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“Welcome, caller, to the Max Rebo Show! Who do we have with us tonight?”
“Hey, Rebo! My name’s Fe. I’ve been listening to your show for a while, and I’ve noticed that you have yet to talk about something I’ve been dying to hear. Did Clark ever show up when you invited him to your shop? First he ghosts the show for days, and then he comes back without a single explanation! You’re killing us here, dude.”
“Well, firstly, dear caller, I’m amazed that you remember all that—that was months ago. Several months ago. Do I have a new stalker? I didn’t think I was popular enough for two stalkers.”
Another voice comes over the line, muffled. “You’re more popular than you think, Rebo.”
“Not denying the stalker part, I see.”
“Who was that? Holy shit, was that—”
“Caller, I’m gonna have to let you go, but rest assured, all your questions will be answered if you stick around for the rest of the show. Today’s segment, as you will soon find out—shut up, you look fine, they can’t even see you—it’s a very special segment! Friends and fiends, put your hands together for the one, the only, Mister Clark!”
***
After that night—The Night—the night that everything changed—Peter didn’t bring up the Rebo show right away. Neither of them brought it up, but Malcolm could tell he was dying to know whether “Clark” would be calling in again.
When Malcolm called in the following weekend, he could practically feel Peter smiling into the microphone.
“Hey, stranger,” Rebo had said.
“Hey yourself,” Clark said.
And they had come to a mutual understanding, over that call, that they wouldn’t mention what happened between them. Not yet. That was something they wanted to keep for themselves, at least for now. Although Kit was decidedly vocal about her confusion.
“What the fuck!” Her voice was far away and muffled over the air, and it was enough to send both Peter and Malcolm into hysterics.
And apparently, Kit wasn’t the only one who was dying to know what happened.
Now Malcolm sits across from Peter, a heavy pair of headphones over his ears and a giant mic settled in front of his face. Peter wiggles his eyebrows across from him.
“Friends and fiends, put your hands together for the one, the only, Mister Clark!”
“Actually,” he says, “my name’s Malcolm.”
“Bah, Rebo and Malcolm,” Peter scrunches his nose. “Not as catchy. Two double-syllable names—too clunky.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Apparently not enough to keep me from gaining a following,” Peter says.
That’s the cue.
“Yeah,” Malcolm clears his throat as he pulls up his phone. “Who knew people would enjoy the sound of your voice this much? The Rebo Show Twitter account has gained thousands of new followers over the course of just a few months.”
“I didn’t even know I had a Twitter. Thanks Kit!”
“I haven’t forgiven you!” Kit shouts through the glass. Malcolm laughs when she shoots him a particularly sour glare.
“Kit’s peeved I kept Clark a secret,” Peter says. “I’m sure many of you feel the same. So, we’re here to lay it all out in the open. Once again, dear listeners, I would like to introduce you to Clark—not just as my favorite listener in the world and our special guest on the show tonight, but also...” Peter smiles, almost giddily. “...as my boyfriend. Malcolm.”
Kit throws her hands up into the air, either in triumph or complete exasperation. Malcolm has a feeling it’s both.
Malcolm’s phone starts to buzz in his hand. Notifications start to pop up on the screen, more than he’s seen on his own phone before.
“Malcolm and I actually knew each other this whole time, funny enough,” Peter says.
“Uh, Rebo.”
“We went to college together. Isn’t that insane?” Peter continues. His eyes go soft, and he laughs. “We hated each other. Well, sort of.”
“Rebo.”
“It’s a long story, guys, but it’s a good one. Maybe I’ll tell it some time. But yeah, surprise, we’re totally a thing now. Hashtag, uh, ReboClark. No, that’s lazy. Clebo? Gross. Rebark? Maybe.”
“Rebo! Look at this.”
Peter finally snaps out of his rambling, grabbing his own phone from where Malcolm had it pushed in front of Peter’s face, the Rebo Show’s official Twitter already pulled up. Peter’s eyes light up, and his mouth opens in shock.
“Oh, shit.”
