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Wallace stood in front of Mobile, music thumping like a hazy headache around them, muffled by emotion. Everything felt muted and dull. Wallace was so lost and breaking, yet Mobile was so aware...wanting all this to happen exactly the way it was. He was such a snake, biting and bleeding Wallace dry until he finally ends everything, but leaving Wallace to drained too carry on.
"Why are you doing this? You asked me here!" Wallace jabbed a finger into Mobile's chest, golden eyes searing with tears he was trying so hard not to let fall. Wallace is always an unbreaking wall of sincerity, but not now through a dizzy fever of tequila and heartbreak.
"Look, Wallace, I was gonna tell you before we came but...I wanted to let you down slowly, y'know? I'm doing a good thing!" Mobile sighed heavily, grabbing Wallace's wrist and leading him outside.
The midnight chill bit at their skin, the wind cast featherlight fingers through Wallace's hair, soothing through it's breeze. But he couldn't find any comfort in it, for Mobile was an endless vacuum, taking any relief nature could provide. Mobile steadied him and spoke firmly, he wasn't going to let his last shred of pity for this blubbering drunk mess of a man cloud his judgement.
"It just doesn't work, Wallace! I have all these damn business trips to go on, my job is killing me, and I have you constantly on my back! 'Mobile, where are you?', this! 'You value your job more than me, Mobile!", that! I'm exhausted! You're exhausting!"
Wallace couldn't even begin to try and counter that...because he knew it was true. He knew Mobile was right, and it made him feel so damn sick. His bottom lip trembled with overwhelming anger, anger at himself for letting it get to this. Truly, Wallace just needed someone. Someone that he could love without feeling guilty, without having to watch fight for a girl, without having to accept the fact it will never happen....Wallace knows that with who he loves, it will never happen. The nausea crashes down on him like an avalanche.
"I j-just-"
Wallace blew chunks all over Mobile's new shoes.
Mobile recoiled with a furious 'Jesus!". There was no 'are you okay?', or, 'let me take you home.'. Wallace's worth was now based upon mere footwear. He lifted his head after catching his breath, small broken noises of exhaustion seeping through his ragged breathing. He couldn't begin to care about how pathetic he looked now.
Mobile's face was shrouded in pure disgust.
He couldn't even spare him mere pity.
"I hope you fix yourself, Wallace, I really do." Mobile turned away, leaving Wallace to sink to wobbling knees.
"Mobile, don't-" But further efforts just caused him to gag again. His stomach ached with nausea, head spinning, heart already given up on trying to stay in one faltering piece. Mobile was right, Wallace was just constantly numbing himself from everything that can and will hurt him. He seems so down to earth, but that grounded demeanor is simply disassociation. The true Wallace is the crumpled wreck on the sidewalk. And he will never be able to "fix himself", no matter how many times he replays the words in his forever swimming mind. Because Wallace was forever broken, and the only person who could fix it would never love him enough to try.
________________
Wallace stumbled through the door. He had walked at least half an hour from the club on shaking foal-like legs, face wet with tears and drying saliva.
Scott is up and awake, getting some water from the fridge, wearing a loose Sex Bo-Bomb t shirt that Wallace sometimes uses as a sleep shirt when all his clothes are in the wash, and Wallace's high-quality cotton shorts. Such romantic things they do in such a delicate friendship, they have to remember that it's nothing more than that.
"Wallace!" Scott's face hardened with worry.
"What the hell happened?" He ditched the water on the counter and walked over, gently taking off wallaces coat which had been somehow put on inside out.
Wallace didn't immediately answer before Scott gently wiped his cheeks with his thumbs. His voice small and unnaturally vulnerable,
"M-Mobile...left me."
Scott sighed softly, having a horrible feeling that would be the case. Mobile had blatantly been growing distant from Wallace, never calling, often ignoring him even in person. It made Scott sickeningly bitter.
"Oh, man..." His eyes soften when they meet Wallace's, bloodshot and wet, full of aching sorrow. "Come on, I'll make you some tea." God, the offer was sweet. Well, it was less of an offer and more of an undeniable fact.
Wallace has always loved green tea especially, not to mention the fact it's good to flush out alcohol from someone's system. Scott tenderly led him by the waist to the counter, letting him lean against him as he carefully took the mug out of the cupboard and boiled the kettle.
"God, look at you..." He sighed softly as he watched the kettle boil and click off. He picked it up and poured it over the tea bag, filling the place with the soothing aroma of warm earthy comfort.
"Sit on the counter." He says gently, but demanding. Wallace weakly pushes himself up onto the counter with weak arms, looking at Scott with heavy, longing eyes.
Scott gently tipped the mug to Wallace's cracked lips, helping him drink the tea.
Scott set the mug down once Wallace had swallowed. He looked at him with something he probably shouldn't have done...love. But not just platonic boy-best friends roommate love. No, this was pure and aching desire.
And Wallace looked back,
Eyes burning brighter.
Wallace weakly reached up to cup Scott's cheek. Scott's bottom lip began to tremble, he bit down on it to stop it.
"I wish I could love you, Wallace." He said shakily, voice barely more than a whisper. "I wish you were a girl. I wish I could kiss you."
"Close your eyes, just...just please give me one moment." Wallace begged with all the strength he had left in that aching body, buzzing with stomach-churning desire he knew he couldn't harbour.
So that's what they do.
Scott shuts his eyes tight and kisses Wallace desperately, their mouths colliding in what felt like brief, forbidden heaven.
Scott went deep, painting a picture, tracing Wallace's features in his mind to create a woman in his mind.
The curve of his jawline, now softened into femininity. The delicacy of those smooth lips, now fuller and ladylike. The gentle dip of Wallace's hips, made rounded and womanly.
Scott's hands were hot irons, melting Wallace into something else everywhere he touched him. He kissed him and touched him until he was a woman in his mind, and Scott let that sink in as futile truth for a few seconds.
But when Scott pulls away and looks at Wallace again, the woman fades...and Scott is left with the truth. The truth that is Wallace.
They look at eachother.
They devour eachother through their eyes, because through imagery they can alter who they are seeing.
But imagery will never be the real thing.
Just altered and cracking in its lie.
So Scott closes his eyes for a few seconds, holding his breath to make this last forever. But the woman is gone now, and all he sees is one thing.
All the sees is Wallace.
And this time, he doesn't fade when he opens his eyes.
He's there.
And he wishes he could love him.