Archive of Our Own

When the email came in at three in the morning, Alex could hardly believe it.

He had been, for lack of a better word, camping at his phone, some mind-numbingly boring filler show on in the background to give his brain something to do as he went haywire, waiting for some form of communication, anything. Even if it was a rejection.

And then, after about ten hours sat in front of a show he couldn’t even name, and about half a tub of chocolate-cherry ice-cream that he was eating with a bouncing leg, along came something to his inbox.

His laptop nearly shattered at the speed he picked up his phone, twisting himself out of the hotel bed to get a look.

Dear Alex Gallo,

Congratulations!

Alex shot up in his bed, the laptop fully falling to the side, then.

“…Charlie!” he called as quietly as he could to the man in the room across from him. His friend, in fact, one of his best, had been kind enough to accompany him to Nevada for this audition, and was surely sound asleep in his bed.

Well. Not for long.

After careful consideration of the information and auditions of yourself and the number of other applicants for this show, we at EMERALD PRODUCTIONS are delighted to inform you that you have been accepted for the role of A. Quackity in the upcoming show AVARICE. The filming of the show’s first season will take place across the months of March to September 2021. Key dates are as follows:

ORIGINAL BRIEFING AND SCRIPT READING: February 10, 2021

FIRST SCENE SHOOT: March 14, 2021

FINAL SCENE SHOOT: September 29, 2021

See the cast list and other important documents attached in this email.

We congratulate you again and look forward to working with you!

Kind regards,

Philza Craft & Techno Blade (Emerald Productions)

“Holy fucking shit, Charlie!” Alex yelled into the darkness of his room, one hand threading through his shoulder-length hair in disbelief, the other shaking as it held the phone. Within seconds, he heard hurried rustling near him, and Alex hissed as the light switch was flicked and his room was engulfed.

Charlie was standing at the door, hair sticking up in every which way and pyjamas wrinkled with sleep, wide and terrified eyes and a combative stance. He looked quickly around the room like there might be someone ready to jump out at him before finally looking back at Alex, worry still lining his face.

“What is it? What happened, is- did someone get into the room?”

“No? No- Charlie.” Alex stood quickly then, rushing over to the other side of the bed where his friend stood and placing both hands on his shoulders. “Charlie, I got the fucking part.”

“You got the… oh!” Charlie’s eyes widened as he straightened up, suddenly awake, and mirroring Alex’s hands. “You got the fucking part?”

“I got the fucking part!”

They both let out a disbelieving laugh, Alex’s cackle turning to a wheeze when Charlie clapped a celebratory hand to his back. Tears started to prick at the corners of his eyes, and when he turned back to face the other again, his voice was shaky.

“I’m gonna be a fucking actor, Charlie, on something that matters. On something that isn’t a background role, or a show that only runs at three in the morning on Tuesdays, or a local stageplay, I'm going to be famous!”

“Fuck yes!” Charlie took the phone from where it had been loosely held in Alex’s hand, and his grin only grew as he scanned his eyes over the email. “Holy shit, Alex, this is, like, real stuff. Emerald Productions, like – I love you and believe in you, man, but I'm shocked.”

“Hah!” Alex slung an arm around him, “Don’t even worry, I was certain it’d be a bust, too. I can't really believe it, actually – I reckon it’ll take ‘til the script reading for it all to settle in.”

“Aint that the truth. And, hey, speaking of the reading…” Charlie trailed off as he scrolled through the email, clicking on one of the attachments at the bottom. “Let’s take a look at your co-stars!”

“Ooh, yes please, I want to see if I recognise any of the names.”

As they spoke, Alex hauled himself back onto the queen-sized mattress (thank the gods Charlie had booked them a good accommodation) and nodded at his friend to join him. He felt like he should have popcorn, the way the two were huddled around the screen like a soap opera.

Charlie hummed something sing-song as he scrolled through the list of names, murmuring to himself every few seconds before shaking his head. “You don’t know a Thomas Atkins?”

Alex shook his head. “Name rings a bell but I couldn’t imagine his face. We can look him up later.”

“Wow, Alex, it’s been ten minutes and you're already stalking your co-stars?! What will the tabloids say?” Charlie gasped in mock scandal, screeching as Alex threw a pillow at him in response. He kept reading, batting the pillow away, chuckling at a couple more names. “They got the, uh, Toby Underscore guy on there! I remember him, he did a couple of celebrity gameshows a while back. And, hey, finally, these guys really know how to leave the best for last – Alex Gallo, playing co-protagonist Quackity, and-”

He cut himself off.

“Charlie?”

Alex reached out a hand to the phone to try to see what he was seeing, but Charlie just jerked the screen away to stare intently at the last name on the list – whoever was playing Alex’s mirror.

“Holy shit.”

“What on earth could you possibly be seeing right now, man, I swear if it’s, like, Technoblade himself playing my co-lead-”

“I’m assuming you’ve heard of Wilbur Craft?”

Okay. It turns out holy shit was damn right, because while Emerald was well known for giving smaller talents a chance, it seemed that even they weren’t immune to the siren-like charms of this decade’s biggest name. Wilbur Craft. The man had been acting since he was sixteen and a household name by twenty, and for good reason, too. Alex could see now, in his mind’s eye, the first time he saw one of Wilbur’s performances. It was just a shitty Hamilton ripoff, some cheap passion project strewn together by him and a couple of his friends and exactly one (1) benefactor that believed in them, and…

…And Alex could say it was the most heart wrenching thing he had seen in his life.

He was still pissed that it never got past the second season. The last thing he had to watch was the character he had gotten attached to choking out some half-rhythmic lyrics as his father reached towards him and his world went black. It was cruel, really, the amount of acting talent he was born with; he could walk into a room and the sun would follow him like a spotlight, and every one of his words would appear, clear as day, as subtitles in your peripheral. It was so good it was almost obviously bad, if that made sense.

Alex tapped his chin. Hm.

“I think I remembered where I know that Thomas guy from,” he chuckled, Charlie tilting his head at him. “It, uh, was called ‘L’Manberg: The Great British Performance!’. It’s really old, but it was Wilbur’s first… show? If you can call it that?”

“Oh, L’Manberg!” Charlie gasped, “Yeah, that old thing! Holy shit, I remember being doubled over laughing at the production quality, still can't believe that it was as popular as it was. Dude, I'm surprised Lin Manuel didn’t sue!”

“I know, right!” The two giggled at each other before he continued, “It was so fuckin’ good, though, I don’t think I've been that connected to a character in forever.”

As if surprised at his own reminiscing, Alex’s head shot up, yanking the phone out of Charlie’s hands and finally reading the cast list with his own two eyes.

“Oh my Prime, and I'm going to be acting with Wilbur fucking Craft.”

Alex’s jaw may well have been falling to the inner core of the earth with how agape it was, and Charlie shook him by the shoulders excitedly.

“No, man, you’re going to be co-starring with Wilbur fucking Craft!” Charlie’s gaping grin slowly slid off his face, and he looked off to each side, now embarrassed. “Oh, shit, it’s Wilbur Craft.”

“Yeah?”

