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It’s a strange sort of hurt that wraps its grip around Quackity’s heart in that hallway, vice grip holding tight to feelings he hadn’t allowed himself to entertain, hardly acknowledged, and surely ignored in feverous favor of the facts.
But here, midnight eyes meeting sickening honey in the abandoned corridor, the truth is hard to escape and even harder to ignore. Here, he faces the true facts, the infallibility he had hoped he had been wrong about. The sleepless nights spent comforting a close friend. The missing piece. The absolute impossibility of it all because surely- surely he wouldn’t have, couldn’t have, but here, the silence speaks volumes, and Karl’s inability to meet his eyes is enough.
The moment he realizes that Karl is not going to speak, perhaps never again to him, is the moment his heart stops, torn between hurt and anger, and perhaps both at once.
It’s burning hot, fire curling in his gut and he barely has the restraint to let Karl go, just like that, shoulders hunched as he leaves through the swinging double door never to be seen again, out with a whisper, and hardly so much as a goodbye.
Quackity does not know how long he stands in that hallway wondering if maybe it was a dream, a figment of a nightmare and hoping that maybe, maybe Karl would walk back through those doors and tell him it was all a joke, because he’d never leave like that.
But the hallway remains empty, and anger fades to a sharp pain that gathers in his gut and forces its way to his eyes, vision blurring at the totality of the situation.
Because aside from him, there was George, whom Karl had been so close with, and Dream, an extension of George, and someone Karl was supposed to have cared for. And Sapnap.
Sapnap, who Quackity knew had shed so many tears for someone who never shed any tears in return. Sapnap, who had spent his free time chasing a phantom, a single raindrop, quick to turn to vapor in his warm hands. Sapnap, who had loved, and who had never been loved in return.
Quackity had paid extra mind to him as the reality had slowly set in, spending time before lessons in empty classrooms holding him close, midnight hair tucked into shoulder crooks and skin desperate for acceptance. Where Karl had not, Quackity had loved Sapnap, as much as he could, desperate to see him smile, and desperate to fix what Karl had so cruelly broken.
He does not head home today, no, he goes to him, of deep blue eyes and raven hair, of forgotten love and bleeding hearts, and of the lonely and the broken.
It’s raining as he traipses up sidewalks and to front doors, drops pattering on covered porches and covering the earth in a petrichor Quackity knows Sapnap once loved. The door opens, and hopeful eyes meet hurt ones in the precipice.
Quackity doesn’t need to say anything, a simple shake of his head, as rivulet of water creeps down his cheek from his brow, a single drop off the tip of his nose falling as it’s loosed with the motion, and the hope fades, cerulean dying to steel.
There is no spoken invitation, but the open door as Sapnap retreats from the entry, shamefaced and grieving, is enough to have Quackity following desperately behind, heart pounding as he follows, follows, follows, back to the corner of the home where he knows Sapnap has gone.
He wastes no time following him to the twin-sized bed tucked in the corner of the small space, wet jeans meeting dry cloth as Sapnap leans into his open arms, met only with acceptance as Quackity brings him as close as he can.
It’s there, in the silence of the room, that he consoles and cradles, hands around the younger’s head, pulling him as far onto his lap as the space will allow, and letting him cry.
Because for every tear Karl has caused, Quackity makes a vow to wipe them all away, a careful thumb running under swollen eyes and it’s then, there, looking at the wreck Karl has left behind, that Quackity realizes he has never wanted to kiss someone back together more.
-
The summer haze starts with cicada calls and four boys trying to live the last of their high school freedom before the guillotine of college cuts them down, forcing work and schedules upon their severed throats and stealing their time like thieves.
It is, Quackity notes, incredibly harder to enjoy the things where once there were 5, now instead 4.
The river from summer's past may have flowed onwards, but Quackity can feel the tension in the air, phantom laughter where now there is none, and memories soured with time and circumstance.
Pool games are abandoned, tables left to be covered and collect dust, untouched since last year, and Quackity doubts they’ll ever be by their hands again.
And he does not miss the way with which Sapnap passes by his bike, the joy lost from free rides under the sun and artificial breezes from pushing the speed limit.
But as much as it hurts Sapnap, it hurts Quackity far more. An aching sort of pain, trailing solemnly through limbs and heart, making his fingers twitch, desperate to soothe, and desperate to touch.
In an attempt to avoid any place that Karl had been, ghostly claim still held over so many of the highlights of a small town, they had found solace at the railroad tracks, quiet and lonesome, but for 4 young men, it was enough.
Between listening to the rushing of the river on the other side of the tracks, to placing bets on when trains would run through (ruined, once George looked up the schedule to get an edge), they found ways to entertain themselves, even in solitude.
But at the end of it, Quackity knew it wasn’t about what they were doing, but rather who they were with, because Karl leaving had possibly affected Sapnap the most (and thus Quackity), but his absence left a gaping hole in the safety of their circle, and left them holding on tighter to what was left.
They had all committed to the same college.
They had all decided on a state university, not too far from home, but far enough to gain on campus housing and some semblance of freedom, to pretend they were hours away as opposed to minutes.
That and, Quackity suspected, to rid themselves of their now tainted high school memories. How silly, he thinks, how one person could do so much damage, twisting a knife from miles away without even holding the hilt.
As he sits on the side of the tracks now, he chucks a piece of gravel aimlessly towards the river, wondering if he will be able to hear the satisfying plonk from his perch beyond the waters.
He doesn’t.
What he does hear is gravel crunching as Sapnap sits beside him, chucking his own pebble much further than Quackity, quiet overtaking the pair as they wait in tandem silence for a possible response, and this time, there is.
It must be the younger’s stronger throw, Quackity reckons, as a distant splash echoes back, causing the barest of a smile on Sapnap’s face. Any bitter feelings Quackity may have harbored towards Sapnap’s stone reaching further than his is halted in favor of examining the closest Quackity reckons he’ll see to a real smile on his friend’s face for the time being.
