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The lights concentrated on him burned Wilbur’s eyes almost as much as the pads of his fingers ached. The stench of cheap alcohol and sweat lingered in the air as Wilbur swayed on the small platform of the dive bar. His hands clumsily roamed the guitar in his grasp. The fatigue had long set in, but he never ceased his movements. Despite the exhaustion in his limbs, the adrenaline-fueled grin on his face was almost manic, the only thing keeping him tethered to the stage. Lyrics flowed from his lips like water, spilling out everything he couldn’t bring himself to say elsewhere.
As Wilbur’s eyes swept over his small audience, his gaze caught on a familiar figure standing by the door, and he froze mid-strum. He amended his slip-up almost immediately and continued to shakily belt out his lyrics, but he never looked away.
Quackity’s dark eyes didn’t waver under Wilbur’s calculating stare. Arms crossed, he stood stiffly across the room from the stage despite his laser-focus on the performance. The scar running down his face twisted with his sneer. The cool lights of the bar fought against the warm lights of the stage, and Quackity’s raven hair glowed almost blue.
Wilbur clenched his jaw and broke eye contact. He lazily finished the last of his performance, the anxiety washing over his bones making it impossible to keep his enthusiasm alive.
Half-hearted applause sounded across the bar as Wilbur rushed to gather his things. He stepped off the stage and tried to lay as low as a six-foot-five man could. It wasn’t enough, of course, and Quackity approached him almost immediately. If looks could kill, Wilbur would’ve already been six feet under in seconds.
Quackity crowded Wilbur against a wall, keeping the musician from running like he always did, “I haven’t seen you in weeks, jackass.”
Wilbur fought a grimace and pulled his lips into a smirk instead, “What, did you miss me?”
“I don’t think about you at all,” Quackity countered instantly.
Wilbur’s heart panged, and as a tense silence lingered in the air, Wilbur let his hurt show on his face. He couldn’t help the satisfaction singing in his veins at the remorse that flickered across Quackity’s expression.
Quackity opened his mouth to speak but Wilbur interrupted with a seething hiss, “Then why do you care? Why did you come find me here?”
“Wil—you know I didn’t mean—“ Quackity cut himself off with a rattling sigh, “You can’t just… ghost me after… that.”
Wilbur paused. His mind brought images to the forefront of his mind against his will—blue jewellery glittering, blue nails tugging on his hair, blue lips against his own, blue fabric slipping off of smooth skin, blue, blue, blue—and he buried them almost immediately.
Wilbur clenched his jaw, “I just did, though, didn’t I.”
It wasn’t said as a question, and Quackity’s anger flooded back full force. He clenched his hands into fists as he spat, “Oh, so that’s it? That’s all you have to say to me?”
Wilbur scoffed, “What did you want, a heartfelt love confession and a kiss on the cheek? You mean nothing to me.”
Quackity’s deadly glare burned twin holes through Wilbur, “No, you don’t get to talk to me like that,” Quackity stepped forward and Wilbur pressed further into the wall, “You’re worthless. Nobody cares about you as much as you care about them aside from your fucking brothers. I’m doing you a favour just by being here and this is how you treat me?”
Fear coiled in Wilbur’s stomach as Quackity gripped his shirt collar. He was mercilessly yanked down to look Quackity in the eye. One side of his face was cast in a deep blue shadow, and Wilbur couldn’t look away. Hatred painted Quackity’s expression as he sneered, “You’re so fucking pathetic, it disgusts me.”
Wilbur’s heart pounded as he caught sight of Quackity’s white-knuckled fists. Fighting to control his breathing, Wilbur blurted, “Don’t hurt me.”
Quackity’s expression twisted from deadly rage to pure horror. He ripped his hand away from Wilbur’s shirt like it’d burned him and stumbled backward. Wilbur straightened shakily as Quackity stammered, “I—I didn’t—I’m so fucking sorry, I—I don’t know what came over me.”
Wilbur avoided Quackity’s gaze like it was the plague as he bit out, “No, it’s fine. I got your message loud and clear.”
Quackity’s face contorted painfully, “Wilbur—c’mon…”
But Wilbur had already pushed past him, his oversized red tee grazing Q’s blue jacket. Quackity stared at Wilbur’s retreating back with half-hearted disdain in his eyes and gut-wrenching yearning in his heart.