got served a little bit too much of that poison
title: got served a little bit too much of that poison
pairing: Bob/Billy (a.k.a Bill Gates Fail slash Comparing Women to Farm Animals)
author: reogulus
rating: PG-13, for references to drug use and sexual adventures
wordcount: ~3,000
disclaimer: Not mine, not true, not used for profit.
summary: Maybe a pothead and an airhead really are the best for each other. Maybe it really doesn't hurt to give it a try.
notes: Look at the wordcount, and tell me you don't think this pairing is shippable. Thank you, FYFF chat, for all the encouragement, enabling and ridiculousness. Special thanks to alexthegreat for admitting this is mostly his fault, and to casey_sms , for supplying an excellent last name for Bob.
Title from Carrie Underwood's Last Name.
It's been barely a week since the end of the Christmas break. The campus is much busier now, but still feels somewhat asleep, like it just came down after a really good high.
Bob’s on his way to the drama building when he sees Billy Olson, his fellow floormate at Lowell, walking towards him on the narrow path. He stops short, puzzled, as Billy approaches with an impish smile. As he gets closer, Bob’s head inclines lower and lower towards his right shoulder, a frown sitting right between his brows. The word “bewilderment” is practically spelled out on his face, in a most comical way that some may find endearing.
“Hey, Bob-Bing. Why ‘the tilt’?”
Bob snaps out of his brief confusion out of sheer disgust. Two things that he hates the most in the universe have just appeared jointly in six words, and he does not appreciate it one bit. “Goddammit, that’s Robert Bing to you, Olson. I told you I hate it when people call my full name and I am not - ”
“Still tilting.” Billy deadpans before snickering out loud. Bob can hear the weed in his laugh.
“Got something on your mind, mate? You do make it so, very, obvious.” Billy drawls in that deliberately thickened accent of his, and twirls past Bob with his arms flailing about. The Australian lad really has a knack for reading people - or just Bob, for that matter (well, so does every resident of Lowell).
“Well, I do have something to ask you,” Bob kicks a block of hardened snow out of his way as he begins to walk again. “But it’ll have to wait till after the Drama Club meeting and - ” he glances down to check his watch, “- shit I’m gonna be late!”
The director of the spring play is so going to kill him for losing the playbook and arriving late to the first meeting. Bob can feel the balls of his feet sweating inside his boots at the thought of a one-on-one talk with that wicked witch.
He tugs his scarf to cover his chin as the acute fear propels him to run. Billy waves behind him, but Bob doesn’t turn back, nor does it occur to him that Billy, who was announced to be one of the leads this year, is evidently skipping.
**
Things went just as badly as Bob feared. The director asked him to stay behind after the meeting and gave him another talk about how the prop master is not pleased with his work as a crew member so far, only this time with the professor producer present. Bob is already a savant at dealing with humiliation, but even he had trouble talking himself out of that one.
Which is why he is a lot less than amused to find Billy sprawled lazily on the couch in the common room of his dorm watching TV. Bob pretends not to see the brunet boy and dumps his messenger bag on his feet, which promptly arouses a grunt of protest: “Hey, what the hell?”
“Why the fuck are you here?” Bob takes a good long swig from the half-full bottle of beer on the coffee table, then sets it down with more force than necessary.
“Stuart let me in, we’re working on an Art History project.”
“You’re watching TV.”
“Like we say in Austrailia, mate,” Billy stretches and sits up, a glint of false seriousness in his eyes as he turns off the TV. “All work and no play, makes Jack a dumb boy.”
“We say that everywhere.”
“Cut it out, aiight?” Billy waves him off before he leans forward to light a cigarette. “What’s bothering ya?”
“Jessica Nguyen is giving me crap for the play production again. God. How could you stand sleeping with her?”
“Well, in my defense, it was one-night-only. Although I suspect she cast me as a lead for a second chance, you know, before I go back to Melborne in May.”
Billy blows a puff of smoke, triumphantly smug. Bob scoffs.
“So that’s how you get away with skipping, huh?”
“At this point, going back only means lectures that are worse than the meetings. Plus Jess just texted me for a private play-reading appointment to - and I quote - catch up.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” hisses Bob.
