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Sunlight pours through the window, thick and rich as hot honey. The meeting room could easily be mistaken for a dining room, if only the long table were set with dishes instead of convenient little agenda notepads and LNV-brand pens. As it is, Quackity hopes it will be professional and comfortable in roughly equal measure.
He leans against the windowsill and gazes out over the blinding glare of the streets below with a practiced squint. The steam from his coffee cradles his face as he holds the mug near his lips. He's not nervous, exactly-- well, okay, sue him, he's a little nervous. But he really wants this to turn out in his favor, and there's no reward without a little social discomfort now and then.
He owns a strip club, for fuck's sake. And if all goes according to plan during this business meeting, then he'll soon be branching out from there. More products, more services, more establishments. The more he has to offer, the more he can get out of the wide, wide market. No, he doesn't intend to start a brothel -- despite the uglier thoughts that tell him it would profit well, he still doesn't really like the idea -- but short of that, there is a lot more his business could be providing, and it honestly surprises him that he's waited this long to take the initiative.
Quackity is not squeamish. He doesn't mind talking about sex in a meeting room full of people in suits who address him by his full title. He will not mind, he's already decided.
"Hey Quackity from Las Nevadas?" Slime says. He's standing at the head of the table, shuffling through a folder that sits in front of Quackity's chair. His head is cocked to one side.
"Hm?" Quackity turns to look at him, pulling himself out of his thoughts. He tips his mug to take a long sip of coffee.
"What is sex?" Slime asks, blinking at him innocently.
Quackity chokes on his coffee, but quickly recovers himself. He laughs a little and clears his throat.
"You know what sex is," he says, "Haven't you asked this before?"
Slime's brow wrinkles. "I don't think so..."
"Well, I mean," Quackity amends, "You asked about babies."
"Oh!" Slime remembers now. "You mean when I said humans don't split very evenly, and you said we don't split in half, what the fuck, that's not how babies happen?"
"Yeah, yeah," Quackity says, "That's right. It's sex. I mean, sometimes."
"Sometimes? So there are babies that aren't from sex?"
"No," Quackity corrects, "All babies are from sex, but not all sex makes babies. Get it?"
Slime looks at him blankly.
"Look, I'll- I can explain it later, okay? People are gonna start showing up any minute." Quackity waves him off. "You can go see what Fundy and Tubbo are up to now, I'll see you this afternoon."
"Okay!" Slime gives him a lopsided smile and leaves the room, his steps bouncing along cheerfully.
With that, Quackity turns his mind back to the matter at hand.
__________
By the afternoon, Quackity's head is buzzing with a hundred important things, and a hundred more unimportant ones. He doesn't think much of it when he doesn't see Slime except in passing once or twice for the rest of the day. There's a weight driving him; it sits heavy on his shoulders and presses him forward into every second. He has lists, and he needs to see the end of them.
Las Nevadas is an empire built on his ambition and held together by his diligence. There is everything to do, at every hour of the day. On days like these, there are no hours at all -- only the seconds that tick by while Quackity pushes through them faster, faster. Las Nevadas is a city built on sand, sand that is rapidly slipping through the hourglass, sand that rises to strike Quackity's face and hands in a million tiny, mocking blows when the wind sweeps through.
Sometimes he gets a moment to breathe, and the first thing he does is place his hand firmly on the concrete structure of the nearest wall. If only to dispel the trembling sensation that he swears is coming from the foundations under the ground. If only to remind himself that this city is not glass, is not porcelain, is not hard candy.
It used to be hunger that drove him forward so earnestly. Now, it's the weight on his shoulders and the quaking in the earth under his feet. He cannot stay in one place for too long.
Slow moments, like this morning -- honey-thick moments when coffee tastes rich and his best friend's voice cuts easily through the relentless noise in his brain -- those moments come once in a while, and he uses them to lean against sturdy things with veiled desperation. He has learned not to let them last, though. The ticking does not stop when he does. There is more to be done. His lists do not end.
It's easy enough not to notice that he hasn't seen his friend for most of the day. He's forgotten bigger things this way. By simply filling up the space that they used to occupy with anything, everything, else.
__________
The better part of three days slips by in the space of a few minutes. Slime is sitting on his kitchen counter when he gets home in the evening. A violent red glow overtakes the sky as the sun sinks wearily into the sand. Stepping into his penthouse feels like wading through syrup. Instantly, the weight is pressing against his back hard enough to crack him if he doesn't pick up the pace. Quackity is tired.
"Hello, Quackity from Las Nevadas!" Slime calls out, kicking his feet from where he is perched on the counter.
"Hey Slime," Quackity mumbles in reply, loosening his tie to undo the top two buttons on his shirt. He shrugs off his vest and places it on the counter. "Did you need something?"
"I found out what sex is!" Slime announces brightly. Quackity rubs at his eyes where a twinge of a headache is beginning.
"Good for you," he sighs. Then he pauses. "Um. Slime. What exactly did you find out?"
"Sex!" Spime said again, as if the word had suddenly become self-explanitory.
"Yeah, I- I got that." Quackity drags the pantry stool over so that he can sit on it, facing Slime and leaning back against the wall. "What did you find out about it?"
"When two people love each other very, very much," Slime recites, "They hold each other very, very close together. And it makes even more love. And then they feel happy."
Quackity squints at him for a long minute.
It has been... a while since he heard anybody describe sex in any way remotely similar to whatever that was.
