Chapter Text
1997— Somewhere in Sacramento
Steve checks his watch impatiently, huffing under his breath.
“…Where is this guy? We’ve been waiting for…”
He checks his watch again.
“…Seven minutes now,” he says, looking back up at Todd, his business associate.
“…Would you relax, Steve. You’re too, wound up all of the time. When’d you get like this?”
Steve scoffs, turning away from the man; Eyes sinking into himself at the remembrance of it all.
Because he knows, sadly; Exactly when he became like this.
And there’s only one person to blame.
…An ex, of course.
Doesn’t it always come down to the love of one person?
Or rather, the loss, of said love?
“…Doesn’t matter,” he blurts, looking at the man once more. “This is business. It’s best to be…”
“…Be… What?,” the man teases, knowing all too well that he can get under his boss’ skin easily.
Steve only frowns, looking away once more, glancing down at the watch wrapped around his wrist.
Not that he should still have the damn thing. It’s twelve years old; And it was a gift, from his boyfriend; In college.
The thing isn’t the best looker anymore, but it works; Not that Steve would toss it away even if the thing broke down completely.
Because of course, there is still, that remembrance.
...He sighs to himself, looking off into the distance once more.
“…This is ridiculous. This is completely unacceptable. I mean, to show up to a business meeting this late, it’s… It’s a poor look. And, what would that say about us? About me? Th-The company? If we just—-”
“—It won’t really say anything about you, Steve. I mean, your name isn’t on this. Okay? PB Real-Estate. No-one has to know that Steve Harrington is behind it. I mean… Not unless you say.”
Steve rolls his eyes, looking further off into the distance now. “…Yeah, well… It’s still bad business. I mean, if this guy thinks that we’ll hire him again then, he’s sadly mistaken.”
Todd shakes his head, biting his tongue because he knows; He knows what Steve would say if he opens his mouth to defend the other man’s lateness.
So instead, he inquires about…
“…What’s that about, anyway?,” he asks.
“…What’s what about?,” Steve practically snickers, looking down at the watch once more.
“The name. Why’d you name your business PB? I mean, what’s that mean, anyway?”
Steve swallows the lump in his throat, trying to ignore the feeling of his stomach sinking within his body.
“…It’s… It’s nothing, just… Just a nickname. It’s… It’s nothing, really,” Steve tries to dismiss.
“…Oh come on,” Todd says, a grin on his face. “Tell me.”
Steve sighs, looking at the man with something buried deep inside of his eyes now. “…It was a nickname, okay? My ex used to call me… And anyway, you know, it… It stuck. It means someth—Meant, something, to me. So…”
“…What was it?”
“What?”
“The nickname; What was it?”
Steve shakes his head, avoiding the other’s eye contact now. “…No,” he says.
“…Tell me," Todd says, a smile on his face. "...Come on, you have to tell me. Was it… Hmmm, PB. Was it... Peanut Butter? Was it, Polar Bear, was it… I, I don’t know, was it—-”
“—No, gosh. You should just, give up,” Steve says, a small smile creeping over his lips.
“…Okay, then tell me. What was it?”
Steve looks up once more, eyes twinkling in some terribly sensitive way, sparkling by way of memories in his eyes.
“…P-Pretty boy, okay? My ex used to call me, pretty boy. Now will you just… Drop it? Leave it alone.”
The man beside him beams a smile.
“…Wow, pretty boy. The ladies must have really loved you.”
Steve looks at the boy with softer eyes now, hand wrapping around the watch on his wrist, playing with it nervously.
“…Yeah,” he says. “They did. But… I’m not talking about them,” he says, voice heavy and full of history.
“…It was… It was my boyfriend—Ex. He uhh…”
His eyes flit low, back again; Of course, to the, piece of shit watch that he just can’t part with.
“…He used to call me… And I…”
Shit.
