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Scott and Wallace finally, finally make it to their apartment after the whole “Scott is dead but not really and now there’s a musical about him” debacle, Ramona in tow. Wallace plops down in the chair and watches Scott kiss Ramona goodbye.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he tells her, and Wallace can’t help but feel a little sympathy for Ramona after this entire ordeal, “I just want a nap in my own bed.”
“You mean your sugar daddy’s bed.”
Scott pauses awkwardly while Ramona glances in at Wallace. He shoots her a smirk, and she rolls her eyes in good humor.
“Goodnight, Pilgrim,” Ramona tells Scott quietly, her hand intertwined with his brought up to Scott’s lips. He stands in the doorway until she’s fully out of view.
“Long day, guy?” Wallace calls to him.
Scott jumps and pulls the door shut. “Sorry,” he says, “just caught up in… uh, yeah.” He waves a dismissive hand in the air, shuffling his shoes off his feet. Scott practically crawls to the mattress and sits with a loud thump, nearly missing the edge in his fatigue.
Wallace stands to sit next to him, because the guy looks a little feverish. Pressing a hand to Scott’s forehead, he feels for weird body heat. Other than the sweat of the action of earlier, Scott feels fine.
“No fever,” Wallace murmurs, “but you do look a little sickly.”
“I haven’t seen a bed in, like, two days,” Scott moans, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms.
“Yeah, no, that’ll do you in,” Wallace says, standing to approach one of Scott’s clothing piles on the floor. After his roommate had died, he’d admittedly let the clothes stay on the floor while he drank himself to oblivion, because it let him imagine Scott could still come home at any minute. He tosses a pajama shirt and a pair of decently clean boxers at Scott’s face.
“Don’t worry, underwear is clean. Did the sniff test.”
“Ugh,” Scott groans loudly, pulling off his shirt and replacing it with the pajama shirt, “gross.”
He swaps his pants and boxers for the pair Wallace had tossed at him and sits back down on the bed, shaking legs buckling under him. Wallace sighs, following him.
“Everyone really did think you were dead,” he tells Scott, brushing the dust off Scott’s side of the bed absently, “kinda sucked.”
“Psh,” Scott blows air through his teeth, resting his face on his hand, “less for you to worry about, yeah? No extra guy leeching off of you.”
“I drank myself to death.”
Wallace looks anywhere but Scott, because that speck of mold on the ceiling from the leaking rain is shaped really intriguingly. Scott shifts awkwardly on the bed next to him. It’s sort of strange to be thrust back into normalcy.
“Sorry,” is all Scott says.
“Had to go to the doctor. They were worried about my liver.”
“Mm.”
His fingers ache with the anxious movement of wringing them together as Scott’s gaze pierces his hands.
“I, uh…” Wallace clears his throat, “listen, you won’t hear this much from me, but… I missed you, guy.”
He glances towards Scott, finally, and sees him smiling gently. “I missed you, too. Well… not really. I met, like, this older version of you. He was really cool. Did you know we live together…”
He’s cut off by an abrupt attack on his personal space as Wallace tugs him into an embrace.
“… in the future?”
“Was I still your sugar daddy?” Wallace laughs into his shoulder.
Scott brings his arms up around Wallace’s back. “I think that’s what they called it in the future, yeah. Why do people keep saying that?”
Wallace chuckles against him, a shared vibration shivering the both of them. He pulls away and grabs Scott’s face in his hands. “Oh, Scott,” he says in the tone of voice that tells him he’s being slightly condescending, “never change.”
He presses a kiss to Scott’s forehead and pats his hair before he lays back in the bed. Scott lays down, too.
“I’m glad things can be normal now, kinda,” Scott says, “I miss that.”
Wallace smiles, tugging the blanket up over the both of them. “Yeah. Oh, by the way, I made out and had sex with a guy that was dressed just like you. It was awesome. Thought you should know.”
Scott blinks. And then blinks again. “Huh?”
“Goodnight, Scott,” Wallace tells him, rolling over.
“Um,” Scott mutters, “goodnight.”
Scott Pilgrim and Wallace Wells sleep in the same bed again, and the story never gets any less gay than it was the first time.