Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time we met wasn’t during the elections. Way back, before the wars, I was smaller, less assured, and less attention-hungry. I dressed in plain hoodies and vintage jumpers, and I had a much less curated aesthetic. I’d let my long curly hair fall in front of my eyes, mostly because there was so much of it anyway.

That night was a blur, but it was a good night. Ted was on the couch, telling stories with great passion, a beer in hand. He was half in the dark, mood lights being the only things on at the moment, while lo-fi music was in the air.

I looked around the room, hoping to see some friends I hadn’t spoken to yet.
There was this man standing a few meters away, cracking jokes with a girl whose name was escaping me. It was impossible not to notice him. His massive wings followed loosely the movement of his hands. His long tail brushed the floor, feathers a beautiful union of dark down down the center of the shaft and golden brown on the outside. What he lacked in height, he made up for in energy. The dark hair peeking out of his beanie would sway with his movement while he balanced a drink in his hand, despite the speed of his hand going left and right, up and down, depending on what part of the story he was at.

I made a mental note to maybe talk to him later because he sounded like fun, then moved on to talk to Connor.

I’d like to pretend that we’d just happened to be in the same place and that it was nothing.
I’d like to pretend I didn’t throw him more quick glances than I did to that one girl I was hoping to get closer to. And mostly, I’d like to pretend I remembered him out of pure chance, that it was just one of those random memories you seemed to never forget, though they were completely unremarkable.

Quackity had changed, too.
He had that same energy, that restless energy. Constantly moving, constantly cracking jokes, but more confident now. He gained charisma. He’d look at you straight in the eyes with a buzzing intensity with his big dark eyes. When I finally recognised him as the person from that one party a decade ago, I couldn't help but notice the things I couldn’t see back then, like his deep blue eyelashes, his moles, or the way his face was just as animated as his hands when he spoke.

I received an invitation from Wilbur to come support him in his presidential campaign.
Yes, Wilbur, I remembered him. We parted on relatively good terms. I never quite let go of my anger and resentment against him, though. He probably didn’t know that.

It sounded like him to make up a country out of pettiness, to press his entourage to follow his often poorly thought-out grandiose ideas and then be cocky enough to expect no competition against him. Like his leadership and charisma would always win. Like he was always better, had the moral high ground, the best words. That was the thing I resented him for.

He was always talking, to a point where people didn’t have room to say anything outside of a vague reaction to his words. The second he’d get into a conversation, he’d hijack any discussion to turn it into whatever he came there to say. Like he never had trouble with anyone while constantly being surrounded by people who were absolute webs of drama. The way he’d always compare himself to others to make himself feel better, often at the cost of others. Because his country was better, because he was the perfect son, the perfect brother, the perfect friend, the perfect partner. He never could get enough of himself.
This was why I found him insufferable.
People found him charismatic and charming.
I did not.

He looked tired, with a large smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, the barely noticeable shake of his hands, fox tail hanging low, barely above the ground, and the tiredness he thought he hid. I knew that kind of exhaustion when you take on a project way larger than anticipated. The responsibilities heavier than expected. The realisation that now you had all those people to manage and everyone had their complicated issues and everyone needed you for something because they couldn’t make a decision without the whole hierarchy approving, and now you needed results and progress and showmanship and-.

Sometimes, you don’t control the ship you captain.
I was spiteful. I ran against Wilbur. I accepted Quackity’s offer. I won the presidency.
I did it to put Wilbur in his place, to flatter my ego, to assert myself in a position of power. I did it because it was easy to win. I did it despite the weight it would drop on my shoulders.

I was not as strong as I seemed. Not as sharp as I carefully crafted my appearance to be, with tailored suits and neat grooming, hair pushed back. I overused my height and broadness to intimidate people, and optimised my charisma. I felt like I had the image of the devil on my back, now that I didn’t look like a peaceful sheep.

That finally knocked Wilbur down a peg. That made it all worth it.

Why was I still in pain then ?

***

Quackity was an admirable man. Terribly competent and a master with words. That, I’ve seen during presidential debates. Wilbur was a clown in comparison, only being able to throw some cheap insults which fell pathetically flat against Quackity's arguments.

I didn’t know if it was resentment I felt seeing him do all this effortlessly when the weight I was carrying was hindering me more and more every day.
I wanted to keep him close, but I wanted him gone, too.

The pain got worse. My knees were more rusty than a sunken ship at the bottom of the salty ocean.
I got up after an unsatisfying night of tossing, rearranging my sheets, and boredom, sleep gracing me only with short and interrupted rests. All I could do was stare at the white ceiling, wondering if I’d sleep better if I could lay on my side.

I hated how minimalistic, white, beige and grey everything was. It felt like living in a hotel room forever, a guest in my own place, in my own White House. No wood floors, no carpet, no anything that would make this place feel like home, only a shitty abstract painting and my stuff lying around that I didn’t have the energy to tidy up.

Whatever. I poured myself a coffee, knowing I’ll crack open an energy drink right after.

***

Of all things, it couldn’t be said I was an indecisive individual. I made decisions. I made them, and I took them.
I ordered buildings, I ordered parks, I ordered schools. All the “when I’ll grow up I’ll do this and that” I thought would make this country into something worth living in, not surviving in. Like when your teacher said or did something and you imagined yourself in their place, thinking how you’d do things differently, you’d try to be the best teacher.

I could count on my cabinet enough.
Quackity, I could count on. He was competent, and people liked him. He got shits done.

Fundy was alright enough. He needed approval to do anything, but he did things right. Always running errands outside the White House, checking how things were coming along, noting down all the issues, and solving issues at the construction sites.

Tubbo, I only kept him because I thought he’d make me more legitimate since he was one of the founding fathers of this country. Wilbur liked to get all the credit. But he shouldn't.
I found myself surprised by him. He was more capable than expected. That was good. He was the one going through people's demands and reporting them back to our council.

***

I hated political visits. Having to shake sweaty but dry-skinned hands. To get a pat on the back that sends shots of pain through my back.
The never-ending reception of niceties with uninteresting people. I’d collapse onto my bed after that, wrecked with painful joints and an unshakable exhaustion that wouldn’t go away after yet another long night of insomnia.

In the morning, I would put on a new suit and a new smile and do it all over again.

***

Quackity didn’t give a shit about kissing up to my ass. He wasn’t intimidated by my ever-frowning face and apparent coldness.
He’d crack jokes, again and again, even when I wasn’t in the mood for jokes and didn’t reciprocate the energy. I rarely did, but I’d make the effort to answer with some sass or smart comment that seemed to make him laugh.
I hated how much energy he had. I loved hearing his jokes during another never-ending day at work. Where I’d be in terrible need of a break, despite it being only Tuesday.

I watched him take the lead during meetings when I felt too tired to speak much. There was this little prick in my chest when I drank too much caffeine and not enough water. I ignored it with a few glasses of water, though it was ineffective.

Quackity was a dedicated man; he went out of his way, sometimes out of his paid schedule too, to get things done, to go talk to that one person. He had a way to go talk to people with this welcoming energy that invited people to trust him.
“Hey man, how are you doing ? Hope you’re doing good, I wanted to talk about that project again. Are you free right now ?” Stuff like that. Simple stuff, just polite stuff. But people loved it. They felt they were on the same foot as Quackity, that they could talk face to face, with no pressure for some bullshit respect of hierarchy that would put Quackity above them.

I was more demanding. I was less… easygoing. I came up to people up front. “Good morning. Can we talk about the project again ?”
Politeness.
I didn’t know if it was a prison or an easy cheat code.

I think it was more about the way you said things than what you really said. I was not cheerful.
I didn't have time or energy for long-winded conversations.
I needed to get this over with quickly. People would have too much time to stare at me, to see the way I blinked too much, to try to appease the dryness of my eyes. The way I sometimes would sway on my feet, or the way my hands shook, even on a good day. God forbid, the way my face would twitch when I made a movement my knees disliked.

***

Sometimes, I thought Quackity was insufferable. He was too cheerful. Too carefree. Too… nice ? Likable ? Friendly ?

It’s been a while since I could say I had friends.
I lost contact.
I was the one to blame.
Parties started to be too taxing. I couldn’t bother to answer texts. I just-
I had priorities that'd take all my energy, and then, when the evening came, engaging with my friends was just too much for me.

Why was it so effortless for him ?

I wanted to stay with him longer, but as months passed, I found myself less and less capable.
My heart’s palpitation would keep me up at night, not that I needed that to stay awake most of the night.

***

Waking up as tired as yesterday, I opened eyes that felt as dry as my bones. I made myself look presentable enough (avoiding looking into my own eyes in the mirror, or at deteriorating my frame), took a coffee and something to avoid my body decomposing quicker than it already was. I greeted the cabinet, answered mail, meetings, forced myself to eat something, cracked open an energy drink, phone calls, rendez-vous, forced myself to eat again, and went to sleep.
Rince and repeat.

Stuck in that office I dreaded seeing. I didn’t bother to get rid of Wilbur’s stuff, so the place didn’t feel as impersonal as my room; I just felt like I was in somebody else’s place. The wood floor and bookshelves warmed the place up, like someone actually liked this place and was fond of his office.
The large rug sat like the plat de résistance in the room, rich, intricate oriental designs in red and gold, with my expensive wooden desk sitting on top of it.
I’ll give him that, Wilbur had good tastes, the whole office being a cohesive shade of dark brown with warm lights and fancy furniture.

I’d feel less tired after him; sometimes, I would even find myself smiling after his departure. Whatever happened, I’d keep this one. He was one of a kind.

