Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

That night, 1984

He had insisted that he didn’t need to go to hospital, but no one had listened to him. They’d all reconvened back at the Byers’ house, all the kids and Hopper and Nancy and Joyce and Jonathan, with fucking Hargrove sprawled on one of the sofas and Eleven – who he’s heard so much about, but never actually met – passed out on the other one. Hopper had carried her in, and Mike had rushed over to her side, and now sits on a chair next to her holding her hand and glaring fiercely at anyone who suggests otherwise.

Will is exhausted. He has enormous hollows underneath his eyes, and Joyce bundles him up and takes him to bed with a quick smile at Steve. So it’s Hopper who’s the last adult, the one to take over Steve’s position as person-in-charge and tell him he needs medical attention.

“I’m fine,” Steve protests. He’s sitting at the kitchen table with Dustin, Lucas and Max, a pack of frozen carrots wrapped in a tea towel against his swollen purple face.

“Steve,” Nancy says softly from the doorway. He glances up at her, and then wishes he hadn’t; Byers is holding her hand. “You look terrible.”

Max fidgets. “Billy nearly killed him,” she says, the traitor.

“But Steve put up a great fight,” Dustin adds quickly, as though that might be in doubt. Steve sighs and switches the carrots to the other side of his face.

“Hospital,” Hopper repeats, in a no-nonsense kind of voice. “You have no idea what brain damage this sack of shit—” He cuts himself off, glaring at Hargrove’s inert form from underneath his bushy eyebrows.

“I’ll be fine,” Steve says again. “I survived the Upside Down, didn’t I—”

Hopper takes a step forward. “Yeah, kid, you did,” he says. “And we’ll be discussing just what you were thinking, going there, another time.” He glances around at the kids, who have the grace to look away guiltily. “You were jacked up on adrenaline. You need to go to hospital, and goddammit, I’m not hearing another argument about it.” For a moment, his eyes linger on Eleven, lying next to Mike on the couch. “I’m not losing anyone else,” he says softly.

“I’ll take you,” Nancy begins, but Steve flinches involuntarily, and she subsides.

“I’ll take you,” Byers says, which is hardly any better, but Hopper nods.

For a while, in the car, neither of them speak. Steve leans his head back against the headrest and tries to ignore the pounding in his head and the way his eyes have swollen up so much he can barely see. Byers glances over at him a few times, tries to pretend he isn’t doing it.

Steve looks at him. Byers is biting his lip. He says, tiredly: “It’s okay, man.”

Another flickering look. “I want you to know,” Byers says, “I mean, me and Nancy… Nothing happened, you know, until after you guys…”

“Yeah,” Steve says. He turns away, looks out the window. “I get it.”

There’s a silence, which feel spectacularly loud. Byers says, quietly: “I’m sorry.”

Steve looks back at him. There’s a tiny hard part of him that wants to hold onto the anger, hold onto Nancy, but honestly? He doesn’t have the energy for it. He thinks about Hargrove, still passed out on the Byers’ couch. Maybe the old him, King Steve, would be ready for a fight over this. Ready to make his second attempt at beating Jonathan’s face in, and probably ready to fail again.

He’s not that guy anymore.

“It’s okay,” he says again. He sighs. “Look, I get it. Nancy’s…” He swallows. “Special. And I’ve always known you guys were close.” He looks straight ahead, watches the road disappear under the wheels of the car. “If it’s not going to be me, I’m glad it’s you.”

“I get that,” Byers says softly. He gives an odd, gentle laugh. “That’s kind of how I felt, before.”

“Yeah, so,” Steve says, leaning back. “We’re cool.”

They tell him, at the hospital, that he’s concussed. It’s not really a surprise; Steve’s really starting to feel the effects of the beating Hargrove dealt out now. He stumbled, rather than walked, into the ER. They clean up his face and give him some painkillers, and then he’s sent home, with strict instructions to Jonathan to wake him up every hour.

“You don’t have to stay with me,” Steve says half-heartedly, when Byers pulls up outside his house.

Jonathan looks at him. “Are your parents home?”

Of course they aren’t. “No,” he says sullenly.

Byers laughs. “Then I’m staying,” he says simply.

Steve’s head is pounding, so he takes the painkillers they gave him at the hospital and flops onto the couch with an exhausted sigh. Byers sits on the armchair, glances over at the TV and then doesn’t turn it on. Steve is too tired to ask why. He lets his eyes close with grateful relief.

“Do you think Billy will make things difficult for Max?” Byers asks thoughtfully.

Steve cracks open one eyelid. “Hargrove?” he says. He can feel his teeth grinding together at even the mention of the name. “He’s a coward.”

“True,” Byers acknowledges. “Still.”

“Hopper will take care of him,” Steve says sleepily, letting his eyes close again. “He’s going to talk to Max’s parents. Get them to keep him in line.”

Byers makes an odd, shuddery sound. “I don’t envy him,” he says. “Neil Hargrove creeps me out.”

“Never met him,” Steve says.

“He’s come into the store before, when mom was working,” Byers tells him. “Kinda lost it at one of the cashiers. Not mom, one of the guys. I was there. It was weird.”

Steve settles himself further into the couch cushions. “Well, good,” he says. “Maybe he’ll lose it at Billy.” He touches his face gingerly, winces. “Kid deserves it.”

“He sure got you good,” Byers agrees. “Go to sleep, Steve. I’ll wake you up to check you’re still alive.”

“Good to know,” Steve says dryly, but honestly he feels warm, and kind of safe, falling asleep on his couch with Jonathan Byers at his side. His face is aching, but the painkillers are starting to kick in, and the pain isn’t so sharp anymore. The cushions are soft underneath his head - way softer than the ones on Joyce Byers’ lumpy sofa, though he doesn’t say that to Jonathan - and his eyes flutter closed.

It’s over. They fought the monsters, and they won. Steve knows he’s not really important, not like that freaky Eleven kid or Byers’ little brother or even Nancy, but he managed to keep the kids safe, and now…

Now he can rest. So he does.

*

Billy wakes up to a sharp nasty smell prickling his nose and too much unnatural light. He’s still in the creepy shack with all the drawings on the walls, lying on a couch underneath the window, and it’s still dark outside. He can’t have been out too long.

There’s a man standing over him, and as he blinks and makes himself wake up – his head feels as though it’s splitting apart – he realizes that it’s the Chief.

“Sir,” he says, almost respectfully, because he’s not an idiot.

The Chief just growls. He looks… weary, and kind of dirty. His clothes are creased, and there’s a smudge of something dark on his forehead. Billy pushes himself into a sitting position, and takes stock of the room.

Walls, still creepy. The drawings are everywhere, mostly on white paper but some on blue or orange. They’re joined together like some kind of fucked up map. His eyes track the nearest pathway until he reaches the doorway. Max, the fucking traitor, is stood just slightly behind the rim of the door. Sinclair is with her, and that other curly-haired kid he’s seen her hanging around with. There’s another boy there too, with dark hair and watchful sharp eyes.

Billy doesn’t bother meeting Max’s eyes. She made her point pretty clear earlier, and while he’s still mad at her for it – so, so fucking mad – he also has the unpleasant sensation of not wanting to confront her again. Like he’s intimidated by her, or something. He feels his teeth grind together in his mouth, and he shakes his head and looks away.

The wallpaper is dingy, the whole place mildly unpleasant, and Billy hasn’t even begun to catalog the books on the shelves to his right or the corridor leading off to other rooms or the color of the kitchen table. It’s making him itch under his skin, not to know this place, to be able to map it out in his head, but he ignores the sensation and looks back up at the Chief.

“Where’s Harrington?” It’s a legitimate question, but it’s not what he’s really wondering. He remembers beating Harrington pretty bad. He’d lost it, just given over to the red hot burn of it all, and he’s not totally sure he hadn’t killed him.

The Chief grunts again. “Hospital,” he says. He frowns. “He’ll be fine, no thanks to you.”

Ah. So here it is. Billy, resigned, holds out his wrists; he knows how this story goes. “Take me away, Chief,” he says dramatically, and then laughs, the sound harsh in the small quiet room. He thinks of how incredibly pissed his dad is going to be, and laughs again.

Max makes a tiny, muted sound. The Chief looks over to her; Billy does not.

“Okay, kid,” the Chief says. He turns back to Billy, and his glare intensifies. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to take you and your sister home—”

“She’s not my sister,” Billy interrupts, tipping his head back lazily.

“Goddammit!” the Chief says, and then he bangs a fist against the wall so unexpectedly that even Billy flinches a little. “I’m taking you and the kid home, and you’re going to leave her, and these kids, and Harrington, alone, and in return I’m not going to arrest your ass.” He brings his face close to Billy’s, too close, and his eyes narrow meanly. “Got it?”

Billy swallows, and focuses on not looking anywhere near as intimidated as he feels. “Sure,” he says. The Chief takes a tiny step forward, and Billy holds up his hands instinctively. “I got it,” he says.

“He already promised,” Max says from the doorway.

“Not actually true,” Billy says, holding a finger up, because sometimes he doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. He puts it down again when the Chief growls at him. “Sentiment was there,” he allows. He thinks about Max, yelling at him with that bat in her hands, making him repeat himself. And then he thinks about where she learned that from.

The Chief takes them home, Max sitting in the front of his cruiser and Billy sprawled across the back seat. He’s deliberately not thinking about how his dad is going to react to the pair of them being dropped home past midnight by the chief of police. No one says anything all the way home. Max sits hunched over, her red hair falling over her face, and Billy just looks out of the window and watches the bare trees go by and tries to ignore his migraine.

The lights are still on when they get to Billy’s house, which means that Susan is up worrying. He leans forward, speaking for the first time. “What are you going to tell them?” He hates the faint tremor in his voice.

Max glances back over her shoulder, and then whips her head back around as though she wishes she hadn’t.

“The truth,” the Chief says slowly, and Billy is suddenly struck with the odd sense that whatever he’s about to say is going to be the opposite of truthful. “Your sister snuck out to go sleep over at Will Byers’ house, and you came to find her.” He turns to glare at Billy. “If you hadn’t got yourself into a fight with Harrington, you’d have been home hours ago.”

“You’re going to tell them about the fight?” Billy says, and then wishes he could bite back the words.

The Chief narrows his eyes. “Someone needs to get you in line, kid,” he says, his voice harsh, and Billy’s stomach feels like it’s dropping to his feet.

He gets out of the car first. Better to face the music sooner rather than later.

The Chief strides over to the front door, raps sharply a couple of times. Max looks small and damp behind him, her hair a curtain around her face. Billy shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels, watching as the shadow behind the curtains of the living room window rises and moves towards the sound.

The door opens, and Billy deliberately looks the other way.

“Maxine!” Susan sobs out, and she practically falls onto Max’s thin shoulders, pulling her into a hug. “Where have you been?” She glances up at the Chief. “We were just thinking of calling you!”

“Hopper, isn’t it?” comes a new voice, and Billy’s heart starts thumping. “My God. Thank you for finding her.”

Chief Hopper coughs. “She was at the Byers’,” he says. “You know Joyce Byers?”

“Oh,” Susan says confusedly, “yes—” She looks at Billy’s dad.

“Her kid Will is in Max’s class,” Hopper prompts. There’s a pause, and then he adds, awkwardly: “And her other son Jonathan goes to school with Billy here.”

Neil Hargrove takes a step forward. It’s just a step, just one little movement of his feet, a yard closer, but Billy feels it like a thud to the back of his head. “Billy,” he says quietly. He looks at Hopper. “What happened?”

Hopper opens his mouth to speak, but Billy gets there first. “Got in a fight,” he says, looking off to the side like he’s bored. “Creeper kid from school.”

“He’s not a creep!” Max cries. She turns to her mom. “I wanted to go to Will’s to hang out with my friends. Steve was babysitting.” She glares at Billy. “Billy beat him up.”

Billy holds up his hands. “Hey, dude lied to me,” he says. He looks at his dad, then, registers the quiet tight fury in his eyes. Tries to will him to get it without sounding like he’s doing it. “He told me Max wasn’t there. What was I supposed to think?”

“That I didn’t want you around, asshole!” Max says impatiently. “Mom, Billy’s always trying to stop me hanging out with my friends. It wasn’t Steve’s fault.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t, honey,” Susan says, hugging her again, but Billy isn’t listening anymore. Neil has a hard, angry look in his eyes, and it’s more effective than if he’d drawn a line across his throat.

The Chief says: “Harrington will be alright, but he took one hell of a beating.” He scratches his chin, glances at Billy. “I’m not going to be taking this any further this time, Mr Hargrove, but I’m going to need you to have a word with Billy. I know kids will be kids, but this…”

“I understand,” Neil says quietly. “Trust me, Chief, I know this is unacceptable.” He looks, very briefly, at Billy. “I’ll make sure Billy knows it too.”

Susan takes Max to bed after the Chief leaves, with just one shaky glance back over the top of her daughter’s head at Billy and Neil. Billy just waits.

Billy, later, thinks about Harrington. He thinks that, on balance, he’s glad he didn’t kill him. It’s difficult to remember the fight in any real detail; he’d been so angry, so fucking angry, and he’d had Lucas Sinclair up against the wall because he wouldn’t leave Max alone and she wouldn’t fucking listen to him—

Harrington had hit first. He knows that much. Sure, he’d pushed and shoved and shouted, but it was Harrington who threw the first punch. For the first time that evening, Billy had stopped feeling angry and coiled up like a loaded spring with nowhere to go; all that fucking rage, all the unfairness of the whole thing, all of it had given way to a kind of weird exhilaration that coursed through him, taking all the other crap with it.

King Steve. He’s heard that one a few times, but tonight is the first time he’s understood it. Understood who Harrington was, before Billy came to town. It was incredible, like the world’s greatest high, fighting Harrington. Absorbing his punches, and cracking back down. But then Harrington had stopped punching back. Just laid there, like even as Billy bloodied his face he was too good for it all, and all the anger had come rushing back, his head pounding, and the rest isn’t too clear anymore.

He remembers Max, smashing that stupid fucking bat between his legs. Remembers her demanding his complicity. Say it, she’d said. His dad does that too. Always works. He knows – he’s done it himself, to Max, after all.

He wants to get into it again. Wants Harrington to fight back, wants it to go on long and bloody. Was Harrington even really trying, or is he just a pussy? He wants Harrington be stronger. Wants it to be a proper fight. Imagines Harrington hitting him in the side of the head, laying him out. Taking him down.

Carefully, Billy touches the lump on the back of his head. It’s just slightly sticky, but he doesn’t think it’s bled much. His dad did it, shoved him up against the wall, and it’s not fair because Billy can’t fight back. He wants it to be a mark from Harrington. Wants it to be even. His cheek is flaming from the heavy-handed slaps Neil gave him, his nose throbbing from the punches Harrington did manage to get in. The pain feels good, grounding. He can imagine that all of it is from the fight, from the adrenaline of going toe-to-toe with Harrington. The aftermath, the quick ugly shove that caught his side against the kitchen counter, the dirty slaps, the spittle hitting his face, the push that sent him to the ground – none of that has to be real.

“Harrington, you little bitch,” Billy whispers into the warm air of his bedroom. If you look at it that way – if Harrington did all this to him – you kind of have to be impressed. Such a pretty boy, with his carefully styled hair and expensive car, but underneath it King Steve must be a real badass. Went head-to-head with Billy Hargrove, of all things – gave as good as he got, knocked Billy to the floor, made him bleed, left him with marks.

Better King Steve than Neil Hargrove, that’s for sure.

Chapter Text

Billy’s head wakes him up, throbbing in the brightness of the morning sun streaming in through his window. He hadn’t bothered to close his curtains the night before; he always enjoys looking up at the stars before he goes to sleep. It hadn’t been easy - his swollen nose made it difficult to keep his eyes open - but it sure beats staring at the cracked ceiling in his room and thinking about his shitty life.

He pushes himself up onto his elbows. There’s crusted drool around his mouth, and smears of brownish blood on his pillowcase.

He ignores it, rolling exhaustedly out of bed. Any minute now, Max’s mom will rap on his door, to remind him that he needs to get up to take Max to school; she almost certainly won’t speak. Too embarrassed, after knowing what his dad did yesterday. Knowing, and pretending it didn’t happen. He doesn’t roll his eyes, because it hurts, but he’s doing it mentally as he fumbles in his bedside cabinet for some aspirin, swallowing them dry.

School. It’s the last fucking thing he feels like doing today. Steve fucking Harrington will probably get the day off; he’s spoilt that way. Everyone will wonder where he is, and when he finally does come back, they’ll all know. King Steve, defender of the innocent. It might raise his stock again. Or it might make him look stupid, protecting a bunch of kids and losing the fight so tragically. If he is absent, Billy should really take advantage of it, spin the story his way.

Even the thought of it makes his face hurt.

He’s still wearing his clothes from the night before, but they’re sweaty and ripped in places, so he strips them off, snatching up his gray dressing gown from the back of the door. His head is still pounding, but no one at school can know it. It’s not his first time preparing for a performance after a rough night, and it won’t be his last.

He showers quickly, careful not to use up too much hot water, and dries himself in front of the steamy mirror. The aspirin is kicking in, and his headache has dulled to the point that he can comb through his hair without wincing. He wipes the mirror clear, taking stock of himself. His face isn’t too bad - a purple bruise under one eye, and a slightly swollen nose, but nothing to what Harrington will bring to school if he shows. What his dad did is more significant. There are bruises on his upper arms, and a welt on his side where he caught the edge of the kitchen counter. His leg is grazed as well, and the lump on the back of his head hasn’t gone down any.

Back in his bedroom, he dries his hair, running wax through it so that it lies flat over the lump. His usual eyeliner isn’t enough to distract from the bruises on his face, so he puts on some cover-up and blush as well - if it’s good enough for Nick Rhodes, it’s good enough for him. He chooses a shirt with mid-length sleeves to cover the bruises on his arms - tight and blue - and slings on a gray tank top underneath in case his shirt rides up above the cut on his side. He’s well-rehearsed at covering bruises.

By the time he heads downstairs, Billy has his face on. Plastic. He wanders into the kitchen, flat and bored with life, his bag over one shoulder. Susan is standing by the hob, looking her usual blend of anxious and generally faded.

“Oh,” she says, as Billy walks in. Her eyes flicker to the kitchen table, where Max and Neil are sitting. “Good morning, Billy.”

Billy gives a non-committal grunt in response, swinging his bag over the table as he sits. Susan brings him a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. She’s always nice to him the next day.

Max looks at him from behind her curtain of hair. Her eyes are mistrustful, but there’s the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth. She’s not afraid of him anymore. The little bitch is probably glad he got it from Neil, if she even knows it happened.

He ignores her. Ignores the frisson of something unpleasant rippling in the pit of his stomach when she looks at him.

“You’ll take Max to school,” his dad comments, as Billy scarfs down his eggs. He mumbles something incomprehensible around his fork; Neil nods, and no one else says anything at all.

Max doesn’t say a word in the car. Billy glances sideways at her a couple of times, but she just stares out the window and ignores him, so he cranks the music higher and keeps driving. He doesn’t swerve the corners quite so hard as he usually would when she’s pissing him off, though. He doesn’t want to think about why that is.

When he pulls up outside the middle school, he can see her stupid little friends waiting for her in the parking lot. The black kid steps forward a little when he sees Billy’s car. The fucking little pussy doesn’t have a scratch on him.

Fucking Harrington.

“Max,” he hears the kid say, as Max opens the passenger door. She swings out without a backwards look at Billy. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says. Billy takes a second to look at them all. The black kid, the weird curly-haired kid, the dark one with eyes that kind of make Billy shiver. There’s usually another one, a little one, but he doesn’t seem to be there today.

The curly-haired kid glances at Billy, and takes a step towards the car. Kid’s got guts, he’ll give him that. Billy shakes his head slightly.

“Four,” he calls out the window to Max, because he doesn’t want her thinking he’s completely lost his touch. “Or I’ll leave without you.”

She looks coolly at him. “Whatever,” she says, and Billy feels a cold shudder run through him. She’s got him now, got the measure of him. She’ll never believe him again for a second.

His hands are trembling as he gets a smoke out of his pocket, puts it to his lips and drives away.

He’s right in thinking that Harrington isn’t in school. It makes him a little shaky when he thinks about King Steve’s busted face, the blood pouring from his nose while Billy pounded on it. But the Chief - Hopper - said that he’d be okay, and Billy’s not exactly in the business of feeling guilty about shit like this.

The day seems kind of pointless somehow, as if having Harrington out of school has taken a bit of color out of his surroundings. Billy stands at his locker, examining the way his hair is arranged around his face, and pretends that it’s just a normal day. In many ways, it should be. He’s not sure why he’s so affected by what happened the night before; he’s beaten people up before, and his dad has certainly hit him harder than that before.

Except that he’s never quite lost it the way he did, never hit someone hard enough to put them in hospital, and it kind of scares him. He’s clutching onto life with both hands, always has been, but last night he lost control. Max saw it, and for some reason it didn’t scare her, not the way it scares him. He thinks she can see, now, how afraid he is. Afraid of Neil, afraid of losing himself, afraid of everyone seeing how little he actually deserves.

“Hey, Hargrove.” It’s Tommy, leaning back against the lockers on the other side of Billy’s like he’s some fucking city slicker. He grins, trying a little too hard. “How was it?”

Billy doesn’t bother looking up from the little mirror he has stuck up inside his locker. His nose looks red, but the cover-up is doing its job. “How was what?” he says, making sure he sounds as bored as possible.

“Didn’t you go out with Heather Green last night?” Tommy says, his eyebrows crinkling in obvious confusion. The kid is so fucking moronic that Billy’s willing to bet his own shoelaces confuse him. Behind the door of his locker, where Tommy can’t see, Billy lets his teeth sink into his bruised lower lip. The events of the weekend were so dramatic that he almost forgot about Heather fucking Green.

“Shit came up,” he says, still staring at his own face in the mirror. He looks hot, and kind of dangerous, if he says so himself. He can do high school, has always been able to navigate the waters of high school politics.

Tommy, clearly having no concept of fucking space invasion, swings his head around the door of Billy’s locker to see what Billy is doing. He smiles, oblivious to just how pissed off Billy is. “Shit better than Heather Green’s tits?”

She does have an incredible pair of tits. Billy just shrugs.

He walks to class without bothering to talk to Tommy anymore. He’s always found the kid inane, but usually he takes at least a little pleasure from the sycophantic nature of their interactions. Today, however, he just can’t be fucked.

“Good of you to join us, Mr Hargrove,” Ms Young says dryly when he gets to his English class. He’s late, which is nothing new, but she doesn’t normally comment on it. He figures it’s just the universe shitting all over him for the fortieth time.

He slides into his seat, skin tingling underneath his shirt. Harrington usually takes this class. His chair is noticeably empty.

“We’re supposed to be in pairs,” Tiffany Buckton - a startlingly unattractive girl for such a pretty name - whispers to him from the seat behind.

Billy glances over his shoulder. “For?”

Ms Young clears her throat. “We’re moving onto a new unit,” she says, obviously tapping into their conversation. She holds up a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. “Have you read this, Mr Hargrove?”

“Did you assign it?” Billy fires back, irritated. Tiffany sucks in a shocked breath.

“We’re beginning it today,” Ms Young replies. She doesn’t comment on his tone. “You should have a copy, it was on this year’s reading list.”

Billy fumbles in his book bag. Sure enough, the book is there - new, pristine, never opened. He takes it out, more for something to do with his hands than anything else. Ms Young is already walking towards the opposite side of the classroom.

“Did you see the serial?” Tiffany asks Billy quietly. “My mom rented it for me when she saw Pride and Prejudice on the reading list.”

“Nope,” Billy says. He looks down at the book in his hands. It feels kind of hard to care about some centuries-old story when Harrington isn’t in school and it’s his fucking fault. But then again, Billy’s life is always a shitshow, isn’t it? There’s no reason this fight should feel so momentous.

Ms Young makes them read the first two chapters aloud, one paragraph at a time. It’s pretty fucking difficult to be inspired by literature when the language is being butchered by the dry, nicotine-heavy voices of insecure hormonal teens still trailing the tail-end of puberty. Billy tunes out the stumbling voices, reading ahead with a finger on the right page so that when his name is called he’s ready.

“Mr Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character.” There’s something about reading out loud that Billy likes; he knows he does it better than his classmates, his tongue sliding along the old-fashioned words to make sense of them. Caprice. He likes the sound of that - being unpredictable. Impulsive.

Impulsive, like losing his shit at Harrington. Like pounding his face in, nearly killing him. He swallows.

“Her mind was less difficult to develop. She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her daughters married; its solace was visiting and news.” He finishes the paragraph, looking up to glance around the class. People are listening. He likes that. Tiffany Buckton actually has her chin in her hands.

When they’ve dragged their way through the first chapter, Ms Young says: “As we discussed at the start of class, you’ll be working in pairs for the next project. Each pair will present on the Regency era, with a particular focus on one of the themes present in the novel. We’ll be discussing thematic links over the next couple of weeks.”

There’s a collective groan. Billy just rolls his eyes.

Unfortunately, Ms Young notices. “You don’t have a partner, Mr Hargrove,” she says. “Consequences of being late, I’m afraid. You’ll have to join another group, everyone else is paired up.”

That’s when Tiffany fucking Buckton pipes up. “Steve’s not in today, Ms Young, Billy could be in a pair with him.”

Stupid, ugly, fucking Tiffany Buckton.

*

It’s late when Steve wakes up, the sun coming into the living room in that bright sparkly way that tells him he’s way, way overslept. He still feels exhausted, his body aching and heavy, and he’s vaguely aware that he’s been dreaming the whole time he’s been asleep, never quite managing to sink beyond the vivid flashing images. He can’t remember anything specific, but he doesn’t need to.

“Hey.” Steve starts at the sound of Nancy’s voice. Slowly, he forces his eyes open. He’s still lying on the couch in his parents’ living room, a blanket covering his bloodstained clothes.

Nancy is sitting on the armchair opposite, her shoes kicked off and her legs curled up underneath her. She has a book in her slender hands, one thumb holding it open at around the halfway point. She looks tired, her eyes reddened and heavy, but she’s showered since the last time Steve saw her at the Byers’ house, and she’s wearing clean clothes.

He pushes himself up onto his elbows, ignoring the pounding in his head. “What time is it?”

“Four,” she says. She closes her book. “Jonathan stayed with you most of the day, but he needed to get some sleep.”

“Fuck,” Steve says eloquently. He thinks about Byers, taking him to the hospital and then, apparently, staying with him all night. “What about his brother?”

Nancy smiles briefly. “He’s okay,” she says. There’s a silence, the conversation fading out. Steve doesn’t know how to be here with Nancy, how to talk to her. The hospital said that they would have to wake him up every hour, and vaguely he can feel memories of Byers swimming around in his head - shaking his shoulder, holding a glass of water to his mouth, rousing him from his broken slumber to make sure he was alive. Byers had literally exorcised his own brother - he did far more than Steve, fought more, understood more, got the girl - but still he’d stayed up all night, fighting the exhaustion, just for Steve.

He wishes he didn’t get it. Wishes he could ask why. But he knows why.

He coughs. “Byers… he’s a good guy,” he says. Nancy’s eyes flick instantly over to him.

“Yeah,” she says, warily.

Steve doesn’t say anything else, and after a minute, Nancy smiles. He’s always liked her smile, the way it lights up her eyes. Transforms her face from something serious and grown-up into… well, a proper teenage face, a young face.

It’s not going to be easy, getting over her. Suddenly, Steve’s face aches.

Nancy gets him the painkillers, and then she goes home. She offers to stay, but Steve wants to shower and change, and he’s out of the danger zone now. He can get some real sleep. Part of him wants to hold onto her - wants to take her up on the offer, have her stay with him - but she can’t give him what he wants from her anymore, and it hurts more to have her there than to be alone.

“Tell Byers I said thanks,” Steve tells her. He tries to keep his voice light, but he’s pretty sure she sees right through him. She always has been able to.

She smiles, her eyes a little sad. “I will,” she says. She hesitates. “You… you’ll call, right? If you need anything?”

“Sure,” Steve lies. She nods, and then she goes.

His face hurts when he washes it. They cleaned off the worst of the blood at the ER, but there’s more in his hair, behind his ears, under his nose, tiny flaking pieces that they hadn’t bothered to wipe away. He feels a little more like himself when he finally gets out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist.

He looks like shit. His eyes and nose are a mask of deep purpling bruises, and his entire face is swollen. There are at least three lumps rising at various points on the back of his head, and there’s a long scratch on his shoulder where he fell on the floor. It’s superficial, but it hurts. His hands are covered in tiny grazes and scrapes, and he can feel splinters from gripping the bat moving under his skin.

The knock at the door sounds as he’s putting on his softest t-shirt and joggers. It’s immediately followed by four or five tugs at the doorbell, and Steve rolls his eyes as he makes his way downstairs. Then he wishes he hadn’t; the movement makes his face hurt.

It’s Dustin, of course. He’s standing there with his bike in his hands and Lucas by his side. Steve is kind of glad Mike isn’t with them. He looks too much like Nancy.

“Hey, guys,” he says wearily.

Dustin’s eyes widen. “Shit, Steve, you look terrible!” he exclaims. Lucas shoves him. “Um… I mean… how are you doing, buddy?”

Steve can’t help it. He rolls his eyes again. “You coming in?”

“Yeah,” Dustin says. He leans his bike up against the wall. “Nice place, man.”

Steve steps back to let them both pass. “You guys okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Dustin says. He’s looking around with obvious interest. “School was shit.”

He gets that. It’s kind of hard to care about school when you’ve spent the night fighting monsters. Lucas says: “Mrs Byers told us you have a concussion, right?”

“Right,” Steve replies, frowning.

“Like an actual bruise on your brain?”

Dustin laughs. Steve says: “Sure.”

“That’s cool.” Steve looks at Lucas properly now. He has an odd, affected look on his face. When he catches Steve looking, he shrugs. “I mean, it’s cool you did that for me. Thanks, man.”

Steve doesn’t really know Lucas all that well. He doesn’t really know any of the kids that well, to be honest - even Dustin is pretty much just the one who pesters him the most. He tries to think back to last night, to Hargrove hauling Lucas up against the wall, and for the first time he’s glad that he’s the one with the wrecked face.

“Can’t leave a Party member behind, right?” he says, and Dustin and Lucas both grin at him.

They’re supposed to be there to check up on him, but they’re eighth-graders, so ultimately Steve’s the one who ends up making some dinner for them all. He throws some pasta and tomato sauce together, fries some bacon to go on top, and serves it up with a healthy handful of cheese apiece. The three of them sit on the living room floor and eat with the television on in the background, Steve swallowing a couple of Tylenol even though he knows he’s not supposed to mix it with the medication they gave him at the hospital.

He’s ravenous. Dustin snorts at him as he practically inhales his food. “Easy, tiger,” he says.

“How’s Will?” Steve asks. Out of all the kids, Will’s the one he knows the least. Probably because for as long as he’s known about all the freaky Upside Down shit, Will has been missing, or possessed. But he’s thinking about Jonathan Byers, staying with him through the night and all day, even though his brother was somewhere else. Will Byers kind of started all of this, and now Steve is involved.

Dustin shrugs. “He’s okay. We went there this afternoon with Mike.”

“He looks worse than you,” Lucas comments.

“He went through a hell of a lot more,” Steve says. He wonders if this is what they’re supposed to be doing - sitting around on the living room floor, eating pasta and discussing the night’s events so casually. There isn’t really a handbook for dealing with this kind of shit.

“Mrs Byers isn’t making him go to school tomorrow,” Dustin says. “He’s lucky.”

“And…” Steve frowns. “Max? Is she okay?”

Lucas glances quickly at Dustin. Steve feels a little bad; he knows Dustin likes Max too. He also knows which one of them she chose. But after everything that happened with Billy, he wants to make sure he didn’t take anything out on his sister later on.

“She’s fine,” Lucas says. “She came with us to see Will. Billy’s leaving her alone.”

“Hopper talked to his dad,” Dustin adds.

Lucas laughs. “Yeah, Max said he was really mad. She heard him chewing Billy out.” He puts on an affected tough voice. “You will not show that kind of aggressive behavior again.”

“Good,” Steve says bluntly. Hot waves of anger curl up his spine every time he thinks about Billy Hargrove.

“It probably won’t make any difference,” Dustin says. “Max says Billy’s dad chews him out all the time. He’s still an asshole.”

Lucas put an enormous forkful of pasta into his mouth. “Yeah, maybe,” he says disconsolately. He chews thoughtfully. Then, brightening, he says: “But Max thinks he’s scared of her now.”

Steve tips his head back against the couch. It’s tiring him out just to think about Billy Hargrove, about the wild angry aggressive moron who fucked up his face. “Good,” he says again. “Good.”

Chapter Text

It’s his dad who makes him pick up the book again. Billy hasn’t touched it since that first English class, hasn’t so much as thought about the stilted antiquated words he read aloud the day after he pounded Steve Harrington’s face to a pulp. Harrington hasn’t been in school all week, so he didn’t have to think about the fact that he’s now apparently partnered with him for a project he has no intention of doing. They’ve apparently been having discussions about it in class, but Billy has been totally zoned out.

Then it’s the weekend, and Billy definitely isn’t thinking about a stupid English project during his two precious days of freedom. He goes to a party at Tommy’s place on Saturday night, gets fucked up, watches the wallpaper dance and kisses a girl whose name he doesn’t know.

They’re in Tommy’s bedroom, which is distracting because Billy has never been there before. He catalogs the books on the shelf over by the window, the crumpled unmade bed, the clothes kicked hastily underneath it. A couple of postcards, pinned haphazardly above an untidy desk containing pencils and a lamp and several sheets of doodled note paper. A dresser, one drawer slightly open, and a basketball resting on top of it.

“What are you looking at?” the girl asks him.

“Nothing,” he says, and leaves her there, sitting on Tommy’s bed. It’s nothing personal, although he doesn’t mind her thinking that it is. Billy Hargrove is too good to fuck the Hawkins whores.

Later on, Tommy offers him a line of coke, and Billy just leaves, even though he’s still drunk and it’s early enough that his dad will still be up.

“You’re stupid,” his father informs him, when Billy stumbles home. He is stupid, stupid to come back this early, head still ringing and everything a mess. “You stupid, stupid child.”

He claps a heavy hand across Billy’s face, almost casually, like he’s not really thinking about it. Max is having a sleepover at some friend’s house; Billy is supposed to pick her up in the morning. Susan, as usual, is nowhere to be found when shit is going down. There’s nobody to see, nobody to know, so Neil Hargrove doesn’t have to be careful. He doesn’t have to control it, to pretend that there’s a reason.

“Go to bed,” he says to Billy. Billy escapes, his cheek stinging, feeling lucky. Lucky, and stupid.

He is stupid. He didn’t understand the words he was saying, in English class, and there’s no way Harrington will help him, so when the time comes to present their project everyone will know. Everyone will see how fucking stupid he is.

So on Sunday, Billy picks up the book.

He takes it slowly this time, picking over the unfamiliar words, and by the time he reaches the end of the first chapter for the second time, he feels like he has a sense of what’s going on. He’s a fucking walking cliche; the easiest way to make him do something is to tell him he can’t, and in this case it’s his dad. He rereads the line describing Mrs Bennet. She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. That’s what his dad thinks of him - that he’s stupid. Uninformed. Hot-headed.

Well, he’s not going to deny that last part. A flash of himself, pounding into Harrington’s face, crosses his mind. He’s got the uncertain temper bit down. But he’s not fucking stupid, and Harrington isn’t going to be the reason he flunks English.

He’s a slow reader, always has been, so it’s close to an hour and half before he finishes the first three chapters. He can see why Ms Young wants them to research the time period; half the references are going over his head. He’s still trying to puzzle out the obsession with dancing when his dad walks in.

“Billy,” he says. Billy snaps to attention immediately.

“Yes, sir,” he says promptly, but fortunately Neil looks to be in a genial sort of mood, judging by the relaxed smile on his face.

His father’s eyes travel to the book in his hand. “Studying, were you?” he asks. He sounds somewhat approving.

Billy nods. “It’s for English class,” he says, and then wishes he could bite back the words. Not because he’s afraid it’ll piss his dad off - Neil is actually looking a little impressed - but because he hates how much he wants his dad to be fucking pleased with him. He’s not playing that game anymore, hasn’t for years.

“What’s the book?” his dad says. Billy holds it up; Neil raises his eyebrows. “Pretty highbrow for you, isn’t it?” he comments.

Billy bites down hard into his tongue. That’s what he gets, letting his head drift away into the stupid fucking novel. “Yes, sir,” he says flatly.

Neil nods thoughtfully. “It’s about time you picked Maxine up,” he says, clearly over the concept of Billy actually reading. “She’s staying with her friend… Mike?” His lip curls over the name. “I have an address.”

Billy puts down his book. He’s had enough of reading, anyway; a trip to the library, and he’ll be up to his ears in enough information about the Regency era to fumble his way into at least a C grade for the presentation. He grabs his jacket and car keys, stopping to snatch the piece of lined paper out of his dad’s hand even though he doesn’t actually need it. He’s not exactly relishing the prospect of coming face-to-face with Maxine’s little friends again; the last time he saw them properly, he was getting owned by his little sister. He’s taken her to and from school every day since then, though, and so far they haven’t had the guts to say anything, so he figures it’ll be okay.

He heads over to the Wheeler residence. He wonders if he’ll run into Nancy as well; she’s not exactly his biggest fan, although really nobody is. Except Nancy’s mom. He almost laughs at the memory of her fluttering smile. He’s seen Nancy a few times around school, although they don’t have any classes together - she’s in all the AP sets. She’s looked at him all of one time, and it was as though she was looking at an actual shitstain, for all the disdain in her eyes. Figures that she still knows what’s up with Harrington, even though they’re not together anymore. She’s been walking the halls with that creepy Byers kid.

As he pulls up outside the house, Billy is aware of an uncomfortable feeling somewhere in his chest. One he feels fairly often, but doesn’t like to acknowledge - and certainly not one he would usually associate with Maxine.

Fear. It’s fear. He’s fucking scared.

He shakes off the feeling, marching up the front path and ringing vigorously on the doorbell.

It’s Mrs Wheeler who answers, dressed a little more conservatively this time in a pink shirt and jeans. When she sees him, her hands flutter on the frame of the door, and a wide smile comes to her lips. Billy figures that whoever Nancy’s dad is, he’s not a looker.

“Hey, Mrs Wheeler,” he says. His shirt isn’t slashed down to his waist this time, but with a tilt of his head he knows he has her. He catches her eyes, extends the look beyond what’s really acceptable. She dimples. “I don’t know if you remember me? Billy - Billy Hargrove.”

“Maxine’s brother,” she says, nodding. “Of course. Come on in, Billy.”

He steps over the threshold. “I never had the chance to thank you, Mrs Wheeler. You really helped me out of a bind last week. We were worried sick about Maxine.”

She touches her hair. “Was she at the Byers’ house?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Billy says as she closes the front door. “She forgot to leave a note. I don’t know what I would have done without your help.” He gives her a dazzling smile, and is rewarded by another coquettish simper.

“Oh, any time, Billy,” she says. “Are you here to pick up Maxine?”

Billy lets himself step just a little too close. “I am,” he says. “I like to look out for her.” He grins. “I’m sure Nancy’s the same with Mike.”

She titters. “I wish she was,” she says.

“Is… Nancy home?” He hates himself for the slight quiver in his voice, although he’s sure she doesn’t notice.

Mrs Wheeler shakes her head. “She’s out with her friend.” She sounds a little uncertain, suddenly, and Billy pounces on it.

“Steve Harrington, right?” he says deliberately. “We know each other from school.”

“Oh - no,” she says, and he’s right, she’s definitely uncomfortable. “I liked Steve, but… Oh, well, girls!” She laughs, and Billy joins in, as if it isn’t weird. “Maxine is downstairs with the boys. I’ll show you.”

He follows her towards the stairs. “Thanks, Mrs Wheeler.”

“Karen, please,” she says gaily. She opens a door off the hall, gesturing down some stairs. “They’re all down there.”

Billy heads down the stairs with one last gleaming grin at her. It’s dark in the basement, dingier than the clean brightness of the rest of the Wheeler home, but he could spot Max’s sheet of red hair from a mile away. She’s sitting with her back to the stairs at a large round table, in between the curly-headed kid and the Sinclair boy. Billy’s eyes travel around the room, falling on someone else sitting on the other side of the table.

Shit.

It’s Steve fucking Harrington.

*

Steve should have gone back to school on Wednesday. Thursday, at a pinch. But his parents have been away all week, and he’s having trouble sleeping, and he knows if he goes back he’ll have to watch Nancy and Jonathan walking hand-in-hand together down every corridor, so… he’s stayed off. His face has mostly healed by now, so he’s just been sleeping through the afternoons, watching television and eating everything he can make without actually cooking.

On Sunday, he heads over to the Wheeler’s. It’s weird, coming here without it being for Nancy, but he’s feeling somewhat starved of prolonged human interaction, and Dustin assures him that Nancy won’t be there anyway.

“Mike says she’s going over to Will’s house,” he tells Steve, which doesn’t exactly make him feel any better about anything, but he goes anyway.

The kids have been having a sleepover. Will is still in hospital, although he’s apparently recovering well - Mike visited him on Saturday, and he’s hoping to come home sometime next week. The other three boys are there, and Max has been staying over as well. They’re all sat round a table in Mike’s basement when Steve arrives, engrossed in a game of Dungeons and Dragons.

He glances at Dustin. “Seriously?”

“Steve, man, come and sit down,” Dustin says expansively, gesturing towards an empty chair. Max giggles. “We’ll teach you how to play.”

“I really don’t want to know how to play,” Steve mumbles, but he sits down anyway. It’s kind of weird, being here, hanging out with eighth graders in his ex-girlfriend’s house while she’s off visiting her new boyfriend, but it’s not like he has anyone else he can talk to. He’s pretty much burned his bridges with his other friends at school, and even if he hadn’t, he’s got no one who would understand what he’s been through in the last… well, the last year.

Lucas says: “How’s your face?”

Steve touches it. He’s still a little swollen and bruised, but he can’t exactly call himself injured anymore. “Yeah, it’s fine,” he says. He glances at Max. “How’s your brother?”

“He’s not my brother,” Max replies immediately. She’s chewing on her bottom lip.

Steve rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean,” he says. “He’s been leaving you alone, right?”

She shrugs. “Yeah.”

They don’t talk about anything important after that. Dustin tries to teach Steve to play Dungeons and Dragons, although he’s more of an observer than anything else because nobody actually wants him in the game in case he fucks it up.

It’s kind of relaxing, just sitting there in between Mike and Dustin at the table, watching the kids play. Mike is the storyteller, and he’s a good one. Steve’s not sure he’s ever heard the kid talk for so long. He tells it like he’s putting on a one-man play, and the others get totally invested, rolling dice, moving their little metal playing pieces around.

It’s like it’s real, but it’s not. Steve knows it’s not, because a week ago, it was real. A week ago, they were fighting real monsters.

The game drags on for hours. Steve gets into the story, and then loses interest, and then gets involved again. He chats idly to Max, who’s just slightly less passionate about Dungeons and Dragons than the boys. He heads outside for some fresh air, and fields some awkward questions from Nancy’s mom. He goes back down to the basement with a jug of juice and some cookies that Mrs Wheeler gave him, and the kids are still at it, arguing over some of the finer plot points that Steve missed while he was gone.

It’s stupid. And boring. And childish. And Steve… Steve feels the most peaceful he has in a week.

Which is, of course, when Billy Hargrove appears at the top of the stairs.

One moment, Steve is laughing at Lucas and his exaggerated groans at a particularly vicious roll, and then he’s glancing at the stairs, perhaps catching a slight movement in his peripheral vision, and there he is. Steve’s blood runs cold.

The stupid, arrogant jerk. There’s a second, the tiniest fleeting moment, when Steve sees the shock in Billy’s eyes. Sees that whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t Steve. Maybe just Max and the other kids, but definitely not Steve. But then something else comes across Billy’s face. It’s not shock. It’s not even discomfiture.

It’s a fucking smile.

“Well, well,” he says, in that lazy smirking voice that Steve hates. “Steve Harrington.”

Slowly, Steve pushes his chair back, and stands up. The kids have stopped their game; they’re all hanging over the back of their chairs, looking up at Billy. Steve can practically feel the tension radiating off Max.

He says, quietly: “What do you want, Billy?”

Billy blinks in mock surprise, holding up his hands. He strolls down the stairs. “Hey, I’m just here to pick up Maxine,” he says. He gestures towards the sullen girl staring him down across the table from Steve. “Question is, what are you doing here, Harrington? I thought Wheeler dumped your ass.”

He grins wickedly.

Steve doesn’t flinch. Not outwardly, anyway. He sees both Dustin and Mike whip their heads around to look at him, but he doesn’t meet their eyes. He just keeps looking at Billy.

He doesn’t have any kind of answer for why he’s here, hanging out with a group of eighth-graders, but then, he doesn’t need one. He doesn’t owe Billy any kind of explanation.

“Max, you ready to go?” Steve says it without looking at her.

She bites her lip. “Um.” Her glance flickers towards Billy. “We haven’t finished.”

“She’s not ready to go,” Steve tells Billy. “Maybe you should leave.”

Billy takes another step down the stairs. Suddenly, his aura is darker. More menacing. He says: “My dad sent me to pick up Maxine. I’m not leaving without her.” He scratches his head, reaching the bottom of the stairs. “Don’t worry, Harrington. This time, she’s got permission to be here.”

“Shut up, Billy,” Max snarls unexpectedly. And Billy… flinches. Steve sees it.

Suddenly, it’s all so… stupid. So tired and ridiculous and fucking stupid. Steve hates Billy Hargrove, he’ll probably always hate Billy Hargrove, a dull throbbing hate in the back of his mind, but it’s boring. Hating demodogs, being afraid of the demogorgon, going up against the Upside Down - that’s real. That’s worth the emotion of a fight. But this? Billy Hargrove?

It’s just not worth it.

“Whatever,” he says. He’s barely aware that he’s spoken aloud, but suddenly everyone is looking at him. Including Billy. Steve sighs. “If you’re not going anywhere, sit the fuck down and shut up.”

Billy raises his eyebrows. “Didn’t know you cared, Harrington!” he says cheerfully. Smugly. It makes Steve want to punch his fucking face in.

Not worth it. Steve just rolls his eyes. “Not about you, jackass,” he says tiredly. He gestures around the table. “Kids want to finish their game, you’re obviously not going anywhere… we can fight about it if you want, but…”

“Steve!” Dustin hisses at him. “He is not staying!”

“Yeah, Steve, he beat you up!” Mike exclaims, as if Steve might have forgotten. Almost unconsciously, he touches his newly-healed face.

But Billy is already moving towards the sagging couch against the opposite wall, that same smirking grin on his face. He throws himself down on it, hands behind his head, far too casual. “Hey, if Harrington is going to let bygones be bygones…” He lets his voice trail off suggestively, and Steve grinds his teeth.

Not worth it, not worth it. “Trust me, I’m not,” he growls.

“Yeah,” Dustin says supportively. The ghost of a smile whispers across Max’s face.

Steve meets Billy’s eyes. There’s a challenge in them. He says, his voice measured: “You’re not sorry, Billy. You messed with Max, and you messed with Lucas, and you messed with me, and you’re not sorry.” Billy’s eyebrows lift, but he doesn’t speak. His teeth sink into his lower lip. Steve continues, “I’m not expecting that to magically change, and even if it did you’d still be scum. But… fuck it.”

Billy leans forward. There’s an odd, wild light in his eyes, and he’s still grinning, but it’s a lot more feral now. “Fuck it?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. He sighs. “Fuck it.”

“That’s the end of your big speech? Fuck it?” Billy repeats. He laughs, the sound aggressive and unpleasant.

“Yeah,” Lucas says, unexpectedly. He nods firmly. “Fuck it.”

“Fuck it,” Dustin agrees.

It’s Max who closes the conversation. She simply turns around, her long curtain of red hair sweeping behind her, and just like that, Billy isn’t there anymore. Isn’t important, anymore.

“Mike,” she says clearly, and gestures forcefully towards the table.

Mike, to his credit, takes his cue quickly. “Uh… right,” he says quickly. “So… the water is knee-high. It’s hard to force your way through the mud. Only the flickering glow of the torches light your way…”

“Kid’s good,” Billy comments. He’s sprawled lazily across the sofa, feet up on a cushion and his eyes closed.

Mike falters, but only for a second. Everyone else pointedly ignores the interruption. “As you carry on walking through the tunnel, you come to a stone door, covered in carvings.”

“Uh… I throw a fireball at the door,” Lucas hazards. Max snickers. “What?”

Steve kind of zones out of the game after that. He tries not to, tries to keep focused, but it’s difficult when he can hear Billy breathing. See his irritatingly smug smile, the flash of teeth. His unmarked face. Steve barely got two punches in; Dustin told him Billy didn’t even miss one day of school after the fight.

It’s a stupid thing to be pissed about. Steve has totally indulged himself by taking the week off. But the fact that Billy doesn’t have a single bruise, a scratch left on him… it rankles.

He drags himself out of his chair; Dustin and Lucas glance up at him, but Steve has left the table a few times this game, so neither of them comment as he heads up the stairs. Billy won’t do anything, not in the Wheeler’s house with adult witnesses around, and anyway, Max carries far more of a threat than Steve does.

He slips out without having to come face to face with Nancy’s mom, for which he’s profoundly grateful; she’s nice, but she’s always kind of weirded him out. He leaves via the back door, gulping in some deep breaths of air.

It gets kind of claustrophobic in the basement after a while.

“Any idea how long they’ll be?”

Steve shuts his eyes against the inevitability of Billy’s voice. He doesn’t want to hear him, doesn’t want to talk, wants to hold onto his righteous rage, but he just can’t muster the energy. “Nope,” he says curtly.

There’s a pause. Steve doesn’t open his eyes. Then Billy says: “Want a smoke?”

Steve opens his eyes. Billy is standing a couple of feet away, a cigarette between his lips; he’s holding out a crumpled packet like he and Steve are friendly. Like Steve hasn’t spent the whole week off school after Billy beat his face into pulp.

“Nope,” Steve says again. Not worth it. It’s fast becoming his mantra.

Billy shrugs, and lights up. “You want to unclench, Harrington?”

Steve looks away. His breathing feels stupidly labored, like Billy’s taking up all the available oxygen. No one else seems to feel it the way Steve does - the kids are all playing their games, Nancy is busy with Byers, and for Billy it’s all some massive fucking joke. It’s just Steve who still feels the ghost of bruises on his face, who still dreams about the creatures from the Upside Down.

“You just going to act like it didn’t happen?” he says, keeping his voice as calm as he can.

There’s a silence. Billy puffs on his cigarette. He’s not smiling anymore.

“We’re partners,” he says, eventually.

Steve looks sharply at him. “What?”

Billy laughs, but it sounds forced. “In English class,” he clarifies. “You and me, Harrington, seems we gotta buddy up.” He laughs again, blowing a cloud of smoke into the chilly air. Steve watches him, eyes wide. Billy says: “That’s what you get for skipping school.”

“You…” Steve’s heart is pounding. His head hurts. “Why the fuck would you—”

“Hey, hey, Harrington, I didn’t ask for this,” Billy says immediately. His eyes travel over Steve. “You’re not exactly my first choice either.”

Steve turns back towards the house. He doesn’t want this, doesn’t want to talk to Billy, to talk to anyone. All the sullen weariness of the last week is settling over him again, as though the past few hours with the kids never happened. In two days, he’s going to be back at school, going to class. He won’t get to miss any more lessons. He’s going to be English partners with Billy, apparently.

He doesn’t want it. This stupid, dull life.

That’s it. That’s the part that isn’t worth it.

Chapter Text

School. The prospect looms heavy over Steve’s head. After a week at home, living in his strange weightless bubble, the thought of going back to the structure and routine of a school day is almost more than he can bear.

It’s not like he can claim that he has any reason to be off anymore. There’s no trace of bruises on his face anymore; just their shadow, lurking somewhere in the recesses of his mind.

The morning is crisp and cold, and Steve has to wear an extra sweater underneath his jacket. He’s always cold these days, as if the Upside Down has slipped into his skin the same way it did for Will Byers. It’s probably because he only turns the central heating on intermittently; it feels oddly wasteful to have it on longer, with just him in the big house. He’s turned off the heater in the pool as well, so it’s almost icy to the touch.

It doesn’t matter. Ever since he found out what really happened to Barb there, his pool hasn’t been his favorite place in the world.

He makes himself an egg salad sandwich and puts it in a brown paper bag with an apple and a strawberry Pop-Tart, kind of the way his mom might do if she was ever here and if she was the kind of mom to make him lunches. Usually he gets food from the cafeteria, but the benefit of taking a brown bag lunch to school is that he doesn’t have to eat there. He can take his food out to some secluded spot underneath the bleachers or tucked in a stairwell or something, and avoid speaking to anyone he doesn’t want to.

Nancy hasn’t been around to see him since the day after everything happened. It’s a relief - but he's also a little hurt by it. It’s stupid, and illogical, because he’d much rather not see her and he’s pretty sure the reason she hasn’t come is because she knows that, but it’s left him feeling lonely and brushed off.

It’s fucking ridiculous, and Steve makes himself shake off the feeling as he styles his hair.

The phone rings just before he walks out the door; for a moment, Steve considers just not answering, but in the end he goes to pick it up, sighing.

“Hello?” He knows he sounds irritated and terse, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Steve!” The explosion of sound actually makes him pull the phone away from his ear. The person on the other end adds, possibly unnecessarily: “It’s Dustin.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I know,” he says. He pauses. “Dustin, I’m going to be late for school.”

“Yeah, yeah, me too,” Dustin says, although he sounds positively jubilant about the prospect. “Can you pick me up?”

“What, now?” Steve says, appalled.

Dustin laughs. “No, after school. My mom has a thing, and I have AV club.”

Steve’s head is already aching. “Uh,” he says stupidly. “What time?”

“Four,” Dustin says. There’s a noise in the background, and he adds quickly: “Steve, my mom’s calling me, I have to go. You’ll pick me up, right?”

“Dustin…” Steve says, pained.

“Great, thanks!” Dustin chirps, and then the phone goes dead, leaving Steve looking down at it in chagrin.

It’s not that it’s a hardship to pick Dustin up. Steve doesn’t exactly have a bursting schedule to keep to. He’s not actually sure why it annoys him so much, except to highlight how pathetic his life has become.

Stupid, really. He picks up his lunch and his book bag and goes to school.

He’s running a little late, so most of the parking spaces are taken and there’s a conspicuous absence of students hanging out outside the school. Steve parks between a dusty red Ford Escort and a pick-up truck and just sits for a second, looking up at the building.

He’s being ridiculous. It’s just school; he’s faced a hell of a lot worse recently. But all he wants to do is go home.

Thankfully, neither Nancy or Jonathan are in Steve’s homeroom this semester, so there’s no one to attempt awkward conversation as he slides into his seat. They’re not in his Algebra class either, although he does get grabbed by Tiffany Buckton, the school’s resident busybody.

“Steve!” she hisses at him. She’s sitting diagonally behind him; Steve has to twist his whole body to look at her. She’s grinning like an idiot at him, and Steve remembers that to people like Tiffany Buckton, he still represents an unachievable tier of school social hierarchy. “You’re back!”

He gives her an awkward half-smile back. “Yeah,” he says. Ian Rice, sat directly behind him, gives Tiffany a weird look.

“I heard you were sick,” she presses.

Steve glances at Ian. “Yeah,” he says again.

She leans across her desk. “Did you hear that you’re partners with Billy in English class?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, although his heart thuds heavily at the reminder.

“He didn’t even turn up for class on Friday,” she confides, as though he’s supposed to be surprised by Hargrove’s lack of academic impetus. “Like, he’s so good at basketball, you know? But aren’t you worried about being paired with him?”

Steve shrugs, a carefully performed gesture. “Hadn’t thought about it,” he says.

Tiffany looks as though she might want to say something else, but Steve turns back to his books. He’s been trying not to think about Billy Hargrove, about the reality of being paired with him for however many weeks, but it’s been a losing battle. He thinks he’d actually rather be partners with Byers.

At least when Byers punched his lights out he deserved it.

He has to face Nancy at recess, when she spots him in the hallway putting his books into his locker. She gets this little crease between her eyebrows and her lips tighten; for a moment, he’s kind of hoping she’ll just leave him alone, but he knows her better than that. She’s looking fresh and pretty in a green sweater with her hair up.

“Steve,” she says, coming up to him. She sounds gentle, sympathetic. He hates it.

“Hey,” he says, closing his locker. It’s hard to see her, hard to look at her without wanting her. He wants to touch her face, to stroke a stray strand of hair and tuck it behind her ear. He wants to be able to take her hand. Kiss her.

He can’t do any of those things. She says: “How are you?”

Steve shrugs. “My face has healed,” he says, which manages to answer her question without really answering it at all. He glances down the corridor. “How are you?”

“It was a rough night,” she says. “I think we’ll all need some time to recover.”

He makes himself say: “How’s Byers?”

Nancy gives him a look. “He’s okay,” she says. “Will’s still in the hospital.”

“Yeah, Dustin said,” Steve says. “It’s not the real one, right?”

She shakes her head. “The laboratory,” she says. She shivers.

Steve really doesn’t want to talk about the laboratory. He casts around for another subject, and ends up saying: “I have to be paired with Billy Hargrove in English.”

Nancy’s eyes widen. “What? Can’t you change?”

He shrugs. “Everyone else’s been paired for a week. Probably not.”

“Be careful, Steve,” she says worriedly. Then her face hardens. “And tell me if he bothers you.”

It’s almost laughable, the thought of little Nancy Wheeler defending him from Billy Hargrove, but Steve still feels the edges of a smile that she wants to. He loves her, probably always will, and the fact that she doesn’t feel the same hurts like hell, but it’s still nice to know she has his back. He figures there’s some things that time doesn’t change.

His English class is right before lunch. Steve has basically been dreading it all day; Billy isn’t in any of his other classes, so this will be the first time they’ve had to face each other since the weekend. He can still remember the smug, asshole look on Billy’s face as he blew smoke into the air, clearly doing everything he could to get under Steve’s skin. He doesn’t give a shit about Steve, doesn’t care about Max. Working with the asshole is the last thing Steve wants to do right now.

He heads into class. Ms Young eyes him as he walks through the door; he finds her slightly intimidating, although he’d never admit it.

“Mr Harrington,” she calls, and he turns to look at her. “We missed you last week. You’re feeling better?”

He tries to remember what he told the school nurse when he called in. A stomach flu, he’s pretty sure. He says: “Uh. Yeah.”

“Glad to hear it,” she says crisply. “Sit over there, please. I’m sure Mr Hargrove will be along shortly.” She indicates a pair of desks that have been pushed together, like all the others in the room. “I’m sure you’re aware by now that you’re partners for the rest of the semester.”

“Yeah,” Steve mutters, and sits down. Tiffany Buckton gives him a sympathetic look.

Steve looks up at the clock. He’s a couple of minutes early for class, which means he’s stuck here, actually waiting for Hargrove to show up. He digs around in his book bag for his copy of Pride and Prejudice. He can remember Nancy reading it last summer, telling him about it; it hurts to think about it. He’s never actually read it himself.

When he looks up next, Billy Hargrove is sauntering into the classroom.

He gives Steve a lazy, shit-eating grin as he walks in, saluting Ms Young as he comes past her. She raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. Billy slides in next to Steve; Steve feels his skin crawling, his heart beating fast. This is the asshole who beat him up.

“Harrington,” Billy drawls.

Steve bites his lip hard. “Hargrove.”

There’s a pause. It’s both awkward and not awkward: awkward because they’re very pointedly not speaking to one another, and not awkward because Steve doesn’t give a shit. Fortunately, Ms Young steps up, clearing her throat a couple of times until the class settles down. Steve fixes his eyes on her, although he can’t help but be acutely aware of Billy at the desk next to him, breathing and smiling and just fucking existing.

“Okay, seniors,” Ms Young says. “We’ve covered quite a bit of background on the Regency era, and we’ve talked about the themes present in the novel.” She glances at Steve. “I’m sure Mr Hargrove can catch you up to speed,” she tells him, which almost makes Steve snort. Ms Young turns her attention back to the class. “I’m going to give you some time today to plan the outline of your presentation. It’s really important that you connect your chosen themes to the social mores of the time. So, off you go, and I’ll be here if you have any questions.”

Almost as soon as she finishes speaking, a low buzz of chatter begins to spread around the room. Steve can feel his cheeks beginning to heat. Somehow, he’s actually going to have to talk to Billy Hargrove. Not just talk to him, but discuss literature with him. It’s either that or flunk the class.

He’s actually not sure which one he would rather.

Billy is looking at the copy of the book on Steve’s desk. He taps it. “You read this, Harrington?”

Steve’s bottom lip is starting to hurt with how hard he’s biting it. “No,” he says. He looks at Billy. “You?”

“Some,” Billy says thoughtfully. He doesn’t seem to be as on edge as the last time Steve saw him. He laughs. “First three chapters.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. They’re never going to get anywhere like this, and for all his bravado, he doesn’t want to fail the assignment. He puffs out a sigh. “Okay. Look. Can you… Why don’t you tell me what it’s about?”

Billy raises his eyebrows. “The first three chapters?”

“Yeah,” Steve says.

There’s a silence. Steve waits.

Billy says: “It’s set in, like, the Regency period.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I got that.”

“Okay, genius,” Billy says, sounding defensive. There’s another silence. When Steve glances at Billy, he almost looks… nervous? But that can’t be right. Steve’s never seen Billy look nervous about anything. Eventually, he says: “It’s about this family. The Bennet family. It’s a husband and wife, and their five kids. Daughters.”

“Elizabeth Bennet,” Steve says slowly. He’s the first to admit that he didn’t take in much of what Nancy told him, but he remembers the name. “Right?”

Billy looks at him. “Yeah,” he says. “She’s the main character.”

It’s like getting blood out of a stone. “So what happens?”

Billy looks supremely uncomfortable. “A rich guy moves into the neighborhood,” he says. “Bingley.” He stops again.

“For fuck’s sake,” Steve says, and Billy looks at him sharply. “I don’t want to be stuck here all day, Hargrove. Just tell me.”

“Fine,” Billy snaps. “Mrs Bennet wants to meet Bingley, because she wants him to marry one of her daughters. She’s fucking stupid, and it’s the only thing she cares about. Mr Bennet thinks she’s a pain, but he goes to see him anyway. They all go to, like, this party, and Bingley likes the eldest daughter.”

“Elizabeth?” Steve asks.

Billy shakes his head impatiently. “She’s the second one. The oldest one is Jane. Bingley is there with his best friend, Mr Darcy, but he’s an asshole and no one likes him. That’s it.”

Steve blinks. “That’s it? That’s the first three chapters?”

Billy shrugs. “There’s other shit, but that’s most of it. Read it yourself, Harrington.”

“I hate reading,” Steve says, and then shuts his mouth abruptly. He does hate reading, hates the way the words dance around on the page when he’s trying to concentrate on them, but he doesn’t want to tell Billy that. Admitting even the slightest weakness to Billy Hargrove is like inviting danger in at the front door.

Billy is fiddling with the edges of the book. Steve watches his thumb playing over the pages; he doesn’t look particularly bothered by Steve’s admission. “Yeah, who doesn’t?” he says casually. He grins, shark-like, meeting Steve’s eyes. “This presentation is going to be a blast.”

Steve sighs. “Have you thought about it at all? You’ve been in class this week. What theme should we pick?”

“I don’t give a shit,” Billy says, like that’s supposed to be some big surprise.

“Well, I do,” Steve says sharply. “I don’t care about the bullshit, Hargrove. It’s your fault I’ve not been in school, so fucking catch me up.”

For a long, long moment, Billy just looks at him. There’s a meditative look in his eyes, as though he’s deciding whether to laugh or lash out. Steve doesn’t care: he’s tired, and lonely, and he just lost his girlfriend and set fire to the Upside Down in the same week, so Billy can hit him if he wants. Jesus Christ, he’s already done it once.

Then Billy says: “Okay, Harrington. Here’s the deal. Mama Bennet is an idiot.” He’s turning pages in the book now, his hands moving feverishly, and Steve blinks and sits up a little. “Look, check it out, okay? She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her daughters married; its solace was visiting and news.”

At first, he reads quickly, but by the time he gets to the second sentence his voice is smooth and even. Steve has to stop himself from actually enjoying the sound of Billy fucking Hargrove reading aloud; he forces himself to concentrate on the words.

“Okay,” he says. His brain feels like it’s made of rubber. “Okay, so she’s, like… crazy? Or something?”

“Or something,” Billy says, but it doesn’t sound too critical. “She’s dumb. And, I don’t know, a hypochondriac.” There’s something almost like enthusiasm in his voice now. “No, but here’s the thing, Harrington: she literally has no life. Her whole thing is her kids getting married, you know? She talks about it for basically the whole first chapter.”

Steve looks down at the page Billy is holding open. “Why is she so obsessed?”

Billy grins. “That’s the thing. It took me a bit to figure it out, but I think it’s because she only has girls. They think that girls have to get married. It’s like their job, in the Regency time.”

“It’s sexist,” comes a shrill voice from behind them. Probably Shelby Holland; she uses that word a lot. Both Billy and Steve ignore her.

Steve considers what Billy’s told him. “Is that a theme?” he asks.

“Probably,” Billy says. “It’s weird. Okay, so another thing that’s kind of related is, Mrs Bennet wants her family to meet Bingley, right? Because she wants him to fall in love with one of her daughters. She’s obsessed with him because he’s rich, because the daughters can’t do anything except get married so they have to marry rich.”

“Right,” Steve agrees, just so Billy will keep talking.

Billy nods like Steve said something intelligent. “But she can’t just go and meet him. She has to persuade her husband to go visit him, or something.” He flips back through the pages. “See, it’s here. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for us to visit him if you do not.”

Steve frowns. “She can’t meet people without her husband?”

“Sexist!” Shelby Holland screeches.

“Nope,” Billy says. He tips his head to one side. “It’s not all one way, though,” he says thoughtfully. “The men have to be introduced to the women by someone else as well.” He frowns down at the book. “Here, look. So he inquired who she was, and got introduced… and there’s another bit earlier, when Darcy is bitching about Elizabeth. Bingley wants him to meet her… yeah, here. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”

Steve folds his arms. “Seems like a weird way of meeting people,” he says. “Why is Darcy bitching about Elizabeth?”

Billy laughs. “He’s an asshole. He thinks he’s better than everyone at the party, and Bingley tries to get him to dance with Elizabeth. He doesn’t realize she’s sitting close enough to hear what he says about her.”

“Why, what does he say?” Steve asks, interested in spite of himself. There’s something extremely surreal about sitting here, being transported into the world of Jane Austen with Billy Hargrove.

Billy doesn’t seem to have noticed. His nail-bitten finger travels across the page as he reads aloud: “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.” He closes the book. “What a burn, right?”

He reads well. For a second, Steve feels like he understands the story, gets what’s going on in a way he never has before in English class. He says uncomfortably: “You’re good at this.”

Billy looks up abruptly. “What?” He’s suddenly on the defensive, like an animal just realizing it had been lulled into a false sense of security. “What do you mean?”

Steve waves vaguely towards the desk and the book. “This stuff,” he says. “You’re good at… getting it.”

“It’s easy,” Billy says dismissively. “You’d be way ahead of me if you’d actually read the book, Harrington.”

“I wouldn’t,” Steve says, and then wonders why he’s disagreeing. He says anyway: “I’m total shit at English.”

Billy laughs. “English, basketball,” he says. He glances at Steve. “Anything you’re good at, Harrington?”

Babysitting, Steve thinks, and nearly laughs out loud.

Chapter Text

This has got to be the weirdest fucking Monday Billy has ever had in his entire life. And that includes the time he wore Penny Walton’s underwear to school back in Cali.

He didn’t exactly know Harrington would be in school, but he seemed basically fine at the weekend, so it was a fair guess. Billy loves a fight, so he was pretty pumped all morning waiting for it. To be honest, he was kind of disappointed that English came before Gym; he’s always liked riling King Steve up on the basketball court.

He wasn’t expecting to deliver a fucking lesson on the first three chapters of Pride and Prejudice. And he sure wasn’t expecting to enjoy doing it.

And Harrington… Harrington said he was good at it. He looked at him with something that would probably be admiration if he didn’t hate Billy so fucking much. He’s not sure anyone has told him he’s good at anything that wasn’t basketball in his entire fucking life. It feels stupidly pleasant to hear.

When the bell rings, Harrington starts packing up his shit in a way that indicates he’s about to hightail out to lunch without looking back. Billy, oddly, doesn’t want the exchange to end.

“Hey, Harrington,” he says, and Harrington stops, glancing at him. He has about fifty percent less venom in his expression than when Billy walked through the door, which feels like both a win and a loss.

“What?” At least he still sounds pissed.

Billy shrugs. “Look, princess, if you want to dick about for the rest of the semester, my grades can take the hit,” he says. “If not, though…” He lets his voice trail off.

Harrington, predictably, takes the bait. “Jeez,” he groans. His head falls onto one hand, and for a moment, Billy wonders just why he looks so damn tired. He puts his book bag back on the floor. “Okay. How do we do this?”

Billy laughs. “You could read the book,” he suggests. Harrington pulls a face, and Billy laughs again. “Hey, I know you said you don’t like reading, but…”

“I read slow,” Harrington says through gritted teeth. It sounds like it was painful for him to admit it, although Billy really has no idea why. It’s not like he thought Harrington was smart. When Billy barks out a laugh, Harrington glances at him. “You haven’t read it either,” he snaps.

“I read slow,” Billy says mockingly. He looks around; most of the class have filed out by now. It’s lunch time, the only thing that makes students rush en masse. “Want to get out of here, princess?”

“Shut up,” Steve says angrily. “Don’t call me that.” But he stands up anyway, picks up his book bag and slings it over his shoulder. It looks like he’s getting ready to escape again, which Billy doesn’t like. Why should Harrington get to run away? Billy’s not done with him yet.

He has no idea why he gets off on needling the kid like this. But he’s not particularly motivated to stop.

So he falls into step with Harrington, walks beside him like they’re friends. “Cafeteria or brown bag?” he asks, the way you would with a friend. Harrington gives him a baleful glare.

“Brown bag,” he says reluctantly.

“Hey, me too!” Billy says in mock delight. He laughs at Harrington’s expression. “Loosen up, Harrington. Come and have a smoke, and we can talk Jane freaking Austen.”

Harrington’s cheeks are bright red. “I am not having lunch with you,” he spits, low and furious, and Billy feels a spike of something like anger and pain and rejection all at once.

“You will if you want to pass this class,” he points out, keeping his voice light, and Harrington sighs, defeated.

Sometimes Billy’s dad gives him money for lunch, and sometimes he doesn’t. On the days he doesn’t, Billy has to find lunch from whatever Susan won’t miss in the fridge. So today Billy’s lunch comprises of a banana, a can of Tab, and a Pink Lemonade Fruit Roll-Up. He could splash a couple of his own dollars, of course, which is undoubtedly what his dad expects him to do, but Billy is saving his money for better things.

Harrington, on the other hand, gets a proper brown bag out of his locker. When Billy gives him a look, he gives one right back, like he doesn’t get why Billy keeps bugging him. Billy doesn’t really get why he keeps bugging him, but it makes him feel less restless, so he’s not about to stop.

“Where were you planning on consuming that there nutritional luncheon, Mr Harrington?” he asks, and Harrington rolls his eyes. Billy cackles; it hurts his throat.

“Outside, I guess,” he says, and Billy remembers that usually Harrington eats with Nancy Wheeler.

He follows Harrington through the cafeteria and out the back. Harrington walks past the benches where the stoner kids hang out, heads towards the bleachers. It’s cold out, so there aren’t many people eating out here. Billy’s already shivering a little, but Harrington actually looks flushed. He climbs up the rows of benches, picking a spot right at the back that’s as far as it’s possible to be from anyone else stupid enough to be out here.

Billy takes a seat opposite him, sitting cross-legged on the bench to face him. “You ashamed of me, Harrington?”

Harrington looks at him then. Looks him up and down, from dirty sneakers to carefully styled hair. He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to. Of course I am, the look says. Who the hell wouldn’t be?

Billy feels a lump in his throat. He fucking knows Harrington’s better than him. It doesn’t need to be said.

Harrington takes a Saran-wrapped sandwich out of his brown bag. Billy digs the banana out of his pocket. He peels it slowly, savoring the immediate banana-smell that has Harrington wrinkling his nose. With Harrington watching, Billy slides his tongue along the rough flesh of the banana. He’s not quite sure why he’s doing it, but it’s freaking Harrington the hell out. He stares at Billy, his eyes wide and disgusted.

“Want a bite, Harrington?” Billy says in a low voice. His stomach flips over immediately after, and he’s kind of wishing he didn’t do it. Didn’t start this. Steve is just looking at him, like he can’t believe the depths Billy will sink to.

“The hell is wrong with you, Hargrove?” he asks. He doesn’t shout it, the way Billy might have thought he would. He just asks, like he genuinely wants to know. But Billy doesn’t have an answer for him.

He just grins, keeps up the front as he takes a bite from the end of the banana. “Cool your jets, Harrington,” he says cheerfully, although his heart is pounding. He doesn’t even know why. “Eat your fucking sandwich.”

Harrington’s sandwich smells eggy and delicious. Billy’s stomach growls as Harrington eats it. He gets through his banana and Fruit Roll-Up in about half a minute, and pops the cap on the can of Tab, chugging it slowly while he waits for Harrington to catch up. He gets his copy of Pride and Prejudice out of his book bag while he’s waiting, flipping through it to the earmarked page that starts off Chapter Four.

“What’s happening now?” Harrington asks, peering over the top of the book. Billy looks up at him.

“I literally just started reading,” he says flatly. He glances down at the book. “Looks like Jane and Elizabeth are, like… talking.”

Harrington starts chewing his lip instead of his food. “About what?”

“Harrington,” Billy says. “I don’t fucking know, because I just started.”

He goes back to the book. Harrington finishes his sandwich. He’s watching Billy and pretending not to, and that’s how Billy figures it out. Harrington doesn’t just hate reading in the way that every kid hates reading. He hates reading to the extent that he’d rather have Billy, someone he can’t stand, tell him the gist of the assigned book that his entire grade depends upon.

Eyes still flickering across to Harrington, Billy says experimentally: “When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister just how very much she admired him.”

Harrington looks determinedly down at the apple in his hand and doesn’t say anything.

“"He is just what a young man ought to be,” said she,” Billy says. He waits. Harrington snorts. He goes on: ““sensible, good-humoured, lively; and I never saw such happy manners!—so much ease, with such perfect good breeding — Jeez, she doesn’t ask for much.”

“Yeah, that’s you screwed,” Harrington mutters.

Billy laughs. “You think you’d be in with a chance with her? She wants someone sensible, princess, you’re gone at the first hurdle.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Harrington takes a bite of his apple. “You going to keep reading?”

So Billy does. He reads the fourth chapter aloud, letting himself sink into the story. It’s not how he’d planned on spending his lunchtime, but it’s kind of relaxing, reading the old-fashioned language and letting the words flow out. He knows he has a nice reading voice, but quite apart from that, he’s finding it easier to pick meaning from the passages when he hears them aloud.

It’s not totally seamless. Every now and then, either he or Harrington will comment on the language - not all of the words are totally familiar, and there are definitely contextual clues they’re missing - or on the story. Billy’s oddly impressed by the strong impression he already has of the characters. For a book written in the 1800s, it’s an easy read.

When he reaches the end of the chapter, he stops, taking a last gulp of Tab. Harrington has a small, pensive frown on his face. He says: “Kinda thought I’d hate it more.”

“Me too,” Billy says. He’s feeling odd, his stomach kind of fluttery and tight at the same time.

Harrington looks up at him. “You get any more ideas for the presentation?”

Billy shrugs. They’ve already talked a little about what the story has told them about life in the Regency era, but he’s not exactly knowledgeable about it. “I guess we’ll have to finish the damn thing,” he says. “Maybe go to the library, put in some research.”

“How long do we have before we have to present?” Harrington asks.

“‘Til the end of the semester, so what, four and a half weeks?,” Billy says. He laughs at Harrington’s expression. “Apparently we have writing assignments on Fridays too, but I missed last week’s.”

Harrington’s mouth is slightly open. “We’re supposed to read the whole thing in four and a half weeks?”

“Yeah, and pull together an assignment,” Billy says. “You’ll be alright, princess. I guess we were supposed to read it over the summer.”

Harrington gives him a look, and he laughs.

There’s a short silence, during which Billy pulls out a packet of smokes. They’re not supposed to smoke on school grounds, but he’s fucking freezing at this point and they’re so far out that no one is likely to see them. He puts one between his lips, and then offers the packet to Harrington.

It’s a mark of how freaked out Harrington is that he takes one, Billy thinks. He’s never seen Harrington smoke.

He feels instantly better when he lights the cigarette, not least because watching Harrington trying to inhale is like a comedy show. He doesn’t cough outright, but it’s definitely a near thing. Billy watches and smokes and grins wickedly at him.

“I’m not going to be able to read a whole book in four weeks,” Harrington mutters, more to himself than to Billy. He glances up. “How many chapters are there? We just read the fourth, right?”

Billy checks. He winces. “Yeah, four out of sixty-one,” he says.

“Shit,” Harrington says.

Billy hesitates. “Look, Harrington,” he says, and then stops. Harrington is looking at him, but his expression is unfriendly. It’s been a really weird lunch hour. Billy says: “We could… do this again.” He clears his throat. He’s Billy fucking Hargrove, and he’s not afraid of anything. “We gotta read the book, right, princess? So let’s just bite the fucking bullet and read it, get a passing grade, never speak again, yada yada yada.” He stops, sucks in a lungful of smoke. He feels like a fucking idiot.

Harrington is eyeing him suspiciously. “You mean, you reading?” he asks warily.

“Yeah,” Billy says. He sighs. “Easier than struggling through on our own, right?”

“Didn’t sound like you were struggling,” Harrington points out.

Billy shrugs. He really doesn’t want to explore - even to himself - any of the reasons he’s offering this. “I can keep doing my thing on my own if you want, princess,” he says languidly. “You can have a shitty time reading and I can have a shitty time reading and then we’ll have to get together—” Christ, his heart is beating hard “—and have a shitty time talking about what we read, or we can roll all the bullshit into one really shitty time.”

“You’re really selling it,” Harrington says dryly, but when Billy opens his mouth to comment, he holds up a hand. He suddenly looks really, really fucking tired. “Yeah, alright, I’m in,” he says. “Jeez. Fifty-seven chapters in three weeks.”

Billy frowns. “Three weeks?” he says.

“We should leave some time to plan the presentation,” Steve replies. “So, three weeks. Jesus. Is that even possible?”

“They’re short chapters,” Billy says, grinning at the pained expression on Steve’s face. “If we get through two or three a day, we’ll make it.”

“Two or three a day,” Harrington moans.

Billy snaps the book closed. “Ah, it won’t be that bad, princess,” he says. “One at lunch, a couple after school - it’ll be over before you know it.”

He reaches out and gives Harrington’s shoulder a playful nudge.

Which turns out to be a fucking mistake.

Harrington flinches away, and whatever uneasy camaraderie that might have been established disappears in a split second. Too late, Billy remembers that the last time he voluntarily touched Harrington, he was pounding on his face with a heavy and unrestrained fist. It feels like another lifetime ago, like something that happened to someone else. Right now, he can’t even evoke the memory of the rage that had been coursing through his body in that moment.

Why the fuck did he do it?

“I have to go,” Harrington mutters. “We have to get back to class.”

“Harrington,” Billy says. Harrington is standing up already, gathering up his litter like the responsible fucking citizen he is. “Hey, Harrington.”

Harrington just looks at him, eyes tired. “What?”

I’m sorry. The words are right there, right on the tip of Billy’s tongue. He can feel them in his head. He’s not totally sure they’re true, or at least true for the right reasons, but he knows he should say them. Beating Harrington up was stupid, and probably wrong. He doesn’t know anymore. But he should say he’s sorry.

But he doesn’t. He can’t.

He says, weakly: “After school? My place?”

For a moment, Harrington looks disappointed, and it makes something painful curl inside Billy’s stomach. Then he nods, the motion curt and jerky, and walks away.

Chapter Text

Predictably, Dustin isn’t outside the middle school at four. Steve has successfully managed to avoid Billy, Nancy and Jonathan for the afternoon, but now he’s stuck in his car, head pounding, and Dustin is late.

The events of the morning - and lunchtime - are still revolving around his head like a broken record. Obviously, he’d known he would have to work on the presentation with Billy Hargrove, but somehow he hadn’t really considered the practical details of what that would look like. He’d just focused on the general awfulness of having to spend longer than a hot second in Billy’s company.

Now that it’s actually happened, he’s kind of reeling from it. Partly because he’s never engaged that much with a book in his entire life, and it’s pretty overwhelming - but mostly because hanging out with Billy… wasn’t awful.

God, he’s a fucking mess. He rubs his face, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. The little digital clock above his wheel tells him that Dustin is officially jerking him around; it’s nearly quarter past four. Steve wants to go home, wants to just drive away and pretend he’s the only fucking human being alive, but he doesn’t. He stays.

Billy hadn’t made fun of him about the reading thing. Of course, Steve had downplayed quite how much he loathes reading, and the written word in general, but it had to have been at least semi-obvious for Billy to have started reading out loud like that. He’d thought Billy would laugh. He has no idea why he didn’t.

“Steve!” It’s Dustin, finally, flying out of the school with his curls bouncing on his shoulders and his backpack on his arm. “Hey!”

Steve glares at him as he clambers into the front seat. “You’re late,” he says, but Dustin isn’t listening, too busy waving to Lucas and - Jesus, is that Max? They’re both climbing into another car, but it’s not Billy’s. It looks like Lucas’ dad is picking them up.

“Mike didn’t come,” Dustin explains, following the line of his gaze. “He’s gone to see El.” He laughs. “You know she’s like his girlfriend?”

Well, no, Steve hadn’t explicitly known that, but their reunion at the Byers’ residence hadn’t left much to the imagination. “Sure,” he says. He sighs. He’s not going to get an apology from Dustin, and honestly he doesn’t really need one. “How was AV club?”

“Awesome,” Dustin says. “Mr Clarke brought in a compact disc.” He fastens his seatbelt. “How was your first day back?”

Steve considers the question. If you’d asked him before lunch, the answer would have definitive, but now he’s feeling conflicted. He says, his voice measured: “It was okay.”

“Did you hang out with Jonathan? Did he tell you anything about Will?”

Steve coughs. “No,” he says. He starts the car. It’s nearly twenty past four; he has no idea when Billy is expecting him, but somehow he doesn’t like the idea of keeping him waiting. Which is fucking ridiculous. Billy can wait all night if Steve wants him to.

Dustin is looking up at him with a pensive expression on his face. He says: “I guess it must be weird, man. He’s dating Nancy now, right?” When Steve nods tersely, Dustin says wisely: “That’s like me and Max. She chose Lucas.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Steve snaps, and then immediately feels bad for it when Dustin closes his mouth with a clatter of teeth. “Sorry.”

Dustin shrugs tightly. “It’s cool,” he says, but he’s looking out of the window, and Steve’s an asshole.

He bites his lip, and then says: “She’s just not the right girl, you know?”

“Sure,” Dustin says unhappily.

“No, really,” Steve says. “It is kind of like Nancy, I guess. She’s happy with Jonathan, so…”

“So you’re happy for her, right?” Dustin asks, finally turning to meet Steve’s eyes. He sighs deeply. “I’m happy for Lucas too, I guess.”

