Chapter 17

Memphis, June 1973

Bill was fairly sure that he'd done everything in his power to make his apartment look… hospitable was not the word. Decent might be a closer assessment.

He'd cleaned the dishes and taken out the trash. He'd changed the dog's bed to a new set of old covers. He'd aired out the place.

And now he was faced with the evidence that his place looked like a poor student's one, with the minimum furniture, and only tin cans in the cupboards. Hell, he wasn't even sure he had two drinking glasses.

He was mad with nerves by the time the clock hit ten am. Bobby had called before leaving home, so Bill knew when to expect him, and he'd been counting the minutes ever since.

At his feet, Albert was running in circles, excited without knowing why. He'd been like that since Bill woke up at five in the morning and started pacing the living room. He supposed the dog was only imitating his master.

He winced at the thought. To think he could be master of anyone was a faraway concept, when he'd never even been in control of his own self.

"You don't even know what you're happy about," he huffed at the dog, who yapped at his shins in reply. "Don't give me that attitude. You better be more welcoming to him than his stupid cat was to me."

Eventually taking pity on Albert, Bill crouched to scratch his head, and took a look at the back of his hand doing so. The claw marks had fainted to the thinnest white lines now, and he didn't think they would even scar.

His young self would have been excited about them, hoping to impress someone by lying that he'd gotten into a fight. He'd relished the bruises back then. He thought they meant he was tough, and could take the pain. Wouldn't shy away from defending himself.

He now knew he'd been nothing but a scared little boy hoping to keep away the rest of the world.

Except Bobby. It had taken some time, but once it had become clear that the other boy wasn't going anywhere, Bill hadn't tried to push him away at all.

That he'd done it despite his better intentions was a feat in itself.

A car slowed down outside, and he jolted upright. Albert followed him to the window, though small as he was, he could always jump and try to get a peek of Bobby parking in front of the building and getting out of his car, he wouldn't even reach the window sill.

Bill did, breath fogging the window. Bobby wore a short-sleeved shirt in a shade of pink Bill wouldn't even know how to describe, and flared trousers. He looked like every model on television, except… better. Bill's heart faltered when Bobby pushed his sunglasses up into his hair, squinted up at the building and spotted him.

He grinned and waved, and Bill wasn't sure what his own hands did but just knew he couldn't have looked as smooth as the man making his way to the building's front door.

A few minutes later, there was a knock on his door, and Bill scooped up Albert into his arms – fucker had a tendency of running away at the worst of times – and went to open it.

"Hi," Bobby grinned, as if…

Genuinely happy to see him.

For once, Bill was grateful for Albert and the armful he was, stopping him from reaching out and running a hand over the opening of Bobby's shirt to feel the chest hair there.

"Hi. Um, come in."

He stepped aside and waited for the door to be closed again to let Albert go. The dog immediately threw itself at Bobby's pant legs, sniffing away, tail wagging madly.

"Hey there little guy," Bobby cooed, and bent down to let the dog sniff his hand too. "Yeah you're smelling Poppy, aren't you? You're a funny looking one," he laughed at the way Albert's tongue tended to hang off the side of his mouth when he got excited.

"I told him to be nice," Bill grunted.

Bobby threw a cheeky look up at him.

"And he listens to you?"

Bill didn't grace that with an answer.

"Should I give you a tour?"

Bobby straightened up again, wiped the dog hair off his palms and gazed around them.

"Fucking hell, Bill. Look at the state of your place."

Bill turned around in panic, wondering if he'd forgotten to remove a huge cobweb somewhere.

"I swear I cleaned before you got here…"

Bobby didn't seem to be listening and took a few steps forward, shaking his head at the living room as he would at a petulant child.

"It's clean, that's not… But look at it! Do you even have a lamp in here?"

Bill stared up at the ceiling and the exposed wires where he'd never bothered to have a light-bulb installed.

"How do you see your way through at night?"

Bill lowered his eyes in shame.

"The TV's usually on."

Bobby was still gaping at the room.

"I mean… I'm sorry, this is incredibly rude but… anybody living here would want to shoot themselves after a week. God, you need to do something. Buy a plant, for fuck's sake."

