wally's lament.

[ 17 ]

⫸ MORE AMAZING FANART IM SCREAMINGGGG

⫸——⫷

The rest of Wally's painting was done in silence. The only sounds came from his occasional humming and the strokes of his paint brush. The two of you would occasionally stare at each other, but you would either get flustered and look away, or he would break eye contact to look at his painting instead.

Your mind was filled with thoughts. You wanted to ask Wally why he had killed people, apparently many people, but you were afraid of the answer. Your reason for taking 24 lives was because you were being blackmailed, and the reason for the remaining 1 life was self defense. You were still ashamed of it all, but at least you had some form of justification. You wondered what Wally's justification was — or if there was any justification at all.

He seemed awfully cheerful. He was still smiling, as if he had not just confessed something horrible — as if he had not just found out that you murdered so many people.

The article probably pinned you as a psycho; it likely did not say that you were blackmailed and threatened into submission, because the only people who knew that you were behind the murders were the real assassins, so they probably were the ones that brought the evidence forward and, of course, they would pin everything on you, not themselves. Plus, it really was your hand that carried everything out.

Once Wally was done with his painting, he sighed. "Okay, (Y/N). It's finished."

He began to collect his brushes and clean them off. You watched him in silence, afraid to say anything. The whole vibe had been flipped upside down and inside out, and this room no longer felt happy and comfortable — it felt deadly. Home's eye sat in the living room's window, watching you two intently. Always watching. Did Home play a role in anything?

You noticed that Wally was looking at you. You looked back at him, nervous.

His smile faltered slightly, as if he was deep in thought. Perhaps he was reevaluating how he felt about you, or how you felt about him. You really were not sure what you thought of him at the moment — yes, you were afraid of him, but how afraid did you need to be? You still did not know if he saw saw you as a companion or as a threat that needed to be taken out.

And you did not know what to say to him, not even a little bit.

"Would you... like to see it?" Wally asked, referring to the painting.

You cleared your throat, but it did not make speaking any easier. "Sure," you replied.

Wally gingerly lifted the canvas from his easel and flipped it around to show you. There, in a collage of acrylic paint, sat an uncanny replica of your face. You looked more attractive than you did in real life, as if you had been slightly airbrushed. There was a tiny red heart on the side of the canvas.

"Wow," you said. "That's... really good."

Wally grinned. "Thank you! Practice makes perfect, as always." He set the painting back down, probably to let it dry. He put his hands on his hips and sighed.

A lapse of silence passed.

"I don't think any less of you," Wally said, "because of what you did. Just so you know. Honestly, I think better of you. It couldn't have been easy... unless it was easy." He looked at you curiously.

"It wasn't," you said dryly.

Wally paused, looking back at his painting. He seemed to think for a moment before he continued cleaning up his art supplies. "All that matters is that you were able to walk away from it all." His smile lowered. "Not everyone is able to walk away from their... mistakes."