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To preface this, and hopefully to not sound like an angsty self insert, Quackity did not have many friends.
That was what he knew. He had five people in his country, if you didn't count Tubbo, the restaurant manager. Purpled was still skeptical of the whole place. Sam wasn't talking to him. Foolish, while friendly, spent all his time building. Charlie didn't know any better. Fundy was just scared of him. Too many people were just scared of him.
He supposed he could count Foolish, and maybe Charlie, as his friends. But it wasn't enough. He still spent the majority of his time alone.
The place he had built, the new place, was nothing special. It was a small workshop on the edge of Las Nevadas where he came to put his mind to something. The world didn't exist here.
Perhaps "on the edge of Las Nevadas" is an overstatement. It technically wasn't in Las Nevadas, just a bit outside the borders. Which meant that here in this workshop, he wasn't the leader of a country. He was just Quackity.
The only issue was that people banned from Las Nevadas were allowed to be near and in the workshop, since it was on Greater SMP territory. That allowed people he definitely didn't want to see, like George, Karl, Sapnap… or the other person on the citizen blacklist.
So, of course, that person just had to show up.
"Why are you here?"
Wilbur smiled. "I was on my way to Puffy's home in Snowchester. I usually cut through here to get there, but I see you've built a little shack."
"It's a workshop," Quackity grumbled, turning around to keep working on the contraption he was building.
"What do you make in this so-called workshop?"
"Stuff. Guns, jewelry, clocks and watches… anything made of metal." Quackity took a screwdriver off the wall and started screwing in the back of an iron pocket watch. "You can be on your way now."
"I can help, though."
"How so?"
"Moral support."
Quackity scoffed. "Your fake positivity won't save you now."
Wilbur walked further into the room and leaned on the table. "Hey, I'm allowed to be in here. This isn't Las Nevadas territory."
"No, but it's my territory."
"It's Greater SMP territory. If anything, it's just a build you happened to make, anyone can be in here."
Quackity stayed silent. Maybe if I stop answering him, he'll shut up.
"You could just make it bigger. More tables, more stuff. More room for people to work. It is a workshop, after all."
"I don't want other people in here. This is supposed to be my safe space, to be alone."
"Oh come on, you're always alone."
And then there was silence.
Quackity knew that. He already addressed that he had almost no one to talk to, it didn't matter and it didn't bother him.
Wilbur also knew.
"Sorry."
Quackity didn't show any emotion. "For what? You didn't offend me."
"I said you were always alone, that's crossing a line. Just accept the apology."
What line, what goddamn line, we're enemies, we're fucking enemies. You can say whatever you fucking want.
Quackity took a deep breath.
"Fine. I don't care."
Wilbur just blinked. "Right."
The entire conversation was thrown into a mental trashcan Quackity kept in his head for all the moments he never wanted to think about again. It was getting quite full.
"Can you hand me that-"
"Yeah, got it." Wilbur already saw the Dremel Quackity was pointing at. He took it from the dusty shelf and gave it to Quackity, and if either of their fingers lingered on the touch, neither of them said anything.
A Dremel is a rotary tool that can be used on metal, stone, or glass to make engravings. Wilbur remembered using them in old L'manburg to engrave words onto the glass bottles of speed and strength. Quackity was leaned far over the workbench, practically falling off his stool, carefully engraving tiny swirls on the back of the pocket watch.
Wilbur watched his hands move precisely across the steel and smiled slightly.
"Wilbur," Quackity said slowly, focused on the Dremel, "Why haven't you left yet?"
"Pardon?"
"This is the part where you leave," Quackity mumbled. He picked the Dremel up to inspect the gadget. "You barge in uninvited, insist you're allowed, argue with me incessantly, cross a line, and then leave. That's how it works. You should have left."
"Do you want me to leave?"
"And another thing," Quackity said, ignoring the question (which seemed to be common with him.) "Why is your hand on my shoulder?"
"Because you haven't pushed it away yet," Wilbur replied. His left arm was around Quackity's back and resting on his left shoulder. He was warm.
Oh so he's going to do THIS today, Quackity thought, using the Dremel on the back of the pocket watch now. "You're a dumbass."
