Work Text:
You.
That's all Wally could think about.
How pretty you are, how soft your hands are, how sweet you were, but most of all, he loved how you would look at him.
He felt like the most important person in the world when he was with you, like he could do anything as long as you were by his side.
"..The apple of my eyes..."
He whispered to himself, smiling as he dabbed paint onto his canvas with his brush, both dark and light, white and black, he was trying something wildly different..different, like you.
At first, he liked you. Just like all his other neighbors, friendly small talk turned into long conversations, that, turning into hangouts, hangouts turning into da-
Nope.
Still hangouts, still friends.
He really wanted to tell you how he felt, how just being near you, even getting a simple "Hows your day been?" Whenever you would see him out and about made his day, he would always respond with "Lovely, neighbor, absolutely lovely."
Because he got to see you.
Seeing you, when he did, whenever he could, had become the highlight of his day.
He sighed, putting his brush down, and picking up a pallette knife, now carefully etching details into the wet paint.
He felt like a fool, like he had caught feelings too fast, and..he didn't know what to do with them.
He had also always been confident in how he looked..he loves how he looks, but after you came along he always wondered if you liked how he looked.
And he had always loved painting whatever, whenever his heart desired, but now..he always wondered if you liked his paintings, sometimes painting things you mentioned you liked when he would spend time with you.
It was to the point when he would set up his easel to paint outside, he would feel nervous and hopeful and excited at the chance of possibly seeing you!
The possibility of you seeing him.
The possibility that you would look him in the eye, and say:
"I love you.."
He suddenly slammed his pallette knife down onto his side table, the impact making some of his paint water spill out its cup, he was breathing heavily, feeling the all too familiar warm of his orange blush appear.
He couldn't...he was..what did he...
He leaned over on the stool he sat on, putting his elbows on his knees, his head bowed down, and covered by his hands in embarrassment.
He was so..shocked, why did he think that..?!? You would never..
He suddenly raised his head, only moving his hands down his face enough to reveal his eyes.
He gazed up at the piece, where black and white messily yet beautifully mixed together to make up your features, every detail and curve of yours done with care...only further emphasized by the etching he had done only moments ago.
At the sight, his eyes softened and he sighed.
He loved you, dearly.
He was completely love-struck, smitten, head over heels.
He now was painfully aware that he was a love. Sick. Puppy.