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Wallace didn’t usually go to Julie Powers’ parties but he had nothing better to do and he was intrigued to see whether or not anything would happen between her and Stephen Stills. The logistics of their relationship fascinated him. A truly strange pairing.
Walking to the bus stop with Scott was more bothersome than ever. For one, they’d already had to turn back once to retrieve Scott’s forgotten wristbands which were integral to his look , two, he would not shut up about the level he was failing to beat in Super Mario Bros, and three, everything else about him was the bane of Wallace’s troubled existence.
He couldn’t say for sure what had triggered it, other than perhaps the external influences encouraging him, but Wallace was quickly coming to the conclusion that he couldn’t let things continue the way they were. He dreaded change but they couldn’t continue like this. They couldn’t . He had been quite content to delude himself in one too many ways, but he couldn’t do this anymore, not the same way they had always done it.
He hadn’t questioned a thing since the fallout of the E-word but the status quo had changed, Scott was dating again, and it was too difficult to keep the act going.
He wanted to though.
Glancing at his friend who seemed oblivious to the cold while Wallace trudged through the snow along the sidewalk, shoulders hunched and hands fisted deep in the pockets of his woollen coat, he smiled somewhat bitterly. Scott Pilgrim was many things, things that Wallace loved him for, hated him for, and there were many things that he was never going to be which hurt him more than he’d like to admit.
It was too easy to lay himself bare, let all the best bits of him that he had to offer be mulled over and picked at with little regard for what was left over. No, Wallace had to stop doing this to himself . But all it took was one look at his ignorant roommate and he remembered why he’d done it all, why he wasn’t ready to let go.
He’d been all too happy at first when Scott had started curling himself around Wallace at night, groping for warmth and pressing close because that's one thing they’d always had, they’d always had trust. They could touch and cuddle close and it was easy. It had given Wallace the perfect excuse to indulge where he shouldn’t, to indulge where he’d held back since their early days of college.
Letting Scott into his bed had been granting him access to many more things than he could even possibly be aware of.
Snow had dusted the top of that stupidly long wool hat his roommate was obsessed with, his cheeks red with the cold but still he was unbothered, frowning and gesticulating animatedly about something that Wallace couldn’t care less about which Scott probably knew but continued on anyway. He never was all too good at sparing a thought as to whether or not people around him were frustrated with him, he was awful that way, but it was Scott . Much as he loathed to admit it, Wallace let Scott get away with anything.
Stacey was right; her brother was a leech and that was a statement she made confidently without having the whole truth, or maybe she did, Wallace didn’t always give her enough credit. She was right about one thing, without a doubt, that Scott would bleed him dry, she just didn’t know the extent of it.
They couldn’t have stayed this way forever, he’d known that, but he still wasn’t ready to give it up.
As he spoke, Scott turned to him, catching his eye and smiled while barely taking a moment to breathe. Wallace swallowed, knowing the look on his face was all too soft but it didn’t matter, Scott wouldn’t have noticed anyway.
That was another thing, Other Scott had proven himself to be far more deluded than even Wallace was. Because nothing would ever happen, addressing the truth wouldn’t achieve a thing. Scott Pilgrim had a girl somewhere and Wallace Wells was his cool gay roommate .
They had plateaued, it wasn’t going to get any better than this.
The subject of conversation being as pointless as it was – it was still about games but Wallace had zoned out a good five minutes ago – and the impending party allowing for a quick disappearing act if the topic became too serious for Wallace, although that wasn’t likely knowing Scott. This was probably the best time to drop the bomb. At a perfectly casual time in a random location as they went from point A to point B together. At the very least he could start dropping hints so that any eventual distance between them would be less unexpected.
With any success, he would have Scott chattering away about something productive, something Wallace could work with, or alternatively it would be an open-and-shut discussion.
One can but dream.
It was time for the talk. The big talk.
Wallace sure knew how to pick his moments. If the universe didn’t punish him for it he would have happily never let it come to this.