Chapter Text

I was no fool. I’ve dated a few women back in the day. I knew quick crushes, I knew love, I knew sex friends, and I knew relationships.
But I also knew of the private religious schools that were “better”, since students had better grades, better education, better opportunities.
Sure, the school trips were nice. Sure, I learned a lot of stuff.
But I always felt out of place. I didn’t connect with people. Only when I changed school for a public one did I learn how to have friends, how to talk to different groups of people, and how to have a life outside of school.
Those years in catholic school did not disappear, though.
I genuinely thought it was fine, that nothing bad really happened there.
But when I went to a family member’s holy communion, I found myself silently crying for two hours, the whole ceremony stuck between my grandfather and my mother.
No one noticed.

The times after that, I didn’t bother listening to the priest or bishop or whatever he was.

I was no fool, but I was also the president, the son of my parents, the grandson of my grandparents, the cousin of my cousins and a man, alone.

So instead of… appeal, I’d feel anger.

***

Today was particularly hard, a Thursday, not even 10 AM. I was so tired. My eyes closed on their own, and I’d rest my head on my hand for a few seconds before opening my eyes. I’d try to focus on my emails, but I’d just close my eyes again. My neck stung every time I’d turn my head, and I was utterly ineffective.

I gave up, stood up, and my knees and hips were stinging hard, like trying to force the hands of a clock to go forward when the mechanism was old and coppery brown with rust.

I sat on my sofa, usually reserved for guests, put on an alarm for 20 minutes later and laid down as comfortably as I could, as tall as I was.

***

When I woke up, it felt much longer than 20 minutes, shaky and dehydrated. I grabbed my phone to check the timer, and it was turned off. Maybe I forgot to press start ?
Crap, I slept two hours.
I needed that, but still, I was at work. I was my own boss but I had shit to do.
I got up, hissing at the pain in my joints and walked up to my desk again to stare at those same emails.

***

I was not sure I’d ever see the end of my mandate. At least, I’d have Quackity to take over when that day came.

I heard rumours of Wilbur plotting a Résistance of some sort. He didn’t take the loss of his country very well.

At first, I had no intention to ban him from Manburg. But his reaction, the immediate coup he attempted… I knew he was going to be a hindrance. So I made him take his brother under the arm and get the hell out of here.

I expected him to move to another country, or do his thing on the side, or even build a new one, with his big ego, I knew he didn’t like to lose. I didn’t either.

But he wanted his L’Manburg. I got that.

He was deranged. He always had that little thing in his eyes. It was mostly the way he spoke. There was, there always has been, this subtle way he spoke that was unnerving; it felt wrong.
I looked past that for years. I thought I imagined it, since everyone seemed to like his charisma, his humour, his voice and his songs.

I disregarded that feeling of uneasiness for too long.

Now he was plotting against me, saying I was unfit to rule, that the people didn’t like me, that I lacked the guts to stop him, that I won by deception.

I tasked Fundy to deal with it. I was too tired for the considerable task of taking care of Wilbur and his small dick energy.

I straightened my back with a wince and called one of our contractors.

***

“-Schlatt, you should come with us tonight ! We’re going out to eat with Tubbo and Fundy. Come on, just this once, it’ll be a poggers.”

Oh great, Quackity was trying to include me in some after-work team-building bullshit. I didn’t have the energy for that.

“-I don’t think I can tonight.
-What could be sooo important again ? Come on, I won’t bother you for like a whole week if you come.”

I was used to being alone, too tired to do much after work. I didn’t like being alone; it was just easier.

“-Make it two.
-Great Heaven big bad scary Schlatt agreed to do something fun, we must make sure to write that down in Manberg’s history books.”

I was already worn out by that activity, and it hadn’t even started.

***

I expected something more… formal ? Get a reservation at a restaurant, something like that, with lots of social rules and noise and people.

No, they just got takeout and ate on the White House balcony.
Fine. Less people, but more wind. The cold wind didn’t go well with my old bones.

I wondered if I’d make more of a fool of myself trying to eat fast food with cutlery or without.
I sighted and decided to fuck it, I was not sixty, I ate pure fast food every day not that long ago. It seemed far away now. Yet it was only a few years ago.

I ate, trying to follow the discussions. I failed and quickly got lost in thought, mostly about my bed and holidays that wouldn’t come. My gaze wandered to Quackity’s back, where feathers gracefully swayed with the wind, wings still moving gently as my Vice-President spoke, opening up when he revealed the resolution of a joke.

At some point, I woke up enough to make quick conversation with the others, trying to be more human. I cracked a few jokes carefully. They rolled with it. Okay. By the end, I wasn’t feeling good at all, queasy. I was ready to bet I’d throw everything up before my evening shower.

The most important thing I gathered from this was some fucking context about the random French. My cabinet would sometimes say random stuff in French, curse words, expressions, memes, and references. I would catch some of these, having a few basics, but I was confused by why this was a thing in the first place, despite Quackity’s previous explanation.
Apparently, the joke originated from old L’Manburg, when it still had the “L’”.
I felt a hundred years old when they showed me French brainrot.
They showed me a short video, and I understood why brainrot was called brainrot. It went along something like this :

“I was sitting down, reading a book, before crying out :
”-Oh no, I forgot to throw away the trash.”
Putting my book down, I rushed outside. But it was already too late (*audible gasp*), the malicious trash bag’s evil twin already came to life (*screams*). From a trash bag, two arms and legs burst out. The other trash bag only had a pair of legs. Both malicious trash bags ran after me.

At the beach, I was tanning on my towel with the electrician, a man only wearing overalls and the famous rainbow helicopter hat. The electrician man took his glasses off and said :
“-It’s the electrician.”
Suddenly, I got soaked by litres of brown water. It was the pigeon man (*audible gasps*). The pigeon man was pulling his pants up after shitting on me. He turned toward me and did a little head nod in my direction.
When I saw something in the sky, I pointed up and explained :
“-Look up, it’s Bombardino Crocodilo”.
Bombardilo Crocodilo said “Bombardilo Crocodilo”.
I screamed :
“-Run !”

I went to the grocery store to buy pudding. Thankfully, there was one left. I grabbed the pudding bare-handed with a wet noise, no packaging and left happily.
When suddenly, on the way back home, walking with my arms and legs ridiculously high and my shoes squeaking cartoonishly, my receipt fell. Bending down, I felt a presence behind me. It was the perverted receipt (*zip noise*). He said :
“-Come here, come here.”
(*screams*)

I was baking grass when I saw a sign, I was on his territory. The territory of Larry the malicious, accompanied by his loyal malicious pair, a pair of running shoes, but someone cut the toes off (*audible gasps*). Larry smacked a belt and threatened :
“-I’m gonna touch you at night.”

What did I just witness ? Maybe I was a hundred years old.

***

Quackity was the last one to go. Before he left, he told me to listen in a serious tone. It was far too late for heavy conversations right now, I only wanted to go shower and drop dead on my bed. My ear twitched in slight annoyance.

“-Yes Quackity ?
-I know you’re not one to talk about yourself, but I just wanted to make sure. Are you okay ?”

I didn’t need him worrying about me ; I’ve been dealing with myself for years.

“-Yeah, nothing to worry about, I’m fine.
-You keep saying that, but you look so damn tired all the time, maybe cut down seeing so many strippers every night.”

I snorted.

“-Sure thing. But really, I just have a lot of work, like all of us. Don’t worry.”

I’ve been standing for too long ; I really needed to sit down. I didn’t. God I was gonna throw up soon, we needed to finish this fast.

“-Schlatt… You fall asleep at your desk, you only go from your room to the office and then straight back to your room after work. Working yourself to death is suboptimal, to say the least. I’d rather have you take a break and rest than have you dead because you had work to catch up to.
-Drop it Quackity. It's the weekend tomorrow night anyway. I’ll rest then.”

Quackity stared at me like he had more to say. I thanked him for the invite and wished him good night.

I’ve always had the philosophy of “I’ll sleep when I’m dead”. No matter if I rested, I would still sleep like shit, so why even bother going to sleep at all ? Either way, I could barely keep my eyes open without coffee.

My chest pinched still as I threw back up my barely digested dinner.

***

I peeled my eyes open, my head resting on my arm. Where the fuck was I ?
Oh, it was my office. What was I doing in my office ?
I looked down at the paper in front of me. Oh right, that’s uuh.. yeah that’s the thing I was working on. I was approving the creation of an educational board or something. None of us in this cabinet was qualified enough to decide what should be taught in school, outside of the obvious.

Fuck I fell asleep again.

Okay I wasn’t too long, just twenty minutes ; that was not so bad. I needed to finish this quick thought. I had to go to a meeting with Quackity and some teachers (or something).
My spine reluctantly straightened, and I finished reading, signing up my initials on every page and ending all that with a big fancy signature accompanied by “read and approved”.
I opened an energy drink can and gulped down a quarter of it before setting it down on the side of my desk.
I stood up slowly and took a moment to tank the pain in my hips. Then I was ready to go.

***

I was annoyed that Quackity cared. It would be easier if he didn’t, and would just let me do my work. I could do it. I’ve been doing it every day for years. Slept poorly at night, worked poorly by day, rinse and repeat.
I’ve always gotten results, though. I got shit done. I could do it for the rest of my life. And if I couldn’t, that’d probably be the death of me.

“-Hey Schlatt, wanna eat with us tonight again ?”

I was surprised that Tubbo was the one to ask me that.

“-Yeah, why not.”

I was even more surprised I accepted. I wanted to go.
Sometimes I caught myself being jealous of Tubbo. We looked a lot like me when I was his age, with his thick curly brown hair and growing horns, a time when I wasn’t constantly in pain, where I’d fall asleep every night, where I didn’t feel like puking a meal every other day.

***

My cabinet was not composed of insufferable idiots. But I feared it might be composed of unloyal spies.

I was not foolish enough not to realise the liabilities they represented. The son of Wilbur and Tommy’s best friend.

That was why they didn’t work on sensitive stuff. I gave Fundy the task of figuring shits out with the Wilbur situation as a test.
A test he avoided.

