Chapter Text
“Sorry, not going to work- hey, pass me the soap?” Wilbur says, and snatches the bottle of dish soap out of Quackity’s hands and practically drenches the cutting board with it before scrubbing it down with a sponge.
Quackity rolls his eyes and turns on the sink to rinse off the pot he’s holding. “What do you mean, it’s not gonna work? You gotta be a bit more specific than that.”
Wilbur purses his lips. “Llulah’s staying over at her mom’s for the weekend, so that’s not going to work. How about the week after?”
“I’ll have to check, but I think that works too,” he says, setting the pot on the drying rack. “But what about you?”
“I’m probably going to take the time to try and work out a song or two for the next album,” Wilbur says, swooping in to use the sink. “Besides that, I’m not really sure.”
“Alone?” The question pops out unconsciously, and he winces.
Wilbur rolls his eyes. “It’s just for the weekend, Quackity, I’ll live.”
“I know that,” he says defensively. “I’m just trying to be considerate, asshole.”
Wilbur holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, all I’m saying is I don’t see what the big deal is. I mean, Tallulah is over at your place all the time.”
“That doesn’t mean it feels the same.” He points out the omission in Wilbur’s statement.
Wilbur looks away and shuts off the sink, depositing the cutting board on the drying rack. “No, it isn’t,” he admits, still looking away. “With you it’s- it’s different.”
The words stir a warm feeling in his chest. “You can stay with me and Tilín,” he offers without thinking, but the moment he says it, it feels right.
Wilbur’s eyes widen ever so slightly as his head snaps to look at Quackity. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“Tallulah is over at my place all the time,” he parrots. “She’s a little kid, you’re a grown-ass adult. You can manage yourself, right? Or am I going to have to break out the child locks?” he asks, raising an eyebrow in a show of fake concern.
Wilbur flushes. “Shut the fuck up, prick. That’s not funny,” he mutters. “I can handle myself.”
Quackity snickers. “So is that a yes?”
“Yes, damn it,” Wilbur groans, then raises a finger. “But, I have an amendment to make to your proposal. If we do this, then I’m hosting and paying for everything. I refuse to impose on you just because I’m sad that my daughter is away for the weekend. Are you amenable to those terms?”
He gnaws on his lip, thinking. That might be better, actually. Wilbur could feel like his home is full, rather than like he’s running away from the emptiness. But on the flip side, he also wouldn't want to impose either.
Eventually, he comes to a decision. “It’s a deal,” he says, holding out his hand.
Wilbur shakes it firmly. “Then it’s a deal.”
-
Quackity shuffles around the kitchen in the faint moonlight, opening cabinets in search of a mug. He opens one and, oh, there are the bowls again. He curses under his breath. He’s pretty sure he’s gone through every cabinet at least twice by now, and still no mugs. He knows that they exist, he’s seen Wilbur break them out to use at dinner before. So where the hell could they be?
The room is flooded with bright light, and he blinks rapidly as his eyes adjust to the change.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Wilbur asks softly.
He turns to see Wilbur leaning against the doorway casually, finger still on the light switch. “I’m just thirsty,” he lies. “I’ve been looking for a mug for, like, the past five minutes and I can’t find one.”
Wilbur saunters over and hooks a finger under the handle of the bottom drawer by the dishwasher and pulls out a mug. “Here you go,” he says, holding it out to Quackity.
His jaw drops. “Who the fuck puts their cups in a drawer? Only psychopaths, that’s who. Just keep them in a cabinet like a normal person.”
“Just take the damn mug and stop making fun of me,” Wilbur says, smiling even as he rolls his eyes. Quackity takes the mug gratefully and sticks it under the hot water tap to fill it. “I get it,” he says, returning to the original subject. “Sometimes there’s just a lot on your mind.”
Quackity takes a small sip to test the temperature. It’s a bit too hot, so he adds a dash of cold water. “I said I was just thirsty,” he insists.
“Sure, whatever you say,” Wilbur says airily. “I know I couldn’t.”
He tilts his head at the admission. “What’s on your mind?”
Wilbur smiles wistfully. “I just… miss Tallulah. I’m a clingy motherfucker, honestly. A bit too clingy sometimes, probably.”
That doesn’t sound like a bad thing, Quackity almost says. It would be nice if–
“Well, that, and my body is aching,” Wilbur continues, jarring Quackity out of his thoughts.
“Huh? Why?”
