Today, Wheatley had made a rather random request. "Sorry, love, u-um, do you think I could ask a favor? Nothing too great, I promise, just—w-well, I guess that really depends on how you view it, doesn't it? To you, it could be quite drastic, I mean, I can't read your mind, now can I? Hell, maybe I shouldn't even-"A quick snap from Chell, who knew him well enough to see he was getting off track. "Oh, sorry, love… Um, w-well, do you think, maybe, j-just for a pinch, you could keep out of thuh lounge? I-it's just, y-you see, I have a bit of a project I'd like to put together, and I'll need the space…" A pause here. "And, well, it's sort of a… Well, I'll just say it, I suppose. It's a surprise. For you. Don't know who else it'd be for. Not me, obviously, and there's not really someone else living here. Besides that mouse you heard in the bedroom—and, well, I'm not very well gonna set out something for him, am I? Nearly scared you half to death, the vermin." A scowl set his face momentarily. "Anyway, yeah, what do you think? Think it'd be alright? Not for terribly long, I promise. Should be—"
In truth, Chell didn't care about whatever reasoning he had to supply. She had nodded as soon as managed to clarify the request, but he was too busy babbling to notice. Now, she set a hand on his shoulder, making him halt his rant. He may have enjoyed talking, but he always gave her his full attention when she wanted it. She nodded fully and deliberately now, smiling gently at him, and strode calmly back towards the kitchen.
"Oh! W-well, erm… Thank you!" He called after her. As she rounded the doorway, she sent a small smirk his way, before disappearing into the next room.
"Chell, love, could you come here a moment?" Chell heard Wheatley call from the lounge, perhaps a few hours later. She removed the pot from the stove, moving to set it in the sink before stepping away. She went to push open the lounge door, only to have it stop about a foot from the doorway, hitting something with a wood-on-wood thunk. "Oh! Care-careful!" She twisted her torso and, holding the door agape, slipped slowly through the opening.
She could have cried laughing so hard.
On one end of the room, the sofa had been shoved against the wall, holding in place one side of a large sheet. Another corner of it was tied to the top of a wooden chair placed a few feet away. The last corner was weighted down by a few books atop the short bookshelf on the wall adjacent. The cushions, pulled from the sofa and loveseat, were placed on their sides, creating a barrier along the edges of where the sheet was left suspended, holding them up, and creating a plush wall.
Just beside the wooden chair was a gap in the cushions, where the ruffled edges of a blanket could be seen pouring out. Chell approached this after a few moments taking in everything, falling to her knees before the opening and peeking inside.
Covering the floor concealed by the sheet were several more sheets, as well as blankets, throw pillows, what she was sure was their own bedding, and—
Wheatley. So precisely placed in the center of the fluffy mess, hunching his lengthy spine to prevent his head from pushing up the sheet hanging above him. And grinning. Grinning so wide his eyes crinkled slightly behind his glasses.
"Welcome . . . To my lair!" She giggled silently at his exclamation. "Well, our lair of course. Wouldn't claim the whole place for myself, now would I? That'd be quite rude of me. I mean, I did build it, but… Well, you most of this stuff is yours, of c—" Wheatley was cut off by Chell's lips against his own, toppling back into the mess of bedding, her stretched atop his torso, hands cradling the back of his head. His arms went around her instinctively, holding her close, and kissed back.
She pulled back moments later and set her head on her chest. They laid there in silence for several minutes, Wheatley stroking her dark hair, admiring the peaceful look painted on her delicate features. It was moments like these when he restrained his seemingly uncontainable stream of speech, only so he could see that expression. After all, there was only one thing he needed to say.
"I love you…"
I love you, too.