Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wallace Wells had this annoying habit of listening to 2000s white girl pop incredibly loudly at the ass crack of dawn. As much as he denied being a gay stereotype Scott couldn’t help but think this was one of the gayest things he had to deal with whilst living under the same roof as him.

Scott groaned, rolling over and mushing his face between the mattress and his pillow ‘Telephone’ by Lady Gaga still managing to seep through the cotton and disturb his much-desired sleep. On a surface level, Scott didn’t dislike 2000s white girl pop, but you couldn’t blame him for formulating Riahnna’s demise when pitchy vocals awoke him each morning.

Wallace tramped around the house like the asshole wasn’t aware he didn’t live alone. His jingling keys were loudly shoved into his pocket, a fried egg slid off the pan, landing directly into his mouth, and a single laced shoe was shoved onto his left foot as he hopped around the open-planned apartment. For a man who prided himself on his strait-laced composure and well-respected sociability, his bitchy gossiping and snarky attitude being a flare on the side, his lack of dignity behind closed doors continuously jarred Scott. Sometimes Scott felt special in a way, he, unlike any others, got the pleasure of seeing the more private aspects of Wallace Wells. Although, ‘pleasure’ probably wasn’t the word he’d use at the moment.

“Turn it dowwnnnn,” Scott groaned louder, curling into a tense ball, his thinking being if he tightened every muscle in his body, he’d be able to turn the music off with just his mind.

“Sorry, what was that?!” Wallace called back, turning the music up even louder. Scott sat straight up, eyes locking with Wallace’s mirth-filled ones. Aiming directly for the bridge of Wallace’s nose Scott hurled his pillow at him. Dodging skillfully, giggling at Scott’s annoyance, Wallace backed up, his second shoe finally being shoved onto his other foot, and opened the front door, a cold gust of wind smacking Scott in the face.

“Sweet dreams sleeping beauty!” Wallace chuckled exiting into the cold, white, hellscape beyond their doorframe. The door swung shut with a bang behind him. Lady Gaga continued to play loudly from the living room speakers, the fucker hadn’t bothered to turn the music off before he left.

It didn’t take long for Scott to pathetically crawl from his warm cocoon to turn the music off. Considering the time, the fact he had been kept up by the music and then the consequential abandonment of the bed Scott didn’t see much point in returning, his mind was finally awake and begging for some food. With each step making it feel like his feet were made of lead, Scott dragged himself to the fridge in hopes of finding something premade he could scarf down. Despite the unwelcome morning, the gods were, apparently, apologetic for it as when Scott opened the fridge door, he was immediately met with a glass Tupperware container with a bright yellow post-it note stuck to the front signed “NOT FOR SCOTT PILGRIM’S UNGRATEFUL ASS - Love Wallace.”

Tearing off the note and discarding it on the floor Scott lifted the lid to reveal a delicious-looking potato salad. Scott didn’t remember Wallace making a potato salad so he must have made it for something specifically in mind. Guilt sparked dully in the back of Scott’s mind as he went searching for a clean fork. Fortunately enough for Scott, his guilt was quickly squashed as he remembered almost every morning since he had started living with Wallace a few years ago. ‘Heavy Metal Lover’ played softly on a loop in his mind with each scoop of the spiteful potato salad meal.

Being “in between jobs” is a bland and deceiving way to say; “my partner provides for me and I’m too lonely and selfish to help.” Scott was aware that he and Wallace were not, in fact, together, yet as far as living situations go, they may as well be. Scott spent most of his days playing video games, watching re-runs of Seinfeld or practicing new music with his (“devastatingly horrid,” as Wallace liked to put it) band Sex Bob-Omb. This particular day found Scott trying (and failing) to handstand in the middle of the apartment, various items already lying, scattered on the floor after being kicked over by Scott’s flailing body as he fell each time. Just as he started to internally rejoice that he was still standing after a solid three seconds, the front door burst open, banging loudly on the drywall, shocking Scott and causing him to hit the ground harder than the previous forty-seven times. Rubbing his head and looking up groggily Scott found two very grumpy Wallaces’ looking down at him. After squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head before attempting to look again, Scott’s two Wallaces’ morphed into one, one very angry one, whom Scott wished was anywhere but in front of him in fear of what was going to happen next.

“Um…” Scott started nervously wracking his brain for what he could have possibly done to cause the look that was currently plastered over Wallace’s face. He could think of many, as it turned out, but none that seemed important enough for Wallace to have left work early instead of simply calling him. “Welcome home?” Scott settled on, which, in retrospect wasn’t the most tactful of greetings considering the circumstances but he was at a complete loss.

“Welcome home?” Wallace growled, his eyebrows furrowing even further, if that was possible, “Welcome home?” Scott gulped and shut his eyes in anticipation. “Julie is hosting a party right this second, a party, which I might add, that I was invited to!” Scott blinked, huh?

Wallace pushed past Scott and rummaged through his drawers pulling out a nice sweater and button-up combo, discarding his work polo on the floor in a heap. “You are so fucking lucky Julie realised I hadn’t RSVP’d and asked me what the deal was,” He grabbed his old clothes and dropped them in the nearby hamper, he then switched his shoes to a more casual pair of low-cut, black and white lace-ups. Mussing up his hair into a stylish mess of elegant dark curls peaking upwards Wallace turned and raised a single eyebrow at Scott who still sat on his knees lamely on the floor, his eyes dutifully following Wallace. Sighing, Wallace bent down, inspecting the contents of their trashcan before sticking in his hand and raising it triumphantly, a rectangular piece of paper tucked between his fingers. When Scott didn’t make any expression or sound of recognition Wallace sighed once again and started reading the contents of the envelope.

“You are (in)formally invited to Julie Power’s (Preemptive) Birthday Extravaganza, be there or may your social life be ruined from this moment forth. Dress Code: Casual Chic, Date & Time: December 12th 6 pm start, RSVP or no door entrance. This invitation is only for the eyes of Wallace Wells and…” Wallace trailed off, staring down at the paper in confusion.

“No way,” Scott said, finally off the floor, making his way towards Wallace, snatching the paper out of his hands. “No way,” He repeated, his face mimicking Wallace’s. They both stood in silence for a couple of seconds before they both decided to break it simultaneously.

“Julie Powers invited you!?”

“Julie Powers invited me!”

“Holy shit,” Scott said, a grin slowly spreading across his face. Although not a huge party fan Scott wasn’t going to miss out on an opportunity like this. Wallace always bragged about his official invites to Julie’s parties which he always seemed to enjoy more than any of the many other parties and clubs he’d attend. And although Scott had snuck in once before, it didn’t last long after Julie had spotted him. The evening had ended with him being dragged out and dumped in the snow outside with a drunk Wallace pissing himself with laughter behind him.

“This can’t be right…” Wallace wasn’t a heartless man, Scott knew that he wasn’t upset that he had been invited to a party, he was upset that he lost bragging rights to something he had been holding over Scott’s head for years. After a couple more seconds of silence, Wallace straightened himself and grabbed his respectable yet casual “going out” jacket. He shucked it on in one smooth movement, checked the cuffs and popped the collar. “Well?” He asked, glancing briefly over to Scott, “Are you coming?”

As if static had run through his body Scott jerked himself over to the coat rack grabbing the singular one that belonged to him, “Of course I am!” Before he could take another step, a hand met his chest, and he looked down in confusion.

“You are not going to a Powers party like that, you read the dress code,” Scott froze, he didn’t quite know what to do as he didn’t own many other clothes apart from the ones he was wearing and the dirty pile on the floor three feet away from them. Wallace followed Scott’s gaze to the pile of dirty clothes and then back to Scott. Rolling his eyes Wallace stepped away and towards his dresser once again. After a little under a minute of rummaging Wallace pulled out a comfortably oversized forest green sweater Scott wasn’t sure he had seen before. “Put this on at the least,” Complying, Scott quickly stripped off his jacket and shirt, so he was just in his undershirt. He pulled on the sweater and paired it with his jacket, causing Wallace to glance upwards as if he was silently praying to a god he didn’t believe in for his sanity.

“How do I look?” Scott asked, striking a stupid pose, hands in the air and legs in a partial lunge.

“Just divine,” Wallace replied flatly already opening the door, barely sparing Scott a glance. “Would you hurry up?”

Chapter Text

The cold wind nipped at Scott’s ears and fingers, he tucked his chin to his chest and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, leaning closer to Wallace, mooching off his body heat. Wallace glanced at him, unimpressed, and pressed their shoulders together.
The distant sound of obnoxiously loud house music began to thrum through the air, the sounds of drunk laughter rivalling the volume. Scott started to feel his heart hammering against his ribcage in nervous anticipation, he swallowed loudly causing Wallace to glance at him once again. It had been a silent walk to the party thus far, and by silent please understand that meant Wallace was silent. Scott had spent the majority of the walk rambling about the newest song Sex Bob-Omb was working on, only shutting his mouth when the music had become audible. His earlier, gleeful, participation became an old memory, and doubt about attending such a large function began to sink in.

“Did you eat at all today?” Wallace asked, his tone flat but concern flickered behind his eyes, “You shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach.”

Scott cast a guilty look downwards, “I ate a little, yeah.” That morning’s potato salad sat heavy in his stomach, a shameful reminder of his disrespectful treatment towards Wallace’s note.

Wallace nodded contentedly, “Good, those carbs will help make sure your stomach doesn’t turn in on itself.” Scott blinked at him slowly, the spite meal starting to churn in his stomach. Stealing food from Wallace never usually weighed on him too heavily. This time however, Wallace had decided to not even accuse him of eating his food. Who was this alien walking around in Wallace Well’s body? 

Shivering, a dusting of small snowflakes coating his hair, Wallace sped up slightly, Scott having to jog a little to keep in pace. Wallace chuckled at Scott’s little run and ruffled his hair aggressively, Scott reacting too late to dodge out of the way.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Mr Wells, and here I was thinking you were too good for my parties anymore,” A shrill voice, deepening with classy vocal fry called out to them from the, now, very close house. Julie Powers leant against her doorframe, her wire glasses low on her nose, her long brown hair in an even lower ponytail.

“It’s called being fashionably late darl,” Wallace called back. “Saving the best for last and all,” Wallace flourished his hand, gesturing to his entire body, and took a deep bow. Scott chuckled softly at Wallace’s antics earning him an appreciative smirk. “And of course,” He continued, slinging his arm around Scott’s shoulders, dragging him close, “The man of the hour himself, Scott Pilgrim!” Wallace called out his name as if he was a celebrity to genuinely care about in any capacity.

Unexpectedly, Julie cracked a small smile, her focus shifting from Wallace to Scott, her gaze concerningly warm, her words, however, as in character as always, “Whatever, get inside before your dicks freeze off.”

“Yes ma’am!” Wallace rubbed his hands together and followed Julie gratefully into the deafening house of music and unidentifiable yelling. 

The moment his foot stepped over the threshold Scott could feel the music that was playing vibrate inside of his body. It was as if the music had been pulled into a syringe and injected directly into his bloodstream. His heartbeat may as well have not been beating at all as all he could feel was the bass of the songs making his eyeballs quiver in their sockets. Beside him Wallace cheered in excitement, there was little in life Wallace enjoyed more than excessive nightlife.

Scott didn’t quite know how he ended up there, but he found himself drinking absent-mindedly from a red solo cup, his back pressed against Julie’s stairwell. It had only been a couple of minutes, but he couldn’t yet figure out what made Julie’s parties so special, so far it felt like every other party he had been to. (Scott was aware, however, that his gauge of house parties was very limited as it came as no shock to anyone whatsoever that he hadn’t been to many over his lifetime.)

“Isn’t this great!?” Scott was a mixture of concerned and impressed with how quickly Wallace had become intoxicated. Wallace hit the stairs beside Scott heavily, a blissed-out grin dancing across his face, “Why aren’t you drinking anything? I don’t know if you missed the memo Pilgrim but that’s literally the entire point of parties.” Scott lifted his cup, indicating that he was, in fact, drinking. This response, however, did nothing to placate Wallace. “You’re not drinking fast enough,” Pushing himself off of the wall Wallace offered his hand to Scott, “C’mon, let's remedy that.” Scott sighed but still reached out and let Wallace grip his hand, beginning to weave him through the crowds of people.

Eventually, they reached the equally crowded kitchen. Empty bottles of fireball and vodka lay scattered across the countertop, they walked over crushed beer cans as if they were dead leaves in autumn. Wallace let go of Scott’s hand to rummage around in the fridge producing multiple different soft drink bottles. “What’s the vibe for tonight hotstuff?” Wallace waggled his eyebrows and turned each bottle, so the labels were facing Scott. “We have sweet,” He pushed forward the sparkling raspberry, “Ol’ reliable.” The half-empty bottle of Coke was the next one to be spun around dramatically, “Or…” Wallace hesitated, realising the other two bottles of soft drink he had grabbed were also sparkling raspberry, “Or rawdog it.” He settled on, reaching into a nearby cabinet and revealing two shot glasses pinched between his fingers. Scott eyed each option nervously, having no idea what the best choice would be, they all silently screamed at him that whatever he chose was going to lead to bad decisions later in the night.

“Ah, sweet? I guess?” Wallace grinned tipping out whatever concoction was left at the bottom of Scott’s cup and pouring in almost equal amounts of vodka and sparkling raspberry. Whatever Scott was about to taste it wasn’t going to taste good. Deciding Wallace wasn’t going to leave him alone until he got sufficiently buzzed Scott shrugged and gulped down the drink. He choked slightly halfway through but soldiered forth, it was sweet but the obscene amount of alcohol he had been provided with was almost too overwhelming. Scott slammed the cup down once he was finished and wiped the back of his mouth with his sleeve.

“Jesus guy, I wasn’t asking you to chug it,” Wallace said despite the proud grin creeping over his face. Scott blushed slightly. “It’s cool dude, if we’re drinking like that we may as well skip the pleasantries and go straight for these,” Wallace slid the shot glasses forward filling them each to the brim with vodka. “Don’t worry though,” Wallace laughed at the look that must have been on Scott’s face, “We’ll use chasers to help.” Slightly comforted by the idea Scott nodded.

“Whatever you say bossman,” Gingerly taking the shot glass in hand Scott took a deep breath before speedily swallowing it, the chaser following quickly after. Despite the horrid initial taste, he took it well, recovering smoothly. Unfortunately, Wallace wasn’t as lucky, coughing as he swallowed his chaser making him stick his head in the sink and gag. Scott wrinkled his nose at the sound, meditating so he wouldn’t experience any sympathy nausea. After he recovered, all of his insides staying inside, Wallace peaked over the rim of the basin, eyes narrowed.

“Not a word you asshole,” Scott raised his hands in defence, poking his tongue out at him. The world had started to calm around him, everyone else fading into a blur, the only things in focus being the shot glass in his hand and the man in front of him already pouring them another round of drinks.

Three more shots in and Scott was completely on the piss. The world spun incessantly, like a possessed merry-go-round. The music ran through his veins, less uncomfortable than it was previously and more heavenly, the music had become one with him like an invisible limb he never knew he had.

“Wallyyy, let me, lem…lemme tell you something,” Scott giggled, resting his chin on the counter, his feet tucked around the barstool he leaned off of. “I…dude…do those lights look like tits?” Wallace followed Scott’s pointing finger and gasped.

“Holy shit dude you’re so right, fuckin’ tit lights!” They both paused for a second before falling into fits of laughter, Wallace gripping the bar like it was his only lifeline. After the laughter died down Wallace steadied himself, looking at Scott, snorting at him slightly before his eyes drifted past Scott’s shoulder and towards the crowd of people that mingled behind him. “Damn, I’m going to have to leave you for now my good sir,” Wallace slurred, clapping Scott on the back. “I’ve just spotted tonight’s meal, I wish you luck on the same,” Saluting him Wallace left the kitchen and inserted himself into the crowd, his eyes locked onto a man with dark curly hair and thick-framed glasses. Scott turned back to the counter, slightly dejected before he felt a hand on the shoulder that still buzzed from Wallace’s touch.

“Hey Pilgrim, already ditched you for a cute piece of ass did he?” A familiar voice asked, not entirely comforting but not intentionally mean-spirited.

“Yeah, I mean, I’m used to it,” Scott lifted one shoulder and dropped it, a half-hearted attempt at a shrug. The earlier enjoyment from goofing off with Wallace was already being replaced with a consuming loneliness that was beginning to grow in size from the pit of his stomach. “Anyway, what’s up Julie?”

Julie removed her hand from his shoulder and straightened her already perfectly straight glasses, “If you give me a swig of that I might end up telling you.” Intrigued Scott slid over the concerningly empty bottle of vodka. Julie grimaced and shook her head, “If I wanted to kill myself tonight there are easier ways to do so, I meant the fireball.” Scott nodded as if he understood a single word that was leaving her mouth, not moving to attend to her request at all. “Oh for god's sake,” Julie reached past Scott to snag a bottle of uncracked Fireball on the other side of the counter, her lacy singlet brushed over Scott’s nose, he noted her rather floral and overpowering perfume that made his eyes water.

“Umm, nice perfume?” Scott didn’t mean to pose it as a question, he also didn’t know if he meant it. Luckily for him, however, Julie didn’t seem to notice the accidental question mark. Putting the bottle down after her swig she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and looked away.

“Hey…thanks Pilgrim,” She shot him a strange, hooded look before taking her second swig.

“Soooo,” Scott twiddled his thumbs, his anxiety from before rearing its unwanted head again. “What is up?”

Julie looked down at the bottle in her hand and then back up at Scott. After seemingly reaching an internal conclusion Julie turned her back to Scott, calling over her shoulder, “Follow me.”

Scott finished off the rest of his drink then loyally followed behind Julie, not before looking over at Wallace once more, to find him lip-locked with the bespectacled man that had caught his attention. Ignoring the ugly flip in his stomach Scott pushed back through the hoards of tightly pressed, swaying bodies, Julie stoically leading the way.

Upstairs wasn’t much better in terms of crowding, although the crowds upstairs were comprised of smaller groups huddled in corners sharing stories or drugs of some kind or another. In Scott’s increasingly inebriated mind, it finally settled in how truly odd it was Julie not only had invited him to her birthday party but was leading him away to, presumably, somewhere secluded. Then again, being inebriated made it a lot easier to just not care and allow himself to be dragged along for the ride.

They stopped outside of a dark wooden door labelled “JULIE’S ROOM, STAY OUT OR REAP THE CONSEQUENCES” Julie twisted the doorknob and ushered Scott inside. Inside was blissfully quiet, well, quiet in comparison to the commotion of the rest of the house. Julie closed the door behind them and sat stiffly on the edge of her bed, her eyes never leaving Scott, even when she took another swig of the bottle still gripped in her hand. Scott didn’t know how she could handle straight liquor like that, but it was clear she had something on her mind.

Awkwardly standing beside her vanity Scott drummed his fingers on the corner, determined to focus on anything other than Julie. 

The silence hung heavy between them.

“Nice party-” Scott began, but before he could complete the sentence he hadn’t even scripted in his head yet, Julie cut him off.

“Stephen left me,” This was not new information to Scott. Stephen had in fact left Julie many months ago, later figuring out that he was in fact gay, the running joke becoming that Julie had turned him as such. Of course, Scott knew Stephen had left her, he was in his band for god’s sake. Instead of saying any of this (especially the bit where Julie had turned Stephen gay) Scott bit his tongue and waited for whatever Julie planned on saying next. “After which I started thinking…reminiscing,” If someone put a gun to Scott’s head and asked why on earth Julie was telling him this, he’d pull the trigger himself. Julie balanced the bottle of whiskey on her knee and spun it slowly, “I don’t like…like people easily or often.” She finally looked away from him, choosing instead to focus on her windowsill. Scott wished he was following what Julie was saying to him but a song he heard every damn morning had started playing behind the door. He was plagued with picturing the dumb little dance Wallace would do at the chorus of the song, the memory playing in his head made him crack a small, soft, smile, after all, he didn’t hate the music Wallace played.

“…god say something Pilgrim,” Julie’s voice drifted back into focus, Scott got the horrible feeling he had just missed some important information that he didn’t quite know how to respond to.

“I’m sorry could you, um, repeat that?” Julie’s face darkened, “Please?” Scott added for good measure, not that it would do him any good.

“Jesus, why you of all people?” Julie got up from her bed and stalked towards Scott, jabbing an accusatory finger to his chest, “I like you for some stupid, stupid, reason. More exactly I did like you, in university. Since Stephen left me, I thought about my old feelings for you and they—"She waved her hand around vaguely – “Resurfaced, one might say…” She bit her lip and looked down at her shuffling feet, her glasses sliding forward on her nose slightly. Scott had never seen the Julie Powers in such a vulnerable state.

“Resurfaced?” Julie had liked him before? In uni? This was news to Scott and surely everyone else who may find out. He didn’t quite know how he was meant to be handling the situation before him, he hadn’t thought of Julie romantically or otherwise previously. She was just naturally out of his league in every respect, what was he supposed to think?

“Jesus fuck, clean out your ears Pilgrim!” Julie snapped, a noncorresponding blush rising on her cheeks, “Do you really need me to repeat myself?” Truth be told Scott did not need Julie to repeat herself, he actually needed to process the information he had just heard. He began silently wishing Wallace would materialise and save him from this increasingly stressful conversation.

“Can I, I just, can I think about this for a bit?” Scott squeezed his eyes shut, tensed for the expected slap coming his way, why did he keep thinking people were gonna hit him today? When it never came Scott risked peeking through his eyelashes, the image he was presented with was, once again, something he did not expect. Julie was smiling, warmly, the aforementioned blush still high on her cheeks.

“Not just jumping into things headfirst?” She stepped back from him, slapping him playfully on the shoulder, who in the world was this? “You’re showing a maturity I didn’t expect from you Pilgrim, sure, think it over, but be aware,” Her gaze hardened, if only for a moment. “I will not wait for you,” Scott nodded fervently, realising his opportunity for escape was drawing near. Before any more words could be exchanged between the two the door opened roughly, a very intoxicated Wallace Wells stumbling in, his coordination leading him to follow the direction of the swinging door sending him flying into the room.

“He’s an innocent!” Wallace yelled, still finding his footing on the plush carpet, “Take me instead! It’s not his fault he’s an idiot!” Scott and Julie stared at him in shocked confusion.

“I’m not killing your boyfriend, Wells,” Julie said scathingly, crossing her arms. “Didn’t you read the sign on the door?” Wallace, with his feet finally planted firmly on the floor looked at the both of them, taking in the lack of a crime scene.

“In my defence, I’m not really in the headspace to read at the moment and I did hear that you locked Scott in a room with you, what was I supposed to do? Wait around as you murdered the only man who hasn’t gotten sick of my shit?” Scott’s heart warmed at the worry Wallace expressed for his safety and the drunk appreciation of his friendship. “If anyone gets the pleasure of taking that fucker out it's gonna be me,” Wallace grumbled pointing a thumb at himself. Scott’s heart cooled a little. (But, he was still overwhelmed with gratitude that Wallace had found, and saved him.)

“Cool your jets, we were just talking,” Scott squeezed past Julie towards Wallace who immediately slung his arm around his neck, his hand gripping his shoulder.

“And we just finished, let's go get some more drinks,” Scott interjected, an overenthusiastic smile hopefully selling his calmness and willingness to party without offending Julie. “I’ll see you later Julie!” Scott then led a rambling Wallace out of the room and back into the throng of bodies.

“Where did your guy go?” Scott had thought he had sobered up significantly during his conversation with Julie, yet, as he maneuvered around the house, he quickly discovered that was not the case.

“Guy? What guy? You’re my guy,” Wallace giggled and threw himself against Scott clearly harder than the both of them were expecting. Scott hit the wall in a sluggish movement, the alcohol flooding his system fortunately preventing him from feeling the likely flash of pain along his arm.

“The guy—” Scott flipped himself over so his back was to the wall, Wallace slumped against his chest, arms still around Scott’s neck – “That you were lip-locked with like five minutes ago,” Wallace mumbled something inaudible against him. Scott leaned his head back, looking up at the fairy lights that adorned the ceiling, “What was that?” Disgruntled, Wallace placed a hand against the wall to momentarily lift himself from Scott’s chest.

“I lost you,” Wallace fell back against Scott heavily, Scott couldn’t care less.

His heart had calmed back down to a steady beat, the anxiety of Julie’s room having been practically forgotten. Leaning against the oiled wooden boards, music vibrating throughout his body, multicoloured strings of light lighting up the darkness behind his eyelids, the world swaying evenly like waves softly hitting the hull of an anchored boat and Wallace (who was still mumbling to himself) pressed up against his shirt, Scott felt perfectly content.

Maybe he had undersold how much he was enjoying a Julie Power’s party.

Chapter Text

Reality flickered.

Life was flickering. Only sometimes was it stable long enough for Scott to take in what he was seeing. The right side of his body was warm, deliciously so, not because he was warm but because it was Wallace who was leaning off him. Drunk Scott loved watching Wallace. Wallace laughed loudly, his cheeks pink from the cold, throwing his head back, black hair meeting white snowfall. Scott smiled at him lazily, his eyes so hooded he may as well have been walking with them closed.

“What’s that look for?” Scott’s eyes opened a little wider.

“What look?”

“That one!” Wallace giggled swinging into Scott, poking his cheek, “That one rigggghhhtt there.” Scott didn’t know how to respond, so he didn’t. He continued to smile, his eyes locking with Wallace’s. “Ah, don’t do that,” Wallace muttered, his hand falling from Scott’s face, his smile following suit.

“Do what?” Scott asked again, Wallace shook his head, untangling their limbs and pulling away slightly.

“Don’t bother your pretty little head about it,” Wallace responded, a stiff smile having replaced his previous gleeful one. Scott mourned its absence.

Reality flickered out.

The next time reality flickered back in Scott found himself spinning around a streetlamp screaming the lyrics to a song he couldn’t quite place. He had no idea where the knowledge of these lyrics came from, but Wallace was laughing and singing along so it didn’t matter.

“S-O-S PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME!” Scott screamed into the night, his (read: Wallace’s) glove sticking slightly to the pole he swung around.

