I said less physical action but sometimes I lie. I write scenes and take them where I feel they need to go, so forgive me for my crimes. Anyway have fun with this one, it's a little more dialogue and longer than the last.

His cheeks flush red slightly, and his mouth does its best impersonation of a goldfish. "Wha– but you usually– and I didn't– why are you–? I'm so sorry! I really shouldn't have done that, I've made this quite awkward now, haven't I? Please don't leave–"

"How long have you been here, doing that?"

Wait? 'Please don't leave'? It suddenly dawns on her perhaps how many times he's connected to a previous housemate. The space between her brows crease slightly at the thought and how lonely this spirit must have been for a majority of his afterlife. He gets to know a new person, makes a friend, and then has to let them go for their own good. There's earnest terror in those three words. His gaze drops to the floor, clearly trying to calm himself by counting the nails in the floorboards. Chell rolls her eyes and bluntly takes his hand, placing it on her head again so he won't shy away from the question. His brow furrows instantly and he meets her steady stare once more, blue eyes boring into her own. A look of comprehension suddenly washes over his face, and they're finally on the same wavelength. "Not that I'm questioning your logic or anything, you've got far more of that than I do, but why would that change anything? It's not like She's scared of me."

Maybe not scared, but She might not get away with much with you sitting here. "How long?"

"Well, I wanted to make sure you were alright after you were pretty much knackered last night, so I stayed for a while– not watching you sleep, but more so monitoring you, yes, just in case anything did happen. Although She didn't end up getting too close to you, the closest was just at your door staring me down for a while and then leaving. Then I got a bit bored and one thing lead to another and–"

"It's okay, Wheatley. If it means I'll have more peaceful nights then by all means you can play with my hair."

She still refuses to admit it, but his presence beside her is significantly more welcome than she lets on. It's beyond just guarding her when she's most vulnerable, he calms her down completely, even with his erratic ramblings. She promised herself, don't get attached (let alone to a ghost of all things), but it's always not happening until it's already happened, isn't it? Chell's phone rumbles on the bedside table beside her leather bound dream journal, and they exchange a glance, a look that says on both ends 'this is important don't make a noise' and 'I'm disappointed I no longer have your undivided attention'.

She snatches her phone up and whisks out of the room, away from the very deflated Wheatley and towards the back of the house, in hopes of finding some peace and quiet. The guest bedroom a few doors down from the attic should do, enough space between the three of them to dampen any accidental thuds or demonic chanting that could radiate through the paper thin walls. She picks up the call.

"Chell! What's going on? You haven't responded to any of my messages, you okay?"

Fynn. Her only really close university friend by the looks of things considering he's the only one to have contacted her yet. She hasn't been ignoring him, she's seen his messages, just hasn't found the time or words to send one back. "Yeah, don't worry I-I'm doing fine, honestly. Just gets quite busy moving in and all. Not to mention how much maintenance this house requires, my hands are quite full, let me tell you."

Not a lie per se, but definitely bending the truth, after all, how do you describe to someone you're living with two (possibly) malevolent apparitions on your property?

"Oh that's quite fair actually, I'd thought for a second not moving in with you ended up being the death of you– and so quickly too, it's only been like three days!"

"Yeah no I'm all good, honestly. The walls sometimes wheeze and whisper 'free us' at me but it's nothing I can't handle."

This time, it seems that She didn't appreciate the satirical taunting. She's the only one allowed to be self aware and sardonic in this house apparently. A soft scraping noise drifts down from the ceiling, and she almost yelps as she whips her head up so quickly, she knocks her skull on the wall behind her. Ugh, no peace, not even on a phone call.

"Yeah, sounds like they're trying to free themselves currently, alright but you should stop stressing anyway, I know you're not scared but if you can't even respond to a message then you're a bit too particular about this house. Leave all its dust and cobwebs and pentagrams as they are for now, you have a few years to chill out and get through it, after all."
"I know, thanks Fynn, just trying to smash it out all at once because, I don't know, I guess I want to get more familiar with it. Plus I've got all of summer break to do it."
"You know, as much as I love you my guy, you're too much of a lone wolf for your own good. How about Aiza and I come down and keep you company tomorrow? You have a literal mansion and no one to share it with."

She presses her lips into a thin line, and the soft scratching ebbs away even more at the short pause. "I'm not sure, to be honest. I've still got a hell of a lot left to do, but you guys can totally come over on some other day?" And at the mention of hell, the scratching commences again subtly.