“Guy, don’t you think it's strange that we sleep together?” he asked the question easily despite the heavy weight in his chest, much as he disliked being asked difficult questions, he hated having to be the one to ask them even more.
He only stopped in his tracks to glance back when he realised that the other was floundering and sputtering in panic, and stood still on the sidewalk behind.
Well, that was unexpected. He frowned.
“We don’t sleep together.” Scott denied, looking so flustered that Wallace almost wanted to pinch his cheek, his amusement only just overpowering the sinking feeling.
After catching sight of Wallace's raised eyebrow it only took a second for Scott to understand his own misunderstanding, he laughed nervously instead, only slightly embarrassed. With a cough he picked up the pace, falling into step beside Wallace again. “I don’t think it’s strange. Unless you think it’s strange that we sleep together, in one bed. Together, that is.”
They stopped in front of the bus stop. Wallace hummed in acknowledgement, watching as the bus’s headlights appeared down the street. Just in time. Productive had been perhaps a tad ambitious.
God, he was looking forward to the drink he was going to spike heavily once they arrived.
The bus pulled up in front of them and Wallace turned to Scott. “Do we need to reevaluate boundaries, guy?” he asked, taking note of the confused scowl on his friend's face but just then the door opened.
With a shrug, Wallace let the thought stew, turning to make his way onto the bus and assuming that Scott was following along behind him.
Open and shut had been a plea for a miracle.
He really hoped he wasn't prodding at something that shouldn't be messed with because even though he'd always sort of understood where people were coming from when they queried his situation with Scott, and regardless of the fact he always vehemently denied it being a problem, he was not actually that blind.
Scott had taken the window seat on the bus and had been staring outside at the world going by for the entire bus ride. It crossed Wallace’s mind that he would quite like to know what his friend was thinking, but then again, it would almost certainly be disappointing.
So much of his relationship with Scott had been a disappointment but he reasoned that that was the price of caring for someone.
In hindsight he understood his past actions; all those times he turned up in Scott's life without warning to spend time with him in a pretty shitty basement, the drunken nights when he'd asked to sleep over and found himself brushing his friend's hair back away from his face as he puked over a toilet, offering to let him crash for a few nights in his apartment when Scott had wanted to move out but been to poor, letting him stay .
The bus ride was quiet between them and Wallace was grateful for it, he didn't know what it meant that Scott was silent or even whether his silence had anything to do with what Wallace had asked. He didn't know whether that was something he wanted or not, for the seed of doubt – as to the appropriateness of their situation – to be planted in Scott's head. It would probably be easier if the ginger-haired man he'd come to dote on were the one to cut things short and draw the line in their relationship. God knows Wallace had an awful track record of it.
As they approached Julie's house, walking the short distance from the nearest bus stop and up the steps, it became instantly apparent that the music choice was below par but if Wallace was right in any of his assumptions then Stephen Stills had probably been given some degree of control, which boded well for the night's entertainment. The sight of some blond man in the upstairs window blowing his open mouth against the glass inspired much less confidence especially as it was only 9 o’clock. Some people seemingly still hadn’t grown past the habit of racing towards the blackout which marked their finish line.
They paused just as they came to the door, Scott having finally found his words much to his roommate's regret.
“What's the big deal?” Scott asked, tugging on Wallace's sleeve. Wallace looked down, imagining for just a split second that Scott had reached for his hand instead but the puzzled and thoughtful look on his roommate's face reminded him of their prior conversation. “We've always been like this, haven't we?”
He shook his head. “Not always.”
And with that, they were through the door, Scott caught up in the whirlwind that was Stephen Stills with exciting news concerning their band, and Wallace enacted his precalculated trajectory for the nearest bottle of gin and vermouth he could get his hands on.
It wasn't a bad party on the whole, not Wallace's scene but Julie ensured a well-stocked alcohol table and had begrudgingly entrusted him with one of her nice glasses instead of the cups everyone else was left with. He'd called himself her special little man , to which she had scoffed, calling him an entitled bitch but ultimately he found himself in her living room surveying the crowd, martini glass in hand.
