Quackity is frowning at his reflection in the mirror, standing alone in the silence of his bathroom when his phone dings from where it sits on the counter.

He's so nervous it's near stupid how it literally feels like a bunch of butterflies start going crazy in his stomach when he sees a message from Wilbur.

Today is their "date-night" as Karl always calls it. But not even since the day Wilbur suggested the idea of going out has Quackity brought up the matter of whether it was a casual friends getting dinner together thing or, well, an actual date between what could be potential future boyfriends?

He hasn't asked, and probably won't unless Wilbur brings it up first. So he sighs, longing deeply planted in the depths of his chest, growing like an uncontrolled weed that tangles his thoughts until they all somehow connect to Wilbur and twist his stomach when he thinks about how he wants the man.

Quackity pulls up the message and Wilbur's simply telling him he's heading out now, where he will pick up Quackity at a small corner store maybe five minutes from where Quackity lives- walking. So he has to walk there and pray Wilbur likes his outfit. Well, first, he hopes Wilbur will think about him and what he wears.

Gods, he has got it bad and he knows it. He knows there's no turning back from the trail of thoughts as he starts wondering if Wilbur thought about Quackity the way he thinks of Wilbur. About his hair, how maybe he'd like to run his fingers through it on a warm day, bathed in gold sunlight, laying peacefully with one another, about his dumb voice and his smile.

There's so much. He can only hope Wilbur thinks about him at least half as much as he does.

He makes sure to tell Karl he's heading out, and also maybe asks for his friend to pray for him like it'll alter the course of history.

Karl just sends a thumbs up followed by a 'have fun' with a stupid smirking cat emoji.

If this is an actual date, it's only the first between Wilbur and Quackity. So it'll end nothing like that. Just awkward goodbyes a little past midnight as he gets out of the car.

He huffs, deciding to bite the bullet as he shuffles around his room, gathering up the mess he made while attempting to find the perfect outfit possible when he was on a call with Karl. Then, he scampers around the kitchen and grabs all that he needs, like keys, a wallet, and the sort before he heads out the door.

It's a little nerve-racking as he walks down the sidewalk, the warmth of the late evening seeping through his sleeves, but it's even more exciting as he ponders about the what-ifs.

Crossing the road he thinks about crossing the space of Wilbur's imaginary living room to the kitchen where music plays and Wilbur sings along. A really good what-if that results from a really good date night.

Soon enough he's smiling like a ridiculously flustered teenager when he sees Wilbur pull up in the small, ten-car parking lot, windows down and face bright.

Quackity pushes off of the brick wall he was leaning on patiently and blushes as he steps over toward the car. "Hey."

"Hey." Wilbur parrots, nearly pausing before he opens his door and-

And Quackity really likes his outfit, and Wilbur's walking right up to him, and Quackity might fall all over again for this man.

"You look nice," Wilbur says casually, but Quackity catches the way Wilbur looks back at him almost sheepishly like he himself can't believe his choice of words as he guides Quackity to the passenger's door. Maybe Quackity's damn near delusional, or maybe there's a fighting chance Wilbur's nervous too. Nervous because he likes Quackity back.

"Thanks." Quackity giggles, not even caring for the possible embarrassment he might have felt another day, and stops in front of the car door to turn at Wilbur and smile. "As do you."

Wilbur huffs, like a very short laugh, and nods as he swallows. "Well, it's good to know my efforts into looks weren't missed."

Quackity swallows his heart as he questions whether this is how Wilbur normally talks to practically all of his friends or if it borders on the line that's not even a meter away from the open door labeled 'opportunity to flirt'.

He sinks into the material of the passenger's seat and quickly thinks of any possible conversation starters he may or may not have read on a total of three or four websites while he was getting ready as Wilbur walks back around and slides into the car.

It's silent for just a moment, Quackity starts to dread the future where it carries out in silence. But then Wilbur looks over as he sets his hands on the steering wheel.

"Oh yeah, thanks for you know," Wilbur starts, waving around the interior of the two front seats, more accurately between the two of them, with one hand, "joining me and planning this all out with me."

Quackity raises his eyebrows, nearly seeming amused, and hums. "Of course."

Wilbur looks back to pull out of the parking spot as he smiles and Quackity never really understood the appeal and attraction towards watching your crush drive until now. Wilbur then looks ahead, sparing a shrug.

"A part of me thought you'd say no."

Wait, what?

Quackity pauses, nearly scoffs out loud and snorts in his head because hold the phone folks. In what outlandish and absurd universe would he have to live in until he manages to tell Wilbur 'no, as a matter of fact, I won't go out with you', like seriously?

So he's in near disbelief as he asks, "Why's that?"

Wilbur hums- well mutters- out an incoherent response before pressing his lips into a thin line and shrugging. "Honestly don't know. Can't even remember."

"Yeah?" Quackity nods and leans towards his window as he looks down the street and clears his throat. "These new tyres?"

Wilbur visibly oozes out a content liking towards the topic as he nods confidently. "They sure are."

"Well," Quackity starts, "I like your car, too." He beams, and relaxing softness makes home in the crevices of his heart and mind as he settles in his seat and allows himself to look at Wilbur a second longer. Well, until Wilbur laughs lightly and glances over at him for a moment.

"Too?" He prompts. "What else did you like?"

Quackity freezes, heart thumping frantically as he watches Wilbur's face through his reflection in the windows. It is far too early to fucking confess, even if he does. Not right now. Please not right now.

Throat going dry, he forces out a laugh as he quickly redirects all of his brain power into thinking of something to say that won't expose him.

He finds it and smiles. "Your outfit, dumbass."