"No, Chell you misunderstood me. I wasn't asking; we'll meet you at your spooky iron gates at 6pm. Better not leave them and I waiting all night or you'll have two less friends to drag your ass out of a cult ritual. Alright? Good talk. Good luck!"

With that exit, he hangs up without even leaving her time to explain why they really shouldn't come over, let alone enough time to say goodbye. If no death has occurred so far under Wheatley's care, maybe a few more people in the house for a single night will be a-okay too? She stumbles out of the musty old room, shooting a glance towards the suddenly quiet attic, and pockets her phone.

Wheatley glances up from dusting off the bookshelf in the hallway just beside the staircase. She walks a few more steps downwards, eye level with the ghost, and could have sworn his expression for a brief moment resembled a pout. Chell withholds a scoff at his fairly clingy behaviour as she realises he's still visibly upset even with her in the same room as him. She ruffles his blond locks like he did to her this morning. "What's up, Wheats?"

He picks up on her worried tone, and his expression softens at the affectionate contact. "Oh? Nothing, it's honestly quite petty I guess when I think about it. Anyway, you should go and have some breakfast, love."

Resting her arms on the slanted bannister of the stairwell, she places her head in her hands and responds, "it doesn't have something to do with the little phone call I just had to take, now does it?"

"Well, no not really. Okay maybe it does and I'm not sure why to be honest with you. Who were you talking to?"

Her eyebrows shoot up from her half-lidded eyes. "We both know you heard the whole conversation," she states to skirt by the conversational gymnastics Wheatley's doing to hide this fact. He chuckles nervously. "Uh, yeah you are right on that one, as always. It's just, he doesn't seem to really listen to your boundaries– you know I do! Never walk into that kitchen, even if you aren't home, I promise you that, a good example to use right there. Check him against the example and he just isn't up to standard!"

"You, notorious friendless jazz pianist, are trying to tell me I have below par friends?"

"Well, yeah."

"Look, you don't really hide your jealousy too well, Wheatley. I'm not stupid, alright? I'm allowed to have other friends so please don't be weird to them about it tomorrow when they show up. They're actually being really nice to disregard me and come around anyway, it would be great if I didn't have an immortal maniac guarding my attic and basement and a, no offense, clumsy and a bit clueless housemate in a half disheveled navy dress suit."

He blushes again at her calling him out and essentially reading him to filth in just a few sentences. She calms him down again with another pat on the head and a shoulder poke to tell him she's only half joking. He gets to try and figure out which half the joke is on his own as she continues. "It's endearing, dude, honestly. But you spend every day with me anyway, and they'll only be over for the evening and then gone. Wanna try making some friends for once?"
Wheatley blinks in surprise. "Do you want me to…?"

"Yeah I'm asking you to join us, of course I am!"

Lifting one thick, blond eyebrow, he continues. "Why, though? Do you think they'd be fine with you literally living with a ghost?"

"No one on the street or the coffee shop even thought twice about whether you were living or dead, you just looked like you were wearing a costume, that's why you got weird looks. If we just get you some modern clothes, and you be your usual chatty self, just pretend to be my neighbour or something!"

He mulls it over in his head, trying to find a fault in her undeniably reasonable plan. "Will they even buy it? Why would your neighbour be over anyway, on the same night they choose to stay too?"

"I don't know, man, stop overthinking it. They're not going to press it because it's none of their business regardless. Walk with me, I would prefer to have breakfast before it's late enough to be lunch."

She shovels down the last of her scrambled eggs as Wheatley paces around the dining room table, knowing him it's either in excitement or anxiety. "So let me get this straight, you want to go and buy me some new clothes just for this one night? Are you sure your friends are that nice if they're going to have a go at me for it?"

"No it's not that, I just want you to fit in a little better, be more inconspicuous."

"Oh, right, fair enough. Are you off then?" he asks as she ties her hair up and slips her shoes on. "Yeah, coming with?"

His eyes finally light up for the first time that day, and no, it doesn't make her chest fluttery and warm. Why insinuate that? "Just a moment, love, I'll be right back!"

They make their way out of the house and down to the road connecting the driveway to the street. Side by side and a little too close together, Chell and Wheatley amble down the winding pathway, the former shivering at his cold form's proximity and the latter so tall he's being horizontally baptised by the bushes hanging over the fencing.

