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Schlatt’s eyes flick between his and Quackity’s cards laid out on the gambling table. In Schlatt’s silence, Quackity throws his head back and laughs. No, not laughs. Cackles. Quackity won the bet. Despite Schlatt’s attempts to sneak an extra card or study Quackity’s mannerisms, he lost. He forgot one crucial fact:
The house always wins.
Quackity wipes a tear from his eye while his laughter simmers down. He stands up and lets out a satisfied sigh.
“Well, looks like I won. You were a real challenge though, I must admit. Now, about that job…”
Schlatt’s head snaps up. Shit, he forgot about what would happen if he lost. He was too busy imagining various plans he had after reviving himself. Hire some people to renovate the White House. Cut down on the booze and cigarettes. Well, not entirely. Just enough so that he didn’t give himself another heart attack.
Schlatt gives a shaky smile, “Uh, yeah. A good minimum wage job until I retire, y’know?”
Quackity chuckles lowly as he shakes his head, “No, not for a wage. Your wage is just pretty compliments and a good work environment. You don’t stop working until I retire. Which I don’t plan to. I’m keeping this country alive until I’m too old to do it. You’ll stick with me until then.”
Quackity stares daggers into Schlatt’s gray eyes. Schlatt knew what he was implying. Quackity will work himself to the bone until he peacefully dies, surrounded by his hard work and loyal employees. Unlike Schlatt, who worked until he died drowning in alcohol and the glares of his enemies.
Schlatt drops his head in defeat, “Alright, alright. I will. When do I start?”
Quackity looks up in thought. After a brief second, he replies, “Meet me in front of the casino tomorrow morning at nine. I’ll take you to my office and we can look at jobs. You’ll sign the necessary documents and we’ll discuss more after that. Sounds good?”
Despite Quackity asking, Schlatt had no power to oppose. “Yep, sounds good.”
Schlatt gets up from his chair and walks to the door that encloses the gambling room. His black, translucent dress shoes press down on the pressure plate. Before leaving, Schlatt turns his head over his left shoulder. “See you tomorrow, sugar pumpkin,” he says with the pet name being soaked in venom.
Quackity rolls his eyes before watching Schlatt walk out. The sound of the metal door closing behind him echoes in the silent room.
That was that. Schlatt was now binded to Las Nevadas. Binded to Quackity.
Quackity’s goal was to make Schlatt’s life a living hell. To pay for all of the damage Schlatt caused when he was alive. Quackity was determined to keep this in mind for however long Las Nevadas will stand.
Nothing will distract the president from his goal. Nothing at all.
~~~
The next day, Schlatt and Quackity are cooped up in Quackity’s office. Sitting on opposite ends of a large, dark wooden desk. Quackity uses his mouse to browse through files detailing various in-demand jobs. The first few positions range from vaguely interesting to terribly boring in Schlatt’s mind.
“You could be a bartender. I’m planning on opening the casino in about two weeks, so you’ll have until then to train. I would give you longer, but I don’t want to keep delaying the official opening. You said that you don’t want to sit at a desk all day, so this will keep you active,” Quackity offers.
Now this peaks Schlatt’s interest. He leans towards the computer monitor facing him, “Hm… You know, I would be a terrible bartender. I’ve never mixed a drink in my life.”
“That’s why you’ll have two weeks training. Besides, you know your way around alcohol. You probably still have some in your system after you drank yourself to death. And I’ll let you make your own drinks for free.”
Schlatt chuckles, “You know I can’t turn down free booze.”
Quackity huffs out a laugh as he scrolls to the bottom of the file. He scans the schedule on the document. He frowns slightly, “You’ll have to work from seven p.m. until two a.m. for this job, though. Most people like to visit the bar at night, y'know, so having a night-shift bartender is my top priority. Would that work for you?”
Schlatt looks up in thought, “Eh, I’ll look at the schedules of the other jobs and see. I mean, I don’t entirely mind working the night shift. But if you’re offering something better, I’ll probably take it.”
Quackity nods, “Yeah, fair enough.”
He suddenly adjusts his position to sit upright. A shadow casts over Quackity’s eyes as he looks into Schlatt’s.
“By the way, with any position that you accept, you’ll have to work as my assistant for about seven hours everyday. You will be under constant supervision while you’re in my country, from either me or another worker. I don’t trust you to wander around alone,” Quackity says in a lowered tone.
