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Steven Stone had a boyfriend.
And sometimes, he still couldn't believe it.
Beautiful in every way, and downright sinful in others. Wallace was the kind of pretty that turned heads and stole breaths.
Steven tugged at his collar, trying to compose himself as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. He was lucky- days without multiple obligations were rare. Most of the time, he was crisscrossing Hoenn by air, chasing responsibilities and hoping, just hoping, there would be a sliver of time left for himself before night fell.
Last night, after their date, he’d collapsed into bed and into Wallace, utterly consumed, body and soul. It was becoming a habit, really.
And who could blame him?
Wallace, with that voice like velvet and fingers like poetry, made surrender feel like the smartest thing Steven had ever done. All Steven could do was be helplessly drawn to him, again and again, like the tide returning to shore.
Steven stepped out of his bedroom, cravat in hand, still vaguely flushed from either the morning heat or the memory of last night . Honestly, it was probably both. The covers were in a tragic state- thrown left, right, and possibly into another dimension- and his shirt wasn’t fully buttoned because, frankly, he was trying to maintain a little dignity, not win an award.
The living room smelled faintly of sea salt and smugness.
Steven rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. There, in the golden spill of morning light, was Wallace. He was wrapped in a throw blanket that definitely hadn’t started the night on the couch, curled up like a contented Delcatty, and gently polishing his Luvdisc’s scales with a practiced tenderness and a teal silk cloth. Wallace hadn’t even looked up, but he spoke anyway, “You’re limping slightly.”
Steven froze mid-cravat. “No, I’m not.”
“You are. ” Wallace finally glanced over, eyes glittering, knowing exactly what he’d done. “Don’t worry. You wear it well.”
Steven sighed through his nose and tied the cravat just a little too tightly as his cheeks burned red. “I have a meeting in two hours.”
Wallace hummed, unbothered. “Then you’d better tuck your shirt in. Unless you’re planning on giving the Devon board of directors a little show.” Luvdisc let out a cheerful blip , clearly on Wallace’s side in this.
Steven’s whole face went crimson, not a dignified flush, no, but a full-bloom, forehead-to-collarbone blush that utterly betrayed him. He tried to salvage what was left of his pride. “Careful,” he muttered, forcing a smirk as he straightened his cravat with all the nonchalance he could muster. “Keep looking at me like that and I might start thinking you actually like me.”
Wallace didn’t even blink. He lounged in the sunlight, unbothered, head tilted in quiet amusement. With his signature maddening, knowing smile, he rose from the couch like mist off the sea, and crossed the room. Without a word, he picked up Steven’s blazer from the back of a chair and draped it over his shoulders like a coronation.
“Steven,” Wallace murmured, smoothing the fabric down with elegant fingers, “I don’t like you.”
Steven blinked, breath hitching as he felt Wallace’s fingers linger just a moment too long against the back of his neck.
“I worship you.”
Steven’s mind was spiraling- it was brilliant in boardrooms, and devastating in battle, but now?
Absolutely, unequivocally useless.
A single coherent thought managed to bob to the surface like driftwood in a storm: He’s so close. Too close. Not close enough. His heart thudded in his chest like it wanted to escape.
The kiss was featherlight, the kind that didn’t demand attention but stole it anyway. Just touched his lips like it had every right to be there.
Wallace turned and walked away like it was the most casual thing in the world. Like he hadn’t set Steven Stone ablaze from the waist down. Wallace hummed as he melted back into the couch, lifting the little silk cloth again to resume gently polishing Luvdisc’s scales.
Steven remained motionless in the middle of the room, still holding the edges of his blazer like it might ground him in reality. His thoughts tried to recover in vain, falling over each other unfiltered and helpless.
How do you do this to me? How do you always know the exact moment to strike and still make it feel like kindness? How do you look at me like I’m something precious and then act like you didn’t just casually light up my day?
From the couch, Wallace didn’t even glance up. “You’re going to be late, love.” His voice was smooth as ever, and it snapped Steven into motion, though “motion” was generous for what amounted to a slightly dazed stagger toward the front door.
Right. Time. Work. Meetings. There was a boardroom with his name on it and very important people waiting for him to say very important things with his very smart mouth.
The same mouth that just got kissed. Steven straightened his blazer, tugged his cravat with one hand, then immediately loosened it again because his pulse was not cooperating. He wasn’t sure if he was overheating or if Wallace’s cologne had latched onto the fabric like a spell. Probably both.
"You always look immaculate… I can’t wait to ruin that tonight." Wallace said. Steven’s hand clenched around the doorknob. Don’t react. Don’t turn around. He wants you to turn around. I really want to turn around.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he muttered, not even recognizing his own voice. It sounded about ten degrees too high and three layers too flustered.
“Call me when you land in Rustburo,” Wallace added lightly, running a polishing cloth over Luvdisc’s little heart-shaped tail. “And hurry back when you’re finished, I’ve got plans for you.”
Steven gave up and blushed outright.
He opened the door in a hurry and stepped out like the house might explode behind him. The door clicked shut with a gentle finality. Steven stared at the sea across from him for a full five seconds, trying to remember what plane of existence he was in. You’re composed. You’re in control. You’re-
His phone buzzed. A text from Wallace.
You missed a button. But I forgive you.
Steven nearly screamed.
