Chapter Text
"Y'know, I like the way you look at me," He murmured just near Wally's ears, from where he lay looking up at the twinkling stars. The blanket beneath them felt scratchy, dug out from the back of an old cupboard, as Barnaby and Wally spread out next to each other on it. The sun had set a few hours ago, and the rest of the neighbours had gone to sleep, leaving with a goodbye on their lips, and in the case of Eddie, a wink. The day of festivities had passed, and what would normally have left a pleasant ache in Wally's body had been replaced with tense restlessness, hidden as well as possible behind layers of makeup and a painted smile.
Wally's heart skipped a beat, his tongue felt heavy, and his eyes were so, so tired. His mind was racing; between knowing that he had, for once in his very short life, finally been given autonomy over his own actions. He had the power of sentience, and he had to protect them.
Wally let out a laugh, although it sounded hollow, "Really? Most people find it too intense."
"I like intense," Barnaby smiled at him, rubbing his hands together - a nervous fidget, Wally knew that much about him, and his eyebrows furrowed unintentionally. What did he have to be nervous about? He felt something warm grab his hand, loosely enough that he could escape if he wanted to, but with enough pressure to be comforting. Barnaby leant his head on top of Wally's, soft and vulnerable and a reminder of everything Wally needed to keep safe, and murmured (quietly, and with a trembling stroke of Barnaby's thumb against his palm), "You can't hide anything with eyes like that."