“Dude, doesn’t he have like, a massive ego? That guy that fuckin’ poses when the paparazzi tries to catch him off guard on the street, and- and that all his coworkers called a-”

“Oh my gods, don’t remind me!” Alex half-groaned, half-cackled, “A stuck-up, pompous, jackass whose head is so far up his own ass he should be choking on his puffed-up chest.”

“That’s exactly it! Niki is so fuckin’ creative, love her to death- hey, how on earth do you remember all that?”

“…It was funny.”

“That is true.” Phone now in Alex’s hands, Charlie hugged a pillow to his chest, snorting at the man across from him. “…And you have to work with him.”

“Shut up!”

“You’re cooked, man, I'm not even joking. Do you reckon he’s going to hate you for sharing his spotlight?”

Alex scoffed, waving a casual hand. “He can't be that bad, nobody would pick him up if he was that much of a nightmare.”

“Do I need to bring up ‘the madness arc’, Alex?” Charlie chuckled, “That guy had everyone sobbing over his character for the better part of four months, I think producers would ignore murder if they could get that out of him again. He’s the only reason Esempii Films is still alive.”

Throwing his head back against the pillows, Alex groaned in annoyance, running his hands over his face. “This is the worst. What if this ruins how Phil and Techno see me and I never get another job with them or anyone and all of the Wilbur fans hate me and I never ever act again and die?”

Charlie wiped a fake tear from his eye. “I’ll make your funeral a personal vendetta against Wilbur Craft, don’t worry.”

“And that’s all I ask!”

Head still on the plush pillows, Alex exhaled tiredly, rubbing the beginnings of weariness from his eyes as he tried to focus on the screen again. The words danced as he blinked and tried to get his body to forget that it was the middle of the night, and kept flicking through the email’s attachments. A blinding flashbang of an photo caused him to yelp and drop the phone, and as it landed face-up on the bed, illuminating the entire room, Charlie cackled so hard at him that he had to hold his own stomach.

“Who puts a photo of text instead of just a document attachment, what the hell, I have my fucking phone on dark mode for a reason!”

“What were you even trying to open?!”

“I dunno, there was some rundown attachment, and I'm sure that the plot of it all is really great and captivating, but it has blinded me and I can't see!”

“Blink it off, you're fine,” Charlie laughed, picking the phone back up and whistling in appreciation. “You’re right, this plot is actually pretty cool, did they tell you anything about it?”

Alex kicked one leg over the other and shook his head. “Nah, not really. I just got the script from my agent and that it was about a casino owner and was really interpersonal relationships-heavy, whatever that means. I think they mentioned found family? I can't remember much past that, they said I’d like it, though.”

Charlie snorted, hiding his mouth behind a hand like it was doing anything to muffle his laughter, and Alex shot up where he sat.

“What. What? Fuck’re you laughing about?”

“Oh, it’s about interpersonal relationships, alright.”

“Huh?”

Alex swung to grab the phone, but the brunette just kept snickering and held it out of his reach, squinting at the words to try to read them from a distance.

“‘Avarice’ follows the story of Quackity, the owner of an opulent and thriving casino nation built on indulging the populace’s most base human desires to draw in and intrigue, all while trying to maintain the family he’s built,” Charlie read, to which Alex nodded sagely.

“That’s true, I remember that part.”

“I'm not done,” Charlie tried to get out between chuckles, “Meanwhile, on the other side of the desert, Wilbur Soot seems determined to prove that Quackity’s fallible, that only one of them can lead in this desert too big for two, through a burger van of all things-”

“They named the fucking character after him?” Alex cried out.

“Shut the fuck up I'm trying to do something here!”

“They named the main fucking character after Wilbur!”

“Yeah and you’re gonna be fucking gay for him!”

“WHAT?!”

“…through a burger van of all things. The two find themselves pushed simultaneously pushed apart and together by their competition, something about their determination drawing them to each other. But will it end in flames?” Charlie threw the phone down on the bed triumphantly. “Dude, they’ve literally got you two in some kind of heated rivalry!”

“Okay, don’t say it like that-”

“It’s true!”

“Oh my gods.” Alex huffed, “It’s so over. It’s actually never been more over, my first proper acting role and all anybody is going to see is Wilbur Craft’s second in command. I'm done for. Chopped. Cooked. Over. This is the last anybody’s going to see of me before I get sent into acting irrelevance.”

“But Alex, things have to be chopped and cooked before they’re served and ate!”

“I'm actually going to fucking ban you from this fuckass AirBNB do not test me.”

“Fine- fine! I'm sorry!” Charlie cowered as the shorter picked up a pillow to throw at him. “Chill! I just meant- oof.” He coughed as it hit him square in the face, and continued like nothing happened. “-that if you put the acting effort in, give it your all, you’re not going to be overshadowed by Wilbur. Maybe the public will like his role better because they’ve seen him before, but Emerald is good with this sort of stuff, that’s why they called you back in the first place. You’ll be okay.”

“…I’ll be okay,” Alex repeated quietly, nodding. “Thanks, Charlie.” He paused, then, looking up at his friend through bleary eyes, “Hey, how the hell was I supposed to get any of that from ‘things need to be chopped and cooked before they’re served and ate’?”

“Wisdom comes in many forms,” Charlie said, miming running a hand over a long and wise wizard’s beard. Alex threw the pillow at him again.

…It was going to be okay, though. He knew Charlie was right, sure, the public would have a lot to say about some quote-unquote nobody acting next to their beloved, but it didn’t matter. He was going to get to the script reading, and then filming, and give it his all, and they would see. They would fucking see how hard he had worked for this, that he wasn’t going to give it up because of some snobby, egotistical co-star. This would be his big break, something, finally, to break the drought of mundanity and nothing roles that the last five or so years had been.

Alex would be able to put his name out into the world, truly, and the notion that this career was completely unattainable, wasn’t for someone like him, would be put to rest.

It was going to be better than okay.

…In the morning.

“Okay, now get the fuck out of my bed.”

“Going!”

The formality of the script reading day was unfamiliar.

In the past, when Alex had gone to rehearsals and readings and the like, an almost annoying familiarity and casualness hung in the air as cast members met up backstage or in the rented-out conference room in a bar or a cramped office boardroom. He had never been greeted at the door by a smiling staff member, or felt stress creep its way up his back as his footsteps echoed up the stairs. The chatter when he eventually found the room (because this office building had multiple rooms for multiple productions and departments, holy shit) he was meant to be in felt mock-friendly and stilted with the all-important aura of its occupants, who all stilled their conversation when he pushed open the door.

His gaze fell first on the two directors (among other things, generally just called heads of the show by everybody), Philza and Techno, the former of whom smiled kindly when he entered, and the latter of which gave a curt but respectful nod. Phil started walking towards him, hand outstretched, which Alex shakily took.

“Brilliant to meet you, mate – you were Alex Gallo, right?”

“Uh- yeah, that’s me!”

The younger felt like his tongue was in a twist, choking on his words. Gods, he hoped Phil couldn’t tell his palm was sweating.

“Great! Nice to see you here. We’ll be getting started in about twenty; most of us are here already so feel free to get yourself acquainted before we begin. We’ve got a good lot for this show, I think, you’ll all get along fine.”

“Thank you so much, Mr.- uh-”

“Just Phil is fine, mate,” Phil smiled, chuckling lightly at Alex’s nervousness. Before long, another actor, one with blond hair and a purple hoodie, pulled his attention away, and he waved politely at Alex as he left.

