tayzers on ao3

Winter Break, Side A

A week before winter break, and Quackity’s too busy with finals to think of anything else. He’s half tempted to consider it a blessing, swamped with cumulative exams and papers, forced to get rest by the sheer amount of work he’s doing. He doesn’t collapse, but it’s a close thing, barely remembering to get meals in between nosediving into his textbooks and academic article databases. Despite everything, ultimately he is here to study, and he won’t let the drama of his life overtake him so completely that he disappoints his mother. His mother, who had worked so hard for Quackity to be able to go to this school in the first place, who believed in him when he said he wanted to become a lawyer and was willing to put in the work necessary.

Karl still hasn’t been speaking to him. Everybody knows by now that something’s up, and even his usual friends are showing concern for him whenever they interact, not bogged down by the stress of academics and GPA anxiety. If Quackity had a nickel for every time someone told him he looked like shit, he’d be able to pay off his tuition for all four years.

The worst of it all is Summer, though. She’s no different from usual, her brightness only slightly dampened by finals season, but she treats Quackity almost like fine china; overly delicate, overly considerate. Always texting him to ask him if he’s okay, if he’s eaten, if he has any free time to see her. The answer to all but one of her questions is a resounding no, but Quackity only dares to lie about the first two. She never seems upset about it, just accepting. A cheery ‘okay!! good luck with finals!’

He feels bad about it, he thinks. He’s pretty sure he does. He hasn’t been able to face her ever since he fought with Technoblade, when he broke his own resolve and cried until his face was frozen after the other man left. Then, Quackity went back to his dorm, and tried to drink away the events, but nothing was enough to make him forget something so fresh. He had called Summer as a last resort, late in the evening, and was almost shocked when she answered after the first ring. Almost.

Quackity’s taking advantage of her. He knows he is, and yet, he can’t bring himself to stop. He needs her. She’s his refuge. Quackity hadn’t meant to start a relationship with her when he met her at that party— he was just looking to blow off some steam, and she was there and willing, and that was all he needed. Now, this whole thing has spiralled out of his control. He keeps calling upon her whenever his thoughts are overwhelming, when the misery gets too deep and he can’t keep up enough energy to be angry, and never any other time. Without the anger, there’s nothing left but the self hate, and he’s learned long ago leaving it to fester has worse consequences than whatever maladaptive coping mechanism he finds within his reach. However, that didn’t mean he needed to use her to do it.

Still, Quackity gets through finals relatively unscathed, and for the first time since that night, he tells Summer he can see her. He has nothing but free time until he goes home for the break, and the way she’s so clearly excited when she spots him makes dread build thick and black in his chest.

“Quackity! It feels like it’s been forever since I saw you,” she says, and he goes willingly when she closes in on him, leaning into his space for a kiss. He can’t deny her, but it only makes him feel worse, feeling her warmth, and the genuine nature of her feelings, however played up they might be.

“Summer, look…” Quackity starts, stepping away.

It’s only getting colder as time encroaches closer to the dead of winter, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt as cold as he does now. Not even the frostbite he’s nearly gotten more times than he’s willing to count compares to the burning cold that’s creeping through him. He’s grateful that most people are off campus by now— normally, at this time of day, this plaza would be crowded, people milling about everywhere. Summer looks up at him curiously, her blue eyes watching him closely. He’s sure she must know what he’s about to say, braced for the words before he even says them. Quackity steps further back.

“...We can’t date anymore. I’m breaking up with you.”

They come out blunt, and Quackity wishes he could be more delicate, softer with her. She deserves to be let down easy at the very least, but he doesn’t know how to. It makes him feel a little bit better when the only thing that happens is her expression turning neutral, her hands falling limply to her sides. He was sort of expecting her to cry.

“Oh, really?” she says, slowly, like the words are a preprogrammed response. Her cheeks are flushed in the cold, and blue eyes lose some of their light, as she looks through him instead of at him, now. “Well, that’s okay. I was sort of, y’know, expecting it a little bit… So I’m not sad, don’t worry!” The words ring hollow, meant to be reassuring but falling flat between them. He sucks in a breath, shivering, and tries to dig up what care he has for her.

“You don’t have to pretend to be okay with it, Summer, I’m not gonna be mad. I just… I don’t love you. I feel like I’m taking advantage of you, and I don’t want to do that. I know you’ll be able to find some other guy that can actually reciprocate your feelings, but I’m kind of a fucking mess right now, and… yeah. I’m sorry.”