He suspected it had less to do with her belief that Wallace was special, and more to do with the number of (actually interesting) people who may or may not have come because Wallace was there. It all came to the same in his mind, a token of his excellence which Julie had recognised. An excellent decision.
“He's a man-child,” Kim said monotonously.
Nodding his head with mock sadness, Wallace sighed sympathetically . “Poor, unfortunate, creature.”
He and Kim had found themselves a quiet corner from which they could judge the rest of the party. It was always a pleasant surprise to be filled on on Kim’s many scathing opinions, especially on their mutual acquaintances.
They were safely watching from a distance as Sex Bob-omb’s lead singer kneeled in front of the near-busted sound system, making grand dismayed gestures while their hostess pointed an accusing finger down at him. How they could hear each other over the music was a mystery to both Kim and Wallace who couldn’t actually hear what was being said between the loving – and supposedly still split up – couple, but that didn’t matter to them much.
It was when Julie jabbed Stephen in the chest, his hand quickly coming up to rub at the sore spot, that Wallace gasped out an excited laugh.
The redhead beside him, sporting a critical gaze, was much less impressed on the other hand. “She's a bit of a bitch.”
“A monstrous bitch,” he agreed. Julie may have given him a glass, rightfully so, but she had a nasty mouth on her.
With a sip from her cup, Kim heaved a heavy sigh, looking around at the boring people around them. “She throws a good party.” to which Wallace grinned.
“Oh Kim, your hatred for these events is a breath of fresh air.”
Frowning, she tightened her crossed arms against her chest, only limited by the cup in her hand. “I was trying to be positive, actually.”
“Then you might want to tone down the nasty glares you're sporting like a champ.” Wallace chuckled.
No, it wasn’t a bad party. It was decent. It was a collection of people who were increasingly drunk and loud, most of whom Wallace didn’t care about and those of them whom he did were a passing interest more than anything. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was here aside from the free alcohol which wasn’t all that free as he’d had to pay for the bus ride, and again on the way home, twice over if he accounted for the money he’d leant Scott already.
Scratch everything, he didn't know why he was there.
“What did you do to Scott?”
That was an age-old question, wasn’t it just.
Humming, Wallace examined the olive in his glass. “It's hard to believe, but he really does have a knack for taking charge of sustaining his own existence, all I do is provide the materials and tools,” Wallace replied, swirling the drink around in his glass as he took note of the few interesting occurrences taking place in the living room around them. “Really, people need to start asking what does he do to himself .”
“I highly doubt that. That still doesn't explain why he's staring at you.” she prodded him in the arm, possibly harder than necessary, prompting him to look away from Julie's impressive glower to the doorway where Scott was standing stock still and absolutely oblivious to the girl trying to push past him without spilling her drink.
Their eyes locked. Wallace let out a sigh at the thoughtful look on his friend’s face. Always a bad sign.
“Ah. That,” he muttered.
Without saying anything more to Kim he walked over to his roommate who had apparently found himself a gin and tonic, Wallace raised his eyebrows at that but didn’t say a word. Instead, he hooked an arm around Scott's shoulders, directing them out of the way.
Taking a well-needed sip, “How's it going, guy? Enjoying the party?” Wallace asked, an air of casualness to him that he hoped would direct this conversation down a lighter road. He didn’t have much hope judging by the look on Scott’s face and his drink of choice.
Scott had turned his head to stare at his own shoulder where Wallace’s hand rested, fingers curled comfortably the way they always did. The black-haired man’s palms felt sweaty, the odd tension only alleviated when Scott finally looked back at him, furrowed brows and rosy cheeks from the drink. He was so pretty like this.
“I didn't think boundaries were your thing,” Scott murmured quietly, his words pointed.
Wallace drank some more to hide his concerned anticipation. “Build on that for me, Scott.”
Giving Scott Pilgrim the stage was rarely a wise thing to do, because then he was off, blurting out things that had clearly been going around in his head since Wallace had posed the poorly timed question on the subject of boundaries.
