Living with Quackity was… an experience.

Not in a bad way. Just loud.

The apartment was never fully quiet. There was always something: the click of his keyboard, music playing from his speakers, his voice carrying through the walls as he streamed or argued with chat like they were sitting right in front of him.

You had learned to tune most of it out.

Mostly.

Tonight, though—

“NO, because that makes no sense— chat, use your brains for five seconds—”

Okay, maybe not completely.

You sighed softly from your room, staring down at your laptop, trying — and failing — to focus on what you were doing as his voice echoed from the other side of the apartment.

You lasted another thirty seconds.

Then you gave up.

Pushing your chair back, you stood and walked down the short hallway, the glow from his room already spilling into the corridor.

His door was half open.

Of course it was.

You leaned against the frame, crossing your arms as you watched him for a second.

Headphones slightly crooked, hoodie half slipping off one shoulder, completely focused on his screen like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“…and another thing—”

“Alex.”

He froze mid-sentence.

Slowly, he turned his head.

His eyes landed on you, and just like that, his entire expression shifted — irritation gone, replaced with something lighter, softer.

“Hi,” he said immediately, like he hadn’t just been yelling two seconds ago, his tone dropping as a small grin tugged at his lips.

You raised an eyebrow.

“Hi,” you repeated, unimpressed. “Do you ever stop arguing with them?”

He glanced back at his screen, then at you again.

“…no,” he admitted honestly, turning his chair slightly so he was facing you more, one arm resting over the back of it. “They’d miss me.”

You snorted quietly.

“They’d survive.”

He shook his head, dramatic as always.

“Unlikely.”

There was a small pause.

Then his eyes narrowed slightly, studying your face.

“Wait,” he said, leaning forward a little, his voice quieter now. “You okay?”

You hesitated for a second.

“Yeah, I just—” you gestured vaguely toward his setup. “You’re loud.”

He blinked.

Then scoffed, like you had just accused him of something ridiculous.

“I am not that loud,” he argued, though his voice had already dropped without him realizing.

You gave him a look.

He held it for a second… then exhaled.

“Okay, maybe a little,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at his screen again.

Chat was probably eating this up.

“Give me a second,” he said, reaching up to pull one side of his headphones off as he leaned slightly toward his mic. “Chat, behave. I’ll be right back.”

He muted himself before they could react.

Then his attention was back on you.

Fully.

“What’s up?” he asked, softer now, his tone losing that performative edge completely as he tilted his head slightly, concern slipping in without him trying to hide it.

You shifted your weight against the doorframe.

“Nothing big,” you said quietly. “Just… couldn’t focus.”

He nodded slowly, like that was enough explanation.

Then he stood up.

“Nope,” he said, walking over toward you, one hand briefly brushing your arm as he passed. “Come here.”