He summoned Skarmory out with a very serious face and a blush that would not die.
The boardroom was quiet, sleek, and cold in the way only executive spaces could be, marble floors, low lighting, and the soft, ambient hum of machines designed to sound expensive. The presentation screen glowed pale behind Steven, casting long shadows across the polished conference table.
He stood alone at the head of it, hands folded neatly in front of him, calm and measured. Every inch the Champion and heir apparent. His father wasn’t present today. And so the burden of voice fell entirely on him. He observed the scene in front of him. Most of the Devon board sat still, expressionless, hands steepled, chins resting on fingers, some with their eyes half-lidded as though in thought. They didn’t nod. They didn’t frown. But Steven knew how to read them: the slight shift of a cufflink, the blink that lingered a second too long, the sideways glance exchanged between two senior members.
“The fossil revival initiative is progressing within expected parameters,” he began, voice steady and smooth. “Revived specimens show no signs of cellular decay or systemic instability. Locomotion is responsive, and behavioral conditioning has begun in two batches.”
A slide changed, three Pokémon displayed in profile, with heat maps and data charts running along their sides. Anorith, Aerodactyl, Lilleep, Steven noted. The lighting cast pale blue across his face, silver hair glinting like a shard of the fossils he studied.
“However,” he continued, “despite refining our genome filters, we have not yet succeeded in separating the Rock type from any of the revived Pokémon. It remains a fixed elemental presence, regardless of the original typing or the purity of the fossil sample.”
He clicked forward. Another diagram. Another silent shift in the room, barely perceptible, but there. A pen tapped. A brow lifted. Someone crossed a leg.
Steven kept his gaze on the screen.
“There are a few working theories,” he said. “It’s possible the fossilization process embeds mineral signatures into the aura pattern, or-”
He could feel it. The itch in his throat. That growing pull toward speculation, excitement. The urge to talk about cellular memory. Fossil integrity. Time, and what it meant to bring something back from it. Each one, each fossil revived was a testament to how extraordinary Pokémon could be. He’d done this presentation four times in various capacities this month, and still… every single time, the wonder crept in. The awe.
Steven caught himself. “-or the revival process itself may be compensating for gaps in our data by stabilizing through a Rock-typed framework. It’s consistent across all test groups, and that consistency is useful.”
A woman near the end of the table glanced up from her tablet. One of the directors, Finance, probably. She didn’t say anything. But she was watching him closely.
He shifted slides again. The mismatched, almost grotesque fossil pairs from Galar came up, bizarre hybrids rendered in clean digital form.
“As for Galar’s fossil approach,” Steven said, and almost smiled. “It’s… unconventional. The process is a forced fusion between incompatible species. The results are biologically unstable, but offer a unique insight into... into evolutionary divergence and non-traditional synthesis-”
He cut himself off.
Stay focused. Don’t start talking about ancient hybridization or theorizing how life might have adapted in branching timelines. Don’t mention the ridges on the Arctozolt’s spine that shouldn’t belong to either base species. Don’t talk about how it kept trying to swim even when it had no idea what water was.
“Fascinating, but not immediately applicable to our work. We’ll continue refining revival parameters while running simultaneous aura simulations. The data is useful. We’re closer now than we’ve ever been.”
That got him something, an exhale from the CFO. The slightest incline of a head from the director of R&D. No applause. No approval. Just… acknowledgement. Which, in this room, was worth gold.
Steven ended the presentation with a slight bow of his head. The projector dimmed. For just a moment, he wondered what it would feel like to speak freely- to map the lineage of Tyrantrum from memory, to let his voice carry the awe he always silenced, and confess, even indirectly, how the enigma of that was Pokemon made his pulse quicken in ways he never spoke aloud.
Wallace’s comment from last night floated to the top of his head. “You talk about fossils the way some people talk about lovers.”
Steven exhaled slowly, banishing the thought to the furthest recesses of his mind. The board murmured their thanks in low, unreadable tones. One or two extended their hands across the polished table. Steven shook each one with quiet composure, trading practiced nods and small pleasantries he wouldn’t remember by the time he reached the hallway.
The door clicked softly behind him. The noise outside was quieter than inside, but the light was harsher, less forgiving.
His father was waiting.
Joseph Stone stood tall, still handsome in the way older men sometimes are, crisp suit, strong jaw, warmth that simmered beneath a surface of professional polish. He smiled as Steven approached, clapping a firm hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Impressive,” Joseph Stone said, in that mildly offhand tone that always made Steven feel thirteen again. “Confident delivery. Clear conclusions. Good work.” A pause. “Bit hesitant near the end, though.”
Steven smoothed his hair reflexively. “I didn’t want to overwhelm the board with theory. I’ll follow up in writing.”
His father gave a small grunt of acknowledgment. “Still. You were holding back. I could see it. You had something else you wanted to say. Something you liked.”
Steven swallowed. “I was staying on topic.”
His father gave him a long look. “Was it the Galarian chimeras again? You always did have a soft spot for broken things.”
Steven let out a breath through his nose, almost a laugh. “They're not broken. They’re-”
“Unnatural,” Joseph said. “But interesting. I’ll admit that.” He gave his son that particular smile, equal parts amused and fatherly, with just enough edge to it that Steven knew something was coming. “So,” Joseph said, adjusting his cufflinks like the conversation was purely professional. “Yesterday. You had the evening off.”
