wally's lament.

[ 9 ]

⫸——⫷

While walking to Wally's house, the two of you exchanged idle chit chat about the neighborhood and such. You discovered that he used to be a talk show host, but was not working at the time. He was looking for a new, more theatrical job, and was just relaxing in the mean time.

It was as if he was saving all of the big topics for once you were trapped in his house, right where he wanted you.

Wally really did look nice today. His hair was as per usual and his outfit was clean and crisp. You found yourself feeling rather calm, your anxiety no more than a gentle nagging in the back of your mind. However, you were sure that Wally would bring up your past at some point, and when he did, you knew you were going to feel terrified.

When the two of you arrived at his house, you noticed the shadows in his home's windows again. They seemed to examining you, following you and Wally as you entered. When you were inside and taking off your shoes, Wally sighed and said, "Hello, Home. It's good to be back."

You laughed quietly, thinking only briefly about his remark. "What did you make for dinner?" you asked as he slipped his own shoes off.

"Oh, you'll see," he teased, winking at you. Charming. The gesture nearly made you blush. "Follow me."

With that, he turned and walked around the corner opposite of the living room. You remembered where his kitchen was, for you were only just here yesterday. However, you did not get the chance to actually see his kitchen during the painting session. Red paint coated the walls, and the floor was made up of checkered black and white tiles. All of the counters were sleek and clean aside from some used dishes that Wally had probably used to make the dinner that was now on the stove.

Wally walked up to the stove and turned a burner off. He grabbed a bowl and began fiddling with some things as you continued to look around. In the same room, just off to the right of the kitchen, sat a dinning table. It was set up with two plates, two regular glasses, two wine glasses, silverware, a bottle of red wine and a pitcher of water.

"Would you like some help with anything?" you asked Wally.

"No, no. You just sit down," he said. "You've already worked today, you don't need to work any more. Relax, I'll be right over."

You chose the seat that faced the kitchen so you could watch Wally. "I love your kitchen. It's kind of vintage."

"Why thank you!" Wally said. He carried a plate of food over. It was pasta — seemingly fettuccini alfredo. He went back to the kitchen and took two more bowls. One was a salad, the other sliced chicken. He arranged everything neatly over the table, then sat down across from you.

"Oh wow. Looks delicious!" you said with a grin.

"I'm glad you think so."

Wally scooped a portion of pasta onto your plate, then told you to help yourself to everything else. You did, taking some salad and chicken. As you did so, he served himself, then popped open the bottle of wine and poured each of you a glass.

It felt like he was watching you, even when his eyes were focused on something else. He most certainly was watching you. But you watched him back. You were sure that he was aware of how focused on him you were, but that did not stop you from eyeing him up at every moment you got. Tension slowly filled the room like a leaky faucet as the silence drew longer.

You took a bite of pasta. It was, in fact, fettuccini alfredo. "This is really good. Have you made this before?"

"Yeah, I made it for Barnaby one time. He said he loved it, so I figured the recipe was perfect as it was," Wally said.