Steve smiles, bittersweet. “It still sucks, dude.”

“Yeah,” Dustin says heavily. Then he brightens. “But she has so many cool ideas in AV club! We were talking about electromagnetic waves, you know—”

He devolves into a long and complex story that Steve’s only half-listening to, partly because he doesn’t really understand it and partly because he’s kind of jealous that Dustin has moved on from Max so quickly. Of course, it’s not in any way the same as Nancy - he and Nancy dated for over a year, whereas Dustin is an eighth-grader who had a crush for about five minutes - but he can’t help but feel that Dustin’s in a much healthier place than he is. He’s disappointed, but he’s still able to be friends with Max - and Lucas, for that matter.

Steve would quite happily go the rest of his life without looking Nancy or Jonathan in the face. It’s sad, really, since they’re the only two people his age who know anything about what he’s gone through in the last year - he’s a lone wolf, with no one to talk to about the Upside Down, no one to share his fears. There’s just him and an empty house, while everyone else who went through it with him has someone to lean on.

Still, that was pretty much Jonathan last year, so he can’t really complain. Sure, Jonathan had his mom and Steve doesn’t, but he didn’t have Nancy. And even if Steve was somehow able to find a way of being around the pair of them, he can’t imagine talking to them about how scared the Upside Down makes him anyway.

He pulls up outside Dustin’s house, just in time for the kid to draw breath. It’s kind of sweet, how Dustin has latched onto him, and in all honesty Steve is starving for the company. He wasn’t wrong when he told Nancy he’s a kickass babysitter.

“Do you want to come in?” Dustin asks. “My mom won’t care, she’s not even home. She has book club,” he adds, in tones of deep disgust.

Steve glances at the clock on the dash. “I’m supposed to go to Billy’s,” he says.

He probably should have explained that better, because Dustin pretty much chokes on his own spit. “Billy? As in Billy Hargrove?”

Steve sighs. “We got put together in English class,” he says, voice betraying his despair. “We have to do a presentation.”

“Steve, Billy beat you up,” Dustin exclaims, like Steve might have forgotten. “You can’t go to his house! He’s probably going to kick the shit out of you again! Are you staying for dinner? What if he poisons you?”

“Okay, okay!” Steve says, holding up his hands to stem the tide of words. “Jesus, Dustin. It’s going to be fine. His parents will be home, and Max—”

“Max is having dinner with Lucas!” Dustin says. “Steve, he probably waited until she went out! What if his parents aren’t there? There won’t be anyone to help you!”

Steve rubs his head. “Dustin, I have to go. I can’t fail this class. You think I want to spent time talking to Billy freaking Hargrove about Pride and Prejudice?” As he says this, his stomach twists uncomfortably. He’s not lying, exactly: Billy is still the asshole that beat him up in front of a bunch of kids, and the prospect of hanging out with him all afternoon isn’t one he’s relishing. But he’s definitely overplaying it to Dustin. Lunchtime wasn’t all that bad.

“Who cares about failing one stupid class when your life could be in danger?” Dustin presses.

Steve laughs mirthlessly. “I do,” he says. “If I fail English, I don’t get to go to college. That might not seem like a big deal to you right now, but…”

Dustin stops freaking out when Steve says that. He chews his lip thoughtfully, a little frown on his face. Eventually he says: “Okay, wait here.”

He darts out of the car before Steve can answer. Steve sighs, considers bashing his head against the steering wheel, and just sits and waits for Dustin to come back. All things considered, he’s actually kind of touched that Dustin cares so much about him.

When Dustin comes back, he’s ditched his backpack and his cheeks are pink. He gets back in the front seat, just slightly out of breath; he has a walkie talkie in his hand.

“Okay, if you’re going to hang out with Billy Hargrove, you’ll need this,” he says firmly. “I have a few spares, you know, just in case. I gave one to Max, but she probably has hers with her, so you should take this one. You should have it anyway, you know?” His eyebrows wiggle dangerously. “Everyone in the Party has one.”

Steve takes the walkie talkie doubtfully. “Am I in the Party now?”

“Of course,” Dustin says, like it should be obvious.

“Oh,” Steve says, feeling oddly affected by the declaration. “Thanks.”

Dustin nods firmly. “If you get into any trouble, use the walkie,” he says. “Mike’s with the Chief, so he can drive over and save you if Billy tries to kill you.”

“He’s not going to try to kill me,” Steve says.

“Okay, but if he does,” Dustin persists. “And we should have a signal, you know, when you first go there. If you sense danger, just, like, say… say ‘code yellow’. And then we’ll know you’re on the alert.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “If I sense danger, I’ll leave,” he points out.

Dustin ignores this. “Code yellow for danger, and code red if you need help,” he says. “And if you think everything is okay, then—”

“Code green?” Steve guesses, and Dustin grins.

“Yeah. That way we know you’re okay,” he says.

Steve spends the next ten minutes practicing turning the walkie on and off, and explaining to Dustin that he really doesn’t need to repeat the codes over and over because they’re not that hard to remember. He probably doesn’t argue as hard as he should do. There’s something very, very endearing about how seriously Dustin is taking his safety.

By the time Dustin finally lets him go, it’s almost five. Steve’s heart is racing as he drives over to Max’s place; talking to Dustin has reinforced how anxious Billy actually makes him. Although he doesn’t actually think Billy’s going to attack him - no matter what Dustin says - he’s still unpredictable, and Steve has no idea how the afternoon is going to go.

Hopefully as low-key as lunchtime. That’s what Steve is holding on to when he pulls up outside the Hargrove home.

Billy’s car is outside, but there aren’t any others there, so Steve has to assume his parents aren’t home. He gets out of his car, looking up at the house. He’s not going to stand here like a fucking moron, so he marches straight up to the front door, raises the knocker, and lets it fall.

A few seconds pass. Steve scratches his head. Another few seconds go by, during which he contemplates getting back in the car. Finally, the door opens.

“Hey,” Billy says. He has that irritatingly smug smile that makes Steve’s blood boil. “Wondered if you were going to show up.”

Steve sighs. “Let’s get this over with.”

He follows Billy into the house. His stomach is churning, and he realizes suddenly that he really, really doesn’t want to be here; being around Billy makes him feel unsettled precisely because he doesn’t understand the kid whatsoever.

Billy moves restlessly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He’s still grinning, but Steve has the distinct impression that he’s not quite as cocky as he’s making out. He says carelessly: “Want a drink, or something?”

Steve, surprised into answering honestly, says: “Uh, sure.”

Thus it is armed with a can of Tab that Steve makes his way up the stairs to Billy’s bedroom. Billy is unusually quiet; Steve wonders idly if he’s nervous too. It must be kind of weird, hanging out with someone he beat up, although it’s not like Steve has a single fucking clue about anything that goes on in Billy’s head.

When they get to his bedroom, Billy closes the door behind them as Steve looks around. His room is untidy, but not overly so, with a couple of posters on the walls and a collection of earrings in a little pile on his bedside table. It looks oddly generic to Steve - somehow he’d expected something more dramatic, a bedroom as wild and avant-garde as Billy himself. But this is just an ordinary room.

“Satisfied, princess?” Steve turns around to see Billy watching him. His smile is predatory. “Like what you see?”

For some reason, the image of Billy licking his banana at lunch pops into Steve’s head. It was so unnatural, so obscene, and it had totally freaked Steve out. He doesn’t know what it is about Billy - this undercurrent in everything he says, like he really means something else. Something Steve is too square to understand.

“Whatever, Billy,” Steve scoffs, trying not to flush. Billy just laughs, and Steve sits down at the desk.

Billy, on the other hand, flops onto his bed. “Relax, Harrington,” he says. “I’m not going to bite.”

Steve opens his mouth to make a cutting retort, but before he can, there’s a loud squawk from his book bag. Steve’s insides kind of shrivel up, because it’s the walkie fucking talkie; Dustin must have switched it on before Steve left his house.

“Steve, status report.” It’s Dustin’s most portentous voice, which is even more embarrassing. Steve dives for his bag, rummaging around for the walkie.

“Harrington, what the fuck?” Billy asks mildly.

Steve pulls the walkie out just as Dustin says: “Steve, are you okay? Are you in trouble?”

He’s itching to just turn the damn thing off, but Dustin will probably take that as a sign that he should come racing over. Steve squares his shoulders. Billy is still looking kind of confused - although Steve is pretty sure that will turn into mockery the minute he figures out what’s going on - but he shouldn’t be confused or mocking. He should feel fucking guilty. There’s a reason Dustin insisted on Steve bringing the walkie.

So he lifts the walkie to his mouth, presses the talk button, and says clearly: “Dustin, chill. I’m fine.”

“Are you there? At his place? Has he done anything?” Dustin asks urgently.

“Whose place?” This voice belongs to Mike. Steve closes his eyes briefly.

When he opens them again, Billy is staring at him, the corners of his mouth twitching. Steve ignores him, pressing the talk button again to say in clipped tones: “Yeah, I’m here, and I’m fine. I’m switching this thing off.” Dustin starts to argue, but he interrupts firmly: “I’ll turn it back on if I need to. I’m busy, Dustin.”

As soon as he’s said it, he twists the walkie off. Dustin and Mike will manage fine.

“That your mom?” Billy says immediately.

“Fuck off,” Steve snaps back.

Billy laughs. It’s not a very nice sound. “Kinda cute that you’ve got a babysitter checking in on you, Harrington. That one of my sister’s friends? I’m pretty sure I’ve heard her talking about a Dustin.”

Suddenly, abruptly, Steve is really, really pissed. He’s on his feet almost before he knows it, cheeks heating up as he glares at Billy. He’s tried, he really fucking has. He hasn’t retaliated, has barely mentioned what happened last week, and Billy is just so smug, so unrepentant. He doesn’t give a shit about what he did, doesn’t care that he gave Steve a concussion, that he could have actually fucking killed him.

“Yeah, it is,” he spits. “You met him before. He was at the Byers’ place last week, remember? I gave him a ride home today, and for some crazy reason he was pretty worried about me coming here.” He taps the walkie talkie. “All his friends have one of these. Including Max, actually, but the one you should be really worried about is Mike.”

Billy is sitting extremely still on the bed. “Mike,” he repeats. “Who’s Mike?”

“Mike is having dinner with Chief Hopper tonight,” Steve says.

“Harrington—” Billy says, and then stops. There’s a moment when it feels like he doesn’t know what he’s going to say, like he’s actually struggling with something. Then he says: “If you’re too scared to be alone with me, we can always go hang out with some of your little eighth-grader friends to study. It’s no big deal to me.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Steve says wearily, sitting back down again. “Just—”

There’s the bang of a front door downstairs, and Billy sits up so straight that Steve actually forgets to hate him for a moment. There’s a weird expression on his face, kind of like a wild animal pricking its ears up to listen for predators, and as Steve watches, Billy glances from his bedroom door to the window and back again in the space of about a quarter of a second.

“That’s my dad and Susan,” Billy says.

Steve frowns. “Okay,” he says. “So?”

Footsteps on the stairs. Billy doesn’t answer him. He swings his legs around to put his feet on the floor, although he doesn’t stand up. Steve is kind of weirded out by the whole thing; Billy seems to have completely forgotten that he’s supposed to be making fun right now.

The door swings open, and Billy’s dad takes a step into the room. When he sees Steve, he stops, his eyes widening a little.

“Billy,” he says. He looks at Steve again. “Who’s this?”

*

Billy had really been hoping Harrington would come over earlier. If he’d just come straight after school, they could have been done by now, Harrington on his way long before his dad got home. Figures he’d be hanging out with fucking middle-schoolers instead.

Neil is looking his normal blend of upstanding citizen and irritated parent, although Billy can see that he’s had to paste on his smile pretty quickly. He wasn’t expecting anyone else to be in Billy’s room. He says: “Dad, this is Steve.”

“Steve,” his dad says, frowning. “Steve. Have we met, Steve?”

Steve glances at Billy, very quickly. “No, sir,” he says. “Billy and me are working on a presentation in English class together.”

“Ah,” Neil says, in that self-satisfied way that means he’s feeling vindicated about something. “So you’re the reason I caught him reading Jane Austen yesterday, right?”

Another minute look at Billy. “I guess so,” Harrington says uncertainly.

Billy’s dad nods, smiling. “Well, it’s good to meet you, Steve,” he says. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“Uh,” Steve says.

“You’d be very welcome,” Neil presses.

Steve looks down at his hands. He probably can’t think of an excuse to say no. “Sure,” he says to his interlocked fingers. “If… if that’s alright.”

Neil smiles genially. “Absolutely,” he says. “I never thought I’d see Billy studying at a weekend. Seems like you’re a good influence, Steve.”

After he leaves, Billy’s shoulders sag. He’s feeling frazzled, his nerves jangling, and he’s aware that Harrington is watching him. He’s kind of wishing Harrington wasn’t here, but at the same time, having him around is an easy distraction. He puts a smile on his face, pretends even to himself that his dad’s final dig didn’t matter, and drums his feet on the floor.

“Looks like you’ve won the parental approval, Harrington,” he says, grinning.

Harrington sighs, sounding pained. “Can you just call me Steve?”

Billy’s heart, for absolutely no reason at all, flips over in his chest. “Ste-e-eve,” he drawls, pulling the word out as long as it will go. He laughs, feels stupid, and stops. “You got it, Steve.”

Steve rolls his eyes, shifting in his chair. He still looks kind of spooked after Neil’s sudden appearance, but at least he’s not threatening Billy with the Chief anymore. It still makes Billy feel weird and uncomfortable when he thinks about being brought home in the police cruiser last week; his head has long since healed, but the image of his dad’s face, of Max holding that fucking bat over his head, of punching Harrington in the jaw… that’s stayed with him.

“Are we going to do this?” Steve asks tersely. For a second, Billy isn’t sure what he’s talking about, but then he remembers that Steve isn’t actually here to hang out, or anything.

He reaches over to his bedside table, grabbing his copy of Pride and Prejudice. “Sure thing, Stevie,” he says flippantly. Steve closes his eyes briefly. It looks like that’s going to be a pattern. “Where were we?”

“Uh,” Steve says, and Billy realizes that he took the question literally. “I guess everyone was talking about the ball, or whatever?” He stops, scratching his ear.

“Top marks,” Billy says, but even he isn’t cruel enough to mock too much; Steve is looking truly uncomfortable, a little pink in his cheeks, and he won’t meet Billy’s eyes. Billy flips through the book, finding his place. “Okay, Chapter Five. Let’s do this.”

Steve looks just slightly less awkward. He leans back a little, nods, and says: “Okay.”

“Within a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets were particularly intimate,” Billy begins, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees that Steve has shut his eyes again. “Sir William Lucas had been formerly in trade in Meryton …”

Chapter Text

“You must be on crack, Harrington.”

“No, seriously, I think she has a point, you know?”

“Yeah, sure, if she wants the whole world to kick her ass.”

Steve sighs, but he doesn’t sound any less spirited when he retorts: “Not everyone cares so much about saving face, Billy.”

“Jane does,” Billy points out. “And so does Elizabeth, look - she considered with pleasure that it was not likely to be discovered by the world in general.”

“What, and Elizabeth is the expert here? Charlotte makes way more sense. Jane hardly gets any time with Bingley, she can’t be all shy when she does see him,” Steve argues. They’ve been going back and forth for about ten minutes now, ever since Billy started reading Chapter Six.

Needless to say, they have differing opinions.

“Charlotte’s whacked out,” Billy says bluntly. “Even Elizabeth knows it. You know it is not sound, and that you would never act in this way yourself, see? She’s talking out of her ass. No sane person is going to go out there and tell someone they like them just like that.”

Steve snatches the book out of Billy’s hands. “You’re not the only one who can find quotes,” he snaps. “Charlotte’s not crazy, she has that whole thing about love - this bit, right - there is so muck - much—” He stops abruptly. “Well, you’ve read it,” he says.

Billy frowns. Steve is looking embarrassed, his cheeks hot, but Billy’s not really sure why. Unless he’s just realized Billy is right, which obviously he is. He says slowly: “What thing about love?”

Steve shoves the book at him, pointing to one of the paragraphs. “Here,” he says roughly.

“There is so much of gratitude or vanity in almost every attachment, that it is not safe to leave any to itself. We can all begin freely—a slight preference is natural enough; but there are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement,” Billy reads. Steve seems to relax slightly as he speaks; Billy glances up at him. “You believe this bullshit?”

“Sure,” Steve says. He doesn’t rise to the jibe; after an hour or so of this, he’s obviously got used to Billy… well, being Billy. “If you like someone and they act like they couldn’t care less, you’re obviously going to move on, right?”

Billy looks down at the page again. “What about the whole thing about gratitude?” he asks. “Gratitude and vanity, she says. You think people fall in love because they’re grateful and vain?”

“Not like that,” Steve says thoughtfully. He hesitates, obviously considering the question. “I guess a little, though,” he says at last. “Not in a bad way, but it feels nice, right? Having someone like you, it makes you feel good, even if you don’t like them back. Sometimes it even makes you look at them differently. I guess that’s what she means.”

“Well, maybe,” Billy says dubiously. “I don’t know if she’s thinking that way so much, though. I think she just doesn’t think love is all that important. What does she say? Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance.”

Steve laughs. “You don’t believe that, though, right?”

“Wouldn’t know,” Billy says lightly. “Never been married.”

“Asshole,” Steve says, but there’s no heat in his words, and he’s actually smiling a little.

For some reason, Billy is thinking about Nancy Wheeler. He knows Steve dated her for a while before he got to town, but they broke up pretty recently. It’s the talk of the school, especially because she dumped him for the school’s resident creeper kid. He wonders if Steve is thinking about her at all when he talks about love.

Billy has never even come close to being in love. He doesn’t really have a point of reference for this kind of conversation.

He’s debating asking Steve about Wheeler when there comes a timid knock at his door that can only come from Susan. She pushes it open a crack, her little mousy face appearing in the gap.

“Billy, dinner’s ready,” she says. Her eyes flicker to Steve, and she opens the door a little more. “I hope you like tuna casserole.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, with an enthusiasm that makes Billy blink. “I love casserole.”

Susan smiles. “That’s great,” she says sincerely. Her smile falters when she glances at Billy, which is pretty typical. “Well, wash your hands, boys, and I’ll see you downstairs.”

She disappears, closing the door behind her. Steve looks at Billy. “Is that Max’s mom?”

“Well, she’s definitely not mine,” Billy says firmly. “You hungry?”

“Starving,” Steve says, which is kind of funny given that he’s the one who had a proper sandwich at lunch.

He actually washes his hands in the bathroom before they head downstairs, because apparently he’s a goody-two-shoes, and Billy laughs at him all the way into the kitchen. And abruptly stops laughing, because his dad and Susan are already sitting at the table, a steaming plate of casserole in front of them. Neil is wearing his default, ready-to-be-irritated expression, so Billy doesn’t bother with a smart comment as he sits down.

Steve follows suit. He says to Susan: “This look great, Mrs Hargrove. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Oh, you’re very welcome,” Susan says graciously. Billy tries and fails to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Of course Steve is a kiss-ass.

To be fair, the tuna casserole is pretty good, although Steve digs in like it’s the freaking manna from heaven. Billy actually feels like a gentleman beside him.

Neil, predictably, doesn’t seem to notice flaws in anyone apart from Billy. Given that Billy isn’t currently exhibiting any flaws, his attention turns to Susan. “What time is Maxine coming home?”

“Oh, I’m not sure,” Susan answers. Billy’s kind of envious of the way she’s not even a little nervous of his tone. “I was thinking we could pick her up after dinner.”

Neil’s gaze redirects to Billy. “Billy will go,” he says. “Won’t you, Billy?”

It’s always a struggle, even after all these years. He still has this pounding, instant urge to give his dad the finger, to tell him to go fuck himself. The response he would have if it were anyone else asking. He says through gritted teeth: “Yeah. Sure.”

He can feel Steve looking at him funny. He doesn’t look, shovelling another forkful of casserole into his mouth.

“Great,” Susan says, completely oblivious as usual. “She’s having dinner with Lucas Sinclair. I’ll give you the address, Billy.”

“I know where he lives,” Billy says.

His dad sets down his fork, frowning. Billy’s heart thuds, but Neil isn’t looking at him. He says to Susan, his voice measured: “Which one is Lucas Sinclair?”

“I don’t think I’ve met him, but I see his mother at the grocery store sometimes,” Susan says. “She’s a lovely woman. You know, the other day she was saying how polite Maxine is.”

“How would she know?” Neil asks carefully. Susan glances at him, and her smile starts to fade; she’s obviously catching onto what has been clear to Billy since she first mentioned Sinclair’s name. “Has she met Maxine before this evening?”

Susan puts down her fork with a tiny clatter on her plate. “Well, yes,” she says uncertainly. “Maxine spent some time with Lucas on Saturday, don’t you remember?”

Billy looks at Steve, hoping he’s finished his meal so they have an excuse to leave the table. No such luck; Steve is still eating like a champion, clearly completely unaware of the subtle drama going on with the happy Hargrove family.

“You know how I feel about that family,” Neil says.

“Mrs Sinclair is very nice,” Susan says faintly.

Billy’s dad picks up his fork again. The sound seems to awaken Steve to the conversation; he glances at Billy briefly, before taking another mouthful. Neil says: “I’m sure she is, Susan.”

Susan smiles. “Maxine likes Lucas,” she says. Out of the corner of his eye, Billy sees Steve smirking a little.

“Maxine has a bright future ahead of her,” Neil says evenly. “You know I want the best for her.”

“I know, honey,” Susan says.

Neil takes a bite of casserole. There’s a pregnant silence as he chews and swallows. “I want her to spend time with people who have as bright a future as she does,” he says at last. Steve, abruptly, stops eating. “That’s why I’m concerned about her spending too much time with the Sinclairs.”

Billy’s face is burning. It’s humiliating, just sitting here while his dad talks this way, with Steve listening to every word. It’s never really bothered him before, but Steve being here somehow amplifies what Neil is saying. Makes it shameful.

Steve takes a breath. “I actually know Lucas Sinclair a little,” he says. Both Neil and Susan turn to look at him like they’d forgotten he was there. Billy sinks a little lower in his chair, willing Steve to shut up.

“Is that right?” Neil says politely. “How’s that?”

“I babysit some of the local kids,” Steve says. Billy, in spite of the tense situation, has to smother a snort.

Susan beams like the fucking simpleton she is. “I bet you’re a great babysitter,” she says.

Steve laughs. There’s something a little forced about the sound. “Well, yeah, maybe,” he says. He redirects his gaze to Neil. “You know, Lucas is actually a pretty smart kid.”

“I’m sure he is,” Billy’s dad says sincerely. “It’s not about how smart he is, Steve. You must know that someone like that isn’t going anywhere in life.” When Steve opens his mouth to answer, he goes on: “It may not be what we want. The world isn’t always a fair one. He may be polite and smart, and Maxine may like him. But she’s got one destiny, and he’s got a different one. That’s just the way it is.”

Billy’s heard it about a thousand times before. It’s not that Neil has a problem with people like the Sinclairs - far from it, he wishes them well, hopes they’ll accomplish great things within their realm - but they’re just not in the same league as people like the Hargroves. White people. They’ll always have a ceiling Maxine doesn’t, and it’s not fair for her to be held back by it.

It’s always made sense, kind of. It’s not like Billy has spent much time exploring it on his own. But now, looking at the expression on Steve’s face… Now he kind of hates himself for going along with it.

He held Lucas Sinclair up against the wall. Screamed at Max to stay away from him. He’s an asshole.

Thankfully, Steve doesn’t argue. His face tells Billy that he strongly disagrees, but he’s too polite to start an argument with someone’s else’s dad in their own home. He just picks at the remainder of the casserole on his plate, looking at the table, and doesn’t speak at all.

Neil, oblivious, says: “So what’s this presentation about, Billy?”

Billy wets his lips, his mouth suddenly unaccountably dry. “Uh,” he says eloquently. “Pride and Prejudice.”

“Oh, I love that book!” Susan exclaims. “Are you enjoying it, Billy?”

“I guess,” Billy says, glancing swiftly at Steve. “It’s okay.”

His dad laughs unkindly. “Quite complex language, as I recall,” he says. The implication is clear. “Is Steve helping you?”

“Billy’s helping me,” Steve says, looking up. “I’m no good at English.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Neil says generously.

Billy stabs a piece of tuna with his fork. “Yeah, Steve Harrington is good at everything,” he mutters mutinously. Steve gives him a look.

Neil stills. “Harrington?” he repeats, looking at Steve. “Steve Harrington?”

“Uh, yeah?” Steve says. He glances at Billy.

“You’re the one Billy got into the fight with,” Neil says in a hard voice.

Oh, shit. “Dad—” Billy begins, but he has no idea where he’s going with it.

“Words cannot express how ashamed we were when Chief Hopper told us about that,” Neil says. He’s not looking at Billy. He doesn’t need to. Even though it’s over, even though Billy has already been punished for it, he knows he’s going to pay for a second time. “I’m amazed you’re even here, if I’m honest with you, Steve. We would have understood if you told the school you didn’t want to work with Billy. We would have supported you.”

Steve looks deeply uncomfortable. “It was a misunderstanding,” he says.

“It didn’t sound like a misunderstanding,” Neil presses. “The Chief said you were beaten pretty badly. Is that true?”

“Uh,” Steve says. His eyes skitter everywhere except Billy. “I guess. I’m fine now.”

Billy drops his fork with a clatter. “He had to go to hospital,” he says loudly. That’s what his dad wants to know: the extent of Billy’s sins. Now he has it. Now he knows.

Susan makes a faint sound of distress. “You did?”

“Were you badly injured?” Neil asks.

“It was just a concussion,” Steve says awkwardly. “I’ve had worse from basketball.”

Neil finally turns his glare on Billy. “You gave him a concussion?” The disgust in his voice is evident.

What, like you’ve never given me one? Billy wants to yell it, wants to thunder across the table just like his dad is doing to him. But he can’t. Not in front of Steve, not ever. He can scream at Max, scream at the world, get into fights, get drunk at parties - but he can’t say a damn word to his dad. He looks down at the table, cheeks hot and his eyes embarrassingly wet. At least Steve can’t see that part.

“Honestly, it wasn’t a big deal,” Steve says, which is so much more than Billy deserves. “It was my fault, really. Billy and me are fine now.”

That’s so far from the truth that Billy actually looks up, turns an incredulous gaze on Steve. But Steve isn’t looking at him. He’s looking at Neil.

“That’s very big of you, Steve,” Neil says. He sounds sincere, the way he’s always able to sound when he talks to… well, to anyone who isn’t Billy. He pierces Billy with a brief glare. “Please know that you’re always welcome here, and if there’s ever any trouble in the future… Well, there won’t be any trouble.” He looks pointedly at Billy. “Will there?”

Billy is slumped so low in his chair he’s practically falling off it. “No, sir.”

“Thank you,” Steve says uncomfortably.

Neil puts his knife and fork together. “I think it’s time you went to pick up Maxine, Billy,” he says, voice steely.

Billy is desperate to escape. “Okay,” he says.

“Are you boys finished with the presentation, or will we be seeing you here again?” his dad asks Steve.

Steve glances at Billy. “I guess you’ll be seeing me, if that’s alright,” he says.

“Of course,” Susan says gently. “You’re very welcome, Steve. It’s so nice to see Billy spending time with a friend.”

Billy very nearly laughs out loud at that characterisation. Steve is just about the furthest thing from his friend that it’s possible to have. He manages to keep his face blank, though. Maybe, if he takes a while getting Maxine, his dad will have forgotten to punish him by the time he gets back.

Maybe.

“Thank you for dinner, Mrs Hargrove,” Steve says, all politeness. Susan dimples, and Billy grinds his teeth.

They leave at the same time, each to their respective cars. Steve has his book bag over his shoulder; suddenly the walkie talkie doesn’t seem so funny anymore. Billy gets it, gets why none of Steve’s little eighth-grader friends trust him, why they feel the need to check up on him. That’s why the threat of the Chief was so real; Hopper wouldn’t hesitate for a moment before arresting him again. They all see him just the way his dad does: as a scumbag.

“See you at school,” Steve says. He sounds weird, kind of confused and sad.

Billy makes sure his own voice, by contrast, is light, flippant. “Sure thing, Harrington,” he says.

“Steve,” Steve corrects.

“Steve,” Billy repeats with a wide smile that he knows doesn’t touch his eyes.

Steve sighs. “Your dad… He’s kinda intense.”

Billy’s heart thuds painfully. “Yeah, he’s pretty worn out from being disappointed in his son,” he says glibly. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“What he said about Lucas…” Steve trails off, and Billy hates himself for being fucking hurt. Hurt that Steve was talking about Lucas and not about him. It’s fucking ridiculous.

“What about it?” he says.

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t like it.”

He has to say something. He can’t not. It’s not an apology, because as much as he might feel regret burning through him, Billy could never, ever express it, but it’s something. He says: “Look, Harrington… Steve. I’m not going to go after Sinclair again, if that’s what you’re worried about. If he and Maxine want to keep up their little romance, I’m good.”

This time, Steve actually meets his eyes. “You don’t care?”

“Nope,” Billy says. He’s surprised to find that he’s telling the truth. He really doesn’t give a shit what Max gets up to with Lucas Sinclair. “I don’t care.”

“That’s different,” Steve comments.

Billy shrugs. “Guess so,” he says. He opens the front door of his car. “See you at school, Harrington.”

As he pulls out of the drive, he glances in his rearview mirror. Steve is just standing there, outside his house, watching Billy drive away.

That shouldn’t hurt. But it does.

Chapter Text

It’s just gone nine by the time Steve gets home. He feels exhausted, like he’s carrying a weight on his shoulders, and his house is cold and dark when he arrives. It’s weird - he’s never particularly wanted his parents around, never needed anyone to help him with his homework or send him to bed on time, but he also hates being alone.

At least he’s not hungry. Billy’s stepmom made an awesome casserole. Steve hasn’t exactly been eating the best meals in the evenings - usually he’s a bit better about cooking when his parents are away, but he’s been stressed and lonely and healing from a concussion, so he’s taken to throwing pizza rolls in the oven or just going hungry.

He heads to the lounge, throwing himself onto a couch and turning the walkie back on. He’s just spent the evening with Billy’s very weird family, but he still has the urge to talk to someone.

Feeling stupid, he puts the walkie to his lips and says tentatively: “Hello?”

“Steve!” Dustin answers immediately in a burst of static that has Steve reeling away from the device. “You’re alive! You’re okay!”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just figured you’d want to know.”

“What happened? Did he try anything?” This is from Lucas. Steve wonders briefly whether Max is with him, or if Billy has picked her up already.

“I filled the guys in,” Dustin says unnecessarily.

Steve rolls his eyes. “It was fine,” he says. “We just… studied. And his mom made dinner.”

“What did you talk about?” Dustin asks, sounding absolutely fascinated.

“Our presentation,” Steve says slowly. “We were studying.”

There’s a scuffle over the line. “Guys, guys!” Lucas hisses. “Billy’s here to pick up Max!”

Well, that answers that question. It feels a little weird to know that Max has been listening in on all of them discussing Billy, but then again, she probably hates him more the rest of them. Steve says: “I’m turning this thing off now.”

“No, Steve! You can’t! What if Billy goes after Lucas again?” Dustin says urgently.

“Oh my God.” That’s Max’s voice, a little fainter than the rest. “Chill out, Dustin.”

Steve rests his head against a cushion. “Dustin, Lucas will be fine. His family are there. Anyway…” He lets his voice trail off.

“Anyway, what?” Dustin asks.

For some reason, Steve doesn’t feel like sharing Billy’s promise to leave Lucas alone. Maybe it’s because there’s absolutely no way Dustin will believe it. Or maybe it’s because he feels like he owes Billy something - the decency of privacy, after his dad went after him at dinner.

It’s ridiculous. He doesn’t owe Billy anything.

“I don’t think Billy will go after Lucas,” he says. Dustin scoffs, but as he’s saying it, Steve knows it to be true. He can’t explain why - even thinking it to himself feels a little crazy - but he trusts Billy.

A little. About this one specific thing.

“Let us know you’re safe, Lucas,” Dustin is saying, but Steve turns off the walkie. He already knows Lucas will be safe, and he doesn’t need to get caught up in more middle school drama.

He’s feeling kind of weird about the time he spent at Billy’s place. When he’s around Billy, arguing over Jane Austen, there are times he can forget what Billy did to him. Who Billy is. Times when it’s almost… enjoyable, actually understanding a goddamn thing to do with English class and debating it with someone so opinionated and spirited and kind of funny. Yeah, there were times he felt that.

Then there are times he absolutely cannot forget a single damn thing about Billy Hargrove.

He’s not really sure why he defended Billy to his dad, exactly. After all, everything Neil Hargrove said was the truth: what Billy did was disgusting, shameful, and in some ways it felt good to have someone else reinforce that in front of Billy. This whole time, Billy’s been acting like it’s no big deal, laughing at Steve for still being bothered by it, so it was good to know his dad doesn’t agree.

But Jonathan was right when he said Billy’s dad is creepy. Steve really didn’t like the shit he was spouting about Lucas, even if it was wrapped up in some neat logical little package. That’s just the way it is, he’d said, and even though Steve knows there is some truth in that - the world isn’t fair, and there are people who look at the Sinclairs differently - he doesn’t like the way it was presented. Like it’s immoveable. Like it’s some kind of justification for keeping Max away from Lucas.

Billy had looked uncomfortable when his dad was talking. Maybe that was why Steve defended him, in spite of agreeing with pretty much everything Neil said about Billy hitting him. Maybe it’s just basic politeness. He’s not really sure. All he knows is that in that moment, when Neil turned his glare to Billy, Steve hadn’t wanted him to get in trouble.

What a fucked up sentiment.

Steve goes to bed early that night, but before he switches off the light, he opens up his copy of Pride and Prejudice. He still hasn’t actually read the first three chapters, and he probably should; he can’t just rely on Billy to tell him the salient plot points.

Besides, Billy keeps bringing up shit that happened at the beginning of the novel as a way of proving his points when they disagree. Steve can’t keep letting him get the last word.

“It is a truth uni… universe… ” He stops. The words are long, complex, filling up the page.

Fuck it. He throws the book across the room. It’s just a fucking assignment.

He’s feeling hot and frustrated, the covers smothering him and the walls tight and close. Jesus, it’s all Nancy’s fault; before he met her, Steve’s life used to be simple. Basketball, parties with Tommy and Carol and all that crowd, owning the school with his casual assholery and lazy smile. He can’t even blame the Upside Down, because all that shit stopped mattering before he knew about the Mind Flayer and Eleven and everything else. He’s not even sure when he stopped enjoying hanging out with his friends, when life started feeling complicated, but it’s definitely tied up with Nancy. Like she brought new levels of thinking to his world.

He wouldn’t have thought twice about a stupid English assignment back then. He coasted through every class he took except Gym. And he wouldn’t be feeling so weird about Billy, about hanging out with the asshole who attacked him.

So Steve turns to the one thing that never fails to help him relax, no matter how stressed out he’s feeling. He pushes back the covers, reaches into his boxers, and takes a firm grip on his cock. He’s not exactly turned on, but as he begins stroking himself, he can feel himself hardening.

He hasn’t done this in a while. When he was off school, he felt too listless and bored to bother, and before that… before that, he had Nancy. Sure, he still jerked off sometimes, on the nights when she went home to finish her homework like the good girl she is, but he always had her to think about. He could always picture her smooth neck, the tiny flute-like wristbones, those large dark eyes and her rare smile. And, of course, her other attributes, the ones he only got to see when they were alone.

It feels weird thinking about her now. She’ll never know he’s doing it, of course, but the thought of Nancy is so painful that it makes his erection flag and his eyes prickle. Steve bites his lip.

There’s no way he’s going to let Nancy Wheeler ruin this entirely solo pleasure for him. He leans back into the pillows behind him, forcing his body to relax; he did this a thousand times before he even met Nancy. He can do it again now.

He won’t imagine her body, so he’ll have to think about a different one. A fantasy body, like he did when he was a thirteen-year-old virgin still dreaming about his first kiss. He makes it leaner than Nancy’s, with darker tan skin so that there’s no way they can be compared. He imagines a tight ass in dark jeans, closes his eyes to picture it more fully as he grasps his cock.

It doesn’t matter who she is, this mystery girl. She’d touch his stomach, sliding her hands across his chest, and Steve mirrors the action, imagining that it’s her. He can almost feel the ghost of phantom lips on his skin, a tongue running down the length of him, and even though it’s just his own hand, he can feel the muscles in his stomach tightening in response. His cock is rock-hard now, and he starts thrusting into his own fist. He thumbs the tip of his cock, rubbing the ensuing damp bead of pre-come along the shaft.

Steve tips his head back, gasping. His strokes are increasing in pace now, his hand pumping furiously as his orgasm approaches. He imagines his fantasy girl mouthing at him - tongue sliding along his cock - eyes glittering wickedly as she sucks, the gesture obscene, dirty, so real he’s sure he’s seen it before… and then, with a deep, guttural groan, Steve is coming, spilling over his own abdomen.

*

Maxine is silent in the car on the way to school the next morning. Billy is used to that - she never talks to him, didn’t even before, but especially not now - but today feels different somehow. She keeps shooting him little angry sidelong glances, and every so often she’ll take a deep breath, like she’s building towards something.

Billy knows she’s upset. Last night was the first time Neil has ever laid down the law to her. He didn’t get angry - not with Maxine, not with the daughter he’d always wished for - but he was clear. She’s not allowed to hang out with Lucas anymore.

It probably feels like a really big deal to Max. She’d actually cried, right there in the living room, even as she’d dashed the tears away. Billy’s never seen her cry before.

As for himself, he’s just surprised it took this long. He’d promised Harrington he wouldn’t go after Sinclair again, but he can’t control what his dad does. Sad for Max and her little friends, but not the end of the world. Billy’s limping today; he twisted his ankle when he fell, after his dad had him up against the wall for what he did to Steve. Max had been in bed by then. Billy has bruises on the tops of his arms where Neil held him, and another on his hip where the door handle caught him as he was slammed against it. And this goddamn twisted ankle.

Max, of course, doesn’t know about any of that. She wouldn’t give a shit if she did know. She just keeps looking at him, face twisted, and Billy waits. She’ll spit it out eventually.

His thoughts drift as he drives. He’s feeling really fucking weird about the whole evening last night, with Steve coming over, the kids on the walkie talkie, his dad at dinner… such a mixture of bullshit, really, and yet some of it had actually been okay. The bits in his bedroom, him and Harrington sat around discussing their English assignment. The bits before his dad came home.

“I told you not to mess with me.” He turns at the sound of Maxine’s voice. She’s finally psyched herself up to saying something, and she’s glaring at him from behind her wall of hair.

Billy frowns, not following. “What?”

“I know you had something to do with Neil saying I can’t be friends with Lucas anymore,” she says viciously. Billy’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t wait for him to respond. “You hate me hanging out with him, you attacked him, and now suddenly Neil doesn’t like him either. I know it was you.”

There’s a moment where Billy is actually speechless, which might be a first for him. Of all the things he might have expected Max to be pissed about, the possibility of being blamed for this hadn’t even been a blip on the radar.

He says, almost stuttering: “What?”

Max folds her arms. “I told you not to mess with me,” she says again.

“Jesus Christ,” Billy says. Blind panic is rising up inside him, because he’s an asshole, he is, and there’s a lot of shit she has over him that she can be mad about, but not this. He didn’t do this. “I didn’t do shit,” he says. “Jesus Christ, I didn’t do shit!”

He forces himself to shut the hell up, biting his lip hard. He sounds like such an unbelievable pussy. Max is frowning at him, and it’s obvious she doesn’t believe a word he’s saying. It feels so fucking unfair; only last night, he’d sworn to Steve that he wouldn’t go after Sinclair again, and he’d meant it. He’d been embarrassed by the way his dad had been talking, heard the familiar words through Steve’s ears and been ashamed of them. And now… now Max doesn’t believe him.

What the fuck is she going to do?

He’s not afraid of her. She’s a stupid little twelve-year-old girl who got lucky once. Still, he can’t help himself from sneaking little glances at her as they drive. She just stares out the window, arms still tightly crossed, and Billy looks away and watches the road. She can’t do shit. She can’t.

They don’t speak the rest of the way. Billy’s heart is thudding, his hands clammy on the steering wheel of the car. He drops Max off without a word. She slams the door behind her when she gets out.

Lucas Sinclair is waiting with his usual little posse outside the school, so obviously Max isn’t planning on following Neil’s rules too strictly. Billy feels an odd little stab of fear at that. His dad doesn’t deal too well with being disobeyed.

It’s not his problem, and he doesn’t care. He pulls away from the curb, heading for the high school next door.

He’s not looking forward to Gym class today. He’s covered the bruises as best he can with the make-up he keeps for exactly this purpose, but they’ll be visible in the showers, and maybe sooner depending on how much he sweats. And his ankle… it’ll definitely hold him back. Basketball is the one thing Billy can do, the one thing he’s good at, and he’s pissed that his dad has done something to take that away from him.

Still, Gym class isn’t until the afternoon. Before that, he has English. With Harrington.

He’s not sure if that’s something to look forward to or dread.

Byers is in his homeroom this semester. Billy doesn’t know the kid at all, except to know that he’s fucking weird and he’s the reason Nancy Wheeler dumped Harrington’s ass, but he’s been just slightly wary of him since the incident. Everything went down at Byers’ house, after all. So far, though, Byers hasn’t so much as looked at him funny.

From what Billy has heard, he’s got his own reasons to dislike Steve Harrington.

Today, Billy is late to class, and the only seat left available is next to Byers. The kid isn’t exactly popular. Billy slides into his chair, dropping his book bag onto the floor at his feet. Byers glances at him, and then away again.

It’s not much. But it’s enough for Billy to revise his interpretation of Jonathan Byers’ silence.

He’d thought Byers didn’t give a shit. Hell, he’d even thought that maybe Byers was secretly glad Harrington got a beat-down; Tommy has told him enough to know that King Steve wasn’t exactly kind to the kid back in the day. Honestly, although he’d been aware of Byers’ presence in his homeroom simply because the showdown with Steve had happened at his house, he hadn’t even thought to be worried. What reason does Byers really have to give a shit?

Byers definitely gives a shit. In that one, sliding, simple look, Billy can see he’s calculated this all wrong.

Byers hates him.

Billy actually feels kind of… flattened, by the sheer force of the contempt in Byers’ eyes. The kid’s nobody, just some creeper hanging around the parking lot with his camera, but he’s not afraid of Billy. He despises him.

Billy glances up at the front of the classroom. Mr Brady is still rifling through his briefcase, no doubt looking for one of his endless stash of chocolate limes, and there’s enough chatter going on around the room that he feels safe to say, low but fierce: “You got a problem, Byers?”

Byers looks back at him. He’s an odd-looking kid, soft around the edges and hiding behind his straw-like hair. He seems somewhat surprised that Billy has spoken to him.

He says, slowly: “Do you want me to have a problem?”

“Nope,” Billy says, a beat too late. “Far as I can see, we got no reason to have a problem, you and me.” He leans forward, just a little. “Right?”

Byers tips his head to one side, like he’s thinking this over. Like there’s nothing intimidating about Billy at all. Billy can feel the blood rushing in his ears. Byers says: “Right.” Billy opens his mouth to hammer the point home, but Byers goes on: “But…”

“But?” Billy repeats.

Now Byers does look just slightly nervous. Confrontation is clearly not his usual style. But he doesn’t back down. “If you go near Steve Harrington again, then we’ll have a problem,” he says clearly.

Billy snorts. “You his watchdog?”

“I’m his friend,” Byers replies evenly.

“Some friend,” Billy comments. “You usually sleep with your friends’ girlfriends?”

That’s definitely a hit. Byers flinches visibly. When he speaks, though, his voice is just as calm as ever. “That’s between me and Steve,” he says.

Billy laughs meanly. “Then I guess my shit is between me and Steve too, Byers.”

“It is,” Byers says. Billy stops laughing, surprised. “I know you have your project together, or whatever. And I’m not going to give you a hard time about what happened last week.”

“Big of you,” Billy interjects.

Byers ignores him. “Steve’s obviously put it behind him enough to work with you,” he says. “But if anything like that happens again…” He pauses. “If you touch him again, you’ll regret it.” He says it simply, without any emotion, like it’s just a fact he’s making Billy aware of.

It’s giving him chills, though he won’t show it. “You got it, Rambo,” he says easily. He grins. “Watch your back, Byers. I don’t forget a threat.”

“I’m not threatening you,” Byers says, but then Mr Brady is calling the class to attention, and Billy pulls away.

His heart is pounding. He could take Byers in a minute if he wanted - could destroy him, plow through him. He’s sure the kid plants his feet even less than Harrington.

What is it about people like Byers, like Maxine? People who shouldn’t intimidate him, people who have nothing over him? And yet…

Billy grinds his teeth together. How can it be possible that Billy freaking Hargrove is backing down from the fight?

Chapter Text

By the time English class rolls around, Billy is feeling antsy, his skin crawling and his stomach turning with the need to get the fuck out of school. He hasn’t seen Byers since Homeroom, but he’s had their conversation swirling round his brain ever since.

He tries to imagine Tommy, or Carol, speaking up for him like that. He can’t make the images fit.

He pushes the thought out of his head. So what if Harrington has better friends than he does? Harrington is alone, and the only guy sticking up for him is the creepy loser who somehow stole his girlfriend. And a group of middle-schoolers. It’s pathetic.

All told, Billy isn’t in a great frame of mind to study Pride and Prejudice.

Harrington is already sat down at their shared desk when he gets to class. He looks up as Billy walks in. He has his book out in front of him, and he’s flipping vaguely through the pages near the beginning of it. Like he was thinking about reading it, but then decided against it.

Billy has the ridiculous, foolish thought that he’d rather Harrington didn’t read the book on his own. He dismisses it swiftly.

He throws himself into his chair. Harrington gives him a sidelong look, but says nothing. Billy is feeling just slightly sick.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen.” It’s Ms Young. She’s not that big, but she has the kind of look about her that means business. The class settles down. “I’m giving you some more independent study today to work on your assignment. Buckle down and use it, because as of next week we’ll be back to regular class time. I really want you to focus on the use of language today.” She frowns around the room. “Okay. Off you go.”

The class begin to chatter around them, but Billy and Steve are quiet. Billy can still feel anger simmering away under the surface; he doesn’t quite trust himself to speak to Harrington without lashing out at him. He thinks of Byers, warning him off. God, he’s fucking furious.

He glances over to Harrington. Harrington sighs, running a hand through his stupid hair. “I guess we should do this, right?” he says.

“Do what?” Billy says brusquely. He looks around the classroom. “I’m not reading aloud in here.”

Harrington nods, like this is perfectly reasonable. Billy, who knows he’s being a dick, grinds his teeth together, even more pissed off. He leans back in his chair, but Harrington is already standing up.

“Ms Young?” he says, approaching her desk.

She looks up. “Mr Harrington,” she replies crisply. “How can I help you?”

Harrington smiles at her. Billy rolls his eyes. Harrington says: “Billy and me, we’ve found some books in the library to help us with our presentation. Can we work on it there?”

It’s not going to work. Teachers are never going to be on their side. Billy waits for the refusal.

“Yes, alright,” Ms Young says. She glances at Billy; her eyebrow flickers, just a little. “I look forward to the presentation,” she adds dryly.

Harrington looks triumphant as he comes back to their table to pick up his books. Billy ignores him.

“Let’s go,” Harrington says. There’s the faintest trace of a smile on his face.

Billy wants to dig his heels in, but even he isn’t stupid enough to pass on an opportunity to get out of class for a while. He slings his book bag over his shoulder, sloping out of the classroom after Harrington. He can feel Ms Young watching him as he walks away.

He feels a little better once they get out into the hall, but not much. He can’t figure out why Byers has rattled him so much, but he can’t shake off the unsettled feeling. Every time he so much as looks at Harrington he feels angry, angry and cornered and guilty.

Harrington doesn’t seem to have noticed, or maybe he thinks Billy’s frosty demeanor is par for the course. He says, easily: “You want to go to the bleachers?”

“No,” Billy snaps back. “It’s fucking cold.”

“Okay,” Harrington says peaceably. Billy can feel his temperature rising. He wants a reaction, some acknowledgement that he’s being a fucking asshole, but Harrington seems to be oblivious to his tone. He suggests: “I think my homeroom is empty this time of day - we could go there?”

Billy doesn’t really have a good reason to reject the idea. Then again, he’s never needed a good reason for anything. “You want to hang out in your classroom, Harrington?” he sneers. “You’re not scared to be alone with me?”

“What’s the matter with you?” At last, a real response. Harrington is staring at him, like he’s only just realized Billy’s really there, walking alongside him.

A thousand responses flit through Billy’s head. He’s angry, so angry, and he wants to lash out, wants to hurt. He wants to hurt Steve. But Byers… Byers had warned him about hurting Steve. And he’s pretty sure if he gives into his instincts, Steve won’t give him another chance, grades be damned.

“Nothing,” he mutters. “Let’s go.”

There’s a single, quiet moment when Harrington just looks at him, a frown creasing his forehead. Then he starts walking again, and they don’t speak again until they reach the empty classroom.

When they get there, Billy tosses himself restlessly into a chair. Steve follows more slowly, sitting on the teacher’s desk and pulling his copy of Pride and Prejudice out of his book bag. He looks calm, but his hands are shaking just a little, and Billy wonders with a stab of something unpleasantly like guilt whether Harrington really is afraid to be alone with him.

However, when he speaks it’s only to say: “We were on Chapter Six, right?”

Billy licks his lips nervously. “Yeah,” he says.

“I guess Charlotte and Elizabeth were just arguing about Jane,” Harrington says. He’s flicking through the pages. “Yeah, here it is.”

Billy doesn’t feel like reading. His heart is pounding and his head is aching and he doesn’t want to be still. He wants to move - wants to scream - but he doesn’t. He just sits, his breathing harsh and loud in the quiet of the empty classroom. Harrington glances up at him, holds out the book, and slowly Billy reaches out to take it.

He looks down at the page. It’s excruciatingly hard to start reading - maybe because Harrington is expecting him to do it, or maybe because his skin feels like it’s on fire right now. He wets his mouth, and says croakily: “Occupied in observing Mr. Bingley’s attentions to her sister, Elizabeth was far from suspecting that she was herself becoming an object of some interest in the eyes of his friend.”

He stops. Steve is leaning back on his hands.

He goes on: “Mr. Darcy had at first scarcely allowed her to be pretty; he had looked at her without admiration at the ball; and when they next met, he looked at her only to criticise.” He stops again. “He’s an asshole.”

“I guess,” Harrington says.

“You guess?” Billy repeats.

Harrington shrugs. “Yeah. Keep reading.”

So Billy does. He reads the rest of the chapter, letting every buzzing angry thought drift away in favor of unpicking the unfamiliar language. He can still feel the rage, the thudding furious heat coiling in the pit of his belly like an invading creature, but it’s dulled by the sound of his own voice. Muted in the distraction of trying to understand the story.

“Kind of weird, huh,” Harrington says, when he reaches the end of the chapter. “Darcy being into Elizabeth, I mean.”

“Weird,” Billy repeats, his voice high and mocking. He’s feeling slightly calmer, but his skin is still prickling and his hands are trembling. “Seriously, Harrington? Could this guy be any more of a total dickwad?”

Harrington laughs, like Billy’s said something funny. Billy feels his neck pulsing. Harrington says: “He’s not that bad.”

“He said all that shit about her behind her back,” Billy says. “He talks trash about her and now he wants her? That’s fucked up, man.”

“I guess,” Harrington says, shrugging. “Maybe he just realized he was wrong.”

Billy looks back down at the book in his hands. Why is he so mad? Why is every word coming out of Harrington’s mouth pissing him off more and more? He forces his voice to stay even as he says: “Didn’t seem like he thought he was wrong. He doesn’t even want to like her.”

“What do you mean?” Harrington asks.

Billy scans the page, looking for the paragraph he’s thinking of. “Here,” he says. “Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing; and in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness. It’s like he thinks she’s hot trash, and he’s pissed with himself for liking her.”

“Maybe he just didn’t expect to like her,” Harrington says thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s not used to her.”

“He’s an asshole,” Billy says bluntly. “You can’t just go around treating people like shit and then want them to like you later.”

He stops, breathing hard, because he can hear his own words.

Harrington is watching him, chewing his bottom lip. Maybe he’s heard it too, the stupid hypocrisy in Billy’s inadvertently relevant statement. Maybe he’s looking at Billy, wondering what the hell he’s doing here, sat in a classroom with the guy that beat him up.

He says, quietly: “You’re in a shitty mood today.”

For some reason, that actually makes Billy feel a little better. Like somehow he needed to know that Harrington had noticed, that there’s a difference between his normal assholery and what he’s doing now. He snorts out a dark little laugh. “You can thank your boy Byers for that.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Byers? What do you mean?”

“Never mind.” Billy already wishes he hadn’t said anything. He’s not some little bitch, complaining to mommy because the kid in Homeroom was mean to him.

Steve, predictably, doesn’t let it go. “Did Jonathan talk to you?”

“Jonathan,” Billy repeats scornfully. “You’re on first name terms now, Harrington? You and the freak who stole your girl?”

He can see it, right there in front of him. It’s like a wall crashes down between them. Harrington retreats, disappears right in front of Billy’s eyes, and when he speaks his voice is flat, hard. If Billy has been gunning for Steve to lose his cool - and in retrospect, it kind of feels like he has been, though he hadn’t really known it - this is about the closest he’s going to get.

“What did he say to you?” Harrington says.

“Nothing,” Billy says. He feels like shit. He’d wanted… well, something, some reaction, but not this one. “You got good friends, Harrington.” There’s something raw about saying that out loud.

Harrington blinks, obviously surprised. “What do you mean?”

“He threatened me, alright?” Billy says impatiently. He laughs meanly. “Like I’m scared of some dweeb hiding behind a camera.”

Steve laughs as well, although there’s no amusement in the sound. “You’d be surprised,” he says. He looks at Billy. “Why’d he threaten you?”

“I guess he didn’t like the shit that went down at his place,” Billy says, shrugging. “Whatever, Harrington. I’m not going to do it again anyway, so he can step down.”

“You’re not going to do it again,” Steve repeats. He’s looking weird now, partly confused and partly… well, partly something else. That wall, the barrier that came down when Billy mentioned Byers stealing Wheeler off Steve… there are cracks in it now.

He says, shortly: “You going to give me a reason to?”

“Didn’t think I had before,” Steve points out, irritatingly reasonable.

“Yeah, well,” Billy says. His heart is pounding, and his head is aching. But he’s not mad anymore. He’s just… tired. Really, really fucking tired.

Harrington doesn’t seem so pissed anymore. He says thoughtfully: “Is that why you’re in such a bad mood?”

Billy thinks about Maxine. “Sure, Harrington,” he says wearily.

“Steve,” Harrington says patiently.

“Steve,” Billy repeats.

Steve chews his lip. “I’ll talk to him,” he offers. Billy feels an uncomfortable lump in his throat.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. His voice is oddly husky. He glances at his watch; they’re not even halfway through the English period. “We’re on Chapter Seven, right?”

Steve hesitates. “Yeah,” he says. “Billy—”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Steve says. “Chapter Seven.”

*

For the first time, Steve is actually having a little trouble concentrating on Billy’s reading. He’s thinking about Byers, who apparently stood up for him without Steve even asking, but he’s also thinking about Billy. He thinks about Billy saying I’m not going to do it again.

It’s not like he was worried about Billy laying into him a second time. Billy is unpredictable, but he also seems to have got whatever freakish rage that made him lose it that night out of his system. Steve still doesn’t trust him, but he’s not afraid of him.

And yet… it made him feel funny when Billy said it. Like a tension he hadn’t realized he was holding relaxed a little.

He feels the same about Byers, really. They haven’t spoken since that night, since Jonathan drove him to the hospital and stayed with him all night long, and it occurs to Steve now that he never even said thank you. He’s not spoken to Byers once since then.

“Harrington,” Billy says suddenly. Steve blinks, refocusing his attention.

“What?” he says.

Billy looks oddly piqued. “You’re not listening.”

It’s not like he can deny it. “Yeah. Sorry,” he says. He bites his lip. He wants to say something, but he’s not really sure what; something to recognize what Billy so flippantly tossed out earlier. He has no idea how. “Um. Are you… still in a shitty mood?”

It’s a ridiculous question, and Steve feels stupid practically the second the words leave his mouth. Billy is staring at him. “Is that why you’re not listening?” he demands.

“No—” Steve begins, but Billy is already talking over him.

“Is that why you have that weird freaking look on your face? Afraid to be alone with me when I’m having a bad day?” His voice is taunting, but his mouth is twisted and Steve doesn’t like the look in his eyes. “Want to radio your little friends for help?”

It’s such an onslaught that Steve struggles to make sense of it. He says, frowning: “You’re having a bad day?”

Billy’s eyebrows fly up to his hairline. “Seriously, Harrington?”

“Steve,” Steve says automatically.

“Steve,” Billy repeats impatiently. “What do you care if I’m having a bad day, huh?”

“Well—” Steve starts.

Billy isn’t waiting for him. “You want to add to it? Jeez, Maxine first, then Byers, now you, huh?”

“Billy,” Steve says sharply. “Calm down.”

He’s not quite sure what possessed him to say it, but Billy stops talking. He’s breathing hard, a wild light in his eyes, but he’s not yelling anymore. He just watches Steve, arms folded across his body, and for some reason Steve remembers Neil Hargrove’s face at dinner last night. You gave him a concussion?

He rubs his temple. “What do you mean, Maxine?”

Billy laughs bitterly. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Harrington. Steve,” he corrects.

“Okay,” Steve says. It’s clear he’s not going to get anywhere by pushing Billy on this. “Okay, well, I’m sorry you’re having a bad day. You don’t have to take it out on me.”

There’s a moment when he actually thinks Billy is going to hit him again. He waits, but he doesn’t flinch. He’s not afraid of Billy Hargrove, and he’s kind of tired of wondering what this weird thing they have means; if Billy wants to hit him, he’d rather know about it. After all, Byers has his back.

Billy doesn’t hit him. He breathes hard, and says, surprisingly wearily: “Jesus, I need a smoke.”

“You didn’t want to go outside,” Steve points out.

“Yeah, thanks, Harrington,” Billy says. He sighs deeply. “You ever have days where you just gotta ditch?”

Steve blinks. “I guess,” he says.

Billy laughs. “What am I saying? You already did,” he says. It makes a stab of irritation go through Steve - after all, Billy is the reason Steve took time off school.

Except that he’s not. Not totally. It’s been so easy to blame Billy for all the dark messy bullshit he’s been wading through for over a week now, because everything that happened with Billy is mixed up with everything else. But Billy isn’t the reason Nancy left him. He isn’t the reason Steve has nightmares.

With an effort, Steve laughs.

Billy raises his eyebrows. “That painful, Harrington?”

“Shut up,” Steve says without heat.

They don’t speak for a moment. Steve is feeling a whole host of things that don’t make sense - he’s pissed off, which is fairly typical for his interactions with Billy, but he also feels oddly calm. Maybe it’s because he’s on solid ground here. Billy is refreshingly human, for all his wild unpredictability and mood swings.

Hesitantly, Billy says: “Their visits to Mrs. Phillips were now productive of the most interesting intelligence.”

“What?” Steve says, and then he catches on. He smiles, and then stops smiling as soon as he realizes what his face is doing. “Right, yeah. Carry on.”

Billy nods, like Steve is finally being reasonable. “Every day added something to their knowledge of the officers' names and connections,” he said. Steve closed his eyes. “Their lodgings were not long a secret, and at length they began to know the officers themselves. Mr. Phillips visited them all…”

When the bell rings for the end of the period, both of them jump. Steve has let himself become totally absorbed in the story again, following the lilt of Billy’s voice, and he’s surprised by how far he’s travelled away from the classroom they’re sitting in. It’s like he’s not expecting it to be Billy sat here in front of him, like he’d been transported into a world where Elizabeth Bennet was as real as the scratched desks and untidy papers surrounding him.

“Guess it’s time for lunch,” Billy says uneasily. His eyes flicker over to Steve.

Steve bites his lip. “Cafeteria or brown bag?” he asks.

A beat. “Brown bag,” Billy says at last.

“Outside?” Steve asks.

Billy snorts. “You sure you want to spend your lunch with me, Harrington?” he says. He runs a hand over his head, clearly uncomfortable. “You got other friends, right?”

There’s bite in his words, but his voice shows only uncertainty. Steve feels the familiar stab of irritation, but it fades quickly. Maybe he’s getting used to Billy. He shrugs. “Don’t let me keep you from Tommy and Carol,” he says dryly. Internally he’s shuddering; he can’t quite remember why he was ever friends with the so-called popular crowd. None of it seems very important now.

“Tommy’s a moron,” Billy says bluntly. He gives Steve a sideways look. “Useful, but a moron.”

“You’re not wrong,” Steve sighs.

There’s a pause. Then Billy says hesitantly: “Guess it’s the bleachers, then.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Guess so.”

Chapter Text

Billy ditches school on Friday. It’s always easier on Fridays, because Neil and Susan have this thing where they take Maxine out to breakfast before school on Fridays. They get up early, Susan making a half-hearted attempt to invite Billy to come with them which he swiftly negates, and they take Max to school afterwards so he doesn’t even have to get up. He doesn’t do it every week - okay, he did it last week too, but usually he waits a while in between times, so the school doesn’t get suspicious enough to call.

The rest of the week has been weird. He’s been simmering under the surface for three days, like he’s ready to explode at any minute, but nothing has quite been enough to set him off. He and Harrington have worked their way steadily through Pride and Prejudice, and through two more sets of English lessons and lunch hours, they’ve managed to hit Chapter Twenty.

They haven’t seen each other after school since the single, disastrous dinner at the Hargrove household. Two sessions of reading fucking Jane Austen are enough for one day. They haven’t talked about it, but Billy hasn’t invited Steve over again, and Steve sure as hell hasn’t asked him round after school.

Byers hasn’t said anything else either, although Billy makes sure to give him a cocky smirk every morning in Homeroom so that Byers knows he hasn’t succeeded in intimidating him. He has no idea if Steve talked to him, the way he said he would. He doesn’t give a shit.

Maxine, too, hasn’t followed up on her weird teenage threats. Looking back, Billy’s not really sure why he got so freaked out. What can she do? He’s bigger than her, stronger than her, and whatever bullshit she comes up with is nothing compared to what Neil Hargrove can put him through. So he’s just driven her to school, picked her up again after, driven recklessly around the corners and ignored her angrily glowering at him.

He still feels like shit. He’s pretty much permanently on his dad’s shit list at the moment, and he can feel rage bubbling underneath his skin. But he’s fucking tired of feeling so restless and pent-up, so he skips school.

For a couple of hours, he just sleeps in. It’s kind of nice, just being able to doze in the sunlight without worrying that anyone is going to bang on the door or yell at him. When he does get up, he takes his time in the shower, styles his hair, applies a thick stripe of eyeliner.

He looks good. He feels like crap.

He really doesn’t get why everything is dragging him down so much at the moment. Maybe it’s because he has to hang out with Harrington every freaking day, has to look him in the face and be normal and read aloud from a stupid book. Maybe it’s because Max… well, she’s always hated him, but it feels like the way she hates him has changed. She’s not afraid of him anymore.

Billy shakes off the thought. He grabs a banana from the fruit bowl as he heads outside, and tries not to remember the disgusted look on Steve’s face the last time he ate one.

The buzzing, unsettled feeling is back, and Billy’s skin is crawling with the need to get the fuck out of this place. Sometimes Hawkins feels like a prison. Cali wasn’t exactly better, but it was bigger, less claustrophobic. Here the trees crowd around him like prison bars.

He drives out into the woods. The trees are bare, and there’s ice in the air; he doesn’t think it’ll be long before the snow starts falling. He doesn’t really know where he’s going, but it doesn’t matter. He’s just following the road aimlessly, heading whichever way looks the darkest, the loneliest. He doesn’t want to be around people right now.

His head is hurting. He’s thinking about his dad, getting right up in his face the evening after Steve came over for dinner. He’d held Billy’s upper arms, fingers digging in hard, and he’d come in close. Like he wanted Billy within spitting distance.

Sometimes he doesn’t get why Neil fucking hates him so much. And then other times he totally, totally fucking gets it.

Byers got it. He warned Billy off. Fucking Wheeler, looking at him with disdain every time he’s unlucky enough to cross her path. Maxine, glaring at him in the car like there’s nothing in the world she could despise more.

Billy slams his hand against the steering wheel. The car swerves a little in the road; he realizes with an icy shock that his whole body is shaking.

Jesus Christ. It was never this bad in California. Yeah, sure, he was an asshole, and Neil didn’t like him, but it was easier to get lost in Cali. Easier to melt into the crowds of idiots in his old school, easier to dominate, easier to forget the shit that went on at home. Like a different world, a different life. Here, he’s pressed up against every fucking person who hates him, because Hawkins, Indiana is the size of a shoebox with everybody trying to fit inside.

He pulls over. The hopelessness of it all is fucking suffocating him from the inside out. He’s got nowhere to go. There’s nothing he can do. Sure, he can swagger around the high school with Tommy and Carol and the rest of those morons, but every day he’s aware of Byers and Wheeler watching him, every day he has to face Steve Harrington, and every afternoon he picks Maxine up from school and all her little friends are there to let him know what they think of him. Even if it’s just with their eyes.

Trembling, Billy opens the car door. It’s a cold, overcast sort of day, and he instinctively pulls his jacket a little tighter around himself. He doesn’t know why the fuck he can’t pull himself together. He’s not some fucking pussy.

Still, there’s no one out here to see, so Billy lets himself aim a vicious kick at a pebble on the road, sending it ricocheting into a nearby tree.

“Fuck,” he says aloud. Then, louder: “Fuck!”

He staggers into the trees. It feels just the tiniest, slightest bit better, being out here alone in the woods with no one to know he’s having some kind of fucking meltdown. He kicks another stone, and then pounds his fist into the thick trunk of a tree,

It hurts. It feels good because it hurts. “Fuck!” he yells out. “Fuck it!”

Harrington said that to him once. He still remembers it, remembers the clear level way Steve had looked at him that day in Wheeler’s basement, remembers how Harrington hadn’t backed down an inch. Fuck it. You’re not going to change.

“Fuck you!” he screams out, because who is Steve Harrington to tell him he can’t change? “Fuck you, you piece of shit!”

Even if you did change, you’d still be scum. Billy yells again, a wordless furious scream of utter frustration. Steve Harrington doesn’t know him. Maxine doesn’t know him. Not even Neil Hargrove knows him, as much as he thinks he does. Maybe Billy is scum, maybe that part is true. But he could change, if he wanted to. He could do anything the fuck he wanted. Maxine doesn’t scare him. Byers doesn’t scare him. Billy Hargrove isn’t afraid of anything.

He can’t see the road anymore, can’t see his car, can’t see anything except the bare trees and the slivers of sky above him. He leans against a large tree, letting himself slide down it to sit on the ground. His head is still pounding and his chest hurts and his throat is raw, but he feels better. A little better.

It’s the crunch of breaking twigs that has him leaping to his feet, head wrenching to the side so quickly that it’s painful. Billy’s heart is thudding.

Standing between the trees a few feet away is a little girl.

At least, she’s little compared to him. She looks around Maxine’s age, small and stocky and somehow a little lost-looking, here all alone out in the woods. Billy forces himself to calm down, gulping in a couple of deep breath.

“Kid,” he pants. “You scared the shit out of me.”

The girl takes a step towards him. She has very dark brown eyes, and she’s watching him intently with them; there’s something just slightly unnerving about her expression. She says, her voice faint and fluting: “Cold.”

Billy leans back against the tree. “Yeah,” he says. It is cold, cold enough that his jacket is too thin, although the girl looks more insulated in denim dungarees and a thick brown coat. Her hair is a mass of untidy dark curls. He frowns at her. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

She arches her eyebrows at him. “Shouldn’t you?”

He huffs out a laugh. “You lost, kid?”

“No,” she says calmly. She’s still watching him, eyes searching his face. “Who are you?”

“Billy,” Billy says. “Go home, kid.”

She takes another step towards him. “Home,” she repeats. “I am home.”

He glares at her. “What, you live out here?”

“Yes.”

For a young teenager, she seems remarkably chilled out about being here in the woods alone with a stranger yelling at the sky. He wonders, with a brief spurt of conscience, whether she’s homeless; he remembers vaguely hearing about some kid who went missing before the Hargroves moved to Hawkins. He says: “What’s your name, kid?”

She smiles, unexpectedly. “Jane,” she says.

“Where are your parents?” Billy persists, and then stops, biting his lip. He’s not some concerned citizen taking an interest. If this kid is a runaway, if she’s ditching school just like him, if she’s the daughter of a local hobo - he doesn’t give a shit.

Jane replies: “Working.” She leans against the tree next to his. “You’re lonely.”

He looks sharply at her. “What?”

“Lonely,” she repeats. She looks at him serenely, like that wasn’t a fucking creepy-ass thing to say. “Why are you lonely?”

Billy stares at her. “You’re a freak, you know that?” he says. It’s not like he has much ground to comment, really, given that he’s been out here screaming into the woods and now he’s conversing with a child his sister’s age. But still. This kid is weird.

The girl just smiles. “I’m lonely too,” she says. She looks at him, and her eyes narrow. “But not… angry.”

“Angry?” Billy repeats, suspiciously.

Jane nods. “You’re angry,” she says. “Why are you angry?”

“The fuck do you care?” Billy says irritably. He looks out at the trees. He wants to go home, except that when he thinks of home he’s not thinking about Hawkins, Indiana. He’s not even thinking about Cali. He hasn’t got any safe place to go, or even to want to go. It’s a fucking depressing thought.

“I don’t go to school,” Jane says. It’s such a non-sequitur that Billy is shaken out of his spiraling thoughts. She goes on: “My friends visit me here.”

Billy leans his head back against the tree trunk. “How’d you meet any friends if you don’t go to school?”

He’s not asking because he’s really interested; it’s more that she’s there, and she’s talking to him, and any conversation is better than the mess inside his head. So he’s only half-listening when she answers: “I met them here, in the woods. My father lets them visit.” There’s something warm in her voice when she mentions her father.

“You met friends in the woods?” Billy repeats skeptically. “Alright then, freakshow.”

She tips her head to one side. “What’s… freakshow?”

Billy stares at her. “Ask your friends from the woods,” he says at last.

Jane, improbably, giggles. “They don’t live here,” she says. “They all go to school. That’s why they’re not here.” Her face falls a little. “Not even Mike.”

“Who’s… Nope, scratch that.” He shakes his head. He doesn’t give a shit. His head is buzzing; he turns to look at her properly, to catalog the faded patches on her dungarees and the hollows in her cheeks and the way her nails are so bitten that her fingers have bled. She doesn’t say anything as his eyes travel over her, from her thin shoulders to her grubby white tennis shoes.

The wind is starting to pick up, and Billy shivers. Seems he’s always cold these days, although half of that is Steve Harrington taking them outside every lunch hour like he doesn’t even feel the chill. He’s been giving Billy some odd looks this week at lunch, maybe because Billy never really has anything to eat. Neil has been in a particularly foul mood these past few days, and it’s not worth asking him for lunch money.

“I miss mama, sometimes,” Jane says quietly.

Billy glances at her. “Your mom’s not around?”

Slowly, Jane shakes her head. She looks somber. She says: “Like you.”

“What do you mean, like me?” Billy is instantly defensive. “You don’t know shit about me, kid.”

“You miss your mama,” Jane replies calmly. “Like I do.” She frowns, her head tilting. “But your mama… your mama’s in a different place.”

Billy closes his eyes. For the briefest of moments, he lets himself think about his mother; lets the image of her face swim in his mind. Then he dismisses the thought, opens his eyes again. “My mom died a long time ago,” he says roughly.

“Yes,” Jane says. “I can’t find her.”

There’s nothing to say to that. Jane’s one odd kid, but Billy finds that his heart isn’t thumping in his chest anymore, like sitting next to this strange child has calmed him down a little. He still doesn’t feel great, but he’s better. The combination of freedom and fresh air has helped him to shift that sensation of waiting to boil over.

So he just sits there, lets the breeze wash over him, and doesn’t think about anything in particular. Jane doesn’t speak again; she sits beside him and watches the branches of the trees sway in the wind. In spite of the cold, it’s actually a beautiful day. Crisp, the treetops making a stark dark contrast against the brightness of the pale sky, but beautiful nonetheless. Billy can’t say he’s ever been much of a nature-lover until now, but he’s beginning to see the appeal.

He sits until his stomach starts growling, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten all day. The sun, as weak as it is, is high above him; it must be at least midday, and possibly later. Reluctantly, Billy clambers to his feet.

“See you around, kid,” he says bracingly to Jane.

She smiles drowsily at him. “Yes,” she replies. She regards him thoughtfully. “I’ll see you around.”

It almost sounds like a promise.

Chapter Text

Steve wakes up early on Saturday morning. The sky outside is still pink and orange from the sunrise, but he feels wide awake, can’t convince himself to try to go back to sleep. He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sound of his own breathing.

His mom and dad came home on Thursday. It’s weird having them around, weird to make breakfast in a kitchen that has signs of occupants that aren’t him. He’s often lonely when they’re gone, but the shine of having them around wears off pretty quickly. His mom, in particular, is scatty and untidy, leaving unwashed plates by the sink and tossing her things any old place she likes. It’s not that Steve has any burning desire to keep the place neat, exactly, but it’s not his mess. It’s hers.

She cooked dinner on Friday night. She doesn’t cook often, but when she does she turns the kitchen into a garbage heap, piled high with potato peelings and used crockery and chopping boards. It’s frustrating, but the end result is always worth it. She’s one hell of a cook.

Over dinner, she and his dad asked Steve the usual questions - about school, his friends, his life. He told them about Nancy; his mom expressed sympathy, his dad commented that he’s too young to be settling down anyway, and then they moved on. His dad didn’t talk much, but his mom filled in the gaps with stories about the wonders of Tokyo. Steve wouldn’t know. He’s never left Indiana.

Now it’s the weekend, and the house is quiet. Maybe in a couple of hours Steve’s mom will wake up, make breakfast, fill the silence with her loud voice and infectious cackling laugh, and she’ll hug him and leave him with the imprint of her perfume while his dad sits quietly eating his bacon and eggs. And then sometime next week - maybe Monday, maybe Tuesday - they’ll leave again, jet off to Moscow or Boston or London. Steve knows, objectively, that there’s a reason he gets to live in this beautiful house with a pool and style his hair with as many expensive products as he likes. So he’s not complaining.

He’s not complaining, but it’s weird. It’s weird having part-time parents, weird being alone in the house most of the time but then acting the kid again for a weekend. When he was younger, his mom used to stay home for some of the trips, but it’s been a while now since he hit the threshold of being old enough to be alone.

They’re not as rich as they should be, for all the time they spend out of state. They should be living it up in some mansion in San Francisco, but Steve’s dad isn’t some superstar businessman. He’s a peon to a superstar businessman, and it keeps him comfortable but absent. He’s not from Indiana originally, but since it was Steve’s mom who had to stay home when she first had a baby, they bought their house in the place her family came from.

Her parents don't live in Hawkins anymore. There’s just Steve, left behind every time his parents have somewhere more exciting to be.

He’s being bitter. Bitter, and sad. He bites his tongue, snaps out of it, and swings himself out of bed.

He doesn’t have any plans for the weekend. He heard around school that Carol’s parents are out of town and she’s throwing a party, but he hasn’t been invited. It’s not like anyone would kick him out if he showed up - he’s done that more than once with Nancy, and he’s been welcomed - but he’s just not sure he has the energy for it.

He could reclaim his title, if he really wanted. King Steve. Billy Hargrove didn’t have to work all that hard to take his crown; if he wanted to, he could slide right in and steal it back.

He just doesn’t want to.

He picks up the copy of Pride and Prejudice lying on his bedside table. Several times now, he’s tried to settle in and read the first three chapters; he hates feeling like Billy has something over on him. But the words are long and tangled in his head, and it makes something hot and tight bubble in his chest when he tries to make them out.

Jesus Christ, what’s the matter with him? He’s not normally so maudlin.

It’s several hours before he finally hears the sounds of his parents waking up and beginning to get on with their day. In that time, he’s showered, attempted to cast an eye over the first chapter of the book at least three times, thought about masturbating, rejected the idea, and finally just lain on his bed feeling bothered and irritable. When the normal household sounds start to float up to him, he gets up gratefully.

His mother smiles at him as he walks into the kitchen. She’s making breakfast, a stack of rapidly cooling toast sitting on a plate behind her; it occurs to Steve that he could have come down to get his own food ages ago. The way he would normally, when his parents aren’t around. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Have some toast, Stevie,” she says as he sits down, passing the plate over. “Your father is just in the shower. He’ll be down soon.”

Steve takes a slice of toast. “Thanks,” he says.

“Do you have any plans today?” his mother asks, settling herself opposite him. She laughs prettily, and goes on before he can answer: “Your father and I are having lunch with Mayor Kline and his wife!”

For some reason, there’s a lump in Steve’s throat. “Sounds fun,” he says huskily, and takes a bite out of his toast.

She frowns at him. “Don’t you want some butter, Stevie?”

“I’m good,” he says with his mouth full. “I’m going out too.”

“With Tommy?” she asks, delicately spreading butter on a piece of toast of her own.

Steve shakes his head vehemently. Obviously, his parents know nothing of the secrets Steve has had to keep for the last year, but it’s been a long time since he and Tommy were anything approaching friends. Surely she must know that? “No, I’m… seeing someone else,” he says lamely.

She waits. When he doesn’t elaborate, she gestures impatiently. “Who?”

“Billy,” Steve’s mouth says, before his brain has time to catch up.

His mother tilts her head to one side, picking up her cup of coffee and sipping contemplatively. “I don’t remember a Billy,” she says.

Steve has to bite his tongue, because it’s not like she knows any of his friends. She’s not around enough for that. He says: “He’s new in town. We’re doing an English presentation together.”

“Oh,” she replies. “Well, have fun.”

Of course, that means Steve actually has to go out. It’s just gone eleven by the time he pulls out of his drive, and then he has absolutely no fucking idea where to go. He’s got no real friends at school anymore, and the thought of showing up at Dustin’s place in the hopes of some company is just too pathetic to think about.

He could, hypothetically, go to see Jonathan. They’d ended up having a conversation at school on Friday, because Steve hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what Billy had told him. Billy wasn’t in school, so Steve had nowhere to go at lunch, and in the end he’d wandered out to the parking lot feeling miserable and weird. And Jonathan had been there, leaning against the brick wall in the sun.

“Jonathan,” Steve had said, before he could stop and think about it. Jonathan looked up; when he saw it was Steve, he looked surprised, but he smiled.

He peeled himself off the wall. “Steve,” he said. He scratched his head a little self-consciously. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Steve said. Then he stopped. It was awkward.

“How are you doing?” Jonathan asked, which was probably what Steve should have said. “I haven’t really seen you since…” He waved a hand with an uncomfortable smile.

Steve shrugged. “I’m okay,” he said. Then: “Thanks for staying with me, man. You didn’t have to do that.” He immediately felt better after saying it, like he was paying off some debt he hadn’t realized he owed.

Jonathan just smiled. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said.

“How’s your brother?” Steve asked.

“He’s okay,” Jonathan said. “Recovering. He came home a couple of days ago.”

“That’s good,” Steve said.

There was a silence. Steve still felt like there was more to say, but it was just so fucking awkward around Jonathan. He’d been a dick to him, back in the day, rubbed Nancy in his face and tried to go for him. And then he’d come to a better place, but they definitely weren’t friends, and now he’s lost Nancy to Jonathan anyway. Jonathan is being a hell of a lot nicer about it than Steve was.

“Billy said you talked to him,” he said at last.

Jonathan’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “He told you about that?”

Steve shrugged uncomfortably. “Yeah, kind of,” he said. “You didn’t have to… I mean, that was nice of you. What you said to him.”

“Steve,” Jonathan said, and then bit his lip. He ran a hand through his hair, and suddenly Steve felt very young. “I know it’s… weird, between us,” Jonathan said. “And I’m not expecting that to change, or anything, but… we went through some shit. All of us. And I hope that means that when it comes down to the line, we have each other’s backs.”

Steve took a step forward. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we do.”

Unexpectedly, Jonathan smiled. Steve hadn’t really seen him smile before; it transformed his face, lit it up. He said: “I’m really glad, Steve.”

“Thank you,” Steve said.

Jonathan began to walk back towards the school entrance, but as he passed Steve he stopped, laying a hand on Steve’s arm. “If you ever want to talk about any of it…” He laughed, a little nervously. “Well, I mean, you know where I live.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, and that ended the conversation. But as Jonathan walked away, Steve was struck with the odd thought that he understood why Nancy liked him.

Like, really got it. Because Jonathan was gentle, and kind, and didn’t hold a grudge. And that smile… it was making Steve feel weird, thinking about that smile, because it had reminded him of Nancy and he didn’t understand why.

So yeah, he could go see Jonathan Byers. But the conversation only happened yesterday, and even though he knows Jonathan won’t judge him or be weird about it, it feels kind of pathetic to head over there straight away like this. And besides that, Steve doesn’t really want to go there. He doesn’t want to talk about the Upside Down, or Nancy, and he’s a little afraid of being around someone so unequivocally nice to him all the time. Like if someone is too nice, he’ll fall apart.

Somehow, all that indecision leads to him sat in his car outside Billy Hargrove’s house, without quite knowing how he got there.

Steve has experience by now in not thinking too hard about what he’s doing when it comes to Billy, so he gets out of the car quickly, heading up the drive towards the front door. Billy could feasibly have plans, or be asleep, or simply have no interest in hanging out with Steve and reading Jane Austen, but the good thing about Billy is that Steve doesn’t give a shit what he thinks, so he doesn’t care if he gets turned away. He knocks on the door.

A few moments pass, and then Susan Hargrove opens it. When she sees Steve, she smiles immediately.

“Steve!” she exclaims. “Billy didn’t tell me you were stopping by. How are you? Do you want to come in?”

It’s a little overwhelming, how pleased she is to see him. He says, stepping through into the house: “Thanks, Mrs Hargrove. Is Billy home?”

“He’s home, he’s home,” Susan says. “Come on in and I’ll get him.” She walks briskly away towards the stairs, calling out: “Billy? Your friend is here!”

Steve waits, looking around the living room of the house. It still feels kind of weird to be here, here in the lion’s den, but it also feels good. Billy has a way of making Steve feel strong, purely because he’s such an asshole and Steve doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about Billy, about what Billy thinks or feels, and he can let Billy be an asshole around him and stay unaffected. It’s nice to be unaffected.

“What are you talking about, Susan?” comes a grumbling voice from the top of the stairs, and then Susan comes back into the room, swiftly followed by Billy.

He’s wearing sweats and a tank top, and his hair is an absolute state. He must have been asleep. His feet are bare, and Steve, inexplicably, finds his eyes drawn to them. There’s something interesting and vulnerable about seeing Billy without all the jewelry and style he usually carries around with him.

Billy raises his eyebrows at the sight of Steve. “Harrington?” he says. “What are you—?”

He stops, abruptly, as his father walks into the room.

Steve’s not an idiot. It’s clear that the relationship between Billy and his dad is shaky to say the least; he still remembers the contemptuous look Neil Hargrove had thrown at Billy when he’d found out who Steve was. Which, yes, had felt like a form of vindication, but Steve can’t really imagine his dad ever looking at him that way no matter how many fights he got into. Now, Billy’s eyes flicker between Neil and Steve, and Steve is struck by how oddly skittish he looks.

