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He was a sucker.
Why else would he be sitting on this joke of a couch probably discovered during some dumpster dive with a twenty-year-old who still played Tetris on a DS Lite. Despite his stance – one leg crossed over the other and his arms folded against his chest – both his idiot of a roommate and Stephen Stills seemed to be utterly oblivious to his less-than-supportive demeanour.
In the short break between each song, Kim would stare at him in a way which can only be described as suspicious. The resounding ‘Why are you here?’ hung in the air between them.
Short answer; Wallace had no fucking idea.
Wallace wasn’t going to pretend that he knew anything about music, although over the years he had been to many gigs as a “supportive” friend of the band. He had a track record of being more supportive when one of the band members tickled his fancy. The bottom line was that he didn’t go for the music and he usually went to the gigs because at least then he found himself in a bar or club. The shared house in the middle of some quiet – ignoring the drums and amps – residential area wasn’t supplying him with quite the same buzz.
They didn’t even have wine, never mind anything resembling a martini so he had settled for the canned beer that was being kept in the closet under the stairs. He limited himself to silently raising an eyebrow because he wasn’t going to pick on Young Neil who had been ordered around and sent off to grab them from Stephen Stills’ stash.
“Be a lamb and fetch me a glass.”
“We only have mugs.” Young Neil had said, standing stiffly with wide eyes, not out of any discomfort but just because he was a bit of a weird guy. Wallace didn’t mind that so much but he wasn’t big on the staring.
It wasn’t bad beer at least.
For a short ten minutes, he was free from the confines of their front room and at liberty to satiate his boredom by snooping. Stephen had gone for a smoke break, presumably to recover emotionally from the crushing realisation that they were doomed to fail. Scott was god knows where and Young Neil had breached the 500k mark on Tetris and needed to focus, guys .
That left Wallace with Kim who was making her presence known by looming.
“We’re bad,” she announced as though this was news to him.
Opening the fridge which interestingly still had photos of Jullie stuck to it with magnets, despite her and Stephen’s recent breakup, it was very apparent that they did indeed have room for a few cans of beer because the fridge was virtually empty. Stephen Stills drank his beer at room temperature by choice.
“Yes. You. Are…” He muttered quietly, pickling up an opened jar of olives which looked like they’d gone off a year ago, judging by the thick layer of furry black mould functioning as a seal between the olives and the lid.
“Then why are you here?”
Shutting the fridge, he turned to smile at the redhead warmly. “Always a pleasure to see you too, Kim.”
Wallace had a lot of time for Kim Pine, not something he’d grant to many of Scott’s friends but she was by far one of his better ones. Arguably too good for them, he wasn’t sure why she wasted her time in their band that clearly wasn’t going anywhere but who was he to get in the way of whatever kind of dreams she may have. Obviously, not very grand ones.
“You're a weird guy, Wells.”
Clicking his tongue he shot a lazy finger gun at her. God, why was he here.
There was no reason for him to have caved because Scott certainly hadn't been endearing himself to Wallace lately; the ever-growing mound of dirty laundry and dishes served as a physical reminder of that. He undoubtedly had much better options available to him on a Wednesday evening, in fact, one of his friends – one of the ones he refused to introduce Scott to – had invited him to tag along to some bar’s opening night and yet still he was here in Stephen Stills’ kitchen where they had no glasses, only mugs. He was sure there was a crude irony mocking his life in that somewhere.
This harsh reality was smoothed out somewhat by the presence of one Kim Pine who was the closest thing he had to a kindred spirit at this time, in this pathetically understocked kitchen, perhaps in more ways than he could own up to.
It was at that moment that the reason for his wasted opportunities and unfortunate choices walked into the kitchen, humming obnoxiously and clicking his fingers to a poorly timed rhythm.
“So what do you think? Pretty cool, huh?” Scott Pilgrim was a master of delusion.