He hates moments like this; When the memories flood him, and the feelings smash against his body like a mac-truck; The feelings of—Whatever the fuck that was, all those years ago.
And it’s nothing special; The story.
You’ve heard it before, surely.
A boy met another. And he fell madly in love.
They, fell. Both of them, together; Deeply.
So in love that it hurts to think about, now, all these years later.
So in love that, Steve doesn’t even know what love is, anymore; Now that he’s not in it anymore; With him; The one that got away; Or that he all too easily, left behind.
So in love that he didn’t see it coming; The break up; The world shattering and changing into something completely different; Something completely, devastating.
So in love that he didn’t realize that it was even happening.
And they went through hell together.
But they made it, anyway.
They were going to be okay; He thought.
It was 1983 when he met the boy.
He was a junior in high-school.
He was a King.
He had everything.
And then suddenly, the only thing that he needed, was this boy that he had fallen so madly in love with, that he only knew how to breathe the air of which, this boy, exhaled.
And then, it was 1984 when they got together.
When he kissed the boy of his dreams, and envisioned, happily ever after?; How fucking stupid.
…Yeah, so; The year was 1988, and then, everything went to shit…
“...Hhhhh,” Steve sighs, breathing out, the painful memory clawing its way up his throat; Trying desperately to be acknowledged.
His eyes squint over the watch; In part so that he doesn’t end up shedding the tear that wants to pour out of him.
“…And, wh-where the hell is this guy, anyway? This is completely unprofessional and I just… I should’ve known. You said his name is Willy? I mean, what kind of a name is—-”
“—Oh, there he is now,” Todd says, turning to look at the man; Who was fast approaching them from behind.
Steve sniffled, letting go of his own wrist, turning to face the man approaching; Preparing an icy demeanor to freeze him for his unprofessionalism.
But of course, he could never prepare himself.
Not for this…
His mouth lingers agape when he sees him. And his mouth goes dry; Dryer than it should be.
And his heart skips a beat; Maybe several.
And the man before him looks as though, he has seen, a ghost.
Probably a mirroring image to Steve.
“…Uccchmm,” Steve clears his throat, beating the man to the punch.
He extends a hand forward; Finding anything to do with himself so that he doesn’t have to hear the words about to come out of the man's mouth, or, out of his own; Or, so that he doesn’t do something that he might regret.
Like slap the man before him.
Or burst into long overdue tears.
Or leap into his arms and—-
Shut the fuck up, Harrington. Just… Shut the fuck up!
“…H-Hi,” he shuffled out of him, nervously; And the man takes hold of his hand, blue eyes fixated on him; Weighing heavily, speaking into the air, a million things.
And Steve held onto the man’s hand, tightly, shaking on it as if he hadn’t once known this feeling, intimately.
“…P-Paul,” he shuffles out, and the man before him squinted his eyes, as if he were confused; But quickly followed suit.
“…Willy,” the man responded.
And suddenly, Todd’s heavy breathing reminded the two men of his existence.
“…Oh,” Steve says, turning to look at Todd. “This is Todd, my… My business associate.”
Willy took hold of Todd’s hand as well, shaking it as one does in a meeting; Eyes above the man’s shoulders. Light and unburdened; Unlike when he was staring into Steve’s eyes with some type of, heavy familiarity; Hiding well, his wandering eye, over the entirety of the man before him.
“…Well,” Steve huffs out, flustered. “Todd here is an excellent representative of PBR. You’ll be in great hands. And, any further communication or business, he can handle for you,” Steve says, eyes refusing to meet "Willy’s" once more.
Todd furrowed his brows, confusingly. “…What? I thought that you said that you needed to be here so that—”
“—Of course not,” Steve interrupts. “…You can… You’ve got this, okay? I have to… I need to just—I have to go, alright? Um, just…”
He turns to face Willy once more, eyes flitting away from the icy blueness that always managed to make him melt.
