duplicity's charade

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Wilbur had finally returned from his tour, his return marked the shift from summer to autumn on Quesadilla Island. He hadn't been back home on the island in ages, but as soon as he had returned home he had scooped Tallulah into his arms and affectionately hugged his daughter tightly. He dusted off all the furniture in the home and replanted flowers and fruits in the garden. The process was slow, but his house was starting to look a lot more cozy again.

Before long, a resounding knock announced the word of Wilbur's return had spread. Answering the door, he was met by a transformed Quackity, a stark contrast to their previous encounter. The last time Wilbur had seen the man, Quackity had been burdened by heavy bags under his eyes and a somber demeanor due to the loss of his son, Tilín, and here Quackity was now almost unrecognizable. Swapping his old attire of a blue zipped up jacket for a dark blue sweater, black overalls, and fingerless gloves, he seemed different, in a disconcerting way.

"Wilbur!" Quackity's voice brimmed with excitement as he squinted his eyes and broke into a broad grin. Wilbur was suddenly taken aback by an unexpected embrace, momentarily freezing. "You're finally back! I've missed you!" Quackity's words, paired with his chin resting on the brunette's chest, conveyed his newfound openness.

Wilbur felt a faint flush creeping onto his cheeks, caught off guard by Quackity's unusual display of affection. "Quackity! Yeah, I missed you too," he managed a slight chuckle, before gradually returning the hug wearily and encircling Quackity in his arms.

Quackity's smile stretched across his face as he rose onto his toes, his arms enveloping Wilbur's neck as he looked up at the tall man. Gazing up at Wilbur, Quackity's dark brown eyes met the brunette's hazel ones, looking up at Wilbur through fluttering eyelashes. Quackity let out a sigh, "The loneliness has been overwhelming in your absence, you know?" Wilbur's discomfort grew palpable; he could sense an unsettling undercurrent in Quackity's actions. When had Quackity even spoke like this? Where was their usual funny little greeting?

Wilbur managed a strained chuckle, averting his attention elsewhere and looking off to the side. A hand slid down the nape of his neck, cupping his cheek, and a shiver raced down his spine as a thumb brushed over his lips. Quackity's grin persisted, an almost eerie intensity radiating from his smile. Quackity looked happy, too happy. As if it was an exaggeration, an act. At that moment, Wilbur already knew something was completely wrong.

This was not his Quackity.