Blue.
He's too small. His voice is too high. A table, long like a highway. Tilted. Towering.
Eyes.
Their eyes snap towards him.
Running... Running...
Grabbing.
Happy birthday, they say.
They sing.
Happy birthday.
Not to him.
Happy birthday, dear Granny...
Nothing is right.
His eyes snap open, searching frantically for Granny’s crusty lips, but just finding his own dark room, and the beginnings of a golden San Dimas sunrise starting to stream through the gap in the curtains.
It was just a dream.
Ted lies across from him in his own bed, his sheet discarded at some point during the night in an attempt to fight the summer heat. Even with every fan in their apartment on high, this California heat wave was still near suffocating in their tiny one bedroom. It made working on new music most difficult, but they weren’t about to give up.
Bill squints at the clock in an attempt to make out the time, which proves to be a fruitless pursuit, so declares it “too fucking early” and drags himself out of bed anyway. If he's going to be awake, he's going to at least eat some Lucky Charms about it.
These nightmares are getting progressively more frequent, which means that his current sleep schedule is totally non-optimal. He knows that it's going to be infinitely harder to create their most bodacious tunes if Bill is in an unsatisfactory mental and physical state of being, which would be total bogus. He knows he has to fix this before it starts to seriously impact their work. He would love to fix it. He is so exhausted all the time, and it makes him most irritable.
Bill would love to fix it, he just has no idea how.
“Good morning, dude.”
Ted yawns as he shuffles out of their bedroom, and Bill almost drops the milk carton.
“Jesus, dude. You just gave me a totally heinous fright.”
“I’m sorry, Bill,” Ted yawns again, grabbing a spoon off the counter and settling in to eat from Bill’s bowl of Lucky Charms.
Bill grabs his own spoon and scoops up as many marshmallows as he can. “You're up early.”
“Yeah.”
Bill waits a second to see if he’s going to elaborate, but he doesn't. Not to be purposefully odious to Bill, Ted would never. He's just totally not a morning person.
They eat their Lucky Charms in familiar quiet, the sounds of the world slowly coming to life outside the window as their soundtrack. Bill tries, but he can't stop thinking about the nightmare. The nightmares. It gets scarier each time it happens. With every dream he feels smaller, and more disorentined, and the room feels like it stretches further, the people louder, bigger, closer-
“Dude,” Ted starts, barely trying to conceal his mouthful of cereal, “are you okay?”
“Hm?” Bill hums, suddenly dragged from the vortex of thoughts swirling around in his head like a twister.
“You seem most distracted today.”
He takes another big spoonful, aiming for as many marshmallows as he can. “I have been having the most odious dreams lately.”
“Odious?” Ted asks, concern in his eyes. Bill can’t help the smile that spreads across his face, or the warmth that pools in his gut. Ted is the sweetest guy in the world. “How are they odious?”
“They're scary, dude. I wake up in a cold sweat. It is totally non-triumphant.”
“Oh, dude. That’s so not excellent.” He takes another bite and chews, contemplative. “You can sleep in my bed, if you want.”
Bill blinks, confused. “I don’t see how a bed swap is going to help, Ted.”
“No, dude, like sleep with me.”
“Dude, that seems very gay.”
Ted laughs and shakes his head like Bill’s being ridiculous. “No, dude! It’s totally straight to help another dude get rid of his most non-non-non heinous nightmares.”
“How will this get rid of my nightmares?”
“It's science, dude. You get scary dreams because your brain tells you that you're alone and totally vulnerable to attacks.”
Bill frowns. “I’m vulnerable to attacks?”
“No way, dude, because I would protect you from any incoming assailants.”
“So if I’m already safe, why do we need to sleep together, dude?” Bill says, ignoring the fluttering feeling in his stomach at the idea of Ted protecting him.
“Because you don’t know you’re safe.”
“Uh,” Bill squints, though Ted is still eating like nothing is happening, “but I do know.”
“No, dude,” Ted drawls like it’s obvious, “your brain doesn’t know.”
Ah, fuck, Bill nods. Of course.
“Ted, my most esteemed colleague, you are indeed well educated in the matters of life.”
