"—okay, that on the other hand is just cursed." 

"You're not wrong."

"My situation, to be clear, was not that cursed. He was my mentor, he handled sponsorships and shit when I was in the arena, he's the reason I'm alive but he was never, like— in charge of anything." 

"...I dunno, man, Schlatt as a mentor sounds pretty fucking cursed to me. Maybe if he's just handling sponsorships, hey, whatever works."

His hands go deeper into his pockets. "Eh. It went fine." 

“Did he still have a heart attack and die, or did it go better than that?”

"Liver failure, and it took about four months to actually kill him. By the end of it I think a heart attack would've been a mercy." 

“I mean, I wasn’t that close to him at the time, maybe his liver was failing. He died of natural causes, despite my best efforts to the contrary.”

He doesn't make any sort of face about that, but he wants to. "Ah. Yeah, it was natural causes. Little more than a year ago." 

“Less than a year ago here. More if you’re me.”

"How's that work?" 

“When you’re dead, it— time goes slower. Nothing changes there but time, time still passes. It’s a month for every day, or thereabouts. Ask anyone else, I spent six months there, but my count was thirteen and a half years.”

Thirteen and a half years ago, Quackity hadn't turned six yet. His older sister was twelve. Wil was eleven, not even reaping age. George was fourteen, still in the academy. Tubbo was three. 

"Fuck, man." 

“It wasn’t… I don’t want to go back there. I— fucking, anything else. Fucking anything, man. Just no more of that fucking train station.”

'Totally inordinate amounts of train station', mark that one down on the list of things that don't match up exactly but are eerily rhyming. 

"Do you want, like— a hug, or something," is what he actually says. It seems strictly more helpful. 

Deep breath. Deeeeeeeep breath.

"Yes, please," he says, very quietly.

Okay. He can have one.

Working around the height difference is by this point something like second nature, and he's several years' worth of familiar with how Wilbur does and does not want to be touched. That's probably not all applicable to a different person with a different history but hopefully it's similar enough. 

This Wilbur holds himself very still at first, before slowly, deliberately moving his arms to reciprocate the hug. His grip is barely-there at first, steadily getting stronger until he's squeezing Quackity quite hard.

"Thank you," he says, when he lets go. He's smiling; his eyes are more than a little wet. "I--thank you, I needed that."

"I-- think I did too." Fuck, is he tearing up too? He is. Oh well. He smiles up at Wilbur anyway.

Tommy pokes his head back from wherever he had wandered off to. "ARE YOU TWO DONE KISSING OR WHATEVER."

"We weren't kissing, stop being ridiculous." Pause. Eyebrow raise at Quackity. "Unless...?"

"EW. GROSS. GOODBYE AGAIN."

(Fond laugh-smile directed towards Tommy's back, once he's far enough away that he won't see it.)

It's maybe a problem that Quackity's doing this much speedrunning of being comfortable and relaxed around someone who he technically speaking met today, but (he reasons) it's better than not having anyone he can relax around. This might be stupid but he is, as established, kind of stupid sometimes. If it bites him it won't kill him probably. "Cute. You guys are cute." 

Pause. 

"...also I did like the flirting, before there was suddenly an axe in my face. I would be happy to do more of that. If you wanted."