“Come on, Bob, cheer up. You know how she likes to make a fuss out of every little thing.” Billy chuckles, “remember the first time she saw herself on FaceMash? She wouldn’t talk to any guy for longer than five minutes for an entire week.”
“No surprise there. She does have a hard time getting over herself.” Bob half-laughs, and Billy laughs with him. Bob picks up the beer for another sip. The alcohol is working its way into his system, and he’s feeling much better.
“No matter what they say, dude, FaceMash was honestly, fucking genius. So what’s up with Mark Zuckerstein? You know him, right?”
“It’s Zuckerberg, you airhead. And yeah, I hanged out at his dorm sometimes when I was hooking up with his roommate.”
“The ginger kid that Stephanie Attis turned down last week?”
“No, are you out of your mind? Dustin’s not my type. You know Chris Hughes? We had some great fun in October, but it’s behind us now.”
“Sounds like you’ve been around.”
“Nothing like fucking some elites to make this exchange worthwhile.” Billy clicks his tongue, “tell you what, though, I can introduce you to Mark if you want. I still see him sometimes in Art History.”
Bob’s eyes light up with a hint of doubt. “You can?”
“Sure. For a modest charge, of course.” Billy stubs out his smoke, “a joint for a word. How ‘bout that?”
Bob frowns and licks his lips anxiously. “Yeah well...Keep it under ten words, will you? I don’t wanna be caught with a giant stash, you know how - ”
He’s interrupted by the sound of Billy slapping his forehead with his palm. “God damn it, Bing, haven’t you heard of the expression having a word with somebody? For Pete’s sake, you really shouldn’t do weed anymore.” Then he breaks the distressed tone with a self-mocking cackle. “And that’s coming from me.”
Bob feels the heat rising in his cheeks, and proceeds to hide it by gulping down the rest of the beer. “Shut the fuck up.”
**
Turns out Mark Zuckerberg is busy with a mysterious new project that he won’t talk to anyone about, and according to Billy, he’s coding every class in Art History and paying no attention to the lectures.
“So, yeah,” Billy stirs his hot chocolate, intensely focused, “it might not happen in the short run, but we’ll see.”
They’re sitting in the corner booth of a cafe on Harvard Square, where the staff hasn’t taken down the Christmas/New Year decorations yet. Bob’s trying to get the piece of marshmallow stuck between his teeth out by contorting his tongue.
“The snow out looks horrible,” mutters Billy. The weather may explain the lack of business.
“Worse than Melborne?” Bob has given up, sticks a pinky into his mouth and finds the gooey piece. Billy grimaces but makes no comment.
“Well, you know how Melborne can get at this time of the year,” he answers absent-mindedly. “So, did you bring it?”
“What?” Bob blinks.
“The payment?” Billy rolls his eyes.
“Oh, right.” Bob fumbles with the inner pocket of his jacket for a while before he produces a small envelope and slides it across the table, “here you go.”
“Thanks, mate,” Billy beams and takes the envelope. He opens the seal for a quick peek, despite Bob’s nervous protest. A few moments later, however, Billy’s smile turns into frown, which then turns from puzzlement to agitation.
“What the hell?” he hisses under his breath, “This isn’t what we agreed on!”
Now Bob looks confused. “What do you mean? It’s exactly what you asked for. Now where’s that introduction?”
“There will be no introduction, moron,” Billy sits back, fingers splayed on his face, “not until you get me what I want.”
“What the...” Bob leans forward anxiously, stuttering a little, “oh hell no, you want me to roll it for you too? That’s a bit much, even for a meeting with Mark Zuck...whatever. Point is, I just got that from my little cousin over the break, all right? She’s a good kid, and a professional one too. Do you know that she’s the head dea - I mean, my guy of her school? I don’t think she would play me like this. Okay, I know we had our differences in the past - ”
Billy lets him ramble on, until a curvaceous waitress sashays over with a natural Southern swagger. “What’s the matter over here? Are we having ourselves a disagreement?”
