Morrissey Reblogs Memes

Chapter 5

Johnny sat, nervously clutching a parcel of records under the shady overhang at the bus stop. By his calculations this stop was exactly halfway between Mr. Joyce's shop and Steven's house and the other boy's bus was scheduled to arrive any minute. The two had been texting back and forth nonstop since their encounter in the record store and had eagerly planned their next meeting.
When a bus stopped in front of Johnny's bench he quickly reached up to fix his hair and straighten his sunglasses. The doors opened with a fast rush of air and Johnny caught sight of a red sweater and dark hair, a soft "thank you" carrying through the air as the other boy passed the driver.
Johnny's breath seemed to catch in his throat as he watched the boy step down onto the pavement. He still couldn't really believe that this boy was real, that he wasn't just some cruel joke or a figment of his imagination. He found himself staring, noticing that the red in his cardigan contrasted the blue in Steven's eyes, making them shine behind his thick spectacles.
"Are you okay?" Steven asked, breaking Johnny out of his appraisal with a tentative smile.
"Yeah, I'm just... happy," Johnny beamed.
"Well good, I'm glad." Steven stepped forward, joining him under the overhang.
"Here," Johnny held out the package. "These are for you. Not exactly a bouquet of roses but we had 'Chelsea Girl' in the back."
Steven looked delighted as he pulled the paper back to see which records Johnny had brought him.
"I'm sure these will suffice," he said merrily. "Besides, I don't much care for roses- I prefer gladiolas. Or bouquets of vinyl."
"Good to know," Johnny told him. "Now, I've delivered your goods- in the middle of the day like any drug dealer should- and the next bus doesn't come for another forty-five minutes. So, I guess you're stuck with me for the time being."
"Oh dear," Steven feigned disappointment, "I was hoping to just grab the vinyl and go. Make a clean get away, you know."
"I knew you only liked me for the vinyl!"
"Who said I liked you?" Steven asked.
"Who brought you an entire stack of beautiful mint-condition records and has yet to mention reimbursement?" Johnny teased.
"That's true. How much do I owe you?"
"It depends," Johnny replied, fluttering his eyelashes behind lowered sunglasses, "What are you willing to pay?"
Steven snorted, "I'm sorry but I am not going to turn into some kind of rent boy in exchange for records."
"My dear I have no idea what you are insinuating," Johnny beamed innocently. "How about you buy me a milkshake and we call it even?"
"A milkshake?" Steven asked incredulously.
"Chocolate, please. I'll even split it with you."
"That sounds an awful lot like a date," Steven pointed out, smirking.
"Maybe that's part of the deal."
...

Fifteen minutes later they were sat side by side in a red plastic booth, a well deserved chocolate milkshake with two straws between them on the table. They had walked into the first restaurant they saw, a chain diner full of fluorescent lighting and elderly patrons. The place was vacant enough that the two boys were able to take a wide corner booth to themselves, although they wasted the space by crowding close together.
"Thank you for the milkshake," Johnny chirped, pecking Steven on the cheek with now cold lips.
"Thank you for the records," Steven replied, trying and failing to hide his blush.
"I hope you like them. If there's any that you already have just let me know and I can switch them for different ones. I only know you've got 'Be My Baby' on vinyl."
"You're good at guitar," Steven blurted, ever the eloquent speaker. "I mean, when you played the song. It was... good."
"Thank you," Johnny chuckled, "I try. My mates and I have been trying to start a band."
"Oh, do you write songs? Or do you just do covers?"
"So far we've just played a few covers but I've written some parts. I can't write lyrics for shit though."
"I write," Steven told him shyly.
"You do?" Johnny asked, "Do you sing? We haven't got a singer."
"I guess, I mean I don't know if I'm any good."
"Trust me, I know we aren't. We could be, though. I think we could be great," Johnny smiled fondly.
"I think we could be really great," he repeated, his eyes locking with Steven's as their fingers intertwined under the table.