Thankfully Wilbur smiles back. "Ah. Yes."

"Your memory sucks, by the way," He grumbles, sighing out of relief on the inside and mentally gasping for air because my Gods that was too close.

"Well, thanks for the compliment, Quackity," he says sarcastically. "And the nickname, dumbass definitely has a ring you like to repeat."

Quackity huffs out air and leans away. "I think it's fitting."

"And I think you're short."

Quackity rolls his eyes, still, he's smiling, uncontrolled. "Impressive observation."

Wilbur sighs. "I do have eyes that are those of a hawks' and a mind alike Einstein's and other thinkers."

"Thinkers?" Quackity repeats with a bark of a laugh which gets an offended pout from Wilbur.

"Can't always expect a man to know the word for everything." Wilbur states in his defense. Then, after a moment he fakes a depressed sigh. "Maybe one day I'll wow your sweet face."

Quackity would have dropped onto his knees if he wasn't already sitting.

He truly wants to believe, right here with his pink cheeks and absolutely stolen breath, that Wilbur says these things purely for him because he wants Quackity just as much as he wants Wilbur. Though that little doubting hand scolds him with a stinging sensation saying it comes far too naturally to Wilbur that it must just be part of who he is, how he talks with others, and there's no real meaning behind his flirtatious words.

But Quackity remembers Karl's words about letting himself enjoy tonight, think what he wants to think, and have fun. He cannot believe he's agreeing to it. But he needs it tonight, for his sake, to bathe in any possible delusional moments and drink up Wilbur's words because they are just for him, only for Quackity.

So for now Quackity smiles. "Maybe."

Minutes later, Wilbur's finding some parking outside of a very fancy restaurant that makes Quackity double-check the way his hair fits under his beanie and how his top sits on his shoulders.

"Aha." Wilbur makes a verbal announcement that he's found a parking spot as he pulls in, and even then Quackity thinks he's cute. Even more so when he stops the car and tilts his head. "Ready, Quackity?"

"You know it." Quackity snickers. "You?"

Wilbur scoffs, opening the car door. "Always."

The walk to the double front doors isn't something Quackity thinks about much, isn't something he's proud of as he inhales and exhales, glancing over at a group of older adults leaving, sharp laughter and shiny jewelry trailing after them in some odd echo of an impression.

So it's like a breath of fresh air when they reach the door and Wilbur shuffles to open it for him. "After you."

Quackity grins, amused. "In the movies you thicken your accent and say my lady," He says teasingly before pausing with a shrug. "But in this case I guess I'm not your lady."

"But you are my guest," Wilbur says with a self-assured nod. "So after you."

Quackity doesn't mull over how he said guest rather than any other available option. My date? My man- that sounds even worse, sounds like friend zoning, like two close bros.

See, he doesn't even know what Wilbur should have said. So he internally groans as he accepts guest because at least there happens to be an ambiguous side to it that leaves room for his blossoming imagination full of desire.

Wilbur proudly tells the man standing behind a grand polished wooden desk the reserved spot for two they had taken as their own just yesterday.

The worker politely smiles, dressed in a nice button-up vest over a black buttoned long sleeve. "Right this way."

The two of them are led into the open space between round tables decorated with red and white cloth, an assortment of flowers sitting in a single vase on each one. Past the chatter and clink of silverware, the bright lights dim as they reach a nicely secluded corner full of fewer people, and less noise, but warmer lights and softer conversations.

Quackity takes a deep breath to make sure he's actually alive, to check that hey, he's actually dining here with Wilbur, and not dreaming blissfully.

They take a seat across from each other at a small table partially hidden by a half wall that leaves space for a lantern to hang from the ceiling.

"Glad to have you here," the man says to the both of them as they sit and he sets down two menus. "And do the two of you know what you want to drink?"

Quackity looks up Wilbur and it seems he's done the same. They both look at their waiter and Wilbur hums.

"Water's fine."

Now they're both looking at Quackity and his cheeks go warm as his eyes scatter around the list of expensive beverages with random names before he chokes on his brain and simply spits out, "Do you have lemonade?"

God he's literally embarrassing himself.

He coils in on himself as the waiter nods. "Yes we do, is that what you'd like?"

"Yes please." He throws in a proper accent and some manners to make himself feel better.

The man taps his pen on his notepad and grins. "Lovely those will be right on their way for you. I'll be back shortly."

Quackity sighs, looking at Wilbur and blinking. "You got water?"

"Uh, yeah?" Wilbur scrunches his face as Quackity smiles.

"You're kinda basic." He jokes and Wilbur frowns.

"Always one to show some kindness, huh." Wilbur drawls out, eyes dropping to scan the menu he's lightly holding up.

Quackity clicks his tongue and does the same. "Like you aren't annoying yourself."

Wilbur glances up and hisses dramatically like he burnt his hand, placing it on his chest. "Darling, don't go breaking my heart now," he says and Quackity's ears are probably pink but he tries to shrug it off because of the way Wilbur said it, it was most likely a callback to the older movies with 'my lady' thrown somewhere in them that he had previously mentioned.

So he holds his breath, waits a moment after Wilbur's chuckled at himself, and smiles. "What are you getting?"

Wilbur looks over the menu for a single moment more, eyes focused, before he noncommittally waves a hand. "Undecided, for now."

Quackity nods and unfortunately, silence seeps into the space between them as they read over their choices and Quackity sneaks a few looks at Wilbur as he thinks of what to say.

Not one idea comes to him until a little later as he sighs, chest twisting with conflict. "Seems I'm ready to order," He says with a clasp of his hands. "Better try to match my speed, Wilbur."