I ignored all that as I ate with them. Mostly listening to them more than engaging. I noticed Quackity eyeing me between sentences.
I was not sure he was the same guy from that party all that time ago. The one that I found more attractive than his woman friend.

***

Quackity stayed later than the others again.

“-Schlatt, wanna come with me tomorrow ? I’m meeting up with Nikki to discuss the Festival, since she’ll be one of our main caterers.”
His eyes lit open, looking at me with his unusually wide irises.
“-I don’t think you really need me for that,” I took a couple of steps in the direction of the door. Quackity obstructed the way, loosely extending a large wing in front of me. I could have easily pushed it and walked past. I didn’t.
“-Yeah but it’ll be fun. Trust me, you’ll like it. Come on, just this once, you don’t get out of the White House much, Mister Workaholic. Plus, she always gives me free stuff when I visit her for work.”

I really had a lot of work to do. I shouldn’t be going out meeting bakers, however nice they might be.

“-I really shouldn’t. I have calls to make.
-I hAvE cAlLs To MaKe” He parroted back with a high-pitched voice and a giggle.” Sounds like excuses to me. You’re gonna decompose on this desk.
-Fine, but just this once.”
His smile widened, and he made a little punching up motion, “I win”. With a laugh, he retracted his wing and told me to be ready by 10 AM. I stared at his back as he walked away. This was the first time I’d seen him open up his wings this wide. I couldn’t help being a little impressed by the sheer amount of beautiful feathers.
On the ground, one stray feather laid where my vice was only a few seconds ago. I stared at it before dearddfullly dragging myself up to my room with all the excitement of an unfaithful husband hiding his infidelities from his wife.

That night, in my room, I’d wake up with a jolt around 8 AM. I crashed into my bed, letting myself fall backwards onto the bed after I sat down with a sigh.
I woke up dehydrated, shaky, lost. I gathered myself slowly and willed myself to get up. I needed to shower, I needed to be presentable.
I needed to eat too, my stomach uneasy but terribly empty.

Looking around at my room, I felt only despair at the mess I couldn't bring myself to fix. Good thing I never had visitors.
The kitchen equally filled me with despair. I opened my fridge and tried to be hopeful. I grabbed a couple of desserts and a slice of bread from the cupboard. Good enough.
Everything sat uneasily in my stomach.

The shower was difficult. The warm water felt good on my skin, but standing up was still painful, and breakfast disagreed with me.

Cutting it short, I sat on the toilet seat for long minutes to gather myself. My head in my hands and my elbows on my lap. I breathed deeply, lightheaded and exhausted.
I had to swallow thickly, uneasy.
God this was awful.

When I stood up, hoping to go to my office, I felt an emergency I couldn’t ignore and turned around, puking my guts up. I moved too fast ; it hurt, everything was. Tears fell down, my mouth was disgusting, I couldn’t do this shit anymore.
When I was done, I didn’t have the energy to move. I’d spit down the toilet and laid down on the very tiles of my bathroom.

Minutes passed as I laid pathetically there, staring at an equally white ceiling, but blinded by the lights.
How was I supposed to do this ? I couldn’t even eat in peace. I lost so much weight recently. Avoiding food or puking it, surviving on random shit, my body couldn’t keep up, damaged from the beginning. Half tempted to lay there forever until someone found my dead body, I gathered everything in me to walk all the way to my desk.

I didn’t expect work to get done, but it was better than the floor.
That trip to Nikki's was gonna be the death of me for sure.

Chapter Text

I really hated leaving the White House. Who decided that we needed stairs to enter the building ? Why not a nice, I don’t know, nothing with a big door ?

I ground my teeth as I went down the stairs, already regretting with every molecule of my being agreeing to go. I was not sure if I could do this 10 to 15-minute walk while small-talking with my right-hand man, while greeting random people in the streets, while every step felt like knives under my shoes, and I could almost hear the cracking of my knees, while my hips felt like I was a hundred years old.

***

Nikki was surprised to see me. I felt a little apprehension.

People tended to have a weird reaction now when it came to Wilbur.
No one would directly tell me why, though.
Things were not going well for him.
Wilbur liked attention. He liked organising secret reunions with delusions of being part of a great Résistance against me, to erect himself as a martyr figure, as a true father of the people. He who was so good with words, with people, while I sat in my office and kept myself safe in the White House. Like a coward compared to the Great leader of the L’Manburg war.

The warmth of the bakery calmed the chill in my bones for only a welcomed moment. I tried not to doze off in the comfort of the temperature and the soft smells of bread.
I got up, masking the painful twist of my face behind my hand, pretending to scratch my nose. I thanked Nikki, who graciously offered a bag of goods for the cabinet and tried not to dread too much the walk back to the White House.
Walking out, I glanced back at the warm bakery, to Nikki’s blonde hair, grey roots showing up, matching her ears. We briefly made eye contact, nodding in each other’s direction.
I could see something was wrong.

***

In the middle of the street, I winced; I really couldn’t take it. I think my pace got a little slower, my steps less convincing.

“-Dude, are you okay ?
-Yeah, I’m fine, I just-”
I needed a quick excuse, but it was hard to think. I was cold, way colder than I had anticipated; it made the pain worse, more throbbing, creeping up in my body. Quackity frowned, his hands letting go of his coat’s zipper he was pulling up and down since we exited the bakery.
“-I need to sit down.”

I limped more than I walked to a bench a few paces away and sat down with a grunt. I bent forward, pain twisting my features.
Quackity asked me anxious questions, insisting on knowing if I was okay. I was not.
“-Yeah, I’m fine, just, I don’t know, some migraine. I probably drank too much coffee this morning. It’s making me nauseous. I’ll be fine in a few.”
I hoped I was convincing. His feathers ruffled, wings opening a bit as Quackity hovered around me, hands hanging in the air like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them.

“-You can go, I’ll catch up later.
-I’m not leaving you like that.”
He sat next to me, lifting his tail to rest on the wood. The bench was so cold. I felt my eyes sting, this time not out of tiredness. With effortless elegance, he opened up his wings. He raised the one closest to me and let it fall behind the bench, like someone placing their arm on the back of your seat. Not like a drunk guy trying to flirt with you while getting way too much into your personal space, more like putting an arm behind me but not quite touching me, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to. His other one was very faintly extended, tanking the wind just enough that it didn’t feel like every gust would tear chunks of me apart.

“-I just- Just give me a sec.”
I braced myself and bit down the pain. I really was about to throw up. The sugary pastries were too much. After a few seconds of hesitation, Quackity tentatively touched my shoulder with his hand. I shot up and couldn’t bear the thought of being vulnerable here and now.
I got up, however painful it might be. I grimaced as I ungracefully rose to my feet, using the bench as leverage. My whole body shivered.
“-Woah, maybe you should take it easy.
-I need to go back to the White House now or I’m not going to be able to at all.”
I was slow, I was in pain. I still wanted to cry, but that didn’t happen. I was never going to leave the White House again.
I was pathetically putting one foot in front of the other, shaking and hunched over. My hair fell in my face, flying everywhere with the wind. Quackity followed me wordlessly, a wing extended behind me to block some of the wind. How was he not freezing to death right now ?
I despised the look of worry on his face, eyebrows pinched and hands clenched on his coat’s collar.

***

When we got to the final, dreadful, painful step of the stairs leading up to the entrance, I was ready to quit right then and there. I could not do this.
I fully expected to go sit at my desk and try to be efficient, wishing I was anywhere but here, my trash can next to me in case I really needed to throw up.

Quackity saw my face twisted with pain when I climbed up the stairs.
That was probably why he got between me and the way to my office, arms crossed.
I should have been able to force my way past him easily, but I didn’t think I had the strength to right then.
“-Quackity what are you doing ? I have stuff to do now. I wasted enough time as it is.
-Fuck no.”
I raised an eyebrow. I didn’t have the strength for arguments. My ear twisted in annoyance, I crossed my arms myself. Out of the two, I was pretty sure to be the most hardheaded.
“-You’re going to take a break right now. Plus I’ll call Ponk.
-I don’t need that.
-Oh you got that from the way you could barely walk to the White House ? Was it when you collapsed on the bench ? Or was it when you almost threw up in the street ?”
At some point during the walk back, I heaved. I managed to keep everything down but my stomach was burning and uneasy. The taste in my mouth was foul.
I frowned, looking down at an equally frowning Quackity.
“-It’ll pass.
-It’s you that’ll pass, man. Out or away, I don’t know yet.”
He grabbed my sleeve and pulled me in the direction of my suite. He helped himself with the keys in my pocket and opened the door. I did not have the strength to argue or fight back. I was annoyed, though. Why was he being so difficult ?

He led me to my bed, and I knew if I sat on it, I wouldn’t be able to get back up.
“-Change into something more comfortable while I call Ponk okay ?
-I don’t need a mommy, Quackity. My desk is conf-
-Could you, like, shut the fuck up and change ? Argue with the wall.”
My brows raised on their own. That was a surprise. I had half the mind to continue arguing anyway, but to be honest, I wished more than anything to be in that bed right now.
“-Fine.”
Quackity turned away and got his phone out, looking for Ponk in his contacts. I slowly undid all the buttons of my suit, the fine motricity being more painful than it should have been.
Getting my shirt off hurt my shoulders. I managed to change into looser, more comfortable clothes ; this time I think a tear did slip out. I quickly wiped it and frowned.

I sat down, and I think I could have cried on the spot. My eyes closed again, and I drifted off for a couple of seconds. God, I was so tired.
I opened them again to witness the end of Quackity’s call.
I didn’t even have the energy to be mad anymore. Just relieved to catch a break and to be back in my bed.

“-He said he had an opening this afternoon. Until then, try to get some sleep. I’ll get you some pills.
-This afternoon ? I don’t have the time to-”
I faltered.
“-I should not be taking a break when the Festival is so close and we haven’t finished all the preparations.”
That was a good excuse. Quackity sighed deeply, slowly shaking his head.