Steven blinked. “Yes. Rare occurrence.”
“And?” Joseph asked casually, eyes twinkling just slightly. “What did you get up to?”
“Oh, we-Wallace and I-” Steven cleared his throat, suddenly fascinated by the floor tiles. “He came over, and he took me to that new place near Sootopolis, the one with the lantern-lit boats. The owner’s a Milotic enthusiast, so the décor… and the fanfare… was… intense.” Steven’s fingers curled tightly around his files as he continued. “Wallace loved it- I mean- I loved it too! We walked the tidepools after dinner, and-” Steven cleared his throat again, not daring to steal a glance at his father and see the latter’s expression. “-there was a Wingull migration happening, so we had to take the long way back. Wallace, he just- he was in his element, talking about Sootopolis, and the Pokémon he used to see there as a kid.” His voice softened at the memory.
Joseph laughed, an actual, real laugh, and Steven found himself smiling despite himself. He continued, a little more relaxed now. “He snuck into the kitchen while I was making tea. Said he was ‘improving the ambience,’ which apparently meant lighting every candle I own and playing live harp music from his Pokénav.”
“A romantic,” Joseph mused, clearly enjoying the image. “You could use a little of that. Did the evening end well?”
Steven, mid-adjustment of his cravat, froze.
His father raised an eyebrow, voice still utterly mild. “Did the night go well?”
Steven’s ears went red so fast it was almost audible. He blinked. “I-uh-that’s-”
He tugged at his collar like it might open a trapdoor beneath him. “We-we had tea,” he said, which was technically not a lie. “Watched the stars. Talked about his next Contest Spectacular. Very wholesome.”
Joseph gave him a look that had seen through more nonsense than Steven had breathed in his life. “Wholesome,” he repeated dryly. “That’s why you’re limping?”
Steven made a strangled noise in his throat. “ Dad. ”
Joseph chuckled, clapping a hand to Steven’s shoulder. “I’m just glad you’ve let someone into your life who makes you this happy.”
Steven muttered, crossing his arms. “I’m a respected professional.”
“You’re my son.” Joseph grinned jovially. “You’re in love.”
Steven exhaled hard, face burning. “Can we please talk about the Fossil Restoration Framework instead?”
His father shook his head with a fond sigh. “Of course. Aura patterns. Fossil typing. Reviving prehistoric Pokémon. Anything to keep you from thinking about your date-”
“Dad!” Steven covered his face with one hand. “I hate you.”
Joseph beamed. “No, you don’t. But I appreciate the attempt at emotional deflection. Your mother used to do the same thing.”
Steven groaned into his palm. “I swear to Arceus-”
“Wholesome tea night,” Joseph said solemnly, nodding. “Noted.”
Steven gave up and followed him down the hall, cheeks still glowing, hoping desperately that none of the board overheard that entire exchange.
The box of chocolates felt heavier than it should have.
Steven adjusted the ribbon around the small, elegantly wrapped box in his lap, frowning at it like it might misbehave. The chocolates inside were imported from Kalos, hand-selected with great care after more deliberation than he’d ever admit aloud. He’d gone with the lavender-and-dark-cherry assortment, refined, a little unexpected, just sweet enough. Hopefully.
Wallace had a notorious sweet tooth, but his preferences were, like everything else about him, absurdly, yet lovingly, specific.
The wind rushed louder as Skarmory began to descend. Steven dug his fingers gently into his Pokémon’s neck plating, not out of fear, Skarmory was steady as ever, but to ground himself. The landing pad next to his Mossdeep residence came into view, sleek and flat against the sky, sea breeze tugging at the corners of his coat.
His mind, however, was far from steady.
It had seemed like such a simple thing. Bring Wallace chocolates. Something thoughtful. A gesture. People in relationships did that, right? The concept made perfect sense in theory. In practice, Steven had spent the entire flight cycling through potential outcomes like it was a high-stakes Championship battle.
What if Wallace didn’t like dark chocolate? What if Wallace thought it was too soon for gifts? What if Wallace read too much into it and made a scene, one of those devastating, swoon-worthy scenes where he said something outrageous and Steven melted into a puddle of embarrassment and affection in the hallway?
Talons clicked smartly against the landing stone as Skarmory touched down. Steven exhaled slowly, one hand still curled tight around the chocolates, the other loosening from Skarmory’s neck. He stared at his front door, debating whether he should rehearse what to say or just open with something neutral. “I brought snacks” sounded too clinical. “I thought of you” made his stomach flip. “Hi, I missed you” felt like stepping off a cliff.
Before he could even get off Skarmory, he heard Wallace’s unmistakable delighted laugh floating out through a slightly cracked upper window. “-of course I told him. He nearly splattered tea all over himself when I said it.”
“Well, obviously he’s the coolest ever,” a high, energetic girl’s voice said, practically bubbling with excitement. “He’s Champion and brilliant and-wait, wait- handsome , like, unfairly handsome. Don’t pretend you don’t think so, Uncle Wall?”
Steven froze on the doorstep as he called Skarmory back to his Pokeball.
Uncle Wall?
Wallace laughed, rich and fond. “I’m not pretending anything, dear. But let’s not give him an ego. It’s already precariously balanced.” Steven heard the fridge open as Wallace continued. “You’re not allowed to interrogate him until at least dessert.”