“You’re improving.” They were not. “You put on quite the performance there.” He was a dork. His mind filled in, intending it as an insult but what he wouldn't admit to was the smile that had curled his lips while he'd watched his roommate bop his head and shimmy around enthusiastically while somehow managing to not knock over any of their equipment, he definitely hadn't chuckled in any sort of affectionate manner and if Young Neil had given him a curious look he absolutely hadn't slowly turned to him with any kind of demeanour resembling intimidation.
Kim's sudden absence from the kitchen was conveniently timed with Scott's arrival and that fact had not gone unnoticed by Wallace, even if Scott's own blinders were proving effective as ever.
A contented sigh escaped his shaggy-haired roommate just as he threw an arm around Wallace's shoulder rocking them a little where they stood. “Man, it's so nice to be in a band again. I'm happy you're here.”
Wallace eased into Scott's hold just a little.
“Course, guy. Why else would I be here.”
To that Scott beamed, tugging him closer warmly and directing him back to the living room for another round of ear-bleeding abuse.
He was going soft.
It hadn't been a part of his plans but begrudgingly Wallace was coming to terms with some things . He couldn't attribute it all to Stacey but he'd received one scathing monologue too many and then there was the fact that he couldn't entirely justify his roommate situationship and that was complicating things. He wished now more than ever that Scott paid him at least some kind of rent, in any shape or form just to be rid of the damn issue.
Or at least to fend off some of the oppressing forces that had been nagging him lately, that being said Other Scott had made himself scarce.
What people didn't understand, and what Wallace didn't really feel the need to explain, was that there was a system or a balance of sorts. He couldn't explain it, but only because it was complicated and not because it was dubious. The point was that he liked things the way they were. He had complaints sure, and he hesitated to call it anything even remotely close to a perfect arrangement but the reasons were there.
Wallace wasn’t known to be someone loyal, he personally disagreed with that observation but he wouldn’t dispute it. That being said, there was a history there that he cared about, a friendship that he valued, and in his own quiet way he protected that.
Unfortunately for him, that valued friendship came at the cost of his finances and personal space. Despite all the complaints and external (and increasingly internal) doubts, he honestly didn’t mind so much. He had no qualms about sharing his limited space with someone else, but that might just have been because it was Scott.
Confusing or not from an outside perspective, they were comfortable.
He’d just stepped out of the shower, his hair mostly towel-dried and his skin wonderfully red and hot. Stepping into his boxer shorts – for his roommate's benefit, not because of his own concept of decency – and draped the towel around his neck to catch any stray droplets of water before he opened the door letting a cloud of steam waft into the cold room.
“I met someone.”
What .
Wallace froze, caught off guard by the sight of Scott waiting by the door and beaming at him excitedly. The words took a moment to sink in and when they did his mind went blank.
“Oh really?” He prompted with little enthusiasm, pushing past Scott to retrieve his black jeans and shirt folded and resting on the arm of their lazy boy.
“Yeah, just now. It’s a really funny story, we met on the bus…” Scott prattled on following him as he moved around the apartment and he pulled on his clothes, displaying no awareness of the concept of personal space and Wallace had tuned him out.
“Uh huh.” buttoning up his shirt, Wallace was all too aware of Scott’s proximity, his hands waving around and he was still talking but he really didn’t want to hear this. Looking up at his roommate was a mistake. That gleeful smile was really irritating him.
Scott didn’t seem to be bothered by the one-sided nature of their conversation in the slightest and Wallace wanted to wrap his hands around something and squeeze . “And tomorrow we’re hanging out, it’s gonna be awesome.”
He was an awful friend.
Shrugging on his coat, he then finally placed his hands on Scott's shoulders, looking him in the eye to make sure he was listening to him properly. “That’s great. You know what, Scott? I’m kind of busy right now and also I don’t care.” He didn’t enjoy it. Seeing the disappointed frown on his friend’s face, the sudden absence of energy, but he couldn’t put up with this and he couldn’t let the other man continue to follow him and badger him with the topic.
