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Quackity thinks he looks quite dapper. He’s dressed up for the occasion, at least.
A tight white shirt snakes around his torso, hanging half-open with a loose red tie looped around his neck. He’s got his snazziest suspenders hanging from his shoulders, and they clip into the top of his dress trousers. There’s a chequered red suit jacket lumped over on the bed and a pair of sparkling shoes just beside his feet, and despite it all, Quackity allows himself to laugh.
If he’s going to commit arson, it may as well be in style.
He feels better all wrapped up, anyway. The formalwear makes him feel put together. He finds himself able to control so little these days but ensuring he’s always smart and presentable is something he can. With the suit jacket and the shiny shoes, he’s able to exercise dominance over his surroundings and also himself, and that’s a pretty damn powerful thing to have. Everything is about power and dominance—it always has been, but especially now.
As he finishes buttoning the front of his shirt, he can’t stop himself from thinking about them. Quackity remembers evenings spent together before banquets and parties, spinning around beneath flying ties and stealing kisses as top buttons were done up. He remembers the scent of Sapnap’s fiery cologne, thinks about teasing Karl for the way he’d always fuss around them both and try to fix their hair. It hurts, it hurts and it hurts, and Quackity has to distract himself by roughly fixing his cufflinks.
Blood rushes to his head as he bends over to fix the laces of his shiny leather shoes, and when he stands up again, his face is flushed. There’s a tingling all over his figure, but he ignores it and looks himself up and down before nodding.
It’s just a shame no one’s going to see him now that he’s gone to the effort of pulling out his suit. He plans to be in and out within a few minutes. The objective is simple: mushrooms, fire, kablam. No dilly dallying, no lingering around afterwards. When he’s done, Kinoko Kingdom will be on fire, and he’ll finally be free of the ghosts that follow him.
Quackity will leave nothing behind but a charred valley—barren, dry, alone. He will burn it to the fucking ground. He doesn’t need a big explosion: his estranged lovers will know exactly what he’s done when they wake up to the sight of charred mushrooms. He thinks it’ll feel quite nice, actually, to finally let himself act destructively. To do something so deliberately callous already riddles him with a sense of sick enjoyment that he’s been trying to deny himself for months.
All that he’s known since Las Nevadas was built is hollowness. An ache, a coldness, a chill. It’s lonely out here, stranded in the desert that snows and hiding in buildings made for three instead of one. He has Slime and Sam, and the rest of them, but the conversations he has with them all are just so fucking… empty. There are no overflowing laughs so powerful they make his chest shake, no scathing insults woven around fondness. Everything feels so flat. Not even the sounds of the slot machines are enough to coax a genuine smile to his face, and for so long, he’d placed that at the peak of his desires.
He would give anything to feel alive again. That’s why he’s flying to Kinoko to cut off the only thing that’s holding him back. Quackity knows more than anything else in the world that he won’t be able to move on until he’s closed this chapter of his life. He’d tried to just forget about them and pretend they never fucking existed, but that was useless. He’ll be stuck in this stupid limbo until he’s torn off his rings and ripped the thorns of Karl and Sapnap from his heart. He aches for the wound, has finally decided to lean into the pain and make it a thousand times worse before finally fucking cauterising it. Then, he’ll never feel bad about being forgotten by his fiancés ever again.
It’ll be a great night. And fuck, he looks damn good in his suit, and it’s enough of a boost to keep him from letting the tears flow down his face.
It’s cold outside, and the tired plumes of Quackity’s wings ache as he steps out onto the top of the Space Needle. Not even the brisk rub of his palms together is enough to draw a spark to his skin. Briefly, he thinks about close-armed hugs and forehead kisses, and the close familiarity of a cuddle from a demon hybrid, how safe and—
Quackity throws himself into the air before he can think. His wings catch the rise of the wind, and he’s gliding. If he cries, that’s between the clouds and him.
He knows the vague direction of Kinoko Kingdom. He’s pieced together information from Foolish and George and worked out it’s just a few minutes flight up the coast. The closeness mocks him, but the journey still seems to drag by. It doesn’t help that he’s carrying so much flint and steel that his pockets ache.
The glittering stars eventually give way and a new type of sparkling demands Quackity’s attention. He stares down as the kingdom presents itself, doused in the golden glow of meticulous torches. Warmth bounces over hills, glazes from the domed ceilings of tender mushrooms, tickles the undersides of flowers that fit through the grass. It’s disgustingly put together.