So… that wasn't exactly how Bill had expected, or hoped their weekend would unfold. At best, he'd hoped for a romantic dinner out in town, and spending the rest of the evening drinking on his couch.

Not… thinking about redecorating. Or straight-up decorating, he supposed.

"I'm sorry I haven't," he began babbling, "I've never… wanted to make this a home, I guess."

Bobby spun around, finally taking a look at him, blinking.

"Shit. I'm sorry, I didn't mean… But how can you bear living in a place that's so depressing?"

Bill shrugged.

"I imagine I just am depressed and don't make a note of it."

The way Bobby's shoulders sagged wasn't very encouraging towards Bill's romantic dinner idea.

"Bill…"

"Please don't… I don't need pity," he snapped, the prickling feeling of being stared at for too long beginning to make his skin crawl.

"Alright. Okay, I won't. But this can't go on either. Put some shoes on, we're going out."

Bill's head swam with too much to take in.

"What?"

"Where's the nearest furniture store?" Bobby asked, a foot already out the door.

"Are you serious?"

Bobby raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him.

"Are you strapped for cash, Bill?"

"No…"

If anything, his bank account was full of money unspent, sitting around waiting to be inherited.

"Then do me a solid and come with me. We're gonna buy you some chairs, posters, and a fucking lamp."

So, Bill hadn't expected to be strolling through the aisles of the furniture store at half past ten on a Saturday morning, with his ex. Or was he? They'd never officially defined their relationship, back then, though they certainly had been something, until they weren't. ‘Ex something', there you go.

"What about a mirror?" Bobby asked, pointing at a round one reflecting the too many lights in the store, framed in woven wicker.

Bill unconsciously moved closer, slightly squinting against the brightness, and nearly jumped at their joined images.

He didn't think… No actually, he was sure he'd never seen them standing together. He didn't have any photographs of the two of them. They hadn't had mirrors in school.

And it suddenly struck him that they looked… good. That despite all the things he didn't like about himself, the graying hair, the lines, he and Bobby seemed to… fit. People in Hannah's community might have talked about yin and yang. Bill liked to think of it as his soft edges being a comfortable landing place for Bobby's lean ones.

And now he was thinking about landing and fitting together, surrounded by couches and beds. And tables. And really, he'd always been terrified to go further than hands and mouths, but now, with Bobby giving him that look through the mirror, he could picture the other man reclining on a flat surface, spreading his legs to accommodate him and…

"You know, I wasn't particularly thinking of a bedroom ceiling mirror," Bobby whispered, much closer than Bill had expected him to be.

He jumped and turned around, his shoulder brushing against Bobby's torso until he found him smirking at him.

"I didn't say anything," Bill replied, hoping for a stern tone and coming out radically shaky.

Bobby smiled for a little longer, then moved away from him and the mirror, leaving Bill feeling decidedly cold. He straightened his shirt collar, suddenly self-conscious, and followed Bobby like the lovelorn puppy he apparently was, finding the man now trying out a couch.

"I already have one of those."

"I know, but half the fun of coming to these places is trying out the springs on beds and couches. Haven't you done it before?"

Bill scowled at Bobby who was lightly bouncing on a blue velvet angle couch, worried that a shop assistant might come scold him about it as if the other man was his child. The problem was, he wasn't his anything and Bill was starting to get really confused over the whole thing.

Before he could intervene, Bobby got off the couch again and sprung off towards yet another area of the store. He took Bill to look at chairs, carpets, photograph art and plants, slowly convincing him to pick one of each.

The truth was that Bill had never done any of this, actually. Never picked anything to go in his first marriage's house. And had been too depressed about his second divorce and that dreary apartment to do anything about it.

So every time Bobby asked him, ‘what about this one?', Bill felt his cheeks heat up at the idea that he really didn't know… what he liked. Did he want a yellow carpet? He'd never thought about it before.

And yet, slowly, with Bobby's diplomatic questioning, he found that yes, he did have opinions.

And he did not want a yellow carpet, he wanted a cream one. He wanted the plush throw, not the one that felt like sandpaper. He wanted a square mirror, not a round one.

They were almost done, or so he thought, when Bobby stopped him with a hand on his elbow.