Silence stretches on long after he stops talking and Summer doesn't really react. He watches as she blinks, one arm crossing the width of her body to grasp the other, still hanging limp at her side, in some mockery of a hug. A recognizable attempt at self comfort, and Quackity flushes in embarrassment and shame.

Of course he feels ashamed for being the reason why she needs comfort at all. Can't he do anything right? The whole point of this was to spare Summer's feelings and not hurt her more than he already had. He'd already failed the first step and was stumbling his way through clumsily, awkward and unsure of what to do with himself in this situation. Usually, he was the one being dumped, rather than doing the dumping; when that wasn't the case, this had never felt so lodged in emotion. At least she wasn't crying. That was his only saving grace.

Summer doesn’t say anything or otherwise react, and for a second, Quackity thinks it might be over. He can finally walk away from this horrible confrontation; from Summer and her emotions sketched clearly across for all to see; from his mistakes, and this campus, and whatever notion of romance he had deluded himself into. He goes to step away, but is stopped by Summer’s voice.

“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” she says suddenly, and it catches Quackity off guard with how confrontational she sounds. He’s never heard her talk like that before. Though she doesn’t look angry, there’s a tension in her figure. She stands stiffly, looking away from him, and he swallows hard.

“Uh, what?”

“You’re in love with someone else. That’s why you can’t love me.” Quackity pauses. In love? He’s not in love with anyone, far from it. At least, that’s what he wants to believe, but no amount of denial would change the fact that when she said it, there was a person who popped into his head. Even after everything, dyed pink hair still draws him in; the promise of warmth, comfort, and companionship still compels him. Technoblade doesn’t want him, but that did nothing to stop Quackity from wanting him, wanting him so badly he nearly wrecked all his other relationships in the process of trying to eliminate those feelings.

“...Yeah, sorry.” The admission burns him. It claws its way out of him from somewhere deep within, talons slipping on the delicate insides of his throat, and he chokes with it. Summer doesn’t look surprised, though when she turns to face him again, she’s stricken with something Quackity knows well: betrayal.

“It’s fine, it’s always like that! I’m just glad you spent time w-with me, y’know? You were- you were nicer to me than any of my other exes were, so…” she trails off for a moment, tears flowing down her cheeks. They sparkle like freshly fallen snow in the sunlight, glacial blue eyes shining even as she reaches up to wipe away the evidence of her emotions with a tissue from her purse. Always prepared, always meticulously put together. Her makeup stands unaffected by the ordeal. “I’m okay. I’m fine. I hope you’re able to get better, Quackity.”

“Thanks.”

When he gets out of the Uber, stepping out in front of his childhood home, he feels a relief like he hasn’t felt in a long time. Even the comfort Technoblade had brought him didn’t compare to that of the familiar, welcoming sights and smells of his hometown, the warmth of the sun beating down on him from a cloudless blue sky, the sounds of his little siblings playing inside the house.

He walks up to the door, and hesitates. Of course he let his mom know when he would be coming home, he even faxxed her his plane ticket information, but some part of him is stilled by the thought of crossing this threshold. It’s only been a couple of months, but he feels so different. He’s changed. His family doesn’t know anything about what’s happened between him and Technoblade, or even him and Summer; his mom doesn’t know that the fluffy haired white boy he told her about doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore. What’ll he say if they ask? How can he face his little siblings after going on multi day long binges, losing sleep, barely eating?

He’s suddenly self conscious about the way his clothes hang a little loser on him now, how the bags under his eyes have deepened. But the door opens suddenly, his mother standing in the entryway with a big of trash, and she nearly runs into him in her exit. He steps back just in time just to avoid her, but immediately sees the concern lining her expression when she realizes he had just been standing there in front of the door.

“Patito! What are you doing just standing out here? Come inside!”

Nothing has changed since he left in August. Everything remains in its place, untouched by the happenings of Quackity’s life. Even the smell is the same, the soft scent of corn flour and tamales still lines the walls. He didn’t realize just how much he missed it until it hit him, the comfort and familiarity of home.

His siblings rush to see who’s come inside, the sound of bare feet padding against the stone tile floor getting progressively louder as they run. He sets his bags down in preparation, unable to keep the grin from breaking out on his face when they see him. “Quackity!” they shout in near unison, elation in their voices. His brother and sister barrel towards him at full speed and nearly knock the wind out of him, but he catches them regardless.