“God damn,” Quackity mutters. He groans. He yells. “Fuck.”
Because of fucking course they have the most picturesque, perfect-looking kingdom he’s ever seen. It’s so quiet, so timid, but still so delicately beautiful. It screams Karl, his features evident in each dainty flower and every petal from the cherry blossom trees. He’s always been the most colourful of the three, the most cheerful, least jaded. By hell, he has his own secrets, but Quackity could always count on the eldest to placate his fears with a kiss or a giggle and soothe his worries into assurance.
He lands in the square on heavy feet. There’s a large fountain in front of him, and he’s fenced in on all sides by looming architecture. Quackity stares around at it all. He becomes so angry he starts to shake, and he has to reach up to whip his hat from his head just so he has something to do with his hands.
They had time to build all of this, but they never bothered to reach out to him, never bothered to tell him where they’d gone. He can still remember that sick, sick morning when he’d walked into El Rapids and found their home barren. There was nothing there—not a note, not a book, not a chest. They’d taken everything, even the fucking bed, and scrambled. And shit, sure, Quackity had been away for a few weeks, but why the hell wasn’t there a note?
Why did they leave him? Why did they lie?
Because it had to be a lie, right? Some sick, twisted piece of fun that his lovers had embarked upon for their own amusement. There couldn’t possibly be any other explanation—nothing makes sense. If they really loved him like they’d claimed to, they wouldn’t have left like that. They would’ve told him where they’d gone.
It’s happened to him before—falling for the wrong man. Before, the signs had been obvious. Quackity can’t help but wonder now if there were signs for this, too, that he’d just failed to see. Maybe there was subtext written across every morning they spent together, double-meaning embroiled in every kiss and cuddle, and he was just too lovesick to see it.
They’d made the biggest fool of him.
Quackity drops to his knees. He slams his hat back onto his head and presses his hands into the pebbled ground. There’s a spiralling pattern swept into the brushed cobble, Karl’s signature mark. It sprawls around in groups of three.
He digs the flint and steel from his pocket, stares at it in the palm of his hand. He doesn’t like how long it takes to get a spark from the device, but dynamite has never been his style, nor have fireworks. There are too many memories attached to such explosive devices, so he has to make do with these tools instead.
A frown droops across his face as he realises he’s shaking. His fingers can’t stay still, not even his fourth finger where he still has their rings wrapped above the knuckle. The rings need to go, too, but he’ll wait until the fire has been started. He has no connection to the fountain or the trees or the buildings, but the rings are different. He still remembers giddy kisses to the joints of his fingers.
Quackity begins sparking at the flint. The small glimmers tease him, too gentle to cause much harm but big enough to be there. He kneels by a pile of dry leaves and moves his hands closer, but he can’t quite bring himself to let the sparks roll out across the ammunition.
Maybe they still love him. Maybe they— maybe they do. Maybe it’s just a mistake. Maybe he can just go up to their door and knock on it, and they’ll let him in again. And— and maybe they still love him, Quackity doesn’t know, but he loves them, and being so close to the place his heart resides right now is fucking with him a hell of a lot more than he’d expected. It was easy to be resentful from deserts away when the only explanation was betrayal, but it’s so much harder to stay strong when this whole place reeks of them.
“Just fucking do it,” he seethes. His grip on the flint hardens. He has to let go. They don’t give a fuck about him anymore, and that’s the goddamn truth.
He starts sparking together the flint and steel again. Frustrated tears burn his eyes, stinging at his scar.
“Quackity….?”
It’s said in a voice so viscerally shocked that he freezes. Quackity stays completely still, crouched, waiting. All he can hear is the sound of the wind as it whistles through the cherry blossoms. He wonders if he’s imagined the sound, but it’s quickly followed up by a repetition.
“Quackity, what—?” There’s the tender tap of footsteps across the cobbled slabs. “Is that you? Am I dreaming right now?”
He stands up quickly, drawn to the sound against the screaming in his mind. He could never deny either of them anything, but especially now, with the desperation laced in Sapnap’s voice. It matches the expression of shock that seizes the cambion’s face.
Sapnap looks exhausted, with deep shadows of fatigue hanging beneath his eyes and his facial structure hollowed out and grey. He has a bit of stubble, and his hair is messy beneath the bandana. His eyes, so often glimmering with orange embers, are flat and black. It’s like something needs to stoke him.