Wheatley fills the silence with his incoherent blabbering, but Chell wouldn't have it any other way. In no real hurry, they make it to the local shopping strip, just a few streets down from the manor. Despite the ghost problem, the house is exceptionally undervalued considering how shops and essential facilities are in very close proximity to it!

As they walk into the closest shop that sells men's clothing, Chell takes a moment to scan the store, then turns heel and exits, leaving a very confused Wheatley to hurry after her. "Love? That was a very viable store, why did you just up and leave? I bet I might have liked some of the stuff in there!"

"Clearly they didn't cater to your height. Don't you remember having to struggle to find clothes that fit you or has it been that long?"

"Ohhhh, fair point. Good thing you're here then, that completely slipped my mind. I had this suit tailored so long ago and just never switched outfits again– nor could I really, they purged my wardrobe when reselling it the first time!"

He kept talking about his belongings he misses dearly since most were donated after he passed and they found a store with large enough sizes to fit his frame. Chell played a guessing game as to what articles of clothing he would like whilst also seeming modern enough to not look like a time traveller. They settled on keeping his dress shoes, but picked out black pants, a new white button up shirt, and a dark grey sleeveless vest, a classy mix of modern and retro that the ghost approved of.

He takes off in the direction of the changing room, all the while commenting on how she's essentially giving him a makeover and how excited he is to see himself in something different for the first time in what's felt like centuries.

Disappearing behind the heavy curtain, it doesn't take long for him to peek his head back out again, cheeks a little red from what he's about to ask. "Uh, Chell? So, you know how it's been a while since I've had to, you know, dress myself…"

Chell's eyes widen and brows crease in the middle. "Get to the point with minimal ramblings, please."

"I may or may not have forgotten how to button my own shirt."

"Oh my god–"

She steps behind the curtain with him, and he covers his chest with the fabric, clearly trying (and failing) to hide his skin, as Chell's exasperated expression has already given away to one of undeniable horror. She pries the fabric from his hands and exposes the blotchy bruising that covers his pale chest, as if the tiny capillaries in his non-existent lungs are covered in lacerations, and red and purple like they're still actively bleeding at that. She places her palm to his chest, and she thinks she spots him wince in pain. "Does it hurt…?"

"No, not anymore at least."

He pauses, and she gets the message to start buttoning up his shirt as he clearly wants this interaction to be over already. She bottles it up and saves it for a conversation to have another day, not because she misses his unabashedly enthusiastic self and wants him happy again or anything like that though. The pants fit; the shirt fits; the vest fits. As the cashier checks their purchases out, Wheatley smiles warmly at her and pulls in front, taking his worn out wallet from his navy blazer.

"I'm not gonna make you pay for my clothes, love."

They push their way out of the store together and into the midday sunlight. "Which dimension did you just whip your wallet out from, have you always just had that with you?" More importantly, how much is in it and do I have joint ownership over it now that I own the house?

"I went and got it just before we left, I pretty much have no need for it anymore so I store it away for emergencies on the top of the bookshelf in the living room. I put it up there so only I can reach it really, but if you're ever running low I do have a ton stashed away so just ask."

"So, just be myself?"

"Yes, dude, don't stress too much, I'm just going to introduce you as my neighbour, it's not like they're going into this with any suspicions that I'm living with a ghost. Neither of them even believe ghosts exist so it's not even going to be a problem, I assure you."

Wheatley fiddles with his book pages as the grandfather clock beside the living room entryway approaches 5:50pm. "What if they don't like me?"

"I'd find that hard to believe, you're very sociable just don't overthink it, alright? Do you want to wait here or–"

His eyes dart up and around the room, doing mental maths over what the best decision would be, stay inside with Her or follow Chell and rush a terrible first impression with her friends. "I'll come with you."

Standing at the gate is a young looking guy with scruffy black hair and a feminine individual with long dark hair and skin a similar shade to Chell. He remembers hearing Fynn refer to Aiza as 'they' over the phone, and so he notes that in his mind for future reference. They both smile at Chell, then proceed to shift their attention to the absurdly tall man next to her. "Hey, Chell, how've you been? And who've you got here!"

"This is Wheatley, my neighbour. Wheatley, meet Fynn and Aiza."

