Blood and Guts | TNTduo/Quackbur

IV

The one where Quackity hates his job, and Wilbur makes it worse.

TW: light religious talk, blood
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Quackity buttoned the black shirt he wore to work at Puffy's all the way up to the collar. He frowned at himself in the bathroom mirror, tugging at the shirt a bit. The bite marks Wilbur had left above his collarbone had healed quicker than they should've, but he wasn't all that surprised. There were just two small scarred over dots, and they weren't too noticeable. The real problem was the bruise— purple-ish pink and right above his collarbone.

He sighed in annoyance at the realization that he could still slightly see some of it above the shirt collar. Unfortunately, Quackity was already running late, and he had no time to stop by any store to pick up concealer or something of the like. He'd taken his sweet time getting out of bed that morning because his back ached from sleeping on the couch, and he just felt like shit in general.

Silently cursing himself, Quackity just stomped out of the bathroom, grabbed his hat and his bag, and threw the front door closed behind him as he stalked out into the hallway.

The walk to Puffy's was brisk and miserable. Quackity shivered the whole way, and his teeth were chattering by the time he got his apron on and got behind the register. Tubbo was late as usual, which Quackity understood, but still found annoying. The teen was dropped off at the curb by a friend of his, and he wrote his name on the time sheet as if he'd gotten in on time. Quackity pays little mind.

His shift is boring, and he keeps finding himself rethinking the prior night's events. From the moment Wilbur approached him after class to the sensation of being held up roughly as Wilbur hungrily sucked on his neck. The whole situation had been uncomfortably vulnerable in hindsight. Quackity had actually been on the brink of passing out. He shivered a bit.

As if Quackity had manifested his presence, Wilbur waltzed up to the register. Quackity jolted, not having seen him enter the cafe; he must've come in from the back entrance. Quackity's eyes fluttered around the cafe, which was suddenly and inconveniently empty. Tubbo was gone too. When Quackity glanced back up at Wilbur, his red eyes were boring into him.

"Aren't you going to ask what I want, Birdie?" Wilbur tilted his head to the side a bit. Quackity hated his voice.

"Get the fuck out. You had enough yesterday. Get away from me," Quackity hisses in a low tone for the sake of Tubbo, who was probably in the kitchen.

"I love it when you talk like you know things. It's so cute," Wilbur muses. He wasn't even looking at Quackity, which, for some reason, got to him. Quackity wanted Wilbur to look at him. He wanted him to see what he'd done to him, the mark on his neck. He wanted to belittle Wilbur and make him feel stupid, how he made Quackity feel. Instead, he said nothing, and Wilbur won this round. "Can I get a cafe au lait?" Wilbur asked suddenly, looking down at Quackity.

It caught Quackity off guard, and he scowled. "What?"

"This is a cafe, isn't it? I want a café au lait. 20 ounce please."

"Don't be such a pretentious prick, just say you want a coffee with steamed milk in it," Quackity muttered sourly as he put in the order. "That's 3.50."

"Hm. I don't get anything on the house? No friend discount?" Wilbur smiled smugly.

"Go fuck yourself," Quackity snapped, turning on his heel and stomping to the kitchen. "Tubbo, can you make this order? I can take over whatever you're doing back here—" Quackity paused suddenly at the realization that he was talking to nobody. Tubbo wasn't in the kitchen.

"Tubbo's on his fifteen," Wilbur says knowingly as Quackity turns back around. "Can I get that coffee?"

Quackity wants to snap. He wants to yell no. He wants to kick Wilbur out. He wants to shout and ask why he can't just be left alone. He wants to take back the stupid little agreement he has with Wilbur.