“-Just give me your planning and I’ll do your tasks for you today.”
I almost forgot I was supposed to answer. I was already feeling close to falling asleep.
I would argue later.

***

I slept like a corpse in its grave, dead to the world. I would lie saying I felt better. I was still bone deep in pain, I was still exhausted, but my stomach had settled.
I sighed heavily and noticed the glass of water on my bedside with a couple of pills, probably for the migraine and stomach pain I complained of.

I should sit up and go argue with Quackity. I didn’t. I just drank the water to ease the pinch in my chest and laid back down.

***

Quackity woke me up, softly saying my name and touching my arm.
I regrettably opened my eyes and saw another man by the door, Ponk, I presumed.

My vice-president exited the room, and I was left with a man, dark skinned and dressed in red, whom I knew only by name. For a doctor, he didn’t really look the part. He was dressed casually, with wispy grey hair. I couldn’t assume, but he looked human, wearing a medical mask and a big backpack.

“-’Morning Mister President. So, tell me, what seems to be the issue ?” As he spoke, he lowered his bag to the ground, fishing a notebook and a pen inside.
“-’Morning. I’m fine, just tired. Quackity probably exaggerated. I had a headache and felt uneasy, but I’m fine now.
-He told me about those, yes. He told me you had difficulty walking too ; that’s usually not the case for a migraine. Not to that extent.” He spoke casually too, waving his pen in my direction before writing a few things.
-I just didn’t want to throw up in the street, so I went slowly.”

Ponk’s pen stopped, and he slowly looked up. His eyes went from me to the window, then back to me. I wasn’t sure I heard him say something like “I see” to himself.

I saw in his eyes a hint of amusement I couldn’t understand. I was also irritated by the whole situation. I would have a talk with Quackity ; he needed to take care of his own ass instead of mine.

“-On a scale of one to ten, zero being no pain at all, 5 being very distressing and unignorable, and 10 being unimaginable, unspeakable pain, where would you have ranked your pain ?
-It went away, it’s fine.”
He nodded and tucked his pen in his pocket before placing his notebook under his arm.
-Humour me, mister President.
-One.”

He hummed. Being stubborn made a lot of people give up. Ponk readjusted his hair from his face. He was relaxed, I didn’t know if it was because he was like that, if he didn’t care, or if he found this funny.

“-You’re aware I’m not here just to mess up your schedule, right ?
-And you’re aware that the Festival is a few days away and I should be working right now ? It’s not gonna organise itself.”
I crossed my arms, annoyed. I didn’t like strangers getting all into my business. Especially with that attitude. The doctor opened his arms explicatively.
“-Let’s make a deal, you try to be honest with me, I check you out, you answer my questions to the best of your abilities, and you hear out what I have to say.”

I waited a few seconds.

“-And ? Deals are supposed to go both ways.
-I’ll be quick and then get out of your hair.”
This whole situation was ridiculous.
-Fine. But if I learn something got out, I’m suing.”
If it made him go away…
He snorted :
“-Mister President, I may not be the spitting image of how you imagine doctors, but I still took an oath and am bound by doctor-patient confidentiality. I would not be a very good doctor if I reported to the media right after getting out of here.”
He got his notebook from under his arm and unpocketed his pen. He flipped the book open and looked back up at me.
“-Tell me what happened after you left the bakery..”
*Lie, Schlatt*, I thought. *Or down play it.*
I breathed deeply. This was going to end badly.
“-I must have been dehydrated and got a migraine.
-Not what you think happened, but how you felt.
-Oh uh well, I was cold and just ate a lot of sugar and coffee. I had a migraine and got nauseous. That’s all.”
Ponk hummed and wrote stuff down. What could he be writing ?

“-Do you have these migraines often ?
-No, not really.”
Yeah, only every other day. More scribbling down.

-Do you usually skip meals ?
-I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”
He waived his pen, unbothered.
“-Just asking.
-Well- I- Sometimes I forget a meal, but not usually.”
I looked away, pushing my hair back behind my horns to free my face. I still caught Ponk raising an unconvinced eyebrow in my peripheral vision. He hummed, still writing stuff. I found myself increasingly irritated by his constant writing. Surely, he didn’t need *that* many notes just from my answers.

“-Schlatt, how well do you sleep ?”
I debated answering a smart ass “it’s Mister President to you.” but it wouldn’t keep him from asking again. And it’s not like I cared about that in the first place.

“-Fine enough, I just work a lot and miss a few hours, like the others. C’est la vie.”
I hoped Q didn’t rat me out and kept his mouth shut. He finally lowered his notebook, and from what I could see from afar, it was, in fact, just notes. I half-expected him to have been drawing an elephant since the beginning just to mess with me.

‘-Now, now. Where’s that truth we agreed to ? What you say here will remain private. I’m not gonna report anything to Mister Vice-President or anyone. It’s between me and you. I’m not about to force you to do anything you don’t want to. I only want to help.”

I looked down at my hands and swallowed thickly. My hair fell back in my face, hiding my eyes behind a thick curly curtain.
I could. I theoretically could tell him. Tell him about the pain I felt every waking second that kept getting somehow worse and harder to manage, tell him about the debilitating insomnia that left me half asleep all day, tell him how I could only stand up for short periods, or how I’d sway if I did, about how getting out was infernal.
But Ponk was no therapist, I couldn’t tell him about my utter lack of social life, the need to hide from everyone. The shame I felt at my condition, the shame of seeing people do everything effortlessly, how they could answer texts, go out after work, stop at someone’s desk between tasks to small-talk. The shame of seeing people do the same amount of hours I did, put in more work, more passion, more dedication, how work was just that, just work, just a job, when for me it was all-consuming, the only thing I could do, and I did it, claws deep in the wood of my desk. I wasn’t sure people would understand. I’d rather die than have people thinking I’m exaggerating, lazy and pathetic.

My father had told me to do whatever I wanted as long as it was not useless.
I wasn’t sure what “useless” meant for him.

I saw family members with the same background as me thrive more than I did, happier. They had friends, a family, and a fulfilling job and were pain-free.

I used to be good, great even, I used to do it effortlessly too.
I saw it happen in front of my eyes, the gradual loss of all that effortlessness. I saw my nights get shittier and shittier. I saw my joints ache randomly at first. I noticed my balance falter as I walked. I saw myself losing all my friends, the ones I still miss, the ones I hated through no fault of theirs.

“-I haven’t been sleeping well for some time.”
My words had to fight their way between my teeth.
-How long ?”

Honesty felt violent inside of me.

“-It’s been a few years. It’s worse now.”
Enough. That was enough. My voice got lower, scared someone might overhear.
I added, though I didn’t know I did :
“-I just, drink a lot of coffee and energy drinks to stand upright at all.
-That could be a vicious circle. You can’t sleep, so you take caffeine to stay awake, but it also dysregulates your sleep. How do your nights usually- well, happen ?”
I watched him carefully lower his tools, trying to dig something out of me. I stared at my hands in my sheets. My voice was small, admitting something shameful. Like I was opening something that was on the verge of explosion at one wrong move.
-I’d get into bed and wait for hours, I toss and turn, I feel like I don’t sleep even though I lose consciousness a few times a night.”
I’ve never heard my voice so weak. I clenched my fists into my covers, I could still feel them shaking. Talking was horrible. I hated honesty, hated vulnerability. I was sweating and agitated, fidgeting, uncomfortable.
“-I believe being the president can be stressful, but you said this was not recent ? Do you remember when it first started ?
-Maybe… I was still a student back then. It got worse around that time. You know, during the war, even if I wasn’t part of it, it still… well it still sucked for everyone.”
Ponk scribbled something down in his notebook. I wanted to get up and throw the notebook out the window. And throw Ponk out the window too. Him and his-, I didn’t know, demeanor ? I regretted my words. I shouldn’t have said anything to begin with. Now everything was going to be complicated.

“-Having insomnia for years is a sign there’s an unresolved issue. Any other symptoms ? Physical or not, even stuff that you think is irrelevant.”

Nothing was relevant apart from the work I should have been overseeing.
I decided that *this*, was enough. That I’d said enough. That I shouldn’t have said anything from the beginning. I was tired. Yes, that’s it. I was tired, so I started being vulnerable and honest. Not because I wanted to talk. Because I was too weak to argue.
What was I thinking ? Too weak ? No, it just-
I fucking hated everything. Anxiety turned into anger.

“-No.
-Really ? Do you feel nauseous often ?”

He didn’t get it.

“-No.
-Don’t you ever feel out of it ? Like something was wrong ? Like you needed something ?
-No.”
My tone grew short, dry. Ponk wasn’t picking up the clues or deliberately ignoring them.

“-And how often do you forget to eat ?
-I’m not in the mood for food often.
-Why not ?
-Because I’m focused on something more important and I don’t want to break my inertia.”
I was getting more and more irritated. I didn’t want that guy to know my private stuff, imagine Wilbur hearing about this. I was exasperated, how could he not get that ? I wanted to scream when I saw him write something down. What did these notes say ? “Patient is a deranged lunatic unfit to rule” ?

“-So no sleep at night, exhaustion by day, strong addiction to caffeine and disordered eating.
-I’m not addicted. I need to be awake enough to work. And I don’t have an eating disorder, I’m not starving myself on purpose or anything.”
It’s hard to find food that won’t mess me up. And have the energy to prepare it.

