((A/N: Hello, all! Here's a Willowson one-shot because all I think about at night is them. *cough* This is completely UNRELATED to my OTHER Don't Starve fanfiction, "Firsts for Wilson", but if you like Willowson and want something longer than this, check it out.

This is a one-shot and will NOT have any sort of continuation OR a sequel. So thanks for asking, but you're wasting your time. :/ Sorry.

As always, thanks for reading! And enjoy!))

"Good morning, Miss Willow."

Every morning, like clockwork, he'd say this same greeting the same, cheerful way, just after I'd woken up. He'd be sitting by the fire, stoking it gently, cooking whatever had gone stale the night before for breakfast. Then I'd sit down on my log, positioned across from him, and he'd smile at me like an idiot through the stray embers and ashes that levitated upward into the air. It was routine, and I was just starting to become accustomed to it, when all of the sudden, it stopped.

Now, there was no greeting. The fire wasn't roaring, and there was no breakfast cooking. Wilson was distracted. Beyond distracted. I'd find him some distance away scribbling aimlessly in a homemade notebook, an emotionless expression plastered onto his stupid face. The best I'd get was the occasional glance. I couldn't believe it.

I let it go the first couple of days. I thought, perhaps he just needs to rest for a while, and then he'd be back to his old dorky self. I was wrong. He was still ignoring me five days later. Five days!

It had to be the notebook he made. What was so interesting about paper in a leather binding? My mind wandered as I did the daily chores, since they wouldn't get done otherwise. Maybe he accidentally possessed himself with that silly magic machine he made. The book was sucking up his attention like a mosquito on a Pigman. Was it slowly draining his life as well..? I decided it'd be best if I confronted him about it.

"Wilson!" I yelled when I returned to camp with a backpack full of berries and carrots. I let it fall off of my shoulder near the icebox. My counterpart, sitting on a log by the river just yards away from the camp, still writing in that God forsaken book. But he did manage to avert his stare for a few seconds and give me a wide-eyed look. "Wilson, I'm so tired of you ignoring me!"

He suddenly became flustered, and as I moved closer to him, he quickly shut his notebook and gripped it tightly. "I-Ignoring you?" He sounded surprised. I wanted to hit him.

"You haven't spoken all but three words to me the last week," I spat, "and all of your responsibilities fell onto me!"

"M-Miss Willow, I didn't realize I-"

Red hot anger started in my feet and travelled up my legs fast, climbing right into my heart. I cornered him, taking advantage of the fact he was still sitting, and towered over him. "Don't you dare 'Miss Willow' me, I won't have it!"

He blinked and took a long, deep breath. A pink tint flushed his cheeks.

"I sincerely apologize," he replied as he stood up cautiously. "I see that I've been lacking when it comes to help as of recently. I hope you can forgive me, and I'll start working to pick up my slack right now."

"Good," I said with a strong, hardened voice. "You can start by unpacking the food I just collected." With a nod, he was off to do just that, his hands folded behind his back and his book locked in his fist. "And Wilson!"

"Yes, Miss Willow?"

I glared at his formality. "What the hell is in that notebook of yours?"

His Adam's apple wiggled as he nervously swallowed a pocket of air. It made me so suspicious. "Just...observations, Miss Willow."

Observations. What did that even mean? I was suddenly determined to find out.

When cold darkness snuggled close to the heated earth, and Wilson's breathing was shallow and even, I crawled quietly over to him. The big dope fell asleep in his usual position before the fire pit, laying on his grass mat with his head cradled by a matching grass roll and his legs crossed at the ankles. The notebook was left open on his chest, since he was sketching in it prior, so I easily swiped it from him. I felt myself smile mischieviously as I turned to the first page, but it suddenly disappeared when I saw what had been taking up all of his time.

It was me.

Wilson had crudely drawn countless doodles of me. There was one of me doing just about everything: standing, sleeping, walking, eating...There were even drawings of us together. And when there weren't sketches, there was poetry, also about myself. He was "observing" me.

The shock had passed. In flooded the anger. I slammed the book down on his stomach and his eyes shot open. He coughed and groaned, looking at me with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Y-You...bastard!" I screamed. Fear replaced confusion. "You're f-fucking obsessed with me! What the hell?!"

In a flash he was sitting up. I noticed him trying to hug me or hold me or touch me or something but he wouldn't dare. He just managed to squeak out: "Miss Willow..." It was obvious he was embarrassed. And when I put my hand to my face, he figured I was, too. "It's not what you think, I-..."

"It is what I think," I growled. As I stared at him, I got an undeniable urge to just lean in and...

"M-Miss...W-..."

After a small peck on the cheek, I pulled away and stared into his eyes. "I think you love me. Is this true?"

Silence from the scientist. I grinned, then stood, stretched, said good night and scampered into my tent without another word.

I was content, but he was scared. Because now that I know, I won't dare let him live it down.