He nudges his shoulder against the taller and quirks his lips up, in hopes of drawing a more enthusiastic beam from the faint one Sapnap wears now.
“Nice shot. Further than me, I think I hit the shore.” He says, and to his delight, watches Sapnap’s lips curve ever so slightly higher from the jest. He counts that a win as the younger’s face tilts upwards to look beyond the tracks, beyond the river bed, and beyond the treeline, towards the sky on the other side.
Somewhere behind them, Quackity is sure Dream and George are holding hands and sighing about their love for one another, but for now, they do not matter as clouds float calmly, reflected in the deep blue pools of Sapnap’s eyes.
Quackity likes to look at the sky, but he loves to look at Sapnap, expression bittersweet as a breeze rifles through his hair. He’s grown it out, longer, and it’s pulled tightly into a ponytail, stray hairs curling around his ears and neck in the humidity, flyaways held back with that infernal white headband.
Though, Quackity supposes he has no room to speak as he tugs his eyes away from Sapnap’s side profile to adjust the beanie he’s still so stubbornly wearing in the heat of late June.
“You should take it off. Heat index is pretty high today, don’t want you catching a stroke.” Sapnap says as Quackity tucks his bangs under the brim. He snorts.
“I won’t catch a stroke. I’ve worn this beanie every summer before and I’ve been fine.” He replies, and Sapnap huffs. Quackity debates whether he can classify it as fond, and decides he will.
“Why do you even wear it? I don’t think I’ve ever asked.” The silence after the question hangs, and in all honesty, Quackity couldn’t really say either. It had simply become a habit, an extension of himself, and taking it off just feels too strange. So he doesn’t.
“I don’t know, why do you wear that white headband?” He asks back, and Sapnap huffs again, turning his gaze back to the horizon as Quackity steals glances at the younger. A cicada song starts in the trees.
“Keeps the bangs out of my eyes.” It’s a cheap excuse, and Quackity knows Sapnap knows he didn’t mean it like that. They’ve reached a standstill though, and Quackity lets a careful silence befall them again as Dream’s laugh from something George has said echoes through their perch. “Hey, I bet a train’s gonna come in-” Quackity watches Sapnap check his watch. “5 minutes.”
“5? No chance. I’d give you 10.” Quackity replies, letting the ease of a bargain begin, filling the quiet and bringing back the more playful mood from before.
“Alright. 5 bucks says 5.” Sapnap holds out his hand, eyes now focused on the curve at the end of the clearing, where a train will whip around eventually, whether it be in 5, 10, or even 20 minutes.
“Deal.” Quackity says, letting his hand fall into infernally warm ones, heart skipping a faint beat as he takes in the brief moment of flushed skin meeting flushed skin before it’s gone, as quick as a whisper.
It’s wordless as time begins to fall, Sapnap checking his watch every so often before the tracks start to tremble, and the two finally pick themselves up, quickly retreating to the safety of the edge of the woods as the train comes into view near the corner.
Sapnap’s watching the clock closer now, because if it’s even 10 seconds over 5 minutes, Quackity will win.
“Come on, come on, come on.” Sapnap is chanting under his breath. Quackity is holding his, eyes trained on when the first car will pass the self-set marker, and then-
“Now!”
“5!” Quackity groans and Sapnap raises an arm in victory. For a moment, Quackity lets himself indulge in the sheer joy as Sapnap relishes his victory, but as quickly as it comes, forgetting, perhaps, life’s worries for a mere moment, it’s gone as the train rattles on, and Sapnap comes down from his high.
Quackity watches the light die, fire dulled to a spark, and wonders why Sapnap couldn’t have stayed focused on this feeling for a little longer. He tries to bring it back.
“Damn, I owe you 5 bucks now, nice job.” Sapnap meets his gaze again, the slightest glimmer returning to them in the dappled sunlight. “You’ve always been better at guessing.” He adds on, and Sapnap snorts faintly as the train finally putters away.
“Yeah, well. You figure it’s around 3. Just makes sense.” Quackity had hoped for a playful jab back, or a tease, or even a smug reinstatement of his victory. Somehow, the fact that it’s not being shoved in his face is worse.
“Hey, you guys wanna get pizza and crash at Dream’s? Apparently, his family’s gone for the weekend.” George says, and Quackity hadn’t even noticed him make his way towards them, alone, as Dream hangs further back.
“I’m down.” Quackity replies, and Sapnap nods from beside him. They leave the tracks, river rushing behind them, and faint vibrations from the distant train fading as they hike back.
-
When July finally rolls around, it brings with it incredibly hot weather, forcing people into homes with cranked-up AC and down towards the rivers and creeks, desperate for summer fun without the overwhelming flush of the weather.
It’s a Wednesday when the four of them are sprawled on the cool concrete floor of someone’s basement (Quackity was too hot to remember whose), desperate breaths coming short.
They’re in a brownout, ACs forced to be abandoned in favor of alternative cooling methods, but even the usual sanctuary of the basement has become a heated prison, not cool enough to beat the lethargy from their minds.
Even Quackity has begrudgingly abandoned his beanie in favor of better heat control, to little avail.
“We could go down to the river.” George finally suggests, and the proposition hangs tightly in the air, almost thicker than the heat.
Sapnap inhales sharply. Quackity holds his breath.
“We could.” Dream says eventually, not sounding too sure of himself.
More silence as shared memories filter across faces, the phantom of a 5th whispering in and out the concrete and drywall of the subterranean space.
Quackity reckons they’re letting Sapnap be the ultimate decider. That makes sense, from what Quackity has heard (and from what he remembers about the times he had gone along, later in the season), the section of the river that falls on the corner of Sapnap’s property was home to several bitter memories.
But as the heat grows heavier, the promise of cold water and bracing wind too good to let go, Quackity watches Sapnap pull himself into a seated position, gaze far away, answer hesitant but clear.