“Thanks, dude. Plus, if we didn’t try, then you would not be working at your fullest potential, which would potentially inhibit you from achieving your highest dreams. So, it would be pretty gay not to.”
Bill nods like Ted is making an excellent point, and they go back to eating their cereal in relative peace. Bill isn't sure exactly how this is going to work, but at this point, he's willing to try anything. No matter how gay.
Ted is already in bed, strumming gently on his guitar, by the time Bill gets home from his meeting with their management. They have a manager now, which is most exciting, and it’s starting to look like 1995 might really be their year.
The melody he's playing is one Bill hasn’t heard before, but it sounds beautiful. He's so engrossed in the music that he startles when Bill flops down onto his bed, laughing through his exhaustion.
“Dude, that was a most bodacious melody you were playing.”
Ted smiles, warm and sleepy, and Bill feels it in his heart. “Thanks, Bill. I've been working on it for a while.”
“Well,” Bill yawns, “it is totally non-non-non egregious. What is it?”
“I'm not sure yet.” He lets out a contemplative sigh, dropping his hands to his lap. “I felt the melody flow through me from deep within, but the lyrics are most elusive.”
The melody was gentle, soft and flowing in a way their regular stuff just wasn't. The notes were sure, and watching his fingers dance over the strings so confidently was mesmerizing, but it seemed like Ted was holding something back. Ted is the most open and honest person Bill knows, probably the most open person he's ever met in his life, including the princesses, so to see him hiding something is most peculiar.
“Who is it about?”
Ted freezes up, his fingers halting in position over his guitar, and Bill can tell that was the wrong question.
“Uh-” He freezes like a deer caught in the headlights, staring straight into Bill’s eyes, pupils flicking back and forth as if he's searching for the answer there. “Nobody.”
It's obviously a lie. Bill can tell Ted doesn't want to talk about it, but it's most atypical for his best friend to keep secrets like this. He shrugs his shoulders and decides to let it drop. Ted will talk to him about it when the time is right.
“Sure, dude. It just sounded like a love song.”
“Oh.” Ted mutters, in the least convincing voice Bill has ever heard. “That is totally peculiar.”
“Ted, you are my most esteemed best friend. You can tell me whatever is causing you such non-triumphant personal distress, dude.”
“Distress?” He laughs awkwardly, putting his guitar on the stand next to his bed. “I'm not in distress, dude. I am most excellent.”
Bill shakes his head, ready to disagree, but a yawn stops him from arguing back. Ted gets a soft look on his face, and Bill can tell he’s worried.
“Are you ready to go to sleep, my most esteemed best friend?”
It takes a second for Bill to remember what Ted is talking about, and once he does, he can’t help the dubious look that crosses his face. “Ted, you bonehead, I thought you were kidding.”
“No, I’m serious, Bill. It, like, totally tricks your brain into giving you the most bodacious dreams.”
Bill is still skeptical, but Ted scoot’s over and pats the bed next to him and Bill finds him hard to refuse.
“Okay dude,” Ted grins, reaching over him to turn out the bedroom lamp, the last bit of sunlight dying just beyond their window, “get ready for the most triumphant dreams of your life.”
Cold.
It's too cold. Everything is frozen, hazy like he's staring through a glacier.
The glasses too tall. The table too long.
Granny is too old.
Older than Bill ever remembers her.
A kiss.
She smiles through her rotting teeth. Too close. Too real.
A kiss for your dear old granny.
Grabbing. Holding.
Shaking.
He closes his eyes. He can still see her.
Closer and closer.
Someone screams.
It takes Bill approximately ten seconds to realise that it's him screaming, in real life, and that he's back in his darkened apartment, as far away from Granny S Preston Esquire as he could possibly be.
It takes him another ten seconds to realise that there were hands grabbing at him, shaking him awake, a gentle voice urging him to breathe and that everything is okay.
It takes him a while to realise that those were Ted’s hands, Ted’s words, that he was in Ted’s bed rather than his own. He takes a few seconds to calm down, breathing heavily, bringing himself back to reality. Ted’s arms are wrapped around him tightly, and Ted is breathing quiet words into his hair, breath coming in heaves. Bill feels... calm. Having Ted here like this, Bill has to admit, he does feel pretty safe. He can barely remember the totally odious details of his terrifying dream, all he can think about is Ted’s strong arms, holding him, thick biceps flexing against Bill's chest. He’s certainly not scared anymore, which is most triumphant. He feels- something. He’s too exhausted to try and figure out exactly what it is, but something is there, deep in the pit of his stomach, fluttering, wanting.