Alex barely mingled – he found himself standing close enough to a group of people to become almost absorbed into their conversation, but added nothing of note and continued looking around the room, now focussed on taking in every detail now that the original shock of it all had worn off. The place was damn fancy, he had been sure of that since he stepped in here, but the way everyone was clapping each other on the back and exchanging anecdotes and horror stories from acting projects past made Alex think that maybe this wasn’t all that different from his previous jobs.

The people whose conversation he had infiltrated seemed nice enough, too, so when Phil and Techno called the room to sit around the long table through its middle, Alex was able to do so at least semi-comfortably. He was sat near the front of the room, the two directors at the head of the table next to him and an empty seat next to Technoblade, and couldn’t stop his leg from shaking every time the pink-haired man glanced his way. Something about him was terrifying – maybe the way he held himself, or how every glance upwards at an actor looked like a glare.

As the scripts were passed around, Alex’s eyes darted around the room, and his brow furrowed. Where was Wilbur?

He was about to voice the thought to the redhead next to him – whose name he had learnt to be Fundy – but before he could say a word, the doors burst open, and the tall, lanky, coat-clad frame of a panting Wilbur Craft damn near collapsed at their feet.

“Sorry- sorry,” he huffed, brown hair with horrid-looking bleach streaks strewn throughout falling as he placed his hands on his knees to get his breath back. “Traffic was fuckin’ awful, you know how it is, Phil, can't get a cab driver that doesn’t try to advertise Vegas to you.”

Phil’s eye twitched at Wilbur’s words, and he sighed before asking calmly, “Did you go to Vegas this morning?”

“Not this time!” The man looked too cheerful as he swung himself into the closest seat – directly across from Alex – and flashed the room a dazzling grin. Oh, he was the worst. “We can get started now!”

“That’s right, we can,” Phil said, turning to address the room as Techno and Wilbur spoke in hushed voices. Alex couldn’t make out a word of what they were saying, but from the way Wilbur’s eyes rolled and Techno looked like he was about to murder him, he reckoned he could get a pretty good idea.

When the words “I was on time, anyway, what did you want me to do? Socialise?” floated over his way, his suspicions were confirmed.

“Alright, everybody, thank you all for coming today,” Phil called pointedly, grin on his face nonetheless, “It’s essential that we have you all here so that you can get to know each other, how you act, and start to get a look at the kind of script we’ll be working with for the first season of this show. I presume that in the time since you received your email of employment, you’ve all taken some time to read over the general premise of the show, your co-stars, and the dates of filming?”

Alex nodded in time with the rest of the people in the room, quiet noises of assent trailing through the air. He had, in fact, gone over the premise, dates, and actors’ names, and then again, and then again, and then gone onto every one of their social media accounts and IMDb pages to see their past credits. And then went onto YouTube to check out clips of their acting.

Alex was only relatively surprised to find that he wasn’t the least-known actor in the room; many of these people had been sourced from seemingly nowhere, and this was their first big role. It just made the exception of Wilbur all the more obvious, as he leaned back in his chair with a smirk and looked down his nose at everybody else in the room.

“Great, then we’re all good to jump right in,” Phil’s voice cut through his thoughts. “In front of you is a script for one of the scenes from the first season of Avarice, towards the first half of the season. All you guys need to know in the leadup to this scene is that the episodes establishing Quackity’s creation and rule over Las Nevadas have occurred, and he has a strong foundation with his allies and is making his way up in the world. Meanwhile, this is Wilbur’s first real episode appearance, and he-”

“Wait a minute,” Wilbur interrupted, abrupt but not unkind. “What do you mean, the first real episode appearance? Is there a such thing as a fake episode appearance?”

“Calm down, Wilbur. We just want to tease your character a bit, get the audience hyped. Some faceless, dialogue-less shots of you stuck in a station or boarding a train to create some build-up was all we were planning.”

“Boarding a train- is this to pander to the people who made up Ghostbur?” he asked incredulously, shoulders dropping. “Seriously?”

“The audience can draw whatever connections they want, and if those connections just so happen to appeal to their fan theories and get more attention on this show, then it’s a happy coincidence and just so happens to work out in our favour.”

“Un-fucking-believable,” Wilbur huffed. “I hate that fuckin’ guy.”

“Who, Ghostbur?” Alex blurted out before he could help it. He felt like slapping a hand to his mouth for speaking out of turn, whatever that could mean in this context, but drummed his fingers on the table nervously instead. Wilbur glared at him.

“His name isn’t Ghostbur, it’s Willard, and he was a nobody character that I played while I was a nobody actor, and for some reason the internet has chosen to latch onto him more than most of my other roles. Pardon fucking me for not wanting to entertain their delusions.”

Alex felt like pushing it more, but held his tongue when Phil continued speaking, cutting off any chance he may have had.

“At this point, Quackity holds allyships with the characters of Purpled,” he gestured to the young actor in the purple hoodie, “Fundy,” the redhead, “Foolish,” a tall, stoic man with emerald-green eyes, “and Sam,” a cheery but overall fidgety man. “Wilbur, on the other hand, only has one real ally to his name, his friend and brother figure Tommy Innit.” He extended a welcoming hand over to a blond teenager in a red and white shirt, who scowled in annoyance and crossed his arms.

“C’mon, Phil, I’d hardly call him my ally, he’s a dickhead who won't leave my house half the time. And he drinks all my alcohol.”

“That would be because you're not meant to have alcohol while we live in the US,” Wilbur shot back at him, rolling his eyes when Tommy stuck his tongue out. “You’re a child again. How does it feel?”

“It feels like this minor is going to beat you up and have the age of criminal responsibility on my side!”

“Not what any of that means at all- you would still get arrested?!”

“Nope. Too young now. That’s what you’ve said.”

“Phil, if we don’t start now, I think I'm going to kill this kid.”

Phil took a long, large breath before saying, “That’s what I've been trying to do for ten minutes, Wilbur.”

He addressed the room again. “This first scene in front of you is a conversation that primarily Quackity and Wilbur have shortly after their first re-meeting, in Las Nevadas. We’ll do this one with Wilbur, Alex, and Tom, and then we’ve got another one with a larger cast.”

Phil watched as the actors picked up the script and began rifling through it, doing the same with the one in front of him, and began to read.

“Biting air flows through the desert city as Quackity leads Wilbur and Tommy confidently towards a giant space needle, the two following behind him. Tommy stops every few metres to admire one of the nearby buildings, and Wilbur walks with a scowl, gaze fixed on Quackity’s back.”

Alex couldn’t tell whether Wilbur was getting himself in the mood or just too tired to want to be there when he slouched at Phil’s words, eyes trained on his script.

As he was busy fixating on Wilbur’s behaviours, Tom’s voice cut through them as he loudly recited his lines.

“Big Q, is this called the Needle?” he exclaimed with such a genuine, childish excitement that Alex was momentarily stunned. “That’s so cool, holy fuck! Can we go up!”

Alex chuckled, half in-character and half in sheer amusement. “Of course! Please do, I’d love to show you the view from up here. You’ll love it, I think, you can see the whole nation and more from the top of the Needle.”

“And- and what about Wilbur?”

