Mr. Boobies and The Rat King are in love

Steve’s done more than his fair share of time mourning the beautiful blond boy, so imagine his surprise when one evening, not long after he’s told himself it’s finally time to move on, he receives a call, the ringing of his new-to-him telephone rattling on the wall of his recently acquired one-bedroom apartment and snapping him out of the daze that working on roster formulation for the baseball team that he’s the newly minted coach of.

He slams down the receiver twice, and almost does it a third before Hargrove shouts at him to wait, offers to share details of the one night the two of them met at Steve’s parents, the last night they met at all, before everything went to shit, details that only the two of them would know.

By the time the voice on the line finishes recounting the way they’d touched each other, moved against each other as bedroom curtains danced in an early summer evening breeze, Steve’s blushing and believing that he’s really talking to a living, breathing Billy Hargrove.

Billy shares how he came to not be dead, how he ended up at as an English major at a university in Chicago, and it’s going to take time and multiple retellings for Steve to fully absorb the details, but for now, he’s able to grasp that Billy’s almost done his spring semester, and after some convincing from Max, who Steve owes a thousand thanks to, he’s making this call to Steve to see if he’s interested in a road-trip out west for a couple weeks once the baseball season’s wrapped up.

The question’s barely left Billy’s lips before Steve’s agreeing to accompany him to California. There’s no way Steve would rather spend late July than splitting driving and DJing duties with the blond, holding hands over the center console as they catch up on what they’ve missed in the past two years by day, and getting reacquainted in other ways on cheap motel beds by night.

***

They talk on the phone a few more times over the next few months, mostly about the logistics of their upcoming trip and the mundanity of their day to day, both happy to leave deeper conversation for the open road leading them to the golden coast.

They agree that Steve will swing through Chicago and pick Billy up the morning after the last game of the spring season, but as the day that he has circled twice in red on the freebie wall calendar that he grabbed at the bank comes closer to arriving, Billy finds that he can’t wait any longer than necessary to see Harrington in person, so he buys a one-way Greyhound ticket to Hawkins for the day before they’re set to head out to California, and hitches a ride to the baseball field from a newly licensed to drive Lucas just in time to see the game.

He knows it’s a risk to revisit a town full of people who presume him to be dead and are supposed to remain in the dark about his resurrection, especially after Billy begged and pleaded with those government assholes to have Steve put on the pathetically tiny list of people who know the truth about him, but he figures two years time, a haircut that leaves his curls only a few inches long, a baseball cap and a pair of dark sunglasses will go a long way in protecting his identity.

Max fusses over him, turned almost completely backwards in the passenger seat of the car, convinced that someone is going to see past the disguise and report what they’ve seen, causing the Hargrove-Mayfield siblings to be split up again. She’s so worked up that Billy almost agrees to sit out the game, but in the end, he stands his ground, and they take in the game from the back corner of the bleachers. Only Henderson, sitting down in the front with Byers and Wheeler pays him any real mind, but one cutting look over the top of Billy’s briefly lowered sunglasses has the desired effect, Dustin quickly spinning around in his seat.

All the squabbling is immediately rendered worth it as soon as Harrington spots him where he sits in the crowd, flanked by Lucas and Max. His eyes light up in recognition, and a grin as bright as the sun spreads over his face. He should look like a dork in his team jacket, clipboard in hand, but all the sight of him does is double the number of butterflies swarming in Billy’s stomach.

Billy’s no expert in how to coach baseball, but obviously, Harrington does a good enough job, and in the end, the team clinches the win, and they’re declared the playoff champions. Fighting the urge to rush the field and congratulate Steve, Billy heads back to the car to wait until Max appears, Steve’s spare apartment key in hand.

He passes the time he spends waiting for Harrington snooping through his belongings and raiding his cupboards for snacks. A few hours later, Steve finds Billy sitting in the middle of the loveseat, wearing one of his sweaters, one hand in a bag of Ruffles, the other flipping through one of Steve’s high school yearbooks.

“Glad to see you’ve made yourself at home,” Steve says, in lieu of a greeting, and Billy looks up to find him rolling his eyes, even as a grin splits his face.

Billy returns his grin, flipping the yearbook closed on the coffee table. “Su casa es mi casa. I think that’s how the saying goes, right?”

Harrington snorts. “Not sure, Hargrove, I took French.” He makes his way over to the loveseat after kicking off his shoes, and Billy moves over to make room.

“Say something in French,” Billy requests, turning to face Steve, and filing that little factoid about his education away with the scant few other things he knows about the man sitting right beside him.