“Hello Patty,” Billy greets her without removing his hands or opening his eyes. “Sitting there is a rambling idiot who calls himself Bob.” And before Bob has time to protest, he hands the opened envelope to her. “Why would I say such a cruel thing, you ask? Well, take a look at this and you’ll find some supporting evidence.”
Bob’s slightly opened mouth is frozen in the middle of an unpronounced syllable as Patty takes a peek. To his surprise, she just raises her brow, sniffs the content, and lets out a throaty laugh. Then she pulls the tangled clumps of faded green out of the paper folds.
Bob’s hands are cold and clammy with sweat as he bursts out, “I - I can explain - ”
“Aw, ain’t this cute? A handful of dried mistletoe!” Patty bends down to pat Billy’s shoulder, “Don’t be so grumpy all the time, sweetie. Look, you got him all blushing and flustered. That ain’t the way to treat your boo when there are people around. He’s just trying to be romantic, right?”
Billy almost jumps out of his seat. “What? No, we’re not dating!”
Patty ignores him and looks encouragingly at Bob, whose eyes are fixed on Billy, still too shocked to say a word. Then she continues, “Now you done giving him a scare. So what if he missed the holidays? It ain’t his fault the school’s closed! Just be a good sport and play along for once, okay? You’ve always been such a sardonic kid. It ain’t good for relationships, I tell ya.”
She coaxes Billy to lean forward and put his elbows on the table, and holds the mistletoe above their heads. “Come on now, get it done before customers start coming in. I’m doing you a service here.”
But Bob hasn’t heard a thing she said since “mistletoe”. His head is swimming in a vicious, panicking circle.
The blackout finally comes when Billy reluctantly mutters just leave us alone and leans closer, close enough for Bob to smell the sweet chocolate in Billy’s breath hovering around his lips.
Everything after that is a blank. Including the part where the door chime sings, and Mark Zuckerberg walks in with Eduardo Saverin at his elbow.
**
Look, you don’t know Patty. She wouldn’t leave us alone if I don’t do as she says. She’s one of those meddling Southern girls who thinks they know how everything’s ought to be. Honestly, it’s partly your fault too, okay? Patty knows how I am, she probably thought I was lying despite the truth because I have commitment issues. If only you told her in time that we’re not together, we probably would’ve been able to talk to Mark and Eduardo and -
Delete.
Bob hasn’t seen Billy for two weeks. He attends the Drama Club meetings with unusual regularity and punctuality now, and Jessica Nguyen is impressed. Billy is never there.
Bob doesn’t know if Jessica still texts him about play-reading. He doesn’t even know why he wonders. He doesn’t even know why he can’t eat anything chocolate-y without blushing at the thought of Billy’s mouth.
Vikram will be furious when he finds out Bob tossed away all the powdered hot chocolate, but he’ll deal with that later.
**
Bob finds Billy sitting on the highest front porch step of Lowell one Tuesday afternoon. The snow from an hour ago has stopped, but Billy’s pants are specked with white crystals from the knees down, along with his shoes. Bob walks up to him, slowly but surely.
“Hey Billy.”
Billy looks up. “Hey.”
“I, uh, ” Bob clears his throat and shifts his weight to the other foot. “I’m not mad about it anymore. You know, about what happened. It’s cool if you can’t talk to Mark for me. I didn’t uphold my end of the bargain.”
“I’ll still give it a shot.” Billy nods curtly, stands up and dusts off the snow. “I just wanna let you know that I’m sorry for being a douchebag. I should’ve waited to make sure you’re okay with it.”
Bob smiles with just a hint of teeth. “Well, she’d never be out of our hairs if you didn’t act fast, right?” Then he nudges Billy forward, “Come on, I’ll get something to warm you up. Must’ve been freezing cold, sitting out here for an hour.”
Billy raises an eyebrow, amused. “I thought I’d never live to see this day. Robert Bing, no longer blind.”
“Yeah well,” the door clicks open with a beep of the card key, “you gotta be somewhat detail-oriented to take good care of the props. But seriously, though, can you believe how shitty my luck is? Mark walked in right after that and I didn’t even - ”
“You’ll get another chance.” Billy interrupts his rambling with a grin, once they step inside the suite. “There’s a Bill Gates thing coming up in February, and I’m pretty sure Mark’s gonna be there.”