“People are going nuts,” Malcolm says, mystified, as he scrolls through Twitter on his own phone. @reboshowforreal has been tagged thirty times in the past two minutes, and it just keeps going.
cleo @dabislut
listening to @reboshowforreal and almost crashed my car. I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS FOR MONTHS???? SOMEBODY SEDATE ME
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matty matt @cryptidmatt
Replying to @dabislut
WHAT WHAT’S HAPPENING??? BREATHE BITCH
Malcolm lets out a disbelieving chuckle as he scrolls through all their mentions. Peter looks up at him, and they share an equally mystified smile. Peter shakes his head and goes back to the phone.
“‘My life is complete now that #rebark is real,’” Peter reads out loud. “‘I can die happy.’ Well, don’t do that.”
“In all caps, ‘#rebark is real, shut the fuck up, I’m eating dirt,’” Malcolm reads from his own phone. “That’s...a compliment, right? That sounds like something Goby would say. Also, are we really sticking with Rebark?”
“Wait, this one is different,” Peter says, leaning over so Malcolm can read it from Peter’s phone.
Howard Lu @howielu
Very proud of my boys... Miranda taught me Twitter for this. Glad you finally figured things out... About damn time you did. Many congratulations, Malcolm and Peter... Mention my shop on your show once in a while, would you? Winky face... @reboshowforreal @malmalmal
“Mr. Lu?” Malcolm squawks.
Peter laughs, loud and a bit hysterical. “Oh my god. Holy shit, we have fans. We have shippers. Oh my god, what is happening?”
“I told you people like your show, dumbass,” Malcolm says.
“People like us,” Peter corrects. “We make a good team, Clark.”
There’s a knocking from the glass, and Malcolm and Peter look over to see Kit pointing to the phone. Someone’s calling in.
Peter picks up, smooth as ever. “Howdy, howdy! Welcome to the Max Rebo Show, who do we have here?”
“Um, hey,” the caller says, and Malcolm and Peter both seem to clock onto their shy demeanor pretty fast. Their voice is high and breathy, undoubtedly nervous from the way it shakes. “I can, um...I can use whatever name I want on here, right?”
“Of course,” Peter says, his voice changing just slightly, his energy settling. Malcolm’s amazed at the way he changes his tone so quickly to fit what he thinks the caller needs. “We’ll call you whatever you like, as long as it’s radio appropriate.”
“Even then, we’ll probably still say it,” Malcolm says, to Kit’s dismay.
The caller lets out a breath. “Um. Can you call me Ivan?”
“Of course, Ivan,” Peter says. “Very nice to meet you! That’s a nice name.”
“Thank you. I, uh, picked it myself.”
“Same here,” Malcolm says immediately. Peter smiles at him, soft and secretive. “Feels good, yeah? Better?”
“Yeah,” they say. “Much better.”
“Did you have something you wanted to talk about, Ivan?” Peter asks gently. “No pressure to hurry, we can always just chat about our days. I saw a skunk on the way to work.”
The caller laughs, and Malcolm can hear them relax. “I just wanted to call to say...uh, well, you guys...you sort of really helped me. I’ve been keeping up with the show since I found it a few months ago, and it’s helped me so much. To know that people...people like me...can be this successful, and happy—well, it just helped me get through some really tough times.”
Peter’s staring at the table, looking slightly stunned. Malcolm reaches over and grabs his hand, rubbing his thumb over the top. Peter’s eyes have gone misty, and Malcolm can feel himself getting choked up too. He feels that distant urge to run away, the urge he used to always give into, and he pushes it away with a gentle hand.
“There have been so many times where I just felt so alone. But you guys are such an inspiration, a-and I wanted you guys to know that. Thank you, Rebo. Thank you, Clark. Thank you so much.”
“Oh, god,” Peter says, his voice wobbly. “I did not expect to cry on the air. Thank you, Ivan. You are just as much of an inspiration to us as you say we are to you.”
“Really? I-I haven’t done anything special.”
“Not true, man,” Malcolm says. “You’re being you. In a world like ours, that’s brave as hell. Keep being you, Ivan, okay? Promise me that. No matter what anyone says, just keep being you.”
“And if you can’t be you anywhere else,” Peter adds, “you know you have us. Call in any time, Ivan. You can be yourself here. Always.”