The taller huffs, a hidden smile pulling at the edges of his lips. "No, don't rush my elimination process, I've narrowed it down to three different things," He says with a playful whine, mocking fake sadness.

Quackity, despite how small this moment may be, feels like he's just about to ascend high up somewhere he will never want to come down from, a place where he can look at Wilbur's warm brown eyes for as long as he wants, and never worrying about falling through because he knows Wilbur has him.

He does, admittedly, really want Wilbur to have him like, so bad it aches when Wilbur smiles at him, so far apart, a table between.

But something about the way Wilbur lingers there, letting his eyes drift across Quackity's face, a flicker behind his gaze, and he hums while lightly kicking Quackity's shoe under the table. "Quackity."

Quackity blinks, replaying how softly it rolled off his tongue as he nods. "What up?"

A small snort rises out of Wilbur, then he rests his elbow on the table and sits his chin in his hand, still fucking gazing at him and smiling and Jesus Christ Quackity's gonna die here tonight, resurrected purely by Wilbur's actions as he holds up his hand.

"One or two?" He asks, eyes flashing down his menu for the shortest second and Quackity honestly feels a tug from the depth of his core retell him that Wilbur, currently, is nothing more than a friend and it leaves him uncomfy in his seat, despite the fact Wilbur hasn't rejected him or anything. He hasn't even confessed, for fuck's sake.

He tries hard, like really hard, to force away these negative thoughts that slowly saunter past his walls, making a home in the cracks, before exploding in his face and tauntingly listing all the reasons why Wilbur wouldn't like him back and all the evidence for it.

He bites his cheeks and exhales through his nose. The chances are never zero, he tells himself to counter the intruding doubt as he attempts to gather some confidence, remembering some of the ways Wilbur looked at him, about ready to make him pour his heart out. That has to mean something. So, he looks back at Wilbur, calmly placing a hand on the table.

"Two," He says simply.

And it's magic the way the battle against the pessimistic side of his brain gets easier when he hears Wilbur laugh. Then it's dragged and fading like he's exhausted, like he doesn't even find it funny but he's holding back a long sigh.

"No, no, I don't even want the second option," He complains, running a hand through his hair before squinting at Quackity. "Hm, forget it, I'm going with number one."

Quackity scoffs. "Then why'd you even ask?" Why does anyone ask those questions, they never listen to what was chosen. Not that Quackity himself happens to be entirely free from doing so. He is only human.

"Dunno, maybe I just like it when you talk." Wilbur shrugs with one shoulder, lifting it as he tilts his head with a cheeky grin, eyes twinkling playfully. Quackity seriously ends up with red ears because of it, heart thrumming to a tune that sings Wilbur's name once more. They both settle down a little, laughter retreating as Quackity sighs and Wilbur's gaze shifts from playful to something else, barely noticeable if Quackity wasn't currently staring back at him.

A beat of silence pulses by in the emptiness of the table, Wilbur's brows furrow and he thinks he could physically grab a piece of air right now and stuff it down his throat. For some reason- okay because he likes Wilbur, it starts to leave his heart on edge, highly interested, as heat smarts under his face, rendering his skin to be generously tinted with a genuine pink.

"Quackity," Wilbur starts slowly, meeting his mismatching eyes and before he can finish a cheery voice cuts through the two of them and Wilbur blinks like somebody just blurted out his home address and straightens himself up as his iced cup of water is placed in front of him. Quackity's stomach drops and he watches closely as the look on Wilbur's face disappears and forms into a grateful smile as he looks up at the waiter. "Oh, thank you."

Quackity tries not to think about the sourness that chases after him like a desperate soul searching for a body to ruin. He's at a restaurant and the guy is just doing his job, he didn't purposefully keep Quackity from hearing the rest of whatever Wilbur might have said, and he's just been handed lemonade. He's all good and refuses to let himself give in and scowl.

So, he mumbles a thank you, relativity in the same manner a shy kid did when their parents make them use their manners to prove to strangers whatever it is, that their kid's nice, that they raise them well. He forgot and doesn't bother trying to remember as he opens his straw and swirls it between chunks of ice and two slices of lemon, plunging it in and taking a long sip.

"Are you guys ready to order?" The waiter asks, propping up the padded and folded notebook in between his arms.

Quackity glances over at Wilbur to confirm, earning a nod. "Uh, yes actually," He says warmly.

Wilbur switches his mind last second, changing his opinion and chuckling with embarrassment that's only partially real as he goes with his second option, the one Quackity said to go for.

Quackity of course, snickers and calls him indecisive, sipping a bit more on his lemonade.

"Pft, no." Wilbur argues with a scrunch of his face, then, puts his right hand to his chest to pose as a boaster, edges of his lips turning upwards. "I very confidently choose to ask you out for dinner," He says matter-of-factly, lifting his hand to lazily point at himself with his thumb. "I am a man of quick decisions."

"So you don't think anything through, huh?" Quackity jokes, amused. Wilbur fumbles before waving it away.

"Don't need to, in the moment I know exactly what to do," He says with a nod and Quackity rolls his eyes.

Honestly, he feels perfectly giddy inside. "You're kind of a dork, Wilbur," He says with an uncontrolled grin.

Wilbur hums, not even daring to shy away from it or denying such as he takes a sip of his water. "Some people like that in a guy."

Quackity quickly catches his breath, not letting it escape from his lungs this time. He is starting to get better with all of Wilbur's comments. Still, the pull on his heart is inevitable, and he has to act like it's nothing.

