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Quackity had always been all too familiar with that burning ache of resentment that would linger in his chest. He had felt it more times than he could count on his hands. And yet, it seemed to grow so much more intense as he watched Q close that thrice godsdamned door, a betrayer on the other side – and once again, Quackity's gut feeling was proven right, as he was driven to sleep in that room last night, as though he had somehow known that it would not remain unoccupied for much longer…
The past few weeks so many of his old wounds had been reopened, painful memories bubbling up like the lava in Pandora's Vault. And with every new addition, he could feel his Madness, too, begin to bubble dangerously close to the surface – maybe a more apt comparison for that would be that of the bubbling skin of a creeper about to explode out of his control. Quackity would do everything to prevent that bubble from bursting, as neither Madness nor boiling hot guts were something that he particularly needed at the moment, not with how much it would hurt both him and any others who had the misfortune to be nearby, or at least it would badly scare them. Gods, had he learned that lesson the hard way…
And as Q turned to him, all Quackity could feel was resentment. Nether, he wasn't even sure if it was more directed towards his past-self, himself for having also once been so naive, Soot, his ex-fianceés or something else entirely. All he knew was that the sharp feeling of bitterness only worsened as he met Q's eyes, some of that same softness still lingering in them that he had been directed towards Soot. He wanted to shake his past-self. To yell at him to ' stop being such a blind idiot, trusting that Promise-breaker when he had absolutely no reason to. ' Of course, Quackity understood where Q was coming from, really he did, but he just couldn't fucking stand seeing Q give his heart to someone, not realizing that it would be broken in the end, that 'Wil' would so very easily stomp on Q's heart and mercilessly grind it into the dirt as though it was nothing, just as Soot did to him thirteen years ago. After all, this 'Wil' was really just another version of Soot, he had all the capacity to betray them just as Soot had done before. And even though Quackity believed that keeping a close eye on this 'Wil' was the safest possible option, he still despised just how familiar this entire situation felt to him.
He hated, hated, hated seeing the worst phases of his life replayed on Q's face. Seeing that emptiness, that tiredness, on his own, younger, face cut like a knife, like one of his own bloodletting cards, every time. He was half-sure that it was all some sort of sick joke on the Sky Gods' part, being forced to rewatch the most painful moments of his life happen all over again, with nothing that he could do to stop it, even when he designed Las Nevadas as the place where he'd be safe and never have to feel or even worry about those things ever again. But clearly, she wasn't as safe as he had once thought her to be...
And Quackity didn't think he could stand to once again see that same expression that he saw in his reflection after being stood up at his own wedding. How heartbroken and pathetic he looked, a candid reminder to why nobody ever chose to stay with him in the first place.
Quackity still remembered the blood running down his knuckles from the shattered glass of the mirror that he didn't recall punching, rendering it as broken as he felt, as he was.
How he barely even felt the pain at all, unsure if it was due to the insane pain tolerance he got from Manberg or just how numbed to the world he felt in that moment. Quite possibly it was both, a sick amalgamation of his past and present pain, shattered bottles and shattered hearts taking the form of the dark, crimson that was steadily painting the gray marble red.
It had taken all of his willpower to bring himself to clean up both the sink and himself that night. Though he never did replace that mirror, his line of reasoning being that the bathroom would be where he'd have to collect himself after a breakdown, and he did not want to fully see himself in a state like that ever again. Besides, it's not as though it was his only mirror, after all, he had a much bigger, grander mirror in his bedroom, so he'd still be able to make sure that he looked presentable every morning before he went out. A single broken mirror wouldn't affect him all that much. Nobody besides him was ever even meant to see it anyway.
But he did not want to witness that heartache again – he didn't want to end up inadvertently hurting Q like he had that mirror. Blood coating his knuckles once more, still his own in a way, and yet also simultaneously not this time… His broken reflection still there, still staring back at him, even after his hand was wet with his blood. – the kid didn't deserve that, no matter how stupidly soft he was being with someone who didn't deserve even the barest fragment of his already shattered trust. Q was being far too open with Soot for Quackity's taste, but his past-self had been through enough already, he didn't need Quackity to make things worse.
Honestly, Quackity wasn't entirely sure if his distrust of this 'Wil' was all that warranted, or if he was just so on edge after seeing so many of his worst moments and emotions being painted once again, this time on the softer canvas that was Q's face, but still the same old sadistic tragedy that Quackity was all too familiar with, even with the slightly different strokes. But no. Deep down he knew. There was something inside of him that whispered for him to keep his guard up, no matter what, and Quackity had learned better than to ignore his instincts. He may not know why just yet, but this 'Wil' could not be trusted. He would turn out to be just as much of a Deceiver as Soot was, and Quackity was not going to let himself fall for his games a second time...
He just hoped that Q wouldn't get as hurt as he did when Soot's true colors showed...