“Steve,” Neil says in a hearty voice. He leans over to clap Steve on the shoulder. His hands are large and heavy. “It’s good to see you back again. Billy didn’t mention you’d be stopping by.” He turns his gaze to Billy; Billy glances at the floor.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I should have called first,” Steve says. “I just figured since we didn’t get to work on our presentation on Friday, it might be a good idea.”

Billy’s head shoots up, and Steve doesn’t get why until Neil says in an odd, tight voice: “Why didn’t you get to work on the presentation on Friday?”

Now Steve just feels shitty, which makes no sense really. He hadn’t even thought about it, but of course Billy had been ditching on Friday. And yes, he knows there’s no reason to care if Billy gets in trouble or not, but he’s no snitch. He says, as smoothly as he can manage: “Well, we had a pop quiz in English class on Friday, so we didn’t have any time to work on it.”

“I see,” Neil says, in a more normal voice. Behind him, Billy’s head drops to look at the floor again. “Well, Steve, you’re very welcome here. Feel free to study in your room, Billy.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy mumbles. He glances at Steve. “Come on,” he mutters.

Steve follows him upstairs. Billy doesn’t say anything else, so Steve can’t really tell what he’s thinking about Steve randomly showing up at his place, but knowing Billy it can’t be great. He’s already starting to second-guess his decision to come here, but then again they really do need the time if they’re going to get through the book before the end of the semester. There are only two weeks to go before the deadline Steve imposed on them.

Finally, they get to Billy’s room. The curtains are closed and Billy’s bed is rumpled and unmade; Susan must have had to wake him up to bring him downstairs. Steve feels kind of bad, actually. Just because he’s been up since the crack of dawn doesn’t mean anyone else has.

Billy closes the door behind them, and says evenly: “What are you doing here, Harrington?”

Weakly, Steve holds up his copy of Pride and Prejudice, clutched in his left hand.

Billy looks at it, and then back at Steve’s face, eyes narrowed like he’s studying him. There’s a long, long moment when Steve doesn’t know what he’s going to do. It makes him feel weirdly calm; he can deal with Billy’s unpredictability. It’s not life or death. It’s kind of interesting, just to see what will happen.

At last, Billy sighs, and the tension deflates from the room. He scratches behind his ear. “Okay,” he says. It almost seems as though he’s talking to himself. “Okay, Harrington. Sit your ass down.”

Steve goes over to the window and opens the curtains. It’s a cold, crisp day, but the sun is shining and the light immediately brightens the room. He sits on the chair by Billy’s desk; Billy sprawls on his bed. There’s something strangely personal about seeing him sitting there, obviously unprepared for visitors among his untidy bedclothes.

“Where did we get to?” he asks, flicking through the pages.

Billy picks up his own book from his bedside table. “Collins had just proposed,” he says, rubbing his eyes. He looks tired, and oddly subdued. It makes the game of Steve not caring feel less enjoyable.

He says, quietly: “Is your dad always like that?”

Billy’s head comes up so fast it looks like he might have given himself whiplash. “What?”

“Your dad,” Steve repeats, fidgeting a little. “He’s kind of… intense.”

There’s something Steve doesn’t like in Billy’s eyes, something creased up and hurt and jumpy. He blinks for a few moments, like he’s deciding how to answer, and then he says with a show of bravado that Steve doesn’t believe in: “Getting worried for your safety around the Hargrove men, Harrington?”

“No,” Steve says, frowning. He doesn’t quite like Billy’s response, but he can’t put his finger on why. He says, irritably: “Why do you do that?”

Billy starts. “Do what?”

“Make a joke when I’m asking you a question,” Steve says, and then isn’t sure why he did.

“Maybe I find your questions funny,” Billy shoots back, but his hackles have definitely been raised. His shoulders are hunched defensively, which normally looks intimidating but today, in his sweats with sleep-dusted eyes and bare feet, makes him look small and a little vulnerable.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Okay, Billy,” he says.

“Well, why the fuck do you do that?” Billy snaps.

“What?” Steve says, startled.

Billy waves a hand irritably at him. “Not be… pissed off, when I’m pissing you off,” he says.

“You’re not pissing me off,” Steve says. He can hear how totally baffled he sounds.

“Sure, I’m not,” Billy sneers.

Steve stares at him. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

“No,” Billy says grumpily, but suddenly Steve knows it’s a lie. And just like that, he knows the answer to his own question; he knows why Billy mocks him when he asks questions. It’s because he’s defensive, because Steve for some reason has touched on a nerve and Billy doesn’t want to admit it.

“You are,” he says, just to see Billy flinch. “You’re trying to annoy me.”

He’s not disappointed; Billy shrinks into himself, just a little. “Not like it’s hard, Harrington. Everything I do pisses you off.”

He sounds so weary when he says it that Steve actually feels a twinge of something. Something like pity, even though Billy Hargrove is the last person on the planet he should be feeling sorry for.

“You don’t piss me off,” he says. “I just don’t get you.”

Billy laughs bitterly. “Join the club,” he says. “Harrington,” he adds with emphasis.

Steve sighs. “You ever think about… not being an asshole?”

“Nowhere near so much fun, Stevie,” Billy says with a fake cheeriness.

“Are you having fun?” Steve asks.

That definitely hits a nerve. Billy opens his mouth, and then closes it again, his face flushing pink. And that, right there, is when Steve realizes he just can’t be bothered to hold onto this grudge against Billy Hargrove anymore. He doesn’t care, he’s known he doesn’t care for a while, but he thought it meant he didn’t care what Billy thinks - and it does, in a way, but it’s more than that. He doesn’t care about what happened at Jonathan Byers’ house anymore either, or at least, not enough to hold onto.

“Let’s read,” he says abruptly. “Let’s not do this. Let’s just read.”

For a long moment, Billy looks at him. Like he’s trying to figure out what the catch is.

Then his eyes fall to his book. “The discussion of Mr. Collins’s offer was now nearly at an end, and Elizabeth had only to suffer from the uncomfortable feelings necessarily attending it…”

Steve closes his eyes.

Chapter Text

“I get it,” Billy says with a shrug. “That’s all I’m saying. I get it.”

“Are you serious? You get it? You get her marrying him?” Billy had mostly been winding Steve up, and it’s gratifying to see how easily it’s worked. “You’re telling me you’d marry Collins in this scenario?”

Billy leans back. It’s too easy. “Well, sure,” he says lazily. “What’s her alternative? She’s got no money, and she’s getting older, right? She’s not marrying him for love.”

Steve shakes his head. “Things can’t be that shitty at home,” he says. “Nothing is shitty enough to need to marry this guy. There’s no way.”

Shitty at home. Billy suddenly has to swallow down a lump in his throat. He looks up at Steve; he’s still sitting in Billy’s chair, his hair perfectly styled around his face and the book in his lap. He doesn’t mean anything by what he’s saying. How could he? He has nothing to escape from, nothing worth avoiding.

“Agree to disagree, princess,” he says, to cover his discomfort.

Steve looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Steve,” he says. “Don’t be difficult.”

“I’m not,” Billy says, which is true; at least, he’s not being difficult on purpose. Needling Steve comes so easily that half the time he’s not even aware he’s doing it.

There’s a pause. Then Steve says: “Sorry for just showing up here like this.”

Billy had definitely been kind of pissed to be woken up because Steve Harrington had decided to drop by unannounced, but he’s not feeling it now. The last hour or so has been… nice, in the way that reading Pride and Prejudice together is always nice because they can get lost in something and not talk. The more he reads, the more he’s enjoying the story, as antiquated as it is, and Steve always provides a source of energetic debate.

“It’s cool,” he says eventually. “Why did you?”

Steve sighs, scratching his neck. “Needed to get out of the house,” he says. “My parents are home.”

What, so you came here? Billy wants to say. Instead, he says: “Your parents?”

“They’re away a lot,” Steve explains. “I’m not really used to having them around so much.”

For a moment, Billy thinks about how fucking awesome it would be if Neil and Susan were away a lot. And how fucked up he’d be when they did come home. Obviously, he’s pretty sure Steve’s parents are nothing like the Hargrove family shitshow, but it’s hard to imagine a scenario where anyone would be happy to see their mom and dad around all the time, especially if they weren’t usually. He’s pretty sure Tommy has mentioned how Steve always has an empty house before.

“Sucks to be you, princess,” he says. Steve rolls his eyes.

It’s kind of weird how he’s not so touchy around Billy anymore. Like maybe he’s got used to Billy’s bullshit, which is weird, and makes Billy’s skin itch. Being a dick is so much a status quo for him that he doesn’t know how to feel about someone not rising to it.

“So how come you weren’t in school on Friday, anyway?” Steve asks.

Billy shrugs. “Wasn’t in the mood,” he says.

Steve tilts his head to one side. “Another bad day?”

“The fuck do you care?” Billy fires back. Steve doesn’t respond; he just waits, and Billy sighs. “Yeah, I guess,” he allows.

Steve glances at the window. The sunlight is pouring in, illuminating the room in a warm glow and washing over the chair Steve is sitting in. He says: “You want to get out of here for a bit?”

Billy blinks. “What, you and me?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “No, me and your mom,” he says, deadpan.

“Not my mom,” Billy rejoins immediately. Steve just looks at him. “Where do you want to go?”

A shrug. “Out. It’s a nice day.”

“We friends now, princess?” Billy says scornfully, although even as he speaks he’s not sure why he’s pushing back. Not sure why he always pushes back, because the truth is that he would love to get out of the house and have someone other than a weird twelve-year-old to hang out with that he doesn’t want to strangle. Which pretty much rules out Tommy, Carol and all that other crowd.

He’s expecting Steve to back off in the face of his contempt, but Harrington, as usual, surprises him. He just shrugs, as though Billy’s outburst was no more than he anticipated. “Why not?” he says.

“Why not?” Billy repeats. “I can think of a few reasons.”

“Such as?” Steve challenges.

Billy raises his eyebrows. There’s something different about Steve today, something simultaneously relaxed and provocative that Billy’s not quite sure what to make of. Like he knows he’s pushing Billy, and he’s doing it on purpose. He’s not flinching when Billy moves anymore.

He sighs. “I don’t know, Harrington - Goddammit,” he cuts himself off, as Steve opens his mouth. “Steve. Jeez, it’s just a habit!” Steve quite obviously hides a smile, which is irritating for a multitude of reasons Billy doesn’t want to explore. “Maybe because we don’t like each other, none of your little protectors like me, I went after you… take your pick.”

Steve sits back a little, face pensive as though he’s actually considering this. He says slowly: “Is any of that shit a big deal?”

“Jesus,” Billy says, pinching his nose. “Okay, Steve. Let’s say it’s not. Jesus Christ.”

And Steve… laughs. “That painful, Hargrove?” he teases.

“Yes,” Billy says firmly. But for some reason, he almost feels like smiling, like Steve making light of the situation is making him feel lighter as well. He doesn’t, obviously. He puffs out a breath. “Okay, princess. We’ll go out. Jesus.”

He’s changed clothes in front of Steve a thousand times in the locker rooms, but Billy feels oddly shy here in his room with just the two of them. He pushes down the feeling, gathering up his jeans and a shirt from his closet and stripping down quickly. Steve looks out of the window while Billy pulls on his clothes, only looking back when he’s dressed and examining his reflection in the mirror.

His hair is a mess, so Billy tames it with his fingers and tries to be discreet about applying product. Steve must see him, but then his own style is so clearly manufactured that it’s not like there’s anything he can say about it. Billy does notice his eyes widening slightly at the application of eyeliner, though.

He doesn’t give a shit. He looks damn good and they both know it.

“Okay,” he says at last, when he’s done. “Let’s get out of here before I change my mind.”

Steve stands up. “Your car or mine?” he asks.

Billy raises an eyebrow. “You have to ask?”

They manage to get downstairs without Neil or Susan seeing them, for which Billy is profoundly grateful. However, their luck is short-lived, because as they’re crossing through the lounge - Billy hurrying without looking like he is - a figure appears in the doorway to the kitchen. A small figure, with long red hair and a guarded expression.

Billy closes his eyes briefly.

“Steve?” Max says, her voice betraying her shock.

Steve stops in his tracks and turns towards her. “Max?” he answers. Billy glances at him; he’s smiling, a wide, beaming smile that doesn’t have to try at all. “Hey!”

Maxine’s eyes flicker from Steve to Billy, and then narrow. “What are you doing here?”

“Hanging out,” Steve says easily.

Max glares. Billy rolls his eyes. “Studying,” he says.

“You’re hanging out,” Max says in a harsh voice, as though Billy hasn’t spoken. “With Billy.”

Steve glances at Billy. “Yep,” he says.

“Why?”

That’s a question Billy definitely doesn’t want to hear the answer to. “We’re studying, Maxine,” he says roughly. “Mind your own fucking business.”

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Steve says, which makes Billy want to scream with frustration.

Maxine, on the other hand, just looks satisfied. Like she was expecting Billy to act out, knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his cool. She folds her arms across her narrow chest. “Guess it must be nice to have friends to hang out with,” she says in a loaded voice. She looks back at Steve. “You know he got his dad to stop me hanging out with Lucas?”

Steve frowns, casting a brief look at Billy. “Really?”

“No,” Billy says sulkily. “Like I care who you hang out with.”

“You’re such an asshole!” Max says furiously. Billy glances instinctively towards the door; she laughs derisively. “They’ve gone out. Why are you so fucking freaked out?”

“Max,” Steve says quietly. She stops yelling. “Um… for what it’s worth, I was here when your dad - when Billy’s dad,” he corrects hastily at the look on her face, “was talking about Lucas. I’m pretty sure he came up with that on his own.”

Billy feels his face flush, although he’s not sure why. Maybe it’s just that he can’t think of the last time someone defended him.

Max is less impressed. “You’re siding with him?” she gasps incredulously.

“No,” Steve says patiently. “I’m not siding with anyone. I’m just saying, maybe you don’t need to be on opposite sides.”

She scoffs. “Yeah, right,” she says. “After what he did to Lucas - and to you… I don’t even get why you’re talking to him.”

There’s a silence. It’s ridiculous, because Billy knows what Maxine thinks of him, he knows she hates him, she’s hated him since the moment they met each other three years ago and he’s always felt the same way too, so it’s ridiculous. It’s ridiculous that he feels like the bottom has dropped out of his stomach. Maybe it’s because of Steve, standing here in Billy’s living room and hearing her condemnation of him. It’s like he’s been living in a bubble where he actually believed that maybe all the shit that went before didn’t matter to Steve. And now here’s Max, reminding him of all the reasons that can’t be true.

After a few moments, Steve says quietly: “Well, that’s up to you, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Max replies. She hesitates, and then sighs. “Are you coming to Dustin’s tomorrow?”

Billy looks over to Steve. He’s colored a little, but replies steadily: “I think I’ve heard him mention it once or twice.”

Max laughs. “Or a thousand times,” she says. “It’ll be better if you’re there.”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve says. There’s another pause, and then, so suddenly that Billy is taken aback by it, Maxine rushes forward and hugs Steve around the middle. He pats her head a little awkwardly, but hugs her back all the same.

She retreats almost as quickly as she arrived. Steve is looking a little bewildered, but Billy sees the triumphant look Max throws his way and knows exactly who that was for.

“Bye, Steve,” Max says, pointedly ignoring Billy. He rolls his eyes. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” Steve says, and then, finally, they leave, stepping out into the crisp winter sunshine.

Steve follows Billy to his car, sliding into the passenger seat. He seems… thoughtful, as if he’s considering the altercation that just took place, and although the last thing Billy wants is for Steve to examine the situation too closely, he can’t think of anything to say to shift his attention. He rolls the window down as he backs out of the drive, leaning his elbow on the door and trying to focus on the dappled patterns of light coming through the surrounding trees.

At last, Steve says: “Is that why you were in a bad mood this week?”

Billy turns sharply. “What?”

“Max,” Steve clarifies. “She’s mad at you.”

Billy laughs humorlessly. “Max is always mad at me,” he says. “But yeah, at the moment she’s got this idea in her head that I’m out to get her little boyfriend. Like I give a shit.”

There’s a pause as Steve digests this. “I guess you can’t really blame her for wondering,” he says carefully.

Isn’t that the truth. “Nope,” Billy agrees, popping the word on his lips.

“You didn’t say anything to your dad, right?”

“Nope,” Billy says again. He’s not actually sure where he’s driving; he’s just following the road, heading into the woods by instinct. It’s easier to pretend he’s concentrating on where he’s going than to engage in the conversation.

Steve frowns at him. “Did you tell her that?”

Billy laughs again. “You think she’s listening to a word I’m saying?” He glances at Steve. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it, princess. Hate to break it to you, but Maxine’s social life isn’t keeping me up nights.”

“I guess,” Steve says in a measured voice, “she’s pretty pissed about what happened at the Byers’ place a couple of weeks ago.”

Billy makes sure he’s looking straight ahead. “Guess so.”

Another silence. “You could always apologize,” Steve says evenly.

“To Max?” Billy returns without thinking about it.

Steve glances at him, and then swiftly looks away. “Yeah.”

How the fuck did they get to a point where they’re talking about this? Billy’s thought about apologizing for that night, although honestly he hasn’t considered saying sorry to Maxine. Every time he’s imagined saying the words, it’s been to Steve. Steve definitely deserves an apology more than Max does, but Billy still doesn’t think he’s actually capable of giving one. The idea is just so humiliating.

Steve must know what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t press the issue. Which, of course, just gives Billy more space to think about it. He can’t stand Maxine, has always found her prickly and difficult in addition to being the constant reminder that yes, it’s just him Neil hates. But now, for the first time, he tries to think about it from her perspective. She’s just a kid, and she was tied into his shitty family without any kind of say in the matter. And now they’ve moved here, away from everyone she knows, and she’s managed to make some friends, and Billy—

Well, Billy’s been a dick about it.

Yeah, he gets why she’s pissed about that night. She shouldn’t have run off the way she did, leaving Billy to take the fall for her absence, but then she doesn’t really know how much trouble he got into, and Billy hasn’t exactly fostered a relationship whereby she could have told him where she was going.

Goddammit. There’s nothing, nothing worse than the feeling of being wrong.

He says hesitantly: “You think that would make a difference?”

It’s been long enough since they last spoke that Steve would be justified in asking him to clarify himself, but Billy is relieved when Steve doesn’t do that. He just nods. “Yeah, I do,” he says. Then he bites his lip. “Well, I mean, I don’t think every opinion of you is going to change overnight, but you know. It would be a start.”

Translation: she’ll still hate you, but you should do it anyway. Billy’s surprised to find that Steve’s careful wording is amusing; maybe it’s that that has him saying: “What about you?”

“Me?” Steve echoes.

Billy’s chest is starting to feel a little tight. “Would that work for you too?”

Steve hesitates. “Like… apologizing?”

Billy nods tersely.

“Uh,” Steve says. “I guess?”

“Good to know,” Billy says, still looking firmly at the road. And it is, kind of. He still doesn’t think he’s got it in him to actually get the words out, but it helps a little to know that if he ever does manage it, Steve will be receptive.

Well. More receptive than Maxine, anyway.

*

By the time Billy pulls up at a layby, they’re pretty deep into the middle of nowhere, and Steve’s head is spinning. Never in a million years could he have imagined that his conversation with Billy would have wound up in the place that it has, and yet there’s been nothing forced about it. The events at the Byers’ place felt taboo, untouchable, and yet they’ve talked - albeit delicately - about what happened, and the world hasn’t exploded.

That’s probably because Billy still only has a fraction of the story. But still.

For a second there, he’d actually thought Billy was going to apologize to him. He’s almost glad that didn’t happen, because he has no idea how he’d react to it; until now, it’s not something he’s so much as briefly considered as a possibility. He hadn’t thought Billy actually felt any regret.

He’s not expecting an apology. He’s never expected an apology, not even right after everything happened when he was still steaming. He’s not an idiot. Billy Hargrove is not the apologizing kind.

But now… now, Steve doesn’t know what to think. He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the uncomfortable thoughts rattling around. If Billy actually feels regret, actually feels anything close to remorse… well, Steve still can’t see him actually being able to express it, but it the fact that it’s there kind of has to mean something. Like maybe he’s only 80% an asshole, rather than the 100% Steve had assumed.

Which would make sense. After all, they do have… well, fun, sometimes, when they’re discussing Pride and Prejudice and they both forget who they’re talking to.

Billy takes the key out of the ignition and gets out of the car. Steve looks out of the window; he doesn’t recognize his surroundings. It’s just a stretch of the same tall, chilly trees as he passes every day to get to school. He follows suit more slowly.

“Where are we?”

Billy turns to look at him, an odd smile on his face. “Out,” he says, raising his hands. “Nowhere. Wherever.”

Steve frowns, perplexed. “Any reason you brought us here?”

“Figured you wouldn’t want anyone to see us hanging out.” Billy’s voice is sharp and mocking, but it doesn’t bother Steve. He’s used to Billy’s strange, prickly temper by now. “Didn’t fancy the arcade or the mall anyway.”

“Fair enough,” Steve says, following Billy into the treeline. He has to admit, it’s refreshing just to be outside, away from all the shit that’s been pinning him down. No school, no Upside Down, no Nancy or Jonathan or anything else he has to feel confused about. Just Billy.

Well. He feels confused about Billy too, now. But he cares a hell of a lot less.

Right?

Chapter Text

They end up reading. No surprises there; it’s the only time Steve feels like he can talk to Billy without wanting to strangle him, no matter how much he feels like they’ve drawn a line under the events of two weeks ago. They read another chapter, the breeze picking up around them as they sit under the trees, and Steve closes his eyes and lets himself drift into Billy’s voice.

“You ever think you’d be here, two weeks ago?” It takes Steve a second to realize Billy has closed the book. He’s staring up at the patches of sky visible through the branches, and there’s an odd, meditative sound to his voice.

Steve looks over to him. “No,” he says. “Of course not.”

Billy huffs out a little laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course not.”

He sounds so melancholy that Steve can’t help but ask: “Are you… okay?”

“Never better,” Billy returns, so quickly that it can’t possibly be true. He snorts. “Don’t get sappy on me, Harrington.”

“Steve,” Steve says automatically.

Billy rolls his eyes. “Steve,” he repeats. He shakes his head. “You’re going to be doing that ‘til the end of time.”

“It’s going to take you that long to remember my name?” Steve says, eyebrows raised. He doesn’t mean anything by it, but Billy flushes an angry red.

“Fuck off, Harrington,” he snaps.

Steve raises his hands peaceably. He’s not in the mood for a fight; although he had been feeling vaguely combative back at Billy’s house, the brisk November air has calmed him down. He’s actually enjoying sitting out here, letting his skin cool under his jacket, feeling the wind toss his hair around. He says: “I’m kidding, Billy.”

Billy glares at him. “Whatever,” he mutters. He doesn’t look anywhere near as calm or rested as Steve feels out here. 

It’s odd, really, because out of the two of them Steve should be the jumpy one. He’s the one who’s been fighting demodogs, having to prepare for the attack of otherworldly creatures coming around every corner. He should be on edge, but he’s not. They closed the gate, or rather, Eleven did, and Steve feels safe.

Billy, on the other hand, looks restless and tense, like he’s the one waiting for an attack. He’s chewing on his thumbnail, and his blue eyes skitter around the trees. 

Steve doesn’t get it. And suddenly, for no reason that he can understand, he wants to know something about Billy Hargrove. Something beyond the cocky asshole exterior he presents at school, beyond the racist dickweed who went after Lucas Sinclair, beyond the aggressive fucker who gave Steve a concussion. There must be a real person behind all that shit, a real person biting his nails and reading Jane Austen in the woods with his enemy.

“Billy,” he says, and something must be off with his tone, because Billy turns his head sharply towards Steve.

“What?”

Steve isn’t actually sure what he wants to say. Something to recognize the humanity of Billy, maybe - something that somehow lets Billy know that there’s a glimpse of something real showing here in the woods, and Steve has seen it. He can’t think of a way to put it into words.

He says, hesitantly: “What was California like?”

Billy stares at him. “What?”

“What was California like?” Steve repeats. Now that he’s said it, he’s actually curious to hear the answer; he’s never left Indiana himself, and Billy has lived on the other side of the country.

He’s not actually sure Billy will answer, but after a moment, he says: “Warmer than here.”

Steve smiles. “Yeah?”

“We lived near the sea,” Billy says reluctantly, like the words are being dragged out of him. “I hate being so far away from the water. You could go out in the morning and watch the surfers from the beach.”

“Did you surf?” Steve asks.

Billy shakes his head. “You have to be serious about it to surf in San Diego,” he explains. “The tide’s not safe there. There are beaches you can go swimming, though, and play volleyball.”

“I didn’t know you were from San Diego,” Steve says.

“Yeah,” Billy says. There’s a tiny smile on his face. “Pretty different than here.”

Steve moves a little closer to him. “You miss it?”

Billy shrugs. “I guess. Nah, not really. Same shit, bigger town.”

“You must miss your friends,” Steve probes, because maybe that explains why Billy is such a colossal asshole. But Billy just laughs.

“You miss Tommy and Carol?” he asks pointedly, eyebrows raised.

Steve thinks about it. “No,” he says.

“Yeah,” Billy agrees. “I don’t miss my friends.”

That makes Steve feel a little sad - for himself, more than for Billy. He wonders what it would feel like to have friends he’s actually miss, if he left town. He’s barely noticed the loss of his so-called friends, has let his cloak of popularity slip from his shoulders without a second thought. He thinks about Nancy, vigilantly searching for a way to prove the truth about Barb’s death. He can’t think of anyone he’d go to that much trouble for.

He thinks of the kids, willing to face the Upside Down for each other. Well, he’d helped them, so maybe he’d go to that much trouble for them. Them, and Nancy, and Jonathan. But he’s not sure he can really call any of them friends.

He says: “How come you guys moved here?”

Billy gives him a sidelong look. “Max hasn’t told you all this shit?”

“I never asked,” Steve says truthfully.

Billy nods. “Uh, well, official story is my dad got transferred,” he says.

Steve raises an eyebrow. “And the real story?”

“He got demoted,” Billy replies promptly. “He was busy playing happy families with Susan, and he was taking time off to be with her, or whatever.” He laughs, the sound bitter. “I don’t know the whole… thing, but I think there was some kind of showdown with his boss. My dad lost his temper, lost his job, and basically saved himself by agreeing to move out here.”

“Oh,” Steve says. He frowns. “And your mom and Max just came with him?”

“Not my mom,” Billy says in a hard voice. “Max’s dad lives in Ohio, so that had something to do with the decision, I think. Closer, you know?”

Steve didn’t know Max was even in contact with her dad. “What about your mom?” he asks.

Billy looks away, through the trees. “Died when I was ten,” he says.

“Shit,” Steve says. “Sorry.”

Billy doesn’t answer at first, and for a while Steve isn’t sure he’s going to. He doesn’t blame him; he can’t imagine what it must be like to lose a parent. His own mom and dad aren’t around very often, sure, but they’re still there - Steve can pick up the phone and call them, if he wants to. No wonder Billy is so touchy about Susan not being his mom. 

After a couple of minutes, Billy says with a forced casualness: “How come your parents are away so much?”

It’s such a non-sequitur that Steve is taken aback, but he doesn’t mind it. It feels almost… normal, to sit here with Billy and have an ordinary sort of conversation. He says: “My dad works all over the country, and my mom gets lonely without him.”

“How often do they come home?” Billy asks.

Steve shrugs. “Every month or so, for a few days. They’re usually around for Thanksgiving, Christmas, that kind of thing. My mom used to stay back when I was younger.”

“You miss them?”

“Sometimes,” Steve says honestly. “I get kinda pissy when they’re home, though.” He laughs softly to himself. “I like having the house to myself.”

Billy nods like that makes total sense to him. “Tommy told me you always have a free house,” he says.

“Yeah,” Steve says. It feels pretty weird to be discussing his ex-best friend with the guy that swooped in and stole his allegiance. “I used to throw a lot of parties, you know, before—” He stops, unsure how to finish his sentence.

Billy just laughs. “Before you lost the school?”

For some reason, it doesn’t sting like it should. “Right,” Steve agrees. “Before I lost the school.” He laughs, surprising himself. “Jesus. I don’t miss it at all.”

“You don’t?” Billy seems genuinely shocked by Steve’s words, as if the possibility of Steve being okay with his lowered social status has never occurred to him.

Steve shakes his head. “Nope,” he says. “Tommy’s an asshole.” He hesitates. “I was an asshole. You didn’t know me then.”

 “Harrington,” Billy says dryly, “I know you’re an asshole.”

Steve laughs. “Okay, I was more of an asshole,” he says. “I didn’t like myself at all.” He stops, suddenly embarrassed. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

“Why not?” Billy says easily, leaning back against the tree and closing his eyes. “Who am I going to tell? You think any of my friends give a shit about you anymore?”

“You think any of those douchebags you hang out with are actually your friends?” Steve counters, whip-fast. He’s expecting Billy to be offended, but he just gives a low chuckle. Steve sighs. “I spray-painted a whole bunch of shit about Nancy all over town,” he says, without really knowing why he’s confessing.

Now Billy looks interested. “Little Miss Perfect?” he says. “What did you say about her?”

“The usual shit. Whore, slut, that kind of… Well, I was an asshole.” It’s been a long time since he’s thought about doing that; Nancy has long forgiven him for it, but he still feels pretty shitty about it, when he lets himself go back there.

Billy whistles. “Jeez, Harrington,” he says. There’s a note of amusement in his voice. “You badass.”

Steve, in spite of himself, feels a smile creep across his face. “Shut up.”

“Wait a second,” Billy says. “This was before you guys dated?”

“Early stages,” Steve says.

Unexpectedly, Billy lets out a cackle. “She kept dating you after that?” When Steve nods, he laughs again. “You really were King Steve,” he marvels. “You told the whole town your girl was a whore and she kept going out with you? How the hell did you pull that off?”

“Well, we broke up for a while,” Steve tries to defend himself, but Billy’s not wrong. If it hadn’t been for Steve proving himself with the Upside Down, if he hadn’t made his peace with Jonathan… well, he’s still lucky Nancy decided it didn’t matter to her. “I apologized,” he says, because he’s still a little bit of an asshole. “I made it up to her.”

“Not for long,” Billy rejoins immediately, clearly knowing exactly what point Steve is making and jabbing right back. 

It should piss him off, but he just rolls his eyes. “We dated for a year,” he says. 

“Until she left you,” Billy presses.

Steve wraps his arms around himself. “Until she left me,” he agrees, evenly. 

Billy is watching him. “What’s your deal with Byers?” he asks. Steve looks at him quizzically; he goes on: “Why is the guy who swooped on your girl defending you?”

“Oh,” Steve says. “It’s hard to explain.” Isn’t that the truth? When he thinks about Jonathan, he feels odd, a combination of sadness over Nancy and… gratitude, maybe? He likes Byers, which is a ridiculous thing to feel about someone who swooped on his girl, as Billy puts it. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t have any other friends. Maybe it’s guilt over the way he treated him in the past. Jonathan is… a good guy. He kind of wishes he’d realized that before Nancy came into the picture, because there’s actually a chance they could have been friends.

Well. The way Jonathan is behaving, they still could be. If Steve wants.

Billy is clearly unsatisfied by his explanation. “So? Try,” he says impatiently.

“We went through some stuff,” Steve says vaguely. He sighs. “He didn’t actually… steal Nancy. They got together after we broke up. Sort of.”

“Tommy said she left you for him,” Billy says.

“Tommy’s an idiot,” Steve replies crisply. He can still remember them all standing there in that alleyway, Tommy’s derisive smile as Nancy slapped him. “Tommy’s the reason I was such an asshole. I mean, he’s not, but he made me worse. The spray-painting thing was his idea.”

Billy’s eyebrows lift. “He didn’t mention that part.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve says. “He’s probably embarrassed. Jonathan fought back. Tommy’s not used to people fighting back.”

“You guys fought?”

Steve smiles grimly. It’s kind of ironic, now he thinks about it. “He beat the crap out of me, if you want to know.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Billy bursts into laughter. Steve, in spite of himself, finds himself smiling, looking in the opposite direction so Billy doesn’t see. Looking back, yeah, it is pretty funny, especially in light of everything that happened two weeks ago. It’s not like they’re the same thing at all - Jonathan may have beaten him up, but Steve is fully aware that it was his own fault, and Jonathan isn’t the rage machine Billy is - but still. It’s kind of disconcerting how many times tangling with the Upside Down includes a beatdown for Steve.

“Byers beat you up?” Billy says, merriment clear in his voice. “Byers? Jesus, Steve, maybe you need more advice than just planting your feet.”

“Hey, I got a few knocks in,” Steve finds himself protesting, but he’s grinning. 

Billy cackles again. “Sure you did,” he says. “Poor little pretty boy.” He snorts. “No girl is worth a punch-up.”

“It wasn’t really over Nancy,” Steve says. “It was my fault.”

“You picked a fight, princess?” Billy says skeptically. 

Steve shrugs. It’s easy to talk about this with Billy, maybe because Billy doesn’t have a leg to stand on to judge him; he doesn’t have to pretend he wasn’t the colossal dickhead he was. He says: “I thought Nancy was cheating on me with him. That’s why I painted all the shit. Turns out she wasn’t, but when he tried to get her to walk away… I wouldn’t let him.”

Billy’s head tilts to one side. “What did you do?”

“Insulted him,” Steve says, mouth dry. He’s never really acknowledged it out loud before; after everything that happened, it never felt important enough, and given that Jonathan laid on the fists, he seemed to feel that Steve had been appropriately punished. “Insulted his family. His brother.”

“His brother… that’s one of the nerds Max hangs out with, right?”

Steve nods. “He went missing,” he says. “That’s why Nancy was hanging out with Jonathan. She was being a good friend while his brother was missing.”

He sees Billy’s eyes widen. “You insulted his little brother who had gone missing?”

“Kind of.” There’s no reason for Steve to admit this, except that he never has and Billy is an easy audience. “I said… I said it was no wonder he’d disappeared. Because his family was so fucked up.”

There’s a pause, while Billy digests this. Then he says, wonderingly: “Cold, Harrington.”

“Yeah,” Steve says bitterly. “I told you. I was an asshole.”

“Wouldn’t have thought you had it in you.” Billy almost sounds admiring.

Steve rolls his eyes. “That’s why I don’t miss Tommy, and those other morons,” he says. “It was my fault, but they encouraged me. Nancy… she was disgusted by me.” The words hang in the air, and he coughs to hide their importance. “I’d rather have friends like her,” he finishes, somewhat lamely.

“You guys still friends?” Billy asks curiously.

That’s not so easy to answer. “She’ll always have my back,” Steve says. “It’s… weird, right now.”

“Fair enough,” Billy says.

Steve, suddenly restless, swings himself up onto his feet. It’s weird, this whole conversation - being able to be here with Billy without fighting, being able to talk to him. And he can’t help but feel that maybe he’s been holding too much of a grudge. Sure, Billy’s an asshole, and he hasn’t apologized for it, but retelling the story of what happened between him and Jonathan has reminded him that Billy’s not the only one. They’ve all done things they shouldn’t.

He rolls his neck, feeling it crack. He’s been sitting still for too long. He stretches his arms up above his head, letting them lengthen. He should be feeling stressed, but he’s not. He’s okay with talking to Billy like this. They’re not friends, of course they’re not friends - but it feels a little like they are friends, and it’s a good feeling.

Behind him, Billy makes an odd noise.

*

It happens so quickly that Billy has absolutely no warning for it.

One moment, he’s sitting underneath a tree, oddly relaxed, talking to Steve so casually that he almost forgets they don’t like each other. It’s nice, just to talk, to be normal. Maybe that’s what makes it creep up on him; he has his guard down.

Because then, Steve is standing up, turning away from Billy, and reaching his arms up towards the sky. The muscles in his back tighten as he stretches, and a small sliver of bare skin is exposed just above his jeans. He’s just stretching. It’s nothing.

Except that Billy has a hard-on.

He’s so shocked by it that he actually fucking squeaks. Harrington turns almost immediately, lowering his arms, but the damage is done; the image of his taut body is burned in Billy’s mind. 

“Billy?” Steve says, sounding fucking concerned, which is ridiculous. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Billy gets out, his voice strangled. “Just scratched myself, that’s all. You ready to head back?”

Steve smiles, blissfully unaware of what’s going on. “Sure,” he says.

Billy is barely holding on. He has no fucking idea what’s happening. He has a hard-on. Because of Harrington. It makes absolutely no sense. This has never happened to him before. He doesn’t even like Harrington! He doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand why he looked at him - that’s all he did, just looked at him, and Harrington wasn’t doing anything, just stretching - Billy’s seen him goddamn naked in the showers at school, and Jesus, now is not the time to think about that—

He forces himself to stand up, holding Steve’s copy of Pride and Prejudice in front of him in a casual sort of way, as though it’s normal to carry it that way. Luckily, Steve is already turning away, back towards the car, so Billy doesn’t have to worry too much about being obvious. His jeans are tight, sure, but not so tight that a single glance at him will reveal his predicament. And anyway, there’s no reason for Steve to be looking.

He follows Steve back to the Camaro, parked haphazardly in the layby at the side of the road. Fortunately, Steve seems to be content to sit in silence next to him as Billy starts up the car, because he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to focus on a conversation right now. He drives back towards his house, trying not to speed around the corners for fear he’ll lose it completely.

The hard-on doesn’t go away. It’s not… ridiculous, or anything - if Billy were to be in a position to touch it, it could get that way pretty quickly, but right now it’s at a manageable level. It’s just there, warm, rubbing against his jeans, just enough that he can’t forget about it. Can’t forget that somehow, impossibly, Steve Harrington gave him a freaking hard-on.

What does that even mean? Steve is a dude. Billy’s dick is not supposed to make an introduction around guys.

It’s not like it’s the first time, his brain insidiously reminds him. Billy pushes the thought down furiously.

“You’re quiet,” Steve comments. They’ve been driving for several minutes without speaking, which, Billy reflects, is unusual for them. They do tend to snark at each other at every possible opportunity.

“Just imagining mousy little Byers smashing you to pieces,” he says glibly. Steve laughs. “You ever win any of the fights you get yourself into, Harrington?”

Steve rolls his eyes and smiles out of the window. “I’ve only been in two,” he says.

“So that would be a no,” Billy says. Without his focus on it, his cock is quietly deflating. “Guess you really are just a pretty face.”

Definitely the wrong thing to say. His cock twitches a little. Jesus fucking Christ. Calling Steve a pretty boy is meant to be a fucking insult, not something he actually - apparently - thinks.

“Gee,” Steve says, sounding amused. “Thanks, Hargrove.”

“Explains why you suck at basketball,” Billy says hastily, covering his accidental compliment. He pulls into his driveway. “Too afraid of messing up your hair, right?”

Steve laughs. “Like you can talk,” he says easily.

They get out of the car. Billy’s dick is softening, thank God, and then another car slides up outside the house, and that has the effect of shrinking his hard-on down to nothing. It’s Susan and Neil, back from wherever the hell they went earlier.

Neil stops in his tracks when he sees Billy and Steve. 

“Billy,” he says, his voice hard. For a fucking change. “I thought you were studying.”

He rolls his eyes. He doesn’t always let himself show bravado to his dad, but he can never bring himself to totally roll over. It feels too much like defeat. “We were, dad,” he says.

Neil takes a step forward, and that’s when Billy realizes his mistake. Now is the wrong time to push; his dad is fucking livid. One glance at Susan’s ashen face, and he realizes they must have been fighting. It doesn’t happen very often, but it’s always a bad time for Billy. Susan and Maxine represent the happy, domestic family Neil wants to pretend he has, so when anything happens to shake the fallacy - like a fight, or Max running off - it gets him angrier than anything else can.

“Billy,” his dad says again, and this time hard has turned into menacing. “That tone is not acceptable.”

He doesn’t so much as glance at Steve. “Sorry, sir,” tumbles out of his mouth. He probably looks like a moron to bloody Harrington, but he doesn’t want a fight today. Not today. “I just meant, we took a break. We’ve been studying all day.”

Neil takes a breath. Then another. At last he says: “Okay. Get yourself in the house.”

Billy exhales.

Then Neil turns to Steve. “Are you staying for dinner, Steve?”

Now, Billy does look at him. He has a tiny frown on his face, and Billy definitely expects him to beg off, but he answers decisively. “Yes, please, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” Neil says warmly. An audience to his perfect family; of course it’s alright. He looks back to Billy. “It’ll be around an hour. Gives you a little more studying time.”

The message is clear. Billy leads the way into the house. He hadn’t realized how long he and Steve have been out in the woods; the light is definitely beginning to fade, and Billy realizes vaguely that he’s starving. He hasn’t eaten all day. He didn’t even think about it earlier.

Because you were with Steve, that nasty little voice in his head whispers. Billy ignores it.

Chapter Text

“You need to call your parents or anything?” Billy asks Steve as they make their way up the stairs to his bedroom. 

Steve just snorts. “They’re hanging out with the mayor, or something,” he says. He sounds somewhat bitter. “They won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Billy opens his mouth, closes it again, and then asks anyway. “They just got home and they’re spending their first weekend with the mayor?”

“Yup,” Steve says tersely. Billy decides not to push the issue.

The hour before dinner is spent, predictably, reading Pride and Prejudice and arguing about Jane Bennet. This time, Billy is surprised by their positions; usually he’s the one deriding Jane’s passivity, while Steve defends the softer characters of the book like they’re the younger sisters he never had. Today, however, things are different.

“I just think she’s kinda naive,” Steve says. “Read that bit again, the bit about everyone behaving unnaturally.”

Billy narrows his eyes at him. Someday, he’s going to get to the bottom of Steve’s aversion to reading. Not today, though, so he obligingly reads: “If they believed him attached to me, they would not try to part us; if he were so, they could not succeed. By supposing such an affection, you make everybody acting unnaturally and wrong, and me most unhappy.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I don’t get it. Elizabeth is clearly right, and Jane is just… being blind on purpose.”

“She’s innocent,” Billy points out. He doesn’t really feel strongly about it one way or the other, but he’s finding it amusing to rile Steve up a little bit. “She thinks everyone is a good person.”

Steve scoffs. “Sure, but why? Isn’t that the unnatural thing? Everyone can be… I don’t know, bitchy sometimes, even Elizabeth. Jane’s the only one who acts perfect all the time, and then she’s surprised when no one else does.”

“It’s like she lives by different rules,” Billy says thoughtfully. “But she’s not the only one.”

Steve frowns at him. “What do you mean?”

Billy shrugs, folding his arms across his chest. “Lydia and Kitty don’t live by the same rules as Elizabeth and her dad,” he says. “They do what they want, and she gets totally embarrassed by them, right? Same as Collins. And even Darcy and the bitch sisters - they have money, and class, but they’re rude to everyone. They all live by their own rules.”

“What, and Elizabeth’s the only normal one?” Steve asks.

“No,” Billy says. “Just… her rules are different too. They all see the world the way they think it should be, and they all see it differently.”

There’s a silence as Steve considers this. At last, he says slowly: “That doesn’t mean that, like… nobody’s right. I mean, in this situation, Elizabeth is right.”

“Maybe,” Billy allows. “I mean, yeah, she’s right about Bingley’s sisters. But does it matter? Bingley is still gone, and Jane says it makes her unhappier to think about it that way. Isn’t it better for her to believe what she wants to believe about it?”

“Wouldn’t you want to know the truth?” Steve presses.

Billy laughs. “Yeah, I would,” he says. “But she wouldn’t.”

Steve sits back, apparently thinking it over. Billy always likes saying something that makes Steve think about things, or even change his mind. It makes him feel smart, as much as he might know that isn’t true. Like Steve actually thinks he’s made a good point.

His bedroom door swings open. There’s only one person in the house who bursts in on him without knocking.

“Max,” Steve says in greeting, smiling at her.

She graces him with an answering smile, and then turns to scowl at Billy. “Your dad told me to tell you dinner’s ready, and to come down right away,” she says.

“Okay,” Billy says. Then, with an effort: “Thanks.”

She glares at him from behind her hair, and whirls away. 

Billy swings his legs off his bed. He’s not looking forward to dinner; the hour since he saw his dad last will almost certainly have done absolutely nothing to cool Neil’s temper, and Max, of course, will be angry with him no matter what else happens. His only silver lining is that Steve might - might - be enough to keep Neil sweet. The perfect epitome of everything he wants in a son - how could he not be? And as long as Billy doesn’t do too much to draw comparisons between them, he might fly under the radar.

Neil and Susan are already sat at the dining room table when Steve and Billy follow Maxine into the room. There’s a big bowl of salad and some chicken fillets in a tray in the middle of the table, which won’t be helping Neil’s mood. He hates hastily assembled meals.

Still, with Steve in attendance, he doesn’t bark at Billy the way he usually would. They sit down at the table, and Susan serves up dinner.

Billy is ravenous. He digs in immediately.

“How’s the studying going?” Neil asks. It’s not just a question; Billy’s senses are immediately heightened.

He struggles to swallow his mouthful, but before he can, Steve is answering. “It’s going well,” he says. “I really struggle with this stuff.”

Neil brings a forkful of chicken to his lips. “I’m sure that’s not true,” he says. His eyes turn back to Billy. “Did you enjoy your break from studying, Billy?”

This time, Billy’s mouth is empty, although he has no idea how to answer. His mind is working furiously, trying to understand his father’s angle. “I guess,” he says guardedly.

“And your sister?” his dad presses, and the pieces click into place. “Did she enjoy your absence from the house?”

“Uh,” Billy says.

Neil’s gaze transfers smoothly to Steve, as though Billy doesn’t exist anymore. “Do you have any brothers or sisters, Steve?” he asks. Billy’s heart is pounding, and his cheeks are hot; he shovels another chunk of chicken into his mouth.

Steve glances swiftly at Billy and then back to Neil. “No,” he says. “I’m an only child.”

“Ah, but as I recall, you babysit locally?” Neil asks.

Another quick look at Billy. “Yeah, I do,” Steve says slowly. Billy knows how he feels: knowing there’s something there, some hidden meaning, but not understanding it. He wants to tell Steve not to worry. Whatever Neil’s getting at, it will be about Billy, not Steve.

“I assume if you were babysitting, you wouldn’t leave one of your charges alone in the house while you went on a jaunt,” Neil says evenly. Billy closes his eyes.

“Neil,” Susan says, very quietly. Billy’s dad ignores her.

“Um,” Steve says. The silence around the table crackles with tension. “I don’t know.”

Neil smiles. It’s not a pleasant smile. “You’re not to blame in the least, Steve,” he says warmly. His eyes flicker back to Billy, hard and flinty. “Billy and I have had conversations about… what is it we’ve talked about, Billy?”

“Dad,” Billy says quietly. 

Across the table, Max’s face is white. She’s seen Neil go off at Billy before, of course she has, but there’s something particularly deadly about the way he’s talking right now. She says bravely: “I’m twelve. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Susan reaches over to touch her shoulder. She shrugs her hand off irritably.

“You don’t have a babysitter,” Neil says calmly, eyes still on Billy. “You have a loving older brother. Isn’t that right, Billy?”

Billy bites the inside of his cheek, hard enough to make him flinch. “Yes,” he says. He can’t look at Steve. He has no idea what he’s thinking. Can’t bear to even consider what he’s thinking.

“And what is it we’ve discussed?” 

He’s not going to stop. Not until he gets his pound of flesh, until Billy is utterly humiliated. His mouth is dry; he licks his lips, trying to get some air into himself. His throat is croaky when he says: “Respect.” He closes his eyes briefly. “Respect and… and responsibility.”

“Respect and responsibility,” his dad repeats. “I’m glad to hear it, Billy. It seems you’ve managed to find yourself a friend with both in spades.” His unspoken incredulity at how Billy has achieved such a feat is evident in his tone. He looks at Steve, and at last he smiles. “Perhaps you’ll rub off on him, Steve.”

Billy’s hands are clammy. He needs to hit something, needs to get back in his car and drive off the edge of a cliff. He has to bite his tongue to stop the tears from falling; he’s been humiliated enough - in front of Max and Steve - to let that happen. It’s pathetic that he’s already on the edge of crying. When his dad hits him, sure, he can allow tears then, but Neil hasn’t raised a hand to him yet. Under the table, his fingers dig into his thighs.

“This is delicious, Mrs Hargrove,” Steve says to Susan, sounding just a little uncomfortable. She gives him a wan smile. He turns to Neil. “Mr Hargrove, uh… Billy was telling me you guys moved from San Diego.” He smiles, and it almost looks sincere. “What’s it like there? I’ve always wanted to see California.”

Billy doesn’t really hear his dad’s answer. He’s back to being the Family Man, full of stories about all the sights of California, and Steve’s making all the right noises of appreciation in response, but Billy’s not really there at all. He can’t lose it, not here, but he wants to. God, he wants to. He wants to tip the table, throw his plate against the wall, and he can’t.

Across the table, Max is watching him, her mouth set in a hard line. Billy forces himself to pick up his knife and fork. She’s waiting for him to fuck up. He can feel it.

He carves a piece of chicken off the breast on his plate and puts it in his mouth. It tastes like nothing.

Somehow, he gets through the rest of dinner. He’s angry with himself for reacting so badly; it wasn’t a particularly bad altercation with Neil, not really. It’s just having Steve here, and even Max to some extent. He’s never brought anyone home before, but he’d kind of assumed Neil wouldn’t needle Billy the way he normally does in front of Steve.

Well. He hasn’t, not really. This was tame. But it’s still humiliating.

“Can I leave the table?” Max asks, when her plate is clean. Susan is already gathering the dishes together.

“Yes, of course,” Neil says. That’s a cue for Billy, as well, so he pushes his chair back to stand. But Neil’s not quite done with him yet. He says warningly: “Billy?”

Billy turns to look back at him. “Yeah?”

“Thank Susan for dinner,” his dad says. His eyes dare Billy to challenge him.

It’s not worth it, not with Steve standing close by. Billy looks at Susan. “Thank you for dinner, Susan.”

“Really, it’s no trouble,” she says faintly.

“Are you staying longer, Steve?” Neil asks him.

Steve smiles. “Yes,” he says, which is such a shock that Billy actually takes a small step backwards. Steve is staying? After that shitshow of a meal? Steve goes on: “We just had one small thing to finish up, if that’s alright.”

Neil returns the smile. “Of course, Steve,” he says. “You’re always welcome here.”

Billy is desperate for Steve to fuck off, actually, but he can’t say so now. It’s kind of creepy how much Neil likes Steve being here, but then, he’s always welcomed any additional weapons he can use against Billy. Steve, with his perfect hair and clean good-boy jawline, is everything Neil could have dreamed of.

Billy tucks in his chair, but Steve hasn’t moved. He’s still looking at Billy’s dad. “Oh, Mr Hargrove, I nearly forgot,” he says. Neil nods encouragingly, and he goes on: “My parents are in town, and they said it was alright if Billy came to my place to study after school next week. Is that okay?”

Neil looks at Billy, who hastily rearranges his face so he doesn’t look as shell-shocked as he feels. Why the hell did Harrington say that? They haven’t talked about Billy going over to his place after school.

Then again, that was probably the most uncomfortable dinner in history, and they do have to finish the damn book.

“You’ll still need to bring your sister home,” Neil warns him.

“Yeah, of course,” Billy says huskily.

His dad nods. “Alright,” he says, and then his attention is on Susan, and Billy is dismissed.

He practically runs up to his room, with Steve following him up the stairs. Billy’s hands are shaking; so much has happened in such quick succession that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. What he wants to do is punch something - the wall, the mirror, somebody’s face - but that’s not an option with Neil downstairs. He’s used to swallowing his more visceral reactions while he’s in the house. That’s what the woods are for.

Or Jonathan Byers’ house.

Still, he can’t quite stop his bedroom door from crashing against the wall as he bursts into the room. Everything is going round and round in his head, making it ache, making him feel like it might explode - Steve, Max, fucking Byers - he can hear their voices in his mind. Thank Susan for dinner… even if you did change, you’d still be scum… the way Steve had looked at him, that strip of skin as he stretched his arms out, Max’s pale face - I don’t even get why you’re talking to him. The weird kid talking to Steve through the walkie, all worried about his safety. What is it we’ve discussed? If you go near Steve Harrington again, then we’ll have a problem.

Steve comes in after him, closing the door far more quietly.

“Billy,” he says.

That’s enough. It’s enough for Billy to turn on him, furious and spitting. “What?” he snarls. Wasn’t this how it started the last time? Steve standing too close, too close, and his dad up in his face and Maxine - isn’t this how it happened? 

He could do it again. It would be so easy to smash all of the overwhelming tightness in his chest into Steve’s face, to let it pour out of him, and screw any consequences. 

“You promised you wouldn’t,” Steve says. His voice is very, very calm.

Billy blinks. He’s standing right up in Steve’s face, nose to nose, and he’s breathing hard, and his fist is raised. He doesn’t even remember raising it, but it’s there, threatening, waiting, aching to lash out. And Steve… Steve isn’t backing down. He’s just standing there, and he’s not mad or scared or upset, he’s just standing there looking steadily at Billy. You promised you wouldn’t.

Slowly, Billy lowers his fist. Takes a step backwards. Then another.

Steve just watches him.

The edge of the bed hits the back of Billy’s legs, and he sinks down onto it. The swell of anger has drained away, at least for now, and he’s suddenly fighting a wave of tears. He won’t cry in front of Steve fucking Harrington. He won’t cry. He can’t cry, and he can’t fight, and he doesn’t know what he can do. 

Carefully, Steve sits down in the chair behind him. He’s biting his lips.

“Harrington—” Billy begins.

“I have dyslexia,” Steve says.

Billy reels. “What?”

“I have dyslexia,” Steve repeats. His cheeks are slightly pink. “I can’t… I basically can’t read.”

Billy isn’t sure his brain can take any more information. He wets his lips. “Dyslexia,” he repeats. “Like… the word thing?”

Steve nods curtly. “I think so, anyway,” he says. “One of my middle school teachers told me about it. She thought I had it. It makes it hard to read. That’s why I like you reading to me.” His voice is jerky.

“You… can’t read?” He’s aware he sounds somewhat moronic, but he’s struggling to process what Steve’s telling him. A lot of things about the way they’ve been studying together are starting to make sense.

“I can read,” Steve says. “I just find it… hard.”

“Oh,” Billy says.

Steve takes a breath. He’s looking oddly determined. “I still haven’t read the first three chapters of Pride and Prejudice,” he tells Billy. “I keep trying, at home.”

Billy looks at the book, sat innocently on his bedside table. His head is spinning. “Show me,” he says, with no idea why.

For a moment, Steve just looks at him. Then he leans forward, snags the book from the table, and flips it open to the first page. His face is properly flushed now, and suddenly Billy realizes that Steve is making himself incredibly vulnerable right now. He’s doing something brave, and Billy opens his mouth to say he doesn’t have to do it, but then Steve is saying unsteadily: “It is a truth… universally ak - acknowledged…” He stops, taking a deep breath. “Acknowledged,” he says again. “That a single man in p… poss…”

“Possession,” Billy says quietly.

“Possession,” Steve says. His teeth sink angrily into his bottom lip. “In possession of a good fortune, must be in… in want of a wife.”

He shuts the book with a snap, staring at his own hands.

Billy’s heartbeat is calmer now. He says: “Harrington,” and then sighs. “Steve. It’s an old book. It’s hard.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Steve says in a hard voice.

Billy feels his temper flare, just for an instant, but it dies down again almost immediately. “I’m not,” he says. “It’s not an easy fucking book.”

“You don’t have a problem with it,” Steve points out.

“Yeah, well, I can think of plenty of things I have a problem with that you don’t,” Billy says.

“Yeah,” Steve says. Billy can’t meet his eyes. “I’m getting that.”

Chapter Text

Steve hangs out with the party at Dustin’s place on Sunday. He spent a restless night at home after leaving Billy’s place, unable to shake the memories of what had happened over dinner; it’s hard to stay indifferent to Billy after what he saw. 

Max has never even hinted that things were like that at home, but then, Steve barely knows Max really. Anyway, it hadn’t seemed as though Max had really come under fire. Neil hardly said a word to her. He just went after Billy.

Steve is still trying to wrestle the events of the evening into some kind of sense. He’d already noticed that Neil is on the stricter side of parents; the dinner a week ago had shown him that. Definitely tough, and maybe not too involved in Billy’s life. His own dad is much the same way, except the tough part gets diluted by his long absences from home. He’d been aware of it, but not given it much thought.

But last night… Neil had been angry from the second he got home, and the moment he’d realized it, Billy’s entire demeanor had changed. Like a wary animal, skulking in the corner, trying to avoid getting kicked. Steve’s never seen anything like it, especially not from Billy. Billy’s the guy who isn’t afraid of anything, who laughs in the face of a challenge. But not this time.

Steve can’t imagine his dad forcing him to embarrass himself like that in front of a school friend. It had felt like Neil was trying to rope him into a team of people against Billy, and while Billy isn’t Steve’s favorite person, he hadn’t wanted to play. It had been horrible, watching Billy’s dad laying down the law, and if Steve hadn’t already been convinced it was Neil’s initiative to keep Max away from Lucas, he would be certain now.

That’s why he stayed behind afterwards, why he invited Billy to study at his place next week. He didn’t want to leave Billy with the memory of Steve witnessing his humiliation.

He’d thought Billy would lose it. But he hadn’t.

He’s not sure why he told Billy about the dyslexia. He wanted to give him something vulnerable, because he could see how angry and embarrassed Billy was. It felt like he’d seen something he shouldn’t have done, so he’d given a piece of that back.

The whole thing is making Steve’s skin crawl.

So he heads to Dustin’s place, and tries not to think about what happened last night too much. His parents don’t even notice him leaving; they’re sitting in the living room, talking about the lunch they went to yesterday, and Steve just slips out.

Dustin’s front door is opened by a woman who can only be his mother. She has the same sunny smile as she greets him.

“You must be Steve,” she says warmly. “Dusty talks about you all the time!”

“He does?” Steve says, pleasantly surprised. “Well, he’s a great kid. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Henderson.”

She laughs, stepping back so he can come inside. “Call me Claudia,” she says. “The kids are all in the back room, Steve. It’s so sweet of you to come and look out for them! Still, I guess you’ll have Jonathan to talk to.”

Steve stops in his tracks as she closes the front door behind him. “Jonathan’s here?”

“Well, yes!” she tells him. “He brought Will. Poor little thing, he’s not been well, you know. Let’s see, Will is here, and Lucas, of course. Mike hasn’t gotten here yet, and of course there’s that girl Dusty’s been talking about, Maxine. Do you know her?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. Then, feeling perhaps an explanation is called for, he adds: “I’ve babysat for her, as well as the other boys.”

Claudia’s already nodding. “Yes, Dusty was telling me about that,” she says. “You brought him home last week after school, didn’t you?” When Steve nods, she goes on: “If you wanted to make it a regular thing, Steve, I’d be happy to pay you for your time. I’ve not felt quite right about Dusty making his own way home so late ever since Will disappeared, you know, and he likes you so much.” 

Steve is pretty sure he would have wound up being roped into picking Dustin up regardless of payment, so he’s glad he spoke to Dustin’s mom before speaking to Dustin himself. “That would be great, Mrs Henderson, if that’s okay with you.”

“Claudia,” she repeats, smiling. “It’s nice for Dusty to have a young man to look up to, Steve.” She sighs. “His father, you know, isn’t so involved. And Dusty says such good things about you!”

Steve smiles. “That’s really nice,” he tells her, and it is. 

“Mom!” It’s Dustin, appearing suddenly at the end of the corridor. “Oh my God, mom, leave Steve alone!”

Claudia laughs. “Dusty, sweetheart, Steve’s going to bring you home every week after AV club,” she says. “We were just talking about it.”

“Looks like I’m going to be your regular babysitter,” Steve tells him. “Dusty.”

“Oh my God,” Dustin groans.

With a last smile at Claudia, Steve follows Dustin through into the back room, where a large table is set up for the upcoming game. Lucas is already sitting up at it; he gives Steve a quick wave as he comes in. Jonathan is sat on a couch by the window, and next to him, looking very small and pale, is Will. 

Steve’s not actually sure if he’s met Will Byers before, as much as he’s heard about him from all corners. He looks like Jonathan. He looks bruised, not physically but mentally, with huge shadows under his equally huge eyes, but Steve is well aware of how much he’s had to come through. He’s such a tiny kid, to have shouldered so much.

“Steve!” Jonathan sounds genuinely pleased to see him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Steve says. He shoves his hands in his pockets, feeling awkward. Jonathan has good reason to be here; Will is still unwell, and frankly it’s pretty sweet of Jonathan to be here with him. Steve has no such excuse. He’s just here because he’s a lonely idiot with no real friends. 

Even Jonathan, nice as he is, must notice the irony of that.

If he’s thinking about it, he doesn’t say so. He gestures toward the couch where Will is sitting, and Steve follows him around the table and sits down. Dustin and Lucas are arguing loudly already about the set-up of the game, which Steve ignores. He sits at the edge of the couch, with Jonathan settling between him and Will.

“Are you going to go play, buddy?” Jonathan asks his brother. Will’s eyes flicker between him and Steve; after a moment or two, he nods, and slides off the couch. Jonathan moves further down, giving Steve more space.

For a moment or two, neither of them speak. The memory of their conversation on Friday is still fresh in Steve’s mind, and although he’s sure he’d be feeling a hell of a lot worse right now if they hadn’t talked, it’s still awkward to be here together. 

He scrambles for something to say, just to fill the silence. “How’s he doing?” he asks, gesturing towards where Will is seating himself gingerly at the table. 

Jonathan follows his glance. “Better,” he says quietly. “I think this… doing normal shit, you know, it helps. The kids have been great.” 

“Yeah,” Steve says. He can understand how it makes Will feel better, being around his friends and living his life the way he had before everything happened. Maybe that’s why he feels so unsettled half the time: nothing has gone back to normal for him. “I get that.”

“How about you?” Jonathan is watching him, his head tilted to one side. “How are you doing?”

Steve shrugs. “Face healed a while back now,” he says bracingly.

“I didn’t mean your face,” Jonathan says. “I get nightmares, you know?” He sits back, looking over to his brother again. There’s a pensive expression on his face. “I dream it’s still inside Will, that we didn’t manage to defeat it. Still seems so unlikely that we fought it off.”

“We didn’t, really,” Steve says, leaning back against the couch cushions. “That was Eleven.”

“Yeah, mostly her, but she wouldn’t have made it as far as she did if you and the kids hadn’t done what you did,” Jonathan points out. “You saved her life.”

Steve can feel himself flushing. It seems so fucking obvious that out of everyone, he did the least - just like last time. He still remembers that moment, out by his car over a year ago now, looking back at the flickering lights and knowing he had to make a decision. Run away, or jump in.

It hadn’t felt like there was much of a choice. He loved Nancy. And as much of an asshole as he’d been back then, he’d never been the kind of asshole who ran away.

He says, awkwardly: “I know what you mean. About… about not believing it’s really over.”

“You get nightmares too?” Jonathan asks, and there’s nothing judgemental whatsoever about his tone.

“No,” Steve says. “I just… don’t sleep.” He scratches his head, embarrassed by the admission. “I don’t know, man, it’s just weird, you know? Going back to school, trying to concentrate on all that ordinary shit when there’s something so much bigger out there.”

The doorbell rings, and both Steve and Jonathan start at the sound. Dustin and Lucas are still too busy arguing to so much as turn their heads, but Steve can hear Mrs Henderson shuffling through the house to answer the door. Jonathan says softly: “It must be tough, when your parents don’t know any of what’s going on.”

Steve turns sharply towards him. “What?”

Jonathan shrugs. “I mean, it’s easier for me and Will, because mom knows. It means we don’t have to… pretend.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “Yeah, I guess.” He tries to picture his parents knowing about the Upside Down; the concept is so jarring that he can’t get it to sit straight even in his head. “That’s the same for all the kids, though.”

“Yeah, but they have each other,” Jonathan says. The unspoken implication hangs heavy in the air.

Steve can’t think of anything to say, but luckily he doesn’t have to; at that moment, the door swings open, and when he looks up, the conversation with Jonathan falls out of his head. He should have known, really.

It’s Billy, standing in the doorway beside Max and Claudia, looking vaguely uncomfortable. Steve feels his heart stutter a little in his chest, although he doesn’t really know why.

“Here they are,” Claudia is saying warmly, completely oblivious to Billy’s discomfort. “It’s so sweet of you to come with your sister! The other big brothers are over there.”

Billy looks up - and meets Steve’s eyes. He doesn’t look surprised; Steve remembers that Max had invited him here in front of Billy. Instead, he looks oddly determined, a fixed set to his jaw. While Max slopes over to the kids at the table, Billy strides over to the couch.

“Harrington,” he says evenly. There’s something there, behind his words - something wild, barely controlled.

Steve rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. “Steve,” he says. 

Billy’s eyes flicker over to Jonathan. “Whatever.”

“You know Jonathan, right?” Steve says, just to be a dick. Billy’s mouth tightens.

“Hey,” Jonathan says easily. Steve wonders vaguely if anything actually fazes him; he seems to be so calm, no matter what the situation. Even with Billy. It’s somewhat enviable.

“Byers,” Billy says guardedly. He folds his arms, looking between the two of them. “Very cozy, aren’t you?”

Jonathan actually looks a little amused, which makes it funny for Steve, too. Jonathan says: “Are you staying?”

There’s a second - a very brief second - where Billy looks absolutely floored. Like he never expected to be asked. And then the shutters come down, and he laughs derisively. “Going to have to take a pass on that one, Byers. No offence, but this babysitting gig really isn’t my scene.”

“Okay,” Jonathan says peacefully.

Billy looks from him to Steve. There’s something very odd going on in the pit of Steve’s stomach - something almost… disappointed? It’s fucking ridiculous. He can’t stand Billy. But somehow, having Billy there makes things seem more interesting. And yeah, he’s kind of disappointed that Billy isn’t sticking around.

It’s a fucking joke. He’s spent way too much time with Billy recently as it is. 

“See you, Harrington,” Billy says. He grins. “Steve.”

Steve rolls his eyes again. “See you, Billy,” he says. But as Billy leaves the room, he can’t help but smile at his retreating back.

*

Billy is an idiot. A fucking moron. 

He drives straight into the woods once he’s left Steve fucking Harrington behind, and it’s a real effort not to just scream. Why the hell did he go into the house? Max’s friend’s mom had invited him in, sure, but he could have easily declined. Could have left Maxine at the door, the way she undoubtedly expected him to. He hadn’t missed the glare she’d given him when he’d stepped inside.

So why the hell had he done it? Because he’d seen Steve’s car parked outside, and some stupid part of him hadn’t been able to resist.

He slams a hand into the steering wheel. What is it about Harrington? The kid hates him. They hate each other. And yet… and yet, when Billy had turned to leave, he’d wished he didn’t have to.

Jesus Christ.

He’s been trying so hard to forget about that moment out in the woods, when Steve had stretched and Billy had looked and for some reason his dick was suddenly hard. Every time the image of it has popped into his brain he’s pushed it viciously away. But he can’t ignore it.

He can’t ignore it, because the second he’d seen Harrington sitting there on the couch next to Byers, it had all come rushing back.

He doesn’t want to think about this. Doesn’t want to go there in his head. Harrington is a dude, and Jesus Christ, Billy knows he’s not supposed to think like this about dudes. He’s not supposed to look at someone like Steve Harrington and feel the blood pounding in his chest and… want something. He’s not even sure what he wants, but he knows it’s wrong.

He hits the steering wheel again, hard enough to make his hand sting. He hates the thoughts buzzing around his head; hates that he can’t stop replaying that moment when Harrington reached up, when he realized that there was something… good, about how that made him feel. He’s seen Harrington sweaty and half-naked in gym class, in the locker rooms after, but he’s never had that reaction to him before.

Jesus Christ. Billy runs a hand through his hair. He never had that reaction at the time, but now, remembering Harrington in the shower, water running down his body… He can feel his cock stirring again.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

It’s not the first time. That’s the worst part. He never thinks about this, never lets his mind go there, but it feels like he can’t hold it back now that it’s happening again. It hadn’t been the same that time, of course, but Billy remembers it like it was yesterday. It takes almost nothing for him to be back there, fourteen years old, bored out of his mind in math class when the classroom door opened, and there he’d been.

Brandon Clement. He was the new kid at school, so of course he’d put on a show of bravado, but Billy could tell he was nervous. He was broad without being jacked, and he wore glasses that perched on his nose and made him look smart. He had pale skin and dark hair and freckles, and he looked delicate and a little breakable and totally… cute. 

Yeah, he was cute. He settled into school well enough - not cool enough to be in the popular crowd, but not unpopular either. He looked weirdly feminine, all soft edges and gentle features, and there were enough girls who liked him to stop him being bullied. He was quiet, but not shy. He’d talk if he was given a chance, and he had a dry humor that made Billy crack up.

Of course, Billy pretty much melted over everything Brandon did. At the time, it had felt like he wanted Brandon to be his best friend - but he knew it was more than that, even if he didn’t understand it. He knew it enough to stay away from Brandon. He wasn’t the big man back then that he is now; he had pull, but he didn’t rule his large faceless California school the way he does here. He definitely didn’t have the standing to befriend someone like Brandon.

He has no idea if Brandon even knew he existed. They never spoke. Billy sat near him sometimes in class, listened to him when he spoke to other people, watched him out of the corner of his eye. And sometimes, late at night with his hand wrapped around his cock, he thought about Brandon’s pretty face.

Jesus Christ. His hand aches from pounding the dashboard. He hasn’t thought about Brandon in so long.

Brandon wasn’t in school long. His dad was in the navy, and they moved around a lot. So Billy watched him go just over a year later without ever having had a conversation with him. He was too savvy to be sad about it, but it took him a long time to get out of the habit of picturing Brandon when he jerked off.

It’s wrong. He knows it’s wrong. There’s nothing worse you can be called in school than a faggot. He’d tried so hard to push it down, started dating girls, talked lewdly about them in the locker room with the other guys, imagined tits when he touched himself. And for the most part, it had worked. He blocked out every memory of Brandon, and he’d never met anyone else who made him feel so worked up. Not a guy or a girl.

Until Steve Harrington.

It’s like it’s too late, or something. Because unlike Brandon, Billy has talked to Steve. They’ve had long discussions about fucking Jane Austen, and sometimes Billy makes Steve laugh, and sometimes Steve looks surprised by something Billy has said, but in a good way, and Jesus Christ, he wishes he didn’t hate Steve Harrington so much. That none of the bullshit between them had ever happened.

He could jerk off to the thought of Brandon because even though it felt weird and wrong and he knew he had to hide it, Brandon was a stranger. Brandon was no one. But he couldn’t do that with Steve. How could he touch himself thinking about Steve and then be normal with him the next day, even if their normal is so fucked up? 

And Jesus Christ, why is he even thinking about jerking himself off to the thought of Steve?

His hand is on his crotch without him even realizing he’s put it there. He’s half hard already, and Christ, it’s so wrong, but when he palms himself through his jeans it feels so fucking good. He can’t remember the last time it felt like this.

Fuck it. He unzips his pants, reaching into his boxers to wrap his hand around his cock. He’s thinking about that little strip of skin showing when Steve stretched, his shirt riding up, and his hand slides down his own length. He’s thinking about Steve’s stupid fucking hair, the way it flies in the wind when Steve is running down the basketball court. He strokes faster. He’s thinking about Steve when his hair is wet, the way he frowns at Billy, the way his mouth looks when he laughs. 

His breath is coming harder now. It feels so good, so fucking good, and Billy tips back his head and imagines that Steve doesn’t hate him. He pictures Steve laughing because… because what, because he likes Billy? Wet in the school showers, laughing, stretching, all the moments Billy’s seen Steve and hadn’t realized he’d been noticing. He gasps at the thought of it, of Steve Harrington, King Steve, the sound of Steve’s voice, just Steve, talking to Billy, sitting beside him, scratching his neck and laughing. God, Steve’s laugh. 

With a groan, Billy comes. And then he’s just sat there, alone in his car, cold and covered in his own mess, left with the bittersweet thoughts of a person who can’t stand him.

Eyes prickling, Billy hits the steering wheel once more.

Chapter Text

Billy heads back to the Henderson kid’s place way too early. He knows he’s too early, knows Max won’t be nearly done with her game yet, but he’s been lurking in the woods for a few hours now and practically vibrating out of his skin. And what the hell, she already hates him, so he might as well give her another reason.

Harrington’s car is still outside when he pulls up. He tries to ignore the way that makes his heart beat.

Mrs Henderson answers the door with a smile, which is weird and confusing; it’s not that fluttery, turned-on thing Mrs Wheeler does when she sees him. Then again, Mrs Henderson is nothing like Mrs Wheeler. She looks like a proper mom, a little round and comfortable, with a warm face and sensible footwear.

“You’re a little early,” she warns him as she lets him in, as if Billy didn’t already know. “I don’t know if they’re done yet.”

“That’s okay,” Billy says. “I can wait.” 

He’s trying to ignore the way his chest is tight and painful, trying to pretend that what lies ahead in Mrs Henderson’s back room doesn’t matter, but he can hear how stiff and clipped his words are. Fortunately it doesn’t seem like Max’s friend’s mom is paying much attention to him. She leads the way to the door, but leaves him to walk through it alone.

Billy had the stupidest, most unreasonable urge to turn around and get back in his car.

He reaches out and pushes the door open instead. 

He remembers that day, in the Wheelers’ place, coming down the stairs into the basement and coming face to face with Harrington for the first time since everything went down. The scene in front of him is almost identical; the same kids, gathered around a table with their game spread out and Mike Wheeler reading from a card. Max, shaking her head at the Sinclair kid, her long red hair swishing around her shoulders. This time, though, Harrington isn’t at the table. He’s sat on the same couch as he was earlier, talking to Byers.

For a moment, no one seems to notice that he’s come in. Then the curly-haired kid looks up, and his mouth drops open.

“Mike,” he hisses, his chubby hand whacking Mike on the shoulder, and Mike stops talking. Gradually, the room falls silent. All eyes turn towards Billy, round and shocked and angry, just like they were the last time. These kids hate him. They hate him. 

Billy does the only thing he knows how to. He leans back a little, folding his arms, and lets his mouth slide into a lazy smile. “Am I interrupting something?” he drawls, cocking an eyebrow. Thank God he knows this room already, he cataloged it when he dropped Max off, because if this was happening somewhere unknown his skin would be itching even more than it already is.

Max glares at him, hard enough to burn right through him. “You’re early,” she spits. 

He makes a show of looking at his empty wrist. “Didn’t know we’d agreed a time,” he says, which is funny because it implies that Maxine would ever agree anything with him. She opens her mouth to argue, but that’s when Billy realizes that there are more kids here this time. There’s the Sinclair kid, Mike Wheeler, the Henderson kid… but there’s also a small boy with enormous eyes and sunken cheeks, sitting between Wheeler and Sinclair. And there’s someone else.

“You,” he says in disbelief.

Jane smiles serenely back at him.

Mike Wheeler stands up abruptly, dropping the cards he’s holding. His chair scrapes across the floor. “What did you say?” 

Billy’s eyes flicker around the room. For some reason, the atmosphere is suddenly tense, charged in a way it wasn’t a minute ago. He can see Harrington out of the corner of his eye, not speaking but watching, and all the kids around the table are still. Most of them are looking at Wheeler.

All except Jane. She still has a tiny half-smile on her face, like somehow out of everyone in the room she knows what’s going on the best, and Billy remembers that he felt like that around her before, out in the woods. He also remembers that she’d mentioned a Mike, when she’d spoken about her friends. He hadn’t really been paying attention.

“Jane, right?” he says slowly, eyes on Wheeler. The kid makes an odd, aborted movement, and there’s something curiously close to panic in his eyes. 

Byers stands up, his eyes narrowed. He says to Harrington: “Close the door.”

Harrington obeys, which is so unlike Harrington that Billy’s eyes widen.

“Jane,” Byers says, and there’s an odd emphasis in his voice, like he’s not used to saying her name like that. “How do you know Billy?”

“Met in the woods,” she replies placidly.

“What?” Mike cries. “You met him in the woods? Does he know where you live? What did he do?”

Jane frowns at him, lifting her chin and folding her arms. The stubborn expression on her face reminds Billy so much of Maxine that he almost smiles. “Nothing,” she says.

“Mike,” Byers says softly. “Calm down.”

“Calm down?” Mike yells incredulously. “Calm down? She’s supposed to - no one’s supposed to - and it’s him!” He flings an arm dramatically towards Billy, who raises his eyebrows. “What happens if he—”

“Mike,” Jane says, leaning forward. “Friends.”

He stares at her, eyes bugging out of his face. It’s pretty fucking comical to watch; Billy just wishes he had popcorn. “Friends? El, this guy is not your friend.”

Jane glares at him. “Friends,” she says firmly.

“Who’s El?” Billy asks conversationally.

“Billy—” Harrington starts, but Mike cuts across him.

“See!” he exclaims. “Now he’s asking questions!”

There’s a stark silence after he finishes talking. None of the kids seem to have anything to say; Billy hasn’t got a clue what’s going on, but it’s amusing enough to watch them all freaking out. He doesn’t look at Harrington, doesn’t want to risk giving himself away. It’s amusing, yeah, but it’s also a distraction from what he did in his car before he came here. And sure, there’s no way Harrington can tell, but Billy still can’t look at him. 

Jesus. He’s sick. He touched himself, thinking about Harrington, and now Harrington is right here in the room with him and Billy is going to have to read Jane Austen with him again at some point and pretend like it didn’t happen.

Suddenly the whole scene doesn’t seem so funny.

“Let’s all calm down,” Byers is saying. There is something calming about his voice, and oddly it seems to be working; Mike sits back down, although he’s still glaring at Billy. “Billy, come and sit,” Byers presses.

His immediate instinct is to push back, because that’s what Billy does: he always pushes back. But Byers is looking at him beseechingly, and finally Billy moves across to the couch where Byers is standing and sits down.

“What’s the big deal?” he asks.

Mike makes a noise, but Jonathan holds up his hand. He looks at Billy earnestly. “Look, after the other day, at my house, they’re pretty touchy, okay?”

Billy feels something unpleasant shudder through him at that. Is that what this is all about? Mike thinks that Billy is going to go after Jane? It’s been a couple of weeks now! Why would he even target her? She’s just a little girl, just a kid.

So was Sinclair. So is Max. The voice in his head doesn’t pull any punches. He shivers.

Mike is still watching him mistrustfully. Billy looks up at him. “Your little girlfriend there about to get me in any more trouble chasing Maxine all over town?” he asks belligerently. 

“That wasn’t—” Henderson explodes, but Harrington takes a step forwards from his position by the door, and Henderson subsides.

“No,” Mike says sulkily.

Billy spreads his hands. “Then we got no problem, Wheeler,” he says flippantly. His eyes flicker to Max. She hasn’t said a word this whole time, her face hard and tight. “See, I’m just a concerned big brother,” he says. “I’m just looking out for my precious little sister. As long as she’s where she’s meant to be… well, then there’s no problem. Right, Max?” He glances at her, a warning right there in his words.

She leans forward in her chair, her eyes flinty. There’s something there, something in her face that reminds him of her standing over him with that baseball bat. She’s not afraid of him, and it makes his stomach turn over.

“That’s right,” she says evenly. He frowns. He wasn’t expecting her to say that.

“What about E-Jane?” Mike says loudly.

Billy just looks at him. “What about her? I told you, Wheeler, I got no problem with your girlfriend.”

Something flickers on Max’s face. She says slowly: “So… if I stay where I’m meant to be, you won’t go after any of my friends?”

“Now she’s getting it,” Billy says. He can feel Harrington looking at him, but he won’t look back.

“Why do you care so much where I go?” Maxine asks.

He shrugs, although his heart is pounding. “Hey, I’m your big brother,” he says. “It’s my job to look out for you.”

*

My job. Steve hears it, right there in Billy’s words, and he can’t believe he didn’t realize before.

Neil Hargrove had been so mad, at dinner last night, because he and Billy had left Max alone in the house. He’d humiliated Billy at the table, made Steve’s skin crawl with the things he’d said. You don’t have a babysitter. You have a loving older brother. Right?

Of course it’s not the first time. What had Billy said, right before he first knocked Steve into the dirt outside the Byers’ place? He’d said his sister had been missing all day. And just now, even though he probably hadn’t meant to say it that way, what had he said to Mike? Is your girlfriend going to get me in trouble chasing Maxine all over town?

If Neil Hargrove gave him as much of a hard time as Steve saw when he left Max for a couple of hours in her own home… what did he do when he couldn’t find her all day?

“Billy,” he finds himself saying, almost before he’s realized he’s going to.

Billy doesn’t look at him, eyes still on Max. “What’s up, Harrington?”

He hesitates. “Jonathan and I were just going to get some fresh air,” he says at last. He can feel Jonathan glancing at him, but he has the sense not to say anything. “Come with us. Leave the kids to play their game.”

“Steve!” Dustin exclaims, but Steve ignores him.

Finally, Billy looks at him. It’s the first time since he walked in, and Steve’s not even sure why he’s registering that. His blue eyes are thoughtful. He says, voice measured: “Alright.”

He and Jonathan stand up, and Steve opens the door. He can see Dustin gesturing furiously, but he’ll smooth that over later; Billy needs to get out of here. He gets why the kids hate him so much - hell, he hates Billy, always has, always will, but at the same time, spending the time with him that he has recently means he understands a little more than a bunch of twelve-year-olds. 

Steve is absolutely certain that Billy’s dad gave him one hell of a hard time the night Maxine went missing. After dinner, Billy had stood in front of him, breathing hard, fist raised, but he’d held back from hitting Steve. Just. That night… that night, he didn’t hold back. He lashed out. So there’s a pattern there, a pattern where Billy’s dad gets under his skin and then Billy, being the asshole he is, takes it out on someone else as aggressively as possible.

It’s not okay. It doesn’t make what Billy did to him, to Lucas, okay. But Steve was there, when Mr Hargrove laid into Billy right there at the dinner table, and it had been so nasty, so horrible, that he can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Billy.

Sympathy for Billy Hargrove. Jesus.

Once they’ve closed the door behind them, Steve hears a cacophony of noise break out on the other side as the kids furiously discuss what just happened. He shakes his head, following Jonathan and Billy to the back door.

It’s cold outside, and Steve is glad of his thick jacket. He can see Billy shivering, just a little. Still, it’s got to be better than being stuck in that small room, everyone staring at him. 

Steve gives himself a shake. Since when did he care?

“Want a smoke?” Billy asks Jonathan. He casts a look at Steve. “Not you, Harrington, you don’t know how to do it properly, it’s embarrassing.”

Jonathan, the traitor, laughs, accepting the proffered cigarette. He wanders over to the Hendersons’ outdoor set, which consists of a wobbly-looking wooden table and a few chairs with peeling green paint, and sits down. Steve follows; Billy, lighting his cigarette with a match, just watches them go.

“Billy,” Steve says. “Come on.”

There’s a beat. Then Billy walks slowly over, eyes on Steve as he takes a seat; the expression on his face is unreadable.

“Hey,” Jonathan says. “Light me up?”

He has the cigarette between his lips; Billy takes out his box of matches, holding one hand around the one he lights to protect it from the breeze. There’s something oddly fluid about his movements, like every small thing he does is totally deliberate, done for effect. Steve watches as Billy leans across the table, holding the match to Jonathan’s cigarette, and then shaking out the tiny flame.