The girl continued, words tumbling out like a landslide. “Does he take you flying on Skarmory? Do you guys battle together? Or against each other? Wait-do you kiss -”
“And that would be enough of that, Lisia,” Wallace laughed warmly, his words a gentle warning.
Lisia?
Steven blinked again. Lisia . Right. Wallace had mentioned her once, briefly, in between stories about Contest schedules and fabric emergencies. Ten, bright as a Comet Shard, and adored Wallace with a reverence usually reserved for fairy tales and celebrity champions.
He knocked on the door with a newfound ease and opened it slowly. The scene inside felt like sunlight filtering through new spring leaves. Wallace was in the kitchen, apron tied over his usual silks, sleeves casually rolled up, and a faint dusting of powdered sugar on his cheek like some kind of unfairly glamorous baker. At the island, perched on a barstool and sipping a bright pink soda with a spiral straw, sat a young girl with electric blue barrettes and enough enthusiasm to power an entire Contest Hall. She looked up and gasped.
“You’re here!” she squeaked, bouncing off the stool. “It’s you ! It’s really you!”
She grabbed his hand with the energy of someone who thought handshakes were for cowards and looked up at him with eyes full of awe. “You’re Steven Stone. I’m Lisia. I’m Uncle Wallace’s niece. I think you’re amazing and also your Metagross is so cool and also I’ve seen every broadcast of your tournament battles and I think your hair is perfect. ”
Steven stared at her. Then, slowly, he smiled. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”
She bounced on the balls of her feet, eyes wide with excitement. “Do you really dig up Pokémon from fossils?”
“I… I mean that’s not quite accurate. The term would be revived, but, yes. Quite a few, actually.”
Wallace appeared behind her, looking both amused and faintly apologetic. “She got dropped off a day early. I was going to warn you, but I figured throwing you directly into the deep end would build character.”
Steven held up the chocolates like a white flag. “I brought snacks.”
“Ohhh,” Lisia breathed. “Are they for me?”
“They’re for your uncle,” Steven said, deadpan, “but I’m sure he’ll share. If he doesn’t, I’ll… talk to his Milotic.”
Wallace looked scandalized. “Steven.”
Steven gave him a thin, utterly unreadable smile. “What? I have leverage now.”
Lisia let out a delighted cackle, and Wallace made a show of rolling his eyes before moving to put the chocolates in the fridge with reverence.
Steven, meanwhile, let his gaze drift back to Lisia, this exuberant, bright-eyed storm of color and curiosity. He adored her immediately. She had Wallace’s drama and none of his restraint. It was horrifying. It was wonderful. It made his house feel like a home.
Steven leaned against the kitchen island, his voice softer as he admired Wallace’s teal silk tresses tied up neatly in a bun. “I hope you like dark cherry and lavender.”
Wallace looked over, warm. “I like everything you pick.” He placed a kiss on Steven’s temple.
Steven’s blush returned with a vengeance. Lisia noticed immediately and grinned. “You’re blushing! I knew it! I want to know everything!”
Wallace sighed theatrically. “You were supposed to wait until dessert.”
Lisia crossed her arms. “Too late. Now I need answers. All of them.”
Steven gave Wallace a sidelong look. “You heard the lady.”
Wallace gave him a pained smile and mouthed, traitor. It was accompanied by a dramatic sigh as he untied his apron with a theatrical flourish, flinging it over the back of a chair like he was shedding the last remains of plausible deniability.
“Fine,” he said, pouring himself a glass of sparkling water like it was wine. “But if I’m going to be emotionally exposed and interrogated over dinner, I demand ambiance.”
“Ambiance?” Lisia echoed, sitting at the dining table. “Like candlelight and violins?”
“Like a playlist that doesn’t involve me getting up every ten seconds to change it,” Wallace replied, waving a hand at the speaker in the corner. With a flick of his fingers, mellow jazz began to play, something breezy and romantic and just slightly ridiculous.
Steven looked amused. “You have a dinner playlist.”
“I have three,” Wallace corrected, pulling open the oven to check on what smelled like roasted vegetables and herbed pastry. “One for date nights, one for dinner parties, and one for dinner parties that turn into date nights.”
Steven blinked. “…Which one is this?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Wallace murmured, a wicked curl to his smile as he straightened up with a golden tart in hand.
Lisia kicked her legs beneath the table. “This is so much better than staying at Grandma’s. She makes stew and won’t tell me any of the good gossip. But you two , you’re like, movie star dating. When did it happen? Did you know right away? Was it like, fate?”
Steven hesitated. Wallace did not.
“Oh, absolutely,” Wallace said grandly, setting the tart on a cooling rack. “The first time I saw him, I thought, ‘There is a man who does not know how to relax. I must fix that.’”
Steven gave him a look. “That’s not what you said.”
“No, I believe what I said was, ‘He’s got cheekbones like they were drawn with a sword.’” Wallace set plates on the table with an exaggerated flourish. “But fixing you came later.”
Steven, still leaning against the counter, muttered, “You’re doing a great job.”
“I know ,” Wallace said sweetly. “Now sit. Before Lisia combusts.”
Steven finally took a seat across from her, who was practically vibrating with excitement. “So was it hard? Dating while famous and busy and amazing? Did you get into fights? Did you make up in dramatic ways?”