“Je suis vraiment nulle en français. But there are other French things I’m great at.” Steve somehow manages to waggle his eyebrows and tongue at the same time, so now it’s Billy’s turn to affectionately roll his eyes. That only encourages Harrington to lean in towards Billy, waggling his tongue more aggressively, like he’s trying to lick Billy’s face.

Laughing, Billy sticks his hand in Steve’s face, which just results in Steve licking his palm. But even that disgusting point of contact sends a jolt of electricity up Billy’s spine.

He tries to wipe he hand on Steve’s shirt, but Steve’s too fast and grabs his wrist. It results in a wrestling match, Billy splayed out on his back on the couch with Steve on top of him.

They laugh as they tumble around on the small space, and then suddenly they’re not laughing anymore. They’re kissing, each press of their lips becoming more urgent and heated than the last, hands buried in each other’s hair and roaming over any bare skin they can reach.

***

The first press of Billy’s lips to Steve’s after such a long time turns Steve’s world upside down. It’s a culmination of all his memories from their brief time together before, combined with all of his fantasies of what their reunion might entail, and it blows all of his expectations out of the water.

Billy’s warm underneath him, solid and real, filling up all of Steve’s senses in the most amazingly overwhelming way, his short curls so soft under Steve’s fingers, his quiet moans music to Steve’s ears.

Steve had come home from his latest date, throwing himself dramatically onto the couch next to Billy, who was watching a rerun of The Office and eating a late, post-work dinner of leftovers. “Not gonna be a date #2?” Billy asked, trying to sound sympathetic, while inwardly he cheered. Steve shook his head miserably.

Twenty minutes later, they were making out in the hallway connecting the living room and their bedrooms, Billy kissing Steve’s neck as Steve unbuttoned the dorky Hawaiian shirt that Billy wore as part of his uniform at the Tikki bar he bartended at a few nights a week to help pay for what his scholarships didn’t.

Steve’s fingers froze on the second to last button of the shirt as he sighed, and not in pleasure from the hickey Billy was working into his collarbone. “I just didn’t feel a connection with Kylee, you know? I just want to date someone I feel a connection with, someone I feel comfortable with.”

Billy could only hope that his calm outward demeanor didn’t give away the fact that inside his mind, he was screaming Pick me, choose me, love me!

Harrington was either the world’s biggest idiot, or he was dropping really obvious hints, hoping that Billy would pick up on them. Unless Steve was hiding a secret other best friend from Billy, he didn’t think that there was anyone else that either of them felt more comfortable with.

Billy told Steve everything (well, almost everything, except all these damn feelings he had for him), and Steve shared everything in return. Their hopes and dreams for the future, their greatest fears. They celebrated each other’s wins and commiserated with each other when life got them down.

They ate off each other’s plates at restaurants, they jerked off side by side on the couch, Steve held Billy’s hair back when he puked with no judgement, even when he’d tried to warn Billy that maybe he should have laid off the tequila a little earlier in the night, and just the week before, Billy had popped a weird pimple on Steve’s ass.

Billy wanted a whole lifetime of this weirdly close relationship he’d developed with Steve. He wanted to wipe his nose for him when it dripped, he wanted to hear about his weird poops, he wanted Steve to pluck the three weird, dark hairs that grew on his big toes, he wanted to sit on the toilet while Steve showered simply because they could never get enough of talking to each other.

Billy wanted to be the only one that knew when Steve got his first grey hairs and secretly started dyeing them. He wanted to rub Steve’s belly when he had too much ice cream and forgot his Lactaid. He wanted to have silent conversations, entire paragraphs communicated with just their eyes.

So even though Steve was really fucking obtuse sometimes, Billy had to believe that he felt the same way and was just too chickenshit to do anything about it. Luckily for both of them, Billy’s days of being a coward were over as of right that minute.

Detaching himself from Steve’s neck, Billy took a moment to admire his handiwork, the giant, already purpling mark he’d left behind, marking what was rightfully his. Then, taking a deep breath to gather as much courage as he could muster, he pulled back, looking Steve in the eye, and spoke.

“Please tell me that you can’t be stupid enough to think that you’re ever going to find someone that you’re more comfortable with than me, Harrington. You keep going on date after date, wasting your time, wasting our time, taking people out, when you could be right here at home, where you belong, with me, your weird ass soulmate.

Who the fuck else is going to wipe your tears when you cry over the abused dog and orphaned children commercials? Who else is going to join in instead of laughing at you when you talk to the squirrels on the balcony like they’re your friends? Who else is going to still think you look hot in the dorky manager’s visor you have to wear at work?

