Wow, you're still here? Guess that means I didn't fuck up writing the first part.

:)

Quackity walked home that evening. The slip of paper with Wilbur's number on it was clutched in his hand like it would disappear if he let go of it.

After Wilbur had run back inside, he'd waited outside the bar, still trying to process what had happened. It was about twenty mintues before he'd finally gotten his thoughts gathered and mostly processed, and even then, he was still dumbfounded.

He had a phone. That was a given. But he didn't use it all that often. After all, he had no reason to before now.

His mind kept spinning in circles, coming back to Wilbur's actions. Was he flirting, or was he just awkward? Was there something deeper to his actions, or was Quackity just reading into this all wrong? 

It was probably nothing. He probably didn't even mean it.

But he wanted to call.

He really wanted to call.

He couldn't stop thinking about this as he walked, which is how he almost got hit by a car.

He saw the flashing of lights and jumped back just as the car screeched by, flipping him off. He couldn't see their face, though he assumed they were inebriated. 

Quackity sighed, rubbing his temple. He heard jogging footsteps behind him and turned, slightly sluggish from the effects of the alcohol.

It was Wilbur.

He blinked at the other man puzzledly and stepped to the side, assuming the brunet wanted to get by.

Instead, Wilbur followed him, touching his upper arm gently. "Are you alright?" He asked, voice slightly concerned.

Quackity nodded. "I'm fine. Just a little... drunk."

The taller managed a weak smile. "Alright... But that car almost hit you, you know."

Quackity shrugged. "I know. I'm not that drunk."

"Where are you going?" 

Nosy bastard.

"I have a place." Quackity answered vaguely. He didn't want to say that he was going 'home' because he'd rather die than call that hellhole home. But he didn't want to say he was going to his boyfriend's. 

That would be pretty stupid.

Wilbur managed a very good skeptical expression, one that Quackity could make out even through his slightly drunken state.

"Are you sure? Because you don't sound very sure." Wilbur said. Gods, this man would not let it go.

"I'm-" Quackity started, but Wilbur cut him off. "And don't say you're 'fine'. Fine is a four-letter-F-word after all."

Quackity rolled his eyes, the action giving him a slight headache. "Okay. I'm alright, then."

Wilbur snorted. "Sure, sure. Okay, I guess you're sufficiently 'alright'... But..." He cut himself off. 

But now Quackity's interest was piqued and he poked Wilbur's chest. "Spit it out. You can't just not tell me."

Wilbur rolled his eyes in a slightly exasperated gesture. "Alright, alright, jeez, I was just going to say that my flat's got a little extra room... If you need it."

"Your flat," Quackity mocked gently. "...Thanks. I think I'm f-" He stopped himself from saying 'fine'. "I think I'm alright, but, uh, I'll keep it in mind." The excuse was flimsy but Wilbur seemed to have let it go.

Quackity stepped back. "I think I have to go..." He hummed, not exactly eager to return to Schlatt's cold clutches. 

Whatever. He could deal with it.

Wilbur gave him a look before stepping away slightly as well. "Alright. If you're sure..." And he started to turn away.

Panic gripped Quackity and he winced, stepping forward before he could stop himself. It was probably just the alcohol.

"Wait."

He winced as soon as the word left his lips. It made him sound needy, desperate. And he didn't like being either of those things.

Too bad Wilbur heard, though, because he stopped and turned back.

"Do you want to stay the night?" Wilbur asked, an undertone of anticipation lining his voice.

Quackity nodded, hating himself as he did so. But, even as he pinched himself for accepting, he couldn't deny that he did want to.

This wasn't even just about getting away from Schlatt, although that was a big part of it, but Quackity did want to stay with him.

Wilbur grinned although Quackity couldn't help but notice that he looked relieved as he did so.

"Cool. My flat's this way."

Quackity didn't make a comment on the 'British way to say it' and instead just nodded again, following the tall brunet, only now noticing the guitar case slung across his back.

"Not far," Wilbur assured him as they walked, making ample progress down the street.

The walk was quiet, but Quackity didn't feel afraid or apprehensive, more so... thankful. Thankful that Wilbur was actually willing to have him over, despite only knowing his name.

They stopped outside a tall brick building. Wilbur hopped up the steps and opened the door, Quackity following him slightly apprehensively.

"Sorry we have to take the stairs, the lift's broken," Wilbur said in a hushed tone, striding to the stairwell. Quackity followed, noting the minimalistic appearance of the whole place.

Wilbur's purposeful footsteps echoed as he walked, while Quackity's were more... hesitant, per se.

They stopped at the third floor, Quackity nearly bumping into Wilbur as he looked backwards. He felt like the shadows were following him. Then again, he often had creepy, sad feelings like that.

Wilbur stopped in front of a mahogany door labeled '14' and unlocked it before opening it to reveal the apartment.

It wasn't nice per se, but it was... well, homey. And there weren't empty alcohol bottles on the floor.

That was a welcome feature.

Wilbur stepped in and Quackity followed, flinching as he remembered he hadn't been invited. 

Wilbur didn't seem to mind, though.

He turned to Quackity with a sheepish smile. "It's not much, but, you know, it's..."

"Home..." Quackity muttered under his breath, hardly even realizing he did so.

Wilbur cleared his throat. "So... The bed's in that room-" He started, waving vaguely at a pale door "-and I'll be sleeping on the couch."

Quackity glanced at him in confusion. Wilbur noticed his glance and chuckled. "What, did you think we'd share a bed?" He teased.

"I... don't know." Quackity mumbled, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. "Here, I'll just take the couch, I'm used to it anyways."

Wilbur's gaze softened slightly and he frowned. Quackity ignored him and moved to the couch. "Just use your own bed, I feel weird using it while you're here." Quackity insisted.

Wilbur shrugged. "Fine. But come wake me up if you need anything."

...Quackity was not used to that. He was used to "If you wake me up, you'll be on the streets faster than you can say 'please'".

This was another welcome change.

As Wilbur threw a blanket at him and said something Quackity didn't listen to, he layed down on the couch and tugged the blanket over himself.

The lights clicked off and a door shut, leaving Quackity alone. In Wilbur's apartment. 

His eyes shut and he was, for once, not afraid to fall asleep.

His mind said, What is Schlatt going to think about this? 

But Quackity was too far gone to go back now.

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