Chapter Text
Life doesn't suck when sunlight stops burning your eyes out after days of feeling like a vampire.
After walking around like a living corpse for what felt like forever, Multi had slept. Sure, it wasn't a full night, not even close to eight hours, but that hardly mattered.
For the first time in days, his limbs no longer felt weighed down by lead, his head wasn't constantly dragging him toward the ground, and his brain stopped functioning solely on an alarming amount of caffeine.
Even it had stopped whispering about absolute annihilation, retreating to the very back of his mind.
Who would've thought a few hours of sleep could do wonders?
Multi hums quietly under his breath, as he sits at their tilted table, a cup of coffee Graf made for him warming his hand.
Even the view seems different today, not nearly as ugly as it usually is.
Polish Cave might be a terrible place to live, but it has its charms.
Graf has finally come down from his medications. He's still a little groggy, slower around the edges, but far more present than he was yesterday.
It's not like Multi hates Graf being sociable and outgoing.
What he hates is when Graf starts having dangerous ideas that force Multi to step in and help him again. Sometimes, despite his rather impressive mind, Graf's naivety becomes exhausting because it inevitably leaves Multi cleaning up the mess inside his head afterward.
But that's okay.
Multi is here for him.
Always.
The dazed state was only temporary. Now that the medication is wearing off, Graf can return to being his best self again.
What wouldn't Multi do for his friend?
He watches as Graf settles down beside him with a newspaper tucked under one arm, calmly sipping his tea while scanning the newest issue.
Multi hides a smile behind his mug.
The treatment is working.
Graf even managed to form a complete sentence earlier, without being outright told to do so, when Multi found him in the kitchen, asking whether he wanted to join him for breakfast.
Multi rarely has much of an appetite before noon, but he admitted he wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee.
A thin ray of sunlight slips past the cave wall, forcing him to squint slightly.
Sure, he's still not particularly fond of the sun, but every once in a while, in small doses, the warmth feels…nice. Multi closes his eyes for a moment and lets it settle across his face.
There's no point in being angry.
Nothing has changed.
He simply needs to do his job.
Besides, life would be boring without a few obstacles, and Multi can handle obstacles just fine.
Across the table, Ewroon looks like shit.
He seems as though he hasn't slept at all, despite waking up much later than Multi did. His complexion is paler than usual, but other than that, he just looks tired.
He keeps rubbing at his eyes and yawning into his hand, and Multi has to look away before anyone notices how pleased he is by the sight.
For Ewroon, this must be the first time in years he's had a bad night's sleep.
Ewroon is usually an unbearable level of energetic, so seeing him half-asleep and staring blankly at the table makes the morning significantly better.
Finally.
Some peace and quiet.
On the other side of the table, Nexe sits in complete silence without even touching his cup.
Multi slept through his return, so he doesn't even know what time he came back.
He pointedly ignores every glance his dogs keep throwing his way.
Nexe lost the privilege of his attention after yesterday, and he knows it.
That still doesn't stop him from practically whimpering for it, desperate for Multi to look at him even once.
Multi doesn't.
Ewroon is too exhausted to notice anything, barely conscious as he props his cheek against his hand and stares absently somewhere past them.
Graf is focused entirely on the newspaper spread open in front of him, rereading the same paragraph over and over whenever his thoughts drift too far away from the page.
Multi knows this is the worst punishment he could've given Nexe.
Ignorance.
The ignorance of the people who are supposed to be his family.
Maybe that will teach him something.
In the Polish Cave, love isn't unconditional, and it certainly isn't free.
You earn it.
And after their little stunt, both Nexe and Ewroon have fallen all the way back to the bottom.
They won't return to the top until he lets them.
Multi looks through the massive hole in the wall that functions as their front entrance and lets himself enjoy the quiet for once.
Maybe he has things to deal with today, problems waiting for him outside the cave, but they can wait a while longer.
He can’t let the coffee that Graf so generously made for him go cold.
So they stay like that for a while, sitting around their crooked table in silence, each trapped in their own little world while pretending there's still something holding them together.
