A Series of Smokebreaks

Chapter 5

tw: mentions of picking at skin/cuticles (very short)
image cred: @/mossbug_ on twt

ALSO TW FOR TRANSPHOBIA AT ONE PART IM SO SORRY I FORGOT TO PUT THE TW ORIGINALLY 

the tw is in the paragraph that begins with "Wilbur groaned in protest", ill also put a lil star before that paragraph. 

"What?"

"Fundy. He's your son."

Wilbur looked like he'd taken a punch to the chest.

"His mother is a... a salmon. Named Sally," Quackity added quickly, trying to provide any sort of context. "He's uh- we don't really know why Fundy's a fox.

Wilbur's eyes got even wider. "A salmon?"

"Yes."

He put his head in his hands, whispering to himself, "A salmon. A fucking salmon. I fucked a salmon and we had a child. A child who is part fox. And he hates me." He looked up at Quackity. "Why does he hate me?"

Quackity looked away, guilty. "Look, Wilbur, maybe I shouldn't-"

"Tell me or I won't leave."

Quackity's gaze snapped back to him, surprised. "You what?"

"I won't leave," he replied with resolve. "I'll stay here until you tell me what happened."

"Wilbur, I-" Quackity began again, standing up.

"Quackity, please."

Quackity stiffened immediately at the pleading tone in his voice. He turned to see Wilbur staring back at him, the desperation visible in the lines of his face.

"Wilbur- Wil." He'd begun to rush forward protest, but Quackity had put his hand against Wilbur's chest to stop him. On instinct, Wilbur placed his own hands over Quackity's to hold them in place but quickly removed them, fearing he'd overstepped. To his surprise, Quackity took his hand back and grasped it between his own, looking up in consent.

Wilbur immediately softened at the gesture, letting both of his lanky, calloused, hands be pulled into Quackity's slim and thoughtful ones. He watched, entranced, as Quackity smoothed his thumbs over the backs of his hands and along his fingers. He started to feel the emotions in him settle a bit, instantly more relaxed.

"Can we maybe sit down and talk about it?" Wilbur asked timidly, still watching Quackity run his fingers over his palms. Quackity nodded and, to Wilbur's dismay, dropped his hands and led him over to a small couch.

They sat down, as close to facing each other as the couch would allow with their knees touching slightly. Before Wilbur could say anything, Quackity spoke quietly. "Give me a moment. I need to collect my thoughts." Wilbur nodded, and watched as Quackity's brow pinched in concentration. As he watched, he noticed Quackity's hands fidgeting intensely in his lap, picking at his cuticles and freckles. Carefully, Wilbur set his own hand over them, stilling their erratic movement and earning him a look of confusion from Quackity.

"You were just ah- y'know. Bad for your hands to keep doing that."

Quackity quirked an eyebrow, then followed Wilbur's gaze down to his damaged fingertips.

"Heh, yeah, it's a bad habit of mine. What do you suggest I do about it?"

Wilbur offered his own hand again, making Quackity laugh a little. But he took Wilbur's hand nonetheless and started playing with his fingers and knuckles, brushing his thumbs over the callouses. His brow pinched to focus once again, then eventually evened again as he sighed.