Fundy has been feeling his entire body warming up, as if he has just been revived. The cold absence of a beating heart seems to have been replaced by the hot flow of an unfamiliar sensation. He's watched you leave, now hands on his arms as he is unable to shake off the feeling.
His footsteps are silent and quick, as he moves inaudibly through the halls of the castle. Despite his attempts to do so, he can't think clearly, his mind a mess more than what he's used to. He's trying to regulate his breathing, feeling himself grow blind, as he only starts walking faster, to the point of not realizing his own speed. Eventually, it's two unexpected hands on his shoulders that seem to be his only saviour; they don't give him comfort, but at least they give him peace of mind.
Once he feels the sudden touch, he startles and looks up, meeting his father's apathetic face, an odd appearance, since he's much more used to Wilbur's smirk or at least look of disappointment. Or something else, but not just emptiness.
However, the two of them now standing in one of the many rooms in the castle, filled with couches and tables and whatnot. He stares into Wilbur's eyes for a bit, trying to find something. A faint sign of hatred towards his son – or even better, the denial of Fundy being meant to be considered this – or maybe a sign that he thought Fundy was something else, but there's nothing. No sign of love, nor of hate. No thought swirls behind those eyes, it seems.
As if he himself realizes the oddity of his apparent affection, if that is even what it was, Wilbur retracts his hands, his face morphing into one that resembles confusion and regret. He avoids Fundy's eyes, the boy now finally having found something else to think of: something that isn't you.
But unfortunately, it doesn't last, as Wilbur immediately brings him back to that subject. "They're something else, aren't they?" The usual charm or playfulness with which he'd normally talk about you, have fully faded away, and Fundy doesn't believe – and hopes – that that will ever return. His father still doesn't look at him, simply having his eyes turned towards the wall, where a painting can be seen hanging, displaying the personification of death, as the Grim Reaper is creating the mythical instrument, used to wake people from their sleep. According to some variations, that it, but Fundy's never been too interested in the lore behind these stories. Despite being a vampire, he still feels mortal. And he hopes he is too.
Fundy instinctively takes another step away from Wilbur, turning his face away from him. "Why bring that up to me?" Simply the fact that Wilbur was the one to reach out to his son right now, is causing a certain panic. Something inside of his mind is screaming at him to quit talking, for whatever reason that may be. But he can't bring himself to actually walk away. His muscles – or something else – is forcing him to listen.
"What do you think they are, Fundy? Human? I don't believe they're human. At least, not anymore."
"What nonsense are you rambling-"
"It's not nonsense." The moment those words leave his mouth, Wilbur strictly looks at his son, not moving any other part of his body. Perfectly still he stares at Fundy, with his eyes shining oh so subtly, yet visibly nonetheless. "Unless you can explain to me how this would happen to a human."
"Hadn't the doctors already concluded they were blessed or cursed?" Fundy confusedly asks, remembering the many theories that went around about you, this one having been confirmed by you yourself, that same day, as you discussed with Phil what was ot happen next.
"Maybe they were cursed to never die. But come on, son. Is that what's going on here?" A short silence falls between the two, as Fundy is still trying to process the fact he was called a son. "So many things don't just happen to one human. So, once again, are they even human to begin with?" The words are so cryptic to the young fox, who's not used to having such long conversations with his absent parent. If he didn't know any better, he'd think Wilbur thought Fundy knew something himself. "I mean, immortality, energy, the flower, the sudden phantom bullet wound that may or may not have actually brought an end to their life? And let's not forget the fact that Crimson, according to themselves, seem to have weakened even more, ever since Phil accepted Y/N inside? Are you really to tell me they're not something else?"
"I don't believe they're a villain, if that is what you're referring to."
"Not a conscious one, at least." Fundy refuses to speak any further to Wilbur. Instead, he turns around and finds himself having calmed down a little, as he bites on the inside of his lip. His father remains standing there in the exact same space, eyes clearly proving that he's emotionally absent, his soul having brought his mind somewhere else. A deep sigh leaves Fundy's lips as his feet bring him to a certain room in the castle, feeling an odd guilt wash over him as he does what he always does. Watching...
As they keep their eyes on your apartment, the three fiancés are each trying to explain everything that's been happening since your arrival. Everything seems to be falling apart, and none of them can explain it, nor fully accept it. Coming to terms with your desired existence – and thusly with their own obsession with you – means coming to terms with the soon-to-be end of everything they know, as Karl's keeping his eyes, instead of on your apartment, on the way the letters in his book keep on changing, as though someone is rewriting history themselves. It's not possible, he keeps trying to convince himself. It can't be.
"What does this all mean?" Quackity whispers, also glancing at the inconsistent letters, as he feels an odd and unfamiliar emotion overflow his sense. It's something grim: something he doesn't want to feel, and that he'd do anything for not to feel it again. Sapnap and Karl feel something similar, except it's mixed with an admiration for you, the source of which they don't know, now that it all feels so much stronger and less expected.
"Do you think that fucking cat has something to do with it?" Sapnap grumbles, the scratches on his hand still bleeding slightly, despite his poltergeist nature. "I shouldn't be bleeding, Q. I shouldn't be fucking bleeding!"
"Calm down, Sap," Karl whispers, putting his hand on Sapnap's arm, trying to get him to stop panicking. "I'm sure that there's a logical explanation for this. Maybe... maybe you're turning... mortal?"
"That's not a logical explanation." The mere comment only makes him panic more. "I can't turn mortal. I can't become human. No way."
"You're not turning mortal, Sapnap," Quackity ends up mumbling, as he scratches the skin under his throat, an unconscious tendency he seems to have developed. "This is just a weird situation. Maybe that cat is just like us, or something. You know, something right out of Heaven. Or vice versa."
"Besides, we shouldn't even be focusing on him to begin with. He's the least weird part of... all of this," Karl agrees. "It's come to the point that I'm questioning reality. What if we aren't even... creatures to begin with? What if we're just figments of someone's imagination?"
"Yeah, sure," Quackity laughs. "We're just characters in some fanfiction written by some teenage peep, right?" He sighs, shaking his head. "That is kind of ridiculous, Karl, let's at least stay realistic."
"Well, that's not what I meant, but you get what I mean, right? It's just... confusing, is all."
Sapnap, still stressed, sighs. "Are we really going to just wait here in front of their apartment the rest of our life?"
Karl and Quackity share some glances, before humming, agreeing that sounds ridiculous. "Are they going to be at the castle upcoming Friday, you think?" Quackity then says, with a smirk and a wink. Karl's eyes light up and he nods.
"We should ask them about this. What they know."
"Or at least, keep an eye on them, yes."