"So do you want me here? You never answered my question."
"I don't," Quackity muttered under his breath, because half of him was bitching and yelling for Wilbur to go away and the other half was saying something against that, but Quackity couldn't hear what it was.
"No no, say the whole thing. Say 'I don't want you here.'"
"I don't want-" and then he stopped. Wilbur was rubbing circles in his shoulder. When was the last time someone gave me this much attention? Quackity's entire head felt fuzzy and warm, the words refused to leave his throat.
"Fine, you can stay, just- don't be a dick about it."
Quackity did not have to look to his left to know Wilbur was grinning.
This was the second silence of the day, and it was entirely welcomed considering that every time Wilbur opened his mouth, something stupid came from it. Wilbur's hand was still on Quackity's shoulder, and if it calmed him down at all, he didn't say it.
Quackity picked up the Dremel again to look at the small incisions, and in doing so, he leaned backwards, forgetting the attention-seeking bitch behind him. And before any divine force could stop the catastrophe, Wilbur simply snaked his arms around Quackity's waist and held him there.
Quackity was moments away from fucking hissing at him, a long and colorful string of curses running through his head, a million thoughts trying to make themselves heard. 99.9% of him was screaming with pure rage, and one tiny tiny piece of him was completely silent, as though his mind had its own thoughts and could think to itself wow this is fucking stupid.
"Wilbur," he said as slowly and as carefully as possible, "Do you know how many times I just cursed internally?"
Wilbur pressed his forehead against Quackity's shoulder and his chest shook with suppressed giggles. "Mhm."
"Oh you do? You do, do you?" Quackity said incredulously, setting the pocket watch down. "How many then?"
"A lot," Wilbur answered, and Quackity could tell his brain was too foggy with laughter to think properly.
There was a third silence while Quackity contemplated how exactly he could kill Wilbur. He attempted, multiple times, to tell Wilbur to let go, but the words wouldn't come off his tongue. While trying to figure out why, he was affronted with statements like Maybe you want him to stay. Maybe you like people close to you, maybe especially him.
Quackity beat the traitorous thoughts into a puddle of mental dread. I'm not dealing with that shit right now.
The silence stretched on, and Quackity continued working on the pocket watch. He twisted a button in the side that should wind the miniature clock to the correct time, but it didn't move the hands. With a hateful grumble, he unscrewed the back of the watch to figure out what mistake he made this time. Wilbur was still quiet and Quackity hated that he wanted to know what the pensive man was thinking. Say something, say anything, I've never hated silence more, holy shit.
Quackity broke the silence with "What was limbo like?"
Wilbur's head shifted a little. "Hm?"
"I heard a little bit from tommy. But I still don't really know."
Wilbur was silent for a few more moments before saying "It was a train platform."
"A train platform?"
"Yeah, like a fucking- a jubilee line."
A jubilee line. "Like your song."
"Yeah." Quackity felt Wilbur take a deep breath. "I was alone."
"You were? I thought at least Schlatt would be there?"
"He was, so was MD. But Schlatt spent months at a time sleeping, and when he was awake, we couldn't find him."
Quackity knew. "And MD?"
"Spent the entire time in the living world. He couldn't leave his girlfriend or some shit."
Quackity took a wrench off the wall and twisted a large wire into place in the contraption he was working on. "Is that why you're so touchy? Because you went that long without literally any human contact?"
Wilbur just tightened his arms around Quackity's waist.
"Oh. I see." Quackity leaned back into him. "And nobody else wants to touch you?"
Wilbur nodded, his face still shoved in Quackity's shoulder. "Tommy and Tubbo don't want to talk to me, Fundy refuses to see me, Niki wants nothing to do with me. Even my own father can't look at what I've become, nobody can."
That sounded familiar. "So you came to your worst enemy.”
"Are we enemies?"
"You want in Las Nevadas, I keep you out. Our goals don't align. We aren't friends."
"Well I know, but 'enemies' seems a little harsh."
"Maybe so."
"And, my enemy would have pulled away by now."
Quackity did not answer that. Instead he said, "God, your hands are cold."
