Chapter Text
Wilbur leans against the wooden wall of the shop, smoke curling from the cigarette in his mouth, filling his lungs with the deadly ash. The sun shines down on the sandy ground, but the wind is cool. He watches people walk in and out of the other old buildings. He knows his original plan was to only stop for a drink before moving on looking for god knows what. Instead, he decided to have a cigarette.
His hair was dry from the air but his hat kept his head safe from the sun. He stomped the cigarette into the floor with his boot and stepped off the shop's patio, putting his hands into his long coat pockets.
He goes through the bar doors, pushing passed people who smelled of alcohol and what they might consider to be life. Wilbur wasn’t sure what he would consider to be life but it sure as hell isn't this.
The bar was old and wooden with stools scattered underneath the counter. Some were in sets, reminiscent of groups of people who had sat together. Wilbur sits at a stool away from most of the other people at the bar who looked as if they were all in their own worlds. He didn’t come to make small talk, he just wanted a break for a minute.
Wilbur notices a man behind the bar, his hair longer than Wilburs, and nearly black. Wilbur notices it looks awfully soft too. The man had a white button up and a scar down his eye.
“Want a Whiskey?” The man said, barely turning to face Wilbur.
“um.. yeah sure,” Wilbur replied. The man took a bottle out from under the bar, then placed a small glass and handed the amber liquid to Wilbur, who didn’t take his eyes off the man. He looked up at Wilbur and if Wilbur had paid even a little less attention, he wouldn’t have noticed the way his eyes landed on his own shirt, which had a button undone at the top. The man had deep brown eyes that almost intimidated Wilbur. The dark haired man’s eyes made his heart fall heavy in his chest and Wilbur chose to call it intimidation.
“What’s your name?” The man asked, averting his eyes to put the bottle back under the bar. His voice had a tone that Wilbur couldn’t place, which was strange since Wilbur was usually good at seeing through people's voices.
“Why do you ask?” He replied in a voice almost as vague as the man’s.
“Can’t a man want to get to know someone out here in the desert while working at his second little job?” The man's voice lightened to an amused tone, Wilbur still couldn’t tell if he meant something else underneath it.
He answered anyway, “Wilbur,” taking a sip of the Whiskey, the liquid burning slightly, he usually doesn’t drink Whiskey, “and yours?”
“I’m Quackity,” Wilbur was too used to people having hidden meanings behind their words, “I haven’t seen you in this place before. New here?” The man asked, looking back up at Wilbur.
“No, just stopping by,” Wilbur said. He didn’t want to explain his whole life to this man at this bar on a random afternoon.
“You don't like saying much do you?” Quackity responded.
“Why do you care?” Wilbur snapped, though it didn't seem to affect Quackity. He didn’t take it as a suggestion to get out of the conversation and Wilbur didn’t know how to react to that.
“Why do you care so much that I ask?”
“I didn't come here to be interrogated.” Wilbur should’ve gone then, left the Whiskey and not paid, but instead the man's expression changed from an almost uninterested poker face to eye contact with his deep brown eyes that might’ve looked so far into his own soul that he had seen everything without Wilbur saying a word. His heart burned and he called it frustration. They stay silent for a moment, Quackitys gaze scrutinizing and soft all at once.
“Have you gambelled?” Quackity broke eye contact, turning back to whatever he had been doing before.
“a few times” Wilbur responded.
“Did you win?”
“Yes Quackity, I did” He didn’t particularly want to sound cocky, but he didn’t want to sound like any other drunk gambler either.
“I have a deck of cards” This time Wilbur knew what Quackity was asking, and Wilbur wouldn’t back down.
“And I have time,” Wilbur said, taking up his silent offer.
Quackity pulled up a stool, sitting on the other side to where Wilbur sat, his own glass of alcohol next to the deck.
“You seem like the type who would gamble” Wilbur voiced, careful with his words for a reason he did not know, “a man that works in a bar, makes small talk with strangers, so on and so forth.”
“It's a pastime,” Quackity replied, putting cards on the table and to any other person they’d think he wasn't even thinking about it, “It gets boring though.”
Wilbur stops for a second, theres not a hint of malice in his voice, “I get it,” He isn’t as careful with his words this time, instead, breaking the rule he made with himself and small talk without wanting to, “riding a horse around to towns, buying drinks and trading things and never having a constant gets tiring.”
“Why do you do it then?” Quackity asks, voice too sincere for Wilbur to process.
Wilbur thinks and speaks honestly, “I don't know any other way.”
Quackity nods and puts another card down, this time with more thought. Wilbur realizes this game isn’t as easy as he had thought it would be. They aren’t betting much, almost in the way good friends would gamble. Without hostility, without fear.
Time passes and Quackity loses. Barely, but he loses all the same. He looks up to Wilbur, lips turning up at the corners slightly. Wilbur just takes the money and sits back in the chair, expecting Quackity to get mad.
“Good game” is all the gambler grants, “you’re good”
“Thank you” Wilbur replies, in the back of his mind he’s expecting something to happen. A twist, a rage to build up in Quackitys brown eyes, anything, but it never does.
“You’re so timid, Wilbur,” Quackity commented. The use of his own name almost brings him back to earth from the world of what ifs and suspicions he’s always in.
“You trust too easily,” Wilbur replies, unsure if it's even accurate.
