Red Looks Better On Liars- Schlatt X Quackity

27 ~ Seriously?

His eyes graze over the empty office, his body leaning softly against the doorway. Neither of us knew where to start. 

      "So," He begins, being the first to speak. "What all are you going to take out of your office?" 

     "Ah, I'm not entirely sure," I shrug, honesty leaving my mouth. He turns to look at me for a second, his gaze falling down my body, before finding himself back on my face. "I'd probably take one last look around your office," He advises, turning back to his work. 

     "Do you not trust my expertise in moving." I mock him. 

    "Not particularly, no." He smiles, looking at me once more, "Remember your old house?" 

     "Ah yes." I pretend to look back into the past, my gaze over his shoulder, my eyes fake sorrow. I truly didn't care about that old place. 

     "Did you even move out of that place, or did you just start randomly coming home with me?" He comments on the inconsistencies of this fucking book bro wtf. 

     "No, I don't think I did actually." I shrug. Looking back, I think I grabbed my clothes and just moved into his house. I took a suitcase with all of my prized possessions and put it in his guest room. It wasn't something I thought about recently. 

    "Hm." He mutters, turning his head once more. That was my queue that the conversation was over and that I should leave. I nod, turning around and closing the door to a crack. I feel my mouth crack to a smile as I walked down the empty corridor. It really was weird being here again. I remember my first day so clearly, yet so fogged. 

It was years back, I first dropped out of college as I decided school just wasn't for me. I decided on this little business. It was the only thing keeping this city afloat. Schlatt owned it before the nuke hit, yet after, it went empty. So the remaining residents decided to step up in that regard. There were no construction workers, police officers, or veterinarians. There were friends. We would help each other if something went wrong. We ruled ourselves. The nuke helped Wilbur if anything. It created publicity, painting him as some saint that saved those who survived. Not the thousands that didn't. 

This place ran the paperwork of the city, the taxes, and everything in between. It was a place where some people just came and hung out, it was somewhere where people would run their businesses in. It was just a community office that Schlatt happened to command. I personally worked under him. I was technically under his control. He was snobby to many of his workers, but to me, he gave me leeway. He knew he needed me, as I needed him, it was mutual.

My eyes gaze over the empty offices, the wind seeping through the window into Wilbur's vacant office. He never shut his window after he went missing. I took a glance around, before deciding it was probably a good thing to shut his window for him.

I walk into his empty office, making my way toward the window that hung open. I pull it down swiftly, clicking it so it locked. The change in pressure caused the door behind me to slam close, shutting me in. I jump at this, as any loud noises tend to make me do. I turn to look at the door, a postage note lay neatly under the doorknob, text underlined in red. I bring myself to the door, gazing over the neat writing. 

It was just some dumb reminder of something. Yet my eyes lingered over it. It was a feeling that I couldn't describe. He was gone. He probably will never come back. He's most likely dead. He wrote this. He made this, and now he's gone. I tear the paper off the door, slipping it gently into my pocket. 

I didn't care for 'stealing', but this was some history, I felt. I glance around his office, looking around at the endless piles of useless paperwork. What even is half of this shit? Against my better judgment, I begin to snoop through the piles. I pull out varying sheets, some of them with important numbers, others with letters. Letters he never got to send. 

I sit at his desk, pulling out one of the numerous letters. One thing I knew about Wilbur, was his ability to write. He wrote as if his life depended on it. It was more remarkable than anything. He was bright. He just wasn't someone that I wanted to be ruling a country. 

This one in particular stood out.

I bring my hand to a page, the ink semi-fresh on the page, as the feather still lay on the paper. It seemed to be a letter to his brother. A remark of his brilliance. It was a relay of how his day had gone, pressed onto a paper. It was sweet, it really was. When I think of Wilbur I tend to think of a dictator. I never remember that he was a brother. A father. He was a father. He had a loving family. He had people who cared for him. 

My eyes stare emptily at the ink that puddles at the edge of the page, a pit of black in the sea of beige. It was poetic in a way. A sense of illness in his mind. Yet it wasn't. It was only an interpretation of someone's mind. It was nothing, yet it felt like something. Maybe it was my mind desperately trying to fill in the pieces that were left empty from his disappearance, trying to find any bit of solidarity or sanity in his nonexistent mind. There was something there, he just seemed to mask it. Concerning. 

I lift the page, only to find it stuck to the other. I raise an eyebrow as I separate the two, glossing over the page under it. A couple of words jumped out to me as I felt my heart drop into my stomach. It was a love letter. He was confessing to someone. And that someone was Schlatt. It was written in such an apologetic way that it made me feel bad. I sit down in his office chair quickly, my eyes focused on reading through the letter. 

"Dear J. Schlatt, 

I need you, John. I do. I'm so sorry about what happened in the past, but I swear I can repair what I broke. I know you're over me, and happily in a relationship of your own, but please can you give me a chance? Just one. Looking back, I've never been in a happy relationship since you. I fucked up badly, I know that. I apologize for my stupidity. We were dumb, we were young. I see the way you look at Quackity, and I'm frankly jealous of it. Please. Why do 

"

And it ended. As abrupt as it began. My eyes squint, pondering what to say. What to think even. I didn't know. I assumed he was over Schlatt, seeing as they were friends and all. But were they? 

I slowly put the paper down, standing up from his desk. I should leave. I shouldn't be in here. I don't want to find anything else. I know Schlatt would never cheat, and the way this note was written, it seemed he was desperate. Schlatt would never cheat on me for Wilbur. I know it. I trust him too much. 

Still, there was a bugging feeling in my mind, a small chance, that maybe, he was. I wasn't sure. I didn't want to know. 

I make the decision and leave the room. I peer my eyes out of the hallway first, before wrapping my hand around the glass entrance and pushing it open. I pull myself out of the room, latching it with a quiet click of the metal. I really shouldn't have been in there.