There was only one way to shut this down quickly and that was by taking his keys and heading for the nearest exit.
“Oh, okay, uh well–”
The door clicked shut. He didn’t slam it, he wasn’t that dramatic.
Outside it was cold and crisp and silent .
He took a moment to adjust his coat, buttoning himself up to fight off the chill and turning his collar up on both sides. Setting off without a backwards thought towards the bus stop, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open quickly, typing at the keyboard with his thumb, only sparing it a brief look. The fresh air and the sound of crunching snow rendered him sure of one thing and that is that anywhere else sounded like a better place to be right at that moment.
Wallace preferred bars above all places and if he couldn't be in a bar it was somewhere he could get coffee. Pizza pizza was definitely one of Scott's usual spots and the fact that he was sitting here in an old booth with his hands threaded together above an uncomfortably sticky table without his roommate – who had notoriously low standards – wasn't a reality Wallace was expecting to find himself in.
He wasn't completely out of his comfort zone – not that that was possible – he'd been able to order a beer but it still didn't quite have the same appeal as a martini glass and he preferred the lights to be a lot dimmer than this, he wasn't big on shame but when he was being felt up by some guy he liked to have a modicum of privacy when in a loud public place.
Unfortunately, he wasn't here for any of that. As appealing as it sounded to get hammered on an empty stomach and stumble home, that scenario didn't really allow for much conversation which was why of all the appropriate places he was familiar with to have a sit-down discussion at this time of day, with the goal of being heard, most of them came from Scott's repertoire rather than his own. He wasn't overly enamoured with the place but at the very least, Other Scott seemed to be getting a kick out of this. It's very difficult to look at home when wearing a nice cotton coat in a shitty pizza joint with shitty beer and lighting that was doing absolutely nothing for him. If he didn't know that Other Scott wasn't going to be such a bastard about it he would have already made a complaint about feeling washed out in the neon-white light.
“So what is it?” Other Scott asked, leaning over the table across from him with thinly masked curiosity. Wallace watched as he sipped from his straw, eyeing him suspiciously.
“What's what?”
Other Scott made a point of slurping his coke up the straw, looking distinctly unimpressed. “You didn’t invite me out just to have a little catchup.”
“I might have done.” Wallace denies it, and after a moment's hesitation, his glass stilling on its trajectory towards his mouth he points a casual finger in Other Scott’s direction. “How’s your brother?”
“Still traumatised.” Other Scott rolled his eyes – Fair enough, best not to revisit that – before promptly returning to his suspicious and quizzical gaze focused on Wallace. “What do you want? Bathroom?” It was a joke but even so, Other Scott glanced at the squeaky door to the men's with an unenthused sneer that Wallace thought was well deserved.
Any other time, yes. Wallace had thought about it some, despite his initial irritation at Other Scott’s prying he was never going to withhold sex. It was a bit surprising that they’d gone this long without seeing each other.
But that wasn’t why he was here, and frustratingly the other man was well aware of his ulterior motives.
“No, I don’t–” he cut himself off with a sharp inhale that morphed into a groan of resignation. The look on Other Scott’s face was doing nothing to make words come any easier. He didn't like admitting to things, they both knew this, this wasn't new information, and yet somehow here he was.
The sly bastard was staring at him with narrowed eyes, and by the lone act of avoiding his gaze, Other Scott seemed to have drawn his own ideas which gradually curled his lips upwards into a mocking smile.
“This is about Pilgrim, huh?”
His silence is an answer in and of itself.
With that Other Scott was snickering and shaking his head, taking far too much joy in the mockery of someone else for a man who had sideburns and a perpetually unshaven face. There was no correlation between that criticism and the fact that Wallace thought it was hot.
After a moment of mockery at his expense to which Wallace had carefully given very little of a response, Other Scott quietened down and was suddenly looking at him in a gentle manner that unnerved Wallace more than he liked to admit. He'd probably given something away; he knew it wasn't anything on his expression because he'd overcome that obstacle a long long time ago and it wasn't until Other Scott was gently nudging at his hand over the table that Wallace realised perhaps he'd been holding his pint glass a little bit too tightly.
