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Part I
Mr. Steven Scrooge
Wallace was almost always serious—impossible to read—but his extended silence was beginning to unearth an antsy feeling of self-consciousness from the pit of Steven’s stomach. A hard, serious look was plastered onto Wallace’s face as he studied every detail of Steven’s brand new tuxedo with a curled hand to his lips.
“Wallace… do you think I should wear something else? The party isn’t until next week. There’s still time…”
Springing back into action, the dissatisfied Wallace tugged Steven’s collar back into to perfect symmetry before standing back to study him with calculating eyes, sharp enough to make anyone squirm.
“Wallace…?”
“—tie, you need a tie,” Wallace murmured, disappearing into his abyss of a closet. Steven turned to inspect his back and sides, running a hand through his disarranged hair. When Wallace emerged from his closet, almost every tie he owned was draped across both his arms. “Any will do, just pick one. Wait, not that one—oh, Steven.”
Wallace dug through the array of ties himself, eventually holding out a green one to Steven’s face, pursing his lips in concentration. “How about this one? Green for Christmas.”
“Matches your hair.”
“Hardly,” Wallace chortled, stepping into his closet again.
Eyes on the closet, Steven fumbled with the tie as he began tying it. “I prefer red, you know.”
“You always wear red.” Wallace popped out of the closet. “I thought you’d want to wear something special.”
Steven said nothing as he finished tying the tie, inspecting himself once more, gaze focused on Wallace, who had come into view behind him in the mirror. “I don’t know about this…”
“What’s wrong?” Wallace asked, wrapping his arms around Steven. “You look fantastic. Really. Marvelous! Were you hoping to dress more festively for the holidays? I can find something more—”
Steven’s face rapidly turned scarlet. “Oh Arceus, n… no. Juan gave me that scarf; it will be more than enough...”
Wallace laughed at Steven’s sudden inability to look his reflection in the eye. “Do you have something against Christmas?” He jabbed Steven playfully in the side. “Mr. Steven Scrooge?”
Steven could have sworn he felt a blush burning over his blush. “No, of course not… it’s just—my family… oh, never mind.”
“You can’t just cut yourself off there, love. Especially when your face is red like that.”
Steven sighed. “My father is… enthusiastic about the holidays.”
“And?”
Two-and-a-half decades worth of Christmas sweaters and Santa hats flashed through Steven’s mind. Clearing his throat, Steven began to shrug off his tuxedo jacket. “Um… what are you planning on wearing, Wallace?”
Wallace raise his brow at the change in subject. “Heh. You’ll see,” he said with a finger to his lips.
Part II
Master of Assurance
Whenever Wallace was unsure of anything, his instincts led him to Juan, who always knew to what to do, no matter the situation. Wallace trusted his mentor more than anyone, even more than his fiancé, Steven, who often gave questionable advice.
Feeling that his dilemma was urgent enough to warrant a surprise face-to-face resolution, Wallace found himself knocking on Juan’s front door.
“Wallace! What a surprise,” Juan said, pulling Wallace into a hug. Juan’s distinct scent of old candles and sage immediately filled Wallace’s lungs, already calming him down a little. “Come on in, I’ll make you some tea.”
“Thank you, Master Juan,” said Wallace. He knew that his voice sounded more grim than thankful, but never felt the need to put on a show for Juan, who always saw through him regardless.
Juan didn’t try to make small talk or throw Wallace empty words of comfort as he prepared Wallace's favorite tea just the way he liked it. Juan made eye contact with Wallace for the first time that evening upon handing Wallace the steaming cup. Wallace murmured his thanks once again, and Juan sat down at his dining room table, taking a sip of his own tea that had long gone cold. “You wanna talk about it, Wallace?”
“It’s about Steven,” Wallace said anxiously, taking a politely-sized sip of the tea.