"Now look at that," he exhaled, and pulled Bill towards a black and white… block with wires coming out of it.

"What is that?" Bill frowned.

Bobby pushed a button on the block, and Bill jumped when the attached screen suddenly came alive.

"Seriously Bill, do you go out at all? Or speak to young people?"

He flurried a hand in front of the screen as letters appeared on it.

Magnavox ODYSSEY.

"Oh… I've heard of this," Bill frowned.

"Well color me relieved," Bobby smirked, and bumped him with a shoulder.

All this touching was really getting distracting.

"You should get this for your kids, actually," Bobby added, some of his serious returning.

"I… do you think they'd like it?"

Bobby rolled his eyes.

"Do I think they'd be the only kids in their school with a dad cool enough to have a console game at home?"

Bill stood closer to the box, and inspected the screen, and buttons. There were a few options displayed on there, one of them offering to start a new game.

"What… what is the point of it?"

"Oh, it's not rocket science, you just have to move spots on the screen. You can use it to simulate a sports game."

"So, like football."

"Well, yeah, but… on a screen."

Bill frowned harder at the machine.

"Why?"

A hand squeezed his shoulder.

"Trust me. I'm not forcing your hand on anything, just consider one day getting some stuff for when your kids visit? They're a little too young to be having fun with your medicine books, aren't they?"

"They like to play with Albert," Bill pouted.

"Yeah. But Albert's not you," Bobby whispered, before moving away.

Bill didn't ask what he meant by this. For once, he had a pretty good idea.

He felt an odd sense of pride at pulling his wallet to pay for all that they'd picked. Only he hadn't thought about the practicality of getting to Bobby's car again, and realizing that half of the things he'd just bought would never fit in there.

"It's fine, we'll just rent one of those vans," Bobby said, shrugging.

"I can't drive them!" Bill nearly shouted in the middle of the parking lot.

"You could," Bobby smiled, and came closer to gently brush over his shoulder. "But you don't have to," he added, and slipped his car keys into Bill's hand. "You just take my car and I'll follow you with the truck, okay?"

He'd gone back inside the store before Bill could argue.

"So, do you like it?"

Bill turned around to find Bobby standing with his hands crossed behind his back, eyebrows raised. And he took one more look at his living room, trying to craft an answer.

It felt like a completely different place. Bill had never expected a few splashes of color to make it seem so drastically… new.

There was still a lot to do, now that he thought about it. Installing some shelves, perhaps, so he'd stop stacking his books in a pile on the floor. He could buy a drill and keep that in the empty cupboard in the entrance. Put up the mirror and the Goldfinger poster he'd ended up choosing.

But there was a carpet lining the floor between his couch and the TV, and Albert was already curled up on it. His pitiful dining table was now bracketed between two wicker chairs, and he thought he wouldn't mind having breakfast there with someone the next morning. He could go out, buy them some bagels maybe, and make coffee before Bobby woke up. Then they could go to the cinema, if Bobby wanted. They'd never done that together either.

"It looks really good."

Bobby grinned, seeming very proud of himself, and Bill too.

"I just hope you'll turn on the lights when it gets dark outside, now. Won't do to have you trip on that fancy new carpet of yours."

Bill looked up at the overhead lamp they'd installed together. He wasn't sure why the sight of it felt like such a big accomplishment.

"Oh," Bobby added, moving towards the little console that held Bill's phone, and a new potted monstera, "and this girl better not be dead when I come back."

Bill swallowed. He thought it his best interest not to ask questions about this whole coming back business, and took a few strides to close the distance between them, until they were both standing looking at the plant. He touched his index to a leaf and said:

"I hope you'll teach me how to take care of it, then."

"I can try. But, Bill… If you mess up, remember… Unless she's dead, there's still a chance to get better and fix things."

Both men were resolutely staring at the monstera that had no idea exactly how much was being projected on her. Poor girl, Bill thought. He hoped if anything, the pressure wouldn't weigh too heavily on her young vines.

It had gotten quite late in the day already, between their shopping and redecorating, and Bill's stomach was tight with the knowledge that their time together was flying by so quickly.

He'd better make the most of it, then.

