For Our Own Sake

10. Blood Stains

A//N: sorry it's been a bit, been busy

Wilbur feels entirely euphoric at this moment, existing here, engulfed by the warmth of Quackity's hands pulling him closer by his shoulders, chest pressed together as they steal each others' breaths with each prolonged kiss, huffing afterwards only to continue, followed by a small fit of giggles as the two of them bat their eyelashes and let their hands roam and wander with tender touches.

Wilbur loves it, though. By this point he's probably too far busy holding Quackity's waist to remember that zombies aren't just pieces of fiction. In all honesty, he may have even forgotten what a zombie is due to the way Quackity's kissing him until he's near dizzy.

So it's no wonder he smiles like there's nothing else on earth but the two of them as they lean out to gain a far more normal breath and he holds Quackity's hand as caringly as he can.

Because gods, he cares so much about the man sitting right in front of him, mismatching eyes glistening even with the lack of light in the room, his scar still so beautiful and apparent. Even Quackity's hair has Wilbur stuck in a hazed state of admiration with the way it perfectly frames his face.

Quackity is a very pretty man, Wilbur knows it to be true. And soon, when the two are done kissing each others' face off, Wilbur remembers that zombies are a true thing too as Quackity checks up on Tommy.

Reluctantly, Wilbur allows himself to be part of reality instead of the one world where he and Quackity existed in a room together. Opening the door, Wilbur fully acknowledges the tingle in his chest as he sees Quackity, arms crossed as he leans against a wall.

Wilbur's lips almost feel ticklish but he refuses the urge to press his thumb to his lower lip just as Quackity's own had. And looking at them now, they're still so pink and well, kissed.

Wilbur's stomach twists satisfyingly. The silent fact that he is the cause of that getting a similar reaction to somebody's toes curling when reading a book full of lovely literature and wonderful writing.

In fact, he is so focused on it he doesn't hear Tommy's voice calling his name until the kid is walking towards him. Wilbur tries to clear his mind as Tommy approaches. Of course, not without sparing a glance over at Quackity who looks so special and cute as he watches Shroud with curious eyes. Wait, shit, Tommy, that's right.

"Hey Tommy," Wilbur says with a tight nod as he continues to move his brain's attention from the moment he and Quackity shared to the present where Tommy is standing in front of him.

"Oh, Wilbur, we called you like three times," Tommy says but a smile ever so barely tugs at his lips like he finds it funny. Wilbur doesn't understand how this could be worthy of being comedic, however, he only hums.

"My apologies then."

Tommy's wandering eyes flicker back to Wilbur seemingly out of a brief sense of confusion that's instantly wiped away as he chuckles. "Yeah, apology accepted if you come eat with us now."

"Oh, was that why you were-" But before he can even finish Tommy's nodding.

"Yup, now come on, I'm hungry," Tommy says encouragingly, though the last bit is more of a complaint as he waves Wilbur over. Quackity's already made his way to the kitchen, preparing the familiar meal they've been surviving on: Cheerios.

Honestly, sometimes Wilbur wonders how only eating this cereal has kept them alive and awake but then he remembers how they haven't been running around all the time. They haven't even gone scavenging since he and Quackity got kicked out by zombies.

Wilbur hurries to push that out of his head, no need to recall such things. So he shakes it off and sits down across from Tommy and Quackity ends up in the middle.