"It's always the fiancé," Juan muttered, crossing his arms across his chest. “If that man does one more thing to upset you, I will personally show up at his doorstep and give him a proper—“
“—Master Juan, please. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“Smart boy. He better not.”
Wallace began to pace, taking occasional sips of his tea. “I'm just nervous about meeting his family. And I’m not sure what to get him for Christmas.”
“Alright. Let's start with Christmas. Did you talk about it with him yet?”
“We talked. But… oh, Master Juan—he’s a billionaire,” Wallace exclaimed, pacing back and forth from Juan’s dining room table to his kitchen sink—table to sink, table to sink. “Not only that, but he told me not to get him anything. What am I supposed to do?”
Juan sat with perfect posture at the table, a frown encrusted in his face. “Wallace, all this worrying and pacing is turning my hair white. Sit down, will you?”
Table to sink, table to sink. “But what am I supposed to do, Master Juan? I mean—Steven loves rocks, but if I were to guess, I would say that he already has every rock. What if I got him a rock with bad message associated with it? Are there even rocks like that? He’d break up with me for sure if I insulted him like that.”
“Why would he—” Juan started tiredly. He dragged out the chair beside him as loudly as possible, but Wallace continued to pace, legs spring-loaded with unnecessary anxiety. “Wallace, Wallace—listen to me. He’s not gonna break up with you over something like that. The guy’s absolutely smitten with you. He'd be a fool to even think about abandoning such a perfect fiancé over something so trivial. And it's Steven. He wouldn't do that to you no matter what.”
With a hefty sigh, Wallace finally sunk into the chair, closing his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Master Juan. Deeply. I’m really just nervous about meeting his family. What if they don’t like me? What if I leave the wrong impression somehow? What if—”
“Come on, Wallace. Work with me. One problem at a time.” Juan gave Wallace a firm pat on the leg. “When’s the party?”
“A week from tomorrow.”
“Look at how much time you’ve got! And you want to get him something even though he said not to?”
Wallace nodded meekly.
“Good choice. That's how you play the game of love."
Wallace cracked a smile for the first time. "Steven doesn't play games, Master Juan."
"I know, I know. Not intentionally, it seems. Any… er, particular rocks he likes?”
“It’s Steven. He has lists of his favorites—that I can name off the top of my head by now, mind you. I can’t get him a rock for Christmas.”
“He’d be ecstatic.”
“Yes. But a rock doesn’t have much thought or effort behind it. Plus, I can almost guarantee that he will give me a rock.”
“Oh Wallace, you’re getting worked up over nothing. Why don’t you make him something? Something you.”
Wallace sprang up from the table, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. “Master Juan, that’s—!” Wallace hastily threw on his cape neatly hung on Juan’s coat rack. Juan stood as well, jumbling to follow Wallace to his front door. “Thank you, Master Juan!”
“Hey! Don’t you dare rush out that door without giving me a—oof,” Juan grunted at the impact of Wallace’s embrace. He wrapped his arms around Wallace and gave him a pat on the back. “Give me a call if you need anything, alright? Come visit again soon.”
“Thank you, Master Juan. I will,” Wallace said, excited voice muffled from the embrace.
“You be good now. Don't worry yourself too much.”
Part III
Give it a Try
Steven Stone’s definition of party did not include fun. Parties meant business: tired, middle-management businessmen and executives having dull, corporate conversations with each other. Music and dancing replaced with the awkward feeling of no one belonging; people acting in their boss’s boss’s boss's best interests.
Although they were the most familiar to him, Steven hated these kinds of parties. As a result, Wallace had been dragged to a fair number of them for moral support over the years, often quietly pointing out when the two found themselves awkwardly leaning against a barren wall taking small sips of wine that he fit in with the corporate higher-ups even less than Steven did—because at least everyone there recognized the esteemed son of President Joseph Stone, while the titles of Champion of the Hoenn Pokémon League and Contest Coordinator were less relevant.