Wallace laughed. “Lisia. This is dinner, not a soap opera.”
Lisia leaned forward with wide eyes. “But it feels like one.”
Steven rubbed his temple and looked at Wallace, his voice a whisper. “You really dropped her into my house on purpose, didn’t you?”
Wallace handed him a fork. “I really missed you. And I wanted you to meet her.”
That gave Steven pause.
Wallace wasn’t careless with the people he let into his life. For all his flirtation and glamor, he was fiercely selective, and secretive when it counted. Letting someone into his world was one thing. Letting them into Lisia’s was something else entirely.
Steven glanced over at her, now delicately inspecting the tart like it might contain rare jewels.
“…It’s good to meet you, Lisia,” he said quietly.
She beamed. “It’s good to finally meet you. I was starting to think Uncle Wall was making you up.”
Wallace put a hand over his heart. “As if I could invent someone with that haircut.”
Steven lifted his fork. “I’m reconsidering the chocolates.”
Lisia cackled again, already reaching for the soda, her energy undimmed even as she took a bite of tart and promptly declared it “like eating a summer sunset.”
Wallace smiled across the table at Steven, fond, genuine, a little soft around the edges. “Welcome home.”
Steven’s shoulders finally relaxed, some knot inside him unwinding. Wallace, saying that… it made his heart melt.
Lisia took another bite of tart, cheeks puffed like a Swablu, then pointed her fork at the pair across from her with the unrelenting confidence of someone who had never once been told to mind her business. “So,” she said brightly, “when was your first kiss ?”
Steven promptly choked on his bite of tart.
Wallace, for once, didn’t miss a beat, but his voice went an octave too high as he fluttered his fingers and replied crisply, “ Absolutely not appropriate dinner conversation, Lisia dear.”
“What? Why not?” she pouted, completely undeterred. “I’m practically grown!”
“You’re ten,” Wallace said, stabbing a roasted carrot with theatrical emphasis. “You cried last week because your glitter gel dried out. No first kisses at the table.”
“It was a limited edition glitter gel,” she muttered darkly. “And you said it looked good on me.”
“It did,” Wallace agreed. “Which is why you were banned from using it on my capes.” He turned toward Steven with a strained smile. “Don’t answer that question.”
Steven, red in the ears and desperately trying to pretend he hadn’t nearly inhaled pastry, raised both hands. “I wasn’t going to.”
“Coward,” Lisia teased, wagging a finger at him. “What if I promise to ask again after dinner?”
“Still no,” Wallace replied. “I will distract you with dessert.”
“That’s bribery.”
“That’s parenting.”
Lisia leaned back, tapping her straw against the rim of her glass in a steady rhythm. “Okay, okay. Fine.” Then, innocently, too innocently: “Can I call you Uncle Steven now?”
There was a pause.
A beat.
A gentle sip of sparkling water.
And then-
Wallace snorted , violently. Water shot from his nose in an extremely ungraceful display, and he slapped a hand to his mouth with a wild expression of betrayal, like his own face had turned against him. “ Wh-hk- oh dear Arceus above- ”
Steven blinked, startled. “Are you okay?”
Wallace waved him off, coughing into a napkin and trying to recover the last shreds of dignity he usually wore like a cape. “ Fine. I just- wasn’t expecting that question, that's all-”
Steven passed Wallace a glass of water. “Drink carefully this time.”
Wallace shot Steven a withering glare as he noticed the latter give him the slightest of smirks. “I thought you liked surprises,” Steven said mildly.
“Not at the dinner table.” Wallace sniffed, and then turned back to Lisia, one hand still pressed dramatically to his chest. “You may not call him Uncle Steven just yet. We have to-vet the title.”
“What does that mean?” she asked, suspicious.
“It means I’m still deciding whether or not to let him into the family portrait,” Wallace said breezily, though there was a teasing lilt to it that softened the words. “And also because he reacts like a startled Aron when you get too affectionate in public.”
“I do not-” Steven began.
“You do ,” Wallace said gently, almost sweetly. “And I adore you for it.”
Steven went quiet again, brushing a hand along the side of his fork. The little flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, even as he fought it.
Lisia swirled her soda with a pleased hum. “You do love him,” she said, like she’d just confirmed a theory with decisive data.
Wallace didn’t reply immediately. His expression changed, less performative now, softer in the quiet way Steven had learned to recognize. The version of Wallace not built for stage lights or televised speeches or gym leader battles. Just the man in Steven’s kitchen, sitting near Steven with flour on his cheek and starlight in his hair.
Wallace flicked one of Lisia’s barrettes lightly. “Yes. I do.”
Steven glanced over, not speaking, but his eyes were full of warmth and love.
Lisia gave a dreamy sigh, dramatically falling back into her seat like she’d just read the ending to a favorite romance novel. “I knew it. I knew you like-liked him. I so called it. Grandma said you were ‘probably too focused on your work to settle down’ but I said maybe you were just waiting for the right guy.”
“Well,” Wallace murmured, half-laughing as he turned back to his plate, “you’re certainly not wrong.”
“Are you staying over tonight?” she asked brightly. “Like a sleepover?”
“ Lisia! ” Wallace’s tone cracked mid-word. “I swear by all the stars, eat your tart.”
