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"It's getting late," Albert hums from behind him, somewhere back by the central desk, with just enough of a lilt in his voice to tell Gust that he's meant to hear it. He's probably supposed to answer. He grunts instead, noncommittal, and holds his pencil just that little bit tighter.
"I mean, I know he's free to come and go, but he doesn't usually stray that far from you for long..."
"I know, Albert."
"I'm just saying—"
"I know, Albert," Gust repeats, finally turning his head enough to send his coworker and supposed-friend a proper glare. Albert gulps and hurriedly looks away, but the thought hangs in the air. Gust was thinking it anyway. He's acutely aware that they'll be closing up for the night any minute, and the pig he promised his mentor he'd take care of is... somewhere.
It's not that big a town. Realistically, QQ's probably just lounging at home, begging Ginger to scratch behind his ears, or meandering around The Round Table in the hopes of free scraps. All of the residents know who he is, know who he belongs to, and would take care not to run him over with a horse or let him wander too far. And he wouldn't wander too far. All he does is loaf around and stare up at Gust with big gooey eyes and a bigger round belly that would make it impossible to run if a predator went after him—
Gust isn't worried. He tells himself that clearer, firmer than he did Albert. And he keeps his eyes on the architectural sketch in front of him so his partner won't see the uncertainty in them. It's a whimsical, artistic design, more form than function, probably too unwieldy to merit making proper blueprints. It began as a fun diversion but has warped into something almost ghastly with his mood. Once Albert heads off for the night, Gust might crumple it up and trash it.
Gust's not going to head off first. Because Albert would know he wasn't going home. He'd check the two buildings next door first. The cafe up the way. The church road. The graveyard. The school, the clinic, the shops—anywhere a lazy pig could hide. Sometimes Gust goes all the way off to Amber Island to draw, so it's possible QQ could've tried that route, but on his own, he could fall in the water, or engage a madcrab, or even—
The door creaks open, in that awkward, noisy way it does when it's nudged from the bottom instead of guided by the knob. Instantly, Gust's cool goes out the window. He swivels around in his seat, spots a big pink-and-red blob on the threshold, and cries out louder than Albert does.
They both lunge forward, but Gust shoves Albert out of the way to make it first. He practically throws himself to the floor, arms darting out to grasp either side of QQ's portly frame. QQ's wobbling, mouth lolling open, and he dazedly looks up at Gust through splotches of crusty red that could only be blood.
"No." Gust's voice barely registers the first time, but it's louder the second, "No... no!" His chest seizes. His hands feel cold. He barks out, "Albert, get Dr. Xu!" Albert makes a startled noise, but the door's blocked by Gust and QQ, and it's enough time for Gust to process that Xu's not a vet. "Wait, no, get McDonald! Or Emily, or—!" He stumbles through options, reeling for answers while his arms start shaking, and he grabs QQ's face and practically shouts, "You're not going to die on me, you stupid pig! If anything happened to you, I'd—!" His voice cuts off in a choked sob, and he belatedly realizes that he's crying. The moment doesn't feel real. He distinctly remembers coming home and covertly asking Russo to find him someone willing to buy a useless pig. He never pursued that option. He got used to having a squat sidekick. He can't remember how long they've been together anymore, but suddenly, it doesn't feel like long enough.
Then QQ opens his mouth and lets out a colossal rumbling noise that sounds more like a belch than a dying wail. The fumes hit Gust with a cacophony of awful flavours. Rotten fish, old eggs, ketchup—
Gust blinks through the tears and thumbs one of the red smudges on QQ's cheek. It comes cleanly off.
He reaches over and furiously scrubs at another lump, ruining his favourite blue suit. He'll be furious about that later. In the moment, he has to know.
There's nothing underneath any of the crimson smears. Just rosy pink, perfectly un-punctured skin. There aren't even bruises.
It's ketchup. Just ketchup. Django must've offloaded some ungodly creation, and QQ gorged himself silly. Abruptly, Gust recognizes the groggy look on QQ's face—he's not hurt. He just ate too much.
Gust's heart is still pounding too fast. He can hear the blood in his ears. The fear, the angst, ebbs into rage. Into embarrassment. He feels so embarrassed. He can feel Albert looking at him, his tears, the stain on his suit. He can hear the Aha, so you DO care! like an arrow to the heart.
QQ licks at the crusting ketchup on Gust's fingers. It breaks Gust out of the stupor—he wrenches his arm away, pushing up to his feet so fast that he feels faint. He sucks in a breath.
He goes back to his chair, facing the wall, and doesn't turn around again until he hears Albert, who remains kindly quiet, leave. He doesn't get up again until he feels QQ nuzzling happily into his ankles, as if to say Thank you for caring. Gust has half a mind to snap that he doesn't.
Instead, since they're alone, he reaches down to begrudgingly scratch behind one floppy ear. Then they go home, and he lets Ginger bathe QQ, so Gust himself can go straight to bed and no one else has to notice that his cheeks are still as pink as his pig's.