“IT’S NOT HEALTHY FOR ME TO FEEL THIS- Y-O-U ARE MAKING THIS HARD!” Wallace’s vocals were no better than Scott’s, his passion, however, was palpable.

Forgetting the next line Scott gave up, instead yelling; “YOU’RE A HORRIBLE SINGER!” Wallace laughed some more, his knees buckling beneath him making him fall into a slumped-over heap in the snow. He sat in a trembling pile of laughter before he leant back, falling onto the ground. His lungs continued to heave.

Once Wallace stopped laughing, he glared up at Scott in mock anger, “YOU’RE WORSE ASSHOLE!” His voice was slightly strained from yelling while lying down. Scott placed a hand on his chest in an attempt to look as offended as he could muster.

“I THINK YOU’D FIND YOU’RE MISTAKEN MY DEAR FELLOW!” Before Scott could gloat much more a soft, cold, wet, sensation slammed into his cheek. The culprit beneath him started guffawing once again. “Oh, you fucking dick!”

“That’s what I do,” Wallace could barely get his next words out through fits of laughter, “Fuck dicks.”

Scott threw a well-aimed snowball at his face.

The next time reality flickered back in warm slats of morning light fell across Scott’s face. Scott groaned, covering his eyes with his hand, shielding himself from the bright light. His brain pounded against his skull remorselessly. His pillow was oddly wet, and so were his clothes, although he didn’t quite recall why. A stray arm hit him, specifically his nose, which flared up in pain.

“Turn it off,” Wallace muttered into his, equally wet, pillow next to Scott.

“Turn what off?” Scott responded, his tongue barely agreeing to cooperate. His mouth tasted like a dry, burnt, carpet that had been used to put out cigarette butts.

Wallace muttered some other words, but all Scott could grasp was, “…fucking…light…off.”

“The light?” Scott slid his hand down from his face back to the bed, slipping it under his head, “That’s the sun dude, I can’t turn it off…”

“What the fuuuuck?” Wallace rolled off the mattress and hit the floor, “Owwwwwww.” Most people would usually help a friend who had just fallen out of bed, but, in this scenario, the “bed” was a mere 30cm off the ground, and this was a part of Wallace’s (weekend) morning routine.

Sliding the sheet up and over his head Scott star fished out on the now empty bed. The sounds of Wallace pottering around the kitchen and living room were what Scott recognised as the calm before the storm. Rihanna soon took over the apartment like she owned the place. This morning, however, she was turned down to a respectable level, indicating that Wallace’s head was doing him as little favours as Scott’s was doing him. In a desperate attempt to escape his headache and Rihanna's deafening vocals, Scott coaxed himself back to sleep.

Scott faded back into consciousness at the smell of eggs, bacon and coffee. Rolling out of bed with a lack of grace that rivalled Wallace, he made his way to the kitchen, his legs heavy with lethargy.

As he took his seat at the counter Wallace slid a plate adorned with copious amounts of both eggs and bacon his way. A few seconds later a steaming cup of coffee followed. Scott grunted a ‘thanks’ and began scarfing down his food, his plate licked clean in a matter of minutes. Wallace sat beside him, eating at a more leisurely pace, a newspaper in hand as he ate. Scott noted a sheet of Nurofen beside Wallace’s mug, his head throbbed painfully.

“Could I –” Each word felt like it had to be dragged out of him, stars popping up at the corners of his vision. Opting instead to point 
Scott did just that. Wallace looked up from his newspaper, raised an eyebrow and looked back down.

“Get your own,” Scott grinned and snatched the sheet away, pushing two out of the foil and sliding it back.

“Thank youuuu,” Wallace rolled his eyes.

“Holy shit,” fifteen, or so, minutes had passed since Scott took the painkillers and parts of last night had started to come back to him in flashes. “Julie Powers has a crush on me…”

“Who in the world says ‘crush’ these days, what are you, in middle school—” Wallace hesitated, lowering his paper, meeting Scott’s eyes for the first time that morning. “Excuse me?”

“Julie Powers—”

“No, I heard you, I just,” Wallace paused before a giggle began to bubble up in his throat. “It’s too early to be funny, guy, but that was a good one I’ll give you that.”

Scott frowned, “I wasn’t joking…” That made Wallace’s giggle die down, his own frown setting in.

“Well then,” he said, returning to his newspaper. “You were even more plastered than I had thought.”

“I was not!” Scott started, feeling indignant. Why did Wallace doubt this? Was it really that odd for someone to have a crush on him? To be fair, however, it wasn’t like he quite believed it himself. Actually, maybe Wallace was right…after all, he was very intoxicated, there was a lot of noise. Maybe he had misheard her? He couldn’t even really remember exactly what she had said to him if he was being honest.

“Clearly you were as there is no universe where Julie Powers would have a crush on you.” Divine intervention wasn’t something Scott believed in, although sometimes the universe made it hard not to.

Scott’s phone let out a chime, the screen lighting up, both he and Wallace stared at it as if it were about to explode. Treating it as such Scott delicately picked it up opening the notification.

Are you free today for coffee?

The text burned itself into Scott’s brain, he refused to blink, checking twice, three times, four, that the text was, in fact, from the contact labelled ‘Julie P.’

“Well fuck me I guess,” Wallace’s voice cut through Scott’s mind, pulling him back to earth (momentarily). Scott watched as Wallace folded his newspaper, long fingers spreading across the paper, sending creases shooting out from his fingertips. Placing the paper on the table he then grabbed his mug of coffee, those same delicate fingers wrapping around the ceramic. He lifted it to his lips and blew lightly at the rising steam before taking a long sip, eyes closed, lashes fanned out against his pale skin. Scott’s frown deepened; it wasn’t particularly comforting rooming with such an attractive friend. He could only imagine how crusty he must look next to Wallace. Scott looked down taking in his stained Sonic shirt and checkered linen pants that were tearing at the knees. His skin was patchy in colour, his fingers knobbly and bent as if he had them run over by a car when he was a kid. Scott didn’t want to look like Wallace, but he knew that he was an embarrassment next to him, Wallace was just so…so something. How could he compare? “Guy?”

“Wha- huh, sorry?”

“What are you going to say to her?”

“To who?”

Wallace rolled his eyes, can eyes build muscles over time? Because surely, he must have the strongest eyeballs known to man considering how much he rolled them. “To Julie?”

“Oh,” Scott’s heart sank a little remembering that this was a situation he had found himself in. He didn’t know why he was so uncomfortable by it, all he knew was that he didn’t know what he was meant to do. “What should I say?” Scott asked, desperate for someone else to take control, and if he could have anyone at the helm it would be Wallace.

“I don’t fucking know, why are you asking me?” So much for Wallace steering the ship of Scott’s life. “I have a date of my own today regardless.”

Scott’s head shot up, “You do?”

“I will,” Wallace corrected, pulling out his phone and pressing a few buttons. Almost immediately his phone chimed in response. “Now I have a date,” he took another long sip from his coffee.

Scott awkwardly shifted in his seat for a few minutes before he decided he couldn’t not ask. “With who?”

Wallace smirked, “Remember the guy from last night? The one with the glasses?”

“They all have glasses,” Scott said under his breath, soft enough for Wallace to miss it. His hand reached up, unconsciously feeling around the bridge of his nose, maybe it was time to get his eyes checked? He had never been to an optometrist before, this was a good reminder to do so. Everyone must go at least once, right? “Mhm,” Scott hummed loud enough for Wallace to hear.

“Well, before I ran off to look for you naturally I grabbed his number,” Inexplicably Scott’s stomach dropped a little, a cold rush flooding through his system. It was stupid of him to feel betrayed about this at all, Wallace went looking for and found him. The moments leading up to him saving him shouldn’t matter.

"Naturally..." Was all Scott could muster up.

“And,” Wallace added, looking at his watch, “I shall be putting his number to good use.” Wallace pushed him and his chair away from the bench and started to rummage through his dresser.

Scott watched absent-mindedly as Wallace pulled on a respectable outfit, spritzing himself with the nice cologne that Scott liked. “Have fun with however you decide to spend your day guy,” Wallace blew Scott a kiss and closed their door behind him.

Scott didn’t move immediately. In fact, he stared at the door, completely still, a little too long after Wallace had left. After what felt like hours he finally shifted, his fingers passing robotically across his keypad.

A couple of kilometres away Julie Powers’ phone buzzed in her back pocket. Pulling it out she read:

Sure :)

Chapter Text

Frost glimmered under the early afternoon sunlight making the ground look like it was coated in a fine layer of diamonds. Julie adjusted her thick, woollen, scarf and pressed her lips to the side of her Styrofoam cup, warming them.

“It was while you were with Envy,” She began, running a hand along the dead rose bushes they meandered past. Scott paused, mid-sip of his, highly anticipated, pumpkin spice latte. “I had never seen someone so…in love?” She giggled slightly before continuing, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Envy did  not  love you.” Scott winced slightly, Julie was right of course, it didn’t mean he enjoyed hearing it. “I don’t think she even liked you,” Scott looked accusatorily into his cup,  was there something in this where whoever drank it would start dragging Scott Pilgrim?  “Which of course made it easier for me to like you, 'cause I never wanna be like,  that  girl, yknow?” Scott did not know. “Anyways, I’d see you follow her around like a puppy, just begging for even a crumb of attention, complete and utter devotion,” Scott didn’t know if Julie intended to be continuously bashing him, but it was seeming that way, “And I would think about how nice it would be to have someone that obsessed with me.”

Scott liked to talk. Pretty much anyone who even knew him slightly would pick up on this almost instantly. He wasn’t a complete asshole, he liked to have actual conversations too instead of just word-vomiting into someone’s face for hours on end. Unfortunately for him at this moment there was no flow to follow, nothing of interest to grab onto and expand. Every word Julie said felt stiff and fake to his ears, he didn’t particularly care what she had to say, especially since he had nothing of value to add. So, he stayed silent, Julie’s voice floating around him like an uninteresting podcast, he allowed his mind to wander.

“…and it’s funny 'cause like I know you’re still in uni and I’ve graduated, which is like a bare minimum, I guess I just don’t expect you to achieve great things?” The day Scott realised he wasn’t graduating was one of the more, unexpectedly, sweet memories of his life.

He had been sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room, his back pressed against the lounge chair Wallace was curled on. His failing grades stared back at his unblinking, tear-streaked, gaze. Wallace must have become concerned with Scott’s odd silence and had turned to look down at him, presumably seeing his grades as he did so. Wallace had said a soft, ‘oh…guy’ before sitting on the floor with Scott and taking him in his arms. Scott had sobbed heavily into Wallace’s too-nice cardigan, wet patches an inevitability. They stayed like that for a while, Scott heaving into Wallace, Wallace’s arms wrapped tightly around him, occasionally stroking his hair or whispering encouraging words. Wallace wasn’t amazing at comfort, nor did he particularly enjoy giving it, but he knew how much this meant to Scott and the fact he pushed his grievances aside for Scott created a memory Scott would cherish deeply.

“Scott?” Julie’s voice broke through his meandering thoughts, “Where did you just go?” Her eyebrows were narrowed, strands of perfectly styled hair framing her inquisitive face.

“What do you mean?” Scott figured she meant where his mind had wandered off to but for some inexplicable reason, he didn’t feel comfortable telling her what he had been thinking about.

“You just went somewhere, like a different plane of existence, I know you’re a bit of a daydreamer but like—” She gestured at their surroundings – “time and place Pilgrim.” To Julie’s credit, it wasn’t the most polite or considerate of moves to drift off in the middle of a date. A date. Scott had forgotten he was on a date. Probably not the best of signs.

“Oh, right, yeah, sorry, I was just thinking about,” Scott racked his brain for a logical excuse that would avoid the truth, “the new Sonic movie!” He instantly cringed deeply, yeah he wasn’t invested in this “date” but he also wasn’t doing himself any favours. “Have you seen it?” He continued pathetically, begging for a change of topic.

Julie sneered slightly, “No Pilgrim, I have  not  seen the new Sonic movie.”

“Well, you should!” Scott explained, jumping headfirst into the opportunity to steer the conversation away from the initial topic (and towards an interest of his own). “I dragged Wallace along with me for the premier, he was  so  not interested,” He chuckled at the memory of Wallace’s distaste for being forced to come along. “But then, like halfway through, I looked over at him and there were tears in his eyes,” Julie did not look convinced. “I swear to you! Although he, of course, played it off and is adamant that he didn’t like it, I know he’s lying, it is a masterpiece of fiction after all,” Scott smiled and sipped his rapidly cooling latte.

“Is that so?” Julie asked sounding about as disinterested as one could, yet her eyes were locked onto Scott, a quizzical expression being held. Scott didn’t pay her expression any mind, eager to continue.

“I mean he’s secretly a huge softie, but don’t tell him I told you that, he’d kill me, he’s already told me his plan of how he would do it if he had to,” Scott smiled at the dark comment, he knew Wallace wouldn’t kill him if his life depended on it. “Do you have anyone like that?” Julie hesitated, clearly at a complete loss for what Scott was asking of her.

“Like…someone who wants to kill me? Yeah, like a lot, dude,” Scott shook his head, pushing the hair that fell into his vision back on top of the rat nest he was growing.

“No, no, like a friend, someone who wouldn’t  actually  kill you, but has a plan? Or even someone  you  have a fake murder plan for,” Scott paused before tacking on; “Okay you can also respond with someone you  would  kill.”

Julie stared at him for a minute. “…No?” Scott’s face fell, Julie sounded very judgemental, and he didn’t want to make a bad impression, even if he wasn’t having the time of his life. “I think that’s just a you and Wallace thing,” despite Scott’s initial downheartedness from Julie’s tone of voice his eyes crinkled upwards, the thought of him and Wallace having their own special thing that most friendships didn’t have made what they had together feel special. Julie’s face however continued to darken, not with anger or sadness but some third thing that Scott couldn’t quite read.

“Let’s head this way,” Julie pointed at a snow-covered see-saw a couple of metres away from them. They walked the short distance in silence, this time, however, the quietness they shared was significantly more comfortable than the last time. Scott supposed that is what happens after  both parties talk to one another after all. Egg on his face.

The cold metal of the see-saw turned Scott’s butt slightly numb, he didn’t mind too much as he enjoyed see-saws, especially this one in particular. Another story he was looking forward to telling Julie.

“Wait, lemme get on first before you sit your fat ass down and I can’t reach it,” Julie said, placing her latte in the snow next to the playground equipment, clearly having finished with it. She sat down, fixed her position slightly, gave Scott a nod and a thumbs up. Scott, seeing the perfect opportunity for a harmless prank, sat down as heavily as he could. Julie went flying upwards, shrieking, “Scott Pilgrim you absolute ASS!” She yelled, her giggles affirming to Scott that she wasn’t that mad with him.

“I’m sorry!” He shouted back, “I saw the opportunity and couldn’t help it!” He lifted his weight off of his seat slowly, letting Julie descend back to earth.

“I will get you back for this, mark my words,” Scott grinned at her, she reciprocated the grin with one of her own. Very soon after they started using the see-saw as intended, each bouncing back off and on the ground.

“Y’know, I have a story about this see-saw,” Scott started, the memory already playing in his head. “One night I was waiting for Wallace to come home cause it was like super late and he wasn’t yet home and I was getting a bit worried cause like he usually texts me –”

“You know I thought you and Wallace were a thing for a while there cause you do that a lot.”

Suddenly the warmth from his coat disappeared, Scott’s entire body felt like he had been plunged into an ice bath. “…What?”

“Talk about him,” Julie continued, “but, I supposed you two are just closer than most…” Julie cocked her head to the side, they both still rocked up and down with the rhythm of the see-saw. “You’re passionate Pilgrim, that’s what I like about you.”

Every thought or response Scott could have concocted was lost; his internal thoughts scattered like an angry toddler had been let loose in his head. His body still ran cold, his heart pounding aggressively in his throat.  What was wrong with him?

“Umm, I,” Scott had no idea what he should approach first let alone what on earth he should say next.  Did people really think he and Wallace were dating? Why did they think that?   Apart from him apparently talking about him a lot. Constantly. What was this feeling ?

It was like his insides were crawling, turning in on themselves.

He kind of wanted to throw up.

“Can…can I continue my story?” Scott asked meekly.

Julie laughed, “Of course you can, please, be my guest, continue.” So, he did.

He couldn’t shake the sick sense of nausea that would rise in his throat whenever he would say Wallace’s name.

Park trees wrapped in fairy lights glittered on either side of them. They had left the playground a few minutes ago and were continuing to walk around the gardens, talking about nothing in particular. Especially not Wallace.

“Oh god my bank is so empty from all the Christmas shopping I’ve had to do this year,” Julie shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself, “I hate the holidays.”

Wasn’t Christmas ages away?

“Isn’t Christmas ages away?” Julie stopped walking, the lack of crunching snow ringing in Scott’s ears.

“It’s the thirteenth…” Scott stared at Julie, expression blank. She let out an exasperated huff, “Christmas is twelve days away, that’s less than two weeks.”

Scott’s stomach plummeted, “Oh no, oh no no no no.” Grabbing Julie by the shoulders he shook her, “What do I do?! I have no gifts, no money, not even any ideas!” Julie pried herself away from Scott’s grip and placed her hand on his head.

“First of all, I’m going to need you to take a breath and calm down,” Scott did as she said, his mind still racing but his body relaxing slightly. “Now what we’re gonna do is get out of this fucking cold ass air and somewhere warm,” Looking around she spotted a nearby café and pointed towards it, “Let’s go there, warm up, and I’ll help brainstorm with you.”

Scott peered up at her through his eyelashes, puppy-dog eyes in full effect, “You will?” Unimpressed she cuffed him over the back of his head, causing him to yelp.

“Let’s get going,” She sighed.

They made their way over to the café in record time, the promise of warmth likely having sped them up. After they found a cozy, corner table to sit at and ordered some warm food and drinks Julie pulled out her phone and flicked over to her notes app. “Okay, who are the people you need to buy presents for this year?”

“Uh, like my family I guess, Wallace, of course, and like, maybe the band?” Julie nodded, writing down the names of the people he had mentioned.

“And who of those people are expendable from the list?” She said, fingers hovering over her screen in preparation.

“Probably the band, I can just make them cookies instead,” Of course, this meant Wallace would make cookies and Scott would decorate them (and then give up, making Wallace decorate them instead). “And honestly, I’ve never bought my family presents, usually I make everyone cards,” Julie crossed their names off the list and muttered something along the lines of ‘cheapskate’ but Scott couldn’t be sure.

“So, that leaves Wallace,” Scott nodded, swallowing dryly. “Let’s start by just listing to me any of Wallace’s interests, we should start from there,” Nodding Scott began dutifully listing off all of Wallace’s interests that came to mind.

After a good fucking while, Julie and Scott settled on getting Wallace something related to his interest in literature. Although, whenever Scott asked what Wallace was reading, he’d respond, “Erotic gay smut.” Scott, however, had read a couple of spines from Wallace’s shelf and had concluded he was a fan of classic literature (He had to google the names to find this out a few months previously). Wallace was, however, unfortunately, not completely lying about the erotic gay smut, as that was an additional thing that the spines of the books and Google had revealed to Scott.

He and Julie sat in the café till they were kicked out, discussing where to go from there. Which authors did Wallace like? What books did he not own already? How was Scott meant to deduce what was a good book over a bad one?

Scott barely felt nauseous when talking about Wallace the entire conversation.

That previous feeling was a passing reaction.

It was unrelated.

He was probably just coming down with something.

When Scott arrived home the sun had begun to set, large dark shadows cast by the nearby trees next to the apartment fell over him, worsening the already painful chill that clung to his skin. Opening the door and shucking off his snow-covered boots by the entrance Scott noticed Wallace hadn’t yet arrived home. This was to be expected and practically a blessing since it gave more time for Scott to freely browse Wallace’s bookshelf.

Julie and Scott had also discussed him getting a part-time or temporary job to pay for the present as he wasn’t in a particularly lucrative position. Therefore, Scott found himself many hours later curled under the bed covers scrolling through job listings applying to anything he possibly could regardless of his qualifications. It was then Wallace had decided to arrive home, bursting through the door and kicking off his shoes so they would go flying at Scott’s face, a trail of snow following behind them.

“What the fuck,” Scott spluttered, batting the soggy shoe off the mattress. Wallace didn’t grace Scott with a response nor explanation, instead choosing to fall face first next to him, still fully clothed, and passing out. Now only a few centimetres away from him Scott easily smelt the reek of alcohol. Wallace had always been a heavy drinker but surely going to sleep intoxicated twice in a row wasn’t healthy. Also, knowing Wallace, it hadn’t been just twice.

“Have fun?” The question was so muffled by the pillow Scott almost missed it. He didn’t however miss it because he had been convinced Wallace was dead to the world, so when the words had vibrated through the mattress, they had shocked him so deeply he almost jumped out of the bed.

Scott quickly composed himself before responding, “Uh, yeah actually, I ended up having a really good time.” This was true, it came as a shock to himself as well but after that initial discomfort, he ended up having a really enjoyable time with Julie.

“Mhm,” was the response Scott was met with before the snoring began.

The next morning Scott was met with the voice of an old friend. Of all the singers he woke up to, Lady Gaga was by far his favourite (curse you, Gwen Stefani). He cracked open his eyes to see Wallace traipsing around the apartment, work polo on, hair styled and pants nowhere to be seen.

“You up already?” Wallace sounded genuinely so surprised Scott checked the time. His phone flashed the numbers ‘6:45’ at him, almost blinding him in the process. “Guess that means that any dreams you had about your  girlfriend ,” He sang the word as he said it, clasping his hands in front of him, “Weren’t good enough to keep your attention.” Wallace chuckled and flipped an egg.

“Whatever dude,” Scott scoffed reading through his notifications.

Wanna meet up again today and discuss jobs? I may have found something for you.

Scott sat up, a large grin spreading across his face. “What are you smiling about?” He didn’t know how or when it had happened, but Wallace was suddenly wearing his pants, he wasn’t complaining.

“Oh, I’m just hanging out with Julie again today, I’m looking forward to it,” Wallace rolled his eyes and turned away from Scott. He grabbed his keys and coat, apparently ignoring whatever Scott had to say,  why even ask? Ugh. 

“Good for you guy,” Scott had known Wallace long enough by now that the smile he was met with was so far from genuine it may as well have originated from another planet. “Anyway, I’m off to work, don’t have too much fun,” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as he laced his shoes, “Don’t do anything I would do.” Opening the door he threw his head back one last time, “I give it a month.” Scott flipped him off as the door closed behind him.

Scott found Julie at the table they had spent most of the previous afternoon at. She was buried in her phone, he bangs shielding her eyes from view. Scott bent over and tried to look up through her bangs, “Hellloooooo?”

Julie jumped, her coffee spilling over slightly, “Jesus Pilgrim, some warning next time.” Scott awkwardly bowed in an apology and took his seat across from her.

Once he had gotten settled with a chocolate muffin and another pumpkin spice latte Julie turned her phone around to show Scott a business website. “My cousin runs this logging company, and they need a few extra hands for the Christmas season. It doesn’t pay amazingly well but it should be enough,” She proceeded to show Scott the rates and hours, she was right, they  weren’t  great, but they were perfect for him.

“This is brilliant, with this income I’ll probably be able to get Wallace something a bit better than just a normal book. Like…a  hard cover book,” As Scott gushed over the new and improved ideas for Wallace’s Christmas present with this income Julie looked beyond unimpressed.

“You’re not going to get anyone else presents with this extra cash?” Scott was confused for a moment before realising and turned a bright red.

“Oh, you’re so right, uh…is there anything in particular you’d like as a present?”

“Not for  me  you idiot!” She swatted him on the head with a folded-up napkin. “I meant like family!”

“Ohhhhhh,” Scott thought it over for a second before shrugging. “I’m not that into gift-giving, they’re probably not expecting anything from me anyway. The money is better spent this way.” Julie stayed silent at this, but she did close her eyes and rub her temples, her well-manicured nails glittering from the overhead light.

“Okay sure, I’ll let my cousin know and we can continue browsing for gifts for…Wallace.” Julie peered over her glasses at Scott intensely, her eyes calculating. Scott didn’t notice, instead talking about an author called Oscar Wilde who he had seen a lot of works by on Wallace’s bookshelf that night.

Chapter Text

The messy, green-inked, words; ‘DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT BITCH’ stared up at Scott from the kitchen floor as he hungrily shovelled chicken parmesan into his mouth. Once again, he did not remember when Wallace had made this (it was clearly homemade by the overcooked spaghetti) not that it mattered to Scott. What mattered was that it was delicious and exactly what he needed for the first day of his new job. Wallace had left earlier that morning and although they didn’t have a fight in any capacity Scott felt entitled to the food as he knew he could now pay Wallace back for the first time in a long time. He made a mental note to slip a five-dollar bill into Wallace’s wallet as payback the next time he was able.

Scott had to take a couple of busses to reach the logging site, totaling roughly an hour and a half’s worth of travel time. He was a couple of minutes late but his absolutely wrecked and sweaty body – as he had booked it the moment, he had gotten off the bus – was apparently apology enough for Julie’s cousin.

“You’re a bit scrawnier than I had expected,” the man laughed, clapping Scott on the shoulder. Whatever his accent was, it was thick, thick and manly. The man stood a good head above Scott and was practically twice his width, bulging muscles pressed against the fabric of his shirt. Everything about the man intimidated Scott, who felt incredibly emasculated by him on sight.

“Oh yeah –” Scott scratched the back of his neck – “Sorry about that.” The man laughed again and shook his head dismissively.

“Don’t worry about it man, I was just joshin’ wit’ ya,” Producing them from seemingly midair the man passed Scott a bright yellow hard hat and a fluorescent orange, vest. “Slip these on and I’ll give you the grand tour.”

The tree grove was pretty impressive, hundreds upon hundreds of perfectly shaped Christmas trees grew in endless rows. There were already many other men, and a smattering of women, at work cutting down some of the trees.