Huh. Totally weird.
“Thank you, Ted.” He whispers, keeping his voice low, so as not to shatter the fragile silence filled only by their heavy breathing. “You totally killed my bogus nightmare.”
“It’s totally okay, dude.” Ted mutters in return, hands moving slowly up Bill’s arms, gently caressing. Bill can’t help the long sigh that escapes him. “It is most odious for me to watch you suffer.”
A feeling crawls up Bill’s spine and he shivers. His skin feels like there's an electric current dancing along the surface, and it makes him want to pull Ted closer. He holds his breath, and carefully brushes his fingers against Ted’s, heart beating a mile a minute, as the taller boy turns his hand to interlock his fingers with Bill’s. He hears Ted let out a sigh of relief, and he can't keep the smile from his face. He feels incredible. He feels elated, like there should be ungodly amounts of adrenaline pounding through his system, but he just feels calm, like he can actually rest.
He closes his eyes, and feels like maybe he's okay.
Ted is gone when he wakes up, but Bill doesn’t think anything of it. It’s not unusual for one of them to wake up before the other and just start going about their day, and even though their schedules have a lot of overlap, they do sometimes have different appointments.
What it does mean, however, is that, for the first time in months, Bill has slept for long enough for Ted to get up first.
He can’t believe it. Ted’s plan actually worked.
He can't help but smile, leisurely stretching out across the bed and enjoying the feeling of being rested. He feels most non-heinous and is compelled to revel in it. It’s a cooler morning than they have been getting, recently, so the strip of sunlight pouring in from outside and warming Bill’s skin is a welcome comfort. The world outside their shithole apartment is awake and alive, and Bill can hear the people going about their business on the street below without even opening the window. For once he’s out slept San Dimas, and he feels no desire to show his face outside their room.
“Oh, dude,” Ted startles when he comes in, seeing Bill awake, “I got you a McMuffin.”
He smiles softly as Bill grabs it from his hand, sitting up against the headboard. “Oh, Ted, that is totally bodacious. There is nothing that could elevate my morning to absolutely stellar than a sausage and egg McMuffin right now.”
Ted gets a look on his face like he feels guilty about something, and Bill feels his heart ache. “Uh, they were out of sausage, so it’s just egg. I’m sorry, dude, it’s most egregious.”
“No, that’s even better, Ted!”
“It is?”
“Totally! This way we’re not killing pigs, which would be most odious. Outstanding environmentalism, Ted!”
The smile that spreads across Ted’s face makes Bill’s heart hurt in another, different way, so he thinks maybe he can’t win. Except this way feels warm and nice and totally bodacious, and makes Bill’s skin itch to be closer to him.
“Excellent!” Ted flips down on the bed beside Bill, rotating just enough to air guitar in time together. He hands Bill his McMuffin, fingers brushing and lingering in a way Bill has never noticed before.
He shrugs it off and unwraps his McMuffin, closing his eyes as he takes a bite, savouring the too cold too greasy deliciousness of early morning take out. It’s triumphant, and serves as the excellent cherry on top of his most excellent morning.
When he opens his eyes Ted is watching him, eyes slowly tracing his jawline so intently Bill almost drops his muffin, but he stops the second he catches Bill’s eyes on him, looking down like he’s been caught.
Weird.
Bill opens his mouth to say something about it (not that he’s sure what he's going to say; it happened so fast he’s not entirely sure he didn’t imagine it), when Ted clears his throat.
“So, how’d you sleep, dude?”
“Oh,” Bill says, mouth still full, “I almost forgot. I slept most triumphantly.”
Ted grins, hair spread out around his head like a halo. “Dude, that is excellent,” he nods, and they air guitar.
“I guess your totally excellent plan worked, Ted.”
He looks so pleased with himself that Bill can’t help but smile, watching him look bashful at the compliment. “Yeah. I guess it did. Maybe I’m not such a bonehead after all, right Bill?”