They had a quick lunch with some chicken that was miraculously in Bill's fridge, and not expired. They cooked it side by side, standing probably a little closer to each other than was really necessary to dump paprika in the pan.

What is this? What are we doing here, what does it all mean that you're in my home, installing light bulbs and cooking chicken?Bill craved to ask, aware that opening his mouth might ruin the fragile balance that they'd managed to strike.

But when they sat down on the couch, Albert curled up on Bobby's lap for a change, the little traitor, Bill felt a quiet peace wash over him. Holding his coffee cup and dozing off in front of a baseball game on the TV, exchanging a few remarks once in a while, he found that he didn't hate his apartment quite as much, today.

Sunday morning, and it was almost over.

Bill's back was killing him from sleeping in the living room, but he wasn't such a responsible adult who had a guest room, and he had managed to convince Bobby to take his bed after a short argument.

He left the building as quietly as he could, and came back with probably too many bagels than two grown men could eat in one setting. Opening his cupboards, he thought, out of the blue, that maybe he'd like to see some more dishes in there, one day. Soon, maybe. He could get matching sets of mugs, and plates that weren't made of old bottle green glass.

Bobby emerged from his bedroom right as he'd finished brewing a pot of coffee. He had sleep lines on his right cheek, and his hair was all over the place.

And all of a sudden, Bill was brutally hungry for something else than breakfast.

"Oh, hi," Bobby smiled, his voice still a little hoarse. "Thought something smelled good."

Bill found himself quite incapable of speech for a few minutes. Thankfully, Bobby seemed happy to share bagels and coffee in relative silence, often pausing to slip little bites of his food to Albert, who appeared keen on never leaving the man's side. Bill wondered if the dog would sleep on Bobby's chest too, or if he might leave a little space for him.

"What do you want to do, today?" Bobby asked when he put down his empty mug.

Bill's mouth opened, but words refused to come out.

He wasn't as outgoing as Bobby, didn't know any good hikes, or museums, or… anything, really. Just his clinic and lonely home life.

"I um… I just thought of the cinema."

Bobby didn't look too disappointed by the lack of options, and the corner of his eyes wrinkled with a new smile.

"Cinema sounds nice. I have no idea what's out now, but we could find out?"

Standing in line together had to be the most… exposed Bill had felt in a long time. There were lots of couples around them, out for a Sunday date, a few families with little kids running around, excited out of their minds to be going to the movies. Bobby didn't seem fussed about them being the only couple of men sharing the space with all the other customers, and leaned in close to ask Bill:

"See anything you like?"

It took him a few seconds to gather his wits and realize he was expected to look up at the board above the theater's entrance.

"Um…"

"Have you seen the first Planet of the Apes movies?"

"I read the books as a kid, don't you remember?" Bill said, thinking back to his little self, storing out-of-syllabus novels under his bed and sharing them with his friend when he was finished reading.

"Oh yeah," Bobby smiled. "I don't remember how you smuggled those in. Johnson would have been furious to find you with cheap literature," he mock gasped, pressing a hand to his chest.

"And have you seen the movies?"

"Yep," Bobby shrugged. "They're alright, not the acting performances of the century if you ask me, but it's the only thing up there I know anything about."

"Let's go for that, then," Bill agreed as they reached the till.

They each paid for their own tickets, a silent agreement that it was the thing to do to stand out from all the couples around them, and the men treating their girlfriends to an outing. No matter how much Bill wanted to do the same.

They sat in the front, away from the teenagers huddling in the back to make out when the lights would go out. Bill remembered his first date with a girl. He'd awkwardly taken her to the fair, and had bought her a candy apple that he could taste on her lips when she kissed him, at the end.

He hadn't been so nervous then as he was today, keeping his hands firmly on his thighs and his gaze on the screen, pretending he couldn't feel Bobby's eyes on him when the lights around them dimmed, and the music rose.

Oh…

He hadn't thought the darkness would bring back so many memories. All of them filthy, and not the kind of thoughts he should be having in a public space. Bobby's hair in his hands. The wetness of his mouth and…

Fuck. He could feel himself hardening and this really wasn't the movie for it. He clenched his jaw, dug his nails into his palms and focused on taking deep breaths. At this rate, he was going to work himself up so much he'd have to leave the theater when the opening credits weren't even over.