They nod and greet him amicably, and Wheatley takes no time to stress ramble. "Lovely to meet you two. Uni friends of Chell, right? I've just been dropping in every now and then to help Chell get settled into this house, I was good friends with the previous owner so I know it well–"

"Wait, didn't you guys tell me this house has been on the market for, like, ages? Wow man, I've gotta know your skincare routine if you're even a day older than 30," Aiza chuckles. "Yeah, and you're British right? Which part of Britain are you from? I-I was born there but lost the accent very quickly," Fynn adds quickly before Wheatley can cut him off.

"Oh, I'm from Bristol!"

They make their way through the gate, with Wheatley relieved that the previous line of questioning was dropped immediately, and Chell exchanged a knowing glance. "I've never been to Bristol, but I've heard it's one of the warmer cities to live in, so at least you probably didn't have much snow or anything."

As they make their way into the house and the living room again, Wheatley comes to the conclusion that he very much already likes these people. They don't seem annoyed with his off topic spiels, his slightly louder than average voice, or even the fact that he pretty much always knocks his head on door frames! If anything, they seem amused at his demeanour, and that's way more workable than outright hostility (although he has to chew on whether he thinks they're laughing at or with him later on). Chell seems comfortable to leave him alone with them for a little longer whilst she goes to retrieve the dinner she's made them, and he continues to converse with the two, on what they're studying, how they know Chell, Wheatley's profession, and other general conversation topics when you're getting to know a friend of a friend.

"Honestly, I'm surprised Chell's ended up speaking to you at all, considering she's, you know, mute and all that. You must have gotten quite close with her already for her to not only invite you in but to be talking too," Aiza interrupts. "Maybe it's jazz musician stuff. Did she ever tell you or is that why you two bond so much?"

Wheatley ruffles his sandy blond hair, and looks perplexed. "I'm not quite sure what you're getting at, mate?"

"Oh, Chell used to play the saxophone in a high school jazz band, and also started learning piano at some point, very unlike her to quit on something halfway through though. Think of her as the typical nerd archetype in college but also absurdly good at the saxophone too," Aiza chimes in. Chell returns to the three others, rolling her eyes over how enthusiastic Wheatley is over knowing she played an instrument, let alone dappled in piano in the past, and she ushers them over to the living room table. It's at this moment, the two housemates realise their predicament.

"Haha, did you forget I was bringing Aiza with me today? No worries anyway, we didn't expect you to cook for us, although it's super nice of you– you're always a softie at heart, despite your grumpy persona. You can have my plate Aiza–"

"Oh, no don't worry about it, Wheatley ate before he came over, he said already he wasn't particularly hungry so stop complaining and dig in."

"Ah I see, you're missing out there, Wheatley, but oh well, thanks for the roast pork with a side of arsenic, just how grandma used to make it."

Chell tries to stifle her uncontrollable chuckling at her and Aiza's inside joke, a reference to one of Chell's favourite authors. Wheatley seems to cotton on quickly, despite him dying before the release of said book. "Right, like that one book where the main character poisons her family? Darn, I forgot the name, love that author though, I think I have the book in the other room too."

The scratching sound returns from earlier, slightly louder this time too, but luckily with the floors in between the attic and ground floor, the others seem to pass it off as the creaking wood. Wheatley, however, is a little more on edge at the new company joining the dinner, now understanding that even referencing murder and being situationally ironic around Her is going to have its consequences.

"We Have Always Lived In The Castle; I truly hated that book, but Chell loves it, must see herself in the protagonist or something," mumbles Fynn around a mouthful of pork.

The snarky comments continue throughout their dinner, they all clearly take no prisoners when it comes to banter, and like the true Brit Wheatley is, he feels just at home with them despite the ever-present scratching sound he gets a feeling only he can hear currently. "So, do you wanna do the thing tonight?"

Chell rolls her eyes, holds up her finger to mean 'I'll be right back' and makes her way to her room upstairs. "Sorry, what's this thing, exactly?"

"Come on, Wheatley, let's meet her in the living room, it'll be fun, you should totally join us," Aiza says as she beckons him over.

The four of them sat on the lounge room floor all crowded around two boxes of playing cards, Wheatley being especially confused as to why a card game would need coded language to talk about. Chell shuffles the deck haphazardly, but Wheatley holds his hand out expectantly to her. She passes the messy deck to him. "Not only am I a jazz musician, but a bartender at a casino, I've seen enough professional shuffling and dealing in my time to stop you massacring that deck," he teases her, and the scratching definitely didn't like that word choice.

