Chapter Text
There’s a poster on the wall. It’s rainbow-colored with a caption in cutesy cursive: Be the Change You Want to See in the World. It makes Quackity want to scream and tear it to shreds.
“That’s bullshit,” he snaps. “Tilín was being bullied. That- that motherfucker called Tilín a freak.”
“We’ve already spoken to the parents of the other students involved and there will be consequences for them too,” the principal says, looking unconcerned. “But as for your son… after much consideration, we’ve come to the decision that a two-week suspension is appropriate.” He narrows his eyes. “Although perhaps it should be longer.”
Quackity’s mouth shuts with a click, and he swallows, standing up. “Come on, Tilín, let’s go.” He grabs Tilín by the arm and quickly drags them out the door.
“That’s so stupid,” Tilín says as soon as they’re out of earshot, “I wasn’t even involved in the fighting.”
“I know,” he sighs. “I know you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“He was a dickhead.”
“Mr. Schlatt?”
Tilín shakes their head solemnly. “No, Kai. But Mr. Schlatt is a dickhead too.”
He snorts, anger draining away as he temporarily shoves the meeting out of his mind. “Yeah, he is.”
He takes Tilín to get frozen yogurt, then they return home where he cooks albondigas and they curl up on the couch to watch Toy Story for the seventh time. He’s just about ready to put Tilín to sleep when he receives a message from an unknown number.
Hey, this is Wilbur Soot, Tallulah’s dad. Tallulah wanted to know how Tilín is doing and to ask if they want to come and hang out sometime this weekend. Let me know if that works and we can set up a playdate.
He looks up from his phone. “Hey Tilín,” he says, kneeling next to the bed, “how would you feel about hanging out with Tallulah this weekend?”
“With Tallulah?”
“That’s right, with Tallulah. Her dad just texted me to see if you want to come over for a playdate.”
“Sure!” Tilín nods vigorously. “She’s really badass.”
He ruffles his son’s hair and smiles. “She sounds like a cool person. Goodnight, Tilín.”
He turns the lights off with a flick.
-
He can hear the doorbell play a jaunty tune from inside the apartment as footsteps rush up to the door. It opens, and a brunette girl wearing a red beanie pokes her head out. The girl’s gaze locks on Tilín, who’s standing behind Quackity.
“Tilín?” Tallulah waves and throws the door wide open. “Come in! You guys can wait in the living room, my dad’s making sandwiches right now.”
They kick off their shoes and enter the apartment. The place is small but cozy. Fluffy blankets in all different colors and patterns litter the floor and lie draped across the couch. There’s a sign propped up on top of a cabinet labeled “HOME HOME” and a Dali-esque clock that’s most certainly not set to the correct time.
“Dad! Tilín and their dad are here!”
The sound of drawers slamming echoes from the kitchen, followed by a series of quite British-sounding curses. Quackity is just about to take a look and make sure everything is alright when the hottest man he’s ever seen appears in the kitchen doorway.
“Hi, I’m Wilbur, Tallulah’s dad. Welcome to our humble abode. It’s good to meet you, Tilín! And you must be Quackity?”
He blinks. Once, twice, three times. “That’s me,” he manages to squeeze out eventually. “Nice to meet you too. Do… you need any help with the food?” He winces. “Sorry, I just overheard you and it sounded like you could use a hand.”
Wilbur flushes and scratches the back of his head, seemingly embarrassed. “You heard that? I’m so sorry-” He twists his head to look at his daughter. “Hey, why don’t you take Tilín and show ‘em your room, okay? You can hang out and get to know each other better while I chat with Tilín’s dad here.”
In less than a breath, the children are gone, though the sounds of their chatter can be heard drifting down the hall. Wilbur takes a seat on the couch and pats the spot beside him, gesturing for Quackity to sit down too. Quackity plops himself down unceremoniously and waits for Wilbur to speak.
“Tallulah told me about what happened,” Wilbur says, gazing in the direction that Tilín and Tallulah had disappeared off to. “She was worried about Tilín. How are they doing?”
He grimaces. “They got suspended for two weeks.”
Wilbur’s eyes widen. “Two weeks? That’s absurd! Llulah just has to write an essay about why violence isn’t the answer.” He frowns. “I’ll write to the school board and get them to drop Tilín’s punishment.”