“Seriously?” Bob’s wide-eyed and smiling bigger than the idiot that he is.
“Yeah, whatever,” Billy kicks back on the couch and turns on the TV, “now where’s my cup of hot chocolate?”
The excitement freezes on Bob’s face as he struggles for nonchalance. “Yeah...um, we don’t keep them around anymore. Vikram drank them all and we haven’t bought any. You know what, I’m gonna get some coffee, be right back.” Then he dashes out the door like there isn’t enough air for the two of them in the suite.
Billy glances at the slammed-shut door. The noise of the TV fills the void in his thoughts. He lies down, draws his feet up to his waist, and closes his eyes. Now here’s a headache that even weed can’t take away.
Bob comes back at the end of the first commercial break. Billy grabs his cup and shifts over to give Bob some room. The coffee tastes like crap, but Billy’s stomach is churning a bit for an entirely different reason.
He swallows the bitter drink and spits out the question.
“When’s the next Drama Club meeting? I’m thinking about going.”
**
By the end of the Bill Gates episode, it seems that Billy may have spoken too soon about “no longer blind”.
Stuart and Vikram decided against getting a Glock to shoot him, but Bob is banished from the suite for the rest of night. The door is shut with a bang after a sleeping bag and a pillow are dumped in his arms. With a heavy heart, Bob walks away, pretending not to hear the snickering from the busy hallway as he knocks on the door of Billy’s single room. He would have hesitated about turning to Billy in a situation like this in January, but it doesn’t seem that big of a deal now.
Maybe it’s because of the three-times-per-week Drama Club meetings. It’s a lot easier to bond with someone under the Draconian rule of an Asian tyrant. Especially if that someone has a really quick wit and some very nice eyes and managed to memorize all of his lines in an all-nighter.
The “no homo” mantra Bob’s been chanting in his head for weeks is clearly not working very well, and Bob could’ve sworn his heart just skipped a beat when Billy opens the door. Bob hangs his head low and walks in without a word. He hears Billy bolting the door behind him as he sets his stuff down on the only chair.
“So, what stupid shit is it this time?” Billy sits back on his bed and leans on the headboard leisurely.
“The good news is, I saw Mark Zuckerberg.” Bob sighs, “The bad news is, I made myself look like a fool in front of him.”
“Not surprised at all,” Billy chuckles. “Sounds like you’ve had a long night. Beer’s in the fridge.”
“Thanks.” Bob helps himself to the cold liquor, which more or less settles him down. He sits down beside Billy on the bed, bottle in hand, under the yellowish light of the desk lamp. For a moment, he’s content with the silence, and the feeling of being observed by Billy. But when he looks up to meet Billy’s eyes, something seems to have changed in the air.
“You know, they’ve really got no right to treat you like this.”
“Well, it was my fault.” Bob pauses at a sudden realization. “Wait, are you...gonna have people over? I mean, it’s totally cool if this is inconvenient - ”
“No, Bob,” Billy’s arm is propped awkwardly behind Bob on the bed, suddenly not as smooth-tongued as he’s always been. “It’s...too convenient. I don’t think I’ve got any excuse to put things off anymore.”
“What?” Bob tilts his head. There are puzzlement and chaos and panic in his eyes, all underlying the beautiful, nervous shade of knowing.
Billy is suddenly very, very happy that he’s probably the only one in Lowell who’s ever seen him like this.
“Come on, we both know where the hot chocolate went. But here’s what you need to know, now,” the Australian drawls, softly and sweetly as he combs Bob’s dark curls with his fingers. “I’ve been thinking about it as much as you have.”
Before their lips touch, Bob rests his hand tentatively on Billy's shoulder and whispers, loud and clear. “No homo?”
Billy lets out a half-choked laugh and nips at his bottom lip with a force equivalent of just shut your damn mouth.
**
“You know, you should come with me to Melborne after finals.”
“Why? You guys have a better summer there?”
“In the middle of June, yeah.”