Chell and Wheatley exchange a glance they both decode as 'oh fuck we're not the only one's playing games, She's playing us too' as he continues to shuffle the deck neatly and move onto the next one. When it seems like the sound is loud enough for Aiza and Fynn to pick up on over the cacophony of other noises the house makes, Chell thinks quickly. "Those rats keep me up all night, you have no idea," she sighs, and Fynn reacts accordingly. "Ah fuck, of course a house this old would have a rat infestation, do you want help removing it at some point? I have some leftover rat poison from that time we were all on the road."

"Don't sweat it, I'm planning on calling an exterminator next week. It's better to get the professionals to deal with something like that in such an unsteady old house, you know? Plus it's not easily accessible, the attic was bolted shut when I bought it."

When Wheatley finishes shuffling, he gets an idea as to what they're doing when Fynn directly talks to him again. "So, 'the thing' we're talking about isn't just a regular game of cards– or I guess it is really but I can't remember its name, it was something that kept us occupied when we were travelling around the country in a minivan a couple of months back. Sometimes we'd run out of gas in some old country town and have to wait out the night, so we'd play a little game of cards just to pass time, and it sort of just became tradition."

Although Wheatley's starting to feel quite comfortable around Chells friends, he gets a pang of sadness over how little about her life he actually knows, not to mention how small his indent in it is currently. These people are infinitely closer to Chell than Wheatley ever really will be, they've spent too much time together, doing different things and going places, not even mentioning yet that they're living and he isn't. He gives a lopsided smirk that just about reaches his eyes, to them it seems maybe wistful like he's remembering from his own life, but he knows it's nothing more than poisonous jealousy. He can't help it, but he feels especially bad that even Chell picked up on it immediately.

"So what you're going to want to do is keep the piles separate, but deal half to each player. We then flip over the top card and place them separated in the middle so there's four middle piles, and then flip your top five cards and place them in front of you–"

"Oh, hold on a second, mate, I think you guys play spit, right? The card game where you place a card that's one above or below until someones out of cards and you slap the smallest pile?"

"Precisely! Good that you already know the rules, it can get a bit intense since we play it four ways. It's usually a two player game," Fynn continues.

And the game begins. "Blimey, it's even more anarchy than usual now with four people playing, you almost don't want to be the poor chap who gets their hand down first–"

"Spit!"

And everyone's hand crashes down on Chell's, all but Aiza who's a bit late after flipping more of her cards over– "Oh god damnit, that's literally the whole deck I have to take! No one can ever say they 'hold all the cards' quite like me right now."

–And then the light flickers, and the blue and grey eyes meet briefly. "Old house, old lights, huh Chell," Fynn chuckles. Quick, think of something, she needs to excuse herself and Wheatley for a moment before he blows his own cover with how much paler his face suddenly is. "Wheatley, do you need me to help you get your medicine? You're not looking too good." He shoots down her offer to get out of the room. "No, we're staying here, I'm not leaving."

He hasn't quite exposed his secret yet, but his stern words certainly turned heads towards him, and at this point Chell knows the jig is up if the light flicker means what it usually does. "Get down, guys," Chell breathes.

Wheatley stands up, slowly, eyeing the doorway to the hall with the most serious look he can conjure up without visibly shaking. Chell can see under her fringe concealing her vision that he's clenching his fist, and steps forward. There's an internal battle between him and some unseen force as he trembles and flickers like the light above them continues to, and he's indisputably not human to the three still hunched over on the ground, playing cards strewn about under their tangled legs. A cross between a whisper and a growl emanates from the top of the staircase, just above where Wheatley has now positioned himself. He's still flickering vigorously, half opaque and half invisible every fraction of a second, and She retreats. "You can't save her forever, you know that, right? you moron."

The light (and ghost), slowly stop flickering, leaving the three mortals bathed in warm light as if nothing just happened. Wheatley, still standing in the shadowy hallway, turns back to Chell with a deeply apologetic look, and she stands to walk over to him. Fynn snatches her hand and pulls her back down, now suddenly distrustful of the spirit they were calling Wheatley for very obvious reasons. Chell is unphased by their pleas to not approach the tall man, but as the two are treating this encounter like some twisted routine in their day, Fynn finally gains his voice again. "Okay, you two are going to explain right now to us what's just happened."