“-I’m not saying you have an eating disorder. But if you skip meals often, that’s disordered. It’s impossible to thrive on little sleep and uneven food intake.”
I hated this guy. Was it amusing to him ? His questions were repetitive and pointless.
“-Listen, I didn’t ask to sleep like shit everyday of my life, to wake up cold and exhausted, to have to live on energy drinks, to not stomach anything substantial, to live closeted every day of my life in this God-damned building. Yes, I’m probably frying my heart with my lifestyle, but do you have any solutions to that ? Sport didn’t solve the issue, food didn’t solve the issue. Or anyother bulshit like “turn off your phone an hour before sleep” or “don’t wake up after 10 AM” or fucking sleep gummies. If you have nothing more interesting to say you can get the Hell out of here and let me finish my work. I have a Festival to plan if that’s the last thing I ever do. I can do it perfectly well. I’ll show Wilbur and every traitor in this country, I have what it takes, and I’m not just a pathetic piece of shit that can’t fucking align 7h of sleep or eat a God-damned Fish and chips or the random bullshit they have here.
-Even if that’s the last thing you do…”
I didn’t mean it like that.
“-I’m fine. You’re twisting my words.
-I’m quoting you. But I’ll help you, I think you need regular check-ups, to try things out, see what works and what doesn’t. Your symptoms are concerning and-”
I had enough of his bullshit. Firm, I declared :
“-I’ll be doing none of that.”
I got up from my bed, the pain discarded in favour of the anger I felt. “Check-ups”. What a load of bullshit. I just needed to pull my head out of my ass and finish planning the Festival.
Ponk tried to stand in front of the door, spewing excuses on why I should hear him out with his ridiculous notebook in my way. I’ve heard enough from him.
I was taller and had a newfound strength to pull him to the side and take my leave.
Quackity wasn’t guarding my door, thankfully, and I walked down to my office, still in my pyjamas. I was expecting no one, it was unimportant.

Ponk followed me, but I didn’t listen to a word. I ignored his gesticulation to get my attention.
I walked inside and shut the door, locking it quickly.

I ignored the doctor outside in the hallway.

***

Of course Quackity would come knock at my door too.
I was reading a contract for one of our entertainers for the Festival before sending it.

“-Schlatt, what the fuck.”
He tried to open the door, shaking the handle uselessly.
“-Let me in, what are you doing ?
-Jerking off on your stuff, what do you think I’m doing.”
I didn’t bother looking up from my screen.
“-Dude why did you just, like, completely ignore Ponk ?”
I stopped answering. I couldn’t understand why people needed to make a big deal out of the way I’ve been living for years. Sure I felt like shit all the time, but it worked. I was the president wasn’t I ? That proved I had what it took, and that also meant I had to continue proving it until the end. If I didn’t, then all that was for nothing, and I would have failed.

***

In all honesty, I thought about camping inside my office for as long as I could, so no one would come again to bother me. That was childish, and I still needed to survive, so when I was done for the day, I listened to the door in case Quackity was still there and opened the door.
Quackity was, in fact, still there. He waited until I was a few meters away from the door to confront me.
“-Dude, what’s going on with you ? This isn’t like you. Why did you run away from Ponk and barricade yourself in your office? It was a medical check-up, not a coup d’Etat.
-Because I was fine. I can’t just throw away a full day of work with the Festival this weekend. And he wasn’t listening to me. He just- I don’t know, it was like he knew better than me that there was something wrong with me when I’m fine. Don’t call him ever again.”
With the firm intention to leave it at that, I walked away to my suite.

“-We’re not done, you can’t just walk away from me.”
My vice grabbed me by my arm and jerked me towards him, to face him instead of walking away.
It wasn’t that aggressive, but it caught me off guard and pain shot from my shoulder and my hip at the sudden shift.
The pained sound I made was less dignified than I hoped. I grimaced and held my shoulder before shoving Quackity away and turning around again. He flapped his wing and threw his arms out to balance himself, slightly thrown off balance.

‘-Sorry ! Sorry I didn’t want to hurt you ! Are you okay ?
-’M fine.
-You keep saying that, but I don’t believe you. Why can’t you just talk to me for like, 5 minutes, and tell me what’s wrong ? Your work is over for today, and I know you have no plans for tonight.
-I don’t need you to worry about me.”
We were walking down the hallway slower than I wished. He was right next to me, so close, too close, as he waved his arms as if he’d convince me if he said it vehemently enough.
“-Hey man, seems like you don’t even worry about yourself. If you really were that fine, it wouldn’t be so hard to convince me.
-That’s not my problem.
-And why do you live as a recluse anyway ? What is even happening in your room ? The second you’re not at work you go back inside and you come out looking like you stayed awake all night. You better not be working all night too man.
-Yeah something like that.”

Thanks for the free excuse.
We’re almost at my door, and Quackity shoves himself inside my suite.
“-Hey ! Get out of my room.
-Not before you tell me what’s going on.
-Nothing is going on, you’re making a big deal out of nothing. Quackity I’m getting so fucking tired of this shit. Get. out.”
I was frustrated, tired and uncomfortable.
For the first time, I could see real anger forming in my vice’s eyes. He rubbed his nose in annoyance before taking in a big breath. His tail swished on the floor. I hoped he wouldn’t comment on the state of my room.
“-I just- Can you promise me to take a break after the Festival ? Like, for real. I’m talking about a real break, not working, nothing for at least a week.
-I’m the president, I can’t exactly go on vacation with Wilbur about to launch a rebellion.
-Oh come on, who gives a shit about him. It’s an excuse and you know it. I’ll deal with it if anything happens. Please, I beg you, I’m begging you right now. I’m not the only one agreeing, there’s Ponk and Tubbo, and Fundy agrees too.
-Oh so everybody knows, great, we should go warn Wilbur himself already.”
He was exasperated, I was too. The quicker he gave up, the quicker this was over with. My arms crossed, I turned away from him. I was done with this.

“-I don’t even understand why you won’t talk to me. I’m your vice, I should be the person you can rely on here, of all people.
-Stop trying to fix an non-issue. Why can’t you just go away ?”
I yelled at the end of my sentence. He glared at me and stomped out with a “Fine”.
Fucking finally. I thought he was going to knock something over with the way he gave an angry whip of his wing when he walked away.

Once silence settled all around me, I felt a buzzing in my ears, in my chest.
I didn’t bother showering and laid dead on my bed for a few hours with a heavy heart and unspoken regrets.
I woke up exhausted and stared at my white ceiling with despair. I managed to yell at the only person I was on good terms with.
Fucking fantastic.

***

I avoided Quackity, avoided the open space, or the others’ office. I went straight to mine with a coffee and got down to work. I had three days left before the Festival, and I still had so much to do. Some last minute changes that made us have to redo so much shit.

At lunch, I was too tired to go fetch something to eat, and standing up sounded too hard. I started a countdown on my phone to wake me up in 30 minutes and simply folded my chair backwards.

When my alarm rang, I rubbed my eyes, trying to undo the glue that seemed to force them closed.
After gathering myself enough to call myself “awake”, I caught the reflection of something on the glass window in front of me. I turned around to see Quacktiy resting his weight on the door frame of my office, arms crossed, looking at me with an expression in couldn’t quite place, resigned maybe, or simply cold. I expected him to start an argument again but he simply let go of the wooden door frame to walk away after our eyes met.
Great, now I had my vice pouting me. Whatever. At least, he didn’t bother me.

I should be relieved. Or at least, satisfied.
I felt sadder than I thought I’d be. I’m not exactly new to people being mad at me because of my stubbornness. And I usually cared less.
I just hoped he’d get over it and go back to his usual self, with no care for me.

Chapter Text

I’d like to say the Festival was a great success thanks to my team and I’s efforts. I’d like to say it went smoothly.

That morning was especially rough. I had to fight all the molecules in my body which weighed me down. I had to fight my sheets, which didn’t want to let me escape my useless bed. I had to fight to keep my eyes open long enough to grab an energy drink so early in the morning, knowing it'd made me uneasy, but there was no other way I’d see the end of today. I had to fight my frustration when I dressed, gritting my teeth when I had to slip the shirt on my shoulder, hissing when I bent over to tie my shoes. I had to fight the nausea and the sway of my feet.

Once I fought the whole world to get to the speaking stand, I fought my own jaw to open it and smile with confidence. I recited my speech with great passion. I pointed to the stands and animation, I invited Tubbo to make his speech, and I gladly waved at the crowd when they cheered.

I didn’t know how on Earth I managed to get there. By the time I got down the stand, walking down the stairs with my face locked and my chest tight, I was on the verge of passing out. I knew I had to walk down the streets, talk to people warmly, to participate a little to show my investment. But the second I hoisted my foot up, the cold breeze washed against me and crept up my pants and I knew I was not gonna make it.

The smile on my face must have looked torn but I still took a step forward. Maybe I was at the bottom of the podium now. Perhaps. Where was I ?
The world seemed much less colourful; I could only see the person in front of me. Noises blending in the background, I was confusedly imagining the quickest escape route.
Why was I sweating so much ? I blinked for a second too long, and I faltered. Cold pain shot through most of me but I had to keep fighting. I was in the middle of Manburg. I couldn’t afford a misstep.

I felt Quackity place a hand on my arm and use the other to make a sign, inviting me to come closer. I supposed he had something to whisper to me, maybe something important.
I bent a little closer to him to listen to what he had to say.
“-Schlatt ? Are you okay ? You can go inside if you don’t feel good.”
The relief I felt that he was talking to me again didn’t last long.
Why was the floor giving me vertigo all of a sudden ? I opened my mouth to discard his proposition but closed it again to swallow bile.
People must have been watching.
“-Can everybody take a step back please ? I have to talk privately to the president. No worries, it has nothing to do with the Festival, so go enjoy ! We’ll be right back with you.”
Quackity shoed a few curious colleagues away while he dragged me to the back of the podium, where most people were not allowed.
I was barely coherent and followed Quackity blindly, using his shoulder to stay upright. My hair was a mess, falling back in my face.
Once we were shielded from the crowd’s eyes, I placed a hand against the wall and slid on the stairs to sit down stiffly.
I took my head in my hands, feeling light-headed. I barely heard Quackity when he spoke :
“-Schlatt ? What’s wrong ?
-Nothing, I just- I just need a second to, a second to-”
I didn’t manage to finish my sentence, it was all too much. I swallowed thickly again and braced myself against the wall.
A few seconds passed, how many I have no idea. Maybe I lost consciousness, or maybe I simply lost track of time. Only emerging after a while, when Quackity placed his hand on my back to rub small circles on my jacket. The action touched me more than I’d admit, warmed from the cold. I peeled my eyes open, seeing he was shielding us from view and wind with an extended wig again.
Once again, I wondered how he managed to carry something so big on his back all the time.

