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It’s the third note Steve has found in the video store this week, and he’s starting to think they aren’t addressed to Robin.
It’s a little more forward than the first two, for a start. The first two had been kooky, funny. Just some jackass trying to get in Robin’s pants with no clue how much of an idiot he looked.
Hey baby, you sure you should be working at familyVideo? Because those legs are R rated.
Robin had snatched the note out of Steve’s hands and read it in three different voices while the two of them howled with laughter. The second one had been even better.
We should go for a drive, baby. I’ll show you a movie you haven’t seen.
But this one… this one is different.
You looked sad on your smoke break. Maybe this will cheer you up. Hope you’re not afraid of snakes.
It’s tucked into the cover of Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark . And Robin doesn’t smoke.
Steve runs to the front of the store, waving the note in the air. “Robin? Robin! I’ve got another one!”
Robin vaults the counter and grabs the note, her eyebrows rising quizzically as she scans the lines.
“Hope you’re not afraid of snakes,” she reads slowly. “Well that changes things. There’s only two people here who smoke.”
“Holy shit, you think the notes are for Keith?”
Robin whacks him over the back of the head with the note. “No, dingus. They’re for you!”
Steve’s eyes widened, his mouth falling open into a perfect ‘o’.
“And guess what?” Robin continues. “I know who wrote it.”
“Who is it?”
“No way. You can’t be trusted with that information. You’ll just screw things up.”
Steve splutters. “Screw things— What the hell do you— Why would I want to not screw things up? It’s a dude, yeah? He talks about snakes!”
Robin levels him with a look. “Steve.”
It’s oddly reminiscent of her own coming out moment, when, true to form, Steve had been a spectacular idiot then too. It doesn’t seem fair that Robin gets to hold the upper hand in this conversation as well.
He waves a hand dismissively in the air, hoping it takes attention away from his blushing cheeks, and turns the other way. Robin, of course, follows.
“I’ll tell you the answer when you tell me who you want the note to be from. Search your soul, Steve. I know there’s an answer in there.”
Steve turns again. “You’re crazy.”
Robin appears in view again. “You know you’re being a total hypocrite, right?”
He turns another quarter circle to the right. Robin takes a giant step sideways and bounces into his view again, hoop earrings swinging.
“You’re cool with me liking girls, but not with yourself liking boys? That’s dumb Steve. Grade A dumb.”
He turns another quarter circle and groans when Robin hops straight into view again, one finger in the air and eyes cast thoughtfully to the ceiling.
“In fact,” she continues. “It’s even dumber than that time last week when Stacy Campbell came in and asked for a recommendation, and you told her Sixteen Candles was your favourite movie just because it was the only girly movie you could think of, and when she said she didn’t want something romantic you rented her The Terminator. The Terminator, Steve. Are they your only two cinematic choices? Sixteen Candles versus The Terminator? Because you really need to broaden your horizons.”
Steve throws his hands up defensively. “What? The Terminator’s great! And quit following me.”
He spins another quarter circle, back to the front of the shop, and comes face to face with Billy Hargrove.
Billy grins. Steve winces.
“How much did you hear?” Steve asks while Robin laughs behind him, heart rate climbing at the realisation Billy might have heard what Robin said about boys. And about Steve. And about boys and Steve.
Billy cocks his hip, hand brushing casually against his lips like it’s an integral part of his thinking process. Steve’s eyes follow the path, and he swallows before he says something embarrassing. There’s just something about Billy’s hands that Steve finds difficult to ignore. Or to stop thinking about when they aren’t there in front of him.
“Enough to know you like Sixteen Candles.”
Steve scrubs his hand across his face and groans. “If I give you your rental for free can you leave without saying anything about this again? Please?”
Despite his words, his tone isn’t anywhere near as antagonistic as it would have been a year ago. They all saw what Billy did. They all saw what it cost him.
Billy’s grin softens, somehow more real. “Aw, Stevie, you flatter me.” He holds up the video he’s chosen and shoves it against Steve’s chest so he has to catch it. His fingers trail against the bare skin at Steve’s neck as he pulls away, and Steve fights the urge to look down at Billy’s hands. “I’ll take this one. And I’m paying.”