“We gotta get this area –” The man pointed both hands to the left, sectioning the site into a third – “Down by the 16th and then section two has gotta be dealt with by the 19th wit’ section three being gone by the 22nd.” He turned back to Scott who was nodding along, doing his best to keep up with the world’s most simple explanation. “Listen, mate, don’t worry about it. You’ll be in a small team with two others so you guys can work down a row together, it’ll be easy.” Finding out that he wouldn’t be working alone came as a relief to Scott who never did well on solo assignments.

The man led Scott off to an equally burly-looking man and a woman who sported a permanent scowl. The work was hot and hard, it got to a point where – despite the literal snow – Scott had to strip off his parka. When lunch break came, he left his team to squat on an older tree stump a little way away from the action. He hadn’t brought any lunch with him, and he had already burnt off the chicken parmesan calories, his stomach rumbled mournfully.

“Hungry?” A yet unidentified voice asked him before a plastic bag was dropped on his toes. Scott yelped and looked up.

“What the hell Julie?” Scott wasn’t all that mad however as when he looked through the contents of the bag, he found two boxes of warm Chinese take-out.

“Don’t get too excited,” Julie said, kicking Scott with the toe of her boot. “May I sit?” She asked sardonically, sitting down on the other half of the stump, shoving Scott off a little before he could respond. She put out her hand, and Scott deposited one of the containers into her expectant palm and dug into his own.

Their knees knocked together as they ate in silence, the twittering of birds and the distant chatter of Scott’s new coworkers humming around them. Once she was done Julie put her container back into the plastic bag and twisted around so that her back was flush with Scott’s.

“So, how’s the job?” She asked, although her tone indicated she wasn’t all that interested in whatever his response may be.

Scott shrugged, his mouth still full of noodles. He felt the rise and fall of a sigh from Julie, she lent her head back so that it was resting on the nape of his neck. They stayed like that for a little longer before a shout told them that lunch was over and it was time to get back to work. Scott put his empty container in the bag along with Julie’s. “Thanks for the food, Julie,” Scott said, standing up and brushing himself down. She waved him off.

“Just don’t let my cousin push you around,” The sentence sounded like a joke, yet, Julie said it so flatly Scott couldn’t be too sure.

“He seems nice,” Scott became suddenly aware that he had no idea what her cousin’s name was. He was sure he had been told it thousands of times by now, so he definitely didn’t want anyone finding out that he didn’t know his own boss’s name.

“He was never nice to me during family reunions, I’ll tell you that for free,” Julie stood up alongside Scott, also brushing herself off. “Used to pull my hair and call me names, y’know, the usual stuff. Although, he’s all grown up now so I should give him some credit.” Scott smiled at her, waving as he walked back into the fray of his shift.

By the time Scott arrived home, it was dark, and all of his joints ached. Each step felt like an affront to his well-being. With his eyes practically shut, Scott pushed open his door and fell face-first into Wallace’s chest.

“Woah, guy,” Wallace steadied Scott by the crook of his arm, “I was just about to go out and look for you, you haven’t answered any of my texts all day.”

“I haven’t?” Scott said, flipping out his phone. He was met with a black screen. It must have died at some point during the day, and he hadn’t bothered to check it. “Oh…I’m sorry.”

“You should be, where were you?!” Wallace dragged Scott’s coat off of him, hanging it up on the coat rack. “You had me and your mother worried sick!” Scott chuckled at Wallace’s concern and bent down to take off his shoes.

“I was just…out,” Scott muttered, a particularly stubborn knot in his lace refusing to come undone.

“Out with whom?” Wallace asked, hanging up his coat, which had only had one arm through when Scott had fallen in.

Scott hesitated before slowly responding, “…Julie?” Even he didn’t seem convinced by his own words. He didn’t want Wallace to find out about his job as he wanted it to be a surprise. He wanted Wallace to be impressed with how far Scott was willing to go to give him the best possible Christmas present he could. He had started a 9-5 for crying out loud! Now that’s true dedication.

“Oh?” Wallace already had his back to Scott and started towards the kitchen, “Going well then is it?” He had began to rummage around in the fridge, making Scott sweat. He wouldn’t get paid until Thursday so he wasn’t yet able to pay him back for the food he had stolen that morning (not all the food he had ever stolen, that would put him into a debt he wouldn’t be able to pay off until he was dead and buried).

Scott hummed, hoping that would be enough for Wallace to drop it, as his mind was far too preoccupied with the fear of being labelled a food thief. In a fortunate twist of fate Wallace dropped it and also didn’t bring up the missing food. Scott was thankful he could survive another day.

Unfortunately for Scott, Wallace’s disinterest was momentary, lasting a mere twenty-four hours.

“And where the hell have you been?” Was the greeting Scott was met with as he opened the door back home after another long day of cutting down and dragging around Christmas trees.

“What the hell dude, I responded to all your texts today, you  know  where I was,” Scott shook the snow out of his boots and shrugged off his jacket.

“Yeah, but I don’t buy it, both today and yesterday you came home roughly the same time,” Wallace had been sitting in the lounge chair, which he had situated in front of the front door, his leg crossed over the other. He soon decided to stand up, walking swiftly towards Scott as if he were some angry detective about to crack a case. “You, my dear Scott Pilgrim, are never punctual. Ever,” Scott started to defend himself before Wallace cut him off. “You also came back today and yesterday practically panting with exhaustion, so unless you are having the most wild and scheduled sex for nine hours a day, with Julie Powers of all people,  you better tell me where you’ve been.”

“Since when do you care?” Scott shot back, increasingly annoyed that he was now, apparently, not allowed to live his own mysterious adult life like Wallace got to.

“Since when? I- well,” Wallace faltered, leaving his sentence unfinished. He took a breath, closed his eyes and tapped his finger on his forearm. His thinking so loud Scott could swear he was hearing the whirr of cogs in his head. “Okay, okay,” Wallace began dragging his chair back to its original position, his eyes avoiding Scott completely. “You’re right guy, you’re allowed your own life, I’m…I’m sorry, I was just worried,” Scott’s heart melted. Wallace never apologised, in accordance with the fact he was “never wrong” (Wallace’s words). Hearing his apology and care for Scott made Scott feel like a million butterflies had hatched within him and were batting their wings rapidly against his intestines.

“I’ve been at my new job,” Scott yielded, his head hung in an odd shame. He felt guilty about hiding something that would seem so inconsequential from Wallace.

“What?” The butterflies in Scott’s stomach all promptly curled in on themselves and fell, dead, to be dissolved by his stomach acid. He had never heard Wallace sound so heartbroken. After a few moments of Scott battling his inner confusion over what was going on, Wallace spoke again. “Are you, uh, are there,” He swallowed dryly, “Are there plans to leave?”

What?

Scott remained silent. Staring at Wallace.

Wallace let out a forced laugh, “I mean if there are it’s about time.” He still wouldn’t meet Scott’s eyes, now busying himself with fluffing up the sofa chair’s cushions, which was entirely unnecessary as those cushions were so deflated not even The Spirit of Christmas Past could bring them back to life. “I can’t have you mooching off me forever,” Wallace’s voice was becoming more and more solidified while Scott’s heart sunk lower and lower.

Did Wallace really want him to move out?

“Um, no,” Scott said, halting Wallace’s pillow fluffing. “I mean, I can do that if you’d like,” He added quickly, not knowing what the best course of action was. “This is just a temporary job, for Christmas,” Scott bawled up his fists by his side, his eyes glued to a strange stain near his feet. He didn’t move until he felt himself being encircled by two long lanky arms.

“Good,” Wallace murmured. “I’m glad.”

That night, long after the unspoken hug, Scott didn’t yet want to part with the warmth of Wallace’s body. The next morning found him only a breath away from the back of Wallace’s shirt, with each blink he felt his eyelashes brush against the fabric.

Chapter Text

“Fall!” Coworker 2 called out, the tree hitting the ground seconds after. Now, this isn’t to say he would do this, but if Scott Pilgrim were  to stand in front of one of the falling trees, he was pretty certain that he would survive, after all, they weren’t all that big. 

Average at best.

“Aight Pilgrim, get over here,” Coworker 1 called out, waving him over. Scott adjusted his thick gloves and grabbed the lower left side of the tree trunk. Together, he and his coworker dragged the tree to their small yellow trailer where he let go of it and jumped onto the platform. He grabbed the top of the tree and yanked it onto the trailer – getting severely scratched up by pine needles in the process.

“Lunch!” Their boss called out over the grove to cheers of delight from the workers. Thankful, Scott peeled off his gloves and shoved them in his back pocket before making his way over to his designated tree stump. Julie was already perched on top of it, her nose buried in her phone. A cardboard box sat on her knees, nestled between her elbows. Scott crept over to her and snatched the box off of her lap, greedily checking the contents.

“Manners Pilgrim,” Julie muttered, not even glancing at him. Scott grinned and sat beside her as she adjusted slightly, allowing him some room. They never really talked much during his breaks, not that Scott found he minded. Julie was currently on holiday from her own job which gave her more time to be around family. Julie’s family liked to get together around Christmas time at her parent’s house, which happened to be quite close to the Christmas tree grove. This made it relatively easy for her to drop by Scott’s current place of work and feed the poor sod, who didn’t eat outside of his roommate’s scraps. Julie took the time at the grove to unwind from being around her family, she liked to use that time to catch up with friends on her phone and be out in the fresh air with Scott who learnt quickly to not ask much of her sociability.

Scott didn’t mind the silence as he was being paid with fresh and hot meals for lunch which was enough to make him do anything. He also found that silence with Julie was comfortable. He was so used to filling unwanted silence that his time spent with Julie was his way of relaxing, allowing him to think without feeling obliged to share every thought.

“Scott?” Just when Scott had swallowed his last dumpling, and was internally debating whether or not to buy the new Mario Kart game or the next instalment of Mortal Kombat (Wallace was not a great gamer, Scott kicked his ass at both, but he stood a better chance at winning if they were playing Mario Kart, so that was the one Scott had started leaning towards), an incredibly familiar voice called out to him.

Scott’s head whipped around, looking for the culprit yelling out his name. Even Julie joined him, her head finally not bent over, lit solely by the ghoulish light from her screen.

“Scott?” The voice called again, it was then Scott found him, standing by the marquee, near the parked cars.

“Wallace?” Scott called back, standing up from his stump and jogging over to Wallace, who had finally stopped spinning around in circles looking for him.

“Oh, good, I found you, I was worried I had ended up at the wrong place,” Wallace chuckled, his eyes sweeping over the landscape of tree stumps. “Real cozy spot they have you here,” He joked, his gaze finally settling on Scott who was still processing Wallace standing in front of him.

How had Wallace found where he worked? He hadn’t even told him the company name, let alone the location. “This would be my fault,” Julie said blandly from behind Scott causing him to shriek, practically jumping into Wallace’s arms. “You were just thinking about how he found you right?” Scott was often uncomfortable with how Julie could tell what he was thinking at times. “I didn’t want him to think I was murdering you again, so I gave him the company name and address to prove this was legit,” Then, seemingly bored with the current conversation (despite having dominated the majority of it thus far) Julie when back to typing aggressively into her phone.

“I was drunk when I had thought that,” Wallace defended, his smile oddly tight, his eyes slightly hard. “Plus,” he added, “I didn’t even know you were involved with him getting this job until you contacted me.”

Julie scoffed into her phone, “Doesn’t take a genius, Wells.” Wallace shrugged and turned back to Scott, waving a brown paper bag in front of his face.

It’s funny how beautiful life can be at times. Who gave the universe the right to create the most ethereal sights for man to behold yet make them fleeting, not allowing one to freeze time, to wrap up the image in newspaper and string, to put it in their closet to be retrieved and relived on a rainy day when it’s most needed?

Honeyed rays of light filtered through the towering trees that encircled the carpark, the fuzzy shapes of distant leaves visible where the light settled. The wind had picked up slightly, lifting leaves the colours of embers, off the ivory ground, a dusting of snow following their airborne path. The leaves danced, lilting, encircling Wallace, as if he were the axis of…everything. The warm sunlight had settled on his face, illuminating his features, and setting his eyes aglow. Shattered fragments of day burning in his irises.

But as with everything, the moment passed. The leaves settled, clouds passed over the sun and Wallace was still there, shaking a paper bag before Scott.

“Hungry?” Wallace smirked, poking Scott in the stomach, “Who am I kidding, you’re always hungry, especially since someone left without breakfast or packing a lunch today.” Scott’s stomach protested the thought of any more food, Julie had bought him enough dumplings for a small family. It was before Scott could explain this himself that Wallace noticed his hesitance, finally seeing the takeaway container clutched in Scott’s hand. “Oh, have you already…?” Scott nodded eagerly, looking forward to Wallace’s pride in him for not having to steal any of his food this time (unwittingly or otherwise).

“Yeah, Julie got me some dumplings,” Scott looked over at Julie who had already found her way back to their stump, still consumed by her phone. “I would have saved you some if I knew you were coming.”

The voice that met Scott’s ears was brittle and snippy. A stark contrast to the words being said.

“It’s fine, more for me to eat then,” Wallace laughed humourlessly, his grip on the bag tightening. “I don’t want my arm-candy getting overweight after all, you gotta watch your weight for my image hotshot.” Wallace squeezed one of Scott’s non-existent biceps playfully, the humour of his actions still not reaching his eyes.

“Alright, party people!” Julie’s cousin called out, his voice cutting through the grove, “Lunchtime is over, back to work!” A chorus of groans vibrated throughout the site, “Ah c’mon, you know you love it.”

Having been startled by his boss’s booming voice Scott turned back to face Wallace whose expression still held an inexplicable harshness, “Guess that’s my cue, I’ll see you back at home.” Wallace half turned on his heel before pausing and rummaging through the bag he had brought. He pulled out the contents, revealing a brekkie roll complete with bacon, egg, cheese, lettuce and onion. Locking eyes with Scott he took a comically big bite, moaning with exaggerated ecstasy, “Oh, oh , sooo gooood mmmmm.” Wallace took another bite before even swallowing the previous one. He clutched at his heart and closed his eyes, sinking slightly at the knees.

 “I’m suuuuch a good cook!” He groaned, which was barely audible through his stuffed mouth.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Scott whined, saddened slightly that the roll wouldn’t be waiting in the fridge for him when he got home – he had been counting on it.

Satisfied, Wallace dropped the roll back into the bag and swallowed his last bite. Scott couldn’t help but notice his face was still downcast. He didn’t know what was going on in Wallace’s private life (well, not his private private life) and he wasn’t adept at comfort, nor at bringing up serious topics, so he hoped that whatever it was that was bothering Wallace would soon pass. Scott didn’t like seeing Wallace anything other than happy, or his usual sardonic self.

“Well then, have fun –” Wallace jerked his chin towards Julie – “ and I’ll see you later, guy.” Wallace then completed his 180° turn and began walking back in the direction of the nearest bus stop. Although he was clearly not having the greatest day it was nice seeing Wallace, Scott felt a little more light-footed as he meandered towards his team who had already started sawing away at their next tree.

Before he could get within a hundred metres of his coworkers Scott was called away yet again, this time by a conflicted-looking Julie, “Hey Pilgrim, one sec before you run off.”

“Sorry Julie, I think I’ve left it a bit late to avoid my job any longer,” Scott started before she waved him off. 

“Your boss is my little cousin, he can handle a few more minutes without you.” Little? Who in their right mind would call that beast of a man little? Julie tapped her chin thoughtfully before nodding and continuing with what she had to say, “Tomorrow is your day off, isn’t it? Don’t answer that, I know it is.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind one of her ears, eyes narrowed, yet, downcast, “Did you want to come over to mine tomorrow?” The words almost tumbled out of her mouth practically taking Scott out in the process as if they were a set of bowling balls let loose. He didn’t quite know how to respond, what did she mean by this? One would assume she’s attempting to initiate sex but this is Julie Powers after all. Maybe it’s another party?

Scott was quiet for too long as Julie then decided to keep talking, tacking on afterthoughts, “I mean it’s not like a party, it’ll be just you and me, but not in a weird way, so don’t go thinking that you perv.” Her tone was calm and measured, as if presenting some scientific experiment, or, a hypothesis for said experiment. Either way, Scott decided he was thrilled. Maybe thrilled was too strong of a word but he liked Julie so naturally he wanted to come over to her house. Right? That’s how it works, right? That’s how it usually worked.

Scott stretched his hand over and tucked the stubborn strand of hair behind her ear himself, “I’d love to come over.” He grinned widely for a second, the next second found him nursing a sore cheek that Julie had slapped.

“Don’t go trying to act all suave, it doesn’t work for you,” Her retreating back informed him. However, if Scott looked closely as she walked away, he could make out a slight red blush that tinged the tops of her ears. He smiled to himself, yet his chest felt strangely empty.

When Scott arrived home late that afternoon, he was not interrogated nor was he welcomed. A silent, empty, apartment greeted Scott upon entrance.

Not until so late that night that it could be considered morning (and Scott could be found snuggled tightly under the covers) did Wallace stumble in, his head hung low, his clothes reeking of booze. Without saying a word, he slumped his way into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Scott, who hadn’t been able to get a wink of sleep that whole night, fell asleep to the sound of the running water.  

Chapter Text

The embrace of the night is a cruel one. It wraps its arms around you and whispers that now, more than ever, you must spill your secrets, ask the questions you fear the answers to. When those confessions slip past your lips the embrace retreats, leaving you in the suffocating chill of the dark.

You are alone.

You are disgusting.

His fingertips tentatively brush Wallace’s shirt. He was curled into a ball, pushed so far to the edge of the mattress he may as well have been sleeping on the floor. He's trying to escape. He's trying to escape him.

And it hurt.

It hurt so much.

Why?

Why are you so far away?

Something was deeply wrong with Wallace. Nothing ever shook him. He stood tall under immense pressure, an Atlas like figure of strength. Emotions of all persuasion often seemed beneath him. So why did he cower away from Scott this night?

Sometimes Scott would tell the night that he feared that Wallace didn’t even care for him. He would whisper to the unforgiving solitude that he feared he was the only one in their friendship that would sacrifice the entire world for him. Because nothing is more pathetic than unrequited devotion. And the night would leave him to float in the emptiness of the unknown.

“What’s wrong?” The words crept out of him like a frightened creature, ready and waiting to rush back into hiding. But words are not animals. Words that are spoken have solidified themselves in existence.

“Fuck off Scott.”

The cold abyss of the night eclipsed him once again.

Chapter Text

“Take off your shoes before you go inside,” Julie instructed, kicking off her own and placing them beside her front door. Scott followed suit, taking in how nice the house was when not filled to the brim with rowdy university students and cheap alcohol. It was a large two-story house built primarily from dark oak with brass doorknobs and window latches that created a warm harmony. “Would you like a drink?” Julie asked, having already pulled out two glasses and a bottle of apple juice, her nails clacked against the thin glass.

“Oh, yes please,” The words hadn’t even completely left Scott’s mouth before one of the glasses, full of cold juice, was pressed into his hand. After a few moments of the two of them sipping away at their juice, Julie set down her empty cup. “Wanna head up to mine and watch a movie, or,” She rolled her eyes playfully, “Play a game?”

Scott downed the rest of his juice eagerly, “Absolutely, and I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Julie scoffed loudly, “I’d like to see you fucking try.”

Julie was significantly better at Mortal Kombat than Wallace, so much so that Scott began doubting his own skills. Maybe he had been playing with someone so unskilled for so long that his own skills had weakened?

“You fucker!” Scott cried out as Julie finished him off. Mileena licked blood off the screen, her rows of pointy teeth mocking Scott in his time of suffering.

“You can’t deny that I didn’t warn you.”

“Doesn’t make it hurt any less,” Scott groaned at the ceiling, the sting of his defeat was, however, drowned out by a heaviness in his heart. It made him feel slightly nauseous and bitter as if it were a blameable offence. An offence he could blame Julie for. Logically, it wasn’t her fault at all, in fact, he felt it quite often when he was with women whom he found himself romantically involved with. It was, therefore, completely normal, and, nothing he had to worry about. Nonetheless, it was not an enjoyable feeling. He frowned at a corner of her ceiling where a little of the off-white paint peeled, “How about we watch something?” He hoped the change of activity would help him keep his mind off his less-than-favourable emotions.

“Awww, is widdle Pilgrim too afraid to lose again?” Julie mocked despite already pulling out a large red and black DVD folder. She ran back the zipper, the old plastic grinding against itself abrasively, revealing her extensive film collection. Almost all of them were clearly pirated, white covers with the names of films written on in black Sharpie. “Have a preference? Genre? Director?” She asked Scott as she flipped through the hundreds upon hundreds of DVDs. He caught sight of quite a few that were part of his own collection (which he prided himself on).

“Hmmm, something funny, maybe a romcom?” Scott wanted it to be known that he wasn’t trying to set a mood, he genuinely was in the mood for a shitty romcom, so he tried for the most casual of tones while suggesting it. He perched at the bottom edge of Julie's bed and twiddled his thumbs absentmindedly.

Julie’s flipping stopped abruptly, “I’ve got just the thing.”

As the title card for Ella Enchanted lit up Julie’s room Scott met her expectant eyes and shrugged, “Never heard of it.”

“Are you serious?” She asked incredulously, settling herself on the floor in front of the tv, her back pressed against her bedframe, next to Scott’s legs, “It’s dogshit, you’re gonna love it.”

When Scott was in the third grade, he was introduced to the movie The Outsiders. He didn’t understand much of the plot at the time, but he was obsessed with Dallas Winston. Third-grade Scott did little other than try to discuss Dallas Winston with his peers. Those who had also watched the movie would enthusiastically join in before they slowly realised Scott didn’t like Dallas like the other boys did. 

They would look at Scott strangely and begin to avoid him during recess after spending one too many with him. He didn’t understand what he was doing that was so wrong. He only didn’t want to be Dallas like the other boys, if anything he wanted to be more like Sodapop. Dallas was different. His swept-back, greased up hair, toothy grin and dark eyes would keep third-grade Scott up for many nights.

For Scott’s 10th birthday, he was gifted a large A1 poster of Dallas that he had immediately stuck next to his bed with old Blu-Tac that would melt in the summer, causing the poster to curl in the middle. Looking at Poster Dallas’ deep, honey-brown eyes, and the cigarette that hung limply from his full, smirking, lips, would make young Scott's heart flop around in his chest in a way he didn’t understand and didn’t care to. It felt nice. And that's all that really mattered. Right?

When Scott officially entered the fourth grade, he sat with a group of boys, all roughly his age, during lunch. They didn’t quite know each other yet so they had taken to bouncing questions around the group. When the discussion pertaining to celebrity crushes came up Scott drew a blank, sweating nervously under the stares of the other boys. He didn’t have an answer for them. There were no female celebrities that had yet really caught his eye, but a name bubbled up regardless.

The disgusted looks from his peers were forever burnt into his mind. He didn’t know why he had said that name, he didn’t even have a crush on him, he couldn’t, it wasn’t possible, it wasn’t allowed.

Scott ran home from school that day in tears, pushing past his mum and throwing himself into his room. He had glared at that poster of Dallas Winston, eyes red, cheeks wet, and ran up to it, tearing it down from the wall. He had sunk to his knees in his room and ripped that damned poster into shreds. Heaving sobs with each tear of the paper.

Scott had missed the poster instantly. His tears of rejection turned into those of regret. He fell asleep in his school clothes that night, his stomach empty from a skipped dinner.

Something changed within Scott that day, something within him had hardened slightly. His emotions felt a little more muted. A little more muffled. It was after that, whenever he found himself focusing on a male character over a female one, or, caught himself stealing glances at one of the boys who sat at the back of his school bus, he shut down. He would swallow his desires before he had enough time to even recognise them as such. He didn’t understand what was wrong with him and he didn’t want to. As he grew older, he found that he didn’t need to try so hard to repress these feelings, he also found that most emotions he had once held an abundance of, were dulled, covered by a thick smog. He didn’t mind all that much, what is life without a bit of suffering? What did it matter that he would skip meals to remind himself of that fact?

Prince Charmont made Scott’s mouth turn dry. Each time he was on screen Scott’s throat constricted slightly, his heart felt like it had been shoved into a jar that was shrinking, forcing it to shrink along with it. His stomach lining turned to coal and his lungs collapsed in on themselves. Scott couldn’t keep his eyes off him, yet, simultaneously, the prince made him want to rip his skin off. To tear it off with his hands till the only skin that was left were the bits under his nails.

Not again.

“Scott,” Julie breathed, her voice breaking through his crumbling mind, still full of Prince Charmont’s lopsided grin and bright blue eyes. Scott tore his eyes away from the TV screen to face Julie. “I don’t think you’re straight.” Scott wanted to throw up. His insides curdled and constricted. He felt his airway completely close off and his eyes beginning to water. He feared if he were to open his mouth the contents of his stomach would paint her carpeted floor. “Scott?” She probed, pausing the movie, her voice laced with a sympathy Scott despised. He didn’t need it. He didn’t want it.

Please.

“You’re wrong,” Scott had tried for a tone that would be stable and methodical, even so, he practically spat in Julie’s face. Disgust and anger dripped like honey from his words.

Not again.

“Scott, please listen to me,” Scott didn’t want to listen. In fact, there was nothing he wanted less than to listen. Unfortunately for him, however, the instability of his stomach didn’t allow him to express that; his mouth remained wired shut. “I see how you look at Wallace, how you talk about him,” She took a breath. Scott didn’t dare move, his body had frozen in place, his shoulders curved in on himself, his legs pressed tightly together. “I thought I was reading too far into it but as time went on, I realised I couldn’t keep ignoring it,” Scott wanted desperately to be engulfed by the walls that he found were closing in around him. “And then I saw how you looked at the prince –” She gestured to the TV behind her – “And I couldn’t just keep these thoughts to myself anymore. I did realise that you probably don’t know—”

“Shut up Julie,” Scott gritted out, his eyes glued to his socked feet. “You’re wrong.”

“Scott, please, it’s okay—” Julie placed a hand on Scott’s knee, her face looking more concerned than he would have ever expected to see Julie Powers.

“Fucking shut up!” Scott stood up and grabbed his coat, “I’m- I’m sorry, I just, I need to go.”

Scott burst out of Julie’s home and into the frigid cold, making a beeline for his dealer’s house. He could hear Julie call out for him desperately, but he kept walking.  