“Yeah. Probably the only place to beat this fuckin’ heat.” The others bring themself to their feet, groaning from the effort as they meander towards the stowed away dirt bikes, braving the beating sun in favor of the paradise they know is to come.
George and Dream naturally fall together, leaving Sapnap to mount the bike and reintroduce Quackity to the feeling of uncertain ground as rubber wheels push forward through uncertain terrain. He rests his arms gingerly around Sapnap’s upper torso, avoiding awkward positions with hands around waists and skin brushing accidently as the ride carries on.
Where George and Dream are taking liberties, the blond taking the confident lead as George whoops happily in the back, held tight to Dream, but a smile on his face nonetheless, Sapnap is stiff and solemn.
Quackity knows his arms around the younger’s body must feel far too similar to someone else’s, and he loosens his grip as much as he can without running the risk of falling off, focusing on the ground as green and brown flash by too fast to comprehend.
The ride to the bank feels too long, much longer than it had before, and the roads are overgrown enough to cause a bumpy trail, meaning Quackity can feel the soreness in his muscles as soon as they arrive.
Maybe he’ll regret not holding tighter to his driver tomorrow, but he’ll never be able to bring himself to be too mad. He’d rather deal with a sore ass than accidentally force unpleasant memories into Sapnap’s mind, or even let himself get too comfortable with the closeness.
Sapnap is hesitant as he peels off his shirt on the bank, and as Dream tosses George into the water, Quackity sidles up next to Sapnap, bracing himself as Dream jumps in besides George, droplets threatening to douse the pair still on the shore.
He spares a moment to watch the two as they happily splash at each other, George mouthing off at Dream who returns his gripes with laughter and more water. Quackity grins despite himself, and turns to say something to Sapnap, about how sappy the couple are, or about how Dream needs to be more careful where he splashes, but stops short catching the taller’s choked expression.
It’s open and vulnerable as he tracks Dream and George, and Quackity watches the sheen of tears well up, sun reflecting hauntingly off the few drops that spill over. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know what to say, but reaches a tentative hand to rest on Sapnap’s shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts.
Sapnap’s eyes turn to regard Quackity’s hand for a moment before the shorter finds himself with Sapnap tucked into his chest, face buried in the cotton of the shirt Quackity still has on, and tears undoubtedly staining the fabric. As Dream and George play on, Quackity brings a gentle hand to trace circles on Sapnap’s bare back, tucking his head against Sapnap’s as he envelops him even further.
In this moment, he wants to protect Sapnap more than anything. To fight what had him fall apart, to take the broken memories and rid the younger of them so they never reach him again.
But Quackity is not a god, and hardly a fighter, and the best he can do is hold Sapnap close, just like this, just like he has so many times before, a shield from facing the whispers of previous memories.
They stay like that for a moment before Sapnap’s pulling back, inhaling deeply, eyes filled with a new determination as Quackity pulls his hand away.
“You know, the water’ll feel a lot better with your shirt off.” He says eventually, and Quackity’s heart stutters at the first jab from Sapnap in months. He’s at a loss for words, sentences coming out in stutters as his hands fluster around his shirt, tugging at seams.
“Uh, yeah- no, you’re… you’re right. It will.” He says, scrambling to take off his shirt before he sets it aside on the shore. They stand for a little while longer before the heat begins to crawl across Quackity’s back uncomfortably. “I’ll race ya.”
Sapnap’s eyes widen for a moment before they spark, determined and passionate. He side-eyes Quackity before taking off wordlessly, leaving him to squawk indignantly as he tracks after the younger, streaking towards the Leaping Stone a hair too late as Sapnap’s splash echoes below him.
The water is shockingly cold, but feels delectable as it crawls across sun-stroked skin. As the world becomes a muted blur of blues and murky browns, Quackity lets the water wash over him, the gentle fizz of bubbles against his skin a reminder of what his lungs can hold for only so long, and finally, he breaches, sputtering for air as Sapnap treads water not too far away.
He makes his way over, hands cutting through the water and he pulls himself towards Sapnap, grinning at him before floating onto his back, belly and head poking above the water as one arm keeps him from drifting into Sapnap.
“Shit, that feels good.” He sighs out into the air, and Sapnap makes a noise of acknowledgement from beside him, joining him on his back as George screeches in the background.
“We should have come down here sooner.” Sapnap notes, tone sounding apologetic, and Quackity regards him in his peripheral for a moment before responding.
“Yeah, but I think we needed a break from here anyways.” He kicks with his feet to bump into Sapnap, the younger’s limbs flailing as he regains his balance and Quackity snickers. “There’s only so much you can do in a small stream before it gets dull.”
Sapnap giggles softly, and Quackity’s mind stops, eyes going wide as he stares at the younger.
That’s the first laugh he’s heard from him in months, and it sounds like music, soft and careful. It feels like a secret, precious and trusting, like so much more than it is, and to Quackity, it means everything.
“What? You’re staring at me like I grew wings or something.” Sapnap stops his floating and comically turns to regard his back. “Did I?”
Quackity finally recovers from his stupor and splashes Sapnap, laughing fondly as his hair flops in front of his eyes, and he raises a hand to slick it back.
“Bitch.” Quackity huffs, and Sapnap snorts. “You just… you laughed for, like, the first time in ever.”
“In ever? I’ve laughed before.” He replies, and Quackity sighs, glancing away and back. Their feet can touch the bottom now, and they brace themselves against one of the larger rocks as they talk.
“Yeah but not…” the second half of the sentence goes without saying, and Sapnap looks away with a sharp inhale. Quackity’s heart sinks.
Maybe it was still too fresh to bring up, to mention It. Things were going so well, what he wouldn’t give to hear Sapnap giggle again, and he desperately hopes he hasn’t ruined the mood, or worse, made Sapnap hurt.