Ouch. Schlatt knows that Quackity doesn’t like him. But to hear that the other man doesn’t trust him feels worse. Schlatt’s jaw tightens, not wanting to show any hurt on his face. He focuses on the other parts of Quackity’s explanation.
“Shit, seven hours a day? What the hell did you want me to do for seven hours? I’ll be exhausted by the time I clock into my actual job,” he scowls.
“I won’t give you hard work to do, don’t worry. You’ll have to, I don’t know, get me a coffee or organize my calendar. You’ll get a lunch break too. I just want to keep an eye on you while I do my usual work, that’s all,” Quackity says nonchalantly.
Schlatt gives a frustrated sigh. He couldn’t argue for more free time. So, he simply agrees, “Fine. Fine. If it’s easy work, then I don’t mind helping you out. What other position is there?”
Quackity closes the bartender file and opens the next one, “Well, the last position I have in here is a janitor for the casino. You’ll have to clean every room in the building because I don’t have another janitor hired yet. But, you won’t have to do that for long. I’ll look for another one in the meantime. Training will also be roughly two weeks. How’s that sound?”
“...I think I’m more fit to be a bartender.”
Quackity gives a knowing smile, “I think so too. Let me print the documents out so you can sign your name.”
~~~
For the next two weeks, Schlatt learns how to mix, pour, and serve alcoholic drinks. He’s a terrible mixer. Mainly because he doesn’t have any prior experience. And because his eyesight is secretly quite poor. His terrible health choices weakened his eyesight and the damage done to his eyes never went away.
Quackity visits the bar on the right of the casino’s entrance to check up on Schlatt. He notices that Schlatt is always squinting whenever he’s taking measurements. At first, Quackity thinks it’s just a reflex. But, the concern with how long it takes for Schlatt to make a single drink pushes Quackity to bring up his observations.
“Y'know, you should start wearing glasses. I doubt that you can see what the hell you’re doing. If you did, you wouldn’t be squinting all the time,” Quackity says as he sits on one of the plush bar stools.
“I do wear glasses. I just use them for reading, that’s all. I don’t squint,” Schlatt replies. He raises a martini glass at eye-level, squinting to see if any pulp leaked through the cocktail shaker.
Quackity raises an eyebrow, “Schlatt, you’re literally doing it right now. Come on, just try wearing them for once. See if it makes a difference.”
Schlatt puts down the glass and huffs in frustration. He wants to refuse, but his annoyance with his eyesight makes him give in.
”Alright, alright. I’ll put the fucking glasses on. Just don’t call me a nerd or something,” Schlatt says. He leans down to rummage through the items shelved under the counter. A second later, Schlatt straightens up with a black eyeglass case in hand. Quackity is surprised that Schlatt brings them to work.
The case opens with a soft click. After holding the glasses up to see if they were clean, Schlatt places them on his face. He looks directly at Quackity.
“Well? How do I look?”
Oh. Quackity carefully studies Schlatt’s face. The gold, wire-rimmed aviator glasses fit comfortably on his nose. To Quackity, the glasses make Schlatt look more… charming. More approachable. God forbid Quackity admits that out loud, though.
“Wow. You… you actually look really nice, Schlatt,” Quackity says.
“You mean that?”
“I mean, you do look like an old English professor-”
“Oh, fuck you!” Schlatt raises his hand to rip off the glasses. Quackity quickly grasps Schlatt’s arm, immediately feeling the cold skin through the shirt fabric.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Keep the glasses on. As long as it helps you to make better drinks for the guests,” Quackity assures.
“Psh. I’ll have no problem with that.”
Schlatt still has a problem with mixing drinks. However, after the casino opens, he does improve. Especially due to the pressure of making every guest’s request before the end of his shift.
The guests reward his work with tips and compliments. The tips are the only form of money Schlatt earns, so every cent went straight into his wallet. The boisterous drunks stay for his sense of humor. The gloomy drunks stay for his plain-spoken pieces of advice. Even when Schlatt messes up, every drink tastes like a million bucks. As the year progresses, Quackity invests in more expensive alcohol to keep it that way.
Which pays off during Quackity’s occasional visits.