Alex had to hand it to him, he had the voice of a hauntingly vulnerable kid down-pat. Anyone would think Wilbur was his actual brother.

“He’s free to come too, if he wants.”

Across from them all, Wilbur straightened up in his seat enough to flash Alex a self-assured beam and chuckle, “Why, Big Q, I’d be honoured! I'm sure this great expanse of yours looks all the more impressive from above. Lead the way.”

A comfortable silence settled over them all as Phil narrated, “The three of them make their way up the elevator, Tommy peering excitedly through its glass walls down to the country below, and Wilbur and Quackity standing on opposite sides, keeping eye contact but not saying a word. When the elevator stops at the top of the Needle, the door opens into an elegant restaurant, through which Quackity confidently strides until he’s outside on the balcony that wraps around the building. Wilbur and Tommy follow him.

“Quackity leans on the glass railing on the ledge, gazing out towards the horizon, and Tommy takes his place beside him. Wilbur forces himself between the two in an attempt at subtlety, but the look that Quackity gives him is enough to know that he isn’t exactly the best at it.”

“Isn’t it nice from here?” Alex asked softly, half to Tom, half to Wilbur. The younger hummed in approval, nodding.

“Oh, wow, Q. It does.”

Alex turned to Wilbur, now, directing his attention towards him. “And… Wilbur.”

“Mm?” the older said, unamused.

“You like it here, right?”

Wilbur tilted his head at him, smile quirking at his lips like he wasn’t sure of it, and narrowed his eyes.

“I do, Quackity. I do.”

“Yeah.” Alex paused. “I remember, we used to have views like this all the time. It had nice views; it was mountainous. You had lots of buildings.” He could imagine himself gazing out at the skyline that was described, full of high rises and flashing neon signs, and then to the past that he was talking about, all cottages and broken-down vans. “This kind of reminds me of then.”

Wilbur scoffed like Alex wouldn’t hear it, like he himself wasn’t listening for it. “Topographically, yeah, it was gorgeous…” He trailed off, blinking down at his script like he too was looking at a metropolis skyline. “Can we sit?”

Alex hummed.

“The two walk inside to the restaurant, currently empty, and take their seat at a table near the window. Meanwhile, Tommy is still marvelling at all of the buildings, leaning over the railings to get a better look.”

“Wilbur, can I ask you something?” Alex said softly, watching Wilbur’s shoulders tense up. He huffed, something maybe attempting to be amused.

“Is there a three-person chair? I don’t want Tommy to feel left out. Could we just- just scootch a chair over?”

“Of course, of course, I will accommodate.”

“Quackity flinches slightly as Wilbur drags a chair noisily from halfway across the restaurant, cutting across whatever he may have been saying. When they both sit, Quackity sighs and places his hands on the table, outstretching them slightly.”

“Wilbur, I want to ask you something.”

Wilbur made a noncommittal noise, looking past Alex to where Tommy was sitting.

“…And I want to ask you before Tommy gets back.”

“Yeah, yes. Of course.”

“How…” Alex took a deep breath, steeling himself, “…are you alive?”

Wilbur laughed then, a chuckle bubbling its way up his throat before he let out a sharp cackle like he just couldn’t help the dramatization, drumming his fingers on the table. “Hah! Yeah, I… uh… you know what, Quackity, I’ve said it. I'm not lying anymore; I'm done with lying, so- hah- um. It’s a long story, I’ll be honest. Several years long, in fact.”

Alex crossed his arms, fixing the other with an inquisitive glare. “Yeah, you’ve been gone a damn long time, Wilbur, so what just let you come back?”

“…I don’t know.”

The two paused, the confession feeling too heavy for acting, its weight making Alex want to drop his head away from their sudden eye contact. But he didn’t. Instead, he dropped his shoulders in disappointment and narrowed his eyes and barely flicked his gaze down at his script as he continued.

“I thought you said you weren’t lying anymore, Wilbur.”

“I’m not!”

“Really? Because you sure don’t sound like you’re telling the whole truth.”

“Well-” If Alex wasn’t watching the dramatic widening of his eyes, the curl of his lips downwards in a way that he only did on stage, he could almost imagine that this was him catching the Wilbur Craft off-guard. “…Okay. Fine. I don’t know why I'm back – truly – but I just know that something drew me to here. To you. I need… to be a part of this place, like I need a second skin.”

A silence descended upon them again as Alex opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“You- you can't just say that.”

“Q, I-”

“Lads!” Tom interrupted from beside them, and the narration paragraph detailing Tommy’s entrance into the restaurant had been skipped, it seemed, if Phil’s sigh was any indication. Alex grinned.

“Tommy! Sit, please sit! Me and your brother were just having a conversation.”

“You were being nice to him, Big Q, I hope.”

“Of course.” Alex turned to Wilbur again, looking him deep in the eyes; a challenge.

“Say, Wilbur, do you remember the last conversation we had?”

Wilbur scoffed. “What, before marching off to bloody war?”

“So to say.”

“…Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Yeah?” Alex nodded at him slightly. “We had some interesting conversations back then. There was one… you gave me some advice. Do you remember that, too?”

“Calm down, Q, I haven’t gone senile,” Wilbur laughed tensely, rolling his shoulders. “I remember.”

“Good, that’s good. I'm glad.”

That was where the script cut off, and upon his last, near murmured words, Alex was jolted back to reality by the applause echoing from other members of the table. After the shock, he clapped, directing it towards Wilbur and Tommy, and while the younger reached over to clap him on the back and smile, Wilbur just smiled tightly at him and pulled his eyes away. Okay. Asshole.

The next script, one that incorporated far more people and was far less daunting, went off without a hitch as well. Alex found that Tommy, despite his aggressively energetic demeanour, was also quite brilliant at playing more melancholic scenes – though, he supposed he should have assumed that, having watched him since his L’Manberg days – and that one of the older guys in the group he was talking with earlier (Sam, his name was), was brilliant at emotionally harrowing and graphic scenes but would struggle with anything lighthearted. The kid near that back – whose character name was Purpled and whose real name Alex did not know – was pretty good for his age and experience, a little rough around the edges but some damn good acting nonetheless.

At the end of it all, Alex was almost certain that he’d enjoy this group, even if they were all a little inexperienced. He voiced this thought – or, rather, a more polite version of it – to the group he had been eavesdropping on after the session, and they laughed in agreement.

“Hey, there’s an afterparty at the bar down the road. You coming?” Sam said, though it didn’t sound like a question the way his eyebrow raised in judgement.

“What the hell, sure. Just let me text my friend that I’ll be home late.”

And that was how Alex ended up at possibly the most cramped, least entertaining bar in all of Nevada, an eight-dollar beer in his hand and stinging the back of his throat as he tried to make conversation. And try he really did, laughing when everybody else laughed at somebody’s stupid jokes and quieting down when Techno gave them a sharp look from where he was sat with tea and a book and-

“Wait, where the hell did he get tea from?” Alex giggled, “And that book? Does this bar even serve tea?”

“I guess it does,” Sam chuckled, “And as for that book, he just carries it around with him. It was poking around out of his bag this morning, too. Thought it was interesting.”

“Hm.”

Techno shifted enough for the title, ‘The Art of War’, to be revealed, and the entire group broke out into a fit of laughter. Techno’s head shot up to glare daggers at them, but Alex was doubled over and gasping for air.

