wally's lament.

[ 26.5 ]

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After nearly an entire bottle of hairspray, copious amounts of hair gel, and a box of blue bobby pins, Wally's hairdo was finished.

The fact that he gave so much time to this one part of his appearance was perhaps a nod to his dedication to the things he cared about. Or, perhaps it was a nod to the frightening obsessions that he formed towards the things he cared about. Which one of those two options was correct? It was entirely subjective.

Wally left his bathroom, humming a sweet tune as he walked downstairs. He hoped to see you still waiting on his couch, even though it had been almost a half an hour since Wally had begun to do his hair. Unfortunately, when Wally made it to the living room, he found the couch empty.

With a careful hand, Wally picked up the mug that you had left on the coffee table. For a moment, he wished that he could eat glass, for he wanted to taste whatever you had left on the glass' rim. He scolded himself for the weird thought, placed the cup back on the table, walked into his office, and picked up the phone.

He dialed a zero, and that was all.

"Home?"

For a moment, all Wally could hear was static on the other end of the line. He took the spare moment to sit down on his office chair and kick his feet up over the desk.

The warbled voice came suddenly. Every word sounded like a thousand knives piercing through Wally's skull. "Yes, Wally?" Home asked.

This was how they communicated, Wally and Home. They did not call each other very often, because usually, there was simply nothing to talk about, or Wally would instead just talk to Home through the walls instead of through the phone, which did not allow Home to respond.

"Did (Y/N) leave?"

"Yes."

"Aww, what a pity. I wanted to ask them what they were wearing to the ball." Wally strung the telephone's spindly red cord around his finger, looking up at the ceiling. Talking to Home always made him a bit nervous, though he always made sure to hide it in his voice. Thinking about you was a nice distraction from his nervousness. His smile appeared to melt over his face. "I love them so," he said quietly.

"You shouldn't. They are nothing. They serve no purpose to you or to me. They are a distraction. I have already told you this."

"Distractions are fine, silly, and I've already told you that, too! I'm allowed to have as many distractions as I please."

Home hesitated before speaking again. "They could never love someone like you."

Wally's smile vanished, and his heart instantly sank into his stomach. For a moment, he seemed frozen in time, as if someone had pressed the pause button on the TV, and Wally was the only character in the show.

Then, his shock turned to anger and sadness. "That... that isn't true."

"You will never be like them. Like any of them."

Wally jumped up from his seat and slammed the telephone back down on the reciever.

"You're wrong!" he shouted. He strode out of his office and slammed the door shut behind him. He turned down the hallway; from his position, he could see both the window in the kitchen and the window in the living room. Home's eyes were present in both of them. "You and I might be freaks, but that doesn't change anything! I love them, and they will love me back!"

Home could not respond now, not with the phone call hung up. Instead, Home simply blinked and stared down the hallway at Wally's shadowy figure. Wally always felt so small when Home looked at him, because he knew that he was a slave to the binds that tied himself and Home together. He knew that nothing he ever did could change that.

You would love him, though. That was something that Wally could change. You were different from Julie; you were different from everyone. You were special, captivating, wonderful, amazing, delicious, strong, capable, understanding... you were like him.

Wally ran his hands over his face. Now was not the time for him to be getting worked up. Poppy's ball was in a little over three hours, and Wally had to make sure he was presentable for the occasion. Getting into a fight with Home would only deteriorate his psyche.

Thus, Wally walked to the kitchen and sighed. He poured himself a glass of water and stared at it until it was empty. He then turned on the TV to one of the old sit-coms that he enjoyed and watched, letting the hours pass as he relaxed.

Eventually, he went back into his office, picked up the phone, and dialed zero.

The static kicked in. Home's voice struck him like lightning to his neurons once more. "Hello again, Wally. Have you come to yell at me before you slam some more doors around?"

Wally sighed. "No. I wanted to continue what I was going to say earlier. I plan to leave soon," Wally replied. He did not take the time to sit down for this phone call. "I'll see you tonight, okay? I have some editing to do for the theatre's next play, so we can chat more then."

Home paused for a long moment, then said, "That is acceptable."

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