There’s a sniff on the line, and a shaking breath. “Thank you. Thank you.”
Soon after Ivan leaves, another call comes in.
“Busy day,” Peter says with another disbelieving laugh. Malcolm has a feeling it’ll take a while for the show's popularity to fully sink in with him—with either of them. “Welcome, caller! What’s your name, what’s your hobby, what’s your favorite muppet?”
“Hey! Uh, Stephanie. Crochet, right now. And—um, Kermit, I think?”
“Basic, but understandable,” Peter says. “Mine’s Gonzo. What brings you in today, Steph?”
“And Stephanie,” Malcolm cuts in, “would you mind telling us how long you’ve been listening to the show?”
Peter blinks at him, but Stephanie answers before he can comment.
“Oh, ages. I’ve been here almost since the beginning.”
Peter lets out a gust of air, sinking into his chair a bit. “Oh, wow.”
Stephanie continues. “I’ve been wanting to call in for a while, but honestly, I kinda thought the calls were just for Clark.”
“What!” Peter exclaims, and Malcolm’s not sure whether to laugh or blush. “Why would you think that? I had other callers!”
“Yeah, like, two.”
“Okay, moving on,” Malcolm interrupts, ignoring the way Kit has started shaking with laughter in his peripheral vision. “What did you want to talk about, Stephanie?”
“Well, I guess I just wanted to ask you guys what you had planned for the future. Y’know, now that you guys have ‘met’ and everything.”
“Oh,” Malcolm says. He’s surprised that anyone was interested in their lives outside of the show. “Interesting question. Rebo?”
“Nuh-uh, go ahead, Clark. I know you’ve got an answer in your head, I can see it on your face,” Peter says, leaning back in his chair with a grin. He waves his hand in front of him. “The floor is yours.”
“You’re unbearable, you know that?” Malcolm says, and Peter smiles even wider. “I guess...I have some thoughts.”
“Mhmmm,” Peter presses. “Go on.”
Malcolm sighs. “I sort of had this idea, a little bit ago, but it’s kind of stupid.” Malcolm half wishes that Peter would interrupt, but he waits for Malcolm to continue, curious. “I thought, maybe, it would be cool if we had this kind of—bar-slash-record shop? Like a combination of the pub and Roisin. And we could...I dunno, we could be in charge of it. Together. I guess.”
There’s silence for a moment.
“Wow,” the caller breathes, and Malcolm jumps. “That’s so romantic.”
“Christ, I forgot you were still here,” Malcolm says, his hand pressed to his chest.
“Language!” Kit yells.
“Our listeners wouldn’t be here without our language!” Malcolm counters, leaning away from the mic. “It’s hip and relatable!” Kit gives him the finger.
Malcolm looks at Peter, finally, and finds him staring at him with wide eyes. “You would want to do that?” Peter says, a genuine question. “You’d wanna run a shop together? You and me?”
Malcolm feels his neck heat up, and he shrugs, suddenly remembering just how many people are listening to them right now. “Of course, I would. Lord knows your annoying ass would keep me busy on the slow days, at least.”
“He’s being mean to hide his vulnerability.”
“Bye, Stephanie!” Malcolm says abruptly, ending the call. “Didn’t think my therapist had this number, goddamn.”
Peter cackles, his eyes soft and adoring. “What would you call it? Our little bar-slash-record shop?”
Malcolm hums, pretending to think. He already has a written list of names hidden in his bedroom, but Peter doesn’t need to know that. “Would ‘Rebo and Clark’ be too on the nose?”
Peter often tries to keep his true feelings under wraps when his emotions get intense. Malcolm’s learned that over the past several months. He keeps a calm demeanor, still terrified of being ‘too much’ sometimes, despite how many times Malcolm has said he’s never too much for him. But Malcolm can see the way he melts now, ever so slightly. Peter smiles, and it’s the smile he only does for Malcolm, the one that makes Malcolm want to take a page out of Jazz’s book and start looking at hand crafted rings already.
“‘Rebo and Clark,’” Peter says, testing out the feel of it. He says it like an answer. “Yeah...yeah, I like that.” And Malcolm knows he means it.