Chapter Text
Hughie was broke. He hadn’t cancelled his credit cards yet and his dad was starting to worry about all the money he was borrowing. Hughie couldn’t decide yet whether or not he’d try to find his way back to Butcher’s or just call the bank and cancel his cards. He’d need to get a new ID soon if he wanted to go drink himself to death again. Hughie was still in that twentysomething age where bartenders weren’t too sure of his age. It didn’t help that Hughie was an awkward fuck and his voice squeaked at the slightest inconvenience.
So here he was, at work, almost a week after the monstrous affair with the gun-wielding maniac and worrying if he was going to starve tonight or tomorrow. His dad wasn’t going to let him eat all the pasta much longer and Hughie dreaded the day he would have to eat those stupid pizza rolls. He’d rather have a bomb up his ass than eat those fucking microwavables. Fuck that.
The work day was slow. People didn’t need to buy much tech everyday, but the pay was good and in a few years, Hughie could move out and live on his own. Hugh Campbell wasn’t a bad roommate, but Hughie didn’t want to live with his dad forever. He didn’t want to sleep in the same bed he’d peed in when he was seven. He didn’t want to bring someone over and fuck against his old superhero sheets. That’d be sad. More than sad. Hughie needed to get his life together. And now with Robin gone…Hughie was an even sadder sack of shit than he usually was.
The doorbell to the store dingled with the entry of a new customer. Hughie checked his watch. He could go on his break in fifteen, eat sad ramen, and check his phone for any missed texts from Robin. The customer walked along the aisles, going to look at a white bear. The customer, a guy in a long ass leather trenchcoat--who the fuck wore leather that long--had his back turned to him.
Hughie cleared his throat. “You, uh, interested in a nanny cam? ‘Cause we’re actually running a special on that. Um, it’s a pretty popular bear. There’s cameras in the eyes,” he told the stranger. Hughie was their best salesmen. He was their only salesmen, but still, he was their best. The old ladies all thought he was charming.
“Actually, Hughie, I’m more interested in you.” The man turned around. Gun-psycho.
“Shit,” Hughie stumbled back, “hey, man look, I don’t want any trouble.”
“Trouble? Hughie,” Butcher tsked, “you already walked into trouble, mate.” More like fucked, but Hughie wasn’t about to correct him. Not when he could be wearing a gun at this exact moment. Fuck, Hughie didn’t want to die in the tech store.
“Jesus, what do you want?” Hughie asked, moving to stand behind the glass counter of the register, give himself some distance from Butcher. Not that it did much, Butcher could probably choke him from across the glass. The man in question put the nanny cam back on a shelf and followed after Hughie. “About the other night, I was drunk. Really drunk, bad break-up kind of drunk. So whatever we did, sorry about that.” And he was sorry about that. He had been so needy with Butcher, so willing to do all sorts of things he wouldn’t have done without alcohol involved.
Butcher snorted. “Listen, you were a nice lay. Thought I’d pop in and give back your wallet, alright?” Butcher tossed him his wallet. Hughie leafed through it, checking for his cash and cards. There was a twenty missing. “Cabbie fee,” Butcher explainer. “We’re square, yeah? Or are you still frightened of me? I’m bein’ a good samaritan and all that, should earn me something.”
“Good samaritan,” Hughie sputtered, “I thought you were going to murder me!”
“Hughie, what kind of men are you picking up at bars?” Butcher rolled his eyes, “Was it the gun?”
“Guns, plural, lots of guns,” Hughie corrected. “And knives, too many knives.”
“Hughie, mate, I’m not a hitman or whatever you think it is I am, I’m a P.I., ex-bounty, I’ve got guns. For perfectly legal reasons at that.”
“A P.I.?” Hughie raised a brow. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Yeah, don’t be a fucking twat.” Butcher dug his hands into his pockets. “Listen, I don’t know about you, but I had fun the other night. Thought we could make a go of it.”
Fun? Butcher had fun when he got Hughie off and suffered from whiskey dick? That was fun for him? And he wanted to do it again, with Hughie? Un-fucking-likely.
“Sorry, but I just got out of a relationship,” Hughie told him.
“I’m not looking for anything serious,” Butcher said. “I’m not gonna ask for your bloody hand in marriage, princess. I got something going on myself, but you seem nice enough.” Butcher looked Hughie over. Hughie hated himself for blushing. “I seem to recall some eagerness on your part.”
“I was drunk.”
“So let’s get a drink.” Butcher grinned, wicked and evil. Butcher was Trouble. Trouble for Hughie, Trouble for the world.
“I’m not getting a drink with you,” Hughie told him. “Thanks for giving me back my wallet, but I’m good man.”
“Alright,” Butcher said, shrugging. “Just think about it, yeah? I know you’d look better spread out for me than cooped up here.”
Hughie’s cheeks burned brighter. Jesus fucking Christ, Hughie, get a fucking grip. Hughie didn’t say anything. Butcher chuckled and gave him another nod, heading for the door.
“See you around, princess.”
The tinkle of the bell signaled Butcher’s exit. Hughie breathed easier without him there, taking up his air. Hughie checked his wallet again, looking for something to do and calm his heartbeat. In between his library card and license was a piece of paper. Hughie pulled it out. It was a card. A business card.
Billy Butcher, The Boys Private Investigation
Spank the nasty bastards.
And underneath it was an office phone number and a personal one. Hughie thumbed the letters on the paper, looking down at the ink. Huh. He turned it over. Butcher had scrawled something on the back.
Call me if you ever wanna get naughty.
Hughie snorted. What a fucking idiot. Did those lines ever work on anybody? Seriously, ‘naughty?’ What was he? Santa Claus? They must’ve worked because Hughie was already wondering when he’d text. God, Hughie was an idiot. He was an absolute fucking moron. Hughie had nothing else going on, so why not. Famous last words. Butcher must really be some hook-up if Hughie was about to do this. And he was about to do it.