Work Text:
Scott slouched on the old couch, fiddling with the edge of Wallace’s throw blanket. The television was playing some late-night cooking show neither of them were really watching, and Wallace was flipping through a magazine, bare legs draped lazily across Scott’s lap. It was one of those nights where the city outside felt distant, the cramped apartment was actually appreciated, like they were the only two people in the entire world.
The bassist shifted nervously. His heart had been doing this weird, fluttery thing for weeks now, and it wasn’t because of the suspicious gas station sushi he’d eaten earlier—at least he was pretty sure, anyways. No, this was a Wallace-related problem—a Wallace-shaped problem that he didn’t know how to fix.
“Hey,” Scott blurted out.
Wallace didn’t look up from the gossip column he’d been scanning. “Yes?”
Scott paused. His throat suddenly felt dry, regardless, he powered through.
“I, uh…I think I like you. Like like-like you.”
Wallace stopped mid-reading. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, which only made Scott’s stomach churn harder.
“Like really like you,” Scott clarified further. “In a boyfriend kinda way.”
Wallace blinked. Then, slowly, he set the magazine down and sat up, his legs slipping off of Scott’s lap.
“Scott, are you—”
“I know, okay? I know this is sudden, and maybe you’re not into me like that, and I’m totally fine if you wanna pretend I never said anything and—”
Wallace grabbed Scott’s face and kissed him.
Scott’s brain short-circuited. He was too busy trying to remember how breathing worked to process anything else. Wallace kissed like he did everything else—boldly, unapologetically, and just a little smug. When he pulled back, Scott’s mouth was still slightly open, and his cheeks were bright red.
“...w-what was that?” Scott finally managed.
“I mean,” Wallace smiled. “I thought it was pretty obvious.”
“Wait. Does this mean you like me too?”
“Scott,” Wallace leaned back against the couch. His voice was a combination of amusement, annoyed, and slightly incredulous. “We’ve been dating for three months.”
The words took a full three seconds to register (apparently the same amount of months they’d been dating?), and even then, Scott wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard right.
“We what ?!”
“Ah…this is kind of adorable,” Wallace ruffled Scott’s hair.
“No, no, hold on—three months?” Scott’s voice climbed higher. “How did I miss this?”
“Well, for starters, you’re you.”
Wallace had gestured vaguely in Scott’s direction, which Scott chose to ignore.
“But we never…”
“You’ve been holding my hand in public. You keep stealing my hoodies. You let me make you breakfast every morning. And don’t even get me started on the whole cuddling thing.” Wallace crossed his arms. “Honestly, how did you not know?”
Scott opened his mouth to argue, but immediately closed it. Okay, okay, maybe he did do all of that stuff, but—
“Oh my god,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m the worst boyfriend ever.”
Wallace chuckled, gently tugging Scott’s hand away from his face.
“Don’t worry, I kind of figured you’d catch up eventually. Besides, a lot of this stuff are things we did when we were still just roommates.”
Scott looked up, hopeful. “So…does this mean we can keep dating?”
“Obviously,” Wallace replied, rolling his eyes. Then he leaned in close, brushing his lips against Scott’s ear. “But you owe me a proper confession this time, knowing what you know now.”
Scott’s face turned red all over again, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he grinned and laced his fingers with Wallace’s.
“Deal.”
Scott couldn’t stop smiling after that, even as he sunk further into the couch and tried to process this massive revelation. His mind was racing, replaying the last three months with a fresh perspective. Suddenly, every little thing he and Wallace had done together felt different; the hand-holding, the movie nights—the casual kisses on the cheek that Scott had somehow chalked up to Wallace being…well, Wallace.
“Wait,” Scott said, a thought striking him like a lightning bolt in a particularly tense game of Mario Kart. “If we’ve been dating for three months, why didn’t you say anything? Like, why didn’t you tell me?”
Wallace sighed, rubbing his temples.
“Because, Scott, you’re denser than a rock. I figured if I sat you down and said, ‘Hey we’re dating now,’ you’d probably just say, ‘Cool,’ and then go play bass for six hours and somehow not get any better.”