“Wallace, we are friends.”
“I know that.” Not that he understood the point his friend was trying to make.
“Sure you do, but do you know what’s up with you and Scott?” Wallace hated these fucking questions and at that point, something definitely gave him away because when he glanced back at Other Scott with hidden disdain he was met with a leering grin. “I love rendering you speechless.”
Wallace tsked, conceding the point but reluctantly. He brought his glass back up to his lips and just before he took a gulp he levelled Other Scott with a look. “If you like shutting me up I can think of a number of far more entertaining ways you could manage that.”
With a laugh and the gentle bump of the knee under the table, “Later.” Other Scott smiled at him.
Wallace couldn’t help but smile back. It was true, they were friends and Other Scott was likely one of the only people he could go to at a time like this, the topic being what it was.
They watched as some waitress who couldn’t have been older than sixteen dashed around after a couple eating at a table across from them. The poor thing was mixing up orders left, right, and centre. Her customer service smile never faltered in all the time she spent at the tables but the moment she was inching towards the door to the kitchen the look on her face was a picture of irritation that Other Scott was snickering at.
“He's dating someone,” Wallace announced abruptly, refusing to turn his head away from the waitress.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Other Scott’s attention snap back in his direction but neither said anything, taking another sip from their drinks with the other following a second later.
“Girl or guy.”
“Probably a girl.”
Other Scott nodded thoughtfully. “Probably.”
And that was it. That was really all there was to it. Not that Wallace wanted to say any more than that in the first place but he was practically disappointed in himself that it was that simple. That that was all it took.
With a heavy sigh, he downed the rest of his drink, clinking it back down on the too-sticky table.
“I'm not happy about it.”
Other Scott was still staring at him and he didn’t have to look to know that the other was completely unimpressed. “Then say something,” he said point blank, slurping up the last of his coke.
“You know me, Other Scott. That is not on the cards.”
“Oh, don't be a whiny bitch.” At that Wallace snickered bitterly. He wasn’t sure if the abruptness was preferable to sickly sympathy or if it got on his nerves even more, but either way, Other Scott didn’t care, throwing his bag over his shoulder and standing up from the booth. “Go tell the weirdo that you're into him already.”
And that was that.
Wallace watched him walk a few steps away before begrudgingly standing to follow him.
That was the extent of their talk. It wasn't much of a pep talk but Wallace was sure he'd had worse, it probably made a difference that he somewhat cared about the result of the events that would play out.
It went unsaid that Wallace was going home with Other Scott. It was a longer trek back to his apartment and the bus route was less direct which is why they didn't go there so often but Wallace was thankful that he didn't have to say what other Scott already knew.
It was incredibly rare for Wallace to feel chased out of his own apartment which in and of itself was an exaggeration but it was such a rare event that it probably warranted being drawn attention to. He was thankful when Other Scott said nothing as he climbed onto the bus alongside him going in the opposite direction from his own apartment.
The minute the key was turned and left in the lock where it would stay overnight all pretences were dropped. No more tedious discussions that Wallace had needed but not wanted, none of those knowing and pitying looks that he hated. It had been a couple of weeks since they saw each other and while he enjoyed the novelty of someone new Other Scott had all the advantages of being familiar and in the know on all the right things to do.
They moved gracefully from the entrance, past the sharp edge of the kitchen island jutting into the room, avoiding the low table they'd stumbled over before, and carefully moving around the couch that they were intimately familiar with from the times it got in the way and prevented them from making it to the stiff, creaky door behind which Other Scott slept. Hands roamed, fingers curling around bothersome layers of fabric and tugging until finally the broken-in mattress squeaked beneath them and all the usual drawers were being frantically pulled open.