His dealer wasn’t all too pleased with the lack of warning when Scott arrived – plus the fact that he wasn’t there to cover his outstanding tab. However, probably at the sight of Scott’s empty eyes and ghost-white complexion, he still gave him a small Ziplock baggy with a quarter ounce of marijuana contained inside, firmly reminding Scott to pay off his debt before his rent was due. Scott had shrugged him off, muttering a half-hearted promise before shoving his chin back beneath his collar and practically running the rest of his way home.

His lungs burned with every pull of air, his face stung from the biting cold, and his feet ached with each contact made with the ground. He couldn’t stop running. If he didn’t run the longer it would take to get home. The longer it took him to get home the longer he had to accompany his thoughts. The longer it was till he could light his bong, drowning out those thoughts that swam in his head. Those images and ideas that he had worked so hard to lock away.

Wallace wasn’t home when Scott arrived, he hadn’t been home since five o’clock that morning – which worked perfectly fine for Scott.

Something had broken through the protective barrier that Scott had maintained oh so carefully. Something had weakened his defences. Something had slowly, slowly enough one would barely notice, held him close, made him feel as though it were normal. As if maybe, in another universe, if things had worked out differently, he’d find himself in his arms. Something had pierced his tightly stretched shelter making everything start to tumble out in waves. Unstoppable waves. Emotions and feelings he had fought so hard to hide. And for what? It all to end this way? Fuck the cause. Fuck him. It was all his fucking fault. FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU 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FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

Fuck you, Wallace Wells.

Chapter Text

Although for everyone else on earth, only two days had passed, Scott could not even tell you which way was up.

After his first no-show at work, the previous day, he was fired. Temporary work never holds loyalty for the worker, there was always another eager-eyed and bushy-tailed student, willing to lap up any job, to take the place. Scott didn’t care. He couldn’t.

The night of the incident at Julie’s found Scott passed out in the corner of his and Wallace’s apartment, partially obscured by the lounge chair. As far as possible from the bed as he could get. Wallace wasn’t home when Scott smoked himself into a coma and he wasn’t there when he finally awoke. The only evidence of his coming and goings was the opened windows that Scott had neglected to prop open that night. Although likely aired out significantly before Scott had woken up, the apartment still smelt heavy and damp with weed. Not that Scott spent enough time sober to really take it in as the moment he opened his eyes he started flicking his lighter back on and sinking into a mindless escape.

The second day after the incident found Scott in the bathtub, his lanky legs hanging over the porcelain rim. The night before had Scott in bed with Wallace once again, he didn’t make a conscious decision to be there however, one moment he was floating above the world and the next he was staring at Wallace’s distant back. He wasn’t even covered by the bedsheet, which occupied most of Scott’s side. Scott’s eyes had burned holes into Wallace’s back, his guts twisting and churning. Wallace clearly fucking hated him, and Scott was left feeling like this. Feeling as if the world was stretching out from under him. Pulling him away from everything, from everyone. So, he left. However, he only got as far as the bathroom before deciding the tub looked incredibly comfy at that time of night and had passed out inside of it.

Scott stared at the LED screen of his phone, the cold brightness illuminating his face in the dark. He watched as the time flicked over to 5:00am, Wallace’s alarm clock began ringing loudly from the living room. Scott heard Wallace hit the alarm clock (and judging by the sound, sending it flying), grumbling something unintelligible. No pop music played that morning as Wallace shuffled around the house, preparing himself for work. It was the third consecutive morning that lacked Brittney Spears and her impressive vocal talent. Wallace hadn’t always played music every morning, these last few days, however, felt different. Something was deeply wrong. They both knew it and refused to acknowledge it. 

Scott stayed lying in the tub, his phone resting on top of his chest, while he listened to Wallace and his movements. He pottered around in the kitchen for a little before the rustle of his coat and jingle of his keys queued his departure. The front door was opened and closed quietly (who would have thought he was capable of such an act), leaving Scott alone again. He lifted his phone once more, staring at the contact he had pulled up on his screen. He sighed before hitting the dial.

“Scott?” She asked having picked up after four rings.

“Hey Julie, would you mind meeting me today at the park?”

There were a few moments of silence before she responded, “The one with that shitty see-saw?” Scott huffed out a chuckle.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Okay, I’ll see you there, does ten o’clock work for you?”

Scott looked around the bathroom as if there was anything there that would preoccupy him beyond 10:00. “Sure does,” He responded, trying for a slightly more cheerful tone.

“Cool, well next time don’t call at 5:40 in the morning asshole,” she said, hanging up immediately after. Scott smiled slightly; he couldn’t keep smoking himself into a half-alive state just to get through each day and Julie was his key out of the rut he had dug himself into.

After a couple more uncomfortable minutes staring at the moulding bathroom ceiling, Scott pulled himself out of the tub and dragged his feet into the kitchen. He wasn’t all that hungry despite his growling stomach; he couldn’t handle the thought of eating anything – bile threatened to climb up his throat at the simple thought. Despite that he reflexively opened the fridge, staring placidly at the contents.

A variety of condiments, a sliced watermelon, one half-drunk bottle of Pepsi and two containers of leftovers stared back at him. One of the containers was a new addition, the other had been there since yesterday, and they both had sticky notes attached to them.

‘Property of Wallace Wells’ Read the first, a frowny face scribbled next to it.

‘Hands Off, Scott – W.W’ Read the second. Scott sighed and absentmindedly spun the mustard bottle in the door of the fridge. He wasn’t even hungry, but he especially didn’t want to be picking a fight with Wallace.

He didn’t know why Wallace had been drifting from him as of late but worry wormed its way through his mind as it so often did. If Julie was able to see something Scott held for Wallace, maybe Wallace had drawn the same conclusion. Scott wouldn’t blame Wallace for avoiding him if that was the case but… well, no, he would blame Wallace. How was he supposed to help how he felt? Actually, fuck Wallace, how dare he ice him out like this!

Sure, egg on Scott’s face for ruining the friendship they had, but it wasn’t like it was Scott’s fault. It was Wallace who had to go and act like he cared so much, like he actually gave a shit what Scott had to say.

It was Wallace’s damn fault for looking after Scott the way he did, like when Scott would throw up on the pavement outside of their apartment, after a night of drinking. He’d come up to him softly, pat him on the back and sling his arm over his shoulders, supporting his weight as they would struggle through the doorway. He would set him down on the couch and hand him a glass of water as he crouched in front of him and peer up at him as if he gave a shit. Wallace was the one who had tricked him.

Who acts like that if they don’t want the other to fall for them, to depend on them? It was him and his stupid dark eyes, him and his perfect cocky grin, him and his slightly too long black hair that would fall in his eyes making him frown that annoying, stupid, beautiful frown while he blew the strands out of the way.

Scott slammed the fridge door so hard he heard the condiment bottles shake – he was pretty sure some even took a tumble.

The cold air stung the back of Scott’s neck as he waited, but he didn’t mind. What was a little cold? Maybe he deserved it.

“Where’s your coat, freak?”

“Didn’t wanna wear it,” Scott shrugged, pushing himself off the park railing to meet Julie.

“It’s -9° dude, you need something covering you.”

“I said I’m fine,” Scott snapped, then raised his hand. “Sorry, I’ve just been under a lot of pressure lately.” They began walking towards an empty swing set, taking their seats as they talked.

“I can imagine,” Julie hummed, brushing snow off her swing before sitting down and kicking herself off the ground. “How have you been by the way? I’m sorry I haven’t checked in much, I thought you might need the space.”

Scott shrugged, desperately thinking of ways to change the subject, “I’ve been fine, just the usual y’know, I missed hanging out with you though.” He looked over at Julie who had twisted her hands tightly around the chains of her swing, but she smiled warmly back at him.

“As much as I hate to admit it—” She tugged lightly on her beanie— “I missed you too, but don’t you go spreading that around, my reputation wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

Scott laughed softly, “If your reputation can handle having a crush on me, I’m sure the talk around admitting you like to spend time with me would pale in comparison.”

Julie toed the frosted grass beneath her with the toe of her boot quietly before saying, “Yeah, well, Scott I actually wanted to—”

“Julie I’ve done a lot of thinking over these past few days,” Scott said, cutting her off, not wanting her to derail his reason for calling her. “And I’ve come to realise how much our time together has meant to me, you make me laugh, you make me feel comfortable in a way no,” Scott hesitated before swallowing, determined, “no one makes me feel, like me being there is enough. I love hanging out with you, playing video games with you – and losing horribly, just being in your presence doing nothing makes me feel fulfilled.”

“Scott, no...”

“Julie,” Scott pressed, “I wouldn’t have expected it a few weeks ago but now I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself if I didn’t just come out and say it.” Scott spun his swing, the chain above him crossing over, the metal clinking softly. He clasped his hands together and looked straight at Julie, although, his eyes were trained past her left ear. His stomach was an empty pit, the jar that contained his heart shrunk a little more, if he were to meet her eyes, he feared he’d back out of what he was about to say. “Julie Powers, I have fallen for you and would very much like to date, if you would be okay with it,” A sniffle dragged Scott’s eyes back to Julie’s face which was nothing like he had expected.

Tears brimmed and subsequently fell from Julie's eyes, glittering streaks painting her face. Her bottom lip trembled dangerously but her eyes were narrowed, confident and angry.

“Is that what you called me out here for?” She asked, her voice disturbingly calm. Scott nodded, confused. She closed her eyes and took a steady breath, letting it out slowly. “Did you think I wanted to hear this?”

“I mean,” Scott paused, completely out of his depth, “You do like me…right?”

Julie stared daggers at him, “Yes I do Pilgrim, that’s why this is the biggest slap in the face.” She stood up, wrapping her arms around herself, “I had come to terms with the fact I had to let you go, that you don’t feel the same way about me and instead—”

“But I do like you Julie, that’s what I’m saying—”

“No, you fucking don’t!” She screamed, her voice ringing around the park, jolting Scott back slightly. “I don’t give a shit who you think you like or don’t like but you don’t like me, you don’t get to use me like this!”

“I’m not—” Scott tried again before Julie screamed over the top of him for a second time.

“Yes. You. Are!” Julie was now pacing back and forth in front of him, the few other park visitors glanced over at them, concerned. “You don’t fucking like me, Scott! Not like that!”

Scott shifted awkwardly, too scared to say another word now that Julie looked like she was working herself up, she was falling apart before him, and he could do nothing to help. In fact, he was completely and utterly the cause of her distress.

“You are passionless! You say romantic shit and at times you even do romantic things but it's stale. It’s like this—” She gestured between the two of them, and then the rest of the world— “is all some big show, like there’s this script you must deliver. I don’t know how long you have been putting on this performance Scott Pilgrim, but you can’t keep using the women in your life as placeholders for romance!” Her face was now completely wet with tears, but she didn’t stop, her voice never wavering. “I don’t know if you ever loved any of these women, but I do know you were too busy hiding from yourself to experience it!” She took a few shuddering breaths, finally having stopped pacing, and faced Scott. “Don’t use me as a prop to hide behind Scott, I’m not some object for you to use like this.”

“I didn’t—” Scott tried weakly, his entire body shaking, but once more Julie shot him down.

“Yes, you fucking did Scott, and you know it, don’t lie to yourself, or, at the very least, please don’t lie to me,” With that she finally took a gasping sob, sinking to her knees. She clasped her hands over her head and folded herself in two, making herself as small as she could.

His legs were weak, and his steps were unstable, but he couldn’t care less. Scott rushed over to Julie, joining her on the ground and wrapping his arms around her.

“I am so sorry,” He whispered into her hair, pulling her as close as he could. “I’m so, so sorry,” Julie snaked a hand up and clutched at his arm. Scott continued repeating apologies, Julie opening herself up bit by bit till they were both gripping at each other, tears from both sets of eyes staining the others’ clothes.

Often times people won’t realise their faults till someone else holds up a mirror, and it’s never a pretty reflection they’re faced with. Scott wasn’t stupid, he knew he entered relationships like they were a passing, with little care for his partner. His whimsy and flippant nature towards most relationships didn’t paint him as a monster wrapped in sheepskin, but, watching someone he truly did care for shatter before him as a result of his selfish fancies didn’t convince Scott that that wasn’t the case. As he held Julie close, her hands gripping the back of his shirt, he internally repeated the words she had said to him on a loop. They held a profound weight, as if, even if he didn’t now see it, he knew, instinctively, the truth behind them.

Chapter Text

His plan had been flipped on its head and it was his own fault, he understood that. However, this made Scott decide the most rational reaction was to snatch up his bong once again when he had arrived home. His meet-up with Julie was meant to fix everything, fix him, but all he got out of it was clothes wet from the snowy ground, and an even more wounded sense of self. Now he wasn’t only a disgusting person, he was downright evil. He had hurt Julie and many other women in his life for his own selfish reasons, it only made sense to send him to an endless purgatory where his lungs weren’t left empty long enough for his mind to form coherent thoughts.

There was no quick fix for what was happening to him. This was something he had to face head-on, and he wasn’t ready for that.

The days continued to creep past Scott, unnoticed. He spent most of his time in the bathroom, grateful for the power sockets by the basin so he could still watch YouTube without having to venture into Wallace’s territory. The only times Scott was forced to interact with Wallace was when he needed to use the bathroom. A meek knock at the bathroom door would send his heart into hysterics and an acidic sensation to crawl over his tongue.

“I’m sorry, guy, but may I please use the bathroom?” Scott would want to scream at him, to yell that ‘no, in fact, he may not use the bathroom.’ Of course, he didn’t say that, Wallace had clearly been avoiding using the bathroom as much as possible lately so it would be beyond cruel to continue to deny him. The problem came with each time Scott would open the door for Wallace, his heart would crawl into his throat where it would nestle itself and begin heating up. Scott would try and swallow it back down but then, every time, he would catch Wallace’s eyes who would be staring at him.

His blue eyes would be darkened with worry, eyebrows slanted upwards in concern and his mouth pulled thin. He looked at Scott as if he were going to shatter before him, like he was something weak and fragile, something worthy of pity. Scott would sometimes psych himself up to say something in response to that humiliating look he would give him but then he’d find he had been staring too long. His mouth would hang open slightly, those scathing words going unsaid as he drank him in. Oh, how he missed him.

That would be when his tongue would stick to the roof of his mouth which had been sucked from moister, the contents of his stomach swimming dangerously inside him. How fucking disgusting.

Scott would slip past Wallace, careful to not make any physical contact in fear of the elation he risked feeling.

Luckily enough for Scott, Wallace wasn’t around the house often enough to risk running into him. Every morning he would leave early and every night he’d arrive home late. Even when Scott had gone out of his way to remove himself from his life, Wallace still wanted to escape him.

For hours at a time each day, Scott would stare at his reflection. His eyes were beginning to darken as if they were sinking into his head. His cheekbones began to protrude from his face, his cheeks hollowing. When he would find the energy to shower, he’d look down at his naked body in disgust. His hand splayed out against his chest, feeling each rib, sliding down to his sunken stomach, pinching his thinning thighs – he would marvel at the hideous nature of his body. He was becoming weaker, pulling himself out of the tub to wash himself or stare at his reflection became a chore. Who knew only a few days of self-neglect would wreck him, he was pathetic.

When Wallace had gone out and Scott would slink out of the bathroom to peruse the kitchen, he only did so to torture himself a little more. He would stare at the contents of the fridge, no longer feeling any complaint of hunger within him, as if even feeling hungry would take too much energy. The containers with warning labels stayed there, untouched – apparently, Wallace wasn’t feeling all too hungry either.

Sometimes Julie would text or call him, not that he’d ever pick up. Even the thought of talking to other people made Scott feel like he had been plunged into ice water. She seemed worried for him, even apologising for what she had said to him. It wasn’t her fault; she had been completely right. Scott wished he could tell her this, to quell her guilt. He couldn’t. He was much too weak. Much too pathetic.

It would be right before he would take another long hit from his bong in order to fog his thoughts, that Scott would find the only worry that he could think of with clarity. What he was going to get Wallace for Christmas? Especially now since he likely couldn’t afford anything of value. Not that it was likely Wallace would want anything from him. Who would ever want anything from someone as disgusting and evil as him? He didn’t even know if Christmas had been and gone yet. If it had he hoped Wallace hadn’t been lonely. He hoped his absence brought a sense of comfort.

“You need time alone, I get it, but just please be okay,” Julie's voice was crackly through the tinny speaker of Scott’s phone, “I hate you for disappearing like this, but I’ll forgive you when you come back, I just want you back dude…” The message continued for a few more seconds, picking up on her soft breathing before the dial tone played loudly. She had left numerous voice messages for him, each growing more and more dejected. She would give up soon.

Scott sighed and pulled again from his bong, exhaling slowly, watching the thick, white smoke twist and curl mesmerizingly above him. The smoke had lost the burn it once held in his throat, slipping in and out of his lungs like it were second nature. Absentmindedly he thumbed his keypad, pressing play on the most recent message Julie had left him, one from only a couple of hours ago.

“I don’t know if you’re listening to these, asshole, but I’m warning you anyway, Christmas is soon, two days away, you’re going to have people asking where you are. I mean, more people than me and…well, him.” Scott’s heart squeezed painfully, he shut his eyes and swallowed another mouthful of smoke. “I’m going to be super preoccupied with Christmas and the days before and after, so, it’s likely you won’t hear from me…I won’t have forgotten about you. So don’t you dare think that for a second,” Before the message had ended Scott had felt the pinpricks of tears forming. By the time it had ended, he was sobbing, dry reaching into the bathtub drain. Everything was collapsing around him, and it was much too late to try and pick up the pieces and glue them back together. Scott gripped his hair and heaved into the drain, tears running off his cheeks and landing in the tub by his knees. His fingers curled in his hair, his grip tightening, threatening to rip the hair from his skull.

Wallace had once run his hands through Scott’s hair. Scott had come to him, crying over the length of his hair and how he would have to cut it again. Envy and her words had cut through him, leaving everlasting scars, she came into his life like a storm, and left a wreckage in her wake. His self-esteem had taken the brunt of the damage she had brought on him, his hair becoming a very sensitive topic. Wallace had just laughed and pushed back Scott’s hair, his fingers tangling through the orange mess. “Nah,” he’d said, his hand having settled at the base of Scott’s neck, his fingers twisting the shorter locks around them. “I think the long hair looks hot,” after that, he had laughed, pushing Scott back and calling him stupid. The back of Scott’s neck had burned that day.

It burned once again as he fell unconscious, the ceramic tiles cold against his wet cheeks.

Chapter Text

Cold. So cold. Was all Scott could think as he was forcibly dragged from slumber by the incessant ringing of his phone. He blindly slapped his hand around the tub searching for his old Motorola RAZR, which he should look into replacing. The incredibly annoying ringing had started to (metaphorically) make Scott’s ears bleed by the time he had picked up the call.

His body felt like it had been cobbled together with slightly too viscous glue and paper tape that refused to stick.

“Hello?” He asked groggily, already regretting picking up as he was still not in the mood for any sort of human interaction. It was too late to hang up now though, he lamented, they’d already heard his voice. His tongue manipulated itself lazily, sluggish from lack of use over the past days. It felt swollen and heavy in his mouth, a disgusting tang of stomach bile coated it.

“Oi, fuckhead, get your sorry ass over here, I swear to the good lord above if you aren’t in this house in the next half hour you won’t be alive for Christmas dinner,” Stacey’s anything-but dulcet voice grated harshly against Scott’s poor, suffering, ears. 

He wanted to hurl, the coldness that ate away at his body was excruciating. A pinball of pain was let loose in his head as he tried to respond, each thwack the pinball made inside his skull sent his brain into throbbing fits of agony.

“What are you talking about?”

“Are you fucking serious? God, sometimes I really question how we could possibly be related,” Stacey berated. Scott sat up from where he had lain in the tub, his mind clearing enough for him to catch on to Stacey’s words. “We have Christmas dinner tonight to prepare for as well as lunch tomorrow and you best  bet , I’m not doing all the work as you laze around,” Scott rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and glanced at his dreadful reflection. His senior-year face glanced back at him. He couldn’t see Stacey like this, she would know what was wrong, she would know that it wasn’t a passing phase like he had sworn.

“Isn’t mum –” 

“Mum retired last year Scott; do you really think she still wants to be throwing Christmas for her adult children all by herself?”

“I dunno if I can make it this year Stace,” Scott mumbled, his vision still hazy around the edges.

Stacey laughed before responding, “My dear, dear, brother, have you ever tasted your own feet before? Because I swear to God, I will rip off both your legs and shove them so far up your ass that you will have to walk upside down for the rest of your life.” Scott gulped, never enjoying being on the receiving end of Stacey’s threats. “Your piss and shit will run down your body and into your mouth every time you need to go, is that what you want huh?! You wanna eat piss and shit Scott?! I’ll fucking MAKE you eat piss and shit!” Stacey hung up after that, but her message was loud and clear. As much as Scott would rather do anything other than see people, he also very much liked pissing and shitting the right way up.

Sighing heavily Scott grabbed some clean clothes from the dryer – despite their strained company Wallace had still been making it his duty to clean both his and Scott’s clothes (something that made flowers bloom in large, perfumed bouquets from Scott’s heart). After a quick shower, followed by dousing himself in canned deodorant, Scott trudged across the road to his family’s home. 

“Hey, dickhole, let me in!” Scott called through the fly-screen door, banging loudly on the wooden frame. He had tried to open the door upon arrival but had found it locked which wasn’t the norm, so he suspected some malicious involvement from a certain someone.

“Calm your tits loser,” Stacey yelled back, her feet thumping loud enough across the house that Scott could feel the vibrations from the porch. Scott barely had enough time to react when Stacey reached the door, opening it and dragging him in by the ear. “Do you understand how stressful this has been to do alone? You were meant to arrive three hours ago!” She snapped, releasing him in the dining room. Scott rubbed his abused ear as she continued, “Mum and Dad have gone out for some stupid Christmas date thing I don’t know…” Stacey halted, her eyes finally running over Scott’s dishevelled figure. Scott could see the gears turning in her head, carefully plotting how to navigate the situation. 

After a few more long, uncomfortable seconds of Stacey taking in Scott’s appearance, she settled on saying, “Well…you look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks,” Scott grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Stacey shook her head as if dismissing the previous thoughts that had seemingly consumed her only a moment ago, “Anyway, what matters is that they will be home by six.” Stacey pointed at the large analogue clock that hung over the fireplace, the ornate hands pointed at 11:42, “Do you see the time fuckhead?”

“Um, we have plenty of time…” Stacey threw a nearby Christmas bauble with alarming accuracy, hitting Scott square in the same ear she had practically yanked off his head, would someone please let his poor ears catch a break this morning?!

“Do you understand nothing?!” Stacey threw her hands in the air and stalked off, presumably towards the kitchen as Scott could smell a lovely slow roasting turkey. “Set the table in the usual Christmas shit and then find me, you need to pull your weight and help with this fuckass Christmas food.” 

Dejected, tired, and thoroughly put in his place, Scott opened the glass cabinet containing the “good” dinnerware when Stacey called out to him again, “And change your clothes you reek of weed!”

After he had set the table Scott did as he had been told and found Stacey bent over, sticking a thermometer into the turkey that sat roasting in the oven. “What next boss?” Scott asked, his shadow towering over her making her jump and hit her head on the top of the oven. She pulled herself out and shut the oven door glaring at Scott.

“Don’t call me that,” Stacey glowered, a small smile peeking through her thinly curated composure. “You’re gonna help me with dessert,” She pushed a whisking bowl and a crate of eggs towards him, “Meringue pie, Mum’s favourite.” Wiping her hands on her increasingly dirty apron she passed Scott one of his own. “Trust me, you’ll need it, that’s a nice jumper even if it does smell like weed,” Scott looked down at the sweater he had thrown on as he had left his house, it was a lovely forest green that hung a little over his waist, one may also note that it was decidedly not his jumper. Scott grimaced and felt his stomach clench, quickly covering the sweater with the apron. It was a shame it was such a comfortable sweater.

“These were just washed,” He complained, lifting a sleeve and sniffing it. 

Stacey eyed Scott carefully from where she stood measuring cup-fulls of white sugar, “Well if you’ve been smoking a lot it can stick to things easily.” Scott shifted awkwardly and lowered his head, attempting to busy himself with the cracking and separating of eggs. “You can give them another wash with Mum’s Flower Power soap before dinner, they should be dry before Mum and Dad get home.”

“But I don’t wanna smell like flowers,” Scott whined into his bowl of egg whites.

“You can either smell like flowers or you can smell like a disappointment.” That shut Scott up.

As much as Scott had dreaded seeing people, he found that he was rather enjoying Stacey’s company, not that he’d ever admit it to her. They discussed the latest bands they were enjoying, newly announced video games that they were keeping their eyes on and how many pairs of socks they expected to get from their grandma that year. For a while Scott did a pretty good job at steering the conversation away from Wallace but, as always, he couldn’t escape him completely.

“You’re so not subtle,” Stacey remarked causing Scott to freeze as he put the pie in the fridge to cool. 

After a few more seconds of hesitation, he cleared his throat and continued to put the pie away, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come off it dumbass,” Stacy poured some warm milk and melted butter into the potatoes she was mashing to soften them, “You haven’t spoken about Wallace even once and you never shut up about him.”

Scott’s neck heated up, “That’s not true, I don’t talk about him that much!”

“Yeah, sure, have you seen the news lately? The sky is green, and the grass is blue!”

Unsure of how to escape the corner he had been backed into Scott attempted to look completely engrossed with the carrots he was chopping. “C’mon, you gotta tell me what’s up, I won’t rest easy tonight unless you tell me,” Stacey laced her fingers under her chin and batted her eyes at him, “Do really you want your poor little sister to not sleep?” Despite her playful nature, Scott could see worry lines creasing at the corners of her eyes.

Scott brandished his knife dangerously, “You gossip too much for me to trust you with anything Stace.” He knew why she was prying, he knew she recognised the signs, and he knew that the truth would hurt her. He was meant to be normal now, of course, he found a way to fuck it up. As he did with everything.