Bill’s heart flip flops at the hopeful look on Ted’s face, so honest and sweet. Without giving himself the chance to question the impulse, he reaches out the hand not holding his breakfast sandwich and runs it through Ted’s thick, silky hair. Soft and warm, just like him.
“You’re not a bonehead, Ted.”
The moment is dangerously close to being far too sentimental, and he’s certain that Ted is about to pull back and call him gay, but he leans into it, smiling like a cat napping in a sun spot. He looks so beautiful and peaceful, like an old oil painting. He looks like he was painted by the finest artist who ever lived, except Bill feels sure he could travel all of history, visit every painter who will ever live, and none of them would be able to capture how utterly magnificent Ted is.
Huh, Bill blinks, thoughts swirling. That seems pretty gay.
“So,” Ted whispers after what feels like eternity, “do you wanna sleep in my bed again tonight?”
He thinks maybe he should say no. Maybe it’s fixed for good now, his nightmares. Maybe he has a better chance battling his nightmares than he does trying to deal with the peculiar constricting of his chest at the thought of sharing Ted’s bed again.
He thinks maybe he should say no. His thoughts are no match for the fire in his stomach that’s urging him to be as close to Ted as possible, though.
“Dude, that would be most non-heinous.”
Hot.
Melting hot like a blue flame, twisting and burning and spitting and flickering.
Hands.
Grabbing.
Grabbing at him, his clothes, his face, his skin. Not making his skin crawl, but his flesh burn, every inch of him on fire, the fingertips brushing over him, licking at him like flames.
Lips.
On his neck, on his ear, on his lips. Soft and hot and urgent, kissing like they need the air inside his lungs, like if they stop they could never feel again.
Bill feels everything.
“Yeah,” he whispers, voice sticking in his throat, unable to force out the word. “Yes-”
He can feel those lips breathing on him, into him, feels rather than hears when they softly moan “Bill,” into his mouth.
“Ted.”
He opens his eyes and sees Ted, shirtless, disheveled, breathing like he’s just run a marathon.
On his knees, lips parted, eyes wide. Waiting.
Waiting for Bill.
“Bill-”
“Bill.”
Bill groans, opening his eyes to see Ted’s worried face looming over him. “What’s happening?”
“You were squirming. It looked like you were having a nightmare.”
Bill blinks, trying to remember what he was dreaming about. He doesn’t feel like he was having a nightmare. He doesn’t remember having a nightmare. He remembers being hot, and he remembers he couldn’t breathe, and he remembers-
Oh.
Oh, this is most unfortunate.
“Uh, yeah. I was. Thanks, dude.” Bill quickly turns back over, trying his hardest to pretend to be asleep, and unlike every other time he’s woken up from a bad dream in the middle of the night, thinking desperately of Granny.
He feels Ted lay back down, too. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not now, Ted.” He doesn’t mean to sound so annoyed, but he’s too embarrassed to think of another way to deal.
“Okay.” Ted sounds disappointed, and Bill is about to apologise when he carries on. “I’m sorry my totally excellent plan didn’t stop your totally unsavoury dreams, dude.”
“It did! Your plan was great, Ted.” It’s true, at least about the nightmares. It’s been about a week since the first night they shared a bed, and Bill hasn’t had a nightmare in days. This new dream is... uncharted territory. “I’ve stopped having nightmares ever since we started-”
“You don’t have to lie to me, dude. I get it.”
“No, seriously!” Bill squeals, cringing at how loud his voice sounds in the quiet darkness of their bedroom, “The seriously odious dreams are gone!”
“But you still have those dreams!”
“Those aren’t the nightmares.” He’s dangerously close to telling Ted the truth, which is absolutely not an option, but he’s not sure what else to say. “Not anymore.”
Ted furrows his eyebrows, confusion evident on his face even through the darkness. “What?”
“I don’t have nightmares anymore. Just... different dreams.”
“Different dreams?” He seems more confused than before, and Bill isn’t sure how to explain himself. “Why didn’t you say?”
“Well, I-”
“What kind of different dreams, dude?”
Ted looks so concerned, like Bill’s suffering breaks his heart, and suddenly it’s very hard to breathe. He doesn’t want to lie to Ted. Lying feels impossible with Ted staring wide eyed at him from across the mattress.
