Work Text:
Scott woke up with a brilliant idea. He’d been dreaming of a girl with brightly colored hair, one way more vibrant than natural. And while Scott wasn’t usually the type to read into his dreams, the message of this one was way too glaring to ignore.
Last night Wallace had fallen into bed pretty late so when Scott woke up, he was still snoring away, face down in his pillow. Scott would've liked to go to the store with him but decided Wallace would probably be pissed if he woke him up. Last time Scott had woken him up for an idea he suddenly had Wallace didn't look at him for an entire weekend. He’d hated it. After a short little internal debate, Scott went off to the store alone.
As he browsed through the aisles, he almost regretted not waking Wallace up. There were so many options and Scott could not for the life of him decide which one to pick. How could he tell which one would look good? He settled on blue. It looked pretty neutral and it was one of Scott's top five colors too. He tried imagining it in his head, and figured that it'd be pretty hard to look bad in blue. Besides, if he came home and Wallace knocked it down, then he could always come back and return it. Scott grabbed the box and checked out.
When Scott got back, Wallace was in the kitchen, leaned against the kitchen counter. He lifted his spoon from his cereal bowl and greeted Scott wryly, “And where have you been all morning?”
“I’ve had an idea.”
“Uh oh.”
Scott placed the plastic bag filled with supplies on the counter next to Wallace’s bowl. “Do you ever have a dream that when you wake up it’s still burned into your memory? Cause I’ve just had one of those.”
Finishing up eating his cereal, Wallace nodded in answer.
“Okay, cause I just had one of those. It was where this really pretty girl was racing through this dream desert kind of thing.”
Wallace sighed, “Scott, I don’t want to hear about your pretty girl dreams.”
Sometimes when Scott shared about his life Wallace seemed to grow instantly more upset and Scott could never understand why. That sounds depressing, but it doesn't feel that way because most of the time Wallace is never like that. Sure he’s sarcastic, but he doesn’t usually react like he genuinely hates being in conversation with Scott. “You say that like I always have them. But, that’s not the point because I think for the first time I figured out what my dreams are trying to tell me.”
Done with his soggy Mini-Wheats, Wallace faced away to rinse out his bowl in the sink. “Ok, and what is that?”
“She has this crazy colored hair. It was bright pink! So I was thinking that my subconscious was probably telling me to change the color of mine too!”
Wallace’s plastic bowl clattered against the loose silverware in the sink. “That’s your grand conclusion? To just dye your hair?” Wallace turned to look at him again, this time with one eyebrow raised.
Scott shrugged. “Well, yeah. It was either that or I should learn how to roller skate. What else could it mean?”
“I don’t know Scott. You’re the one all up in arms because you dreamed about some girl, not me.” Wallace wasn’t exactly looking at Scott, but there was still a light pink dusting across his face visible. He nodded toward Scott’s bag. “What’d you buy?”
“It’s the dye stuff. I actually had to ask one of the staff how exactly you’re supposed to dye your hair in the first place. Apparently I have to bleach it. Isn’t that crazy?”
Wallace snorted. “Sure. It’s very crazy, Scott.”
There was a faint feeling of being patronized, but Scott ignored it. “I couldn’t really figure out what color to get. I was thinking maybe red, you know–”
“–Oh, gross.”
“Exactly. So I went with blue instead. Do you think it’ll look alright?” Scott took the supplies out of the bag and placed them in front of Wallace. The front of the box had some woman with inhuman cheekbones swooshing her blue hair in front of the camera.
“Did she tell you to buy this specific box? Because the picture looks fake as hell.”
Scott sniffed, “Yes she did actually. And she had bright purple hair so I’m going to trust her way more than you on this.”
Wallace held up his hands in defeat. “Whatever. Good luck dying your hair then.”
“What? You’re not going to help me?”
Wallace paused his trek back to the mattress, hovering right at the entrance to the kitchen. The pause was so heavy Scott thought he had done something wrong. He sunk into the cheap countertop and looked down at the dye box.
“I mean, it’s alright. I’ll just–”
Just through Wallace’s sigh, Scott could tell he was giving in. “No, no. It’s alright. Actually, it’s probably better if I’m there. You’ll probably end up getting dye everywhere.” Wallace trailed off into a mumble as he conceded.
The two of them ended up huddled around the bathtub, Wallace crouched outside and Scott sat inside facing away from the drain. The latter was trying to fan at his head while the former mixed some goop in a bowl.
“Hey, Wallace? Are you sure you’ve done this right? My head still kind of burns.”
Without looking up, Wallace handed over the now empty box. “I haven’t done this either, you know. If this goes bad, it’s not just on me.” Wallace lifted up the little black dye brush. A glob of dye fell off and plopped back into the bowl. “Now move your hands. I’m going to put the dye in.”
The box came with a single clear glove, which Wallace used on the hand pushing Scott’s hair over. The material crinkled right above Scott’s ear before he felt a cool slob of blue dye get painted into his hair. His fingers felt warm even with the glove on. Wallace ran his fingers all the way through each strand as he dyed Scott blue. “Your hair’s getting a little long…” Another pass of Wallace’s fingers through his hair. “You should probably cut it soon?”
There were very few points in Scott’s memory where he remembers Wallace speaking so low. His voice wasn’t quiet nor was it loud, but it just sort of rumbled within the room, within Scott’s bones. It felt stupid even thinking about it because it's not like Wallace was saying anything special. He was just asking about his hairstyle. Not even that, he was insulting it! Still, that insult lulled Scott’s heart.
“I dunno,” Scott answered. “I might just grow it out again.”
Wallace made his way to the back of Scott’s head. He’d twirled the front half of his hair around his gloved hand, holding it up and away. “Don’t do that. You don’t have the dedication to take care of long hair.”
The paste was so cold against Scott’s neck, goosebumps started to grow along the tops of his arms. Scott started picking at the hem of the shirt he was wearing. He’d borrowed it from Wallace, not wanting to get any of his tees bleached or dyed.
Another section of his hair got combed through with plastic fingers.
The shiver traveling down his spine shot the need to fill the silence into Scott’s body. “Thanks for helping me. Also for the shirt. You know, if you wanted, I’d totally do the same for you. Scratch my back, I scratch yours?”
“Absolutely not. I already look hot as fuck. Why fix what isn’t broken?”
Scott started to nod right before he remembered the grip Wallace had on his hair. He could both hear and feel the strands slipping past the gloves.
“God, Scott, stop wriggling. I’m doing you a favor right now.” Wallace twirled Scott’s hair back around his fingers and pulled, overcorrecting Scott’s movement.
“Ouch!” Scott yelped.
It felt like Wallace was on the last few strands. Now Wallace was practically painting directly against Scott’s neck, pasting the hair down against his skin. “Oh, please, that didn’t hurt at all. I barely even pulled.” Wallace waggled the brush in front of Scott’s nose. “Plus, even that ouch sounded half-hearted.”
He was right. There was no reason Scott needed to say ouch. He wasn’t hurt or anything, but he felt some noise bubble up in him at the tug and a desperate need to cover it overcame him.
Wallace put the brush in the bowl and the bowl into the tub in front of Scott. “Okay that should be done. Now we just have to let it…marinate. Then you can wash it all out.” He moved to stand up.
“Hey, wait! Are you sure you got everything? Maybe you should check?” Scott tilted his head back toward Wallace.
A sly smirk grew on Wallace’s face. “Scott, if you want me to run my hands through your hair, all you have to do is ask.”
Scott swore he could see the heat rising off his own face.