Multi doesn't visit the Regime very often.
Actually, he avoids it whenever possible.
Ash isn't exactly his biggest fan. He has an irritating habit of sticking his nose (if he even has one) into Multi's business before Multi can redirect his attention somewhere else.
Multi suspects Ash hates him most because he believes Multi is hurting Ewroon, which is ridiculous.
Ewroon is perfectly capable of ruining his own life without anyone's help. Most of the time, Multi barely has to lift a finger.
Needless to say, out of everyone on the island, Ash trusts him the least. He always seems convinced that Multi is behind every disaster, every problem, every suspicious incident that happens around them.
Unfortunately, he's right often enough to be annoying about it.
Still, Multi has no intention of admitting it out loud.
That's why they developed a sort of unspoken agreement. They stay out of each other's way and avoid interacting unless absolutely necessary.
Whenever the cave needs technical support from the Regime, Multi always sends Graf. Unsurprisingly, he gets along very well with Tubbo, which saves Multi the trouble of ever having to come here himself.
Well, that was before a little fox broke into his reactor.
Multi highly doubts Haiper did it on Ash's orders, especially since he's been pretty busy lately with whatever it is he and Ewroon are constantly running around doing.
Multi isn't particularly worried about it.
If necessary, he can always pull the truth out of Ewroon later. After yesterday, he'll be more obedient than ever.
As he walks deeper into the Regime, he glances around at the buildings surrounding him, but most of them seem strangely empty. The only things accompanying him are the low hum of machinery and the echo of his own footsteps as he passes through one abounded room after another.
Honestly, Multi begins to understand why Ewroon fits in here so well.
None of these people seems capable of staying in one place longer than five minutes.
Out of sheer boredom, he starts inspecting the machines scattered around the facility, dragging his gloved fingers over vibrating metal surfaces as engines pulse and tremble beneath his touch, tirelessly keeping the regime alive.
He’d rather avoid Ash if possible.
There's no need to make a big deal about it.
Haiper is infected. That's all.
At this point, it's only a matter of time before his body starts shutting down, leaving him in excruciating pain.
This is precisely why Multi came here.
It's in both of their best interests for Haiper to hear it from him before Ash storms into the cave, accusing Multi of poisoning children and threatening to blow their home to pieces.
Completely unjustified this time.
"Multi, hi," a voice calls from behind him. "It's a rare sight to see you here."
He stops in his tracks and turns just enough to see a figure approaching at a brisk pace.
There he is.
The only person in the Regime Multi doesn't mind seeing.
He knows his presence makes Tubbo uncomfortable, despite the other's best efforts to hide it, but, honestly, Multi finds it strangely entertaining. Unlike some people on the island, Tubbo isn't frightened of him, nor does he look at him with poorly concealed distrust before quickly trying to escape the conversation.
If anything, Tubbo tends to do the opposite.
Their first interaction was painfully awkward. Tubbo clearly hadn't known what to say, while Multi hadn't cared enough to fill the silence for him. Looking back on it now, maybe ignoring Tubbo's nervous rambling wasn't the best decision on his part.
At the time, his first impression of Tubbo was that he was just another youngster joining the Regime, convinced that the power of friendship was enough to change the world.
Over time, though, Multi's opinion changed.
Tubbo turned out to be intelligent.
And intelligence is one of the very few qualities Multi values.
After that, Tubbo never stopped trying to talk to him, even if it was obvious—at least, to Multi—that every conversation still made him somewhat nervous.
Not that it stopped him from trying.
They don't interact often, but Multi has a deep appreciation for brilliant minds, and Tubbo undeniably has one of them.
Multi always had a distinct feeling there was far more hiding under that cheerful smile and harmless demeanor than Tubbo allowed people to see.
Very few people possess minds capable of rising above the painfully mediocre average surrounding them.
Tubbo is one of those few.
Which is why Multi tolerates his awkwardness without complaint.
Every prodigy comes with a few defects attached.