“Uh-” He doesn’t want to lie to Ted, but this can’t possibly be any better. “I didn’t want you to get uncomfortable.”
Ted still looks concerned, and confused , but Bill feels his fingers brush against his and his breath catches as Ted twines their fingers together. “Why would I?”
“Because...” He can’t even look Ted in the eyes. “They’re... intimate dreams, dude.”
Ted stays quiet for a second, and Bill thinks he’s shocked into silence, but when he finally meets his eyes he just looks deep in thought.
He takes a deep breath after a while, like he’s not sure how to say what he means. “Like... babe dreams?”
He doesn’t sound repulsed, exactly. Just curious. Prying like he’s waiting for a specific answer.
Bill doesn’t know what he wants to hear.
“Yeah.” He says, after a moment too long. “Something like that.”
Ted nods, seriously, eyes boring into Bill’s with a severity he doesn’t often see coming from Ted. “Dude, that’s fine.”
“It is?”
“Yeah,” he’s still nodding, and he looks so confident that Bill starts nodding along with him, “It’s natural, dude. That’s just your animal brain telling you everything is totally bodacious.”
Bill blinks, dumbfounds. “Dude. For real?”
“Sure!” Ted smiles, chipper as ever.
“You don’t find that totally heinous?”
“Of course not, Bill!” Ted’s happiness is contagious, and Bill can’t help but smile back at him. “I’m just happy you aren’t having nightmares anymore!”
“Dude, excellent!”
Their hands separate for a second to air guitar in unison, and Bill tries to disguise his disappointment when Ted’s hand doesn’t find his again.
He turns, closing his eyes and trying to will the memory of Ted’s warm palm in his out of his brain so he can actually rest , when all of a sudden he feels something wrap around his stomach. Something very warm and very strong, pulling him in close.
Closer than normal.
Bill tries to suppress the shiver that runs through him at the feeling of Ted’s whole body pressed against him, the taller boy easily covering his every inch. His skin feels electric where Ted is touching him. He can feel it like a current dancing up and down his spine, spiking from his heart and settling low in his stomach, fluttery and volatile. He can barely breathe. He feels Ted’s nose at the back of his head, only for a moment, before he seems to settle, breathing softly into the nape of Bill’s neck.
He feels alive with adrenaline, every hair in his body standing on end.
It’s gonna be a long night.
Ted is typically scatterbrained, but this is most extreme.
Their living room resembles an explosion at a paper factory, except the kind of paper factory where they make paper that comes already scribbled on and covered in lyric concepts. Ted is so deep into his songwriting groove that he doesn’t even notice that Bill has come home. He just keeps gently strumming and muttering softly to himself.
It is most unusual.
Bill plucks a random sheet from the table Ted has monopolised as a footrest, and starts to read it out loud.
“The starlight dancing in your eyes is more beautiful than any art I’ve seen,” Bill reads, and Ted startles, “I only care about the moon when it’s light is glinting off your skin. That is most profound, Ted.”
“Bill,” He mutters, eyes wild like Bill has caught him doing something dirty, “I thought you would be gone until tonight.”
“Ted, you bonehead, it is tonight already.”
Ted twists his neck to gaze out the window, the streaks of light from the single street lamp catching his deep brown eyes. “Huh. I guess you’re right, Bill.”
He nods. “Of course I’m right, Ted.”
“Yeah,” Ted mumbles, nodding along with Bill, “You are most well versed in matters of time, Bill.”
The piece of paper is still weighing down Bill’s hands, and he skims his eyes over it again. “Brush your skin against mine, the sheets in between are an ocean and I don’t know how to swim. Ted, you know how to swim!”
“Yeah,” he says, unable to meet Bill's eyes, “it’s a metaphor, dude.”
Bill furrows his brow in confusion. “A metaphor? Like the kind that falls from the sky?”
“I think that’s a meteor, dude.”
“Oh.” Bill’s eyes keep finding their way back to Ted’s lyrics. They sound beautiful. He has no idea why Ted would want to hide such bodacious lyrics from him, especially when they could be such an unprecedented hit for Wyld Stallyns. “I want to hold you in my arms, share my bed together, fitting like puzzle pieces that were meant to be.”