“I don’t get why us sharing a mattress is weird all of a sudden. Is it because I’m seeing someone now? Because you have sex with guys who’re in relationships all the time. Where are the boundaries in that.” This must have been karma because just as Julie had done earlier, Scott jabbed a finger into Wallace’s shoulder with no real force behind but even so it caused the pair of them to wobble where they were still connected. “It's double standards .”
There it was.
Always .
“Yes, well, we're not having sex are we.” Wallace shrugged, trying to disguise the lack of confidence he had in his own words as he detangled himself from Scott's hold which had become unexpectedly clingy during that exchange. He walked away with some excuse about needing a top-up which at the time he didn't.
As soon as he'd stepped away he downed his glass to release some of the tension and his feelings of inadequacy.
What on earth was that comeback. That had been a stupid point to make, it hadn't made sense in the slightest but he'd needed to put an end to that discussion before it went anywhere more bothersome.
This whole conversation was too disjointed for him to keep track of.
Why did he say anything. He’d always known it would be a bad thing to say anything. Other Scott didn’t know shit.
He was surprised, if not unnerved, by the extent to which Scott had taken his question to heart and was continuing to think it over all through the night. The prospect of him having such strong feelings on the subject had never struck Wallace as possible and for that very reason everything about this discussion that they seemed to be having on and off, was causing him to feel distinctly uneasy. It was as though the universe was throwing a constant curveball his way in an attempt to rattle him.
Nothing another martini-esk drink couldn't fix.
When he ran into young Neil, he was drinking beer with a straw and playing on his DS. Many critical and mocking comments sprang to mind because honestly, what the hell, but as Wallace glanced over at what the twenty-year-old was playing it was unexpectedly mesmerising watching the younger man press buttons and move his character around, jumping and rolling and all that fun stuff. He'd spent too much time with Scott, it was over. Regardless of the unsuitable context and Neil's state of tipsiness, he was surprisingly good.
Looking away from the screen Wallace realised what he was doing. He was at a party watching someone play a video game instead of making eyes at some guy who'd caught his fancy. He hadn't even looked, hadn't checked to see if there was anyone there he could possibly be interested in hooking up with which there usually was. Tonight his head just wasn't right. With that he stepped away from Neil with a shake of his head, he had to have something better to do than this.
This was ridiculous and it was entirely his own fault. He’d gone out of his way to start some stupid conversation with his roommate and now he was spending all his time trying to get out of it, dodging difficult questions and stepping behind people to be out of sight when Scott walked into a room. He was being pathetic and worst of all a hypocrite.
Making his way around the house trying his best to avoid walking into anyone or getting caught in a conversation with some acquaintance who he really wasn't interested in knowing more than that, he found his way upstairs and to the bathroom, ignoring the guy who said “all yours” just as he stepped out and Wallace went in.
He didn't sit on the edge of the bath and didn't splash water in his face, he stared in the mirror, noting the harsh lines that marked his expression which were usually absent due to his usual air of indifference or quiet contentment. As much as he tried to be his usual self tonight it just wasn't happening. Scott was everywhere, around every corner, in real life or even in his mind.
Boundaries.
Why did he bring up the topic of boundaries .
He didn't want things to change. That would require acknowledging why they had to change.
So what if Scott didn't have any concept of personal space and hadn't picked up on the dubious nature of Wallace's attention and never-ending affection towards him. It wasn't a big deal that Wallace was subjecting himself to impending pain, it hadn't been a problem up until now, maybe he'd been ignorant to let himself think it would never be a problem.
Maybe , this was just Wallace's burden to shoulder. The cost of their friendship.
He fixed his hair a little, he may not have been showing it tonight but he did have a modicum of self-respect, even if didn’t feel like it.
Oh, he was sloppy drunk.
This was a long night, he needed to find someone else to keep him company and keep him occupied. He should go back to Kim, she was reliable.