Wallace liked Other Scott well enough, he was reliable and he had good taste in aftershave when he could be bothered to use it. He didn't mind when fingers with blunt nails played with the hairs at the nape of his neck even after they were done and spent. So long as he didn't look it didn't matter that it was Other Scott, that he was overstepping just slightly. Wallace could turn a blind eye because he knew that Other Scott knew what was being left unsaid and ignored. His silence was enough of an unspoken pact.
In the morning, Other Scott stood watching him as Wallace tied his shoelaces by the door, he didn't mind the sight of Other Scott leaning, shirtless with his hip pressed to the edge of his kitchen counter, arms crossed silently. He'd made a point last night of reminding him just how much he liked the dusting of hair across his chest among other things. The standing man in a state of undress caught his eye just as he drew himself up from his kneeling position, a knowing and humorous look passing between them.
They were good at this.
Silently Wallace turned, unlocking the door and slipping out but before he could close the door behind him Other Scott stopped him.
“Hey, Wallace.” Glancing back curiously, Other Scott was frowning speculatively. After a moment he stepped forward, poking his head through the open door and gently pressing a slow kiss to Wallace's lips. As he drew away Wallace looked at him with a silent question, to which he received a vague shrug in response. “You’ll let me know if you get anywhere, won’t you.”
Wallace thought about the underlying meaning of the other man's words. He was surprised, he'd never pegged Other Scott as the overly optimistic type. “That’s not likely.”
Shaking his head, “You’ll let me know,” Other Scott reaffirmed.
The door finally shut behind him and Wallace made his way down the stairs and out the apartment building's front door. It was only as he was waiting by the bus stop, texting Stacey about nothing in particular – except maybe that he'd spotted one of Jimmy's sweaters over the arm of Other Scott's couch, just to really hammer in the idea that he'd saved her from another loveless heterosexual relationship – that he thought to himself decidedly Other Scott was getting a little bit too comfortable.
Maybe it was nearly game over after all.
Their apartment was empty when he arrived back. Unusual but not unheard of. It was twenty minutes later when he finally spotted the pink Post-it note stuck to the centre of his television screen – only Scott would think that was the first place someone would spot a note. Plucking it off the screen, he glanced at it, only to throw it in the bin a moment later. ‘on date. missed u last night.’
Scott Pilgrim was an ass and what’s worse was that he had absolutely no reason to understand why.
Wallace Wells didn’t have it in him to say some lame-ass thing like ‘I don’t want you seeing anyone (else)’ . He resented that.
He wasn't desperate.
He wasn't needy.
They’d known each other for a long time, since the early days of college, and it felt like it had been a lot longer since they graduated than it had actually been. Wallace can remember the way he had been strangely endeared by a younger and messier Scott, delighting in all of Scott’s reactions whenever Wallace inserted himself into his future roommate's life.
He’d never clicked too well with people who were genuinely kind, who didn’t have a nasty bone in them. He needed some cynicism in his life and he’d never considered why that was but it was a recurring theme. When they met, Scott met that requirement subtly all while establishing himself as a continuous source of entertainment. And when he couldn’t be that then Wallace took up his duty as a friend.
Showing up at any random opportunity or sleeping over when he was drunk. It had been fulfilling to have his existence be acknowledged with so much energy, not that he couldn’t elicit similar responses from anyone else. He'd always been able to establish himself as the centre of someone's attention. But back then it came so easily with Scott and he still couldn't shake it.
He'd always been wanted, it was rarer for him to be needed.
While he cleaned the dishes, dried them and stacked them with a clink one on top of the other back in the cupboard – although that wasn't their usual place, nowadays they stayed on the counter or the drying rack more often than not – he noted that the bottle of wine he'd neglected to move from the counter that night a few weeks ago had remained untouched. Unsurprisingly, he'd have to be the one to stop by the bottle bank soon.
Changing out of the clothes he'd worn the day before should have been the first thing he did but it was only when he stepped on a stray sock that he considered it as well as another long overdue shower. He filled the laundry hamper with whatever clothes he could find lying around, most of which appeared to be Scott's.
