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Quackity hates being sick more than anything. He hates how he can barely breathe because his nose is clogged and he has to breathe through his mouth, sounding like he just finished a marathon in heavy summer heat. Hates how his nostrils are bright red and touching them hurts like hell from all the sneezing. Quackity can deal with the hot and cold waves making his body shiver and the odd fever dreams and hazy vision, but the coughing and sneezing take the fucking cake in annoyance. Despite all this, Quackity is not mad about their impromptu dance session in the rain with Tallulah and Tilin, which got him sick in the first place. And Wilbur doting on him was also an added plus.
Speaking of which, Quackity could hear his boyfriend whisper something to the kids and soon the door creaked open and the three people he loves the most in the entire world walk in with Wilbur holding a big cup of steaming hot lemongrass tea (judging by the scent he can barely smell) and what looks like a bowl of soup Tilin and Tallulah are carrying together. How they decided upon these roles flies past Quackity as he reaches his hands out to take the bowl from his girls.
“Gracias mis amores,” Quackity smiles and ruffles Tilin’s hair.
“We made you chicken soup because that’s what abuelito says is the best medicine.” Tallulah stands up straighter, her braided hair partly undone from the cooking.
Wilbur places the teacup on the nightstand, presses a quick kiss against Quackity’s hair, and walks back to the foot of the bed, pulling the girls beside him. “They wanted to help out before I drop them by dad’s,” Wilbur starts and Tallulah claps excitedly, she’s been going on and on about the parkour course Chayanne has been building with Ramon and Phil. “I don’t want them sick, so a slumber party sounds wicked, right?”
Quackity laughs which results in a coughing fit that has Wilbur speeding next to him, running his palm up and down his back. Quackity nods his agreement and Wilbur promises to be back as soon as possible with some medicine and snacks.
“Say bye to dad, I promise to nurse him back to health.” Tallulah and Tilin gag at the face Wilbur pulled before they run up to press a quick kiss on both sides of Quackity's face and book it out of their bedroom, undoubtedly to grab their blue and purple backpacks, standing in the hallway, impatient to get going and to run around Phil’s large yard playing tag and getting mud everywhere.
Wilbur follows the girls and Quackity hears one last bye and the opening and closing of the front door and the house falls silent. He lays in their bed trying to breathe before placing the bowl of soup on the unoccupied nightstand and sits up, flinging his feet over the edge of the bed and shudders at the feeling of the cool floor against his bare feet. Testing his arm strength (which isn’t much) Quackity picks up the soup bowl first and drags his shaky feet to the living room where the TV was left on with some comedy show rerun on low volume. He places the bowl on the table and goes to grab the teacup, briefly sitting down on the bed to lessen the cold-induced vertigo. Eventually, he makes it to the couch and tries to eat some soup.
It tastes godly and he moans quietly. The chicken is tender and flakes when bit and the potatoes and carrots are soft, but have enough texture to chew. The broth is rich in flavor and Quackity can taste Phil’s secret ingredients swirling in the bowl. Only the Craft family has the recipe as it’s been passed down for decades and Quackity hopes to one day be involved in the passing on of the recipe.
He puts down the bowl after finishing it in one go, already feeling its magical healing properties warming up his body and Quackity falls into a light sleep until a door unlocking wakes him up and a voice he could recognize anywhere yells “Honey I’m home- wait, shit, maybe he’s sleeping. Fuck-” Quackity laughs and soon Wilbur’s messy brown curls peek from the doorframe. “Oh, you’re awake. Were you napping or something? I hope I didn’t wake you.”
Quackity shakes his head ‘no’ and Wilbur sets his grocery bag next to the bowl on the coffee table. From the white plastic bag, his boyfriend pulls out two boxes of tissues, a bunch of different teas mumbling about how he wasn’t sure what Quackity would like and whether it was peppermint or chamomile that helped with a cold (“it’s both mi amor,”), cough syrup, some medicine and snacks he does know Quackity enjoys.
“You sure came prepared,” he chuckles and Wilbur shrugs, asking if he wants anything, and when Quackity shakes his head, Wilbur takes all but the boxes of tissues and medicine to the kitchen. Quackity feels a sneeze coming and grabs the tissues just in time with a loud achoo. A ‘bless you!’ is heard from the kitchen. Groaning in pain as he blows his nose, Quackity complains under his breath and goes to lie down on the worn maroon couch. Wilbur comes and goes with the bowl and the cup of tea, reheating it and grabbing a wet towel before sitting down on his knees next to Quackity’s head, moving his hair out of his forehead.
