Better That Way - Waluigi x Reader

chapter twentyone

Y/N froze. "He's home?"

"Yep."

"Sleeping?"

"Yep."

She hesitated, the concern slipping out before she could stop it.
"Is he okay?"

Wario paused, raised a brow, and pointed the sausage at her.
"Whoa there. Dial it back, princess. You're sounding way too concerned for that pringles can. He'll manage."

Despite herself, she cracked a tiny smile.
"Can I... come in?"

"'Course. Just don't tell him I let you in." Wario waved her in. "Tell him you broke in or somethin'. Makes him feel wanted."

"...I'm not doing that."

"Suit yourself."

She stepped inside quietly. The house was dim, only one lamp on in the living room.
It hummed faintly, casting soft yellow shadows, the air warm.
Her shoes felt too loud on the wooden floor as she took them off.

She stopped at his slightly open bedroom door.
The room was dim, curtains drawn halfway.
A soft afternoon glow slipped through the thin gaps, laying stripes of pale light across the floor... and across him.

He was lying on his stomach, limbs sprawled messily. One long arm dangled off the side of the bed, fingers grazing the floorboards, as though he'd passed out mid-reach.
His back rose and fell slowly, rhythmically.
His hair was sticking up in the back, flattened on one side, soft waves curling around his face.
His mouth was open slightly.

Y/N stepped closer.
Her breath caught a little.
He looked so unlike the Waluigi who'd shut her out yesterday... so unlike the sharp-tongued version of himself she saw when he was defensive.
This version of him, asleep and unaware, looked so peaceful.
Without thinking, or rather, without overthinking for the first time in these last hours, she slowly reached out. Her fingers grazed the strands of messy hair, brushing them gently back from his forehead.
He didn't stir, just breathed deeper.

Her fingers moved to his cheek, and she cupped it softly. His skin was warm.

The room was a mess.
Clothes tossed on the chair. A racket leaning against the wall. A few cans of soda on the nightstand. A sock under the bed that was probably from four days ago.

It suddenly hit her how exhausted he must've been.
How alone he must've felt.
How everything had probably built up until he crashed.

She moved around the room slowly, silently.
Picked up clothes and folded them.
Stacked the cans.
Straightened the sheets on the other side of the bed.
Sorted the clutter on his nightstand.

Every movement was careful.
Her face softened when she found a pillow kicked onto the floor.
She placed it gently back where it belonged, tugging the corner so it fluffed out again.

Finally, she grabbed a small scrap of paper from his desk, and a pen. She hesitated before writing.

She didn't want to wake him.
Didn't want him to feel cornered.
Didn't want to push.
But she wanted him to know she'd been here.
Very softly, she wrote:

We really need to talk, Walu. Please. I miss you.
— Y/N

She folded it once, set it neatly on his nightstand, next to the lamp.
She looked at him one more time.
At the slow rise and fall of his back.
At the soft crease between his brows.
So peaceful.
So tired.
So unaware of how deeply she cared.

With one quiet exhale, she stepped back, silently walked out of the room, and pulled the door almost closed, leaving only a bit open, just like it was before. Then she let herself out of the house.