“You really don’t need to do that, I can handle things myself,” he protests. He can’t accept such a massive favor from someone he’d only met that day.
Wilbur waves his hand dismissively. “It’s legitimately no trouble. Think about it this way, it’s for Tilín.”
He’s about to open his mouth to continue arguing, but Wilbur’s words give him pause. As much as he hates accepting the help, he won’t put his pride over Tilín. “Alright,” he agrees begrudgingly. But he does say, “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“If you want, but you don’t have to,” Wilbur says, then changes the subject. “So tell me about yourself.”
Quackity blinks at the sudden shift in the conversation. “Well, my name’s Quackity, I’m twenty-eight years old, an estate lawyer. Yeah, that’s about it. I’m not a very interesting person.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Wilbur counters. “Tell me a fun fact about yourself.”
Fuck. What is a fun fact about himself? He doesn’t have any cool hobbies or interests unless he counts poker, which doesn’t seem like a great way to introduce himself to his kid’s friend’s dad. “I… play the guitar?” he eventually decides to say.
Wilbur visibly perks up, seeming almost ready to bounce out of his seat. “That’s sick, me too! I’m actually in a band.”
“Oh yeah, what’s it called?”
“Lovejoy,” Wilbur says, and Quackity snorts.
“No way, you’ve gotta be joking, man,” he says, though now that he’s thinking about it, Wilbur’s voice does sound quite similar to the lead singer’s. Curious, he lifts his phone and asks it, “Who are the members of Lovejoy?”
“The band consists of Wilbur Soot as lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist, Joe Goldsmith as….”
He turns the phone off, having heard enough. “Holy shit,” he says with a whistle. “I’m sitting next to a bona fide celebrity right now.”
Wilbur ducks his head, hiding behind a fringe of curls, though Quackity can see the tips of his ears flush red. “It’s not a big of a deal, really,” he mutters, “I’m not that famous.”
Quackity scoffs. “That’s bullshit, man. ‘The Fall’ is like, my third favorite song.”
Wilbur glances up, looking mildly offended. “Only third?”
“After ‘Welcome to the Black Parade’ and ‘Where Are The Askers,’ so you’re in esteemed company,” he assures.
“Where Are The Askers?” Wilbur asks, wrinkling his nose in confusion. “What kind of song is that?”
He allows a wicked smirk to spread across his face. “Oh, you haven’t heard of it? It goes something like this.” He pulls out his phone and opens a karaoke version of “We Are The Champions,” taking a deep breath before launching into the song. “WHERE ARE THE ASKERS, MY FRIENDS? WE SEE THERE’S NO ASKERS ANYWHERE. WHERE-”
“Okay, okay, I’ve got the idea!” Wilbur yelps, cutting him off. “I’m sorry I… uh… queried you, and I sincerely regret every life decision that led me to this point, I think my ears are bleeding.”
“Then it served its purpose,” he says jokingly, then falls silent.
For a moment, the two stare at each other, Wilbur fiddling with a rubber band around his wrist and Quackity watching, until Wilbur jerks his head towards the kitchen.
“So, uh, do you want to help me finish the sandwiches? I was laying out the ingredients before you arrived and I got side-tracked. The kids will probably be getting hungry soon.”
“Sure.” He shrugs and they head to the kitchen to start assembling lunch. “How does that work, by the way?”
“Preparing lunch? I honestly-”
“No, how do you juggle being a single parent and a famous musician? Tallulah’s a bit young to be traveling around the world with you on tour, isn’t she?”
Wilbur grabs a knife to start chopping tomatoes, and Quackity can’t help but feel that the movement is an attempt to hide his face.
“She lives with her mum while I’m away,” Wilbur says with a distinct note of discomfort in his voice.
Quackity kicks himself mentally, wishing he could stuff the words back in his mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s fine, honestly,” Wilbur dismisses. “Like you said, you didn’t know.” He pauses and tilts his head. “Wait, how did you not know? My entire life story is spread across the internet for fuck’s sake. And how did you not know that I’m in Lovejoy, for that matter? Didn’t you say that ‘The Fall’ is your third favorite song?”