Quackity stares up at the ceiling of his room, the white paint appearing grey in the darkness. He thought maybe being away from campus and seeing his family would help him feel better, and it did, for a little while. But now that he's alone in the silence of his room, all the misery flows back into him like it never left, making a permanent home in his chest like a physical thing.

Maybe he should've been more honest with his mom, actually told her what happened. He's never really discussed these things with her before— he didn't want to worry her or give her any additional stress. She was always able to tell when something was wrong with him, though, and every time he made up a white lie to escape her questioning, guilt settled heavy in his stomach. This time's no different.

He turns to look out of his window, feeling genuinely tired for the first time in what felt like an eternity. It’s warm here, much warmer than it was on campus, but that’s to be expected. Instead of snow pilled up in the window, blocking his view of the outside world, he can very clearly see the street outside, mostly empty of people. He’d missed being home, missed his family, missed the familiarity of the streets where he grew up. There was something comforting in it, that allowed him to relax in a way he could never manage away from home.

The lack of sleep was catching up to him. It seemed like everything was catching up to him, recently. Karl had barely even looked at him when he left to head home for break. And Summer… he knew what he had been doing was wrong, wasn't fair to her. He’d needed it though, needed some sort of distraction, and it hadn't even really worked. Nothing worked. Not the parties, not the sex, not the drinking, nothing made him forget about Technoblade. Even with blonde hair running through his fingers, all he could think of was the way pink strands felt against his hands the first time he was allowed to touch them.

Neither Technoblade nor Summer are here. Neither of them know this side of him, know his family, his history. Maybe he kept it that way on purpose. Techno had shared so much with him, and what had he given back? Where was the line between an exchange and stealing? Why can he never seem to figure it out? All he ever managed to do is take from others, like he was taken from; hurt others, like he was hurt before.

He wants to be upset about it. He wants to conjure up the same feelings of resentment, betrayal, hate. But he's too tired. He can't keep it up anymore, keep running himself ragged. Being away from campus and with his family presents less opportunities for his more destructive — but simpler — habits. Without them, he has nothing to distract himself with but the company of his little siblings and his mother, and being around them just reminds him of how shitty he had been.

It seems like he sees them in everything, everything reminds him of the people he desperately wanted to leave behind in the States. His little brother laughs, innocent and playful, and he sees Karl, laughing at some new antics preformed by their friends. He sits on the shore, the beach emptier than it usually is at night, and in the dark water he sees Summer, her piercing blue gaze, the steady reliability of the tide matching her demeanor.

He sees Technoblade everywhere. Every person he comes across reminds him of him, regardless of how similar or different they may be; every crack in the sunbaked bricks brings back memories of being pressed against a dirty wall in a dark corner. Pink flowers sprout in his mother’s garden, and he swears they’re the same shade of his dyed hair.

It's all too much, and every part of him longs for the relative ease of the time before. Before he ran away, without even giving Techno a chance to explain himself. He remembers that event almost as clearly as he remembers their first kiss— the tone of Techno's voice, the way he reached out to try and comfort him, and the way Quackity rejected all attempts at reconciliation. It felt right at the time, he felt justified. Technoblade had hurt him, and there was no way he hadn’t known what he’d done, no way it wasn’t on purpose.

Even now, those feelings still smolder within him, whispering to him that he was right. Even though he knew he wasn’t. He can still hear Techno’s words in his mind, telling him to think about someone other than himself. They stung, and instinctively he wanted to defend himself against the accusation, proclaim how good of a person he was, that he wasn’t some selfish monster. It was just a kneejerk reaction, though, and he knew it. The reason why those words hurt so badly, why he cried so hard after Technoblade left him in the cold again — without warmth, without comfort, without reassurance — was because he knew there was truth in them.

When was the last time his thoughts had been preoccupied with anyone’s feelings other than his? Even when he knew he was hurting Summer, when he knew what he was doing was wrong, he still kept doing it. It was on purpose. He had brushed off Karl’s genuine concern, snapped at him for no reason, and it was on purpose. He didn’t even apologize.

And what of Technoblade, who, in Quackity’s mind, was to blame for it all? That night, Techno had sounded dejected. Wounded. Like he knew how Quackity felt, or maybe, was suffering just as much as Quackity was. People who don’t care don’t sound like that. He knows from experience.

It was too much. It was all too much. He wasn’t even there anymore and it all still haunts him. The memories are too fresh in his mind for him to forget. He just wants to sleep. It’s too quiet without the sound of Karl’s snoring. Quackity keeps his eyes on the empty streets until exhaustion overpowers the guilt coursing through him, and he finally sleeps.