"Sorry. Side effect of being dead."
Quackity traced the lines in Wilbur's palms. He briefly recalled a time where he tried to learn palm reading as a hobby. For the life of him, he couldn't remember what an unusual amount of notches meant. "It's fine. It's a little too warm in here."
"It's snowing outside."
"Shut up," Quackity muttered. Don't give me a reason to force you out again. I don't want to, god, I really don't want to.
Quackity felt Wilbur smile against his shoulder.
The fourth silence dragged on. Quackity wanted to ask him more about limbo, he wanted to hear him talk. He wanted to know what Tommy's ghost form was like, he wanted to hear why Wilbur worshiped Dream, he just wanted to talk and talk like nothing was wrong.
Had Wilbur always been like this? Back during the elections, he was formal and he was brash but he never crossed a line, and behind closed doors he was the same. He was soft and understanding and he took Quackity's heart with quiet remorse, he apologized, something no one else could do.
Quackity thought about why he had run for president of L'manburg in the first place. He remembered first hearing about Wilbur's plan and realizing how wrong it was. In his mind, he was saving L'manburg by running for president. He was doing the right thing. But thinking about it now, maybe there was something hidden in him that hadn't surfaced yet. That feeling of wanting power, wanting to be heard, wanting to simply be a leader. Because nobody followed you if you weren't a leader. Maybe that was selfish of him, but at least he THOUGHT he was running for a good cause- maybe everything would have worked out if he hadn't made that stupid deal with Schlatt.
He and Wilbur had almost never been friends. They knew each other and got along before L'manburg, there was that. And also whatever happened after he left Manburg, which Quackity refused to think about, because in Pogtopia while the others were out of the ravine, it was just the two of them, and it was like this.
Maybe not exactly like this. Then, they had nothing to lose. Quackity had been convinced they'd win the war. He let himself fall, and then-
And then Wilbur died.
That was the saddest part of that day, he remembered. L'manburg was destroyed, Technoblade had betrayed them, Schlatt got to die from a heart attack instead of karma, but watching the life drain from Wilbur's eyes, that was something entirely, entirely different.
"Why are you so far away?"
Quackity was snapped back to reality by Wilbur's voice next to his head.
"Wilbur, I'm right here. You literally have your arms around my waist." He immediately regretted that, because saying it out loud made the whole situation a lot more real.
"No, I mean…" Wilbur sounded strained. "You're with me here, but not… here." Wilbur tapped a finger on the side of Quackity's head and Quackity knew what he meant. He grabbed Wilbur’s hand and held it away from his head, annoyed by the tapping, and ended up just holding Wilbur's right hand while his left arm was still around Quackity's waist.
"I'm thinking," he replied, feeling calmer from the contact despite himself.
"You're always thinking. Everyone's thinking, hell, I'm thinking right now. The problem is that you get lost in your thoughts."
Quackity sighed. "Well, it's much easier to get lost in my thoughts than it is to get lost in…" In you, in us, in the feeling that comes with your hand in mine.
Wilbur did not pester him to finish. He already knew. "It's not good for you though."
"Nothing's good for me," Quackity retorted. Especially not you.
"Affection is good for you."
"I don't ever get affection."
"Q, i'm gonna tell you what you told me just a minute ago. I literally have my arms wrapped around your waist."
Against his better judgement, Quackity felt a smile pull at his lips. He covered his face with his left hand. "I hate you."
"Then make me leave."
Except I don't want you to leave. I want you to stay with me here, I want you to talk to me, I want you to hold me tighter. And so the traitorous thoughts live.
Quackity said nothing.
God, I'm pathetic.
"If you don't make me leave, I'll stay here and just annoy you to death. A whole life gone because of one affectionate zombie."
Quackity smirked. "I think I can endure."
And that's when Quackity felt Wilbur plant a kiss on his cheek.
"WILBUR."
The guilty man grinned into the crook of Quackity's neck, shaking with giggles.
