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- A Room Just for the Two of Us
It's to the side of Pogtopia; down a tunnel, a door, and a hall. There at the end stood a single wooden door and behind it a scraped together room. A shoddily made bed with a scratchy red blanket. A wobbly wooden desk covered with papers and quills and cracked mugs that leave water rings beneath them. It's messy and gross and for now a haven.
“What do you think?” Wilbur asks as he leads Quackity into the little room he’s constructed. He’d had Tommy help him build the furniture and gather the little knick knacks; brushing off the numerous questions the younger had held about his intentions. In the end they’d made a pretty nice place with how little they were working with; a pretty nice place to find some escape.
Quackity hummed as he looked around, scanning it and keeping his face impassive. The shorter looked more and more exhausted every time Wilbur saw him; dark bags lying beneath his quickly dulling eyes. Sometimes, Wilbur would see the edge of a dark bruise peek out from beneath the other’s clothes and he’d have to stop himself from seething. They would stop Schlatt soon and then that bastard could fuck off into goddamn oblivion. Until then, Wilbur could at least offer this room for the other to get away.
“It's good,” Quackity hums eventually and Wilbur has to fight the relieved breath threatening to break out of him. Beside him, the shorter’s mouth twists into a small, genuine smile. “Did you really do all this for me?”
Wilbur can feel his face flush and he knows that answer enough. Any other day he likely would have denied it and declared that Quackity just happened to be less annoying then the others so it was fine if he came into Wilbur’s room from time to time. Seeing the small, rare smile on the other’s face halts him in his tracks. It's true that he really had made the room for himself but he’d also made it for Quackity.
Maybe, for once, it was okay if he didn’t deny it.
- Music Was Made to Be Shared
The question comes one late night when Wilbur is playing some random melody he barely remembers and is singing bullshit love song lyrics off the top of his head. Quackity was sitting on the bed in their room beside him, running a hand through his wings to preen them as he listened to the music. Neither of them had been able to sleep earlier and just like every other time it’d happened the two of them had found some way to keep themselves occupied; simply enjoying each other’s company as they passed through the hours.
The difference tonight from every other was when Quackity blurted out randomly, “do you think you could teach me?” Wilbur’s fingers paused from their strumming, voice cutting short. He could feel the strings vibrating against his finger pads as Quackity went red, hurrying to explain himself. “Guitar, I mean. Honestly, I don’t know why I even-”
Wilbur tuned him out, gently moving the smooth instrument to rest on Quackity’s legs. He waited for the other to take it before moving; chin resting on the shorter’s shoulder and arms coming to wrap around the other’s. Grasping the other’s hands, Wilbur gently guided his fingers to the right placements. Quackity’s fingers were relatively untouched by scars or work, shorter than the taller’s and nails bitten down to the nub. Wilbur’s own were calloused over from years of excessive writing and playing guitar; appendages nimble and lanky just like the rest of him. Something tells Wilbur that Quackty’s fingers will start looking like his own very soon.
Thinking of Quackity, Wilbur can feel the other’s breath catch in his chest. He’s sitting so close that his chest is flush against the shorter’s back and Wilbur is positive the other can feel his breath on his neck. Quackity laughs nervously, sounding breathless. “What- what are you doing, Wilbur?-”
“Teaching you,” He murmured, pressing down on one of Quackitys’s fingers resting against a string. “This is the G chord.”
They spend the rest of the night like that; leaning far too close to one another and playing through the different chords. Quackity is a fast learner and by the end of their impromptu lesson he’s already got a lot of the basics down. Even if they’re both exhausted the rest of the day Wilbur can’t find it in himself to be upset about it; mind replaying the memory on loop even as Quackity says a reluctant goodbye and makes his way for Manburg.
He’s sad to see him go. Maybe if things were different they could do guitar lessons during the day, wherever they wanted; instead of in a dark room in the dead of night.
- Sharing Is Caring
It occurs to Wilbur one night that Quackity doesn’t actually have pajamas in Pogtopia. There's no way for the shorter to safely sneak some out of Manburg and they’re almost completely out of fabric so making some isn’t really an option. It feels like the logical next step is to just… offer some of his own stuff. The two of them sleep in the same bed most nights anyway; sharing clothes felt like a step down if anything.
So, the next night Quackity comes to stay over, Wilbur brings a pair of extra clothes along with him when he goes to their little room. Quackity is already there, golden feathers ruffled and fresh bruises crawling up his collarbone. For a moment all Wilbur sees is red; fury at Schlatt only growing stronger the more and more proof he finds of the bastard’s wrong doings. He forces himself to calm down though, walking in with a smirk like he usually does. He knows from past nights that Quackity prefers to pretend everything is normal, as if it hadn’t happened. It's not like Wilbur can blame him; he’s the same way.