“-Let’s go back to the White House. You need some rest.”
I needed to argue. I needed to push forward. I had a point to make. I was so tired, I didn’t have the energy to argue. I think I couldn’t even have stood up if I wanted to.
But Wilbur was going to use this against me if he knew, maybe he was here, maybe he slipped past security.

Something changed in the crowd. The noise turned into screams. The music turned into an explosion, and it sounded like… fireworks ? They were close, way too close.

I stood up, not bothering to hide a grunt full of pain and limped more than I walked to the other side of the podium while Quackity ran.

Before I could see what had happened, I saw the horror on Quackity’s face. Then, he must have noticed something, turned back around and tried to escape, opening up his wings and taking flight in a hurry. Something red flew towards him at light speed and exploded beside him, throwing him off. The strength of the blow knocked me down too, and I fell hard.
Then I passed out for real this time.

***

Waking up was somehow worse than usual. I was rolled on my side, head awkwardly bent due to my horns, and everything hurt vividly. So much noise around me. When I opened my eyes, everything was blurry. Someone must have been calling my name, someone I’ve never seen before.
The pavement in front of me was littered with bits of blown-up wood and pavement. I was so light-headed, I rolled back onto my back with a cough. Something was burnt.
It was so bad, I couldn’t think.

I passed out again and woke up to the sound of medics calling for me. My breath was caught in my throat at the sudden wave of pain that surged through me, especially in my head.

They helped me sit up but I couldn’t help the “Ow ow, wait wait” that came out when I moved.
In the end, they opted to put me on a brancard and lead me to the hospital like that, concerned about broken bones. I was not entirely coherent on the way to the hospital.

***

I had no broken bones, but a concussion and strong bruises. Some patches of skin were burnt, and they’d hurt when I pulled on them while moving. They were concerned and kept me anyway.
I made phone calls to Tubbo and Fundy, and only the latter answered.

It was la Résistance, the Pogtopians, Technoblade launched powerful fireworks, always being one for spectacle.
I heard Wilbur was spotted, a few dozen people were injured, and a few were killed.

More importantly, Tubbo and Quackity were hurt. Both were severely burnt and Tubbo’s prognosis was engaged.
My phone kept buzzing and I kept making calls, my hand cradling my head. I limped to Quackity’s room, this time not bothering to hide the pain. I just got out of a terrorist attack, it wouldn’t be suspicious at all to be wounded.

Sapnap was to thank in this whole situation, taking things into his hands and managing to chase out the terrorists with the help of the security present. They didn’t manage to arrest Technoblade.
Nothing was very clear, people were rushed, couldn’t talk for long, or asked questions I didn’t have answers to. But when I reached Quackity’s room and was let in, I stopped answering my phone.
I would deal with the crisis in a few minutes but I needed to check in on Quackity first.

My vice was lying down, his arm connected to IV bags. He was covered by the blue hospital gown and had some compresses held in place by medical tape, some bandages and some red spots appearing on diverse parts of his body. He was on his side, and a second bed was brought to his so he could rest his wings on it, though it was probably pretty awkward. Patches of feathers were missing, some big ones I didn’t know the name of. The hospital staff treated them however they could, I hoped they knew what they were doing. One wing was bandaged in a closed position.
Seeing his wings in such a mess, I realised how neatly groomed he usually was. This fact made me uneasy. I looked at the stray feathers on the ground, broken.
A pang in my heart, I couldn't quite explain, was whispering something in my ear. What if he was killed then ? While we were on bad terms, and I couldn't ever make up with him ? What if that brief interaction before the attack were his last words ? What if my only friend died ?

I gently grabbed his wrist, but didn’t dare call his name. Quackity needed rest. I was just thankful that he was relatively okay.
Looking at his features, I couldn’t help but recall our last interactions. The argument, the avoidance and today.
The moles on his skin seemed too normal in this whole mess. His messy dark hair contrasted with the compresses, white and red with blood.

It was irritating to be uselessly monitored but… he cared right ? Stubbornly, but so was I. I cared about him too. I disliked the few days we didn’t talk, I disliked when he’d just look at me coldly. I hated that he was hurt.
My hand lingered, chagrined by the idea of letting Quackity go. Part of me yearned for him. But that's a dangerous thought.

Maybe I should have said something, but instead I left and did what was necessary to go back to the White House and get things sorted out. Tubbo wasn’t in the same hospital we were, but I hoped he’d be fine. I planned to check up on him when this whole mess was under control. My uneven steps missed the floor a few times, or I didn’t manage to catch my weight, the room swarmed left and right. I drank a glass of water and moved on. My fingers shook as I typed a message to my chauffeur.

***

After avoiding the swarm of people, I got to the White House and met with Fundy, accompanied by other members of the office.

I tasked Fundy to investigate what had happened, to report how many people were hurt and what the damage was. I made a call for Sapnap to go deal with the security, to block off exits and to make sure we were safe.
I tasked some random people to report the damage and casualties. I ordered many things before getting ready for the mandatory public announcement.

I could barely stand up and lost my balance a few times. I was more tired than ever, the pinch in my heart was hard to ignore and my joints were stiff and cold.
I was surprised not to hear creaking sounds as I walked.

I received journalists, I made a speech, explained the situation, reassured that we were doing everything in our power, asked to stay strong and call our services if they had information and answered a few questions. My memories of it were blurry, I moved despite myself when I felt incoherent.

Then I passed out in my bed, sprawled like I had fallen there.

***

I couldn’t get up. I could not make myself get out of bed. I couldn’t move, everything was awful. I was exhausted, restless, worried but most of all, in agony. Every joint in my body wanted me dead and I was sluggish.
Now was not the time, I wanted to visit Tubbo, Quackity and Tommyinnit. I had decisions to take and calls to make and everything else to do.
It had the familiarity of a hangover. The headache, the uneasiness in my stomach every time I got up, the unescapable sleepiness.

Minutes passed and I still couldn’t bring myself to move. I may have passed out, or fallen asleep, or just lost track of time. When I got back to myself, I braced myself and checked my phone. I ignored all the notifications.
I didn’t change, didn’t fix my hair, didn’t put on deodorant, didn’t do anything.

When I stood up, I knew only the pain deep inside of me.

The floor wasn’t stable under my feet, my balance faltered. I swallowed the urge to throw up.

I walked, hoisting one foot after the other to my office. I needed to get to my desk, whence I was at my desk, then I’d be fine, I’d sit down, I'd push through. I ignored the stars in my vision.

I was so cold, I’d take another coffee, it was alright.

Once I felt victorious, once I could see my desk, once I let my guard down, my hand let go of the door handle and I unceremoniously crumpled to the floor like a dropped string puppet.

***

Fundy was shaking me, and it was horrible. I grunted and tried to get him off me. My head was properly killing me, worse than everything else.

“-Answer me Schlatt, what the fuck happened ?”
I took a few seconds to understand his panicked shouts.
“-I think- I think I fell.
-No shit, you were out cold- and oh my God, let me see.”

He made me turn my head, and I hissed. He moved my hair around, struggling a bit with the density of it and the horns curling around my ears didn’t help.

“-You’re bleeding now, that doesn’t look good. Didn’t you already have a concussion ? That could be very bad, you need to get back to the hospital.”

I tried to argue, but it was hard to pretend I was fine with an open wound on my head. I was so dizzy, I couldn’t stand if I wanted to, and I really didn’t.

***

Yet my hardest battle was at the hospital. They stitched my head, they told me to stay in bed. I knew I was truly fucked when Ponk walked in while I was testing the swelling of my head tentatively, hissing at the sensitive parts.
He worked half-time in that hospital. Kill me already.
“-We meet again Mister President. So, tell me, are you just as fine as the last time I met you ?”
I hated that man and his irony and his little knowing smile.
“-I passed out after a concussion, it’s whatever, I’m fine. Isn’t it rather normal ?
-No. Not really. If you followed the doctor's orders. How were your symptoms after you went home ?”
It was hard to differentiate the normal from the abnormal in that situation, wasn’t it ?
“-I had a headache.”
Pink hummed, expecting me to continue, while checking my files. Fuck, what was I supposed to answer ?

“-I’m not sure for the rest, everything was a blur.
-Confusion is pretty normal, yes. Any nausea or fatigue ?”
Ah so that was not normal.
“-A little bit, but nothing major.”
Ponk looked up from my files and made eye contact. His pointed look told me he wasn’t convinced by my “I’m fine” speech.
“-Schlatt, it would really help if you were more cooperative. Last time, I didn’t get to finish my assessment, but this time, you don’t have the luxury to ignore me and go home. So tell me what’s up so I can help you. Again, all this will be strictly confidential.”
I swallowed and rubbed my nose.

“-I don’t see the issue, all this has been going on for years, I can take it and I will.
-Every person has their limit. You are not going to be able to live like this forever and sooner or later it’s gonna catch up to you. It’s actually already happening. I just want to understand what’s going on, or I’m not gonna be able to do anything for you.
-I don’t need you to do anything for me apart from signing me off. In case you haven’t heard, there was a terrorist attack two days ago and I should be taking care of that right now instead of wasting my fucking time here.”
I was getting angry, yet the doctor remained perfectly level-headed.
-I understand your predicament. Please understand that I only want to help you get better so you can go take care of your obligations.”
Frustration turned to desperation in an instant, and I crushed the wave of tears that, for some reason, rushed to me.

