Chat History
Remember: everything Wallace Wells says is made up.
It's stupid. Really, it is. Wallace knows this, he's not an idiot. Sparks are stupid, love is stupid, this shit is stupid .
But when he lays next to you on his cheap ass futon on the floor, arms folded above his head, the two of you naked beneath the covers after having some... eerily tender sex, he definitely feels like an idiot. Insanely dumb for getting himself... eugh, attached to you, somehow.
He stares at you from the corner of his eye. You're all curled up on your side, face buried into your pillow, skin sweaty and hair mussed from what you had done together.
It was good. It's always good.
At the peak, you said something before you both came (at the same time, god), and Wallace doesn't even want to repeat it in his head because if he feels even a smidge of the absolute fireworks that burst in his heart during that moment, he thinks he'll die.
So... Wallace lays on his back quietly, staring up at the ceiling vacantly. Thinking. Mulling over everything. He almost hopes you break the silence.
NSFW