“Sapnap,” Quackity says. He clears his throat. He glances down at the flint and steel in his hands, then immediately begins to panic.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. He tries to stuff the weapons into his pockets, but he’s skittish, and instead, the tools clatter onto the cobblestones. He scrambles to pick them up, but it’s too late. Sapnap has seen them. Betrayal spears his expression.
“What the— what the hell are you doing?” He sounds appalled. His eyes flash with the barest hints of scarlet red. “What the hell, dude? What— where have you been?”
Quackity swallows. Anguish churns in his chest and it hurts to be standing so close to Sapnap, but what aches more is the realisation that he hasn’t been immediately coddled or met with regret. He doesn’t think he’d forgive them even if they grovelled, but he thinks he deserves a little bit of compassion. Hell, he hadn’t wanted to bump into either of his lovers, but he’d expected them to—to care. And clearly, Sapnap fucking cares, but he’s angry with him.
He is angry with him.
It should be the other way around.
Quackity seethes.
“Where have I been? Are you seriously asking me that, Sapnap? Where the hell have I goddamn been?” He straightens up. “You’re a fucking asshole. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Sapnap’s face flushes with anger. He cracks his knuckles as he stands taller and crosses his arms across his chest. He’s wearing a navy hoodie.
“I’ve been here the entire goddamn time,” Sapnap spits, “waiting for you to finally show your fucking face again, Quackity. And now that you do…?” He inclines his head towards the tools held slack in Quackity’s hands. “You’re— what are you doing? Setting our— our home on fire? George and Karl aren’t even immune to fire, you dumbass. What the hell.”
Confusion furrows Quackity’s brows for a moment, but it’s mostly overshadowed by anger.
“Let’s get one thing straight, asshole,” he jibes. He steps closer, drawn into the furious fire that dances around Sapnap. “You left me. You told me you’d always be here for me, that— that you’d love me, or whatever fucking else expression of bullshit you seem to love so much, but the second I got busy with something else, you turned around and ran the fuck away. Who the hell does that? I—”
“Shut up, Quackity.” Sapnap has gone very still. His eyes are fixed on a point behind the avian, and he easily reaches out to wrap a hand around his arm. Quackity’s quick to shove it off.
“Fuck you, man, what the hell—”
“Please, please, Quackity, be quiet.”
There’s something about his voice that makes Quackity stop and listen. This time he lets Sapnap take his arm and drag him in closer, then he finds himself leaning into the warmth of the man behind him despite the pain that twists in his chest.
“What’s going on?” Quackity asks, looking around, confused. “What’s— Karl?”
Sapnap emits a tight whimper.
Karl is beneath the grandest cherry blossom tree, just on the other side of the fountain. He’s wandering around its base, walking lopsidedly like he’s dazed. He pokes at the bark a little before looking around, wide-eyed. He seems scared, big grey eyes completely barren from emotion as he surveys the kingdom.
“What the hell is wrong with him?”
Sapnap gulps. He drops Quackity’s arm and steps a little to the side. “Don’t say anything to him,” he murmurs. “He— he might not be what you’re expecting, Q, but please be calm. Stay calm.”
Their third is now walking towards them, his steps hesitant but approaching gradually. His hands twist around the cuffs of his purple jumper, and he fiddles with the rings hooped around his fingers.
“I am goddamn calm, Sapnap, but what—”
“Please.” He spins around to look at him, eyes wide and insistent. Sapnap’s jaw twitches as the anger fades from his gaze. “We aren’t finished with this conversation, Quackity, but Karl is more important than any argument right now. Do you understand?”
It stings. If Quackity wasn’t so horrified by the blank shuffling of the man he’d previously adored, he’d allow himself to get worked up over the remark.
“Fine,” he yields, “but you need to tell me what’s going… He looks strange.”
The frown that crawls across Sapnap’s face is bitter. “Later,” he mutters, “stay behind me.” His eyes drift back to Karl, and he finally begins to walk towards the tallest. Quackity lingers behind him.
Karl pauses a few feet in front of them, his inquisitive grey eyes drifting between Quackity and his companion. There’s no recognition in them, no warmth, no love. There’s curiosity, sure, but the way he looks at them is like they’re an unidentified specimen.
“Karl?” Sapnap says softly, his voice quivering gently. “Hey.”