He's not sure whether he has the energy to try and correct Slime on such a complex subject tonight. He feels the floor shaking underneath him, and he rests his arm against the wall with his palm pressed flat. It only steadies the tremor a little.
"Quackity from Las Nevadas?"
"Hm?"
"You should try sex."
Quackity snorts.
"Thanks, Slime, I'll consider it," he replies. Slime, as usual, completely misses the sarcasm.
"C'mere!" Slime holds out his arms.
"What, d'you want a hug or something?" Quackity says.
Slime shakes his head. "I want to give you sex!"
Quackity's heart jumps and hits his brain, sending his thoughts spinning dizzily into disarray. "...what?"
"You're tired," Slime says.
"...yeah..." Quackity's brows twist with apprehension.
"And sad," Slime says.
"...well..." Quackity doesn't know what to say.
"And sex makes love!" Slime practically giggles, like it's the most obvious conclusion in the world. Quackity doesn't have the heart to tell him how wrong that statement is.
"Your point being?" he says instead.
"Quackity from Las Nevadas," Slime says with a sudden seriousness, "If I knew sex was a thing that makes you happy, I would do it every day!"
"Slime-" Quackity squeezes his eyes shut. The wall trembles against his palm. He can feel the silent creak of the walls as the building's foundation sinks and dissolves into the hungry sand. "I appreciate the thought, really, but that's not- you don't understand what that entails."
"I know we can't do it from across here." Slime wiggles his fingers for emphasis, his hands still stretched out toward Quackity. "Please?"
Quackity pries his eyes open again in a grimace as he stands up and walks over in front of Slime. Immediately, he is wrapped up in an embrace that knocks a tiny gasp out of him. Slime hugs him with both arms and legs, squeezing their bodies together as tightly as he can. He buries his face in the crook of Quackity's neck with a quiet hum of satisfaction.
Quackity's knees almost give out. He plants both hands on the counter, but it's not stable. It's shaking too much to support him. "Slime," he tries to say, but it comes out hoarse.
"Slime," he repeats, "I don't know if I can do this."
"Hm?" Slime lifts his head and gazes at Quackity's good eye, their faces centimeters apart. "Why not?"
"It's not- this isn't-" Quackity swallows. "This isn't how it goes."
"Oh..." Slime deflates slightly. "But... I have love for you, Quackity from Las Nevadas."
"I know," Quackity manages to get out through a hard lump in his throat.
"Do you have love for me?" Slime asked. A simple question. They've talked about love before, about how there are different kinds of love. Slime understands, they both understand. They've said it before. Love.
"Of course I lo--" but Quackity's voice gives out on him when he tries to say it. There is an hourglass filling his brain, and the sand pouring through it buries his voice deep. He feels the trembling in his heart and his chin. He tries to breathe through it.
"Should we lay down?" Slime asks. Nothing but curiosity in his voice.
Wordlessly, Quackity lifts him from the countertop and carries him to bed.
As they lie down on top of the covers, Quackity feels the bed quaking and groaning. The floor tilts and sinks into the endless hourglass. He is tired.
Slime appears wholly unbothered. He takes charge of positioning the two of them. Quackity finds himself staring up at the ceiling with Slime draped on top with his arms still wrapped tightly around him. One hugs around Quackity's lower back and the other nestles between his shoulder blades. Slime's cheek presses against the side of Quackity's face.
Quackity squeezes his eyes shut again.
Being squeezed like this, feeling the weight of Slime's body pressing down into his own -- Quackity expects it to be suffocating. He waits to feel crushed. He imagines his fragile skin and bone cracking under the pressure.
He feels none of those things.
"Does this feel good, Quackity from Las Nevadas?" Slime asks, lips mashed against Quackity's ear.
"Yes," Quackity says, and he starts crying.
The tide sweeps through him, starting from where his ribs meet and flooding out to every limb. He feels it rise in his throat and bubble out of his mouth, and when it hits the air it sounds like sobbing. It washes every remnant of thought out of the cavity of his skull. The empty space aches. He cries.
The hand between his shoulder blades makes its way up his spine until there are fingers carding through his hair and scratching bluntly at the nape of his neck. They move farther, weave into his hair, cradle the back of his head in a soft palm. He pushes his face against Slime's shoulder, and still the hand strokes his head gently. He cries.
He muffles his voice in Slime's shoulder. He mindlessly presses his mouth against the shoulder in what might be a pathetic mockery of an appreciative kiss. He mouths at it, gnaws quietly while his wailing is absorbed by the patient body above him. There is no protest. He cries.
And when he can't cry anymore, his head falls back against the pillow weakly. He hiccups, breaths coming raspy and stuttered. Slime looks down at him with calm, glassy eyes.
"Do you feel happy?" he asks.
Fresh waves of hot tears leak out of the corners of Quackity's eyes. His chin quivers when he tries to speak.
But Slime feels firm and steady around him. The weight of his body and the strength of his hug do not waver. Quackity leans into him, and for once he feels solid.
"I..." he starts to murmur, then trails off. Slime waits for him.
Quackity feels tired. His head feels empty, and his heart feels swollen. He feels slow and sluggish. He feels like his veins are full of rich, thick honey. He feels like maybe he doesn't want this to end, ever.
He nods his head weakly and presses his cheek against Slime's. "Yeah, I think so. I think I do. Oh gods, I hope so."
Slime holds him. Quackity doesn't realize when his eyes slide closed one more time.