Star-crossed ||tntduo

Chap. 10. In unfamiliar beds

Heavily inspired in the song above(If u got no idea what the song is about cuz its in another language, dw, me too :'D)

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Black mold hid in the corners of the walls as a gentle night breeze, its scent carrying the smell of fast food and weed, passed by his nose. His nose wrinkled at the smell.

"We are almost there," Wilbur reminded, his voice as soft as the night breeze, as if Quackity was a fragile piece of artwork, and a single word can ruin him into dust.

Quackity acknowledged his words with a mere nod.

Night. Same scenery, different scenario. It was the same apartment building that he walked through, but it was with a different intention.

Earlier, the taller figure would offer his place, treatments intended and innocent-faced. Earlier, the shorter figure could do nothing but agree, fear-lingered confusion.

Quackity could recall the useless shit he learned in Heath, whether if it was from depression to anatomy, STD to disorders. Schizophrenia was a real thing, and so was DID, dissociative identity disorder, a rare psychiatric disorder with 1.5% diagnosis in the global population—He could use this info, he really could, but what were the odds of meeting that 1.5% chance in person?

Double-faced was a common thing in the human hearts, but multi-personality was not.

The shorter figure's jaw tightened, cold or fear.

Gazes ahead, the taller figure walked, a plastic bag in his hand, and an occasional glace was shot to the shorter figure to make sure he was following. Quackity quickly looked down.

Wilbur was pretending. He was acting. He was sure of it. 

For what purpose, though, that was something he'd have to reflect by himself later.

                                   __________________________

The door opened with a creak.

"Sorry, I haven't cleaned up this place in a while." Wilbur clarified with an apologetic gaze as he began to toss the dirty laundries into a pile. "Make yourself home."

Quackity looked down, and found himself stepping on a dark boxer. His ears reddened.

"Ack! No! Ignore that!" Wilbur trailed after Quackity's gaze, his face flushed with embarrassment as he quickly picked it up and pushed it deep into the pile of the dirty clothes.

His lips smiled at the sight of it. His heart twisted in disgust at the childish game the taller figure was roleplaying.

He wondered the story behind this. He wondered the reason behind this. He wondered.

He wondered if his wondering were too late. 

"Quackity?" Wilbur asked, his words gentle as he stood in front of the shorter figure. "Alex?"

Who was piteous? Who was suspicious? Who was alive with an ignoble existence?

Then Quackity's legs gave out.

No one was innocent in this situation. Let them write a tragedy, who was framed guilty, who was pitied, anyone could already predict the ending.

It was them, themselves, who decided extend the lies, any leverages used as an advantage, there was no such thing as an accident.

Detailed scripts, there would be cracks of glass. 

Wilbur caught him, arms embracing the other, and the shorter figure could only cherish the comforting warmth, the light cologne like honey.