Multi wants to dig his fingers behind Tubbo's eyes, push deeper and deeper until he reaches the brain itself, then split it open and examine his every thought one by one until he fully understands exactly how someone like him works.
Maybe one day he could help Tubbo realise just how much someone with a mind like his could truly achieve.
But that's not a thought for now.
"Hi, Tubbo." Multi offers him a faint smile. "Long time no see."
He squints lightly at his expression, thrown off a bit, and Multi can't blame him.
He doesn't think Tubbo had ever seen him smile before.
"Welcome to the Regime. Haven't seen you in a while. How you've been?" Tubbo asks, returning his smile, though it still looks only half natural.
That's already an improvement.
"I'm good," Multi replies, just as the conversation seems to move on, he adds: "Actually I got engaged."
People mention things like that during small talk, right?
Tubbo blinks.
"Oh. Wow," he says after a second. "Congratulations."
"My, thank you."
Tubbo snorts softly at that, shaking his head.
"I somehow doubt you came all the way here just to hand me a wedding invitation," he chuckles, and Multi can't help but notice Tubbo's getting better at reading him. "What brings you here on this beautiful day?"
When Multi gets his hands on the guest list, he's definitely adding Tubbo to it.
"Beautiful indeed," Multi agrees, glancing briefly toward the bright landscape before his attention settles back to him. "I'm looking for Haiper."
Tubbo's expression shifts immediately into a small frown. "Haiper?"
Even if half of the Regime members are glorified dead weight, Multi knows they are fiercely protective of one another.
That's a concept he'll never fully understand.
"I just need to have a quick word with him," Multi explains, keeping his tone deliberately light.
"Um," Tubbo hesitates for a moment, clearly trying to decide whether he should be worried, but after failing to hear any obvious malice in Multi's tone, he relaxes slightly. Only slightly. "Last time I checked, he was heading into the pantheon."
Multi is here to talk. That's all.
Any consequences of this conversation will come later.
"Thanks, Tubbo."
Multi gives him a small nod, mildly pleased that this interaction felt far less forced than their usual exchanges.
Maybe they're finally making progress.
"Is it serious?" Tubbo asks before Multi can walk away completely.
"We'll see," Multi replies calmly before adding, "but you have nothing to worry about."
And he means it.
Tubbo doesn't need to worry about himself.
At least not yet.
Up close, the Pantheon is even larger than he expected.
He's never actually been inside before. No one had ever given him a proper tour, which makes stepping through the entrance strangely fascinating. His eyes drift across marble walls covered in silly pictures and absurdly bright furniture scattered through the sea of white, and he finds himself wondering what kind of thought process led to decorating a building like this.
Honestly, he's rather surprised Tubbo didn't object to him wandering in here alone.
Either Tubbo has more faith in him than Multi initially assumed, or the entire pantheon is drowning in hidden cameras and listening devices designed to make sure he is never unsupervised.
Multi's genuinely curious to find out which it is.
Maybe letting Tubbo see a little more wouldn't be such a terrible idea.
Even if it turns out to be, Multi doesn't particularly mind.
He already has a perfect place prepared for him.
Not like for Ewroon, that would be a complete waste.
Graf's favourite room.
Multi doubts Graf would oppose.
He always liked sharing.
Sometimes a bit too much.
"Hi, Haiper,"
Haiper whips his head toward him so fast it's almost comical, automatically pushing himself up from his chair.
He thinks he knows why Multi is here.
Multi can't wait to prove him wrong.
Haiper's eyes widen slightly with panic, and Multi has to bite back a smile at the sight.
"Are you suicidal?" Multi asks casually, strolling around the room as he studies the paintings hanging on the walls.
He can feel Haiper staring at him, but he doesn't bother turning around.
"…What?"
"Maybe I should rephrase that." Multi drops into Ash's chair, crossing one leg over the other before propping his feet up on the table. Petty, perhaps, but Ewroon wasn't the only one allowed to enjoy being annoying. "Would you like to discuss your rather inevitable and painfully soon death?"
Judging by Haiper's confused eyes, he'd expected trouble for breaking in.
Not a death sentence.