“I am! ” she said, grinning wide. “Just multitasking.”
Steven pressed his napkin to his mouth, trying, failing, not to smile.
The conversation began to mellow after that, a fire cooling to a gentle glow. Wallace steered the ship, skillfully directing Lisia’s questions toward Contest gossip, local gym leaders, and the questionable color of Winona’s new flying suit. Lisia chattered through it all with infectious joy, twirling her straw, smearing pastry crumbs across her notes on a napkin, completely unbothered by anything in the world.
“I’m really happy you’re dating someone who makes you laugh, Uncle Wall,” she said at one point, quieter than usual. “You used to get really lonely after competitions.”
Wallace paused in cutting his tart. His eyes flicked up, just briefly, to Steven. Without ceremony, he reached out and ruffled Lisia’s hair with a fond little hum. “You’re too observant for your own good, darling.”
“You’re happier now,” she said, and Steven watched Wallace give his niece the most precious of smiles. Steven wished the moment could’ve lasted forever-if time weren’t so rude. Wallace glanced up at the clock above the kitchen archway, then made a soft sound of realization. “Ah. Quarter to seven already.”
Lisia’s head whipped around toward the clock, and her eyes widened. “Oh no. Oh no . If I don’t leave now, I’m going to miss rehearsal!” She hopped down from her chair, grabbing her soda and finishing it in a single, dramatic slurp.
Steven looked over at Wallace. “If it’s too late to travel safely, she can leave in the morning. I have guest rooms, and there’s always extra space.”
Wallace shook his head, moving to rinse his plate. “Thank you, but she’s well trained. I’ve had her crossing Hoenn since she was eight. She’s got this down to a science.”
“I do!” Lisia confirmed, balancing her plate in one hand. “Uncle Wallace drilled me on departure prep like it was a Contest routine. And, if don’t rehearse with Ali before a big show, he gets sulky. He’s very sensitive to schedule changes.”
“I wonder where he gets that from,” Wallace said dryly.
“Ignoring that,” Lisia said, already rinsing her plate. “Ali and I are practically professional fliers. We once did four back-to-back performances in three different towns in one day.”
Steven watched her disappear into the guest room to grab her duffel bag, then turned to Wallace, voice low. “Still. Are you sure?”
“She’s careful,” Wallace said, his tone quiet but firm. “And she’s a better flier than either of us.”
“She rides an Altaria that has silk ribbons braided into his crest feathers.”
“ Elegance is not the enemy of efficiency, Steven.”
Steven gave a very small smile. “Fair.”
Lisia reappeared moments later, already zipping up her bag. “I’ve triple-checked everything in here. Trust me, I’m good,” she said, nodding at Wallace.
Wallace walked her to the front door as she pulled on her gloves. He checked the fit of her scarf with expert hands, gave the ends a sharp tug, then leaned down to straighten the loose strands of hair poking out of her ponytail.
“Remember to rest your voice when you land,” he said.
“I know .”
“And no lemon tea after vocal warmups. You said it dries you out.”
“ I know. ”
“And make sure Ali has his dinner on time.”
Lisia giggled. “Yes, Uncle Wall. I know. ”
Wallace made a thoughtful sound. “Acceptable.” He reached to straighten one of her barrettes. “Travel safe, starlight. You will text your mother and I when you land.”
Lisia rolled her eyes, a wide grin on her face. “I’m ten, not irresponsible.”
Wallace sighed, affectionate. “You truly are my niece. Go charm them senseless.”
Lisia grinned and turned to Steven, lifting her hand again, not to shake, this time, but for a high five.
Steven obliged, the faintest smile pulling at his lips.
“You’re cool,” she told him solemnly. “Even if you’re kinda shy.”
“I’ll take it,” Steven said.
Wallace and Steven followed her out the front door, where the wind had softened to a warm sea breeze. The sky was streaked with coral and indigo, and the last gold of sunset glinted off the clouds. Lisia called Ali forth from his Pokeball and rushed towards him, drowning herself in his cloud-like wings. Ali lowered his head, nudging her side fondly.
Lisia slung her satchel up and pressed a quick kiss to Wallace’s cheek. “Love you, Uncle Wall.” She gave Steven a cheeky salute before bounding up to Altaria’s back. In one fluid motion, the Altaria lifted his head, cooed softly, and launched gently into the air, rising like a balloon into the evening sky.
Steven’s gaze tracked them until they faded into cloud and color. “She’s… unstoppable,” he murmured, almost in awe.
Wallace let out a slow breath, arms folding loosely across his chest as he followed the last glimpse of Altaria’s wings. “She is,” he said. “Thank Arceus.” He tilted his head, studying Steven out of the corner of his eye. “She’s the one who taught me that love doesn’t need an audience.”
Steven didn’t respond right away. His eyes were still on the sky, unreadable but far from empty.
Finally, he spoke, voice quiet. “I’m glad you introduced me to her.”
Wallace’s expression didn’t change much. “So am I,” he said. “So am I.”
Steven tilted his head toward the door, hands slipping into his pockets as the hush of dusk settled around them.
“Do you,” he began, hesitant but dry, “still want the chocolates I brought you, or was Lisia’s interrogation enough dessert for one night?”
