Work Text:
Mornings in the neighborhood were always the same. A couple residents chafed at the monotony, but Wally never did. The sunrise came cool and balmy, but with the promise of later warmth; It was easing into summer, and the gentle touch would easily become boiling heat within the next month. Though it felt unbearable at times, it was the season where the most things felt alive , and it was a feeling that Wally was looking forward to having again.
Wally loped through the door of his home with a bundle of damp clothes cradled in his arms, the finished work of a restless dawn. The brightness of the sun, the sky, the yellow path, the flowering fuchsia and green of the azalea bushes were blinding after the inside of the house. Pinching clothes to the line required Wally to reach his arms skyward, to where clouds gushed by, a flood suspended in layers of silver and gray. He could be breathing liquid, he thought, looking up to a beyond that existed on the other side of the swell that hovered above him.
They were just clouds, they were just clouds. He had felt so strange lately, like eyes he couldn’t see loomed over the sky, watched through the magpies and glass. Barnaby told him he was having an ‘existential crisis.’ Wally didn’t know what existential meant, and humored the idea it could be an omen. Barnaby then only laughed and asked how he could possibly know what omen meant, but not existential.
The neighborhood awoke to the sound of birdsong by the time Wally had finished, and the first to run his way was Sally. With a goal in mind, if the way she headed so deliberately in his direction was any indication. It was still so early, but she was already so filled with energy and beaming towards him; she could have burned the stack of papers she held in her hands.
Which she held out, practically shoving them towards Wally.
“Wally, I need your help,” she began, obviously set that he was going to regardless of whatever answer floated in his mind, “I need someone to practice these lines at. It’s actually Howdy’s part, but he said he won’t do it while on the job!”
Wally hummed, taking the neatly stapled script. He wanted to ask why she couldn’t simply wait for Howdy to close shop for the day, but he swallowed it down. It was an odd thing for him to say that nearly bubbled up. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do, anyway.
“Sure, Sally,” he answered, dreamy with a single shrug of his shoulders before scanning the script.
“Just read for Creon, okay?”
“Then are you… anti-gone?”
Sally laughed. “It’s Antigone , but yeah! Lemme go first.”
Wally nodded, and Sally responded in kind with a deep, strong, clearing of her throat. She hit her fist firmly against her chest, obviously making a show of it — as she did with most things, really.
“Then let me go, since all your words are bitter, and the very light of the sun is cold to me," she wailed, placing her wrist against her forehead in a faint-like fashion, “Lead me to my vigil, where I must have neither love nor lamentation; no song, but silence!”
There was a pause, then it went on, and Wally realized it was expectant and Sally awaited his response. He squinted at the words before him, some which were long and unfamiliar.
“Um… If dirges and planned… uh… lamentations could put off death, men would be singing forever.”
He didn’t like this play, he quickly decided.
“A little more feeling, maybe? Wally?” Sally laughed, albeit awkwardly.
He could easily imagine Creon with a low howl held between his teeth as he scoffed at Antigone. Seething and cruel, not only uncaring of Antigone’s plea, but mocking it. Wally didn’t like it. Did Sally truly find this sort of play fun? The mix of unpleasant feelings in his chest coalesced and turned to annoyance that bubbled from his throat.
“I don’t know, Sally. I’m not that great at acting.” Not technically a lie, and Sally knew that full well.
She heaved a sigh, loud and heavy. “It’s fine, Wally. Not everyone can be a star!”
Star. Yes. Sally was a star. Wally wasn’t. Acting wasn’t his forte; he was the artist, not the star.
Sally gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and smiled, nonetheless. She spun around, ready to move on, perhaps to see if Barnaby could pull off Creon any better, if he had to guess from the direction she turned in. He figured he could, Barnaby was far better at emoting, and although Wally would question if he would take it as seriously as both Sally and the script demanded, he too was star material.
A star. Sally was a star. On stage and… physically. She was actually a star, she once said before. Star. Star. Star…
“Wait, Sally,” Wally spoke up before she could take more than just a couple steps forward, “What is a star?”
She spun back around, raised a brow as she turned. She slid her hands over her hips. “You mean other than metaphorically?”
Wally nodded. Sally stepped back closer to Wally. She snaked an arm around his shoulder and hugged him close to her side, and Wally felt his body feel momentarily limp. With her free arm, she raised her hand towards the heavens, pointing at the sky blanketed in silvery gray.
“They’re balls of light we can see twinkling in the distance up in the sky!” She explained, enthusiastic and notably wistful. It was a bit hard for Wally to imagine Sally sitting sagely in the sky, just dazzling away and nothing else.
“I’ve never seen them,” said Wally, “Even when the sky’s clear, Sally.”
“Well, you can really only see ‘em at night,” she added, and Wally stared at her in transparent confusion, “Except for the sun. The sun’s a star too, y’know!”
Wally loved the sun, but there was nothing particularly new or exciting about it; the joy came from what was unspoken about it, merely the prospect of another day to be lived, and another day to share with his friends. He couldn’t recall ever seeing nighttime fall in the neighborhood — the chatter of the neighborhood changed two hours after zenith and everyone returned to their homes.