I opened my mouth to say something dangerous, like the truth.
“-I-”
What could I even say that wasn’t damning of my incompetence ?
Ponk left me room to speak and simply waited, files in one hand and his pen a few centimetres away, ready to seal my fate.
“-It’s been going on for a few years now, I don’t- I’m not sure when it started. At first, I thought those were just, tiny incidents. I would just- I’d be tired all the time, no matter what. My nights would just get worse and worse. Sometimes it would get slightly better and then it’d just get worse. I can’t remember my last decent night of sleep.”
I swallowed thickly again and averted my eyes. That, he kinda already knew about.
“-But that’s not the worst part. Actually, I-”

I closed my mouth. For years, I forced myself to never reveal the pain to anyone.

“-Everyday I wake up in pain. I don’t know why but my joints would just ache for no reason. It’s worse than ever. It’s so bad that I can’t properly walk sometimes, I don’t even know how I get up in the morning. Every day, I wake up exhausted and already crushed by pain and then I have to get up and walk, and pretend everything is fine and stand up for hours to the point I can’t help but throw up afterwards from the agony. Most of the time, I can’t even eat properly. It’s- but I can’t- I-”
I shut myself up again. Fuck. I said it.

Ponk hummed and this time, no glint of malice in his eyes, no “I know something you don’t”.

“-Thank you, sincerely. I know this was not easy for you. Now, chronic fatigue and pain, plus insomnia. There could be a few causes for that and we should run some tests just to be sure. For the time being, I can prescribe you with something to relieve the pain and something to help you sleep. I’m gonna insist again on the monitoring. I’m not talking about something invasive; I just want us to have regular appointments, where you can talk about the evolution of your symptoms as we try different treatments. What works for others might not work for you and vice versa.”
Ponk let go of my file and dropped it on a table.
“-Also, you opened your head on top of a concussion, so I’m gonna keep you for a little while. Not for long, don’t worry, I can consider letting you go in 24 to 48 hours if, and only if, I have your word you’ll take it easy and are willing to make regular appointments with me.”
I felt dazed during all his speech.
Was it… that easy ? No, it was very hard, and there wasn’t a miracle solution. I didn't even dare to hope.
I nodded in agreement. I also asked him about Quackity. My vice was somewhat okay, he woke up and I knew he tried to call me a few times. I should get back to him. I was terribly worried about him. Fuck.

I tried to bargain, saying I could walk and that I just wanted to see Quackity. Instead, Ponk told me to call him and that I’d see him tomorrow.
I spent the rest of the day making phone calls and answering texts, despite Ponk’s orders but I stayed in bed.
The meds… helped ? Somewhat. It wasn’t great. I slept too, not amazingly but I slept somewhat for a few hours in utter exhaustion.

Chapter Text

The doctor made me promise again not to walk much and to rest as much as I could.
Christ, I really needed some coffee right now, my head was killing me.

I finally saw Quackity again, and he was awake this time. I breathed in relief.
“-Hey. Glad to see you awake.”
I approached him, smiling softly. He still laid on his side, a soft smile on his lips and circles under his eyes.
“-Yeah, I’m a little worse for wear, but I’ll live.”
Quackity croaked more than he spoke, his movements slow.
He grabbed my arm and dragged me a little closer. The touch made me feel like I was falling for a fraction of a second.
“-I’m glad you're alright. Sorry, I couldn’t help with the aftermath.
-Dude, I’m not the one who got blown up.”
Quackity stopped smiling and shifted to a worried look.
“-I heard what happened to Tubbo. Have you seen him ?
-No, not yet. I wanted to visit him but I’m not allowed to yet. I’ll go when he’s allowed to take visitors.”
Quackity frowned but nodded. He wiped his face with his free hand tiredly, sighing.
“-Yeah, okay. I hope he’ll be alright… but how are you holding up ?
-I’ve talked to the public and delegated as much as I could. I’m frustrated but for the next three days, I’m not allowed to be very active. I’ve negotiated with Ponk how I could.
-No, not politically, I mean, I’m glad you’re taking care of stuff but how are you doing ?
-Ah mmh.”
I looked down at our hands. Mine slack in his, shaking, while his was gently holding mine.
“-Yeah, I’m fine.
-Schlatt, I swear to God, you tell me you’re fine one more god-damned time, I’ll lose my shit.”
He grabbed me more firmly, his tone serious and eyes intense, staring right through mine.
“-I’m-”
He glared at me and I gave up.
“-I have a concussion. Fundy also found me passed out in my office so I’ve made it worse. I’m not seriously hurt otherwise.
-You and your stubborn ass.”
He laughed with a soft smile. Then he did something completely wild. He let go of my arm to raise the back of his hand to my face and brushed my cheek gently.
My eyes opened in surprise and I froze, standing dumbly in this white and densely equipped room.
I shut my mouth in case I said some more stupid shit.

Quackity took his hand back and told me to go get some rest at the White House.

When I left that room, my heart was beating faster than when I entered.

***

For three days, I worked from my bed, trying to be as productive as possible. Taking my meds, who did something, I supposed. Just as much as taking paracetamol for a third-degree burn.

I said I was no fool. But maybe I was one…

***

Tubbo was stable, Quackity would get back to the White House today and I was supposed to see Ponk tomorrow.
I worked diligently, still bone-deep tired and avoiding walking as much as I could. Honestly, I didn’t know when I’d see the end of this crisis. It felt hopeless, there were so many things to take care of, and so many people were saying so many things.

When I caught myself again staring at my wooden floor in despair, I wrenched myself back to my emails with a swig of an energy drink.
I also dodged all my thoughts, my daring thoughts, my dangerous thoughts about Quackity.
He was simply high on pain meds.
I should not get worked up by a simple gesture.

I couldn’t wrap my head around Quackity not being angry at me. I ignored him, I yelled at him, and I completely disregarded his worries.
My vice should be more pissed at me than he was.

***

A few days passed and I hated to admit that I didn’t feel on the brink of death as much. Physically.
After working a few days from my bed, the pain eased, sometimes. Not for long but that was more relief than I had for the last months. Ponk proposed to change my prescription to see how I reacted, adding a new pill and scaling up the other ones.
When I had to stand up for a speech or a rendez-vous, it wasn’t pleasant but it wasn’t the mental and physical torture it used to be. I tried to visit Tubbo but he couldn’t accept visitors until then.
Sleep still wasn’t great. I worked late, still cracking open energy can once a day or so on an uneasy stomach, and allowed myself less hours than needed. But when I did sleep, I managed to align a few hours with less tossing and turning.

I pulled up to Quackity’s hospital, waiting for him to be dismissed any minute now. He told me I didn’t have to do it myself but I insisted.

I spotted him waiting by the entrance, looking down at his phone as he typed. He wore his tardis blue jacket and black sport pants, his go-to casual look, accompanied by his beanie and headphones, an accessory he wore everywhere when he wasn’t working. His breathtaking wings were still bound while they healed, a few stray feathers sticking out.
He looked better, less tired. He smiled brightly at me when we saw each other. He insisted on visiting Tubbo as soon as he got out. His steps were a bit funny, the way he couldn’t move his wings freely threw off his balance. Uncomfortably shifting his shoulder, trying to adjust something that couldn’t be.
The visit was short-lived, Tubbo only staying coherent and awake for a few minutes. Yet we had plenty of time to be horrified by his condition. Half of his face was still covered in gauze, like the majority of his body was. Angry red streaks on his face where the skin peeled and crusted.
He got through the most uncertain period, now his life wasn’t on the line anymore, but we understood why the doctor said it could take years to gain a semblance of normal life back. For burns of that sort, you needed multiple surgeries, skin grafts and then weeks or months of recovery. Not only physically but also mentally.

We reassured him how we could, told him to take his time. Tubbo tried to apologise but we dismissed it. He told us he had something important to tell us, but he struggled more and more, visibly tired the more he tried to talk about Wilbur. So we just told him to save it for another time.

That answered my suspicion of a mutiny of some sort in my cabinet, but I didn’t think the plan (whatever it was) went quite how Tubbo expected it to go.

***

We confronted Fundy, who admitted he was aware something was supposed to happen. He assured us that he had no idea it would turn out as badly as it did. He expected Wilbur to make an interruption, maybe some noise but not the whole firework shitshow. He swore he didn’t know more than that, that Wilbur hadn’t shared any details because he suspected Fundy would warn us instead.

I wasn’t sure what to do with my two conspiring associates yet.

***

Quackity entered my office, like he usually did before. He dropped a file on my desk with a satisfying slap against the wood and didn’t waste any time with small talk.
“-I’d like to talk to you after work.”
I raised an eyebrow, looking up at his eyes, trying to read whatever was going on.
“-Uh sure. It’s not like I had anything planned, you know me.”
He chuckles and added :
“-Yeah. Could you meet me in my office ?
-What could possibly be this formal ?
-Well at first I wanted to meet you outside but I know you don’t like going out in the cold. We should be alone enough there.”

Did I hate his thoughtfulness or was I touched ? I wasn’t sure.

Quackity worked fewer hours than before, still being in recovery but I was in serious need of help at the White House. I could delegate all I wanted but some of the employees were just simply not qualified for what I needed. I captained the ship alone for a few days but I was at my limit. So Quackity came to rescue me. I still had Fundy working for me so far, but I tasked him with non-critical tasks like, overseeing the damage, talking about reconstruction and such.

***

I was less used to being the one going to the other’s office. Where mine was dark wood with red tones, rich and neat, as organised as possible. Quackity was more glass and blue, with piles of binders and files, open drawers and post-it notes.
I stretched a few muscles when I stood up. Ponk told me to do stretches to see if it would help. He said it would be beneficial for my body. Either it could help, or it would keep it from getting worse. Whatever.

I walked to Quackity’s office, small-talking with the few employees remaining who were on their way out.
Huh.. weird.