Stepping out of the bathroom, he came face to face with his worst fear at that moment. Scott. A drunk Scott, with glazed eyes and a dangerously near empty glass, not enough left to spill but enough to make a mess with enough dedication.
Fuck.
“Do you not like us sleeping together anymore?” Scott accused him of with far more energy than anyone would have expected of him in his current state of intoxication.
Wallace frowned, glancing at the cup in Scott’s hand, wondering if it was the second or possibly even the third, before looking back up at his friend’s face. “I never said that,” he replied slowly, not sure what to make of the sad eyes and put-upon tone of voice.
How had he managed to set Scott off on him like this. His friend never cared about what others thought especially when it came to his questionable behaviour. Wallace hadn’t expected this to be any different. He’d honestly thought his passing comment about boundaries – which meant more to Wallace than Scott could have known – would just be shrugged off, brushed under the rug and neglected. It would have stung but perhaps it would have been a relief, an excuse to keep things the way they were.
“So we cuddle !” Scott announced loudly, the gin and tonic sloshing dangerously in his cup as he made an exclamative gesture. “I don’t think that's a bad thing?”
Why wasn’t Scott letting this go.
With raised brows, Wallace glanced at the hallway around them to see who was watching, if there was any possible escape and wondered where his drunken roommate was going with this. “Good to know…”
“I like it. That we cuddle, I mean.” and then Scott was staring at him with an intensity Wallace had no idea what to do with. His cheeks felt suspiciously warm. “Right,” he muttered into his glass to hide his agitation.
“Awesome.'' Just like that Scott was grinning and pulling away a little, neither of them had noticed just how he had leant into his spiky-haired roommate's space, lured forward by the alcohol, or maybe other things.
They walked downstairs together, Wallace wanted another drink but given the state Scott was in he thought it best that he steer him clear of the kitchen.
Stephen Stills had his arms wrapped loosely around Julie's waist, hands hooked together behind her back, and she seemed to be allowing it, her own arms looped around his neck. She wasn’t grinning – actually, she wasn’t even smiling, but when did she ever – not the way that Stephen Stills was as he looked down at her ecstatically, thrilled to be off her shit list.
Not the outcome Wallace had been hoping for; he would have liked to see a few unfortunately public talks which let slip an uncomfortable number of personal details. Not that he took joy in other people’s misfortunes but when one was having a dry spell – which he wasn’t, he was in fact, keeping his love life lowkey for a bit in order to refresh himself. Recalibrate. Return to factory settings – there was some comfort or at least entertainment to be found in the ebb and flow of the tide which constituted unstable on-and-off couples.
Stacey was going to be disappointed, they’d been questioning how and why her colleague found herself in a relationship with someone as emotionally needy as Stephen Stills since day one. She hadn’t come to this party because she was not interested in the slightest in going to a get-together consisting of her brother's crowd, and had been relying on Wallace to feed her the gossip. To their disappointment, there was none. How sad.
Unfortunately, the disgustingly sweet imagery brought Wallace’s attention back to the ordeals of his own present-day love affairs. And that reminded him of something which never ceased to disappoint him; straight people existed.
He needed to stop deflecting even if it was his favourite pastime.
He placed a sturdy hand on Scott’s shoulder, ignoring his friend for a second while he took a large swig. He liked to think of it as giving people the time to admire him before they had to resume the appropriate amount of eye contact as dictated by social convention, in actuality he was bracing himself for the barrel of worms he’d been neglecting for too long. “ So , how serious is it with this girl you’re dating?” He levelled his friend with a weighty look, only just tucking the dread away into the back of his mind where it belonged and was refusing to stay.
Initially, the point of Wallace’s question completely failed to get across to Scott. “Not super serious, but you know– Hey, why does that matter?”
And there was that put-out look again.
Sighing, Wallace grabbed Scott by both shoulders because he needed him to really focus on this one. Why were they having this conversation drunk, one of them was an avid drinker who just about managed but the other one was a consistently drunken disaster, gone after two gin and tonics.
But they were doing this, no getting out of it now.