Who else is going to clip my toenails without me asking because they noticed they were getting a little too long? Who else is going to stay in and do facemasks and watch SNL with me instead of going out clubbing on Saturday nights? Who else is going to bring me back a postcard when they’ve only driven to the next town over for the afternoon?

No one, that’s who, pretty boy. So you can stop your search, because we’re it for each other and I think you know it just as well as I do. So how about you pick me up, carry me to my bed, and then make sweet, nasty love to your boyfriend?”

For a moment, Steve just stared back at Billy, his mouth hanging open, his fingers still frozen on the buttons of Billy’s shirt. Then, all at once, he came back to life, squatting down and sliding his hands under Billy’s thighs, encouraging him to wrap his legs around Steve’s waist. “Fuck yes, I can do that!” he shouted as Billy laughed, whooping loudly, not caring for once if they woke the neighbours.

They hadn’t even made it to the end of the first round of fucking before Steve was confessing his love for Billy, and Billy was returning the sentiment, whispered against Steve’s lips.

Over the two weeks since, they were even more clingy and codependent than usual, living in the gross, weird, love bubble that was their apartment unless they absolutely had to be separated for work or school. One night, Heather and Robin came over to watch a movie and spent half the evening pretending to gag at every shmoopy thing that Billy and Steve did, and Billy didn’t even have it in himself to be embarrassed. His pining days were over, and he was damn proud of it.

Now, though, as Billy yanks open the door of the drugstore near their apartment with more force than was strictly necessary on the evening of February 13th, making things official with Steve two weeks before Valentine’s Day doesn’t seem like his brightest move.

What the hell do you get your best friend/friends with benefits turned boyfriend of two weeks for Valentine’s Day that doesn’t scream I care way too much but also doesn’t make you look like you shopped for your gift the night before at the drugstore? Fuck if Billy knows.

The situation is only made worse as he finds the picked over Valentine’s Day aisle and spots of all people, fucking Harrington. He wonders if he can get out of here without being noticed, maybe find another drug store, but it’s too late, Steve spots him before he can move.

Steve waves awkwardly at Billy, but doesn’t make a move to come any closer, so Billy stays where he is, in front of the garish pink teddy bears and stuffed cupids and hearts. The problem with all of this crap is that it doesn’t say Hey, you’re the most awesome guy I know, I love you, and I’m so lucky to be able to call you my boyfriend. It says Hey, Valentine’s Day is a made up, consumer driven holiday that’s forced people to spend spend spend or risk looking like they don’t care about their significant other. He can’t risk that, so he’s stuck.

As he’s going back and forth on what to do, his phone starts vibrating in his pocket. He pulls it out and sees that Harrington is calling him. He glances over at his boyfriend, but he’s not looking at Billy, he’s just holding his phone to his ear as he looks at the cards, waiting for Billy to pick up.

Billy has no clue what’s going on, but this isn’t even the weirdest thing Steve’s done in the past week, so he indulges him, picking up the call. “Uh, hey? Steve?”

“Hey, Billy,” Steve greets him. “I’m kinda stuck here, and I’m hoping my best friend can help me figure out what to do.”

Billy laughs softly. “Sure, go on.”

“Well, you see, the thing is, I recently started dating this really amazing, super hot guy. He’s sweet and smart, and so far out of my league it’s insane. The problem is that I don’t know what to get this really awesome guy for Valentine’s Day that doesn’t look like too much or not enough. Do you think this really amazing, super hot boyfriend of mine would prefer a pink stuffed gorilla, or enough chocolate to give himself a stomach ache?”

Billy rolls his eyes fondly, playing alone with Steve’s ridiculous game. “Well, funny that you should say that, best friend, because I’m sort of stuck in the exact same situation. I’ve also recently started dating a really awesome guy, he’s funny and caring, and also so far out of my league I can’t believe he said yes when I asked him out. And I also don’t know what to get him for Valentine’s Day. I want to show him how much I love him but not scare him with how much I love him. Do you think a stuffed bow and arrow or enough cinnamon hearts to burn his tongue communicates that better?”

He can hear Steve’s smile through the phone. “Well, what I’m realizing here is that both of our super amazing, blindingly hot boyfriends probably know how much we love them, and we’re both broke college students, so maybe, our boyfriends would both like it if we just made boxed brownies and a frozen pizza and watched SNL while drinking cheap wine, and then they’d like to go out on the morning of the 15th and buy discounted chocolate at their local Wal-Mart?”

God, Billy loves him so fucking much. “Well, I can say for certain that your boyfriend would love that. You think mine would to?”

“Yeah,” Steve laughs. “I know yours would too. I have to go though, I actually think I see my really hot new boyfriend and should probably walk him home. I’ll talk to you later.” With that, Steve ends the call.