His muscles go slack as soon as he figures out what Q is saying; he's not holding Q anymore. No no no no no no no no no no NO--

He wants to argue it. There are at least a couple points in there he could argue, he's pretty sure. He can't hold onto them long enough to put the words together. If it were anyone else--no, anyone but Tommy--he'd be able to, but he can't. The world is sliding away from him. He can see them both from above, Q's black hair, his own greasy brown, the grass and trees around them. Their skin, dotted with reddening hickeys and blue-purple bruises and dark brown beauty marks. He can't see Q's eyes. He can't tell if he's covering his face or if he's just closing his eyes. Maybe both. Maybe neither. He can hear a woman's voice through the speakers, warning him to not leave luggage unattended, luggage left unattended may be removed without warning or destroyed or damaged, 24-hour CCTV recording is in operation at this station for the purpose of security and safety management.

"Then stop me," he says instead, because it's easier, because he's been down that path enough times to know the way even when he can't hear himself.

"I am. I'm going to.

I care about you a lot, Wilbur, but caring about you cannot mean that I keep letting you do this. Which is why I told Quackity about the TNT, and it's why I'm quitting, and it's why I'm breaking up with you." 

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO--

"Please, Q, please, I'll do whatever you want--tell me how to be better, I'll be better, I promise, please, give me one more chance--just one more chance--I can learn, I can atone, I, you said it yourself, you know I can change, please, I'm begging you, Q, I'm begging you, please don't leave, I'll do anything, please--" He casts around desperately in his brain for buttons to press, any buttons, comes up empty.

God. Fuck. He's the worst fucking person alive. 

Fortunately, he's already being a professional, speaking from somewhere hidden deep deep down inside himself where nobody can touch him, looking at himself and his life from the outside. And from the outside there's only one answer. 

"If I give you another chance," he says, "then you will be very nice to me for two days, maybe three, and then I will find myself folding and giving you what you want, again, because you begged or yelled or asked me to prove I trust you, again, and two days after that I will be screaming at myself for letting you do that to me again, and— Wilbur, I have given you so many chances. You keep telling me you can change, and I know that you can, but you aren't going to, you're just— punching buttons on the vending machine until forgiveness falls out." 

Wilbur's muscles are attached to his body enough that he clings, again, holding Q as tight as he can. Pressed up against him like this, Q can feel his breathing, fast and shallow and panicked. A woman's voice says Whilst waiting for your train please stand behind the yellow line. "It'll be different this time, I'll--I'll be worse, without you, I'll make Quackity madder, please, Q, please. Tell me what to do and I'll do it."

"Do you literally not fucking hear yourself, or do you actually for real think that trying to threaten me into doing what you want will help your case here." 

"I--I won't do that then, I, please Q, just tell me what you want me to do."

"Let go of me." 

Fuck. Fuck. He can't tell if it's a test or not. "If I-- will you--"

He makes his arms loosen. "Please don't leave."

"Thank you." 

Being physically able to walk away— helps, a lot. His breathing returns to normal, which is the first he's noticed of it not being. 

"What I want from you, Wilbur, is for you to treat me like a person, and not like a prop. And maybe you can do that but whether you can is different from whether you're going to and you've proven over and over again that you're not. 

I hope I'm wrong, I really do. I hope you actually change. But I am not going back to being your emotional fucking wet dream on the off chance you manage this time." 

"I want to. You don't have to--to be my, my emotional wet dream, just, stay, please, Q. Tell me how to prove myself and I will, I'll do anything you want, please."

He stands up. "I hope you have a good life, Wilbur." 

"No no no wait--Q--you can't just fucking, leave me here--"

Yes, he can. He picks up his clothes and walks away. 

Wilbur's reflexes aren't fast enough to grab him.

This is a security message, a woman's voice says. Your safety is very important to us.

Good thing, that; if Wilbur had managed to grab him it would not have gone well. 

He gets dressed when he's a ways away but not actually out of the woods. His shirt covers... most of the bite marks, which is going to have to be good enough for government work. 

(That went about as well as it possibly could have; Q would have thought hey, not my worst breakup ever literally no matter what happened but this isn't just his best, it is raising the bar for breakup possibilities. Is that a normal thing to think? Whatever.) 

Next order of business, tell Ranboo and Quackity he did that, not necessarily in that order. He heads toward Las Nevadas. 

Quackity can be found fairly easily in Las Nevadas, if you're looking for him.

—hm, actually, no, backtrack, he thinks he knows what he's gonna say but if he's got any bite marks showing that story doesn't work. Can he find Fundy. 

He can also find Fundy!

"Hi. I have another weird request and I'm very sorry for how many times this week I have shown up with weird requests. Do you have a button-up shirt I can borrow." 

"I do, yeah." He eyes one of Q's hickeys but doesn't comment, just gets him a white button-up.

(It's ironed and starched, the lines crisp. It fits Q better than it fits Fundy.)

"Thank you you're the best." 

Shirt buttoned hickeys covered hair tied back looks basically professional and now he'll approach Quackity. 

"Hey, what's up, man?" He puts his hand out for a fistbump.

Fistbump. 

"Hey, man. Slight change of plans, I have broken up with Wilbur." 

"And you didn't think to, what, tell me beforehand?"