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Scott Pilgrim was an enigma. He’d be bragging about his (now ex) girlfriend one day, and show up soaking wet on Wallace’s doorstep the next. Tears and rain clung to his eyelashes, his expression uncharacteristically dull. It was almost haunting how… unlike himself Scott seemed to be.
His voice, soft and pathetic, cut through the harsh silence of the confrontation. “Hey, Wallace.”
Wallace was never one for commitment. Even as far back as college, he couldn’t remember a single instance where he’d ever even considered getting “serious” about a guy. The one exception to that was Scott. They were nothing more than friends, but Wallace found himself appreciating the friendship a bit more than he was comfortable with. He was never certain whether or not Scott felt the same, raw emotions hidden under a mound of random video-game facts and half-baked jokes.
Still, nights akin to these brought with them a sense of familiarity. Rare nights when Scott would come home drunk and crying, or when he’d subconsciously bury himself into Wallace’s arms when the two of them got too close in bed. It was almost like they were still two stupid college students again.
“Scott.” Wallace responded, voice slipping into the same taught softness he’d use whenever he needed to calm Scott down.
The disheveled man stumbled forward, forehead pressed against Wallace’s shoulder as he slumped against him. He mumbled something incoherent, paying no mind to the fact that he was dripping all over Wallace’s floor.
“You’re getting my sweater wet,” Wallace muttered bluntly, a gentle hand reaching up to cup the back of Scott’s head, fingers burying themselves between damp ginger strands. “Come in already.”
Wallace tugged Scott clumsily through the doorframe, kicking the door shut as he attempted to keep Scott’s now-limp body from collapsing onto the floor. Wallace couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to get him so worked up like this. His parents? His girlfriend? He didn’t dare ask, as he knew Scott would end up telling him soon enough.
For now, Wallace tasked himself with hauling the sopping-wet Scott through the doorway as he went practically boneless against him. He let out a small scoff as Scott tugged himself closer, though he didn’t protest.
Scott made no effort to take his coat or shoes off, so with a huff, Wallace did it himself. He sat Scott down on the ground, his face still downturned and puffy from crying. As Wallace began to slip his wet clothes off, he tried not to think about the way Scott’s skin felt so warm against his own. It wasn’t the time nor the place, yet… Wallace couldn’t help but ache to hold him. He was akin to a wet cat in a way, distraught and helpless in a way Wallace was all too familiar with.
“Scott, go change. You’ll get sick if you stay in your wet clothes.” He ordered, though his tone was anything but demanding.
Scott didn’t move, or respond.
“Scott.” Wallace sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he nudged the man across from him. As if in a daze, he didn’t seem to register the touch at all. “Do you want me to do it?” He asked exasperatedly, although his expression betrayed his concern.
No response, yet again. Wallace took this as a yes. As Wallace tentatively hooked his fingers under Scott’s shirt, he tried to meet Scott’s eyes again. This time, a flicker of… something as Scott finally met his gaze. Though it was only for a moment, Wallace caught a familiar shine in his eye.
Wallace tore his gaze away, biting the bullet and slipping Scott’s shirt (tediously, mind you, as it had clung to his skin from the rain) off and over his head. His gaze lingered, though it was out of familiarity rather than lust. Changing in front of each other, lounging around their cramped dorm shirtless. It was a shared intimacy that Wallace couldn’t help but miss.
He lazily tossed Scott’s shirt into his laundry basket, shifting his attention to Scott’s soaked jeans. This felt… strange to do.
Wallace’s fingers danced over Scott’s waistband, occasionally brushing against skin.
“Is this… fine?” He found himself asking, gaze flickering from Scott’s belt loop to his face, and then to his belt loop again.
Scott let out a soft murmur that sounded like a yes, and Wallace figured that was the best he’d get. So, he undid the button of his jeans and began to shimmy them off of his legs. They were… not his favorite texture, and he found himself flinging the wet denim a bit harder toward the laundry basket than intended.
Wallace gave Scott an instinctive once-over, snorting at the realization he’d been wearing Sonic the Hedgehog boxers this entire time. How… in character of him.
He got up and grabbed a towel, tossing it towards Scott. The towel landed atop Scott’s head, and Wallace knew that under any other circumstance, he would’ve burst out laughing. Instead, Wallace sat back down next to Scott, and seeing as he wouldn’t be doing it himself, he wrapped the towel snugly around him, trying to ignore the way Scott seemed to lean into his touch. It was strange, like he craved, no ached for it.
It was almost endearing. Almost .
“Are you going to be like this the whole time you’re here?” Wallace asks dryly.
“M’ sorry,” Scott murmurs, voice cracking.
Scott apologizing ? Wallace was sure something was seriously wrong now.
Wallace scoffed. “For what? Being upset?”
Scott shrugged pathetically, and Wallace wanted nothing more than to take him into his arms and squeeze him until all of his sadness oozed out.
“Okay,” Wallace muttered under his breath. “Do you want to talk about it? Or at least tell me what’s wrong?”
Scott nodded, though to anybody else, the movements would barely register. Wallace raised an eyebrow, waiting for Scott to start talking. Instead, Scott found himself slumped against Wallace yet again, seemingly seeking some form of comfort before he began speaking.
“Natalie, um.” Scott paused, throat tightening. “Broke up with me.” He mumbled out, voice hoarse and broken.
Oh. Well, that certainly explained it. Wallace had seen the warning signs, but being the oblivious dork he was, Scott most certainly hadn’t. He scoffed internally. How had Scott not noticed the way she’d back away from him in public? Or the way she seemed to avert her eyes whenever he spoke? Despite his mild annoyance with Scott’s sheer lack of emotional awareness, Wallace found himself slipping his arms every so slightly tighter around him.