“Then it cancels out,” Quackity says and puts the deck of cards back wherever they went, “maybe even becomes a good balance.”
Wilbur feels like he never knows how to react to anything Quackity says, this time he stays silent, pushing the empty glass to the side. Wilbur suddenly notices the conversations around him, the room is loud compared to the way he felt like the only other person in the room for the past- hour? He doesn't keep track of time.
“Where are you going after this?” The man asks.
“You know as much as i do” Wilbur replies.
“Why don't you stay a bit?” Quackity offers, but he hesitated and yet, Wilbur could still not tell why he would ask.
“For what?” Wilbur replies, almost sad that it’s his reality, “I’ll wake up tomorrow, get on my horse and ride off like every other day and every other night.”
“I’m not going to be your therapist but you could at least try,” Quackity rests his arms on the wood, once again looking at him with the same eye contact as earlier and suddenly Wilbur doesn’t know what he wants.
“Is smoking allowed here?” Wilbur asks, changing the topic even though he knew the answer.
“no. You could go outside though,” Quackity looks at Wilbur's coat as Wilbur grabs the pack, “you know that's not good for you”
“You know I don't care.”
Wilbur stands up and leaves through the door next to the bar. It's not as windy as earlier, but it’s later and not as hot. He takes the pack from his pocket and takes a cigarette out, lighting it and letting it turn into dark ash and it's almost poetic, almost sad.
The door that he came out of opens, the dark haired man’s boots are loud against the wood.
“Hello” Wilbur greets the man but doesn’t look at him.
“Maybe it was a bit hypocritical for me to say what I said,” Wilbur thinks he knows what he’s talking about, “Do you have a cigarette?”
Wilbur replies with a hum and takes one from his coat pocket, handing it to Quackity who leans against the wooden walls and looks at Wilbur. Wilbur doesn’t question why he changed his mind.
“Match?” Quackity puts his hand out but instead of handing the match to Quackity, Wilbur lights it and puts it up to the cigarette in between Quackity’s lips. ** Quackity just stares at him as the smoke rises and Wilbur moves back, unsure of his own expression.
He doesn’t know why he lit it himself, maybe out of politeness, maybe from the way he saw Quackitys lips were pink against the white paper.
“Thanks” is all Quackity says in response and they lean against the wall and look out at the desert landscape. Wilbur glances at Quackity who looks more deep in thought than Wilbur had expected. The low sun shines facing Quackitys side profile and it outlines his every feature. Wilbur tried not to think about how bright he looked, or how beautiful his eyes looked, or how soft and golden his skin looked.
He looked back out and tilted his hat to the side, blocking the sun from his eyes. He thought about every place he’s gone and every person who tried to make small talk with him were basically the same with the same intentions and the same sly tint to their eye. Quackity didn’t have that, he had the potential, he had all the traits that could make him a cunning piece of shit, and yet, he chose his battles. He could gamble, and he was good. He was quick and smart and got around words and hid it in the way his voice fell at the ends of his sentences, hit it in the way he looked at Wilbur in a way that made him forget how to think. Maybe he stole his mind while he was at it.
“What's your horse named?” Quackity breaks the silence.
“Vienna” Wilbur crushed the cigarette to the ground, almost guilty knowing there was ash burned into his sole.
“isn't that a city in Europe?” Quackity questioned, Wilbur knew he was asking why.
“Yeah, I wanted her to be my reminder that there's more to this world than the desert and cold nights and hot days and the sun beating down on my hair if the ride would be particularly long,” Wilbur answered. He hasn’t ever told that to anyone before but there was a type of understanding in Quackitys voice that Wilbur didn’t want to understand himself.
“I like how you explain things” Quackity said, Wilbur looked over to him but the man's gaze was fixed on the distance. Wilbur didn’t look away.
“Does this town have a Inn?” Wilbur asked
“You’re staying?” Quackity responded with slight surprise in his voice. He finally turns to face Wilbur and
“Yeah” Wilbur said with more confidence than he has had in a while. Which isn't even that much.
“There's one, it’s two buildings down,” Quackity replied.
“Thanks” Wilbur doesn’t even know what convinced him to stay.
They stay out there for a bit longer, the golden hour light fading away slowly. Neither of them have their cigarette anymore and Wilbur feels just fine like that for once.
“I should go back to the bar, it's getting late and it shouldn’t stay unwatched at this hour” Quackity says, meeting Wilburs eyes again. Part of Wilburs heart is melting and he doesn’t have a reason why. He just knows how warm Quackitys presence feel.
“Okay, goodnight Quackity” He says and steps away from the wall.
“Bye,” Quackity waves before turning and going through the door, conversations from inside, loud and then quieting down when the door opens and closes.
Wilbur doesn’t know why it feels so empty now, the air feels cooler and usually that would’ve been a good thing. He looks down at the sand where they put their cigarette and part of him can’t believe that really happened. Maybe it was all a daydream he had while standing out here alone. But the two cigarettes dug into the ground is the little evidence he has and he’ll take it.
He walks to the Inn Quackity talked about, part of him relieved that he didn’t have to get on his horse and leave again but the other part of him didn’t like the change. The old buildings around him looked as cold as he felt.
He got a room and tried to fall asleep as soon as he got into the bed, not leaving space for his thoughts to take over. That didn’t really work though, considering he thought of soft dark hair and brown eyes until he eventually fell asleep.