Colour drains from his face when the words hit him.
He just stands there, frozen in place, unsure what to do, before Multi gestures lazily toward the chair across him.
"Sit."
Haiper obeys.
Good.
If he really tries, Multi can see some potential.
Let's see if Haiper can convince him he's more useful alive than buried six feet under.
Multi can't wait to witness how far Haiper is willing to go to save his own life.
Right now, he looks terrified.
This is going to be fun.
Somehow, Multi's day just keeps getting better.
Multi hears footsteps before he sees who they belong to.
He's in the stockroom, rummaging through their stocks for more tranquilizers after one villager decided to stop cooperating.
After hours of research, Multi had gotten closer to turning it into something greater, and instead of appreciating the honour, the creature threw a tantrum.
Really surprising considering their usual stoic demeanor. They never minded what Multi did to them.
It's almost like this time, it sensed what was coming, and got scared for no reason.
Not that villagers could ever comprehend the scale of what he was trying to achieve.
Still, the resistance was uncalled for.
The change will be something good.
And Multi needed a guinea pig.
That villager's results aligned perfectly with the experiment.
So he'd emerged from the underground lab after running low on supplies, searching through their storage just in time to hear Nexe call out for him.
"Multi, your fiancée is here."
Oh, shit.
No, no, no, no, no—
"My what?" Multi blurts out, nearly slamming the storage door open.
Two people stand outside. One is a ball of anxious energy, and the other looks like he wants to kick his ass.
"Wow, rude," Quackity huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.
Fuck.
He wasn't supposed to be here.
Definitely not while there's a half-open villager strapped to an operating table directly under them, its organs still spread across the metal surface.
After talking to Haiper, Multi had become completely absorbed in his work and, unfortunately, had to admit he’d somewhat forgotten that, as a future groom, he now had responsibilities.
Which, as it turns out, meant he couldn't just disappear off the face of the earth for two days straight anymore, because eventually his fiancée would come looking for him.
Multi isn't used to that.
"Why didn't you come yesterday?"
Multi frowns, caught off guard by the question.
Before he can think about it, he glances toward Nexe as if he'd somehow know what Quackity is talking about, only to realise it's the first time he'd properly looked at him in days.
Nexe stiffens.
His eyes brighten with something painfully hopeful.
And pleading.
Right.
He really wasn't planning on dealing with that today.
"Why would I?" he asks instead, looking back at his very annoyed future husband. "I'm pretty sure the next meeting about the wedding is tomorrow. Did I miss something?"
There's this thing now.
He has a calendar.
A very detailed one.
Juan had shoved it into Graf's hands along with a message saying that if Multi missed even one scheduled event, he’d personally experience the torments of purgatory.
Whatever the fuck that meant.
Or worse—they’d send someone to drag him up to the North while talking the entire way there.
Multi already said it, and he'll say it again: Juan is creepy.
Maybe it is partially his fault that he never took Quackity's contact information and therefore couldn't tell him that he was busy.
In his defense, he was new to all this 'engaged' stuff.
"No," Quackity says flatly, visibly not pleased with his answer.
Multi has absolutely no idea what he's supposed to say.
Or do.
This has to be at least the third time he's somehow upset his prince without even realising he was doing something wrong.
Which means there's a horrible possibility looming over him:
He might have to learn how to communicate properly.
Fuuuuuuck.
He'll take double lobotomy every day over that.
"Hey, Quackity," Nexe pipes up, breaking the silence. "It's your first time here, right? I can show you around."
Both of them turn to his dog, and somehow Quackity looks even more startled than Multi feels.
Like he genuinely forgot there was another person standing there.
"I don't know, we really should—"
"Yes, that's a great idea," Multi cuts in right away.
Nexe blinks at the sudden enthusiasm.
"You should get familiar with the cave," Multi continues, already backing toward the storage door, "and I need to finish something quickly."
Very quickly.
Preferably before the villager downstairs bleeds to death.
Quackity narrows his eyes.
"Are you trying to get rid of me?"
Yes.
No.