He jumped when something touched his left wrist. His gasp was covered by the music coming from the speakers, but when he turned, Bobby's eyes were just enough in the light for him to see the concern in them.

He froze, and let Bobby slowly tug on his left hand to place it on the armrest, and unfold his fingers one by one.

Ah yes. Bobby had always hated to see the red marks that appeared on him when Bill got too nervous, his mind too noisy, and he felt the need to let it out by digging his nails into the nearest available patch of skin.

He didn't expect for Bobby to leave his hand there, too. Warm palm covering the back of Bill's hand, for anyone to see. Not that anybody was looking, but…

It was there. In the open, or at least, more than it had ever been. Except today, he had no fucking clue what to make of it.

Bobby hadn't said more about what he wanted from him, or with him. Yet he was here, he'd driven four hours to spend a lousy weekend with him, taking him shopping and playing with his awful dog. And incredibly, he didn't look disappointed by any of that.

So Bill made himself relax his other hand, too. Stuck it under his own thigh to prevent himself from hurting it again. Bobby's message about that, at least, was clear enough.

The movie was okay. Bill wasn't sure. He had watched every second of it with wide eyes, although followed very little outside of the micro movements of Bobby's hand on his own. The contact ended as soon as the end credits started rolling, and his heart jumped. He craved the touch back, but knowing that Bobby was probably being more discreet than usual for him, for his sake…

He took a few seconds to school his face into a neutral, not lovesick expression before he got out of his seat and they walked to the exit. The daylight was blinding, convincing him that whatever had transpired inside the dark theater room had happened in another dimension, another timeline. Or planet, perhaps.

"So, did you like it?" Bobby asked, a small, strained smile spreading his lips as he pushed his hands into his pockets.

Bill's chest ached to see him so careful, almost… shy. Even thirty years ago, he couldn't remember Bobby being anything less than settled in his own skin, at ease with everything he was. The very idea that Bill could have him doubting himself was like a stab in the guts.

"It was perfect," he said, hoping to make his tone adamant enough to convey that he wasn't talking about the movie at all.

Bobby stared on for a few seconds, perfectly still. Bill wished he could have snapped a picture of this moment. He knew he would at least hold on to his ticket for the rest of his life.

"Want to go have lunch now?" he offered, hoping to prolong that feeling, whatever it was. "Better at the diner than whatever awful cans I have at my place."

Bobby laughed. "Yeah, you really need to buy yourself proper food more often, Bill."

It was enough of a yes for Bill to lead the way.

They parked in front of his usual place. He'd become a regular there out of convenience mostly. Debbie's Diner was on the way from the clinic to his apartment, and it was easy enough to stop there every evening, pick up fries and a burger that he ate in front of the TV.

"Oh, fancy seeing you in daylight, Mister Bill!" Debbie gasped as they crossed the threshold.

She was a sixty-something woman with platinum blond hair done in a Monroe adjacent perm, and wearing earrings that always worried him that they would be pulling her earlobes off sooner or later. Her usual bright red apron hid whatever clothes she'd chosen for the day. She stalked closer to them, and cocked her hip when she noticed Bobby.

"And bringing a handsome visitor, no less," she cooed. "Not that you ain't handsome yourself, Mister Bill, you know. But I see your lovely face every day of the week. Ain't seen this fellow before."

Bobby laughed good-heartedly and held out a hand for her to shake.

"Bobby Bachelor," he said. "But you can call me Mister Bobby, if you like."

Debbie slapped the air in between them.

"Oh, he's funny this one," she stage-whispered to Bill. "Come grab a table and tell me what you'll be havin' now."

Her hips were swinging in a way that looked uncomfortable, and Bill wished there was a way for him to tell her she was wasting her time on the handsome fellow who sat across from him in a little booth with leather seats as red as her apron.

Bobby threw him a cheeky smile, and Bill understood, for the first time in his life, that maybe there was a way. He just wasn't sure he was ready for it yet.

"Bring us your menu will you, Debbie? Bobby here doesn't know it by heart like I do."

"Mister Bill, you flattering liar!" she snickered. "You don't know half of my menu yourself, only ever seen you order the same thing every damn time!"