“I need a bigger couch. My feet dangle over the side,” Wilbur says with a laugh. “That’s never been a problem before but you live and learn, I guess.”
“Shit, I’m sorry, man,” Quackity says, “I feel terrible kicking you out of your own bed. Let’s switch.”
“No, no, I’m the host,” Wilbur counters. “If I say you get the bed, then you get the bed. I’m not about to make you sleep on the couch after inviting you over.”
“Then I’ll sleep in Tallulah’s room with Tilín,” he says firmly.
Wilbur shakes his head. “The top bunk is missing its sheets right now and you’re going to wake them if you try to make the bed. It’s fine, honestly.”
He grits his teeth. “Then we can share, how about that, huh? It’s a queen-size, you’ve got enough room.” Wilbur’s cheeks turn pink and Quackity pauses, realizing the implications of what he just said. “I mean– it’s only fair, right?” he stutters.
“Uh, I don’t know…yeah– okay, that’s… that’s fine,” Wilbur says awkwardly. “Thanks.”
He finishes his water in one gulp and deposits it in the dishwasher before heading back to Wilbur’s room where he’d been staying for the night. Wilbur follows him, but when Quackity hops back in the bed, Wilbur only hovers on the side nervously.
“Just get in the bed,” he huffs, tugging Wilbur down by the arm.
Wilbur crawls in next to him and he flicks the bedside lamp off, leaving them in darkness. He can hear Wilbur breathing unevenly beside him, outline stiff as a board, so he reaches out and takes him by the hand. He squeezes gently, and Wilbur squeezes back.
Wilbur’s breath slowly evens out and Quackity feels his eyelids grow heavy. While he was having trouble sleeping before, whatever was troubling him subconsciously seems to have vanished far away and soon enough, he’s asleep.
-
When Quackity wakes up, he’s warm and at peace. His eyes flutter open lazily, and he raises a hand to block the light.
“Wha…” Wilbur mumbles beside him.
The unusual sound shakes him awake, and the events of the previous night come flooding back to him. With a start, he realizes that somehow they’d rolled towards each other in their sleep and are now clinging together like a pair of koalas, limbs tangled beneath the bedsheets.
He curses and tries to extricate himself, but Wilbur seems to sense the motion and holds him tighter.
“Don’t go,” Wilbur says almost inaudibly. He’s clearly still half-asleep, his face buried in the pillow.
Wilbur’s grip is weak, and Quackity could easily break the hold—but he doesn’t. Instead, he settles back down and lays his head against Wilbur’s chest, feeling the slow rise and fall.
Just when he’s about to fall asleep once more, the door bursts open.
“Papá!” Tilín calls. “Can we– oh.”
He jolts to full awareness and he can feel his cheeks heat up as he realizes exactly how the situation looks. “Tilín!” he yelps. “Remember what I said about knocking?”
“Oh, sorry, I forgot,” they say unrepentantly, then smile. “It wasn’t that important, you can go back to doing what you were doing before. Bye!” The door shuts, leaving him and Wilbur alone again.
“What we were doing before? What did they mean, ‘doing before?’” Quackity’s eyes widen. “Tilín, come back here! Goddamn it, Tilín!”
Wilbur lets out a muffled snicker beside him, and he turns. Wilbur has buried himself completely under the covers, leaving only a human-sized lump visible from above. He sighs and yanks the sheet off.
Without the fabric protection, Quackity can see that Wilbur’s face is as bright red as his own face feels and the verbal flogging he was ready to dish out dies on his tongue. He’s so cute when he’s embarrassed, he thinks. Tilín’s words float through his brain, infesting every corner and digging in. An image pops into his head unbidden, and his throat clogs. Without a word, he scrambles out of the bed, grabs a random shirt and bottom from his suitcase, and runs to the en-suite bathroom.
Once the door is securely locked behind him, he cranks the sink to the coldest temperature and splashes his face with icy water. “No, no, no,” he whispers to himself. “He is your friend. He is your friend and the father of your son’s best friend. Get your head out of the gutter.” He slaps himself a few times for good measure and begins to count by threes to distract himself.
After fifteen or so minutes, the unwanted thoughts are mostly gone and he feels ready to face the world. He turns to the clothes he grabbed and groans.
It looks like he’ll be going out in a yellow dress shirt and purple booty shorts.
He heads back to the bedroom to grab a change of clothes and notices Wilbur staring. “What?” he demands.