“Who brings The Art of War by Sun Tzu to a bar? The fuck’s one of his sayings, to confuse your enemy, you must first drink tea?”

“Holy shit. That may have been the worst joke I've ever heard. How many drinks have you had?”

“Not that many. I don’t think.”

“Tommy get your fucking hands off of me!”

Alex looked around quickly at the Brit’s painful attempt at a whisper-shout, finding him being pushed through the doors and into the bar by Tommy, as well as two friends from the script reading that Alex recognised as Toby and Ran, all of them snickering as they nudged him forwards.

“You see, Wilbur, dickhead, we’re just taking care of you since you showed up late today and didn’t have time to meet anybody! You can't be an actor if you aren’t close to the people you work with!”

“Oh, ha-ha, you child, you’re just saying that because I live with you!”

“I live with you and all of our projects have been a hit! So chop-chop loserboy, get acquainted!” Tommy waggled his eyebrows. “Who knows, you could get a friend… or perhaps more…”

“Oh my gods, Tommy, stop trying to set me up with everyone we come across.”

“Anything to get you out of my house.”

“Your house? It’s your house now, is it?”

“Of course- ay, wait, Tobs, what’re you doing?” Tom called, and Wilbur’s (as well as Alex’s) gaze was pulled over to Toby and Ran, who were currently trying to swindle the bartender for all he was worth. While Wilbur’s head was turned, Alex caught Tom slipping his wallet from his pocket out of the corner of his eye, snickering to himself.

“Well, Wil, now that you’re here, best lock in and try to mingle. I'm off to go spend my last paycheque on twenty-dollar mocktails.”

Wilbur huffed. “Just don’t come crying to me when you have no more money for groceries or petrol.”

“Oh, one of us will be crying, alright.”

“What?”

“What? Oh, look at that! Gotta go!”

With that, Tom scurried away to his friends, holding the stolen wallet in his two hands and trying to laugh as quietly as possible, so Wilbur wouldn’t look over to see what he was doing. As he boasted loudly to the bartender of his exorbitant finances, Alex felt someone elbow him lightly in the side, and turned back to see the entire group looking at him and barely hiding smiles.

“Looking at Wilbur, eh?”

Alex laughed, throwing his head back and bumping shoulders with whoever was next to him. “Oh-kay, very funny, man. I'm a fan of his past work, I'm excited to be working with him is all.”

“Oh, so you weren’t checking him out?”

“I was not checking him out,” Alex countered, loudly. Maybe too loudly, the way Wilbur’s gaze flickered over to him and his eyebrow ticked. “I was observing.”

His eyes lingered on Wilbur’s movements as the older man gestured to the bartender, muttering something with a charming grin and a wave of his hand, to which the bartender nodded and started mixing a drink.

“And now I'm going to go talk to him.”

The group balked. “Hold on, you're going to what?”

“Talk to him. He can't be that bad, surely.”

Alex moved away from the group slowly and a little less elegantly than he would have liked, the drinks knocking him a tad off-balance as he awkwardly made his way over to where Wilbur was sitting. The man was now sipping on a bright yellow drink in a cocktail glass, peering over its top to sweep his eyes over everybody in the room – only landing on Alex when he was close enough for them to converse. Wilbur gritted his teeth.

“Hey, Wilbur!” Alex said cheerily as his co-star’s eyes trained on the wood grains of the bartop. “I don’t think we’ve really met yet – I'm Alex Gallo. Huge fan of your work, I'm really excited to be working with you on this show.”

“Mm-hm.” Wilbur huffed, tipping his head back and knocking the entire glass back in one go. “Look, I've already been trying to corral Tommy and I'm currently meant to be doing something productive – by which I mean literally anything other than this – so I'm not in the mood to have a chat with a fan. If you have something to sign, I can give you my autograph.”

Alex snarled. “Uh, what the fuck? I'm your coworker; I just wanted to have a conversation with you before we started working together. You do know that this show isn’t going to be all about you, right?”

Wilbur turned his head sharply Alex’s way, teeth bared.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He had drawn himself up, standing now, shoulders raised high and arms folded to his chest, but even if Alex wanted to draw back now, he couldn’t.

“Oh, I don’t know, all of the actors you’ve worked with in the past coming to news stations to call you a prick and an asshole? Making it seem like your time is more valuable than ours just because you have a name in the industry? Assuming I, your co-star, your equal, just want an autograph just because I came to talk to you?”

“You're not my equal,” Wilbur growled, and Alex did move back at that, if only at the shock at his sheer audacity. “You're right. I do have a name for myself. I do have roles I could be doing elsewhere. I have memory and emotion to my name, and you have nothing. I looked you up, and those handful of local theatre and D-rank movies aren’t enough to propel you forwards, you know. As much as you want to pretend you’ll find success here, I see you. An outsider.”

“You-” Alex was about to retort, venom primed to strike in his voice, but something in the other’s words fully processed to him. “You looked me up?”

Wilbur blinked as his shoulders dropped. And then blinked again. And then turned away to shout something to the bartender.

“I- well, I…” he paused as his drink was topped up. “I had to make sure I would be surrounded by quality talent.”

“Oh?” Alex leaned in, eyes narrowed and mouth curled into a scowl, and placed both arms on the bartop around Wilbur’s body. “Did I pass your damn quality check, Wilbur? Am I fit to share the stage with you, oh great and mighty one?”

Wilbur drew himself back, and Alex noticed his sharp intake of breath as he appeared to be fighting the beginnings of a smile.

“It’s not promising, but we’ll see,” he laughed bitterly, eyes wide and excited.

“We sure will see.”

˙✧˖°🎬 ༘ ⋆

“I got your note.”

The sentence had cut through the comfortable conversation that Wilbur Soot and Quackity had been having as Wilbur Craft and Alex Gallo stood on the asphalt path they were currently filming on, with one of their first scenes of their first shared episode. Alex would like to think that he had been blowing it away for the last month or so; his fellow actors definitely seemed to think so, the way they spoke to him after every take. He had gotten a few positive comments from Phil (of course, alongside some feedback), and even a head nod from Techno. Things were looking up – but of course, this would be the real test.

“Oh, you did, you got it!” Alex said, strained, standing slightly below Wilbur on the road’s natural decline, their height difference all the more prominent. He found himself standing slightly straighter to make up for it. “That’s… why you’re here, of course, that makes sense! That explains it…”

Through all of the month’s filming, thanks to Wilbur’s minute role in the first four episodes and Alex’s determination, he had been able to avoid seeing the man for the most part, and when passing each other at hallways and meetups, he made sure his words were clipped and polite and nothing more than a sentence. If Wilbur wanted to play that game, he could play that game. Phil and Techno would see him being polite to his co-star, and being an absolute showstopper on the stage, and then all of a sudden Wilbur’s golden child status would have to be revoked. Or, at the very least, he would have to accept that they were more equal than he originally thought.

Which led to now – their first day filming together. Alex was dressed in a white button-up with a red tie, black slacks, and plenty of golden accessories (including a golden tooth, neat!) for style, while Wilbur was in what looked like the world’s largest trenchcoat, the white streaks still in his hair. They had taken filming to Las Vegas’ casino district, which was brilliant for atmosphere but unfortunately garnered much more foot traffic than Alex had accounted for, leaving many passers-by ogling at their filming.