At least, try not to look desperate. But he has to respond, for sure, and the creeping boldness builds a lump in his throat that he tries to swallow with a sense of reason. He fails.

"And what do you like in a guy, Wilbur?"

He nearly slaps himself after it comes out, forcing out a laugh that falls short as Wilbur opens his mouth and shuts it again, exhaling through his nose as his ears turn red.

He thinks, for a moment, while Wilbur bites his lip and fails to hide what seems to be a creeping blush, that Wilbur is absolutely into him the same way he is for Wilbur. Then there's the corner of his mind he tries to ignore that tells him he doesn't even know if Wilbur likes men and he's just assuming so.

So he backpedals, coiling in on himself as he awkwardly takes a big sip of his lemonade and fakes yet another laugh. "You should see your face," He says with a teasing smile and it's not even real, only the dreadful pounding of his heart and Wilbur's slow blinking is. "Just messing with you."

As friends do, he thinks. Because they are just friends. And he wants to live in a day where they are more than friends and he does not have to worry about slipping up with his choice of words, at least not this awfully and awkwardly.

A moment passes by and finally Wilbur smiles back, small and reserved, quietly chuckling. "I guess it's only fair with how much I press you."

Quackity's stomach twists and he waves it off. "Not necessarily ever press, just tease. We are friends after all," He says and at first his own words hang over his head like a guillotine waiting for the perfect moment to drop over him like verbally stating the completely platonic friendship between them seals their fate and he has no other choice but to live with the fact that they could never be more then what he declares them as.

And he just declared that they were friends and nothing but, he hopes it doesn't actually matter. No way it will work.

But even then, it's all just slightly tilted off balance as Wilbur nods with a simple, "Yeah."

He crumbles a little, he is most definitely screwing himself over and saying all the wrong things. Quackity nearly feels frustration build up, almost letting it bubble up his throat with a relentless pace. He stops it though, focusing less on being mad with himself and more on trying to enjoy his time with Wilbur.

"Sometimes I wish they could give us a kids' menu," Quackity says, an honest admission as Wilbur blinks at him and then smiles, slightly confused. Quackity just shrugs. "They get all the little word searches, the tic tac toe, even word scrambles."

"You and I both." Wilbur's eyes crinkle up into crescents with a wide smile, it's genuine, before he quickly realizes something and furrows his brows. "Wait, actually..." He huffs, reaching down to his pockets and smiles. "I have a pen." He pulls it out, displaying it like a golden prized treasure. Then, he swiftly plucks one of the white napkins from the dispenser on the table and lays it flat as Quackity watches with amusement.

Wilbur looks up, offering the pen. "Wanna play some tic tac toe, Quackity?"

It's one of the easiest choices he's made this month, taking the pen and trying to ignore eye contact when their fingers brush, Quackity's fingertips on Wilbur's knuckles.

"I'm o." Quackity claims. "You're x."

Wilbur hums, leaning forward. "Perfect. I'll let you go first out of the kindness of my pure and generous heart."

"Yeah, sure." Quackity scoffs, then rolls his eyes. "Whatever you say, Wilbur."

"Nah, I'm legit a professional," Wilbur says, pointing a finger up in the air with a lot of self-confidence that Quackity has snickering at him.

"We'll see about that."

They do, playing best of three. But they keep ending with zero threes in a row. Wilbur's the first to get a win, much to Quackity's dismay and Wilbur's favor. But Quackity makes the second one his victory round and Wilbur accuses him of cheating despite how that's near impossible when they've both been watching closely and playing fairly, obeying each rule.

Each round has moments of distracted chatter in between, nearly forgetting about the game as Quackity explains him he met his friend Karl and Wilbur tells him why he moved to America, and what he does and doesn't like about it. In turn, Quackity shares some sweet memories from Mexico, about some college experiences, and Wilbur admits to his passion for music which, unsurprisingly, makes Quackity blush and his mind spin.

They're tied, when they remember the ongoing game of tic tac toe.

Wilbur squints at Quackity with playful judgment, his eyes flickering down at their napkin that's now flipped over, blank and awaiting the final match.

"Wanna bet on whose gonna break the tie?" Quackity asks with a smug smirk, laughing when Wilbur firmly shakes his head no in disagreement.

"No sir." He responds plainly, but he's most certainly convinced in his opinion, making Quackity groan.

"Come on," Quackity says, dragging it out and reaching a hand to just rest on Wilbur's side of the table. "Scared because you know I'm going to win?"

Wilbur smiles with a scoff and furrowed brows, mainly amused. "You wish." He clicks the pen and then hands it over to Quackity. "I'm just not a gambler."

Quackity frowns with dissatisfaction, he could've earned a buck or three. But Wilbur denies him again and he huffs. "Fine. Loser."

Before Quackity can draw their three-by-three playing field and start off the intense final game, their waiter is approaching their table with a black tray carrying their plates.

"Here you are, gentlemen," He says, leaning his head back as he somehow, to Quackity's amusement, balances the tray on his hand and shoulder while he grabs a plate- Quackity's plate, and sets it down.

"Thanks." He tries not to mumble it, being a full grown man and all, and instantly opts on glancing over at Wilbur who politely nods and thanks the waiter, saying something in response to whatever Quackity did not hear him say, and wave him off with a smile.

"You seemed awkward just back then, not gonna lie," Wilbur says plainly, but Quackity already knows him enough to easily find the teasing tone that hides underneath as Wilbur picks up his fork.

"You didn't." He notes. "Plus I don't go out a lot."