“Nothing,” Wilbur says in a strangled voice. “That’s a very… interesting fashion choice.”
Quackity flips him the bird.
-
The next time that Tallulah is over at his and Tilín’s place, Quackity invites Wilbur to stay too. Even though Wilbur assures him that it’s different, that the apartment isn’t lonely when Tallulah is at Quackity’s, he isn’t sure he fully buys that; maybe he’s just projecting, but the sheer joy and relief on Wilbur’s face when he makes the offer tell him otherwise.
And it seems like Wilbur can pick up on Quackity’s own feelings because soon enough, they’re staying at each others’ places as often as their kids are sleeping over.
He forgets to pack his toothbrush one time, and from that moment on, there are two toothbrushes in Wilbur’s bathroom. Wilbur’s sweaters somehow end up in his closet and he leaves a set of pajamas at Wilbur’s, assuring himself that it’s just out of convenience. Then, one day in his shower after accidentally grabbing Wilbur’s fucking three-in-one instead of his own minty shampoo, it hits him that he now has two sets of everything: one at his house, and one at Wilbur’s.
It’s the same for Tilín, and—now that he thinks of it—the same for Wilbur and Tallulah. He’d certainly discovered Tallulah’s beanies lying around his apartment before and had once opened Tilín’s dresser to find her clothes shoved in there alongside his son’s. He knows that Tilín has multiple ribbons at Wilbur’s place because after losing one to the wind, they ran to Tallulah’s room and came out with another.
He finishes with his shower and heads to the kitchen to help Wilbur make breakfast.
“Morning,” Wilbur says, whisking a bowl of eggs. “Can you put the sausages on the pan? It should already be heated.”
He rolls up his sleeves and gets to work.
He’s just finished dumping the cooked sausages onto a large plate when he feels a tug on his sleeve.
“Papi? Can you help me with my homework later?”
“Sure–” he starts, then freezes. That’s not Tilín, but Tallulah smiling innocently at him. He bends down and looks her in the eye. “Tallulah, I’m not…” he opens and closes his mouth. “I’m not…”
Wilbur can evidently see him struggling because he steps in. “Tallulah, darling, don’t bother Uncle Quackity with that, I can help you.”
She sucks on the end of her braid, seemingly conflicted. But just when it appears like she’s about to agree, Tilín bursts in.
“Papá dos!” they say. “Can you take a photo with me? I told Juanaflippa that my second papá is a rock star but she didn’t believe me. I wanna text her a picture to prove it.”
Wilbur freezes, looking like a deer in headlights as they run up to him, waving their phone.
Quackity bursts out into laughter. “Those little shits.”
Wilbur’s brain, which had apparently been buffering the whole time, finally kicks into gear and he sets down the bowl of shredded cheese he’d been holding. He mutters something under his breath that Quackity can’t quite make out.
“What did you say?” he asks, curious.
“I said they’re not exactly wrong,” Wilbur says with a wry smile. “We have kind of been co-parenting for a while now. Almost…” he counts on his fingers, “five months. A year, if you start from the first sleepover. That’s a long time.”
He blinks, taken aback. He hadn’t realized it had been quite so long. While he’s still mentally recalibrating, Wilbur turns back to Tilín.
“Sure,” Wilbur says with a smile, “I’ll take a photo with you. If you print it out, I’ll sign it, too.” He takes the phone from them and snaps a few pictures, then hands it back and pulls out his own phone. “Hey Quackity, Tallulah, want to join?”
He slides in next to Wilbur, while Tallulah skips over and wraps her arm around Tilín. They take another few photos, and Wilbur shows him the images.
He sees the four of them, standing in the kitchen together so naturally, like they were always meant to be a… “family,” he mumbles out loud. “It’s a family photo.”
Wilbur glances at him and doesn’t disagree.
-
Later that night, they’re sitting in their shared bed, Quackity reading a book and Wilbur scribbling something in his journal. It’s quiet, but the room feels like it’s filled with static, buzzing in the air and under his skin.
It builds and builds until eventually, it overflows, and Quackity snaps, asking Wilbur the question that’s been weighing on his mind all day: “If we’re a family, what does that make us?”
“Two single parents platonically raising their children together? It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to,” Wilbur says easily.
It’s a safe answer, one that he should take relief in. Instead, it stings. Maybe he’s being an idiot, maybe he’ll ruin their friendship forever, but he isn’t willing to wait in limbo anymore.