Everytime Schlatt finds a moment in the whirlwind of other orders, he hands Quackity a beverage in the fanciest glass that he can find. “Here, I made a drink for ya. It’s on the house,” Schlatt says with a quick wink.
Every drink tastes like a million bucks by default. But whenever Schlatt makes one, Quackity tastes an extra dollar.
~~~
Schlatt sticks by Quackity’s side from eleven a.m. to about six p.m. During this shift, Quackity sends him away with simple tasks, like bringing food from one of the restaurants in Las Nevadas. Schlatt wouldn’t attempt to make Quackity’s food anyways. He can’t cook. Both of them know from past experience.
However, Schlatt insists on making Quackity’s coffee. Quackity never opposes because, somehow, Schlatt knows how to make it exactly right.
“I remember how you liked your coffee. I still got a sharp memory, y'know?” Schlatt said when Quackity questioned him.
That’s not the only thing Quackity wonders about. Quackity observes all of the favors that Schlatt does for him. Walking a bit faster to hold the door open. Walking on the outside of the sidewalk. Dusting away any fluff that Quackity has on his clothing. Among other ongoing acts of kindness.
On top of that, Schlatt continues to throw in pet names in conversations. At first, it was done in a joking manner. Quackity liked playing along. Pretending that their relationship never soured.
“Be back in a minute, gorgeous.”
“Alright, toots, don’t take too long.”
Gradually, the irony fades away. The nicknames get delivered in a more earnest manner. The two of them felt awkward about this change of pace, but they didn’t want it to stop.
“Hey, dreamboat, you’re looking sharp today,” or “You’ve dealt with worse shit before. We’ll figure something out, sweetheart,” were all said to Quackity with no malice.
Their partnership was not all sunshine and rainbows, though. Schlatt and Quackity continue to argue, just like old times. But, the arguments are less consistent. Whenever one springs up, they never lash out or insult each other. For instance, Quackity hasn’t heard Schlatt call him “flatty patty” since their conversation at Schlatt’s gym. How shocking.
Every argument instead involves trying to understand each other’s perspective and reaching a compromise. Quackity isn’t used to this. But it feels… good. Every nice thing Schlatt does feels good.
Quackity hates it. He feels himself slipping into the dopey-eyed person that he was when he was Schlatt’s vice-president. To give in was tempting.
But he couldn’t. Quackity suspects that Schlatt is putting on a mask. He wants Quackity to let his guard down to gain something. Either information, more breaks, or more alone time.
Which is why Quackity stops himself from opening up to Schlatt. Concealing his vulnerability by being a confident, charismatic leader.
To no surprise, it becomes difficult for Quackity to continue this attitude. He finds himself relapsing. He shares a glass of wine with Schlatt more times than he can count. They chat for hours. Then Schlatt cuts their conversation short to head to the bar, making the office turn eerily quiet.
Quackity likes chatting with other workers. But with Schlatt, conversations feel different. Different in that horrible, lovesick way.
As Schlatt’s contract approaches its one year term, Quackity still doesn’t have any answers. He leans back in his chair and carefully scans his office. No item seems out of place. He’s never caught Schlatt skipping work or becoming too friendly with another employee, either.
Maybe Schlatt isn’t as bad as he originally thought. A crazy conclusion to come to. But, Quackity has no evidence to prove that the bartender is guilty of any crime.
He runs a hand down his face. Quackity is tired of playing a game of investigator. He has no time for games. Which leads to his previous conclusion. With a defeated sigh, Quackity admits to the empty office that he’s willing to give Schlatt another chance.
Whether they end up as friends or something more.
~~~
After the Las Nevadas Hotel was finished its construction, Quackity ensured that every employee had their own hotel room on the top floor. The rooms would only be used for a night or two. However, there was one ghost that haunted the room at the end of the hallway every night.
Whenever Quackity was there to watch Schlatt close the bar, the bartender always says that he’s going “home.” Quackity knew that he was lying. From his bedroom balcony, Quackity watches Schlatt walk down the street to the hotel. Schlatt hopes that the other man doesn’t catch him and ask questions. Quackity has thought about asking, but has decided not to. All Quackity needs to know is that Schlatt will never have a good excuse for being late to work.
While Schlatt sleeps in his single bedroom, Quackity lounges in a single-floor penthouse on top of the casino. He savors the quietness of his floor. It allows him to think about tomorrow's schedule or unwind as he sinks into the decorative couches.