"Oh yeah, me neither, that's what makes it easy." Wilbur grins with a shrug and Quackity glances at him, slightly confused, and Wilbur pokes his food with a fork. "Even if something embarrassing happens, the chances I'll see them again are low since I don't regularly come here." He blinks. "Or anywhere, really."

Quackity hums thoughtfully, and guesses in some strange sort of way that Wilbur makes sense. His food is still sitting there, untouched and waiting, so he remembers to take a bite and then a sip of his lemonade. "Suppose there's some working knowledge in there."

"Well, of course." Wilbur scoffs, waving his fork around in a manner that is nowhere near the proper and fancier status of the restaurant they are currently in. "Did you really think I wasn't a genius?"

"Yes," Quackity says with an easy smug smile. Wilbur pretends to be immensely offended, tilting his head away.

"I'll have you know I have not only the charm." He turns back with a low grin and taps his head. "But the brains as well."

Quackity nods to him, reaching for his lemonade to his right, but then it's not there and he whips to the left only to knock it over.

Like an idiot he had placed it right in front of him while busy talking with Wilbur.

"Crap."

Wilbur perks up and grimaces at the realization, ice and lemonade smoothly drifting off of the table- right onto Quackity's shirt.

"Oh." Wilbur looks around and grabs some napkins as Quackity starts getting the growing feeling of wanting to be sucked up by a black hole that just suddenly appears and only takes him and every trace of his presence here. "Don't worry 'bout it." Wilbur tells him and Quackity wonders which way he means it.

Because it's embarrassing but Wilbur doesn't mind? Because he just made a mess? Or because Wilbur (who rudely refused to let Quackity pay for it because it was his own idea) is paying for their dinner?

Maybe all of them, maybe none of them.

Either way Quackity shrinks away from Wilbur when he tries to hand Quackity the napkins, his cheeks are quite literally burning.

"Quackity, we can get you some more lemonade-"

At the sound of Wilbur's soft tone, he then realizes how dumb it is to not accept the man's help and he gratefully takes the napkins.

"Uh, nah." He shakes his head, standing up to pat down his shirt. "My shirt's just drenched. Then it'll be sticky which is totally convenient." He adds a weak laugh at the end of his sarcastic comment, earning a thoughtful hum from Wilbur.

"You can wash your shirt in the bathroom." Wilbur suggests but looking around Quackity swallows hard, humiliation creeping up on him as his body stills at the audience at the other table he's captured. They're judging him, probably, like they have too much money to have ever spilled a drink in their life. He frowns at them, and sighs as he faces Wilbur.

"Uh, I'm not sure I want to." Quackity admits. Wilbur scans over him, and like he can read his mind he takes a deep breath and nods.

"Okay, yeah." He hums. "Well, honestly, if you wanted we could get some to-go boxes. You know, if you'd like?"

"No." Quackity quickly blurts out his objection and looks down at his plate. "It's not really that big of a deal." He tries to dismiss, sparing a shrug and noncommittal look over at Wilbur. "I mean, we just got our food and you're paying and well, this is a really nice place." He gestures around to the expensive decor placed very purposefully around the restaurant, and the fancy lighting to help immerse customers into the wanted dining experience.

Wilbur, however, does not look convinced.

"You sure?"

Quackity sighs. "I mean... Yeah?"

Wilbur presses his lips into a thin line as Quackity shrugs.

"You're lemonade-drenched shirt is dripping onto the table," Wilbur says plainly, ever so full of observations.

Quackity blinks, looks down, and yeah Wilbur is unfortunately correct. He has ruined his nice shirt and his drink and their whole dinner. A melting piece of ice drops onto the ground and Quackity guesses maybe it is better they leave- and get somebody to pick the mess up before anything permanent stains this place.

"Okay, yeah no, this is embarrassing." He mutters in defeat and he catches a waiter eyeing him, which easily allows for him to request them over to the table.

Upon approaching the man frowns. But it is less judgeful and more out of concern, which Quackity thinks is better. "Oh. You spill your drink?"

"Uh, yeah." He nods. "Yes."

"Do you want a refill?" He asks and Wilbur cuts in with a hand half raised.

"Oh no thank you," He denies politely and the waiter looks down at him. He grins. "We were hoping we could get some to-go boxes and the bill."

"Will do." The waiter shifts around takes one last look over the area, across their table and the ones next to them and heads off and waves a hand to another worker with a string of words Quackity can't decipher.

"Sorry."

Quackity gives Wilbur a contrite smile. But the other just looks up at him and his face morphs into both something dismissive of Quackity's words and something sincere.

"Oh, no, don't be." He assures him, then proceeds to arrange a couple of items on the table as they wait. Quackity inhales slowly and exhales loudly, considering what Wilbur said before internally accepting the reality that Wilbur isn't even upset at him for ruining their date-night. Well, two friends out for dinner night. Maybe. Unless Wilbur also sees them as a possibility, an opportunity waiting to be grabbed to receive something more than friendship.

Quackity wonders if he should just ask the question already. A simple, 'Is this a date? Like a like you more than a friend date?' Except he won't sound super nervous like he does when he mentally says it. Maybe he really should.

The same waiter returns with the bill and two to-go boxes.

Quackity doesn't ask Wilbur.

So now he puts himself into the position of more silent suffering as Wilbur helps them get ready to leave, boxes packed and bill payed thanks to him. "So about your shirt...?" He starts slowly, and Quackity's still a little mad with himself. It may be stupid, but he also finds out that when Wilbur places a guiding hand a little below his shoulder, rubbing his back as they leave, that he's also a little mad that Wilbur isn't mad at him. Okay it's totally stupid. But he ruined dinner, didn't he?

He frowns, remembering Wilbur's still talking to him and shrugging. "Yeah?"