Bill held back a whine when something brushed against his ankle, and his eyes shot to Bobby who let nothing show, except a little smirk that could have easily been mocking him, and not related to the footsie game he'd just started.

Twenty years ago, Bill would have pulled back in a jolt. He may even have excused himself to the bathroom in his haste to get away. Today, he didn't feel the need to protect himself. He smiled up at Debbie, and pushed his leg further against Bill's.

"You're right. Well, bring two menus then, I guess."

Debbie winked at him before moving towards her counter. When he turned back to Bobby, the man was visibly holding in laughter, and Bill asked:

"What?"

"Nothing," Bobby shook his head.

They peered over the menus in silence. All the necessary speaking was happening under the table anyway.

Debbie brought them a complimentary pot of coffee, and waffles that neither of them had asked for. "On the house, for bringing me handsome new customers," she said.

"Oh, he's not from around here, I'm not sure you'll see him again any time soon," Bill cautioned.

"You don't know that," Bobby answered.

"Hear that, Mister Bill? My waffles will bring any man back."

Bill had no retort for any of that. He was too busy catching fire.

They left the diner far too full and, for Bill, having flirted more than he'd done in the past decade, probably. Only, most of it had been with Debbie, but he found that he didn't mind that when Bobby laid a soft hand on his lower back as they crossed the door into the street.

It was getting late in the day, nearing on three o'clock. Late enough at least that Bobby would be heading back soon, and their bubble in space and time would burst.

"Should we go back to your place?"

Bill nodded, throat suddenly too tight to speak. He kept silent for the whole drive, and the walk up to his floor. When he opened the door, it was all he could do to stop himself from grabbing Bobby by the hips and crushing him against the nearest wall. But Bobby made no move towards him, and simply went to sit on the couch with a sigh.

Bill tentatively joined him, leaving enough space between them for Albert to jump on.

"I've had a nice time," Bobby said, looking around at all the new additions to the living room.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really," the other man chuckled. "I uh… I wouldn't mind doing this again."

There it was again. Hope so big it felt as if it was clogging Bill's arteries, as if the tiniest movement would give him an aneurysm.

"You'd visit again, then?"

"Hmm. But I think it's your turn, next. And if you give me a heads up before showing up at my door, maybe I can plan us something nice, this time," Bobby teased, and Bill knew not to bristle at what felt like a show of affection.

"Alright. We can plan this properly, then."

Bobby slid down to rest his neck on the top of the couch, and extended both legs straight out. He was a delightful line of a man, one Bill wanted to learn again through touch. And this time, he promised himself, he would do right by him. He would have him naked and show him a pleasure that wasn't hasty. He would take his time.

"You got that look on your face again," Bobby smiled.

Bill snapped his eyes away, brushing a bashful hand on his warmed cheeks.

"Sorry."

"Don't mind it so much. It's flattering, after all that time."

Bill let out a shaky exhale. He could only hope that Bobby thought the same of him.

"I should go soon."

"Hmm. I guess you should."

Their eyes met once more, and they held it until it burned.

"Thank you, Bill."

For what exactly, Bill wasn't sure, but he whispered anyway.

"My pleasure."

He let Bobby pack in peace, settling his nerves by doing the dishes. His place hadn't been that clean, or welcoming, in… well, it just had never been. And he feared that with Bobby's light gone it would return to being a sad old den that gathered dust and regrets.

He walked Bobby to his car, where it was safe. There, he wouldn't press close, wouldn't slide his hands up Bobby's torso, wouldn't wrap a hand around his jaw and kiss him senseless.

On the street, he kept his hands to himself. They stood a few feet apart, still staring at each other.

"Okay."

"Yes."

Bobby laughed, and did an odd little wave.

"I'll call you, this time?"

"Please."

Bill stood on the sidewalk, holding his heart in while he watched Bobby pull away and disappear into the distance.

When he felt able to move again, he quietly walked up to his flat, locked the door, and went back to the couch again. But this time, he grabbed a pillow, stuffed his face against it and for the second time in a few weeks, screamed.

He let out all of his joy, all the tension of the past few days, until he was giggling with it, spent and… happy.