Stacey grinned and ran her pinched fingers across her lips like a zipper and flicked away an imaginary key, “If it’s truly important to you I promise to keep my mouth shut.”

Internally Scott weighed the pros and cons of opening up to Stacey. To open up to Stacey would be to admit he was still broken, that he was the same failure of a brother that he was during senior year. However, to continue to bottle everything up would be agonising, he didn’t want to be isolated anymore. Spending that afternoon with Stacey made Scott come to realise how much he didn’t want to be alone, and how important it was to be seen and loved.

“You promise?” Scott confirmed, still waving around his knife.

Stacey held out her pinkie finger, “Promise.”

It was like extracting teeth for Scott to spill the contents of the story Stacey had asked for so desperately. He was so angry at Wallace for making him feel the way he did that spitting out that it was more than a friendship that he felt for him felt like a betrayal of himself. Stacey, however, looked relatively unshaken at Scott’s gritted-out confession. 

“I mean, not much of a surprise really,” She mused, checking the temperature of the turkey once again, her voice was tight. “As I said before, you’re not very subtle,” She poked Scott’s chest leaving a fingerprint of turkey basting behind. 

“What do you mean not subtle? I didn’t even know I was…like that.”

Stacey shot an unconvinced raised eyebrow towards Scott, her mouth turning down with a slight grimace, “Yeah, well you and no one else, I’m pretty sure Mum and Dad have just assumed you and Wallace have been together this whole time,” she said. “I know better though; Wallace would never settle for a loser like you.” 

Scott knew it was a joke and that Stacey's words weren’t meant to intentionally harm him, but he couldn’t help the constriction of his throat and the look of hurt that flashed over his face. “Oh, shit, I’m,” Stacey hesitated, “…I didn’t mean it.” Her grimace disappeared a frown of immense concern taking its place. Scott didn’t need to see that face, not anymore, she should have faith he could fix this, that history wouldn’t repeat itself. Scott bowed his head in understanding but didn’t lift it, the ache in his heart had started gnawing away at his arteries once again. 

“It’s cool, I mean it’s true isn’t it?” Scott let out a hollow laugh that Stacey didn’t accompany.

Blessedly, for the both of them, the front doorbell rang as Scott’s laughter faded away. “Shot not!” Scott yelled just before Stacey could get the chance. The painful, constant, torture of his thoughts taking a backseat in favour of the bubble of pride from taking victory over Stacey.

“Ugh,” She groaned, throwing down her dishtowel and making her way out of the kitchen. Scott continued to carefully slice the honeyed ham before he heard chatter from the front door, “Oh hey Stephen, thank you so much for this, I owe you one.” Scott paused his slicing, “Scott? Yeah, he’s here actually.” Stacey went quiet, likely listening to Stephen’s responses, “Really? Doesn’t surprise me, that lazy sack of shit.” The honeyed ham was quickly abandoned, Scott’s mind instead focusing on finding out what his sister possibly had to discuss about him with his bandmate. His heart beat loudly in his ears, he didn’t want Stephen to see the state of him, but a nervous anxiety flickered within him. He had no reason to assume as such, but he feared his sister and his friend had taken the chance to shit-talk him while he was absent.

“Hey guys,” Scott called over to them, his voice wavering slightly, walking to meet the two of them by the doorframe. A cold gust of wind rudely swept past them, smacking Scott directly in the face. “What are we talking about?”

“Nosey bitch,” Stacey muttered, her arms wrapped around a large wicker basket overflowing with fresh fruit. The sickly-sweet stench of slightly too-soft peaches wafted around her.

“Shut up,” Scott murmured back, sticking his fingers in her side causing her to yelp and almost drop her basket of precariously stacked fruit.

“Scott,” Stephen’s deep and unimpressed voice quickly gained Scott’s attention. “It’s good to see you, it’s been a while,” Scott swallowed nervously. 

“Sorry about that, things just came up…” Scott fell silent at Stephen’s raised hand.

“Listen, man, I don’t really care what came up, but you have a loyalty to your band that you should uphold,” Stephan lowered his hand and rested it on Scott’s shoulder, “But you also have friends who care and worry about you, even Kim was asking where you had gone.” Scott grinned wider than he had in the past week and felt pinpricks of tears at Stephen’s words.

“Awww Stephennnn,” He went in for a hug, being stopped halfway by Stephen’s strong hand on his forehead – he continued to swipe the air comically as if he’d somehow be able to wrap his arms around Stephen if he tried hard enough.  

“Yeah, well, let us know the next time you decide to skip band practice three times in a row,” Stephen said, continuing to keep a clingy Scott at arm’s length, “And please, for the sake of everyone who attends the local bars, tell your roommate to keep his depressing ass at home, it’s such a mood killer.” Scott abandoned his attempts to grapple Stephen and looked at him, perplexed. 

“Excuse me?”

Stephen nodded sagely, “Every time I go out for drinks he’s there, and I’ve heard around that he’s there even more often than that. Basically, every night, but I haven’t been keeping tabs, so I don’t really know.” Stephen's words spun Scott’s head like a spinning top, a deep roar in his ears started to wash out his surroundings. 

“Okay, but he’s there with guys, right? Or like he’s hanging with some…?” 

Stephen hummed noncommittally, “Like I said, I haven’t been keeping tabs on him, but I haven’t seen him with anyone else and no one else has mentioned otherwise. He just sorta sits there and drinks for hours, staring into space,” He shivered as if the image he was describing was that disconcerting. Disconcerting it most definitely was, to Scott, who felt like he was drowning from the gravity of the information he had just received. “It’s really depressing to see honestly, but he won’t talk to any of us when we try so we’ve given up,” He jerked his head towards Stacey, “Anyway, I was just here to drop off some fruits for your sister, I have my own Christmas plans to attend to.” 

Scott numbly accepted the basket of fruit that Stacey handed to him as she waved Stephen goodbye and shut the door. The moment she did Scott turned on her, his good mood from seeing Stephen having completely dissipated, “Did you know about this?” Stacey bit her lip and looked away from Scott, “Oh my god you did, and you kept it from me!” He knew Stacey and Wallace were close, but he didn’t ever expect to be blindsided by them like this. He was meant to be the one whom Wallace could talk to (it didn’t cross Scott’s mind within this moment that he and Wallace hadn’t really been on speaking terms for the past week and instead was preoccupied with feeling betrayed).

Stacey huffed and turned so her back was facing him, crossing her arms, “Ah so now you want me to be a gossip,” Her voice shook slightly, as if tinged with concern…with fear. “Only when it suits you hm?”  

Scott vibrated with anger, Wallace was his friend before he was Stacey’s, he had a right to know, “It’s not the same!”

“Isn’t it? You’re such a hypocrite!” Stacey stalked back towards the cooking turkey, Scott following closely in tow. “Why would you even want to know Wallace has been drinking away his sorrows? You’re no better!”

Scott gaped at her, guilt clawing at his chest leaving deep stinging gashes. “I thought he was going on dates, he said he was!” He deflected.

“And would it matter if that were the case? You aren’t dating him, Scott!” Stacey scowled at him before pulling the roasted vegetables out of the oven. She shook slightly as she placed the pan of vegetables on the stovetop, avoiding even glancing at Scott.

“I can worry about him too,” Scott snapped back despite the bolt of pain that curled within his chest at Stacey’s retort. “And who said anything about wanting to date him?” Even to Scott, his words sounded hollow, Stacey already knew, he knew. What was the point in continuing to hide when he was already stripped bare?

“Please, you hate him when you’re not fantasising sucking his dick. You don’t care that he’s suffering with his own shit, you only care about you and your own feelings,” Stacey roughly grabbed the fruit from Scott’s hands and slammed it on the countertop. “Maybe if you ever pulled your head out of your ass long enough to just  talk  to him you would understand everything a whole lot better!”

“Everything?” Why was everything always so confusing? Why couldn’t everyone just tell him what they were thinking?! “Maybe if you had told me some of what was going on I could have helped him!”

“And what about you Scott?!” Stacey barked, her hair coming loose from her ponytail, strands of hair whipping across her face as she moved. “Who would have helped you? What if you couldn’t handle what was going on with Wallace and it ruined you?!”

Scott’s breathing halted, “What do you mean ruin me? What’s going on with Wallace?” 

“I don’t know!” Stacey yelled, her hair tie officially lost to the floor of the kitchen, her dark hair shrouded her face and shoulders creating a menacing visage that would have been more threatening if she didn’t look so lost and hurt, “He won’t tell me, but I know it involves you and I don’t know what that might mean for you!” 

Hope and dread budded in Scott’s chest, it was about him, Wallace still thought about him…at least only when he drank himself into a disassociated haze.

Scott’s voice croaked as he battled the growing storm of emotions inside of him, “Don’t you think I should be the one talk to him then? You know I can handle myself.” His confident words fell flat having been dished on a tray of trembling discomposure.

“Oh yeah, 'cause you handled yourself so well in high school,” Stacey’s words were glacial, blame twisting its way through each syllable.

Scott’s fists clenched, his nails biting crescent moons into his palms, “Fuck you.”

“I’m done with you right now, go and do whatever it is that virgin losers do,” She waved him off and started to angrily chop the apples, each slice an uneven disgrace.

“I’m not a virgin!” Scott yelled at Stacey – who poked her tongue out at him – and stomped his way down to his childhood room.

He paced around his room which had started to be repurposed back into a normal basement, labelled boxes and broken bicycles were piling in the corners, collecting a fine layer of dust. As his legs grew tired from pacing Scott flopped dramatically on his old, red bean bag that his family had fortunately decided to keep. 

Wallace hadn’t been going on dates every night. He had been drinking away his paycheque and Scott didn’t even have the decency to notice. Scott covered his face with his hands and groaned loudly. Was he okay? What was going on with him? Stacey was right, he was so self-centred he didn’t even notice his best friend suffering alongside him. Scott sunk deeper into his beanbag; the beans having deflated significantly over the years. And why had Wallace lied about going on dates? How little did he know about Wallace? Maybe they weren’t as close as he had deluded himself to think.

Years ago, Scott’s family had bought a new TV for the living room leaving the old CRT TV in the basement on Scott’s old dresser, it was that TV Scott found himself staring into, static snow being the only that came on when he pressed the remote. Sighing in defeat Scott fished around in his trouser leg and pulled out a joint he had made before coming over. He rolled the joint between his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully; his parents were still due to arrive home in a few hours and he couldn’t last much longer with these thoughts bouncing around in his head. 

He lit the joint and sunk his head back, watching the smoke curl up from his mouth and dissipate against the popcorn ceiling. The fleeting shapes and twists the smoke created in the air hypnotised him, each curve of the thick mist pulled his mind further from his corkscrew thoughts.

Halfway through the joint heavy footfall sounded above him, bare feet slapping loudly against the hard wood. His door was loudly kicked open, hitting the wall with enough force that it swung back before being pushed aside – letting Stacey come thundering down the basement stairs, “I can smell that shit from upstairs, Mum and Dad will kill you if they find out you’ve been smoking inside.”

Scott kept his gaze trained on the ceiling, “Fuck off Stacey.” 

“No, you’re gonna put that shit out and change out of those smelly ass clothes,” Scott found he didn’t have much choice in the matter as Stacey lent over and plucked the joint from his fingers, putting it out against the cement wall.

“What the shit,” Scott started, getting up from his beanbag, his head not spinning as much as it used to when he would smoke, the reality of his heightened tolerance weighed on his mind heavily.

“It’s Christmas Scott, at least for today find a different way to cope, please,” Scott sunk back down into the beanbag, guilt an ever-present demon he found himself dealing with as of late. “I don’t want a repeat of your senior year, it wouldn’t be fair of you Scott,” Scott remained silent and began knocking the toes of his shoes together. “I’m sorry for what I said to you upstairs, that wasn’t fair of me, you’re dealing with your own shit, but I just got so angry that you were willing to destroy yourself over this like last time.”

“This isn’t like last time,” Scott tried, his voice failing him, he knew he was lying to them both.

“Oh really? Because I saw you fall into this hole the last time your sexuality was threatened, do you know how hard it is to watch your older brother slowly kill himself because he hates who he is?” Scott finally turned to look at Stacey. She was sat at the bottom of his staircase, her arms wrapped around her legs which were drawn close to her chest. “You hate who you are intrinsically so deeply that you’d rather skip meals and smoke till your brain melts than love yourself,” Scott crept over to where Stacey sat and crouched on the floor beneath her. She peaked over her knees to look at him, “Why wasn’t it enough that we loved you? We don’t care who you love, we never did, but you never gave us the chance to tell you that.”  

“Oh…Stace.”

“Your senior year of high school was the worst year of my life,” Stacey continued, it was as if she had been holding in everything for so long that she couldn’t help it tumbling all out. “I was so scared I’d never get you back. I hated that boy that you said you hated so much, I blamed him for taking you away from me and leaving your husk as a replacement,” Scott placed a hand on her knee, the movement shaky and unsure. “But then I realised you never hated him, it was so much worse than that,” Stacey placed her own hand on top of Scott’s and squeezed softly. “I don’t want to hate Wallace for ruining you, not like that other boy…I don’t know what’s going to happen between you and him but…” She pulled in a deep shaky breath, her bottom lip trembling, “Regardless of whatever does happen, I need you to promise me I’ll still have my big brother.”

Scott moved up to the step Stacey sat on and let her rest her head on his shoulder, still holding her hand, “I’m not going anywhere, not this time.”

Even if he could get away with lying to himself for as long as he pleased it didn’t mean others wouldn’t notice, especially those closest to him. Those who had been with him through everything. Maybe his head reeled, and his heart ached at the thought of Wallace but whatever would happen between them once the storm passed there would still be people who needed him, people who still loved him. Scott couldn’t stand the idea of losing Stacey the way she had lost him all those years ago, no wonder she was scared. How much of himself did he force down and will himself to forget?

They stayed sitting there for a few minutes before Stacey wrinkled her nose, “You really do stink, if you want dry clothes by dinner, you should probably clean them now.” Scott barked out a hoarse laugh and stood up, stretching.

“Got any spare clothes for me to use in the meantime?”

Stacey pondered for a moment before wiping the drying tears from her cheeks, “I think my ex left some of his clothes in my room before he moved schools, let me check.” A couple of minutes later she was back with some stretched-out gym shorts and a neon blue hoodie, “It’s nothing fancy but it’ll do for the time being.” She chucked them at Scott, who fell into the wall in an attempt to catch them, a shock of pain running through his elbow upon his impact with the wall. “Gimme your clothes and I’ll chuck them on wash.”

Scott gratefully stripped down and hurled his own bundle of clothes at Stacey’s head in retaliation. The clothes she had lent him were much too wide and he found himself pulling the shorts back up every couple of seconds. 

Addiction and depression weren’t words Scott used in connotation with himself, yet he knew his family did behind his back, and who was he to blame them? So wrapped up in the terror of his growing feelings for a friend and the distress over what that might have meant he hadn’t even thought twice before throwing himself down an endless spiral. 

During his senior year of high school, Scott had completely shut himself off once he had realised his eyes lingered on one of his friend’s broad shoulders and strong legs for longer than what could be dismissed. Only the cold suffocating darkness of the night knew that he was aware of what his lingering looks, and quickened heartbeat meant. The moment the break of dawn spread over the neighbourhood in its butterscotch brilliance Scott would dissimulate the secrets he had admitted to himself as nothing more than an overactive mind clouded by the haziness of sleep. Whenever those secrets floated across his mind, despite being submerged in daylight, Scott would claw at his skin, desperate for an escape from his lying mind. There was no way he actually felt that way, he would think as he rolled a joint as fast as his 17-year-old hands could manage, his mind was just wandering, and he needed it to stop wandering so much. 

It didn’t take long until even the weed couldn’t pull him away from his thoughts, his drifting mind had him in a chokehold that refused to weaken. That didn’t stop Scott from smoking every chance he could get in the hopes that this time it would work, this time he could escape. Please. Please let him escape.

Scott couldn’t easily recall most of that year, his memories foggy from substance abuse, there was little time in each day where he wasn’t at least partially in the clouds. If his parents were doing anything to help him, he couldn’t say. Stacey’s involvement was also a translucent memory, he could remember a handful of times when she had left him food by his door and a couple of times when she would sit on the other side, just speaking to him about her day, not pressuring him for a response. Behind his bedroom door (and down the stairs) Scott would be lying on his floor fading in and out of consciousness listening to a beat-up Billy Joel vinyl on repeat. 

There was no switch that was flipped that pulled Scott out of the hole he had curled up in, maybe he never left it, things just got easier, weed got more expensive. 

After graduation Scott didn’t see much of his friend anymore, though by that time Scott had made it clear he hated him to anyone who bothered to ask so maybe friendship wasn’t what it was. Not seeing him made the days pass easier, he found he had to rely on pot less and less to get through the week. By the time he had entered university he had shoved everything deep inside him, locking it all inside of a vault he swore never to open. 

He was still a light eater when he had met Wallace, each meal a struggle to swallow, and even more of a struggle to keep down. However, as it does, time passed, meals became easier to chew and Scott’s heart began to mend despite the missing chunks, the pieces of which he had locked away with the memories that had carved them out. Wallace had helped, likely without even realising it. Now Scott worried how much Wallace had helped him or if he had just unlocked that hidden vault without him even noticing. 

Most of the Christmas dinner cooking was finished roughly an hour before their parents returned, the only things they were waiting on were a cooling jelly and some roasting potatoes. This found Scott once again attempting to entertain himself in his old room yet, this time, without any pot. Stacey had stolen his beanbag and was lounging by the old TV on her phone, texting some friends and listening to music through her iPod. They had both exhausted themselves battling to the death over Mario Kart before they had retired to their own separate corners of the room (Scott had complained that they were hanging in his gutted childhood room and not her acceptably put-together room which had earned him a raised middle finger).

Scott considered contacting Julie to either chat or hang out with her but quickly dismissed the thought – she had, after all, warned him that she would be busy in the coming days, and he didn’t want to perpetuate any more bad blood between them. He also wasn’t wholly functioning again, he missed Julie, but his leg bounced nervously at the thought of interacting with her. Self-reflection doesn’t often help build confidence. Bored and restless Scott decided to slip out of the house and finally grab some Christmas cards for his family.

The Post Office was quiet when he arrived, the only patrons being those who were putting last-minute Christmas presents into the delivery drop-off. No snow fell from the sky that afternoon, but the air still held a harsh crisp quality to it. Scott slipped inside the nicely heated Post Office and rubbed his hands as he warmed up, his fingertips slowly turning from blue back to a rosy pink. He perused the card display, picking out some appropriately festive cards for each member of his family (“Hoe, hoe, hoe!” read the card he had picked out for Stacey, a naked Santa doing the splits, hiding his dick with an innocent snowman was emblazed on the front) when something to his right caught his eye.

A small display of airport novels with a few classics stacked here and there was set into the wall beside him. It wasn’t the display that had captured his attention however, it was a small book that sported a simple orange and white cover, ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’. Scott traced the cover; he had seen this book on Wallace’s bookshelf back home. He had seen quite a few by the same author in Wallace’s possession, it was apparent he was an author whom Wallace enjoyed. As usual, Scott was strapped for cash, yet he still found himself passing the book along with his, carefully selected, Christmas cards to the cashier. Even if he knew less about Wallace than he had thought he did, even if it were too little too late, the least he could do was try and learn about something he loved. 

Chapter Text

Jesus fuck classic literature was a hard read.

Scott started to read 'The Picture of Dorian Gray’  the moment he had arrived home from the post office and had signed his cards. The book itself wasn’t so large but the words were small and the paper thin. Scott quickly found himself with an open paperback Oxford thesaurus on his lap as he read, flipping his way through the index every third sentence. Who knew there were so many words in the English language that he didn’t already know? Additionally, to help his understanding of words, and the creeping plot, Scott began to annotate the book – noting definitions and thoughts he had about characters and plots in the margins of the pages. During Christmas dinner he balanced the book on his knees and read between bites of food, careful to not spill anything on the delicate paper. 

His parents were impressed by his and Stacey’s dinner, even if everything had an inexplicable rubbery texture.

Scott had noticed both of his parent’s concerned sweeps of their gaze across his body when he had welcomed them home, their concern softening slightly as they watched him wolf down his portion of the dinner (he was spurred on by Stacey’s threatening glare every time he placed his fork down). 

That night, after everyone was completely stuffed and had fallen victim to food comas, Scott was awake, curled up on his beanbag, devouring his newly purchased book. The story didn’t fly by, it absolutely dragged its feet and at times Scott was tempted to put the book down and go to sleep but then he’d be pulled back in by Oscar Wilde’s breathtaking descriptions. When Scott did eventually pass out in the wee hours of dawn – his sweater engulfing him in the pungent floral scent of his mother’s washing detergent, which tried its best to quash the faded, comforting, smell of Wallace – the desperate words of Basil Hallward’s declaration of love swam around his mind. 

Scott woke earlier than he would have preferred to an excitable Stacey leaping onto his stomach, sending his book flying and causing him to gasp and flail around in shock. 

“Merry Christmas!” Stacey practically screamed into Scott’s ears, making him slap a hand over them and start kicking at her, landing a few good blows to her chest. “What’s to be of ‘Christmas Spirit’ these days?!” Stacey whined, getting off Scott only to throw herself back down, elbow angled directly for his sternum. Scott rolled off the beanbag just in time to let Stacey be suffocated by it. She flopped off the bag like a fish desperately searching for water, and lay dramatically on the cement floor, “We’re opening presents if you wanna join us or whatever.” Scott would have loved to respond but by then he was already halfway up the stairs and continued his rush upwards, throwing the door closed behind him and locking it. Seconds after, Stacey began to bang on the door, screaming at Scott to let her out or he wouldn’t be getting any presents from her. 

“And how are you gonna stop me from opening them?” Scott retorted, “It’s your presents you gotta worry about!” In response to that Stacey yelled some more, continuing to hammer against his bedroom door. 

“Kids, please,” Their mum’s tired voice called from the living room. “Can’t we have a quiet morning, at least for Christmas?” 

Sufficiently guilt-tripped, Scott unlocked and opened his door giving way for Stacey to fall flat on her face mid shoulder slam. He laughed at her flattened body, nudging her in the ribs, which was a horrible idea as her arm quickly snaked out, grasping onto his ankle with an iron grip. Scott yelped and attempted to shake her off, to no avail. 

“Ew, gross, get off you bitch!” Scott cried out, holding onto the stair's banister in an attempt to drag his foot free.

“Scott Pilgrim!” His mother’s voice called out again, her voice a lot less forgiving, “What did I just say?!”

“But Stacey—” 

“Zip it!” 

Scott groaned and accepted his fate of dragging Stacey around the house, his leg significantly weighed down. She giggled gleefully as she slid across the polished wooden floors, letting go only once they had reached the Christmas tree. She commando crawled over to the pile of colourfully wrapped presents and glittering stacks of cards, grabbing one of the smaller sized presents and hurling it at Scott – who caught it with little effort as he had been expecting an attack. 

‘Asshole’ had been scrawled on the top left corner of the box, though it had been scribbled over, 'For Scott’  was written underneath in their mother’s loopy handwriting. Scott looked up at Stacey quizzically.

“It’s from me,” She offered, continuing her ravenous digging through the presents in a desperate attempt to find her own.

“I couldn’t let her call you that on Christmas, you guys can get back to it after the day of giving,” Their mum helpfully informed him. Scott smiled and settled on the floor beside Stacey who was already tearing into her gifts. He ripped the paper off the box with little care and was stunned by what he held in his hand. 

“I promise it's new,” Stacey said behind a growing wall of crushed wrapping paper. “It’s only been opened ‘cause I downloaded some songs onto it already.” 

In Scott’s hand, he held an iPod, something he had been desiring since they were first released but he’d never found the money to support the cost. “Dude, this is too—” Scott began before being hushed by Stacey.

“I got a job this year, I could afford it, plus,” She smirked darkly. “I knew it would make you feel guilty enough to actually buy me a gift next year.” Scott threw a wadded-up ball of sticky tape and wrapping paper at her then continued to investigate the contents of his new iPod. Stacey leaned over his shoulder to provide commentary on why she chose each song, her hair continuously blocking Scott’s view – not that he could complain this time. 

She explained how she bought and downloaded primarily albums Scott had talked about wanting for years as well as songs she had noticed him humming to himself often. “I didn’t realise you liked so much Britney Spears and the like,” She drawled, having taken complete control over his iPod, scrolling through the folders of songs she had created. “But you’re like always singing pop songs to yourself so of course I took it upon myself to add them,” Despite her kind gesture Scott’s heart was squeezed a little more within that continually shrinking jar. He hadn’t listened to any pop music in what felt like forever (which was very dramatic of him since it had been barely over a week). He didn’t know if he could bring himself to listen to it alone. 

The other presents he acquired were four pairs of socks from his grandma (Stacey received six which expressed a disgusting act of favouritism), a tackle box – that was going to harbour many layers of dust as it was destined to sit forgotten underneath the bathroom sink – from his dad, and, a deep maroon handknitted scarf from his mum. “It’ll look so lovely with that sweater,” His mum had gasped with joy when he had unwrapped it, her hands clasped together. “Where did you even get such a nice sweater? I certainly didn’t buy it for you,” Scott wanted to sink into the floor. The last thing he wanted was to bring up Wallace, although to deny the sweater was his would definitely raise more questions, but, as he hurriedly attempted to think up a plausible backstory for the sweater his mum decided on the story by herself. “Oh, it must have been that sweet Wallace boy who got it for you,” She cooed, brushing some stray lint from Scott’s shoulder. “Isn’t he such a sweetheart?”

Not wanting to continue the conversation any further Scott swallowed dryly and nodded, “Yeah, real sweetheart.” 

“Well,” Stacey said, clapping her hands together and bringing the attention back to her. “Who wants eggnog?” Both their parents heartily agreed, smacking their lips in anticipation. “Would you care to help, Scott?” She asked pointedly, making her plan for his escape clear. Scott practically jumped up from his seat in enthusiasm. 

“Of course, yeah, can do, yep,” Scott said, scuttling off to the kitchen as fast as he could without seeming too suspicious (he failed spectacularly).