Jonathan leans back, apparently more relaxed now that he’s smoking. “Jesus,” he says, exhaling. He glances at Billy. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Billy says guardedly, putting the box of matches back in his pocket. “How long are the brats going to be?”

“Hours,” Steve tells him, and then can’t help but crack a smile at the expression on Billy’s face. “It’s torture, man. Jonathan and I have been playing cards to get through.”

Now Billy looks interested. “What are you playing?”

Jonathan slides the pack of cards out of his jacket. “Gin rummy,” he says. “You want to play?”

Billy grins, the expression unnervingly predatory. “Fuck that,” he says, and his eyes, dark and glittering, meet Steve’s. “You two shitheads know how to play poker?”

Chapter Text

Two hours of playing poker with Harrington - terrible, as predicted - and Byers - a surprising dark horse, managing to beat Billy twice - are just about enough for Billy to feel a little less awkward about reading Pride and Prejudice at school on Monday. Just. 

He’s still paralyzed with anxiety whenever he remembers, like somehow Harrington will look at him and know—

He shakes away the thought. It’s not going to happen. Maybe if he keeps telling himself that, he’ll eventually believe it.

The conversation out in Henderson’s backyard had been pretty tame. He could tell that Harrington was working hard to keep it that way; they talked mostly about the poker, and a little about school. Nothing about the kids, or Jonathan’s girlfriend, or any of the other contentious subjects that lay like undisturbed landmines between the three of them. Billy had thought Byers would give him a hard time, especially after the last time they interacted, but Jonathan was surprisingly chilled.

Chilled, and kind of funny, in a low-key way. If Billy’s the lion at the top of the food chain, Jonathan’s basically a fucking amoeba, but there’s no denying he made Billy laugh. More than once.

Every time it happened, Harrington just looked between the two of them with this odd look on his face, like he was trying to figure them out. In all fairness, you couldn’t put together three more unlikely companions.

So by Monday, he’s relaxed somewhat. Byers nods at him in Homeroom - Billy rolls his eyes, obviously, but still - and he manages not to have a heart attack in English class when he sees Steve. I touched myself, thinking about you, his insidious brain reminds him, but Ms Young is speaking and he can focus on that instead.

It’s a different story at lunch, when he and Harrington head to the bleachers in a way that’s become routine. Tommy H frowns at him as they pass him in the corridor; Billy has already explained the English project to him, but he knows at some point soon he’s going to have to address why he’s spending so much time with Steve Harrington during the school day. He can’t remember the last time he hung out with his friends properly.

You think any of those douchebags you hang out with are actually your friends? Harrington hadn’t been mad when he said it - he’d almost been smiling, like it was funny - but still, Billy flushes when he remembers it. 

He jerked himself off, thinking about Steve. And now he has to sit out in the cold with him and shiver through some Jane Austen like nothing happened.

His heart is beating unreasonably fast.

It doesn’t help that Steve… Steve is looking pretty good today. He’s wearing a gray jacket over a green jumper, and his jeans are riding high up on his ass. Not that Billy is looking at his ass. Why the fuck is Billy even thinking about Harrington’s ass? The whole… thing, in his car, that was just a one-time thing. It doesn’t mean anything, doesn’t mean he’s going to start looking at Harrington, or anything. 

“Billy?” Harrington says, and Billy blinks out of the conversation going on in his head.

“Yeah?” he says, going for nonchalant. 

Steve just looks at him. “Are you still coming to my place tonight?” he asks.

Jesus. With everything else going on, Billy had completely forgotten about that. He tries to imagine being in Harrington’s house. There’s no doubt it’ll be ten thousand times better than that awful dinner at the Hargrove place, but still… being in Steve’s room, being alone with him in his space, knowing what he did…

“I have to drop Max off,” he says guardedly.

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, I figured,” he says. “I’m getting Dustin from AV club.”

Billy had actually forgotten Max had her stupid little nerd club. It’s probably a good thing; he can spend the extra time hanging out with Tommy and Carol, reminding them he’s still king of the school. “Okay, Harrington,” he says bracingly, and then rolls his eyes when Steve opens his mouth. “Steve. Your parents still home?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. There’s something slightly off about his tone. “My mom’s cooking.”

“She a good cook?” He lets something slide into his voice, the way you’re supposed to when you talk about your friends’ moms. And then he kicks himself for it, because Steve Harrington is not his friend.

Luckily, Harrington hasn’t seemed to notice. “She’s a great cook,” he said, and this time Billy definitely isn’t imagining the faintest hint of bitterness in his voice.

He doesn’t say anything though, the same way that neither of them are mentioning what happened at Billy’s house over the weekend, or what Steve had told him about reading, or even the altercation between the kids at the Henderson place. And Billy is definitely, definitely not mentioning what happened in the woods, or in his car. There’s a whole lot they’re not mentioning about one goddamn weekend, come to think of it.

So Billy shivers through Chapter Twenty-Six during lunch, and then after school he and Tommy H hang out at the quarry for an hour. Tommy is, frustratingly, quite good company when Carol isn’t hanging around like a little bitch; it’s relaxing just to be with him, to shake off all the weird uncomfortable feelings he gets when he thinks about Steve, and just enjoy slipping into his old role.

“We never see you anymore, man,” Tommy says lazily. He throws a pebble into the quarry, and Billy listens as it hits the rocks below. 

“Yeah, lot going on,” Billy says. “This project’s a fucking bitch.”

Tommy laughs. “Since when do you give a shit about school?” he asks, and then he gives Billy that little look, the one he always does when he’s worried he’s crossed a line.

Billy cuffs his shoulder. “Stupid thing accounts for half my grade,” he lies. “You think I’m passing up the opportunity to get out of this hellhole?”

“Must be weird, having to work with Harrington,” Tommy comments scornfully. Something rises up inside Billy at that, almost like… like he’s mad, or something, which is ridiculous; he and Tommy have trash-talked Steve plenty of times.

He makes sure not to let it escape. “You talk like you never worked with him on a damn thing,” he says with a snort. “Weren’t the two of you best buddies before I showed up?”

“Nah,” Tommy says at once. “Not for a long time. He used to be cool, man, but then he started dating Nancy Wheeler. Turned into a priss just like her.”

“Yeah, chick’s a bitch.” That, at least, is easy to agree with; Billy doesn’t like Nancy. She gives him looks in the corridor, like she thinks she’s better than him, and it doesn’t sit right. Besides, she left Steve Harrington for goddamn Byers, which makes her a fucking moron.

And it’s time to stop that train of thought right in its tracks. Billy stands up, kicking another stone into the quarry as he goes, and heads towards his car. Tommy knows he has to pick up his sister; he doesn’t comment as Billy drives off, just giving him half a wave. Billy nods back, letting his face slide into a grin. He enjoys spending time with Tommy; it’s easy-going, and he doesn’t have to think. But at the same time, his heart is already pumping at the thought of hanging out with Steve after he’s dropped Max off.

He looks out for Steve’s car when he gets to the middle school, but he doesn’t see it. Max is a little late out, which doesn’t do Billy’s temper any favors. Still, he manages not to say anything, and she’s as silently angry as ever, so the car ride home is actually surprisingly peaceful. He drops her home without even getting out of the car. Why would he? He has no reason to hang out at home if he doesn’t have to.

“Where are you going?” Max asks him as she’s opening the passenger door, her eyes narrowed at him.

“Out,” he says blandly.

She glares at him. “You’re going to Steve’s,” she says.

He rolls his eyes. “So why’d you ask, dumbass?”

She slams the door extra hard as she gets out of the car, just for that comment. Billy doesn’t care. It’s not like it’s any different from the normal state of affairs.

He’s never been to Harrington’s place before, only knows where it is because Tommy H pointed it out as they were passing one time. It’s pretty much exactly what he might have expected if he’d thought about it ahead of time; too big for Hawkins, really, with too many windows and three cars parked up outside. Billy knows Steve’s family are better off than most in this town. Harrington’s always had a slight air of the rich kid.

He slides the Camaro in behind Steve’s sedan, taking a minute after he’s taken the keys out to take a few deep breaths. He shouldn’t be as nervous as he is; there’s no way this can be any more awkward than the Hargrove family dinners. 

Except that now Billy has the memory of jerking off to Steve, right there in his head. He has no idea how he’s supposed to put that behind him long enough to talk literature, for fuck’s sake.

Slowly, he gets out of the car, looking up at the big house in front of him. Catalogs the flat white wooden slats it’s built out of, the oddly impersonal feel of the sparse front yard, the curling driveway, the wide red front door. He wonders whether Harrington told his parents that Billy beat him up. If he did, they’re not likely to be his biggest fans, as good as Billy usually is at turning on the charm. 

Heart hammering in his chest, he walks up to the front door and presses hard on the bell.

Steve answers the door. He’s changed his shirt since school, which is the kind of thing that Billy really shouldn’t be noticing about him, and his hair is a little floppier than usual. There’s the tiniest smudge of flour on his face, just by his ear. He’s not wearing any shoes, just a pair of green socks underneath his tight jeans, and as he opens the door, he runs a hand through his hair.

“Billy,” he says.

“Harrington,” Billy replies, because he’s an asshole. I jerked off to you, he thinks, and his heart rate picks up. I jerked off thinking about your pretty face.

There’s a silence, a beat, and then Harrington steps back and gestures for Billy to come inside. His front hall is nice, well laid-out - dark wooden floorboards, cream wallpaper, a smudgy painting of trees and a river on the wall in a gold frame. Billy’s eyes flicker from side to side as he takes it all in. Dark wooden sideboard against one wall, large leafy plant in a white pot on top of it. A couple sets of keys in a little green dish. A letter, half out of its envelope, lying on top of a magazine and a couple of flyers. It’s all very clean, very generic. Not like a showhome, exactly, but almost like someone set it up to look like people live here.

Steve is watching him. “You done?” he says archly, when Billy has stopped looking around.

“Yep,” Billy says, as nonchalantly as he can manage. I touched myself. I thought about you.

“Stevie?” The voice is feminine, soft, and Harrington closes his eyes briefly at the sound of it. Billy lets himself crack a grin at the nickname, undoubtedly the source of Steve’s embarrassment. “Stevie, is that your friend?”

A door off to the side opens, and a woman walks through it. Immediately, Billy knows that if she were around more often, Steve would be inundated with ceaseless innuendo; his mom is tall, graceful, beautiful. She’s broad-shouldered in a way that shouldn’t look good on a chick, but somehow it works for her. In fact, as he looks at her, he realizes everything about her is a little like that: slightly too big, too wide, but pulling together into one hell of a figure. 

She smiles at Billy. “Hello,” she says. “You must be Billy.”

“That’s me,” Billy says, and he flashes her a glimpse of teeth, lets his face slide into the easy confident expression he uses with Mrs Wheeler. He can’t use the same trick that he did then - Steve’s mom, while beautiful, couldn’t possibly be mistaken for his sister, and even Billy isn’t quite brazen enough to pull that kind of line right in front of him - but he can still get her on side. “Your home is lovely, Mrs Harrington,” he says, leaning forward to imply the just like you.

“Oh, yes,” she says, looking around as though only just seeing her front hall now. “Thank you.” She glances at Steve. “What time would you like dinner, Stevie? He’s been helping me cook, you know,” she adds distantly to Billy.

“He says you’re one hell of a cook,” Billy tells her, and he’s rewarded with a dazzling smile.

“Oh, well, it’s only salmon,” she says. 

Steve shifts restlessly. “Maybe in a couple of hours,” he says abruptly. “It’s not even four thirty yet.” He reaches up, runs a hand through his hair almost without thinking. Billy swallows.

Mrs Harrington smiles vaguely, and drifts back through the door she came in by. 

“Your mom—” Billy begins, grinning.

“Don’t,” Steve says shortly.

They go upstairs, Billy touching the polished banister with one hand and gazing about unabashedly as he walks. The interior of the house continues to be neat and tasteful, with attractive wallpaper and well-placed furniture along the upstairs corridor. All the doors off the landing are closed, and Billy wonders vaguely if it’s Steve or his parents that keep it that way. Does Steve run the vacuum cleaner along this pristine carpet? Billy can’t picture his mom polishing the wooden tabletops or watering the plants. Maybe they have a cleaning service?

At last, they reach Steve’s room, at the end of the corridor. Steve hesitates, one hand resting on the doorknob.

“I showed you mine,” Billy points out.

Harrington rolls his eyes, and opens the door.

His bedroom is pretty much exactly what Billy might have expected. Blue and white checked wallpaper with matching curtains, several generic-looking pictures that Billy would bet every cent he’s got that Steve didn’t pick out himself. A large comfortable-looking unmade bed with blue covers and a thick blanket folded at the end of it. All the décor looks expensive, impersonal, quite unlike Billy’s own room with his hastily tacked posters and collection of clothes and jewelry. 

“Nice digs,” he says, rolling his words just so Harrington can’t be sure whether or not he means them.

“Thanks,” Harrington says warily. Billy grins, but it’s a half-hearted gesture; he can’t help but keep looking at Steve’s face, all open and ordinary, because nothing has happened to him.

Not like me. Because I - I touched myself, and I thought about you.

Harrington sits on his bed, picking up his copy of Pride and Prejudice from his bedside table. It feels strange to be here, in Harrington’s house, like Billy’s intruding on a different kind of life that he’s not entitled to. Maybe it’s because Harrington always seems to appear at school, fully formed with his well-styled hair and slick car, and seeing him here feels like being backstage at a gig. Harrington’s clearly not totally at ease with Billy being here; he keeps fidgeting, fingers twitching on the pages of the book. That makes it easier for Billy to pretend he’s fine, to grin as he sprawls across the other end of the bed.

“Where were we up to?” Steve asks.

Billy shrugs. “Jane figured out Miss Bingley’s a bitch,” he says. He holds out his hand for the book. “And Lizzy’s aunt warned her off Wickham.”

“I don’t like him,” Steve says, not for the first time. He passes the book across. “He’s too…”

“Cool? Awesome?” It’s an argument they’ve had before. Billy flicks through the pages, trying to find their place.

Steve rolls his eyes, leaning back against his headboard. “He reminds me of Tommy H,” he mutters.

Now that is a first, and Billy looks up interestedly. “Like how?”

Harrington shrugs uncomfortably. “I don’t know,” he says. “He bitches all the time, you know? And I don’t like the way he moved onto that other girl so quickly.” He drops his head, obviously realizing he’s said too much. “Whatever. Keep reading.”

There’s something in that, something Billy wants to look at later, but for now he just flashes Steve a grin and looks down at the page. “With no greater events than these in the Longbourn family, and otherwise diversified by little beyond the walks to Meryton…” He stops, heart beating. Harrington hasn’t noticed anything amiss, but Billy is struggling to read as evenly as he usually would. I thought about you, and you made me come. 

“Billy?”

He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the unwelcome image. “With no greater events than these in the Longbourn family, and otherwise diversified by little beyond the walks to Meryton, sometimes dirty and sometimes cold, did January and February pass away,” he repeats. “March was to take Elizabeth to Hunsford…”

Chapter Text

“She’s a cocky shit,” Billy says, and he’s grinning like a cocky shit himself, knowing that he’s getting under Steve’s skin.

Steve knows exactly what he’s trying to do and takes the bait anyway. “Seriously, Hargrove, just because someone’s smart—”

“Oh, sure, smart,” Billy says. “What would you know about smart, Harrington?”

“Steve,” Steve says through gritted teeth. 

Billy laughs easily. He’s half sitting, half lying across the foot of Steve’s bed, shoes kicked off and hair in his eyes. “Hypocrite,” he says comfortably, and Steve briefly considers throwing his alarm clock at Billy’s head. 

“She’s the literal heroine,” he argues instead. “You can’t not like her.”

“Oh, I like her,” Billy assures him, and there’s something in his tone that makes Steve swallow. “She’s just, you know… a cocky shit.”

“Whatever,” Steve says lamely, and Billy just smiles at him, a wide shit-eating smile that flashes his teeth and makes his eyes crinkle. He doesn’t seem to be remotely bothered by being here, in Steve’s bedroom; he’s a thousand times more relaxed than he has been any of the times Steve has gone over to the Hargrove house, and vaguely Steve wonders why he even suggested it initially. Steve, on the other hand, has been on edge all afternoon. Having Billy here in the same place as his parents is… weird.

Billy snaps the book shut. “We going to talk about your mom at any point, Harrington?”

This, at least, Steve has been expecting. He rolls his eyes. “Pretty predictable, Hargrove,” he says.

“Hey, when your mom looks like that…”

“Yeah, my mom’s hot,” Steve says, already bored with the conversation. He’s already done this, with Tommy H and a small handful of the other guys from school who have managed to come face to face with his mom over the years. Luckily, she’s not around enough for the joke to stick for too long. “I’ve heard it all before, Billy, see if you can say something original, okay?”

Irritatingly, Billy just looks amused, his eyebrows raised and that grin sticking to his smug face. “Jesus, Harrington, untangle your panties,” he says mildly. He looks away, towards the window. “Trust me, if my mom was still around you’d be saying the same damn thing.”

Now Steve just feels like an ass. “Your mom,” he says hesitantly. “What was she like?”

Billy looks back at him, face surprised, like he wasn’t expecting Steve to ask. “She was a hippie,” he says bluntly. A smile creeps over his face, and this time it’s different. Less arrogant. “She was obsessed with music, always playing records. Weird shit, all this folksie shit. She used to sing all the fucking time. In the shower, in the car… It made my dad so mad!” He shakes his head a little. “She was pretty,” he says quietly. “She was really fucking pretty.”

“You must miss her,” Steve says. It’s a stupid question, but he doesn’t know what else to say; he doesn’t have any experience with death, not really. Pretty fucking ironic after everything he’s been through over the last year, but this is something that has nothing to do with the craziness of the Upside Down. This is something heartbreakingly human.

“Yeah,” Billy says. “I do.”

For a moment, they just sit there: Steve leaning back against the headboard, Billy sprawled at the end of the bed. Steve says: “That sucks, man.”

“Don’t go mushy on me, Harrington,” Billy says bracingly, but he doesn’t look pissed, and Steve, after a moment, just rolls his eyes. He can’t quite hide a smile.

He says, hesitantly: “So… I was kinda meaning to ask how you met Jane…” He trails off. He hasn’t been meaning to ask; Dustin demanded that he find out, in the car on the way home from AV club.

“Mike’s still worried, Steve!” he’d hissed. “No one’s meant to know about her! What if he tells?”

“He doesn’t even know there’s anything to tell,” Steve had pointed out. “It was only you guys acting so weird that made him think twice about her even being there.”

Dustin huffed at him, the way he always does when he thinks Steve isn’t being serious enough. It had made Steve a little shocked at himself that he knows Dustin well enough to even know that. “No, he singled out her out, like, the second he got there,” he argued. “He thinks her name is Jane!”

“Isn’t that her legal name now?” Steve asked. “Dustin, what’s the big deal? Isn’t she Hopper’s daughter now, or something? She’s not going to hide forever, right?”

The fact that that was true didn’t stop Dustin from rolling his eyes. “Well, yeah, but there’s going to be a whole plan for introducing her to Hawkins! He can’t just turn up one day with a daughter, people will have questions. And Billy Hargrove is the kind of guy who ruins things, Steve!”

“He’s not that bad,” Steve said, and that was his big mistake. It was also the last time he got to speak until they reached Dustin’s house.

He kind of zoned out until he heard the words Stockholm Syndrome.

“What?” he said, interrupting Dustin’s diatribe. He was parked outside the Henderson place by now. “What the hell is Stockholm… whatever you said?”

“It’s when you spend so much time with the enemy you start sympathising with them,” Dustin hissed at him. “You keep hanging out with him, Steve!”

“We’re working on—”

Dustin shook his head. “Yeah, you keep saying that, but you’re acting like… like you’re friends, or something!”

“Dustin,” Steve said patiently. “We fought actual demodogs, you know, the real enemy? Billy Hargrove isn’t shit compared to that, right?”

Dustin squinted at him, which meant Steve had made a good point. “Well, I don’t trust him,” he said at last. “Can you at least find out what he knows about El? She wouldn’t say anything, I think she’s got Stockholm Syndrome too.”

“Fine,” Steve had said, which is why he’s brought it up now. 

His words obviously sound as clumsy to Billy as they did to him, because Billy narrows his eyes at the question. “What, the kid?” he asks, sounding surprised Steve asked.

Steve should definitely have prepared this ahead of time. “Yeah, is she a friend of Maxine’s, or something?” he improvises. “I’ve never even met her, and all the kids were really weird about it.”

“Doesn’t surprise me, she’s freaky, man,” Billy mutters, and then flashes a grin at Steve. “Even you must have noticed that, Harrington. Steve.”

Steve laughs, although mostly at the way Billy still doesn’t seem to be able to remember his name. “Yeah, I guess.”

“First time I met her, she’s wandering around in the woods on a school day and she starts talking about my mom,” Billy says. He meets Steve’s eyes. “Weird, right?”

Before he can answer - and indeed, he really doesn’t know what he wants to say - there’s a soft tap at his bedroom door, and his mom steps into the room. Billy immediately gives Steve a sly look, pushing himself up into a sitting position; Steve rolls his eyes.

“Dinner’s ready, boys,” his mom says. She looks at Steve. “Your father’s home.”

She disappears, and Billy gives him a sideways look. “Your dad anything like mine?”

It’s one of the rawest things he’s said, and by the look on his face, he didn’t quite mean to let it slip. Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Some, I guess,” he says, and then takes pity on Billy. “Come on.”

They head downstairs. Steve’s mom has laid up in the dining room; she always does for dinner, even though the table seats ten and there’s only four of them. It makes Steve feel uncomfortable, like she’s showing off in a way he doesn’t want Billy to see. Billy’s family definitely has its own issues, but they felt like a real family, sitting at the kitchen table and present. Steve’s parents are just pretending.

His dad, of course, is at the head of the table, wearing a suit. It makes it awkward, because with his mom on one side, somebody will be a little out of the loop when he and Billy sit down. He could let it be himself, but then Billy will have to sit next to his dad, and that just feels mean.

Goddammit. Since when does Steve care this much about how Billy Hargrove feels at dinner?

He sits on his dad’s other side, letting Billy pull out a chair next to him. Billy doesn’t seem too perturbed; maybe, after the stressful Hargrove family dinners, he’s figuring Steve’s family will be a breeze. And to be fair, he’s probably not wrong.

“Thanks for dinner, Mrs Harrington.” Billy’s clearly putting on the charm, and Steve’s mom dimples at it.

“It’s always nice to see Stevie’s friends,” she says, as if it’s something she does on the regular. She looks at Steve’s dad, who’s already digging into his salmon. “Simon, this is Steve’s friend, Billy. They’re doing a project together.”

“Mm,” Steve’s dad says. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and glances at Billy. Then he looks at Steve. “I thought his name was Tommy.”

It’s a clean cut, at least. Steve’s dad isn’t like Billy’s; he isn’t trying to be hurtful. But in some ways that’s what makes it worse: that he doesn’t know enough to know why that’s wrong. Tommy H and Steve haven’t been friends for over a year now. Steve looks at his plate.

“You mean Tommy H?” Billy says, and Steve can feel him looking. “Yeah, I know Tommy.” He pauses. “We’re all friends,” he goes on, and Steve’s head shoots up. “I’m new to Hawkins, and Steve and Tommy have been pretty cool about welcoming me, you know?”

Steve’s dad raises his eyebrows. “New, are you?” he says.

“That’s lovely,” Steve’s mom says. “Where did you move from?”

“California,” Billy says.

“Oh, really?” Now Steve’s dad actually looks interested. “I’ve spent some time working in Cali. Beautiful place.”

Billy takes his time chewing a mouthful of salmon. At last, he says neutrally: “Steve said you travel a lot.”

There’s something there, Steve can hear it, but his dad totally misses it. He just laughs, looking pleased, like Billy’s paid him a compliment. “I get around,” he says heartily. “Does your family get the opportunity to travel much, Billy?”

“Only here,” Billy says. He sounds a little uncomfortable. “This is great, Mrs Harrington.”

“Oh, I’m glad,” she says happily.

Steve’s dad, in a classic example of completely failing to read the room, goes on jovially: “And what does your father do, Billy?”

There’s a beat. Steve doesn’t actually know the answer to this question, but he recognizes the evasion when Billy finally says: “He works at a bank.”

Of course, Simon is overjoyed by this response. “Oh, does he?” he exclaims. “Well, he sounds like an interesting man.”

“Yeah,” Billy says dully.

“It’s a good economy for a banker,” Steve’s dad goes on. “He must be very proud to be a part of it, eh? Are you following in his footsteps?”

Billy glances, very briefly, at Steve. He says carefully: “I’ve gotta say I’m not too interested in being a banker, sir.”

“Are you planning on going to college?” Simon asks interestedly, chewing on a mouthful of salmon.

“Definitely,” Billy says, so vehemently that Steve looks at him in surprise. Billy gives one of his most insincere smiles. “There’s no other way to get ahead, right?”

Simon brightens. “Oh, excellent!” he exclaims. Steve, face warm, concentrates on cutting up his green beans. “Did you hear that, Steve? I guess I’m not such an old fogey, after all!” He leans forward a little, speaking conspiratorially to Billy. “I’m sure Steve has told you how keen I am for him to go to my old alma mater?”

“Dad,” Steve says, a little desperately. 

“Northwestern,” his dad explains to Billy, as if Steve hadn’t spoken.

He can see Billy looking between the two of them. “Well, he’s definitely smart enough,” he says.

Simon, of course, misses the dubious note in his voice. “That’s what I keep telling him - school is all about application, right?”

“Right,” Billy says evenly.

“Darling, that’s enough college talk,” Steve’s mom says decisively, in that way she has when she’s bored of a conversation. She smiles around the table. “What have you boys been up to tonight, anyway?”

“Studying, mom,” Steve says, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “We’re doing an English project, remember?”

She takes a sip of wine. “No parties? You know what they say about all work and no play.”

“Irene,” Steve’s dad says quietly.

Steve’s mom touches his hand. “I know it’s important he studies,” she says placatingly. “What’s the project about, anyway?”

“Pride and Prejudice,” Billy says. 

“Oh, Austen!” Simon says. “Of course.” He frowns, glancing at Steve. “How are you finding it?”

Steve takes a mouthful of salmon. “It’s okay,” he says, around his fish. “Better than I thought.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d find it an easy read,” his dad comments, and Steve’s stomach turns over again. Another blow, albeit unconsciously applied. His dad has a way of making him feel angry and anxious and inferior all at once, with his complete obliviousness to how his words are felt. His parents know about his struggles with reading, of course; they’ve heard the word dyslexia, too, from his middle school teacher. He’s pretty sure his dad thinks it’s some sort of phase.

“Yeah, it’s tough,” he mumbles into his dinner. 

Billy says: “Hey, man, don’t sell yourself short. English was so fu… so boring before we started this project.”

It’s the almost-swear that makes Steve pause. Like Billy actually means what he’s saying, enough that he forgot who he was saying it in front of. Either way, he appreciates Billy filling in for him; he’d tried to do the same, back at the Hargrove house, and it makes him feel reassured, reassured that Billy isn’t going to be a dick about this.

Reassured that however much they dislike each other, shitty family isn’t going to be something they hold against each other.

They get through the rest of dinner relatively unscathed. Towards the end, Billy thanks Steve’s parents for letting him come over again, and Steve wonders vaguely how much he means it. How happy is Billy, really, that he gets to miss out on his own awkward family dinners? Billy has seemed so much lighter here, away from his dad, from Max, and as uncomfortable as Steve’s parents have made him feel, it’s nothing to the Hargroves.

That’s what propels him to say, during dessert: “Mom, it’s okay if Billy comes again tomorrow, right?”

Billy looks sharply at him, but doesn’t say anything.

“Of course,” his mother says, blinking dreamily. She smiles. “This must be an important project!”

“Of course it’s important,” Simon says jovially. “I’m glad to see you getting stuck in, Steve. You’re welcome here any time at all, Billy.”

Billy puts down his spoon. “Thank you, sir,” he says politely. 

It rankles, a little, to hear his dad say that. Partly because he hates how his dad has decided Billy’s a good influence, based on one conversation about college and his dad being a banker - he knows nothing about who Billy really is, hasn’t even bothered to ask Steve. But also, it bothers him to have to get his dad’s permission to invite Billy here, like this is his dad’s space, like Steve isn’t the lord and master of his lonely home.

“How long are you guys staying?” he asks abruptly, pushing his bowl away.

His mom looks surprised. “‘Til Friday, of course!” she says.

Steve stares at her. “Of course?”

“Steve,” Billy says, and his tone is amused. “It’s Thanksgiving on Thursday?”

“Oh,” Steve says. “Right. Yeah, Thanksgiving. Jesus.” He’d totally forgotten. His parents always come home for Thanksgiving, for all the major holidays, but he hadn’t even registered that that was the reason for this particular trip. He’s so out of it. 

His dad laughs. It irritates Steve for no particular reason. “You’d forget your head if it weren’t screwed on!” he chuckles, and Steve pushes down the stab of annoyance. 

He shows Billy to the door, like he might have forgotten the way with all that looking around he’d done when he first walked in. “See you tomorrow,” he says dryly.

“Your dad seems to like me,” Billy comments, eyes dancing.

“Yeah, and yours likes me,” Steve rejoins swiftly.

He’s expecting to pierce Billy’s smug expression, but his smile only widens. “I know,” he says. “Irony, right?”

Steve watches him walk down the front path. There’s some feeling tight in his chest that he doesn’t like. “Yeah,” he murmurs, as Billy gets into his car. “Irony.”

Chapter Text

Susan, Neil and Max are watching television when Billy gets home. The house is dark, no light other than the flickering pictures on the screen, and Billy feels a headache beginning to build at his temples.

“Oh, hello, Billy,” Susan says insincerely, as he walks past. “Do you… Would you like to join us?”

“No, thanks,” Billy says. He can feel Maxine’s eyes narrowing at him. “I’m going to take a shower.”

His dad doesn’t say anything at all. He’s always in a better mood when he’s had the chance to spend time doing Happy Family things, preferably minus Billy’s company. Feeling a familiar confused blend of pain, rejection and relief, Billy escapes upstairs.

He heads into the bathroom, stripping off as he waits for the water to heat up. He’s struggling, struggling because there’s no real struggle at all; he enjoyed hanging out with Steve Harrington tonight. He enjoyed talking about freaking Austen, talking about his mom, just getting to spend time with Steve in general. He likes talking to Steve. Steve is smart, and kind of funny, and it’s just… easy. It’s easy to hang around him.

Jesus. Billy rubs his temples as he clambers into the bath, sliding the shower curtain across. He takes a deep breath. There’s something comforting about being enclosed like this, in this small light space that no one gets to invade.

He likes Steve Harrington.

This whole time, he’s been so busy hating Steve Harrington, focused on displacing him, on stealing the school right under his nose, taking his friends, becoming top dog… And the truth is, he actually kind of likes him.

He likes him.

He buries his face in his hands, feeling the hot water glide over his shoulders and down his back. What the fuck is wrong with him? Steve isn’t there to be liked, he’s there to be conquered - but Billy doesn’t really want to conquer him anymore. He kind of wishes he hadn’t gunned so hard for Steve when he first got to Hawkins. Maybe then they could have been friends.

Better Steve Harrington than goddamn Tommy H.

He could probably still swing it, if Harrington was interested. He’s popular enough for it, has enough followers, and Steve’s not dating prissy little Nancy Wheeler anymore. He hasn’t got anything holding him back from reentering the high school scene, not with Billy on his side.

But would he want it? He’s been pretty vocal about not missing Tommy or Carol or any of the rest of that crowd. Jesus Christ, he hates Billy, doesn’t he? He doesn’t have any interest in being Billy’s friend.

And that’s not the real problem anyway. The real problem is that Billy doesn’t want him as a friend.

Billy lets out a tiny, defeated noise, muffled in his hands.

No. He’s not going to do this. He’s Billy freaking Hargrove, and he’s not afraid of anything, so he forces himself to stand up straight in the shower. He’s not running from this.

Okay, so there’s a piece of him - a tiny, insignificant little piece - that wants Steve in a way that isn’t friendly at all. The same way he used to want Brandon, used to dream about Brandon, touch himself to thoughts of Brandon. And sure, it feels weirder now, because he knows Steve, but it’s there, and he’s not going to let himself be afraid of it.

Does that mean he’s… what, some kind of homo? Even thinking it makes him feel a little sick, but so what? He touched himself thinking about Brandon, and then he did it again, thinking about Steve, and he’s still Billy Hargrove, king of Hawkins High, right? He’s not a fucking idiot, he knows it’s going to happen again. He can stand here and hate himself for it, but what’s the point?

What’s the point, when he can just do what he always does? He’s Billy fucking Hargrove, and when he comes up against something that freaks him out, he barrels right into it.

Okay, so maybe he’s a homo. He can call himself that, just in his own head. What do queers do? When they jerk off, they think about guys instead of girls. Billy’s already done that, already made himself come thinking about Steve and Steve’s hair and Steve’s face and Steve’s chest when he’s in the showers at school—

Christ, Billy’s hard. He pushes a hand through his wet hair. Okay, so he jerked it to the thought of Steve. It’s not like there’s been a single fucking thing on his mind apart from that ever since. But… what for? What does he want from Steve?

He tries to imagine kissing Steve, the way he would a girl. Would it feel the same? Steve would be… would be taller than the girls Billy’s hooked up with before. He’s pretty sure Steve is an inch or so taller than him, actually, although it’s hard to tell when they both do so much shit to their hair. He’d have to lean up, to kiss Steve. That would be different.

And Steve is broad. Muscular, like Billy himself. That would be different too. Where would Billy put his hands, if he was kissing Steve? On his hips, like a girl? Round his neck? On his face?

His face… it’s larger than a girl’s face. His chin might be stubbly, rough. 

Would he kiss gently, softly, like a girl? Or would he be more like Billy - intense, rough, a little aggressive?

Billy leans against the cool white tiles, breathing heavily. He’s too hot, the water scalding him as it splashes down his body, but he can’t stop the tidal wave of images rushing through his brain. Steve touching him, looking at him, wanting Billy the way that Billy wants him. The… the largeness of Steve, the way his body might feel, pressed up against Billy’s.

Steve, hard. Because if Steve wanted Billy, then he’d be hard too. 

That’s what queers do, isn’t it? Get each other off, the way Billy might expect a girl to do it. He tries to imagine Steve going down on him. He’d know, wouldn’t he, exactly what would feel good - he’s a guy, after all, with his own cock. His mouth is bigger than a girl’s mouth. He’d be able to take more of Billy.

And Billy… he shudders, swallows, rubs water out of his eyes. Would Steve want Billy to reciprocate? What would it feel like to taste someone else’s cock? He can’t quite picture it, having a dick in his mouth, blowing Steve. He could make it good, right? He knows what feels good, knows how he likes to be touched. Jesus, Steve’s last girlfriend was Nancy Wheeler. He’d make Steve feel so good he’d forget what he ever saw in her.

His hand is on his cock almost unconsciously, jerking himself slowly as he pictures it. How do homos have sex? He’s never fucked a girl in the ass, even though it’s supposed to be awesome. None of the girls he’s hooked up with have ever been up for it. But… but when you’re queer, that’s the only way, right?

Hesitantly, Billy releases his cock. His heart is thudding, his throat totally dry, and his ears are ringing. If he doesn’t hurry up his dad will have his ass for using up all the hot water, but right now he can’t bring himself to care. Is this… this is it, right? He’s some kind of fucking homo, because otherwise these thoughts wouldn’t be turning him on, and since he refuses to be mad at himself about it… 

Well, he’ll just have to keep running right at it.

He picks up the bottle of shampoo on the edge of the tub, squeezing some onto his fingers. He may not have any direct experience with… with butt sex, but he’s not a fucking moron.

Slowly he reaches around, and slides a slicked finger between his ass cheeks.

It feels weird. He’s never touched himself here on purpose, if you don’t count wiping his ass. He pokes gingerly at his asshole. It just… feels weird.

Right, but people do this, right? There must be something he’s missing. Teeth gritted, Billy slides his finger inside.

He can feel himself clenching around his finger. Still weird, still nothing special - his wrist is aching from the odd angle, and his back is hurting a bit from bending the wrong way. He pushes a little further in frustration, moves his finger around—

Jesus Christ.

Billy gasps, the sound oddly ragged. He’s not sure what he did, but Jesus Christ, that felt… that felt like nothing he’s ever felt. He’s not even sure it felt totally good, but it felt… okay, it felt good. It felt really good, in an intense kind of way. Like it was almost too much, skirting the line between something that hurts and something that makes him want to come. 

Carefully, he twists his finger again.

This time, he knows what to expect, and his reaction isn’t quite so visceral. His stomach turns over, his cock pulsing and hard, and Jesus, fuck, if this is what it means to be a fucking homo then it’s really not so bad. He’s mostly kind of pissed he never tried this before.

If… if Steve was like him, if Steve wanted him, would he do this? If Steve were here, the angle wouldn’t be so weird, and Steve… Steve could touch him. Touch him right here in the shower, the way Billy is doing to himself. There’s nothing there to compare to a girl. Billy’s never done anything like this with a girl. This is an entirely… gay thing.

He takes hold of his cock again with his free hand, pressing his finger against the place inside him that feels so fucking good. His stomach clenches, and he practically spasms. Would he do this to Steve, too? God, he’s always enjoyed making someone else feel good - it’s a high, it makes him feel like a king, and if it was Steve he’d want to look at him and feel the power of getting him off. He’d want to do this to Steve. 

He’s making soft muted sounds in the back of his throat, swallowing down the moans that threaten to spill out. It’s never felt like this when he’s jerked off before - never felt so hot, so intense, like he’s completely sucked inside the experience. Nothing else matters, none of the bullshit - it’s just Billy’s hand, his finger, his cock, knocking every coherent thought out of his brain.

Coming has never felt so good.

Billy’s legs are trembling a little as he comes back to himself. He’s breathing hard, heart pounding, and he leans against the wall. His stomach is sticky with his come, but the water is already washing it away. Carefully, he takes his finger out of his ass.

He feels slightly sore, but it’s kind of… good. 

Jesus. This isn’t just jerking off to the thought of Steve. This is bigger than that. He fantasized about Steve, imagined getting off together, imagined fucking Steve, being touched by Steve… Imagined that Steve is like him. That Steve could actually want him.

It should be a problem. But right now, Billy is feeling too goddamn good to care.

*

Billy doesn’t find him at lunch on Tuesday. Steve heads out to the bleachers with his brown bag lunch as usual, waits for Billy to come and find him, but Billy doesn’t come. It’s cold out, and Steve shivers as he waits. Goddamn Billy Hargrove.

Maybe it was the whole dinner thing, with Steve’s mom and dad? Sure, it was awkward at times, but nowhere near as bad as when Steve went round to the Hargrove place. There’s no reason for Billy to be avoiding him.

It’s not that Steve wants to hang out with Billy every goddamn lunchtime, but he’s got kind of used to it now, and it feels weird to be on his own. He waits on the bleachers for fifteen minutes before he figures out that Billy’s not coming.

Well, they never said it had to be every day, and Billy’s coming over after school anyway. Steve tips his head back, looking up at the overcast sky. He hates to admit it, but reading Pride and Prejudice every day at school has given him something to do, somewhere to be. Without it, he has to face the fact that he doesn’t really have any friends.

There are people who would hang out with him, probably. If he put the work in, he could probably claw his way back up the social totem pole. But even the thought of it makes him cringe.

“What’s the matter, dingus? Lost your boyfriend?”

Steve, lost in his own thoughts, starts at the unexpected call. He looks around; he’d thought he was alone out here, in the cold on the bleachers, but there’s a girl sitting a few rows away from him. He feels like he recognizes her, in that vague nondescript way that means they’ve probably walked past each other in the hall but they definitely don’t run in the same circles.

“What?” he says stupidly. Lost his… boyfriend? That doesn’t make any sense. He glances from side to side. “You talking to me?”

The girl rolls her eyes. “Yeah, De Niro, I’m talking to you,” she says. There’s a slight whooshing sound as the reference sails over Steve’s head. “You usually don’t hang out here alone, right?”

He stares at her. “Who are you?”

“Wow,” she replies, sounding deeply unimpressed. “My name’s Robin? We’ve had classes together, you know.” 

Steve squints at her. It’s not like he remembers everyone he’s been in class with, not if they weren’t friends with Tommy H and Carol, and she definitely isn’t. She’s not unattractive, with her short untidy hair and thin freckled face, but she’s got the wary eyes of someone well used to sitting at the loser tables in the cafeteria. “Sure, if you say so,” he says slowly. “Why… what are you talking about?”

Robin laughs. “You, dingus,” she says. “Don’t you usually hang out here with Billy Hargrove? You guys have a fight, or something?”

Wait… she was referring to Billy? As Steve’s boyfriend? Where the hell did that come from? “I don’t get it,” he says bluntly.

“Huh? You don’t get it?” She stands up as she’s speaking, climbing over the benches to come and sit a couple of feet away. She’s almost as tall as he is. “Don’t get what?”

“Why did you say that thing about losing my boyfriend?” he asks.

She cackles. “Oh my God, Harrington, it was a joke,” she says. “Sorry your sense of humor is so underdeveloped.”

Now he just feels stupid. “I’m not friends with Billy,” he says mulishly. “We’re just doing this stupid project together.” He’s not quite sure why he’s even explaining; he doesn’t know this girl, and she’s taunting him, and he shouldn’t be rising to it - but he doesn’t feel as pissed off as he probably should.

Robin casts him a sideways glance. “He’s an asshole, huh?”

“What do you care?” Steve asks.

“I guess I just felt sorry for you, all alone and pathetic,” she tells him, and he rolls his eyes.

“Wow, thanks for your concern,” he says dryly. Robin laughs again.

They sit in silence for a few minutes; Steve gets out his lunch. For once, he’s actually eating something his mom made him; it’s a sandwich, but it’s got all kinds of upmarket crap in it like sundried tomatoes and fried mushrooms and crisped up bacon. His mom doesn’t do much for him, but when she does, she goes all out. It tastes pretty damn good.

Robin continues to sit beside him; he’s not sure why, but it’s oddly nice, not being alone. Still, pride demands that he mock her, so he says derisively: “Where are your friends, anyway? Looks like you’re as pathetic as me, right?”

“Band,” she says, barely rising to the jibe. For some reason, that makes Steve feel a little guilty. Like she’s so used to people making fun of her that it doesn’t even register anymore. “I’m skipping,” she adds.

“Why?” he asks.

She shrugs, taking a large bite of an apple. “You ever have days where even the slightest effort feels like too much?”

Jesus, that feels familiar. “All the time,” he says heavily.

“What’s a popular kid like you doing out here, anyway?” she asks, biting into her apple again. “Don’t you have, you know, tables of adoring fans to impress, or something?”

Now it’s his turn to laugh. “You’re behind the times,” he says. “I’m not that popular these days.”

“Bullshit,” she replies.

He thinks about it. His popularity definitely took a bit of a hit when he stopped being friends with Tommy H and started dating Nancy, but it didn’t affect him that much. He still got an invitation to every party, still had people wanting to talk to him, wanting to hang out with him. He and Nancy always had a crowd to sit with at lunch. So what’s different now?

Billy Hargrove. It all comes back to Billy. Billy has replaced him as lord and master of Hawkins High, and suddenly no one gives a shit about Steve.

Except that’s not really true, is it? He could head inside right now, and there would be people happy to sit with him, to laugh with him, to elevate him back up the ranks of popularity. Wasn’t he just thinking about that before Robin started talking to him? He and Billy are almost on friendly terms these days; he’s pretty sure Billy wouldn’t try too hard to push him back down into nothingness.

He just… doesn’t want it.

“Yeah, it’s bullshit,” he says. “All this high school crap, it’s bullshit.”

Robin looks at him curiously. “Deep, man,” she says.

“I’m serious,” he says. “Don’t you ever get sick of… of talking about all this crap? All this high school bullshit, pretending… pretending like it matters, man, I don’t even know.” He trails off, shaking his head. He can’t explain himself, because most of the reason he knows none of this shit matters is because of the Upside Down. Because there’s something bigger and scarier out there.

Robin doesn’t laugh at him. She says: “Why do you think I’m skipping?”

“Yeah,” he replies. 

She laughs suddenly. “Here I thought you were just like everyone else,” she says. She glances sideways at him. “Except maybe with better hair, right?”

Against all the odds, Steve cracks a smile.

Chapter Text

Billy doesn’t manage to screw up the courage to drive to Steve’s place until just gone six in the evening.

He can’t help himself. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about his fantasies in the shower all freaking day. How the hell is he supposed to face Harrington now? He skips their usual lunch rendezvous, too keyed up to figure out how to deal with the real flesh-and-blood Steve while the memory of his fantasy Steve still feels so real.

Besides, it’s about time he had lunch with Tommy and the rest of the crew. He fits into the group as seamlessly as always, and he’s sure none of them notice that he’s not quite as present as he would usually be. His mind is elsewhere, lingering on the thought of how good it felt to imagine that Steve Harrington might like him too.

It doesn’t help that his ass is just slightly sore from everything he did to it the night before. Not in a bad way, but just… he can feel it. Every time he sits down, he’s reminded of it.

After he’s dropped Max off at home, he drives around aimlessly for a couple of hours, music playing too loud, in a futile effort to drive the memories out of his head.

He ends up even hornier than he had been before.

But at last, he has to go over to Steve’s house. He said that he would, and as much as they’re getting on better these days, Billy knows he’s still on a bit of a knife-edge with Steve. He can’t just bail. And more than that - he doesn’t want to.

Steve’s mom answers the door, looking as statuesquely beautiful as she did yesterday, and still looking at Billy in that absent way that makes him wonder if she really sees him at all.

“Oh, hello,” she says, smiling vaguely. “Come on in. Stevie!” she calls up the stairs. “Your friend is here!”

“Okay!” Steve’s voice calls back, and Billy busies himself closing the front door behind him as footsteps sound at the top of the stairs. He’s not going to give himself away.

When he turns around again, Steve’s mom has disappeared down the corridor, and Steve is standing at the foot of the stairs. Billy’s stomach flips over. Steve is looking particularly good today, in a green sweater and tight jeans. He’s not smiling, though.

“Hey,” Billy says. Years of practice makes the word come out as an effortless drawl, in spite of the butterflies churning in his stomach.

“Hi,” Steve replies in a clipped voice.

He’s definitely not in a friendly mood. Billy says as confidently as he can: “We doing this?” He gestures towards the stairs.

“You’re late,” Steve says, and folds his arms.

Shit. Billy hadn’t even thought about that, not really, but of course Steve was expecting him earlier, like yesterday. He’s probably been wondering where Billy went at lunch too, and Billy finds himself wishing he had spent it with Steve. Wishes Steve could have just come to the cafeteria with him, sat at the table with Tommy and Carol and the others, been a part of the group.

Of course, he’s Billy fucking Hargrove, so what he says is, “I wasn’t aware we’d set a time, princess.”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve sighs, and he turns and starts climbing the stairs again. “You coming?”

Billy follows him. “Aw, Harrington, did you miss me?” he teases. It’s lighthearted, but it also makes his heart thump. “All forlorn without me, huh?”

“Don’t be an ass,” Steve says, and Billy can feel his eye roll.

They settle on Steve’s bed, Steve up against the headboard and Billy at the foot of the bed with a pillow behind his back. Billy tracks around the room to see what might be different, eyes dancing from the closed curtains to the general clutter on Steve’s dresser, and finally resting on a discarded book in the middle of the carpet.

“Did it offend you?” he asks, jumping on the change of subject.

Steve rolls his eyes. “No,” he says, but there’s a twinge of something like embarrassment there, and Billy is intrigued. And kind of amused.

“Looks like you threw it,” he says, feeling his mouth twitch.

Steve looks at the book. It’s open, spine cracked and pages bent. It’s not like he can deny it. He looks back at Billy, and Billy waits. This feels like the beginnings of a funny story.

“I was trying to read it,” Steve says.

Or maybe not. Billy swallows. “Isn’t that what I’m here for?”

Steve looks away. “You were late,” he says.

Ouch. “I was busy,” Billy says lamely. “Did… did you think I wasn’t going to show?”

“You didn’t at lunch,” Steve points out.

Billy hesitates, and then says in a rush: “You could have come and found me.” 

Steve raises his eyebrows. “You want me to chase you down?”

Billy laughs unsteadily. “No,” he says. He takes a breath. “Come and have lunch in the cafeteria once in a while.”

“With you,” Steve says, in the kind of voice that makes it clear he thinks Billy is absolutely insane. “You and Tommy H, and all that crowd that—”

“That crowd that used to be your crowd, yeah,” Billy interrupts. His heart is beating way too fast, his body tense even as he lounges against the pillow. Why is he offering this? Steve has already made it clear he’s not interested in rejoining his old group, and he doesn’t even like Billy. But Billy still… wants this. Wants to be able to hang out with Steve without it all being about a stupid English project.

Wants Steve to be his friend.

Steve says slowly: “Tommy H hates me.”

“Nah,” Billy says easily. This, at least, is a small concern. “He just hates feeling like someone’s got one over on him. You make nice, he’ll calm down.”

There’s a silence while Steve appears to process this. Then he says abruptly: “Is this because you feel guilty?” 

Billy blinks at him. “What?”

“This,” Steve says, spreading his hands, and there’s something way too sharp in his voice. It makes Billy’s stomach jump. “This whole… I mean, you read to me, man. And now you want to give me my friends back? Is it because you feel guilty?”

“Guilty,” Billy repeats, but his laughter doesn’t quite ring true even to his own ears. “You think I feel guilty?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I do.”

Billy fidgets, biting his lip, and he can’t meet Steve’s eyes. “I don’t have to explain shit to you.” It’s just about the lamest thing he could say.

Steve thinks Billy feels guilty. Or, more accurately, he knows Billy feels guilty, because… well. He’s not wrong.

Fuck.

Steve is watching him. “You could just apologize,” he says. “If you’re feeling bad.”

“Apologize,” Billy says flatly. He wets his lips. “To you.”

Steve nods. “Yeah,” he says. “You could apologize. To me.”

You could just apologize.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Billy’s heart is beating triple time, so loudly that he’s sure that Steve must be able to hear it. He has no idea how the conversation wound up here, but it has and now he’s stuck. What can he say to that? Just apologize. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Maybe to Steve it is. But Billy’s never apologized for a single goddamn thing in his life without his dad forcing him to. It’s never been his choice.

He’s never meant an apology in his goddamn life. Until now.

Jesus Christ. Offering Steve his old seat in the cafeteria had been hard enough. When he looks up, Steve is watching him, eyes clear and calm. Like he hasn’t just shaken up Billy's entire worldview.

How does Steve know? How does he know what Billy is thinking, what he’s feeling? Guilty. Guilty, guilty, guilty. It’s like a weight, all but crushing him, and all this time he hasn’t let himself think about it too much in case it destroys him.

He’s never felt guilty for a fight before. What the hell is happening to him?

He croaks: “Look, why don’t we just read the damn book, huh?”

Steve drops his gaze. “Yeah, okay,” he says, and he sounds so disappointed, but also… resigned. Like he expected this. Like Billy’s failure to step up and do the right thing - and yeah, okay, maybe in his own head he can admit that apologizing would be the right thing - is just what he thought would happen.

Billy sighs. It comes out shaky, and his throat is uncomfortably dry. “Harrington,” he says.

“Steve,” Steve corrects.

“Steve,” Billy repeats, and it’s a mark of how nervous he is that he doesn’t roll his eyes. “Look, I am, okay? I’m - I mean, I do.” He stops. 

As an apology, it totally sucks.

Steve looks up at him somewhat incredulously. “You do,” he repeats. “You’re really going to pull that lame-ass shit?” Incredibly, he actually sounds… amused.

“Shut up,” Billy says, pushing a hand through his hair. “I just mean—” He stutters to a halt.

“Christ,” Steve says, shaking his head. “You really suck at this.”

Billy wraps his arms around himself. “Give me a break—”

“No way,” Steve says firmly. “This doesn’t count. You want it to count, you have to actually say it.”

“Oh, fuck you, Harrington!” Billy exclaims, irritated even though he knows that he has absolutely no right to be.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh, sure, get angry,” he says. “Go apeshit, classic Billy Hargrove move—”

“Shut up,” Billy says, feeling beleaguered and pissed off, at himself more than Steve, because why can’t he do this? Why can’t he just say it, why does everything feel so hard, why is he so shitty at being a person—

“Look, forget it,” Steve says flatly. “I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

The bottom drops out of Billy’s stomach. “Don’t do that,” he says, a little desperately. “Don’t say that.”

“Let’s just read the—”

“I’m sorry.”

Stark silence follows his words. Billy’s cheeks are warm, and he’s breathless, like he’s been running laps. It’s too hot in this goddamn room, and his shirt is sticking to his back.

He said it.

There’s no reason why Steve should accept it. But he said it.

“What?” Steve says, and his voice is suddenly small.

“I’m sorry,” Billy says again. It feels a little easier the second time. “I’m really sorry.”

He waits. His heart feels like it’s about to explode. He has no idea what Steve is thinking, whether the apology means a damn thing, even if for Billy it was one of the hardest things he’s ever done. How do people do this on a regular basis? Just lay it out there, make themselves wrong in someone else’s eyes, humiliate themselves without any expectation of relief. 

It’s easy when his dad makes him do it. Well, not easy, but easy by comparison, because he gets to know, secretly, that he doesn’t mean it, that he’s only saying it for an easier life. He doesn’t give a shit what his dad thinks of him.

He cares what Steve Harrington thinks.

“Would you have said that if I didn’t make you?” It’s not what Billy is expecting Steve to say. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but it’s definitely not that.

At least this is easy to answer. “You didn’t make me,” he says.

Steve fidgets. “I pushed you—”

“Steve,” Billy says. “You didn’t make me do shit, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve says. “Would you have said it on your own?”

Billy looks away, because he doesn’t know. Would he? He can’t deny he’s been feeling sorry for what he did to Steve, feeling guilty, shitty - and the thought to actually say that out loud has definitely been in his mind. But would he have brought it up himself, if this conversation hadn’t happened?

“I don’t know,” he says. And damn, because Steve looks disappointed again. “I still mean it, Harrington.”

Steve nods. “I know,” he says quietly.

Billy bites his tongue, hard. “Sorry that’s not good enough,” he says bitterly. Unreasonably. Steve doesn’t have to accept his apology, Billy knows that - but he was hoping that he would. 

What a fucking moron.

Predictably, his words light a fire under Steve’s ass. “You gave me a concussion,” he says indignantly. “What, you think you can just make some half-assed apology and we just forget all about it?”

Billy swallows, feeling sick. “It wasn’t half-assed,” he growls.

“Sure felt that way,” Steve says dismissively. “I basically had to drag it out of you—”

“That’s not because it was half-assed!” Billy exclaims. “Jesus Christ, Harrington, you sure want your pound of flesh, don’t you?”

Steve just glares at him. “If you mean that I won’t pretend that it’s not a big deal, then yeah, sure,” he says coldly.

“Jesus!” Billy’s temper is so close to the surface, bubbling away like it always does, but he can’t do anything about it. Not here, not with Harrington right next to him, because that’s what started this whole thing, isn’t it? “What do you want me to do, Harrington? I’m sorry. I’m an asshole, alright? I feel shitty that it happened, I wish I could take it back.”

Steve looks somewhat alarmed. “Billy—”

“No, you wanted to hear this,” Billy says. “I know I can’t make up for what I did, but I’m trying. I’ve been trying. So if you still hate me, fine, I get it, but don’t tell me that apologizing to you was fucking half-assed!”

“That’s why you’re helping with this?” Steve asks, indicating the forgotten copy of Pride and Prejudice in Billy’s lap. “That’s why you said about… about lunch? You’re trying to make it up to me?”

Billy slumps back against the pillow behind him. “Yeah,” he says tiredly. “Or… I don’t know, man, I figured we were almost friends, or something.”

Steve appears to be considering this. When he speaks, oddly, there’s the tiniest smile on his face. Billy’s almost too exhausted to wonder what it means. Almost.

“Are you saying you like me, Billy?” 

Is he… teasing?

“Jesus,” Billy says, rubbing his forehead. “You’re such an ass.”

“Takes one to know one,” Steve replies promptly. Billy’s stomach flips over. Does this mean… it’s okay?

He glances down at the book in his hands. “We still doing this?”

It’s meant to be a flippant question. But his voice still trembles, just a little. Because if Steve says no… if he says no, then it’s over. This whole thing, the strange delicate friendship they’ve almost managed to build - a friendship that, regardless of Billy’s other, more shameful feelings about Steve, feels important - it could be over in a moment.

It’s up to Steve.

“Yeah,” Steve says. There’s just the faintest ghost of a smile on his face. “Where did we get to?”

Chapter Text

“In this quiet way, the first fortnight of her visit soon passed away. Huh,” Billy says. “How long is she planning on staying? A fortnight seems like a really fucking long time to hang out with the hag.”

Steve laughs. Unlike some of the other nicknames Billy’s given the characters in Pride and Prejudice, he has absolutely no argument with the designation he’s assigned to Lady Catherine de Bourgh. “I guess it takes them forever to travel anywhere, right?” he suggests. He’s lounging back against his pillows, far more relaxed now they’re a couple of chapters in than he was when Billy first started reading. “Maybe they stay longer because of that.”

“Still,” Billy insists. “She’s a fucking nightmare, wouldn’t you want to go home?”

“I don’t know, maybe? I don’t get how they’re not bored all the time,” Steve says. “They just sit around and talk, and that’s literally all they ever do. I kinda get Lizzy’s thing now.”

Billy raises an eyebrow. “Her thing?”

“Give me the book,” Steve instructs, and when Billy complies, he flicks back to the part he’s looking for. It’s several chapters back. “Read here,” he says to Billy, pointing.

Billy gives him a considering look. “You do it.”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Steve says.

“I’m not,” Billy says. “You read it. Be slow, I don’t care.”

Steve bites his lip, glancing down at the page. It’s only a single sentence, but it’s a long one. “I can’t.”

“Yeah, you can,” Billy says.

Okay, yeah, he can, but he’ll sound like a fucking idiot. He looks away, irritated with himself. He doesn’t need to ask why Billy is making him do this. Maybe a few days ago he would have thought it was out of mockery, but he knows better now. It’s almost a Nancy sort of thing to do.

Nancy never knew about his dyslexia, though. 

“You’re an ass,” he tells Billy.

This doesn’t seem to bother Billy in the least. “Yep,” he says. “Come on.”

Briefly, Steve closes his eyes, and then opens them again. He looks down at the page, trying to sound out the words in his head.

“F-follies,” he begins cautiously. “Follies and nonsense, whims and… and incon… incon…” He looks up, awkward and frustrated.

“Inconsistencies,” Billy says calmly.

“Inconsistencies,” Steve repeats, holding onto the word like a lifeline. “Whims and inconsistencies do di… divert me, I own, and I la… laugh at them whenever…. whenever I can.” He stops, face burning.

Billy takes back the book, looking totally unconcerned by Steve’s humiliation. “So what do you mean, you get her thing now?” he says.

For a moment, Steve can’t answer. Is Billy not even going to comment on Steve’s shitty reading? He feels so absurdly grateful for the reprieve that he almost forgets the question.

I’m trying, Billy had said. 

“Um,” Steve says. “Yeah, I mean, her thing. She spends her life laughing at stupid people. It seemed like a pretty weird hobby, but there’s nothing else to do, right? She goes for walks and laughs at people. Maybe that’s why she sticks around for so long. It’s gotta be more interesting than being at home, even with the hag.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Billy says thoughtfully. “She even says - here—” He flips through the book. “Elizabeth loved absurdities, but she had known Sir William’s too long. She gets bored of him because he’s not stupid in a more interesting way!”

Steve laughs. “One way to entertain yourself.”

“Jesus,” Billy says, shaking his head. “I think I’ll stick to basketball.”

“Stevie!” It’s his mom’s voice, light and sing-song, and for a moment Steve just closes his eyes. “It’s time for dinner!”

Billy shuts the book with a snap. “Jesus, I’m starving,” he says. “Come on, Stevie, let’s go.”

“You’re always hungry,” Steve grumbles, mostly because he’s not even a little bit into Billy appropriating his mom’s nickname for him. “Don’t you get fed at home?”

“Nope,” Billy says cheerfully. “Come on!”

Steve rolls his eyes as he follows Billy out of his bedroom, but as he’s walking down the stairs, he thinks about what he just said. Do they feed Billy at home? Because as long as Steve and Billy have been reading together at school, Billy has never, ever had what Steve would call a full lunch.

He seems to survive off pieces of fruit and random snacks. Steve hasn’t really noticed it until now.

He dismisses the thought, and he and Billy head into the dining room for dinner. His parents are already sitting down, the food ready on the table, and Steve takes the same chair next to his dad as he had the night before. His own stomach is rumbling. He cooks for himself, when his parents are gone, but his mom’s cooking is something else. As much as he’s kind of looking forward to them leaving, he’ll miss this kind of food.

“Thanks for dinner, Mrs Harrington,” Billy says, in a syrupy sort of voice.

“Oh, well,” Steve’s mom says, in the hazy way that means she isn’t really listening. “It’s nothing, you know.”

Steve’s dad says: “It’s good to see you again, Billy.” He glances briefly at Steve. “How’s the project going?”

Billy looks at Steve too. “It’s going well,” he says cautiously.

“Yeah, I read a whole sentence today,” Steve says bitterly, before he can stop himself.

Simon pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Steve says quickly.

His dad looks at Billy, whose eyebrows are sky high. He actually has something approaching a smirk on his face, as if he’s surprised by Steve’s unexpected display of sass. Steve’s dad, however, is not so amused. He says to Billy: “I take it Steve’s told you about his little problem, has he?”

Steve moves restlessly. “For God’s sake, dad,” he mumbles.

“What?” Simon asks, sounding genuinely surprised. Like the idea that he might be embarrassing his son hadn’t even crossed his mind. “I keep telling you, Steve, you’ll never get past it if you keep avoiding it.”

Steve takes a mulish mouthful of carrots. “I’m never getting past it anyway.”

His father shakes his head. “What kind of attitude is that, eh?” he says jovially. And the thing is, Steve knows, he knows his dad means well. He’s not trying to put him down, and compared to the cruel, deliberate way Neil Hargrove had spoken to his son… well, it’s nothing, not really, and it shouldn’t get under Steve’s skin like this. But it does.

Jesus, it does, because dyslexia isn’t some weird childhood phase that Steve can just grow out of. His old middle school teacher had been pretty clear about that. He’s stuck with this for life, stuck with the knowledge that he’ll never be able to read easily, and his dad treating it like it’s an attitude problem just pisses him off.

Like it would go away if Steve would just try a bit harder.

“Shall we talk about something else?” his mom says breezily. “Are you into sports, Billy?”

It’s then that Steve realizes that Billy hasn’t spoken the whole time they’ve been discussing Steve’s dyslexia. Billy, in fact, has never questioned Steve’s difficulty with reading - never made fun of him for it, never made it difficult for Steve to ask for help.

They’re friends. Somehow, it’s not a particularly shocking revelation.

“Uh, yeah,” Billy says, in answer to Steve’s mom. “I play basketball.” He directs a glittering grin at Steve. “Beaten Stevie every time we’ve played.”

Steve’s mouth falls open. Stevie? “You dirty liar,” he says, affronted, and both Billy and Irene laugh. 

“I keep telling him to plant his feet,” Billy says, spreading his hands. “What can you do? I guess not everyone’s cut out for athletics.”

“Not cut out for— are you kidding?” Steve exclaims. “I was captain of the team last year!”

Even Simon is laughing at his indignation. “Hey, you know, son, it’s alright not to be the best at everything,” he teases gently, and Steve feels an odd lump in his throat. He can’t remember the last time he and his dad actually shared a joke.

“Yeah, I think last year is the relevant part of that statement,” Billy agrees, eyes dancing. “I can always coach you, if you need help?”

“Help,” Steve scoffs. “You beat me one time and you think you’re Michael Jordan.”

Billy shakes his head in mock seriousness. “Who does that make you, Rob Lowe?”

Steve squints at him. “Can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult.” 

“Let’s say compliment,” Billy says, winking. Steve’s mom laughs, and Steve smiles into his peas.

When Billy goes home that evening, he leaves Steve feeling completely confused by his behaviour. Since when is Billy… this guy? Charming Steve’s mom and dad, making them laugh, setting off a chain of jokes and banter that Steve has hardly ever seen from them. He can count the number of times he’s felt this good about dinner with his parents on one hand.

After he closes the front door behind Billy, he heads into the lounge. His mom is sitting alone on the couch, a glass of wine in her hand.

“I’m going to bed,” Steve tells her. “Thanks for dinner, mom.”

She holds out her free hand to him, so elegant and breathtakingly beautiful that Steve catches his breath. Sometimes it just gets him, how pretty his mom is. 

“Stay with me a moment,” she coos at him. Steve can’t resist her when she’s like this, all soft and affectionate. He goes to sit beside her.

“Where’s dad?”

Irene sighs, and lays back against the couch cushions. “Making a telephone call, you know,” she says, her tone deceptively disinterested. “For work.”

That means it’s probably another woman. Steve is no stranger to his parents’ marital problems. “Oh.”

“I like your friend,” his mom says warmly. “He seems like a nice boy.”

It’s so ridiculous that Steve smiles, shaking his head. Billy is anything but a nice boy. “Yeah, he’s okay,” he says noncommittally.

His mother reaches out a hand to stroke his hair. It feels weird, when she’s demonstrative with him; sometimes it feels like he wants her love more than anything, but he goes without it so long that he feels uncomfortable when she finally does show it. She says, watching him: “I thought I heard you arguing, earlier.”

Sometimes, just occasionally, she’s annoyingly perceptive. “Yeah,” Steve says. “We were.”

“Hmm,” Irene says. She stops touching his hair. “Why were you arguing?”

“About the project,” Steve lies, because there’s no way he can explain. Even if it weren’t for the Upside Down, he and his mom just aren’t that close. “We just disagreed over how to do it, that’s all.”

She tips her head to one side. “It sounded a little more heated than that, Stevie,” she comments gently.

“Mom,” Steve says.

His mother smiles. “Oh, I know, it’s none of my business,” she says. “But he was very kind to you, wasn’t he? At dinner, I mean.”

“Kind to me?” Steve echoes.

“Yes, with your father,” Irene explains. “You think I don’t notice these things, but you know, I do see a little. He distracted him, didn’t he? That was rather nice.”

There’s an odd lump in Steve’s throat. Billy had done that, had distracted Simon away from the question of Steve’s dyslexia, and he’d made the family dinner one of the more pleasurable experiences Steve’s had with his parents in years.

“So did you,” he realizes. “You changed the subject.”

His mom wafts her own intervention away with a hand. “Oh, well, you know your father,” she says carelessly. “He’s such a darling, but once he gets a thing into his head…”

Such a darling isn’t exactly how Steve would describe his dad, but once again he’s reminded of Neil Hargrove, and the way he’d spoken to Billy at the dinner table. The cruelty in his words, the way he’d deliberately humiliated him in front of Steve. And the confidence with which he’d done it, as though he couldn’t imagine the possibility of Steve disagreeing with him.

Simon Harrington is nothing like that.

“He means well,” he allows, and his mother smiles.

“Oh, he does,” she says. “He loves you very much, you know. We both do.”

Then why are you never here? It’s on the tip of Steve’s tongue to say it, but he can’t. He can’t, because he doesn’t want to open that can of worms. As much as he resents his parents’ long absences from home, he wouldn’t actually want things to change, at this stage.

He leans forward and kisses his mom’s cheek. “Goodnight, mom.”

“Goodnight, Stevie,” she replies serenely. “Remember what I said about your friend, won’t you?”

Steve frowns. “Which part?”

“He was kind,” she says. “It’s very important to keep hold of kind people, Stevie. There are so few of them around.”

She takes a sip of her wine, and Steve goes to bed. Her words stay with him for a long time.

He’s never thought of Billy as being kind. He thinks again about the offer Billy made him. Steve could have his friends back, his place in the school. Of course, none of those people are really his friends - if they were, he wouldn’t have lost them the moment he lost his crown - but it’s still surprisingly tempting to slip back into that life. He can admit that he’s been… lonely. He’s been lonely, without any real friends, without Nancy.

But what does that make him? Some kind of hypocrite, for sure, because he’s been pretty vocal about not missing his old life. And he doesn’t miss it, not really - doesn’t miss the weird dance of popularity, that feeling of having to monitor every word he says to make sure it’s cool enough - but at the same time, it would feel good to have the option again.

He thinks about Robin. He enjoyed talking to her at lunch, even if she did spend most of it making fun of him. It was light-hearted, easy, and it’s been a while since Steve had that.

There’s a really big difference between spending time with someone like Robin, and spending time with Tommy H.

His mom’s right, though. It was kind of Billy to offer, and it probably wasn’t easy for him.

Like the apology.

That was sure as hell not easy for Billy, and there’s a part of Steve that feels like an asshole for dragging it out as much as he had. Sure, Billy probably deserved it, because what he did was pretty damn shitty, but at the same time… he’d meant it, and Steve can’t really think of a time when someone has said they’re sorry to him and really meant it.

It was brave. It makes Steve’s chest feel funny to think about it. It’s not normal for people in Steve's life to be so sincere towards each other, and he could see how hard Billy was finding it, but he’d done it anyway.

And Steve… Steve’s not mad anymore.

It’s like a weight has been rolled off his shoulders, actually. Like he’d been looking for an excuse to stop being pissed at Billy. Yeah, it was still a pretty not okay thing that Billy did, but Steve… forgives him.

Shit. He should probably have said that at the time.

It would have sounded pretty stupid though, right? I forgive you. It’s not the normal kind of thing seventeen-year-old boys say to each other. Hopefully, Billy got it anyway. They read together for ages after.

It probably felt like a weight was lifted for Billy, too. Steve is still petty enough to feel a little glad that Billy had been feeling bad about the fight, but still. It can’t have been nice for him, to have been feeling regret but not being able to express it.

Jesus Christ. Is he actually feeling sympathy for Billy Hargrove?

Are they friends?

It’s too much for one person to sort out on their own, and Steve is struck by the deep, desperate need to talk it through with someone else. But who? Who could he talk to about this? His mom, maybe, but she doesn’t know the backstory, and Steve really doesn’t want to start explaining about the fight. She’d be worried, and he wouldn’t be able to tell her what he was even doing at Jonathan Byers’ place. And after all that, she’d probably say something vague and wildly unhelpful anyway.

This is why Steve misses having friends, although he’s the first to admit he could never talk to someone like Tommy about this. He thinks about Robin again. She’s nice, and she seemed very perceptive during their conversation, but there’s no way he knows her well enough to talk about something this… deep.

Which leaves… Christ. Steve rolls over in frustration. There is someone he could talk to, someone who he wouldn’t need to explain a damn thing to, but the humiliation of turning to Nancy at a time like this is almost more than he can bear. They’ve nodded to each other at school, but he’s been avoiding actually talking to her.

Suddenly, his eyes pop open, because Nancy isn’t his only option. There’s someone else, and oddly enough it feels like a far less embarrassing option than his ex-girlfriend: the guy she left him for.

Instinctively, Steve knows that Jonathan won’t judge him. Jonathan is just about the least judgemental person he’s ever met. 

Goddamn it. Steve never talks about his feelings. But he’s confused enough to start.

He fluffs up his pillow, and goes to sleep.

Chapter Text

Standing in front of Jonathan Byers’ front door, Steve has a moment of doubt. Several moments, actually. He’s been experiencing doubt ever since he got up in the morning and remembered his plan to actually talk to Jonathan. But every time he thinks about turning around and going home, his stomach clenches. 

He’s got to talk to someone.

He didn’t call ahead. He didn’t quite have the nerve. So now he’s just hoping that Jonathan is actually home. There’s no school today - what with Thanksgiving being tomorrow - so he has his fingers crossed. It’s not like Jonathan has that many friends he could be hanging out with.

He knocks on the door.

For a few moments, there’s no response, and Steve wonders if he should knock again. Before he can make up his mind, however, he hears a harried female voice calling: “Coming!”

Jonathan’s mom. Steve’s met her, obviously, but they’ve never had a conversation outside of an emergency Upside Down situation. He’s not sure he knows what her face looks like when life is running smoothly. Not that it is running smoothly, really - he knows her boyfriend died - but still. When lives aren’t being actively threatened.

She opens the door, and although she has deep hollows under her eyes, she smiles when she sees him. She’s small and slight, and it doesn’t look like she’s brushed her hair in a while, but she looks friendly and gentle in a loose gray shirt and jeans. “Hello,” she says, looking up at him.

“Hi, Mrs Byers,” Steve says. He feels a bit awkward. He’s not sure how much she knows about his history with Jonathan. “Um, you remember me, right?”

“Of course!” Mrs Byers exclaims, as though there couldn’t be any doubt. “Steve, sweetheart, how are you?”

A lump rises to Steve’s throat for absolutely no reason. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he says. He bites his lip, not quite daring to ask her the same question. “How… how’s Will?”

The expression that spreads across her face is pure warmth. “Recovering,” she says. “He’s doing well.”

“I was wondering if Jonathan was home,” Steve says, scratching his head. “I mean, you know, if it’s a good time.”

“Come on in,” Mrs Byers says, stepping back from the door. “He’s in his room.”

The house doesn’t look anything like it did the last time Steve was here, which is definitely a good thing. All the strange drawings that Will had put up around the walls are gone, and there’s new glass in the window of the front room where El threw the demodog. The living room is tidy and clean, and Steve realizes he’s never seen it in any kind of normal state before. It’s nice, homely. 

“Thanks,” he says belatedly to Mrs Byers. She just smiles, gesturing down the corridor.

Well, okay then. Steve approaches Jonathan’s bedroom. He’s nervous, his stomach swirling. He hasn’t always treated Jonathan as he should have done, and even over the last year he’s mostly treated him with a distant vague superiority. After all, he’d got the girl.

How the tables have turned.

Mrs Byers has disappeared from the end of the corridor when Steve looks back. He raises his hand and knocks on the door.

“Come in,” Jonathan calls. He sounds distracted.

Steve pushes open the door. “Hi.”

Jonathan, to his credit, only gapes for a moment. He’s sitting on his bed, cassettes splayed out across the blankets, and he seems to be putting them in some kind of order; Steve can’t quite suppress a smile at the sight. Jonathan’s a really nice guy, and Steve definitely misjudged him for a really long time - but he’s still a total nerd.

“Steve,” Jonathan says. “Hey.” He stops. “What are you doing here?”

“Um,” Steve says, because he doesn’t have an easy answer to that. “I thought maybe we could… hang out?” His uncertainty turns it into a question.

For a moment or two, Jonathan just looks at him, studying Steve’s face like he’s trying to read his mind. Steve busies himself closing the bedroom door, feeling too uncomfortable to meet Jonathan’s eyes.

Then Jonathan sweeps all the cassettes into an old shoebox on the floor, and smiles up at him. “Sit down,” he says. “What’s up?”

Hesitantly, Steve sits. “You sure this is okay?” He scratches his head. “I mean, maybe I should have called—”

“It’s fine,” Jonathan says, and it sounds like he means it. “What’s on your mind?”

And suddenly, Steve knows exactly what he needs to say. “Billy Hargrove apologized to me,” he says in a rush.

Jonathan’s eyes widen. “What?”

“And it made me think,” Steve goes on, ignoring the interruption. “I never… I mean, I said some pretty shitty things to you, and I broke your camera, and I never apologized.” He stops, and then realizes the important part hasn’t been done. “And I’m sorry,” he adds quickly.

“Steve,” Jonathan says. He looks concerned. “That was so long ago.”

Steve fidgets. “Yeah, I know.”

“Okay,” Jonathan says. “Well… thanks.” He gives Steve a smile, and Steve immediately feels better. “I mean, I haven’t been mad about it since forever, but still, you know, thanks.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Thanks for being cool,” he says awkwardly.

Jonathan accepts that with a nod. Then he says curiously: “How come Billy apologized?”

“You know we’ve been working on a presentation together, right?” Steve asks. Jonathan nods. “I guess we’ve been hanging out a lot, and talking and shit, and he just… I don’t know, it just happened.” He pauses. “It didn’t just happen. I made him. But he says I didn’t— Ah, fuck, I don’t even know.”

“Okay,” Jonathan says slowly. “Tell me what happened.”

So Steve does. He explains about hanging out at Billy’s house, and then at his house, and how Billy seems like such an odd blend of aggressive and hilarious, and how his dad is kind of a hard-ass - Steve doesn’t go into details on that one, it feels too invasive to Billy - and how they’ve been talking, and finally how Billy offered him his place back. And then how Steve goaded him into apologizing.

“Just the whole thing, man, it feels weird,” he says. “Like… he means it. I know he means it, but I feel like I made him say it. And he beat me up! Not just a little, I went to hospital two weeks ago, but now…”

“It’s okay to be mad about it still,” Jonathan says.

Steve sighs frustratedly. “Yeah, but I’m not mad,” he says. 

Jonathan raises his eyebrows. “You’re not mad?”

“No,” Steve says, and something feels a little easier inside himself to admit it. “I feel like I should be, but I’m not. I kinda like him. I wish it wasn’t so goddamn complicated.”

“Is it complicated?” Jonathan asks.

Steve shrugs. “He’s acting like it’s not,” he says. “Like I can just show up at Tommy’s table at lunch and carry on like I did before. Like we can just be friends.”

“Do you want to sit with Tommy at lunch?” It’s kind of irritating, the way Jonathan just keeps asking questions, prodding Steve into elaborating.

“I don’t give a shit about Tommy H,” he says frankly. “But I do miss having… having someone to sit with.” He flushes at the admission. It’s kind of pathetic, honestly.

Jonathan looks annoyingly sympathetic. “Steve, I know this doesn’t answer what you’re saying, but you know you can always come and sit with me and Nance, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says moodily. “But you know, man, it’s just not—”

“I get it,” Jonathan says quickly.

“No, it’s not personal,” Steve says hastily. “It’s not you, okay, I like you, alright? It’s just, you know, I need more friends than my ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend.”

Jonathan laughs. “Yeah, that makes sense,” he says. “So what do you think you’ll do?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “I want to do it, it could be fun. But I don’t… I don’t want to be that asshole anymore. I don’t want to turn into the guy I was when I was friends with Tommy, the guy who sprayed all that shit about Nancy and said the shit I said to you.”

Jonathan has a thoughtful expression on his face. “Do you think you’re that guy when you’re around Billy?”

“No,” Steve says, surprising himself with how easily the answer comes. “He’s, you know, a dick, but he’s not… I mean, he doesn’t really care about all the popularity bullshit either. He just does it because he can.”

“I thought he was kinda cool at the weekend,” Jonathan says. 

Steve laughs. “That’s because you wiped the floor with him at poker.”

Jonathan gives him a look. “No, I wiped the floor with you at poker,” he says. “Billy wasn’t too bad.”

Steve, maturely, gives him the finger. Then he says, hesitantly: “So… what do you think?”

“I think you should sit with him at lunch,” Jonathan says easily. When Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise, he shrugs. “Look, Steve, I’m not saying you weren’t an asshole back then—” Steve laughs dryly “—but that was over a year ago. You’ve changed, people change. If you trust Billy, let him be a good influence on you. I guarantee Tommy H isn’t up nights wondering about how much of a douchebag he is.” His voice changes almost imperceptibly when he’s talking about Tommy, turning disdainful. “Come and sit with me and Nancy too every once in a while. Make other friends. But don’t miss out just because you’re worried you’ll turn into someone you definitely aren’t anymore.”

“That was surprisingly wise, man,” Steve comments. Jonathan laughs. “Thanks.”

Jonathan, Steve notices - not for the first time - has a nice smile when he uses it. “Any time.”

Make other friends, Jonathan said. Steve says: “I was actually hanging out with this girl at lunch yesterday. You know Robin Buckley?”

“Is she a senior?” Jonathan asks.

“Junior,” Steve explains. “She says we’ve had classes together, but I didn’t remember her. Asshole,” he adds wryly, pointing at himself. “She was really cool. It’s weird, man, I would never have even thought about hanging out with her before. She’s in band, and she plays soccer.”

“Lord protect us from band and soccer dweebs,” Jonathan says mockingly.

Steve throws an errant cassette at him. “You know what I mean.”

Jonathan catches the cassette, putting it in the shoebox with the others. “So hang out with her, man,” he says. “Broaden your high school experience.”

 And Steve thinks he might just do that.

*

Billy has mixed feelings when it comes to school holidays. On the one hand, it means no school; Billy, like most teenagers, loathes getting up early, hates having to kowtow to every second-rate teacher’s power trip, gets hand cramps from writing too much, hates math… the usual bullshit. He can do school, just smart enough to pass his classes without too much effort, but it’s not like he enjoys it. A day off is a day off.

On the other hand, a day off school is a day at home, and that’s something Billy’s never particularly fond of. 

His dad, at least, still has work. That gives Billy a morning of peace, which he spends asleep in bed. But Neil will be home early, courtesy of the bank’s Thanksgiving opening hours, and Billy has no intention of sticking around to find out what sort of mood he’ll be in when he gets home. So he gets up around eleven, mooching downstairs to find something to eat.

Susan is sitting in the kitchen, reading the paper. Billy knows from half-overheard arguments how much it bothers her not to work; she ‘hates being idle’, apparently. He also knows how important it is to his dad to be able to say his wife doesn’t have to work.

Ergo, here she sits.

“Good morning, Billy,” she says politely, as he walks into the room. She lowers her newspaper, like somehow he might actually want to talk to her. “Would you like some breakfast?”

Billy glances around. There are leftover scrambled eggs in the pan on the hob. He goes to the cupboard for a plate. “Where’s Max?” he asks guardedly. He’s not really in the mood for his stepsister’s death-glare right now.

“She’s out with friends,” Susan says. There’s a slight guilty edge to her voice. Max is clearly with Lucas Sinclair. “I can make you some fresh eggs, Billy. Those will be cold by now.”

“It’s fine.” It’s actually really unusual for Billy to be alone in the house with Susan. He can’t think when it last happened. In the three years she and Neil have been married, Billy’s not sure he’s ever had an actual conversation with her - which is just how he likes it.

He scoops the eggs onto his plate. Susan’s right, they look cold and unappetizing, but waiting around for her to make new ones will take too long. He’s not sure when his dad is coming back.

Susan is watching him. “At least let me make you some toast,” she implores.

Billy really doesn’t get why she gives a shit. “It’s fine,” he says.

There’s a pause. It’s awkward. Billy gets himself a fork. At last, Susan says in a faux-bright voice: “Any plans for today?”

“Yeah,” Billy says, sitting down at the kitchen table opposite her. She smiles, obviously waiting for him to go on; he sighs. “Seeing a friend.” He and Tommy H made plans ages ago; no way was Billy leaving today to chance.

“Is that Steve?” Susan asks. “The friend, I mean.”

Billy, in spite of himself, flushes. “No,” he says. “Tommy.”

“Oh,” Susan says. She frowns, looking pensive. “I don’t think I remember you talking about Tommy.”

Billy raises his eyebrows, a forkful of scrambled eggs halfway to his mouth. “In all those deep chats you and me have?”

This time, it’s Susan’s turn to blush. “So what are you and Tommy up to?”

He shrugs. “Going to the diner, hanging out at the quarry. I don’t know,” he says. 

“You should invite him here,” Susan says. “You know… you know you can, don’t you?” She flashes him a quick bright smile. “You don’t have to wait until you’re doing a project.”