He closes his eyes and whispers, “But what if I want it to?”
The static in the air turns into electricity that crackles through his blood and sends his heart racing. He’s pulled forward and Wilbur leans toward him and it feels inevitable, like magnets or twin planets caught in each other’s gravity.
Then their lips meet, and he thinks that they fit together so perfectly that they must have been meant to be. That this is what he was missing all along and now it’s been found.
He runs out of air and pulls away, gasping heavily.
“Wow,” Wilbur breathes. “That was fucking incredible.”
Quackity is inclined to agree. “Is that a yes?”
Wilbur giggles, leaning in again. “Yes, Quackity. That’s a yes.” He gives Quackity a peck on the cheek and Quackity’s stomach flutters. “So… is this a good time to mention that I’m moving?”
Lost in the ecstasy of being kissed, he almost misses the sudden shift in topic. Then the words register.
“Moving?” Panic surges at the thought. He only just got Wilbur, he can’t lose him now.
“No, no, I’m still going to be around here,” Wilbur rushes to reassure him.
He takes a deep breath to collect himself. “Where?”
“Hope Gardens.”
He blinks in confusion. “The fancy gated community?”
Wilbur looks almost bashful as he twirls his pen and says, “I wanted a bigger place. You’re over so often, and the apartment’s kind of small.” Dropping the pen, he reaches out and clasps Quackity’s hands between his own. “You asked me before why I didn’t live in a big, fuck off mansion if I had the money and I told you that it would be too lonely for just me and Tallulah. Well, now it’s not just me and Tallulah anymore.”
“Oh,” he says quietly. His throat clogs and he quickly blinks away the wetness in his eyes.
“I was waiting for the right time to tell you. I wasn’t exactly expecting this,” Wilbur says, gesturing vaguely, “but I just thought that since we’re now official… it doesn’t have to be my home that you visit, it could be our home.” His throat bobs as he swallows. “Quackity, will you move in with me?”
There’s a lease on his apartment that lasts for another eight months and a crap ton of logistics to complicate matters, but none of that is on his mind as he responds without hesitation.
“Okay,” he says. “Let’s live together.”
-
“Alright, kids, it’s movie night! What do you want to watch?” Quackity asks. He sits with Wilbur and the two kids on the couch, half-buried under a mound of blankets.
“Shrek!” Tilín shouts.
“Frozen,” Tallulah says.
Wilbur begins to cycle through the Netflix recommendations. “You’re going to have to agree on one,” he says and raises an eyebrow at Quackity in a silent question.
He shrugs in response. He doesn’t have a preference between the two, and the kids’ opinions are what matters anyway.
Wilbur keeps scrolling, but the kids can’t come to an agreement on what to watch. “Alright, how about… How to Train Your Dragon?” he proposes. “I think you’ll both like that.” He opens the trailer and hits play.
Sure enough, their children both seem to be interested in the movie, so they settle in to watch, while Quackity gets up to grab the popcorn from the microwave. It smells delicious, and he finds his mouth watering already. He opens the bag and dumps it in a large bowl for the family to share.
When he re-enters the living room, Tilín bounces up out of their seat to swipe the bowl from him and places it on the coffee table, but not without first snatching a large handful for themself with a cheeky grin. Quackity returns to his seat and curls up under the blankets, leaning his head against Wilbur’s shoulder.
“Hey papi, can you turn down the volume a little bit?” Tallulah asks.
He reaches for the remote and freezes when Wilbur’s hand lands on top of his. He laughs and withdraws his hand, letting Wilbur turn the volume down. “We really have to figure out the terms of address, don’t we.”
“Probably,” Wilbur agrees. “But not right now. It’s movie time.”
He can feel Wilbur’s arm wrap around him and he leans into the hug. He reaches over to the bowl and tosses a piece of popcorn into his mouth.
“I love you,” Wilbur says quietly, hugging him just a bit tighter.
He looks around and sees a house full of photographs and framed art pieces made with love. Wilbur’s acoustic guitar is in one corner, right beside his own. Wrapped around Tallulah’s flute is one of Tilín’s ribbons, gifted “so that they’d be with her always.” He looks around and sees his son and daughter whispering to each other, snickering about some line in the movie while he and Wilbur cuddle together in the dim light. He looks around and thinks that he couldn’t have asked for a better family.
He twines his fingers with Wilbur’s and squeezes gently. “Love you too.”