A look of guilt clouds Ted’s features, and Bill suddenly realises with a jolt exactly why Ted has been hiding this from him.
“Ted...” Bill whispers, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even realise.”
“It’s okay.” Ted mutters. “I was hoping you wouldn’t.”
“I feel awful. If I had known that you were so excited to share your bed with someone else, I never would have slept in it for so long.”
Ted’s eyes snap up to meet his, but Bill can barely look at him. His heart is in his throat at the thought of keeping Ted from happiness. “What?”
“Ted, you must be the most excellent, most bodacious dude in the whole world, but I can’t stay if it’s going to prevent you from achieving your ultimate happiness-”
“What? No, Bill, it’s about you.”
“I- What ?”
His eyes lock with Ted’s, and where he expects to see hurt or regret he just sees confusion. “It’s about you, Bill. The song. Everything, really.”
“It’s about me?”
Ted nods slowly, carefully not breaking eye contact. “Yeah.”
“But it’s a love song.”
He continues nodding, like Bill is getting real close to a major understanding breakthrough. “Yeah.”
“So-” Bill gulps, trying to look Ted in the eyes as he speaks, “you like me?”
“Yeah, dude. I love you.”
“Huh.” Bill can barely process the thought. It’s too much. It’s not real. It doesn’t seem possible. Ted is so- Ted. Perfect. Ted could love anyone in the world, and he chose Bill. “That seems pretty gay, dude.”
Ted laughs, and the sound of it makes Bill’s heart flutter, and suddenly everything makes sense. “Yeah, dude. I guess it is.”
“Cool!” Bill smiles, and Ted’s face lights up in a way that makes Bill melt, “I love you too.”
He flops down next to Ted on the sofa, unable to keep the smile from his face, even as Ted presses his lips to his. It’s a truly odious kiss, because Bill can’t stop grinning, and Ted can barely keep himself from outright giggling, so they only last a few seconds before they give up, laughing and falling back onto the couch together.
It’s the best kiss Bill has ever had.
Ted throws his arm around Bill’s middle, pulling him close, snuggling into his back. Bill wiggles in an attempt to get comfortable as Ted lets out a hum of approval.
“Oh yeah, I definitely think we’ve found the one, Bill.”
Bill rolls his eyes. “I dunno, dude, I would have to disagree.”
“No Bill, I am telling you,” Ted mumbles, with all the confidence Ted usually speaks with, “the Hybrid option provides all of the soft and totally outstanding joys of the memory foam but with all the chilled non-heinous practicality of the pocket springs.”
“But Ted, the memory foam would be a totally wise investment due to it’s enhanced durability.”
“It may be more durable, Bill, but you know it gets odiously too warm, dude. The springs of the pocket coil provide airflow for a period of most comfortable restfulness.”
He hums thoughtfully, as Ted’s fingers traced soft circles into his collarbone through his shirt. “Ted, my most excellent best friend and highly esteemed boyfriend?”
The smile on Ted’s face still makes Bill’s stomach flutter. “Yes Bill?”
“If you believe this would be a most outstanding investment, then I trust you, dude.”
Ted’s lips connect with his as soon as the words are out, and he can’t help but savour the kiss, pulling Ted back in by his shirt collar after he tries to pull away. Bill deepens the kiss, almost on instinct, wanting to be as close to Ted as humanly possible. If he could become a ghost again, he would totally not waste it this time and go inside Ted and never come out. Dying sucked though, so he probably won’t become a ghost again, especially not just to be inside Ted.
He doesn’t need to be a ghost for that.
They hear someone's throat clear at the foot of the bed, and regretfully break apart. “So, will it be this one, then? In the king size?”
Their eyes lock, and Ted’s smile is so contagious that Bill finds it spreading across his own face as well.
“We’ll take it.” They say, simultaneously.
As the disgruntled mattress salesman disappears to get the paperwork, they air guitar together, in unison, like they are in everything they do. Ted grabs the hand Bill is waving up his imaginary fretboard and uses it to pull him closer, hands finding Bill’s hips, and pulls him into a kiss that leaves Bill wondering how he ever wanted anything different.