Billy tries to imagine inviting Tommy over for dinner, and almost spits out his eggs at the thought. Tommy H, puffed up and pompous, sycophantic and adoring, hearing the way his dad speaks to him? Seeing Billy cowed and humiliated? He can barely stand it when it’s Steve, but it doesn’t matter when it’s Steve, because Steve… It doesn’t change the way things are with Steve. 

He could never invite Tommy H here.

“Thanks for the offer,” he says bracingly to Susan, “but I think I’m good.” He can’t help a wry smile escaping him.

“That’s a shame,” Susan says. “It’s nice when you invite Steve here. He seems like a kind boy.”

Kind. It’s an odd word to choose, but Billy figures it’s not inaccurate. “He’s alright,” he says, around a mouthful of eggs. 

“Billy,” Susan says, and then she hesitates, biting her lip. Billy frowns at her.

“Yeah?”

She shakes her head. There’s an odd, sideways smile on her face. “Never mind,” she says. 

He scarfs down the last of his eggs. “Okay,” he says, standing up. “Um… See you later?”

“See you later, Billy,” Susan replies. The look on her face - wistful, almost sad - is making Billy feel weird. “Have a nice time with Tommy.”

He escapes upstairs without answering her. He’s not really sure what she’s trying to do, talking to him like that - as if they’re friendly with each other, as if his dad hasn’t hit him right in front of her without her giving two-thirds of a shit. Maybe it helps her feel less guilty about it, if she spends ten minutes talking about his friends and trying to make him eggs. Billy doesn’t give a crap. 

Susan’s not his friend. Or if she is, she’s his friend the way Tommy H is his friend - there to pass the time, but not someone he could ever trust, or rely on. He always has to be on his guard, watching every word that comes out of his mouth.

Billy doesn’t have a single goddamn person he can relax around. The closest is Steve - oh, the irony - but there’s so much he can’t tell Steve about how he feels that it’s still not really there.

He gets in the shower, trying not to think too much about Steve Harrington as he’s soaping himself up. It’s basically impossible. He can’t so much as step into the bathroom without being forcibly reminded of the Steve-based fantasies he indulged in here. 

It’s not the only thing about Steve that Billy is having trouble getting out of his head. He hasn’t been able to stop replaying the conversation they had last night in Steve’s bedroom either. The one where he apologized, and also where he invited Steve to rejoin the cool crowd. Sometimes when he thinks about it, Billy just feels like a massive fucking idiot. Other times, he feels kind of… proud of himself.

Because sure, apologizing to Steve was probably one of the most humiliating experiences Billy has ever had. But at the same time, he feels, just a little, as though a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He’d been carrying so much guilt for that night, and now… Well, it’s not gone, but it doesn’t feel quite so heavy. For once, Billy Hargrove did the right thing.

And that feels kind of nice, too. No one expects Billy to do the right thing. Not his dad, not Max, not even Steve. Everyone thinks he’s an asshole.

He grins in the shower, getting shampoo in his mouth. He’s always liked being unpredictable.

Vaguely, Billy wonders if he’ll see Steve between now and school on Monday. It’s only Wednesday, which means they’ll lose a whole five days of study time if they don’t make any plans; that will leave them with less than a week before Steve’s deadline. They’re only halfway through the book. They’re not going to make it.

Even Billy can laugh a little at himself as he towels off. Like the presentation is the reason he wants to see Steve this weekend.

Still, it’s a solid enough point that he feels comfortable heading downstairs to the phone after he’s dressed. It’s gone midday by now, so Billy has made sure he’s totally ready to bail out if his dad walks in unexpectedly. Susan is nowhere to be seen, so he doesn’t bother asking for permission to use the phone. He hates that he’s supposed to.

He hauls the phone book out of the drawer in the kitchen where it’s kept, flicking through the pages to find Steve’s number. His palms are kind of sweaty, the way they might be if he was asking a girl out on a date. 

So fucking stupid. He’s not asking Steve out on a date.

It makes him laugh a little when he finally finds the name Harrington. It’s right underneath Hargrove.

The phone rings a couple of times, and then the soft, musical voice of Steve’s mom answers. “Hello?”

“Hi,” Billy says. “Uh, Mrs Harrington? This is Billy Hargrove. Steve’s… Steve’s friend.” He coughs self-consciously. 

Mrs Harrington, fortunately, doesn’t appear to notice. “Oh, of course!” she exclaims merrily. “I was just thinking of you, Billy.”

Billy blinks. “You were?”

“Yes,” Steve’s mom says seriously. “I was talking with Steve about you just last night, you know. After you left.”

It’s such an odd thing to say that Billy is left momentarily speechless. “Oh,” he says. And then, because he can’t resist it: “Uh… about what?”

“Oh, you know,” she says vaguely. “You were kind to him at dinner, weren’t you? That was very nice. I told him so.”

“Um,” Billy says awkwardly. His face feels very warm. “Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome,” she replies graciously. Then, almost as an afterthought: “He agreed with me, you know.”

It’s lucky there’s no one here to see him, because Billy’s mouth is opening and closing like a fish. After a moment, he manages: “Is he… Is he there?”

Steve’s mom laughs prettily. “Oh, no,” she says. “He’s gone out to see a friend. Well,” she adds, “that’s what he said. He doesn’t tell me very much, you know. He thinks I don’t pay attention.” 

“Do you?” Billy says without thinking, and immediately bites his tongue.

There’s a pause. “I do try,” she says at last, in a measured voice. “I’m not here very often, of course. But even I see when he’s not very happy. Did you know about Nancy?”

It’s such a non-sequitur that Billy has to think for a moment to figure out who she’s talking about. “Nancy Wheeler?” he says.

“Yes,” Steve’s mom says serenely. “They’re not together anymore. I think he’s quite sad about it.”

That makes Billy’s stomach squirm. “Yeah,” he says noncommittally, because he’s not about to start blabbing Steve’s personal business to his mom. He doesn’t want to think about Steve being sad, because then he has to think about why he cares if Steve is sad, and the answer to that makes him feel too uncomfortable.

“Oh, well,” Mrs Harrington says, and she gives another soft little laugh. “At any rate, he’s not here. Would you like me to ask him to call you when he gets home?”

“That would be great, thanks,” Billy says distractedly. His ladykiller voice slides out without thought. “You’re a real lifesaver, Mrs Harrington.”

As usual, it’s as though she doesn’t notice his sultry tone. “Do call again, Billy,” she says. “Goodbye, now.”

Billy hangs up the phone. His head is spinning; Steve’s mom is a total mind-fuck. He’s kind of wishing he hadn’t called, except…

He agreed with me, you know.

What the fuck did she mean by that?

Chapter Text

Steve is high. He’s high, and it feels good, because he can’t really remember the last time he got high - Nancy’s not really into it, and he doesn’t really go out without Nancy—

Didn’t go out without Nancy. He can do what he wants now. 

Fuck Nancy. He’s not thinking about that shit. He’s thinking about… empty spaces. And basketball. And the way Jonathan’s face looks when he’s laughing, which is kind of pretty. That’s a weird fucking thing to think, but it’s true, and Steve giggles a little at the thought. He’s allowed to think any goddamn thing he wants to, even if it’s weird, because he’s young and popular and awesome and those are the rules.

“I should get home,” he says at some point. He and Jonathan are sitting outside his mom’s little beaten-up house; the sky is dark above them, which means he’s been here for a while. Not that he had any other plans today.

Jonathan has his head tipped back, staring up at the stars. “You going to be alright to drive, man?” He hiccoughs out a short laugh. “You’re baked.”

This is true. Steve is baked. He’s enjoying it. “Well, maybe I should call my mom to pick me up,” he says, and that makes him laugh. “She’s actually home!”

“Your mom isn’t home much, huh?” Jonathan says.

“Nope,” Steve replies. His chest hitches, but that’s all. It’s not much of a reaction. He minds his mom and dad being so goddamn absent, of course - but he’s so used to it that it’s not really all that painful anymore. 

Jonathan is watching him. “My mom could probably take you,” he says. “Or you could stay, if you want.”

Steve frowns at him. “It’s Thanksgiving tomorrow,” he says. “If I stayed then… then I’d be here Thanksgiving morning.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jonathan says vaguely, like he’d forgotten. “Should I ask my mom?”

So Mrs Byers ends up taking him home, waving away Steve’s apologies with a smile. He feels pretty crappy about it actually, because she’s way too nice and she’s supposed to be looking after her injured son, but she seems fine with it. More than fine, judging by the care with which she checks he’s properly strapped in. She makes him leave his car keys on her kitchen counter.

“I know what you boys are like,” she says. “I’ll catch you walking back here trying to drive. You can come and get it later. I’m sure Jonathan will pick you up.”

“Thanks, Mrs Byers,” Steve says. His head is starting to hurt a little. “This is really nice of you.”

She smiles at him. “Don’t be silly,” she says. “It’s nice that you and Jonathan are hanging out now.”

“I like Jonathan,” Steve says a little nonsensically, and she smiles again, little dimples showing in the corners of her mouth. 

He thinks abstractly that it must be pretty great to have a mom like this, the way Jonathan does. A real mom. Steve is fond of his mother, and he likes her cooking and the way she smells, but she doesn’t feel very real to him. She’s like a soap bubble, pretty in the distance, ethereal but vaguely transparent - and liable to disappear if you get too close.

Mrs Byers isn’t anything like a soap bubble. She needs to brush her hair, and he’s pretty sure he can see the edges of her bra showing through her thin gray shirt, and she probably wouldn’t be getting many catcalls from the kids at school the way Irene Harrington does. She’s more like… a bar of soap. Not the sweet-smelling expensive pink shit Steve’s mom uses - more like the lumpy yellow bricks they have in the school bathrooms. Practical, useful, dependable. Much less likely to make bubbles.

You’d want a bar of yellow soap with you if you were out in the wilderness with no one to help you. Soap bubbles would be fucking useless.

“Like a bar of soap,” he mumbles, and Mrs Byers glances at him.

“What did you say?”

Steve shakes his head. He doesn’t think he could explain it to her in a way she’d understand. Besides, he reflects, he’s not sure she’d really appreciate being compared to school soap. “Although,” he says seriously, “it does mean you’re very clean.”

Mrs Byers blinks at him, and then stifles a chuckle. “Go home and sleep it off, sweetheart,” she says, which makes absolutely no sense at all.

“Okay,” he replies. He wonders where Jonathan gets his weed from. This stuff is stronger than the usual joints that get passed around at parties. 

Mrs Byers pulls up outside his house. There’s something very soft and kind in her dark eyes. She says: “Are you going to be okay?”

Steve nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

For a moment, he thinks she’s going to say something else. Then she just gives a little shake of her head. “Happy Thanksgiving, Steve.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs Byers,” Steve says sleepily. He smiles at her, and then gets out of the car.

He’s suddenly very tired, ready to get into bed and sleep away the rest of the holiday until his parents go away again. One of the nice things about getting high is the way it stops him from feeling all the difficult things that have been crowding through his head lately; all the complicated things he doesn’t really understand about the Upside Down, about popularity, about Billy Hargrove - they all just sort of fade away into nothing. His head is blissfully clear.

It’s a nice evening, not as cold as it should be for the end of November, and Steve strolls slowly down his driveway. He’s glad Mrs Byers didn’t take him all the way to the front door. She’s the kind of person who gets how that could be awkward with his parents, and that makes her pretty awesome in Steve’s eyes. Like Elizabeth Bennet, or maybe more like Jane - too nice to everyone.

When he reaches the door, he lets himself in unobtrusively. It’s too early for his parents to be in bed, but he’s still hoping to slip past without running into his father, who would be less than impressed about the smell of smoke still hanging about him. The hallway is quiet, which means that wherever his parents are, they’re not together. His mom isn’t the kind of person to sit in silence.

“Stevie?” Steve closes his eyes at the sound of his mother’s voice. She comes to the doorway of the lounge, looking pretty with her hair puffed up in silky waves around her face. “Oh, we missed you at dinner!”

“Sorry,” Steve mumbles, pushing down the familiar spike of irritation - because when they’re home, his parents have every right to question his comings and goings.

She shakes her head at him. “Where have you been?”

“Out,” Steve says sullenly. “I told you earlier.”

His mom tips her head to one side, as though she’s considering him. Steve resists the urge to just walk away; he’s too tired for her right now. Too tired for pretty vagaries, for soap bubbles. He just wants to go to sleep.

She says: “Your friend Billy called here earlier.”

Steve blinks at her. For no reason at all, his heart is suddenly beating a little too fast. “What?”

“Your friend Billy called here earlier,” Irene repeats serenely.

“Billy called? Why?”

His mom shrugs gracefully. “He’s rather sweet, isn’t he?” she says absently.

Sweet is not exactly how Steve would describe Billy Hargrove. “What did he say?”

“He asked if you’d call him back, when you got home,” she replies. Her eyes are doing something complicated - something too much for Steve to understand. Like she knows something he doesn’t. “Will you?”

Steve looks at the clock on the mantelpiece. It’s not late - barely nine. He has time to call Billy back. But why the hell was Billy phoning in the first place? They’ve never done that before, and he doesn’t quite know how he feels about it. He’s barely reconciled with the idea of being friends with Billy. 

He rubs his temples, suddenly feeling a lot more sober. “Yeah,” he says. Inexplicably, his mom beams at him.

He waits until she’s floated away before he goes to the phone in the kitchen. He doesn’t have any intention of making the call while his mom listens in; Billy would be certain to make fun of him for it if he heard her. The lights in the kitchen seem exceptionally bright, and wistfully Steve thinks of the quiet darkness of Jonathan’s backyard, sitting companionably with a joint and looking at the stars.

It was nice, talking to Jonathan. There’s nothing complicated about it. Except that’s not really true, is it? He and Jonathan had a fight too, except it was longer ago, and they’ve passed Nancy between them like a soccer ball. He and Billy have never fought over a girl. And there are no demodogs in his strange friendship with Billy, either.

Maybe he and Billy just need some time.

Either way, he finds as he searches through the phone book for Billy’s number that he wants to talk to him. Hanging out with Billy is fun - and he wants to know why Billy called earlier. 

Carefully, he dials the number, listens to the phone ringing. It’s too loud, making his head ache even more, but he ignores the pain and presses the handset to his ear. 

“Hello?” It’s the crisp, hard tones of Billy’s dad. Steve straightens up almost unconsciously.

“Uh… good evening, Mr Hargrove,” he says, cringing a little at his own obsequiousness. “It’s Steve - Steve Harrington?” His uncertainty turns it into a question, as if Steve isn’t sure about his own name. “I was wondering if Billy was home.”

There’s a pause. “Steve,” Neil Hargrove says. He sounds surprised, but not pissed. “Well, yes, Billy is here.”

Steve waits, but Billy’s dad doesn’t hand the phone over. “Would it be okay to speak to him?” he says at last.

Another pause. “Is this about your schoolwork?” Billy’s dad says finally.

“Yeah,” Steve lies.

“Well, I suppose that’s alright,” Billy’s dad says reluctantly. Then his voice changes, and he says almost viciously: “You should know, Steve, that Billy is facing serious consequences right now for missing his curfew the night before Thanksgiving.”

In the background, Steve hears Billy’s voice hissing, “Dad.”

Neil ignores him. “I’m not happy with him at all, as I’m sure you understand, Steve. He won’t be going anywhere this weekend, so if this is a social call…”

“It’s not,” Steve says quickly. “We talked about working on our project this weekend. I could come to you, if Billy’s not allowed out—”

“You’re always welcome here, Steve,” Billy’s dad says smoothly. “I’ll pass you over to him now.”

There’s a shuffle, during which Steve swallows and tries to wet his dry mouth. He tries to imagine his parents grounding him for getting home before nine. He can’t picture it, even from his dad. Even if it did somehow happen, neither of his parents would ever broadcast it to his friends like this.

He can’t imagine how humiliated Billy must be feeling right now.

“Steve,” Billy says in his ear. He sounds subdued, quiet. Nothing like the Billy Steve knows.

“Uh… hi,” Steve says awkwardly. “Sorry, I called at a bad time—”

“It’s fine,” Billy says, and that’s when Steve realizes his dad is probably still there. He imagines him standing behind the phone, listening in. He can’t imagine his parents doing that, either.

He says: “Yeah, so I guess I was just calling b—”

“To talk about the project,” Billy interrupts. 

Steve frowns. “Uh, yeah, if that’s why you—”

“I figured we should work on it this weekend,” Billy cuts in again. Steve tries to make his tired brain figure out why he keeps cutting him off. “If you’re free.”

“Yeah, I’m free,” Steve says slowly. “I mean, tomorrow’s obviously Thanksgiving, but… Friday?”

There’s a brief pause. “Friday is good,” Billy says in a cautious voice. “Uh… it would have to be here—”

“That’s fine,” Steve says quickly. “Except - ah, shit, I need to pick up my car. I won’t be able to get it tomorrow.”

“Your car?” Billy repeats. “You don’t have your car?”

Steve leans back against the counter, closing his eyes. “Yeah, I left it at someone’s house earlier,” he says. “I got dropped off at home.” He’s not sure whether Billy’s dad can hear Steve’s side of the conversation, but he doesn’t want to mention the pot just in case.

Luckily, Billy seems to pick up on his meaning. “Okay,” he says. He suggests hesitantly: “I could pick you up?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, feeling unaccountably relieved - unaccountable because his relief is tied to the fact that Billy didn’t change his mind about hanging out on Friday, and he can’t really make sense of that. “Yeah, thanks, that would be great.”

“I could drive you to pick up your car, if you want,” Billy says in a diffident sort of voice. Like he thinks this is something unreasonable. Like Steve might say no.

And actually… Steve gets it. Because this is being friends, not just reluctant school project partners. Billy apologized, Steve accepted, and now they’re on new footing. Now Steve can’t just be mad all the time, he can’t just hold Billy at arm’s length, calling him an asshole in his head - accepting Billy’s apology means he has to stop all that. 

He wants to stop all that. He’d much rather be friends with Billy, without the edge of awkwardness that has dogged all their interactions since they started working on this presentation together. He just doesn’t really know how to make the transition.

But Billy offering to help with his car feels like a start. So he says gratefully: “Thanks,” and he doesn’t think he’s imagining Billy’s sigh of relief on the other end of the line.

“Ten?” Billy offers.

Steve nods, and then realizes Billy can’t see him. “Ten is good,” he says. “I guess we have a shi… I mean, a lot to do before next week.”

“Yeah, I was thinking that earlier,” Billy says. “By the time we’re back at school there’s only two weeks left before the presentations.”

“Shit, yeah,” Steve says, and then realizes he swore out loud this time. But it kind of seems merited, given how little time they have left; they still have half the book to go, and that’s without the actual presentation planning. “We’re not going to get through it all!” 

Fortunately, Billy seems amused. “We’ll be fine,” he says robustly. “If you’re not doing anything this weekend—” he pauses, but since Steve is emphatically not doing anything he doesn’t interrupt “—then I guess we can just spend the whole time studying.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Steve says, relieved. He kind of likes the idea of spending the whole weekend studying with Billy. Impulsively, he says: “You want to come here for some of it? You could stay.”

This time, the pause feels heavier. Steve suddenly feels like a bit of an idiot. Asking Billy to stay? Sure, he might have done that with Tommy back in the day, before they fell out, but he and Tommy have been friends since kindergarten. He and Billy barely stopped hating each other. What the hell was he thinking?

Billy says carefully: “I’d have to ask my dad.”

Before Steve can answer, he hears a muffled voice in the background. Billy’s dad. “Ask me what?”

There’s the distinct sound of Billy putting a hand over the receiver. “Steve invited me to stay over at the weekend. To study.”

A pause. “Well, I suppose… I don’t see why not.” Neil Hargrove’s voice hardens a little. “As long as that’s all it is.”

“Yeah,” Billy says. “Of course.” Then, in a clearer voice to Steve: “That’s fine, yeah. We could do that.”

“Great,” Steve says after a beat, deciding to pretend he didn’t hear the exchange. He bites his lip. “So… I guess I’ll see you on Friday?”

“At ten,” Billy agrees. He appears to hesitate, and then says quickly: “Happy Thanksgiving, Harrington.”

Steve half-chuckles. “Steve,” he corrects. “Happy Thanksgiving, Billy.”

*

Billy is smiling as he replaces the receiver on the handset. Smiling hurts a little, because there’s a cut in the corner of his lip and a bruise on his cheek, just in the place where his face dimples when he smiles. But talking to Steve is enough to make him forget about the pain, at least for a few minutes.

He’s going to be spending the weekend at Steve’s place. He’s surprised his dad agreed to it - but then, for some reason his dad likes Steve. He’s pretty sure it’s because he knows Billy beat Steve up. It puts Neil and Steve on the same side, people who have a reason to hate Billy Hargrove. People who think Billy Hargrove is a screw-up, a monster, an irresponsible prick impossible to like. Billy’s dad doesn’t have to worry about Steve wanting to party with Billy. He knows if they’re hanging out, it can only be for school.

God, thinking about it like that is enough to wipe the smile off Billy’s face. For all he knows, that’s all true. Steve nominally accepted Billy’s apology, sure - but that doesn’t mean he likes Billy. It doesn’t even mean he forgives him. He sure as hell didn’t say that he did. Maybe every time Billy’s dad acts like a prick, Steve is internally crowing over him.

Okay, no, he doesn’t actually think that. Steve… Steve told him about being dyslexic. He wouldn’t have done that if he still totally hated Billy.

He turns, away from the phone and back to his dad. Neil is standing with his arms folded, impassive and calm. Like he didn’t shove Billy face-first up against the wall about three minutes before Steve called. Billy’s mouth had hit the edge of the door frame, causing the cut and the bruise. All because Billy didn’t get home early enough for Neil’s liking the day before Thanksgiving, despite the fact that he never usually has a curfew even on school nights.

His dad is watching him, and Billy makes sure his face isn’t showing the slightest sign of pleasure anymore. Neil says: “Sounds like you’ve got a busy weekend of studying ahead of you.”

“Yeah,” Billy says sullenly. “Guess so.”

His dad studies him for a moment. “Watch your tone,” he says quietly. Billy resists the urge to snap right back. This is a win, studying with Steve, even if his dad doesn’t know it, and he doesn’t want to risk losing it. 

Mind you, he thinks bitterly as he heads up to his room, his dad probably only agreed for the pleasure of having Billy out of the house for a couple of days.

It’s not like it normally bothers Neil when Billy spends the day out with Tommy. They’d gone to the quarry with a few of the others - Carol, Jerry, Heather, Derrick, Chris… it was fun. Easy. The usual shit. Beer, loud voices, messing around on the edge of the quarry, the girls freaking out when Derrick pretended to fall… The kind of mindless high school get-together that Billy lives for. Anything to shut up the voices in his head.

Neil never said to get home at a certain time. But when Billy had arrived at ten to nine, he’d flipped. Billy’s pretty sure something else happened to piss him off, but it didn’t matter. It was still Billy who took the fall.

He inspects his bruised face in the mirror. The mark is faint, not too pronounced. It’ll be gone by the time he sees Steve on Friday, or faded enough that he can blame it on something else. Messing around with Tommy, or something. The cut on his lip isn’t very deep. All in all, he got off pretty lightly really.

Billy snorts. Pretty lightly. Sometimes it hits him how ridiculous it is to think like that. But he’s feeling okay about his dad tonight, because there’s just Thanksgiving to get through, and Susan and Maxine will be around the whole day so it shouldn’t be too awful. And then after that he gets to spend three days hanging out with Steve, and regardless of how weirdly complicated things are between them, Billy can’t really be anything but pleased about that.

A soft sniffling sound cuts through his reflections. Billy frowns, turning away from his mirror and towards the noise; it sounds as if it’s coming from the room next door, but that can’t be right. That’s Max’s room, and she basically never cries.

It’s probably Susan. She and Neil probably had some big fight before Billy got home, and that’ll be what set Neil off. Billy rolls his eyes, returning to the mirror. He doesn’t really have any sympathy for Susan; she knows who she fucking married. She made the choice to be with his dad. Billy doesn’t get any choice at all.

He knows she’s seen what his dad does to him. She doesn’t know the worst of it - Neil always saves that for when the house is empty - but she knows how Neil talks to him. How much he despises him. She must have heard the unexplained thuds, seen the bruises before Billy’s had the chance to cover them up. 

She’s never given a shit about him, so why should he give a shit about her?

Still, though. That noise… it really seems like it’s coming from Max’s room. Susan and Neil sleep on the other side of the house.

Billy squares his shoulders. It’s not like Maxine gives a shit about him either. He’s fairly sure she doesn’t know his dad actually hits him - she’s never, ever been around for that, and Neil knows how to be quiet enough when she’s upstairs in her room - but she’s not stupid. She knows no one in the goddamn family gives a crap about him. Why should he care if she’s upset?

Hell, by the time he was her age his mom had already been gone three years. He’s had to deal with a hell of a lot worse than she ever has.

But she’s crying. And Max never cries.

Billy rubs his face. This is Steve goddamn Harrington’s fault, he’s sure of it; he never gave a flying fuck about anything Maxine did before Steve came on the scene, unless it was likely to get him in trouble. In fact, if he’s being really honest with himself, which mostly he prefers not to be, he kind of enjoyed using her as an outlet when he was especially pissed at the world.

Man hits boy, boy yells at girl. That kind of thing.

Jesus. He’s never hit Maxine. But is that what it looks like to her? When he was driving too fast around the corners in the car, yelling at her about her friends, pushing her around - did she think of him the way he thinks of Neil?

The thought makes him feel a little sick. He’s nothing like his dad.

What is it about being around Steve bloody Harrington that makes Billy feel guilty all the time? 

Irritated with himself, he pushes away from the wall and storms out of his room before he can think too much about it. It’s more muffled in the hall, but he can still hear the sounds of Max crying. Why does she have to be crying? Now he feels even worse. There’s something else in the pit of his stomach, some emotion he’s really not used to feeling.

Sympathy, he thinks. He rolls his eyes. What a fucking joke.

Well, he’s not going to accomplish anything standing out here in the hall. Taking a deep breath, Billy steels himself for the most likely reaction, and pushes open Max’s bedroom door.

“Max?”

Chapter Text

She’s sitting on the edge of her bed rubbing her eyes, but the second Billy pushes open the door Max jumps to her feet. She scowls furiously at him.

“Max?” he says, in the gentlest voice he can manage. Billy’s not very good at gentle.

“What?” she practically spits at him. “What do you want? Get out of my room!”

See, this is why it’s so hard to be nice to her; Billy can feel his temper rising already. It feels so fucking unfair that she’s jumping down his throat when he’s actually concerned for her, but he tries to remind himself that she doesn’t know that. He doesn’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to Max.

He looks at her reddened eyes. She’s definitely been crying, and that makes it easier to stay calm.

“Easy, tiger,” he says, because while he’s trying not to actively be an asshole, jackass is still the default. “I come in peace.”

Max just glares at him. Billy sighs, and steps fully into her bedroom, closing the door behind him. She snarls: “Go away!” again, but it seems a bit half-hearted to Billy.

“Are you okay?” he asks. It’s surprisingly easy to get the words out. Maybe being around Steve so much has softened Billy, because he couldn’t have imagined asking her that three weeks ago. Now it feels… well, he cares about the answer, which is kind of weird. 

Max folds her arms tightly around her body. It’s probably supposed to make her look imposing, but instead it emphasizes how small she is. “What do you care?” she says aggressively.

Billy briefly closes his eyes. He thinks about Steve, and how pissed he would be if he heard that Billy had given Max a hard time again. He says: “I heard you.”

“You didn’t hear anything,” Max insists.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Billy says, exasperated. “Can you, like… make this a tiny bit easier?”

She stares at him incredulously. “You want me to make things easier for you?”

This is a good point, and Billy forces himself to take a deep breath. He exhales in a sigh, wishing he had a smoke. “Okay, okay,” he says. “Jesus. Give me a second.”

He can see her biting her lip. “Can’t you just go away?” she says in a small voice.

“Yeah, okay,” Billy says. He sighs again. “Look,” he says, and then stops.

Max just looks at him. “What?”

“Look,” Billy says again. “I’ll go away if you want, I just… I heard you. You sounded upset. I thought… I thought I’d see if you’re, you know… if you’re alright.” His heart is pounding by the time he stops talking. It’s hard, hard to be kind - so much easier not to give a shit, to slam doors and freak her out by driving too fast. That way he doesn’t have to think about anything except himself. That way, she can’t laugh in his face, because he’s already laughing in hers.

She says slowly: “Since when do you care if I’m alright?”

“I’m… trying something new,” Billy says honestly, and then laughs a little, because that sounds so ridiculous. 

Max tilts her head to one side, eyes narrowed at him as if she’s studying him. “Why?”

Well, that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? Unbidden, Steve’s face pops into Billy’s mind, but he pushes away the thought. If he’s being nice, it’s because he’s choosing it, not because of Steve. Billy Hargrove makes his own decisions. 

He tries to think of a way of answering her that means she’ll stop asking, because he really doesn’t feel like getting into it with a twelve-year-old. “The other way wasn’t working for me,” he says at last.

“No shit,” Max says flatly, eyebrows raised. “So what, now you want to try being an actual brother?”

“I’m not—” Billy says automatically, and then cuts himself off. He huffs, irritated. “I don’t fucking know, alright? Christ, I’m not a fucking expert here.”

To his surprise, Max actually giggles. She covers her mouth with her hand almost immediately, as if she can’t quite believe it happened, but then she just shakes her head and sits back down on her bed. “Yeah, like that’s a shock,” she says.

Hesitantly, Billy moves over to the bed; when she doesn’t immediately bite his head off, he perches on the edge of it, next to her. He knows what he needs to say next, but it’s hard. Not as hard as it was with Steve - Jesus, when he thinks of that moment he still feels his stomach lurching - but difficult nonetheless. He doesn’t know how Max is going to react. She might laugh in his face. She might just kick him out.

He takes another deep breath. “Max,” he says.

She looks at him. “What?” Her tone isn’t exactly encouraging.

Billy looks away, towards the window. The curtains are closed, which is frustrating; he wants something to look at, to distract him from being here, from being so fucking terrible at this. But he did it once, he said it to Steve, and Steve didn’t tell him to go fuck himself, so… maybe this won’t be so bad.

“I’m s-sorry,” he says, and his nervousness gives him an unexpected stutter. 

Max startles; he’s not looking at her, but it’s a visible movement out of the corner of his eye. “What?”

He sighs. “Don’t make me say it again, come on,” he says.

“Wait, but…” Max stops, shaking her head, and then says again: “What?”

Billy looks at her then. She doesn’t seem to be mad at him; she looks more like she thinks he’s been possessed, which… well, yeah. He can understand that. He gives her bug eyes. “You heard me.”

“You’re sorry,” she repeats. “Are you, like… feeling alright?”

“Don’t be a brat,” Billy snaps, and Max laughs. She laughs, like this is funny, like hearing him say something nice to her, something truthful, is a big-ass joke. And it’s not like he expects her to get how hard this is for him - or to care, even if she does get it - but the sound of her laughter cuts through him. It hurts, and he stands up.

He can’t do this. He’s a dick and an asshole and maybe he deserves to sit here and listen to her laugh at him, but he can’t do it. He walks towards the door.

“Wait, wait,” Max calls. “Billy!”

Billy turns slowly. She’s still smirking, but she gestures imperiously at him, patting the bed beside her. He raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“Come back, come on,” she says. The corners of her mouth twitch. “Don’t be so sensitive.”

“I am not fucking sensitive,” Billy says indignantly. Max just raises an eyebrow and waits. Resisting the urge to give her the finger, he goes back to the bed and sits down. “What do you want?” he asks grumpily. For some reason, he’s not feeling quite so stung by her laughter as he was before.

She gives another little giggle. “Oh my God, I’ve literally never seen you like this!”

He crosses his arms. “Like what?”

“You’re all, like… embarrassed!” Max exclaims. “What even happened to you?”

“What happened to you?” Billy counters, because he hates the way he’s feeling right now. Vulnerable, and shitty, and easily mocked - but also a weird sense of not minding too much. Like it’s okay for Max to laugh at him, or something. But that can’t be right. He says hastily: “You were crying. Since when do you cry?”

Max stops smiling, which should make him feel better, but instead lances him with a swift stab of guilt. “I wasn’t crying,” she says.

Billy tips his head back. “Yeah, you were,” he says. Then, before she can snap back at him: “Are you okay?”

Max looks away, and he thinks maybe reminding her about it has made her want to cry again. “I’m fine,” she says. She glances at him, and then looks away again. “It’s just…” She stops talking, her eyes flickering in Billy’s direction again, like she’s nervous to tell him, and then he gets it.

Max is crying, and Neil was pissed about something before Billy even got home tonight - pissed enough to slam him into the wall over nothing. He’s an idiot for not figuring out that those two things are related.

“What did he do?” he asks, voice stony.

She looks at him again. “He didn’t do anything,” she says. She sniffs, just the tiniest amount. “He just… he was really mad.”

For the first time in his whole life, Billy actually has the urge to put a hand on her shoulder. He suppresses it. “Tell me what happened.”

“You won’t like it,” Max warns him.

Ah. Billy nods in understanding. “He found out you saw Sinclair today.”

She looks surprised. “How’d you…”

“Your mom’s not exactly subtle,” Billy says with a snort, thinking of Susan’s guilty face that morning at breakfast. He bites his lip, and then says: “Max, you… you know that wasn’t me, right? I didn’t tell him to stop you seeing the kid.”

“You hate him,” she says flatly. “Now Neil hates him too.”

“No,” Billy says, but he knows she has a point. He sighs. “Look, I didn’t - I don’t…”

Max folds her arms. “You don’t what?” she demands. “You don’t care if I hang out with Lucas? Bullshit. You attacked him.”

“Okay, yeah,” Billy says. “I did.” He stops, because how can he explain it? He doesn’t even understand it himself. He doesn’t know why it mattered so much - or why it suddenly stopped mattering. It scares him a little, not to understand something he did. Not to be able to explain his own behavior.

“Why?” Max presses. 

“Because—” Billy runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “I don’t - I don’t know, okay?”

Max gives him a look. “You don’t know?”

“Because you were happy!” Billy bursts out, and Max’s eyes widen. “I’m an ass, okay? I didn’t - it’s not fair! It’s not fair that you get everything and I get treated like shit. And yeah, okay, he’s black, and I thought - but I don’t - it didn’t matter, right, it just felt like… like I could say it was because of that. Because I didn’t know why, so maybe - maybe that was the reason. And you kept sneaking off to be with him, and every single time - I got reamed out, every single time, and you never did, because - because he hates me - he hates me—” He stops, abruptly, because if he carries on he’ll cry himself, and that’s not something he’s going to do in front of Max. 

There’s a weighty silence. Billy feels… he feels weird. He feels like shit, because he just unloaded a bunch of shitty, ugly, nasty words and put them out there, out loud, and he doesn’t do that, he never does that.

But then there’s this other part of him that feels… light. Because he’s never done that, never told the truth, and in a weird way it feels good to get to do that, just once.

He has no idea what Max has made of his little speech. She’s just sitting there, staring at him. She’s probably going to kick him out of her room now. She must think he’s an idiot.

She says, very carefully: “I didn’t know you got in trouble when I hung out with Lucas.”

“You didn’t?” Billy says, surprised. Then he shakes his head. “Well, yeah, I mean… it doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, it does,” Max says. There are tears in her eyes, he realizes, and he hates himself even more. “I’m really sorry.”

“Oh, shit,” Billy says, alarmed. “Don’t be - I mean, it’s not - it’s not your fault.”

It’s kind of hilarious he’s saying that, actually, given how mad he was with her before. She seems to recognize the irony; she gives a wan half-smile. “I thought you were the one who always wanted to know what I was doing and where I was going,” she says.

Billy thinks back to the steely way she looked at him at the Henderson house. So if I stay where I’m meant to be, you won’t go after any of my friends? That’s what she’d said. He hadn’t thought about it much. But now - if she thought he was just a controlling ass, just like Neil, it makes sense. She was trying to negotiate with him.

“I’m not like him,” he says quietly.

“He won’t let me see Lucas because he’s black,” Max replies, her voice wobbling dangerously. “You can’t - even if you didn’t feel the same way, you still treated him like that.”

Billy considers this. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess so.”

“That’s all you’re going to say?” she demands. “That’s… that’s really bad, Billy!”

Suddenly, Billy just feels tired. So, so fucking tired, right down to his bones, because what can he say to that? Every time he’s tried to figure out what it was about Lucas Sinclair that made him so freaking mad, he couldn’t think of anything except the color of his skin. He couldn’t explain it any other way. And now, with Max interrogating him, demanding answers, he’s finally realized that it wasn’t that at all. But for a while there he’d been pretty sure it was, and he hadn’t really questioned it.

“That’s me,” he says flippantly, because there’s no way he can voice any of that. No defense he can give. Just Billy Hargrove, really bad, through and through.

Max stares at him. “Don’t you care at all?”

He shifts restlessly. “What fucking difference does that make?” he says.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Max says bitterly.

“That’s right,” Billy says, as carelessly as he can manage. Something is tightening in his chest. “Thought you knew that already.”

Her mouth falls open, and he can’t stand that look on her face - disappointment mixed in with the anger he’s used to seeing. “You’re just like him,” she spits. “He’s a racist asshole, and so are you.”

“I am not fucking racist!” Billy snaps back. “I don’t give a shit, okay? Hang out with him, hell, date him, do whatever the fuck you want with him, I don’t care! I’m not a goddamn racist, I’m not - I’m not like him!”

“So what’s changed?” she challenges. “You cared before. What the fuck is different now?”

Fuck. His eyes are prickling again. Billy looks away. “I don’t know,” he says.

“Bullshit,” Max says scornfully. 

Billy closes his eyes again. “I guess it went too far,” he grinds out. It’s hard to say. “Happy?”

“Not really,” she says acerbically. There’s a pause, and then in a softer voice, she says: “I don’t get it. I don’t get why you would convince yourself you were… that you cared about that, if you actually didn’t.”

“Because I’m a jackass, I guess,” Billy says wearily. He opens his eyes again, rubbing them tiredly with one hand. “I just wanted to be able to explain it,” he mumbles.

Max is scowling at him. “That’s so fucking stupid,” she tells him. “How is being a racist piece of shit better than being mad at me for having friends?”

Well, yeah, it sounds stupid when she puts it that way. Billy sighs. “I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly,” he says.

“Do you ever?” she snipes.

“Oh, fuck off,” he says, but there’s no heat to it.

There’s a long, long silence. Billy’s waiting for Max to tell him to fuck off, but he doesn’t want to be the one to leave; he doesn’t know what she’s thinking. Maybe she’ll be even more pissed off if he cuts the discussion short. His chest is tight, his stomach churning. He hadn’t even known he was thinking most of this stuff until he’d said it out loud. Now he’s blurted it out to one of the people who hates him the most, and he has no idea what to do next.

Max could be thinking anything. She’s frowning, not quite looking at him, and he’s sure she’s trying to process everything he’s said to her. Maybe she’s going to yell at him. Maybe she’ll laugh at him again. Billy didn’t think she could think any less of him than she already does, but he figures anything is possible.

When she finally does speak, though, she doesn’t do any of the things he thought she would. Instead she says in a very quiet voice: “What does he do?”

“What?” Billy says, startled.

“Neil,” Max says determinedly. “What does he do, when he’s mad at you?”

“Christ,” Billy says, and tips his head back to the ceiling. “Come the fuck on, Maxine—”

She shifts just a little closer to him. He’s not looking at her, so he’s not expecting it when she reaches out and touches the corner of his mouth; he flinches, and stares at her. Her eyes are wide, but she does it again. Her fingers find the bruise, dark and ugly, that Neil has stained on his skin. 

“He did that,” she says, “didn’t he?”

Gently, so she won’t get mad again, Billy moves away from her touch. She drops her arm to her side, but she doesn’t back away. He exhales. “Yeah, well,” he says. He looks sharply at her. “It’s not an excuse.”

Weirdly, that actually seems to amuse her; a small smile appears on her face. “You’re such an idiot.”

Billy folds his arms. “What?”

“You are!” Max exclaims. “You’re fine with being racist, that’s the reason you made up for why you’re such an asshole, but this - this isn’t an excuse?” She laughs out loud, although it’s not a particularly happy sound. “That’s so stupid!”

“I’m not fine with being racist,” Billy says. He doesn’t like the feeling of foolishness her laughter leaves behind.

Max raises her eyebrows. “Tell Lucas that,” she says.

Billy barks out a laugh, but otherwise doesn’t dignify that suggestion with a response. “Look,” he says. “What did Neil actually say to you? About Sinclair, I mean.”

She looks away. “He was really mad,” she says quietly. “He said if I don’t stop hanging out with Lucas, I can’t go to AV club anymore. He was yelling. He got up really close—” here she holds her arm out about a foot away, as if to indicate “—and just screamed at me. And mom… she didn’t say anything. She was upset, but she didn’t say anything.”

“She never does,” Billy says without thinking, and then wishes he could bite back the words when Max turns horrified eyes on him. He shakes his head. “Look, I can help, if you want.”

Max blinks at him. “Help?”

“Yeah, shut up,” Billy says, because her mouth is twitching again. “I have to ferry you around everywhere like a goddamn cab driver anyway, right? So how about you make some new friends?”

“What new friends?” she says suspiciously.

Billy rolls his eyes. “I don’t know! Call them whatever the fuck you want. You say you’re hanging out with… with Beth or Annie or whatever, I’ll back you up. Take you to his place, or whatever. You’d have to make sure his mom doesn’t say anything to Susan, though,” he warns.

Max says dismissively: “Oh, yeah, she won’t. Lucas already talked to her about that.” She squints at him. “You’d do that? You’re not going to throw me under the bus?”

“Why would—” Billy stops himself, because there’s an obvious answer to that. “No,” he says. “I’m not going to do that.”

There’s a pause as Max thinks about this. “Okay,” she says finally.

“Don’t tell your mom,” Billy tells her. “She’ll cave. He’ll find out.”

“Okay,” Max says, voice small. 

Billy hesitates. “And…” She looks at him; he doesn’t know how to say it. “Max, you can’t - you can’t tell anyone.”

“Tell—” She stops and her eyes flicker to Billy’s mouth again. She stills. “Okay. I won’t.”

“Not even Sinclair,” he presses. 

She nods slowly. “I promise,” she says. She looks into his eyes. “Why are you being like this?”

He shrugs. He’s been wondering the same thing, honestly; he can’t make sense of it. But even though he doesn’t like the way Max is looking at him, doesn’t like that talking to her makes him feel like he has to care about what she thinks of him, it feels… better. Better than the alternative.

He says: “I don’t know.”

Max tips her head to one side thoughtfully. She says: “I still don’t trust you.”

“I know,” Billy says heavily.

Max nods like she was expecting that. “Okay,” she says. She pauses. “It sucks that Neil’s like this.”

“Yeah,” Billy says. “It does.” It seems like a pretty tame way to describe it, but he gets it. It sucks. Everything about it sucks. It sucks that Max is all of twelve years old, and she’s having to keep secrets from her mom because she can’t trust her to protect her. It sucks that Billy’s lip is burning from the cut his dad put there. It sucks that he doesn’t know how to be a normal person, and she’s stuck with him as his only ally in this goddamn house. It sucks.

“You should have told me,” Max says, watching him.

Billy shrugs. He’s not apologizing for that. “It’s nothing to do with you,” he says. When she frowns, he adds: “Or it shouldn’t be.”

She says thoughtfully: “Does anyone else know?”

“Of course not,” Billy says derisively. He shudders at the thought of that; he can barely stand the fact that Max knows, and she lives here. She’s seen it for herself. It’s bad enough when Steve’s here and Neil uses it as an opportunity to humiliate him. The idea of anyone knowing more than that - knowing that tough, badass Billy Hargrove lets himself get shoved up against the wall, mouth bruised and lip split, by his own dad… 

He shakes his head. Humiliation doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“Okay,” Max says again. “Well, I won’t tell.”

Billy looks at her, and hopes he can believe her.

Chapter Text

By the time Friday rolls around, Billy’s had time to start feeling nervous about the weekend. He’s still pretty raw from the conversation he had with Maxine the night before Thanksgiving, and the day of forced celebration over Susan’s dry-as-fuck turkey hasn’t exactly helped matters. He oscillates between elation - because Steve invited him, Steve wants to hang out with him - to doubt - it could all be because of the project, Steve’s just worried about his grade - to despair - because even if Steve does want to spend time with him, it’ll never be enough for what Billy wants.

When he gets to that point in his thinking, he’s mad at himself, and it’s an effort not to snap at everyone around him. It wouldn’t take much for Neil to take away the whole weekend, and Billy can’t risk that.

Thanksgiving itself went much as it always does: Billy kept to himself as much as possible, wolfed down his meal as quickly as he could, and then headed to his room to sleep off the food coma. The only event of note came at the beginning of the day, when he walked into the kitchen rubbing his eyes and ready for breakfast.

His dad and Max were already sitting at the table, while Susan stood at the cooker stirring some scrambled eggs in a pan. Billy sat down yawning. He was still in the old t-shirt and joggers he’d worn to bed, because Thanksgiving morning was a day for lying in. He thought Maxine flinched just a little, as he took his seat, but he was too sleepy to give much of a shit. This turned out to be a mistake.

Susan said, turning: “Would you like some eggs, Billy… Oh!” 

Her shrill gasp made him jump. Max looked down at the table, but Neil paused his meal momentarily to look at his wife. Billy said cautiously: “What?”

“Oh, Billy, what happened?” Susan exclaimed. She touched her mouth, her eyes on his face, and Billy felt himself flushing. 

He pushed his chair back and went to the small mirror on the wall by the window. Far from fading as he’d hoped, the bruise his dad had left at the corner of his mouth had bloomed angry and purple around his split lip. Billy couldn’t help but glance at Neil in the mirror. His dad was eating with determination, as if completely unaware of Susan’s concern.

“Must have been yesterday, at the quarry,” Billy said, trying to sound unruffled. “We were all roughhousing, you know, messing about.” He turned away from the mirror and went to sit down again. He could feel Max’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look at her. “Looks worse than it is.”

“Oh - are you sure?” Susan’s voice faltered, and she looked at Neil, perhaps wondering at his lack of interest. Billy almost laughed. None of this should have come as a surprise to her, but Susan was very good at fooling herself.

He said: “It’s fine,” and then added quickly, before she could press him: “Eggs would be great.”

After breakfast, Billy applied a quick layer of cover-up to his face. It didn’t completely hide the bruising, and there wasn’t much he could do about the cut on his lip, but it looked a hell of a lot better. Susan didn’t bring it up again, and neither did anyone else, but right before Billy went up to his room after dinner, Max put her hand briefly on his arm and squeezed. Just once, just for a second - but it made him feel oddly warm.

He’s been hiding from his family ever since, but now it’s Friday morning, and he doesn’t have that option anymore. He gets up unusually early for a vacation day, spends longer than he should showering and styling his hair, and ignores that little voice inside that asks him why he’s doing it. The bruise on his mouth is still a vivid purple, but he covers it as best as he can with make-up, and finally comes downstairs for breakfast at nine thirty.

“Good morning, Billy,” Susan says politely, as he walks in.

“Morning,” Billy says, because in spite of his nervousness he’s in a good mood.

There are no eggs this morning, so he gets himself a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios and tries to be unobtrusive while he’s eating it. His heart is beating way too quickly for an ordinary Friday morning. Billy’s not even sure why he’s looking forward to seeing Steve so much; they’ve spent plenty of time studying together before. There’s no real reason why this should be different.

Except. Except that it is different, because they haven’t seen each other since Billy managed to get out his apology, and he doesn’t know what it’s going to be like. He tries to imagine a Steve who isn’t mad with him all the time, who doesn’t hate him. He has no idea what that would look like.

Max comes into the kitchen as Billy’s finishing off his second bowl of cereal. She’s already dressed, with her hair cascading over her shoulders, and her eyes flicker over to him as she sits down.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Susan says warmly. “What would you like for breakfast?”

Before Max can answer, Neil adds: “Did you sleep well?” Billy tries not to let that bother him.

“Yeah,” Max says. She glances at Billy again. “I’ll just have some Cheerios. Mom, is it okay if I go to a friend’s house today?”

Susan looks at Neil, her expression just a little fearful. “Well—”

“Which friend?” Neil asks. His voice is soft, gentle, but Billy has enough experience with his dad’s various tones to know that it could change in an instant.

“Jane,” Max says. Her gaze skitters over to Billy again. She’s not very good at lying; he almost rolls his eyes.

Susan frowns. “I don’t remember you talking about Jane,” she says.

“Well—” Max says, and then stops.

Billy puts down his cereal bowl with a thunk on the table. “Is that the weird chick you were talking to when I picked you up at school?”

Max throws him a grateful look. “She’s not weird,” she says, playing the part. “She’s really cool.”

“She barely spoke in full sentences,” Billy says, which has the benefit of being completely true. Max pulls a face at him.

“She’s nice,” she says. “She’s the first girl friend I’ve made since we got here.”

Susan says hastily: “That’s lovely, Maxine. It’s nice for you to spend some time with girls in your class.”

Neil says: “Billy will drop you off. Won’t you, Billy?” There’s a warning in his voice.

Billy rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. “You’ll have to be ready soon,” he tells Max. “I’m heading out in ten minutes.”

“Wouldn’t want to hold you up,” Max mutters. The trouble with playacting is that it highlights just how negatively she and Billy tend to speak to each other. Now that she’s doing it deliberately, it makes Billy wince.

Still, it seems that their first joint subterfuge has been successful. Billy brushes his teeth and gives his bruise one last layer of cover-up, and by the time he gets back downstairs Max is waiting by the door, backpack in hand. He gives her a quick nod, and then they head outside.

They’ve barely got three steps when Billy hears his dad’s voice. “Billy.”

He half-turns. So close. He’s so close. “Yeah?”

“I expect you back within the hour.” Neil’s voice is calm, even. Billy’s heart dances in his chest. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Billy says, and then he really is free.

*

By ten past ten, Steve is pacing. It’s ridiculous. He’s ridiculous. Seeing Billy shouldn’t matter any more than hanging out with anyone else. But for some reason, he’s been thinking about it ever since they hung up the phone late on Wednesday night.

Thanksgiving with his parents was utterly predictable. Steve’s mom made a huge mess in the kitchen, but ultimately emerged with a meal fit for kings; there’s enough leftovers in the fridge to feed an army. They all sat down, and came up with some contrived bullshit to be thankful for - Steve’s mom said she was thankful to be with her family, which was so fucking farcical that Steve actually rolled his eyes at the table. Luckily neither of his parents noticed.

Afterwards, they actually spent some time together, which was a first for that particular visit home. Steve’s mom rented a video from the store in town, and the three of them sat together in the living room watching Private Benjamin, pretending that this was normal.

It wasn’t actually a terrible movie, but Steve’s still never confessing to anyone that he saw it.

They got an early night, because Steve’s mom and dad had to get up early for their flight the next day. Today. His mom woke him up before she left, and he gave her a sleepy hug; then they were gone, flashing out of his life until Christmas. He can’t deny that he’s relieved that they’re gone, but he’s something else too. Resentful, or something. It’s old news, though, and he doesn’t want to spend too much time thinking about it.

At last, Billy’s car comes gliding up the drive, and Steve immediately darts away from the window and heads into the kitchen, like he hasn’t been waiting. He has his copy of Pride and Prejudice clutched in his hand. It feels like it’s been a while since they read together.

There’s a knock at the door, and Steve saunters across to answer it.

Billy is standing there, hands buried in his pockets and an incongruous pair of sunglasses sitting low on his nose. When Steve opens the door, he flashes a wide, trademark Billy grin. “Morning, princess,” he says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Hey,” he says. He steps out, shutting the door behind him.

“Maxine’s in the car,” Billy says offhandedly as they walk over to the Camaro. “Gotta drop her off first.”

Indeed, Max is sitting in the back seat of the car, hair all over her shoulders and a backpack beside her. She flashes Steve a quick smile as he climbs into the passenger side. “Hey,” Steve says to her.

“Hi,” Max says. 

“You hanging out with Lucas today?” he asks.

Max’s eyes slide over to Billy, strapping himself in. Billy coughs, takes his sunglasses off, and says in a slightly uncomfortable voice: “Yeah, but don’t say anything, Harrington.”

“Steve,” Steve says automatically. “Say anything?”

“We’re conning Neil,” Max says. She half smiles again. “He thinks I’m seeing Jane.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Jane?” he repeats. He glances at Billy. “Jane as in… Mike’s Jane?” He’d been about to say Jane as in El, but fortunately stopped himself just in time. 

Max shrugs, her eyes meeting his in the rearview mirror. “Well, Neil doesn’t know who she is,” she points out. “Jane’s about to become my best friend.” She rolls her eyes. “Mom’s just glad I’m not hanging out with boys anymore.”

“But you’re actually hanging out with Lucas?” Steve says.

Billy starts the car. “You got it, Steve,” he says dryly. “Keep it to yourself.”

Steve thinks about Billy’s dad, about the way he talked about Lucas that first time Steve was there for dinner. It makes him feel a white hot shiver of fury when he remembers it. He knows that Neil banned Max from seeing Lucas again. He also knows that she blamed Billy for that.

“So, the two of you… you’re in cahoots?” he says doubtfully.

There’s a peal of laughter from the back seat, and even Billy is smiling. “Cahoots,” he repeats, shaking his head. “Jesus, Steve, are you eighty years old?”

“Shut up,” Steve says, but he can feel the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Where am I taking you for your car, anyway?” Billy asks.

At this, Steve almost laughs. “The Byers’,” he says. He looks out the window. He doesn’t quite want to see Billy’s reaction to this mention of the house where they had their fight. “I was hanging out with Jonathan on Wednesday.”

There’s a pause. Billy says: “Not in a fit state to drive home?” He sounds amused.

Steve barks out an embarrassed laugh. “Turns out he’s got a higher tolerance than I do,” he says ruefully. “I was on another planet.”

“High?” This time, Billy sounds surprised. “Steve Harrington, you little rebel!”

Max giggles, and then abruptly shuts up, like she didn’t do it on purpose. There’s an odd, tentative sense of camaraderie in the air, and Steve can’t quite make sense of it. He says: “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure Jonathan will make fun of me too when we get there.”

“We’ll go to Sinclair’s place first and drop you off,” Billy says, jerking his head at Max. “It’s quicker, and I’m on a deadline.”

She tilts her head to one side. “Okay,” she says.

“What deadline?” Steve asks, and then wishes he hadn’t. Billy jams the sunglasses back onto his face, and looks out of the window.

Max says: “Neil says he has to be back soon.”

“Oh, right, yeah, okay,” Steve says, trying to cover for his complete inability to say the right thing at the right time. 

They drop Max off at Lucas’ house. Billy doesn’t go in with her, but he waits in the car, watching her, until the front door opens and she disappears inside. Steve doesn’t say anything, but it feels like a distinct change from his normal attitude with Maxine. Billy’s stance, however, doesn’t invite questions, and Steve’s still not feeling totally secure in their new status as friends. He’s not in the mood to start an argument.

Friends. Are they friends? Is that what this strange and fragile stalemate means? Steve’s still not totally sure. He thinks of Jonathan, saying that Steve should take Billy up on his offer to hang out with the cool crowd at school again. He kind of wishes there was a way of bringing it up again, but it’s not a conversation he wants to start himself.

“So why were you hanging out with Byers, anyway?” Billy asks. He’s not looking at Steve, but Steve can tell it’s not a totally casual question.

He shrugs. “He invited me,” he says, which is a half-truth. After all, Jonathan did invite him to come over anytime he wanted to talk, which is what he did. 

“I guess he’s alright,” Billy says magnanimously. 

Steve laughs. “Yeah, I like him,” he says. It’s nice, feeling like this is true. “Weird, I guess.”

Billy scratches his temple. “Isn’t it… isn’t it fucking awkward, though?” he asks. He’s concentrating very hard on the road. “You know, with him, like…”

“Dating my ex?” Steve finishes for him, and Billy lets out a huffing snort. “Yeah, it was, but…” He looks away. There’s no real way to explain why it doesn’t matter, not when Billy doesn’t know about the Upside Down. “I think he’s… better for her,” he says at last. That hurts to say, like a little hand squeezing like a vice around his heart, but it’s true. “He’s a good guy. And…” He stops.

“And?” Billy asks quietly.

Steve tips his head back against the headrest. “I needed to apologize to him,” he says. He laughs, the sound sharp. “I realized that I never did, after all the shit I said to him - you know, I told you what I said—”

“Yeah,” Billy says.

“I never told him I was sorry,” Steve finishes. “He forgave me anyway, but it was pretty shitty of me.”

There’s a long, long silence in the car, during which they begin to drive up the Byers’ long winding driveway. Billy looks like he’s thinking about what Steve just said, which makes sense; it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what gave Steve the inspiration to apologize out of the blue for something that happened over a year ago.

At last, he says in a quiet, measured voice: “And he - he’s over it now?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I guess it feels like we’re even now.” He smiles a little. “He was surprised I even brought it up.”

Billy is frowning, the motion shifting his glasses a little on his nose. “But it made a difference,” he says. “I mean, to you. For him to say that… that, you know, that you’re cool now.”

“Yeah,” Steve says slowly. He glances at Billy. Billy is watching the road intently. “Billy,” he says.

“What?”

Steve swallows. “You know we’re cool now, right?”

Billy still doesn’t look at him. “Don’t be an idiot, Harrington,” he says. But there’s a tiny smile on his face, underneath the sunglasses.

Chapter Text

“I don’t get it,” Steve says. His face is creased in concentration, which Billy is trying not to notice too much; it’s a weirdly attractive look. “I don’t get that thing she just said, the thing about having him in her power.” He tips his head to one side. “Can you read it again?”

Obligingly, Billy repeats: “In her opinion it admitted not of a doubt, that all her friend's dislike would vanish, if she could suppose him to be in her power.”

There’s a pause as Steve thinks this through. “So Charlotte thinks that Elizabeth would actually be into Darcy, if she thought he was in love with her?”

“Guess so,” Billy says. He frowns himself. “Doesn’t seem likely though, right? I mean, Lizzy doesn’t really care about all that crap.”

“I don’t think Charlotte actually knows her all that well,” Steve says thoughtfully.

They’ve been reading in Billy’s room since they got back to the house; it’s been almost an hour and a half, and they’re just reaching the end of the thirty-second chapter. Billy’s trying to stay cool. He keeps remembering that moment in the car, when Steve looked over at him and told him that they’re cool now, like they’re actually friends, and every time he thinks of it his chest gives a little leap.

He can’t have what he wants with Steve, obviously. But he’s getting to the point where he can feel alright with wanting it, because he’s hung out with Steve a couple of times now since he touched himself thinking about him, and the world hasn’t ended yet. 

Still, it’s not totally easy to spend time with him. Billy keeps noticing things, like the line of Steve’s jaw when he tips his head back as he’s listening to Billy reading, or the way the muscles stand out on his forearms when he pushes his sleeves up, or the thin strip of skin that shows between the hem of his sweater and the waistband of his jeans when he lies back against the headrest of Billy’s bed. 

Jesus. Billy looks away. He hasn’t been able to look at Steve properly since he got here.

“Do you think Darcy or Fitzwilliam are even into Lizzy?” Steve asks, totally unaware of Billy’s plight. His hair is kind of messy where he’s had it up against the headrest. 

Billy tries not to look. “Don’t know,” he says, but when Steve gives him a look, he sighs, and elaborates. “I think Darcy could be, yeah,” he says. “The book already said he’s into her a little, right?”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t even talk to her,” Steve points out.

Billy shrugs. “Maybe he’s just an awkward fucker.”

“He’s a douchebag,” Steve says, and Billy rolls his eyes.

Almost unconsciously, he touches the bruise on his mouth. It’s pretty well covered with the make-up he applied before he went out that morning, so he’d been hoping that Steve wouldn’t notice the slight blush of color underneath the still-healing cut in his lip. And Steve probably wouldn’t have noticed, because Steve is fucking oblivious, but it got taken out of Billy’s hands once they got to the Byers’ place to pick up Steve’s car.

He’d been nervous to go there. Sure, it seemed like Jonathan Byers was mostly cool with him at this point - they’d hung out at the Henderson place last weekend, and honestly Byers seemed kind of alright to spend time with. But the last time he’d been at the ramshackle little house out in the middle of nowhere, Billy had given Steve a concussion. And yeah, maybe Steve had just said that they were cool now, but Billy still felt a prickle of guilt and anxiety as he pulled up outside.

For fuck’s sake. He was turning into some kind of pussy.

In the end, though, it was okay. Byers answered the door, greeting Steve like the two of them were actually friends, which made Billy snicker behind his hand; it was kind of ridiculous how polite the three of them were all being to each other considering the circumstances. Jonathan let them both in, and then called for his mom, because he couldn’t remember where she’d put Steve’s keys.

Byers’ mom was a tiny, untidy-looking woman with dark eyes and a stained t-shirt under which it was quite obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra. Usually Billy would make a point of leering, but he didn’t really feel like doing that when he was only just in Steve and Jonathan’s good books. Besides, there was something strangely asexual about Joyce Byers; unlike Karen Wheeler, he didn’t get the sense that she’d be receptive to his advances, and he didn’t have any urge to make them either.

“Mom, this is Billy,” Jonathan said to her, as she came into the living room holding the keys.

Billy was expecting disapproval - she must be aware of what had happened in her house three weeks ago - but instead she smiled. It was a soft, gentle sort of smile. “Hello, Billy,” she said. She turned to Steve. “Hi, sweetheart. Are you feeling better?”

She was definitely warmer in her address to Steve, but it was miles away from the reaction Billy had thought he’d get. Steve scratched his head in an embarrassed kind of way, and said: “Uh, yeah, thanks, Mrs Byers.”

“Joyce,” she corrected him. “I’ve got your keys here.”

She moved forward to give them to him, and as she did she glanced at Billy. That was all it took - a single glance, and Billy’s cover was totally blown. Her eyes widened, and Billy stepped back instinctively.

“Mom?” Jonathan said, but she wasn’t listening.

“That looks painful,” she said quietly to Billy. Her hand reached out, but she stopped short of actually touching the split lip. “How did that happen?”

He didn’t miss the careful way she was watching him, like she knew that it wasn’t a good story. Steve and Jonathan were looking at him too, but it wasn’t the same. With Joyce Byers, Billy felt a little frisson of fear. He didn’t know if he could lie convincingly enough for her to believe him.

Steve said: “Oh wow, I didn’t even see that. What did you do?”

“Messing about with Tommy out at the quarry the other day,” Billy said, repeating the lie he had told Susan. He kept his voice light and steady. Steve nodded at once, instantly believing him, but he could feel Mrs Byers’ eyes on him. “It looks way worse than it is!”

“When was that?” Mrs Byers asked him.

He shrugged. “Day before Thanksgiving.”

Her eyes searched his face. “That lasted a few days. It must have been quite an accident,” she said.

“I barely even remember,” Billy said, and he gave a laugh that sounded forced to his own ears. “We were drunk as f… as anything,” he amended quickly, and he heard Steve stifle a snort.

Mrs Byers smiled at that, and then they left to drive back to Billy’s place. Billy spent the whole journey worrying about what Steve was thinking in his own car, if he had noticed Mrs Byers’ probing questions, if he would have suspicions of his own that Billy would have to divert once they got back to the Hargrove house. He shouldn’t have troubled himself; Steve was perfectly normal with him, and clearly hadn’t thought anything of Billy’s hasty lies.

Instead he’d said a cheery hello to Neil - he was waiting in the living room to check that Billy got back in time, which thankfully he had - and then followed Billy up to his bedroom, where they’d proceeded to read a couple of chapters as if nothing was amiss. Which it wasn’t, not really.

Billy says restlessly: “We’re going to fail this goddamn presentation.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “What? Why?”

They’ve been silent for a couple of minutes; Steve probably thought that Billy was thinking about Pride and Prejudice. Billy shrugs uncomfortably. He’s not even sure why he said it. “Shit, I don’t know,” he says. “We haven’t even finished the book.”

“Yeah, but we will,” Steve says peaceably. 

It’s like the cut on his lip: he can’t help but worry at it, even though he knows it’s not a good idea. “What if we don’t?” Billy presses. “What if we can’t get through the whole thing, or we’re too dumb to understand any of this shit?”

“Who are you calling dumb?” Steve asks, but his tone is teasing. Billy shrugs again, and Steve frowns. “Since when are you even worried about the presentation?”

“I’m not,” Billy says, which is half-true; it’s not the presentation that’s making him feel so antsy and keyed up. It’s the bruise on his mouth, feeling like a beacon drawing unwelcome attention; the way his cock twitches at even the sight of Steve; their new tentative friendship that he’s afraid of fucking up - which inevitably means he will; his truce with Max, hanging in the balance; the weekend ahead, actually sleeping under Steve’s roof… it’s just everything.

Steve sits up a bit, looking at Billy properly. “What’s up?” he asks. His voice is slow, careful.

“Nothing,” Billy says mulishly, since it’s not like he can actually tell Steve any of the stuff on his mind. It’s fucking ridiculous anyway, because he should be happy, but instead he just feels agitated and jumpy. 

“Okay,” Steve says. His eyes are narrowed, and he has his concentrating face on again. He looks out of the window. “You want to get out of here for a bit?”

Billy follows the line of his gaze. It’s a nice enough day, the sun glinting above the bare trees that border the road outside Billy’s house, although it was cold when they were standing around outside the Byers’ place. “Can’t,” he says brusquely. There’s no way he’s approaching Neil to ask if he can leave the house, even if just for a couple of hours. Neil could still take away the weekend.

“Okay,” Steve says again. There’s a pause. Then he says: “You know what my parents made me watch yesterday? Private Benjamin.” His voice holds a note of disgust.

In spite of himself, Billy feels the corners of his mouth twitch. “You never saw it before? It came out, like… five years ago.”

“I’m not really a movie person,” Steve says.

Billy raises his eyebrows. “How can anyone not be a movie person?” he demands. “Are you not a music person either? Are you only into live opera or some other bullshit like that?”

“I like music!” Steve exclaims. There’s a smile on his face, and Billy can feel himself matching it. “I’m just not into all that nerd stuff.”

“Movies are nerd stuff now?” Billy says. “Jesus Christ, Harrington, I can see how you lost the school so goddamn easily. How’d you even get to be top dog in the first place?”

For a second, heart beating hard, he thinks he’s gone too far, but Steve just laughs and throws a pillow at him. “Biggest house, always game for parties,” he says easily. “Best hair.”

“Until now,” Billy says, lifting his chin. He runs his hand through his hair in an affected sort of way.

Steve laughs again. “I’m pretty sure I still have better hair than you,” he says. “Is that what you and Tommy and Derrick and Carol and whoever talk about? Movies?”

“It’s what all the cool kids discuss,” Billy says seriously. “Me and Tommy were having a totally deep chat about Gremlins the other day.” This is not completely untrue; he’s pretty sure the topic had come up while they were all drinking by the quarry, at least.

“What’s that one about?” Steve asks.

Billy snorts at him. “Jesus, you never go to a freaking drive-in?”

“Nope,” Steve says, totally unrepentant. He picks up the discarded copy of Pride and Prejudice, and says, deadpan: “I’m more into reading.”

This time, it’s Billy’s turn to throw the pillow. He finds himself laughing, enough to make his body shake, and he tips his head back onto the cushion he’s got propped underneath himself at the end of the bed. He wouldn’t have particularly thought of Steve Harrington as being funny, especially as most of their conversations have had a sharp edge thus far, but it feels good to laugh like this. 

Maybe this is what actually being friends with Steve Harrington is like.

“You’re an idiot, Harrington,” he says. Steve gives him a lazy middle finger. Billy reaches over and snatches the book from him. “Where did we get to?”

“Charlotte just finished deciding that Lizzy should marry Fitzwilliam,” Steve replies promptly.

Billy rifles through the pages. “He seems pretty awesome.”

“Nah, I don’t think she’ll go for him,” Steve says, yawning. “Way too easy.”

Billy glances at him over the top of the book. “You think she’ll go for Darcy?”

Steve laughs. “Maybe,” he says. “She likes a challenge, right?”

A comment like that merits only a shake of the head. Billy returns his attention to the next chapter. “More than once did Elizabeth, in her ramble within the Park, unexpectedly meet Mr. Darcy,” he begins.

“Told you!”

Billy kicks at him half-heartedly. “Don’t be a dick,” he says admonishingly. “I’m reading here.”

Steve snorts. “Wow, yeah, sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to interrupt the master at work.”

“Don’t you forget it,” Billy says haughtily. “She felt all the perverseness of the mischance that should bring him where no one else was brought, and, to prevent its ever happening again, took care to inform him at first that it was a favourite haunt of hers…”

*

Lunch is awkward, even by the usual Hargrove standards at mealtimes. Susan calls them down at about quarter to one, and Billy closes the book on the end of the thirty-third chapter. Steve is feeling relatively exuberant; they’ve managed to get through several chapters in a short amount of time, and his worry about finishing the presentation on time is beginning to fade. 

It’s kind of nice, just being able to talk to Billy without feeling like he constantly has to keep his guard up. It’s funny, because Billy’s always seemed like such a weird unpredictable mystery until now, but Steve thinks that maybe he’s starting to be able to figure him out. Like earlier, when Billy started to bitch about not being able to finish the presentation on time - a couple of weeks ago, that might have pissed Steve off, because he would have thought it was evidence of Billy flaking out on him. But it had seemed obvious that Billy was feeling antsy about being stuck indoors, and it hadn’t been difficult to distract him from his bad mood.

Steve rolls his eyes just thinking about it. Maybe they wouldn’t have fought at all if he’d started talking about movies that night at the Byers’ place.

So he’s smiling as he heads downstairs after Billy, and maybe that’s why he doesn’t see it coming. Even though every meal he’s sat through in this house has been fucking weird, he’s just not prepared for the spectacular awkwardness on display today.

Susan has laid out bread and various sandwich fillings on the kitchen table, and there’s a bowl of green salad and a stack of plates to go with it, like a help-yourself diner. Max, of course, is still at Lucas’ place, so it’s just him and Billy sitting down with Susan and Neil; Neil is already in place, a scowl on his face as he watches Susan pouring glasses of water for everyone.

“Steve,” he says, as the boys come in. “Come and take a seat. I apologize for the makeshift meal.”

As the salad alone represents way more effort than Steve would usually make for a weekend lunchtime, he’s not really sure how to respond to that. He says, a little uncomfortably: “Oh, uh, thanks, Mr Hargrove,” and sits down on the other side of the table.

Billy takes a seat beside him. It doesn’t escape Steve’s attention that his dad didn’t greet him at all. 

There’s a palpable tension in the air, and at first Steve’s not sure what’s causing it. Susan sets two water glasses in front of him and Billy, and flutters away before he can thank her. When she returns with the other two, she puts them down without so much as looking at her husband. Neil, Steve sees, stiffens almost imperceptibly as she sits down beside him. 

Billy seems to have picked up on the uneasy atmosphere between husband and wife, looking from one to the other. Obviously deciding not to comment, he bends his head again and picks up a plate; Steve follows suit.

“How’s the studying going, boys?” Susan asks. Her voice is just the slightest bit wobbly.

Steve glances at Billy. “Yeah, it’s going well,” he says cautiously. 

“You’ve certainly been working very hard,” she says. “Are you enjoying the book?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. It’s almost a shock to be able to answer that way truthfully. He’s never enjoyed a book before. “I mean, sometimes it’s kinda hard to understand, but it’s a cool story.”

There’s a pause, and then Susan says, with a determined sort of look on her face: “What about you, Billy?”

Billy looks up, clearly startled by the question. He’s in the middle of spreading mayonnaise on his sandwich, his knife frozen in his hand. “Uh,” he says. His eyes flicker to Steve, and then back to Susan. “Yeah, I mean - sure, I like it.”

Neil snorts derisively. “No need to sound so enthusiastic,” he says sarcastically. He turns to Steve, his eyes like cold steel. “You must be in despair, Steve.”

Something about it just hits Steve the wrong way. Maybe it’s the look in Neil’s eye, like his opinion of Billy couldn’t be any lower. Maybe it’s the way that Billy’s head just drops, and he carries on making his sandwich without looking at anyone, like this is normal. Or maybe it’s just the way that it’s so blatantly untrue - if anything, Billy’s the one carrying Steve through this stupid project.

So he flashes his best Steve Harrington grin, and plays dumb. “Oh, man, yeah, I am,” he says, and Billy frowns at him. “It’s kinda hard to keep up.”

“Keep up?” Susan says.

“Well, yeah,” Steve says. He looks from her to Neil, who’s staring at him. “You know, because Billy’s so good at English. That’s what you meant, right?”

Under the table, Billy kicks at his foot. Steve ignores him.

Neil says slowly: “Good at English?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. He should probably be worried about how easy it is to maintain an air of general obliviousness to the undertones around the table. He goes on: “He has one of the top grades in the class, right?” This is actually true; Billy consistently ranks in the top three or four test scores when they have pop quizzes. 

“Harrington,” Billy hisses under his breath. Steve ignores this as well.

Now Neil looks at Billy, his eyes just slightly narrowed. “I wasn’t aware of that,” he says. There’s the faintest accusatory note in his tone.

Billy shrugs. His cheeks are pink. “It’s not the top, right?” he says insouciantly, and takes a large bite of his sandwich.

“Still, man,” Steve says. 

“It’s very impressive, Billy,” Susan says in a little rush. Billy looks up at her, and then shakes his head a little and continues chewing. 

And then for the rest of the meal, no one says anything. The silence feels like a physical presence in the room, hanging over the table and weighing down on Steve’s shoulders; the only sounds are those of sandwiches being assembled and eaten. Every now and again, Steve sneaks glances at the Hargrove family around the table. Susan keeps her eyes on her plate, her hands trembling a little as she helps herself to more salad. Billy is devouring his sandwiches like they’ll be taken away from him if he doesn’t eat fast enough, although Steve suspects he’s just trying to get through the meal as quickly as possible. And Neil… Neil eats slowly, a dark frown on his face that somehow sends a little unpleasant shudder down Steve’s spine. No one meets his eyes as he glances around the table.

At last, Steve and Billy finish their meals. Billy pushes his chair back noisily, and Steve hastily follows suit. He starts to take his plate to the sink, but Susan holds up her hand.

“That’s alright, Steve,” she says faintly. “You boys go and study.” It’s the first time anyone has spoken for about twenty minutes. It feels like hours.

Steve’s ebullient mood has faded somewhat, but it’s not too difficult to shake off the weight of the strangely silent meal once he’s back in Billy’s bedroom with the door shut. Of course, it’s easy for him - it’s not his family. Billy hasn’t so much as looked at him since everyone stopped talking, and Steve is a little afraid to start up a conversation. The last time things got weird at the Hargrove house, Billy nearly hit him.

He sits back on the bed and looks cautiously at Billy. Billy picks up Pride and Prejudice without a word, thumbing through the pages to find their place. Steve isn’t sure if he should bring up the awkwardness at lunch or not. He doesn’t want to rile Billy up - especially if he’s using the book to distract himself from his temper - but he also doesn’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. They’ve only just started to be friendly with each other, and Steve doesn’t want to lose that.

In the back of his mind, he wonders why it matters, why being friends with Billy matters to him enough to spend so much brainpower figuring out how to approach this. Dustin would call it Stockholm Syndrome. Maybe it’s because Steve’s kind of low on friends right now. He shakes the thought away; he doesn’t really want to question it too much.

“You okay, man?” he says guardedly.

Billy’s eyes flicker up from the book. He doesn’t look particularly pleased by the question. “Don’t be a dick, Harrington,” he says briskly.

“Steve,” Steve says. Billy rolls his eyes, and looks back at the book. Steve says swiftly: “Where are we up to?”

“Fitzwilliam just told Lizzy about how Darcy made Bingley split up with Jane,” Billy replies promptly, evidently relieved at the change in subject. “We’re about to start Chapter Thirty-Four.”

Steve nods. “Right, yeah, okay,” he says. He hesitates. “You’re not… Are you mad because of what I said, or whatever? I mean, you know, at lunch.” He’s thinking about the way Billy hissed his name at the table. He’d thought he was helping to divert Neil’s mean streak, but maybe Billy would have preferred him not to get involved.

For a moment, he’s not sure if Billy’s actually going to answer him. He’s still got his eyes trained on the pages of the book, but Steve’s pretty sure he’s not reading. At last, he rolls his eyes again. “Shut up, Harrington,” he says lightly. His eyes flick up to Steve’s face, and then hastily away again. “Are we doing this, or what?”

Steve leans back a little against Billy’s pillow. If Billy doesn’t want to talk about it, he’s not going to push it - but he’s still feeling a little perturbed. He doesn’t like the idea that he overstepped. And, rather ironically, he’s worried that Billy wouldn’t tell him if he had. The ceasefire between them is so new that Billy’s probably feeling the same reluctance to rock the boat that he is - and it’s probably worse for Billy, considering how everything that blew up between them before was his fault.

“Okay,” he says uncertainly.

Billy raises an eyebrow. “For fuck’s sake, Steve,” he sighs. “I’m not mad, okay?” He says it in such a huffy voice that Steve can’t help but snort; Billy rolls his eyes again, and kicks Steve’s shin lightly, but he looks amused. “Shut up.”

“Hey, I’m just waiting for you to read,” Steve says, fighting down his smile. “Master at work, and all that—” Billy kicks him again, hard.

Totally worth it.

Chapter Text

Darcy proposed to Elizabeth, and Steve can’t stop thinking about it. 

Okay, that’s a lie; what he really can’t stop thinking about is the fact that in about five minutes, Billy Hargrove will be turning up at his house to stay for the whole goddamn weekend, but he’s already nervous enough about the whole thing without dwelling on it more than he needs to. He’s not totally certain why he’s nervous, except for the fact that being friends with Billy is still so new, but he can feel it there, quivering in the pit of his stomach.

He’s not thinking about it. He’s thinking about Darcy proposing to Elizabeth, and how fucking whacked that was.

Billy had finished reading Chapter Thirty-Four yesterday at his place, and afterwards they’d both just kind of stared at each other for a minute or two. It’s kind of comical how invested they both are in the story at this point. Darcy fucking proposed.

After a few moments of silence, Billy recovered himself enough to say: “Well, fuck.”

Steve laughed, and the spell was broken. “Jesus,” he agreed. “I was not expecting that.”

“It makes sense, though,” Billy said thoughtfully. “He’s been obsessed with her for fucking ages.”

“Yeah, but he’s been a total dick,” Steve argued. “What, was he expecting her to say yes? They’re not even friends!”

Billy’s forehead furrowed as he considered this. He said slowly: “It’s like… like he’s only thinking about how he feels, or whatever. Like…” He paused. “Like he doesn’t even remember she has feelings at all.”

“What, so he decides he likes her and he just expects her to go along with it?” Steve replied skeptically.

Billy flashed a quick, oddly troubled smile. “What an asshole, right?” he said lightly.

“I don’t even get how he thinks he’s in love with her,” Steve said loftily. “He doesn’t even know her. They’ve had, like, three conversations. And most of those were arguments.”

“Maybe he watched her with other people,” Billy said. He was looking back down at the pages of the book, still frowning. “I mean… I don’t know, you think falling in love with someone is all about how they are with you, or how they are in general?” He coughed. “I mean, in this old-timey kinda way, where they can’t just hook up at a party or whatever,” he added hastily.

Steve laughed and shrugged. “I guess it’s how they are in general,” he said. “With Nancy—” He stopped; Billy glanced up at him, but didn’t speak. Steve went on a little unsteadily: “With Nancy, it was definitely how she was generally, not with me. I mean, I totally made her worse.”

“You still in love with Wheeler?” Billy asked. When Steve looked at him, he was studiously inspecting Pride and Prejudice again, as if the question was a totally casual one that didn’t matter at all. Steve appreciated Billy letting him save face, but that didn’t make it any easier to actually answer him.

He said: “I don’t know.” That, at least, was true. He swallowed. “Sometimes I look at her and I just feel, like…” He shook his head. 

“What?” Billy said.

“I mean, she’s awesome,” Steve said truthfully. “She’s so smart and she cares about literally everything, and she makes me better, you know? And I…” He dropped his head with a sigh. “I miss her. But then other times I think about her dumping me and I just get mad.”

Billy was watching him. “Why do you get mad?”

Steve puffed out an exasperated breath. “She dumped me for someone she swore she didn’t like that way,” he said. “I actually like Jonathan, but it feels like she lied to me for half our relationship. She pretended like she loved me, and then she told me it was all bullshit. She made out like I was this big weight on her shoulders, and I just… I mean, she didn’t have to go out with me! She knows I’m not smart like her, or whatever. Just because Barb—” He stopped abruptly. He hadn’t meant to say that.

Billy, of course, was quick to pick up on his slip. “Barb?”

“Just this girl,” Steve muttered. “Nancy’s best friend. She died last year.”

Billy sucked in a breath. “Shit.”

He didn’t elaborate, and Billy didn’t ask any more questions. Steve would have quite liked to talk more about Barb, actually, about how he’s pretty sure Nancy used him as a stabilizer while she dealt with losing her best friend so traumatically, but he can’t. There’s no way of explaining properly without telling Billy about the Upside Down, and even if he could find a way around that, Steve’s not sure if his brand-new friendship with Billy is ready for that kind of confession.

It’s a shame, because Billy is actually pretty easy to talk to once you get past the tough guy front he puts up.

That was yesterday, and thinking about their conversation hasn’t made Steve feel any less nervous about Billy coming for the weekend today. He doesn’t know what it is about Billy that makes him feel so goddamn anxious about spending time with him. It’s almost like anticipation, like the way you feel as a kid the night before Christmas, but with a streak of fear that he won’t make a good impression, or something. He never felt like this about Tommy, or any of his other old friends.

Then again, Steve is pretty sure that being friends with Billy is more real than any of the friendships he had before. He’s never been this honest with anyone, except maybe Nancy when she wasn’t in a judgy mood.

The doorbell rings, and Steve jumps up from the couch where he’s been pretending that he isn’t waiting for Billy to get here, like some lame puppy with nothing else to do with his day.

Billy is wearing his denim jacket with the wool collar and a pair of sunglasses; he flashes Steve his trademark wide grin as Steve opens the door. “Morning, Harrington,” he says.

“Steve,” Steve says patiently. His eyes flicker down to Billy’s arm; there’s a gray canvas backpack slung casually across it. Swiftly, he looks back at Billy’s face.

“Steve,” Billy repeats, rolling his eyes. He takes his sunglasses off his face. “You going to let me in, Steve?”

Suppressing a smile, Steve stands aside, and Billy walks into the house. He glances from left to right as if he’s never been there before, eyes darting to the package on the hall table that came the day before for Steve’s dad, and then finding the watering can next to the plant at the end of the hall that Steve forgot to put away. Like he’s finding everything that’s different since the last time he was here.

Steve kind of wants to ask about it, but he doesn’t. Instead he says: “Want a drink?”

“Yeah, okay,” Billy says. “Want to go to a party tonight?”

He grins, shark-like, when Steve turns to face him with raised eyebrows. “A party? You mean at Derrick’s place?” He’d heard people talking about it at school, but he hadn’t thought about it much more than that. Without Nancy beside him it’s hard to imagine going to school parties. Who would he talk to? 

“That’s the one,” Billy says, nodding. They’re in the kitchen by now, and Steve pours out a couple of glasses of orange juice. “You in?”

“I thought you were grounded,” Steve says, stalling for time. The idea of going to Derrick’s party honestly makes him feel pretty unsettled, almost anxious. If Billy’s inviting him, he would at least have Billy to talk to, which actually makes it a kind of fun thought, but then Tommy wouldn’t like that - but Billy said he’d talk to Tommy about that… Steve’s head is already swirling. He picks up his orange juice and moves through into the lounge.