However, the penthouse loses its solitude. Quackity starts inviting Schlatt at the end of the bartender’s shift. Not everyday, but once in a while. This was the first step to giving Schlatt a “second chance.”
“Just to chill for a bit before you have to head home. Have a drink or two,” is Quackity’s usual excuse. Schlatt has to stop himself from seeming too eager whenever he’s invited.
Quackity always makes dinner. Schlatt doesn’t need to eat, but he’ll never turn down a free meal. Then the rest of the morning is spent eating and watching whatever show or movie seems the most appealing.
Sometimes the two have conversations about work or how unrealistic the visual effects are on the TV. Other times, they quietly enjoy each other’s company. Ankles interlocked as they exchange tired smiles.
Schlatt feels blessed to indulge in these moments. Nobody ever gets to see Quackity so relaxed. It was endearing. His favors were paying off, even if this was never his original intention.
Schlatt thought that Quackity still saw him as an old friend. But, Quackity’s open distrust snapped Schlatt out of his oblivious mind. He finally realized that he hurt Quackity. Badly. And he knew that Quackity was going to weaponize his pain to make Schlatt his bone-tired workhorse. After his position was secured, Schlatt was determined to make amends. With time and patience, Schlatt got to see this side of Quackity that he missed oh so much.
He wanted to see Quackity’s smile every day and night. Quackity wanted to see Schlatt’s as well. They both got to indulge in their dreams. But never for long.
These moments are cut short as Schlatt leaves for the night. He says goodbye, but lingers outside the elevator. Quackity stands at the door, but doesn’t shut it close. The two knew that they would see each other tomorrow. Yet, saying goodbye never got easier.
Quackity used to savor the quietness. Now, the silence that engulfs the penthouse after Schlatt’s departure is unnerving.
As Quackity lies awake in his king sized bed, his mind wanders. He imagines meeting Schlatt in the kitchen every morning. He would make breakfast while Schlatt made their coffees. They would sit at the pristine kitchen island, talking about plans over their filling meals. After a hard day’s work, they would spend the night chatting on the balcony, watching their country drip in glitter and gold.
That’s what they used to do in Manberg. Quackity yearns to go back to that past.
Then it hits him. Quackity doesn’t hate the quietness. He hates being alone.
On the left of the casino, in the hotel room down the hall, Schlatt lies awake yearning for the same thing. He hates coming home to his empty room. Falling asleep to his own thoughts and the sound of traffic.
Both of them didn’t want to live this life forever. One of them had to make a move.
~~~
Another lonely night in the golden city. Arms hanging off the balcony railing, Quackity fiddles with a pair of red-tinted, round sunglasses. His mind is overflowing with ideas.
”I don’t want to ask him. Maybe I don’t need to ask him. Maybe I just need a pet cat to keep me company.”
His mumbling is cut off when he sees Schlatt walking to the hotel. Quackity huffs out a laugh. When will Schlatt cut the act and say he lives there?
Unexpectedly, Quackity feels a raindrop splash his shoulder. He looks up at the sky, seeing heavy clouds loom over the casino.
“Hm, I forgot it was going to rain tonight. Hope he doesn’t get caught in it.”
Quackity pockets his sunglasses and walks towards the balcony door. His eyes never leave the other man’s back.
Schlatt halts in his steps when he feels a raindrop hit his dark gray curls. He looks up and turns his head towards the casino. His eyes follow the trail of clouds until they stop at Quackity.
Both men lock eyes with each other. They’re frozen in fear. Nobody moves.
Until Quackity hurries inside and slides the balcony door shut. Quackity presses his back against the door, trying to slow his breathing. Schlatt’s breath quickens, matching the pace of his walk.
Despite being miles apart, both of them share the same thought:
“Oh shit. He saw me.”
At 10:50 a.m., Schlatt arrives at the casino. Before he left Quackity’s office, Schlatt agreed to help do an inventory check for the bar the following morning.
From behind the counter, Quackity scribbles on a clipboard. As Quackity hears footsteps approaching, he looks up. He gives a tight smile. Schlatt does the same.
“Hey, Schlatt.”
“Hey.”
Schlatt sits on the bar stool across from Quackity. He takes a paper from his left and reads through a list of items while Quackity fills out his own.