Maybe a little?
"No," Multi answers without hesitation. Technically, he only needs Quackity distracted long enough to wrap up what he started.
And maybe change out of the lab coat stained with every imaginable bodily fluid.
"He's not," Nexe jumps in before Multi can accidentally make things worse. "I just thought it'd be a good chance for us to, y'know, get to know each other."
Multi freezes.
Yeah.
That.
Somehow, until this exact moment, it hadn't fully sunk in that this marriage would affect his day-to-day life.
That his fiancé might interact with his 'family.'
That they'd exist in the same space.
At the same time.
And interact.
Granted, Quackity had already met Graf, but Graf was so far out of it at the time that it barely counted as a proper introduction.
"We're going to be family soon," Nexe says with an awkward shrug. "And we've never talked before."
Multi is suddenly reminded why he keeps Nexe around.
His dog is full of surprises.
"Nexe's right. You'll soon be a full-fledged member of the Polish Cave. You should at least get to know its inhabitants. Don't worry about Ewroon—you'll meet him sooner rather than later, and there's nothing I can do to stop it."
Quackity's gaze flickers between Nexe's eager eyes and Multi's face.
Whatever he finds there seems to satisfy him.
For now.
"Fine," he sighs at last, planting his hands on his hips with an air of an exhausted spouse already regretting his life choices.
Multi finds it incredibly funny, especially since they still don't have the wedding date.
"But after we're done, you're coming with me. You can't keep running away from your responsibilities, mister."
Before he can think, Multi gives him a lazy two-finger salute.
Weird.
He's not usually the type to indulge in childish gestures like that.
Maybe too much sleep really does have side effects.
Nexe slings an arm around Quackity's shoulders and starts dragging toward the animal enclosure, already rambling about something about Żabka's high prices and annoying red pandas.
Before disappearing around the corner, he glances back and gives Multi a small nod.
A peace offering.
He knows Nexe will want to talk about this later.
His dog may be a lot of things, but he's not a crowd.
Multi supposes he's lucky he's in such a good mood today.
Mostly because Ewroon's condition keeps deteriorating.
Over the past few days, he's noticeably weakened. He barely eats anymore, and his fur has lost its shine—though that hasn't stopped him from shedding all over the cave.
Multi keeps finding strands of red hair on his clothes.
At least once a day, he seriously considers tying Ewroon to a chair and shaving him bald until he resembles one of those Sphynx cats.
Every day, he grows quieter.
His mouth, which never seemed capable of shutting, stays closed for more than five seconds.
Multi is living his best life.
He has no idea why he didn't think of this sooner.
Actually, he does, but it would've saved him so many headaches first thing in the morning.
Now all that's left is to wait for Ash's painfully predictable reaction, which, if possible, Multi would like to skip entirely.
Besides, he thinks it is completely unwarranted.
Ewroon is currently the best version of himself—practically mute and almost docile enough to qualify as domesticated.
Multi likes this version better than the original.
He pictures Ash's face when he eventually finds out—furious and desperate—and can't stop humming softly to himself as he sits on a swivel stool, tapping an absent rhythm against the floor while stitching the villager back together without bothering to put him under.
He'd run out of anesthesia.
A terrible coincidence.
Nothing to be done about it.
Before Nexe could finish introducing every single animal in the cave and explain their life stories in excruciating detail, Multi had already shoved the villager back into the village, changed clothes, and sent the cleaning robots downstairs to deal with the mess left behind by the experiment.
When he finds them again, Quackity is standing by one of their stripped donkeys.
Or zebras.
Knowing Graf's tendency to adopt everything that moves, Multi isn't entirely sure.
Quackity is absentmindedly petting its neck while the animal melts into the touch.
Which is deeply unfair.
For some reason, most of the animals in the cave dislike him.
Only a few exceptions ever tolerated him.
One of those exceptions is currently buried outside and serves as the group's unofficial meeting point.
"You never told me you have so many pets," Quackity says, scratching behind the animal's ears.
Multi frowns slightly at the sight.