Wheatley hangs his head and hunches over, trying his best to appear as small as possible while Chell beckons them back to the dining room table. As they get settled at the table, Wheatley paces at the doorway, clearly agitated but guarding it. Aiza is the first to break the silence. "Is there someone else in the house with us? Do you have, like, a squatter or something?"
"No it can't be, if he's some lovecraftian monster then who's to say there isn't another one in the house."

Fynn now directs his anger towards Wheatley who's looking slightly offended at the offhand comment. "So, what is it? How much of what you told me was a lie? I'm kind of hurt, you know, but mostly furious, don't get it twisted."

Chell interrupts. "Okay, firstly, no one here is a monster, Wheatley is a ghost, but he's friendly and has proven himself to be harmless to me over the last few days."

"Also, no one's really lied to you, mate! The only lie I told was that I'm her neighbour, that's literally it."

Aiza is growing more suspicious of the guy, torn between trusting that Chell always makes the right decision for herself but also increasingly wary in general. "Listen, Chell, I'm the first to support women's rights and wrongs, but babe, I'm not sure if I can support this. You're living with a ghost?"

"You should move out, dude. Whatever just happened is good enough evidence for why you know I'm right."

Wheatley drops his head again and chimes in. "He's kind of right, you know? This isn't a safe place for you, come to think of it. I've tried, but maybe She's right and I–"

"Who's even to say that he's actually harmless too? For fucks sake, he's not Casper, I can assure you! How long have you known him, like, two days? Girlie, you don't know what he can do…"
"So what?! I don't want to hurt her, I promise! Anyone can hurt her, it doesn't matter what I can do, it matters what I want to do–"

"Alright, everyone just shut up!"

Chell raised her voice, and it cracked from lack of use. No one at that table had ever heard her yell, and so they hushed immediately. Wheatley paused his pacing, Fynn stopped mid shout, Aiza halted picking at her short nails. "If I'm comfortable enough to live with him and talk to him, I already trust him enough to not hurt me. You know me, I don't trust people easily. Be a bit kinder to him as well, he just saved our asses in the other room." She sighs, exhausted with this argument already. "Whilst he's friendly, She's a bit harder to explain, and I'd rather not when we're within Her domain. No, I'm not moving out; yes, I trust Wheatley. Non negotiable on any of those. Any further questions?"

Everyone's eyes dart around the dimly lit dining room like they're watching a tense tennis match, and no one dares draw attention to themselves. Fynn finally gains the courage to break the silence again. "We're coming back this time next week. You both are going to tell us everything we need to know, buy, and do. I know better than to try and convince someone as stubborn as you."

As the pair makes their way to leave, Fynn gets a final comment to the two housemates. "Chell, I'm just a call away, remember? Doesn't matter if it's 2pm or 3:33am or some shit, just call. And Wheatley?"

His blue eyes meet dark brown. "Keep your promises or I'll send a fucking bulldozer and level your manor to the ground. Maybe send a priest in for good measure too, just to finish the job."

Chell lies prone in bed, Wheatley sitting beside her on the ground, back to the mattress. "I screwed that right up, didn't I, love? I'm so sorry I-I-I knew I'd do something wrong."

She shakes her head and detangles his sandy blond hair slowly. "No, you didn't. I don't think they hate you, they're just rightfully distrustful of you."

"But why? I was nothing but cordial, wasn't I?"

"Well yes, but wasn't that the case with me from the beginning as well? It's hard to take in the fact that ghosts are real, let alone bring yourself to trust the very first one you meet."

He tilts his head back towards the ceiling and lets out a useless sigh. He has no need to breathe, or sigh, or cough, or hyperventilate, or anything, but it seems to continue out of habit. His eyes drift around the ceiling, focusing on nothing in particular. "Chell? Am I really a monster?"

She rolls over. Chell pauses stroking his hair briefly to grab his jaw and pivot his head back over his shoulder towards her. "Don't call yourself that, it's a word reserved for Her."

He visibly swallows, another useless function that he's retained from being alive even after all this time. "Did you mean it? I mean, the things you said earlier. About trusting me, and not leaving, and all that?"

She lets a lot more slip than she was anticipating that night, but forces herself to meet his eyes and get her happy Wheatley back. Woah, hold on a second, 'my' Wheatley? She doesn't entertain that thought process for very long as he's growing more obviously anxious by each second she doesn't respond, so she gives him a smiley expression equivalent to 'of course', and strokes his smooth jaw with her hand. He slowly recovers and beams back at her.