“Really?” Is all the younger replies, eyes still studying the sky, clouds and trees reflected in deep irises, tone contemplative, but not hostile. Delicate, Quackity supposes. Treading carefully over shattered glass.
“Yeah.” And then, because Quackity evidently has no self-control, “I missed it.”
Sapnap’s head turns to look at him, eyes studying Quackity’s expression as a breeze pushes by, rivulets of water tracking down his cheek and falling off his chin.
“You did?” Soft. Tentative. A petal spanned across water.
Quackity nods. It seems it’s all he can do as his heart pounds, and Sapnap looks at him like that, and the tone of the conversation switches in a heartbeat.
Sapnap hums thoughtfully as he turns away again, studying the sky once more. “I’m sorry.”
Quackity breaks. Two words, two words and he can feel his heart falling, not for himself, but for Sapnap, because how broken must one be to apologize for not being ok?
“Oh Jesus, Sapnap, no, God, no don’t apologize.” He says in one breath, turning to look at a surprised Sapnap. “I mean- God I wouldn’t have been any different if I were in your shoes, it’s- look- it’s just nice to hear it.” Sapnap is looking at him with wide eyes. “You don’t… you don’t owe me laughter, but if I get it, I’m going to let you know how much it means to me. To see you happy.”
Blue eyes flicker across Quackity’s face.
“That sounds-” He flushes as he realizes how his words may come across, and he groans as he looks away. “Look, it’s not- it’s just- You deserve happiness Sapnap, and I’m just… happy you’re happy.”
Silence sits for a moment before Sapnap’s lip quirks up ever so slightly and he relaxes back against the rock, eyes following Dream as he leaps into the water a little ways away.
“I’m happy that I’m happy too.” He eventually says and Quackity huffs a laugh. “Feels a lot better than shitty. I’m tired of feeling shitty.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I just… I don’t know how not to feel shitty. It’s- he’s everywhere.” Sapnap admits, and it’s grounding. Quackity sighs.
“I know, Sap.” I wish I could help.
“I feel less shitty around you guys. Around you.” Quackity watches his fingers toy with the stream of water in front of them, foolish heart pounding softly.
“I’m… I’m glad. For that. For you.” He replies.
“Me too.” Sapnap’s head falls back against the stone. “Sometimes, it feels like nothing is ok, and it never will be ok, but when I’m with you guys, sometimes, it feels like maybe it will be.” he says, and Quackity nods. “Right now, I feel like I’ll be fine. I was kinda worried. Coming here. But you…” A brief pause, a small side-eye.. “...you guys made it feel good again.”
Dream and George’s laughter fades as Quackity looks at Sapnap, looks at the ease on his face, the tranquility as he tracks his nails through the running water, and takes time to memorize his expression.
Because he’s right. In this moment, it does feel like everything will be fine, and maybe the cobwebs of the past can let them free, the whispers will finally fade, and they can all be ok again.
-
“It’s totally rigged, you’re not going to get anything.” George complains as Dream spends another 5 dollars for 3 balls he can throw at a tower of jugs for an eventual prize worth maybe a fraction of what he’s spent.
“Yeah, but I’m automatically going to get a medium prize for playing again. And you want the cat right?” Dream checks, and Quackity watches as he knocks the pyramid of jugs over with expert aim. Quackity figures if he were to spend the 5 dollars minimum required, he’d waste all his shots, the ball more likely to fall short of or miss its target altogether.
“Idiot.” George says, rolling his eyes but not denying the want for the stuffed animal hanging from the awning of the booth. He’s leaning against the counter on Dream’s right while Quackity and Sapnap stand behind the two, sharing twin looks of disappointment and amusement with the couple, snickering as Dream misses his final shot and ruins the chances of cinching the prize.
“What the hell!” He exclaims. “My shot was perfect, they should have fallen!”
The four of them had shown up to the local county fair a few hours earlier, bored and practically desperate to leave with fistfuls of cash, ready to waste time and spend more money than what was necessary.
The sun still bares her beating rays, pushing through the brief salvation of clouds ruthlessly, and Quackity has relegated himself to frantically flapping a politically partied fan, desperate for any sort of saving grace.
Every couple of turns, he switches the aim of moving air to the back of Sapnap’s neck where the younger’s hair has been tied back tightly into an elastic. Quackity tugs on a loose strand to get Sapnap’s attention.
“What?” Sapnap demands, irritability switching to a hum of satisfaction as Quackity puts some extra effort to make stronger strokes for the fan, directing it at Sapnap’s face.
“When are you gonna cut that mop?” He teases, and Sapnap scoffs as his eyes flutter shut to avoid being strained from the wind. With them closed, he looks serene, stormy waters covered by sun-drenched curtains and hidden beneath a sheath of lashes.
The only thing that lets Quackity know the peaceful demeanor is just a facade is the gentle grey of restless rings holding fast to the skin below his eyes, a smattering of storm clouds on the horizon of his lower eyelids.
“Before college. Why? Not a fan?” It’s Quackity’s turn to huff dramatically as he switches the fan back to his own face, much to Sapnap’s ultimate displeasure, and trains his eyes on the food stand nearby.
“Never said that.” He watches Sapnap study him in his peripherals. “Just figured it’s gotta be killing you in this heat.”
Sapnap eyes him for a moment more before shrugging nonchalantly and edging carefully into Quackity’s space, grabbing the handle of the fan and forcing Quackity to fan them both.
Their fingers brush together on the handle for a mere moment, and Quackity’s breath catches in his throat. He clears it with a brief hum, looking away to recenter himself, grateful the summer flush can hide the rouge he’s sure is crawling across his face.
A triumphant cheer sounds from in front of them, and the two whip their heads to see a finally triumphant Dream hand George the small tabby plush he’d been eyeing. Quackity smiles softly as he watches George blush miserably against his will, hiding his face in the fur of the cat.