Billy follows him. “I mean, yeah, but I’m here,” he points out reasonably. “My dad isn’t going to know.”

Steve sits on the couch. “He won’t check?” he asks dubiously.

“Nah,” Billy says, sitting next to him. He hesitates. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” he says.

“It’s not that,” Steve says. It’s been forever since he’s actually had fun at a party. “I just think Tommy’s going to be a little shit about it.”

Billy shrugs. “Who cares?” he says lazily. “Tommy’s an asshole.” He grins. “Don’t worry, princess, I won’t throw you to the wolves.”

Steve thinks about it. It could actually be pretty fun; Steve’s missed doing ordinary teenage shit like getting drunk at parties - without Nancy ruining it for him, he thinks guiltily. It wasn’t exactly her fault, but she did ruin it. Steve used to be the life and soul. It’s been a while since he inhabited that persona.

“Yeah, okay,” he says.

“Yeah?” Billy says. 

Steve nods. “Yeah, I’m in,” he says decisively. “We going to read this goddamn book, or what?”

Billy laughs, and says cheerfully: “You sound like me, Harrington.”

“Steve,” Steve says, and kicks at him playfully. “So fucking what?”

*

“Okay, read it again. I’m still not getting this.” Steve pinches the top of his nose, shaking his head like someone asked him to do quantum physics or something.

Billy rolls his eyes. “It’s not that complicated, Steve,” he says. “Wickham’s an asshole, and everything he told her was a pack of lies.”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Steve says, glaring at him. “It’s the bit at the beginning I don’t get. Can you read the thing about her heart again?”

“You read it,” Billy says. Steve glares at him again, more seriously this time. Billy doesn’t back down, meeting Steve’s eyes. For some reason, it feels important to keep doing this, though he’s trying not to do it too much. Not that Billy’s put a ton of thought into Steve’s dyslexia, or anything.

Well, he hasn’t, not really. It’s just that Steve so obviously thinks he’s stupid, and it pisses Billy off. He remembers Steve’s dad making some kind of comment about his difficulties with reading at one of their dinners. No surprises that he’s not exactly a helpful parent. And Billy hadn’t missed what Steve said yesterday about Nancy, either. She knows I’m not smart like her, as if the accepted status quo in Steve’s relationship with Nancy Wheeler was that she was the clever one and he was the dumb jock she was lowering herself to date. 

It’s fucking ridiculous, because Steve’s anything but stupid. Billy can’t exactly say that to him, but maybe if he makes Steve read aloud every now and then, acts like it’s not a big deal - because it isn’t - then maybe Steve will start to realize it for himself.

“You’re such an ass,” Steve mutters, but not like he really means it. He grabs the book, huffing as he tries to find the sentence he wants. “But I shall … shall not scr…scruple to assert…” He pauses, eyes flickering over to Billy. Billy keeps his face steady, and after half a second Steve goes on: “...that the ser…seren…” He stops again.

“Serenity,” Billy says calmly.

Steve pulls a face. “Serenity,” he repeats. “The serenity of your sister’s countenance and... and air was such as might… might… Goddammit!”

“Halfway there,” Billy says. He makes his voice sound almost bored.

For a long moment, Steve just looks at him. Then he bends his head again, and says: “...might have giv…given the most a…acute observer a c…con...” He pauses again, glancing almost guiltily at Billy.

Billy leans over and scans the page. “Conviction,” he says.

“Conviction,” Steve says with emphasis. “A conviction that, how...however a...amiable her temper, her heart was not likely to be easily touched.” He finishes with obvious relief in his eyes, and just like the last time, he looks up at Billy as if to see how he’ll react.

Of course, Billy very conspicuously doesn’t react at all. “So,” he says. “What’s not to get?”

Maybe he’s imagining the tiny smile twitching at the corners of Steve’s mouth, but he doesn’t think so. “That’s a lot of long words,” Steve points out. “What the fuck does it even mean?”

“I think he’s saying that Jane acts so calm that anyone would think she wasn’t really into Bingley,” Billy says, looking back down at the page. “Like, it’s not just him being prejudiced, or whatever.”

“That’s bullshit, though,” Steve says. “How would he even know?”

Billy shrugs. “Well, yeah, I mean, he admits that, doesn’t he?” He runs a finger down the lengthy paragraphs. “Here. If you have not been mistaken here, I must have been in error. Your superior knowledge of your sister must make the latter probable. But isn’t that kind of what Charlotte was saying earlier? You know, when she said that Jane should show Bingley more than she feels.”

Steve thinks about this. “Elizabeth thought that was bull, though,” he says. 

“Weren’t you the one on Charlotte’s side?” Billy asks, smirking. “You said that whole thing about… what was it? Gratitude and vanity?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I just said that someone’s probably more likely to be into you if you’re nice to them,” he says. “Look at Darcy, right? He’s an asshole to Lizzy and then he’s surprised that she doesn’t like him.”

“Yeah, so Jane isn’t an asshole, but she doesn’t really show Bingley she’s into him,” Billy argues. “She treats him the same as she does anyone else.”

“Everyone wants to be special,” Steve says thoughtfully.

“Exactly,” Billy agrees, and then stops, startled. It’s unusual for them to come to the same opinion without a fight. He shakes his head a little, and then says: “So Darcy has a point.”

Steve tips his head to one side. “Yeah, maybe, but it still wasn’t up to him to get involved.”

“Wouldn’t you, though? Like, if you thought your friend was making a mistake, or didn’t see what was going on?” Billy challenges.

Steve shrugs, but Billy can tell he’s considering the question. “Maybe I’d talk to them about it,” he says. “But I wouldn’t go that far.”

Billy thinks about Tommy persuading Steve that Nancy was cheating on him, encouraging him to graffiti the neighborhood in retaliation. He wonders if Steve is thinking about it too; Steve has his head tipped right back, gazing at the ceiling. Steve made his own choices, sure, but he’s made it pretty clear that he relied way too heavily on Tommy’s judgement of the situation. Billy tries to imagine letting anyone influence him enough to make him do something he’d regret later. It’s not much of a stretch.

“You want to go for a walk or something?” Steve asks, looking over at him. 

“A walk? It’s fucking freezing!” Billy scoffs. 

Steve - there’s really no other word for it - tosses his head, his hair whipping around in a way that Billy is determinedly not going to let himself think about too much. “I can’t take any more Austen,” he says. “I feel like it’s all I think about at the moment. It’s making my head explode.”

In spite of himself, Billy feels a lurch of disappointment. “You don’t like it?”

Steve’s eyes widen. “No, I like it!” he says swiftly. He gives a short laugh. “Way more than I thought, man. I just need a break, that’s all.”

“Yeah, okay,” Billy says, because this is after all reasonable. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. He looks sideways at Billy. “You think of something. It was my idea to go for a walk.”

Billy resists the urge to stick out his tongue. “Fucking stupid idea,” he mutters. He stretches out his arms, trying not to think about what he’d like to spend the rest of the day doing with Steve Harrington. “Okay, Steve. What do you usually do when you get some time? You said you’re not a movie person, right?”

“Right,” Steve says, looking strangely unhappy for a moment. Then he seems to shake himself, and the expression passes from his face. “I don’t know, man, I guess I just hang out.”

“Hang out,” Billy repeats. “You’re such a boy scout, Harrington.”

Steve grins, and shoves a cushion at him. “Shut up,” he says. He laughs suddenly. “You act like such a tough guy, Billy Hargrove, and it’s such bullshit.”

“The fuck, Harrington!” Billy exclaims. Banter aside, that’s actually insulting; Billy is most definitely a tough guy. “I don’t remember you calling bullshit when I kicked your ass three weeks ago.”

There’s a silence, and Billy looks down at his hands. What a fucking idiot. What an absolute moron. He wants to cram the words back into his mouth, make them disappear as if he’d never said them. It’s so easy to forget, sometimes, that it’s been less than a month since he and Harrington were at each other’s throats; sometimes they talk like they’ve always been friends, like it’s always been this easy between them. 

But it hasn’t, and Billy’s an asshole for forgetting. He wants to shake the version of himself that rolled up in Hawkins and gravitated straight towards Tommy and the rest of that lot without giving Steve a second thought. If they’d just had one conversation - if he’d just waited a second - it would have been so clear what a fucking idiot Tommy is, and how much more awesome the former king could be as a friend. But he didn’t. And now he has to deal with the consequences.

Steve says: “Billy.”

Billy looks up, and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Steve has a serious expression on his face. Billy says quickly: “Sorry. That was a dumb thing to say.”

Steve looks surprised by the apology. He hesitates, and then says: “You know, man, this is what I’m talking about.”

“What?” Billy says, blinking at the unexpected comment. “What is?”

“You,” Steve says, and then, incredibly, he laughs. “Acting like such a tough guy, when really you’re totally…”

Billy raises an eyebrow, folding his arms. “Totally what?”

Steve grins almost mischievously. “Soft,” he says, with the air of someone who knows exactly what they’re saying and to whom.

“Wow, fuck you,” Billy says, but he can feel his mouth flickering with a smile. “You think I’m soft? Really?”

“Nah, not really,” Steve says easily. “Just, you know…” He pauses, while Billy waits, trying not to show how desperately he wants to hear the end of that sentence. “Not as tough as you think you are,” Steve decides at last.

Billy flicks the cushion back at him. “I’m exactly as tough as I think I am,” he says. He lifts his chin, and takes a risk. “You’re just not a threat.”

“You wish I wasn’t a threat,” Steve says.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Billy informs him.

The cushion hits Billy squarely in the nose. “Your face doesn’t make sense.”

He makes a show of picking it up and fluffing it. “Rude.”

Steve laughs. “So what do you want to do?” he asks.

Billy has a few ideas. The loudness of his ideas in his head is actually kind of disturbing; he wants Steve to touch him, to keep grinning at him like an idiot - he wants Steve to want him. The things he wants are impossible. He wonders whether he can challenge Steve to an arm wrestle, keep the whole tough guy joke going - but he can’t do it. Can’t touch Steve like that when it’s a proxy for everything else he wants.

“Cards,” he says decisively. He smiles, and ignores the way his stomach is clenching at sight of Steve’s answering grin. “Harrington, I’m going to teach you how not to suck at poker.”

“Bring it,” Steve says, eyes glittering.

Billy swallows. It’s going to be a long day.

Chapter Text

Steve is uncharacteristically quiet in the car on the way to Derrick’s party. Billy is aware of it, but there doesn’t seem to be much point in mentioning it; he knows full well why Steve isn’t totally on board with hanging out with his former friends. He’s actually kind of surprised Steve agreed to go in the first place.

He’s glad he did though. Billy enjoys parties and booze and crowds of drunk teenagers in a lazy, uncomplicated sort of way, and it can only be more fun with Steve by his side. Not that Steve is by his side, or whatever, but he’s there, and that’s got to be about a hundred times better than another lame evening with Tommy fawning over him all night.

The rest of the day had gone as smoothly as the beginning. Billy had indeed tried to teach Steve how to bluff his way through a hand of poker; he was exceptionally bad at it. It was kind of hilarious. For lunch, Steve made pasta in tomato sauce, and gave Billy a huge bowl of it covered with grated cheese. Billy, who had skipped dinner the night before and breakfast that morning as a means of avoiding Neil and his black mood, practically inhaled it.

“You’re not a bad cook, Harrington,” he said when he finally resurfaced.

Steve was watching him with a mixture of fascination and repulsion in his expression. He flushed a little at the compliment. “It’s only pasta,” he said. “You’ve got tomato sauce on your face.”

Unabashed, Billy scrubbed at his face with his hand, and grinned. Steve just shook his head, but Billy could see him smiling.

After they’d eaten, they returned to Pride and Prejudice. They got through another three chapters, bickering amicably about the contents of Darcy’s letter and Lizzy’s reaction to it; Steve was of the opinion that she was being too hard on Mr Darcy, whereas Billy thought she wasn’t being harsh enough. It was nice to be able to take their time with it, to lay back on Steve’s couch and lazily discuss the antiquated language. For the first time, they had speculated about what might happen at the end.

“I think they’ll get together,” Steve said. “She’s found out all the worst shit about him isn’t true, right? I think she’ll fall for him in the end.”

“No way,” Billy scoffed. “He’s an asshole. You can’t just be an asshole at the beginning and expect to get the girl at the end.”

Steve looked thoughtful. He said: “I did.”

Billy didn’t need to ask what he was talking about. “Yeah, but then you lost her,” he said, perhaps a little unkindly. He added hastily: “And anyway, she wasn’t the right girl.”

Steve just rolled his eyes, and then they changed the subject.

By dinner time, Steve was beginning to get kind of fidgety, looking up at the clock on the wall of the living room a couple of times. Billy shut the book with a snap. He was pretty tired of reading by now, anyway; he figured with another day of it tomorrow they’d be well on the way to finishing by Steve’s self-imposed deadline. And if not, well… well then, they’d have to spend another weekend doing the same thing. It didn’t seem like the worst idea in the world to Billy.

“You going to show me where I’m staying?” he asked breezily.

“Oh, right, yeah,” Steve said, like he’d forgotten Billy was spending the night. He got up and started walking out of the room; Billy picked up his backpack and followed him up the stairs.

He’d already seen Steve’s room, of course, but there was a lot of the house that he hadn’t had the opportunity to map out. Like always, he tried not to be too obvious about it, his eyes darting from place to place as Steve led him down the hall. All the doors were closed, which made Billy a little uneasy. He didn’t much like closed doors, particularly when he didn’t know what might be behind them.

Steve’s bedroom was right at the end of the hall, and the door immediately to the left of it led to the bathroom. That much Billy knew already. Steve went to the door on the other side of his room, turning the handle and pushing it open. “This is the guest room,” he said. He paused, and then stepped back to allow Billy to go in first.

Billy walked into the room. It was smaller than Steve’s, of course, with plain white walls and blue chintz curtains hanging at the window. The bed was a small double with a bedspread that matched the curtains, pushed up into the corner of the room so that there was room for a white dresser against the opposite wall. Above the dresser hung a pastel abstract painting that made Billy’s eyes hurt to look at. Next to the dresser was a tiny sink with a square mirror hanging over it. There was a white nightstand beside the bed with a lamp and a little alarm clock on it. A blue blanket was folded at the end of the bed, and there was a cream rug underfoot.

Billy took all this in over the course of a minute or two, putting his backpack on the bed as he looked around. He was conscious of Steve watching him; Steve wasn’t exactly the most observant person in the world, but even he would start to notice the way Billy always took his time mapping out new places, if Billy wasn’t careful.

“Looks nice,” he said.

Steve shrugged. “Sorry about all the…” He waved an indistinct hand at the floral print on the curtains and bedding.

“No problem, man,” Billy said. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

“You want to order a pizza or something?” Steve asked. “My dad left me some cash before they went. He always does,” he added, a touch of moroseness in his voice. “I think so he doesn’t feel bad for fucking off.”

Billy tried to imagine being anything other than overjoyed if Neil decided to take an extended trip away from the house. He couldn’t quite picture it. “Well, you should definitely capitalize on his guilt trip,” he said bracingly, clapping Steve on the shoulder and then pulling away almost instantaneously. He still can’t really trust himself to actually get in physical contact with Steve. “You mind if I take a shower while you make the call?”

He touched up the make-up on his mouth after showering - the bruise is beginning to yellow, but it’s still very visible without cover-up - and styled his hair in the little mirror above his sink. When he emerged from his room wearing a fresh shirt and a chain around his neck, he found Steve waiting downstairs with pizza. They ate it together on Steve’s living room floor together with a couple of beers Steve’s dad left behind, and for a fleeting moment Billy wished that he hadn’t suggested the party at all.

Still, he couldn’t exactly say so, so he cleared up the pizza boxes while Steve took a shower. He deliberately didn’t look at him when he came back downstairs, guessing - correctly - that the sight of a damp Steve with his shirt sticking a little to his collarbone would be too much for his cock to handle.

Now they’re sitting in Billy’s Camaro, drawing nearer and nearer to the party, and Billy has yet to actually look at Steve properly. His excuse is that he’s driving. It hadn’t made sense for both of them to take a car to Derrick’s house, since they’ll be coming back to the same place, and at least this way one of them can have a drink. Steve sure looks like he could do with one. Or three.

“Cheer up, Harrington,” Billy says, glancing sideways at him. “Can’t go worse than the Netherfield shindig, right?”

Steve barks out a surprised laugh at that. “Yeah, true, true,” he acknowledges. He leans back a little in his seat. “As long as you promise not to sing.”

“You know, I think I can swear to that,” Billy says cheerfully, pulling into Derrick’s already overcrowded driveway. “Kinda offended you cast me as Mary freaking Bennet, though, Jesus.”

“What, you think you’re a Lizzy?” Steve teases, unbuckling his seat belt. He shakes his head, and Billy risks looking at him briefly. His hair is looking especially glorious this evening. Billy looks away again quickly.

“Everyone’s a comedian,” he says, and they get out of the car.

Billy has been to Derrick’s place before, so he doesn’t have to waste time categorizing much more than the additional cars parked haphazardly outside his house. Another One Bites The Dust is blaring out of the windows and the open front door, and there are a few little groups of people hovering around the cars and on the porch. Billy tilts up his chin, does his best swagger as he approaches the house. Steve, half a step behind him, has one hand in his pocket, the other swinging casually by his side.

As he approaches, a girl peels away from the group hanging out on the porch. “Hey, Billy,” she says. It takes Billy a second to place her; it’s Heather Green, the chick he was meant to be seeing the night of the fight. They’ve spoken a couple of times since at school, but he didn’t ask her out again after abruptly cancelling their date, and she hasn’t pushed it.

“Hey, Heather,” he says. She really does have the most impressive pair of jugs. She bounds over and presses her mouth to his cheek; her breath smells of beer and cigarette smoke. “How’s it hanging?”

“Yeah, you know,” she sighs, leaning against his shoulder. Then she stiffens and looks over his shoulder. “Holy shit, Steve Harrington’s here!”

Billy might have been offended at her obvious interest, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s entirely deserved. He turns, and for the first time he takes in Steve - Steve dressed for a party, in a tight white tee and a tan bomber jacket, looking effortlessly attractive, frowning just a little like he couldn’t give less of a shit to be here. One hand is half in his pocket, and with the other he pushes back his hair, a slick movement that makes Billy’s dick pay attention straight away.

Jesus Christ.

At the sound of his name, Steve looks over at Billy and Heather like he’s only just spotted them. He says casually: “Heather, right?”

Heather practically melts onto Billy’s shoulder, giving a stupid little giggle. Billy, annoyed and knowing he has no reason to be, steps back so she’s not leaning on him anymore. “You’re way too sober, Harrington,” he says. He gestures at Heather. “Gotta catch up.”

“Wait,” Heather says, looking between them. “Did you guys come together?”

“Designated driver,” Billy says, pointing at himself.

She squints at him. “I thought you didn’t even like him,” she says. Billy winces, but fortunately she’s too drunk to notice. “That’s totally awesome!”

“Totally,” Steve says, deadpan. Billy smothers a snicker.

“Hey, Hargrove! You made it, dude!” This voice belongs to Derrick himself, who comes barreling out of the front door and down the steps. Billy takes the opportunity to take another tiny step away from Heather and towards Steve. Derrick comes to a halt in front of him, his pale face split into a wide grin. “How’s it hanging, man?”

Billy raises his hand for a fist bump almost automatically. “Yeah, not bad, not bad,” he says, leaning forward to clap a hand on Derrick’s back. “Party looks pretty full already, huh?”

“The night’s still young,” Derrick says, and then he notices Steve, and his words stutter to a halt. He glances back at Billy, a hint of nervousness in his eyes.

It’s almost funny, except for the fact it really isn’t. Everyone knows that Billy never misses an opportunity to rag on Steve Harrington. Seeing him here, standing a foot away from Billy with no hint of a confrontation having taken place, must be confusing as hell for someone like Derrick. He stands there, waiting for Billy to show him what’s expected of him.

“You going to say hello to Harrington, or what, man?” Billy says, shoving Derrick playfully in the shoulder. 

All credit to Derrick, he rolls with it. “Hey, man,” he says to Steve, and he actually sounds pretty happy to see him. Billy has to remind himself that Derrick used to bow down to King Steve, before Billy came along. “How’s it hanging?”

“Yeah, it’s chill,” Steve says easily. Billy looks away while they bro-hug it out, trying to ignore the spike of jealousy that ripples through him. “Stellar party, man.”

Derrick smiles. “Thanks,” he says.

Heather, clearly deciding she’s had enough of being left out, puts in: “Yeah, it’s bitching. Billy, you want me to get you a beer?”

“For sure,” Billy says.

Unexpectedly, she turns to Steve. “You want one too, Steve?” She pushes her tits out a little as she’s saying it; Billy grinds his teeth.

Steve’s eyes flicker very briefly to Billy. “Sure,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Ooh, looks like you got yourself a little competition, Hargrove!” Derrick teases. “Thought you had Heather all to yourself, huh?”

Billy cuffs Derrick around the back of the head. “As if Harrington’s got a prayer,” he says good-humoredly, but he can’t help but sneak a quick look at Steve anyway. Billy has no interest in dating the same girl twice - never has, not even back in Cali - but as far as he knows, Steve’s a one-woman kind of guy. He was with Wheeler forever, right? What if he’s interested in Heather, or one of these other girls who would doubtless be happy to let him take them out?

It’s going to be way too hard staying friends with him if he gets a girlfriend. But Billy’s going to have to suck it up, because he has absolutely no right to complain.

Steve laughs, and says: “Like I’m into Billy Hargrove’s sloppy seconds, anyway.”

“Come on,” Derrick says, slinging an arm around Billy’s neck. “If neither of you want her, there’s no point in waiting around, right?” He laughs a little meanly. “She can track you down later. Tommy’s inside.”

“Coming, Harrington?” Billy says, as he and Derrick start to walk towards the house. 

Derrick looks back at Steve over his shoulder. “Yeah, come on, Steve,” he says. “Tommy’s going to lose his mind, and I for one want to have a front row ticket.” He laughs again; Billy and Steve roll their eyes almost in unison.

It’s a nice, spacious house - nothing to Steve’s place, of course, but way nicer than Billy’s - and there are people crowded into every inch of it. They’re pressed up against the walls, holding onto cans of beer, talking and laughing and dancing and making a ridiculous amount of noise. Billy loves it. He loves the chatter and the melee, the way you can’t hear yourself think, the way everything smells of booze and sweat and cheap deodorant, the flirting, the couples making out in the corners of the room - although it’s a little early for that yet - the games, the reckless stupidity - all of it. He feels free at a party. He feels like for once, he doesn’t have to watch his back every second.

Several people greet him as he walks with Derrick through the lounge. Behind him, he can hear them greeting Steve as well - and more than that, he can hear a general muttering following them as they weave in between the different groups of people. Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington turning up at a party together is News. Billy had expected as much, but it’s still kind of disconcerting.

When he turns to see how Steve is handling the attention, he’s pleasantly surprised to see him smiling and chatting, bumping fists and shaking hands. It’s easy to forget that Steve’s a pro at the whole popularity thing - but then, why should that be a surprise? Billy already knows Steve is cool, and it’s only the hangover from his old way of thinking about King Steve that makes Steve’s suave party persona seem unusual.

“Billy!” It’s Tommy, at last, and Billy tenses as he approaches. He’s planning on getting his way with this one - but he’s not sure how much of a bitch Tommy is going to be about it. After all, Tommy and Steve had beef way before Billy arrived on the scene.

“Hey, man,” he says, leaning forward for a bro-hug. “Looking slick,” he adds, because it’s true - Tommy has upped his game with a leather jacket and a gray polo over his jeans. Billy likes to think that’s his influence.

Tommy laughs. He’s definitely a little loaded, which could work out in Billy’s favor - or could go the complete opposite way. “Thanks, man,” he says.

Feeling it’s better to get things out in the open straight away, Billy gestures to Steve. “I brought Harrington,” he says. “You didn’t tell me how sweet his place is, man. We should be partying there every goddamn weekend!”

As a means of breaking the ice, it’s not exactly successful. Tommy flinches at the sound of Steve’s name, pulling away from Billy to glare at him with a hard expression on his face. Behind him, Billy hears Derrick mutter: “Wish I had popcorn, dude…”

For the first time, he wonders if he’s overstretched himself. Maybe even the great Billy Hargrove isn’t popular enough to overcome how much Tommy hates Steve Harrington.

“Hey, Tommy,” Steve says evenly.

“Harrington,” Tommy practically spits. His eyes dart back to Billy. It must be quite the calculation: how far can he challenge Steve, when Billy just announced that he was the one who brought him to the party? He looks back at Steve. “You and Billy friends now, or something?”

Steve takes a tiny step forward. “That’s right,” he says. Billy, in spite of himself, feels his heart leap in his chest. 

“What, and you figured you could just show up here like nothing happened?” Tommy demands. He glances at Billy. “Billy’s cool, but he doesn’t know what a fucking snake you are.”

“Jesus, Rambo, dial it down a notch,” Billy says lightly. Tommy looks furious, but he shuts up. “What’s your damage, Tommo? You know, you had me all ready to think Harrington was an asshole, but he doesn’t seem so bad to me.”

Tommy folds his arms tightly across his chest. “No offence, Billy, but I’ve known Steve a hell of a lot longer than you have.” His eyes narrow. “Since kindergarten, actually. But he threw all that away over some uptight chick, and now he just wants back in? It’s nice you think he’s cool, and all, but that’s King Steve for you: he’s totally cool until he takes a shit all over your brotherhood.”

Steve sucks in a sharp breath when Tommy refers to Nancy as an uptight chick, but otherwise doesn’t interrupt Tommy’s little speech. Billy’s kind of impressed that Tommy had the stones to stand up to him like that. And it’s interesting to hear what he has to say, because it turns out that underneath all the stupid banter and bravado, Tommy’s just upset that a friendship decades in the making ended so badly.

Jesus. Maybe they’re all the goddamn same - acting like an asshole when really they’re just hiding some tough-guy pain.

“Tommy,” Steve says, his voice just the slightest bit unsteady. “Can we talk about this somewhere else?”

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Tommy snaps back.

Steve closes his eyes briefly. “Come on, man, hear me out,” he says.

This is it; this is the moment where Billy finds out if his plan to bring Steve back into the popular fold is destined for success. Tommy glances at him; he shrugs, trying to convey a sense of why not give him a chance while also projecting an air of not caring that much.

“Fine,” Tommy says tightly. “We can talk outside.” He looks around at the little gaggle of people watching the scene open-mouthed. “Alone,” he reiterates.

Billy wants more than anything to go with them, as they disappear together through the crowds; he promised, after all, not to throw Steve to the wolves, and this doesn’t exactly feel like he’s holding to that. But Tommy and Steve clearly have beef to discuss, and Billy can’t mediate this one. They’ve got to figure it out for themselves.

So he turns to the watching crowd, gives his best Billy Hargrove grin, and says: “Come on, folks, you heard them. Isn’t this supposed to be a party, anyway? Why the fuck don’t I have a beer?” He shakes his head at them all. “Fucking gossips, all of you. Who gives a crap?”

It works; Derrick laughs loudly and puts his arm back around Billy’s shoulder. “Let’s get you a drink, you little peacemaker,” he says, chuckling. “Jesus Christ, what a night!”

And Billy lets himself be led away, hating himself the whole time for wishing that it could be someone else’s arm, soft and warm around his neck.

Chapter Text

Steve has known Tommy practically since he was born, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this angry. And that includes the fight that ended their friendship over a year ago. He’s seething, trembling with barely suppressed rage, and honestly Steve’s kind of expecting him to take a swing at him the second they’re alone.

He doesn’t, though. They make it back out onto Derrick’s porch, and Tommy picks his way between the cars parked outside until they’re out of sight of the house. He doesn’t say a word the whole time, and Steve, who knows him pretty well, figures he’s trying to get himself under control before speaking.

When they stop walking, Tommy turns around and says coldly: “Say what you want to say so I can get back to my friends.”

Ouch. Steve opens his mouth, and then closes it again.

Jesus Christ, he’s such an idiot. An idiot for thinking that the end of their friendship didn’t mean anything to Tommy, when they’ve been friends so many years. For thinking that he was the only one who cared. And yeah, Tommy’s a moron and an asshole, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a single feeling in his head. 

“Okay, shit,” he says, and then stops. If it was Billy standing in front of him, he would have been rewarded for his stupid opener with a snort of amusement and derision. Tommy isn’t Billy. He just stands there, arms crossed. Waiting. 

Steve tries again. “Look, man,” he says. He sighs. “I didn’t take a shit on our friendship, and you know it.”

Not the best beginning. Tommy hisses: “You ditched me for that bitch—”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Steve cuts in. “We graffitied all that shit about her all over town, asshole! Imagine if that was Carol!”

“If Carol had been playing around—” Tommy starts.

Steve interrupts him again. “Nancy wasn’t playing around,” he says firmly. “Yeah, okay, she’s with him now, but she wasn’t then. And come on, even if Carol did the dirty, you wouldn’t want me saying shit about her. You wouldn’t want anyone saying shit about her.”

“You’re so whipped,” Tommy sneers.

“Look,” Steve says. “You were an asshole.” He holds up his hand as Tommy opens his mouth to argue. “You know you were an asshole. But I was an asshole too, okay? We’ve been friends a long time, and I shouldn’t have just turned my back on that. We screwed up that day and Nancy knew it, and I don’t think I could have stayed friends with you and gone out with her too.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, but there’s just slightly less heat to it. “Whipped.”

Steve sighs. “Yeah, maybe, but we were in the wrong! I fucked up, I was lucky she gave me another shot, and it’s not like you had your hands out ready to apologize. You saying you’d take that from me if it was Carol? Think about it, for real.”

Tommy doesn’t answer for a long moment. Then he says, more quietly: “That doesn’t mean you had to disappear forever.”

“You told me to stay gone,” Steve says, exasperated. Then he softens at Tommy’s outraged expression. “Okay, okay, I could have tried again. But come on, man, you going to let me take every bit of the blame here? Going to pretend like you didn’t do anything? You’re not that much of an idiot.”

“Asshole,” Tommy says reflexively.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, so I’ve been told,” he says. He hesitates. “Look, man, you can stay mad if you want, keep on hashing this old-ass fight out between us. Or we could just… leave it, you know? I’ve missed being your friend.”

He’s not sure how true that last part is. But it’s clearly what Tommy needs to hear, and it’s not an out-and-out lie. Steve has missed his old life. And he does feel bad for hurting Tommy, and not even realizing it. He’s given Billy Hargrove another chance, after all. He’d be a hypocrite if he didn’t do the same for his oldest friend.

A tiny voice in his head reminds him that Billy apologized, and meant it. He ignores it. This is the closest Tommy will ever get to apologizing; they’ll never be as close as they used to be, but it’s worth it to just not hate each other anymore.

“What, you just want to hug it out, or whatever?” Tommy says, in a voice that’s clearly meant to be sneering but instead comes across more… hopeful.

Steve suppresses his smile. “Hey, if that’s what you want…” 

“Fuck off,” Tommy says immediately, but Steve can tell he’s not so mad anymore. He sighs, deep and irritated. “Carol’s going to be such a bitch,” he says. “She hates you.”

Well, Steve isn’t exactly her biggest fan either. Something in Tommy’s tone makes him say searchingly: “Everything okay there, man?”

Tommy barks out a short laugh. “Can’t believe I’m talking to you about this,” he says. He hesitates, and then goes on: “She slept with Evan Riley.”

Steve winces, thinking of his earlier references to Carol cheating. “Jesus, I’m sorry,” he says. “You working it out?”

“Don’t know,” Tommy says, shifting his weight from side to side. He doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes. “She says it was a mistake, or whatever. Fucking chicks, you know?”

“She here tonight?” Steve asks.

Tommy shakes his head. “Christ, no,” he says. “I told her to give it a miss. Otherwise, you know, we’d be getting into some stupid fight in front of everyone.” He looks up, half a smile flashing across his face. “I guess I got into a stupid fight with you instead.”

“I’m really sorry,” Steve says, and he’s surprised by how much he means it. Nancy never cheated, and she never lied - except about loving him, maybe, but he’ll probably never know how much of that drunken rant she actually meant - and that was painful enough. Tommy and Carol have been together since the seventh grade.

“Whatever, man,” Tommy says. He glances away, a sure tell that he’s fighting tears. Then he looks back hastily at Steve and says warningly: “No one knows.”

Steve has taken a half-step forward before he realizes what he’s done. “Come on, you know I won’t say anything,” he says.

“Not even to Billy,” Tommy presses. He sighs. “He’s cool, you know, but he’s not… he’s not, like…” He takes another deep breath. “I don’t think he’d get it, you know? I mean, he brags every weekend about all the chicks he’s slept with, he’s not exactly a one-woman kind of guy. He’d probably just congratulate me, or something.”

For some reason, this irritates Steve; he doesn’t like the picture of Billy that Tommy is describing, although he can’t put his finger on why. Tommy’s not wrong, exactly - Billy’s not the most sympathetic guy on the planet - but he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t go so far as congratulating someone for their girlfriend cheating on them. And as for hooking up every weekend… Steve doesn’t like that image either, although again, he doesn’t know why it bothers him.

“I won’t say anything,” he repeats, rather than try and articulate any of this.

“Thanks,” Tommy says. He pauses, and then says curiously: “What’s with you and Hargrove turning up here together, anyway? Last I heard, he thought you were as much of an asshole as I did.”

Steve laughs. “The feeling was mutual,” he assures Tommy. He shrugs. “I don’t know, man, we’ve had to spend some time together on this English presentation thing. I guess we just got to know each other more. He’s not so bad when he’s not being a raging asshole.”

“So what, you’re friends now?” Tommy asks.

It’s kind of nice, not having to hesitate over his answer to this question anymore. “Yeah,” Steve says decisively. “We are.”

“Okay,” Tommy says, nodding as if processing this. Then, unexpectedly, he laughs. “Jesus, okay. So King Steve hangs out with Billy all of three or four times and now they’re best buds. Okay.”

Steve thinks guiltily of some of the things he and Billy have said about Tommy over the past few weeks. “We’re not best buds,” he says. He lets out a small, bitter laugh of his own. “Hell, since Nancy dumped my ass, I haven’t exactly been surrounded.”

“What even happened there, man?” Tommy says. “I thought you were her little puppy dog, nerds in love forever.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Steve says. He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know, I guess I thought so too.”

There’s a beat, and then Tommy puts a hand on his shoulder, meeting his eyes for the first time. “Sorry, dude.”

For a second Steve lets the moment hang, and then he reaches forward and turns the gesture into a hug. It’s been a really, really long time since he’s hugged… well, anyone, actually. He and Tommy have only shared a handful of hugs over the years - they’re dudes, after all - but it still feels familiar in a nice way, clapping Tommy on the back a couple of times before they pull apart.

“Don’t go soft, Jesus,” Tommy says, to cover the emotion of the moment.

Steve rolls his eyes. “You were the one who said we should hug it out.”

“Yeah, well,” Tommy says, fidgeting. “You think now we can drink it out, maybe?”

“Hell yeah,” Steve says, grinning. “Billy’s my designated driver.”

Tommy’s eyes widen. “How the fuck did you land that play?”

Steve laughs. “His car is cooler than mine,” he says, which is true - but Billy hadn’t realized until they were halfway to the party that it meant he couldn’t drink. “We were studying together today, figured it didn’t make sense to drive separately.”

“He must like you, huh,” Tommy says, giving Steve an odd sideways look. 

“Honestly,” Steve confides, “I’ve given up trying to understand Billy Hargrove.”

Tommy laughs loudly. “Yeah, that checks out,” he says. “Come on, man. Let’s get a drink.”

They weave their way back through the cars outside Derrick’s house, and past the scattered groups still hovering out on the porch. Steve is well aware that they’re earning some curious glances from some of the other party-goers; his fallout with Tommy and the rest of the popular crowd is fairly well known around school, and a fight at a party is always interesting regardless of who’s taking part. He ignores the stares and whispers around him. He’s a former popular kid; he knows how to deal with gossip.

By the time they get back inside, people have mostly stopped looking at him and Tommy. Tommy leads him back through the lounge to the kitchen, where there’s an impressive array of drinks laid out on the countertops. As they enter the room, Tommy casually throws an arm across Steve’s shoulders: a message to anyone watching.

Heather Green is standing by the fridge, holding a couple of beers and talking to another girl Steve doesn’t recognize. As soon as she sees him, she calls out his name. “Steve! I have your drink!”

“Didn’t take you long to score,” Tommy mutters out of the corner of his mouth. Steve gives him a playful shove.

“Thanks, Heather,” he says, taking the proffered cup.

She’s standing way too close. “I looked for you, but I couldn’t find you,” she babbles at him. “Then Billy said you were outside, but I couldn’t see you there either, and then Billy said to stop looking - but you’re here!”

“And you’re drunk.” This, of course, comes from Billy, stepping in between Steve and Heather in a graceful motion that shunts her off to one side. He looks between Steve and Tommy. “Kissed and made up?”

“Shut up, Hargrove,” Tommy and Steve say almost in unison. They glance at each other, and Steve shakes his head to disguise his smile.

Billy laughs. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says. “We here to have a good time, or what?”

For a moment, Tommy’s arm tightens around Steve’s neck, and Steve closes his eyes momentarily. For everything he’s said and thought about Tommy, he’s glad they’re friends again.

“Hell yeah,” Tommy says, letting go of Steve. “Let’s do this!”

So they do, and in Steve’s opinion, it’s actually pretty awesome. He and Tommy team up against Derrick and Jerry in a game of beer bong, with Billy acting as referee; Steve is pretty good at anything requiring hand-eye coordination, but Billy, in classic Billy-style, decides to favor Derrick’s team from the start, and does his best to distract Steve in particular when he’s trying to aim.

“Plant your feet, Harrington,” he says on one egregious occasion, and Steve just turns and lobs the ping pong ball at him, hitting him squarely in the forehead.

“Foul!” Billy cries, cackling. “One free shot for the other team!” He picks up the ball and tosses it to Jerry. “You’re going down, Harrington.”

Steve just shakes his head. “You’re not even playing!”

Billy takes a swig of his drink - non-alcoholic, as he’s already had his single allocated beer. “Bite me.”

“I picked the wrong team,” Tommy says, as Jerry lobs the ball straight into one of the cups in front of them. “Drink up, Steve, this is your fault!”

Steve drinks. His head is beginning to spin a little, in that nice pre-drunk way that means if he stops soon he won’t be ill tomorrow. Of course, Steve has no intention of stopping soon. He picks up the ping pong ball, closing one eye as he tries to focus on the cups in front of Jerry and Derrick.

Just as he’s about to throw it, Billy says: “Come on, Rob Lowe, we haven’t got all day.”

“You’re such a dick,” Steve says, but he manages to get the ball into the cup anyway. “Ha!”

Billy wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “Yup,” he says unrepentantly. He turns to watch Jerry downing the cup. 

“Jesus, Billy,” Tommy says. “What the hell did you do to your face?”

Indeed, there’s a bruise on Billy’s mouth, dappled purple and yellow; he must have been wearing some kind of cover-up before he wiped his mouth, because there’s no way it was looking like that earlier. Steve would have noticed. It looks painful; Billy touches it almost reflexively at Tommy’s question. Steve vaguely remembers Mrs Byers making some kind of comment the other day about a bruise on Billy’s face. He must have been wearing cover-up then too, because Steve hadn’t even seen it then.

“Shit, is that still there?” Billy says. He gives a funny sort of laugh, and takes another swig of his drink. “You should have seen the other guy!”

Tommy and the other guys laugh, but Steve frowns. There’s something in that, something that doesn’t quite add up, but he’s too drunk to pinpoint it, and after a moment he shakes the thought away and turns back to the game.

“You still playing, Derrick, or riding on Jerry’s coattails like always?” he taunts.

Derrick flexes his non-existent muscles. “Oh, it’s on, Harrington,” he says. He glances at Billy, and then grins suddenly. “You going to let him talk smack like that, Hargrove?”

“Man’s got a point,” Billy says. He points at Steve. “Penalty drink, princess!”

“Ass!” Steve says, laughing, but he picks up a cup of punch that someone’s left lying around, and downs it. “Happy?”

Billy smiles at him, eyes glittering. Something about him seems sharper than usual, more in focus, as though everything around him is blurry and only Billy stands out. There are beads of sweat on the back of his neck, and he’s wearing a wide silver ring on his index finger. It glints at Steve from Billy’s hand, wrapped around his cup.

“Not even close,” he says, flashing his teeth.

The alcohol has clearly gone to Steve’s head, because that seems funny, somehow. He laughs loosely, as Derrick’s ball comes sailing past, not even close to the cups. Steve’s going to win this game, he and Tommy together - and really, he thinks that Billy wants them to win, even though he’s pretending to be on Derrick’s side… He wonders vaguely whether Billy likes him better than Tommy. He thinks so. It’s a nice thought.

“He’s spaced,” he hears Tommy say, his voice light and amused. Steve bumps his shoulder against Tommy’s, his face almost hurting from smiling so wide. “You’re such a lightweight, Harrington!”

“It’s your turn,” Steve tells him. “Come on, man, we’re the winners.” He points in Billy’s direction. “Even Hargrove knows we’re winners.”

Billy raises his eyebrows. “You think so, King Steve?”

“Hell yeah,” Steve says. “Suck it, Derrick. Come on, Tommy!”

Tommy shakes his head and laughs, but he gets the ping pong ball into Derrick’s cup, so Steve thinks he did a good job. They carry on playing, laughing and drinking while the music pounds behind them and people cheer and call out stupid shit around them, and Steve gets more and more loaded on cheap beer and punch.

Afterwards - he and Tommy annihilate the other guys, as he knew they would - he feels like dancing, so he heads over to the dance floor in the lounge, the others following him. Steve likes to dance, especially when he’s been drinking. It’s not like he’s particularly good at it or anything, but he likes the way the music seems to inhabit his entire body, moving his limbs without him having to do anything to control them. No one cares if he looks like an idiot when he’s dancing.

When he looks over at the other guys, he sees that Billy’s eyebrows are practically in his hairline; Tommy leans over and says to him: “Just go with it. He’s always like this when he drinks, the fucking moron.” There’s a fond thread in his words that makes Steve feel warm, in a nice way. 

“You’re talking about me,” he calls to Tommy. Tommy laughs, and ruffles his hair.

After a while, Heather finds them, and starts trying to grind up against Steve. It’s kind of annoying; her thin sticky little body keeps getting in the way of the places Steve wants to move into while he’s dancing. Every time he rolls his hips she’s there, pressing up to him, and no matter how much he tries to sidestep her she always follows, like it’s some game they’re playing.

Billy and Tommy are cracking up watching him. “You want some help there, princess?” Billy asks, laughter laced through his voice.

“No, I’m good, thanks!” Heather sings out, obviously thinking the moniker is meant for her. This annoys Steve for no good reason, and he steps away from her a little more aggressively.

“I need another drink,” he mutters. Still laughing at him, the assholes, Billy and Tommy follow him away from the dance floor.

The rest of the night passes in a bit of blur. Certain parts stand out in between the rush of color and music and endorphins: racing through a line of shots with Chris in the kitchen, while the rest of the guys cheer them on. Arm wrestling Derrick, because that’s always good for a laugh, and doing a spontaneous little dance when he wins, even though everyone always beats Derrick at arm wrestling. Tommy arm wrestling Billy and falling down after he loses, leaving Steve laughing so hard that his stomach hurts.

Shaking off Heather, time and time again; after a while, Billy stops laughing at him, and actually helps him to avoid her. There’s a strange, ethereal five minutes where they both run, breathless with laughter, into Derrick’s parents’ bedroom and shut the door a minute before she sees them, and then they stand there together, and Steve’s laughter dies on his lips, and Billy just kind of looks at him, and time seems to warp and twist until Billy finally opens the door again—

“She’s gone,” he says, in a hushed kind of voice.

Steve is suddenly, acutely aware of how tall Billy is. It seems like an odd sort of thing to notice - they’re practically the same height, so it’s not like he’s looming over him or anything - but he’s tall, taking up actual physical space in front of Steve, and he has the strangest expression on his face as he looks at him.

“What?” Steve asks, and Billy shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he says. “Come on.”

They go back to the others, and Steve loses a little more time - there’s more dancing, a swirl of bodies around him, and Tommy has an arm around him and they’re jumping on the spot together, shouting out the lyrics and getting them wrong. They go outside, and Billy has a cigarette and won’t give one to Steve. Heather’s given up on him by now, and he laughs when he sees her trying to chat Chris up. 

They’ve been going for a while when he sees Nancy and Jonathan. He’s not sure how long they’ve been here - he’s spent all his time with the boys, and they don’t exactly run in the same circles as Jonathan Byers. Steve doesn’t really give a shit about talking to Nancy, but he likes Jonathan, so when he sees him standing by the fireplace in the dining room holding a beer, he heads over.

“Jonathan!” he exclaims, because it’s cool to see him, it’s always cool to see Jonathan, and Jonathan has the best weed.

Jonathan smiles, looking both amused and surprised. “Hey, Steve.” His eyes flicker over Steve’s shoulder. “Hey, Billy.”

Steve turns, pleased to see that Billy has followed him. When he looks back, he sees Nancy tucked under Jonathan’s arm; she has a strange expression on her face, kind of sad and uncertain at the same time. Almost guilty. “Nance,” he says, unable to prevent his voice from softening. Christ, she’s still so beautiful, although he’s not allowed to think that anymore, is he?

“Hey, Steve,” she says in a small voice. “Are you having a good time?”

“Hell yeah,” Steve says, because he is. “Fuck, this is awesome. You’re having an awesome time too, right?”

Nancy glances at Jonathan. “Sure,” she says guardedly.

“And Jonathan?” Steve presses, because suddenly it feels important to know that they’re having a good time, that they’re enjoying themselves. He wants Nancy to be happy. He wants her to be so happy, and if that’s not with him then it should be with Jonathan - he wants it to be with Jonathan—

“Alright, idiot, time to take you home,” Billy says, and Steve realizes with half a laugh that he just said all that out loud. Nancy is looking - well, stricken would probably cover it. Jonathan, on the other hand, pats Steve’s shoulder affectionately.

“Thanks, man,” he says gently.

Nancy takes a little step forward. “Steve—”

Billy tugs Steve away, at almost exactly the same time as Jonathan pulls Nancy back. “Come on, dude,” Billy says. “It’s late, and you’re wasted.”

“Goodbye, Nancy,” Steve says. He staggers out of Billy’s grip and presses a kiss to the side of her temple, getting a mouthful of her hair for his trouble. “You’re so pretty, but things are probably better this way, right?”

Jonathan openly chuckles, earning him an incredulous look from Nancy. “Oh my God, take him home,” he says to Billy. “He’s going to kick himself in the morning.”

“No, I’m not,” Steve insists. 

Billy looks at Jonathan over Steve’s head, which Steve totally notices, thank you very much. “Save the memory, man, this is going to make excellent fodder later.”

“It’s not funny!” Nancy snaps at them, folding her arms. 

“Yeah, princess, it is,” Billy says.

Steve frowns. “Hey!” he says. “Don’t call her that, not cool, man.”

Billy holds his hands up. “My bad, my bad,” he begins, and then he stops again, a weird expression passing over his face. He shakes his head. “I won’t do it again.”

Steve subsides, satisfied.

Nancy, however, is not. “This isn’t something to laugh about,” she hisses at Billy. “I don’t even know why you’re here, considering!”

“Hey, come on, Nance,” Jonathan says. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Just because you’ve agreed to play nice—” she begins heatedly.

“Nancy,” Steve interrupts, because he doesn’t want them to argue. Why should anyone argue? These are some of his favorite people, and they should all just be happy. “Nancy, Nancy, Nancy.” He puts a hand on her shoulder, and then gets distracted by how soft her sweater is. “Wow, that’s soft,” he says. “Jonathan, have you felt this? Do you know how soft this is?”

Jonathan chokes on a laugh. “Yeah, Steve, it’s pretty soft,” he says.

“Billy, you should—” Steve says.

“Don’t you dare,” Nancy cuts in, stepping back and glaring at Billy.

Billy just rolls his eyes. “As if, pr— Nancy.”

“Okay, stop it,” Steve says, exasperated. “Stop being mean to Billy, Nancy, he’s being nice to you.” He glances at Billy, who’s smirking. “Mostly nice,” he amends. “But too nice is boring, so - I mean, no offence, Jonathan—” Jonathan’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter “—so can you just be cool? Come on, Nance.”

She stares at him. “I thought - I thought you were upset?” Her visible confusion turns it into a question.

Steve thinks about it. He figures that’s fair enough. It’s not been that long since they broke up. “Sometimes I am,” he decides. “But mostly, I think I’m not.”

“O-kay,” Nancy says slowly. She glances at Jonathan. “Maybe Billy’s right, Steve. You should probably go home, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve agrees.

Billy guides Steve to the Camaro, his hands on Steve’s shoulders. They feel nice there - grounding, kind of. He’s stumbling over his feet, and his head is swimming, but he’s high as a kite, even though— 

“I didn’t even smoke anything,” he tells Billy.

Billy smothers a laugh. “Yeah, Harrington, I know.”

“Steve,” Steve says patiently.

“Steve,” Billy repeats. “Come on, Steve, get in the car.”

He gets in the car. It’s cold, and he pulls his jacket tightly around him. Billy keeps giving him these weird sideways glances, and Steve knows it’s because he thinks he’s too drunk. But wasn’t that the point of tonight? Wasn’t he supposed to be having a good time? He’s had the best night ever, it feels like. One of those evenings where everything comes together in exactly the right way, and now he’s heading home with a warm buzz radiating through his body, and Billy is staying over, which is kind of awesome.

“Shut up, Harrington,” Billy says without heat.

Steve half-smiles to himself. He’s not sure how much of his thought process he accidentally verbalized - but he has no regrets.

Chapter Text

Steve Harrington might actually be trying to kill him.

Billy had just about managed to adjust to a Steve who doesn’t actively hate him. A Steve who declared, in front of Tommy, God and everybody else, that he was Billy’s friend. A Steve who laughs sometimes when Billy says something funny, and doesn’t care when Billy gets wound up, and actually freaking stood up for him in front of his father. And maybe that same Steve looks particularly good in a tight t-shirt, and maybe Billy has to fight arousal every time he pushes a hand through his hair or, you know, smiles, but still. He can handle that Steve. That Steve is cool, and fun, and interesting to talk to.

Drunk Steve, on the other hand, may actually make him spontaneously combust on the spot.

Drunk Steve seems to find every goddamn word that comes out of Billy’s mouth hilarious, face creasing as he laughs uproariously at a joke that definitely didn’t deserve this much of a reaction. Drunk Steve likes to dance, for fuck’s sake, and gets pissy when Heather Green tries to dance with him, and every now and again just looks at Billy with his eyes bright and warm and delighted. Drunk Steve seems to say every damn thing that comes into his head, and all his thoughts seem to be expansively affectionate towards everyone around him, Billy included. Drunk Steve pet Nancy Wheeler’s goddamn sweater and got excited that it was soft.

Drunk Steve is basically a cute little golden retriever, wagging its tail and wanting to play, and who the fuck can resist a golden retriever?

Right now, drunk Steve is lying on his bed gazing up at the ceiling of his bedroom with a beatific kind of smile on his face, and Billy is lying down next to him because after he’d got Steve’s shoes off and laid him down, Steve had fucking giggled and said, “Come and talk to me about Lizzy Bennet, Billy,” and Billy, like a goddamn moron, hadn’t been able to say no.

“You’re a mess, Harrington,” he growls, because Steve already thinks he’s too soft and he can’t perpetuate that rumor any further.

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says. He doesn’t sound too worried about it. He yawns. “Christ, I’m wrecked.”

Billy shakes his head. “You’re going to regret it in the morning,” he says.

“Probably,” Steve agrees cheerfully. “Tommy’s right, I’m a lightweight.”

He’s lying so close to Billy, so close that every time he moves his arm brushes against Billy’s. Billy shivers at the touch of it. He can smell Steve Harrington - mostly beer and stale sweat, but still - and he’d only have to shift an inch or two to be properly touching him. 

He doesn’t, obviously. He can barely breathe from the proximity as it is.

“What was all that about, with Wheeler?” he asks instead. He’d been apprehensive when he’d seen Steve go bounding off to talk to Jonathan and Nancy, but the exchange ended up being an odd mix of hilarious and somewhat bittersweet.

Steve turns his head to look at Billy. Their faces are a hand's breadth away. Billy turns hastily to look at the ceiling as Steve says: “I don’t know, man. I think I’m just, like… over it.”

“That was quick,” Billy says, trying to ignore the way his heart is beating. In his head, he’s already running over ways he can smooth this over with Steve in the morning. 

Steve shrugs, the motion jostling Billy’s shoulder. “I mean, not totally,” he says. He burps, and then laughs softly at himself. “I still, you know, love her—” Billy’s stomach lurches at that, which is ridiculous, because yeah, he likes Steve, Steve is hot and the thought of him gets Billy going, but he doesn’t give a shit who Steve likes “—but I don’t want her back anymore, you know?”

“What brought that on?” Billy asks a little unsteadily.

“Tommy,” Steve says. “But I can’t tell you about it. I promised.”

Billy feels a stab of somewhat irrational jealousy at that. “Okay, Harrington,” he says.

“Steve, Jesus,” Steve says. He turns his face again to look at Billy. “You always do that.”

“It’s a habit,” Billy says defensively.

Steve narrows his eyes, apparently considering this. “You only do it when you want to look tough,” he says.

“Fuck off,” Billy says, and Steve laughs.

“See!”

Billy shoves him gently. “Shut up.”

Steve laughs again. “You’re just as bad at poker as I am,” he says. “You have, like, a million tells.”

Billy blinks at him. “Like what?” he asks cautiously.

Steve yawns. “I don’t know,” he says. “I can’t explain it.”

There's silence, and Billy finds himself thinking about the five minutes they spent shut in Derrick’s parents’ bedroom, ostensibly hiding from Heather. With Steve in that state, laughing and falling over himself, Billy had suddenly been overwhelmed with a desperate desire to kiss him. It wasn’t entirely new, of course, but something about the sudden proximity of Steve, the wild half-drunk look in his eyes, the way his smile lit up his face - it made the need for it flood through Billy, and for one mad second he’d thought he might actually follow through with it.

Then he’d remembered himself, remembered where he was and who he was, and the moment had passed.

Steve stretches, and then puts his arms back down by his sides. The one closest to Billy brushes past his own; it’s bare, Steve having discarded his jacket when they came into the house, and Billy can feel Steve’s arm hairs tickle him as he gets comfortable. He fights the urge to pull away. It’ll be noticeable, and he doesn’t want to draw attention to how close they’re lying together.

“You had a good night, huh?” he says instead as jovially as he can.

“Yeah, I really did,” Steve says. He glances at Billy, and his arm brushes closer. “Thanks for helping with the whole Tommy thing, man. I know I’ve said, like, a whole bunch of shit—” here he yawns deeply “—but it’s still kinda… cool, I guess. We’ve been friends forever.”

His arm is fully resting against Billy’s now, skin to skin. Billy swallows. “No problem.”

“Jesus, I’m tired,” Steve says abstractly. He glances sideways at Billy, hair touching Billy’s cheek. “Did you have a good time too?”

“Yeah,” Billy says, which is true; in spite of the aching in his gut that he feels every time he looks at Steve’s stupid face, tonight was one of the better parties.

Steve laughs a little vacantly, the back of his hand bumping against Billy’s knuckles. “Awesome,” he sighs.

Then, without so much as a word of warning, he turns his hand and slips it into Billy’s.

Billy actually forgets to breathe for a moment or two. It has to be some kind of mistake. Maybe Steve is so drunk he doesn’t know where he is, or who he’s lying next to. But even as Billy lies frozen, holding his breath, he’s aware of the heat of Steve’s palm against his own, Steve’s fingers interlacing with his, Steve’s thumb just gently grazing the back of Billy’s hand.

Steve Harrington is holding his hand.

Steve Harrington is holding his goddamn hand.

Until this second, Billy wasn’t aware that holding Steve’s hand was a thing he wanted. His fantasies, as detailed and filthy as they may have been, haven’t included anything so mundane. But now that it’s happening, Billy’s never wanted anything more. It’s the most bittersweet thing that’s ever happened to him.

Bitter, because Steve is drunk, and this affable affectionate version of him will shrivel up in the morning when he’s sobered up. He’ll almost certainly be embarrassed, if he even remembers voluntarily touching Billy. And even if by some miracle he isn’t, if he just laughs it off… well, in a way that’s almost worse. This doesn’t feel like a joke to Billy. It’s everything he’s afraid to want, touching Steve.

But then again, he’s touching Steve, and that’s where the sweetness comes in. Billy has been careful not to allow even the most accidental of touches to happen, ever since he realized the effect Steve has on his boner, and obviously that’s smart, but… touching Steve feels so good. 

His hand is large, larger than Billy’s, and it feels good to have it wrapped around his own, warm and tight and present. Billy has to resist the urge to explore the dense heat of his skin, to stroke the back of Steve’s hand, to feel the narrow wrist bone and muscled forearm. When he thinks about Steve usually, it’s always dirty, sexual - but this, here, holding Steve’s hand, makes him fantasize about a hundred other ways to touch him.

He could brush his fingers, spider-like, up the inside of Steve’s arm. He could press a thumbprint into the hollow of Steve’s shoulder. He could touch the soft skin underneath his jawline. It’s like Steve’s body is suddenly full of potential, like a miracle, and Billy’s a fucking idiot but he wants it all. It’s more than how hard Steve makes him. It’s something about Steve himself, Steve as a person, and Billy closes his eyes because it’s all too fucking much. How can he be so twisted up by something so goddamn simple as Steve holding his hand?

He wants to say something about it, but he’s terrified Steve will let go if he so much as breathes. 

They’ll never be able to talk about it. That’s okay, though. It can go in the vault of things Billy doesn’t say to Steve.

He glances over to Steve, moving slowly so that Steve won’t be jolted by the motion. He’s not exactly surprised to see that Steve has fallen asleep; he’s been quiet for a while now. Still, even asleep, Steve is holding his hand securely. Billy’s sure he can feel Steve’s heartbeat pulsing through his palm.

He lies still for another few minutes, stealing this pleasure that Steve has so innocently given him. He’s taking advantage of Steve’s sweet insobriety, and he knows he can’t let himself do it for too long. But letting go is hard. It’s hard not to pretend to himself that this is something Steve wants, beyond being drunk and over-friendly. 

After a while, though, it stops feeling so good. Steve isn’t even conscious. He’s snoring very softly now, his chest rising and falling evenly beside Billy. His hand is still curled around Billy’s, but his grip has softened. It’s tempting to let himself drift off as well, feign ignorance in the morning, but Billy can’t do it. He’s an asshole, but he’s not that much of an asshole.

He gives himself another second of the delicious warmth of Steve’s palm against his own. Then, biting his tongue so hard it aches, he slides his hand carefully out of Steve’s grasp. He rolls off the bed, and steals quietly away.

*

The first thing Steve notices when he wakes up is the bitter, stale taste of last night’s punch in his mouth. The second thing is his roiling stomach, and the third is his pounding headache.

Totally worth it, honestly. It’s been a long time since Steve’s been this hungover, but he can’t bring himself to regret it. He still has the pleasant, buzzing sensation of a really enjoyable night settled comfortably around his shoulders, and for a while he just lies in bed with his eyes closed and half a smile on his face.

Then the nausea starts to take over, and Steve pulls himself painstakingly into a sitting position. He’s still wearing last night’s clothes, although his shoes are over by the door. He dreads to think what his hair is doing right now. There’s a glass of water on the nightstand that he doesn’t remember putting there, and he reaches over for it gratefully and chugs half of it down in one gulp.

Jesus. What a night. Steve’s never been the kind of person to forget the antics of the night before; everything is still there, if a little blurry. He remembers dancing, playing beer pong, running away from Heather Green. He’d thought Billy had fallen asleep on the bed beside him, but obviously he’d been mistaken - there’s no one there now. A smile dances on his lips again. Sometimes, you just need a really good party.

More slowly, he sips the rest of the water. Billy must have left it for him, a gesture that seems surprisingly kind, for him. But then, Billy is surprisingly kind, underneath all the bluster and bravado.

Sometimes, Steve decides, he is very wise indeed.

His head reminds him that he is also very hungover, and with a groan Steve stands up and picks up his dressing gown from the hook on the back of the door. He feels gross and sticky, and he’s starting to suspect that he’s actually still a little bit tipsy. He runs a hand through his hair, and then wishes he hadn’t when it comes away heavy with hairspray.

The shower is both helpful and unhelpful, in that he definitely feels fresher and more sober when he steps out of it, but his headache is progressing into migraine territory and he’s suddenly feeling a lot less cheerful. With a grimace, he recalls his awkward conversation with Nancy. He supposes it could have been worse - she doesn’t exactly have a leg to stand on when it comes to saying shit whilst drunk - but it was still pretty embarrassing. Especially since Billy and Jonathan were there, and he’s pretty sure they were laughing at him.

He shakes his head to eradicate the memory, and then wishes he hadn’t.

There’s still no sign of Billy, although it’s early enough that that’s not a huge shock after the late night they’ve had. Steve takes a couple of aspirin and gets dressed in sweats and a comfortable tee. He shuffles downstairs, figuring he’ll feel better with some toast inside him to soak up all the alcohol.

He still can’t really put his finger on why it was such a good night. Making things up with Tommy was part of it, of course, but Steve’s also kind of past that. It was just a pleasant bonus to everything else. It wasn’t the booze, either - Steve, obviously, has been drunk before - or the games, or the dancing. It was just a combination of everything, all the boys around him, not having to worry about anything, actually having some goddamn fun for once, and Billy—

Billy, who kind of made it all happen for him. Billy brought him to the party, facilitated things with Tommy, brought him back into the fold. Billy spent the whole night hanging out with him, getting drunk, being stupid, having fun. Yeah, Billy’s definitely a big part of the reason why it was a good night. 

It’s pretty hilarious, really - the Steve of a fortnight ago wouldn’t have believed it for a second. Steve shakes his head as he puts a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. Weird to think that less than a month ago, he was facing down demodogs with a pair of goggles and a baseball bat. 

The shrill blast of the telephone rips through Steve’s comfortable and somewhat spacey thoughts; he claps a hand to his head, screwing up his eyes and tripping over his own feet in his haste to get to the phone. Who the fuck is calling at ten fifteen on a Sunday morning? Everyone he knows should be just as hungover as he is.

He picks up the receiver grumpily. “Hello?”

“Hello, Steve.” The calm, even voice sounds familiar, but for a moment Steve can’t place it. Something about it makes his skin prickle, like a warning of danger.

He says warily: “Hi.”

“It’s Neil Hargrove,” Billy’s dad clarifies, and Steve shuts his eyes. Of all the people in the world, Neil Hargrove is the very last one he wants to be talking to when he’s tired and hungover. Neil’s not supposed to know they went to the party last night; what if he found out somehow? If he decides to take Billy’s grounding more seriously… well, it’ll suck, that’s all, and not just because of the project.

“Oh, hi, Mr Hargrove,” Steve says, trying to sound normal. “Sorry, I didn’t recognize your voice.”

Neil gives a low little chuckle. “Not to worry, Steve,” he says. He clears his throat. “What are you two boys up to? Hard at work?”

Frowning, Steve glances at the clock. It’s just approaching twenty past ten. Even if they hadn’t been out late the night before, he’s pretty sure he and Billy wouldn’t be studying yet. It’s a Sunday and they’re teenagers. 

That’s obviously not what Neil wants to hear, though, so Steve says: “Yeah, we started after breakfast.”

“Good, good,” Neil says jovially. He pauses. “Is my son there?”

“Billy?” Steve says stupidly, as if Neil has another son.

Another pause. “Yes,” Neil says evenly. “Is he there, Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, too quickly. Something about Neil makes him nervous. “He’s just… in the bathroom.”

This time, the pause feels longer, and more loaded. “Steve,” Billy’s dad says, an edge to his voice. “If Billy has asked you to lie for him—”

“He hasn’t!” Steve interrupts, because he can’t do this. Can’t listen to Neil be a dick to Billy even one more time. “I wouldn’t lie to you, sir, and I don’t think Billy would ask me to. He’s in the bathroom. Shall I get him?”

“Yes, please,” Neil says in a measured tone. “I’ll wait.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before Steve is putting the handset down on the countertop with a clatter and dashing out of the kitchen. Dimly, he hears the toaster popping as he runs up the stairs towards the guest bedroom. After everything Billy did last night to make sure Steve had a good time, there’s no way Steve is letting him get in trouble again with his dad. No freaking way.

He bursts into the guestroom, the door banging against the wall as he pushes through it. Billy is lying on his stomach on the bed, tangled up in his sheets with his hair falling into his face, but at the sound of the door  he stirs, pushing himself up onto his elbows and looking around blearily.

“Steve?” he says uncertainly.

“Your dad’s on the phone,” Steve says.

Billy’s eyes widen. “Shit,” he says. He practically falls out of bed in his haste to get up. “Shit, shit - where?”

“In the kitchen,” Steve says. Billy was sleeping in his boxers, which means there’s a lot of his tanned naked skin suddenly visible. “I told him you were in the bathroom.”

“Okay,” Billy says. He gives a sudden, brief smile. “Thanks.” Then he races out of the room, footsteps disappearing down the corridor.

Steve follows more slowly. He’s feeling kind of… weird, although he’s not really sure why. There’s a strange curling sensation at the pit of his stomach that has nothing to do with his hangover.

By the time he gets back down to the kitchen, Billy has picked up the phone. He’s standing over by the counter, one arm stretched up and leaning on the wall and his back to the door. Steve goes over to the toaster and puts in some more bread. He sneaks another glance at Billy. His back is very brown and broad.

“Yeah, I know - we’re just - okay, yeah, dad,” Billy is saying, sounding exasperated and subdued at the same time. “We’re just studying.”

He looks around and meets Steve’s eyes for a moment; Steve gives him what he hopes is a sympathetic smile. He’s still feeling strange, his stomach tight and tense, and somehow it feels worse when he looks at Billy. Billy’s hair is in complete disarray, and his eyeliner has smudged. It makes Steve smile to think of Billy wearing eyeliner. Only Billy could get away with that.

He’s not wearing much else though, and it’s making Steve oddly uncomfortable. He figures it’s not exactly normal to have another dude standing in his kitchen half-naked. Billy is looking particularly jacked, especially with the way his stomach muscles are stretching to accommodate his arm leaning high on the wall. 

Steve shakes his head, and butters his toast. His stomach is churning, and he needs the food. He throws Billy another little look, tuning out the placatory lies Billy is currently telling his dad about their studies. It’s not exactly a lie, anyway; it’s just premature. They will be studying soon, after they’ve had something to eat.

The bruise on Billy’s mouth looks better this morning - more yellow than purple. Steve suppresses a smile when he thinks of Billy wearing cover-up to the party. It’s so like Billy, that vanity - wanting to look his best, even though everyone there saw him getting the bruise—

Steve drops his knife.

Billy swings around to see what the noise is, but Steve isn’t looking at Billy anymore.

Something struck him about it last night, but he was too far gone to pick up on it properly then. Billy said - Billy told Mrs Byers that he’d got the bruise while he was with Tommy and the rest of the gang. Being idiots, having a laugh - Steve’s given himself a hundred injuries like that, one way or another. Play fighting, wrestling, throwing things around. Just being teenage boys.

But when Tommy saw the bruise on Billy’s face, he’d been surprised. He hadn’t recognized the mark.

Well, that could be explained; Tommy’s pretty self-centered, all things considered. Maybe he’d forgotten, or he hadn’t noticed when it happened at the time.

You should have seen the other guy.

Billy would’ve said, if it had happened when he was messing around with the guys. Would’ve given Tommy a shove for forgetting.

But he hadn’t. He’d given that odd little laugh, and he hadn’t met anyone’s eyes, and he’d said something entirely different. You should have seen the other guy.

“Yeah, okay,” Billy is saying to his dad on the phone. “Okay, bye.”

He puts down the receiver and turns expectantly to Steve, eyes on the toast. Steve hands him a plate almost blindly.

Billy lied when Mrs Byers asked him how he got his bruise. Steve can’t think of a single reason why he would lie about something so trivial. You should have seen the other guy, Billy said.

Who the hell was the other guy?

Chapter Text

Billy is trying very hard not to feel like his dad totally ruined things, but it’s kind of difficult when Steve is staring at him like he’s seen a goddamn ghost. It feels a little unfair; Steve has seen how uptight Neil can be. Yeah, so his dad just called to check on him like he’s five years old, but that shouldn’t be such a shock to Steve, should it?

Or maybe he’s got that wan, shell-shocked look on his face because he’s remembering some of the shit he got up to last night. Up to and including holding Billy’s hand on purpose.

Either way, Billy’s too tired and pissed off from having to reassure Neil that he is where he said he’d be to address it, so he just makes grabby hands at the plate of toast Steve’s holding until he passes it over.

“Thanks, Harrington,” he says, and then closes his eyes, remembering Steve’s words from yesterday, the last time Billy declined to use his first name. You only do it when you want to look tough. Is that true?

For once, Steve doesn’t correct him. He still looks ashen, his mouth slightly open, but at length he gives a little start and turns back to the second round of toast. Billy can’t help but sneak a look at him, underneath his eyelashes. Steve’s hair is wet, his skin damp and fresh-looking, and he looks soft and comfortable in the loose clothes he’s wearing. At this point, he’s pretty sure there’s not a damn thing Steve Harrington could do to make Billy less attracted to him.

Trying to sound nonchalant, he says: “How’s the head?”

Steve winces. “Hurts like a bitch,” he says. He takes a breath, and turns to face Billy. He has a strange, steely look on his face. “Billy.”

“Yeah?” Billy’s heart is thumping. If Steve brings up the hand-holding… well, he can brush it off easily enough, right? Steve’s the one that did it, after all. He was drunk, and Billy was humoring him.

“How did you get that bruise on your face?”

Of all the things Billy was preparing for Steve to say, that question never even crossed his mind. For a moment he just blinks, thoughts racing. Where the hell did that come from? Shouldn’t they be talking about the party, or about Neil calling, or that weird awkward scene with Wheeler and Byers? How the hell did he give himself away? 

He stalls. “What?”

Steve takes another deep breath. “The bruise,” he says, gesturing vaguely towards Billy’s mouth. Billy’s stomach clenches. “How’d you do it?”

“I told you,” Billy says. He forces a light chuckle, turning away and stuffing buttered toast into his mouth. Through his chewing, he says indistinctly: “Messing around with Tommy the other day.”

“You’re lying,” Steve says, voice surprisingly hard. “That’s not - why are you lying?”

In spite of himself, Billy wheels around angrily. “You calling me a liar?” he demands, even though he’s got no right to be pissed about it.

“Yeah,” Steve says, voice rising. “I am.”

“Jesus,” Billy says, shaking his head. His stomach has dropped to his knees. “Jesus, Harrington, I actually thought—” He stops. What did he think? That they could actually be friends? 

What a fucking moron.

Steve takes a step towards him. “Don’t,” he says. There’s an odd expression in his eyes. “Don’t turn this back on me.”

“Don’t call me a fucking liar,” Billy rejoins swiftly. His eyes are prickling. 

“Then don’t lie!” Steve snaps. He hesitates, breathing heavily. “Billy. I’m not - I’m not being a dick. I know you didn’t do it with Tommy. He asked about it last night, remember?”

Billy closes his eyes. Of course he fucking remembers; he just hadn’t thought Steve had noticed, that’s all. Christ, he’d been steamed enough to let it slide, but no, that’s Steve fucking Harrington for you, isn’t it? Doesn’t pay attention to half the shit he should and picks up on everything he shouldn’t.

He says, voice carefully even: “It’s none of your business, Harrington.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. He sounds suddenly, impossibly sad. “That’s what I thought.”

There’s a silence, during which Billy has to choke back a sudden and pathetic prickle of tears. He’s always been too quick to cry. So this is it, then - this is how things end with Steve. Not with a bang but with a fizzle, the dissolution of their brief and glorious friendship. He should have known it couldn’t last.

He’s suddenly very aware of how almost-naked he is. “I’ll grab my shit,” he says, sounding too subdued for his own liking. Like he cares. “Get out of your hair.”

“What?” Steve says, eyes widening. “Hold up, fuck, what are you talking about, man?”

Billy stares at him. Steve is looking at him like he’s the one being unreasonable. “You mess with my head, Harrington,” he says, and isn’t that the goddamn truth?

“Jesus Christ, Billy, wind back the drama,” Steve says, and is he smiling? God, the asshole. “No need to lose your cool.”

“Lose my - the fuck, Harrington!” Billy complains, but somehow his chest feels a little lighter. If Steve is smiling, then things can’t be totally fucked up. Still, it makes him feel anxious and fidgety, Steve questioning his bruises. So far, he’s got a lot of mileage out of the fact that Steve Harrington is the most oblivious motherfucker on the planet. If Steve suddenly starts noticing things, Billy is screwed, and not just about the bruises.

Steve folds his arms, and then runs a hand through his hair. “You don’t have to storm off,” he says. “I was just asking.”

“Well, don’t,” Billy says shortly.

There’s a silence, during which they both chew awkwardly on toast. Now that he’s aware of it, Billy is feeling extremely self-conscious of the fact that he’s standing there in nothing but his boxers, while Steve is fully clothed. Normally he’s very proud of his body, but things with Steve are… complicated.

Steve finishes his toast, and puts down his plate. There’s a determined sort of look on his face. He says: “You lied to Mrs Byers when she asked. About the bruise.”

“I said don’t,” Billy bites out. “It’s none of your goddamn—”

“When Tommy asked, you said he should see the other guy,” Steve persists. “Were you talking out of your ass then, too?” He moves a little closer. Billy’s face is warm, his chest tight. “Who was the other guy, Billy?”

“Fuck off!”

A couple of weeks ago, that would have been enough to make Steve totally shut down. Billy still remembers that day they were reading in the classroom, the way his face closed off when Billy took things too far. But now Steve doesn’t seem to care anymore, like he knows Billy isn’t going to do shit, like he knows how fucking whipped Billy is, and that’s the scariest thing of all. Big tough Billy Hargrove, whipped like a little puppy dog because he’s a fucking queer—

“Tell me, man,” Steve says. He’s standing very close now. He looks… he looks sympathetic, and Billy realizes that he’s practically panting, his breathing heavy and labored. He can’t do this, can’t have this conversation.

He forces himself to move away. It’s an effort, because part of him wants to lash out and the other part wants to just fucking sink into Steve and disappear. But even now, even when Steve is attacking everything that Billy keeps secret, he doesn’t want to ruin this thing they have. He promised he wouldn’t hit. So he just steps back, turns his face away.

He says unsteadily: “Why are you pushing this, man?”

That seems to give Steve pause for thought. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding surprised at his own admission. “I just… want to know.” He scratches his head, suddenly looking awkward. “I mean, I just… I think I have an idea, you know? And I guess I’m hoping I’m wrong, so…”

“What if you’re not?” Billy asks in a rush, and then wishes he could bite back the words.

Steve takes another step towards him. His arm lifts in a strange aborted motion; for a moment, Billy thinks Steve is going to touch the bruise on his mouth, but then his hand drops again. He says quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“The fuck for?” Billy says tiredly. He passes a hand over his eyes. “Christ, Harrington, you sure know how to ruin a perfectly good hangover.”

“For… pushing,” Steve says. 

Billy laughs sourly. “Liar.”

“Your dad…” Steve begins.

“Don’t,” Billy snaps. “You’ve had your pound of flesh, haven’t you? Jesus!” He shakes his head. He can’t do this. “I’m going to take a shower,” he says firmly. He folds his arms and glares. “Spare towels?”

Steve takes a small step back. “Airing cupboard in the bathroom,” he says. He bites his lip, looking worried. “You’re not leaving, right?”

Billy rolls his eyes. It would serve Steve right if he did, but even now he can’t bring himself to give up a whole day together. “Still gotta finish the goddamn book, haven’t we?”

Steve smiles, which is extremely fucking unfair. Billy can’t resist that smile. “Okay,” he says. His eyes crinkle up in the corners. “I promise not to read ahead.”

“Asshole,” Billy mutters, but somehow it comes out more fond than annoyed. He shakes his head, and shoves past Steve on his way to the stairs.

*

Steve is such a goddamn asshole. He is such an asshole, because he just pushed Billy way further than he should have done, but somehow he can’t bring himself to regret it.

How can he? He needed to know. Well, no, he didn’t, but he wanted to know. He feels… not better, exactly, but like something has clicked for him. Another piece of the jigsaw puzzle that is Billy Hargrove has fallen into place.

Neil Hargrove isn’t just a hardass with a temper. He’s a hardass with a temper who hits his son.

God, it makes Steve sick. About a hundred different things are starting to make sense now. The way Billy is always on edge, ready for a fight, ready to whale on anyone who so much as looks at him funny. The way he’s such an extroverted asshole at school but suddenly quiet and withdrawn when he gets home. And Jesus, the fight - it doesn’t make it okay, but it makes sense.

He remembers talking to Jonathan, all those weeks ago, when he’d just got back from the hospital and he was concussed and pissed off. He’d been glad to think that Hopper was going to get Billy in trouble with his dad for what he’d done. He’d even wished for it.

What had Neil done, the night Billy was dragged home by the police?

He thinks about that bruise, that soft yellowing bruise on Billy’s mouth that’s still there days after it was inflicted. He thinks about Billy carefully applying cover-up, so that he can go to school and hang out with his friends without anyone noticing. He thinks of sharp-eyed Mrs Byers, zeroing in on it almost immediately. Steve had barely noticed. But then again, it’s not the kind of thing you look for in your friends.

When Billy comes back down from his shower, Steve jumps up from where he’s sitting on the sofa in the lounge. “In here!” he calls, and he hears Billy’s footsteps approaching. 

“Man, your shower is nice,” he says as he comes in. He’s wearing jeans and a loose gray shirt, and his hair is lying in damp curls against the back of his neck. When he sees Steve, hovering awkwardly by the couch, his eyes narrow. “What, Harrington?”

“Steve,” Steve says automatically.

Billy rolls his eyes. “Steve,” he mimics.

There’s a somewhat uncomfortable silence. Steve doesn’t really know what to say. He wants to ask about it, but Billy’s been pretty clear that he doesn’t want to talk about it, and Steve already feels like he’s pushed things too far. So he just stands there, annoyed with himself for not being able to cover the awkwardness better.

“For fuck’s sake,” Billy mutters, and sits down on the other couch. He looks up at Steve, and sighs. “Okay, Harrington. Spit it out.”

“What?” Steve says, startled.

Billy leans back in his seat, the very picture of chill. It would be convincing, if Steve didn’t know better. “Can you let this go?” he asks.

Steve thinks about it. “No,” he says truthfully.

Billy shrugs. “So ask what you’ve gotta ask,” he says, closing his eyes. “Get it out of your goddamn system, jeez.”

“Okay,” Steve says slowly. He sits back down on the sofa and looks at Billy. He still has his eyes closed, but Steve can practically feel the tension rolling off him. He swallows. He can’t let this go, so if Billy’s giving him the opportunity… he’ll ask what he’s got to ask. “Your dad,” he begins, and then stops.

“Yeah,” Billy says, sounding profoundly weary.

Steve bites his lip, and then tries again. “He - that bruise.”

“Yeah,” Billy says again. He turns his face away from Steve. “We done, Harrington?”

“Steve,” Steve says patiently. “How… how often?”

Another deep, weary sigh. When he speaks, Billy’s voice is distant, abstracted, as though they’re discussing the weather. “Every now and then,” he says.

“The day of the fight,” Steve says.

A pause. “Yeah,” Billy says in a controlled voice. “Then.”

“Did you - were you hurt?”

“I’m a big boy, Harrington,” Billy replies, which isn’t an answer - or maybe it is. 

Steve shakes his head a little. “I’m so s—”

“Ah, don’t, Harrington,” Billy says, tipping his head back on the sofa cushions. “It’s just… you know, fuck it, it’s nothing. It’s just a thing that happens. It’s not a big deal.”

“Yeah, it is,” Steve says.

Billy sighs, folding his arms and meeting Steve’s eyes for the first time. His cheeks are flushed, and Steve can tell he’s feeling humiliated but is making the conscious choice to barrel through it. He says loudly: “Is this how it’s going to be now, Harrington? Because I’m not into it, all this goddamn pity.” His voice drips with contempt. “If you’re going to talk to me like I’m some… some—”

“Billy,” Steve interrupts, because he doesn’t want that either. “Shut up.”

That, at least, gets him the ghost of a smile. “Jerk,” Billy says.

“Takes one to know one,” Steve says. He stands up, almost without thinking, and walks over to the other couch, sitting down beside Billy. “Look, man, it doesn’t change anything, except now maybe I get why you’re such a dick—”

“Shut up,” Billy says, without heat.

“—but come on, it sucks. I can say that, right? Or are you going to throw another hissy fit?” He moves a little closer, his knees brushing Billy’s, and jostles his shoulder. “Come on, dude.”

Billy rolls his eyes again, nudging Steve back, but he looks a little less on edge. “Whatever,” he drawls. “Are we going to read the stupid book anytime soon?”

Steve smothers a smile. “Sure,” he says. “Where did we get to?”

Billy leans over to the side table, reaching for his battered copy of Pride and Prejudice and looking more animated than he has all morning. Steve can’t exactly blame him; he gets why discussing Jane Austen might feel preferable to their current topic of conversation. However, as Billy starts flipping through the pages, he’s startled to discover that he feels the same way. He’s actually looking forward to getting stuck into the story again.

“Sweet Jesus, I’m a nerd,” he mutters.

Billy, hearing this, glances up and gives Steve a wide, wicked grin. “Hey, you said it, Harring- Steve.”

“Shut up,” Steve says, but he can’t help smiling at the correction to his name.

He waits while Billy turns the pages, finding their place. Billy’s hands are tan, all knuckles, and Steve finds himself looking at them. It’s the second time he’s consciously noticed Billy’s hands. The first time was last night, lying drunkenly on his bed. He doesn’t exactly remember his thought process, but he thinks it might have started a little like this. Billy uses his hands a lot when he talks, and it had captured Steve’s attention last night.

That’s why he’d reached out to touch. He’d kind of like to do the same thing again, but he doesn’t have the excuse of being drunk this time. He’s not sure why, exactly, except that it makes him smile when Billy talks with his whole body and he just likes being close to it. Steve is a fundamentally affectionate person. He and Tommy used to walk around with their arms thrown fondly around each other’s shoulders; he was always bugging Nancy with how often he tried to touch her in entirely non-sexual ways. It’s just his way, when he’s on good terms with someone.

It’s making him feel weird in the pit of his stomach to think about it, so he redirects his attention. “They just left the hag, right?” he says.

Billy has found his spot. He rests his hand on his knee, tantalizingly close to Steve. “Yeah,” he says. “You ready?”

“Sure,” Steve says, glancing down at Billy’s hand. It’s lying palm-up, fingers relaxed and open, like an invitation. “I’m ready.”

He leans back against the back of the couch, and settles in to listen to Billy read. When he begins, his voice is as gentle as always, washing over Steve like a calming wave, the perfect hangover cure. Steve pushes away the uncomfortable fluttering feeling in his gut. There’s nothing there to think about, after all.

“It was the second week in May, in which the three young ladies set out together from Gracechurch Street…”

Steve closes his eyes, and lets Jane Austen distract him from all thought of Billy Hargrove’s hands.