“We’re discussing boundaries, Scott. Is it okay for you to sleep with me if you’re dating someone?”
“We’re not sleeping together–” Scott interjected, sticking up his finger as if to say um, actually .
“ Yes , guy.” Wallace groaned in exasperation, looking skyward and tightening his hold on the other's shoulders. They were forever going in circles over the details of the wording.
Scott was unbothered, carrying on as though he hadn’t been interrupted.
“–and you sleep with a bunch of guys and still sleep with me– sleep in the same bed as me.” he finished, correcting himself quickly. Wallace hated him.
It was really difficult for him to remember in this moment why he was bothering with this conversation, or even this friendship. Other Scott was full of shit ideas, in what world was it a good idea to pin Scott Pilgrim to the wall and discuss physical and emotional boundaries for a relationship that would never happen because their preexisting friendship was already stunted as it is.
He watched, in disbelief as his friend tried pathetically, in his drunken state to encourage the last few non-existent drops of gin out of his cup and into his gaping mouth.
He was attracted to this disaster of a human for fucks suck.
Wallace from a few weeks ago had known this was a pointless endeavour, he didn’t know why he’d ever let himself be convinced otherwise.
“That’s different,” he muttered, releasing his hold on Scott tiredly with a shake of his head.
He was met with a confused look which only served to prove his point, allowing him to double down on the idea that they had no shot at a productive negotiation over the terms of their relationship, platonic as it may be.
Their night ended, or at least the party ended for them when Julie tugged Scott over to Wallace by the collar of his shirt, shoving the inebriated mass towards him with a furious scowl and a “He's drunk and ruining my party, take him home.”
Wallace decided against pointing out that Stephen was arguably as drunk and being uncomfortably clingy towards her in public, not that she'd noticed. With little to no debate, Wallace took them away, first returning the unbroken glass to Julie, and managing to dig out their coats, hats, and scarves from the mound of outerwear that had been dumped over one sad chair.
The walk between the house and the bus stop wasn't too complicated, under the circumstances Scott was quite happy to do as he was told and follow along wherever Wallace directed him so long as he promised it was somewhere warm.
He tried not to think too much about the arm he wrapped around Scott's waist to hold him up the hand that was curled into a fist on Wallace's coat as they slowly but steadily stumbled along.
“You're the best Wal-is, dunno what I’do without you…” Scott slurred, to which Wallace whispered familiar comforting words.
“It's okay, guy.”
Despite it all; the shitty night that the pair of them had had, the uncomfortable knowledge that Scott was certainly only in this state because of Wallace, there was something comforting about the familiarity of drunkenly crawling home while clinging to Scott Pilgrim.
The look the bus driver gave them as they clambered on was not appreciated but soon enough Wallace didn't care enough to feel petty because Scott was resting his head on his shoulder, his fingers toying with the buttons of his black woollen coat. Wallace was too drunk for this.
It was all pointless. He always caved.
Wallace stared up at him from where he was tucked under the blanket on their bed, a petulant frown that Wallace couldn't understand. “What is it, guy?” He whispered, their appartement so silent at the late hour that he didn't want to disturb the quiet.
With a flop of his arms above the covers, Scott gave their bed a single dramatic pat. “Come here.”
Thank God it was dark, Wallace wasn't in a state to hide the scrunch of his face. The universe was taunting him, punishing him with the visuals of Scott asking him to come to bed.
He needed to go to the bathroom and needed to take a minute away from this because he wasn't good at making good decisions. With any luck, Scott would fall asleep during the time he was gone and the decision would have been made for him.
“I’ll be there in a minute, guy. Just go to sleep.” Rubbing his face he turned into the bathroom.
Scott was having none of it, and suddenly he cried out in the darkness, causing Wallace to jump. “I’m not sleeping unless you come cuddle me.”
Wallace took a step back, peering out of the door and over at his drunken friend. He was fucked. He was a pathetic, desperate, awful person and Scott Pilgrim was asking for him to come to bed. There was no world in which he could refuse that.
“Please,” Scott whispered pleadingly.
