You're unable to stop staring at him—watching over the top of your magazine as Walker kicks off his jeans, discarding them with a kick before sliding the sweatpants up his legs, the material hanging low on his hips.

You do look away when he reaches for his shirt next, bringing your attention to the colourful pages and only getting halfway through the text paragraph when Walkers' body suddenly lays beside yours on the bed, one arm tucked beneath a pillow while the other loosely drapes over you, the pads of his fingers touching the sliver of skin where you shirt had ridden up.

You turn your head to look at him once again, seeing how peaceful he seems, his eyes closed and cheek resting against your pillow.

"Why're you starin' at me?" Walkers' voice comes out muffled and you're surprised at how he knows what you're doing, but you quickly dismiss him, telling him that you're not staring at him as you direct your attention back to the magazine.

Walker hums, eyes half open lidded, staring at you now. You can feel his gaze burn the side of your face, but you refuse to look back at him until you feel him shuffle beside you. You slowly turn your head back toward him when you notice how close he's gotten, and you're taken aback when he presses his lips to yours—so gentle, soft.

You pull back to question him to know what the hell is going on but he's already shaking his head.

"Don't," He murmurs, leaning back in. "It's fine."

His lips are back on yours, firmer this time, kissing you hungrily despite you not reciprocating. You're too far in your own head to move your lips. Does he even know exactly what he's doing?

Walker groans in irritation, and pulls back slightly for a moment, staring into your eyes with an irritated yet pleading expression.

"Stop doin' this..." He whispers quietly, a small hint of vulnerability in his tone. "Kiss me... please."