Quackity seems almost irresponsibly generous with his affection.
Multi looks away with a shrug. "It never occurred to me to brag about living with an entire circus."
"This one definitely likes me!" Quackity laughs, grinning when the donkey-zebra nudges against his shoulder.
"He has good taste," Multi replies as if it isn't an objective fact.
Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Nexe staring at him in open shock.
Whatever.
His dog can process everything later, after Multi gets dragged off to deal with whatever wedding-related duty awaits him this time.
If they lecture him one more time about the color of the fucking napkins, he might genuinely bomb the place.
"Okay, that's enough," Multi cuts in, pushing the stripped bastard's head away when it tries to lick Quackity's face. "Weren't we supposedly in a hurry to leave?"
"Yeah, right." Quackity straightens up reluctantly. "The suit's measurements aren't going to take themselves."
Multi raises a brow.
"Fittings?" he echoes. "Weren't those supposed to be next week?"
"No?" Quackity replies, though he doesn't sound particularly convinced himself.
Instantly suspicious, Multi pulls the calendar from his pocket and starts flipping through the pages. "I'm pretty sure I have them scheduled for next Tuesday."
They lock eyes for a moment before Quackity is the first to cave.
"Okay, fine!" Quackity throws his hands in the air. "Maybe I changed the date just to have an excuse to come here. So what?"
A laugh slips out of Multi before he can stop himself.
Quackity points an accusing finger at him, his cheeks dusted with a light shade of pink. "Stop laughing at me!"
"You don't need excuses to come here," Multi tells him, still visibly amused. "We were just surprised."
His gaze flickers towards the storage room.
"Next time, warn us in advance so we have time to clean up the mess."
"And how exactly am I supposed to do that?" he huffs, glaring at him despite the pink still lingering on his face.
"Yeah, yeah," Multi concedes, rubbing the back of his neck. "That part might be slightly my fault."
Quackity raises a brow.
"Might?"
"Is."
Whatever to keep him happy, I guess.
"That's what I thought."
With that, Quackity grabbed him by the arm and started dragging him toward the cave entrance, barely giving him time to leave Nexe with clear instructions to watch over the cave.
Properly this time.
Multi tried pulling away a few times along the way purely out of curiosity.
To his genuine surprise, he couldn't.
Huh.
Where the hell was Quackity hiding all those muscles?
Multi narrowed his eyes at the back of his fiancée's head before attempting once more, this time with actual effort.
Quackity didn't even slow down.
Instead, he shot him a sharp look over his shoulder—one that somehow managed to feel both annoyed and vaguely threatening.
Multi decided not to test his luck for the rest of the trip.
The moment they arrive at the mansion, he barely gets the chance to glare at all the people staring before Juan swoops in and starts scolding them for being late.
Then, he practically shoves them into one of the side rooms.
Multi immediately regrets entering it.
Clothes hang on every available surface. Tables overflow with fabric samples and measuring tapes, while a raised platform surrounded by tall mirrors dominates the centre of the room. In front of it sits a white sofa covered with decorative pillows that look like it was pulled straight out of an expensive interior design magazine.
His eyes briefly dart toward the door.
Running away is starting to look like a perfectly valid option.
As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Quackity tightens his grip around Multi's arm before he can even consider bolting.
He suspects that even if he managed to escape, Quackity would catch him in no time.
"You go first," Multi mutters.
"Nuh-uh. I already had my measurements done because I knew you'd try to pull this."
"That's not fair."
Quackity grins, completely unbothered.
"Don't look so disappointed," he teases. Did Multi have hallucinations, or did Quackity just wink at him? "You'll still get the chance to check me out in a suit later. Now get up there."
Before Multi can argue further, one of the seamstresses gestures for him to take off layers so they can measure him properly.
Wonderful.
He steps on the platform stiffly, trying not to visibly recoil every time someone touches him.
At least the seamstress is wearing gloves.
Otherwise, Multi isn't sure how he'd react.
Meanwhile, Quackity takes his role as a fashion critic disturbingly seriously.
"The vest doesn't fit right."
