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Upon meeting them both, between Wilford Warfstache and Darkiplier, most would assume that if one of them were to be having some kind of self-esteem issue, it would have to be Dark.
After all, who acted like that if they were actually confident in themselves? Who acted like that if they really thought they were great? He had to be covering something up, compensating for something. If he was so unwaveringly confident and so determined to be in control, there had to be something deeply wrong with him. He had to be self-conscious. He had to be worried about what other people thought about him.
With Wilford, it was all too easy to assume that he couldn’t have self-esteem issues. That he was too out of his mind to be worried what people thought, especially given his tendency to ignore whatever was coming out of someone’s mouth in favor of whatever he was thinking. And if he did care about what they were saying, and their opinion happened to be negative, he brushed them off or shot them right then and there, problem solved.
But that was not the case.
Yes, Dark did have some severe issues with his self-esteem, and yes, he cared very much what people thought of him, but instead of letting those things stop him, he had a tendency of using them to drive himself forward. He cared about others’ opinions only because he worried they did not take him seriously, and for no other reason. And, most importantly… They could be made to take him seriously. His issues wouldn’t last forever.
But Wilford… Wilford wasn’t incapable of having issues. He had plenty, actually. It was just that they weren’t terribly consistent.
Much like his moods.
Most days, Wilford was confident and outgoing and the negative things people said tended to fly right over his head. The good things went to his ego like a log thrown on a campfire - only facilitating his actions, encouraging them. And on those days nothing could bring him down without a good deal of effort.
But there were some days, days that Dark had learned to dread, when Wilford was not quite the person he normally was. When he wasn’t as jovial, or as absent-minded, or as out there as he normally was. When he was admittedly rather withdrawn, avoiding his studio and instead… Dark didn’t want to say moping, but there was no better word… Around the house they shared with the other Egos. On those days Dark saw a lot more of William than he saw Wilford, and that scared him.
And on those days, Wilford tended to take insults to heart, clinging to new ones and calling forth old ones. No one could cheer him up, especially once he started remembering the sorts of things he usually brushed off. He’d been found near tears by one of the Jim twins several times and they could never figure out how to help. Not that they were the best examples of people who could feasibly cheer them up, of course.
The point was, if compliments on a normal day fed Wilford’s ego like a log on a campfire, insults on a bad day fed into his insecurity and depression like gasoline on a forest fire while simultaneously throwing a bucket of water on the campfire that was his ego.
… Okay, so maybe it wasn’t fair to say that no one could cheer him up on those days.
It was just that most people couldn’t. Hell, most didn’t even try very hard to begin with. They just wanted to be able to say they’d made an attempt, no matter how half-assed and weak.
And thus the duty of helping Wilford always fell to Dark.
Or, rather, it made its way steadily up the chain of command to Dark, passing from the Jims to Bim to Yan to Bing to Google Yellow to Green to Red to Blue to the Doc to the Host and then to Dark. And it was always the Host who brought the issue to him instead of anyone else, because the Host physically couldn’t do anything about Wilford’s current state and it always got dumped on him anyway. While, theoretically, he could simply narrate Wilford into being happy again, which was likely what the others expected of him, that could have adverse effects and he’d prefer not to permanently fuck Warfstache up further, thank you very much.
And it was with the Host popping in to inform him that Wilford was having one of his rare bad days that Dark reluctantly put his paperwork on hold for now, pushing away from his desk and leaving his office entirely to seek out his old friend.
He was unsurprised when he found Wilford sulking around in one of the less traveled hallways in the house, shoulders slumped in a rather uncharacteristic manner, head down. He gave a dejected sounding sigh, not even noticing Dark. Unusual, for Wilford, who seemed to have an uncanny ability to tell when Dark was around even if he wasn’t allowing his aura to spread itself out a little.
“Wil,” Dark said, voice soft, and Wilford stopped in his tracks, turning toward him slightly, “What are you doing?”