Stacey met him in the kitchen, a few steps behind him, and bumped her hip against his affectionately as she passed. “It looked like you were about to implode out there,” She mused, grabbing four mugs from the kitchen cabinet. 

“I just wish I could get through one day without him being brought up,” Scott sighed into the open fridge door where the cooled eggnog sat in a plastic-wrapped bowl. He grabbed the bowl and some whipped cream, placing them down on the counter next to the expectant mugs. “Do you know where mum puts the cinnamon?” 

Stacey waved the bottle in front of him and slid it across the counter to meet him, “Well, you dug this grave for yourself y’know?” She dipped a ladle in the bowl of eggnog and began filling the mugs, “You’ve intertwined so much of your life with his that you’re both seen as extensions of the other.” Scott remained silent, passing her the open cardboard container of heavy, whipped, cream. “That’s why I worry about you Scott, this is so much more than last time,” Stacey’s hand shook, noticeably, as she spooned the cream into the mugs. “If this all doesn’t work out in your favour, which isn’t to say that’s a definite,” She bumped him with her hip again, “But I just need you to be prepared to lose someone who carries half of you with him.”

The fact of Scott carrying the other half of Wallace hung in the air, unspoken.

“It’s not an addiction you know?” Scott mumbled, his voice barely audible, his shame deafening. 

“I know,” Stacey responded, her voice just as soft. Their combined awareness of their parents in the next room over was palpable. “It’s abuse.”

“I just don’t want you to think that there’s no coming back from this,” Scott picked at a loose thread at the hem of his sweater. “This is something I can fix; I want to fix this.”

Stacey smiled warmly, “I’m not asking you to quit, at least not cold turkey, but if you are dedicated to fixing this, I’m going to need you to stop smoking to cope, smoke for fun, change the correlation.” She placed a stick of cinnamon into each mug, “If you ever do find that you need help it’s not shameful to ask for it, but if you find you’re scared to do so, know that I’m here. If you need to find a support group or a therapist – which I highly recommend,” She flicked some cream at him, “I can help, and I promise to never tell a soul.”

Scott sprinkled the ground cinnamon over the mugs of cream, “Thank you.”

Stacey laughed, “For what?”

He softly bumped his hip against hers himself, “For caring.”

After they had all gulped down their eggnog and swapped stories over mounds of torn paper and scattered presents, their backs warmed by the flames of the fireplace, everyone retired to their personal corners of the house. Scott stayed by the fireplace, not wanting to abandon the warmth, and settled into his book once more. 

Notes were scattered across every page, the masses of ink beginning to weigh the book down. The notes only increased in number as the story climaxed with Dorian’s reveal of the painting and his subsequent murder of Basil, Scott’s chicken scratch screaming at the betrayal. He could have sworn the story was a romance, Basil’s confession still steeping within his mind. He had loved Dorian to a point of worship only to be discarded as a worthless obstacle by the man he had pledged his life’s work to. Scott had never been much of a reader, especially of classics, there was just something about this book that sucked him in. He not only salivated over knowing the outcome of Dorian’s story, but he also felt a devotion to finish this book. He didn’t want it to end, he didn’t want the last page to slip from his fingers. The moment the cover was closed Scott knew his last fixed connection to Wallace would have snapped, leaving only enough stability to talk to him, for what likely could be the final time. That conversation was what he feared. He feared what that conversation would mean for his future. He feared what that conversation would mean for them.

Despite his misgivings, Scott was exceptionally annoyed when Stacey interrupted him only a couple of pages away from the ending. “Do you have any eggs at your place?” She asked, loudly chewing gum, not bothering to look up from her phone.

“Seriously dude?” Scott grumbled, docking the page of his book and shooting her a withering stare. “You had all the ingredients for a Christmas dinner, with enough left over for lunch, but not enough eggs for breakfast?”

Stacey continued to chew obnoxiously loud, “And what of it? Do you have eggs or not?” 

Scott uncrossed his legs and leaned heavily against the brick of the fireplace; his legs stretched out before him, “I don’t know man, I mean, probably?” He absentmindedly scratched at his chin as he attempted to recall the contents of his fridge. 

“Cool, go grab me some, I need like three,” She popped a bubble and began to walk away before Scott stopped her, calling out in indignation.

“No way, I’m not going over there for some stupid eggs, what if…” He stopped himself, thinking better than to reveal why he didn’t want to visit his own home. He didn’t want to seem like the coward he was.

“What if you see Wallace?” Stacey provided, sounding increasingly bored by Scott. She finally snapped her phone shut and slid it into her pocket, “Are you being serious right now?” An often-echoed sentiment she gave Scott. “Dude…Wallace goes to visit his family every Christmas, how could you possibly forget this?”

She was right, how could have he possibly forgotten this? Scott could have sworn Wallace spent each Christmas at home, sometimes even crashing Scott’s family’s Christmas dinner. Was he remembering incorrectly? Surely not. Then again, it wasn’t as if he was a patron of reliable memory. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh, fucking dumbass,” What did Scott possibly do to receive such constant hostility from his younger sister? He had always been such an angel of a big brother to her! “So, are you gonna get my eggs or what?”

Scott groaned and heaved himself up off the floor, his knees cracking from the movement, “Yeah, yeah, I’m going, jeez,” He muttered, making his way over to, and grabbing his keys from, the entrance’s key hook. He tucked his small book into his back pocket and took a deep breath before braving the cold late morning air. 

The walk across the road to his home of course took all but two minutes, yet Scott was beyond pleased when was finally able to slot his key into the door and escape the frigid outside. It had only been roughly twenty-four hours since Scott had been home, but he could already smell the scent of the house that he usually couldn’t detect. He could smell a slight tinge in the air from some rice Wallace must have recently burnt, he could smell the harsh stink of spice from his – Scott’s – Axe deodorant, he could smell the heavy aroma of marijuana that had seemed to have seeped into every crevice of the flat, he could also smell the overwhelming scent of Wallace. The smell of his cologne flooded Scott’s emotions, the light scent of parchment paper, old books and waxed wood clung to him. Almost unconsciously Scott breathed in deeper, trying to fill himself with the smell that had been slowly fading from his sweater, a smell he never wanted to forget. 

So wrapped up in chasing Wallace’s scent Scott almost didn’t notice the small store-bought Christmas tree that sat by the foot of their bed. 

Tastefully wrapped in red and green tinsel and golden fairy lights it stood, ceramic baubles hung from the thin, plastic branches that sagged slightly under the weight. No star was nestled between the plastic pine needles at the top of the tree; an oversight Scott didn’t expect from Wallace. They had never had a Christmas tree before, content with stacking presents beside their TV cabinet (which meant Wallace stacked his presents by the TV cabinet while Scott would lean his cards up against Wallace’s pile). What had spurred Wallace to set up a Christmas tree, especially since he didn’t spend Christmas there?

As Scott stepped closer to inspect the small tree, which only barely reached his waist, he caught sight of a small present wrapped in brown paper and waxed string tucked behind one of the plastic stabilisers. Lying on top of the present was a card in a matching brown envelope. Written in large black letters was his name, Scott. 

Scott sunk to his knees and slid the present and card over to himself. Cautiously he lifted the card and shook it out of the envelope. The card was a simple folded sheet of paper, Happy Holidays sprawled across the front in golden cursive. Inside the card were rows and rows of words that had been written with a leaking pen, splotches of black ink freckled the caramel paper.  

Scott,

I don’t quite know what to say, I’ve never been one for heartfelt notes or words and that isn’t about to change. But here I am anyway so I may as well wish you a Merry Christmas. 

I don’t know what’s going on with us at the moment but I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It was stupid of me to indulge in your ramblings as I did, as I have. You were drunk, I know you didn’t mean it, I was joking too, I didn’t ever want you to hate me for it. I don’t want to have messed everything up, but I understand if I have. 

If you need space from me, I get it. I can organise it so we can get another mattress and we can set up a divider if that’ll help. You can also move out if you wish, I’m not stopping you, don’t feel like you have to stay living with me out of guilt. 

I’m sorry I’ve been so cold to you lately, when I finally started to snap out of it you seemed to already have gotten the message. I understand why you have been treating me the way you have been. It’s my fault guy. I’m glad you have Julie now, I never expected it, but it seems like you two are getting along. She’s good for you. 

Whatever you decide to do I will support. I know you’ll be happy in life, even if I’m not there to witness it.  

Merry Christmas

Wallace

Beads of salty water hit the paper, bleeding some of the words together, Scott had to close the card to preserve it from any more of his tears. He didn’t understand a lot of what Wallace had said about things he had implied had occurred, but in the moment, it didn’t matter to him. The distance between their names spoke for itself. Wallace was so convinced he was the one who ruined everything that he was giving Scott an out, an opportunity to blame him for everything and leave with a guilt-free conscience. Not that he would, Wallace didn’t know it yet, but everything was Scott’s fault and Scott was going to make sure he knew this. He couldn’t let Wallace shoulder the weight of his own failings. 

His hands shook as he undid the string and peeled away the sticky tape of his present. A small, stapled book fell into his lap from the loose paper. 

‘23 Recipes Scott Can Conceivably Cook’

By Wallace Wells

It was incredibly small, with only enough pages for each recipe, which had all been handwritten making a couple of them only just legible. Each recipe was a classic recipe such as Cheese and Onion Omelettes or Butter Chicken with Rice, but every one had a small twist, be it extra salt or hidden spices. All the small additions were ones Wallace had added himself to the recipes, writing beneath the ingredients that he had added them after noticing Scott’s preferences for them. 

Scott felt sick. He dropped the card and handmade book like they were made from hot embers and scooted across the floor until his back hit the sofa chair. He wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t vomit as he sobbed into his hands. How was it that Wallace was still so dedicated to him despite the way Scott had treated him, not only within the past week but throughout their entire friendship? Not a day had gone by where Scott hadn’t used Wallace either financially or for unrequited emotional support. Yet, despite this Wallace was apologising to him. He didn’t deserve such ignorant acceptance. 

As he continued to cry, every orifice of his face feeling like it was leaking, he numbly accepted that he didn’t hate Wallace. He never did. He knew what he felt for Wallace, he had left it unsaid but now the word rang as clear as a bell in his head.

He loved Wallace Wells.

Scott didn’t know how much time had passed when his tears ran dry, and his posture slumped in on himself. He felt unable to move, his body weighed down by sandbags, so he didn’t. Beyond pulling his book out of his pocket, along with his chewed graphite pencil, he didn’t move an inch.

Bright, early afternoon light streamed under the entryway door when Dorian’s withered dead body was discovered beneath the exquisite oil painting of his younger self. Scott brought his hands together, closing the book for the last time. The connection had finally snapped, he had to talk to Wallace, and he had to talk to him soon before they lost each other forever.

Life finds humour in Scott’s continuous pain and struggle as it made evident when Wallace Wells walked through the front door (looking slightly confused as to why it was already unlocked). 

Scott’s period of absolute stillness came to an abrupt halt when he snapped his head around to look at Wallace, whose eyes had already found him. They were wide and scared as they slowly took in Scott’s presence, then the torn paper and finally the open card. Neither of them said a word as they locked eyes, both neglecting to blink.

Wallace never visited his family for Christmas. How in the fuck did Scott fall for the most idiotic and easily proven false, prank? 

Chapter Text

The world stopped spinning and the buzz of cicadas flooded the room, filling the empty silence.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Wallace’s grip on his keys tightened, his knuckles whitening, yet he still didn’t move, neither did Scott. All the air felt as though it had been sucked out of the room leaving their lungs empty and struggling.

“So,” Scott’s voice hitched, “You don’t see your family for the holidays.” It was a statement, not a question, the puzzle pieces having already slotted together. Scott made a mental note to continue skipping Stacey’s Christmas presents.

Wallace’s reply was breathy, a million questions floating within each puff of air, “What?”

“Never mind.”

The cicadas once more dominated the conversation as a blanket of white noise that surrounded them. Wallace didn’t seem to believe that Scott was really in front of him, he looked like he was putting all his mental strength into not pinching himself. “Been shopping?” Scott asked weakly, trying to kickstart their exchange, only able to grab onto the plastic bag that hung low from Wallace’s hand.

“Oh yeah, I guess,” Wallace reached into the bag and pulled out a plastic, yellow star. “For the tree.”

Scott’s heart thundered in his ears, he was acutely aware of how stiff and awkward Wallace’s words were, he was clearly uncomfortable by Scott’s presence. It wasn’t, however, as if he could leave, Wallace needed to know that the distance between them wasn’t something he should be apologising for. “Cool, cool,” Scott said, frantically attempting to find a reasonable response. “The tree is new, what’s, uh…what’s up with that?” He couldn’t help but suspect he was repeatedly picking the wrong dialogue options.

Wallace grimaced and opened his palms as if to say, ‘I dunno man, why the hell are you interrogating me on how I celebrate the holidays?’. “You asked for one last year,” he said instead, his voice so low Scott may have missed it if he wasn’t completely locked in on Wallace and how his jawline sharpened each time he clenched his teeth.

“Oh,” The tree was for him, of course it was. Even during times of conflict Wallace just had to go above and beyond.

“So…” Wallace’s eyes flitted away from Scott, unable to decide what to focus on. “You got my present…” He cleared his throat and shifted, his movements robotic as he placed the plastic shopping bag beside his feet and shook off his jacket. His focus still jumping around the room.

“And your letter,” Scott wished he didn’t sound so meek, Wallace being so close to him after what felt like decades spun his insides like cotton candy making him feel completely lost and breathless.

Wallace cleared his throat and picked up his shopping bag, taking several long strides to the kitchen counter, and placing the bag on top. “Mhm…” He hummed, turning to face his body towards Scott, his eyes still refusing to meet him. He placed his hands on the counter behind him and leant back, tilting his head towards the ceiling and closing his eyes as he took in a deep breath.

Scott slid his book off his lap, and placed it beside himself, forcing himself to try and feel solid enough to at least move, even if only slightly, “I have some notes.”

Wallace cracked one eye open and finally looked at Scott’s face, “Yeah?” He chuckled softly, his dark hair flopping down, a curl tickling the bridge of his nose. His hair rested against his face in loose ringlets, like a cherub. When some of the overhead light was able to sneak under his overgrown fringe Scott could catch glimpses of how dark the circles under his eyes had become, the sickly sheen of his skin making them appear even darker. Determination was set in his face, his cheekbones resting high on his sallow cheeks. His head was angled down, and his focus was locked onto Scott. He stood as if he were facing some beast, something dangerous and distrustful, something that could break him, but it was only Scott. Something inside of Wallace had shifted.

Scott picked at the frayed holes in his jeans, “You shouldn’t have apologised so much, you have nothing to apologise for.” Scott was unfairly angry with Wallace, this wasn’t something he was meant to be apologising for, this was Scott’s problem, and he was going to be the one to deal with it. This was his grave.

“…Nothing? Scott…do you even know what I was apologising for?” Wallace asked softly, sounding sorrowful, his neck flushing darkly.

Scott desperately racked his brain, hoping to recall whatever it was Wallace was referring to, but again he had to let Wallace down, “…No?”

Wallace doubled over slightly, bracing himself on his knees, his shoulders shaking from silent laughter, “Of course, of course, you don’t remember. Why did I think this time was so different?” He stayed as he was, bent over, breathing shallowly, his body shaking. He was broken. “Why have you been avoiding me?” He whispered to himself, his soft question full of anguish, full of confusion. The shatter of his heart was almost audible to Scott who felt corporeal with loss, the world swimming around him. Something had happened and he had hurt Wallace, he had broken him.

“What are you talking about?” Scott’s increasing panic crept into his words, twisting them, contorting them. His voice felt so disconnected from his body that he couldn’t even be sure he had spoken.

Wallace sunk to the floor in a squat, his face hidden behind his legs and his arms stretched outwards, resting on top of his knees. “It doesn’t matter,” He took a shuddering breath. “Look, I messed up, can’t we just leave it at that?” He sounded scared, he sounded lost. Wallace was curling in on himself, away from the man he had looked at with such determination only a few moments ago. He needed to be left alone, his body language screaming for an escape – but here he was, in front of Scott, talking to him. And Scott doubted he would be handed a second chance.

“What?” Scott exclaimed, “No! How could you have messed up?” Wallace had sacrificed so much for him over their years of friendship. To embody the man who had given so much to him and then to claim “messing up” was such a sloppy attempt at hiding the truth Scott was offended.

When Wallace next spoke, his speech came out rough and deep, quick short breaths punctuating his words, “Scott please, it’s better for you to drop this.” His arms bent up, his hands burying themselves in his hair.

Scott felt the beginnings of anger flickering, the flames starting to lick at his skin, how dare Wallace bring up something he himself was involved in, talk about himself like that and then expect Scott to just accept it, “You can’t do that, tell me what’s going on.”

“Please don’t make me do this,” Wallace pleaded, his strained tone muffled slightly by his legs that were brought so closely towards himself that a cursory sweep of the room would label him as part of the furniture. “I don’t think I can live life with you hating me.” He was so far away, the distance between the kitchen and the living room felt like it was stretching out between them, Wallace’s figure becoming smaller and smaller. He was going to lose him.

Scott’s heart ached, this time not from the shrinking jar but instead from the needles of anxiety that stabbed into him, he only had one chance at this, one chance, “I could never hate you…I….I –”

“Have you been drinking?” Wallace interjected, his comment breaking over Scott, his head now raised from his burrow of limbs, eyes wide and afraid. Scott’s world swung off-kilter, throwing back his thoughts leaving him struggling in an ocean of confusion. 

“Huh? No?” Scott spluttered, his heart still kneading itself into knots, waves of disorientation crashing over him.

“Smoking?”

“No!”

Wallace’s origami of limbs fell apart, letting his weight fall onto the carpeted floor, his hands gripping the soft threads of nylon, his back hunched over, “Please don’t do this to me. I can’t do this right now.” His tone wavered, his struggle to keep himself composed beginning to collapse, he sounded as if he were about to cry.

Was he going to cry? 

Had Scott made Wallace cry?

“Wallace, tell me what’s going on,” Scott probed, still not satisfied. The moon would have had to come crashing directly into Earth for Scott to drop this, he needed to know what was cutting Wallace up inside. He needed to prove to Wallace that he was the one to blame and that he could never hate him. That he loved him. 

“Oh, you wanna ruin everything Scott?” Wallace snapped, now that his face was visible Scott could see that he hadn’t yet cried but his eyes were an angry red, “That’s what you’re asking me to do! Because the truth is I know the words that you’re about to say! I’ve heard them before!” The house shook with his yell, maybe not literally but Scott felt as though his entire world was undergoing an earth-shattering quake.

Wallace knew.

He knew. 

Scott was suddenly stripped bare, the darkest parts of himself, that he had tried so desperately to bury, on display for Wallace to see. For his whole world to see

“In fact,” Wallace continued his face still void of tears, his earlier determination coming out of hibernation. “I have heard them multiple times!” A bucket of ice water washed over Scott’s exposed self, his hidden nature seeing the light of day for the first time in twenty-three years. “And, god, sometimes I was stupid enough to believe you, or at the very least hope.” Wallace ran his hands up his arms and sunk his nails into his skin as he gritted out his words. Scott felt the ground beneath him open up and swallow him whole. His confession had been pulled from his lips and spat in his face. Wallace knew, he had hoped, and he had distrusted who Scott was. Scott had attempted to show himself, to present his exposed truth, but he hadn’t even been allowed that dignity before he was doubted.

“Fuck, and sometimes you’d whisper to yourself to not forget, and I would get so mad that you even needed a reminder when it was something that meant so much to me and yet every morning you had forgotten,” His nails sunk deeper into his flesh, his quest for pain outside of his emotions stabbed at Scott. His presence brought out so much pain within Wallace and all he ever did was worsen it.

Scott wasn’t sure he should continue talking, he hadn’t helped at all, but, if he were to stop talking it would be over, this would all be over. Softly, he spoke, “What are we talking about Wallace?” He needed to know, he demanded to know, he had spent so long focusing on himself that he had missed what Wallace was referring to and, God help him, he was going to find out what.

“You’re not like me Scott, you’ve made that very fucking clear,” Wallace said, betrayal weaving its way through each syllable. “It’s fucking bullshit!” He half sobbed, his grip on the carpet starting to rip some of the string from its lacing, “I’m delusional for sticking around as if it wasn’t always going to end like this.”  

Scott’s mind ran like a tumbleweed. Directionless and repetitive.

End like this.

End like this.

End like this. 

He couldn’t let that happen, it couldn’t end like this, what was it all for if it did? Everything, each moment of suffering and each moment of happiness would have been for nothing if it all ended like this. Every moment he had spent with Wallace would become one more thing Scott had to bottle up and lock away. “It won’t have to if you tell me what’s going on!” It was loud, it was cruel, it was necessary. Wallace wasn’t giving him any answers and if Scott was determined to fix this, he needed those answers.

Answers Wallace wasn’t willing or happy to relinquish.

Wallace’s face contorted, lines deepening and eyebrows narrowing. What had he done? The words had left his mouth before he had really thought about them and once again, he had sacrificed someone else’s feelings for his own solace, his own selfish desires had spilled out of him and dirtied the water between them – but it was too late to repent as Wallace had cracked, his despairing composure making way for something much more violent.

“You’re what’s going on Scott!” He screamed in rage, “Fuck! The shit you say fucks me up. You throw yourself into my arms any time there’s even a drop of alcohol in you and you tell me…” Wallace steeled himself, taking a breath and meeting Scott’s eyes, his words slow and deliberate, “You tell me how much you wish I was different, how much you wish I was a fucking girl.”  

Stop. Everything needs to stop right now. Why won’t everything stop? FUCKING STOP! LET ME THINK LET ME FUCKING THINK PLEASE FUCK!

No. No.

No.

This wasn’t right. 

Why was the clock still ticking? Why were birds flying past the open window? I thought I had asked for the world to stop. I need time to think. I need time to breathe. Oh god.

Oh god, I can’t breathe.

I can’t fucking breathe.

Scott’s thoughts screamed, unfocused images of drunken nights with his arms slung around Wallace, his mouth moving without his knowledge. Intimate wishes being spilled. Wallace knew. Wallace had always known. 

“And maybe I had one too many that night,” Wallace had dropped his eye contact, his face darkened with shame, “And I – I asked why I had to be a girl for you to…” He trailed off, his words catching in his throat. He swallowed, “I’ve never seen you look more scared of me.”

He wasn’t. He never would have been. Wallace had constantly reached his hands through him and had pulled out parts of Scott that he had hated and comforted them. Appreciating Scott wholly. How could he ever be scared of him? Wallace’s touch made his skin feel like fire. His words consumed his mind like warm butter that dripped and ran its way through every crevice. His scent wrapped around him, a warm embrace spun with oak wood and creased, waxed book spines. How could he ever be scared of him?

Scott could sense his posture weakening, the threat of his body’s collapse becoming a very real possibility. He had betrayed himself. He had exposed his truth to Wallace, and he was dismissed as confused. He wasn’t confused. He finally knew who he was after years of hiding. He hadn’t been afraid of Wallace; he had spent his entire life being afraid of himself.

“Wallace…” Scott whispered, unable to speak much louder, his mind a frenzied mess trying to tie strings together seeking to explain himself to Wallace, to keep him there. To pick out the pieces of his bared soul and present them to him, a dish of his own flesh. 

“And I’m sorry, I should never have…” Wallace let out in a hushed murmur as if speaking to himself or the world around him. His world.  

“Wallace…It’s okay,” Scott ventured, Wallace didn’t understand, he needed him to understand.

“No, it’s not,” Wallace’s nails bit even deeper into his skin, a couple of small beads of blood growing between his fingers.

“Yes it—” 

“No, you don’t get it!” He yelled, shocking Scott. “I’m fucking disgusting Scott! I’m a bad fucking friend!” His breath quickened and his jaw tightened. How could he ever think he was disgusting?  Scott was the one who had fucked everything up. Scott was the one who used people to the point of collapse. Scott was the disgusting one.

To consider someone as giving and as beautiful as Wallace Wells as disgusting was sacrilegious. 

Scott tried to smile, attempting comfort, “You could never be a bad fri—”

Wallace cut him off, still pleading with him, pleads that had been falling on deaf ears all afternoon, “Yes, I fucking could be Scott so PLEASE shut up!”

Scott wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Wallace, to apologise for pushing him to the point of begging, for forcing him to relinquish his secrets, for not knowing when to give up. Wallace needed to know how much he mattered to Scott, how all-consuming he was, how he was everything.

“How? How could you be a bad fri—”

“Because I’m in love with you!”

The confession was spat out as if it were repulsive, something vile to be hacked up and coughed out.

Then, in a softer voice:

“I love you.”

Lava ran through Scott’s veins, ice cubes rolled down his back, a million moths burst from their cocoons in his stomach, filling him with clouds of dust and beating wings. The cicadas quietened for the first time since Wallace arrived home as if they too were holding their breaths. The jar around Scott’s heart tightened a little more. He wasn’t happy. No one would be happy with a confession like that. Instead of confessing his love, Wallace sounded like he had just sentenced himself to hang. 

“I love you and I wish I didn’t. There is nothing more painful in this world than being in love with you, Scott Pilgrim.”

Chapter Text

“Okay.”

Scott stood, his body vibrating with billions of screaming nerves, his mind completely blank. Wallace’s huddled form remained silent as Scott left his house, closing the door softly behind him.

Scott didn’t remember arriving home and collapsing in his bedroom; however, evidence would imply that was exactly what had occurred as he woke under his unchanged sheets long after the sun had set. He spent a few moments of blissful ignorance wrapped in his bedclothes, willing himself to sleep before that day’s earlier events rushed back to him.

He couldn’t hold it in any longer and began to quietly cry into his pillow.

His sobs called to Stacey who slowly crept into his room, sitting at the edge of his bed, “Can’t sleep either?” Scott didn’t respond, continuing to wet his pillowcase. “Want some company?” She asked softly.

Scott nodded and shuffled towards the wall, allowing Stacey room to lay beside him, facing him. She brushed a stray curl from Scott’s face and sighed, “Didn’t go well, did it?” Scott shook his head, tears continuing to fall. Stacey’s face crumpled slightly, and she held out her arms, prompting Scott to roll into her embrace. 

