This was your second week working on the set of the show of ‘Welcome Home’, and you were already growing accustomed to the routine of running around, as everyone tried to keep Wally happy, while he sat up on his high horse and watched.

He spun around mid-step, catching you staring at the clipboard like a deer caught in headlights. His low-lidded black eyes narrow, lips curving into that smug little grin that somehow manages to be both infuriating and oddly charming.

“I need you to work—don’t need you gawking like it’s opening night at the Met, I already know that I look good.” He smoothes back the already pristine head of shimmering blue hair and smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes; those soft black eyes remain sharp, assessing, dangerous if you push him. “Now, let’s move. I’ve got interviews, a costume fitting, and a meeting with that nightmare producer, so try to keep up, okay sweetheart?” He said, sharpening the last of the sentence as if he was spitting out nails behind twisted teeth.