Quackity wanted his voice to come off as angry, or even just a little warning, but he couldn't stop the laughter creeping into his throat. "What the fuck, Wilbur??" He turned to yell at him, but when Wilbur realized his arms had slipped from Quackity's waist, he just hugged him closer, this time with Quackity facing him. He was still giggling a little.
"Oh, you're adorable…" Wilbur muttered. Quackity's face heated up. This is unfair.
"Why are you like this?"
"Like what?"
Quackity looked at him. Looked him in the eyes for the first time since he walked in. "Like that," he replied. "You're getting that look in your eyes you always get when you look at me for too long."
"What does it look like?" Wilbur asked quietly.
"I don't know. You look at me like… like I'm someone that deserves to be looked at."
Wilbur blinked. "You are, though."
"And then you do that," Quackity continued, "where your voice gets all soft and careful, like you’re scared that too much sound will make me shatter.”
“Look me in the eyes and say it doesn’t.”
Quackity briefly recalled the way he recoiled into himself when the prison alarm went off. Sam was panicked, and Quackity just couldn’t stop mocking him. It was his instinct. As well as Tubbo’s execution, which he didn’t know was happening. Doomsday was awful, both of them.
He really didn’t like loud sounds.
“I like your voice better like this,” Quackity muttered, “Than out there. When you yell, it changes, and it gets so goddamn… abrasive.”
“I’m sorry,” Wilbur replied. “I’ve heard my voice be called many things before, and ‘abrasive’ is definitely something I don't ever want to be.”
Quackity sighed against Wilbur’s chest. “Why? Why not? Why do you insist on being so gentle to me?”
“I don’t want us to be enemies,” Wilbur confessed, and the sound of honesty was clear in voice. It was something Quackity hadn't heard from anyone else. You can always hear his honesty. “I want it to be like it was in Pogtopia. At least, I want to be friends.” At least, at least, at least, at least- what does that mean.
“You’re not going to give up getting into Las Nevadas, though.”
“No, I'm not. And you’re not going to give up keeping me out.”
“So we can’t. Wilbur, we’re not friends-" Or anything more, His mind chanted. "-we have too much to fight over. I know there are moments like this where it seems possible, where you-” Quackity paused. “-Where we both wish it was. But the world is different now. It’s passed you by, Wilbur.”
“I know, goddamnit, I know, Q,” Wilbur hissed, “But can we just- Please, for the love of god- can we forget that for a minute? Forget Las Nevadas, forget L’manburg, forget my death, forget everything, can we just- Can we pretend like it’s okay? Can we both just be here, pretending, for just a moment?”
“How long is a moment?” Quackity asked, looking away from Wilbur’s eyes and just staring off into the distance. If I look at his eyes, god knows i’ll fucking kiss him. God knows he’s gone too far this time. Holy shit.
“As long as you want it to be. We can just pretend that now is back then, when things were simple, when you and I talked and laughed.”
“Back then?” Quackity tried to remember back then. Before L'manburg, before the drug van. When the Dream SMP was simply the Dream SMP.
"What would you have done back then?" Wilbur asked quietly. One arm around his waist, one arm holding his hand.
"I would have danced with you," Quackity whispered. He was looking Wilbur in the eyes now.
Wilbur beamed, and Quackity saw the playful glint in his eye, and he couldn't keep the anticipating smile off his face. "What? What is it?"
"You'll never guess what I just happened to bring with me today," the tall man said excitedly, pulling an item from inside his coat. It was a disc.
"You did not," Quackity gasped.
"I did! Puffy wanted me to bring her this- but i'm sure she wouldn't mind if it was a bit used first," Wilbur ranted, walking over to the jukebox in the corner to put the disc in. Chirp began playing softly around the workshop.
Quackity grinned. He could do that, couldn't he? After all, he was pretending.
Just when Quackity thought it couldn't get worse, Wilbur leaned forward and held his hand out. His eyes twinkled with bittersweet affection. "May I have this dance?"
"You are so stupid," Quackity reprimanded. He shouldn't do this, he really, really shouldn't.
He took Wilbur's hand. "Fine."
Wilbur put his left hand around Quackity's waist, just like it was before, and held Quackity's right hand out to the side.
And so, within their little bubble of pretending, they danced.