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Today was such a nice day out. It was warm, sun kissing each and every colorful little petal it could reach while the breeze brushed past them into a dance, swaying and leaning to and fro without a care. The sky was dotted with puffy clouds ripe for the arguing of if a certain bundle looked more like dog balancing on a great big ball or a rabbit with a grand top-hat on a unicycle. Julie had roped Eddie into a game of blindfolded tag- or maybe it was Marco Polo? They were calling to eachother quite a bit from such great ways away, after all. The rules were a little lost on Wally, maybe they'd gone over them better a little while ago when he was distracted.
Oh, he hopes he didn't miss out on too much! He didn't mean to get so lost in his own thoughts, he's normally a little more present. He likes hearing what his friends are talking about, even if he doesn't always quite get it. It makes them happy, that makes him happy. Maybe he can ask about it tomorrow, see if he can pin down what the rules are to marco-tags-polo (Or maybe the opposite way around? Was Julie Marco or was Eddie?) to tell his friend about some other time. They probably wouldn't wanna play and he isn't sure he'd be as good at it as Eddie (He was pretty far off now, his responses to Julie had mostly turned into a faint 'What?' from somewhere off near the horizon. He must be winning right now.), but you might find it fun to learn about anyway.
He's been thinking about you quite a lot today, and yesterday too If memory serves right, maybe the day before that as well ... oh, he just can't help it. Obviously, he's happy to be out with his friends, he loves them very, very much. But he can't help but let his thoughts drift to the fact someone's not there, that someone should be asking Sally about a script she's writing right now, that someone should be helping Poppy carry over a tray full of pretty looking treats and refreshing drinks, that someone else should be helping Julie catch up to Eddie in points right now.
[He tries to step in and do it himself sometimes but it makes the feeling get worse. It's hard to describe. It feels More like a weight in the back of his throat instead of a relief. The words come out wrong, they aren't his to say. That wasn't his line. It never was, it never will be.]
It isn't much longer before the sun is wandering off, trailing vivid pinks and oranges behind it like the tail on one of those dresses Sally made for a recent show. Maybe it was about the sun, the plot seemed to weave around him a little too much, but It was very nice nevertheless. Soon the breeze was replaced with a gentle chill in the air, not cold enough to bite but noticable enough to prick one up. Where the morning had gone by like a dream, comfortably warm, Wally now felt more awake, looking forward to filling you in on how the day had gone. He liked telling you about his friends even if you weren't confident enough to meet them yet. You were just a little Shy, that's all. He understands.
[You've met them before, they've met you before, but they don't remember you. He doesn't know why only he Seems to remember you, even if those memories have been reduced to odd, floating shapes and colors. He knows something changed, something happened and that's Why you look so different to the rest of them. He never points it out but he can see how you're aware of it. That's why you never go out with him, why you hide away in some odd corner of home whenever anyone comes over. He wishes he could do more to reassure you that they would still love you, even if they might have to meet you as a new person, he knows they would, but it's not as easy as that, is it?]
He lingered a little longer as Eddie and Julie finally returned from their game, Julie cheering that she'd won and that the look on Eddie's face was probably priceless, she could practically see how lost he was! If it weren't for the cloth blindfold, of course. They'd gone back and forth about How the game was actually meant to be played, the argument felt a little less like words and more sounds. It seemed more like Wally's confusion over the rules had more been a result of incoherence and not his own distraction. After a few more minutes everyone had started to part ways. He wished Julie a good night, waving back after her as she skipped off backwards with her own, more vigorous waving. He'd helped Poppy gather some of the dishes Alongside Barnaby, who'd briefly thrown out the idea of the collection of plates he was balancing as an abstract art piece, much to Poppy's horror at the looming tower. Then, He'd assured Eddie he played well, much to his breathless, half-confused thanks. After a few final goodbyes to the rest of his friends, Wally started to make his way back home.
It wasn't a far walk, but it was still quiet enough in the calm of the setting sun that his Thoughts were drifting again. He thought back on the day he'd had out with his friends and thought on about what tomorrow would look like and he thought about what you might be doing right now. He was never really too sure of what you got up to when he wasn't around, but he hoped home kept you enough company and you didn't feel too bored or lonely by youreself.
[He and his friends all fit so well together, they all had their hobbies and passions that Connected with every part of them, from their homes to their outfits. You did too, at some point, but not anymore. Where everyone else had a house that catered to their passions and loves, you had only space in another's, yours was gone. You'd started to get invested in art and had picked up some of the books around his home, and he was happy you'd found something, even if it wasn't quite yours. A long time ago, though, you'd just wandered aimlessly. You'd watch him for the majority Of the night, silently hovering, and when that got boring you'd disappear again. He couldn't blame you, parts of you were missing, taken before you could do anything, of course you'd be confused.]