“She said she was, *hic*, too good for me.” Scott buried himself closer into Wallace’s still-damp sweater. “Changed her name to Envy.” He added. “She’s like, famous now.”
At that, Scott fully broke down. His fingers dug into Wallace’s sweater, broken sobs muffled by the fabric.
Wallace felt a pang of guilt at the sound. He knew Natalie- no, Envy, would break up with Scott eventually. It was inevitable. They could never last, not even if Scott was a better boyfriend. Still, he felt like an ass for awaiting the downfall of a relationship that meant this much to Scott. He’d have to make it up to Scott somehow, for his own moral conscience. For now, he’d busy himself with comforting Scott.
A hand slipped across his now-bare back (as the towel had slipped off somewhere between Scott’s explanation and his breakdown), and the other into his hair. Fingers carded through the strands in a learned movement, some sort of muscle memory Wallace forgot he’d remembered.
“Wasn’t good for you anyway. Nintendo truther, probably.” He muttered, voice hushed in a practiced tone of reassurance.
Scott let out a half-sob, half-laugh at that. His body trembled with each sob he let out, voice slightly hoarse; in a whiny sort of way. Wallace doubted this was the first time Scott had cried today.
They stayed like that for a few more moments, until Scott’s sobs died down and he was able to properly catch his breath. Not once did Wallace loosen his grip around Scott.
Scott pulled away every so slightly, just enough so that Wallace was able to catch a glimpse of his face.
Ghosts of tears streaked down his cheeks, which were flushed. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and Wallace felt as if he'd break into tears again if he said even the quietest word. Wallace did his best to smooth out Scott’s mussed hair, bringing his free hand up to brush a stray tear from his cheeks. His touch lingered longer than necessary, and he couldn’t help but let out a small breath as Scott leaned into it.
His eyelashes fluttered shut, still damp from tears as he let out a shuddery sigh. Wallace didn’t dare move.
Scott eventually moved, shifting back against Wallace’s chest. This level of casual intimacy was unprecedented, but Wallace couldn’t find himself minding. With a huff, he led Scott to the bed, or rather, a mattress on the ground. Sitting on the floor for that long wasn’t as comfortable as it seemed, even with carpet.
The two of them wordlessly shifted so that they lay in bed, still partially intertwined. Now that the adrenaline from sprinting here and crying had worn off, Scott was just not realizing how cold it was. Sure, there was a heater in the corner, but it didn’t change the fact that the temperature was only a few degrees warmer than the outside. (An exaggeration, obviously.)
Scott nestled shakily, this time from the cold, into Wallace's arms. “S’ so cold. How do you live here?” He muttered, hands trembling as he tried to suppress shivers.
“You’re half naked, Scott.” Wallace stated quietly, voice softened by sleep; or rather, a lack thereof. “Want my clothes?”
Scott shook his head defiantly, now-shuddering body betraying how cold he was. “Your clothes are itchy.”
Wallace clicked his tongue, slipping his sweater off before pulling the comforter crumpled in the corner of his bed over the both of them. “Better?”
Scott shrugged, snuggling closer to Wallace. It certainly felt more… intimate, what with the way Scott’s shallow breaths brushed against Wallace’s now bare chest. Still, Wallace only held him closer.
“M’ still cold,” Scott mumbles under his breath.
“Clothes?” Wallace offered again.
Another no. Gods, was Scott infuriating. Still, at least he didn’t seem as down as he was before, as evident by his rampant complaining.
“What do you want me to do, Scott?” Wallace asked, a hint of annoyance in his tone.
He shrugged, and almost sheepishly, asked, “Could I, like…” He trailed off, hooking an uncertain leg over Wallace’s own.
Wallace’s breath hitched, and he could only hope Scott didn’t hear him. “...Yeah.” He murmured, intertwining his legs with Scott.
“One more thing..?” Scott whispers, voice shaky. “Um.” He paused, presumably hiding his face in Wallace’s chest. “Could you…” He trailed off. Wallace raised an eyebrow. “...Kiss me?” He whispered.
Wallace swore he felt his heart stop. Did he hear Scott right?
“You…” Wallace exhaled shakily. From Scott’s expression; or rather, from what he could make out of Scott’s expression, he could see the faint flush dusted across his cheeks. So he had heard him right.
Wallace would ask why, but he already knew the answer. A rebound kiss of sorts. Not out of care, or love. He’d be stupid to assume that.
Wallace gently tugged Scott’s body backward, enough so that he was facing him. “Okay.” He whispered back, the slight tremor betraying his apprehensiveness.
Scott closed his eyes. He’d pretend, no they’d both pretend that things were different. Just for a moment.
Wallace leaned in, closing the gap between them. His lips brushed against Scott’s, chapped from the cold. Wallace pulled him closer, breath hitching as their lips met. It was a quick kiss, clumsy and unsure, and it didn’t help that Scott was clearly inexperienced. But, just for a second, Wallace could pretend they were more.
Scott kept his eyes shut, trying to block out the oh-so-familiar scent of Wallace’s perfume (not cologne, because he insists the perfume smells better) and the fact that Wallace was the one kissing him in general. If he tried hard enough, he could, at least for a moment, pretend the breakup never happened.
Wallace pulled back, averting his gaze. Scott did the same, instead opting to hide his face in Wallace’s arms.
“Your lips are warm,” Scott whispered, voice barely audible.
A beat.
“‘Night, Scott,” Wallace murmured.
“G’night.”