Quackity was typing on his computer with furrowed brows when I knocked on his open door to attract his attention. He shot me a quick glance and took off his pair of headphones.
“-Oh hey, sorry I took longer than expected, let me just send this I’m almost done.”

***

It was probably related to the Festival.

Quackity asked me to close the door and pulled the second rolling chair he had reserved for guests out for me.
He cleared his throat and readjusted his sleeves.
“-Well, you see…”
He pulled his beanie more securely around his head.
“-Okay I should have been more prepared.
-Is there something wrong Q ?
-No no, not really.”
He looked around his office, then back to his hands.
“-What happened was pretty mmh terrible. You’ll agree. I really thought I would die that day, the fireworks didn’t miss me by much. It’s kinda cliché but it made me realise that there were things I wanted- that I had to do before I’d die. You know, the whole no regrets thing. So I thought, at the hospital, about what I wanted. About the things that stopped me. About me thinking I had no shot so I’d rather not even try, you know. But I suppose it’s better to try and fail than never actually doing it and living a life of “what if’s” and regrets. SO, what I wanted to say was… well…”
Quackity scratched the back of his head and looked up at me.
“-Man, I- well I’m sorry if I’m overstepping and if I’m making you uncomfortable but… I kinda realised how much I actually cared about you and your stubborn-ass. And I don’t expect you to feel the same but… yeah I thought I’d give it a shot anyway.”
Stunned in silence, I just looked at him with wide eyes.
That… could not be true ?
When I stayed silence a few seconds too long, he started backtracking.
“-Oh well, I’ve bothered you enough, maybe I should go visit Tubbo you know or- or something ahah.”
He tried to get up and grab his winter coat but I caught his sleeve.
“-Wait, I just- I just needed a few seconds. I- sit back down please.”
I’ve disregarded times and times again my thoughts about Quackity.
“-You know… I’ve spent so much time just powering through everything that I’ve never actually sat down and thought about how I felt. And even if I disregarded my thoughts for a long while, I couldn’t quite keep you out of my head.”
I swallowed and took a deep breath. Quackity’s knee moved a few centimetres closer and brushed against mine.
Surprised, I looked up from our touching legs and back up to his face. He grabbed my wrist more than my hand and looked slightly down my face.
“-Then, wouldn’t you mind something more to think about ?”

I must have been beet-red and my heart must have been running faster, this time, not due to caffeine.
He bent over slightly and kissed my lips chastely.
When he sat back against his chair and looked up at me expectantly, I knew I had to not mess it up.
I just managed a weak “wow” that made him burst into laughter more than it should have.
Should I have felt insulted then ? I looked away and hid my face behind my hand.
“-Don’t laugh at me, I was thoroughly unprepared and now you dare mock me.”
I joked, not really offended.
After all the talks I made to myself that I was an adult who knew everything about love and that I was the pinnacle of unbothered. All it took was one crush and a kiss and I was back to high school, anxiously asking a girl out.
“-What do you say then ? Would you like to-... try things out ?”
I gave him a small smile and nodded.
“-Actually, I’d really like that.”

***

I’ve let my heart talk before my head. Me ? In a relationship ? Did I look like I was emotionally and physically available for a relationship ? I lived as a recluse, I barely had acquaintances, I had the social life of a rock and also, there were a lot of typical couple things I simply could not do.
Should I just warn Quackity and tell him it’s gonna be impossible altogether ? Should I try to appreciate things while they would still last ? The thing is, if I did, then the outcome would be worse because things would have time to fester.

I should confront him.

***

The cabinet members were the only ones actually living in the White House. Fundy was already out and about, which left Quackity and me in the communal kitchen. I rarely ever used it, either using the coffee machines in my office or room and quickly taking stuff from the cafeteria we had on the first floor next to where most employees worked.

Quackity invited me here for breakfast and we were talking about our plans for the day. I was sipping my morning coffee while Quackity was making his own with cinnamon and a weird type of sugar, waiting for his brioche to toast. I glanced at his wings, groomed to the best of his abilities but they still missed some of these beautiful brown feathers. A few still askew in their cast.

When he sat down next to me, his knee touched my leg again and I had to fight the reflex of jerking my leg away.
My smile must have been strained. He asked me what was wrong.
“-Nothing, I was just thinking.”
I could see him frown again.
“-Schlatt. I beg, you don’t need to pretend to be fine all the time. And I swear if you say you’re fine right now, I’m hiding all your energy drinks. Which should be a discussion we should have too but that’s not the point. So, talk to me, please.”

Ah yes, communication. My strong point.

“-I just- I think there are… things you should know before getting involved with me.”
He nodded and waited for me to elaborate.
“-As you’ve seen, I don’t go out much and don’t get involved with a lot of people. It’s not that I’m a misanthropist. It’s that there are… limitations.”
He raised an eyebrow in confusion. My words got caught in my throat.
“-I… I have a- a condition. I sleep like shit and I’m in pain like, all the time ? Well recently, slightly less all the time but still. I can’t stand for long periods of time. Stuff like that. I can’t do what most cou- most people can do.”
I simplified the problem a lot. I wasn’t sure I got my point across.
“-I kinda suspected that, honestly.
-Yeah it got pretty obvious recently.
-Even before that. Most people don’t see you so close but I could tell from the absurd dose of caffeine you take everything single fucking day. How you looked like you were about to throw up after an event. What happened after Nikki. Also, I don’t know, you running away from a doctor was not the best way to prove you were “fine”.”

I thought I was a better performer than I was.

“-Look Schlatt, I already knew you before asking you out. And I’m glad you’re getting help for your disorder. We can work with it, not against it. I also have a “condition” as you call them and Jesus, it’s not the 60’s anymore, you can call a cat, a cat. I have ADHD. I’m very forgetful, I’m disorganised, I jump from one thing to another, I can’t focus for long on a subject or I become so focused on something that everything else vanishes. I react poorly to rejection. And other things but anyway. It’s been a problem for forever but I looked for help and now it’s manageable. I’m the god-damned vice-president. And you’re the god-damned president. Disorders aren’t necessarily a death sentence, that is where I was getting at. Except if you continue to be hard-headed and work yourself to your grave.
-Maybe that’s true but… being able to be a good president and being able to be a good partner are two different things.”

Quackity added honey to his already buttered toast. He simply said :
“-I think we can figure it out.”
I wasn’t sure I knew how. So he continued :
“-Every relationship is different, there are no laws.”
I hummed and finished my mug, thinking it over. I was considering getting another coffee for when I’d sit at my desk before Quackity asked me if I usually didn’t eat at all during breakfast, which I didn’t. He hummed and said we should eat together at lunch.

***

I was rubbing my forehead, trying to get rid of my headache while reading in diagonal a stupidly long quotation for renovations.
Outside it was snowing, and I was dreading the rest of the day.
Wilbur made a grand speech, calling me all the names in the book for having Tommy in captivity. I don’t know, maybe don’t bring a kid to a terrorist attack if you think them getting a few days in jail is too much. Hot take.
I was tired of him.
My next hot take was gonna be that he was preparing something worse than the Festival. And also, scalding hot take, that I could totally manage myself, my relationship, and his sorry ass. Yeah. No.

***

Quackity dragged me down to the cafeteria, made me take a tray and made me fill it up with food. Thankfully we ate in a more private space. But I wasn’t exactly in the mood for food. I took a few bites of stuff I usually could digest but I really wasn’t feeling good enough for the rest.
“-Are you alright ?
-Yeah, I’m just- I’m not hungry.”
Once again, he raised an eyebrow.
“-You don’t eat much in general, do you ?”
No. Not really anymore.
Quackity raised a hand to rub my back but I shied away, my muscles feeling too tender today to be touched.
“-Sorry, I just- it’s, well-”
I really disliked this concept of honesty in a relationship.
“-My skin is a bit too sensitive today.”
Quackity raised both his eyebrows in understanding.
“-Aah yes, I have that sometimes too. Okay, got it.”
I drank a glass of water silently. He insisted :
“-Do you eat enough ? I don’t want to sound rude but you’re getting worryingly thin.
-I can deal with it, it’s fine.
-Doesn’t seem like it.”
He raised a dubious eyebrow. He was right.
“-I don’t know, it’s complicated.
-I’m sure I can understand.”
I sighed heavily. Okay. I toyed with the pasta on my plate, knowing Quackity was looking at me with his unique gaze of black eyes and blue eyelashes.

“-I guess I have a picky stomach. A lot of stuff will make me sick. And I already don’t feel great most of the time so I kinda avoid food when I don’t feel like getting sick. Or I don’t have the energy to cook.”
For good measure, I stabbed a piece of food and ate it.
“-Have you talked to Ponk about this ?
-More or less.
-Okay. Yeah, isn't it like a vicious cycle ? Like you can’t eat so you feel bad and you feel bad so you can’t eat.
-I guess.”
Quackity opened his mouth, like he was about to ask another question. Yet, he closed it wordlessly. Maybe he sensed my discomfort.
After some time, he settled on a vague :
“-Alright, sorry. Maybe we can talk about it another time. I understand it can be a touchy subject.
-It’s fine, don’t worry.”
He had a little humorous scoff.
“-Schlatt…”
He never finished his sentence.

I changed the subject casually.
“-Oh, by the way, I wanted to ask. I don’t know if it’s a sensitive topic for you but are uuh your wings gonna be alright ?
-Oh that, yeah, I hope so. Obviously, I can’t fly right now. Without my missing primaries and secondary feathers. And also my dislocated bones. They’ll grow back, eventually. Well- I hope they will even with my skin burnt in some places. And I’ll need physical therapy too, cause I’ll lose a lot of muscle during the time I can’t use them. Even with stretches. So, I’m hopeful and try not to think about it.”
I nodded in understanding, abandoning my plate for a yogurt, which usually never betrayed me.
The rest of the meal we chit-chatted randomly, despite a worry I couldn’t dismiss.