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It’s interesting, waking up to the dull white ceiling of Quackity’s hotel room rather than the dark grey expanse of a train station. To wake up and hear soft snoring instead of the terrifying roar of a passing train that would never stop no matter how much he begged. It’s not a bad interesting; in fact, Wilbur would argue his mornings as of late have been the best he’s had in… far too long. Things are just… good now and he isn’t sure how to feel about it.
When you’re in hell for over a decade you get a little used to suffering.
Even before he’d died, Wilbur’s mornings had been pretty shit. If he even slept he would have nightmares; waking up in a panicked sweat. If he somehow avoided nightmares then he would be plagued by horrible insomnia that left him waking up every other hour.
It’s easier with Quackity around.
Maybe he should feel embarrassed about that, but Wilbur can’t find it in him; it's just the truth. Something about having the duck-hybrid sleep next to him helps Wilbur feel… safe. It shouldn’t; by all means it shouldn’t. Neither of them are particularly skilled in combat and they have dozens of enemies on their own, let alone together. Despite that, Wilbur finds himself more calm in this room, this bed, with Quackity, then he’s been in… well, too long to truly name.
He’s always the one to wake up first; right with the sunrise. Sometimes he would carefully get up and go out on the balcony to watch it; maybe smoke a cigarette. Other times, like today, he would simply watch as light started to drift in through the curtains.
Quackity lay with his back against Wilbur’s chest, the taller’s arm wrapped around the other’s waist. There was something so… peaceful about the mornings; about getting to see Quackity calm and vulnerable for once as light slowly filtered into their room and painted him in a golden hue. Wilbur had claimed (all those months back when he’d been revived) that the sunrise was his; that he’d come back and now he’d gotten the chance to start over and try again.
Now, looking down at his… something, Wilbur finds that not only has he truly made the most of his second chance but that he’s really made the sunrise his. Right there, lying beneath his arm, was his sunrise; his new beginning.
Wilbur has always loved a good sunrise.
There was a faint murmur and Wilbur found himself smiling as Quackity slowly woke up, turning in Wilbur’s arms to face the taller. Unlike during the day, there is nothing guarded or suspicious or scared on the shorter’s face. He looks… content. Wilbur would even dare to go as far as to say happy.
“I didn’t know you had freckles,” Quackity murmured, voice low with sleep.
“What?”
“You’re face,'' the shorter whispered, wrenching an arm free and gently cupping Wilbur’s face to where his thumb brushed across the taller’s cheek. “You have freckles, you just can’t see them unless you're in the sun.”
“Oh I-” Wilbur could feel his face warm, leaning into Quackity’s touch without thinking about it. No matter how much the shorter touched him he would never have enough. “I didn’t know that…”
“They’re pretty,” Quackity said, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Wilbur’s nose. “You’re pretty.”
He’s heard the compliment dozens of times from all kinds of people but there's something about the way Quackity says it that has Wilbur inclined to believe him. Something warm and fond in his tone; something painfully honest. Wilbur has never particularly liked his appearance (especially after coming back and having to get about a dozen stitches) but when Quackity compliments him he can’t help but feel like the prettiest person in the world.
“Your hair’s a mess,” Wilbur pointed out with a light snicker, reaching up to run his hands through a few particularly messy strands. “We can’t have the great president of Las Navedas going out looking like a mess, can we?”
Quackity batted him away with a fond roll of his eyes, shifting to prop himself up on his elbows. “Says the one who wouldn’t know what a hairbrush was if it smacked him in the face.”
“Aw, I thought I was pretty.”
“Maybe you’re just an idiot.”
“Your idiot.”
Quackity smiled, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to Wilbur’s lips. “Yeah, my idiot.
Prime, Wilbur loved mornings.