Nobody speaks or makes eye contact. The sound of pens scratching and chairs moving rings in their ears. Schlatt can’t take it. He speaks up.
”Hey, about last night. I was just… planning on meeting up with Fundy. We agreed to meet in the hotel’s lobby and I forgot to tell you-”
“Schlatt, I know you live in the hotel.”
Schlatt’s head snaps up, “What?! No, I don’t live in the hotel.”
Quackity’s head follows suit, “Yes you do! I see you walking to the hotel every night. You purposefully wait for me to go up the fucking elevator just to sneak out.”
Schlatt’s breath catches in his throat. A sudden realization hits him, “Wait, so you’ve been fucking stalking me?!”
Quackity raises his eyebrows, “I- No! I don’t follow you home! You know I sit out on the balcony every night.”
“Ok, yeah. But why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”
“Why didn’t you tell me that you live in the hotel?”
Schlatt leans back in shock, “I didn’t think it was important to bring up! I have my own room, people clean it for me, and I don’t need to pay a single cent. Why do you give a shit, anyways?”
Quackity sneers, “I give a shit because the rooms are only meant to be used for a couple of nights, that’s it.”
“Then where the fuck do you want me to live?!”
Quackity thinks back to his questions from last night. He’s terrified to voice them. But now is the perfect time to pop the question.
“With me,” he breathes out.
Schlatt’s frustration immediately disappears, “With you?”
“Yeah. I want you to move in with me. It’s not fair that you live in that shitty single bedroom without a kitchen or living room. Besides, you visit my house so often, you practically live there. You can take the guest bedroom and the second sink in my bathroom.”
Schlatt waves a hand in mock annoyance, “Yeah, yeah. I know you’re rich. Why do you want me to move in with you?”
“Because I can’t stand living alone. And I have a feeling that you can’t stand it, either,” Quackity tilts his head to confirm his suggestion.
Schlatt sucks in through his teeth, “Harsh, but I can’t argue with that. You sure you want a guy like me to live with you?”
Quackity shrugs, “Why not? And if you piss me off, I’ll kick you out of my country.” A playful smirk slips onto his face.
The bartender laughs, “I’ll make sure that’ll never happen.”
The previously tense atmosphere now feels lighter. Schlatt’s eyes flick down to Quackity’s left hand. He hesitates, but takes the hand and squeezes it lightly. He looks into Quackity’s eyes with sincerity, “Hey. Thanks. For giving me a chance.”
Quackity relaxes into the cold touch. He raises Schlatt’s translucent hand to his lips and kisses it softly. Schlatt smiles. Quackity looks up and returns it.
“I trust you. Let’s finish checking up on inventory. Then we’ll go get your bags, alright?”
~~~
Schlatt and Quackity agreed to not tell anyone about their new living situation. They wanted to avoid any questions about whether they’re officially a couple or not. This plan was working. However, suspicions were raised between two Las Nevadas workers. Watching Schlatt and Quackity leave through the back door of the casino every night led to some calculated speculation.
"They're totally shagging," Tubbo said with a mouth full of fries. He and Fundy sat across from each other in a booth. The neon “open” sign behind the front window of the Las Nevadas Restaurant hung unilluminated.
Fundy quickly put down his soda cup, "What?! They can't be. I thought they were both ace or something."
"Ace people can still shag,” Tubbo said clearly after swallowing his food.
"...I mean, you're right. But I doubt that those two specifically are 'shagging.' It shouldn’t be any of our business anyways."
Tubbo threw up his hands, “Come on! You must've thought about it at some point, right?”
“No. No I haven’t. It’s too gross to think about,” Fundy shivered. He put his used tissue in the almost-empty fry carton. He doesn’t have the appetite to finish the rest.
Tubbo did agree with Fundy. He doubted that Schlatt and Quackity did anything beyond their usual hugs and pet names. But, Tubbo liked to exaggerate gossip. He got it from Quackity.
Fundy and Tubbo were on the right track. Schlatt and Quackity considered themselves a couple. Not in a romantic or sexual manner, though. They went out on dates, got each other gifts, and lived together. Even so, that spark that most couples had never came to them.
The status of their relationship was “nobody’s fucking business.” They didn’t know what they were. Fortunately, they had all the time in the world to figure that out. Schlatt was, metaphorically, living proof of one fact that made them stand out from other lovers:
Death did not do them part.