“You let me know if there’s anything I can do, okay?” Wilbur whispers and Quackity nods, falling asleep to Wilbur’s soothing voice and slender fingers brushing his hair and pressing a lukewarm towel against his forehead, trying his best to make the fever go down.
* * *
Wilbur watches as Quackity falls asleep on the couch and breathes through his mouth, feverish and sickly. He sits by him for a few more minutes after making sure he had fallen asleep before standing up and pulling the flower blanket that lay discarded on the back of the couch, over his boyfriend’s shivering body, hoping it’ll bring some warmth for him.
He stands and watches Quackity on the couch, body restless and fingers tapping against his thigh, trying to figure out what else he could do to speed up Quackity’s recovery. He brought cough syrup and tissues, Phil had some Vaporub he could borrow and the soup was on the stove, ready to be heated up again if needed. He would try to make him more tea, but Quackity hasn’t finished the first one, so maybe not yet.
Realizing how creepy it was to just stand over Quackity’s sleeping body, Wilbur makes his way to the kitchen and starts cleaning it for the lack of anything else to do, ending up cleaning both the bathroom and Tilin and Tallulah’s room. He glances at the clock on the wall and is shocked to find out it was barely 1pm. Wilbur groans and places the turtle plushie Agustine back on Tallulah’s bed and walks out, leaving the door open to air it out. He can hear the TV’s low volume from the living room and Quackity’s ragged snoring and Wilbur sighs.
He never imagined this kind of domestic life if Wilbur is being honest. He was (and still is, just on a short break) a touring musician who barely had time to spare for his dad Phil as is, but soon after returning to Quesadilla Island after his tour, he found himself becoming a father of a little girl, Tallulah. Quickly falling for her charm and silly quirks, she became a part of his very small family and Wilbur has never been prouder of anyone in his life, her brown doe eyes lighting up with wonder with every new flower they had found or when Wilbur finished building their house. Three years later and here he is, standing in his shared apartment with his boyfriend Quackity and his child Tilin; their little family of two is now a family of four. All kinds of instruments and gardening tools scattered around the house and shed outside. Flowers on blankets, walls, and utensils.
His heart had expanded to include two more people, fulfilling the domestic dream life he didn’t know he had wanted until he got it.
Wilbur smiles and walks to their bedroom to make the bed and gather the clothes scattered on the floor, bringing them to the laundry room to turn on the machine later. The door would muffle most of the noise and Quackity can be a heavy sleeper, but in his sick state, Wilbur fears he would wake up to him flipping a page of a magazine (it was already a miracle he hadn’t woken up to Wilbur cleaning the house). With nothing else to do at the moment, Wilbur spends a good half an hour to forty-five minutes going through the house doing some miscellaneous cleaning.
Around 3pm Wilbur is sitting on the couch next to Quackity, quietly strumming his guitar and brainstorming lyrics when he hears mumbling and a gentle “Wilbur?” from his left. He puts down the guitar and reaches out to brush Quackity’s hair away from his face, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead to test his fever which had gone down a little. Quackity shivers under his feathery touch.
“Morning handsome, feeling any better?”
“How long did I sleep?”
“For like three hours,” Wilbur chuckles at Quackity’s furrowed brow before continuing. “but it seems to have done wonders because your fever seems to have gone down a bit.”
Quackity nods and sighs, a smile forming on his face as he looks at Wilbur, eyes slightly out of focus.
"I think I love you, Wilbur,"
"Aw shit, yeah, I kind of hope you do. This would be awkward otherwise." Wilbur laughs before leaning towards Quackity, intending to kiss him but he's stopped by a hand in between their lips. Quackity shakes his head.
"I don't want you to be sick dumbass,"
"I don't care, I want to kiss my boyfriend,"
So he does. Wilbur first grabs the hand between them and kisses each knuckle and finger, leaving butterfly kisses across his palm and the tip of his nose and forehead until he presses their lips together, eyes fluttering closed. After a few seconds he pulls back and there's a grin on Wilbur's face, contrasted by raised eyebrows on Quackity's.
"Was it worth it?"
"I think so."
