Chapter Text
Parrot didn’t look up from his desk, though his gaze had long drifted from the stacks of paperwork piled before him. He leaned his head back against his chair, a heavy, exhausted sigh slipping past his lips.
"You know... being king is hard, to say the least," he murmured to the quiet room.
He turned his head toward the window, watching the distant horizon with tired eyes before finally letting them flutter shut. The weight of the crown felt physical today.
"It’s stressful," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "Theo and Reina are... they’re helpful. They always manage to take some of the edge off. They're always there when I need a hand..."
A faint, fleeting smile touched his lips at the thought of them, but it vanished just as quickly as it came. The warmth didn't reach his eyes.
"But it’s not the same," he added softly.
The silence of the room offered no reply. Finally, Parrot forced his eyes open and turned his gaze back to the desk. His eyes landed on the frame sitting just out of reach, a picture of Wifies staring back at him.
The silence of the room suddenly felt heavier, pressing against his chest like the very gold resting upon his brow. Parrot reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed the edge of the wooden frame. He didn’t pick it up he wasn't quite ready to face the stillness that would follow but he stared at Wifies’ expression, searching for a phantom comfort in the captured moment.
"You would have laughed at this," Parrot whispered, a bittersweet chuckle catching in his throat. "You would have told me to stop wallowing and go find something to eat. Or you would have made some joke just to see if you could make me crack."
But the laughter faded, leaving behind a sharp, hollow ache. Slowly, Parrot gave in, lifting the frame off the desk and holding it close against his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, the sharp edges of the wood digging into his palms.
"It's hard to separate you from before... and what you've done to me," Parrot whispered into the empty room. He pulled the picture a little closer, as if he could force the ghost of him to materialize. "I'm slowly forgetting how you sound..."
He closed his eyes tighter, desperate, straining to pull a specific memory from the fog of his mind.
He tried to picture the afternoon they went down to the lake. Wifies had been holding his hand, laughing as they walked through the tall grass. "Bugs, ugh," Wifies had said teasingly, nudging Parrot's shoulder. Parrot remembered snorting, setting their picnic basket down on the grass. "So? We've faced much weirder things than, well... bugs." Wifies had just rolled his eyes, shaking out the picnic blanket. "I can complain if I want to."
But as the memory played out, it began to fracture. Parrot's eyes snapped open, a cold panic settling in his chest.
He wasn't sure anymore. Was that really how Wifies sounded?
The voice in his head didn't sound crisp or clear anymore; it sounded muffled, distorted, like Wifies was speaking to him from underwater. The memory was slipping through his fingers like sand. Parrot looked down at the frame in his hands, reality hitting him like a physical blow. The only thing keeping him from forgetting Wifies' face entirely was the picture.
Parrot didn’t know what Wifies would think of him now. But Wifies used to know exactly how Parrot’s mind worked, he had practically memorized it.
Sometimes, a bitter wave of resentment washed over the grief. Parrot wished Wifies hadn’t gone all his way to becoming the Director. He wished things had never changed.
With a frustrated sigh, Parrot finally stood up, placing the picture back onto the desk. His head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. He walked back to the window, his gaze fixing on the horizon where the looming threat of Cindercrest always seemed to be waiting to attack them. Shoebilly was out there, a constant shadow over his kingdom.
What if Wifies was here? The thought slipped into his mind unbidden. Wifies would know what to do. The two of them could brainstorm, bounce ideas off each other, fix this mess together, and-
No.
Parrot caught himself, his jaw tightening. Wifies had hurt him. Wifies had chosen his path, and it had broken them. Parrot forced himself to stare at the glass, repeating the mantra he told himself every single day: he shouldn't think of him so often. He shouldn't care.
But God, it was so hard.
Behind his eyelids, the memories kept fighting their way to the surface. He could still see Wifies' gentle smile. He could still see the way his eyes used to catch the golden light of the setting sun, and remember the solid, grounding warmth of the way he used to hold him.
The warmth was a lie, a cruel trick played by a mind that refused to accept the present. Parrot turned away from the window, the cool air of the room failing to soothe the heat of his frustration. Every time he reached for a fond memory, he was met with the stinging reality of Wifies’ ascension the way the man he loved had traded their shared intimacy for the cold, calculating authority of the Director.
He began to pace the length of his study, his footsteps heavy and uneven. The crown felt like a lead weight, pulling his posture down, making him feel every year of the burden he carried.
"You chose this," Parrot muttered, his voice growing sharper, directed at the empty air.
He stopped abruptly at a small side table, where a half empty glass of wine sat untouched. He wanted to smash it. He wanted to scream until the walls of the palace shook, to demand why the person who knew him best was now the person who was the hardest to reach.
