𝘽𝙀𝙀 𝙃𝙐𝙈𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙂𝘽𝙄𝙍𝘿 | quacknap

Day two

Quackity has been locked in his bedroom for four hours.

In the first hour of isolation, Sapnap spent his time wallowing in his own self-hatred. Staying on brand, as of so far he had been ignoring his own guilt in going to Las Nevadas. But now, left with his own thoughts, he couldn't do anything but confront the regret head on.

He found himself wandering the penthouse, staring blankly at art he didn't understand and flicking gold-encrusted light switches. He was almost tempted to turn on the tv, but he didn't want Quackity to hear him and assume he doesn't care. He's even more put off when he finds burnt, assumedly saved from the destruction of El Rapids, Pitch Perfect movies hidden away in a vase in the entrance hall.

After 56 minutes, he gives in to his own boredom and dislike for feeling responsible, so he knocks on the bedroom door. Quackity doesn't answer, as he presumed, and he quickly shouts as softly as he can. "Q? Hey, can we talk?"

There's no response for a moment, before a faint. "That didn't work last time." Is mumbled through the door.

Sapnap sighs, rubbing a hand over his face and nodding despite how no one can see him. "I know. But I'm willing to pretend?"

There's a soft snort. "You're selfish, Sapnap, okay? And I'm a hypocrite but at least I can own up to my own actions. Don't come in here and break me down just so you can get the praise for building me up again."

Sapnap does reply to that, probably something overly defensive while trying to remain sweet, but the words are lost in his memory as he walks away after no response, the word "break" bouncing around his mind like the pin in a pinball machine.

In hour two, he finally gives in and turns on the news, instantly flicking the channel when nothing more interesting than another arson—probably by Tommy—is all that seems interesting.

Sapnap knows it's narrow-minded, but sometimes he understands where Dream was coming from in his grudge against the boy. Despite how almost everyone on this server would probably protest, Tommy wasn't exactly innocent at any point during the many wars. Although, maybe Sapnap's just thinking that because he's trying to rationalise his best friend's actions in his head. (At least, that's what Puffy said his mind would do when Dream was locked up. A trauma response, or something.)

He flicks the channel again and some kids channel shows up, playing a cartoon Sapnap doesn't recognise where the characters seem to be conquering the world through the power of friendship. Good for them, he thinks through a grimace, remembering his own friendship group and how they were supposed to conquer the world.

Instead, conquering turned to terrorising turned to creating a new one. Though now it's calm again, Sapnap only wants to go back to the imaginary worlds they thought up as ignorant kids. Those were filled with a lot more sunshine and rainbows than reality has.

He ends up watching a nature documentary on striders. Though he has already learnt all the facts from first hand experience in the nether, so it's not nearly as intriguing as he supposes it should be. But he can't fault the cinematography, the creators somehow managed to make his hell-scape home seem like a dreamland.

Although, when you know what you're doing, it's easy to make the appearance of something differ largely from the truth.

After a while, though it may have only been twenty minutes, he goes to Quackity's room again. He's put off quickly when there's a large thud against the door before he's even finished knocking, as if his fiance had thrown something heavy against the wood.

The next time he goes up, a good while later (or—it feels like it), the thud is replaced by a loud smash, like porcelain had been chucked against the door from the other side. Sapnap gets the message, and goes back to wandering.

The final time he doesn't even get a response, and—by now tired of the rejection puncturing his lungs—he doesn't even shout through the door, he just slumps against the frame with an exhausted sigh, letting his eyes flutter shut at the dull pain of where his skull had hit the wood too hard.

Slowly, he slides down to the floor, until he's embarrassingly spread out across the cold marble. He can't find it in himself to care though, and instead leans his head against the door and lets out a quiet but deep sigh.

There Sapnap remains, ears strained in hopes of hearing any sign of life from his love, as if he were lying on the other's chest and hoping for the thump of a comforting heartbeat instead of the sound of blankets being readjusted or voices in a cheesy telenovela.

797 words.