* * *
A day passes and Quackity is feeling better but is still coughing his lungs out, all the while trying to give Wilbur something to do. He loves the man more than anything, and the doting does wonders, but he would be lying if the restlessness emitting from the man doesn't make Quackity restless too.
From the first day he met Wilbur, he knew the man would do anything to help people. He's kind and friendly without letting people take advantage of that. He's never really talked about his family or life prior to coming to Quesadilla Island, instead having clicked with Phil immediately on the train and they had created a father-son-like bond, Wilbur calling him dad and by extent, Tallulah's abuelito. Quackity is not one to pry (he's not like a certain nosy son of a bitch), so he is content with joking about Phil being his future father-in-law.
Wilbur cleaned the house floor to ceiling and did laundry while Quackity watched some Spanish soap operas and made dinner. Every time he sneezed or coughed, he either heard a 'bless you' or Wilbur's worried face would appear at the living room door frame. They were both watching TV and Quackity had been coughing his lungs out again and Wilbur was ready to run to get the cough syrup when he had had enough.
"Wilbur-" he reaches out his hand to stop the man standing up. "Stop. What are you doing?"
Wilbur looks confused. "Getting you the cough syrup, the fuck do you mean?"
"I need you to sit the fuck down and tell me what are you doing?"
Quackity's coughing eases and he sips the steaming chamomile tea, tasting the aloe vera and honey on his tongue, the warmth spreading in his body. He looks back at Wilbur who's staring at Quackity like a puzzle he's unable to finish; like he's missing a dozen pieces that are the wrong color or shape. Quackity doesn't like the way the frown on Wilbur's forehead scrunches his face, so he reaches out with a shaky hand to comically brush it off. Wilbur chuckles and laces their fingers together, leaning towards Quackity so he can sit comfortably on the couch without the fear of falling off. "Now what are you doing?" Wilbur teases.
"Making you pretty again."
"Prick."
"I know you love me," Quackity muses and Wilbur just shakes his head in adoration. They sit in silence, just taking each other's presence in, some dramatic scene happening in the background on low volume when Quackity eventually whispers "Talk to me mi amor,"
"I had forgotten how little there is to do when the kids aren't here," Wilbur starts, his voice barely above a whisper too, but Quackity could hear him perfectly despite his sick state. "I'm so used to being on the move all the time. There's shit to do like sound checks, writing lyrics and melodies, checking passports… There is really no moment of just… existing. I guess,"
Quackity nods and grabs Wilbur's hand tighter, a silent it's okay, I got you.
"While on tour or at home with the kids, there's always something to do. But now?" he waves his free hand around, pointing at everything and nothing, and Quackity nods his head in sudden understanding. He's taken some notes from Phil and smiles gently.
"You feel useless with nothing to do?"
Wilbur looks at him with wide eyes and nods hesitantly before nodding again after a minute, this time purposefully.
"I mean, if I can't do anything productive with my time, what's the bloody point, am I right?"
Quackity removes his hand from Wilbur's and flicks his forehead which leaves the man whining. He crosses his arms and stares right into the brown eyes, momentarily getting lost in them as he makes sure to memorize every auburn speck that remind him of dark oak bark in the summer, warm to the touch and rich in color. The windows of his soul that spell out his secrets when he allows them to, eyes that were unwavering and true when they exchanged their first 'I love you's. Quackity could never think of Wilbur as useless or less worthy, not even when he spent two weeks sleeping, writing, and drinking in a cycle that broke when Quackity brought Tilín over for the first time. (Tallulah had stayed with Phil those two weeks.)
"I don't care what bullshit your parents have fed you, but they're wrong. No me interrumpes, Wilbur, don’t interrupt me," he raises a finger at his boyfriend's open mouth and it closes. "the point is to just exist. Do nothing. Enjoy the nothingness and time you still have."
"I don't know how to do that…" Wilbur admits quietly and drops his eyes to his own fingers tangled together. He's gotten better at not picking the skin of his fingers, a fact which Quackity is very proud of. Quackity watches the man and feels his heart swell and fears it's going to explode in his chest, making his insides more red than they already are and he reaches out to pull Wilbur close to him. He's still sick and slightly feverish, but at least his sneezing has stopped almost completely. Wilbur doesn't seem to care because he's easily pulled next to Quackity with a puppy eyes look that melts his swelling heart. He pokes Wilbur's nose and presses his palms over his cheeks, holding him like Wilbur is the rarest and most precious porcelain vase in the world. Like he'd shatter into a million pieces if Quackity let's go this very second.