They exit through the doors, a worker tells them to have a good night, and Wilbur's eyes suddenly can't seem to meet Quackity's when he tries to look at the taller.

"Well," Wilbur says, bit he drags it out and glances around, eyes panning over the parking lot in the dark before he tries to commit to nonchalance and huffs. "I'm pretty sure I have a spare shirt in my car, I normally do in case I spill something at work-" He rants, then backtraces with a wave. "Which I like, definitely don't, by the way. I'm not clumsy. Well we all are at some point, you know. But, yeah, I'm pretty good at my job." He nods at the end, giving Quackity a smile that ends up making him smile inside, like back at the other restaurant where they both had breakfast, again, he thinks this is Wilbur when he's nervous.

It's really cute.

Which is a thought he instantly shoves down into the back of his head as Wilbur clears his throat and looks away. These dang thoughts about unrequited... attraction have been flooding in since he spilled his drink. In the end, yes he knows he is being maybe a bit dramatic and it's just a drink. But in the moment when he's literally spending time with Wilbur and nobody else and somehow then messes up, he can't help but feel like he's fumbled, and his unreasonable side of thinking is loving the time it gets to tell him Wilbur doesn't like him the same way, that Wilbur never would be attracted to him, that Wilbur doesn't think Quackity's cute or handsome or even pretty, just nothing.

He looks down at the black asphalt, the road beneath him isn't doing much to help his mood or even entertain him, but he thinks it's better than looking at Wilbur right now when his head tells him Wilbur would never look at Quackity that way.

"I'll grab it," Wilbur then says, making Quackity snap out of the suffocating cotton walls he was just trapped in. He blinks and nods, watching as Wilbur swings his keys, food in the other hand and they stop in front of the back of his car. "Shouldn't be hard to find."

So then he walks around to the door on his side and leans over the backseats, out of Quackity's view. He hears his keys jingle, then, only a moment later he's closing his door and offering Quackity his shirt, their boxes left in the car.

He blushes, because this is an article of clothing that belongs to Wilbur, one that he's worn, and for some reason, it warms him up. He doesn't even care if that's weird or not. He's too torn between being flustered as he accepts it, and embarrassed because of why he got here in the first place, which painfully makes the uncomfortableness of his current shirt multiply.

Quackity's fists wrap around the material of Wilbur's extra shirt, looking around with hesitancy, embarrassment still clinging to the pink on his cheeks.

"Uhm." His chest burns, and he should change his shirt, it's sticky and gross but Wilbur's standing right next to him, leaning on the back of his car as they stand there in a parking lot under the moon and a singular street lamp.

Wilbur pushes off the car and holds his hands up, seeming to understand the look on Quackity's face. "Look, I can turn around for you."

Quackity grimaces. "Yeah, but we're still in a parking lot where people come and go."

Wilbur pauses as he seems to register that fact, pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek and moving to the passenger door and swallowing. "Well, we've got my car. You can just change in there. You good with that?"

Quackity for a moment reconsiders walking back into the restaurant to change but then he remembers he made up his mind, he doesn't want to go back in, didn't want a bunch of workers and diners to see the mess dumped all over him as he sulks his way back through the entrance and droops down the back hallway to breach the door of the men's restroom.

So he nods and moves over towards Wilbur. "Yeah, thanks."

Wilbur decides on opening the door for him, and Quackity slips in, very much mindlessly moving his body with a busy head and numbly nods as Wilbur tells him he'll wait by the trunk.

It's a little awkward, to change in your crush's car. Well, like a medium amount of awkwardness that Quackity is sure he'll overcome eventually. He doesn't know what to do with his soaked shirt, and hopes it's alright if he opts on draping it on the back seats.

He rounds the car, half-dressed in Wilbur's clothes, the rest his own of course, and starts to feel a bit nervous, something that spins in his chest, in his core, and travels to the warmth on his face for physical evidence others can see as Wilbur stops to face him, eyes slow and expression unreadable.

Then he hears Wilbur inhale and sees him look away. "Glad we got that sorted out for now."

Quackity hums, stepping closer. "Yes."

"Hey, uh." Wilbur glances down at him, leaning against the car and momentarily pausing, it only lasts a second, and he presses his lips into a thin line before continuing. "So where do we wanna, ya know, finish this food."

Quackity does try to think of a place. But he's not exactly sure of an answer. Would it be too early to suggest either his or Wilbur's? He has no clue.

"I dunno," He admits, like an idiot. But Wilbur doesn't seem to mind it.

"I mean, I do know a spot." Wilbur tells him, a light smile slowly spreading across his face. Quackity huffs out an airy laugh, moving to face his body towards him, hands on the ledge of the trunk.

"Where's that?" He asks, looking up and he totally doesn't blink like those cartoon characters trying to swoon over anyone. Because he totally isn't.

"I think it's nice, and I also think that you'll like it." Wilbur offers. "If you're good with eating outside?"

Quackity nods. "I am."

Wilbur hums, Quackity hasn't backed out from meeting his eyes yet, but his heart bounces between his ribcages, face hot. A second later he realizes the feeling of their fingers brushing, something shy yet intentful, at least on his part, he thinks. He loops his pinky finger around one of Wilbur's and prays really hard this is okay, throat sore with words he hasn't yet spoken. They've gotten closer, too, he notices. When Wilbur breathes out it lightly grazes his forhead, and he cranes his neck up just a little more the same time Wilbur determines the moment fit for him to learn his head down a little more.

Fuck now they are like, super close, Quackity thinks. His breath is caught, yet he can hear both of their slow heavy breaths, careful and waiting.