He thought about you talking to his friends again. He thought about your scratchy, odd voice laughing at a joke Barnaby made. He thought about you listening to one of Howdy's stories, leaning in intently to hear, on the edge of your seat with every detail. He thought about you sitting out on a nice day with the rest of them all, smiling and happy. That Uncomfortable feeling in the back of his throat rose up again.
[He could pick out little bits and pieces in his memory, some moment where he'd seen you out of his home Like you fit right in, standing tall outside so you could ask him to come hang out with you and Frank for a little while. He could see your home, unmistakable in the way it lined up with what small details you could tell him about yourself, stood up right by everyone else's. You hadn't always been a quiet, lumbering presence in his home, you'd been his neighbor, his friend's neighbor. He tried not to think about it too hard, tried to avoid thinking about the world that was and wasn't anymore, where you were happier and more comfortable and you Didn't avoid yourself just to keep yourself from falling into mourning.]
He could see his home, could feel every step up to the doorstep even if he felt like he was somewhere else.
[He let himself imagine, just for a brief, strangling moment it was your home. He was on your doorstep for a party and everyone else was inside with you. He let Himself imagine sitting on the couch or whatever other comfortable furniture he was sure you had right by your side while Barnaby and Frank argued back and forth over something. He let himself imagine the way your outfit might have looked and felt Against him when he leaned onto you without all the holes and wear.]
The door opened quietly and he stepped in, trying to brush off everything else in that moment. He had made sure to wish all of his other friends a goodnight and to make sure they were doing well, he had to do the same for you now. He took a few more steps, absentmindedly looking around even if he knew you picked deeper corners of the house to hide away in during the day.
"Hello? Are you still awake?" He couldn't raise his Voice very much, but he'd learned you had very good hearing. You'd been able to pick up something he'd hummed to himself from the other side of the house, trying to mimick it back through the cracking and hissing of your own voice. He thought it sounded pretty, and he'd told you as much. He waited a few breaths after he spoke, smiling when he picked up on your own footsteps from some odd corner, steadily growing clearer. You were much, much taller than him, but you walked quietly, enough so he imagined that you would probably startle someone if they weren't paying attention. He bit back the idea of you unintentionally scaring Frank or Eddie, even if he couldn't help the warm Endearment it brought him.
[He wished you two could live more normally, so that every thought of happy moments and interactions with his friends wouldn't be tinged with sadness.]
You rounded the corner, stopping a-ways-away to let him take the first step, watching him from your spot. He'd learned that you were overly polite, similarly to Poppy (You two had lots in common, he's sure the two of you would get along well), letting other people take the lead to their liking. He didn't mind, closing the gap himself as he walked over to you, smiling just a little wider when you got down to Be closer to his own height. He liked to think it was so you could hear him better, Even if he knew that wasn't the case with how much you picked up on without needing to be anywhere remotely nearby.
[He would sometimes wonder if you could hear him and the others when they played a little closer to his house. He hoped that you felt included, even if you weren't directly there. He kept you in his thoughts Enough that he figured you might as well be.]
"How was your day?" He'd asked, earnestly. Your speech was limited to sentences shorter and choppier than his own, oftentimes only a few words. It was moreso because talking was a chore to you, he'd worried once that it was hurting you when you'd first truly struggled to get words out, something you'd reassure wasn't the case when you wrote down a little explanation. It didn't hurt as much as it was a task, with every syllable being its own little hurdle that was best Navigated by cutting the number of them down. He always gave you the option of writing, wanting to make sure you could talk to him in the way that was most comfortable for you, but he really loved your voice. It was unique to you in a way that made him feel warm whenever he heard it, holding onto the way you would pronounce certain words or little quirks in the way you put them together.
You skipped out on any words, giving some agreeable little chuff that he could translate into a 'good,' alongside a little nudge in his direction, a return of the question that made him perk up. While it made him sad to think about how you were left out of things, he still truly loved filling you in on everything that everyone had gotten up to that day, it made him feel like he could still keep you involved and included in his own way.
"Sally is writing a new stage play, I think you'd reaally like it ..." he started, carefully reaching out for your arm so he could pull you out into the living room. He wanted to make sure you were as comfortable as can be for his retellings, he had lots to tell you, after all.
[If he couldn't be sitting in your living room staring up at you while you talked about something that made your eyes light up and your lips quirk with excitement, then he'd do his best to be that for you, at least for now.]