“Ok, are we ready to go? I’d kill for some ice-cold lemonade right now, and I’m tired of third-wheeling.” Sapnap complains, and Quackity snorts, George rolling his eyes.
“You’re not third-wheeling, you have Quackity.” Dream comments, and Sapnap slides Quackity a look before returning his gaze back to Dream.
“You’re right. We’re third-wheeling.” He amends, and Quackity snickers again as the younger finally leaves his space and begins walking towards a food stand advertising lemonade nearby. Quackity exhales a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and stares after Sapnap’s receding figure for a moment before eventually following.
George falls into step beside him as Dream rushes to meet Sapnap, and they’re quiet for a bit, merely enjoying each other’s company before stopping a few feet away from the stand, finding solace in an umbrella that’s been haphazardly set up over a bench.
Then George speaks, brown eyes soft, as they often are, but calculating. He’s watching Sapnap, Quackity realizes, observing the younger from a distance as Dream messes with him and they have a conversation unintelligible from the distance they are away.
“I think he’s doing better.” Quackity eventually says upon noting his friend’s careful considerations. George turns his head to look at Quackity, eyes flicking up and down rapidly before returning back to Sapnap’s back.
“Yeah, I think so. Better than the start of summer, definitely.” He says, and Quackity nods, following George’s gaze to observe their friends as they talk animatedly.
He watches the smile on Sapnap’s face rise and fall, and relishes in its newfound frequency. He’s been less reserved about letting himself loose, stressed exterior falling away like a crumbling shell in the days leading away from the river, and Quackity finds himself just as floored as the first time he’d seen that smile up close.
He was the first of Karl’s many crushes that Quackity had been happy about, in a sad ‘missed opportunity’ way, but satisfied nonetheless. Sapnap was wild, free as a thunderstorm, but with a heart of gold you’d have to be blind not to see. A lady’s man, a romantic, selfless and loyal, and Quackity had been as smitten as Karl had, but not half as lucky.
If it had been him in Karl’s position, Quackity wouldn’t have let go, would have clung to Sapnap like sweat to skin, would have loved him. Once, Quackity thought Karl had loved Sapnap, would do the same.
Now, he’s not sure Karl ever really did, instead relegating Sapnap to a tryst, a prize to be won and tossed away, disposable.
Quackity hated that anyone could make Sapnap feel that way, disposable.
His heart whines as he forces himself to push away the last tendrils of jealousy he had held for his former friend, replacing them with quiet disappointment and acceptance of where they were.
George seems to notice his silence and nudges him gently with an elbow.
“I’m glad you’re around. I think without you, Sapnap would be a lot worse off right now.” Quackity raises his head to meet George’s eyes, sighing softly.
“I wish he wouldn’t have even needed to be worse-off.” He replies, throwing his head back to watch the clouds crawl across a bright blue sky.
“Yeah, well. We never saw it coming. I think about that a lot, you know. How easily we trusted Karl to take care of him. How easily I trusted Karl regardless.” Quackity turns to look at George, somewhat surprised to find his friend’s eyes shiny and distant, melancholy clear in deep brown irises. “He was one of my better friends. Best, maybe. And when everything happened, I heard it all through him.”
Quackity hadn’t thought about that. Sure, he had known George and Karl were close before, hell, he had been somewhat adjacent to the pair, eating lunch with them and a few others, but it had just truly hit him that George had lost a best friend as well as watching the downfall of another.
“He had me fooled when I thought I knew him the best. But he just left, like Sapnap didn’t matter, like Dream didn’t matter, like you didn’t matter, like I didn’t matter.” George continues, and Quackity sucks in a painful breath.
“Yeah. Yeah..” Quackity breathes.
Silence pulls softly at the pair as distant laughter and chatter from fair-goers fill the void, even if Quackity’s mind muffles the sound.
“What a dick.” George eventually says with a wry smile that has Quackity sharply looking over before breaking into an easy smile punctuated with a sardonic laugh.
“You said it.” It tastes like reluctant closure. They share a little more laughter before they’re interrupted by twin shadows, and Quackity has a cold drink shoved into his hands by a satisfied looking Sapnap who slurps at his own.
“You like arnold palmers right?” He checks, motioning towards the amber liquid hosted by an oversized cup sitting in Quackity’s grasp.
His heart skips a beat as Sapnap remembers the small fact Quackity’s sure he’s only mentioned once, fingers tightening around the cup for a brief moment before he nods with a smile.
“Yeah, yeah I do.”
“Cool.” Sapnap says before flopping down next to Quackity and reaching across to grab the fan lying abandoned in the older’s lap.
Quackity watches, smitten, he’s sure, as Sapnap nonchalantly fans himself as he sips at his drink, only breaking his gaze when Sapnap’s eyes find him in peripherals.
Quackity turns to his own drink, embarrassed to have been caught staring, focusing instead on pulling the drink to his admittedly parched mouth.
Sour lemon mixed with sweet tea rushes down his throat in a dizzying coldness that has gooseflesh rising on his arms, but Quackity’s not entirely sure that’s the only reason why as Sapnap’s ocean eyes continue to steadily observe him from the corner of his gaze.
-
It’s raining.
Quackity lounges in the corner of Dream’s basement, messing with Sapnap’s hair as droplets slide against the glass door in the corner and gutters that need to be cleaned force water to smatter angrily against the side of the house.
The younger’s head has found his way into Quackity’s lap, headband abandoned in favor of the older’s hand trailing through the sun-stained locks, leaving Quackity smitten. It’s a lackadaisical feel, relaxed but comfortable, and even Dream has fallen into a light sleep against George in the love seat the two have squeezed themselves into.
Quackity sighs, content, as the four enjoy each other’s company, something they’ve gotten rather used to. The idea of holding tighter to those close to you has become a lot more real, and Quackity wonders if, deep down, everyone’s a little worried that anyone could leave at any point in time.