"It's okay if you don't know how. I'm here dumbass, you've got all you need."
"Quackity, love-"
"No, listen to me. I don't need you to run around cleaning the house or buying shit or fixing up the yard. God knows you can leave the poor fucking bushes alone in the backyard-" Wilbur scoffs at this but keeps listening. "you don't need to be useful twenty-four-seven. You're just a person. And that person is the one I love the most. The one who detangles my and Tallulah's hair after we come back from swimming, who peels Tilín's fruits because the skin tastes bad. The man who just holds me and makes me tea when I'm sick."
There are tears slowly appearing in Wilbur's eyes and Quackity wipes them away with his thumbs, still not moving his gaze except to cough aggressively into his elbow. He returns to see the concern in the brown teary eyes.
"You're useful by just loving me. And it's only because of my fever that I'm saying this sappy shit, we're gonna pretend I said none of it."
This makes Wilbur laugh and it's one of the most amazing sounds in the world; it's like a drug Quackity wants to keep injecting to stay on this level of cloud nine, the weightlessness and overpouring love emitting from it. Quackity wants to keep this laughter as his very own.
"Thank you Quackity. I really needed that apparently. I love you,"
"I love you too,"
Wilbur leans in to press a quick and gentle kiss against Quackity's lips (he tastes like coffee and chocolate) and settles in front of the couch, jaw resting on Quackity's shin. "I've no idea where to start with this… This whole existing thing. How do I just not do anything?"
Quackity smirks and sees an opening on a silver platter, so without hesitation, he swoops in. "Marry me and we'll figure it out."
Wilbur's eyes widen. "Do what?"
"You heard me."
"You do realize that organizing a wedding takes a lot of shit to do. That's quite the opposite of just existing." Wilbur tilts his head in a way that drops a few of his curls over his eyes like a curtain, his bright eyes peeking through and it makes Quackity want to scream. Instead, he falls into yet another coughing fit that has him cursing out any and all possible gods, deities, and estranged family members. He feels the familiar weight against his back and side, noticing how the couch dips as Wilbur sits down next to him. Eventually, the coughs calm down and Quackity holds his hurting throat.
"One last thing before I shut the fuck up for a couple of hours," he says with a rough voice and captures Wilbur's face between his fingers. "we're not getting married until you've learned to sit the fuck down without doing anything."
And with that, he closes his mouth and lets go of Wilbur's face and turns to watch TV. Wilbur is… baffled, to say the least.
"You're gatekeeping our fucking marriage?"
Quackity just nods, his face smug until Wilbur softens it with multiple butterfly kisses across his forehead, cheeks, eyelids and the back of his left ear. Every single reason or plea goes right over and past Quackity until Wilbur gives up with a sigh and the couple cuddle the rest of the night, Wilbur pressing one more kiss against Quackity's temple, whispering in his hair before falling asleep on the couch. "Can't believe you proposed first when I had the ring..."
* * *
A few days pass and Quackity is back on his feet, walking around thanking God for his ability to breathe. This did have a downside though. When Phil received a text from Quackity telling him to bring over some of the chicken soup, the abuelito did and did not expect to see Wilbur laying in bed, nose red, and piles of tissues on both sides. He walks in, puts the stewpot on the counter, and turns the kids around with a loud "sleepover extended with a few more days!" followed by Tilín and Tallulah's cheers.
Wilbur laughs which lands him in a coughing fit more intense than Quackity's ever was. He sits by the bed and hands Wilbur a cup of tea, a simple golden ring on his finger. Wilbur accepts the cup with a thankful smile and after a careful sip looks right at Quackity, his boyfriend (or, well, fiancé) with a smirk on his face that gets a pillow thrown at him.
"Was it worth it?" Quackity asks, shaking his head and replying to Phil's message while Wilbur decides to hug the pillow close to his chest. His voice is full of cockiness but the pure love and affection in his eyes overpower any playful snark he could have.
"Hell yeah, it was."
After which he sneezes and spills the hot tea all over the bed sheets and Quackity's new pair of pants. The laughter and curses can be heard outside of their home and frankly, Charlie and his daughter Flippa who were on their way to visit the couple, decide to drop by later during the week.