He swallows nervously. A moment later, a tentative smile works across Karl’s face. “Hi,” he says, and the single syllable is so uncertain it forces Quackity’s eyes to well up with tears. He doesn’t understand—he doesn’t understand the hesitation in Sapnap’s words, nor the blankness in Karl’s stare. He came to Kinoko expecting fire, not nothingness. Everything feels wrong, the air between them all tense. Karl breaks it with a nervous smile. “Do I… Do I know you guys?”
Beside him, the cambion’s breath hitches. “Yeah, baby,” Sapnap says gently. “We… We’re your friends.”
“Oh.” Karl tilts his head to the side. His hair shifts with him, falling into his eyes, and he reaches up with shaking hands to shove the strands out of his face. “Sorry, I… I don’t remember.”
Quackity hates this. He hates it, and he can’t stop himself from pouncing. He steps forward and wrings his hands together so strongly he’s surprised they don’t start to spark.
“Is this… a joke?” he asks, speaking in hushed, dangerous tones. He ignores the expression of panic Sapnap redirects towards him. “Is this some kind of goddamn joke? Karl, what the hell? You know who I am… You do. Don’t tell me it’s— it’s been so long that you’ve forgotten who I fucking am. Do not tell me that right now, Karl.”
Karl is still wearing his engagement rings. His cheeks flush with something that could be either guilt or embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” he says delicately, “I can’t— I don’t know what’s happening. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—”
“It’s okay, ba— Karl,” Sapnap murmurs. He takes a step forward, but Karl takes three backwards. He pauses and raises his hands into the air, a blatant act of submission. “It’s okay. You’ll get your memories back, or get most of them back, anyway. Sometimes it only takes a couple minutes.” He swallows. “I promise we aren’t going to hurt you. We aren’t.”
Quackity swallows. Memory loss makes sense, on the surface, because Karl looks like he hasn’t got a flying fuck who either of them is. But it comes with a whole host of separate questions posed to challenge how this has happened and why Sapnap is acting like this is normal. His mind feels like it’s spinning so quickly it’s about to short circuit, and he can’t stop himself from releasing a low growl of confusion.
The amnesiac’s eyes shift over to Quackity, where they rest nervously. It brings the largest wave of guilt to the avian’s chest.
“We won’t hurt you,” he finds himself saying, and it tears him the fuck up inside because he shouldn’t have to tell Karl that. Karl should never look at either of them like they’re strangers.
What the hell happened whilst he was away…?
He barely resisters how easily his anguish has been swept away at the mere suggestion that something bad has happened to his boys.
“Okay. Thanks, guys.” Karl eases, then rocks back on his feet. “This is a, uh… A really nice place here.” He gestures around with a hand, his rings glimmering beneath the lights from the torches. “I like the mushrooms. Who built it all?”
Sapnap looks like he’s going to cry. When he takes a couple of steps back, Quackity decides to try and understand instead of standing there floundering. He slips up the path towards Karl and quietly offers him a hand. His heart lightens when the boy takes it, his skin warm.
“Karl,” he whispers, the word dripping from his tongue. It’s familiar, and it warms his chest. “Karl, I missed you so much.” It feels safer to talk to him than Sapnap. This Karl isn’t his Karl, who’d abandoned him so recklessly. This is Karl without the heartache. As his eyes roll across the familiar curves of the man’s face, he drinks in the sight of the light freckles and long lashes that have spent so long cycling through his dreams. He manages a soft smile. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” he explains. “You… You’re my best friend.”
Patient, Karl nods. He squeezes their joined hands. “I’m sorry I don’t remember,” he murmurs. His eyes briefly dip down, and when they return to Quackity’s face, Karl is grinning. “Hey,” he adds, “I like your suit.”
A relieved chuckle slips through his lips. “Thanks,” he says. Quackity slips his hand out of the other’s and steps back, so he’s able to do a spin. His thumbs run beneath the straps of his suspenders as he shows off the outfit. “Looks pretty hot, right?”
Karl giggles. “I like it so much,” he coos, “you look so snazzy, Quackity.” He pauses. His brows furrow. “Quackity?” he repeats. His eyes darken. “Wait, Quackity?”
The avian’s eyes widen. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he reassures, “that’s me. I am Quackity.” He points his thumbs at his chest and tilts his head to the side. “Do you… remember?”