For some reason the words send a shiver down Steve’s spine, his brain warping the context and confusing him. Then he looks down at the video. It’s Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark.
And because Steve is Grade A dumb, what comes out of his mouth is, “Hope you’re not afraid of snakes.”
Then he pales, then blushes, and as he looks up to meet the quickly masked, unusual panic in Billy’s eyes, he finds he has the most unexpected, unwelcome answer to Robin’s question.
“Fuck,” he breathes.
“ What ?” Billy snaps, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.
“Oh boy!” Robin cackles from the background, jumping up to sit on the counter and swinging her legs. “You are both so screwed.”
“On second thought,” Billy says, snatching the video back from Steve. “I will take that generous offer. Later Harrington.”
Robin sings after him, “Bye, Billy!”
The door swings shut with an obnoxious jingle. Outside the windows, a crisp wind flicks through the parking lot, sending Billy’s curls whipping around his face as he leans into the breeze. It’s the start of fall, and the air is just turning cold again. Steve can’t help but watch Billy as he gets into his car, starts the engine, and peels away onto the road. It’s only when the roar of the Impala Billy bought to replace the Camaro fades that Steve finds himself able to turn away.
When he sees the laughter in Robin’s expression, he remembers suddenly who is to blame for the sudden racing of his heart and the heat in his cheeks. “What the hell was that all about?” he snaps, scrubbing a hand across his face.
“Hey Steve,” Robin’s singsong voice is impossible to ignore, but when he looks up, her expression is soft. Serious. “Who do you want to have written the note?”
“It doesn’t matter.” The anger leaks into Steve’s voice, making his voice harsh and cold. Defeated. “This is stupid. It’s probably someone trying to embarrass me.” He laughs, the sound ragged. “It’s probably Billy fucking with me, actually. It’s totally his style.”
“Steve.” Robin’s voice is still gentle. “It’s Billy.”
Steve’s blood turns to ice. “What?”
“Not like that.” Robin jerks her head towards the road, in the direction Billy disappeared. “Look how he took off. He’s scared, and he’s not messing with you, I promise.”
“How do you know?”
Robin rolls her eyes. “I’ve seen enough girls pining after you to know what it looks like. I can’t believe you’ve never noticed. I bet he never thought you’d work out it was him. You know how some people can’t help picking a scab even though they know it hurts?”
Steve’s heart twists. He knows a lot about that, actually. And the thought that Billy might too, that Steve might be Billy’s scab when the memory of Steve’s car crashing into the side of the Camaro over and over again is his, hurts in a way that feels like hope.
“I just—” he breaks off, trying to think of a way to explain how he feels about Billy when he doesn’t understand it himself. It’s different to how he feels about girls. He doesn’t know this role, doesn’t know how to do this, but he can’t stop thinking about how it would feel to try anyway. “His hands,” he finally says, stupidly. “I just like his hands.”
The bell above the door jingles, and they drop the conversation, but Steve doesn’t stop thinking about Billy for a very long time.
*
Steve is in the middle of some very advanced, very important daydreaming when someone drops a video down on the counter and makes him jump. He clutches his chest, heart bouncing around beneath his fingers, and looks up at the person on the other side of the bench.
“Billy,” he says, voice breathless from the scare.
Billy blinks a couple of times, the pause just long enough for Steve to realise he’s never called him ‘Billy’ before, and then grunts. “Just returning the video.”
“Was it good?”
Billy shrugs. “Yeah, it’s great. Didn’t watch it last night though. I’ll get it again another time.”
Steve’s heart begins to hammer for an entirely different reason. “Why not tonight?”
The air seems to thicken and freeze between them, and Billy pauses in the middle of pulling away, his fingers caught between tapping a slow rhythm on the counter. “Huh?”
“Well, you know,” Steve rambles. “I just wanna make sure you— I mean, Sixteen Candles is cool but—”
Billy’s lips curve into a slow grin. “You offering me another freebie, Harrington?”
The way he says freebie makes Steve think some words should be illegal.
“Yeah,” Steve breathes, and then he opens the videocase like he’s checking the video, even though there’s nothing to check.