Wallace’s eyes widened like he’d just remembered a long-lost treasure. He turned to Steven with the exaggerated shock of a man discovering art in his attic. “ The chocolates. ” His voice was low and reverent.
Steven arched a brow. “I see you’ve recovered your memory.”
“I was emotionally compromised by a ten-year-old tornado in barrettes,” Wallace said defensively, placing a hand over his heart. “Forgive me if my priorities temporarily shifted.”
Steven gave a faint, amused hum. “So that’s a yes, then?”
Wallace stepped back towards the door. “I’ll have you know, Steven Stone, that I intend to eat at least three of those on the chaise lounge while making entirely too much eye contact with you.”
Steven exhaled a breath of half-laughter, following after him. “That sounds vaguely threatening.”
Wallace glanced over his shoulder. “That’s because it is.”
True to his word, Wallace reclined gracefully on the chaise lounge, legs crossed at the ankle, the box of chocolates resting beside him like an objet d’art. He rested one hand underneath his chin, in the other, a lavender-dark cherry truffle pinched daintily between two fingers, poised like a jewel.
He bit into it slowly. Deliberately.
His eyes never left Steven’s.
Steven, for his part, sat ramrod straight on the adjacent settee, arms stiff against his sides, looking for all the world like someone enduring trial by fire with practiced stoicism. He should have been enjoying himself. By all reasonable metrics, he was - Wallace was radiant, pleased, in a silk robe and with a mouth faintly stained by dark cherry liqueur. The lighting was low and golden, and the sea wind ghosted against the curtains like something half-imagined.
And yet.
Every time Wallace sank his teeth into another chocolate and met his gaze with that slow, sultry satisfaction, Steven had to glance away- anywhere else. The bookshelf. The fireplace. A smudge on the floor that surely hadn’t been there earlier. His composure was a strained line, and Wallace, Steven suspected, was enjoying this far too much .
“You’re avoiding my eyes,” Wallace said airily, licking a fleck of cherry filling from the corner of his mouth with shameless finesse.
Steven cleared his throat, tugging at his collar. “No, I’m not.”
“You are,” Wallace purred, popping the rest of the chocolate into his mouth and sighing like it was the first taste of spring. “And it’s terribly flattering.”
Steven didn’t answer at first. He stared hard at the window, where the faint reflection of Wallace shimmered in the glass like a mirage sent specifically to torment him. “You’re… staring,” he finally said, clearing his throat.
“I’m admiring ,” Wallace corrected, lifting another chocolate as if to toast him. “There’s a difference. You’d know that if you ever let someone look at you long enough.”
“That implies I enjoy being… looked at,” Steven muttered.
Wallace tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly, like he was parsing a riddle only he could solve. “You handle being on camera just fine.”
Steven exhaled, sharp and short. “That’s different. Cameras don’t feel like they’re undressing my soul .”
Wallace let out a delighted laugh, warm and startling in the quiet room. “Darling, if that’s all it takes, you’re more fragile than I thought.”
Steven groaned softly and rubbed the back of his neck. “You do this on purpose.”
“Only because I like you flushed red.” Wallace leaned forward, resting his elbow on the back of the chaise, chin on his hand. “It’s when you’re the most honest.”
Steven met his gaze again, briefly, but longer this time. “That’s not fair.”
“No,” Wallace agreed. “But it’s true.” He took another chocolate, this one with candied rose petals, and held it out to Steven between two fingers. “Try one,” he said, a soft smile curving his lips. “Before I make my way through the whole box.”
Steven hesitated, then rose and crossed the short distance between them. He took the chocolate carefully, his fingertips brushing Wallace’s. For a moment, their hands lingered, too long to be accidental.
Steven finally looked down at the chocolate, then back up at Wallace. “It’s… unfair. You’re impossible to look at when you’re like this.”
Wallace gave a delighted gasp, hand fluttering to his chest. “ Steven Stone, was that a compliment ?”
Steven’s ears flushed scarlet. “I meant-”
“No, no, don’t backtrack,” Wallace said sweetly, already selecting another chocolate with exaggerated grace. “Let me savor this moment.”
Steven set the chocolate aside and covered his face with both hands and groaned softly. “You’re insufferable.”
Wallace’s voice dropped, low and lazy. “But you’re still here.”
Steven peeked at him between his fingers. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
Wallace smiled wickedly, eyes gleaming. “Darling, which one?”
Steven let out a startled cough, nearly knocking his elbow into the side table. “You- you did not just -”
“I absolutely did.” Wallace shifted on the chaise, just enough to let the silk of his robe fall slightly, collarbone catching the amber light. “You offered such a tempting setup. I simply walked through the door you cracked open.”
Steven stared, expression flat but eyes wild. “You’re impossible.”
Wallace smiled brighter, cruel and loving all at once as let another piece of chocolate melt between his lips. “Steven, if you keep staring like that, I will start asking you to name them.”
“The chocolates?”
Wallace tilted his head, gaze sliding over him. “No. The flavors you want to taste off my mouth.”
“Wallace!” Steven cried, his fists clenching and unclenching against his knees.
“Mmm?” Wallace bit delicately into another piece, dark cherry glossing his lower lip. “You seem tense.”
“I wonder why.”
Wallace licked a bit of chocolate from his thumb, slow, casual, maddening. “You could join me, you know,” he said, eyes hooded. “I’d even let you have the next one.”