Those eyes.
He could cry.
Nodding, a lump in his throat, he went through the motions of getting ready for bed as quickly as he could, all while only stabbing himself in the cheek and smearing toothpaste over his face once, as well as narrowly avoiding the doorway as he stumbled back into their room. He carefully clambered over the mound taking up too much room in his bed, fighting off the hands making demanding grabbing gestures until he was properly under the covers, at which point he conceded and let Scott manoeuver his arms until they had twisted around him, snuggling as close to Wallace's chest as he could feasibly manage.
So much for boundaries.
None of this was how he'd pictured his night going but he couldn't say he was surprised. Regardless of everything, of all the things that could have been said or could have happened, the one thing he wasn't surprised by was that despite it all he still let Scott draw him in, twist their legs together and entangle them so intricately that Wallace couldn't remember why he'd ever wanted to avoid this.
Scott Pilgrim was ruining him and Wallace couldn't have made it easier for him.
It was then that Scott turned around in his arms, Wallace sighed quietly letting go a little while they readjusted but as they settled back against each other, unexpectedly, cold fingers hesitantly came to rest on the side of his neck and Wallace stilled, lips parting with surprise.
He was being taunted.
They stayed like that for moments, their quiet breaths suddenly taking up all the space in the room, everything but the lighter-than-light touch of Scott’s thumb brushing almost imperceptibly over his quickening pulse.
His breaths felt clipped. “What are you doing?” he asked, it wasn’t a whisper but he didn’t dare speak it any louder than that.
Their room was dark, so dark that he couldn't see. All he could make out was the blurry silhouette of where Scott lay in front of him, and a little further across the room the red glow of the time on the microwave. He wished he could see the look on his roommate's face so that he had at least some chance of predicting what would come next, the only warning he received was the shuffling of legs and just like that they were so close . Their legs bumped together, fine hairs bristling on his legs as he felt Scott's against his own.
“What if we…” Scott trailed off, his fingers curling experimentally at the edge of his jaw, just below his ear and Wallace had to withhold a shudder.
Swallowing thickly, the feeling was only worse knowing that Scott could feel the physical embodiment of his surprise and uncertainty.
Wallace wasn't a stranger to physical touch, he knew what people wanted from him with just a glance, a coy smile, a curious look, a tentative touch. But this was Scott and he couldn't bring himself to think it possible that Scott could want something from him.
But there they were, those fingers, cold and trailing cautiously over his skin, giving him goosebumps. Wallace never felt goosebumps. He hadn’t for a long time. His lips twitched and even though it was so dark that he knew Scott couldn’t see him, he still kept his smile at bay. Scott may not have known what Wallace was thinking, but Wallace certainly did and being honest with himself was something else entirely. Even so, there was one singular thought pushing itself to the forefront of his mind, encouraged by careful touches, the brushing of legs coated in fine, light hair scratching his own, and most of all the teasing breaths of warm air fanning over his face and so easily within reach.
Scott wanted something from him.
“What do you want, guy?” he whispered, staring ahead despite the fact he couldn't see anything, it didn't matter because he could feel him, hear the little intake of breath and feel it against his mouth.
The gentle rustling of their sheets was his last warning, and before he had time to truly anticipate it, a soft kiss was pressed to the corner of his mouth. Whether he was intentionally off the mark or not didn’t matter because that's all Wallace needed, finding Scott's lips in the dark was the easiest thing he'd ever do. He was rewarded with that little noise, the one that had him gasping for breath and hesitating over every little thing, overwhelmed by the reality that a boy he liked was kissing him and gasping into his mouth with just as much awe. He hadn't kissed anyone like this since he was a teenager.
Jittery fingers explored excitedly, brushing quickly over his jaw before finding their way into the untamed spikes of black hair.
“ Wallace .”
Fuck. That was something he didn’t think he’d ever hear.