He hisses through his teeth. “Yeah, I don’t really pay attention to all that celebrity shit, or the individual members of a band. I just heard your band’s name tossed around a few times in conversation, liked your songs, and followed you on Spotify.”
“Fair enough,” Wilbur says with a laugh, turning back to the cutting board. “I appreciate the honesty. And the support, I’m glad that you liked us enough to give us a follow. You can peel the lettuce, by the way.” He points to the head of lettuce sitting on the counter.
Quackity takes the lettuce and rinses it off before he stops. “Where are the bowls?”
Wilbur points to the drawer and Quackity grabs a large metal one. He starts stripping the leaves off the lettuce one by one, tossing them into the bowl.
“Since you’re famous and all that jazz, shouldn’t you live in a mansion or something?” he asks.
“It’s just me and Tallulah, so I don’t really see the need for a mansion,” Wilbur answers. “This place is more than enough. Any bigger and I think it would get lonely.”
“Ah.”
They work quietly for a time, the only discussion being Wilbur telling him where various items are located. Strangely enough, the atmosphere isn’t awkward but comforting, like Wilbur’s mere presence somehow makes everything feel right. He’s almost surprised when they’re done and there are four messily-constructed sandwiches laid out on the dining table.
“Tilín! Llulah! Lunch is ready!” Wilbur calls.
The kids come stampeding down the hall to sit down at the table and eagerly begin to devour the food.
“You should see my Realm,” Tallulah says to Tilín, “I’ll add you to the whitelist.” They happily chatter away about Minecraft between bites of their sandwiches while the two parents look on.
“Looks like they’re getting along quite well,” Wilbur muses.
Quackity lets out a sigh of relief. Tilín has always had trouble making friends. Ever since Juanaflippa moved away, they’d been alone, but now he can rest easy knowing that his son has someone else to support them.
Tilín and Tallulah quickly finish eating and rush off again, leaving him and Wilbur alone to chat. Time slips away as they talk about anything and everything. Soon enough, the sun is setting, and it’s time for him and Tilín to go.
“Let me know when you have the time, I’m sure Tallulah would love to have Tilín over again,” Wilbur says as Quackity is tying his shoelaces. Then, more softly, “And I would love to see you.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he pretends that he didn’t hear it, choosing to nudge Tilín instead. “Say adiós to Wilbur and Tallulah.”
“Adiós Tallulah! Adiós Mr. Soot!” Tilín chirps.
When they arrive home, Quackity has to take a last-minute call from a client that stretches on for two hours, and by the time he’s done, he’s exhausted.
He goes to check his email one last time before tucking Tilín in when he freezes. There’s a new email in his inbox from the school. He opens it up, reads the contents, and has to pinch himself to make sure he’s not hallucinating.
“No fucking way,” he mumbles.
It’s from the principal, informing him that upon further review, the school decided to waive Tilín’s suspension. Vaguely, he remembers Wilbur promising to write to the school board. He must have convinced them. But how?
“It’s because he’s a fucking celebrity, isn’t he?” he realizes. A thread of jealousy can’t help but curl its way around his heart, but he ruthlessly squashes it. It isn’t Wilbur’s fault—no, it’s the fucking biased-ass school board that’s the problem.
He slumps in his chair. On the bright side, Tilín is now no longer suspended. He goes to tuck Tilín into bed and finds them playing Minecraft and chatting on Discord with someone.
“Who are you talking to?” Quackity asks.
Tilín rips off their headphones. “Tallulah. We were on Hypixel together.”
“You should go to sleep, it’s late.”
“It’s not like I have school tomorrow,” Tilín says and types something into the Discord chat.
He crosses his arms. “Actually, you do.”
“What?”
“Yep! You’ve been unsuspended and tomorrow’s Monday, which means you have school in the morning!” Quackity tells them cheerfully. “Now go to bed.” Tilín groans. “I know, I know, but education is important. And so is sleep.”
Pouting, Tilín says goodbye to Tallulah and turns off the computer. Quackity tucks them in and then gets ready to go to sleep himself.
Lying in bed, he opens his contacts. His finger hovers over the call button for a full minute, but in the end, he doesn’t press it. Because he’s a coward, he taps out a short message instead.
Thank you.
Less than five seconds later, he receives a reply.
Wilbur Soot
<3