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It’s Wilbur’s birthday.
If he’s honest, he’d kind of forgotten. Time had been a blur back in limbo and even after months of being back he found it hard to keep track of the date or hour anymore. Usually, this didn’t affect much. It only changes things when he wakes up and Phil is hugging him and saying ‘happy birthday’ and Wilbur realizes that not only had he forgotten his own birthday but he doesn’t even know how old he is anymore.
Not that any of that matters; birthdays don’t really mean much on the Dream SMP. Sure, they had been special things before, but it had been a long time since anyone had the energy to even think about the date. They were all too busy just trying to survive.
As Wilbur’s mind drifts onto the subject of old birthdays however a very specific party comes to mind and he finds himself walking in a familiar direction without truly thinking about what he’s doing. Niki’s party was a long time ago; years for him and months for everybody else. It still shows up in Wilbur’s mind frequently though, like a favorite movie you play again and again.
He thinks it might have been the best night of his life.
There was just something so… wonderful about spending a night laughing and singing dumb love songs and just genuinly having fun without the fear of being murdered on the back of his mind. He had allowed himself that night to just let go for once and in return he’d gotten a night he’d never forget. A night to enjoy himself before he officially ruined it all. A night to indulge in a relationship he knows all too well he shouldn’t indulge in.
Wilbur comes to stand underneath the Las Navedas sign, looking up at the towering buildings of the country. It's a breathtaking place, he can admit that much. Quackity had done a good job on it. Something in him longs to be a part of it; to be a part of something again. Technically, he could just walk in. Quackity had said he could, even if he wasn’t a permanent member of Las Navedas.
Still, Wilbur pulls out a cigarette and waits.
It takes a good hour (or maybe twenty minutes, he’s lost track of time) for the duck-hybrid to finally show up. He seems stressed; already smoking when he comes up and wings puffed out. It dashes the sliver of hope Wilbur had held about having a quiet night with the shorter and he leans back into the base of the sign, quietly concealing his disappointment.
“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” he hummed, hoping Quackity was too distracted to notice the lack of energy in his words.
The shorter rolled his eyes, scoffing. “Looks like someone forgot what a hairbrush was again.”
Wilbur smiled wryly, leaning forward just a bit until Quackity and him were nearly touching. “You sure seemed to like how messy it was back in Pogtopia. Remember how hard you’d-”
Quackity shoved him away with a hand and Wilbur noted the lack of force used with the motion. The shorter took another long drag and sighed as he let the smoke filter out of his mouth. “What do you want, Wilbur? I have a lot of things I need to do.”
Biting his lip, Wilbur feels a stab of… something in his chest. Not like the sword that caused the gaping wound in his stomach but more of an invisible pang. He’s not sure why Quackity’s words bother him so much; why the annoyance in his tone makes his heart hurt. Maybe it has something to do with it being his birthday. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he’s still thinking about Niki’s party and all he wants is those touches again; Quackity’s touches again. Not the aggressive, desperate sort of kisses they share now but something softer.
He was stupid for getting his hopes up.
‘I don’t know what you mean, Big Q,” he says, voice sounding far too small for his liking, “can I not just visit you?”
Quackity’s eyes snap over to him and Wilbur knows he’s caught before the other even opens his mouth. The other had always been too good at reading him. “You can,” Quackity admits, and the annoyance has faded into something Wilbur would almost dare to call concern. “I get the feeling that’s not the case for today, though.”
Wilbur thinks of the touches they had shared the night of the party. Quackity’s calloused hands cupping his face or wrapping gently around his waist or even tangling gently in his hair or resting on the back of his neck. He tries to remember what it felt like but he finds that he can’t remember. Wilbur doesn’t truly remember what touch feels like at all anymore; the aggressive touches with Quackity before not truly counting. He wants… he wants to feel that again, desperately.
“Do you know the date today, Big Q?”
“...No, I hadn’t checked it. Why?”
“It’s September fourteenth.”
The shorter’s eyes go wide and Wilbur finds himself smiling because if he’s honest with himself he’d figured Quackity had forgotten it too. Dropping his cigarette and stubbing it out with his boot, the duck-hybrid crosses his arms. “So, you came to Las Navedas for your birthday then. Why?”
“Like I said,” Wilbur drawled out, stubbing out his own cigarette on the base of the sign and leaning fully into Quackity’s personal space. Their noses are brushing now and he can feel the shorter’s breath against his lips. “I just wanted to visit you.”
Quackity hums, bringing a hand up to cup Wilbur’s jaw. It’s the most gentle the shorter has been with him since he’d come back and the second the other’s thumb begins tracing circles into his cheek Wilbur melts into it. A part of his brain is screaming to pull away, that it's all just a trap to lure him into a false sense of security and let his guard down. The part of him so desperate for the touch drowns it out though; easily turning his brain to mush as he brings a hand up to wrap around Quackity’s wrist.
“Do you remember Niki’s birthday party?” Wilbur asks softly, studying Quackity’s eyes. Behind his glasses they look a dark shade of maroon but he knows they’re truly a dark brown; warm enough to melt into. He’d never told Quackity how much he liked his eyes and Wilbur wonders what the other would say if he did now.
“Of course I do,” Quackity replied, “how could I forget?”
“Do you remember how you’d touched me then? It was- it was different then how you do now. I- do you ever miss it?”
“Sometimes,” the shorter breathed out. It came out rushed, like he was scared to admit it.
“I was just thinking about it. I was just wondering if you-”
Quackity interrupted him by reaching down to grasp his coat collar and gently tugging Wilbur to him. They closed the final gap between them as their lips met. Unlike the kisses they had shared in the last few months, there was nothing desperate about these. They were slow and soft and everything Wilbur had wanted. Quackity reaches one hand up to tangle carefully into his hair, tugging only the slightest bit. Wilbur feels like his brain is melting, focused entirely on the sensation of Quackity’s hands and lips and touch.
Prime, did it feel good to be touched.
When they finally pull away, panting and red faced, Quackity smiles at him. It's not his smirk but rather something much rounder around the edges; more vulnerable. “Happy Birthday, Wilbur.”
Wilbur finds that for once, it truly is a happy birthday.