“I remember something,” Karl corrects. He looks back towards Sapnap, but his expression remains devoid. Familiarity only emerges when he draws his eyes back to Quackity. “You… You can fly,” he says slowly, then peers hurriedly at Quackity’s back. He hums as he sees the wings. “Yes. Yeah, you can fly, and you… You like it when I…” He reaches out, his warm hand suddenly making contact with his wings.
Quackity jumps. The touch is unfamiliar in a way that makes him preen away and shudder, and Karl immediately gasps.
“Oh,” he says, “I’m so— I’m so sorry, Q, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just…”
“No, no, it’s okay. I just— It’s been a while since anyone has… touched… me.”
“Oh.”
“You can, though. Touch me.” Quackity falls silent. He can feel Karl’s hand lingering just above his wings. He craves the comfort so intensely he almost keels over. His voice cracks. “Please, touch me.”
Karl bites his lip. “Okay.”
Quackity turns around. He refuses to look at Sapnap, but he presents his wings to Karl and stares at the cracks in the cobblestone pavement. He waits, his back and his shoulders tense, then whimpers quietly as soft fingers card through his feathers.
Whatever shreds of memory Karl’s pulling from, he’s retained enough to know how to preen his feathers. Quackity feels himself sink into gentle fingertips, can’t contain the quiet chirping that slips past his lips as the taller man cards through his wings with delicate fingers. He eases out the older feathers and sorts through the new, detangling and combing through layers of yellow, fluffy wings that have gone untouched for so long. Quackity hadn’t realised how much they’d been aching until the air around them is drifting with small, dead feathers, and the weight off his back feels immense.
“There,” Karl says. He brings his hands away from his wings and rests them on Quackity’s shoulders. The contact feels so fucking good that he tries to lean back into it. When Karl hesitantly wraps his long arms around his torso and holds him in a hug, it’s only then that Quackity remembers he’s supposed to be angry.
He is angry. He is. However nice it feels to have Karl holding him and Sapnap standing so close, he’s still pissed off. Hell, he can still feel the flint and steel heavy in his pocket. He can’t allow himself to lean into this brief domestic bliss just because Karl is sick.
But, at the same time, he can’t exactly let that frustration spill out right now, can he? He can’t start yelling and pushing Karl away. He isn’t that much of a dick to rag on someone with no memory of the crimes they’ve committed; the only person who could openly express his anger towards is…
Quackity raises his gaze and looks across at Sapnap, only to feel gutless as he sees tears rippling across the demon’s eyes. The blaze has a hand clamped over his mouth as if he’s trying to prevent himself from dissolving into sobs.
“Sapnap?” Quackity asks, despite his best efforts to stop fucking caring. “Are you… Are you okay, man?”
He nods shortly. “Uh huh.” The sound is thick. “It’s just so… So nice, I guess, seeing you both back here again. Together.” His eyes shift to Karl. “And I know— I know you don’t know me, baby, and that’s okay, but…” Sapnap releases a loud sigh and reaches up to ruffle his hair. There’s a bright, watery smile on his face, the tips of his fangs glinting beneath the torchlight. “I’m just really happy. I never thought this would happen again.”
Quackity can’t bite his tongue.
“It could’ve happened ages ago,” he drawls, “if you’d invited me here.”
Sapnap opens his mouth to speak, only to freeze. “Wait— what?”
Sourness seeps across his tongue. He tries to control it—for Karl—who may know snippets about him but probably lacks the context to this particular disagreement, but it’s hard to press down months of hissing resentment.
“You disappeared,” he mutters. His anger comes back, rolling over him in thick, consuming waves. “You fucking left me, you left the goddamn country, and you never told me where you went.” Quackity leans further into Karl, sighing as the man squeezes him protectively. A quick glance down shows him Karl’s shiny engagement bands. “How— how can you stand there and say you wanted me to come here when you never even noticed you left me behind?”
The expression on Sapnap’s face is nothing short of ghostly. His eyes drift behind to Karl before freezing on Quackity’s face. The cogs whirring behind his eyes are almost visible to Quackity, who watches as his expression cycles through various shades of confusion, regret, guilt, and then shock. It settles on sickened, and Sapnap sags as he lurches forward.
“Wait…” he murmurs. “Didn’t Karl tell you where we were?”
Quackity’s eyebrows furrow. “No. You guys just left. I only found out you were here last week.”
