Archive of Our Own ^beta

He opens up the metal, bunker-like door of his home to an empty room awaiting him on the other side.

Wallace isn't sure whether the quiet is a comfort or a little eerie considering he'd been anticipating Scott to have laid waste to the place while he was away.

For the meantime, though, his shoulders drop and he pulls a lax smile as he rolls his luggage toward the dresser to get everything unpacked later.

First things first: time for a shower.

...

...

Toronto, Canada hasn't really changed much since Wallace last saw it. But as far as things go for himself, he feels all sorts of different.

For one, he can't stop thinking about those sparks from that first kiss with Mobile. And the second kiss, and the third...

He thought Scott had just been kidding when he mentioned them. After all, it wouldn't be the first time he'd told Wallace nonsensical drabble. It's Scott they're dealing with.

But to have it happen to him? Maybe he should have expected it. Wallace has always known his love can't be sustained by a closeted gay vegan or some stray hookups he's grabbed along the way. It needs to be someone who can exude the same ultra-gay, ultra-cool atmosphere he lauds as being two of his most charming qualities. After all, Wallace has standards he needs met, baby.

...The cute looks don't hurt, either.

As for the other things that make him feel a little different, he definitely needs to be layered in a bathrobe and lounging in his armchair for a few hours after so much travel. Preferably with a martini if he can spur up the energy to prepare one.

After the shower, he dons the robe and strolls to the kitchen to prepare his reward for a vacation well traveled.

Then he rolls up to his armchair, plops down, and turns on the TV.

Not even two seconds into a Lucas Lee film, it cuts to an ad of Young Neil's canceled Scott movie. Wallace and Todd Ingram are making out passionately, footage Wallace never knew he needed erased from his memory, before switching to action-filled sequences.

Wallace sucks in a breath and scrambles for the remote as the ad cuts to them again, the display of handsy groping and tongue battling enough to turn his stomach.

Wallace shuts it off with a slam of his finger on the button then falls back with a deep exhale. A pang to his forehead forewarns a migraine so he throws back his martini.

What's happening? Shouldn't those ads have been taken down already?

Wait, why does he even care? It was a show biz thing. The situationship was only ever going to last as long as the contract. They've long been over.

So what is this gross, uncomfortable feeling?

Wait, no. It couldn't be. ...Guilt?

Wallace is many things but he isn't guilty of anything aside from being hot. He takes a second to collect himself, thinking that if watching TV is off the table, maybe he can sort away his luggage or something.

And yet, he still doesn't move from the armchair.

He just sits there, listening to a stray drop of water fall from the faucet into the sink in the kitchen.

Mobile gave him his number. He should definitely call.

Somehow, that makes him want to move even less.

A key clicks around in the lock at the door before bursting open, revealing far too much sunlight as Scott strolls in.

He's whistling, which makes the headache worse, though Wallace only acknowledges it with a slight lowering of his eyelids and a sigh. The whistling stops, punctured by a gasp, when Scott freezes in front of the armchair.

"Woah, hey! I didn't know you were back!"

"Yep, got back just a little while ago," Wallace says.

He rests both arms on either side of the armchair and crosses his legs. Totally in control.

"Whatcha doin'?" Scott asks.

"Watching TV."

"But the TV is off."

"Yep."

"How was Paris?" Scott asks. He sits down on the carpet and folds his legs like a kid preparing for a read-along time in kindergarten.

"I met someone."

"Oh yeah? What's he like? Is he tall and buff?"

"Nope. In fact, I think he's even more of a twig than you."

"Oh. I didn't know that was your type."

Wallace shrugs. "I don't discriminate."

"Does he have a fancy French accent? A mustache? Tailor-made leather shoes?"

"No, no, and yes," Wallace says.

"What's his name?"

"Mobile."

"So when am I meeting him?"

"It's not that serious, Scott," Wallace says, accentuated with a roll of his eyes and a wave of his hand.

Scott grumbles and rises onto his feet again.

"Okay, okay. You can keep your super-secret boyfriend to yourself."

"He's not my boyfriend," Wallace says, sitting a little straighter in his armchair to catch Scott's attention as he turns toward the kitchen.

"Alright," Scott responds, not sounding entirely like he's actually paying attention, as he opens the fridge. "Hey, do you wanna have bologna sandwiches for lunch?"

"Sure," Wallace says as he sinks back into his seat.

Maybe the bread will be enough to override the faint queasiness he still feels.

...

...

Having the ability to get any man you want is a power that Wallace has never regretted exploiting, particularly when it comes to one ex-girlfriend of Scott's. It's a point of pride, a secret skill, even, one usually executed with cheeky grins and some flamboyance. But bunking with someone for a passion-filled night and committing to someone long-term are two entirely different things. And as much as having a League of Evil Exes of Wallace's own sounds fun on paper, it's already been done once.

