Bill’s voice was laced with nerves, which crawled up Richie’s spine as he came to a halt in the middle of the parking lot. The ground was wet, and the air was full of smoke from cigarettes. Behind them, the 21+ bar blazed with neon and shook from the music within.
“Yeah, Bill?” he asked, voice level, for something told him this was not the time to drop a ‘Billy Boy’, or ‘Stuttering Bill’.
His boyfriend shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and sighed out a cloud of mist. “I… Back there, in the bar? With those guys you were chatting up—”
“‘Chatting up’?! Why, Bill, you think too much of me! Are you jealous, perchance?”
“No! I don’t want to hear another fucking Voice, Rich, I just want you to listen to me!”
Richie recoiled, but thankfully their car was just behind him, ready to save him from too much embarrassment.
Bill rubbed his brow. “You can’t d-do that anymore, R-Richie. Okay?”
“Flirt around. Get so wasted you can’t s-see straight—”
“I didn’t drink tonight, Bill—”
“That’s not it, Rich, and you know it.”
Richie frowned. He toyed with the keys in hand. “Then what is ‘it’?”
On his head was a delicate white kippah that was embroidered with feathers- of course it has feathers, Bill thought, it’s Stan’s, for god’s sake- and that contrasted against his dark, angular features in a way Bill knew Stan had meant for it to. His eyes, a deep, chocolate brown that Bill had grown to call comforting, were trained fastidiously on Bill from his spot at the mirror. “Oh, hello, Bill- shabbat shalom.” He snagged Bill’s confused eyes and smiled. “Haven’t heard that before, huh?”
Stan laughed, a slightly throaty sound that made Bill smile yet again. “It’s the greeting for shabbat. It means have a peaceful shabbat, basically.” He looked bemusedly at Bill’s expression of bewilderment again, and smirked. “Shabbat is sabbath, Big Bill. I thought you were smart.”