“I realized something while you were gone,” Wilbur declares, throwing the clothes down onto the bed beside Quackity and making sure the other is paying attention before he continues. “You don’t have any pajamas. We don’t have any fabric right now so I figured my clothes will probably work.”
He desperately hopes Quackity doesn’t refuse. Wilbur has been looking forward to seeing the other in his clothes all day.
“I don’t want your fucking rags, Wilbur,” Quackity grumbled. The shorter was already grabbing the stack of clothing though; unfolding it to see what he was working with. Wilbur grabbed the mugs on the desk, muttering an excuse about going to get water as to give the other privacy.
When he comes back Quackity has changed, his other outfit folded up and laying on the cruddy desk chair Wilbur had asked Tommy to build a few weeks ago. The clothes are very obviously too big; the white shirt falling from one shoulder and revealing even more of the nasty bruise Wilbur is pointedly ignoring and the maroon sweatpants' drawstring pulled and tied off tightly. The duck-hybrid had left his dark blue beanie on, messy black hair spilling out of it.
“Like what you see?” Quackity asked, a smirk evident on his face.
Wilbur felt himself flush, embarrassed he’d been caught staring. He can’t really help himself though; not with the other walking around in his clothes. It's the most laid back Wilbur has ever seen Quackity look and the man looks just as beautiful dressed down as he does up. He doesn’t hesitate to tell the shorter this and Wilbur watches in delight as the smug look on Quackity’s face quickly turns into something red and flustered.
“Shut the fuck up, Wilbur.”
“Make me.”
- Let Us Dance My Dear
Wilbur burrows Tommy’s music player one night with a plan.
He’s never really been one for dancing; his limbs far too long and awkward for such a thing. Wilbur has always been the one to make the music and birth the beats those who do dance can swing to. Previously, Wilbur had no plans to dance; and certainly not in the messy hole they called Pogtopia.
Quackity is here though and the other night he’d said something that Wilbur’s held in the back of his mind; “I used to dance a lot. Have you ever heard of the tango?”
Wilbur hadn’t and even with the duck-hybrid’s explanation he’s still not really sure what it is. He’s willing to try though if it means getting to see Quackity’s small, genuine smile one more time. He’s not sure how much longer this will last and if Wilbur does one thing before it all goes away he wants it to be making Quackity happy. The shorter deserves it after all he’s been put through.
“What do you have planned this time, Wilbur?” Quackity asked as soon as he came in. He was already dressed out in another set of Wilbur’s clothes, watching the taller with dulled brown eyes. Wilbur would dare to say his gaze held a hint of fondness.
“You remember what you said the other day?” He asked, setting the old, worn music player on the desk. The red lines across the machine are faded, the symbols on the buttons long since rubbed away. He still knows how to work the damn thing though, pressing the play button and letting the room fill with the sound of music. “The thing about dancing. Do you… want to try? I’ve never danced before but I figured maybe you could teach me.”
Quackity’s eyes are wide and even the slightest bit teary. The other is quick to blink the wetness away though, standing up and coming over to where Wilbur was standing. It feels a bit ridiculous; standing in a tiny room with his rival in their pajamas, about to dance Tango to fast paced music playing from a shitty little music player. The more time Wilbur spends in their room though, the more he finds that ridiculous isn’t all that bad.
Quackity takes his hands, lacing their fingers together and using his feet to gently push Wilbur’s legs and feet into the correct positions. Wilbur feels his breath catch as the shorter wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him closer, gently reaching for Wilbur’s free hand and bringing it up to rest on his shoulder. They’re standing close enough that Wilbur can feel Quackity’s chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm and close enough he can see the small flecks of amber shards in the other’s eyes. Maybe Quackity’s fire hadn’t been stomped out, maybe it had just been… brought down a notch. Embers, Wilbur finds, are just as beautiful as any flame.
They go through the steps over and over, yet another night spent up right next to each other. Wilbur doesn’t quite take to dancing as well as Quackity did to guitar but there's something bright in the shorter’s eyes and that small smile is quick to curl on his lips so Wilbur finds he doesn’t mind. They end up sharing breathless kiss after breathless kiss and he finds that every single one is just as amazing as the first one they shared back when Wilbur had first given Quackity his clothes.
He knows it can’t last forever but for now Wilbur will hold on to every moment and make the most of it.
- Let the Flowers Say What I Can’t
He gets the idea from Tommy.