He's never sat down before and seriously considered what a long-term relationship with someone might look like. How do you organically capture someone's heart without stealing it from someone else first? How can you be sure that you're enough for the person that they won't just go window shopping for someone else when things start to get boring? How do you satisfy someone else's needs beyond just sex?

They're questions that Wallace turns over in his head as he visits the library or sits in front of the phone for hours pondering the number he's already burned into his head but still can't find the courage to call.

Has Mobile also seen the ads for the canceled movie directed by Young Neil? Is there even a slight possibility that he thinks it's hot and not cringe?

One day after work, Wallace fixes himself a martini, slips into his robe, and plops down into the armchair to ponder his phone, which sits conveniently at his elbow, patiently waiting for him to finally stop being a coward.

This is a test of his mental stamina. Eventually, he'll either get so bored or so drunk that he'll finally dial the damn number.

"You're doing that thing with your eye again."

Scott's voice carries over from the couch where he was playing video games. Presently, though, he's set down the controller to stare curiously at Wallace instead.

"I'm not doing a thing with my eye."

"Yeah, you are. It looks like it's... twitching? Or something?"

Scott gets up to hover close enough to Wallace's face that he can smell the Sprite on his breath.

"You're seeing things," Wallace says.

He shoves Scott's prying hand away from his face and resumes casually mopi— not moping, no. Casually sitting there, thinking. Nothing out of the usual.

"Are you sure something didn't happen in Paris? You're acting all weird. Is your boyfriend ghosting you or something?"

"He's not ghosting me," Wallace says. "And he's not my boyfriend."

"You know, if you need any dating advice, you can ask me. I did sorta bag the most beautiful, most amazing woman on the planet."

Wallace regards Scott with a scowl as if he's dried-up gum he found on the sole of his shoe.

"...Yeah, I think I'll pass."

"You met her! It's not exactly like I'm being overdramatic."

"I'm gay, Scott."

"I know, I know. But you're also sad."

Wallace sighs. He isn't... wrong.

Scott plucks the reading glasses that Wallace hadn't been using off the bridge of his nose and slips them on. Then he squeezes into the armchair, pushing Wallace to the other end.

"Now, Mr. Wells, what seems to be the problem?" Scott asks.

Wallace sighs and pinches the space between his eyebrows. He considers brushing him off again and saying nothing's wrong. He doesn't talk about his feelings. Why do that when you have two perfectly good middle fingers and lips that cover all the necessary bases?

But he knows better than anybody how capable Scott is of entertaining long rhetorical arguments.

"This guy, Mobile. We haven't spoken since I got back from Paris. I have his number, I just haven't had the courage to call it."

"Why?"

"I'm afraid of fucking it up?" Wallace says.

"You? Fuck something up?" Scott asks.

"Well, yeah. I am a fallible human being, after all."

"And so is he," Scott says. "Just pretend this is one of the other guys you've met. You know, rein him in with your charm!"

"This is different than those other times. With this guy, there were... sparks."

"There were sparks!" Scott repeats, stars in his eyes and his fists clenched underneath his chin like an enamored schoolgirl. "But that's a good thing! Isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"So... it's a good thing..."

Scott smiles, the inflection lifted at the end in a hopeful way and expectantly looking in Wallace's direction.

"I'm just worried they won't be there next time," Wallace says. "Or the time after next. Or a year from now."

Of course it'd be Mobile who gets him so worried about things that haven't even happened yet.

"You know, in the future, you're gonna end up married to some hotshot who works at Nintendo. I know, I saw it. But you can't be anybody's sugar baby unless you put yourself out there. If you just sit here moping all day and looking at the phone like that, then you might have to work for the rest of your life."

"Disgusting," Wallace wretches.

"I know. So that's why you should call him. Even if it doesn't work out, then at least you'll have half a chance at being as interesting as Ramona."

"Hey," Wallace says.

Scott grins at him and he reaches back over to pluck his glasses off the ridge of his nose. Wallace sets them back on his face and nudges Scott out of his seat.

"Don't you have rehearsal or a date to go fuck up?" Wallace asks.

"Y'know, come to think of it, no," Scott says with a grin. "But I was just about to go on a long walk, as it happens."

He's shit at lying, but Wallace doesn't much care as he finally stands up from the seat and walks toward the door.

Just as Scott's about to turn the handle, Wallace calls his attention back over with a "Hey."

Scott looks at him, face purely intrigued, as Wallace says, "Remember to wear your jacket. And... thanks."

"Any time," Scott says, his absence confirmed by a click of the door.

Wallace pushes around the empty martini on the side table then turns fully toward the phone. He sucks in a slow breath as his fingers curl around the coiled cable of the landline then grabs the phone and brings it to his ear. He hears his blood pumping through his gay little white frame as he dials the number.

The ring tone only plays twice before a voice picks up on the other end.

"Hey, this is Mobile."

"Hey, this is Wallace," he parrots as he sinks a little deeper into the chair and twirls the cord absentmindedly. "Have time to chat?"