"The sleeves are too long."
"Those buttons are ugly."
"The pants look cheap."
"The tie is crooked."
"No, wait, now it's too short."
"Why is the jacket so wide?"
Multi stands there without a word, still like a sculpture, while people circle around him, pinning fabric and adjusting layers for what feels like hours.
He feels like one of those dolls people dress up for entertainment.
A very expensive, deeply irritated Ken doll.
Multi spends the next hour glaring holes into Quackity's skull.
His traitorous fiancée only smiles sweeter every time he catches his gaze, and even has the audacity to tell him to turn around so he can inspect how the fabric looks from the back, too.
Multi briefly considers committing a crime.
After an eternity of being poked, measured, adjusted, and treated like a decorative mannequin, he's shoved toward the fitting room with the finished set draped over his arm.
He contemplates walking back out naked out of pure spite.
With a long-suffering sigh, he changes into the outfit instead.
The faster he gets this over with, the faster everyone leaves him alone.
When he steps out of the fitting room, fully prepared for another round of snarky comments and criticism, he's instead met with complete silence.
And staring.
…Weird staring.
Does he really look that bad?
Sure, the North is paying for the wedding (Polish Cave is extremely broke), which means he approximately has zero say in what he wears, but it can't possibly be that terrible.
At least they kept everything black.
The suits fit him almost unnervingly well—sharp black fabric tailored close to his frame, the vest accentuating his waist while silver details glimmer subtly under the warm lighting. The dark dress shirt underneath makes his pale skin stand out even more, and the fitted coat sits neatly over his shoulders instead of swallowing him whole like most formal clothes usually do.
It's elegant.
More expensive than anything he's ever worn.
"Now I understand why you never wear anything besides that lab coat," Quackity murmurs at last, still staring. "That would be too much power for one man."
Multi frowns slightly as he hops off the platform and walks over to the couch, leaning over the back of it.
Quackity has to tilt his head up to look at him.
His pupils seem unusually blown wide.
"Are you having a stroke?" Multi asks flatly.
Quackity's eyes trail off downward for a split second, lingering somewhere around his chest before slowly climbing back to his face.
"I think I might…" he admits weakly.
Before Multi can start listing possible symptoms, Quackity suddenly jumps to his feet, muttering something about a missing piece.
He returns moments later with a black tie dangling from his fingers.
Multi instinctively reaches out to take it, but Quackity ignores the gesture entirely.
Instead, he steps closer and slips the tie around Multi's neck himself.
Oh.
Multi goes strangely still as Quackity's fingers brush against his collar, deftly working the fabric into place.
Has it always been this warm here?
The room suddenly feels weirdly small.
Quackity's brows furrow slightly in concentration while he fixes the knot, close enough that Multi can feel his breathing every time he talks under it.
When he finishes, the neat Windsor rests perfectly against Multi's throat.
Just when Multi was about to step back, Quackity curls his fingers around the end of the tie and tugs, tightening it on the edge of chocking him.
The movement pulls Multi forward just enough to leave barely any space between them.
Their faces end up dangerously close.
So close.
"You can't fool me, mister," Quackity murmurs, looking directly into his eyes. "I know what you're doing, and I'm not falling for it that easily."
Multi has no idea what he's talking about.
At this point, he's becoming increasingly convinced Quackity might be experiencing some sort of medical episode.
Or he's the one about to have one.
Hard to tell.
Still.
He can indulge him a little.
"I didn't expect anything else," Multi replies smoothly, a sharp grin spreading across his face.
Someone nearby clears their throat loudly, and both of them jerk apart as if they've just been burned.
Right.
Other people are still in the room.
Multi had forgotten that minor detail.
"Anyway," Multi mutters, pointedly avoiding the seamstress glaring at them over a pincushion. "My part's done. Your turn."
Quackity groans dramatically as Multi disappears behind the fitting room curtain, already fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.
He had planned to talk to Juan while he was here.
But that can wait a while longer.
Now he gets to sit back and enjoy watching Quackity go through the exact same torture he just endured.