The younger had been out one day and had come back with a… thing held gently in his hands. Wilbur had soon found out it was a flower crown of all things, woven out of gorgeous yellow roses. Tommy had apparently found a flower field nearby and had scooped up a batch, twisting them around into a crown just as Tubbo had apparently taught him. The teen had dropped it onto Techno’s head, falling into wheezing fits of laughter at the piglin’s face.
“They mean friendship,” Tommy had admitted later that night, shyly. A vulnerable sort of expression on his face as he watched Techno’s reaction. The piglin had been thankful even if he’d tried to hide it.
It's when Tommy brings Wilbur a crown of yellow tulips claiming they mean unconditional love that he asks if Tommy can help him make a crown (he also cries about the gift but that is neither here nor there). Tommy seems ecstatic to help him and drags Wilbur out to the field the very next day, pulling him from flower to flower and explaining meanings until Wilbur finds what he’s looking for.
The moment the words ‘impossible love’ leave Tommy’s lips Wilbur knows he’s found the correct flower. They’re a batch of beautiful blue roses, dark and blooming. Wilbur isn’t sure he could have found a better fit.
“This is for Big Q, isn’t it?” Tommy asks as he weaves together the stems of the flowers. His fingers are bleeding from pricking them on the thorns and Wilbur notes to himself to find the kid some band-aids later. “You love him, don’t you?”
Wilbur finds the word ‘yes’ on his lips but he can’t truly bring himself to say it. Love is a promise, love is a commitment. Considering Wilbur’s plans in the next couple months he’s pretty sure commitments aren’t a smart thing to be making. That's the entire point of this crown thing anyway, to have it say what he can’t. Wilbur has never had a hard time speaking before but something about Quackity renders him speechless and Wilbur finds himself talking through actions far more than words.
Maybe it's that, that draws Wilbur in. The fact that Quackity can bring down his walls and see behind his pretty words. No one understands him like Quackity does, not even Tommy, and Wilbur thinks that fact is probably worth noting.
When he brings Quackity the crown Wilbur finds that he’s nervous. The duck-hybrid will likely have no idea what the flowers mean but Wilbur will. The second he gives it to Quackity, the second the other wears it? That's it. In Wilbur’s own way he will have laid all his cards out on the table. He doesn’t know if Quackity will understand what the gift means; if he’ll see it like every other gift Wilbur has given or if he’ll read Wilbur perfectly like he always does and make sense of the many messages held between the petals of the flowers. Either way, Wilbur knows their story is going to end the same.
He’s always loved a good tragedy.
Stepping into the room like he always does, Wilbur once again finds Quackity sitting on the end of their bed. The shorter is wearing another set of his clothes, guitar held in his hands as he runs through the chords with much more confidence then he had just months ago. There is something frighteningly domestic about the scene and Wilbur finds himself both wanting to run away and run towards it. Maybe that's how he’s always felt about Quackity; a fight between his heart and his instincts always warring whenever the shorter is around.
“I brought another gift,” He says. His voice is too soft, too nervous to be natural and he knows it. Wilbur won’t back down though, he’s always been too stubborn for his own good. “I think you’ll like this one. I had Tommy help me and everything; the kid is weirdly good at crafting.”
Quackity smiles, the grin edging on a smirk. “Oh? And what did you bring me this time?”
Wilbur once again can’t find it in himself to say the words so instead he steps up to Quackity, watching as the other moves the guitar out of the way before leaning down and gently placing the flower crown atop his head. For a moment he just stands there, taking the image of his once-rival now… something in. The man is breathtakingly beautiful as always; naive and kind and funny and compassionate and wonderful and Wilbur knows perfect is a myth but he thinks if it weren’t Quackity would suit it better than anyone else.
He also knows Quackity is far too good for him. Knows that he’s gotten lucky to have as long as he’s had with him and that the end was inevitable, whether he liked it or not. As he watches Quackity reach up and realize what’s on his head, letting out a laugh and pulling Wilbur into a kiss he only has one thought on his mind.
Even when he’s dead, he will love Quackity with all he has.
+1 I Finally Get To Say It Back
Time is a funny thing; a constant construct always ticking and always moving forward.
It's been a horribly long time since Wilbur and him shared those nights together in their little room in Pogtopia. A good five months at least for him and a whole thirteen and a half years for Wilbur. The dancing and the guitar lessons and the kissing all feel like centuries ago now. Lost between the death and destruction and new relationships that fell apart and everything else in between.
Quackity still has the old clothes Wilbur had given him though, and the flower crown, even the guitar. After all this time he still has them tucked away in a chest; just as he has a pair of black horns mounted over his bar and two rings strung by a string around his neck. Quackity had never really considered himself a sentimental person but he finds he can’t let go of all the relationships he’s had no matter how good or bad they were.