“Cool! Nicer than California?”
“You bet.”
pairing: Bob/Billy (a.k.a Bill Gates Fail slash Comparing Women to Farm Animals)
author: reogulus
rating: PG-13, for references to drug use and sexual adventures
wordcount: ~3,000
disclaimer: Not mine, not true, not used for profit.
summary: Maybe a pothead and an airhead really are the best for each other. Maybe it really doesn't hurt to give it a try.
notes: Look at the wordcount, and tell me you don't think this pairing is shippable. Thank you, FYFF chat, for all the encouragement, enabling and ridiculousness. Special thanks to alexthegreat for admitting this is mostly his fault, and to casey_sms , for supplying an excellent last name for Bob.
Title from Carrie Underwood's Last Name.
It's been barely a week since the end of the Christmas break. The campus is much busier now, but still feels somewhat asleep, like it just came down after a really good high.
Bob’s on his way to the drama building when he sees Billy Olson, his fellow floormate at Lowell, walking towards him on the narrow path. He stops short, puzzled, as Billy approaches with an impish smile. As he gets closer, Bob’s head inclines lower and lower towards his right shoulder, a frown sitting right between his brows. The word “bewilderment” is practically spelled out on his face, in a most comical way that some may find endearing.
“Hey, Bob-Bing. Why ‘the tilt’?”
Bob snaps out of his brief confusion out of sheer disgust. Two things that he hates the most in the universe have just appeared jointly in six words, and he does not appreciate it one bit. “Goddammit, that’s Robert Bing to you, Olson. I told you I hate it when people call my full name and I am not - ”
“Still tilting.” Billy deadpans before snickering out loud. Bob can hear the weed in his laugh.
“Got something on your mind, mate? You do make it so, very, obvious.” Billy drawls in that deliberately thickened accent of his, and twirls past Bob with his arms flailing about. The Australian lad really has a knack for reading people - or just Bob, for that matter (well, so does every resident of Lowell).
“Well, I do have something to ask you,” Bob kicks a block of hardened snow out of his way as he begins to walk again. “But it’ll have to wait till after the Drama Club meeting and - ” he glances down to check his watch, “- shit I’m gonna be late!”
The director of the spring play is so going to kill him for losing the playbook and arriving late to the first meeting. Bob can feel the balls of his feet sweating inside his boots at the thought of a one-on-one talk with that wicked witch.
He tugs his scarf to cover his chin as the acute fear propels him to run. Billy waves behind him, but Bob doesn’t turn back, nor does it occur to him that Billy, who was announced to be one of the leads this year, is evidently skipping.
**
Things went just as badly as Bob feared. The director asked him to stay behind after the meeting and gave him another talk about how the prop master is not pleased with his work as a crew member so far, only this time with the professor producer present. Bob is already a savant at dealing with humiliation, but even he had trouble talking himself out of that one.
Which is why he is a lot less than amused to find Billy sprawled lazily on the couch in the common room of his dorm watching TV. Bob pretends not to see the brunet boy and dumps his messenger bag on his feet, which promptly arouses a grunt of protest: “Hey, what the hell?”
“Why the fuck are you here?” Bob takes a good long swig from the half-full bottle of beer on the coffee table, then sets it down with more force than necessary.
“Stuart let me in, we’re working on an Art History project.”
“You’re watching TV.”
“Like we say in Austrailia, mate,” Billy stretches and sits up, a glint of false seriousness in his eyes as he turns off the TV. “All work and no play, makes Jack a dumb boy.”
“We say that everywhere.”
“Cut it out, aiight?” Billy waves him off before he leans forward to light a cigarette. “What’s bothering ya?”
“Jessica Nguyen is giving me crap for the play production again. God. How could you stand sleeping with her?”
“Well, in my defense, it was one-night-only. Although I suspect she cast me as a lead for a second chance, you know, before I go back to Melborne in May.”
Billy blows a puff of smoke, triumphantly smug. Bob scoffs.
“So that’s how you get away with skipping, huh?”
“At this point, going back only means lectures that are worse than the meetings. Plus Jess just texted me for a private play-reading appointment to - and I quote - catch up.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” hisses Bob.
