead, thoughts no longer coherent. Whatever it was he had wanted to respond with vanished on the tip of his tongue.
So he didn't bother trying to speak. Instead, he leaned forward, reaching a hand out. Fingers skimmed his skin, soft and wet from previously cried tears. He wasn't crying anymore, though his eyes were still shiny and puffy.
"Are you…gonna say something?" Quackity's voice was small, hopeful yet scared.
He didn't.
He couldn't.
So he kissed him. The console dug into his stomach and made it difficult to get close, but it was magical all the same. Just like the first time, possibly even better. Quackity tug at his bottom lip, a silent beg for more, so Wilbur gave him more. He gave him everything he could in the front seat of his dad's car, until they were breathless and had to pull away for air.
Wilbur grinned. "I've been waiting so long for you to say that."
"But you knew, didn't you?"
He shrugged. "Kinda. After the dance, it was obvious. And then we'd kissed, and it was like everything had just fallen into place. I kept telling myself you were going to break up with him, and – and when you did, I would ask if you wanted to go on a date. If it wasn't too early. But…"
"It's not." Quackity sounded confident, reaching over to grasp Wilbur's hands. "What about dinner tomorrow? Six?"
"Yeah." Just then, the front door flung open to reveal Tommy on the other side, wide grinned, hand waving. Wilbur chuckled, pulling away from Quackity to open the car door. "Now come on. We're playing Monopoly and that bastard over there –" He jutted a thumb towards Tommy. "--is kicking our asses."
Quackity snickered, shaking his head as he got out of the car. "We can't have that, can we?"
"I'm a winner, what can I say?"
"Not this time, loser!" Tommy called out, raising a hand to his forehead, thumb and forefinger in an L. He stuck his tongue out, and Wilbur flipped him off. "Mum!" Tommy shouted, smirking and flipping him off in return before hurrying back into the house. "Wilbur flipped me off!"
Wilbur shook his head and turned around, throwing his arms out in a wide gesture, lips twisted in a charming grin. "I believe you've met the family, dear Quackity."