Chapter Text
Quackity didn’t want a roommate.
In his eyes, he still had one. He didn’t care that he’d been suspended indefinitely. He didn’t care that what had gotten him kicked out was a barely scarred over wound on his face. He could easily pretend that nothing happened if Schlatt’s side of the room stayed untouched, exactly as he’d left it. So why were the powers above (the university board) so fucking determined to get in the way of that? If Schlatt was gone, that was fine. Quackity didn’t care. But couldn’t he at least be left alone?
The answer to that, of course, was a resounding no. And it came to him in the form of four sharp knocks on the door, that same door creaking open before waiting for an answer. Looking up from his computer, Quackity was met with…a quite normal-looking man, all things considered.
Curly brown hair, tall, tapered glasses, a navy sweater over a white collared shirt, jeans. The only bizarre thing was a kind of massive brown trenchcoat that reached to his knees. He looked a bit religious, or just nerdy, but nothing crazy like some rumours he’d heard about his possible new dorm occupant. He smelt faintly of cigarettes and vodka, though, which was somewhat suspicious considering it was 10:24am on a Monday.
“Um, hello?” Fuck. This guy was still standing in the doorway and Quackity was too busy trying to discern whether he was an alcoholic. It probably seemed like he was checking him out or something. Fixing his gaze back on his laptop, Quackity raised his hand dismissively in acknowledgement. “Hey. Put your stuff wherever.” The man seemed to take the hint that Quackity wasn't in the mood for conversation, as the next ten minutes or so seemed to consist of him unpacking his very meagre belongings.
“Are you going to give me your name, or will I have to ask administration?” Quackity was startled when his voice piped up again, from the bed opposite him where the man sat.
“Quackity. You?”
“Wilbur.” Perfect. That’s that settled. “Do we share any classes?” God, can’t he stop talking?
Quackity shrugged in response, going back to his work. “I dunno. Maybe.”
“Well, alright. I’ll leave you alone then. Mind if I have a smoke?”
“...Sure, yeah. Just do it out the window.” Wilbur looked around. “There isn’t one?”
“Bathroom.” After a moment of searching, Wilbur ducked into the door leading to the bathroom.
Quackity checked the time again, wondering how long he had before his first class. Taking all afternoon classes seemed like a genius idea at first. Go figure. Maybe Wilbur would smoke for another 45 minutes and Quackity wouldn’t have to see him for the next few hours.
Quackity didn’t care if the man smoked five packs a day, in all honesty. He was guilty of a cigarette or two most days too. As long as he kept it outside, like Quackity did himself, that was far from a damning trait. But if that asshole is always drinking…Quackity shook his head, berating himself for being so prudish. It shouldn’t matter, he was used to it anyways. He was just being an idiot.
Alas, despite his prayers, Wilbur returned after fifteen minutes or so. Brushing past him to get to the bathroom door, Quackity stepped inside to make himself presentable for class and was met with multiple pill bottles on the sink. Checking to ensure they were prescribed and not drugs, he reached up and put them in a cabinet; he didn’t want to be knocking them over constantly.
Another quick glance around the room told him the candle he lit in there every morning to ward off the chronic mildewy scent of the place was extinguished. That was…frustrating. Whatever. A few minutes later, he deemed himself ready and walked back into the main room.
“I put your medication in the cabinet for the sake of space. Also, did you put out my candle?”
Wilbur didn’t look up from the novel he’d picked up, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Ah, thank you. And yeah, sorry. I don’t like fire.” Right. Great.
“If you don’t want the candle in there you’re buying an air freshener. It’ll smell like rotten wood in there otherwise.” Wilbur nodded diligently before going back to his book. Quackity was going to hold him to that.
-
Nearly six hours later, Quackity was back at the dorm. He’d gone to…almost all his classes. He was a decent student. Just not History of Economics, that Hellhole. It was a boring-as-shit class taught by an ancient old woman who was way too strict to be teaching at a community college. On most days, Quackity just didn’t go, even though he should’ve.
Though his reasoning was that she barely graded on attendance, the homework was what mattered and struggling through it without actually learning the information was torturous. Whatever, he’d probably pass. Maybe. Hopefully.
Rapping on the door quickly to warn Wilbur of his entrance, he swung the door open on its rusty hinges to…silence. That was weird, wasn't it? He shook his head. No. It wasn’t. Wilbur might have evening classes, or be out somewhere. Who knew what was up with that guy? He was reading a mystery novel for fun earlier. Maybe he was at the fucking library or something.
Quackity then realised he didn’t know Wilbur’s major. God, hopefully he isn’t a business major. He couldn’t be, they’d surely share one or two classes if that were the case. He was overthinking. If only he had any weed left.
-
11:44pm. The door opened, slowly, and Wilbur finally walked into the room, stumbling slightly.
“Hello. You alright?” Quackity felt himself tense, sitting up straighter in his bed and watching Wilbur’s every move. “Yeah, I’m fine. You?” Wilbur nodded as if to agree, before making his way to the bathroom.
Allowing himself to exhale, Quackity tried to force himself to relax. Plenty of people drink. He used to, pretty damn often. He needed to stop being so…weird about it. He tried to turn on music in his headphones, but the notion of not being able to hear anything else instantly made him mute it again.
After a while, Wilbur was back, quietly pushing a few of his belongings to the foot of the bed with minimal effort before collapsing onto it. “Do you want me to turn the lights off?”
“Yeah, that’d be brilliant.”
So Quackity did, switching to his phone to waste time until he could fall asleep. Wilbur seemed so calm. He had been drinking, Quackity was sure of it, so why was he acting so…tired? He didn’t even know what he was confused about. It didn’t matter anyway.
-
Yet an hour later he was still awake, thinking, scrolling through his phone and letting the colours and images and words fill his mind and kill his hyperactive imagination. He originally figured Wilbur must’ve fallen asleep immediately, but every time he looked over the man seemed to be in an entirely different position, so maybe he wasn't the only one who couldn’t sleep with a new person in the room.
Wilbur occasionally murmured indiscernible words before cutting himself off, moving to shove his head in a pillow or turn himself against the wall. What is up with him? Quackity considered asking him if he was still awake, despite knowing the answer, maybe asking if he was good. But it seemed too…forward.
He shouldn’t get to know him. The less that he interacted with him, the better. And Quackity believed that wholeheartedly. He had much better things to focus on than the inner workings of some random guy who was probably a drug addict and apparently had a bit of a criminal record and he ‘wouldn’t have been our first choice to room with you considering what you’ve had to go through but we don’t have much space and’ it was stupid and he was definitely some kind of dangerous.
But it would be fine. It was already nearly halfway through the year, the first semester would be over soon. He only had to room with Wilbur for what, seven months? Then they could never talk again. He creeped Quackity out, with his five different types of medication and less than a suitcase of stuff and weirdly peppy(?) personality and that stupid school-shooter type trenchcoat that he was still wearing whilst fucking sleeping.
Maybe he’d even get kicked out before the end of the year, what with being a literal criminal and all. It wasn't good to get his hopes up, but it was nice to think about. Fuck, he was unfriendly. One day with this weirdo and he was already praying on his downfall? Whatever. He needed to sleep.