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[camarod]

psycho man

bhargrove#1969

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[retromix]

Only three?

[ If a man could look aloof while eating pasta ...

Three spaced out, maybe, but he's all wrung dry for the day and night ahead potentially. Possibly. Eddie may have fried his perception of time while they were rolling around. ]

[camarod]

Not all of us have the benefit of Munson’s generosity.

[does Billy look like he’s being fingered, etc etc.]

[retromix]

[ Blushing, he doesn't deny it. Eddie is ... good. A good person, as well as generous and kind, and it makes Steve feel all kinds of ways.

Tapping the last of his pasta around his bowl, Steve looks made up with how things are going and admits, ]

He said, sort of accidentally, that he loves me.

[ Pasta has never been gazed at so tenderly. ]

Feels like the floor is getting farther and farther away from me, I don't know if that makes sense. It's kind of wild.

[camarod]

[The thing in his gut goes again; twists sharp in a way that doesn’t feel like jealousy. It feels frighteningly like longing, like a fragile dichotomy between that and happiness. He’s just getting used to happiness, too, and the longing throws him.

It’s probably not fine, after all. Still, he keeps his grin.]

Careful, that’s a lot of big moves at once.

[retromix]

I don't do things by halves, apparently.

[ He remembers Eddie chastising him for not being tactful enough around Billy, Billy's crush more accurately, and looks up with guilt faintly seeping into a frown. ]

You don't have to listen to this. I'm rambling, sorry. I didn't ask you over to ... I don't know, be an audience.

[camarod]

You want me to a brag too? Make it a little less weird?

[he could. it wouldn’t stop the turbulence, but he could.]

[retromix]

No! No, I get it. I just ... feel like we both have Eddie in common so talking about him is easy with you.

[camarod]

It’s fine. I’m happy for you or whatever.

[and like he is. he gives a shit about them both in a way he isn’t really used to and yeah, shit, it’s nice to be trusted. ]

Brag away.

[retromix]

No, forget my shit. Tell me how your business stuff is going, I want to know! Come on.

[ Sliiiding off his stool to get them seconds, give him your bowl! ]

[camarod]

It's good. Yeah it's - it's really good.

[He pauses. Hesitates, actually, before he reaches for his phone, swiping to bring up his numbers. He slides the phone between them - highlighting the subscriber count to his last monthly income which is - a lot. More money than Billy Hargrove knows what to do with, if he's honest. ]

The videos, man. They love that shit.

[retromix]

Well ... [ He drops an obvious once-over on Billy, smiling widely as he meets his eyes. ] Yeah, why wouldn't they?

[ He leans over the see the phone, brows flying up at the numbers there. ]

That's ridiculous, dude. Buy a yacht.

[camarod]

What the hell am I gonna do with a yacht? Throw a rager for a party of three?

[Look, it's tempting. There is a brief fantasy of like, summer out on the water. Steve is in a speedo, Eddie is perhaps swimming naked - anyway.]

It's just so fucking - weird. Like, I get paid to do this.

[retromix]

You're good at it, why not? At least you guys have actual talent.

[ Steve just ... calls stupid shit to his hand. Case in point: he summons some extra cheese for their second bowl of pasta, eyes flatly unimpressed. ]

[camarod]

As much as it delights me to hear you think me stroking my dick is talent -

[he's pointing a fork at Steve, brow raised. ] What's with the self-pity. You summon shit people need. That's dope.

[retromix]

It's not self-pity, it's realism. I can only summon what I need in the moment, I can't plan ahead or bank on being able to feel confident about my choices. I could let people down when they really need me. Got a bunch of weapons hidden under my damn bed in case I can't call them again.

[camarod]

I think the whole point is instinct, man.

[He really is Not Good At This, damnit, but it worked out with Eddie, so maybe. ] You've got time to work at it.

[retromix]

My instincts are usually to hit things.

[camarod]

What, like the air?

[he's teasing. mostly. ] Summon me a new St. Christopher. C'mon.

[retromix]

[ Very funny, a comedian is born. Steve rolls his eyes. ]

Do you actually need one or am I going to end up with something weird in my hand instead?

[camarod]

[He's tapping his bare neck. ] Mine didn't come with me. It's sentimental.

[retromix]

[ He relents, holding his hand out between them. ]

Billy's necklace.

[ A close approximation appears with no fuss. Surprised, Steve hands it over. ]

What's he the saint of?

[camarod]

[the soft, sincerely pleased smile is back again. he turns it over in his hand, thumb brushing over it briefly, glancing at Steve, utterly distracted by it. ]

- Travellers. My mom gave me mine as a kid.

[retromix]

Oh. Sorry I can't get the real thing for you. I think I can only get copies.

[camarod]

[He’s already putting it on: feels a little more whole with it pressed against his sternum.]

Shut up, man. It’s real.

[Just as sentimental as the original; just as sentimental as the little figure.] Thanks. I’d summon you something cool, but, you know.

[retromix]

You're here, that's pretty cool.

[ His smile is small but genuine too. ]