Quackity's stomach twists and his heart swells. This is like, about to go for a kiss distance they both are settled at right now. Are they going to? Are they?

That's crazy, a part of him wants to say, that's a far stretch and a load of assuming crap. He has not a hint on whether the whole plan of them eating together was even supposed to be romantic in the slightest. He isn't about to ruin the whole entire night even further by just hoping Wilbur likes him that way and going for it.

He inhales, he's got a heart beating too fast, chest tightening. He isn't about to make Wilbur uncomfortable. He can't.

"We should head over there."

His own words even surprise himself, sounding dejected despite nothing being said, and guarded and full of loss.

He goes to whip around, back to the passenger seat, to reset his train of thought and regather himself. He needs to focus.

Wilbur's mumbling something, all rushed, and he groans, making Quackity eye him. He looks frustrated. Quackity's heart drops into a lake, breaking through the ice and leaving him to just stare. Now he's made Wilbur upset at him.

"Wilbur?" He calls it once, mustering up the strength to inch closer and act like it's not his fault. Wilbur's biting on his cheek, eyes trained at the ground before he sighs loudly, screwing his eyes shut. Quackity pauses, waiting anxiously for Wilbur to tell him how he's dimmed the mood and done things wrong.

Wilbur looks at him, eyes eager, and he realizes the desperation hiding behind the frown he has on his face as he slumps against the car. "Quackity."

Quackity breathes out. "What." He hardly asks it, too tense, posture firm.

"Why do- gods." Wilbur cuts himself off, snapping his head away and slallowing. Quackity tries to fight back the sensation of a stone dropping in his stomach, heavy and ugly, but ultimately it's useless as Wilbur huffs. "Every time, too, and I just don't even know," He says, and Quackity has never heard the underlying genuine defeat and devastation ever before in Wilbur's voice until now and he coils into his shoulders because it's all him.

"Don't know what?" He manages to ask. Wilbur's eyes somehow go duller, and the man blinks away.

"You know. Like, what you always do."

Quackity doesn't actually know, but there's conformation it really is his fault and it's not entirely just his current state of mind that seems set on worrying. He clenches his jaw. "I don't know what you mean."

"This." Wilbur gestures between them, then eyes the ground with a slouched body. "This is what I mean, Quackity. I try to hint you in, I try to like, make you realize but you brush it off." Wilbur's voice strains a little at the end and Quackity is now mainly confused, but a small side of him is trying to tell him he knows exactly what Wilbur is saying and it makes him stand on edge with a dry throat.

"Then what have you been hoping I get, Wilbur?" He shoots back, bringing Wilbur to look at him. It trickles into a moment of silence as Wilbur looks all over his face, as if searching for a nonverbal asnwer, and seemingly accepts his fate with a 'screw it all' expression and heavy shoulders.

"That I like you, okay?"

Quackity stills, staring up at Wilbur as his heart floats back up to his chest and suddenly starts to beat again. He blinks like it helps him try and figure out if he heard Wilbur correctly or not.

Wilbur sort of helps him with that, waving his hands around as he rambles. "I like you, Quackity. I mean, I asked you out to start. Like as a 'I think you're really cool and cute' type of way- which, also, I even told you I thought your beanie was cute. Okay. Fuck, I even flirted with you, now unless I suck at it there's no way saying sweet face isn't a major clue-"

"Wilbur!" Quackity shakes his shoulder, pulling him out of his very stressed confession and shaking his head with a light giggle and smile. "Look, you dumbass, I'm sorry I'm an idiot. Okay? I thought about the chances of you liking me back, but I pushed it away. But I like you, too."

Wilbur's brows furrow, shoulders loosening up. "Back?"

Quackity nods. "Yeah. I like you a lot. More than a friend."

Wilbur blinks, seemingly easing out of his previous state of frustration and thought-to-be rejection as he smiles with a shocked laugh. "Since when?"

"Oh." Quackity blushes. "Since, like, when we first talked." He confesses and Wilbur's smile widens.

"Holy shit."

Quackity nods, placing both hands on both of Wilbur's shoulders each, and he hums. "So?"

Even in the dark Quackity finally notices the light shade of pink that has set in on Wilbur's face. "So, can I take you to the spot I mentioned earlier?" He asks with a knowing grin, all smug as Quackity stops, brows furrowed, and huffs with disappointment.

The 'you were supposed to kiss me' goes unsaid as he pretends to be upset. "Fine, loser."

Wilbur lets out one of those high-pitched laughs of his and they both move to get in the car.

Minutes later Quackity finds himself seated on a towel next to Wilbur, twirling his pointer finger around in the soft sand, looking white and pure under the moonlight. The waves softly splash ten feet away, and the water is relatively calm, even calmer to look at, ripples and bubbles soothing over him like he's never felt even anything close to stress in his whole life.

"You're right," He says, turning to give Wilbur a gentle look of appreciation. "I do like it."

He's mostly eaten his food, same with Wilbur, who takes one of his last remaining bites and grins with satisfaction and pride.

"Knew it."

Quackity smiles, heart all warm and it's all so easy. But of course, there are some questions that have yet to be asked, and he fixes his gaze onto the sand, watching it drain from his palm before he scoops it back up again, heart and head hopeful. "So we both like each other," He states, speaking out into the fresh late night air, momentarily glancing up at the moon, a small silver of a thing in the dark sky.

He hears Wilbur's movements slow, then, "We do."

"What does that mean for us then?" He asks, shaking off his sandy hand and facing Wilbur, legs crossed, and a small breeze passes by as Wilbur does the same.

