Chapter Text
It’s late in the afternoon when Steve finally steps through the threshold to his apartment front door. The sun is already about to set. Exhausted, he drops his bag to the hallway floor and just yawns for a solid minute. The drive back was mostly fun, but traffic’s been horrible once they got near LA. In hindsight, he’s pretty glad Janet was the one who had to deal with it, while he took his little beauty sleep in the passenger seat. But on the other hand, Janet wasn’t exactly a calm driver, so he was regularly awoken by either curse words being yelled or aggressive honking. Often a combination of both.
The trip was great, no doubt, but he’s also glad to be home again.
He ends up ordering delivery, because it’s goddamn late and there’s no way he’ll get his ass up to cook something, even though it would definitely be the much healthier, and way cheaper version. So, with nothing left to do, he lets himself fall onto his beloved bed (much more comfortable than the one in the hotel room) pulling his phone out of his pocket, ready to perform his everyday evening ritual of mindlessly scrolling through Twitter for a good hour. Or, at least solid thirty minutes, until his dinner should arrive at his doorstep.
He doesn’t end up on Twitter, though.
Instead, after unlocking his cell phone, he’s confronted with something he’s completely forgotten about on his way back. Or, at least successfully banned from his consciousness for a few hours. There’s this goddamn picture again. He lets out a sigh.
Goddamn Steve, why do you have to be such a stupid bitch, he thinks to himself. Fucking 5up challenging me, that one’s on his head as well.
Irritated, he keeps staring at the picture. What the fuck even lead up to this? Why did he do this? He furrows his eyebrows and closes his eyes, almost desperately trying to piece everything together again, that lead up to this moment – lead up to him doing this.
It’s not like he’s ever imagined kissing Apollo – or has he?
Sure, he’s thought about kissing guys before. Not only thought – he’s kissed guys before. Growing up, you just eventually stumble across those questions, and try out some things, when trying to figure yourself out. But he never felt particularly drawn to the imagination. Or the action. He’s always been pretty confident in his sexuality. Tiddies and Vagina. Steve and straight. He’d never given it much thought.
Should he have?
He peeks at the picture again. It clearly looks like he initiated it.
The way he’s looking at Dumbdog.
Like, clear as day.
The way his hand is grabbing Dumbdog’s thigh.
“Fuck, man.”, Steve mumbles, smacking his head into a pillow.
He absolutely expected to come back from Vegas hungover. From alcohol or even other substances. But the last thing he expected was coming back with a severe sexuality crisis. What should he do now?
He sighs again.
Well … someone, at one point at the night, had to have stolen his phone and taken all these pictures. So, they were there when this whole mess went down. When he decided to kiss his great guy friend, his good pal Apollo. They know about it! So, they had to know the context behind all this. Maybe, at Hafu's, they had been playing truth or dare, like stupid teenagers? Or some other silly party game? They've all been pretty drunk, after all. Who knows what they came up with? He definitely doesn't.
Whatever it had been, whoever had snatched his phone – Steve is determined to crack this case.
“Private Inspector Steven Suptic will solve this crime”, he mumbles to himself in a silly voice while making a face, trying his best to amuse himself and make this less strange.
He could send some of the pictures into their discord, subtly asking who took them under pretext of simply doing an act of kindness, sharing precious memories with his dear friends (which he totally wanted to do anyways). That sounded like a decent plan. He should stop worrying about this.
Once more, his eyes fall back to the picture. This one fatal picture.
How can he not remember?
I wonder what it felt like.
Slowly, he closes his eyes.
The image is still there, like this damning photo imprinted itself onto his inner eyelids.
I wonder what Apollo’s lips felt like.
Slowly, he lifts his hand to his mouth.
He places a finger onto his lips, tracing them lightly. Tenderly.
The doorbell shrills with an ear-piercing ring, nearly making Steve jump out of his skin and certainly snap out of his antics. He shakes in head, half to clear his mind, half in disbelief.
“What the fuck am I doing?”
Hastily, he gets up from his bed, as another obnoxious ring rips through his ear drums.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!”, he exclaims loudly while sprinting through the flat, looking for his wallet. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
--
Steve does end up posting some of the pictures in their shared discord, with the charming caption “who the fuck took these??”. To little surprise, he doesn’t get a proper answer though – only the others laughing and awing at the cute pictures, especially the ones of David and Hafu. Those dumbasses are no help, as always.
He could message each of them individually, confronting them with the pictures and interrogating them one by one, about what happened that night in Vegas. Except for Dumbdog, of course.
But he’s too ashamed to do so.
He’s not ashamed about kissing a guy – that part doesn’t bother him. However, he isn’t exactly keen on sharing it with everyone either. He’s not sure what bothers him.
Something about this feels personal. Maybe it’s because he blacked out.
So eventually, he gives up his search for the culprit.