“Come on, Bob, cheer up. You know how she likes to make a fuss out of every little thing.” Billy chuckles, “remember the first time she saw herself on FaceMash? She wouldn’t talk to any guy for longer than five minutes for an entire week.”
“No surprise there. She does have a hard time getting over herself.” Bob half-laughs, and Billy laughs with him. Bob picks up the beer for another sip. The alcohol is working its way into his system, and he’s feeling much better.
“No matter what they say, dude, FaceMash was honestly, fucking genius. So what’s up with Mark Zuckerstein? You know him, right?”
“It’s Zuckerberg, you airhead. And yeah, I hanged out at his dorm sometimes when I was hooking up with his roommate.”
“The ginger kid that Stephanie Attis turned down last week?”
“No, are you out of your mind? Dustin’s not my type. You know Chris Hughes? We had some great fun in October, but it’s behind us now.”
“Sounds like you’ve been around.”
“Nothing like fucking some elites to make this exchange worthwhile.” Billy clicks his tongue, “tell you what, though, I can introduce you to Mark if you want. I still see him sometimes in Art History.”
Bob’s eyes light up with a hint of doubt. “You can?”
“Sure. For a modest charge, of course.” Billy stubs out his smoke, “a joint for a word. How ‘bout that?”
Bob frowns and licks his lips anxiously. “Yeah well...Keep it under ten words, will you? I don’t wanna be caught with a giant stash, you know how - ”
He’s interrupted by the sound of Billy slapping his forehead with his palm. “God damn it, Bing, haven’t you heard of the expression having a word with somebody? For Pete’s sake, you really shouldn’t do weed anymore.” Then he breaks the distressed tone with a self-mocking cackle. “And that’s coming from me.”
Bob feels the heat rising in his cheeks, and proceeds to hide it by gulping down the rest of the beer. “Shut the fuck up.”
**
Turns out Mark Zuckerberg is busy with a mysterious new project that he won’t talk to anyone about, and according to Billy, he’s coding every class in Art History and paying no attention to the lectures.
“So, yeah,” Billy stirs his hot chocolate, intensely focused, “it might not happen in the short run, but we’ll see.”
They’re sitting in the corner booth of a cafe on Harvard Square, where the staff hasn’t taken down the Christmas/New Year decorations yet. Bob’s trying to get the piece of marshmallow stuck between his teeth out by contorting his tongue.
“The snow out looks horrible,” mutters Billy. The weather may explain the lack of business.
“Worse than Melborne?” Bob has given up, sticks a pinky into his mouth and finds the gooey piece. Billy grimaces but makes no comment.
“Well, you know how Melborne can get at this time of the year,” he answers absent-mindedly. “So, did you bring it?”
“What?” Bob blinks.
“The payment?” Billy rolls his eyes.
“Oh, right.” Bob fumbles with the inner pocket of his jacket for a while before he produces a small envelope and slides it across the table, “here you go.”
“Thanks, mate,” Billy beams and takes the envelope. He opens the seal for a quick peek, despite Bob’s nervous protest. A few moments later, however, Billy’s smile turns into frown, which then turns from puzzlement to agitation.
“What the hell?” he hisses under his breath, “This isn’t what we agreed on!”
Now Bob looks confused. “What do you mean? It’s exactly what you asked for. Now where’s that introduction?”
“There will be no introduction, moron,” Billy sits back, fingers splayed on his face, “not until you get me what I want.”
“What the...” Bob leans forward anxiously, stuttering a little, “oh hell no, you want me to roll it for you too? That’s a bit much, even for a meeting with Mark Zuck...whatever. Point is, I just got that from my little cousin over the break, all right? She’s a good kid, and a professional one too. Do you know that she’s the head dea - I mean, my guy of her school? I don’t think she would play me like this. Okay, I know we had our differences in the past - ”
Billy lets him ramble on, until a curvaceous waitress sashays over with a natural Southern swagger. “What’s the matter over here? Are we having ourselves a disagreement?”