“Oh, shit…” Sapnap digs his fingers into his temples. “Quackity, I— I’m so goddamn sorry. He…” He winces as he glances at Karl. “His memory… We left El Rapids a few months ago because it was too close to— L’Manburg, y’know..? George didn’t feel safe there. I asked Karl to stay behind and tell you where we’d gone. But he… He didn’t?” Confusion casts across his face, but it gives way to begrudging clarity. “He’s been confused,” he adds. “He vanishes for hours, sometimes days, and when he comes back, he doesn’t know what’s happening. He must’ve spaced before he saw you.” He shakes his head brokenly. “We thought… We thought you left us,” he says, voice harder, “but I guess— I guess that was wrong. I’m sorry.”
It’s a lot to take in.
“But why didn’t you… Why didn’t you try again?” Quackity manages. “You just… gave up.”
Sapnap winces. His cheeks are flushed.
“I wanted to, we both did, but Karl…” His eyes travel to the man behind Quackity, and his expression darkens. It swells with heartbreak, clinging from eyes that well with tears, hanging from a sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “He’s been worse ever since we moved. George is never around, so it’s just been me trying to— trying to work out what the hell has been going on. I thought you left us, I didn’t— I couldn’t leave Karl and start looking for you too. Both of you… Both of you left me. Everyone did.”
And shit.
“I’m an asshole,” Quackity wheezes. He falls out of Karl’s arms with ease, the older man having gone slack. “I…” He looks up at the demon, takes in how small he looks with his arms wrapped around his chest and his face pale. “I didn’t know, Sapnap, I swear. I thought you guys just— just fucking left me. And I was so fucking angry…” He shakes out his arms. “I’m sorry.”
Sapnap shakes his head. He wipes his nose on the back of his arm. “No, no,” he murmurs, “don’t apologise. We should’ve still tried more.” He manages a wry smile. “If it— if it helps, I missed you a shit ton, Q. Karl did too, but I… I really did.” His lower lip wobbles. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” Quackity’s gaze is blurry, but he manages a few tentative steps forward. He needs him, needs him, needs him, needs—
“C’mere.”
They fall into a hug together, and it feels like fucking fire. Warmth crawls up Quackity’s spine, bursts from his heart with every strong pump. He nuzzles his head against Sapnap’s shoulder and clings to his torso, bathing in the heat that comes off his lover. He feels the cobwebs fly from his heart, then the surge of pure, unadulterated love slam back in their place. He loves Sapnap, he loves Sapnap so much that he finds himself sniffling into his shoulder and clinging on so tightly he’s surprised he hasn’t been thrown off yet. Instead, the cambion is holding onto him just as strong, his lips gracing the top of his head as his hands move over Quackity’s sides, his wings, his back. He’s everywhere, and it’s consuming, and it’s everything he’s needed for so, so many months.
“Where… Where have you been?” Sapnap asks quietly, still clinging to him.
Quackity’s eyes shut as he keeps his face pressed into the warmth of his neck. “Las Nevadas,” he says, “it’s a new country that I made. I… I built it for us.”
“Las Nevadas… That sounds pretty nice.”
He peels himself away from his neck, blinking up at him blurrily. “You can visit if you want,” he offers. His eyes briefly fly across the country around them. “I like it here, though… It’s very… very nice. Very Karl, and George.” He looks around, feeling a little guilty as he remembers about Karl, standing just a few steps away. His eyes are wider than before, his figure frozen as he stares at Sapnap and Quackity, still wrapped together. “Karl?” he checks. “Are you okay, man?”
Karl groans gently, and Quackity watches as he buries his face in his hands. His knees bend, and he doubles over, continuing to release quiet noises of confusion until it suddenly stops. When he stands up again, he’s brighter. His eyes are warmer, alight with familiarity, and the recognition stays firm whether he’s staring at Quackity, Sapnap, or their arms wrapped around one another.
“What the— what the honk,” he murmurs, “what the honk. What… What… Quackity?” He chokes up as he staggers closer. “You came...home?” He stares up at Sapnap. “He’s here?”
Sapnap’s sigh of relief is heavy. He presses his lips against the top of Quackity’s head. “Yeah, baby. He’s here.”
“What— happened?” Karl is wide-eyed and reeling, but he stumbles over to them and manages to press both of his hands to the side of Quackity’s face. The cool metal of his engagement rings rub up against his cheek, and it makes him want to cry. The expression of astonished happiness on Karl’s face is enough to draw a weak sob from him. “Q?”