Wilford stared at him for a second, then turned all the way toward him, gaze dropping to the ground. He shrugged half-heartedly, not replying verbally. Something in Dark’s chest squeezed painfully. He supposed that was probably his so-called heart reacting to seeing Wilford like this… And to knowing that he was undoubtedly part of the reason that Wilford was like this.
He did his best not to insult Wilford, he really did, but he knew he had a tendency to speak his mind. In this state Wilford would take each piece of criticism entirely too seriously. Even things said in jest could potentially get to him if one wasn’t careful to assert in some way that it had been a joke. So this was partially his fault, for things he said on other days, when Wilford was more resilient.
Dark swallowed his pride, approaching his friend at last, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Wilford didn’t meet his eyes, but nodded nonetheless.
“Let’s go, then,” Dark ushered him toward the nearest room.
Wilford went with him unquestioningly, eyes still on the floor, head still hung. The picture of the broken man he was, deep down. Dark couldn’t stand seeing him like that. He far preferred Wilford when he was giddy and annoying to Wilford when the evidence of his past showed through and made him come off as withdrawn and maybe a little afraid.
Wilford quietly seated himself, cross-legged, on the table in the room, staring at the ground. Dark sighed and, against his usual standards, sat himself atop the table as well, a couple of feet from him. Far enough to be out of his personal space, close enough Wilford would be able to reach out to him in the event he felt he needed to.
“So what’s wrong?” He asked carefully.
Wilford replied after a long moment, “Dark, do you think I’m obnoxious?”
Dark considered that for a second before deciding to tell the truth, “At times, yes, but not all the time.”
Wilford nodded slightly, taking a breath. “Wha- When d- do you… When do you, erm… Think I’m obnoxious?”
Oh, fuck’s sake. The stutter. This was worse than Dark was expecting.
“Primarily when you’re being unnecessarily loud when I’ve already asked you to be quiet.” He told him, “Or when you become completely focused on something to the detriment of everything else.” He examined Wilford’s reaction carefully, making sure that didn’t hurt his feelings too badly. He didn’t want to make this worse. “Outside of those two specific circumstances I don’t think you’re obnoxious at all.”
Wilford kind of nodded, finally looking at him out of the corner of his eye, probably to gauge the sincerity of his answer. Then, looking back down, he nodded a little more firmly, though mostly to himself. “I… You know I- You know that I appreciate you go- going out of your way to… Um. To help me… Right?”
“You’ve mentioned it before,” Dark replied mildly, “You know I’ve no issue with lending a listening ear, Wil.”
“I know,” Wilford agreed, shifting somewhat. He sighed, “But it’s- It’s more than you listening that I… It’s not just that I appreciate you listening. I really… I really appreciate you reassuring me. I don’t wanna… Don’t want to admit to it, but it helps. It helps a lot.”
Dark didn’t even hesitate to voice it when the first response he was provided with to that was, “Anything for you, Wil.”
Wilford gave him an odd look, and Dark just let himself be contented with the knowledge that Wilford was willing to make eye contact with him.
“... Anything?” He asked, voice soft and maybe a little concerned.
“... Within reason.” Dark corrected, not bothering to prevent the slight upturn of his lips. It was Wilford for fuck’s sake. If anyone had rights to seeing Dark smile, even just a little bit, it was him.
“Is, uh… Is cuddling me for, say… 14 consecutive hours…” Eye contact, “Within reason?”
Mostly for show, Dark glanced at his watch, humming thoughtfully. “14 hours? We’d have to miss dinner… Although I could very well carry you to the dining room and let you sit in my lap…” He actually considered it, “Mm, but 14 hours would necessitate us stopping at about four in the morning. So how about 18 hours?”
Sure, it was ridiculous and Dark usually couldn’t stand being that close to someone for that long, but it was for Wilford. He could do it for Wilford. And, dammit, he would.
“Are you sure you can stand touching me that long, Darkling?” Wilford asked, a smile pulling at his lips.
“Who knows? Only way to find out is to try.” Dark shrugged.
Wilford laughed.
It wasn’t his usual, full-bellied chortle, but it was something. Dark could work on making him laugh harder later. For now, it seemed he had some cuddling to do.