“I’m sorry, this is my fault,” she said into a mouthful of unwashed hair. “I didn’t trust you to do anything yourself but that didn’t mean it was my place to involve myself.”

“Not your fault,” came Scott’s reply. “I did this,” His voice caught slightly. “I fuck everything up.”

“Oh…Scott,” Stacey held him tighter, her response never coming, she knew the truth within his utterance.

“The Ninja Turtles? Are you joking?” Wallace cried incredulously at a very embarrassed-looking Scott.

“It gets worse,” Scott moaned. “I believed in them until,” he grunted, covering his face with his hands, hiding himself from the incoming judgement, “I believed in them until I was thirteen.” 

“THIRTEEN?!” Wallace shrieked, bursting with glee, completely abandoning his forgotten newspaper and allowing it to flutter to the ground as he threw his hands in the air with laughter. “Jesus Scott, I don’t know how you manage to survive at this point,” He chuckled, a couple of small tears clinging like miniature diamonds to his eyelashes.

“Shut up, I’m sure there’s something you’ve done that was equally embarrassing!” Scott defended, crossing his arms. Wallace’s chuckle died down and he retrieved the newspaper from the floor.

“I’m afraid, my dear, that there isn’t. You are the reigning champion when it comes to embarrassing moments.” He rolled the paper into a tube and got to his feet, whacking the back of Scott’s head as he passed, “Luckily for you, it doesn’t make me love you any less.” Scott feigned a swoon and fell back onto the carpeted floor.

From where he lay Scott watched Wallace’s back as he rummaged around in his dresser, producing a dark blue polo. He laid it on his desk and grabbed the hem of the shirt he was wearing, pulling it up and over his head. Scott’s eyes stayed glued to Wallace’s back while he took off his shirt, watching the muscles in his back ripple with the movement. He straightened, threw his old shirt into the hamper and rolled his shoulders, Scott gulped involuntarily, his heart seizing. His mind was a string of white noise as he stared at Wallace.

He had watched Wallace change hundreds of times and had gazed at him when he thought he could get away with it almost an equal number of times. Wallace pulled his new shirt on and smoothed his hair back into place. Scott turned his head away to study the lounge chair legs before Wallace could catch him.

“Well, I’m off guy, make sure to eat while I’m gone,” Wallace said, slinging his satchel across his shoulders and pocketing his keys.

Scott rolled his eyes and turned back to Wallace, “Whatever Mum.” Wallace scowled at the name making Scott giggle nervously, “Still love me?”

A smile crept its way onto Wallace’s face. He opened the door to leave, a warm summer’s breeze rushing through, “Always.” 

“Morning sleeping beauty,” Scott woke to Stacey with her legs on his bed and her torso lying on the floor as she furiously clicked buttons on her Gameboy.

Scott said nothing, instead turning his back to her and facing the wall, the light of day brought him no comfort. His torturous dreams just worsened the reality he woke to. His insides were freezing over, and his mind was screaming at him. Screaming at him about what he had done wrong, what he could have done right and how there was no fixing this. This was the end of his story with Wallace, the last pages had slipped from his fingers before he could have done anything to stop them. He had set these dominos of destruction up without even realising, dominos that had toppled, scattering themselves across his life.

Scott squeezed his eyes shut, praying to fall asleep and never wake up. Instead, Stacey placed her Gameboy on the cold, hard ground beside her with an audible ‘clack.’ 

“This is my fault, isn’t it?” She may as well have been speaking to an empty room as dead air was all that met her. Scott needed someone other than himself to blame so desperately that his heart jumped at the opportunity to point fingers at Stacey.

“I just thought about it,” She continued, “and I realised that Wallace could never hate you, like, honestly he’s just as bad as you.” Scott bit back a defence, Wallace was nowhere as near as broken and destructive as he was. “It was too presumptuous of me to assume that he had better taste than to fall for you. I mean I was probably just ignoring the obvious, I just didn’t want this –” The sound of her flailing her arms around accompanied her monologue “– to happen again. But I knew you would never do anything about this, so I…I pulled a few strings.” She sighed and adjusted her legs on Scott’s bed, “I mean, this is kinda on you, I don’t know how you possibly fell for such an obvious lie.” 

Scott scoffed and rolled over to face Stacey, “Your flippant nature regarding my love life is quite offensive.” 

Stacey rolled her eyes dramatically, “I am anything but flippant you dick.” 

Scott knew he could never truly blame Stacey; he knew he was at fault. He had never put in the effort to express his compassion for those around him in meaningful ways and it had finally caught up with him. The only thing he could do now was work to change that, to hope that change would be enough to reshape the dismal future he had built for himself.

As Stacey so graciously pointed out, lying in his bed wallowing wasn’t going to help anyone, so with as much strength and energy as he could manage, Scott dragged himself to the shower. The guilt of making Stacey relive his senior year with the sight of his curled body holed up in his room would have been too much for him to deal with regardless.

Scott stood in the shower hunched over, his hands bracing himself against the gaudy orange tiles, letting the water run over him. He stayed like that, watching the water swirl its way into the drain, slightly murky from the soap. He felt as though he were trapped in a fog, the world moving around him without his presence as if he weren’t real as if he were never real. If he tried hard enough, he probably would have been able to convince himself that nothing was real.

Wallace was in love with him. This information should have completed him, it should have been the happy ending to everything. If only he wasn’t so unlovable. Even the man who loved him wished he didn’t. He really was that disgusting. 

He could have told Wallace that he loved him too, that he wanted him, not some girl who acted like him, but him, wholly and fully. He could have told him how he loved every inch of him, every flaw and imperfection because when it was Wallace they couldn’t be flaws, every part of him was perfect. So perfect it took his breath away. So perfect it made him want to scream, scream to the world how much he loved him, how no one else could have him, how he was what people create religions around. 

He was Wallace’s disciple; he would bleed at his feet until his last breath if that were what he wished. But no. What Wallace wished was to not love him, to not ever see him again. And as his disciple, Scott would respect that – no matter the pain it brought.

He eventually shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping himself in a towel and picking his phone up from the basin. He sent a quick text to Julie and started drying his body, wanting to distract himself from anxiously waiting. Once he had changed into his fresh set of clothes his phone chimed, and half an hour later Julie was at his doorstep.

“I hope you saved room for Christmas leftovers,” she said, pushing a Tupperware container into Scott’s arms. Scott meant to thank her but upon seeing her, her glasses askew and her voice filled with concern, he clutched at her in agony. With no hesitation Julie stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, letting him break down. 

“It’ll be okay,” She whispered. 

“It will be okay.”

When he calmed down, he led her into the lounge room and brought her a cup of tea, settling by the fireplace.

“So…” She began, clearly at a loss for what to say.

“So…” Scott followed, equally as useless.

After a few awkward sips of their tea, Julie bit the bullet.

“I take it didn’t go well?”

Scott snorted into his cup, “Got it in one, great work detective.”

Julie placed her mug in between them, “If you’re going to be a dick I can just leave.”

“No!” Scott grabbed her wrist before she could, “Please don’t go, I’m sorry. I just…I just don’t know what to do.”

Julie relaxed and looked at Scott with remorse over the rim of her glasses, “Sometimes there’s nothing you can do.” She politely pulled her hand from Scott’s loosened grip and laced her hands in her lap, “But, you can talk about it if you think that will help.”

Scott shrugged and picked his tea back up, “I don’t know what to say. It feels like everyone all at once has been realising how bad of a person I am, and it’s been really overwhelming.” He hung his head and traced the handle of his mug absentmindedly, “I know I’ve been horrible to those that matter to me, I know that, but that doesn’t mean I like having all my flaws yelled at me.”

Julie gave Scott a pitiful smile, “I wouldn’t say you’ve been horrible, just…selfish.” Scott grimaced. “But maybe a good question to ask is why they feel like they have to yell at you for you to listen?” Scott lifted his mug to his lips and gulped down the rest of his, now, lukewarm tea. “You aren’t a very emotionally intelligent person, you aren’t easy to communicate to–” She placed her barely touched tea back on the floor and reached over to pat Scott on the knee “—so, people avoid bringing shit up with you. They just try and ignore all your bullshit until they can’t and end up exploding by the time they talk to you.”

Scott’s hands shook, “So, what you’re saying is that there is nothing to fix the relationships that I’ve ruined?”

“I dunno man, I wouldn’t say that there’s nothing but maybe planning to move on would be what’s best for you?” Julie shrugged helplessly, “People can change and whatever and maybe you and Wallace will too, but right now there are people beside you that are sticking around.” She ran her tongue over her teeth, her eyes sticking to the roof in thought, “What you gotta focus on is the now.”

Scott rolled his eyes, “Very profound.” He earned a swat and a comical frown from his friend. Her hair was bundled up in a tight, yet messy bun surrounded by a halo of stray hairs that matched the equally disgraceful outfit of ‘Winnie The Pooh’ pyjamas that Scott had tactfully not pointed out lest he lost ballsack privileges. She had evidently rushed to see him the moment he had given the word and it warmed his heart, she may not be someone romantic to him but if the world were to burn he would consider himself lucky to have her by his side.

Julie left soon after their conversation, explaining that she still had some family matters to wrap up, and a Christmas tree to put into storage. Scott spent the rest of the day calling up his bandmates, apologising and promising to meet up for practice and drinks as soon as he could. 

When night eventually eclipsed the town, the darkness was no kinder than it ever had been. It was cruel and violent, trapping him in a whirlpool of memories; beautiful, comforting and newly tainted. Scott fought hard for sleep, only to be trapped again in vengeful recollections of his most cherished moments. 

“Wow, you suck at this.”

“Fucking…shut…up,” Scott hissed, jiggling the hippo’s mouths as fast as he could yet failing to grab even as close to as many balls as Stacey had collected. Stacey cheered as she collected the last of the red balls, knocking the playset over and prancing around the room. “I demand a rematch!” Scott complained, picking the pieces of the game back up and setting them together.

“The last three rounds were rematches,” Stacey rolled her eyes and poked Scott in the ribs, resuming her place opposite him. “I think it may be time to admit you’re a loser dude.”

“Wow,” Scott grumbled. “Kick me while I’m down, why don’t you?”

“This isn’t a child’s game Scott,” Stacey said darkly from behind her blue and yellow hippos. “There isn’t room for emotional consideration.” 

It had been a couple of days since the “incident” and those days had found Scott seemingly in an arguably better place than he had been in in a long time. Despite his visit to Wallace’s going badly, he felt as though a weight had been lifted off his chest, sure, almost everything hurt and brought him to tears but at least he was no longer hiding. He wasn’t dealing with everything alone this time around, he had his sister, Julie and his band, who had all shown more support than he had ever expected from them. 

He was going to get through this.

What did it matter that when the night enveloped him, he would find himself swimming in reminiscences and coupling tears? 

No one needed to know how he felt as though his heart had been strung up like a worthless slab of meat, left to rot in the open air. So close, just in reach, but each time he dared to reach for it he could sense a chasm opening between him and his heart, threatening to take his body as well as his soul. He was himself no more. He was what he believed those around him wanted. And he was right, the man who he paraded himself as since the incident calmed the worried thoughts of those left beside him. 

This wasn’t the suffering of a seventeen-year-old boy scared of who he truly was, this was the suffering of a man losing the one thing in life that kept him anchored. He was no longer scared of himself, but it was too late for such self-discovery. Not that anyone needed to know. All they needed was confirmation that he was there in body, his soul was secondary. They held no control over his internal self, as much as they may wish to.

“I’ve been thinking,” Scott mumbled beneath the sounds of clacking plastic hippos.

“That’s always a great sign,” Stacey drawled sarcastically, snapping up a majority of the balls.

“I think I want to come out to Mum and Dad,” The snapping of plastic paused for a second from Stacey’s side of the game.

“Yeah, okay,” she said cautiously. “As what exactly? I mean, like, do you have a label that suits you? It’s cool, if not, I don’t give a shit.” She then continued hitting the hippos with the same, practically renewed, vigour as Scott neglected to respond. After she won yet another round Scott finally answered her question.

“Um, bisexual, I dunno… it just feels right.” His voice was small, but he was confident in his answer, he knew who he was.

Stacey smiled, “Cool.”

Scott flicked one of the plastic balls towards her, “Very cool.” 

Each day that passed was a violent attack on Scott’s psyche, vicious blows of desire, of longing. Stacey had confiscated his recipe book and note from Wallace, swearing that it would only be worse for him to see them. At night while he tackled unforgiving waves of self-hatred and snapshots of how Wallace’s eyes would glisten when he would turn around and see Scott, it would be then he’d curse Stacey for taking his presents from him. He needed something from Wallace, something of his, something that chained him to him despite everything

Loving Wallace had been such a daily part of life for Scott for so long, it had become something instinctual, something so natural he had barely noticed it. Loving Wallace was like breathing. Losing him felt like drowning.

Scott watched as thick strings of maple syrup dripped from the edges of his waffles, the square of butter following the flow of the syrup before he placed his fork in the way of its path and pushed it back to the centre.

“If you’re done eyeing up your breakfast, I’d appreciate you passing the butter,” Scott’s dad remarked, his hand stretched out expectantly.

“I was not ‘eyeing’ it up,’” Scott complained, passing his father the yellow, porcelain butter dish.

“I dunno dude,” Stacey provided around a mouthful of waffles and strawberries, “It looked pretty intimate from over here.”

Scott groaned, “You—" he pointed his knife at her stuffed and mirthful grin “—Aren’t allowed input.” Stacey shrugged and swallowed her food, her grin refusing to slip.

“I wouldn’t be so hasty,” Scott’s dad piped up again from where he was pouring syrup over his own waffles. “I think your sister is onto something.”

Scott groaned louder, “Mum, say something!”

His mum raised her hands, “Keep me out of this.” Stacey and their dad winked at each other and laughed at Scott’s expense, who buried his face in his hands.

By the time the teasing had died down and Scott could finally settle into his plate of food the doorbell rang.

“Shot not!” Stacey cried out, dropping her cutlery against her plate loudly as she jumped to place a finger on her nose, their dad closely followed suit. Scott threw his hands in the air in exasperation and looked over at his mum pointedly. She met his eyes and raised an unimpressed eyebrow before turning back to her stack of waffles.

With a groan Scott pushed himself back from the table, “I hate you all.” Stacey blew him a kiss and his father wiggled his fingers impishly as he retreated from the dining room.

The brass of the doorknob was cold against his hand, he could feel his heartbeat in his palm, and sweat began to slick his spine. Someone was panting heavily on the other side of the door; he sounded very out of breath. Scott knew who it was, fear already running cold through his veins. Sure, he could be wrong, but with the way his life had been panning out lately, it wasn’t likely.

Cautiously he turned the knob and opened the door.

Wallace Wells was leaning against his doorframe breathing heavily, a hand pressed to his chest.

“I ran all the way here,” he managed through gasps of air. Scott felt frozen, he didn’t know what to say or do. Apparently, however, his mouth had other ideas.

“You live across the road…” Wallace winced at the use of ‘you,’ his breath slowly returning.

“I haven’t practised my cardio, shut up.”

Words lodged themselves in Scott’s throat, a million thoughts pleading to be let out, he didn’t know which one to pick. He wanted to scream at Wallace. Scream at him for allowing him to think that that was the end of everything. He wanted to cry. To collapse into his arms and sob, he was so happy to see him again. He wanted to kiss him. Oh, how he wanted to kiss him. He so desperately wanted to pull him in, to consume him. He wanted to run his hands all over his face, his body. To cup his cheek and press kisses to his eyelids, to brush his lips against the shell of his ears and whisper all the feelings he had been hiding from him. To press his nose to that delicate curve where his neck met his shoulders and breath, drinking him in. With each gulp of air, he’d consume more and more of him, him becoming a part of him. Them becoming one, dedicating their souls to an eternity.

He had only spent a couple of days without him, and he never wished to again, a life without Wallace Wells didn’t feel like a life worth living, no matter what everyone else tried to tell him.

Scott didn’t realise how long he had been staring at Wallace slack-jawed until Wallace coughed, “You, you left something when you were…home.” Scott watched as Wallace produced his copy of ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ from his deep coat pocket. “I hope you don’t mind that I read it,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. Scott's mouth remained hanging open as he gently took the book from Wallace. “I, um, I liked your notes…really liked them.”

“Oh, thank you?” Scott stepped outside and closed the door behind him so that no more cold air would find its way inside. He passed by Wallace, a breath of air between them, his heart climbing its way up his spine and pressing itself against his skull, he felt like he was going to explode. He took a step back, putting a bit of distance between them, allowing himself room to breathe. “I knew you liked this author, so I thought I’d give one of his books a read,” His voice felt far away and nervous, every line that exited his mouth shook pathetically.

“You read this because of me?” Wallace asked, he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back slightly on the balls of his feet. “I didn’t even know you knew I like Oscar Wilde,” he sounded taken aback and Scott was swayed by ripples of sorrow. The man he loved more than life itself was shocked that he had noticed something about him, something that shouldn’t be a shock at all to know about your roommate of years, let alone the keeper of your soul.

“I…well I wanted to get you a good present, so I looked through your shelf, but my present idea…fell through,” Scott picked his words carefully, doing his best to keep the peace, he hadn’t expected a second chance, and he wasn’t going to squander such a blessing. “So, I got this so I could understand why you like it so much.”

“Well,” Wallace cleared his throat, “What did you think?”

“I really liked it, I’m sure my notes made that clear,” Scott said, chuckling nervously.

“They did,” Wallace paused his rocking, and despite his hands being obscured Scott could tell he clenched his fists as the veins in his neck popped. “Do you mind if I keep your copy?”

Scott did not expect that question, he couldn’t fathom why Wallace would even want it, but he would never turn down anything Wallace asked for, “Yeah, sure I mean, but… why?” Scott handed the book back to Wallace who smiled as he retrieved it. A strange reverence crossed over his features as he ran his hand over the beat-up cover.

“My favourite book having all your thoughts and opinions scattered throughout it is the best Christmas present I could have asked for.” 

It was that simple. It had always been that simple. All he wanted was to see Scott cared. And it had taken Scott this long to express that – something he hadn’t even done on purpose. Wallace deserved so much better than him.

“Listen Scott—” Wallace slipped the small book into one of his pockets and crossed his arms “—What I said back at our house wasn’t fair to you, I shouldn’t have, I just…” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair, “I was lashing out because I was scared, I didn’t want to lose you, but I thought if I was the one who ended everything it would hurt less.”

Scott was hypnotised by Wallace, his declaration passing through him like a warm breeze, their meaning not solidifying. He couldn’t believe he was in front of him, that he was real, that he had chosen to come see him. He couldn’t believe how absolutely breathtaking he was, he made Scott doubt his atheism for a moment for how could a being so perfect exist if there wasn’t a god who had sent an angel down?

“You’re not even listening now, are you?” Wallace said, teeth slightly gritted, his voice shattering Scott’s reverence. “You’re always like this Scott, Jesus I don’t even know why I’m here. You tell me you love me one night and then the next you go out with some girl you’ve never gotten along with before!”

Scott blinked, “What?” Oh, shit, what did Wallace think was going on between him and Julie? Concern settled in his stomach, their miscommunication becoming clear to him, dread shortly accompanied his concern. Wallace had a right to be upset, he was spilling the contents of his heart to Scott, and he had the gall to float away in a daydream? Sure the daydream was focused solely on Wallace, but Wallace didn’t know that, in fact, despite their recent conversations Scott hadn’t once expressed his true affections.

“I’m sorry, that, that’s not…I know you and her are doing well and I’m just, ugh, fuck Scott,” Wallace rubbed a hand across his face, slowly running it down to cover his mouth, cup his chin and then let it drop back to his side.

“You’ve got it all wrong Wal, please, listen to me—”

“Listen?!” Wallace exclaimed, gesturing pointedly at Scott in frustration, “All I do is listen, but all I hear are empty drunken confessions, do you even comprehend how that fucks with a guy?” How many apologies and sacrifices would make up for such actions? Scott was completely lost on the answer, but he would do anything for the simple chance to ask for forgiveness.

Wallace groaned and continued, his tone more level and understanding with no discernible malice, “I know I’m the one who fucked up and I’m supposed to be apologising right now but really? You can’t pull me in and then push me away without me getting upset – you mess with my head Scott Pilgrim.”

“No,” Scott breathed, his mind slotting back in place, the world shifting into focus. “I deserved everything you said, I have hurt you and I never wanted that, you mean too much to me, I’m just, I’m not…” ‘A good person’ went unsaid, still clinging to the tip of Scott’s tongue. He couldn’t. He couldn’t yet bear to reveal that to him. 

“I thought you hated me,” Scott said instead. “I thought you were drowning in guys, and dates and just a life without me. I thought—” Wallace interjected Scott’s spiralling thoughts with a single raised finger. 

“You sure think a lot for a guy who sucks at thinking, but you are right about one thing, I am drowning in men,” He winked and then shook his head, likely deciding that it wasn’t the time. “I could never hate you; I hated loving you. The pain that loving you has brought me is immeasurable, I’ve spent every day since that party drinking myself into a stupor because of you. Because I love you. And I realised that night at Julie’s how painful and hopeless it is loving you, it was as if it all clicked into place,” Wallace’s voice was solid and steady, no longer pointing deserved fingers at Scott. “I was looking upon myself, a pathetic loser pining after his straight roommate who walks all over his heart.”

Scott was torn. Wallace stood before him confessing his love, but none of his confession read as something gratifying, something to triumph over. What was he to say? To reciprocate his feelings felt cruel. A slap in the face over his declaration of hated love. To genuinely reciprocate would be a blatant disrespect.

But what else could he do? Each time he saw Wallace’s face he felt as though he were injected with heroin, his world floating above the clouds, unattainable happiness in reach with just a flash of his crooked smile. The despair of losing Wallace was nothing compared to the intoxicating anguish of loving him. 

“I thought I’d get over it, get over you. It’s pretty egotistical to hope I’d get with a straight man, no matter how much he monopolised my every waking moment,” Wallace let out a humourless laugh, his gaze dropping to the panelled porch flooring. “It was stupid to hold out hope for things you only said while drunk, it’s like I’m addicted to the pain of loving you, whenever you crushed my heart, I would feel alive,” He whispered into his collar, his cheeks flushed with the cold, his nose a slight pink, his eyes; downcast and leaden. His suffering so easily comparable to Scott’s own. For they were one and the same, their emotions twisted together as much as their red strings of fate.

Did Wallace honestly hate loving him? If that were the case Scott would step back and give him the space he required. Yet, as Wallace’s continuous word vomit fell, Scott couldn’t help but see himself through his words. They were woefully alike, could Wallace live without Scott as he was unable to do without him?

“Every day I would be filled with the dread that that would be the day you realise my feelings for you. You’d push away the meals I’d make you, shy away from the touches I knowingly brushed over you. You would mock me for my failure to hide these unwanted feelings,” Wallace’s eyes were squeezed shut as he spoke, his steady tone having abandoned him, his blathering now tumbling out from him. Each sentence was rushed out as though he feared the world was ending and he would never have another chance to say what he wanted. 

“I don’t know what’s going on with you and Julie at the moment, but you’re still together and you seem happy with her, maybe she’s not as much of a bitch as I had thought,” He took a shuddering breath, holding it in for a few seconds and slowly letting it out, steeling himself. “I know you’re together, in a way, but you should know,” He hesitated, eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

“No one will ever love you the way I do,” Wallace breathed, flexing his hands, the combined frantic beating of both Wallace and Scott’s hearts seemed to pollute the quiet around them.“I can’t promise that my feelings for you will ever fade, but I can’t bear to lose you, I beg of you,” He stiffened suddenly, so still it was almost as though Scott’s world was buffering. He was preparing for a blow. “Please let me stay in your life.”  

Scott may have slowly started learning how his actions had shaped the negative consequences that his loved ones faced, and he would swear on the fabric of the universe that he would change – no matter how long it may take.

But he was still selfish.

“You are my life, Wallace.” 

He could live his life out on his own, he could shape himself into the man he should be and do better for those around him, but he knew, despite his promises – his life would be empty without the man in front of him. They had tangled themselves too closely to separate themselves, without the other they were no longer able to be their own person.

Wallace’s head jerked back up from where it hung, his eyebrows resting high on his face, “I’m…what?”

“Everything,” Scott stepped forward, desperate to not lose him again, prepared to sink his hands into Wallace, pull apart his ribcage and step within. He was not going to lose him. Not again. “You’re everything.”

Scott was now close enough he could see each eyelash that adorned Wallace’s bright, nervous eyes, he could see the faint freckles that dotted his nose, he could see the intoxicating way his lips parted in shock.

“But,” Wallace’s breath washed over Scott’s face, the smell of mint toothpaste and coffee filling his lungs. “What about Jullie?”

“You idiot, we’re friends,” A mantra ran through Scott’s head, reminding him, begging with him, to not stutter, to not mess up. This was his final performance; the curtains were wide open, and he had no script. For the first time, he was the lead in a performance that held his entire life and eternal suffering in its balance. A performance that was no longer a performance, it was real, with real consequences, consequences he cared about. “Never anything more, I should be the one asking you about ‘Glasses Guy,’” Wallace’s eyes were heavy-lidded as Scott spoke, his gaze dipping down to his lips.

“Who?” His voice was deep, gravely, almost inarticulate as though a thick tar coated his tongue.

“The guy at the party?”

Wallace hummed distractedly until the gears finally turned in his head, connecting the dots, “Oh, him, yeah…I never got his number, I have no idea who he is.”

Scott leaned his head back slightly, perplexed, “You didn’t? But you—”

“I lied,” Wallace interjected, his voice still thick with tar.

“Why?”

Wallace sucked in his bottom lip, chewing it softly, “I was jealous. I had just texted Stacey that morning.” Scott stared at him in disbelief. “I’m always jealous when it comes to you Scott,” Wallace didn’t seem aware of what he was saying as he spoke, his body leaning towards Scott’s slowly, instinctively. “It’s not fair others got to have you while I’m in your life, and even though it’s stupid and self-absorbed I've,” Wallace paused, visibly trembling, “I’ve always viewed you as mine.”