That they could simply walk out, never to be seen again, a final meeting at a locker with unspoken words saying far too much all that was left to remember them by.
Quackity forces his thoughts away from darker places and focuses on the person in his lap, breathing soft and slow and eyes resting shut. He’s not asleep, Quackity knows, because anytime he goes to stop, worried his off-hand action will become too much, Sapnap stirs to life and reaches out blindly for the hand drifting away from him.
Quackity will put it back with a soft smile and a beating heart.
It’s been about a week or so from the county fair, and early August bears down on the group like an ominous shadow. In just 3 short weeks, they’ll be moving into college, high school behind them, and if Quackity thinks about it too much it becomes an overwhelming, inescapable fact.
For now, he sets his sights on the present as Sapnap stirs below him, nestling further into his hand. He chuckles and tugs loosely at a strand.
“Having a good time?” Sapnap frowns for a moment, the bridge of his nose bunching and Quackity feels his stomach flip. He brings his free hand to smooth it, relishing in the closeness Sapnap is allowing him.
“Yes, and if you stop, I’ll be having a bad one.” Sapnap replies, voice laced with unallowed sleep. Quackity just shakes with soft laughter.
“And what if I do stop?” He teases, knowing he could never bring himself to stop, not when Sapnap is pliant under his fingers like this. Sapnap’s eyes crack open, an annoyed stare sent his way.
“You won’t.” He affirms, shutting them again, and Quackity huffs fondly.
“I won’t.” He assures and continues his ministrations, tracing Sapnap’s scalp with his fingertips. Sapnap sighs and Quackity inhales sharply as his breath catches.
God.
If there’s one thing that’s changed in the short time from the fair until now, it’s been this.
Quackity has always known he’d do anything to reassemble Sapnap, to bring shattered bits together and mend them until they were whole, and perhaps in some small way, he knew that tied back to the jealousy curling in his gut from a year ago.
It’s been more apparent recently though as Sapnap’s forced his way into his bubble, pushing for physical touch in a way Quackity hadn't been prepared for but welcomed with open arms.
Every touch feels like fire, like flames licking through his veins and curling around him. Every moment like this that he’s allowed feels sacred, a pyre of thoughts and feelings, and Quackity is desperate to keep himself from getting burned.
He knows he doesn’t stand a chance, and that even if he managed to piece together every shard of broken heart Sapnap holds in the cage of his chest, he’d still have to wait for the glue to set.
Keeping Sapnap at somewhat of a distance while tending to him had been difficult, worth every step, and certainly a challenge, but every milestone pushed Quackity closer to the coals, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d join the tinder.
He’s dangerously close to letting himself go, to just letting words fall off his tongue with no regard, but admitting his own feelings to even himself seems a task of titanic proportions, and he can’t risk losing Sapnap after everything.
So he keeps the butterflies in his stomach and pretends the fire in Sapnap’s touch doesn’t scorch him.
“How long was I out?” Dream suddenly stirs to life providing Quackity with ample reason to ignore the warm body still resting his lap, and he grins teasingly at the blond across the room.
“About an hour.” George replies.
“Didn’t realize George was that comfy.” Quackity quips, and ducks to avoid the pillow thrown across the room. Sapnap laughs from below him, and Quackity can feel the pleasant vibrations from the younger’s chest on his legs.
“We should do something.” Sapnap says idly, and a general murmur of agreement trails around the room.
Yet, nobody moves, bodies remaining still as rain hammers against the walls.
“We could go to the movies.” George suggests. A thoughtful hum harmonizes with the melody of drops, but still no-one moves.
“Or we could just sit here and do nothing.” Dream eventually says, admitting the group’s defeat with a delicate shrug.
“It’s a ‘do-nothing’ day.” Sapnap reasons, pressing a gentle tap to Quackity’s palm and making him realize his hand has fallen still. He reanimates it, much to Sapnap’s pleasure, and below him, Sapnap nestles back into place.
“You were the one who suggested we do something to begin with.” Quackity teases, looking down to meet Sapnap’s eyes as he flicks them open. He hopes the younger doesn’t catch the fond glimmer in his eyes, or doesn’t notice the far too soft curve of his mouth.
“Yeah, but it was an empty suggestion.” Sapnap shrugs and Quackity scoffs, swiping Sapnap’s bangs from his eyes. “I knew none of you guys would come up with anything.”
“Alright, sure.” Quackity huffs back with a grin, and Sapnap raises a hand to flick Quackity’s forehead, startling him away.
“Asshole.” He says with a sharp tug to Sapnap’s hair. Sapnap giggles and Quackity melts, and the world feels vibrant for a moment even in the monochromaticity of a thunderstorm.
They settle back in, Sapnap still flush against his side, head heavy in his lap, Quackity’s hands still petting the younger’s hair gently.
He forces the thunder in his heart aside to enjoy the simplicity of the moment, the soft murmurs from Dream and George’s conversation drifting over to the couch and lulling his eyes closed.
He’s not sure when he fades to sleep, but he’s sure he does as the rhythmic fall of raindrops becomes the backdrop for his dreams.
When he wakes, it’s to an empty basement, save for Sapnap, still curled against him, head lying more across Quackity’s thigh than his lap as previous, and paging through a graphic novel.
“Where’re Dream and George?” He asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he places his surroundings again.
Sapnap throws his head back to look at Quackity. “Kitchen. Making lunch or something.” Quackity nods.
“You didn’t join them?” He asks, stretching his toes and noticing with some dissatisfaction the pins and needles associated with a lack of blood flow to extremities. He sighs and flexes his feet, trying to bring feeling back, and Sapnap groans, rolling off Quackity begrudgingly to let him recirculate the blood.
“No, wasn’t hungry.” Sapnap says with a shrug. “‘sides, I was comfy.”
Quackity smiles to himself as he finally manages to flex his toes, turning back around to face Sapnap from his new leverage.
