Quackbur Oneshots- [TNT DUO] (requests open)

Smoking's Bad And You Look Good. However a negative and a positive equal nothing

A//N: I literally was tired and was like "ctntduo be talking?" and that is how this came to be so legit this was just from when I was really tired last night. Don't be like Quackity and smoke to relieve stress, it actually will make it worse (should have been obvious- but just in case) I have no idea what this oneshot is but oh well.

The moon in the sky paints everything in a soft pearly white as Quackity's dress shoes click against the stone he walks across to reach the elevator in the needle tower.

He pulls his hand out, the cold night air instantly creeping up his sleeve as he presses a dimly illuminated button that, within a few seconds and a huff of air past Quackity's lips, the elevator doors slide open and he shuffles, accepting the slightly warmer air even with the knowledge he'll be going to the balcony anyway.

The dull buzz of the elevator fills the silence as Quackity rubs his hand together, his fingers rather red from the cold temperature. So he stuffs them in the pockets of his nice dress pants and feels a flash of assurance when he is meet with a small packet of cigarettes. He quickly reaches up to place a hand against the pocket on his chest and sure enough his lighter is there.

He tucks it out of his pocket as the elevator comes to a stop, eyes focused on the lighter in his hands as the doors open and a wave of cold crisp air hits him with an aggressive invitation that bites at his ears and flows up his chest and down his back, leaving him to shiver before he steps out and the elevator closes with an assortment of dull noises behind him.

However, upon looking upwards, Quackity pauses any movements as he catches the figure leaning on the rails of the balcony ahead of him. Then, realizing who it is, his shoulders relax. But then, of course, he fixes up his appearance as quickly yet efficiently as he possibly can while they still have no knowledge of his presence and stuffing the items previously in his hands back in his pockets.

Time runs short though and Quackity's stuck under the other's gaze while in the middle in adjusting his beanie. So he clears his throat and narrows his gaze just like he always did because practice makes perfect and he wants to be perfect at opposing this man.

"Well, Wilbur Soot?" He tilts his head, the tall man standing six feet away shoving a hand in his trench coat pocket with disinterest as he tilts his chin up.

"What are doing up here, Quackity?" He questions plainly and Quackity eyes his other hand, the one that is visible, to see if Wilbur has the need to move his hair around a little or flat down his sweater. But he doesn't, his fingers don't even twitch once with the need for it and suddenly Quackity wonders if Wilbur ever expected Quackity to show up a certain way and how much he's been holding up to it. Because, somehow, without effort, Wilbur sure does look the way Quackity predicted he was going to. Dumb trench coat with sewn-in patches that dropped right above his ankles, a ridiculous yellow sweater on top of a simple white button-up shirt that has its collars peeking out, all of it matching with dark brown pants and some black dress shoes similar to Quackity's.

But of course, still very different.

Quackity mentally shoves down his thoughts like he's trying to keep them in a box so he can finally close it and store it away for forever. He knows they fit in there, he's packaged them in this exact box before. But for some reason, after taking them out and actually acknowledging these thoughts, they no longer seem to fit no matter how much they really should.

He doesn't stop trying though. Quackity moves his arms to cross them with a well practiced scoff. "What kind of a question is that?"

But Wilbur's lips only twitch up with dissatisfaction. "What kind of an answer is that?" He doesn't really ask, more so states dismissively as his eyes flicker down somewhere to Quackity's shirt and he faces away. Quackity's left to huff, the beginnings of annoyance drawing his brows together.