Across from him, Wilbur beamed, something victorious in his eyes as he extended his arms vaguely in Alex’s direction.

“So that’s the invitation to work alongside you, I assume, I… I accept! I would love to.”  

Silence fell over the desert as neither moved, the tension thick in the air. Wilbur’s face contorted from one of champion to utter confusion, and Alex wished he could do anything to force that expression onto him in real life.

“Q? Quackity?”

Alex took a deep breath. “Wilbur, that was… that was not an invitation, I'm sorry, Wilbur. That’s not an invitation.”

From behind them both, Tommy walked up to them, placing a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder and peering at him through narrowed eyes.

“Wil?”

Paying his brother no heed, Wilbur breathed, “What?”

“Wilbur, you told me he wanted to see you,” Tommy continued.

Alex began walking calmly up the road towards the Las Vegas sign, Wilbur and Tommy following like lost dogs. As he walked, he spoke firmly, knowing that the man behind him would hear – would run to catch up, if it meant he could hear.

“Wilbur, my nation will not be subject to your… unpredictability,” Alex got out through gritted teeth. “Thank you-”

“No.” Wilbur’s tone was firm as he grabbed Alex’s forearm, forcing the shorter to look back at him. “No.”

“-so much for coming, for visiting…”

“No,” Wilbur pled, hand on his arm shaking.

“…but I don’t need any extra members right now.”

“No, you’ve got it all wrong, you’ve got it all wrong, man!” Wilbur called as he forced himself in front of Alex, in his direct line of sight. He was holding his arms out as though speaking on a stage, to an adoring crowd, like a leader. Like a shepherd, like a god. “Maybe I was unpredictable in the past, but I've turned over a new leaf! I don’t lie anymore, I don’t deceive, hell, I know nothing about TNT anymore! I've forgotten everything I know about TNT!”

Tommy tried to cover a snicker behind his hand, but Alex noticed. He tilted his head at the blond, prompting him to continue – which he did, with very little prompting.

“Mm- well. Wil. Come on.”

“Tommy, is he lying to me?” Alex half-jested, the other half glaring at Wilbur with an intensity. Instead of answering his question, Tommy just cleared his throat and changed topics.

“Quackity, please tell him we can stay. Please. This place is like paradise, it’s- it’s the visions that you get after being down in the mines for too long, it’s the paradise you imagine. Tell him we can stay.”

Shit-eating grin on his face, Wilbur parroted, “Yeah, Quackity, tell me we can stay.”

Alex shot him a glare. What he wouldn’t do to hit the smug grin of his ugly mug.

“And I don’t know what you mean about my unpredictability, Quackity, look at me.” And then all of a sudden he had approached Alex, close enough to feel his breath on his skin and the warmth radiating off of his body, and placed a hand on each of the man’s shoulders. When he leaned in further to talk, his voice was low as he looked dead into Alex’s eyes, commanding the shorter’s attention.

“Quackity, look at me,” and gods, he was looking, couldn’t do anything but shoot burning fire through his glare and hope it beamed through the other’s skull and made him drop dead at his feet. “I am your servant.”

Oh. Oh. That- wasn’t how Alex thought he was going to say it, reading the script, though in this moment he couldn’t imagine any other way.

“I am at your service,” he begged, he begged, and then just kept going, “I have run countries, won elections, anything and everything that you need in a leadership role. Not even in a leadership role! I can be, you know, assistant to the President, anything you want, but this…”

One arm raised off of Alex’s shoulder to gesture at their surroundings, and Alex couldn’t help the shuddering breath that escaped him.

“…Quackity, this is everything that I have ever dreamt of in solid marble and quartz.”

After staring dreamily at the city skyline for a moment more, Wilbur’s eyes drifted back to the man in front of him, and he took a slight step back, growing solemn.

“Quackity, you’re making a mistake. You need to let me in. You need to.”

“Wilbur…” Alex’s voice was almost, almost apologetic, but mainly wary. Tommy’s voice cut between them both.

“Wilbur, this is so cool!”

“Tommy, shut up!”

The outburst had passed his lips before he realised, and Wilbur raised a hand like he wanted to slam it over his mouth. “I mean- Tommy, come over here, it’s cool, it’s cool, it’s cool,” he tried to repeat over Tommy’s yelling, laughing nervously. As he called Wilbur a myriad of obscene things, the older turned back to Alex, all traces of a smile gone. “Quackity listen, I need this.”

“No, Wilbur, you listen.” Now Alex was the one to stand closer, propping himself slightly higher on the hill and crowding Wilbur’s space with a growl. “I saw what you did in your past life, as you say, and I will not let Las Nevadas suffer the same fate. I appreciate you stopping by here, but I don’t need your service. I don’t need your presence. You’re too… unpredictable.”

Wilbur laughed, then, quietly, like a secret passed mouth to ear. “Unpredictable,” he muttered, glaring. “We’ll see.”

“And, CUT!” Techno’s booming voice called from off set, and Alex watched the tension disappear from Wilbur’s shoulders almost instantly. Alex rolled his shoulders slightly as Phil came down from where he was watching over them to give him a clap on the back and a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder, congratulating them.

“Brilliant work, mate! The chemistry was unbelievable, you guys have got a great stage presence together! That scene was the big one for today, we’ll do the next one once we can actually get access to the areas we need to build the burger van on, so filming will pick up tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of your evening – I know a couple of guys are headed to the bar down the road, if you wanted to join them.”

“Thank you, Phil,” Alex said, smiling, “That means a lot. See you tomorrow!”

“’Til tomorrow, Phil,” Wilbur said, batting the man’s hand off his shoulder and slouching away. He didn’t get far, though, before Tommy cornered him with his hands on his hips.

“Were you two kissing?” he asked loudly, causing Alex’s head to turn and tune in on the conversation, walking quickly over.

“What?” Wilbur squawked.

“It just – okay, it just really looked like you two were kissing during those last lines, when I was over behind you… I don’t know if it was just from the angle, or-”

“Yes, it was just from the angle,” Wilbur managed to get out, words strained and quiet, and Alex would laugh at the situation if he wasn’t so damn mad at what the hell Wilbur had pulled in their scene.

Tommy turned to Alex. “Alex? Can you confirm?”

He chuckled. “Tom, I guarantee you, I wouldn’t lay a finger on him, much less kiss him.”

While Tom looked satisfied, Wilbur had the gall to turn to him offended, which did draw a laugh from Alex. Wilbur scoffed, turning from the conversation entirely and barely throwing more than a “Bye, guys,” over his shoulder before leaving. Alex immediately raced to follow him, trailing his steps all the way to his dressing room, which he slipped into before Wilbur could close the door.

“What-” Wilbur turned to look at him, lips curling into a snarl. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

“What the fuck was that?”

The asshole genuinely looked confused, mouth stupidly agape.

Alex clarified, “On scene. With the fucking- the I could be your servant shit, you know that’s not how it was meant to be read.” As he spoke, he jabbed a finger at Wilbur’s chest, pushing the taller up against the dressing table. Wilbur smirked.

“Well, a line has infinite deliveries; infinite interpretations. I was reading it how I saw fit for the conversation, I can't help and nor do I care that your interpretation was different to mine. Besides, your surprise is what made it genuine!”

