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It’s not that Wallace doesn’t want to get married, or he doesn’t think about getting married. Of course he thinks about getting married. That’s what happens when you become an adult; you grow up and you start thinking about getting married. Even if you’re not dating anyone, society still talks about marriage so much, that you basically have to evaluate your relationship with marriage to be like, a healthy adult.
It’s just… Wallace has no idea about Scott’s feelings on marriage, and for him, that’s kind of a big deal.
His friend Analiese got married to her wife just a few weeks ago, and only recently got back from her Honeymoon, practically glowing with how happy she was. When asked about what married life was like, she explained it wasn’t all that different, it’s just the sheer act of getting married that left her buzzing out of her skin.
He and Scott have been together for a few years now, and they’re both edging tentatively into their mid-thirties, and that means-- which means-- what that means is--
“Scott,” Wallace says quietly one late evening, looking at his shoes. There’s some crappy movie playing on their TV, much bigger than the one they used to have now that Scott also has a job and they’ve long since moved out of their shitty hole in the ground. The air feels warm and heavy, like a nice blanket, and he’s sure has nothing to do with the several drinks he’s already had.
Scott makes a curious humming sound, encouraging him to go on without dragging his eyes from the screen. In his lap, a nearly empty bucket of popcorn sits, and technically they’re sharing it, but Wallace doesn’t like popcorn in the same way Scott doesn’t like alcohol, so it’s mostly for Scott’s benefit.
“When in god’s name are you going to, would you--” His throat is dry, despite the drinks. Wallace keeps his eyes fixed on the floor and asks in a small voice, “Would you ever want to-- What’s your thought on the future? And, like, getting married?”
Wallace’s gaze stays down until he feels the presence of eyes on him and he manages to pull his head up to look at Scott. Scott, with eyes huge and his face a little red, staring at Wallace with undiluted shock and confusion.
“The future?” He forces out in a strangled voice. “Like, with jetpacks?”
“And marriage, Scott,” Wallace confirms in a patient tone, only slurring a little bit.
Scott swallows hard one, then twice. “I’m not opposed,” he finally admits, his voice breathy and more than a little panicked. “I’ve never known what I’ve wanted from the future. I’ve always assumed everything was going to happen, and keep happening, and everything would fall right where I wanted it, so I never, I, I didn’t think seriously about it until we, um. Got together. I think I’d like to get married.”
Wallace hums, and then turns his attention back to the television, leaning back against their bed’s pillows with satisfaction. The silence stretches on for some time until Scott clears his throat, and he looks back over at him. He’s very red in the face, but he’s smiling nervously.
"Do you... Do you want to get married? Like, to me?" Scott asks hesitantly, staring at Wallace with this wide, vulnerable gaze. His pupils are dark, but his eyes are sparkling.
Wallace can't help himself. He places a hand on Scott's knee and stares up at him, expression as serious as he's ever been. It's not just the alcohol that speaks for him then, it's this all-encompassing need for Scott to know that at this point, if Wallace didn't want to follow him to the ends of the Earth, then he wasn't Wallace Wells. He tries to think of something to convey this to Scott, but all that he manages is: "Scott Pilgrim, I want to marry you."
Scott watches him, his mouth open in shock just a tad, and Wallace can see the way his breath hitches and the way his eyes drag across Wallace's hand - the way his eyes drag across Wallace's ring finger.
Then, he beams and says in a small, soft voice, "Okay. Alright. We'll make it work."
Wallace gazes up at him, his smile filling out as smooth as butter, and there's just this glow of warmth that creeps throughout his whole chest, that he's pretty sure isn't just the alcohol. "Thanks, Scott," he manages before trying to pull him in for a kiss that mostly lands on his nose. "Thanks."
Now that he's got it off his chest, he can, he can-- he can relax. Wallace can relax. He just needed Scott to know, he just wanted to ask Scott. Wallace yawns and settles back in his own chair, staring up at the ceiling and just smiling. Just sitting there smiling like a giddy fool. He closes his eyes. He feels so warm.
*
Wallace wakes up groaning. Remind him to never drink that much again. He’s not as resilient to hangovers as he used to be. Or, at least not as he used to pretend he was. Wallace can remember plenty of mornings before they were together when Scott would look at him with concern, bringing him whatever food he requested and replacing cups of water whenever the water got lukewarm and stale. If there was one benefit to Scott not having a job, it was that he had always been there to care about him.
He can’t even remember what they talked about last night. He hopes it wasn’t anything bad. All he can remember is this hazy feeling of deep contentment.
“Scott?” He calls into the silent house. Scott’s side of the bed is empty and the bedroom door is open, which bodes well for him still being there. In a few moments, marked only by the harsh pounding of his head, Scott hurries in, carrying a tray of suitably greasy food.
Wallace sits up slowly, feeling oddly pleased when Scott breaks out into a huge grin and sets the tray in front of him. He inspects it carefully, then smiles as he picks a piece of bacon to start chewing on. “You, Scott Pilgrim, are the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Wallace groans out, feeling very happy with the world.
If anything, Scott’s grin just gets bigger before he suggests, “Bet I’ll be a pretty decent house-husband one day, eh?” in a tone light with an inside joke Wallace doesn’t fully understand. Despite this, Wallace softly snorts, and teasingly replies, “Maybe someday,” before continuing with his breakfast.
After a few moments of relative peace and quiet, Scott looks at him, his eyebrows furrowing slightly with confusion. “So, uh, you remember much from last night?” He asks with faux-casualness.
“Uh, no.” Wallace narrows his eyes suspiciously at him. “Why? What did I say? Did I do anything naughty?”
Scott laughs, a little flatly, scrunching the blankets under his hands nervously. “Nothing bad, I promise. A lot of stuff, about a lot of things. It’s, it isn’t important, I promise.” Wallace frowns at that because he knows Scott Pilgrim, and that’s a glaring red flag telling him something’s wrong, if anything.
“Scott,” Wallace says firmly, placing his fork down and gripping Scott’s hand with both of his. Scott, for his part, looks at their touch in mild surprise, before turning his gaze to Wallace. “You don’t have to tell me what it is, but it’s clearly important to you, so I will say this: Whatever I told you last night, I can basically swear that it’s true. Whatever I said, I meant it. I promise. Alright?”
Scott just stares at him for a long time, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. Then, he begins to laugh and laugh and laugh. It’s light and high and it has Wallace laughing too in seconds. After he finishes, Scott beams so wide his eyes crinkle at the edges, and he ducks to give Wallace a firm kiss. Wallace is entirely unopposed, yet can’t help but wince when his headache reminds him of its presence. Scott notices, and snorts, unimpressed. “Alright. Just know--” he pulls away grinning, patting Wallace’s thigh through the blanket, “--that I only like red velvet cakes.”
“Okay?” Wallace replies with confusion, mimicking Scott’s strange smile. Scott just keeps on smiling, heading out the bedroom door, and back into the kitchen.
Huh.
He isn’t entirely sure what that means, Wallace thinks, digging once more into his lovingly made breakfast, but he’s pretty sure it’s a good thing. Pretty sure.