“Hello Patty,” Billy greets her without removing his hands or opening his eyes. “Sitting there is a rambling idiot who calls himself Bob.” And before Bob has time to protest, he hands the opened envelope to her. “Why would I say such a cruel thing, you ask? Well, take a look at this and you’ll find some supporting evidence.”
Bob’s slightly opened mouth is frozen in the middle of an unpronounced syllable as Patty takes a peek. To his surprise, she just raises her brow, sniffs the content, and lets out a throaty laugh. Then she pulls the tangled clumps of faded green out of the paper folds.
Bob’s hands are cold and clammy with sweat as he bursts out, “I - I can explain - ”
“Aw, ain’t this cute? A handful of dried mistletoe!” Patty bends down to pat Billy’s shoulder, “Don’t be so grumpy all the time, sweetie. Look, you got him all blushing and flustered. That ain’t the way to treat your boo when there are people around. He’s just trying to be romantic, right?”
Billy almost jumps out of his seat. “What? No, we’re not dating!”
Patty ignores him and looks encouragingly at Bob, whose eyes are fixed on Billy, still too shocked to say a word. Then she continues, “Now you done giving him a scare. So what if he missed the holidays? It ain’t his fault the school’s closed! Just be a good sport and play along for once, okay? You’ve always been such a sardonic kid. It ain’t good for relationships, I tell ya.”
She coaxes Billy to lean forward and put his elbows on the table, and holds the mistletoe above their heads. “Come on now, get it done before customers start coming in. I’m doing you a service here.”
But Bob hasn’t heard a thing she said since “mistletoe”. His head is swimming in a vicious, panicking circle.
The blackout finally comes when Billy reluctantly mutters just leave us alone and leans closer, close enough for Bob to smell the sweet chocolate in Billy’s breath hovering around his lips.
Everything after that is a blank. Including the part where the door chime sings, and Mark Zuckerberg walks in with Eduardo Saverin at his elbow.
**
Look, you don’t know Patty. She wouldn’t leave us alone if I don’t do as she says. She’s one of those meddling Southern girls who thinks they know how everything’s ought to be. Honestly, it’s partly your fault too, okay? Patty knows how I am, she probably thought I was lying despite the truth because I have commitment issues. If only you told her in time that we’re not together, we probably would’ve been able to talk to Mark and Eduardo and -
Delete.
Bob hasn’t seen Billy for two weeks. He attends the Drama Club meetings with unusual regularity and punctuality now, and Jessica Nguyen is impressed. Billy is never there.
Bob doesn’t know if Jessica still texts him about play-reading. He doesn’t even know why he wonders. He doesn’t even know why he can’t eat anything chocolate-y without blushing at the thought of Billy’s mouth.
Vikram will be furious when he finds out Bob tossed away all the powdered hot chocolate, but he’ll deal with that later.
**
Bob finds Billy sitting on the highest front porch step of Lowell one Tuesday afternoon. The snow from an hour ago has stopped, but Billy’s pants are specked with white crystals from the knees down, along with his shoes. Bob walks up to him, slowly but surely.
“Hey Billy.”
Billy looks up. “Hey.”
“I, uh, ” Bob clears his throat and shifts his weight to the other foot. “I’m not mad about it anymore. You know, about what happened. It’s cool if you can’t talk to Mark for me. I didn’t uphold my end of the bargain.”
“I’ll still give it a shot.” Billy nods curtly, stands up and dusts off the snow. “I just wanna let you know that I’m sorry for being a douchebag. I should’ve waited to make sure you’re okay with it.”
Bob smiles with just a hint of teeth. “Well, she’d never be out of our hairs if you didn’t act fast, right?” Then he nudges Billy forward, “Come on, I’ll get something to warm you up. Must’ve been freezing cold, sitting out here for an hour.”
Billy raises an eyebrow, amused. “I thought I’d never live to see this day. Robert Bing, no longer blind.”
“Yeah well,” the door clicks open with a beep of the card key, “you gotta be somewhat detail-oriented to take good care of the props. But seriously, though, can you believe how shitty my luck is? Mark walked in right after that and I didn’t even - ”
“You’ll get another chance.” Billy interrupts his rambling with a grin, once they step inside the suite. “There’s a Bill Gates thing coming up in February, and I’m pretty sure Mark’s gonna be there.”