His hands wandered, bunching the worn fabric of Scott's T-shirt until he grazed the soft, pliant skin of Scott’s hip, digging his fingers in and pulling him closer. He never allowed himself this, not purposefully. Hands had wound their way under clothes before, wonderfully taunting and always unintentional, but right then he was allowed and goaded on by tugging fingers, wrapping around the back of his neck and drawing him near, spurred on by meek but demanding whines.
He doesn't know what brought this on but he'll take it, he's pathetic, and he'd take it any way he could have it.
Scott wasn’t in bed with him when he woke, he rubbed his hand over the wrinkled sheets, the creases leaving a Scott-shaped space where he used to be and wasn’t anymore. Wallace sighed, that is until his mind caught up and he registered the smell of bacon, the sounds of a spatula scraping against a pan. Looking over to the kitchen, and there Scott was.
He huffed with relief.
Getting up he hobbled over to their kitchen, when Scott didn’t hear him he spoke up. “You're cooking?”
Glancing over his shoulder briefly, “Yeah, I like cooking!” Scott replied, far too energised for a man who undoubtedly had an awful hangover.
He never cooked anymore, he had once been a pretty avid cook, going so far as to mention it as part of the Scott Pilgrim package when they moved in together. But other than anything frozen or ordered in, Wallace wasn’t sure he could pinpoint the last time he’d had something cooked by Scott.
He eased himself back slowly against the counter, keeping his eyes on Scott and his unusually chipper mood, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing, in fact, it was good, but most of the time it meant that he was having ideas which rarely bode well for anyone including Scott.
The bacon sizzled, Scott may have been quietly humming a song but he could just have easily been muttering his own shoddy attempt at beatboxing.
There was something hanging in the air between them; Wallace knew, Scott knew, it was just a case of who cracked first if either of them ever did.
Wallace looked upwards with a sigh. Well, if Scott wasn't going to breach the topic… “Last night–”
“Hey did I tell you, I'm going on another date today!” Scott cut in, calling over his shoulder with so much excitement Wallace was left dumbstruck.
His face soured.
What was he supposed to make of that? What was he supposed to do with that information? Scott couldn't have made it any clearer that the topic of last night was a no-go unless he outright told him to go fuck himself, preferably far from Scott.
Despite his irritation at Scott's turned back, the pang of something clawing at his skin, it remained a blessing. He closed his eyes, composing himself as best as he could while feeling completely off-kilter. Scott Pilgrim was systematically ruining him in every aspect of his life.
He hated these sorts of conversations and found it exhausting to have to shut people down when they got the wrong idea – which was frequently – so arguably Scott had done them a favour, saved them the time and spared them from the brutal aftermath of dismissing words. Scott hadn't said anything, but his stance was clear.
Great, no awkward talk required.
Amazing.
His chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.
“Right.” He coughed out, his throat tight. “The same girl from a few days ago?” he asked, he didn’t want to know but this is what they were doing, right? Being casual, being normal, platonic , pretending that nothing had happened.
“Yeah, it's going great. Really awesome. She's so awesome.” Scott chimed, not turning around.
Okay.
He wasn't surprised. How could he be when he knew Scott the way he did. Years of friendship made him privy to certain things that a passing outsider would ignore, that being said it didn't take a genius to figure out that Scott Pilgrim was the sort of person who rarely had other people's best interests at heart.
Wallace had never been a saint and he'd stopped caring about that a long time ago and for that reason, he'd surrounded himself with people who were just like him. He was many things but he wasn't a hypocrite and if he neglected to have certain standards for himself how could he demand them of other people in his life. He was self-serving and who better to be his roommate than someone who could never judge him for that because he was worse.
Fuck .
Scott Pilgrim.
This wasn't an ordeal that he was proud of, he'd known exactly what the turnout of a situation like this would be. It's why in all their years of knowing each other he'd never tried anything. That ounce of self-respect that he had would have been put to better use if it had extended to the eventuality that Scott would be the one to initiate anything between them, but he had been so sure that that would never be the case.
And yet here they are on a quiet morning in their kitchen, a picture of domesticity with the underlying shame of a mistake made and a rejection received.