Maybe it's unhealthy but since when has Quackity been the pinnacle of health anyway?
When Wilbur comes back it throws a wrench into everything. Tensions rise, nations grow weary, and Quackity finds all of his dreams calling back to a time when his mind was focused on nights scented with the smell of cigarettes and the sound of music. He can’t get the man out of his head and he hates it because Wilbur left him, just like everybody else.
Only he had seen Wilbur’s retreat coming.
Quackity would have had to have been blind in both eyes to have missed the signs. To have missed Wilbur growing more distant or slowly becoming less and less put together. He had known what he’d been getting into before he’d even begun and yet he’d done it anyway. Quackity isn’t even sure he regrets it.
Maybe that's why he lets Wilbur come around again. Why he slowly allows the other to get away with more and more as they fall back into their familiar old song and dance. Quackity can tell Wilbur still loves him and he knows all too well that he does too. He’s learned his lesson about giving his heart out though and Quackity will not be so quick to throw himself to the wolves again.
It takes months for them to work up to what they had before. Between burger shops and rivalries and arguments about countries. Between getting every child on the damn server involved and smoking about a hundred cigarettes they finally manage it.
It's not the same as before, a little more shattered and detached now, but Quackity finds he doesn’t mind. After all, what kind of relationship is better for two broken people then a shattered one?
The idea comes to him in a sudden burst after he catches a glimpse of a familiar blue crown in his storage. He has to get help from the Las Navedas crew and Tommy but he manages to put together something he just knows Wilbur would love. The taller had always been into a good story and well… what's better for a story than a good call back?
It’s the three month anniversary of their ‘relationship’ (because labeling things is overrated) when Quackity puts his plan into action. He insists Wilbur let him plan the date out, telling him only to dress nicely and not worry about it. Thankfully, Tommy’s skill with a needle comes in handy. Wilbur shows up in a simple white button up rolled up to his elbows and a dark red circle skirt the same shade as his cracked glasses. Wilbur clearly tried to clean up a bit as well; his hair being neat and curly rather than its usual matted tangle and his teeth noticeably whiter.
Quackity leads them through the night slowly; first letting them sit down to eat dinner in the Tubburger restaurant (it’s the only food place they have around) and then leading them out to stand near the fountain in the middle of Las Navedas. They both play the guitar and sing love songs and even share a dance or two. It's painfully cliche and they both know it but neither of them care as they spend yet another night together just enjoying the other’s company.
Just before the sun begins to rise, Quackity leads Wilbur up to the top of the Needle and out to the west side of the balcony. The sun starts to peak out from the clouds, beginning to paint the sky in shades of pink and yellow. It's time; he has to do it now. Taking in a nervous breath, Quackity pulls his right hand out from where he was holding it behind him. In it he holds the very same blue flower crown Wilbur had given him all those months ago; the petals preserved by magic thanks to Foolish. “Do you remember when you gave me this?”
Wilbur glances over to him and Quackity can see his breath catch as he takes in the still-perfect petals of the delicate flowers. “Yes, I- but that was months ago, how-”
“Foolish,” Quackity explained simply, reaching up to place the blue flower crown on his head. “Wil I… I know what you meant by the flowers, I knew back then. I just never said anything because… well, we both knew what was coming.”
Wilbur nods mutely, brown eyes blown wide behind his glasses. Quackity wonders if they’re the same shade of warm brown he remembers. “I… wasn’t sure you’d get it.”
“I didn’t get the exact meaning until later, but I got the idea. I’ve always been good at reading you, Wil.”
“I know, you’re the only one that can.”
Quackity sucks in a breath because this is it and he really can’t back out now. He’s made a lot of commitments in his life and what he’s about to offer isn’t nearly as legally binding as a formal engagement is but it's certainly a promise of sorts. He pulls out his left hand from behind his back, revealing a crown of woven red roses. Somehow, Wilbur’s eyes grow wider. “Look, I don’t think I really need to say anything. Everyone knows what red roses mean, but- well I wanted to show you that… maybe it's not as impossible for us as you think. I mean if you dying can’t truly get between us then I’m not sure anything can.”
Wilbur flounders for words but seems unable to find any, leaning down so Quackity can gently place the flower crown down onto his head. Taking the chance while the tall ass bastard is giving it to him, Quackity grabs Wilbur’s shirt collar and tugs. Their lips meet in a familiar sort of dance but unlike most of their kisses there is nothing desperate or rushed about it. Now, they have all the time in the world.
Behind them, the sun rises.