wally's lament.

[ 21 ]

You approached the pile of boxes in front of Eddie. It was a wonder how well Poppy's baking business was doing. You wondered where exactly she was shipping these off to, since baked goods were perishable after a while. "Yeah, I'm cool with that," you said.

Thus, you and Eddie spent a while hoisting boxes onto two metal carts, then wheeling the carts to the train station. The two of you talked a bit as you worked, but the conversation mostly consisted of Eddie talking about his life and you listening. You were not in a talkative mood, since so many thoughts were still rumbling through your mind. You kept thinking about Wally and wondering how the rest of his night went yesterday. You wondered who he killed and how he did it. You wondered when you would see him next and how his mood would be.

After an hour or so, you and Eddie were finished transporting Poppy's boxes to the train station. You then began working on sorting through the day's mail as Eddie filed through some paperwork.

On your second delivery trip out into town, you had mail for Wally. It was a single bright envelope; the return address was the theatre, so someone from there probably sent it to him. You saved his letter for last, because you dreaded the idea of walking anywhere near Home.

Alas, after your second delivery trip was finished, the letter to Wally was the only one left. Your stomach soured when you reached into your mail bag to find only one envelope remaining.

You walked back to Wally's house slowly. It was cold today. Halloween and Poppy's ball were still approaching as the days rolled onward, never ceasing. You absently wished that time would stop, because if it did not, how were you supposed to cope with the fact that your life was almost taken from you by a sentient building?

As you were slipping the envelope from the theatre into Wally's mailbox, you watched Home warily. Home's eyes sat in the two front windows, staring at you with glassy indifference. It made your stomach churn slightly.

When you shut the mailbox's tiny little door, Wally's front door opened, right before your eyes.

You stared beyond the now open door. Wally was not present behind it, which meant that Home opened the door — upon Wally's request or on it's own accord, you did not know.

Should you go inside? Probably not. But if Wally was right about Home remaining satiated on every day of the year other than those days when Wally needed to kill someone, then your life could be in no real danger if you went inside. That, however, was not a fact you knew for certain.

But you really did want to see Wally. All of your thoughts this morning had centered around him, and you wanted to know how he was doing, emotionally speaking. So, after another moment of consideration, you walked into Wally's front door.

"Wally?" you called. The house appeared empty from your point of view, but then, Wally stepped around the corner that branched into the living room, revealing his cheery face.

"Well, if it isn't (Y/N)! What brings you by this lovely morning?" he asked, slipping back out of view into the living room.

Well, he certainly seemed like he was back to his usual self. You carefully followed him, only to see that he was painting. There was an apple resting on a white plate on the coffee table, and a number of red paints were splashed on his palette. He must be painting a still life. "Well, I was just delivering a letter to you and Home opened the front door. So I figured I would come in and say hi. And see how... you're doing."

Wally smiled at you, his eyes soft. "How sweet of you. I'm doing well; no worries here." He sat down on the chair in front of his easel. There was a paintbrush between his fingers, and he tapped the non-bristled end over his chin.

"Are you sure?" you asked.

"Yes," he said. "I am sure."

You watched him for a moment. Wally looked away from his painting to stare at you.

"Thank you, by the way," Wally added.

"For what?"

"Well, for existing!" He smiled, but then he sighed. "That, and... for understanding, I guess. You aren't looking at me like I belong in a dungeon for the mentally insane, and after last night, that means a lot to me."

You nodded. "I mean, I get it. I was there once too." You decided to sit on Wally's couch and stay for a moment. As you thought earlier, Home was not making any moves against you, so you were likely safe here for the time being. However, you still did not particularly enjoy being in here. "Plus, I should be the one thanking you, for not killing me."

"Oh, don't thank me for that." Wally's voice was gentle. "You know I love you, right?"

You blinked.

A shard of ice slid down your spine, making your heart skip a beat. For a moment, you were entirely taken aback, at a loss for words as a hot blush rose to your cheeks. He had said that so casually, but it hit you like a pile of bricks.

Wally chuckled, then turned back to his painting and dipped his brush over a dark red.

You remained still and silent for a moment. He loved you? He had only known you for two weeks. Then again, he seemed like he was obsessed with you from day one, and he also seemed like the kind of person to swiftly fall in love. But maybe he meant that he loved you as a friend, not romantically.

After several moments, you cleared your throat. "I should be on my way," you said. "I am still on the clock, after all. But I wanted to ask: who did you... um. Last night, who was my replacement?"

Wally paused, his paint brush mid-stroke.

"That doesn't matter," he said, staring at you. His paintbrush slowly finished sliding across the canvas, although his eyes never left yours.

Wally was an enigma of the highest degree. Never before in your life had you met anyone quite like him. You stared at him for a moment, your heart racing.

And still, even after knowing him for a while, his eyes filled you with both terror and curiosity.

"You'll have to answer my questions about last night some day," you said quietly. You were sure that your nervousness was present in your voice.

Wally shrugged a single shoulder. "Maybe. We'll see."

⫸——⫷