“Seriously?” Bob’s wide-eyed and smiling bigger than the idiot that he is.
“Yeah, whatever,” Billy kicks back on the couch and turns on the TV, “now where’s my cup of hot chocolate?”
The excitement freezes on Bob’s face as he struggles for nonchalance. “Yeah...um, we don’t keep them around anymore. Vikram drank them all and we haven’t bought any. You know what, I’m gonna get some coffee, be right back.” Then he dashes out the door like there isn’t enough air for the two of them in the suite.
Billy glances at the slammed-shut door. The noise of the TV fills the void in his thoughts. He lies down, draws his feet up to his waist, and closes his eyes. Now here’s a headache that even weed can’t take away.
Bob comes back at the end of the first commercial break. Billy grabs his cup and shifts over to give Bob some room. The coffee tastes like crap, but Billy’s stomach is churning a bit for an entirely different reason.
He swallows the bitter drink and spits out the question.
“When’s the next Drama Club meeting? I’m thinking about going.”
**
By the end of the Bill Gates episode, it seems that Billy may have spoken too soon about “no longer blind”.
Stuart and Vikram decided against getting a Glock to shoot him, but Bob is banished from the suite for the rest of night. The door is shut with a bang after a sleeping bag and a pillow are dumped in his arms. With a heavy heart, Bob walks away, pretending not to hear the snickering from the busy hallway as he knocks on the door of Billy’s single room. He would have hesitated about turning to Billy in a situation like this in January, but it doesn’t seem that big of a deal now.
Maybe it’s because of the three-times-per-week Drama Club meetings. It’s a lot easier to bond with someone under the Draconian rule of an Asian tyrant. Especially if that someone has a really quick wit and some very nice eyes and managed to memorize all of his lines in an all-nighter.
The “no homo” mantra Bob’s been chanting in his head for weeks is clearly not working very well, and Bob could’ve sworn his heart just skipped a beat when Billy opens the door. Bob hangs his head low and walks in without a word. He hears Billy bolting the door behind him as he sets his stuff down on the only chair.
“So, what stupid shit is it this time?” Billy sits back on his bed and leans on the headboard leisurely.
“The good news is, I saw Mark Zuckerberg.” Bob sighs, “The bad news is, I made myself look like a fool in front of him.”
“Not surprised at all,” Billy chuckles. “Sounds like you’ve had a long night. Beer’s in the fridge.”
“Thanks.” Bob helps himself to the cold liquor, which more or less settles him down. He sits down beside Billy on the bed, bottle in hand, under the yellowish light of the desk lamp. For a moment, he’s content with the silence, and the feeling of being observed by Billy. But when he looks up to meet Billy’s eyes, something seems to have changed in the air.
“You know, they’ve really got no right to treat you like this.”
“Well, it was my fault.” Bob pauses at a sudden realization. “Wait, are you...gonna have people over? I mean, it’s totally cool if this is inconvenient - ”
“No, Bob,” Billy’s arm is propped awkwardly behind Bob on the bed, suddenly not as smooth-tongued as he’s always been. “It’s...too convenient. I don’t think I’ve got any excuse to put things off anymore.”
“What?” Bob tilts his head. There are puzzlement and chaos and panic in his eyes, all underlying the beautiful, nervous shade of knowing.
Billy is suddenly very, very happy that he’s probably the only one in Lowell who’s ever seen him like this.
“Come on, we both know where the hot chocolate went. But here’s what you need to know, now,” the Australian drawls, softly and sweetly as he combs Bob’s dark curls with his fingers. “I’ve been thinking about it as much as you have.”
Before their lips touch, Bob rests his hand tentatively on Billy's shoulder and whispers, loud and clear. “No homo?”
Billy lets out a half-choked laugh and nips at his bottom lip with a force equivalent of just shut your damn mouth.
**
“You know, you should come with me to Melborne after finals.”
“Why? You guys have a better summer there?”
“In the middle of June, yeah.”
“Cool! Nicer than California?”
“You bet.”