He wondered if he could be the one to change this routine, if only for a day.
By the time Eddie made it to his home during his daily route, Wally had found himself entertained with Barnaby just a few paces outside his door as they played with marbles on the yellow stone. They were Barnaby’s collection, and Wally couldn’t help but think if they were his, he’d never play so rough with things so small and delicately crafted — but Barnaby didn’t seem to mind flicking them into each other and letting the glass crash against glass; it was fun.
“Good afternoon, Wally and Barnaby!” He greeted them, shooing a wary look towards Barnaby that was not unnoticed by Wally.
He thought it was funny, actually. Barnaby enjoyed chasing Eddie around whenever he was delivering mail. Eddie didn’t seem particularly fond of it, often shouting ‘I know you’re doin’ this on purpose,’ while Barnaby let himself fall onto his fours and bark obscenely loud at him — when Wally asked him why he often did that, Barnaby laughed and said, ‘dogs chase mailmen, that’s what dogs do.’ Also that it was great exercise for the both of them.
Fortunately for Eddie, Barnaby was either too preoccupied with his marbles or too lethargic from the heat to chase him today.
“Do you have mail for me today?” Wally asked as he peeked up from his small row of marbles lined up almost like an army.
“Not today! A - Actually, I’m here to ask if you, uh, wanted to hang out later today,” Eddie spoke as he wrung his strong hands, suddenly flustered, “Just the two of us, yeah?”
There it was again: an odd sputtering and fluttering of Wally’s heart that he had become acutely aware of lately, around the same time as some other strange feelings. He was unsure if they were connected, or the closeness of their emergence was only coincidental, but he found he didn’t dislike these emotions, even if they coiled so uncomfortably within his body. It was difficult to place the feeling in words; a strong, overwhelming want , and urge — and urge for what Wally couldn’t yet say, but it was an itch that begged helplessly to be scratched. He knew it was because of Eddie, and that was where his wants lived, but Wally didn’t know a way to explain just how much sharing time with him over as of late meant to him, how the garden of his soul thrived with his presence in it.
He heard Barnaby laugh quietly to himself — did he know?
“Sure,” he answered, calm despite himself, “What did you want to do?”
Eddie hummed and averted his gaze. He seemed to fuss with himself over what to suggest, clearly not anticipating the activity of the evening would be left to him. It didn’t have to be; his earlier conversation with Sally had far from left his mind.
“We could go stargazing,” Wally said into the silence.
What does an omen become if he thwarts its forecasted doom? If puppet strings split but no one perishes, who will tell of it?
Eddie looked so caught off guard by the suggestion, the color on his face drained in almost record time. He cocked a brow and lolled his head back to face his eyes towards the sky.
“I dunno how many stars we’re gonna be seein’ in this weather,” he drawled, though clearly earnest.
“Can we still try?” The question came out far more pleading than he intended.
Perhaps that was in his favor. It brought back that blush Eddie was wearing in full force, his skin now red to his ears. The sight of it, in turn, caused warmth to pool and swirl in Wally’s own cheeks. The two of them must have looked like utter fools to their audience of Barnaby, but he decided he didn't care. Instead, he only basked in this seemingly shared embarrassment — the thought that Eddie was plagued by feelings even an inkling similar to his own brought comfort.
“Well, sure. I don’t see why not,” Eddie easily relented.
It was far from lost on Wally that this was actually his first time experiencing nighttime in the neighborhood. He had experienced night; he didn’t sleep, only stared into the darkness of Home, or closed his eyes and stared into the darkness of his eyelids. This was something entirely different. The incessant buzzing of porch lights sizzled away — the ringing chorus of night bugs displaced it, smoothed it over, and submerged it as if it had never been. The neighborhood was suffused with a calm, stately darkness. The landscape was drowned in black ink: Wally tried to peer into the darkness, to catch irregular sounds.
He leaned down and sat in the grass in the small yard outside Home. Eddie followed and sat with him, fumbled back and caused their arms to brush. It was tentative, the first touch. It was no more than a tap, really. Yet Wally leaned back into Eddie’s thick arm when he pulled away at his mistake. Wally didn’t look at his face, but with the way he felt his muscles tense against him, he might have been flustered. It was an exciting thought, somehow.
He looked up. The sky was just as black as the horizon, and even through the blotting darkness Wally could tell the clouds that loomed over them all day hadn’t yet split. It was immensely disappointing, to say the least, and Wally felt a cold pit sink into his stomach. He supposed Eddie had warned him.
“Ah, shucks, looks like we definitely ain’t seein’ any stars tonight — sorry, Wally,” his friend sighed next to him, “B - but, y’know, this ain’t so bad, either…”
The last part hushed with every word, a flustered attempt at comfort. It had managed to work, if only marginally. Wally agreed that the warmth of their bodies casually pressed up against each other wasn’t so bad, being close enough to hear Eddie’s breathing.
He raised an arm, and let his hand slide over Eddie’s. He felt his muscles tense again, tight ripples under his skin as if he had touched water. It felt almost absent-minded the way he moved, sliding lower until his fingers could slide between Eddie’s, which felt so large against his own.