This was happening. It was actually happening. Wallace was staking his claim, he was leaning into him. Scott could do little with his addled brain except allow his next comment to slip from his mouth.

“I am.” 

Wallace made a small sound, something that almost resembled a whimper, “You are?”

His eyes had grown to the size of saucers, tasting the words in his mouth, “You’re mine?”

Before Scott could throw himself at Wallace’s feet and tell him, yes, yes, of course, he was his, for he could never be another’s, Wallace’s face darkened, “But, you’re not, well…”

It was then the reasoning for Wallace’s hesitance dawned on Scott. How was Wallace supposed to trust this was real? That this time he was telling the truth? He didn’t even know the Scott that he had hidden from him for so long.

“I didn’t know who I was for a long time, or, more exactly, I was scared of who I was,” Scott took a needed step back, almost grasping Wallace’s hands but thought better of it. “It’s sort of been bashed over my head, as of late, that hiding from yourself doesn’t erase those aspects.”

“So,” Wallace spoke, his features had lost the dark overcast but nervous hesitation still encircled him. “Like what…?”

Scott attempted to say the label but found he couldn’t, his previous confidence having fled from him. Coming out to his family was a difficult task in itself, despite him knowing the welcome hugs that met him. Coming out to the man who shaped his world with his bare hands as if it were all malleable clay, was so much more defining.

“Bisexual,” Wallace concluded for him, earning a dumbfounded look from Scott.

“Yeah,” He confirmed, his hands growing clammy – making him glad he didn’t end up holding Wallace’s hands.

Wallace let out a hum, his eyebrows upturning, giving him the expression of someone looking upon a puppy, “That tracks.”

Scott spluttered, “What in the world is that supposed to mean?!”

“Well—” Wallace waved hand exaggeratedly over Scott’s figure, “—have you met yourself? If you’re not straight, it’s the next most logical conclusion.”

“I could’ve been gay!” Scott squawked, oddly defensive.

Wallace shot him a pitying look, “With that fashion sense…? I’m sorry, guy, but there’s no way.”

Attempting to distract Wallace from the increasingly offensive topic Scott stepped forward, “You are so rude.” 

Wallace inclined his head marginally, Scott now too close to make comfortable eye contact. He was so full of hope, Scott could feel his waves of hope growing into tsunamis. He hooked a finger into one of Wallace’s coat pockets as he continued, “I had denied myself feelings, I knew they would just mess things up, they would complicate everything. So, I resented you, in a way. Deep down I hated you so much for making me this way, for resurfacing a part of me I despised, and I don’t think I ever realised how long I had been doing this. That kind of effect can only really be something someone who owns my heart and soul can possess.” 

“Any day I don’t see you is a day wasted,” it was an unrelated sentence, something that stumbled its way awkwardly past Wallace’s lips, something that breathed new air into Scott’s lungs. Scott inched even closer, mere centimetres separating them.

“May I kiss you?” 

Wallace’s voice was barely a whisper.

Goosebumps ran over Scott’s skin, his body on fire. He reached his arms towards Wallace, lacing them around his neck and pulling him in, crashing their mouths together.

It wasn’t slow or considerate, it was hungry and desperate. They were starving for each other having been deprived of one another for years. 

“Is this okay?” Scott panted when they finally separated, Wallace chasing his lips

“More than okay,” Came the murmured response as he was devoured once more.

“You don’t understand how long I’ve wanted this.” 

“It won’t be easy; I won’t be easy. I’m broken, I need help.” Scott whispered, he cared too much for Wallace to trap him with himself, he could barely stand the fact that he had chosen him of all people. He deserved so much better, so much more.

“When have you ever been ‘easy,’?” Wallace scoffed, running his hands through Scott’s hair, tucking the stray curls behind his ears. 

Scott melted into his touch, “That’s not what I meant, I’m…I’m a bad person.” This time Wallace let out an honest-to-God laugh, his fingers in Scott’s hair tightening, pulling him forward ever so slightly.

“You’re not a bad person Scott, you’re human, you’re flawed,” He placed a curled finger under Scott’s chin and lifted his hanging head, his blue eyes piercing into him. “You’re you.”

But what if that’s not enough? Scott was disgusted at himself that he had tricked Wallace into thinking he was worth anything. How could Wallace be so blind?

Apparently, Wallace was equal parts a mind reader as Julie as he cracked a smile, an abundance of love overflowing from every twitch of his small grin, “Clearly, no matter what you do, or what you say, I always end up back here, in front of you, because it’s you.”

"It's always been you."

Chapter Text

The class turned in unison, the lecture falling momentarily silent as the chair beside Scott squealed rudely. A lanky boy with overgrown hair and thick eyebrows had drawn it back, collapsing heavily into it. He waved a lazy hand in the air, signalling for the professor to continue.

Scott kept his head firmly pointed down, intent on not interacting with someone who had drawn such attention to himself. The date and a slew of poorly sketched dinosaurs doing various un-dinosaur-like activities stared up at him. Scott was determined to start a new life at university, a life under the radar.

“What do you think of this class?”

Fate was a cruel mistress.

Scott shifted uncomfortably and cautiously peered over at the boy who was now leaning toward him, loose strands of his dark fringe falling before his eyes. A sly grin was stretched across his face, exhibiting unfairly perfect teeth. His eyes seemed to be permanently hooded, irises twinkling in gleeful anticipation. Scott ran nervous hands down his thinning thighs and gripped his knees.

“Who are you?”

 
“Wallace, what the fuck?” Scott exclaimed four months later when he arrived home from a particularly nail-biting exam and found Wallace Wells splayed over his living room armchair languidly, talking with his mother.

Wallace’s mouth split into a grin as he entered, “Scott! Welcome home!” Scott frowned and allowed his messenger bag to slip from his shoulder to the floor.

“Why are you here?” He asked uncertainly. Wallace had made it a habit to show up at his house uninvited, more so since Scott’s mother expressed a fondness for him. Yet, it didn’t comfort Scott to unexpectedly find him in his house.

“Is that any way to treat an old friend?!” Wallace exclaimed clutching at his chest, Scott’s mum giggled at his antics from the chair opposite him. Scott crossed his arms.

“I met you like a month ago,” he grumbled. Wallace, in response, pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and pantomimed fainting from pain.

“Did those three other months mean nothing to you?!”

Scott refused to budge.

“Well,” Wallace yielded, straightening his posture before pushing himself off from the lounge and making his way over to Scott. “If you’re really that curious, I’m here to take you out for dinner.” Wallace grinned widely, poking Scott’s stomach. Scott frowned, quickly batting Wallace’s hand away and crossing his arms over his abdomen.

Before Scott could think up a reasonable excuse as to why he wouldn’t be able to make it his mother clapped her hands animatedly. “Oh, that would be just wonderful!” She exclaimed, “You’re such a lovely young man Wallace, I’m so glad Scott has friends like you around.”

Wallace smiled warmly, “You’re too kind Mrs Pilgrim.” Scott turned his head skyward in defeat at the sickening display and opened his mouth to protest before his mother cut ahead of him once more.

“Scott, honey, I think this would be really good for you,” she said pointedly, her expression imploring. “Please hun…”

Scott grimaced, shame settling heavy within him, and weighed his options before nodding in defeat, “Okay.”

Wallace clapped him on the back, making him cough in surprise, “Well! With that settled we best be off,” Wallace began steering Scott out of the living room and towards the front door. “I promise to have your son home no later than eleven this evening, ma’am!” He called over his shoulder to Scott’s mother who looked happier than Scott had seen her in the past couple of years.

Wallace took a pull from his cigarette, leaning his elbows against the apartment’s guardrail, his head tilted back, he watched the smoke from his cigarette curl upwards and disappear into the night sky.

Scott watched him through the glass sliding doors that led onto the veranda in muted fascination. The rest of the group had already passed out in different corners of the apartment the moment they had all fallen through the door - drunk and disorderly from their night out. Although there had been no expectation for Scott to put planning into their Finals party considering he didn’t earn a degree, he was endlessly grateful someone else had. Someone mindful enough to book a hotel in advance.

Scott stood from his spot on the pullout and stepped over Stephen’s body as he headed for the balcony.

The soft vibrations of the glass door rolling back, as Scott slipped out into the cold night air, caught Wallace’s attention. He glanced over at him taking a step to the side making room.

“You good?” Scott asked stiffly, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets. It had been a year since he and Wallace had met, Wallace having wormed his way into all aspects of Scott’s life. Despite this Scott felt an ignored tension between the two of them, something that curdled the contents of his stomach and thrummed at his heartstrings. Each time his eyes met Wallace’s he would feel a guilty nausea, a silent distress that he was terribly visible to those around him. He couldn’t let Wallace be ruined like he was, he couldn’t do that to another person, not again. Yet, Scott couldn’t find it in himself to pull away.

Fucking selfish.

Wallace hummed, “Just thinking.” He gestured to the space beside him, inviting Scott to join. Scott complied.

They stood in silence, listening to the traffic beneath them which was practically drowned out by the thumping techno music that flooded the floor above them. The electronic harmonies engulfed them as they both nodded their heads to the beat, watching Wallace’s smoke swirl above them.

When his cigarette burnt down to the filter, Wallace snubbed it on the metal railing and flicked the butt into the cityscape below.
“I thought you were against littering?” Scott asked, the butt having fallen too far from view. Wallace shrugged.

“Not tonight,” He shook the beat-up pack beneath Scott’s nose. It was squashed and splitting at the edges, the loose cigarettes inside permanently malformed. “Care to join?” Scott raised his palm and shook his head politely.  Wallace shrugged again and slid the packet into his back pocket, proceeding to fumble with his front, eventually producing a red Bic lighter. He lifted it to his mouth where the cigarette hung loosely from his lips, his eyes trained intently on the hood of the lighter as he flicked it on. The flame lit up his face, bathing his features in a warm glow. As the fire hit the end of his cigarette his eyes flitted up and met Scott’s, who had been transfixed.

He wasn’t good for him; he could feel the twist in his gut as he soaked in his visage. All sharp angles and dark features. Scott couldn’t afford to rot over another, not after he had just healed. His stitched wounds had finally closed, leaving behind only silver scars crossing over his soul. Truth be damned, he wasn’t going through that. Not again.

Lyrics about drunk mistakes and young love, sung from the floor above him, urging him to seize the moment, to bathe in the regret only when the sun broke the horizon. Scott clenched his jaw, bile rising in his throat. The last time he heard this song wasn’t a moment he cared to recall, not now, not in front of Wallace. He swallowed and looked away, nausea overtaking his senses. 

A familiar fear prickled at the back of his neck, raising his hair and sticking his shirt to his back with a thin sheen of sweat.

It had oversaturated the radio stations for months. It had seeped its way into every aspect of everyone’s life until it became widely hated. Forums were even created on MySpace discussing how the song had practically become an epidemic with how inescapable it was.

His head hurt.

That song had hit the top of the music charts every week that month.

It wasn’t Scott who had noticed it within himself. The cover was pulled off him before he could put words to the feelings muddying his mind. 

That song had weaved its way into the worst time in Scott’s life. It was as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped on him.
Each line of the song thundered in his mind, his memory tortuously continuing. Scott sucked in the cold air and gripped the guardrail a little tighter as he let the breath go.

Scott’s teeth had been aching from his new set of braces that day, a set of braces that ended up being for naught as he never wore his retainer in the following years. He could vividly remember the complete resignation he walked into school with. He had never even associated with the socialites of high school and instead would often find himself at the wrong end of a swirly. This new addition to his appearance would only amplify the problem. 

It was because of this that when he took notice of the pointed stares and fingers following him inside he dismissed it. Senior year hadn’t treated him well so far, a bad case of acne spotting his cheeks and now a mouth full of metal? Three weeks in and Scott could barely roll himself out of bed in the morning. He had only one friend with whom he was practically forced to eat lunch with on the floor of a cubicle in the boy’s toilets. It wasn’t all bad however, they bonded over D&D and Sonic, often finding themselves at each other’s houses after school, sharing comics and laughing over the latest South Park episode. 

Later in the evening when his friend would leave to go home for dinner, Scott would find himself exchanging the pillow he was leaning against for the other. The smell of his friend’s cheap dollar store deodorant made his mind swim and his heart race in a way he couldn’t understand nor explain. But it didn’t matter, it was just a small secret that he kept to himself. Just like the secret that he would sit close enough to his friend so that their thighs would press together, or how he would sometimes allow himself to think about his friend’s lips and how soft they must feel. Just small inconsequential things. Things he would never let his friend know of.

But as Scott approached his locker, his feet dragging against the scuffed floorboards beneath him, the less-than-covert whispering continuing to follow him he could feel a string. An invisible string wrapped itself around him, wrenching him away from himself. Scott no longer was within his body, he floated above his reality, clouds of fog thickening inside him.

They knew.

He could hear them.

He could hear his secrets being whispered back to him.

He knew the fate that awaited him before he even arrived but he was no longer in control. One foot fell in front of the other in an unstoppable march.                    

Before he had even reached it he could make out the words that would haunt him for the rest of his school year scrawled in large black font on the dented metal. Scott could do little other than continue his slow walk towards his public shaming.

Five feet away from his locker he had stopped, looking at the audience that spun around him, a web of disgusted looks and hidden snickering. Scott spun around frantically searching the crowd for him.

Scott lit up when he saw him, slinking back through the crowd, their eyes meeting. Before Scott could reach out to him or call out his name he ducked his head and continued his escape through the thickening crowd. Scott didn’t miss the horrified grimace that passed over his features before his back turned to him, a wordless communication passing between them. Anger and disgust had constructed his expression, a hardened glare shot through Scott as he looked at him one last time. It was then Scott felt the monster stir for the first time in many years. He looked back at his locker, the world deafening around him as the words sunk in.

Crude drawings of the two of them sat beneath the centrepiece of the artistry, “Scott Pilgrim Takes it Up the Ass!!!”

A gust of wind whistled around them, grounding Scott back in reality, his world shifting into focus. The song had ended, a new one had taken its place. The expression that met Scott was a patchwork of concern and confusion as Wallace stood before him, his brow furrowed, “Are you okay? Where did you –” 

“I should go,” Scott managed, his insides swirling dangerously. He turned to leave, taking one final glance at Wallace as he left, he found that his gaze had never left him. With less grace than desired, he stumbled back inside in a rush to find the bathroom, leaving the door open behind him, through which he barely caught the sound of a deep, pained, sigh.

Scott spent the rest of his waking moments hunched over the hotel toilet, hurling the contents of his stomach into the bowl. With each retch, he forced that night’s events deeper into the recesses of his mind.
 

An ecstasy-laced sigh left Wallace’s lips when Scott pulled away from him as they stood entwined on Scott’s family’s front porch. His hands had found their way to Scott’s forearms where they gripped him tightly, denting his skin, as though he feared Scott would pull away.

“Is this real?” Wallace’s voice was hoarse, his eyes still squeezed tightly shut. He began to stiffly run his hands up and down Scott’s arms, “Is this real?” He asked again.

“Totally real dude,” Scott laughed. A familiar creature made of guilt and disgust stirred in his gut as he spoke, the reality of everything settling within him. Scott, however, couldn’t find it within him to care. Overshadowing the unwanted creature was a bloom of relief, a warmth that spread throughout his being, filling him with a nervous energy. Scott wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, scream to the world Wallace was his. He wanted to kiss him again.

Wallace appeared to have the same idea as he swooped in to capture Scott’s lips once more, his arms winding around him, tugging him closer – despite their chests already being pressed against each other. Scott couldn’t keep his eyes closed, so in awe that Wallace Wells was kissing him.

When they separated to catch their breaths Wallace began to giggle uncontrollably, Scott soon joining him. All of life’s problems may not have been solved but they now had each other, they knew each other, they could strike the uncertainty between them off. Tension had melted away, making room for new futures to be born, new destinies to be written.

“I suppose,” Wallace started after their giggles died down, “I suppose this means you’re not moving out anymore?”

Looking down at Wallace’s arms encircled around his waist Scott felt as though he could breathe for the first time in years, “Seems like it.” Wallace smiled warmly, looking deep into Scott’s soul. He took a step back keeping a grip on Scott in an attempt to lead them towards their unit across the road. 

Scott dug his heels into the porch, halting Wallace’s movements, “I still have stuff here that I gotta grab before I head home, but…” Scott racked his brain for the proper course of action that would be appropriate and have him squeeze in as much time as possible with Wallace. He wasn’t ready to let go quite yet. “…I’ll walk you home?”

Wallace threw his head back, guffawing, “Oh, how gentlemanly of you!” He crowed, his teeth bared in a grin, “My knight in shining armour!” He hid his face in the collar of his coat, his body shaking with amusement as Scott pouted.

“Shut up!” He whined, hitting Wallace in the chest, taking a step back and crossing his arms, “I’m just trying to be a good –” He hesitated, searching for the right word, “Are we boyfriends now? Is that what’s happening?”

Wallace composed himself faster than Scott anticipated, his arms shooting forward to clutch Scott’s shoulders that were edging away from him, “Scott, I would be your husband if you asked, but yes, I’m your boyfriend.” Scott would have thought Wallace was impressively composed for such a proclamation if it weren’t for the deep blush that broke out across his cheeks.

“Cool,” Scott managed. “Cool, cool, super cool,” Words, as they so often did, had escaped him. Scott struggled to find a more fitting response but instead landed on; “Rad.”

Wallace snorted, “C’mon guy,” he laced his hand with Scott’s own, “Walk me home.”

Not a word passed between them as they made their way across the road, feet slipping slightly on the icy ground. Scott’s mind swam with the day’s events. Everything had happened so fast; he could barely keep up. It felt as though only a few days ago he hated Wallace with a burning passion and then the next found him crashing his mouth against his own. This rush of passionate words and actions from the both of them reminded Scott that it wasn’t just him anymore, Wallace was colliding into him with equal force. It was no wonder the collision was so abrupt and powerful. It wasn’t just a crush or even love, they were meant for each other. Wallace would scoff at the idea but by the time they had reached their front door, Scott had decided they were soulmates. 

Wallace tucked imaginary long hair behind his ear, “Well…this is me.” He drawled in a satirical manner, reminiscent of some made-to-air romcom. He pressed his shoulder against the door, his head resting on the wood. Scott allowed Wallace’s eyes to search his own, trying his best to not shift in fear of breaking the moment. “Are you sure?” Wallace asked eventually, reaching out to prod Scott’s chest.

“Of what?”

“That this is real,” Wallace’s hand flattened against Scott’s chest. “I’m, I’m just having a hard time coming to terms with it.”

Scott hesitated, “In a good way, right?” Wallace laughed and removed his hand from Scott to slap it over his forehead in mock annoyance.

“Yes, in a good way, dumbass,” Wallace chuckled. His hand slid down from his forehead and rested on the cold, aluminium doorknob behind him, “I best head inside now guy, you’ve got some packing to get to.”

“You’re kicking me out!?”

“What? No!” Wallace kicked at Scott’s, unfortunately, exposed (and freezing) legs, “You’re grabbing your stuff from your parents, remember?”

Scott stared at him, his thoughts clicking into place, “Oh yeah…”

Wallace rolled his eyes, more at himself rather than at Scott, “God, why you?” Before Scott could indignantly reply to Wallace’s barely whispered mutter, Wallace’s other hand shot forward, dragging Scott towards him, mashing their faces together. Again, Scott couldn’t bring himself to completely close his eyes. Through deeply lowered lids he took in Wallace’s features, his light olive skin, his long dark lashes that spread like inky sunrays against his skin, his faded freckles that you could only make out if you also kept your eyes open as Wallace Wells kissed you as if his life depended on it.

When they separated Scott couldn’t have even been sure if he had blinked yet, his eyes still hooded, drinking in Wallace, his blushing cheeks and freshly ruddied lips. Scott didn’t think he could ever grow tired of looking at him.

Wallace smiled at Scott, his own expression one of warm laziness, before opening the door and slipping inside.

Scott stood staring at their closed door before coming to his senses, figuring the longer he stood there the longer it was till he could see Wallace again.

Stepping away from the door Scott could feel his joints scream in protest, every atom in his body craved Wallace again despite it having only been seconds since he was last in his arms. Scott couldn’t comprehend how he had lived before now, before he was able to hold him, to kiss him, to look at him, to be with him the way he craved. Scott wasn’t sure he had been living.

He could feel all his thoughts crumpling together like a scrunched ball of paper. He was barely able to distinguish one thought from the next. He was imploding. Desperate to still his shaking hands Scott shoved them deep into his jean pockets. Within the coarse fabric of his pockets Scott’s fingertips brushed against the cool metal of the iPod Stacy had gifted him only a few days prior.

In a hurried scramble, Scott found the tangled mess of his earbuds. Slipping them in he scrolled through the music finally landing on one of the many Wallace-inspired additions Macklemore flooded his ears, his internal combustion slowing before gradually transforming into a comforting buzz.

For so long he had covered his ears in protest of Wallace’s taste in music but here he was, his heart beginning to soar. This was something they had always shared in their own odd way and, now, this will continue to be a part of his life. Their life. What he used to tell himself was a passing memory to cling to, was going to stay, it was no longer an annoyance but rather something they would continue to share, to enjoy, together. Shitty pop was a part of who Wallace was and goddamnit if Scott didn’t love every aspect of him - including his music taste. 

He found as the song continued, his parent’s house growing closer, Scott’s brain was wiped until only Wallace remained. Just Wallace. Uncontrollable thoughts of him, his face, his eyes, his voice, his skin, his touch, his name. Wallace Wells. Wallace Wells. Wallace Wells. Wallace Wallace Wallace Wallace Wallace Wallace.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        
Scott buried his face in his hands, his grin stretching past his palms.

He was whole. 

Nothing much changed with their dynamic apart from the freedom to hug and kiss each other, the space that once grew cold between them now room for welcome intimacy.

Scott would note, however, how soft Wallace had become. Often, he would wake to Wallace lying beside him, delicately tracing the features of his face. When Scott’s eyes would flutter open Wallace would smile and press a kiss to his cheek before he would roll out of their bed and prepare for the day. Scott would watch Wallace dress, a small smile dancing across his lips, the monster barely purring, his guilt melting away. Sometimes Wallace would catch him looking and shoot him a wink. 

The leftover food in the fridge had also become more infrequent, Wallace would no longer hide food in the fridge with coercive notes stuck to the lids, rather, he would simply hand Scott food before he left for work. Reverse psychology was unnecessary now that they were implementing a new exciting thing called communication.

Instead of their dynamic changing or becoming awkward it was now as though everything had finally slotted into place. The puzzle that was their relationship was finally complete. Everything was as it was always meant to be. The ebb and flow of life had eased, allowing for positive progression. 

Scott had begun to fill out around the waist, something he would find himself absentmindedly pinching at. To gain weight, even as little as he had, felt so alien to Scott, as though he had grown an extra limb. Wallace could often be found rubbing comforting circles where Scott’s new love handles sat, particularly when they would lay together Scott’s earbuds shared between them. It was either Wallace’s cheesy pop or Scott’s band recordings that would be spilling from the earbuds, legs tangled together, no words passing between them. The company of the other being more than enough.

They were both so entirely consumed by the other, the red string of fate that connected the two of them was knotted up to the point it would be impossible to untangle. Some may feel compelled to label their dedication to each other as an unhealthy obsession but they were happy. They were whole. They had circled one another for too long, now that they had finally found each other they weren’t letting go.

Ever since Julie Powers had first seen the way Scott looked at Wallace she could clearly make out how what they had together eclipsed the world around them. She felt a fool for trying at all, maybe she thought his endeavour with Wallace was fruitless, yet, as she stood on their front porch, knocking impatiently, she knew she never stood a chance.

“Why did you make me a recipe book if you also suck at cooking,” Scott whined, staring at the blackened mass that was supposed to be a shepherd’s pie. Wallace threw down his oven mitts and scoffed.

“Oh please, have a hand at it yourself if you know so much!” He swung himself around the counter positioning himself behind Scott and wrapping his arms around him, digging his fingers into Scott’s sides, “Maybe I’ll never feed you again! Let you fend for yourself!” He crooned as Scott laughed and yelped, making futile attempts to escape Wallace’s grasp. Julie’s aggravated knocking echoed throughout the apartment, the overhead clock showing she was right on time for their scheduled 7 pm dinner, neither of them started for the door - too occupied with roughhousing to notice, or care.

“No, no please!” Scott cried out, stitches begging to form where Wallace was attacking him, “I yield, I yield!” Scott was bent in half, a couple of tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. Wallace’s body followed Scott’s, finally relenting his attack and pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. Scott squirmed around in Wallace’s arms so that he was facing him and knocked their foreheads together softly. Julie’s knocking began to turn into a pounding that they could no longer dismiss. 

“Someone should really get that,” Wallace murmured, a cheeky smile pulling at his lips, “She’s going to castrate us.” 

Scott breathed in the scent of Wallace’s cologne as he revelled in the warmth that spread across his entire body from where Wallace’s arms wrapped around him. Diplo thudded softly from the living room speakers, the reverberation falling in sync with the calm beating of Scott’s heart. For so long he had thought he was destined to live outside of himself. A nonparticipating viewer of his own life. He was never more relieved to be proven wrong.

Happiness, true happiness, can be so fucking painful. A small sob escaped Scott’s lips as he stood entangled with Wallace. “Hey, Scott, are you okay?” Wallace asked softly, one of his hands snaking its way up Scott’s back to cradle his head.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I’m just…” Scott bent over, tucking his head under Wallace’s chin. The monster that tortured him for so much of his life still hadn’t left him, not completely. It had shrunk dramatically in size and continued to do so with each passing day, but the disgust at himself and who he was would still often stir within Scott’s guts. The monster may never leave but Scott was learning to live with it, to live with himself. “I’m just so happy,” Scott finished, mentally suffocating the monster with thoughts of Wallace, thoughts of the way his arms were currently wrapped around him, thoughts of his breath tickling his neck, thoughts of the deep intake of breath as he pulled Scott’s head back slightly to press a long kiss to his forehead.

“I love you, Scott Pilgrim.”