Chapter Text

“I guess I don’t really get it,” Steve says, his finger tracing the paragraph in question. “This bit—” he coughs self-consciously, but doesn't attempt to read “—about her parents’ marriage. I don’t understand half the words, that’s the problem.”

For the first time since they started reading Pride and Prejudice, Billy is finding it difficult to concentrate on the story. It could be because the last couple of chapters have been relatively slow, after the revelation of Darcy’s proposal, but Billy knows better. He can’t forget the revelation of his own, can’t stop wondering what Steve is thinking, now that he knows. But he can’t show it, so he glances over at the book and tries to focus on the current topic of conversation.

He scans the page. She had never felt so strongly as now the disadvantages which must attend the children of so unsuitable a marriage, nor ever been so fully aware of the evils arising from so ill-judged a direction of talents; talents, which, rightly used, might at least have preserved the respectability of his daughters...

“I think she’s saying that, like… he doesn’t protect her,” he says slowly. “Like in the letter, Darcy said her family was an embarrassment, right? And her dad’s supposed to be looking after them, but he doesn’t.” He stops suddenly, biting his lip hard. It’s a little on the nose.

Steve either doesn’t notice, or pretends not to. “Right, yeah, because he enjoys making fun of them too much,” he says, nodding. “She says here - ex-exposing his wife to… to the contempt …” He pauses, as if he hadn’t realized he was reading out loud.

“Go on,” Billy says.

Steve rolls his eyes, but he obeys. “To the contempt of her… her own children,” he finishes.

“You’re getting better at that,” Billy observes.

“Shut up,” Steve says, flushing, but he looks pleased.

Billy tips his head back against the couch. He feels restless, antsy, and it’s difficult to look Steve in the eye. Steve knows now. He knows everything that makes Billy weak. He knows that everything he joked about yesterday, about Billy only pretending to be tough, is true. How can Billy be tough, when he can’t stop his dad from—

But he won’t finish that thought. He can’t.

He’s not tough, he’s not strong, and he’s not even into pussy. Unexpectedly, he feels a lump rising in his throat. He doesn’t know what he is, and now Steve… Steve knows.

“You okay?” See, that’s exactly the problem: Steve’s being gentle with him, like he’s fragile. Checking in on him like he’s a kid.

“Fuck off,” Billy says. He tries to keep his voice light, like he’s just bantering, but it comes dangerously close to a wobble. 

There’s a silence, during which Steve appears to be considering what to say next. Billy turns his head to stare at the wall. They’ve managed to get through three and a bit chapters without incident, but it’s required him to read pretty much continuously. Not so much stopping for discussion as usual.

At last, Steve says: “You want some lunch?”

Changing the subject; that’s a classic. Billy bites down on his tongue to stop his eyes from stinging. “Sure, man,” he says. 

Another pause. Steve says slowly: “You know, if I told you my drama, you wouldn’t even believe me.”

Billy frowns, turning to face him. “What?”

Steve shakes his head, looking a little as though he wishes he hadn’t spoken. “Nothing,” he says. 

“Fuck off with your nothing,” Billy says bluntly. “What do you mean?”

 Steve glances at him. There’s a strange expression on his face. “I’m just saying, you don’t have to - I mean…” He shakes his head again, looking exasperated. “I have damage, too,” he says finally. “You don’t… it’s not a - well, I mean, it is a big deal, obviously, but it’s not, like, a big deal with me, you know?”

“Not a clue,” Billy informs him cheerfully, trying to ignore the way his heart is suddenly beating double time.

“You don’t have to be weird with me,” Steve says. He shrugs. “I know what it’s like to have shit you can’t tell anyone.”

Billy’s first instinct is to scoff, but then he looks more closely at Steve’s face and thinks better of it. “What’s yours?” he says curiously.

Steve laughs humorlessly. “Can’t tell you,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Duh.”

“Bullshit,” Billy says. He can’t quite hide the bitterness from his voice.

“I’m serious,” Steve says. “You wouldn’t believe me if I tried, anyway.”

Billy narrows his eyes. “That’s a goddamn cop-out, Harrington.”

“Steve,” Steve says.

“Yeah, whatever,” Billy says mulishly. He’s not really in the mood to give Steve much mileage. He’s not sure if Steve was trying to make him feel better, or whatever, but he’s accomplished the opposite. 

Steve sighs. “I’m not trying to—”

“Trying to do what?” Billy snaps. “Dangle some weird secret in front of me and act like you’re too good to tell me what it is? Act like you understand me when you haven’t got a fucking clue? Is that what you’re not trying to do?” He’s breathing hard, trying not to properly lose his temper. 

It’s a bit of a losing battle. He’s suddenly fuming.

“It’s not what you think,” Steve says.

Billy bangs his hand frustratedly on the arm of the couch. “What do you know about what I think?” he says angrily. He turns his face away. He has to calm down - he has to, because otherwise Steve will make him leave— “You hold me over a goddamn barrel,” he spits.

“What?” Steve says.

His audible confusion doesn’t help Billy’s sudden fit of temper. “That’s how it is with you and me, right?” he says furiously. He finds himself on his feet, without quite knowing how he got there. “I’ve gotta keep it all in control - I’m just nothing to you, right?”

“Billy,” Steve says, sounding alarmed, “what—?”

“No, you know what, just save it,” Billy bites out. “I get it, I beat the snot out of you and now I’m the bad guy. And sure, fine, you can just keep on holding that over my head—”

“I’m not—”

Billy keeps talking right over him. “—I get it, I deserve it, whatever, but you’re not exactly squeaky clean, are you? Does Byers remind you of all the shit you’ve done, keep you unsteady so you don’t know when you’re going to fuck things up, huh?”

Steve is frowning at him in open consternation. “Billy—”

“And now, fuck it, now you’ve just gotta push things, don’t you, Harrington? What did I say, huh? Didn’t I ask you to leave it? What do I have to do, beg you? But no, that’s not good enough, you’ve just gotta know everything, and I’ve just gotta tell you, and now, what? Now you want to tell me it’s just like this secret that you’ve got, but I don’t get to know, I don’t get to push a goddamn thing, because I’m always on such thin ice with you, any sudden movements and I’m going to fucking drown, right? Right?”

His breath is coming in labored pants, but somehow his chest feels slightly looser. Maybe he’s fucked things up with Steve Harrington. Scratch that; he definitely has. But it’s just about the first time Billy’s ever really told anyone how he really feels about anything with words instead of fists.

There’s a long, long silence. He can’t look at Steve. He concentrates on bringing his breathing back under control. His ears are ringing.

“Billy,” Steve says quietly. Billy turns around. Steve’s face is creased up; he looks a mixture of perplexed and conflicted, although about what, Billy can’t guess. He takes a breath. “Do you - is that what you think I’m doing? Like… holding all that shit over your head?”

He sounds so upset by the idea that Billy’s residual anger drains away almost in an instant. He says tiredly: “I get it, man.”

“But I’m not!” Steve bursts out in obvious frustration. “I mean, I’m not trying to do that! I don’t even - I mean, that shit’s over, right?”

Slowly, Billy sits back down on his end of the couch. “I mean, I guess,” he says cautiously.

Steve shuffles a little closer to him, so that their knees are almost touching, the way they were earlier. “I’m serious, man,” he says. “Don’t even think about it.” He gives a short laugh. “I mean, you know, it would be cool if you didn’t beat me up again, but you don’t have to, like… censor yourself, or whatever.”

“I’m an asshole, Steve,” Billy says flatly. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

Steve laughs. “I don’t mind you being an asshole,” he says. He flashes Billy a quick smile; Billy’s stomach flips over. “It makes me laugh.”

“Long may it continue,” Billy says dryly.

“And… and the other thing,” Steve says, looking uncomfortable. “I wasn’t trying to be a dick, I was trying to tell you I understood.” He holds up his hands before Billy can speak. “I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he says. “Look, I really can’t tell you - I promised I wouldn’t.” He swallows, shaking his head. “It’s not - personal. Not to me, anyway. It’s about - you remember I told you Nancy’s friend Barb died last year?”

Billy blinks. He hadn’t expected the conversation to go in that direction. “Yeah,” he says slowly.

Steve shrugs. “There was more to the story,” he says simply. “It’s Nancy’s thing, really. She couldn’t let it go. I got caught up in it, and I ended up - well, I can’t say. It’s not my story, you know? I was just trying to say - I get what it’s like to have stuff you can’t talk about. But it’s not the same, and I shouldn’t have said anything. Sorry.”

“Okay,” Billy says, frowning. He desperately wants to follow the intriguing trail Steve has just left dangling out there, but he can tell Steve’s serious about not telling him. And hearing the explanation has made him feel better. He coughs awkwardly. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry you thought I was holding things over you,” Steve says.

“Jesus, Harrington - Steve! Stop apologizing, Christ,” Billy exclaims, rolling his eyes. 

Steve laughs. “Yeah, alright,” he says. “Can we have lunch now?”

He makes sandwiches, bringing them back out to the living room on a couple of plates. Billy finds that he’s starving, and practically swallows them whole; Steve has a funny look on his face, like he wants to comment, but thankfully he refrains. Things feel easier, less awkward now. Billy finds he can tease Steve about the party; Steve throws the crust of his egg salad sandwich at him, his eyes crinkled up with laughter.

“I regret nothing,” he proclaims regally. “The best nights are the messy ones.” 

Billy cackles. “Yeah? Does that include stroking your ex-girlfriend’s sweater in front of her new boyfriend?”

Steve’s face is a picture. “Oh, fuck,” he says. “I forgot about that.” He makes a face. “She’s probably mad at me now.”

“She seemed alright,” Billy says easily. “You got mad, though,” he adds. “I called her princess and you stopped smiling for the first time all night.”

His heart beats hard as he waits for Steve to answer this. He has his own ideas about why this annoyed Steve, but he doesn’t dare voice them aloud. They’re way too revealing; even hinting at it feels dangerous, like he’s playing with fire. 

Steve shrugs with a smile, and says, like it isn’t a big deal at all: “Well, yeah, that’s your name for me, isn’t it?”

“Y-yeah,” Billy stutters. “Right.”

“We going to carry on with the book, then?” Steve asks. “You reckon we could get to Chapter Fifty by the time you have to go home?”

Billy forces his mind back to the matter at hand. Steve’s casual possessiveness has totally unnerved him, but in the best way. “Doubtful,” he says. “That’s eight freaking chapters!”

Steve shrugs. “Well, let’s see how far we get,” he says.

Billy puts his plate on the floor and swings around so that his feet are propped up on the couch, knees bent up in front of him. He rests the book on his knees; Steve casts him an amused glance as he gets himself comfortable. “Where were we up to?”

“The whole thing with Lizzy’s dad,” Steve answers easily. 

“Right, right,” Billy says, finding his place. “When Elizabeth had rejoiced over Wickham’s departure she found little other cause for satisfaction in the loss of the regiment. Their parties abroad were less varied than before, and at home she had a mother and sister whose constant repinings at the dullness of everything around them threw a real gloom over their domestic circle —”

“Sounds like you,” Steve cuts in, a smile playing on his lips. “Throwing gloom on our social circle—”

Billy kicks out at his thigh, but he can’t help but grin. Things don’t feel stilted or uncomfortable anymore; they’re back to their usual lighthearted banter as he reads. “Better gloom than whatever the hell you brought last night, princess,” he comments.

Steve snorts. “I didn’t hear anyone complaining,” he says.

“As if you’d have known if they did,” Billy says.

“Heather Green wasn’t,” Steve rejoins immediately.

Now it’s Billy’s turn to snort. “Yeah, you scored, man,” he says. “With a girl you spent half the night running away from.”

Steve shrugs, eyes dancing. “Hey, I’m just saying,” he says. “Wasn’t she your date first?”

Billy kicks him again; this time, Steve grabs his socked foot and holds it still. Billy is so startled that he doesn’t try pulling back. It’s the second time Steve has voluntarily touched him in as many days. His hand is warm on Billy’s ankle. Slowly, Billy moves his other foot, stretching it across Steve’s lap.

“You want my sloppy seconds, they’re all yours,” he says, to cover the way his skin is tingling all over from Steve’s touch.

Steve just laughs, and then looks down at Billy’s feet on his knees. “What am I, your footrest?” he asks playfully.

Billy nudges his leg with a heel. “Got a problem with that, princess?” he asks challengingly.

“Nah,” Steve says. He leans back against the back of the couch, closing his eyes. “Read on.”

“As your highness commands,” Billy murmurs. Steve pinches his ankle briefly. Billy has to hastily think about basketball to suppress the beginnings of a hard-on.

He begins to read, his voice filling the warm room. Steve listens quietly, one hand resting on Billy’s leg, his fingers curled tightly around the ankle as though it’s just as much a lifeline for him as it is for Billy himself.

They don’t reach Chapter Fifty by the end of the day - Billy had never seriously thought they would - but they do get halfway through Chapter Forty-Five, and then break off to have a spirited discussion about the future of Darcy and Elizabeth’s romance. Steve, who Billy now realizes with disgust is a romantic at heart, maintains that everything is being set up for them to get together.

“I don’t even know how you can say I’m wrong, man,” he says, shaking his head. “She basically says it, here - look, read that bit—”

Billy nearly makes him read it himself, but figures that Steve has already done that once today. He reads obediently: “She respected, she esteemed, she was grateful to him, she felt a real interest in his welfare - so? That doesn’t mean she’s in love with him! He’s just, like, getting over himself—”

“He makes her wet,” Steve says baldly.

Billy wrinkles his nose before he can control his expression. “Gross, dude.”

Steve shrugs, unrepentant. “She’s into him,” he says.

“Yeah, but she shouldn’t be,” Billy objects. He can’t explain why it bothers him so much, but he doesn’t like the idea of Darcy and Elizabeth getting together. “He was a massive dick to her. What, he just gets to play nice for a couple days and now she’s into him? That’s bullshit, man.”

“Come on, everyone gets a second chance,” Steve says, laughing at the expression on Billy’s face. “She told him off and he actually listened. You don’t think that counts for anything?”

“Doesn’t count for shit,” Billy mutters, but Steve just laughs at him again.

Billy shuts the book. It’s nearly five, and as much as he’d rather spend another night hanging out with Steve, his dad had been pretty clear earlier that he needs to be home in good time for dinner. Plus, as much as he hates to admit it, he does actually have other homework he has to get done before Monday. 

Not to mention the time he’s going to have to spend thinking about the way Steve’s hand felt wrapped around his ankle, close and warm.

He feels a little awkward on the way out. He’s not sure if he’s ever spent so much consecutive time in one person’s company. It’s been good - fuck, it’s been awesome - but it feels like a lot has happened, too. Steve knows now. Nobody knows about Billy - or at least, nobody did, and now two people do, and - fuck, it makes his chest tighten and his stomach squirm, a new layer of fear added to everything that was already there.

Still, he doesn’t say anything about it until he’s halfway down the path and Steve has almost closed the front door on him.

“Steve,” he says, turning back. Steve pauses, giving him a quizzical look; Billy swallows. “You won’t - you’re not going to, like… tell anyone, right?”

Immediately, Steve’s face takes on a softened, sympathetic expression that makes Billy’s insides shrivel a little. “No,” he says. “Of course not.”

Billy raises his eyebrows. The obvious pity in Steve’s eyes makes him feel like he can’t quite trust his words. “I mean it,” he says.

“I won’t say anything,” Steve says, a little more forcefully. He gives a little half-smile. “You want me to write it in blood?”

“Fuck off,” Billy says automatically, but this time he feels more reassured. “See you at school, Harrington.”

Steve shakes his head, the half-smile spreading into a full one, and shuts the front door.

Billy drives uncharacteristically slowly back to the Hargrove house. He feels oddly spaced out, his head buzzing with the myriad of things that seemed to have happened over the weekend - even though really, very little happened at all. He doesn’t feel quite connected to any of it, as if he just spent the last two days living in a dream-world. And it was like that, wasn’t it? As if Billy had crafted the memories himself, fragile and completely out of the ordinary. In what universe does Steve touch Billy on purpose? And yet that had happened, during Billy’s fantastical weekend.

He’s almost home, and it’s enough to make him want to smash something. Almost time to stop living in a dream, and get back to reality. He’s dreading it.

Chapter Text

Steve heads into school on Monday morning feeling distinctly awkward, in that way anyone might after an intense kind of weekend. He’s not unfamiliar with the feeling; he’s had it with Tommy before, after spending a lot of time together in a fairly insular sort of way. It feels like maybe he overshared, and he finds himself unreasonably concerned that Billy won’t want to hang out at school anymore.

Of course, he’s not the one that overshared, really, but he did push Billy into telling more than he was really comfortable with. He seems to be doing that a lot lately.

He still can’t really get past the fact that Billy’s dad hits him. Every time he goes there in his head he meets resistance, like he can’t believe it’s a true thing he knows. It makes absolutely no sense, because Steve has visited an actual alternate dimension of reality, but somehow this gut-wrenching pitiful little drama of a man who hurts his son feels less believable, less realistic. The kind of thing you hear about in the news, but not the kind of thing that really happens to someone you know.

Steve’s dad isn’t the best parent around, but Steve can’t even begin to picture him raising a hand to… well, to anyone, and he’s a hell of a lot bigger than Neil Hargrove.

He wonders, with a sudden sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, whether he’s ever hit Max. But no - Steve doesn’t get that impression from her, and if Neil hit them both then he has a funny feeling that the new sense of camaraderie between Max and Billy would have been in place a long time ago.

Much more likely he only hurts Billy, and that’s why Billy’s seen Max as an enemy for so long.

He shakes his head, trying to concentrate on driving. He’s determined not to treat Billy any differently at school today. He’d worked hard not to let any of the sympathy he was feeling spill out while they were reading on Sunday. He could tell how much Billy was bothered by any kind of pity.

Maybe it’s that making him anxious. He can see Billy going away and feeling awkward about everything they talked about, and reacting by pushing Steve away.

It turns out, though, that he doesn’t have anything to worry about. He and Billy sit next to each other in English, the class right before recess, and Billy greets him just as he always does, not a care in the world. Of course, Steve knows better.

“How’s the head, Harrington?” Billy smirks.

Steve aims a shove at him. “You going to let that go anytime soon?” he asks, letting himself laugh. Billy is wearing his leather jacket over a red shirt, and he looks relaxed and effortlessly cool as usual. He sits sprawled in his chair, one arm thrown around the back of it, and a pair of sunglasses nestles in his hair.

His mouth, Steve can’t help but notice, looks smooth and utterly devoid of bruising. Make-up, it seems, truly is a magical thing.

“Nope,” Billy says, flashing his teeth, and Steve forces himself to concentrate. 

“You wait, man,” he says. “Someday soon I’ll be the designated driver, and you’ll be the one making an ass of yourself.”

Billy tips back his head and laughs. It draws Steve’s attention, inexplicably, to the dark line of his jaw. “Keep dreaming, Harrington.” He holds up his hands as Steve opens his mouth. “Steve.”

“Gentlemen,” Ms Young cuts in, before Steve can think of a suitable response. “Let’s get started.”

During recess, they finish the chapter of Pride and Prejudice they started before Billy had to go home the day before. Billy particularly enjoys it when Miss Bingley gets the smackdown from Darcy, and repeats the line a couple of times, putting on a ridiculous British accent the second time, and when Steve snorts at him he carries on reading in that voice until Steve whacks him in the shoulder. In short, things feel normal.

Steve’s pretty sure he sees Robin looking over at him from across the bleachers, but he’s too busy laughing at Billy’s total ridiculousness to pay too much attention. When he looks back, she’s gone.

“You want to come over after school?” Billy asks, as they’re heading back into the school building. “We’ve only got a week to finish this thing, right?”

“I have to pick up Dustin from AV club,” Steve says. He glances sideways at Billy. “Why don’t you come to mine, instead?”

There’s a brief pause, during which Steve wonders whether or not he’s fucked up. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why he’s suggesting they study at Steve’s place instead of Billy’s. So far, they’ve avoided talking about any of the topics that were brought up over the weekend. It’s felt like a conscious choice from both sides.

Billy says: “I can’t.” He hesitates. “I have to pick up Max from the nerd club, too—”

“AV club,” Steve corrects, and then wonders why he bothered. Billy snorts and punches his arm.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “But after - I have to come home after.” He doesn’t elaborate. 

Steve decides not to ask. “Okay,” he says. “But it’s cool if I come to you?”

“Yeah,” Billy says, snorting again. This time, the sound contains a fair amount of bitterness, at least to Steve’s ears. “My dad loves you.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Steve says in an affected voice. Billy punches his arm again. “Okay, okay! I’ll come to yours after I drop Dustin off.”

His next class is Chemistry, and it’s not one that he and Billy have together; Steve heads over to the labs feeling a bit regretful about it. Billy, as it turns out, makes a pretty great partner in class, and it’s not just because he helps Steve with any reading required. Steve has no girlfriend, not many real friends above the age of twelve - Billy is one of the only people he actually enjoys hanging out with these days. In fact, Billy is probably his favorite person to hang out with these days, which is super weird when Steve thinks about it too hard, so he doesn’t.

After Chemistry he has Gym, and that at least means he gets to see Billy again. Coach always puts them on opposing teams, because they’re the two best players in the class - suck on that, Rob Lowe - and if Steve had thought at any point that their burgeoning friendship would make Billy go easy on him, he’s been proved wrong. Quite the opposite, actually, but Steve wouldn’t have it any other way. It makes basketball way more fun.

Tommy approaches him in the locker room while he’s changing into his kit. He has shadows under his eyes, which could be down to a hangover; however, Steve wonders if it’s something else. He doesn’t remember seeing Evan Riley at the party on Saturday night, now he thinks about it.

Tommy shoulder-checks him in a friendly kind of way. “Hey, man,” he says. That gets them a few interested glances from the other boys; clearly the news of the reunion hasn’t quite spread everywhere yet. “You ready to take that asshole down?” Tommy points at Billy across the room, who gives them both a wide, shit-eating grin.

“You bet,” Steve answers, flashing his best challenging eyebrow-raise at Billy. He looks sideways at Tommy. “You recovered?”

Tommy gives an exaggerated shrug. “Should be asking you that,” he says. He laughs, leaning his arm on Steve’s shoulder. It’s a warm, familiar weight. “You were wasted!”

For some reason, Steve finds himself glancing over at Billy again. Billy is down to his shorts, bending over the bench to lace up his sneakers. “Yeah, it was a good night,” he says distractedly to Tommy. Billy stands up, stretching his arms above his head; his back ripples, lithe and tan. Steve looks away again.

It’s shirts versus skins, as usual; Tommy and Steve are playing shirts. Tommy’s a pretty good basketball player, but even with both of them working together for once, they’re no match for Billy. Billy is fast and strong, streaking across the court when he doesn’t have the ball and throwing his weight around when he does. Over and over again he stretches and jumps to make the shot, leaving Steve’s team in the dust.

“Harrington! Get in there!” Coach Keith bays at him more than once, but for some reason Steve is reluctant to move in for the tackle.

Tommy swoops in instead, shoulder-checking Billy, shirt against skin, but Billy sidesteps him easily and passes to Chris. Steve doesn’t feel weird about tackling Chris, so he barrels into him, stealing the ball and shooting. It’s a solid three-pointer.

Why does he feel weird about tackling Billy? Steve isn’t sure. It’s not because they’re friends now - he’s never had a problem playing basketball with his friends. It’s something to do with the gleaming wide grin on Billy’s face, the broadness of his bare chest, the way he looks when he’s running. It makes Steve feel squirmy and uncomfortable to think about, and overall he’s too distracted to really play well.

“Bad luck, Harrington,” Billy calls to him after the game, as they’re walking off the court to hit the showers. Steve rolls his eyes, and when Billy catches up with him, he aims a well-placed elbow to Billy’s ribs.

“Shut up,” he says, when Billy’s eyes glitter. “Gotta let you have it once in a while, haven’t I?”

Billy laughs loudly. “That’s what happened? Jeez Louise, princess, you’re too kind!”

It’s weird, how much Steve likes Billy calling him princess. Maybe it’s because it’s turned into something affectionate now, a shift from the original condescending way Billy used to say it to him. He pushes Billy’s shoulder, shaking his head as Billy cackles at him, and heads into the locker rooms.

He very determinedly keeps his back turned to the rest of the room while he takes a shower, although he can’t really explain why even to himself. He soaps up quickly, rinses off even faster, and then heads into the changing area without looking at anyone. 

By the time he emerges - it takes a while to achieve the Steve Harrington signature hair - Tommy and Billy are waiting for him outside the locker room. With a slight jolt, Steve remembers that it’s lunchtime; today, for the first time in a really fucking long time, he’s going to be eating at the popular table in the lunch hall. He hasn’t hung out with that crowd since before he and Nancy were dating, if you don’t count Saturday night - and as fun as it was, Steve can’t really count that. He was loaded on Saturday night, as Tommy so helpfully pointed out.

It’ll be nice to be able to sit with friends again, to have people to talk to. But as they pass the double doors that lead out to the bleachers, Steve can’t help but feel a little regretful. He’s enjoyed his quiet lunches with Billy over the last few weeks, reading Pride and Prejudice and getting to know each other.

“The prodigal son returns!” Derrick hollers at Steve as the three of them approach the table. Steve makes a quick scan; all the usual suspects are there, except Carol. He purposely doesn’t look at Tommy.

“Shut up, Derrick,” Billy says, rolling his eyes. “Shove up.”

Everyone shoves up, and space is made for Steve, Billy and Tommy in the middle of the table. Tommy is on one side, between Derrick and Jerry, and Steve finds himself sitting opposite, with Laney on his left and Billy on his right. Billy’s leg is pressed up against his own under the table.

Jerry - not the brightest spark on the planet - looks from left to right with a frown. “Where’s Carol?” he asks Tommy.

Steve is looking right at Tommy when he asks, so he sees the way Tommy’s face shutters, tightening up and closing down all at the same time. The purple bags under his eyes suddenly seem especially pronounced. He opens his mouth, but no words come out.

“Sucking your mom’s dick,” Steve says loudly, and a general round of jeering and catcalls follows his words. Tommy throws Steve a grateful look. 

Steve can tell that Billy has noticed, but thankfully he doesn’t comment on Steve’s uncharacteristic save. Once the ribaldry has died down, Derrick makes a joke about Jerry’s current lack of female attention, and once again the table explodes into raucous laughter. Steve joins in a little - he’s still a teenage boy, and jokes about sex will never not be funny to him - but he feels oddly detached from the whole process.

He thinks about the conversation he had with Jonathan about hanging out with this crowd. He’d been worried about this exact thing happening - about losing the person he is now, drowning himself in this sea of stupid humor and insincere friendship. None of it is even close to being real, not when he compares it to everything that’s happened to him since he met Nancy. 

He wishes there was something he could do, something he could say, to prove to himself that he’s not like them. He’s not trying to be that asshole who thinks he’s better than everyone else - but isn’t he? Isn’t he better than this idiocy? He can’t have an actual conversation with anyone around this table - anyone except Billy, anyway. He can’t tell the truth about anything that’s going on with him. He tries to imagine how Jerry, or Chris, would react if he tried to describe the weird complicated mixture of pissed off and fond he feels when he thinks about Nancy. They’d just look at him like he was crazy, or make some stupid joke.

At least Billy’s not like that. Completely improbably, Billy is the one person he can actually be honest with. It makes him smile and shake his head in disbelief to think of it.

At that moment, Steve glances up and across the table, and that’s when he sees Robin. She’s crossing the cafeteria, passing right behind their table. She’s the exact kind of person that Steve wouldn’t have looked twice at before.

It’s an opportunity, and he takes it without thinking twice about it. “Robin!”

She stops walking, looking around as if he might be calling to someone else. Well, Steve can’t exactly blame her for that. At last, she zeroes in on him, face wary and closed off. “Hi,” she says cautiously.

“Hey,” Steve says. He can feel Billy and practically everyone else at the table looking at him - they all went quiet when he said her name - but he ignores them. “How was your Thanksgiving?”

She still has a bug-eyed look like she can’t believe he’s actually talking to her, but at least she answers him. “Yeah, it was okay, thanks,” she says. Her eyes skitter around the table. “How was yours?”

Steve pauses. This would be a prime chance to actually be honest with someone - but in the moment, it feels a little heavy. What’s he supposed to say? Yeah, I actually saw my parents for once, but then they fucked off the day after like always and now I won’t see them until Christmas? Yeah, right.

“Not bad,” he says neutrally.

Robin snorts like he didn’t fool her for a second. “All major holidays suck,” she tells him. “New theory of existence.”

“I like it,” Steve says, nodding. “It fits your image.”

This time, she outright laughs. “See you later, Harrington,” she says, and then she leaves, although not before her eyes dart across the rest of the group one last time. Steve feels oddly proud of himself as he watches her go.

“Who was that?” Laney says derisively as soon as she’s out of earshot. At least, Steve hopes she’s out of earshot. 

“Robin Buckley,” Steve says, picking up his sandwich and taking a large bite. “She’s a junior.”

Jerry laughs unkindly. “Why you always gotta lower yourself with these chicks you date, Harrington?” he asks jovially. “You can’t go out with anyone your own league?”

“You’re assuming he could get anyone his own league,” Billy points out, and they all laugh - Steve included. Somehow, it’s funnier when Billy says it.

“Heather was into it at the weekend,” Tommy says.

Steve makes a face. “I’m not dating Heather Green,” he says. “And I’m not dating Robin either, Jesus! We’re just friends.” 

“Didn’t you say that about Wheeler?” Chris asks.

Tommy cracks up at that. “Nah, he was ga-ga over Wheeler from day one,” he says. “When King Steve falls, he falls hard - right?” He snorts in response to his own words.

Steve throws a potato chip across the table at him. “I’m not into Robin,” he says.

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t kick her out of bed, right?” Derrick says slyly. “She’s kinda hot, if you don’t mind slumming it—”

“Shut up,” Steve says sharply. “Don’t talk about her that way.”

A chorus of ‘oooooooh’ resounds around the table. “Touchy, touchy!” Derrick says. “What’s the matter, Steve, did I insult your girlfriend?”

“You’re such an ass,” Steve sighs. Involuntarily, he glances at Billy. He’s not sure why, exactly, except that Billy makes things easier - but Billy steps up.

He leans his elbows on the table. “When’s the last time you hooked up, D-bag?” he challenges. “Word is you’re practicing making out in the mirror ‘cause you can’t get anyone except your little sister and even she’s getting tired of playing tonsil tennis.”

The table erupts. Derrick splutters. Billy has a hard-as-nails look on his face, no remorse - like he’s daring Derrick to answer back. Derrick manages: “You - don’t talk about my sister, asshole!”

Billy waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Touchy, touchy,” he says.

Steve laughs loudly. Derrick subsides, grumbling, and after a couple of minutes of general snickering and banter, Chris starts talking about something else.

All in all, Steve enjoys himself more than he expected to. Yeah, none of this is quite him anymore, but at the same time it’s easy, it’s relaxing, and it’s been a while since he really felt like he had a proper group of friends. He spoke to Robin, an outsider, and that was okay, too. It reassured him that he’s not going to fall back into his old unhealthy habits, or turn back into the asshole he was before he met Nancy. And Billy had his back, too, so none of the guys made too much fun of him.

At the end of lunch, as they’re all gathering up their bags and coats, Billy says casually to Steve: “See you later, man.”

“Yeah, maybe four-thirty,” Steve agrees, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Tommy says curiously: “Are you guys still doing that English thing?”

Billy lifts his chin in that way that Steve has come to recognize as defensive. “Yeah,” he says. “What, old Houseman isn’t making you do it?” Houseman is Tommy’s English teacher. He’s about ninety years old and has hair coming out of his ears.

“You kidding? Houseman wouldn’t care if I showed up buck-naked,” Tommy says derisively. “Ms Young’s a hardass, huh?”

Steve shrugs. “I guess,” he says. He actually kind of likes Ms Young. She doesn’t say much to him, but once or twice he’s caught her giving him a narrow-eyed meditative look, with just the tiniest smile playing on her thin lips. It beats last year, anyway - his poor performance earned him several red scrawlings at the foot of his assignments.

“So you’re doing the presentation tonight?” Tommy presses.

For some reason, Billy glances minutely at Steve, like he’s not sure how to answer. Steve takes the initiative. “I mean, maybe,” he says. “There’s only so long you can study.”

Tommy frowns, processing this. He says quietly: “I’ve never been to Billy’s house.”

“That’s because it’s a piece of shit,” Billy says robustly. He nudges Tommy’s shoulder. “Next time we hang at Harrington’s you should come, man.”

“Okay,” Tommy says a little more cheerfully. It’s then that Steve realizes he was jealous. It seems so strange, to think of Tommy being the one to feel left out. It makes him seem more human, more normal. Steve’s not used to caring all that much about how Tommy feels.

Stupid, really. Tommy’s been a sensitive bastard since kindergarten.

Chapter Text

Steve gets through the rest of the day without incident, and then spends three quarters of an hour doing his homework in the library while he waits for Dustin to finish with the AV club. It’s a good thing, too - he’s been spending so much time focused on English lately that the other subjects have been somewhat neglected. He races through his Math and Biology assignments, and picks unsuccessfully at the reading assigned for History.

Jesus. Where’s Billy when you need him?

He gets to the middle school just after four; he’s figured out by now that Dustin is never on time. About a minute later, the Camaro slides into the space next to his. Steve grins, and gets out of the car.

“Long time no see,” he calls out, as Billy climbs out of the front seat, leaning on the roof of the Camaro.

Billy rolls his eyes. “You’re hilarious.”

Steve grins. “You know it,” he says comfortably.

There’s a pause, during which Billy narrows his eyes at Steve in the way that Steve has come to realize means he’s chewing over something he wants to say. At last, he says in a faux-casual, slightly hesitant voice: “So who’s that Robin chick, man?”

“Oh, I met her out on the bleachers that time you didn’t show, a while back,” Steve explains. “She’s a junior, but she says we’ve had classes together.” He gives a short laugh. He’s still annoyed with himself about that. “She’s cool.”

“Huh,” Billy says, which is remarkably restrained, for him. Then he gives a wide, trademark Billy grin. “No wonder you were running away from Heather Green on Saturday night!”

Steve flips him off, laughing. “It’s not like that,” he says. Something inside him recoils at the idea, just as it did when the gang were teasing him about Robin at lunch. Robin is undeniably an attractive girl - or would be, if she’d just brush her damn hair - but thinking of her that way feels weird. Maybe because it’s not really been all that long since he and Nancy split up. “We’re just friends,” he tells Billy. Then he thinks about it. “Or something, I don’t know. I don’t know her that well.”

Billy is watching him curiously. “You talked to her on purpose,” he observes.

“Yeah,” Steve says, leaning back against his car. He shakes his head. He doesn’t know how to explain it.

“You don’t want them to think you’re totally back, huh?” Billy says thoughtfully.

Steve shrugs. “I’m different now,” he says simply. “I don’t want to go back to how I was.”

Billy smiles, and the wind catches the ends of his hair a little. It’s surprisingly sunny for the end of November, gleaming on his face. “I won’t let you,” he says offhandedly. Steve’s chest constricts, just for a moment. Billy might be pretending otherwise, but Steve can tell he’s being totally sincere. And Steve… Steve believes him.

“Thanks,” he says.

The front door of the middle school opens, and the Party - Christ, Steve is actually thinking like a nerd - tumbles out. Mike and Will first, walking quietly and talking, and then Dustin, Max and Lucas. Lucas and Dustin are having an animated discussion, all hand gestures and mouths moving a mile a minute, and Max… well, Steve doesn’t know Max all that well, but she has the look of someone pretending to find the whole thing ridiculous but secretly loving it.

“God, she’s one of them,” Billy says, in a disgusted sort of voice.

Steve snorts. Max and Billy aren’t that different after all. There’s a thread of pride underneath the pretended revulsion that Billy can’t quite hide.

“Yeah, what nerds,” he says, glancing mischievously at Billy. “All that studying. Who’d bother, right?”

Billy glares at him. “Shut up,” he says. Steve laughs, and after a moment, so does Billy.

It’s apparently loud enough to draw the attention of the five kids currently making their way across the parking lot. Will and Mike have peeled away to Mrs Byers’ station wagon, and Lucas is getting out his bike, so Max and Dustin cross over to where Steve and Billy are parked on their own.

Dustin looks suspiciously at the pair of them. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Billy says, his smile drying up. Steve glances over at him; suddenly, he’s practically vibrating with tension. Steve’s not sure why until he sees the aggressive, narrow-eyed way Dustin is glaring at him.

Right. The kids still pretty much hate Billy.

He can’t even blame them, not after Billy came after Lucas that way. Just because Billy has made his peace with Steve - and with Max, to a certain extent - doesn’t mean they all have to accept him. And there’s no way in hell that Steve is going to be sharing any of the extenuating circumstances he’s now aware of that explain Billy’s behavior a little better.

“You were laughing at us,” Dustin says angrily.

“Of course we weren’t,” Steve says, even though they were a little. He gives Dustin his best Babysitter Steve smile. “Come on, man.”

Dustin folds his arms. “He was laughing at us,” he says obstinately.

“Dustin,” Max says in a warning voice.

Billy crosses his own arms, his pose and expression such a mirror of Dustin’s own that Steve almost smiles. “I don’t think of you enough to laugh at you, mophead,” he sneers.

Steve sighs. Way to make things easier. “Don’t be an ass,” he says to Billy.

Billy’s attention snaps to Steve, and he opens his mouth, clearly about to retort. Steve raises his eyebrows, and Billy closes his mouth again. He says, with obvious effort: “Okay, okay, sorry.”

Well, it’s a start. Dustin looks absolutely shocked that Billy actually apologized, but Steve thinks that Max looks a little proud. “Come on, Dustin,” he says swiftly. “Let’s go.”

“Fine,” Dustin says sulkily. “See you tomorrow,” he adds to Max. He glares some more at Billy for good measure as he gets into Steve’s car.

Steve flashes Billy a quick smile, and follows suit. He’s actually pretty relieved that that went so smoothly. Billy offering up an actual apology was unexpected, but nice. Steve smiles fondly, buckling himself in.

“He is such an asshole,” Dustin complains as they pull out of the lot. “I don’t get it, Steve, what were you even laughing about?”

“We were just messing around,” Steve says peaceably. “How was AV club?”

This produces the desired effect of distracting Dustin from his irritation with Billy; he regales Steve with stories of the cool technological theorems the Party have spent the afternoon discussing, and Steve makes appropriate interested noises all the way to Dustin’s house.

As he pulls up, Dustin’s stream of excitable chatter dies down a little. Steve has been enjoying listening to him. One of things he finds especially endearing about Dustin - not that he’d ever tell him, of course - is his unbounded enthusiasm for the things he finds interesting.

“Sounds like a pretty great session,” he says, putting the car into park.

Dustin is looking out of the window; he turns back to look at Steve. “Yeah,” he says slowly. He draws in a breath. “Hey, Steve,” he begins.

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Do you ever get freaked out about everything?”

It’s not what Steve thought he would say. He’s not really sure what he thought Dustin would say, really, but the question is so unexpectedly sincere that he can’t help but respond in kind.

He says, heavily: “Yeah, man, of course. All the time.”

Dustin sighs. “Yeah,” he says. He looks out of the window again. “We saved the world, right?”

Steve thinks about it. “Well, yeah,” he says, although he’s a little uncomfortable taking credit for such a lofty achievement. “A lot of people could have died.” He swallows. “People did die. But El, she stopped it. And she couldn’t have done that if we hadn’t helped.”

“You didn’t want us to get involved,” Dustin says with the ghost of a smile.

Steve rolls his eyes. “You want me to apologize for trying to keep you idiots safe?”

“No,” Dustin says. He hesitates. “You think it’s over?”

“No,” Steve says, before he can make himself slow down enough to actually think about it. 

Dustin nods like this was exactly the response he anticipated. “Me neither,” he says.

“That doesn’t mean we’re the ones who’ll have to handle it, though,” Steve points out. “We’re just… civilians, you know?”

Dustin laughs. “I like knowing what’s going on,” he says. He shakes his head a little, as if shaking off his uncharacteristically melancholy mood. Then he says in a more normal voice: “We’ve been talking about the shadow that was inside Will, you know, the thing that possessed him.”

Steve shudders. “Is Will okay?” he asks.

“Not really,” Dustin says. “But the shadow, it’s still in this world. Nancy saw it fly off after they forced it out of Will.”

For a moment, Steve just stares at him. “What?”

“Yeah,” Dustin says. 

“But… El closed the gate!” Steve exclaims. “What the fuck, man? She shut the goddamn gate! Wasn’t that the whole freaking point?”

Dustin shrugs. “Well, she doesn’t think it’s a threat right now,” he says. “Now that the gate is closed, it’s cut off from the hive mind.” He squints suddenly at Steve. “But that doesn’t mean it can’t possess anyone.”

“If it’s cut off from the hive mind,” Steve starts, and then closes his eyes briefly. He can’t believe he’s actually having this conversation. “If it’s cut off from the hive mind, doesn’t that mean it’s, like… lost its power?”

“Well, yeah, maybe,” Dustin says. A stubborn note has entered his voice. “That’s what El thinks. She thinks it can’t do anything while the gate is shut. She thinks we’re all safe.”

Relief floods through Steve. “She would know, right?”

Dustin folds his arms. “She doesn’t know for sure,” he says, in the manner of someone who has had this argument before.

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Okay, what do you think?” he asks.

“I think it could still be a threat,” Dustin says immediately. “I didn’t before, but then… Well, we know it can possess people, right? And it makes them act different, act weird. That’s what it did to Will.”

“Sure,” Steve says. “But how can it function without a mind?”

Dustin turns to him eagerly. “Well, what if it can use someone else’s mind?” he says. “Like, what if it possessed someone before the gate was shut, like in the time after it left Will and before El closed the gate, and now it can use that person’s mind to function?”

Steve considers this. He’s not exactly an expert on the Upside Down, but he’s skeptical about Dustin’s theory. Partly, he has to admit, because he doesn’t want it to be true. “That wouldn’t leave it much time to find someone else to possess,” he says. “I thought it could only possess Will because he’d actually been in the Upside Down before.”

“Yeah, that’s what Will said,” Dustin says, “but he doesn’t really know, does he? Like, maybe that’s how he got possessed that time, but now that the shadow is here, it can possess anyone.”

“Still, though,” Steve says thoughtfully. “That doesn’t leave a very big window, does it? Didn’t El close the gate at practically the same time as Jonathan and Nancy got the shadow out of Will?”

Dustin nods emphatically, as if this proves his point. “So it would need someone close by!” he exclaims. “Someone who was vulnerable, you know? Like sleeping, or unconscious.” He gives Steve a sharp look. “And it’s weak now, so it’s biding its time until it’s strong enough to fuck things up again.”

Steve sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Dustin, I hate to say it, but this isn’t making a lot of sense.”

“No one ever believes me,” Dustin huffs. He throws Steve a mournful, betrayed expression. “None of the Party is on my side. But I thought you might be.”

“Of course I’m on your side,” Steve says, reaching out to ruffle Dustin’s hair. “I guess I just figure… Well, El knows what she’s talking about, right? If she thinks things are fine…”

Dustin sighs. “I guess,” he says doubtfully. “But Steve, watch out, okay? Look out for anyone acting differently.” He turns and fixes Steve with an eagle stare. “Anyone at all, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve says, amused. “I’ll watch out for anyone acting strange.”

“Not just strange,” Dustin insists. “Strange for them. Can you think of anyone like that, anyone acting in a way that’s not like them? Anyone at all?”

His intensity is starting to weird Steve out. “Not off the top of my head, but I’ll keep a lookout,” he says.

Dustin huffs at him again. “You sure you can’t think of anyone acting weird and not like themselves?” he says again, placing heavy emphasis on the words.

Steve gives him bug-eyes. “No,” he says. He ruffles Dustin’s hair again. “I promise, I’m with you the second there’s any actual proof, okay?”

“You promise?” Dustin says.

“I promise,” Steve repeats. “I have the walkie. Or, you know, you could just call.”

“Fine,” Dustin says. He gives Steve a long, pensive look. “Fine. See you later.”

Steve smiles. “See you.”

He thinks about what Dustin has said all the way over to Billy’s, which is across town. The idea that some part of the Mind Flayer is still alive, still in this world… it’s terrifying, frankly. Steve’s always been the kind of person who deals fairly well with actual threat - like fighting off the demodogs - but he’s not great with hypotheticals. He doesn’t like the idea of having to decide whether or not to be afraid.

Still, he’s always been pretty good at shutting down unwelcome thoughts, so he decides that for now, he’ll leave the whole thing alone. El is the closest they’ve got to an expert in the whole thing; if she thinks they’re in the clear, Steve is prepared to trust her. Besides, even if Dustin is right, what are they supposed to do about it? Steve’s just a dude with a baseball bat.

In the meantime, he’ll just do as he was told and watch out for anyone acting strange. A smile plays around his lips. As if Dustin even knows what he means by that! Still, he’s obscurely fond of the kid, and overall the whole interaction has left him with an overwhelming sense of affection towards Dustin. There’s a very sweet earnestness about him that Steve can’t help but find endearing.

As he drives up to the Hargrove house, Steve’s thoughts wander to Pride and Prejudice. In spite of Billy’s obvious disbelief, Steve’s sure that it won’t be long before Lizzy and Darcy get together. Billy’s insistence that they shouldn’t is, in his opinion, rather amusing. Billy seems to hold a very high standard for the behavior of his fictional characters.

There’s something else in that, something about happy endings and Billy not wanting to award them to the undeserving, but it makes Steve feel both uncomfortable and unbearably sad to think about it, so he pushes the thought away. He seems to be doing that a lot at the moment.

He’s nervous, too, about seeing Neil Hargrove again. Ever since he found out, he hasn’t been able to stop the new knowledge from pressing on him, like a new permanent growth in his brain that he can’t eradicate. Maybe that’s the point - maybe things like that are like tumors. It’s difficult for Steve, sitting in his warm and comfortable life, to get out of the car and walk into Billy’s house and pretend that everything is as it should be. He can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like for Billy.

He has to be normal. He has to be as polite to Billy’s dad as he always has been. That shouldn’t be too hard - Steve has always found Neil pretty creepy, but apparently he’s still managed to make a good impression. That’s pretty gross, actually. Steve shivers.

He gets out of the car. The thing is, no matter how freaked out he is about the Upside Down, no matter how much he doesn’t want to see Neil Hargrove for even a second, Steve is about to spend the afternoon hanging out with Billy. 

And really, that’s enough to make Steve feel totally chill.

Chapter Text

Max is quiet in the car on the way home, and for some reason it makes Billy anxious. Like he wants to talk to her, or something, even though he doesn’t actually have anything to say. He drives a little more carefully than usual, figuring it’s probably bad for their uneasy alliance if he scares her going too fast around the corners, and frowns as she just stares out the window.

At last, he says: “You okay?”

She startles as though she’d forgotten he was there. “Yeah,” she says. She doesn’t sound upset - just pensive. She pauses. “What were you and Steve laughing about, anyway?”

“Jesus,” Billy says, rolling his eyes. “You too, huh? Harrington was being an ass, that’s all.”

Max raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You were the ass,” she says pointedly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy sighs. He’s been called worse. He shrugs. “We were just fooling around. Your little buddy took it too seriously.”

“He doesn’t like you,” Max says. Well, no shit. But before he can comment, she adds: “He’s afraid of you.”

Billy glances across at her. Her hair is hanging around her face, thick and heavy, and she looks fierce and demanding. He’s beginning to wish he’d just let her stew away in silence. He says: “Afraid of me?”

She folds her arms. “Don’t pretend you don’t know why.”

Well, sure, Billy knows why. He mostly tries not to think about that night - the kids, Steve Harrington, the weird little house out in the middle of nowhere - but when he does he can still see it all as fresh as if it just happened. Hauling little Sinclair up against the wall, getting up in his face, making him afraid - it’s what Billy does best. Just because Steve’s decided to look past it doesn’t mean they all will.

And what the fuck does he care, anyway? He focuses on the road, swinging the wheel as they cruise around a corner under the heavy dark trees. They’re just kids, stupid little kids, and it doesn’t matter if they can’t stand him. What matters is that they’re afraid of him. They won’t try shit.

Billy swallows, a sudden lump rising up in his throat. That feels… he doesn’t like how that feels. Does he really want a bunch of middle schoolers to be afraid of him?

Jesus, Steve Harrington, what are you doing to me?

“Yeah,” he says at last to Max, voice husky. He clears his throat. “I know why.”

Max looks at him for another few moments, eyes searching his face. He deliberately doesn’t look back, concentrating on driving. Her eyes narrow; he’s not sure what it means, but it probably isn’t good. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. Max barely even tolerated him five days ago, and he didn’t give a shit then, did he?

Well. Only a little, anyway.

“You could say sorry.” Max’s voice breaks into his thoughts. He glances at her, startled; she just looks back, arms crossed in front of her chest.

“To your friends?” Billy’s voice is a little shrill. Jesus Christ, he’s only just got through that shit with Max and with Steve - she wants him to do it again?

As if reading his mind, she says: “That’s what you do when you fuck up, Billy. You don’t get to… like, stop, just because you said sorry to me.”

“And Steve,” Billy says without thinking.

Max’s eyebrows climb into her hairline. “You apologized to Steve?” 

He’s obscurely affronted that she’s so surprised. “Shut up.”

She stifles a snort. “Didn’t take him long to get over it,” she observes.

“Jesus, yeah, it did,” Billy says with feeling, pulling up outside the house. He can see Susan through the living room window, sitting on the couch. Neil, Billy presumes, is still at work; his car is nowhere to be seen. That automatically makes Billy feel lighter.

“It’s been, like, three weeks,” Max says skeptically, and Billy realizes she’s still talking about Steve. Three weeks? Is that all the time that’s passed since the fight? It feels like forever.

He unbuckles his seatbelt. “Felt like a while,” he grunts.

“You’re so impatient,” Max sighs, but she doesn’t sound too pissed at him. She opens the passenger door, and then turns back to him. “Can you at least think about it?”

Billy stares at her. “Think about it?”

She huffs. “Saying sorry,” she says. “Lucas especially.”

He nearly, nearly laughs in her face. Apologize to her lame little gang? Yeah, right. It’s not that he doesn’t feel it - God, he wishes he didn’t feel it, life would be so much easier if he could just not care - but there’s just no way. It was hard enough with Max, harder still with Steve, and only possible with either of them because of the time he spends with them on a regular basis. He hadn’t actually decided to apologize to either Steve or Max; it had just kind of happened.

With an effort, he doesn’t laugh. “Max,” he says. “Come on. They’re not going to listen to a word I say.” Then he does laugh, but it’s a humorless sound. “Why should they?”

“I’ll ask them to,” Max says with a stubborn optimism that brings a slight smile to Billy’s lips in spite of himself.

“Max—”

“Billy,” she cuts in. “Don’t you think it would be cool if everyone could just like each other?”

Again, Billy has to hold himself back from his automatic eye roll. “It’s not going to happen,” he tells her. She opens her mouth to argue, but he holds up his hand. “Your little friends hate me,” he says, and then waits a beat in case she wants to object to this. She doesn’t. “Me throwing out some pitiful little apology isn’t going to change shit. They won’t believe me, they won’t care, and then you’ll be pissed it didn’t work, I’ll feel like an asshole, and all the fucking drama will be stirred up for no goddamn reason. You know what your friends want?”

Her eyes are round as she stares at him. “What?”

“They want you,” Billy says. “They want to hang out with you, even though my asshole dad says you can’t, and they want me to leave you all the hell alone. So that’s what I’m giving them, okay? That’s my apology, right there.”

“You don’t know they won’t believe you,” Max says obstinately, but he can see the defeat in her face.

“I do,” he says. “Trust me on this, okay? People… people will forgive you if you hurt them, but they won’t forgive you if you hurt someone they care about.”

Damning, but true. Max drops her gaze. She says in a small voice: “That’s not a reason not to say it anyway.”

“Okay,” Billy says, beginning to feel a bit impatient. “Well, you tell them that I said it, then. See what happens.”

She looks up at him again. “But you didn’t say it.”

Oh, for God’s— “Max,” Billy says, working hard to keep his voice even. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what - what I did. To all your friends. And you can tell them I said that.” Christ, she’s going to say something, he can just feel it. “Get out of the car,” he says hastily. “Come on, Jesus.”

He gets out himself, slamming the door, and Max follows suit a little more slowly. She doesn’t say anything as they walk up the short pathway to the front door, and Billy sincerely hopes that that means the conversation is over. He’s getting pretty tired of defending himself every goddamn minute, even if he knows he deserves it.

As they walk in, Susan jumps up from the couch and comes over to greet them, which Billy thinks is excessive. She has a weird, definitely fake smile on her face.

“Hello, sweetie,” she says to Max, curling an arm around her shoulders. Billy clearly isn’t the only one who thinks she’s acting strange, because Max pulls a face. Then Susan looks at him. “Hello, Billy,” she says. “How was school?”

Billy stares at her. “Fine,” he says cautiously. 

“Good, good,” she says, still smiling at him. “You - you had a good day?”

“Yeah,” he says. Then, because it’s almost certainly better to ask her first than for his dad to find out later that he didn’t, he adds: “I told Steve he could come round to study later.”

Okay, not exactly asking, but Susan doesn’t look like she minds. “Of course,” she says. “He’s a nice boy.” She glances at Max. “He babysits some of your friends sometimes, doesn’t he?”

Max nods. “Dustin, mostly,” she says. Then, provocatively: “Sometimes Lucas, though.”

Susan’s smile flickers. “Lovely,” she says. “How was your day, Maxine?”

As Max begins to answer, Billy slopes away to his bedroom. It’s not like Susan to extend her dull-ass mom questions to him as well as her own kid. He wonders what’s gotten into her. Maybe she’s finally losing her mind, stuck at home all day with nothing to do. Mind you, Billy’s of the opinion that she lost her mind the day she agreed to marry Neil.

Thankfully, Steve doesn’t waste too much time getting over to Billy’s place; Billy has only just got dressed again after showering (and jerking off, but who’s counting?) when he hears the knock at the door. He runs a hand through his wet hair, looking in the mirror. Not that it matters, because Steve isn’t going to give a shit - but somehow Billy still wants to look his best around him. 

God, he’s pathetic.

Anyway, he looks good, all damp and tan with that California glow that never fades even after all this time, so he heads out of his room and down the stairs. Susan has answered the door, talking to Steve with her usual expression of vague worry on her face. Billy rolls his eyes behind her back as he approaches.

“Hey,” Steve says. He actually looks pleased to see him, which makes Billy’s chest do something funny. He thinks of their conversation outside the middle school. Something just works between them now, even if it’s not half as much as Billy really wants. 

Of course, he can’t let even a scrap of that show. “Hey,” he says nonchalantly. “You want a drink, or you want to get going?”

“I’ll get you boys a drink,” Susan interrupts. “I’ll bring it up to you, if you like?” She looks between them anxiously. Billy frowns. He’s never known her so solicitous.

“Thanks, Mrs Hargrove,” Steve says, when Billy doesn’t answer. “That sounds great.”

“Yeah,” Billy says slowly. “Thanks.”

Susan smiles at him, and then turns and goes through to the kitchen. Billy shakes his head at her retreating back.

They get straight down to reading when they get upstairs; they’ve spent most of the day together, so small talk isn’t really necessary at this stage. Billy gets through two chapters relatively quickly, pausing halfway through the third so that they can discuss the Lydia debacle in full. 

“It must have been pretty shitty,” Steve remarks thoughtfully, “to be a woman in England. I mean, back then.”

Billy snorts. “I don’t think it was limited by geography,” he says. They’re both lying back on his bed, one at each end, in the way that has by now become usual. Steve has a half-eaten cookie in his hand; Susan ended up bringing up a whole tray of drinks and snacks. “I’m pretty sure it was shitty here too.”

“Whatever,” Steve says, waving a dismissive hand at Billy’s observation. “I’m just saying. It’s like, Lydia’s whole life is ruined when she runs away with Wickham, and her whole family is ruined too, but nobody thinks his life is ruined, do they?”

“Isn’t she, like, fifteen?” Billy says. “What a pedo, right?”

Steve hums in response, clearly still caught up in the unfairness of Lydia and Wickham’s relative situations. For some reason, this amuses Billy; he finds himself hiding a smile. “Elizabeth even says that Darcy won’t want her anymore because of it,” Steve says indignantly.

Billy sits up. “Told you they wouldn’t get together,” he says triumphantly.

Steve tosses a pillow at him. “Doesn’t mean they won’t,” he says, although his tone is doubtful. “Lydia might fix things with Wickham.”

“Yeah, right,” Billy says scornfully. He picks up the pillow Steve threw and arranges it comfortably under his head. Then he turns a little restlessly and looks towards the window. The light is beginning to fade, the sun disappearing behind the row of evergreens just visible between Billy’s curtains. Steve’s been here a couple of hours now, the time passing all too quickly. 

Echoing Billy’s own thoughts, Steve says quietly: “When’s your dad getting home?”

“Any moment,” Billy says, still looking out of the window. His chest feels tight.

He still doesn’t know how to even begin to think about the fact that Steve knows now. He knows. They haven’t talked about it since the weekend, but every time Billy looks at Steve he’s reminded of the fact. And if that’s true of him, then it must be doubly so for Steve. Every moment he spends with Billy, he might be thinking of Billy’s secret - remembering Billy’s weakness - pitying him—

He shakes his head, angry with himself for the thought. Steve hasn’t acted like he pities Billy, not yet. He’s been curious, obviously concerned, unsure of what to say - but he hasn’t treated Billy any differently. Billy is relying on that continuing.

When he looks back, Steve is watching him. He certainly looks sympathetic - but it’s not the same as pity. 

“Why - why does he do it?” 

Okay, maybe it’s exactly the same as pity. Billy springs up from the bed, suddenly unable to stand the way Steve is looking at him, that soft incredulous rich boy bullshit - because Steve couldn’t possibly understand, Steve lives in his mansion and his parents leave him money to fuck around and otherwise leave him the hell alone, so what would he know of hatred and pain and people wanting to fuck with your head? Billy is breathing hard, his hands clenched into fists by his sides.

“How the fuck should I know?” he bites out, his voice hard. If he knew - if he could possibly begin to understand why his dad hates him so much…

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Steve says. Billy doesn’t look at him, still taking harsh, labored breaths in his effort to remain calm. “I meant - I don’t know what I meant. Sorry.”

Slowly, Billy forces himself to turn around. “Steve,” he says evenly. “What will it take for you to let this go?”

Steve’s face twists uncomfortably. “I’m not trying to make it worse,” he says. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” Billy snaps. 

There’s a silence, while Steve apparently thinks about what to say. Billy stands by the side of the bed, trying not to look at him, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. He can’t do this - he can’t have this conversation with Steve every goddamn time they’re alone together. It’ll wipe him out.

At last, Steve says: “Some years, I only see my dad maybe twice, three times if I’m lucky.”

It’s such a non-sequitur that Billy has absolutely no idea what to say. Steve has talked about his parents a couple of times, mentioned how often they go away and leave him, and Billy’s definitely picked up on the fact that he’s resentful of their absences, but he’s honestly unsure how this relates to… well, anything.

“Okay,” he says unhelpfully, as the silence stretches on.

Steve picks up again like he was just waiting for Billy’s acknowledgement. “It’s fucked up, because I don’t want them when they’re here, but I hate that they’re so cool with leaving.”

In spite of himself, Billy feels a twinge of sympathy. He sits cautiously on the edge of the bed. “That sucks, man,” he says.

Steve goes on. “When they come back, I just want them to fuck off again,” he says. “I like taking care of myself, so it’s not like I need them. I don’t really know why it pisses me off so much, to be honest.”

“Parents,” Billy says with force, “are supposed to give a shit.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. There are two red spots in his cheeks. He pauses. “I’ve never really… I mean, Tommy knows, we’ve known each other since kindergarten, but we don’t talk about stuff. We’re not like that. And I guess I talked to Nancy too, but she always wants to fix everything, you know? Plus…” He runs a hand through his hair, the motion momentarily transfixing Billy. “Well, I guess she had her own stuff going on while we were together.”

Billy has felt himself relax incrementally while Steve has been talking, settling back in against his pillows. It feels good to hear that he’s not the only one with issues. Even perfect King Steve has stuff to deal with. He’s not stupid, he knows that that’s why Steve is even saying any of this to him - but that doesn’t stop it from being effective.

Steve glances at him. “I guess it kind of sucks to not have anyone to talk to,” he says.

“That’s why you’re pushing this, huh?” Billy says quietly.

“Yeah, I guess,” Steve replies, looking suitably guilty. He pushes his fingers through his hair again. “Sorry. I know you don’t want to talk about it.”

Billy sighs. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, even though it totally is. Or always has been, up until now. He shakes his head. He’s going totally soft. “There’s nothing to say about it,” he says firmly.

Steve’s eyes narrow. “You can say that it sucks,” he offers.

“Okay, yeah, it sucks,” Billy says, starting to get annoyed again. “Come on, Harrington, what is this? You want to have a heart to heart here, swap sob stories? You want me to tell you it blows to be seventeen years old and still fucking terrified of your old man? I’m not some fucking pussy, man, I can handle myself, so don’t think I’m soft. I’m not soft. You keep telling me I’m soft, but I’m not fucking soft.”

“I never said—” Steve begins, and then halts, his face twisting. “Okay, yeah, I said you’re soft, but not… not like you’re some kind of pussy. Jesus, Billy, I’ve met you!”

Billy folds his arms. “So what, then?” he asks tightly. “You want to break me down here? Boo fucking hoo, my dad hits me, so what?” In spite of his words, his stomach drops as he says it. He’s pretty sure it’s the first time he’s ever said that out loud.

“Billy,” Steve says irritably, “can you stop acting like I’m out to get you? I’m trying to be fucking nice!” 

“So don’t,” Billy says in a hard voice. “You being nice is sweet and all, but what are you hoping to get out of it? You can’t change it, you can’t make it better, you can get me to tell you all about it, tell you how much of a shitshow my life is, but it won’t change anything!”

There’s a silence. It stretches out for a long, long time, so long that Billy stops feeling angry and starts feeling nervous. Steve just sits there, a little frown crinkling his eyebrows as he processes Billy’s little speech, and Billy can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“Okay,” Steve says at last. “Okay, fine.” He bites his lip, which has the unfortunate effect of making Billy’s dick take an interest. “I’ll stop bringing it up. If…”

Billy raises an eyebrow. “If? You making conditions now, Harrington?”

“Steve,” Steve says automatically. He’s still chewing his lower lip. “Yeah, I guess. I’ll back off, if you promise to, like… talk about it when you want to.”

“What?” 

Steve nods decisively. “Like I said, it sucks to not have anyone to talk to,” he says. “I hate it. And… and you don’t have to talk to me about this, obviously, but… If you don’t, it should be because you don’t want to, not because you think you can’t.”

It takes Billy a moment to parse out the meaning behind Steve’s confused jumble of words. “Okay, so you want me to… what, want to talk to you about this?” His heart is hammering in his chest. Like so many of the conversations he finds himself having with Steve, he has no idea how they got here.

“No,” Steve says, shaking his head. “I just want you to know you can. If you want.”

Billy opens his mouth, and then closes it again. He takes a breath and tries again. “So… so if I… if I know I can, you’ll back off? You’ll leave it alone?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers. “I won’t talk about it unless you bring it up first. But you have to promise that you will bring it up if you want to. That you won’t… you know, get embarrassed, or like, all tough guy about it.”

“All tough guy about it,” Billy repeats. In spite of himself, the corner of his mouth is twitching.

Steve half-smiles. “Yeah, you know,” he says. “All Billy Hargrove.”

Billy shakes his head. “You’re a fucking lunatic,” he tells Steve. “Fine. It’s a deal.”

“You gotta promise,” Steve says, laying back against his pillow. His eyes sparkle with amusement.

“I solemnly vow,” Billy says, holding up his fingers Scout-style. “I promise if I ever want to talk about my dad—” he stumbles over the word, but pushes through “—I’ll check in with you. And in exchange…” He waggles his eyebrows meaningfully.

Steve laughs. “I solemnly vow,” he says, all mock-seriousness. “I promise not to talk about it unless you want to.”

“Pinky swear?” Billy says, just to hear Steve laugh again.

He’s not disappointed. Steve’s laughter is rich and warm, filling the room. He pushes himself up on his elbows, and then to Billy’s surprise - he’d only been kidding, really - he extends his hand, little finger out. “Pinky swear,” he says.

Billy leans forward, his heart in his mouth, and links his pinky with Steve’s. There’s a brief moment of warm contact, sending sensation fizzling through Billy’s stomach, and Billy’s eyes flick up to meet Steve’s. He’s close, too close for contact, and his eyes are bright with laughter but there’s something serious there too, and Billy—

Billy drops his hand, and pretends he wasn’t looking at Steve’s lips.

Chapter Text

Steve is in a good mood all morning Tuesday. He wakes up early, the sun only just beginning to rise, and fairly bounces out of bed. He’s not even sure why, really, except that things seem to be going well for once in his life, and he wants to enjoy it. He thinks of where he was three weeks ago - exhausted, not sleeping, haunted by memories of Nancy and the Upside Down, angry at Billy and lonely. It’s a marked contrast to how he’s feeling now.

He puts the radio on while he’s making his lunch, humming discordantly along with David Bowie, and spends a little longer than usual styling his hair and choosing his outfit. He picks a green sweater with jeans and white trainers. He looks pretty damn good.

School is predictably boring, but it’s not enough to dampen his mood. At recess, he and Billy get through the rest of Chapter Forty-Eight and most of Chapter Forty-Nine. The fact that Lydia and Wickham are going to get married after all, thus solving all Lizzy’s familial problems, seems to fit perfectly with Steve’s current frame of mind.

Billy gives him an amused sideways glance when he tries to verbalize his pleasure at things working out so well. “You’re on top of the world today,” he remarks.

“Yep,” Steve says. “You ever have days where it feels like nothing can go wrong?”

“Something always does,” Billy says, with a quick smile to show that he’s kidding even though Steve is pretty sure he probably isn’t.

He sticks to his promise, though, and just gives Billy a playful nudge to the shoulder. “Pessimist,” he says.

Billy laughs. “Lizzy doesn’t seem as happy about the whole Lydia thing as you are,” he points out.

“Well, she will be,” Steve says decisively. “It’s that kind of day.”

“Yeah,” Billy says doubtfully. “Maybe.”

They have to cut their reading time a little short, because Billy has to get a book he forgot from his car, so Steve heads back to his locker to pick up his things for study hall a little earlier than usual. He walks ebulliently down the corridor, so cheerful that he almost doesn’t notice Nancy approaching in the opposite direction.

Then he does, and his good mood deflates as abruptly as if she’d pricked it with a literal pin.

It turns out Billy was right about his good day.

For a moment, he’s hopeful that she’ll just keep on walking, but then she stops by his locker and he realizes she’s there specifically to talk to him. The last time he saw her, he was petting her sweater at Derrick’s party. He’d been too drunk to care then, but he’s pretty sure he pissed her off. And of course, there’s still the familiar clench of his heart just to look at her, although he has to admit that it’s not as bad now as it once was.

“Nance,” he says as he draws up to her.

She gives him a thin smile. “Hey,” she says. There’s an awkward pause.

“You okay?” Steve says at last. Then he shakes his head. “Sorry for being such a drunk idiot on Saturday.”

That gets a smile out of her, at least. “It’s okay,” she says. She hesitates. She’s so goddamn pretty. “I figured we should talk, maybe. You have study hall next, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, wishing she didn’t know his schedule, because that’s the kind of thing that a girlfriend remembers. 

“Can we go somewhere?” she asks. “I just… It’s been a while, right?”

Steve gestures down the hall. “Bleachers?” he suggests, although it feels kind of weird. The bleachers are where he goes with Billy. “Won’t you get in trouble for cutting?”

She shoots him an embarrassed look. “We’re supposed to be doing independent study in the library,” she explains. “Ms Blake won’t even notice, you know what she’s like.”

He nods, and they start to walk back out towards the bleachers. He glances sideways at her. “What did you want to talk about?”

Nancy shrugs, her brow still creased in consternation. “It feels like we left some stuff unfinished,” she says. She pauses. “And I wanted to talk to you about Billy Hargrove.”

“Billy?” Steve says, surprised. “How come?”

“I don’t like him,” she says baldly. “I don’t get what’s going on - you and Jonathan are all buddy-buddy with him now, and it’s like you’ve forgotten what he did to you. I saw your face, Steve. You were messed up.”

Steve sighs. He feels like he should have seen this coming, somehow; it’s a very Nancy thing to say. “I haven’t forgotten, Nance,” he says. “It was a while ago.”

“It was three weeks ago, Steve,” she presses. 

“Yeah, okay, but he apologized,” Steve tells her. “And, like… he meant it. He wasn’t just spouting off, he’s really trying to be different with me.”

There’s a short silence while Nancy apparently takes this in. They walk out of the double doors that lead onto the field, and Steve deliberately heads towards a different section of the bleachers than he would usually sit in. He doesn’t want to be reminded of this conversation every time he and Billy read together at recess.

At last, Nancy says: “Jonathan told me he apologized, too, but sometimes people don’t deserve to be forgiven.”

“You forgave me,” Steve says. “So did Jonathan.”

Her face twists. “That was different.”

“No, it wasn’t,” he says.

“Yeah, it was!” she insists. “You didn’t send Jonathan to hospital, and you weren’t, you know, racist.”

“Billy isn’t racist,” Steve says.

She raises her eyebrows at him. “Yeah? What would you call targeting the black kid, then?”

Steve squirms uncomfortably, because he’s never actually addressed this part of Billy’s behavior; all he has to go on is his gut sense that Lucas’s race isn’t the reason why Billy went after him. That, and what he knows about the real reason Billy was so angry that night, but he can’t tell Nancy about that.

“Billy has… issues,” he says.

“Yeah, no shit!” Nancy exclaims.

Steve sighs. “Look, I can’t say any more than that,” he says. “But he has stuff going on, okay? It’s not about Lucas.” She opens her mouth with a skeptical expression on her face, but he gets in first. “Nance, I get that you’re worried, okay? But it’s not really any of your business who I’m friends with.”

Nancy shuts her mouth with an audible clack. She says quietly: “Just because we’re not together anymore doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

“I know,” Steve says, even though he wishes he didn’t, because Nancy caring is making his chest tighten painfully. “You just have to trust me on this one.”

She looks so unbearably sad that it’s all he can do not to just put his arms around her and pull her in tight. This is Nancy, his Nancy, and a month ago he would have been allowed to do that - but now he isn’t. She has Jonathan for that, and Steve—

Steve has no one.

“I trust you,” she says. She sighs, turning away from him to look out over the field. When she speaks again, it’s in a more normal sort of voice. “You’re only saying the same thing Jonathan did, anyway.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Jonathan told you to trust me?”

“Basically,” she says with a shrug. “He likes Billy too, apparently.” She gives a short laugh. “So you can tell Billy to make room for one more at your cool guy table, if you want.”

Steve tries to imagine it. He’d be fine with it, and he’s pretty sure Billy would too - but he can’t picture Tommy being particularly cool. And in a strange sort of way, that’s okay. Tommy’s his oldest friend. It’s normal for him to not want Steve’s ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend to hang out with them. It’s normal for him to be protective - he just took it too far, the last time.

“Can’t really picture it, honestly,” he tells Nancy, and she laughs - properly this time.

“Jonathan would hate it,” she says. She looks at him. “Steve, are we… are we okay?”

He thinks about it. Are they okay? She’s his ex - to a certain extent they’ll never be really cool again. But they can get to a place of normalcy, he’s pretty sure. He realizes, with a certain level of shock, that he no longer thinks of her as the love of his life.

He’s still hurt that they’re over. He still feels impossibly sad when he thinks of never being able to touch her again. But he’s not… he’s not brokenhearted anymore. This is a thing he will get past.

“Yeah,” he says, almost tenderly. “We’re okay. You don’t have to worry about me, Nance.”

She smiles, and he’s reminded, as he always is, by how pretty she is when she smiles. She spends so much time worrying about everything, questioning everything, fussing over everyone - it’s nice to see her do something so simple and unconcerned as a smile.

For a while, they sit there in silence; there doesn’t seem to be a great deal more to say. Steve has the sense that when he stands up, when they walk away from each other, it’ll be for the last time. Not that they’ll never speak again, but they’ll probably never be alone together again. They’ll fade into polite acquaintances, the way you do with exes, and although Steve likes Jonathan and could see himself - weirdly - staying friends with him, he doesn’t see that happening with Nancy. This is it. So he just sits there, enjoying the brief quiet time he has with her, before it ends.

“You seem happier,” she comments.

“I am,” Steve replies.

 Nancy smiles again. “I’m glad.”

They lapse back into silence, but her comment gets Steve thinking about why he’s feeling so much happier at the moment. He’s not quite sure why, given how much has happened over the last few weeks, but he’s pretty sure it’s related to Billy. That makes him think about Billy generally, about the deal they made yesterday - the deal that Steve pretty much forced, just like he’s forced so many of the important conversations he’s had with Billy.

“Nance,” he says, and she turns to look at him, eyes questioning. “Am I pushy?”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

“Am I pushy?” Steve repeats. “Like… do I push people into doing stuff they don’t want to do?”

She stares at him. “Do you mean like… sex stuff?”

“What? No!” He’s appalled, but swiftly realizes how she’s drawn that conclusion. “No, not like that! I just mean, like…” He can’t think of a way to explain it without explaining about Billy. “You know, like pushing people into talking about stuff when they don’t want to. Or just doing stuff, I don’t know. Am I a pushy person?”

Clearly reassured that he wasn’t asking for a referendum on their past sex life, Nancy tilts her head to one side, considering. “A little,” she says. “You’re not very good at taking no for an answer.” She flashes a smile at him. “Neither am I, though.”

“In a bad way?” Steve asks.

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so,” she says. “Sometimes I think it’s good to have someone who doesn’t just… let people get away with the bare minimum, I guess. I’m probably biased, but that’s what I think.” She frowns at him. “Who’s been saying you’re pushy?”

“No one,” Steve says. 

“Billy?” Nancy says shrewdly.

Steve shrugs. “He didn’t say it,” he says. “I kinda… made him talk about something.”

“When he apologized, right?” she says. When he gives her a quizzical look, she explains: “Jonathan told me about it.”

“Yeah,” Steve says slowly. “I mean, I did. But also… another time.” He sighs again. It’s so hard to explain, when he can’t tell Nancy the specifics. “I told you he has some stuff going on,” he says. “I kinda made him tell me about it.”

“What did he do?” Nancy asks. Steve doesn’t miss that she said do, not say. 

“He was pissed,” he says. “He asked me to let it go.”

Nancy gives him a look. “And did you?”

Embarrassed, Steve rubs the back of his neck. “Kinda? I… Okay, I told him I’d leave it if he promised to talk about it when he’s ready.”

“Steve,” Nancy says disapprovingly. “You can’t force people to confide in you.”

“I know,” Steve says. 

She shakes her head a little, but she looks amused. “What did he say?”

Steve laughs. “It’s weird, actually, but he actually found it funny.” He thinks of the pinky swear, of Billy’s finger linked with his own for a moment. “He went along with it, anyway.”

“Hmm,” Nancy says. There’s an odd note in her voice. “That’s interesting.”

Steve glances at her. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs. “I guess I would have thought he’d be more angry. It would be pretty reasonable, anyway, and I suppose I just see Billy as someone who always gets mad.”

“He’s not, though,” Steve says. “He’s not really like that at all.”

She looks at him through narrowed eyes. “If you say so,” she says. She shrugs. “Maybe he was hoping you’d push.”

“No,” Steve says. Of that he’s relatively certain. “I don’t think so. He really didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, then maybe he was glad you gave a shit,” she says. She frowns at him. “Why do you give a shit?”

Steve shrugs. It’s one of those things he doesn’t like to think about too closely. “We’re friends,” he says easily. 

Nancy doesn’t appear to be completely convinced, but she doesn’t critique the situation any further. Steve’s glad of that. This whole… thing with Billy is so far out of his usual wheelhouse, and even though he knows he started the conversation, he doesn’t really want to explore it with Nancy. He knows she doesn’t get it. She’ll probably never get it, get why he’s fine with Billy, why he likes Billy - and he can’t explain it. The only way he could come close to explaining it would be if he could tell her the truth about Billy’s home life, but even if Billy gave him permission, he wouldn’t do that.

It was probably wrong of him to make the deal with Billy. No, scratch that: it was definitely wrong. But somehow he’s still glad he did, glad that Billy knows he can talk to Steve if he wants to.

He’d said he was terrified of his dad. He probably hadn’t meant to let that slip.

Steve swallows, looking away from Nancy. This is more thinking about one person than he should be doing. He tries to pay attention to his actual surroundings again. Nancy - the person who knows him best, the person who understands him best, the person he’s loved the most in his whole life - she’s right here, right in front of him, and in a moment she’ll get up and walk away and it’ll be the last time he ever gets to really talk to her. Now is the time to speak, to say something meaningful, to remind her of everything they had together.

The only problem is, Steve can’t think of a damn thing to say.

*

Steve sits at the popular table again at lunch, although since they’re coming from different classes this time, Billy doesn’t end up sitting next to him. It doesn’t matter. He sits opposite and kind of diagonal instead, and spends the whole hour pretending that he isn’t watching Steve over his sandwich.

It’s very weird, actually having a proper lunch at school. Susan pressed it into his hands at breakfast, something soft and oddly beseeching in her eyes. Billy doesn’t understand how she’s acting right now, but he’ll take it. It’s nice to feel properly full before he heads into his afternoon classes.

The rest of the week passes in much the same fashion. The school has gradually got over the news that King Steve has been accepted back into the fold, and they all have lunch together every day - Billy, Steve, Tommy, Derrick, all the same old faces, the same old banter and stupid jokes. It’s lighthearted, it’s fun, and by Friday it feels familiar, Steve slipping into the group dynamic as if he’s always been there. Which, Billy figures, is almost true.

Susan continues to act like a fucking freak all week. She makes him a packed lunch every single day, and seems to be making a special effort to talk to him at mealtimes. It’s not just Billy’s imagination, either, because a couple of times he catches Max frowning at her mom like she’s not sure why she’s being so weird either. It’s pissing Neil the hell off - he never likes it when anyone pays Billy undue attention - and overall home feels like a simmering pressure cooker.

Neil probably would have erupted already if not for the fact that Steve has been around for dinner every night since Monday. Something about his perfect, rich boy demeanor seems to settle Neil’s ever-present ire, and Billy’s careful not to act like he likes Steve too much in front of his dad. Neil makes comments once or twice that seem to imply that he thinks Steve despises Billy as much as he does, but is just too polite to say so. It’s a shitty reason for his dad to be off his back, but Billy will take it.

He’s absolutely certain that Steve has noticed too, but true to his word, he doesn’t bring it up again.

Sometimes, Billy imagines talking about the whole thing with him, the way Steve said he could. He knows Steve meant it, but the idea of actually laying it out - describing it in detail - trying to verbalize the painful blend of fear and anger that seems to surround him every time he’s in a room with his dad - it’s more than he’s capable of.

Still, it’s kind of nice knowing that the offer is there, even if it’s one that Billy will never take up.

His crush on Steve - because that is, embarrassingly, exactly what it is - isn’t going anywhere. But Billy is getting good at ignoring the way his cock twitches every time Steve stretches or smiles, the way his stomach clenches when Steve playfully knocks his shoulder or brushes his arm. Yeah, it makes his chest ache when he thinks about Steve’s laugh, or the way Steve argues with him whenever Billy says something mean about Darcy, or how Steve has this one stray bit of hair that Billy is absolutely desperate to push back behind his ear - but also, Billy isn’t some dumb middle-school girl with a crush. He can handle this.

He can totally handle it. It’s the best he’s ever going to get with Steve, and it’s so, so much better than the nothing they had before.

As for Pride and Prejudice, they’re getting through the chapters at a speedy pace by now. They’re both pretty excited by the prospect of finally reaching the end. By Thursday, they’ve read Mrs Gardiner’s letter to Elizabeth, and Steve is extremely gleeful when Billy has to admit that it looks like Mr Darcy and Lizzy might be getting together after all.

“He still doesn’t deserve her,” he growls.

Steve’s mouth drops open. “Are you fucking kidding me? He literally, like, paid Wickham to marry Lydia for her!”

“It was his fault she ran away with him in the first place,” Billy says stubbornly. “See, this bit - It was owing to him, to his reserve and want of proper consideration, that Wickham’s character had been so misunderstood, and consequently that he had been received and noticed as he was. He says it himself. It’s got nothing to do with Lizzy.”

Steve gives him a strange look. “You’re kinda hard on him,” he says. 

It makes Billy’s stomach twist and flip-flop, the way that Steve is looking at him. He just shakes his head, and goes on reading. He can tell Steve wants to say more, but in the end he just sits back and carries on listening.

They finish Chapter Fifty-Seven on Friday evening, wrapping up Jane and Bingley’s engagement and Lady Catherine’s visit while lounging around in Steve’s living room. It’s the first time Billy’s been to Steve’s house since the previous weekend; Steve was smart enough to ask about it in front of Neil at dinner on Thursday, pointing out that they could probably get the book finished that weekend if Billy stayed over on Friday night. Billy’s dad didn’t have any good reason to say no, and anyway, Billy’s pretty sure he’s glad of the opportunity to get rid of his son for a couple of days.

Susan, weirdly - or maybe not so weirdly, considering her current state of play - had more to say about the whole thing. She lifted her head, glancing between Billy and Steve, and said: “Will you be away Saturday night too, Billy?”

Billy looked at Steve, who shrugged, and said: “I guess?”

“I think that’s a lovely idea,” Susan said firmly. Her eyes flickered to Neil, just for a moment. “Maxine is staying with a friend on Saturday as well. It would be nice for you to have some company, Billy.”

“Sure,” Billy said slowly. Across the table, he caught Max’s eye; she didn’t seem to have a clue either.

He hasn’t worried about it too much since, anyway. The point is, he’s been granted the reprieve of another weekend at Steve’s place, and they’ve decided that they’ll spend Saturday finishing the book and then head to the library on Sunday to actually work on the presentation.

“I can’t believe it’s nearly over,” Steve comments, as Billy closes the book on Mr Collins’s embarrassing letter. 

Billy drops his head. Nearly over. He has a week left before they actually have to deliver the presentation. It’s not that he thinks that Steve will ditch him the second Pride and Prejudice is finished - but they won’t have the same excuse to hang out every recess, every afternoon after school. He has no idea if Steve will still want to spend so much time together once they’re done.

Well, if he doesn’t, Billy plans to make the most of every moment he has left.

Chapter Text

“Favorite color.”

“Seriously, Harrington?”

“Come on, you said it could be anything!”

Billy puffs out a sigh. “Fine. Blue. What’s yours?”

Steve gives him a wicked smile. “Thought it was a boring question?”

“Shut up,” Billy says, giving him the finger. 

Steve laughs, tipping his head back against the sofa cushion. “Green,” he says. He glances at Billy. “Come on then, you show me how it’s done, huh?”

Billy has to resist the urge to stick out his tongue. “Music,” he says. “What are you into? Or is it like movies and you only listen to, like, Beethoven or something?”

“Who’s Beethoven?”

“Now I gotta give you a classical music lesson too?” Billy shakes his head, because Steve is still grinning, and he’s not sure whether he’s being messed around or not. “You are such an asshole.”

Steve yawns, and pulls his socked feet up onto the couch in one smooth motion that lands them straight in Billy’s lap. Billy has to work valiantly not to freak out, but fortunately Steve doesn’t appear to notice. “Takes one to know one. I like Duran Duran.”