Scott frowned.
“I mean, that does sound like me. But still! You could’ve tried!”
“I did try!” Wallace shot back defensively. “I literally kissed you on the lips on New Year’s, Scott. You said, and I quote, ‘What a festive way to celebrate!’”
Wincing, Scott scratched the back of his neck.
“Okay, yeah, that one’s on me.”
“And then there was Valentine’s Day,” Wallace continued, gesturing dramatically. “I bought you chocolates, Scott. Chocolates. ”
Scott squinted, trying to remember. “I thought those were just leftovers from that sale at the convenience store.”
“Well, they were , but they were shaped like hearts!”
“Hey, they could’ve been like, you know, fun novelty shapes!”
Exasperated, Wallace stared at him for a long moment, his expression a mix of disbelief and fond amusement.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“So, uh, what now?” Scott beamed. “Do we, like, go on more dates? Do I have to dress up? Should we make this Facebook official?”
“Wow, you’re really throwing yourself into this whole ‘being a boyfriend’ thing, huh?”
“Well, yeah,” Scott replied, suddenly earnest. “I mean, now that I know, I don’t wanna screw it up. You’re like the coolest person I’ve ever met. And…I really like you, Wallace.”
For a moment, Wallace didn’t say anything—not even a ‘I know’ or any other glib remark at Scott’s expense. Instead, he just looked at Scott, smile softening into something more genuine. Then, Wallace leaned in, pressing a quick, affectionate kiss to Scott’s lips.
“You’re such a sap,” Wallace’s voice was warm. “But yeah, we can go on more dates. And you don’t have to dress up—god knows you don’t own anything that would qualify anyway.”
The fluttering in his chest felt calm and settled, like it had finally found its place.
The next morning, Scott woke up tangled in their shared comforter, which wasn’t unusual, given the small futon they shared every day. What was unusual, however, was the arm draped across his waist and the warm body pressed against his back.
Scott blinked, staring at the chip in the wall for a moment; his sleep-addled brain slowly catching up to the events of the night before. Confession. Kiss. Boyfriend. Oh.
“Oh my god,” Scott muttered. “We’re dating.”
Wallace groaned behind him, pulling Scott closer like he was a particularly clingy cat.
“Did you seriously just realize that again? I thought it was clear last night.”
“No,” Scott lied.
Wallace snorted, his breath tickling the back of Scott’s neck.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered, his voice still groggy.
Scott’s heart did that fluttery thing again. It was annoying how easily Wallace could make him feel like a lovesick teenager. Actually, no, scratch that. It was awesome . But also kind of…terrifying?
Scott turned around to face Wallace, attempting to look and sound casual.
“Now that we’re officially…official, does this mean we need to, like, do gay couple stuff?”
Wallace cracked one eye open. “What do you think we’ve been doing, Scott? Playing Monopoly?”
Ignoring him, Scott went on. “I mean, do we have to make rules? Like, ‘no flirting with other people’ or ‘always text back within five minutes or I’ll think you’ve been murdered’? Or maybe we need a couple name! What about ‘Scollace’? Or ‘Watt’? Wait, no, that sounds like a light bulb—”
Wallace rolled on top of Scott, effectively smothering him with their comforter.
“First rule,” Wallace declared, his voice muffled. “No talking about couple names before coffee.”
Scott flailed dramatically under the weight.
“You can’t smother me to avoid serious conversations! That’s murder!”
“Only if there’s evidence,” Wallace deadpanned, sitting back just enough to let Scott breathe.
Shoving the comforter aside, Scott pouted.
“Fine, but I’m writing these rules down later or I’m gonna forget.”
“You do that,” Wallace replied, sliding off him and rolling out of bed. He stretched, completely unconcerned that he was only wearing boxers, then grabbed a t-shirt that was strewn on the floor and pulled it on. “But right now, we’re making breakfast. And by ‘we,’ I mean ‘me,’ because I’ve seen what happens when you try to cook.”
“Hey! That fire was barely a fire!”
“Sit. Stay. Be cute. That’s your job now.”
Scott saluted, making Wallace laugh and steal a kiss.