“Genuine?!” Alex laughed, muttering, “Like you’d know anything about being genuine.”

Wilbur shot up immediately, pushing Alex off of him with a fury. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that they all see you as some perfect actor, destined to live on the stage forever, but I see you. I fucking see you, Wilbur, how you bring some of your stage persona into your conversations and vice versa, it’s all an act to you. You’re the fakest fucking person I've ever met, and one day they’re going to see that.”

“Oh, you little bitch!”

Within moments, Wilbur flipped their positions, pushing Alex up against the dresser to try to claw at him uselessly, scratching. In retaliation, Alex slapped away his hands and, admittedly a little rough, kneed him in the chest.

“What the fuck!?”

Wilbur doubled over, trying to brace himself on Alex, who just stepped back with fire in his eyes. He pushed Wilbur forwards, and the man managed to catch himself on the wall, but immediately swung himself around to launch himself back at Alex. Wilbur tackled him to the floor and Alex cried out in pain as the taller fell on top of him, raising a hand as though to hit him. Before the punch could land, though, Alex blocked it with his own, and before the stun could wear off him, bit Wilbur directly in the forearm.

Wilbur groaned as he sunk his teeth into the limb, falling forwards onto Alex and letting his head rest on his shoulder. His body shook as he grappled with Alex’s head, wrenching it off of his arm with far more force than necessary and making the shorter yelp.

“I’ll show them how fucking fake you are!” Alex yelled as the two wrestled on the floor, doing little more than grappling each other and occasionally being able to get the other off of them. Wilbur’s eyes from just over Alex’s head were alight, sparking with something that he had remembered seeing back on that bright screen back in his L’Manberg days, something burning with so much life that Alex hadn’t expected it on Wilbur, not in a million years.

“Fake?” Wilbur giggled breathlessly, “Fake? At least I'm putting something real on the stage, not like you and your stilted fucking dialogue and unwillingness to put any life in past what the script says. You're boring, Alex, you’ve got no soul! And they do see it – I don’t have to show them a thing.”

“I’ll show you stilted, you pompous fucking ass, get the fuck back over here!” Alex yelled as Wilbur propped himself up on top of him, grinning widely.

“What, are you going to sink your teeth into me again?” He sounded too excited. Alex growled.

“Depends, are you going to try to throw that twig of an arm at me again?”

“Only if it’ll-”

Wilbur cut himself off as light streamed in as the door to his dressing room opened, and Techno poked his head in, pink hair swaying. He glanced around the room before his eyes fell to them on the floor, and he paused, brow furrowing as his mouth opened slightly.

Wilbur couldn’t push himself off Alex quick enough, the two standing with lightning pace as Techno blinked at them.

“Should’a known there was something with you two…” he whispered.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“No, nothing! Just wanted to let you two know that everything’s been packed up and most of us are leaving to go home, so you should probably head out soon. Unless you’re… busy.”

“We’re not busy!”

“If you insist…”

Techno backed out of the room, hands up in surrender, and Alex followed him, making sure to push past Wilbur in the process. As they bumped shoulders, he muttered, “I won't let you ruin this opportunity for me.”

Wilbur Craft would not be the reason his acting career failed before it even started.

But the taller just smiled that same explosive grin, eyes sparking and starry, and murmured back, “I won't have to if you bring some of that energy to our next scene.”

˙✧˖°🎬 ༘ ⋆

Alex’s tie was incredibly awkward as he sat at the large mahogany desk in his office set, choking him slightly as he fidgeted with the red fabric. The chair was uncomfortably hard, the set designers valuing looks over the actor’s comfort, and he tapped his fingers lightly on his leg as he waited for the scene to start. Off-screen, Phil and Techno nodded at each other, checking sound, light, camera, before finally yelling-

“Action!”

Alex sat up in his chair as the door across from him opened slowly, the person on the other side not bothering to knock. In Wilbur stepped, wide grin on his face, and Alex sighed heavily at his rudeness. Instead of commenting on it, though, he just gestured at the man to sit in the chair in front of him, and took a bottle of the not-too-good whiskey he kept for occasions like this to pour them both a glass.

“Quackity,” Wilbur said merrily, “Now, pleasure as it is to have been invited up here, I know very well that you didn’t just lead me here to drink and make light conversation. What exactly is it that you want from me?”

Alex finished pouring them both a glass, sliding one gently across the desk to Wilbur and taking a long, slow sip from the other, savouring the way the other squirmed under his silence.

“Want from you?” he repeated finally, “Who says that I want something from you?”

Wilbur scoffed, laughing bitterly as he shook his head. “Really, Q? Is that truly a question?”

Alex smiled tightly, not giving anything away.

“What exactly is it that you want? You want my van? You can have my van.”

“I don’t want your van, Wilbur.”

“Take my van!”

“I don’t want your van.” Alex paused, sliding a finger over the rim of his glass and sighing. “I wanted to pick your brain. Wilbur, there’s some things that have been… you know, they’ve been on my mind for a while now, and I just wanted to talk to you about them.”

“Oh, you’re too kind, Q,” Wilbur drawled sarcastically, “Inviting me into your country? Careful, I’ll think you’ve gone soft on me.”

“You would think that,” Alex snapped back. “No, you said something before and it’s stuck with me.”

“What is it?”

“You called me your yang, a while ago.” It sounded almost like a confession, though, for what for, Alex couldn’t tell. “I mean, you said it to Tommy, not me, but I heard.”

“You heard?” Wilbur leant forward, eyes narrowing and mouth drawing into a scowl like he was one more word away from yelling at Alex.

“Of course I heard, Soot, you were practically yelling it across the lake! It didn’t help that you later came up to me and tried to strongarm me into giving you a cabinet position here by calling me your other half. What is all that about, because I know damn well you don’t consider us equals.”

Wilbur huffed and took a sip from his glass, just to scratch that itch or to buy himself more time, Alex wouldn’t know.

“I told you, Q, how much I needed this place. How I was drawn to it. You’re my beating heart, the part of my soul tethered to the earth, you’re keeping me here.”

“I see.” Alex spoke slowly to disguise the fact that he did not, in fact, see. “You’re attached.”

“I'm alive. And you are too, you’re my- you’re my heart.”

“Oh?” Wilbur sounded devoted, too devoted, and it was all Alex could do to cling onto their conversations – Wilbur’s conceitedness and determinedly not how good he looked with that fighting fire in his eyes and an angry red bite mark on his arm – to Wilbur’s dickish attitude, and gods forbid, his advice.

So Alex’s next words were probably meant to be clipped, annoyed. Formal – the interaction between an annoyed President and the terrorist who kept clinging to him, putting some distance between begging words and hands. But Wilbur Soot and Quackity, hell, Wilbur Craft and Alex, had just spent the last few weeks with little other than each other’s presence for company, and Alex couldn’t think about anything other than making Wilbur pay.

“So that’s it,” Alex breathed, making direct eye contact and leaning in close to where Wilbur was hunched over the desk, glancing down at his drink. At the change in tone, Wilbur’s eyes shot up to meet his, blinking in confusion. Alex grinned and he nearly laughed when Wilbur’s eyes flickered down to his sharpened teeth and he swallowed.