Steven inhaled sharply. “You’re doing it again.”
Wallace tilted his head, the picture of innocence. “Doing what?”
“That- thing. With your voice. And your mouth. And your...everything.”
Wallace chuckled, dark and low. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
Steven stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair, pacing once across the room just to shake the heat building under his skin. “You’re infuriating. ”
“You say that every time.” Wallace gave a mock pout. “Are you afraid of what might happen if you stepped closer? If I had you beneath me again?”
Steven stopped, turned, and finally met his gaze head-on. He crossed the room slowly, every movement measured, stopping in front of Wallace and looking down at him, breath steady but shallow.
“Well, well,” Wallace murmured, sitting straighter, the low fall of his robe only emphasizing how close the space between them had become. “Look who can be tempted.”
“Which one ,” Steven said quietly, voice roughened, “were you hoping I’d mean?”
Wallace’s smile faltered for just a fraction of a second, enough for Steven to see the flicker of surprise. But then it returned, slow and sultry. “The one that makes you look at me like that,” he whispered.
Steven didn’t answer.
He just moved.
In a single, breathless beat, his hands came to either side of Wallace’s face, and he kissed him, fierce , full, no hesitation this time. Wallace let out a soft gasp against his mouth, part surprise, part satisfaction, arms immediately coming around Steven’s shoulders as the kiss deepened. Steven’s fingers slid into Wallace’s hair, undoing the loose knot, letting pale silk spill across the cushions like unraveling moonlight.
Wallace let himself be pressed down, gasping softly against Steven’s lips as long fingers explored the edge of his collar, splaying against his chest, heat blooming between them. He arched into the touch, smiling into the kiss.
“You-” Steven whispered between gasps, “you- you -”
Wallace smiled against his jaw, arching slightly beneath him. “Yes, darling?” he purred, voice still breathless but laced with that unmistakable edge. “You’ll have to be more specific. I’m very good with instruction.”
Steven kissed him again to shut him up.
But Wallace wasn’t done. His fingers slid teasingly along Steven’s spine, nails grazing just enough to make Steven shiver. Then, voice all velvet and sin, he whispered, “If you want dessert, darling, I could always let you have a taste of-”
Whatever fragile thread of composure Steven had been holding onto snapped completely.
His next kiss was no kiss at all but a claiming. His mouth slanted over Wallace’s with dizzying heat, like he meant to devour every laugh, every lingering look, every infuriatingly perfect smirk Wallace had ever used to undo him.
Wallace yielded to him instantly, with a breathless sigh that sounded far too close to a moan, arching up into the kiss like it was something he’d been starving for. And maybe he had. Maybe they both had, because Steven kissed like a dam finally bursting, all pressure and want, raw and aching. His mouth was hungry, lips insistent, tongue slipping between Wallace’s with a groan that rumbled low in his throat.
Wallace pulled him closer, hands sliding over the sharp lines of Steven’s back, tugging him down until they were chest to chest, breath to breath. Their hips moved without thinking, friction building, bodies grinding in slow, breathless rhythm, silk and wool and skin sliding together until neither of them could breathe quite right.
“Stars-Steven,” Wallace choked out, head falling back as they both gasped for breaths between kisses, “one more like that and I’m going to lose it.”
Steven’s voice cracked against Wallace’s skin. “You don’t know-you don’t know how many nights I’ve imagined this. Imagined us like this."
Wallace let out a soft, wrecked sound, his hands slipping into Steven’s hair, tangling there as his legs parted, his body molding to Steven’s like the final piece in a puzzle. His voice was shaky when he whispered, “Then show me, love."
Steven’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with something tender and intense all at once. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, as he framed Wallace’s face with his hands, reverent, as though he might shatter the moment by moving too fast. His thumbs brushed along the damp line of Wallace’s cheekbones, memorizing him with every breath, every heartbeat.
Wallace’s laugh was soft, breathless. “You always say that like it’s the first time you’ve seen me.”
Steven pulled back just enough to look at him, to really look at him. “It feels like it every time. You always made it look so easy. Being near you without falling apart.”
Wallace smiled, a soft curve of lips that trembled with emotion. “That was never easy,” he said, barely audible. “I just got very good at pretending.”
Their mouths met again, this time with a sureness that banished any remaining hesitation. Steven pressed into him, one arm curling around Wallace’s back to draw him closer, until there was no space left between them. Their legs tangled, their hands roamed, their breathing turned shallow, like the tide rushing to shore, always returning.
Steven’s forehead dropped to Wallace’s, their breaths mingling. “I can feel you, I can see you, and I still don’t believe it’s- this is really happening. Is it a dream?”
“Then come closer, love,” Wallace whispered, brushing his fingers along the edge of Steven’s jaw, pulling him closer for a deeper kiss as he hooked his ankles around Steven’s waist. “Let’s stop dreaming. Let me wreck you. Let me ruin you. Let me love you until you can't stand.”
As Steven sank into the kiss, his mind a haze of bliss and lust, a thought bubbled to the surface-
Steven Stone had a boyfriend.
And sometimes, he still couldn’t believe it.
Not because it didn’t make sense-
but because it made too much.
Because love had a voice.
Because love had a touch.
Because love had a name.
Because Wallace had chosen him-
again, and again, and again.