Pinned
Steve’s inside a tiny pop up bar, hastily designed and constructed in a warehouse as if that made it more dangerous than anyother bar. They were becoming a thing in the 90’s he supposed, like oversized suit jackets or spiked-collars. And he liked them just fine. It was even deeper underground than most seedy gay clubs.
The people who drink here don’t mind that he's a hybrid.
They don’t mind his triangle-shaped ears atop his messy, brown hair, or the long fur-covered tail that relays every emotion he’s feeling out loud for the world to see. Even the bad ones.
Like right now— seeing a ghost from his past again out of the blue, just a few seats down the bar, has got his tail flicking against his stool legs. A ringing metallic flick-flick-flick.
Steve digs his claw into the bar top, leaving a deep crescent mark.
Since Steve’s seen him last, he’s doing well. He’s smiling and glowing and he’s put on a few healthy pounds. He looks like he could lift Steve up over his head if he wanted to.
The ice in Steve’s drink melts and breaks apart with a soft noise. Another man at the bar tries to flirt with him, a hot, whispered breath right into the sensitive fur of his ears, but… Steve makes no moves to actually listen.
Because Steve isn’t at the bar anymore. He’s sinking into golden quicksand— California beach scalding.
Steve doesn’t even realize he’s staring until his pretty ghost turns around.
“Harrington?” His breathy voice asks. Just as boyish and melodic as ever.
“Harrington,” he repeats in a hiss, “back to last names? Should I be insulted, Hargrove?”
“Sorry, Stevie.” Billy chuckles as he leans over the bar. Up close, Steve can see he’s got a strawberry blond beard defining his jawline.
“I’ve got to say, I’m surprised to see you in a place like this.” He sings.
Steve can’t say he disagrees. His lips quirk up. Playful, it’s in his nature. “I come to these all the time, Billy. I like the atmosphere. And the art. It’s very new-age-industrial.”
Billy watches him for a moment with curious eyes, scanning over his expression. And, like so many years ago, Billy’s sea foam green eyes can read Steve’s face line for line like a damn book: “Bullshit.”
“I’m here to try and get laid!” Steve gives up the ruse with a laugh. It makes Billy’s own laughter come out, just as pretty as the rest of him. Steve takes a long swig of his drink while he allows Billy to laugh at him. Then slowly licks the sour taste from his lips.
Can’t help but notice Billy’s eyes track that movement as well.