“We should get food.” He tries to convince the younger, but he’s reluctant, staring at Quackity unimpressed from his place on the couch. “Come on, you know if we don’t get up there we’ll be left with whatever junk George doesn’t want.”
That seems to be enough to finally convince Sapnap to his feet, and the two pad off towards the stairs, rounding them into the kitchen.
Quackity pauses as he reaches the doorway, catching sight of two bodies pressed together against the counter, kissing each other slowly in the dim light. He grins to himself, holding out an arm to pause a confused Sapnap.
Softly, he points to Dream and George, the brunette caged by strong, sun-tanned arms against the marble, unaware of anyone outside of their little world.
Sapnap fake gags in the shadow, and Quackity laughs softly as they both pull back into the hall, facing each other in the darkness further down.
“Gross.” Sapnap whispers, and Quackity stifles a louder laugh before responding, moving ever so slightly closer to Sapnap to avoid giving their presence away.
“They’re in love~” He taunts, singsongy, leaning his head forward to meet his hand and cover his chuckling.
Soft murmuring comes from the kitchen, and Sapnap raises a finger to hush Quackity as they attempt to listen in, and it’s then Quackity realizes their closeness.
He’s practically chest to chest with Sapnap, faces inches apart and nearly cheek to cheek as they eavesdrop. Quackity becomes all too aware of his breathing, cheeks heating, and he’s thankful to the darkness of the hallway for not selling out his fluster.
Quackity turns, to give more distance perhaps, at the same time Sapnap does, and they end up far closer, nose to nose, practically skin to skin.
“Oh.” Quackity breathes, maybe apologetically, eyes drawn to the soft curve of Sapnap’s lips. He can’t help his flickering gaze as their breaths mingle, and he catches Sapnap’s eyes dancing alongside his own as neither move from their place.
Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s seconds, but it feels like hours, the two of them standing there shrouded from view, and when Sapnap finally pulls himself away (begrudgingly, Quackity manages to convince himself), Quackity is left catching his breath.
“Come on, Q. We should go eat.” Sapnap says, voice low, and Quackity traces his face, catching a thousand wordless sentences etched in the lines of his expression.
He hardly notices himself nodding, just feels his feet pull themself forward and into the light of the kitchen, where Dream and George have stopped their lovers embrace to present sandwiches for the 4.
Quackity takes a pb+j and tries not to think about wild blue eyes made stunningly grey by shadow.
-
Quackity sighs as window panes rattle with drops of wayward water and the world is painted in shades of muted grey. He can’t bring himself to feel motivated under the charcoal of the landscape, solemn in his position and destitute in the silver.
He remains sedentary on the sofa in the living room, staring down his driveway into the road, lost in his thoughts. Of earlier. Of Sapnap.
The moment in the shadows of the house, lips close and breaths short.
Quackity could feel the heat, could feel the flames licking up his legs and arms and reaching fever pitch in the small space of the hallway. If he had moved just one inch closer, he could have kissed him, could have let his feelings tumble into tinder and stoke the flames, seal his fate as just another piece of coal.
Somewhere, distant thunder rumbles, and Quackity sighs, forcing himself to turn away from the window and fix his attention elsewhere, pushing his mind from perilous thoughts.
Just a whisper closer.
Unattainable. Off-limits. Improbable.
But maybe there’s a chance-.
No.
Perhaps the window was a better solace. A car rushes by and Quackity turns back to watch it, tracing the spray the tires make and trying to think of anything but his traitorous heart. He watches water slide down the window and a figure seems to take shape in the street outside.
A deep mark against the greys, and if Quackity looks for long enough, he could swear he spots the bright dash of a white bandana contrasting the midnight.
He scoffs, because as if his heart could not give him a break, neither could his mind, conjuring images of Sapnap on the street outside his house.
Quackity forces his head away, scrubbing at his vision as frustration and hopelessness shifts to anger, raw as the general set of his situation sets in. Because no matter how much he wanted him, and he does, he cannot have him, a forbidden fruit, temptation in the highest.
An unattainable glory, even from their first meeting, when Karl had staked his claim, and then callously left him.
Irritation forces him to look out once again, to see the empty street as a reminder of all that is elusive, but to his surprise the figure remains.
He squints, notices the solidity of the form, and rushes to the door in a flurry, throwing it open, wondering what he wants more, for the figure to wash away with the leaf litter or remain tangible in the crawl of the rain.
When the door opens, a flush of wind battering Quackity’s face, the figure remains.
“Sapnap?” He calls out tentatively. And then louder, “Sapnap?!”
The face turns to regard him, and Quackity braces himself against the doorframe as he huffs, a mix of frustration and desperation, and without a second thought, he rushes into the storm.
His first thought, when his hands grip the strong arms of a built figure, is concern. He feels for any sort of external wound, feels to see if he’s really real, arms and shoulders and sides and face.
Quackity lets his hands linger on the sides of Sapnap’s face, nested in the crook between jaw and neck.
“Are you ok?” He asks, concerned, leaning to try to reach Sapnap’s downcast eyes.
Infernally warm hands slowly reach up to grip his wrists, and a head is thrown back, a wry smile and pain filled eyes greeting Quackity.
“I used to love the rain.” He says, and Quackity’s gaze traces over his face, heart pounding. “He made me love it even more. Now, I can’t stand it.”
“Oh, Sapnap.” Quackity says, clinging to Sapnap as though he might fall apart again right here, in his hands, sand in a sieve.
“I hate that he made me hate the things I loved.” Sapnap says through a choked laugh, delicate and dangerous in a stormy summer haze.
Quackity runs his thumb across heated cheeks that even the rain cannot soothe, could never soothe, and wishes for once that water could quench his wildfire.