“You want to be my other half?” he mocked, tilting his head like he was talking to a hurt animal. Wilbur breathed shakily as Alex continued, teasing, “You already follow me around Las Nevadas like a stray dog, what more could you possibly ask of me?”

He laughed without amusement, bitter and sharp, and Wilbur flinched back.

“I'm- I'm not your dog,” he spluttered, and oh, where was that oh-so-confident dialogue interpretation now, Wilbur? “I-”

“And you’re not my yang!” Alex felt his grin widening as he yelled, “You were right, Soot, we’re not equals at all, though it would have done you some good to pretend that we were.”

“Like I’d stoop down to your level,” Wilbur growled, Alex’s smile dropping.

“I think you’re quite mistaken, Wilbur.” Without warning, Alex grabbed the lapel of Wilbur’s coat and dragged him in until they were almost touching. Wilbur yelped as he was pulled in, and his eyes darted all across the other’s face before landing on his eyes. “When I say we aren’t equals, I don’t mean that I'm below you. Not a step or an inch below in any sense of the word, no, there’s one thing that you still don’t understand.”

Alex moved his chair to the side, letting Wilbur gaze out to the bustling horizon through the window behind him, the bold and blinking lights that made up the entire field of view.

“This place is mine. I'm in charge here.”

“And, CUT!”

Alex didn’t even bother fighting the wide smile on his face as Phil called for the scene end, rushing over to him on set with a smile just as big.

“Alex, where on earth did that come from! Holy shit – the emotion! That was amazing!”

“Thank you, I don’t… I don’t know, I guess…” Alex’s eyes trailed over to Wilbur, who was staring at him, but promptly looked down at the floor when their eyes met, scowling. “I guess I just took some good advice.”

“Well, keep taking it, because it’s going to get you places, kid. Really. Alright.” Phil turned to the rest of the actors, now, most of whom were sitting to the side and watching their shoot. Many of them clapped at Alex when he looked over, and he laughed excitedly. “Everybody, a few more scenes and then it’s lunch break! Next up we’ve got…”

Alex was only in one more scene before lunch break, one talking to Tubbo about the situation regarding Wilbur – and Ranboo, now that the guy had gotten them under his influence, working at that damn van together. The other was completely Wilbur- and Tommy-focussed, and Alex hated to admit it, but the remnants of their brotherhood in their L’Manberg days still shone through in how they acted now, twin spotlights colliding into an on-stage supernova. He couldn’t look away even in their simple interactions, the mundanity bringing something comfortable to the whole show. Of course, he’d never admit that to Wilbur, lest it go to his head.

When lunchtime came, Sam informed him that most of the group was headed to a little cafe just a few blocks away, called Hurricane Carnations (ironic, considering they weren’t in Hurricane at all). He had packed up his things quickly and, despite Wilbur’s obvious attempts to try to talk to him, completely ignored the taller, smirking as he heard his footsteps echoing behind him the entire walk to the cafe.

“Do you want me to order?” Sam asked him as they entered, but Alex shook his head.

“Nah, I've got to go to the bathroom, if you want to find a place to sit I shouldn’t be too long. Unless you’re super hungry?”

“No, I'm all good.” Sam glanced over to a flurry of movement as the entirety of their group invaded a booth in the corner, and he chuckled. “I think I know where we’re sitting, in any case.”

“Looks like it. Be out in a sec!”

When he was in, Alex barely closed the door to the bathroom before a foot caught the door and it swung open again, and he was met with the very angry face of one Wilbur Craft. He was fuming, hands clenching and unclenching where they were firmly by his sides, and an eye twitching. If he was any madder, Alex would be able to see smoke coming out of his ears.

“Are you trying to make me look like a fool?”

Alex hummed noncommittally, running his fingers through his hair and looking in the mirror like he was just fixing his appearance. “I have no idea what you mean, Wilbur.”

“The fucking- the teasing, the manhandling, I don’t know, Alex, I'm pretty sure it didn’t say anywhere in the script that you had to grab me by my shirt to make me look out the window!” he spat, closing in on Alex.

“Oh, really?” Alex retorted, incredulous, and placed his arms on Wilbur’s shoulders as he closed in. “Because I was just taking your advice. The scripts are up to interpretation, isn’t that what you said?”

A muscle in Wilbur’s jaw ticked as he stepped forwards even more. “You were trying to catch me off-guard, make me look bad.”

“Oh, and you're the only one who’s allowed to do that? Don’t make me laugh.” Alex did, though, tipping his head back until it knocked loosely against the mirror and cackling. “If I read Quackity as full of hatred so potent that it comes out as passion, then that’s how I'm going to fucking play him, Wilbur, you hear me?” Alex grabbed his face with both hands, running his thumbs gently over the taller’s cheeks and listening to his sharp intake of breath before using his hold to yank Wilbur down to his level. “Is that real enough for you? Is that genuine?”

Alex could feel Wilbur pant against the air they shared as he breathed out, “Yes.”

He wouldn’t have been able to say who closed the gap. All he knew was that all of a sudden, the breath from his lungs was punched out by the choking taste of the man in front of him, the sensation of lips against his as he manoeuvred himself to sit up on the sink and bring Wilbur closer to him, standing between his legs. The hands that had brought Wilbur’s face down to his were now clutching his cheeks tightly, pushing their lips together with ferocity and biting into his mouth. Wilbur, now leaning over to sling his arms around Alex’s shoulders and keep himself near, let out a muffled noise of indignance at the violence, and Alex pulled away with a huff.

“Come the fuck on. Don’t pretend you didn’t like it when I bit your arm in your trailer.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, scoffing. “Yeah fucking right. Try me.”

Their lips met again, but only for a second, as Alex moved away to leave light kisses down his jawline and neck. Wilbur made an annoyed noise, arms tensing where they rested over Alex’s back, but as he opened his mouth to protest, Alex bit down in the junction between his shoulder and neck.

“Oh, fuck,” Wilbur groaned, trembling. “Fuck you. Fucking- I hate you, fuck you.”

“You’re awfully forward,” Alex laughed, grin widening when Wilbur scowled. “How about you just kiss me for now, and we’ll see from there.”

“You’re the worst,” Wilbur muttered, but he obliged all the same, pushing his lips against Alex’s and drawing them in until they were near embracing, arms wrapped around each other as they kissed.

“Oh, I'm sure,” Alex murmured back. Neither heard the door open to their side, nor did they hear the footsteps walking into the bathroom. They did, though, hear when the person cleared their throat loudly, both looking up at the same time.

Oh, shit.

“Dude, this is a public space, have some common decency- holy fuck.”

Wilbur and Alex both turned to look at the person, a random stranger who was staring at them like they had fused into the one being.

“You’re- you're Wilbur Craft and Alex Gallo. From Avarice. I'm… it’s so cool to…” The stranger got quieter as he took in their state, Alex sat on the benchtop next to the sink, Wilbur standing between his legs, both still with their hands on each other. “…meet… you…”

Seeming to forget what he came here for, the stranger ran out of the room, jaw agape.

“We’re totally fucked, right?” Wilbur whispered, aghast.

Alex nodded.

“May as well make the most of it?”

Wilbur turned back to him, shock slowly melting into glee.

“You read my fucking mind.”