Shake hands with strangers who pretend to know you. Pretend to know them back. Smile—you’re the face of this company’s success, after all.
The thought that the Stone family Christmas party would be anything even remotely similar to one of these coporate party disasters hadn’t even crossed Wallace’s mind until the two were walking through the streets of Rustboro City en route to the Stone family estate, when Steven became increasingly more nervous with every step.
It was easy to tell when Steven was nervous because he always tried to cover up his nervousness with constant conversation, which turned into him talking non-stop with little time for breaths all the way from Sootopolis to Rustboro.
“Arceus, Steven, you’re stiffer than I am,” Wallace announced, interrupting Steven’s informational monologue on volcanic rocks. Wallace fluffed out Steven’s shoulders as the shorter man stared blankly at the entrance to his father’s estate. “I’m the one meeting your family; let me be the nervous one, please.”
“Wallace… maybe we should spend Christmas alone together. Just you and me...”
“Don’t you dare, Steven Stone.” Wallace took Steven by the hand and gently tugged him towards his father’s estate. “We’ve been through too much to just run away now. We are having dinner with your family right now, and that is final.”
After vigorously wiping his shoes on the Stone family’s welcome mat, Wallace extended his hand to ring the doorbell. “Wallace, wait,” Steven said urgently.
Steven fiddled with the knot of his tie, staring pitifully at his family's front porch. Wallace sighed and weaved his hand into Steven’s, giving him a warm peck on the cheek. “Love? What’s wrong?”
Steven hesitated. He was never one to be good with words when confronted with situations like this. Wallace patiently studied Steven, moving away from the doorbell. He tried not to make the wooden deck creak too hard when he made his way over to Steven again.
“Are you worried that they’re not going to like me?” Wallace asked softly.
Steven shook his head. “It's not that... they love you, Wallace. They all want to meet you.”
“I want to meet them, too.”
Steven decided to end the conversation there. He took a deep breath and headed towards the door to open it, but was stopped by Wallace taking gentle hold of his arm.
“Steven. Can you please tell me what’s wrong? If there’s a good reason for us to not be here, then by all means—”
Steven rang the doorbell with a rough exhalation, giving Wallace a somewhat reassuring smile, though the Sootopolitan was not convinced.
Moments later, Mr. Stone answered the door, looking thrilled. “Boys! Hello! Come on on.”
Steven was pulled into a seasonally big hug by his father, who then planted a kiss on his forehead. Under normal circumstances, Wallace was smooth when it came to introductory conversation, but Mr. Stone’s immaculate light-up Christmas sweater covered in prancing Deerling left him speechless. Steven looked mortified when the hug triggered the sweater's lights to dance. Mr. Stone embraced Wallace with equal force after breaking the hug with Steven.
“You look—festive, Mr. Stone,” Wallace managed to get out.
“Please, Wallace, there’s no need to be so formal with me. Call me Joseph. ‘Dad’, even!”
“Dad,” Steven said firmly, face so intensely scarlet Wallace thought he might lose consciousness.
Mr. Stone let out a hearty laugh. “What? You’re engaged now. Come on in, boys, supper’s nearly ready. Mary Anne, the boys are here!” he called into the house, but his voice was drowned out by the noisy sounds of the kitchen. Mr. Stone ushered Steven and Wallace into the house, and the two took off their scarves, gloves, and jackets in the entryway.
“My, you boys look sharp,” Mr. Stone said. “Steven, is that a new tuxedo?”
Still blushing—mistaken as chilled cheeks from walking through the outskirts of Rustboro City in the cold by Mr. Stone—Steven merely nodded.
“And, Wallace. Wow! Very traditional.”
“Thank you, Mist—I mean, Dad.” Wallace beamed, naturally aligning his feet in a photoesque position at the compliment.
