A//N: Heyyy this totally didn't take a while because I was trying to figure out how to do a french accent for Guns and Ships ahhha yeeaah it totally hasn't been played on loop for the past uhhh days
When I added the Wilbur Soot is not okay tag it was bound to show some use, cuz my guy is helpless here and he's not happy. But don't worry, he might only feel worse next chapter
Also, don't forget there's some graphic violence that's very much gonna appear in this story, especially for future chapters
Wilbur slept very uncomfortably that night.
He had tried and tried again to stop thinking, seeing as every second a dulling pain would just appear out of nothing- or out of his thoughts, either way his stomach was done with the sensation of a rock sitting inside, right at the bottom, and so was Wilbur, so he squeezed his eyes and wrapped himself almost in a suffocating manner with the blanket. To suffocate his mind, of course.
And it must've worked, because Wilbur wakes up. Can't do that if you didn't sleep in the first place.
He struggles for a moment, eyes still closed and arms still tired as he gets out of the mess of blankets he's in. He groans when his arms are free, rolling to his side to be met with the back of the couch.
Oh yeah, he slept on the couch. Wilbur opens his eyes, sitting up and holding back a yawn that still makes it's way out as he stretches his arms.
It's rather bright out, light pouring so generously through the window behind the couch, the one in the kitchen and the patio- gods it's too bright.
Wilbur squints, deciding on laying back down and burying his face in the nearest pillow. He sighs tiredly, his breath heating up his face that he lifts away from the pillow due to the unwelcomed feeling of his own breath.
Sitting up, he suddenly feels a bit cold, but not exactly in a hot or cold sense, because he's actually still got his legs swallowed in fuzzy fabric. Except then it is in the hot and cold sense as his side now feels uncomfortably cold, like someone's cut a whole in his shirt. His head unwillingly (perhaps) turns to the patio and suddenly it's night again.
Well, in Wilbur's head it is. He's out on the patio, soft laughs, twinkling stars, a flickering night, pressed side by side with Quackity.
Wilbur's face heats up. Quackity-
Quackity, a couch, limited space, pink cheeks and tired mumbles.
Wilbur recalls it all, he recalls it all coming to a crashing stop, abrupt and confusing, the soft moment lost in Quackity's harsh tone and accusing questions.
Gods, what was he supposed to do now?
Wilbur hides his face in his hands, not even knowing where to start.
'What if we just forgot about the whole last night- act like it never happened?'
He wonders how well that would work for the two of them. If they could carry on like there wasn't a single doubt or hesitation last night, like they never ended up that close to each other at all. Or would there just always be a constant and silent tension between them even if they tried to forget it? Never truly gone out of the mind and making the moments they have awkward?
Oh no, that couldn't happen. That would be one of the worst outcomes. Wilbur doesn't like even the thought of it.
He wants to be able to still talk with Quackity normally, joke around with him or give him the usual side hug he normally did.
YOU ARE READING
For Our Own Sake
FanfictionYO: Cover art is from thunderbottle on tumbler Quackity was just trying to steal some resources for himself. Not save this random stranger's life after almost killing him. He especially wasn't trying to get himself stuck with surviving with the guy...