"What do you want it to mean?"

Quackity opens his mouth, heart on his tongue, then closes it and drops his shoulders before meeting Wilbur's gaze. "Boyfriends. Like dating."

"Really?" And the moon brightens the flash of a sparkle in Wilbur's eyes. "I want that too," He whispers.

"Perfecto." Quackity smiles.

"So will you be my boyfriend, Quackity?" Wilbur asks, reaching for his hand and taking it in his own with a tenderness that makes Quackity's head have to take a moment before he can compute and respond.

"If you'll be my boyfriend, Wilbur."

"Deal," Wilbur says instantly and it's then they agree to move closer and leave the world behind as they lean in and finally kiss each other. It's more then Quackity ever imagined, because yes maybe he did once or twice, and it leaves him chasing Wilbur's lips when they part, chest burning and heart thrumming as Wilbur allows it, cupping his cheek and sinking into the hand Quackity so needily uses to tug at his shoulder.

He's as far as the moon, at this point, and he'll go further because they just seem to fit so well, holding hands and stealing their breaths with an eager kiss, lips pressing together, eyes closed and hearts open.

Then Quackity realizes he's been set on his back, heavy breathes and beach waves passing through his eardrums, eyes expectantly looking up at Wilbur, the moonlight outlining him perfectly, lips parted and it's all so much, but never too much, as he goes to loop his arms around Wilbur's neck and pull him closer, chest against chest with a sync of heartbeats.

"You're really pretty, you know?" Wilbur mutters, thumb swiping across Quackity's cheek and Quackity can't help how the breath in his lungs escapes him, only enough to keep himself able to blush and make an honestly embarrassing noise that easily lets Wilbur understand how he takes to such compliments.

He just kisses Wilbur before the man can say anything about it, bringing him impossibly closer with rough and loving lips that he instantly leans to, brown curls and white streak and evertyhing else Wilbur brings with him, like his stupid smile when he knows he's right to begin with, but hears it play out for others to find out, or his stupidly warm brown eyes and how he laughs. Quackity swoons, smiling up at Wilbur.

"You're extremely handsome." He says loudly, like there's music playing that he has to rival up. There isn't, but it makes Wilbur grin. "But also a dumbass."

Wilbur pouts. "We were having such a moment."

"We still are." Quackity corrects him, which is true but maybe laying down on the sand isn't that good of an idea anymore, he can feel the bits of small tiny rock against his skin where his (Wilbur's) shirt lifted up, a bit itchy on his back, so he lets his hands drop. "But the sand's gonna get in my clothes this way." He shrugs as best as he can from his position. "And my hair."

"Right." Wilbur moves to sit back up properly, helping Quackity do the same with a merry look that he just can't seem to get rid of, high of life or whatever. "Hey, Quackity?"

Quackity rolls his eyes just because he doesn't even have to look at Wilbur to see his smile and playful glint in his eyes. He can hear it. "Yes. Wilbur."

"Would you wanna go somewhere else tonight?" He asks him and Quackity huffs.

"You mean somewhere where there isn't sand or dirt?"

"Well yeah, ideally." Wilbur answers with a shrug, looking around before shamelessly smiling.

"So you can kiss me, right?"

"Also, yes. Ideally." Wilbur nods simply, waiting for the eventual agreement he'll hear, he's so certain of it. Quackity smiles back.

"Because you just need me." He states teasingly, sarcastic as he leans forward. Wilbur, of course, hums with no opposition to the statement.

"Obviously. I mean, ideally I'd be with you. Duh."

Quackity gives him the moment of having to watch him pretend to think, making him wait before he sighs like it's a chore. "Fine. Let's go."

"I don't know why you act like you don't want to be kissed, Big Q," Wilbur says plainly, planting a small kiss on his lips and turning away to pick up his box and phone. "We all know the truth."

"You know the truth." Quackity points, then follows his actions. Wilbur processes his accusing response and just laughs, deciding to kiss him again. It's longer this time, it gets dragged out as he cups Quackity's face with both hands, making his heart flutter and head spin delightfully.

So of course he gives in and kisses back, their progress to leave undone as they discard their items in favor of having hands on bodies, and all sorts of wants and desires that somehow lands with Wilbur propped up on his elbows, then fully on his back as Quackity pushes on his chest and gasps into the kiss. Wilbur's taller though, so his head rests in one hundred percent sand, not even some towel, and he comes to the same realization Quackity did.

"Sand-" He slips in between kisses, and braces himself upwards as Quackity huffs and leans back. "You were right about the sand. Let's go for real this time."

Quackity nods, kisses him on the cheek, and they actually manage to walk to the car this time.

When Wilbur's driving, and Quackity's putting on his playlist so they can both sing along if they know the words, hearts light yet full, all in the right way, Quackity just knows this is going to be one of the best nights ever.

And also that Karl was right, it was indeed a date date.

Quackity will tell him later, right now he's busy soaking in all the kisses Wilbur sneaks in at a red light, both of them giggling like idiotic teenagers in their first relationship.

It's really awesome, he decides.

Authors notes: whooo sorry for the wait the lady I was renting from didn't like that a bit more time was needed to pack and was all "okay gtfo, two days you are gone" and random arm pains have tried to hold me down buuut the chapter is here (packing is stressful you guys but I finished like a week and a half ago) 

This will probably be the last chapter and the 6th will exist if enough people want it to, simply because idk if people want this content from me (since looking at my other works it isn't my usual). By that I mean a bonus chapter containing smut (which will honestly probably not be too graphic so this stays mature instead of explicit which is the current rating on ao3) So please let me know your thoughts in the comments :]