But instead, the king did what he always did: he composed himself. He smoothed the front of his tunic, straightened his shoulders, and swallowed the lump in his throat. He had a kingdom to protect. He had Shoebilly to contend with. He had a duty that left no room for a broken heart.
Yet, as he returned to his desk to face the endless mountains of paperwork, his eyes involuntarily drifted back to the picture. The betrayal was a scar, but the love was the wound and the wound was still bleeding.
The betrayal was a scar, but the love was the wound, and the wound was still bleeding.
Parrot couldn’t help but let his mind drift back to the very beginning, to the what-ifs that haunted his sleepless nights. If only the Mafia hadn't attacked them. That first kingdom he had built with Wifies had been beautiful. They had created a sanctuary, a safe haven where players could finally exist without the constant, suffocating weight of looking over their shoulders, terrified of being killed. They had built a home.
If the Mafia hadn't taken it all away, everything would be different. Parrot would be standing right by Wifies' side, helping him with everything, sharing the burden instead of drowning in it alone.
And Dean... Dean would still be here. Parrot's chest tightened at the thought. He would have finally let Dean have his own pet, any pet he and Wifies wanted. Even Luigi could be here, living freely without the crushing weight of debt, without being forced to mine for diamonds day after day just to survive. They could have all been happy.
Maybe if they just come back...
The thought arose, desperate and pleading, before reality crashed down to shatter it. He knew better. Dead people couldn't come back.
It was a curse, wasn't it? Every single friend Parrot had ever made, everyone he had ever loved, ended up dead or gone. A sudden, cold dread gripped his heart as he thought of Theo and Reina. He was so terrified of what fate had in store for them, so scared that the kingdom would swallow them up next.
He cared for them deeply, but as he stared at the desk, the truth settled heavily in his stomach. Nothing cut deeper, nothing left a scar vaster, and nothing hurt more than Wifies.
He stared at the inkwell, dark and deep, much like the void Wifies had left behind. He was a king of a kingdom, yes, but he was also a king of ghosts.
A heavy tear finally broke free, tracing a hot path down his cheek before splashing against the desk. Parrot let his head fall forward, burying his face in his hands as the true weight of his grief finally fractured his royal composure. He wasn't just mourning a lost ally or a broken alliance. He was mourning the boy who had held his heart in the palm of his hand.
He loved Wifies. God, he loved him so much it felt like an illness.
Wifies had been his first everything. His first real taste of vulnerability. Parrot could still feel the phantom sensation of their first kiss, awkward and frantic at first, then melting into something so sweet it had made Parrot’s chest ache. Wifies was the first person he had ever laid with, the first person he had truly opened up to, trusting him with the darkest, most fragile parts of his soul. And that was exactly why the betrayal cut deep enough to draw blood even now. The very person he had given his universe to was the one who had shattered it.
Even after the lies, the secrets, and the cold reality of the Director, the love hadn't just vanished. It had just turned into a weapon that Parrot pointed at himself. He knew Wifies was brilliant, a genius who was always ten steps ahead of everyone else, but logic didn't stop the screaming in Parrot's head.
Sometimes, in the quietest, weakest hours of the night, Parrot just wished Wifies hadn't died. He didn't care about the politics, the factions, or the crown. He just wanted the boy he gave the spyglass to. He wanted Wifies to be alive, even if it meant they were fighting, even if it meant they were enemies. Anything was better than this absolute, agonizing nothingness.
The silence of the room began to feel predatory, as if the very shadows were feeding on his confession. Parrot stayed there for a long time, his forehead resting against the cool wood of the desk, his breath hitching in the quiet. He felt raw, stripped of his titles and his armor, until he was nothing more than a collection of memories and unhealed wounds.
He realized then that the tragedy of Wifies wasn't just the betrayal or the distance it was the permanence. Wifies had become a monument in Parrot’s mind, a statue of perfection that he could never quite touch, and a ghost that refused to rest. He was a man living in the aftermath of a beautiful collision, trying to piece together a life from the shards of a broken world.
With a shuddering breath, Parrot finally sat up. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, his skin feeling tight and salt stained. He looked at the inkwell again, then at the stack of paperwork, and finally at the picture of Wifies.
He wouldn't let the grief consume the kingdom. He couldn't. If he fell, he feared he would take Theo and Reina down with him. He had to be the king they needed, even if he felt like a hollow shell of the man he used to be.
He picked up the quill, his grip firming. He would rule. He would protect. He would endure. But as the nib touched the parchment, a single, silent thought remained lodged in his heart, a plea to a god he wasn't sure was listening:
Please, just let me remember your voice correctly one more time.