He should probably strive for more than simply being needed.
He didn’t hear the door open this time, and he didn’t realise Scott was back until the blanket lifted and the mattress dipped behind him, he stayed on his side facing the wall, and although it came close, the hand on his back wasn’t enough to coax him into rolling over. Not today.
“...Wallace?” Scott's whisper broke the silence amongst the shuffling of bed sheets and blankets but the black-haired man was all too prepared to let the call go unanswered. Unfortunately, Scott was nothing if not blindly persistent and always for the wrong reasons. “Wallace?”
Without moving, he huffed a sigh. “Wallace is sleeping.”
He didn't have to be facing him to feel Scott's unfaltering gaze on his back. “Where were you last night?” he asked, Wallace almost wanted to laugh.
“You don’t want to know.”
It would have been better all round if that had been the last of it, the last word. For a long while, he thought Scott was going to leave it at that.
“Oh.”
Wallace might have found some sense of satisfaction in that wordless response. It might have been nice to leave someone else lost for words when lately he'd felt like he was the one left stumbling around in the dark, left out of the loop, not being clued in on the joke. He resented being out of his element.
But Scott just couldn't let him have that.
“Well, do you want to know about my date?”
Ha .
Wow.
There were so many words , disbelieving ones, hurtful ones, but none of them were enough to encapsulate the sentiment of this moment.
Christ, he was an idiot. A moron if there ever was one.
It was almost funny.
He didn't move, barely even let himself breathe in the irrational hope that if he didn't so much as twitch Scott would drop it, leave him alone, and never dare bring it up again. He might have been grinning but it was just as likely that he was grimacing, maybe those were the same thing.
This really wasn't the moment to laugh, but he could, he could probably cry with laughter. When did Scott Pilgrim start driving him to insanity. He was sure that he was supposed to be a lot more level-headed than this. Wallace Wells was a man with a reputation and not a care in the world so how was it that he'd found the one person who could make him feel like shit, who was the same person to whom he had given a home in his bed. He didn't tolerate the idea that anyone could know him better than he knew himself, they didn't, but still Stacey's and Other Scott’s unwanted, prying questions burned against his skull.
Why was he doing this to himself?
That was the thing about Scott. He was oblivious and ignorant and it made him a bit of an ass – understatement – but in the most unexpected ways he was strangely perceptive of people's negative emotions, perhaps the only thing he ever noticed because he assumed it was related to him, which it usually was. However, it was very rare that he ever acted on it and when he did it was usually self-serving. So Wallace knew that Scott understood that he was upset and it made him angry that Scott could read him that way. What made him angrier, however, was that unless he spelt it out for him, Scott would never understand the cause of his anger. And Wallace just couldn't bring himself to hate Scott for not understanding the failings caused by his own ignorance. As pathetic as it made him, he wasn't sure he could hate Scott for any reason.
That didn't negate the twisting feeling in his chest that only worsened when Scott shifted closer, warm against his back, Wallace allowed it.
He glared at the wall, pointedly ignoring the other as a hand softly inched around his side to rest around him securely, heavily, restrictively. Closing his eyes, he swallowed thickly, this was what he'd asked for.
When Scott rested his forehead on the back of his neck everything stopped, one last stunted inhale and he was gone. Maybe there was a screaming in the back of his mind but he couldn't tell, couldn't give it any room in his head in case it escaped when it shouldn’t.
All he could think of was Scott and that pressure on his neck.
His nose brushed over the notch of his spine and Wallace had to restrain a shudder.
Scott’s breath fanned across the back of his neck, down the collar of his shirt and warmed him all over.
Wallace's grasp on his pillow tightened slightly and who was to say if he shuffled backwards just a little, pressing them closer together. He could have imagined the soft wet touch of lips to his skin, he could have, he might not have.
Wallace Wells was kidding himself.
And Scott Pilgrim wasn't going anywhere.