He slips a bit of paper inside, one he’d written on earlier and nearly worn down into shreds from folding and unfolding it so much. He makes sure the action is just obvious enough that Billy sees, just discreet enough that he won’t ask about it now.
Billy’s breath hitches, audible in the quietness of the store, and something unreadable crosses his expression.
“Yeah,” he echoes, dragging the case slowly back to his side of the counter. “Catch you round, Steve.”
There’s a hint of a pause before Billy says his name, but Steve doesn’t have time to question it because he’s already caught by the sway of Billy’s ass in his jeans as he leaves the store, and the unfairness that Robin was aware of this before Steve was.
Later that night, Steve is absolutely not sitting by his phone, waiting for it to ring. He also hasn’t changed his shirt five times, nor has he paid more attention to his hair than he has since he was with Nancy.
He starts pacing up and down the hallway and halts in front of the mirror. Christ, he’s probably done his hair better than he ever did when he was with Nancy. But come on, he’s got competition now. He refuses to have the worst looking hair in the room.
The phone rings, and Steve falls over his own feet racing to answer it.
“Hey Steve,” Robin’s voice greets him, and he bites down on a disappointed groan.
“Hey.” He twists the chord around his fingers, staring up at the clock at the end of the hall. “Hey, what’s up? Is something up? Or is everything fine?”
He can hear the humor in Robin’s voice when she answers. “Yeah, everything’s cool. I’m fine. Just wondering how you were. Did you wanna hang out tonight?”
“I, well, I just…”
“Aww, come on, Steve.” Robin is outright laughing at him now. “You don’t have plans, do you? You told me you didn’t have plans tonight. I could bring over a movie, or we could go out, or—”
“Robin. Look, Robin.” Steve runs a hand through his hair and then winces, leaning over to check it again in the mirror. “Can I call you back? It’s just I’m waiting for an important phone call, and—”
“Oh sure, of course,” Robin interrupts him, speaking at least twice as slow as before. “I just thought you might want to know, I mean, if you’re interested —I don’t want to assume—”
Steve closes his eyes and thumps the receiver against his head. What is she doing ? How did she know he gave his number to Billy? Why is she dragging this out?
“I just thought you might want to know I saw Billy Hargrove driving towards your house, dressed like he’s going on a date.”
Steve’s stomach flips over.
The doorbell rings.
“But I’ll let you wait for that phone call!” Robin says brightly and hangs up.
Steve gapes at the wall for so long that the doorbell rings again. He stumbles into action, slamming the phone down and racing to the door. He pauses just long enough to tweak his hair, and then opens the door to Billy.
“Hey,” Billy drawls, leaning against the door jam with his black shirt unbuttoned only to the middle of his chest—it’s a cold night. His thick curls hang low around his shoulders, the mullet almost unnoticeable, and the smell of hair spray and cologne wafts through the door. “Can I come in?”
Something clicks inside Steve’s brain, and he remembers: he’s good at this. He knows this.
And he’s not fucking afraid of snakes.
He swings the door wide and steps aside to let Billy in, his heart racing in his throat at the way Billy’s eyes drop to Steve’s lips, his neck. Steve shuts the door, and neither of them move.
“I brought this,” Billy shoves the video at Steve’s chest, so he has to catch it.
Steve smiles, and Billy’s eyes soften, the grin becoming something a little different—something much sweeter. Steve drops the video on the hallway dresser and crowds Billy back against the wall.
“I’ve seen it,” he says, reaching out to pluck an imaginary piece of dust from the material above Billy’s nipple. “Maybe we’ll have to rent it for another night.”
“So generous, Steve,” Billy’s voice is rich and dark; it fills the emptiness of the Harrington hallway with a warmth it hasn’t seen in years. “You can’t keep playing favourites like this. People will talk.”
“Yeah, baby?” he purrs into Billy’s ear, deliberately piling on the sleaze. “Maybe you should come upstairs. I can show you a much better use for my mouth than talking.”
Billy sniggers, and Steve cuts the sound off by kissing him, their tongues sliding together until the laughter is replaced with a moan and Billy’s hands are finally where Steve wants them: all over him.