He heard Eddie clear his throat, a poor attempt to mask some strangled sound caught in his mouth.
Wally felt his pulse quicken, the sluggish churn of his blood becoming frenzied. Like an itch that begged to be scratched, and scratched, and scratched — this was scratching it, but not nearly enough. But what else could he do to scratch it? What was it that his bodied begged for, that his mind pleaded yet couldn’t or wouldn’t name?
“Um, say, Wally,” Eddie’s voice sheepishly cut through his rapid swirl of thoughts, “I, uh… I’ve always — I mean — I think —”
Plip. Plip. Plip . Interrupting him was the soft drumming of rain on the ground. Wally felt a drop hit his skin that felt freezing against his heated blood.
“...I think we’re ‘bout to get rained on,” Eddie finished despite himself.
As if to mock him, the rain went from gentle to furious and hammering, quickly drenching the pair. Wally felt his hair go heavy, then slack in front of his face, obscuring half his vision. He let out a low, dull sound — meant to be one of frustration, as the work he had spent on his hair was washed away in only seconds, and in front of Eddie, to boot.
“I think it’s time we say goodnight then,” Wally quickly stood up and rushed to his door, “Goodnight, Eddie —”
Wally attempted to turn the knob, but it wouldn’t move from under his grip. He tried again, the other direction, then both directions several times in frenzied panic. The door was locked — why? Why?! Home wasn’t asleep, Wally could see Home’s dark windows staring cross-eyed down at him, silent as he continued to struggle with the knob.
“Home? Home? This isn’t funny,” he pleaded, dejected, “Please let me in.”
Was Home mad at him? Mad for breaking routine?
Fear showered in sparks through his chest. In the dark, he stopped abruptly, his hands flexing into tight fists, his palms seeming suddenly empty. The fear surprised him; the black tree limbs suddenly seemed like fingers and he panicked more at the irrational, instinctual feeling that something was closing in on him. A large hand firmly grabbed his shoulder and he jumped, feeling like his insides practically leaped out from his mouth.
“Home locked ya out?” Eddie asked, voice heavy with concern even through the noise of the rain; Wally had briefly forgotten he was even there, “Golly, that’s… rather mean. What’d Home go and do that for?”
Wally said nothing. He didn’t know why, either. Eddie’s confusion was a mirror of his own.
“Well, you can’t just stay out here,” he continued, “Why don’cha come back to the post office with me? You can stay the night.”
“Like a slumber party?” Wally asked rather dumbly through the pounding in his chest. He grinded the heels of his palms into his eyes.
“Yeah! Exactly! C’mon!”
Eddie took his hand into his own, practically engulfing Wally’s with how large it was. Wally suddenly felt very small compared to Eddie (he had never thought about how small he was since the day he learned that he was, in fact, small), but his smallness made him feel safe. As if he were an infant squirrel with a still milk-white tummy being sheltered by its mother’s body. He would have liked to curl under Eddie’s body similarly right then. He struggled to walk, but he broke into a trot anyway next to Eddie, and ran until he reached the next circle of light emitted from the small, wooden porch of the post office.
Once inside the post office, Eddie had been quick to locate a towel for Wally. He rubbed soft fabric over his slender body, then over his hair, now soft and a mess of curls instead of firmly held in place as he typically liked it. It was fine, he supposed; he did not quite like Eddie seeing him in such disarray, but it was bedtime, anyway. Though he didn’t sleep, he still enjoyed the comfort of laying down, and it would be difficult to find comfort in it with his hair still firm from product. Eddie had also procured a large shirt of his for Wally to change into, which he found himself oddly enamored with the way it covered him down to his knees — how silly.
“So, my bed is technically big enough for both of us, but…” Eddie cleared his throat, “If you’d rather have it to yourself, I can sleep on the floor —"
“ No ,” Wally quickly objected, uncharacteristically sharp, immediately disliking the idea.
“Oh, uh, okay then!” Eddie swallowed down his shock, but not his blush.
The two climbed into bed, facing each other, yet once Eddie reached over to to grab the metal chain of the lamp to emerge the room into darkness, there was no telling what face either of them wore. Still, Wally could hear Eddie’s heart, strong and fast, mingling with his own quickened pace — could Eddie hear his? Did he, too, find comfort in knowing whatever emotion was being shared between them, that it was shared ?
Wally felt his hip and rear lain along the edge of the bed, not fully on. He was in no danger of really falling off Eddie’s bed, yet he saw it as an excuse to scoot closer. Just in case, he told himself, just in case. Eddie tensed, so warm beside him. Wally moved closer until his forehead just barely brushed his chest.
This was… nice. Something being scratched. The absence of Home’s breathing unnerved him, but he found safety in Eddie’s, as well.
He closed his eyes.
“Um…” Eddie began, quiet, “Goodnight… darlin’.”
He opened his eyes, a ferocious, hot, giddy feeling blooming in is chest, under his skin. It was his last name, but clearly meant as the endearment. Something almost akin to hunger bellowed in the dark marrow his bones. His heart felt like a lick of fire curling over on itself.
“Goodnight… dear,” he replied, just the smallest lilt in his voice.
Wally scooted a bit closer.