“…It was, nice meeting you, B-Willy,” he said, before turning as quickly as he possibly could; Practically running down the street; Stopping along the wall once he turned the corner, hand over his chest, breath hitching.
Fuck!
He really had seen a ghost.
The kind that you pray would come back to life.
And then, pray that you forget about, altogether; If only to forget too, the pain of their absence.
The kind of ghost that you never want to see again, but can’t ever, forget about; No matter how many prayers.
The kind of ghost that only comes back to life, when it’s meant to…
...Because, it's meant to...
“…Steve?”
The voice made his skin crawl; And ignite, all the same.
And his heart stopped.
Because this voice has been imprinted on his heart since he was sixteen years old; Falling madly in love, foolishly thinking it to be, hate.
He used to hate hearing this voice; Because he knew that it held power over him.
And, shit; It still fucking does.
“…Go away, Billy,” he huffs out, not turning to look at the man behind him; Knowing all too well what will happen if he does.
He can smell the man.
It’s all the same; The cigarette. The mint. The Vanilla.
The man smells the same; Just, more mature, now; A hint of manly musk that he can imagine only comes from being a blue collar man that spends his days in the sun, working up a sweat; Like Billy clearly is now, as a construction worker.
“…You won’t look at me, Steven? Really? You can’t even—”
“—Willy? Really? Who the hell is Willy?,” he says, finally turning around to look Billy in the eyes, who was closer than he needed to be.
And Steve only did so because Billy had used his full name; And it always did have some, affect, on him.
And Billy was looking at him as if there was so much on the tip of his tongue. But all he spoke into the air, was a similar confusion.
“…Paul? Paul Boyle? What the hell are you doing, Steve?”
His breath hitched because Billy was standing too close to him; And his lips looked too inviting; And his eyes, too enticing.
And his cheeks, way too slap-able.
His eyes sparkled and Billy’s tongue went over his bottom lip, signaling to Steve, so many things; Things of the past.
“…N-No,” he says, licking his lips. “…You don’t get to… You don't--”
“--You look good,” the man says, eyes roaming over Steve's body.
And suddenly, he’s a nineteen year old boy again looking into the eyes of love, and all he wants to do is melt into him.
But the man’s eyes linger on Steve’s wrist; The one with the watch. The old watch. The gift.
The terrifying relic from lover’s past.
…And there it is; There the fuck it is; The pain.
The remembrance.
A smile creeps over Billy’s lips.
But, another break creeps over Steve's heart.
“…You kept that?,” he asks, voice soft and nostalgic.
And it was beautiful; A symphony that Steve had tried to forget, but never could.
A sound so beautiful that it pisses him off now; Because he had to let it go; Too many years ago, now.
He shakes his head again, backing away from the man before him.
“…Yeah well, I shouldn’t have,” he says, hope vacant in his voice.
And Billy’s lungs ache, throbbing under his high-visibility jacket; Arms buffer than what Steve remembers them to be, glowing with perspiration.
...Yes; Lungs. Because he doesn't own a heart anymore. It was stolen from him; All those years ago. And it left, when Steve did.
“…Steve, I…”
His eyes flit down because, what do you say?
What do you say to the man who took your heart from your chest, a decade ago, and then left you, broken, and empty?
What do you say to the man that you still love; When he so obviously doesn’t want to hear that from you?
Wh-What do you say?
Really, guys, I’m fucked, still.
“…You… You look… Steve I… You’re… D-Do you hate me, still?”
Steve’s heart weighs on him heavily.
And it hurts him, because he did say that didn’t he?
Nine years ago.
He stood before the love of his life, and he said it; Those words.
Those words that he didn’t altogether mean.
Because Billy had broken his heart.
So it is a good question, isn’t it?
Does he still hate him?
...Do I?
Has he, gotten over the past?
Does it still, hunt him?
Billy certainly needs to know.
Because it absolutely, still, hunts him…
…I… I love you, pretty boy. Please, don’t hate me…