After being introduced to Steven’s extended family, Steven’s mother Mary Anne announced that supper was nearly ready. Wallace quietly hissed to Steven that they should have brought something since everyone else had, but Steven sheepishly replied that the thought of supper hadn’t crossed his mind. The time between introductions and dinner usually consisted of awkward small talk, but Wallace was far from shy and immediately connected with Steven’s family, laughing and chatting with cousins, aunts, and uncles while Steven stayed mostly silent by his side, occasionally rubbing Wallace's arm.
Steven’s kid cousins swarmed the two after dinner, excitedly asking ‘Uncle’ Wallace questions upon questions about the Pokémon League, and if he really beat the undefeatable Uncle Steven in a pokémon battle to earn his title as Champion. When Wallace opted to show the children his Luvdisc, the sheer inspired bliss on their faces was enough to put both Wallace and Steven in refreshed, wonderful moods for the rest of the night.
Steven and Wallace eventually found themselves alone on the quiet back patio, affectionately huddled together drinking champagne while listening to the muffled sounds of laughter and exuberant storytelling coming from inside the house.
“Steven?”
“Mm?”
“Your family is precious. I don’t know why you were so worried.”
“Heh. I don’t know either, Wallace.” Steven stared into the house. “Perhaps I just wanted them to love you as much as I do. That’s too high of a standard. It made me nervous, to be honest...”
Wallace snuggled closer to Steven, who rapidly turned red again so much that Wallace chuckled. “What?”
“I just… um—I’m sorry Dad decided to tell that story about me over dinner…”
Wallace laughed a booming laugh. “Oh Little Stevie; don’t be embarrassed! You’re positively adorable. Then and now.” Knowing that Steven wouldn’t say anything more, Wallace dug through his clothes to pull out a neatly-wrapped box, holding it out for Steven. “Here.”
Steven took it and gave Wallace a small kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Wallace. You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I wanted to.”
Steven surgically unwrapped the box, making sure not to even scruff the paper wrapping. Upon opening the box, Steven said, “Clay. I love clay.”
“Yes, Steven, but I molded the clay into something.”
“And fired it into a ceramic—what a fascinating chemical change,” Steven murmured, carefully picking up the clay object to inspect it. “Oh, it’s Metagross. Wallace… you made this for me?”
“I don’t normally sculpt, so I hope you don’t mind that it’s not a perfect model.”
“I love it, Wallace! It’s perfect,” Steven said, wrapping his free arm around Wallace. “I got you something, too.”
Wallace leaned down to give Steven a kiss on the neck, brushing his silver hair out of the way. “Thank you for the rock, dear,” Wallace whispered into Steven’s ear.
“It’s not a rock.” Wallace side-eyed Steven, who handed him his gift. “Go on—open it.”
Wallace obeyed and gingerly unwrapped the present, carefully lifting the lid off of the box wrapped inside and immediately bringing a hand to his mouth to stifle a sharp gasp. “Steven!” Six matching bangles. Bold and elegantly minimalist; Wallace’s favorite style of jewelry. “Oh, Steven, they’re gorgeous!”
“They’re made from platinum, just like my rings,” he said, holding out both his hands.
“I’ll wear them everyday,” Wallace said with a hand to his heart. “Thank you, Steven; that was very kind of you. They’re magnificent.”
Steven hesitated, then gently took both of Wallace’s hands in his own, cheeks beginning to turn red again. "Do you want to know why there are six of them?"
"Tell me."
“Two for your beauty,” he said, kissing each of Wallace’s hands. “Two for your strength.” A kiss on each of Wallace’s cheeks, heating up from his reaction to such un-Steven-like romance. “And two for us,” Steven concluded, leaning in to give Wallace a genuine kiss on the lips.
Overly touched, Wallace’s strong voice wavered, “Th...that was only five kisses, love. Six bangles but five kisses?”
“Oh... I guess I didn’t think that through...”
Wallace laughed, trying hard to will his eyes not to spill over from witnessing fiancé's rare romantic sentiment. He pulled Steven into the sixth kiss.