“I just- I just want to be ok again, but I’m so- so scared.” He admits through a small sob that has Quackity’s heart aching, searching for words that can heal and finding nothing. “I want- I want to be happy, and I won’t let myself. Why can’t I let myself?” Sapnap asks, eyes of stormy ocean seas staring into Quackity’s, searching for an answer he’s not sure he could give.
“Oh Sapnap, I wish- I wish I could answer that for you, God,” He pauses, collecting his words as his palms gather heat. “I wish I could just- make it all better for you, I’d do anything to take away your pain.”
He sets his forehead against Sapnap’s wondering if maybe he could take Sapnap’s hurt and make it his own, squeezing his eyes shut as he prays to nameless gods for something to happen to make Sapnap ok.
The man before him takes a shuddering breath, the hands around Quackity’s wrist shaking softly, practically swaying with the tempered breeze.
Raindrops run between the two of them, clinging to hair and gathering on the tips of noses, a hairsbreadth apart, and as the silence becomes overwhelming, and thunder calls, a lot closer than before, a flame of warmth touches his lips and nose-tip raindrops blend into a singular stream.
It’s sweet, it’s fierce, it’s fire, and Quackity has given up on trying not to burn, doused by rain and heeded by lightning, he could swear steam rises from his skin as he absolutely positively burns.
It’s a wildfire even the rains can’t extinguish, and as Sapnap finally pulls back, foreheads still melted together, Quackity takes in a breath of raw petrichor and he swears he tastes smoke.
They stay like that for a moment, chests rising and falling in the summer storm as rain trails down and down and down.
As the water rolls over Quackity’s face, he knows he has to say something, because Sapnap will destroy himself again if he doesn’t.
“Do you mean it?” He asks, a whisper in the downpour. Sapnap inhales sharply, running a thumb over Quackity’s pulse.
“I don’t know.” He replies, soft and careful. Quackity sighs, bittersweet.
“I know you don’t.” It aches, sets deep in his chest and smolders, but there are more important things than unrequited love at the moment. “Let’s get you inside and warm, you’ll catch your death out here.” He runs a final, careful thumbpad over the apple of Sapnap’s cheek before pulling back.
It feels painful, to leave the heat of Sapnap behind, but the younger grabs his hand before he can lose all contact, and Quackity takes what he can get of the flame behind him.
He leads them to his door, still wide open and sprayed with wayward rain, that he’ll have to dry later, but he can’t bring himself to care as he sets Sapnap at the bar chairs on the island.
“I’m going to get you some dry clothes and then start some hot water for some cocoa. Or tea if you want, we’ve got peppermint.” He offers, and Sapnap shakes his head.
“Cocoa’s fine. I don’t need clothes.” Quackity fixes him with a look.
“Yes you do.” It’s not a suggestion. Sapnap doesn’t argue.
He feels bad leaving Sapnap downstairs alone, but a quick change, tousle of his hair with a towel, he returns down quickly with a new set of clothes and fresh towel for Sapnap.
“You know where the bathroom is. I’ll have cocoa waiting for you when you’re done.” Quackity says with a soft smile as he hands the fabrics over. Sapnap looks at the clothes in his arms for a moment before nodding and making his way to the bathroom around the corner.
Quackity focuses his attention on filling the kettle with water and flicking on the flame of the stove.
A hand reaches unconsciously to brush across his lips, licking at phantom raindrops and haunted by the flame of Sapnap.
He had gotten what he could only fantasize, the soft press of lips against his own, but it’s bittersweet, in the way that anything unattainable is. He could have been selfish, leaned back in and taken more, joined the pyre, forgone rationality and lived in the moment, but then Sapnap would be destroyed all over again, so close to being mended, but not nearly close enough. His heart wasn’t free, still partially owned by another on a long-distance leash Quackity wishes he could sever, and it would be unfair to claim what was left without allowing Sapnap to take it for himself.
He would rather die a silent death than force Sapnap to love him. He’d wait, patient, and if he were given another chance in the future, he’d take it, but for now, Sapnap needs to heal, and Quackity’s provided all the aid he could.
All that’s left is for the younger to take back his own life, become the sole owner of his heart and soul, and present himself again as a stronger man, free of the ghostly chains Karl had barred him in. If Quackity were allowed to support him along the way, he would without a second thought, but neither would he push to stay in Sapnap’s life, as friend or more.
His heart aches with quiet longing, but as a sharp whistle prompts him to turn the stove off, he focuses on the present and forces his head out of the past, out of the possibilities, and into what he can do.
He’s pouring the second cup as Sapnap re-emerges, draped in Quackity’s clothes, and another wave of deep longing washes over Quackity as he serves the younger his drink.
“Cocoa.” He says, and moves towards the couch to pick up the age-old afghan resting over the back. He returns to drape it over Sapnap’s shoulders, and shifts around the island to his own drink, blowing on it before taking a careful sip, hissing as the still too hot liquid scorches his lips.
There’s silence punctuated by careful sipping and cooling air, and Quackity keeps his head out of the clouds and concentrated on the swirls of pale brown and tan moving in his cup, checking periodically on the slightly shivering figure across from him.
“I want to.” Sapnap says suddenly, and Quackity looks up at him, confused.
“Want to…?” He prompts, and Sapnap raises his head from his mug to meet his eyes, Quackity finding himself falling once again into tidepools.
“Want to mean it.” He says, and Quackity inhales sharply. The ‘it’ goes undefined. It doesn’t need to be when the conversation connects, and Quackity swallows deeply, understanding the implication, heart beating foolishly.
“You do?” He asks, careful and soft, a butterfly wing of breath.
Sapnap nods. “I really, really do.”
Rain continues to fall, but as he meets Sapnap’s eyes over the island, it doesn’t feel so melancholy, a gentle rhythm tracing down the window panes and sounding like a hopeful song instead of a bleak monotony.
In the drear of a summer storm, Quackity thinks how the raindrops tasted so much sweeter coming from lips of an open flame, and he knows that Sapnap can learn to love the rain again.