“I…” Quackity doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. Karl’s eyes are so grey. So pretty. He returns the gesture and moves both of his hands to rest on his cheeks, tracing his fingertips over freckled skin. “I missed you, Karlos.”
“I missed you too.” Karl frowns. He blinks a few times, then looks at Sapnap. “Wait… Wait.” He pales. Guilt overwhelms his features. Tears well in his eyes. “This is my fault?” He blinks hurriedly. “I didn’t… invite you here?”
“You didn’t.”
His lower lip wobbles. Quackity doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone so harrowed from guilt. “Oh no,” he splutters. “I— I’m so sorry, oh my god, I swear I didn’t mean to, Q, I would never do that on purpose, I swear—”
The avian has known Karl enough to recognise when he’s spiralling. He squeezes his face tighter and then begins to stroke through his hair, shifting one hand to his waist so he can coax him closer and comfort him physically. Karl’s still mumbling against his chest, spitting out thick apologies that hurt Quackity’s soul.
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay, Karl. I swear. I— I was mad, I really was. But you didn’t mean to.”
He supposes that he’s finally gotten what he wanted: a goddamn apology and an explanation. He can’t figure out if he feels better for it, or worse. All he knows is there’s relief, rumbling somewhere in the deep recesses of his heart, stoked alongside the love that roars through him now.
Karl peels away from his chest and blinks up at him. “Hate me,” he begs. “You should hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, baby.” The pet name rolls off so easily, and it’s even easier to reach back for Sapnap and tug the other man closer. The fire demon joins their hug with ease, enveloping Karl from behind and resting with his chin on his shoulder as he looks up at Quackity, deep amber in his eyes. “I don’t hate either of you. If anything, you should hate me.”
Sapnap clears his throat. “How about we just… don’t hate each other?” he suggests. He smiles slightly. “I think we’ve all kinda fucked it, guys. We all made mistakes. But I wanna… I wanna love you guys. I wanna be happy with you.” He reaches out and presses a hand to Quackity’s cheek. “I wanna be with you.”
“I want to be with you two fuckers too,” Quackity says. When Karl giggles into his chest, he allows himself to smirk. “Stupidest, hottest dumbasses I’ve ever met.”
“Hey!” Karl playfully scrunches up the tip of his nose. “Shut up.”
It’s so easy to bend closer and kiss him. Karl’s lips are so warm. So are Sapnap’s, and Quackity visits them the moment he’s left Karl. He lets them both tug him into a hug.
There are kisses, littered across foreheads, pressed against lips. There are close cuddles, and questions, and apologies, all rolled in together and toned with the timbre of laughter and familiarity. The torches glimmer around them, lighting the way for reunion and celebration, and Quackity truly doesn’t remember a time when he’s ever felt so light.
Their joy only breaks when Karl releases a deep sigh and steps back, leaving Sapnap and Quackity clinging to one another as he stakes claim over only one of their hands each. His thumbs roll across knuckles, and he glances at the ground. When he summons the courage to look back up, he’s frowning slightly.
“I gotta tell you guys everything,” he decides, murmuring in cool tones. “This— this can never happen again, but it might if I don’t tell you.”
“What are you talking about, baby?” Sapnap asks.
Karl swallows. “I haven’t been honest with you, Sap,” he says quietly. His eyes fill with regret. “When I told you I didn’t know what was happening to me, I was lying. I was scared that telling you would hurt you, but I… I can’t keep it a secret anymore, even if I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”
Fear prickles at Quackity’s spine. “Tell anyone about what?” he whispers.
He smiles. It’s nervous, but it’s hopeful. “Everything.” He squeezes his hand. “I want— I want you guys to know— why I always disappear, why my memory is so honkin’ messed up.” He chuckles. “I’ll tell you, but it’s a really long story, and you might think I’m kinda mad by the end of it.”
“We already think you’re mad,” Sapnap says. “Nothing you could tell us would change our minds about you. Right, Q?”
Both of them look at him. There’s curiosity in their eyes, love and tenderness and hope. He basks in it.
“Right,” he agrees. He nods his head seriously, then squeezes Karl’s hand. “We’re a team,” he says. “Whatever it is, it’ll be okay, baby. Promise.”
Karl nods. He kisses across both of their knuckles, his lips slightly chapped but warm, then peers up at Quackity from beneath long lashes and smiles tenderly. “I know.”
He opens his mouth, and he tells them everything. And they’re stronger for it.