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HIS FIRST WEEK passed a lot quicker than Steve thought it would. The breakfast wasn't bad (in fact it had been better than what his mother usually put on the table) and the weather was nice, but the thing that Steve looked forward to the most had been the actual program, surprisingly. Because working on rediscovering his gender identity, or whatever crap Mary Brown preached, meant getting to spend time with Billy. It had almost been like dates. If you ignored the fact they were literally in conversion therapy, that is.
Working together with the handsome blonde (who, from his style, looked suspiciously like Rob Lowe, Steve should've noticed) also made it easier that Eddie was still acting distant towards him; Steve thought that it might've been fixed with the little banter the other day, but Eddie was still giving him the cold shoulder.
„Ready for the day, hot stuff?" Billy was leaning in the doorframe, watching Steve getting dressed after he took a shower, a sly smile plastered on his face.
Steve rolled his eyes as he buttoned his shirt, not looking up to Billy because if he learned one thing about the other, it was how much it pissed him off when he didn't get what he wanted — Steve's attention, in this case — and Steve had taken a liking to riling him up.
„Yeah yeah," he waved Billy off and started to walk out the door, but he didn't get very far: Billy grabbed his wrist, pulling him closer.
„What's wrong, princess?" he sneered, their faces mere inches apart. Steve could feel his warm breath tickling his lips.
„Nothing," he tried to wiggle away from the other, without success — Billy's grip was tight. He grimaced. „What's this about? Come on, we'll be late." He looked at Billy, who seemed to consider for a moment, then let go of his arm, sighing.
„I just," he paused. What was he going to say, anyways? I need constant attention or I'll go insane? I'm starved of affection, please hold me? No. Billy Hargrove would never. And so in silence they walked over to the gravel driveway of the estate. Mike didn't tell them what they'd do today, but if it was anything like the last few days, it'd be mind-numbingly boring.
In the driveway there were three rundown, broken cars; one for each team, Steve assumed. In front of the cars, Mike stood, hands placed on his hips (so when he did it it wasn't gay?), wearing short shorts and a t-shirt so tight his nipples peaked through.
„Good morning boys!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. Steve was glad to be a man, because Mike was so much nicer than Mary Brown, which surely contributed to the fact that right now, what was supposed to be conversion therapy almost felt like a school trip to him. „Today, we're working on cars!"
André let out a frustrated sigh and Eddie just crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking over at the cars. Next to Steve, a smile grew on Billy's face. He seemed excited. Mike started to explain the basics, but Steve didn't listen — not that he needed to, being the son of a car dealer he knew a thing or two about cars. Instead, he used the time to do something much more productive: stare at Billy. The adorable curve of his nose, the way his lips were slightly parted and the freckles dancing on his sunkissed skin. His stomach did it again — that weird wiggly thing.