Billy’s eyes widen. “You’re into new wave?”

“No,” Steve says. “I mean, not really. I just… I guess I kinda like bits of everything, you know? I like U2, and some R.E.M., and I like the Stones… And I guess MJ is pretty cool, and Born in the USA, that was a great record. I like all kinds of things.”

“I guess some of those aren’t terrible,” Billy allows. He’s being more generous than he might have been if Steve’s feet weren’t a warm weight in his lap; it’s a little difficult to concentrate when the slightest nudge of Steve’s heel might jostle his cock. 

It would be nice to put his hand on Steve’s ankle, the way Steve did when the positions were reversed, but Billy can’t risk it. Instead he just listens as Steve laughs. “I guess I know what music you like,” he says. “You blast it loud enough that the whole school can hear you coming.”

“Excuse me for having taste, Harrington,” Billy says sniffily.

“Steve,” Steve says.

Billy rolls his eyes. “Steve.”

“Okay,” Steve says. He sits up a little, bending one knee so that his right foot is propped up against the side of Billy’s thigh. His left leg remains extended over Billy’s lap. “Okay, my turn. How did you even get into all that metal and shit? I thought it was all Good Vibrations out in Cali.”

He’s pinched Steve’s ankle before he’s really stopped to think about it. Steve squirms and laughs, and Billy snatches his hand back. Trying to concentrate, he says: “Uh, Steve, I hate to break it to you, but we do get radio down in California.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but what got you into them?” he asks. “I guess Iron Maiden doesn’t seem like an obvious choice for a surf kid.”

“I am not,” Billy says indignantly, “a surf kid.” He hesitates, ignoring Steve’s smirk. “I guess it was my mom, in a backwards kind of way.”

“Yeah?” Steve says softly.

Billy shrugs. “Yeah,” he says. Jesus, it’s been so long since he’s thought about this. “I told you she was into music, right? She was freaking obsessed. She had so many records.”

“What did she listen to?” Steve asks.

“All kinds,” Billy says. He smiles briefly, because it’s fucking ridiculous to pretend he doesn’t remember. “Simon & Garfunkel. The Mamas and The Papas. Jefferson Airplane. The Seekers, The Hollies, Joni Mitchell. Classic sixties rock and roll, I guess. She saw Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock.”

Steve looks suitably impressed. “Your mom was at Woodstock?”

“Yeah,” Billy says. He’s always been pretty proud of that, even though it would have been even cooler if he’d been there himself. “She didn’t talk about it all that much, I think my dad was mad she went. But she played the records all the time. I guess she got me into music generally. I never knew anyone else who listened to music like she did.”

It’s weird to talk about his mom with Steve. Weird, but nice; Billy never gets to talk about his mom, and unlike everything else he doesn’t talk about, there are so many good memories there, memories that it actually feels good to bring up. Neil pretty much forbade any mention of her the day after the funeral. And Steve is clearly interested - he’s looking raptly at Billy, the way he does when they read Jane Austen.

“So how did you make the shift to metal?” he prompts, when Billy doesn’t carry on.

Billy half-smiles. “I inherited all her records,” he says. “I still have them in boxes under my bed. But my dad hated me listening to them. I guess maybe it made him miss her, or something. But by then I was totally into music anyway, and my mom had this whole… thing, about pop bands. She hated The Beach Boys,” he adds, just to see Steve smile. “I guess I didn’t want to listen to anyone who people at school liked, you know? She liked music to be a bit different. But I couldn’t listen to her kind of different, so I found my own. And then I just started getting into metal because it’s awesome, and it became more about that.” He stops, embarrassed by how long he’s been talking. “I don’t know if that makes any fucking sense.”

“Your mom sounds really cool,” Steve says. 

“Yeah, she was,” Billy says.

There’s a pause. Then Steve says, hesitantly: “How did she die?”

“Car accident,” Billy says briefly.

Another silence. Steve’s face is twisted in sympathy, but somehow Billy doesn’t mind it too much. Then, with an effort, Steve shakes out the expression and says: “Okay. Your turn.”

Billy feels a sudden, unexpected lurch in his chest, because Steve is deliberately downplaying the emotion of the conversation to help him save face. Steve, in spite of being a bit of dick every now and again, is weirdly kind to him. Oddly, it was Susan who said that to Billy first. Strange to think of Susan as being right about something.

“Okay, if you could travel anywhere, where would you go?” he says, shaking off the feeling.

Steve laughs. “Fuck, I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve never left Indiana. I’ve barely even been out of Hawkins.”

“Nowhere you want to go, Harrington? Steve?” Billy adds quickly, before Steve can correct him.

He’s rewarded by another chuckle. “More like there’s nowhere I don’t want to go,” Steve says. “It’s not like… I mean, I don’t have some random dream of moving to, like, Hong Kong, or whatever, but I want to see more of… well, everywhere, I guess.”

“I guess there’s not much to see in Hawkins, Indiana,” Billy says.

Steve laughs again, but this time the sound is oddly humorless. “You’d be surprised,” he says. “I just want to get away from this place.” He pauses, looking a little surprised by his own words. “Hawkins is just so small,” he says at last.

“I know what you mean,” Billy tells him.

“I guess you would,” Steve says. He looks up at Billy from under his lashes. “What about you? Anywhere you’d like to travel?”

“Literally anywhere that isn’t here,” Billy says bluntly. 

Steve shrugs his shoulders slowly. “You ever think of, like… getting in your car and just driving?”

Billy barks out a laugh. “All the time.”

“One day, huh?” Steve says. He glances up at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Christ. It’s nearly two in the morning.”

Billy hasn’t even noticed the time passing. It’s making him frustrated, actually, because he’s not ready to stop - he doesn’t want to be done talking to Steve. It’s late, and he’s tired, but he’s enjoying himself. He says hesitantly: “You want to go to bed?”

“What? No!” Steve exclaims. He grins. “It’s my turn, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Billy says, feeling inordinately relieved. “Show me what you got, Harrington.”

Steve just shakes his head, not even bothering to correct him this time. “Okay, give me a minute,” he says, closing his eyes. “Let me think about it.”

“You already set the bar pretty low with what’s your favorite color,” Billy points out. Steve gives him the finger.

It was Billy’s idea, this rather inane questions game. The kind of thing you come up with at one in the morning when you’ve run out of card games to play and you’re hanging out with someone who doesn’t like movies. Even though he hasn’t done this kind of thing since, like, the ninth grade, Billy is pleased he thought of it. Too often, talking to Steve revolves around difficult conversations - that or Jane Austen. It’s nice to just talk, to find out more about him. To share a little of himself that doesn’t make him want to shrivel up with shame.

Even if it is just his favorite color.

“Okay,” Steve says at last. “What do you miss the most about San Diego?”

“The weather,” Billy says immediately. Then he stops, tries to actually consider it rather than giving a glib answer. “I guess… how big it is? You can be totally anonymous in California. My school was a lot bigger. I knew a lot more people. You could… you could disappear in San Diego.”

Steve smiles sleepily. “Can’t really imagine you disappearing in a crowd, somehow.”

Billy laughs. “Yeah, maybe not,” he says. He shifts a little. “I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. It feels like everyone’s watching you all the time here.”

“I get that,” Steve says. “Must be nice to feel like not everyone knows your business.”

“Yeah,” Billy says. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Did you have a lot of friends back in Cali?”

Billy shrugs. “I mean, yeah,” he says. He thinks back to that crowd - Joe, Rob, Sandy, Caleb, faces and names that he still remembers, but that have become interchangeable with those belonging to his little posse here in Hawkins. “The same way I have everyone here, I guess.”

“You don’t keep in touch?” Steve asks.

“Nah,” Billy says. His hands are beginning to feel uncomfortable, settled awkwardly by his sides. He wants to rest them on his lap, but Steve’s feet are in the way. “I’m not big on postcards, and phone calls… Well, what’s the point? I don’t live there anymore.”

Steve processes this for a moment or two. He says: “You weren’t… You didn’t have any friends you wanted to keep up with? No one… you know, important?”

“Nope,” Billy says. 

He’s never had a friend he cares about enough to want to find a way to talk to them outside of the easy norms of school. Until now, anyway. He’s pretty sure that if he moved away now, he’d want to make the effort for Steve.

Christ. What’s gotten into him?

“Okay, your turn,” Steve says. “Ask away, Hargrove. Make it good.”

Fuck it. Billy rests his hands on Steve’s ankle. “Okay, okay, I’ve got one,” he says. “What’s with all the babysitting baloney? You and my sister’s friends. You drive one of them home, you hang out with them when they’re playing their nerd game—”

“Dungeons and Dragons,” Steve murmurs, and then looks a little embarrassed.

Billy points at him. “You know what their nerd game is called,” he says. “And I know you never played it as a kid. You don’t have any siblings in the mix. What gives?”

Steve hesitates. “It’s difficult to explain.”

“Give it a whirl, princess, we’ve got all night,” Billy says, spreading his hands. Steve laughs, digging his foot into Billy’s thigh.

“I guess… I guess it started last year,” he says. “You know I told you that Jonathan’s little brother went missing?”

“Shit, yeah,” Billy says. He’d forgotten about that. “What happened to him?”

There’s a pause. When Steve does speak, there’s something slightly shifty in his voice, and he doesn’t meet Billy’s eyes. “He got… lost,” he says. “I don’t know all the details—” this in a somewhat stronger voice “—but I know it was really traumatic. His mom - you met her - she was totally desperate, and the other kids were getting themselves into all kinds of trouble trying to find him. One of them, Mike, he’s Nancy’s little brother.”

Billy remembers Mrs Byers. Soft, small, with kind eyes that saw way too much. He can see the similarities between her and Jonathan. 

“So what happened?” he asks.

“Nancy got involved,” Steve says. The evasive note has returned to his voice. “I guess I was helping her, and I met all the kids that way. For a while that was all it was, but then—”

“Then?” Billy says suspiciously, because he’s fairly certain that Steve’s not telling him the whole truth.

Steve sighs. “I guess things started going downhill with Nancy, but by then I was already - already babysitting. I just got to know them, that’s all.” 

Billy frowns. “What happened to the kid who went missing?”

“They found him,” Steve says. “But I guess it made all the… all the parents kinda protective, you know? And Dustin’s dad isn’t around, so his mom asked me to help out, give him a ride home when he’s late from AV club, that kind of thing.”

Slowly, Billy parses through everything Steve has told him. His gut is telling him that there’s more to the story, something that Steve is deliberately keeping from him, and for some reason it reminds him of the night of the fight. He remembers Chief Hopper giving him an explanation of what had happened; that hadn’t rung true, either.

And there was the other thing Steve let slip a few days ago, a secret he said he was keeping for Nancy.

“Is this related to Wheeler’s friend who died? What was her name - Barb?”

And he sees it. Steve flinches. He opens his mouth, shuts it again, and then says: “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

It’s so, so hard to let it lie there. Billy’s instincts are flaring, his curiosity utterly piqued. But something in the set of Steve’s mouth tells him that he’s not going to get anywhere by pushing this - except for maybe ending the evening early. And he doesn’t want that.

With an effort, he says: “Okay, man. Your turn.”

He’s not imagining the instant relief in Steve’s face. He tries not to mind it.

“Okay, okay,” Steve says, sitting up a little. He doesn’t move his feet from Billy’s lap; they’ve settled into a comfortable position now, Billy’s hands still resting on top. “Who was… who was your first girlfriend? Like a proper girlfriend, you know, not in kindergarten.”

Billy scratches his head uncomfortably. “Never had one,” he says.

Steve raises his eyebrows. “You haven’t?”

“Nope,” Billy says. 

“But… don’t you hook up, like, every freaking weekend?”

Billy laughs. “Well, yeah, but I don’t go back for seconds,” he says. “One time deal only is the way I play the game, baby.” He gives Steve his best lascivious grin. “Chicks hate a player, but they like a guy who tells the truth right from the top. Works every time.”

“Wow,” Steve says. Billy can’t tell if he’s impressed or disgusted. “What, you just tell them that all you’re into is a hook-up? And they go for that?”

Billy shrugs. “Not just a hook-up,” he says. “I’ll still take a girl out, show her a good time, buy her tickets to a movie. She just knows from the start that it’s only happening once. Most chicks want to make the most of it. The rumor,” he adds thoughtfully, “that girls aren’t as hot for it as guys? Total bullshit, in my experience.”

Steve laughs, stretching his arms behind his head. Billy makes a conscious effort not to look, and almost manages it. “Don’t you miss all the other stuff?” he asks.

“Other stuff?” Billy repeats skeptically. “Like… fights, and not being allowed to have fun anymore? The same old chick hanging around your neck day and night and changing you into a more boring version of yourself?”

“Someone who gives a shit about you, no matter what,” Steve counters. “Someone who’s always on your side. Someone to talk to.”

Billy shrugs nonchalantly. “Isn’t that what friends are for?”

Steve gives him a look. “Like who, Tommy H?” he says. Billy swallows down the sudden lump in his throat. Steve grins. “Anyway, you can’t fuck a friend.”

“Didn’t you hear me, Harrington? I’m not missing out on fucks.”

“It’s never as good the first time,” Steve says, irritatingly smug. “You get to know someone, what they like, what they’re into.”

Unbidden, and completely without his permission, the image of Steve that Billy conjured up in the shower pops into his head. A Steve who wants what Billy wants. A Steve on his knees. He swallows, his throat suddenly dry.

“I guess I’m just not a one-woman kind of guy,” he says in a croaky voice.

Steve smiles, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right girl.”

Girls aren’t the problem, Billy wants to say. But he can’t. That’s one secret he’ll take to his grave, the one thing that no one knows - not Steve, not Max, nobody. Girls… girls are pretty, and Billy knows how to enjoy the best parts of them. He knows how to turn a girl on, how to fuck a girl, how to enjoy her for a little while. He can have fun with girls.

But he doesn’t really want them.

It’s easy to swear off girlfriends. Billy Hargrove isn’t into girls.

“I’ll let you know if I ever do,” he says lightly. Almost unconsciously, he squeezes Steve’s ankle. “Seems unlikely, though.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks. “None of our Hawkins girls good enough for you?”

Billy makes himself laugh. “Apparently not,” he says.

Steve grins back at him. “Okay, picky,” he says. “What would it take? Who’s your perfect girlfriend?”

“Brooke Shields,” Billy says at once. Steve snorts, and nudges his thigh again.

“Seriously,” he says. “What would she have to be like to keep you interested?”

Billy lets his head fall back against the couch. How the fuck is he supposed to answer this without describing… well, Steve? Not that he wants Steve in a long term way, or whatever. Fuck. He can’t really see himself getting to have Steve and then getting bored. 

“You ask the weirdest stuff, Harrington,” he complains. “How the fuck should I know? I never met a girl I liked enough to date for real.”

Steve stifles a snicker. “Picky, picky,” he teases. “Okay, I bet I can figure it out. She’d have to be… she’d have to be smoking, right?”

Billy rolls his eyes. “All the girls I go out with are smoking, Harrington,” he says dryly.

“I wasn’t done!” Steve exclaims. “She’d have to be smart too, otherwise you’d get bored. And thick-skinned.” He grins. “Since you’re such an asshole.”

Billy pinches his foot again. “Look, jerk-off,” he says. “I’m not a dick to everyone.”

Steve laughs outright, wriggling his foot. “That tickles,” he says. “And sure, you’re not.”

“Well, what about you, asshole?” Billy demands. “Who’s your perfect girl? Fucking moron, to put up with you, that’s for sure.”

“I’m a catch,” Steve says with a yawn. 

Billy raises an eyebrow. “You saying I’m not?”

“Course you are,” Steve says lazily. “You’re a total catch.”

He pushes himself up onto his elbows a little, and catches Billy’s eye. He has a warm, languorous smile on his face, his eyes tired but still gleaming, and for a moment he just looks at Billy and doesn’t say anything at all. They’re sitting very close to each other, and Billy is suddenly very aware of Steve’s foot in his lap, of his hands on Steve’s ankle, of the way his chest is pounding.

You’re a total catch, Steve said, without having to think about it at all. Like it was obvious. But Billy doesn’t feel like a catch.

Steve is still looking at him, and the moment has almost gone on too long, but he doesn’t look away. It’s like the air around them is somehow thicker, as if time has stopped remembering to pass, as if Billy has forgotten to breathe. He’s sure Steve feels it too.

Then Steve clears his throat, and looks away. When he speaks, his voice is just slightly unsteady.

“Your turn,” he says. “It’s your turn.”

Chapter Text

The phone wakes Steve up, blaring way too loud and way too early for a Saturday morning. He claps a hand to his head, blinking into sudden and uncomfortable wakefulness. His neck is crooked, a consequence of falling asleep on the sofa, and he’s got that unpleasant crumpled feeling of having slept in his clothes.

He and Billy were up until God knows what time, swapping questions and messing around together. He looks blearily around for Billy; he’s on the other couch, head tipped back and mouth open, but he’s starting to stir.

Right, the phone. With a groan, Steve swings his legs around and gets up. The landline is in the kitchen; if they’d actually gone to bed, they would probably have slept through it.

He catches a glimpse of the kitchen clock as he crosses over to the counter with the phone on it. Jesus Christ, it’s not even ten yet. Who the hell is calling at this time in the morning?

The last time he wondered that, though, it was Billy’s dad, so it’s with a respectful tone that Steve says: “Hello?”

“Steve!” Dustin’s voice is such an explosion of sound that Steve actually has to hold the phone away from his ear for a minute. “Steve, are you there?”

“Yeah, Dustin, I’m here,” Steve says wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “What’s up, man?”

He hears Dustin say, clearly as an aside to someone else: “He’s there!” Then he returns to the phone. “You’re not answering your walkie!” There’s a definite note of accusation in his voice.

“Oh, right, yeah,” Steve says. He leans heavily on the kitchen counter. “I think it’s still switched off.”

“You gotta keep that on, man,” Dustin tells him severely. “What if something happens? How will you get in touch?”

Steve sighs. “I guess I’ll use the phone, like you are,” he says. Dustin takes a breath, but Steve cuts in quickly to forestall the argument. “No, I get it, you’re right. I’ll turn it on. What’s going on, anyway? You okay?”

When Dustin answers him, there’s an odd tone to his voice. Almost deceptive. But from all his experience with Dustin, Steve’s pretty sure that deception isn’t in his wheelhouse. “We need you over here,” he says. “You’ve gotta - there’s something going on. Can you come over?”

Steve frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of Dustin’s voice. “Not—” He pauses, glancing towards the lounge, and then lowers his voice. “Is this, like… Upside Down stuff?”

“Maybe,” Dustin says, which isn’t very reassuring. “We could do with your help.”

“Dustin—” Steve says. He bites his lip. “Billy’s here. He stayed over last night.”

He’s expecting outrage, but Dustin says: “Yeah, I know. Max told us. You should bring him, he might be able to help with this.”

“Help?” Steve repeats, nonplussed. “Help with the Upside Down?”

“No,” Dustin says, still in that funny voice. “I mean, we won’t tell him anything! But… but it might not even be the Upside Down, and we need him - we need both of you - I don’t know, man, can you come or not?”

Steve squeezes the bridge of his nose again. He’s so goddamn tired. “How urgent is this?” he asks. “I’m running on about four hours of sleep here.”

“It’s urgent,” Dustin insists. He pauses. “Why didn’t you sleep last night? Did Billy… did he do something?”

“What? No, of course not,” Steve says. “We just stayed up late, that’s all. Are you sure you want me to bring him?”

Without hesitation, Dustin says: “Yeah. Bring him. We need… we need all the help we can get. Just don’t tell him anything!”

“Okay,” Steve says, because Dustin is being very emphatic and as much as he doesn’t want there to be anything else Upside Down-related to deal with, he’s also aware that there really aren’t many other people the kids have to call. “Okay, we’ll come - to your place?”

“Will’s place,” Dustin says. Steve barely smothers a sigh, because of course that’s where they are. 

“Okay,” he says again. “Do I have time to take a shower and eat something? I gotta tell you, I don’t know how much help I’m going to be on an empty stomach.”

“Fine, fine,” Dustin says impatiently. “Just hurry up, okay?”

Steve puffs out a breath. “Yeah, okay,” he says. He puts the phone down, rubbing his eyes, and mutters: “This had better be a goddamn emergency.”

“What’s an emergency?” 

Billy wanders into the kitchen, his hair an absolute haystack on top of his head. In spite of himself, Steve feels his stomach clenching uncomfortably. How the hell is he going to explain this to Billy without telling him what’s going on? He can’t exactly ignore Dustin’s call, but he wishes he’d just slept through it. Wishes they could just spend the day actually finishing Pride and Prejudice, the way they’d planned.

Of course, he’s about ninety percent sure that if he hadn’t answered the phone, Dustin would have made his way over to enlist Steve’s help in person. But still. Steve was actually looking forward to today.

“Dustin,” he says, straightening up. Billy is looking a little crumpled in yesterday’s clothes. “He says we have to go over, or something.” He lets out an embarrassed laugh.

Billy frowns at him. “Your little friend?” he says, sounding confused. “What are you talking about?”

Steve yawns deeply. He wishes he could still be asleep. “He just called,” he says. He pauses, trying to think how much he can tell Billy. Probably as much as Dustin told him, since he currently knows almost nothing about what’s actually going on. “Apparently something is going down, and he needs help. He told me to bring you.”

“Me?” Billy repeats suspiciously. “Why?”

“God knows,” Steve says with feeling. “He didn’t tell me much on the phone. But it sounded important.”

There’s a pause while Billy processes this. Something about his proximity is making Steve feel weird; they talked for hours last night. They talked about things that Steve would never have even thought to ask about before, but he’s glad it happened. It feels nice to know a bit more about Billy. Especially the stuff to do with his mom. But then there was that weird moment - that moment where Steve just found himself looking at Billy, and it reminded him of that time at Derrick’s party when they were hiding from Heather, that same awareness of Billy’s physical presence, the sudden inability to think of anything to say—

“You want me to go?” Billy says at last, cutting through the confused jumble of Steve’s thoughts.

“Yeah,” Steve says, before he registers what Billy is asking. “I mean, yeah, if that’s okay. He was worried, and I… I guess I like to look out for him.”

Billy nods slowly. “This is about the stuff you can’t tell me,” he says. It isn’t a question.

“Yeah,” Steve says. 

Another pause. Then: “Okay,” Billy says. 

Steve feels better after a shower and some toast. Billy is being surprisingly calm about the whole weird expedition, even after Steve tells him where they’re going; Steve feels like he knows Billy well enough, though, to know that it probably won’t last. Whatever is going down at the Byers’ place, Billy will have questions. And if he’s thrust in the middle of Upside Down stuff… Well, it wouldn’t be fair not to explain. It just depends on what's actually going on.

They take Steve’s car. He wonders if Jonathan is going to be there - and then, belatedly, if the gang have roped Nancy into whatever’s going on. Surely Dustin would have warned him if Nancy was going to be there?

After the conversation they had last Tuesday, seeing Nancy and Billy together is the last thing he wants to do.

Billy glances sideways at him. “Guess we’ll have to put off the book, huh?” he comments.

Something hollow sinks into the pit of Steve’s stomach. “I’m sorry,” he says, and means it. “Like I said, this better actually be an emergency.” He gives a short laugh. “This isn’t how I planned on spending today.”

Billy’s mouth twitches, and he settles back against the passenger seat. Steve gets the sense that he just made him feel better. “Don’t worry about it, princess,” he says. Steve’s chest jumps at the familiar nickname. Billy closes his eyes. “We’ll catch up. Darcy’s not going anywhere, right?”

“Right,” Steve says with a smile.

There aren’t any other cars outside the Byers’ place, which means it’s unlikely that there are any other authority figures here. Steve wonders vaguely why Dustin hasn’t called Hopper - but then again, none of the kids are that great at relying on adults when they should. It makes sense, really. They’re the ones who figured out the whole Upside Down in the first place. There is, of course, a stack of bicycles leaning against the front wall.

The front door opens as Billy and Steve are getting out of the car; Dustin comes running up to them. “Steve, you’re here,” he says, sounding relieved. He completely ignores Billy.

“Yeah, we’re here,” Steve says cautiously, glancing at Billy. He has his hands in his pockets, apparently utterly unconcerned, but Steve knows better. “What’s going on?”

“Come on,” Dustin says. “Everyone’s inside.”

Apparently, everyone includes everyone under the age of fourteen. Lucas and Max are sitting on the worn-out couch in the living room, and from what Steve can see, they’re holding hands - although they spring apart when Billy walks in the room, which seems like a shame. El is curled up in Mrs Byers’ armchair with her arms wrapped around her knees, and Mike standing guard beside her. And sitting on the floor with his back against the sofa is Will, looking tiny and sad and too much like Jonathan for words.

“Hey, guys,” Steve says warily. He still doesn’t understand quite why Dustin called him. If it really is an emergency, where’s Mrs Byers, Jonathan, literally anyone who isn’t Steve? And how on earth can Billy help when he doesn’t know what’s going on?

He’s definitely not imagining the series of guilty glances as the kids look around at each other. “Hey, Steve,” Mike says at last, with a murmur of echoes from the others.

“Okay, does someone want to start explaining what we’re doing here?” Steve says, when no one seems inclined to continue the conversation. “I would literally still be asleep if you hadn’t called, Dustin, so—”

“It is important,” Dustin says. He glances at Billy. “Maybe… maybe we could go somewhere else and I’ll explain.”

Max, for some reason, makes a huffing noise. “This is ridiculous,” she says. 

“You agreed,” Lucas says to her. “You said it was possible.”

“Yeah, I said it was possible, but I still think it’s not - I think you’re wrong,” she says unhappily. “And El says—”

Mike interrupts hastily, “Jane,” he says firmly, “said she doesn’t know for sure, right, Jane?”

Steve, along with everyone else, looks at El. She doesn’t look particularly happy either. “I don’t think so,” she says quietly. “But—”

“But she can’t be sure,” Dustin interrupts. “No one can. Wouldn’t it be better to find out for certain that I’m wrong?”

“Wrong about what?” Steve says, exasperated. “What’s going on?”

There’s a silence. Then Dustin takes his arm. “Just - come into the kitchen for a minute,” he says. “I’ll explain, I swear, but - not here.”

Steve looks at Billy. So far he’s just been standing there, listening quietly to the kids talking; it must be making even less sense to him than it does to Steve. There’s a flat, impassive expression on his face that Steve is pretty sure means he’s feeling unbearably uncomfortable. Steve feels like a massive dick. They’re all talking in riddles around him, this group of people who mostly hate him, and he’s stuck in the middle like a giant outsider.

“This is really unfair,” he says.

Max, to her credit, speaks up. “That’s what I said.”

Billy, in true Billy fashion, rolls his eyes like he doesn’t give a shit. “Whatever,” he says. “Go and have your secret conference, Harrington.” He grins, his teeth flashing. “I’ll hang out here.” He strides very purposefully over to the couch and sits down, in between Max and Will on the floor by his legs. Then he looks back at Steve. “Go on, man, it’s fine.”

Steve’s face twists, but Dustin is tugging on his arm, so reluctantly he follows him around the corner into the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” he says as soon as they get there. “Come on, Dustin, enough of the bullshit—”

“We think Billy is possessed,” Dustin says bluntly. “By the Mindflayer.”

Steve is stunned into silence.

When he finally finds his voice again, he hardly knows what to say. “Wh… you… What?”

“We think the Mindflayer could be possessing Billy,” Dustin says patiently. He has the practiced air of someone making an argument for the third or fourth time. “He was in range when the shadow was forced out of Will, he was unconscious and vulnerable, and he’s acting really different.”

Steve’s mouth falls open. “That - that doesn’t even make any—”

“You’re friends with him,” Dustin says flatly. “Three weeks ago he beat the shit out of you, and now he’s got you to be friends with him. Tell me that makes sense, Steve!”

“This is bullshit,” Steve says. “Bullshit!” His voice rises as he speaks, and it’s with an effort that he brings it back under control. “Dustin, he’s not possessed!”

Dustin sighs, like he was expecting this fight. “Right, but how sure are you?” he asks. “Can you be totally sure? Like, one hundred percent? Because if you can’t, then don’t you think we’ve been through enough to make sure?”

Steve’s mouth works for a moment before he can speak. “Of course I’m sure,” he says, but it doesn’t quite have the conviction he wants it to. 

“Just think about it for a second,” Dustin pleads. “Think about how he’s been acting. Suddenly he’s making nice with you, he’s helping Max and Lucas sneak around even though a month ago he hated their guts - doesn’t that seem weird to you?”

“Why - why would the Mindflayer play nice?” Steve says weakly. “It didn’t before.”

Dustin nods, clearly having anticipated this argument. “Yeah, but before the gate was open and the Mindflayer was strong,” he says. “It’s probably weak now, so it’s trying to get us all on side. Maybe it wants to convince us to open the gate again.”

“So it possessed Billy?” Steve says skeptically.

“It didn’t exactly have much of a choice,” Dustin replies. He pauses. “You said you’d have my back, Steve.”

Steve sighs, because that’s totally unfair. “Of course I have your back,” he says. “It’s just… I get why you have your doubts, I don’t expect you to like Billy, but I honestly think he’s trying to change. I don’t think that’s down to the Mindflayer.”

“Yeah,” Dustin says, in a voice that makes it clear just how unconvinced he is by Billy’s impetus to change. “But what if you’re wrong?” He sighs, scratching his head. “We can’t really afford to make any more mistakes about the Upside Down, Steve.”

It doesn’t feel right. Is there a chance, no matter how slim, that Billy is only behaving the way he is, only apologized, only hanging out with Steve, reading to Steve, because he’s possessed? The thought makes him feel sick. Billy’s one of his friends now, maybe even his best friend. The idea that it could all be a lie…

But then, isn’t it better to know for sure?

“What do you have in mind?” he says to Dustin.

*

Billy’s heart is hammering so hard that it’s a wonder none of the stupid kids sitting silently around him can hear it.

He doesn’t want to be here. Jesus fucking Christ, he doesn’t want to be here - he wants to be back at Steve’s place, reading the last few chapters of Pride and Prejudice, laughing at something stupid Steve has said. 

But he’s not. He’s here, sitting on the couch alone with a bunch of kids who hate him all staring at him like he’s crazy. The last time that he was here with this crowd, Maxine was slamming a baseball bat between his legs, demanding his complicity. He’s sure they’re all remembering it.

“Bullshit!” It’s Steve’s voice, loud and angry, and it makes everybody jump. Five pairs of eyes flick towards the kitchen. Billy forces himself not to look.

“Should we—?” Mike says, gesturing towards where Dustin and Steve have gone.

Lucas glances at Billy and then swiftly away. “Let Dustin explain,” he says. “He knows him best.”

Max also casts Billy a worried glance. She’s been doing it ever since he sat down. He’s not going to give her the satisfaction of asking her what’s going on. She says anxiously: “It sounds like Steve doesn’t believe it either.”

“We knew he probably wouldn’t,” Mike says, in a reasonable sort of way. “Come on, Max, you agreed it’s better to be totally certain.”

Her eyes flicker to Billy again. “Yeah, but…”

“It’ll be fine,” Lucas says firmly. “Just give Dustin a few more minutes. Steve will come round.”

Steve will come round. Steve is the only reason Billy is even here. None of this makes any sense. Steve said it was an emergency, but it doesn’t seem that way to him. They’re all just sitting here, sitting in this quiet oppressive dark living room, and he can’t stand it. He can’t stand it. Why is he here? Why are they all looking at him like he’s a goddamn bomb about to go off?

Well, that part he knows, really. He is a goddamn bomb, and he’s getting pretty fucking close to exploding. He can’t exactly fault them for being nervous around him.

Weirdly, that thought calms him, and he manages to sit quietly without screaming at anyone until Steve and Dustin finally reemerge from the kitchen. Steve looks a little shaken, but he gives Billy a brief smile, which has the effect of making Billy feel instantly more relaxed. Goddamn Steve Harrington - there’s no one else who could reel Billy in with this much bullshit and still keep him around.

“Okay,” Dustin says. “Steve’s in.”

Steve sighs. “I don’t think it’s true,” he says. For some reason, he’s looking straight at Billy. “But I get why you want to check.”

“What’s going on?” Billy says guardedly.

“It’s a long story,” Steve says. “It’ll take a while to explain—”

“Oh my God, Steve!” Dustin interrupts loudly. “We’re not telling him!”

Steve’s mouth falls open, and he wheels around to stare at Dustin. “What?”

“We can’t tell him,” Dustin says. “He doesn’t need to know.”

Billy opens his mouth to object because there is no way, no way, that he’s coming here and putting up with all this bullshit without an explanation, but Steve gets there first. “Dustin, of course we have to tell him, don’t be ridiculous! You’re being really unfair.”

Dustin folds his arms obstinately. “He doesn’t need to know,” he repeats. He doesn’t look at Billy, who’s feeling a confused mix of rejected and pleased that Steve is standing up for him. “He isn’t involved.”

“You’re making him involved,” Steve argues. “If you’re right, don’t you think he deserves to know?”

“You don’t even think I’m right!” Dustin exclaims. “And if I am, we’re, like… giving information to the enemy!”

The kids all glance between each other, in that irritating insular way that makes Billy want to punch something. Mike says tentatively: “We wouldn’t be telling him anything he doesn’t already know, though.”

“You don’t know that!” Dustin says, almost hysterical. “We don’t know what it knows.”

“It?” Billy bites out, because seriously? There are limits to his patience.

Dustin turns venomous eyes on him. “Not you,” he spits, which makes absolutely no sense at all. He turns back to Steve. “Steve, we can’t trust him. If I’m right, we can’t trust him. I don’t even think we can trust him if I’m wrong!”

“Well, I’m telling you we can,” Steve says stubbornly. Billy’s heart jumps, and for a moment his eyes prickle. No one has ever said that they trust him before, and for that person to be Steve...

The girl in the armchair - the mysterious Jane - moves, stretching out her legs. Almost as one, the kids turn to look at her, which is kind of freaky. She fixes Billy with her strange dark eyes. “Friends don’t lie,” she says, with just the faintest trace of a smile.

“What El said,” Steve says firmly.

“Who’s El?” Billy asks.

Mike makes an unhappy sound. Dustin exclaims: “Steve!”

“We’re telling him,” Steve says, in the kind of voice that brooks no argument. “You cannot ask him to spend the morning locked in a hot room—”

“What?” Billy says.

“—without explaining why. It’s not fair, Dustin. I know you don’t like him—” here Steve throws Billy a faintly guilty look, as if this might come as a surprise to him “—but you have to be fair to him. He’s not a monster.”

Dustin drops his arms. “He might be,” he says sullenly.

“Dustin,” Steve says.

“We should tell him.” This, surprisingly, comes from Max. She’s not looking at Billy, but it still feels like his chest is constricting. Max has never, ever stood up for him before. Never. “Lucas told me, and I wasn’t even involved.”

“He shouldn’t have,” Dustin sulks, while Billy attempts to process the fact that his stepsister is apparently in on the big secret that Steve has been dancing around for days.

Max makes a face. “Hey!”

Steve takes a step forward and plants his hands on his hips. “It’s not up for discussion!” he says. In spite of everything, Billy has to stifle a smile. Steve looks like a harried single mom, arguing with her kids about dinnertime. “If you want him to do it, then we tell him. Okay?” He glares around at all of them. “Okay?” he repeats.

There’s a pause, and then a small voice says, from somewhere near Billy’s feet: “I agree with Steve.”

“Yeah, me too,” Mike says. “Will’s right.”

“For the love of— This is not a democracy, okay! This is how it’s going to be,” Steve says crossly.

Billy looks down at his hands, clasped together in his lap. It feels pretty… not-great, having them all discuss him as though he’s not there. He wants to know what’s going on, of course he does - but the argument feels bitter and uncomfortable. He wishes he could be literally anywhere else - and that Steve could be with him.

“Fine,” Dustin says, sounding extremely put-out about it. “But… Okay, if we have to tell him, we tell him afterwards. Because if he is dangerous, I don’t want to give him any more information.” He looks around at the other kids. “You know I’m right.”

“That does make sense, Steve,” Lucas says.

Steve sighs. “Fine. But in that case it’s on you to explain what he has to do without telling him why.” He raises his eyes, looking straight at Billy. “And you don’t have to say yes to these dipshits.”

That seems to bring the kids up short. Billy almost smirks at that; they were obviously counting on Steve to persuade him into doing… whatever it is they want him to do. He’s aching with curiosity, but it feels good to know that Steve has basically committed to explaining. He’s fairly sure that even if he gets up and leaves right now, Steve will still tell him what’s going on. But a part of him wants to know how this is going to play out.

“Okay, squirt,” he says to Dustin, full Billy grin on his face. “What do you want me to do?”

Chapter Text

Dustin does not look like he appreciates being called squirt, but quite honestly, Billy doesn’t give a shit.

He can’t walk away from this without understanding what’s going on. He can’t, and the fact that the little jerk-off is trying to argue for that to happen… Well, he gets why the kid doesn’t like him, but he’s growing less and less sorry about it by the second.

He’s been trying so fucking hard. He doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to be sitting on this goddamn couch between these goddamn idiot children, but he is here, and he hasn’t said anything awful or done anything terrible, and he still doesn’t know a single fucking thing about this goddamn mystery bullshit that they’re all spouting—

They can’t put him through all of this and then not actually explain. Surely they can’t do that. It just seems impossibly cruel.

Dustin gives Billy a furious glare, and then turns to Steve beseechingly. Steve is having none of it.  “Go on,” he says, gesturing towards Billy. “This was your idea. You explain.”

“Fine,” Dustin grumbles. Steve perches on the arm of El’s chair; Billy tries not to be too obvious about tracking his movements. Dustin takes a breath, and then says: “We need you to be really warm.”

Billy’s eyebrows lift into his hairline. “You need me to be really warm,” he repeats, deadpan. Steve shakes his head at the floor, just a little. “Yeah, you know, as an explanation that’s not really cutting it, short stack.”

“You’re not getting the explanation until afterwards!” Dustin snaps.

“I’ll explain,” Mike says hastily. He glances a little nervously at Billy; Billy stares right back. He’s so sick of the bullshit. Mike says: “We have a bunch of heaters set up in Jonathan’s room. We want you to sit in there for… for a couple of hours, or something. It’ll get really hot, but you have to stay in there. We’ll lock the door, just in case.”

Billy folds his arms. He does not like the sound of that. “You want to lock me in a room with a bunch of heaters?” He doesn’t like closed doors, and he hates locked doors. Neil has locked him in his room before, once or twice. “Just in case of what, anyway?”

“In case something happens,” Mike says. He scratches his head uncomfortably. “I can’t… I can’t explain what might happen without telling you everything.”

That doesn’t sound too good either. “And the thing you think might happen,” Billy presses, “is it going to be, like… dangerous for me?”

Mike and Lucas exchange glances. “I mean, it’s more likely to be dangerous for us,” Mike says.

“You guys are such assholes,” Steve says, pinching the bridge of his nose. Billy’s eyes flick straight over to him. At least Steve recognizes the bullshit too. “Nothing is going to happen, Billy.”

Billy looks at Dustin. “He thinks something will,” he says warily. He can’t really imagine exactly what it is that these kids are afraid of - but they are afraid, afraid enough to bring him here, and that’s enough to make him very, very nervous.

“He’s wrong,” Steve says firmly. Billy can’t deny that his obvious certainty is somewhat reassuring. “I’m only going along with this because if I don’t they’ll never stop being scared. But he’s wrong.”

Billy bites his lip. “Scared of what?”

“Scared of you,” the small kid, Will, says unexpectedly at Billy’s feet. He pauses. “The way they were scared of me.” 

Well, that’s not ominous at all.

“Will,” Mike says, his voice full of tenderness. “We weren’t - we were never scared of you.”

Will gives the ghost of a smile. He says to Billy: “Something happened to me, something bad. I didn’t know it had happened until… until it was almost too late. Dustin’s afraid it’s happened to you too.”

Billy lifts his chin, eyes narrowed, trying to think this through. Whatever the kids are afraid of, it can’t be something he’s done wrong. Not if it happened to Jonathan’s little brother. It doesn’t feel like there’s anything the matter with him, but how would he know, when he has no idea what they’re actually talking about?

At last he says: “And this… sitting in a hot room, this will tell you if it’s happened to me?”

“Yes,” Max says. She folds her arms fiercely. “Even though it hasn’t.”

Her stubborn ferocity reminds him so much of himself that he almost smiles. It’s nice, having Maxine on his side. Billy nods slowly. His eyes travel over to Steve. “You don’t think there’s… something wrong with me?” he asks. He hates the tremor in his voice, but he has to know.

Steve shakes his head emphatically. “No,” he says. “The kids are scared because of what…” He stumbles over his words, glancing guiltily at Will. 

“What happened to me,” Will supplies, voice dry.

“Well, yeah,” Steve says. “If you knew what they’ve all been through, you’d understand why. And I guess it just seems like spending a couple of hours in a hot room is a pretty small price to pay to set their minds at rest. But you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. There’s nothing wrong with you at all.”

Another long silence. Billy can practically feel Dustin shaking with objections to what Steve has just said; Dustin, he knows, wants to demand that Billy does this. But for now, he holds himself back, and Billy’s glad of it. He needs to try and process this on his own.

“When you say they’ve all been through a lot,” he says finally. “Max, is that - does he mean you too?”

Max’s eyes widen, like she wasn’t expecting him to say that at all. “I guess so,” she says. She bites her lip. “I’m fine, Billy. It’s okay.”

It doesn’t sound very okay. It sounds like something scary and dangerous happened, and Max was there for it, and he didn’t even know. Not that she had any reason to tell him, but still. She’s his sister. The only person causing damage to her should be him.

Billy fixes Steve with an icy glare. “I don’t like the idea of you putting my sister in danger,” he says flatly.

“Oh my God, Billy,” Max says. Billy turns to her, bewildered; her voice is trembling in an uncharacteristically emotional way, and not like she’s angry with him. “No, that’s not - Steve saved me.”

Well, that does sound like something King Steve would do. Billy nods slowly. Max still looks somewhat emotional, which is making him highly uncomfortable. He clears his throat and says to her: “Do you want me to do this?”

She glances around at the little group. Billy can sense Dustin, and to a lesser degree Lucas and Mike, practically vibrating with the desire to speak up, to have her tell him to do it. But nobody speaks, and after a moment Max says falteringly: “I… I don’t think you need to. But it would help a lot if you did.”

“Okay,” Billy says, making his mind up. Max and Steve are the two most important people in this room. Neither of them think there’s anything wrong with him, but both of them want him to do this, and it doesn’t really sound like he has anything to lose. Besides, he wants an explanation, and this seems like the fastest way to get one. “Okay, fine. We doing this now?”

“Yes,” Dustin says, sounding hugely relieved by Billy’s decision. “Jonathan’s room is just down the hall. I’ll show you.”

Billy looks in the direction he’s pointing. His heart skips a beat. Even though he’s agreed to it, he really, really doesn’t want to be locked in a room by himself. Being trapped - unable to get out - he can manage it, of course he can, but—

“Do… do I have to be locked in?” he asks, stumbling over his words. “I’ll stay in there, I promise.”

Steve moves, just a little. Mike says in a somewhat regretful tone: “Um… yes. I’m sorry.”

Of course. Billy nods, as stoically as he can. “Fine,” he says in a clipped voice.

“I don’t know about this.” Surprisingly, this comes from Lucas. Billy has been avoiding looking at him too much, because out of all the kids, Lucas is the one with the most reason to hate him - and to fear him. He doesn’t really know how to deal with that.

“What are you talking about? You were on board!” Dustin says impatiently.

Lucas fidgets. “Yeah, I know, but… he’s agreeing. Don’t you think he’d refuse, that it would make him refuse, if it was really there?”

Dustin’s face twists. “It could be a double bluff?” he offers up doubtfully.

Billy is desperate to know exactly what would make him refuse, but he doesn’t say anything. Steve has promised him an explanation.

“I agree with Lucas,” Jane, or El, or whatever her name is, says softly.

Dustin looks uncomfortable. “I know,” he says, “but if we don’t find out for sure, then…”

“Then you’ll never know,” Billy breaks in, because even though he doesn’t like the kid, he gets it. He has no idea what the fuck is going on, but he gets it. Sometimes you have to feel like you’re in control. “It’s fine, little man. I’ll do it. You get your peace of mind, I get my explanation, everyone goes home happy. And… Sinclair.”

Lucas looks up at him. It’s the first time they’ve met each other’s eyes since Billy and Steve arrived. “Yeah?”

Billy’s heart is beating double time. He doesn’t know if he can do this, doesn’t know if he’s got the stones for it - but fuck that, because Billy goddamn Hargrove isn’t afraid of anything, and he needs to do this. “I’m - sorry.”

“What?” Lucas’s eyes are like saucers. “What did you say?”

It feels like the whole room is holding its breath. Billy can’t help but glance at Max; she has the tiniest smile on her face. “I said I’m sorry,” he says clearly. “I shouldn’t have come after you like that. It won’t happen again.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Billy chances a look at Steve: unlike Max, he’s openly grinning. Then he looks back at Lucas. Lucas says, his voice wary: “Okay…”

Now Billy just feels awkward. It’s not like he expected forgiveness - Lucas is no Steve - but he’s not really sure how to follow up on an apology like that, out in front of all these kids. Changing the subject seems like the most sensible option, so he jumps to his feet. “Are we doing this, or what?”

“Not on your own,” Steve says, and Billy looks up at him in surprise. “I’m sitting in there with you.”

“What? Steve, no!” Dustin exclaims at once. “What if - I mean, you could be in danger!”

Steve sighs. “Dustin, no one thinks that except you,” he points out. “Billy’s doing this to make you feel better. Would you want to sit in a locked room by yourself with no idea why?” He pauses. “Would you have made Will do this?”

Dustin sucks in a shocked breath. “That - that’s not fair,” he says unsteadily.

“I know you’re scared,” Steve says softly. “I know you’re doing this because you’re trying to protect everyone. I get that, man, and Billy gets that, and that’s why he’s agreeing to do this. Right, Billy?” he adds, looking up.

There’s a lump in Billy’s throat. “R-right,” he croaks around it.

“But come on,” Steve goes on. “You’ve got to think of him too. And anyway, what about me? What if it’s in me? I was unconscious for some of that night too, right?”

Dustin groans. “Stop it, Steve, it’s not in you!”

The riddles are getting really fucking old. Billy says loudly: “Look, are we doing this or not? The sooner you dipshits lock that door, the sooner I get some answers, so let’s get on with it, huh?”

“Yeah, come on,” Steve says, and he gets up. That seems to give the other kids permission, and they all start picking themselves up from their seats; Dustin leads the way down the narrow hallway behind the living room.

Jonathan’s bedroom, it transpires, is right at the end of the hall. Billy’s eyes are darting from left to right, trying to take in the dull brown and yellow bedspread,  the worn record player, the dozens of records stacked on shelves next to the window - Billy’s going to have to talk to Jonathan some other time and find out more about those - and, of course, the seven space heaters arranged around the room, all pointing towards the bed. The windows are shut tight.

They all troop into the room. Dustin and Mike start going around and switching on all the heaters; Billy feels a blast of hot air from the nearest one hit the back of his legs. For some reason, he’s suddenly nervous, nervous almost to the point of fear.

He has no idea what’s going on here. This should be laughable, ridiculous. But no one is treating it that way, and that’s honestly pretty frightening. There’s nothing quite so unnerving as a group of people taking something that ought to be easily dismissed extremely seriously.

“It’s going to be okay.” Billy turns sharply at the sound of Steve’s voice. He has a small smile on his face. “This means a lot to the kids. Thank you.”

Billy shrugs. “Seems like it means a lot to you too,” he observes.

Steve tilts his head to one side. “Only because of them,” he says. “I don’t… I’m not worried.”

“I’m sure that will mean more when I have any freaking idea what’s actually going on,” Billy says, more acerbically than he means to.

Fortunately, Steve doesn’t take offence. “I promise I’ll explain everything,” he says. He hesitates. “You have to promise to believe me.”

Billy laughs. “What the hell are you mixed up in, Harrington?”

Steve moves the tiniest bit closer. “Steve.”

“Steve,” Billy says obediently.

“Okay, we’re done,” Mike says, and then stops, looking between Billy and Steve. “Are you sure about staying with him, Steve?”

Billy says: “You don’t have to.”

Steve just gives him a look. “I’m staying,” he says. Billy tries to ignore the way his chest pounds and his stomach clenches at that.

“It’ll be fine,” Max says loudly. “Nothing is going to happen, I’m telling you.”

“Yeah, well,” Dustin grumbles. He eyeballs Billy. “Make sure it doesn’t.”

Steve laughs, and reaches over to ruffle Dustin’s hair. Billy finds himself thinking that they have a nice relationship - like brothers, always arguing and debating but ultimately always having the other one’s back. “Get out of here,” Steve says.

So they do, the kids filing out past the pair of them and closing the bedroom door behind them. Billy hears a distinctive click as Dustin locks the door from the other side. He pushes down the feelings of panic.

When he turns back to the room, Steve is watching him, an expression of pity on his face that instantly annoys Billy. He says roughly: “Some kids you’ve got, man.” Steve laughs. The heat is already beginning to become unpleasant in the room; Billy shrugs off his jacket. “This is allowed, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, I think so,” Steve says, following suit and peeling off his sweater. This has the effect of shutting Billy the hell up, and he deliberately looks away and goes to sit on the bed.

Steve follows him, of course, and Billy can’t avoid looking at him forever. He’s wearing a blue and green striped polo that hugs his torso in all the right places. Billy’s mouth is suddenly very dry.

He says quickly: “This is fucked up, man.”

“I know,” Steve says quietly. He sits in his usual place, at the other end of the bed. The way they normally would if they were reading together. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re going to explain, right?” Billy asks, snagging a pillow to lean on. “You’re not going to leave me hanging here?”

“Of course not,” Steve says. He glances at the door. “I’d tell you now, I would, it’s just—”

Billy shakes his head. “I get it. There’s no point, if the whole reason you’re doing this is for them.” And he does get it, but it doesn’t make things any easier. His curiosity is burning through him like an electric current, because nothing, nothing he can come up with explains any of this. And yet there must be an explanation.

“It’s just a couple of hours,” Steve says soothingly. “They’ll know then, and then we can go back to my place and—”

“Take a shower?” Billy suggests. His shirt is sticking to his back. He pushes damp hair away from his forehead. “Are they trying to make me sweat to death, is that the idea?”

Steve laughs. “Looks that way,” he says, and then he does something that almost gives Billy a freaking heart attack.

He takes off his top.

This is so, so freaking unfair. Billy has played nice, he really has. He hasn’t let the slightest hint of his ridiculous crush slip, and he’s been so good - he even apologized to goddamn Sinclair! He’s doing his absolute best to be better, and it just seems so unfair that he’s being rewarded for it with this - with Steve, sweating and topless, smooth-skinned and broad, flat planed chest and lightly freckled arms on full display, here in front of him like the physical embodiment of everything Billy desperately wants but absolutely can’t have.

He wants to run his hands down Steve’s chest. He wants to kiss his stomach. He wants to wrestle Steve down on the bed and feel his damp skin pressing up against him.

He swallows, and to his eternal shame, the sound is audible. He looks out of the window, trying to pretend that it’s a totally casual movement. “What are we going to do for two hours, man?”

Steve shrugs, laying back against the pillows. “You got a deck of cards?”

“Nope,” Billy says. He hesitates. Steve catches it, raising his eyebrows. Billy says slowly: “I do have something else, though.”

“What?” Steve says.

Billy leans over the bed and reaches for his jacket, still on the floor where he dropped it a couple of minutes ago. From the pocket, he pulls out his copy of Pride and Prejudice. He’s got into the habit of carrying it around now, since he and Steve always read at every opportunity, and so he’d slipped it in there before leaving Steve’s house earlier.

Now that he’s got it out, he feels vaguely embarrassed. Three weeks ago, no one - including himself - would ever have him pegged as the guy who suggests studying as a way of passing the time.

Steve, however, looks pleased at the idea. “I didn’t realize you brought it with you,” he says. “You think we could actually finish the thing?”

Billy shrugs. “Maybe,” he says. “We have to be in here a while, right?” He leans back on his pillow. “Christ, it’s hot.”

“Can’t really imagine actually being done with it,” Steve comments. He grins. “You want to lay bets, Hargrove? How’s she going to wrap this up?”

“Don’t start,” Billy says, because Steve’s eyes are glittering. “There’s only four chapters left, dumbass. We don’t know they’re going to get together.”

Steve’s expression is almost pitying. “Come on, man,” he says. “She couldn’t be more into him. She even stood up to the hag for him.”

“That doesn’t…” Billy begins, and then trails off, shaking his head, because at this point even he can see that he’s fighting a losing battle. He can’t see this being the sort of book that ends on a bittersweet note. 

It still bothers him, though he can’t articulate why.

Steve’s expression is just a little knowing. However, when he speaks it’s only to say: “Let’s do this.”

“Okay,” Billy says, settling in and beginning to flick through the pages. If he concentrates on the book, he won’t be distracted by Steve’s broad bare chest. That’s the theory, anyway. “Okay. Instead of receiving any such letter of excuse from his friend, as Elizabeth half expected Mr. Bingley to do, he was able to bring Darcy with him to Longbourn before many days had passed…”

Chapter Text

The room is silent. It’s been silent for at least five minutes. Steve just has no idea what to say.

It’s over. Three straight weeks of spending every second of free time reading together, and it’s over. Billy read an entire book to him, and now it’s finished.

“I can’t believe it, man,” Steve says, shaking his head. “That - I think that’s the first time I’ve ever actually finished a book.”

Billy’s eyes flicker over to him. He’s looking sleepy and way too hot, his t-shirt sticking to his chest and sweat trickling down the sides of his head. It’s making Steve feel weird to look at him, his chest fluttering oddly. He has the unaccountable desire to reach out and smooth Billy’s damp hair away from his face, which is probably because Billy just looks so damn uncomfortable with it all sticking to the back of his neck. Steve looks away. The heat is clearly messing with his head.

It’s unbelievably hot in the room by now; they’ve been in there for almost two hours. Other than some mild complaining, Billy hasn’t exhibited the slightest signs of possession, which honestly doesn’t come as much of a surprise to Steve. It’s never been a possibility he’s taken seriously. After so much time spent together, he feels like he knows Billy now, and he’d know if he wasn’t himself. Just like the kids did with Will.

“It wasn’t so bad,” Billy says, and Steve has to take a moment before he realizes that he’s still talking about the book.

Steve laughs. “I told you Lizzy and Darcy would—”

“Don’t start,” Billy interrupts. He huffs out a breath. “Christ, it’s hot. Think you can stand it if I take my socks off?”

“I’ll manage,” Steve says, suppressing a smile. He’s already removed as many of his own clothes as is socially acceptable. He has no idea why Billy is standing on ceremony.

Billy pulls up his knee and peels off one of his socks. Steve’s eyes flicker down to his bare foot and then away again. It feels strange to look at another person’s foot - it reminds him of the time a couple of weeks ago, when he showed up at Billy’s place unexpectedly and saw him in his sweats. There’s something oddly vulnerable, almost soft, about it. 

He deliberately doesn’t look while Billy removes the other sock.

“I guess they made it work in the end,” Billy says, a little sullenly. Once again, it takes a moment for Steve to catch up. Right, they’re still discussing Pride and Prejudice. Steve swallows the weird feeling in his chest.

“I thought it was nice,” he says.

Billy pulls a face at him. “Course you did,” he mutters.

Steve laughs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Billy says moodily. “You like a happy ending, huh, princess?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Steve says easily. He does like the fact that Elizabeth and Darcy managed to get their heads out of their asses at the end of the book. “Come on, you’re seriously telling me you wouldn’t have been a little annoyed if they hadn’t got it together?”

Billy tips his head back, apparently contemplating the question. A bead of sweat trickles down the line of his throat and across his collarbone. He says at last: “He was such a fucking asshole to her.”

“He made up for it, though,” Steve objects, still with his eyes fixed on Billy’s clavicle. “He helped out with Lydia.”

“Yeah, but—”

Steve cuts in before Billy can work up a full-blown argument against Darcy. “And he changed,” he says. For some reason, it feels important to convince Billy of this. “He tried to change all the stuff that she didn’t like about him - he said so in that bit after he asked her—” He picks up the book from the bedspread, flicking through the pages to find the part he’s thinking of. “Here. I hope… hoped to ob… obtain your…” Steve pauses, frustrated, but Billy just leans back a little, waiting, so he goes on: “To obtain your f… forgiveness, to less… lessen your ill opin… opinion, by letting you see that… that your repr… reproofs had been… been attended to.” 

He sits back, rather pleased with himself.

Billy says pensively: “You think that means he deserves the happy ending? Just because he said sorry?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. He’s aware they’re treading on somewhat delicate ground. “Everybody fucks up sometimes, right? He’s not a dick about it. He tells her he fucked up and he tries to show her that he wants to do better this time.”

“What, and she’s just magically over it?” Billy challenges.

Steve shrugs. He can’t pretend not to understand why this matters so much to Billy, but at the same time he thinks it’s kind of ridiculous, holding a fictional character to such a high standard. “If everybody cut off everybody else when they screwed up, nobody would have any friends,” he says firmly. “Everybody fucks up.”

Billy bites his lip. It draws Steve’s attention to his mouth, which brings back the weird, squirmy feeling for some reason. “Yeah, but…”

“Billy,” Steve says carefully, “everyone deserves a second chance.” He hesitates. “Even you.”

There’s a silence, during which Steve hopes fervently that he didn’t go too far. Then Billy rolls his eyes, nudging Steve’s thigh with his bare foot. “Shut up, Harrington,” he says good-humoredly.

Steve feels himself smiling. He says: “Still can’t believe we actually finished it.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Billy says reflectively. He barks out a sharp laugh. “I figured you’d tell me to go to hell when I asked you!”

Steve remembers that - the casual, offhanded way Billy had suggested reading the book together, how pissed off it had made him when he realized that it was the best way of actually getting through the assignment. How hard it had been to say yes. Of course Billy hadn’t really felt flippant about it, as much as he might have seemed to. 

He says: “Yeah, well, I’m glad I didn’t.”

Billy nudges his leg again. “I’ve read worse,” he says.

“Oh, is that how we’re playing it?” Steve asks, amused. “King of cool, right?”

“That’s right,” Billy agrees, but there’s a smile playing on his lips. 

“Come on, man, admit it,” Steve says comfortably. “You liked it. You had actual fun reading it.”

Billy’s eyes dance, but he just says, infuriatingly: “Could have been worse.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Steve says, shutting his eyes. He’s going to leave sweat marks on Jonathan’s sheets. “What’s the matter, Hargrove, afraid of ruining your image if you admit you actually enjoyed something?”

“No,” Billy says, and this time he actually pinches Steve’s leg through his jeans. Steve feels a swift swoop of warmth at the unexpected touch. “Shut up, you know I liked it.”

Steve smiles, satisfied, and opens his eyes again. “That hard, Hargrove?” he teases.

“You’re such a little bitch,” Billy complains, but he doesn’t look like he minds too much. He yawns. “Jesus Christ, can we turn these goddamn heaters off yet?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, looking around at the space heaters as though he’d forgotten they were there. He almost had, in spite of the blazing heat enveloping them. Almost forgot what they’re doing here. It’s easy to do that, when he and Billy can sink into the easy companionship of Jane Austen. “I figured the kids would let us out when they think it’s been enough time.”

Billy nods, yawning again. “Yeah, but when is that going to be?” he asks. “Don’t forget, you owe me some answers, princess.”

Steve reaches out to pat Billy’s knee without really thinking about it. “Hadn’t forgotten,” he says. “I’d tell you now, except you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me,” Billy says.

Steve laughs, the sound just a little bitter. Even if he hadn’t promised the kids that he’d wait until after this little experiment, he wouldn’t know where to begin. Where does this strange little story of theirs start? With El? Will? It’s not like any of them really understand the Upside Down. Everything they know about it is cribbed from Dungeons and Dragons and a hell of a lot of blind luck. If he even tried to explain, he’s pretty sure Billy would just laugh. Hell, Steve would have done the same a year ago. He needs El to demonstrate her powers, as proof. 

He doesn’t want Billy to laugh at him, not about this.

“They’ll let us out soon,” he says, hoping he sounds more certain than he feels. In truth, he has no idea how long Dustin and the others will consider to be a reasonable test. He yawns widely. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

Fortunately, Billy doesn’t push it, although his eyes glitter at Steve for a moment. “That’s because we barely slept last night,” he points out.

“True,” Steve says with another yawn. “If I fall asleep—”

“Better not snore, Harrington,” Billy says, sounding amused, and that’s the sound Steve focuses on as he drifts off.

*

“—dangerous, you can’t just leave people - Billy? Steve? Come on, guys, wake up—”

“—the only way to know for sure, Steve agreed—”

 “—going to be okay? Goddammit, Dustin, if he’s not okay—”

Max. Max’s voice, concerned about him - it’s enough, enough to rouse Billy from his drifting overheated slumber, and blearily he opens his eyes. He feels oddly hungover, his head aching and his limbs heavy, but he forces himself to sit up and look around.

Jonathan Byers is hovering over him, looking pissed off and scared in equal measures, and the gaggle of Max’s little friends is gathered around the bed. Billy doesn’t really remember falling asleep, but it had been so hot in the room that he’s not really surprised he drifted off. It’s not so warm anymore, although Billy’s skin still feels tight and hot. When he looks around, he can see that all of the space heaters have been switched off, and the window is open, letting in a cooling breeze that feels fucking amazing on his overheated body.

Billy reaches up and pushes his still-damp hair out of his eyes. He glances beside him. Steve is still there, blinking awake and looking just as disoriented as Billy feels.

They fell asleep together. Billy’s not quite sure how he feels about that.

“Billy? Are you okay?” It’s Max again, and Billy turns towards the sound of her voice. She’s standing by the edge of the bed, worry etched all over her face.

“Yeah,” he says, voice heavy and slurred like he’s drunk. He tries to smile at her, because she looks so serious and concerned that it’s almost funny, but his face won’t quite cooperate. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Jonathan moves a little. “I think you guys should come out of this room,” he says. “It’s still really hot in here.” He glares across the bed, although not at Billy; beside Max, Dustin shrinks into himself a little.

“Mm, okay,” Steve murmurs, eyes fluttering closed again. Billy sighs. Even in the half-awake state he’s in, he knows that’s not a good sign. He’s from California - he’s fallen asleep in the sun enough times to know what’s wrong with them both.

So he forces himself to swing his legs around, and gives Steve a hearty shove. “Come on, princess,” he says. “Don’t give yourself heatstroke.”

“Bit late for that,” Jonathan mutters. He shakes his head. “Billy’s right, Steve. Come on.”

“Don’t want to,” Steve groans, but he allows himself to be manhandled into a sitting position. Billy, tired and too hot, isn’t particularly gentle about it, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind.

They stagger out of the bedroom, and immediately the cool air of the hall hits them in a refreshing gust. Billy sighs in relief; he hadn’t quite realized how warm it actually was in there. Behind him, the kids are muttering and arguing amongst themselves. From what Billy can gather, Jonathan had arrived home and pretty much laid into them for leaving him and Steve locked up for so long.

Billy can’t exactly blame him. It’s now been nearly four hours since they first arrived at the Byers’ place.

Once they reach the living room, Jonathan has them both sitting at opposite ends of the couch, knees bent so that they can both get their feet up. “Go and get some water, Will,” he snaps at his little brother. “The rest of you, open some windows. And Dustin, wet some cloths, or something. They need to cool down.”

The kids shuffle off to obey, and Jonathan sits down on the armchair with a huff. Steve says in a sleepy voice: “Don’t be mad at them, Jonathan. We agreed, right, Billy?”

“Right,” Billy says, although privately he’s not feeling all that forgiving. The kids left them there for hours. But given his standing in this crowd, he’s not exactly going to say so.

“They should have let you out after half an hour,” Jonathan says crossly, echoing Billy’s thoughts. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?” He sighs. “You’re lucky Nancy isn’t here.”

Will sidles over to Billy, a cold glass of water in his hands. Billy gets a proper look at him for the first time as he takes it. The kid is tiny, with big dark eyes and a serious expression that reminds Billy sharply of Jonathan. The resemblance is startling. 

He takes the glass, sipping the water gratefully. Slowly his headache begins to recede.

“Do I get to know what the hell that was all about now?” he asks, voice too loud for how drowsy he’s still feeling. His curiosity has receded from a sharp burn to a gentle simmer over the course of the morning, but it’s still there. He has to know what he just played along with.

There’s a pause, and then Jonathan says in a quiet, hard voice: “Dustin.”

“What? They agreed!” Dustin squeaks, so loudly that Billy winces and rubs his forehead. He’s hovering in the archway to the kitchen, holding a couple of wet rags in his hand.

“I can’t believe you… Did you seriously not tell him what was going on?” Jonathan demands, voice more heated than Billy has ever heard him. He turns to Steve. “Steve?”

Billy wants to tell Jonathan to wind down, because no one gets to have a go at Steve except him - but Max cuts in before he can speak. “Steve wanted to tell him,” she says. “Steve didn’t even think we needed to do it—”

“We didn’t,” Steve interrupts, sounding tired. He reaches out almost blindly; Dustin hands him the wet cloths. Steve gives one to Billy, who slaps it onto his hot forehead.

“Yeah, but you agreed,” Mike says reasonably. “You said you understood why we wanted to.”

Steve sighs. “Yeah, I know,” he says. “Look, can we all calm down a bit? No one needs to be mad here.”

“They put you in danger,” Jonathan says. His voice is calm, but his eyes flash, and Billy is reminded of the way Jonathan had looked at him in Homeroom that time. Jonathan may be quiet, may be the bottom of the social totem pole - but Billy wouldn’t want to be on his bad side.

“We could have turned off the heaters ourselves,” he points out hastily, because he’s in no mood to argue either. Steve throws him a grateful look. “Come on, I played the game, didn’t I? I’m owed some goddamn answers.”

Dustin opens his mouth; Steve says firmly: “No arguments, Dustin, he did what you asked.”

“That’s what I was going to say!” Dustin exclaims. He narrows his eyes at Billy. Billy’s heart, for reasons quite separate from the heat exhaustion still blanketing him, is beating hard. Dustin says: “I still don’t like you.”

Well, that makes two of them. Billy is sensible enough not to say so. “Yeah, I get that,” he says instead, voice dry.

Dustin nods like he wasn’t expecting anything else. “Okay, but you proved yourself,” he says. He looks around at the other kids. “I think we can trust him.”

This is so unexpected that Billy’s mouth actually drops open. To his eternal shame, he can feel tears in his eyes, although he’s able to control himself well enough that they don’t actually fall. To be trusted - to be told that he’s trusted - and especially by this kid, this kid who hates him—

It’s a lot, that’s all.

“This isn’t a debate,” Steve sighs. “We agreed on this before we even went in there.”

“Of course we’re telling him,” Max says.

Unexpectedly, Sinclair nods as well. “Yeah, I think so too,” he says. He looks at Billy a little warily. “But you can’t tell anyone.”

Billy raises an eyebrow, but the other kids are all nodding fervently. “Yeah,” Mike says. “You have to swear it. This is - no one knows. And we shouldn’t even be telling you.”

“Of course you have to tell him,” Jonathan says, as if Mike’s statement is utterly ridiculous. “You’ve involved him now.”

“You know, right now you all sound like crazy people,” Billy observes.

Steve gives another deep sigh. “Yeah, we’re not about to start sounding saner,” he says heavily. He pushes a hand through his hair, and Billy swallows and looks away. “The kids are right, though - you can’t tell anyone.”

Billy looks down at his hands. “I know how to keep a secret.”

A beat. Then Steve says: “I know, man.”

Billy can feel Max looking between the two of them - feels her gaze like a brand. But he doesn’t look at her. The last thing he needs right now is for her to figure out which secret it is that unites the three of them.

He says: “Come on, guys. Someone’s gotta start making sense here.”

There’s a pause. “Okay,” Mike says. He looks around the little group. “Okay, well - I mean, I guess it starts when - when…”

“It starts with me,” Will Byers interrupts. Billy turns to look at him. He’s such a small kid, but his chin is high and there are two spots of color in his cheeks. “I was taken.”

Everyone reacts to that. Jonathan’s head dashes angrily to one side, and the kids flinch. They’re all gathered in a little huddle in the middle of the room, but Mike nudges Will towards the empty chair, and the rest of them find spaces on the floor to sit. Billy gets the sense that they’re settling in for a long story.

Well, he’d expected that. Whatever is going on, it’s not going to be something easily explained.

“The thing you have to understand,” Mike says slowly, “is that there’s another place. Another… another world.”

He stops, and Billy takes another long sip of water. “What do you mean, another world?” he says warily.

Steve moves on the couch opposite him. “He means, like… literally, another world,” he says. “Like a parallel universe, or something.”

“We call it the Upside Down,” Dustin says, picking up the narrative. “It looks exactly like our world, except…”

“It’s dark,” Will says quietly. “It’s dark and empty, and it’s filled with this… this creature. Except it’s more like a plant.”

Billy’s gaze flickers between the kids, eyes narrowed. “A plant?”

“Yeah,” Mike says. “It’s everywhere. It has, like, spores, vines - it grows everywhere. It grows through people. It infects you. But it’s a mind, like a hive mind - it controls all the creatures.”

It’s getting seriously hard to keep up. “What creatures?” Billy asks.

“Demodogs,” Dustin says. “They have four legs and their faces open up like… like a sarlacc - a sarlacc is like a—”

“I know what a sarlacc is,” Billy interrupts. He rolls his eyes at Steve’s questioning look. “It’s a Star Wars thing, Steve, Jesus. You’ve gotta start watching some movies.”

“They’re dangerous,” Dustin says impatiently. “There are hundreds of them in the Upside Down, all controlled by the hive mind. And the demogorgons - they’re like demodogs, but they look like people.”

Across from Billy, Steve gives a full-on body shudder.

Billy stares at him. “Look,” he starts, because this is beginning to sound fucking crazy. No, scratch that; they’re well into crazy town. “Look, what the actual—”

“Just listen,” Steve says. “I know how it sounds. Please. Just let them finish.”

Billy subsides.

Mike picks up the story. “All the creatures - the demodogs, the demogorgon, the vines - they’re all part of the same hive mind. We call it the Mind Flayer—”

“Mind Flayer?” Billy repeats.

Max shakes her head at him. “They copied all the names from Dungeons and Dragons,” she says scornfully. “I wasn’t around for that part.”

“Ah,” Billy says, nodding in understanding. He gestures to Mike. “Go on, go on.”

“It’s evil,” Mike says. “It wants to invade our world and destroy us. But to do that it has to come through a gate between this world and the Upside Down.” He pauses, as if expecting Billy to interrupt again. Billy, however, is reserving judgement until this crazy story is over.

Dustin jumps in. “Hawkins Lab - they opened the gate by accident last year, when—” He stops abruptly, turning to look at Jane.

The freaky girl from the woods. Somehow, it’s not a shock to find that she’s tangled up in - in whatever this is.

She unfolds a little from where she’s curled up by the couch. Something about her serious dark eyes gives Billy the shivers. She says: “It’s okay. Tell him.”

“Okay,” Dustin says, after a slight pause. He’s the only one of the kids still standing now; the others are all sitting on the floor, leaning against various armchairs. “Okay, well - you can’t tell anyone, okay, but El - El is an experiment.”

Billy blinks. “What?”

“El is short for Eleven,” Dustin explains.

“I thought her name was Jane,” Billy says stupidly.

Mike shakes his head. “No, we call her that like… like a codename, or something. They called her Eleven at the lab. She didn’t have a name, so I started calling her El after she escaped.”

Billy opens his mouth. Shuts it again. “What?”

“You guys are terrible at this,” Jonathan observes from his armchair.

“Oh my God,” Max says impatiently. She looks at Billy. “They were experimenting on kids in the lab, Billy. They did all kinds of stuff to give them, like… special powers. El has superpowers.”

He stares at her. “Superpowers,” he says flatly.

“Billy, I know,” Steve says. “I know it sounds crazy, okay? But it’s true. El, show him.”

There’s a long, long silence. Billy wants to scream, because what the hell are they talking about? What kind of crack is Steve Harrington on? None of this makes any sense - it sounds like the script for a bad movie - he can’t believe he’s even sitting here listening to this—

The armchair Jonathan is sitting on rises slowly, slowly, lifting off the ground and hanging in mid-air. Jonathan, to his credit, looks only mildly surprised.

“What the fuck?” Billy spits, scrambling to his feet. “What the actual fuck?”

“It’s real,” Steve says. Billy reaches out, hand finding the foot of the armchair. It’s now almost at shoulder height. Hesitantly, he waves an arm underneath it. No strings.

He stares wildly around. “How—?”

Jane - El - is still sitting quietly on the floor with her back against the couch. There’s an intensity in her eyes that makes him want to shrink away from her. And a slow curl of dark blood is oozing from her nose.

“I can move things,” she says. The foot of the armchair brushes past Billy’s arm as it lowers gently back to the ground. “And I can find people.”

Billy finds his voice at last. “What do you mean, find people?” he demands.

“I can look for people, and then I can see where they are,” she replies simply.

“Sit down, Billy,” Jonathan says gently, as if he wasn’t fucking floating two seconds ago. Slowly, Billy obeys.

Dustin takes up the narrative once more. “They made her this way,” he tells Billy. Out of the corner of his eye, Billy sees Mike shudder, and ease closer to El. So it’s like that. Dustin goes on: “They experimented on her and gave her powers, and then they made her open the gate.”

“Accident,” El clarifies. “Found it by accident.”

“Right, they didn’t know it was there,” Dustin says, nodding. “She found the Mind Flayer by accident, with her powers, and they made her talk to it, and that opened the gate between this world and the Upside Down.”

He pauses, and Billy leaps at the opportunity to actually process a goddamn thing he’s saying. He holds up a hand when Dustin opens his mouth to go on. “Just… give me a second,” he says. He takes a deep breath. The craziest part of this whole fantastical story… is the fact that he’s still sitting here listening to it. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, so… so let me see if I’ve got this straight so far. Little Regan MacNeil over here—” he gestures to El, who frowns bemusedly at the nickname “—has whacked-out superpowers, thanks to some crazy scientists in the old lab in the woods.”

“Right,” Steve says. He looks serious, anyway. He’s almost certainly never seen The Exorcist.

“Right, okay,” Billy says. “The mad scientists made her use her powers to open a gate between this world and a parallel universe full of monsters.” He pauses; the kids nod. “The monsters are all controlled by a hive mind called the… what did you call it?”

“The Mind Flayer,” Dustin tells him.

Billy nods slowly. “The Mind Flayer,” he repeats. “And this… this is the bullshit you’re expecting me to swallow?”

Dustin sighs, like Billy is being particularly difficult and not at all reasonable. “You saw her powers,” he points out.

“Yeah, but—”

“I didn’t believe it at first either,” Max says. He looks at her. He’d almost forgotten she was here, one of the perpetrators of this crazy story. Is she really asking him to sit here and believe this? She says, face flushed: “I didn’t believe Lucas for ages. Not until I saw the demodogs for myself.”

Billy bites his lower lip. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, tell me the rest.”

Dustin nods and carries on with his story. “El escaped from the lab,” he says. “We found her in the woods when we were looking for Will.”

Billy turns again to look at the small pale child huddled in the armchair. “You… you went missing,” he says. He glances fractionally at Steve. “Steve told me.”

“Yeah,” Will says. He pauses, and then says in a low voice: “The Mind Flayer took me into the Upside Down. I thought I was going to die.”

“Jesus,” Billy says, because how can he disbelieve that? How can he argue against that frightening quiet intensity?

After a moment or two, Dustin goes on, albeit a little shakily. “We were all looking for him,” he says. He looks up, and his blue eyes meet Billy’s. “We found El.”

Chapter Text

“Okay,” Billy says, and Steve sighs. It’s midnight, and after their late night - and early start - he’s more than ready to go to sleep. “Okay, just walk me through this one more time.”

“Which part?” Steve says wearily. He can’t exactly begrudge Billy his questions, after the day they’ve had, but he wishes the kids were here. They explain things way better than he does.

Billy sits up eagerly on Steve’s couch. “Well, how about you start with the part where you hit a dog with a face like a goddamn Venus flytrap with a baseball bat and saved my… saved Maxine’s life?”

Steve bites his lip. “It wasn’t as badass as you’re making it sound,” he hedges. It had felt incredibly awkward, listening to the kids explain everything that happened; they made him out to be some kind of hero, which is fucking ridiculous. “We got trapped in a goddamn bus, and we were lucky the demodogs didn’t attack us.”

“And they didn’t attack you because… because they were called away by the hive mind,” Billy says, a frown on his face as if he can’t quite believe the words coming out of his mouth. 

“Right,” Steve says.

Billy shakes his head. “Jesus,” he says. “Jesus.” He looks at Steve. “How… how do you even… how do you fucking process all this shit, man?”

Steve shrugs. He’s not entirely sure that he has processed it, really. The whole thing is so insane that it’s better not to go there in his head; although he talked to Nancy a bit about everything after the first time, there are things the kids explained that he hadn’t known himself. Not talking about it is kind of how he deals. 

“I guess it’s easier when it’s right there in your face,” he says. “I didn’t exactly have time to sit down for a Q and A.”

“Okay, because you went over to Byers’ place without knowing a goddamn thing, right, and then the… the demogorgon?” Billy pauses, eyebrows raised.

Steve sighs again, nodding. “Yeah, the demogorgon,” he says, leaning back against the back of the couch. “Jonathan and Nancy were right in the middle of their plan to lure it out of the Upside Down when I turned up.”

There’s a pause while Billy takes this in. “Why were you even there?”

Well, that’s an awkward question. When they’d got to this part in the story at Jonathan’s place, the kids had just skipped right over it as if it was totally natural for Steve to be involved in the whole thing - and maybe to them it was. After all, Steve was Nancy’s boyfriend then. He’s not even sure the kids know about the animosity between him and Jonathan back then.

That’s not quite true. Will, he’s sure, must know. But he didn’t say anything at the time, and Steve deliberately didn’t look at Jonathan while Dustin was explaining.

Billy is still waiting for an answer. With a rush of relief, Steve realizes he doesn’t have to feel uncomfortable; this is Billy. Billy already knows about the fight, about how far Steve’s head was up his own ass. The awful, unforgivable things Steve said to Jonathan.

“I went by to apologize to Jonathan,” he mumbles. “It was right after… right after he kicked my ass. I went by and she opened the door, and there was this bandage on her hand - they cut their hands to lure the demogorgon. It’s attracted to blood, or something. She still has the scar.”

He stops abruptly, because if Nancy still has the scar, then so does Jonathan. Matching scars. He doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before. How could he ever hope to compete with that kind of commitment?

Jesus, he’s being maudlin. He doesn’t enjoy this whole thing, raking over everything that happened a year ago. It makes him feel… lonely.

Billy is watching him. “So you see the bandage, and what, you think your man Byers has roughed up your girl?” he says shrewdly.

“I guess, yeah,” Steve says, shrugging. “I don’t know what I thought. I got inside and the house was totally fucked up.”

“More fucked up than when I walked in the house last month?” Billy challenges. 

Steve thinks of the crazy maps stuck all over the walls, the multicolored scribbles winding from the kitchen to the living room to the bedrooms. For the first time, he tries to imagine how fucking weird that must have seemed to Billy when he walked in that night. Not that Billy exactly gave him time to explain, but still. 

“Maybe not that bad,” he allows. “Mrs Byers had Christmas lights everywhere so she could talk to Will.”

Billy nods slowly. “With the alphabet painted on the wall, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers. “She figured out how to talk to him. I don’t even know how.”

“Freaky,” Billy says.

There’s an odd, contemplative look on his face. Steve wonders what it must be like - finding out about all this stuff at leisure, when you have time to think about it and ask every goddamn question you can think of. That didn’t happen for him. Everything was over so quickly, and then - then he didn’t really want to know. It was easier not to.

“I’m going to bed, man,” he says at last. “We still going to the library tomorrow?”

Billy blinks, and looks at him. “Right, right, yeah,” he says, although it’s clear his mind is completely devoid of any thought of Pride and Prejudice. Steve feels a pang of anger run through him, unexpectedly sharp. The fucking Upside Down has taken this as well. “Yeah, okay, let’s go to bed.”

He jumps up from the couch, his brow still crinkled into a little frown, like he’s still thinking all of this through. Steve finds himself wishing that he’d never picked up the goddamn phone when Dustin called. It’s not that Billy doesn’t have a right to know - he does, of course he does - but Steve was enjoying the easy, still-new camaraderie between them. He’s being unfair, he knows he’s being unfair, but he doesn’t want to have to put that on pause to go back over the past, to have to wait while Billy asks the million or so inevitable questions he’s going to have, to have to relive all those unpleasant moments all over again. Billy wasn’t even there. Or at least, he wasn’t there for the really bad bits. 

For the first time in a really long time, Steve wishes Billy would just go home.

He follows Billy up the stairs, heading straight to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He’s aware that his grouchy mood will probably dissipate after a good night’s sleep, but he’s not particularly relishing the thought of a day at the library with Billy tomorrow - a day that probably would have been full of lighthearted fun and banter while they worked on the presentation, but now is more likely to just be a repeat of today, with Steve answering endless questions and the project work lapsing.

Christ. He’s actually upset about not getting to do schoolwork.

Billy comes into the bathroom when Steve has a mouthful of foam. He stands by the door, leaning against the wall and watching Steve. He’s wearing a pair of gray sweats, but he hasn’t got a shirt on, and his chest looks very broad and tan against the white of the bathroom tiles. Steve tries not to look at him in the mirror; every time he meets Billy’s eyes, he feels a weird shiver deep in his belly.

He rinses his mouth, and dries his face on the hand towel. Billy takes a deep breath, and then says: “Did you not want me to know?”

Steve freezes, his hands involuntarily clenching around the towel. He turns to face Billy, running his fingers through his hair. The honest answer would be no - but not for the reason Billy undoubtedly thinks.

“It’s not that, man,” he says. His heart is beating too fast. 

Billy pushes himself upright off the wall. The bathroom feels very small suddenly, with both of them standing in it. He says: “You’re pissy.”

“I just don’t like talking about it,” Steve says, the truth tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop it. Or at least part of the truth.

It’s more than that, but it’s almost impossible to explain. Billy… being friends with Billy has felt like his thing recently, a thing that’s just his - because nobody gets it. Nobody understands why he’d want to hang out with the guy that half-killed him a month ago. And yeah, that’s sad, and Steve didn’t like it when Nancy and Dustin said shit about Billy, because there’s so much they don’t know - but it also kind of meant that Billy… Billy just belonged to him.

But now Billy belongs to everyone, the whole damn Party, because he knows now. He knows, and that makes him part of the Upside Down gang, and Steve… Steve was kind of enjoying having Billy all to himself.

It makes no sense. But that’s how he feels.

Billy doesn’t say anything in response. He just pulls his toothbrush out from behind his back and steps forward to the sink without looking at Steve. Steve sighs, because now Billy’s fucking offended, and that wasn’t what he meant.

“I’m glad you know,” he says. There’s not really enough space for them both to stand by the sink, and Billy’s body jostles against Steve’s as he puts toothpaste on his toothbrush. He gives Steve a sideways look, but doesn’t answer; Steve goes on: “I really didn’t like having to keep fucking secrets, man, it’s just…” He sighs. “The whole thing was pretty shitty, and I don’t like thinking about it.”

Almost imperceptibly, the hard line of Billy’s shoulders relaxes slightly. “Okay,” he says. He puts the toothbrush in his mouth, and then says in a garbled voice around it: “I’ll stop asking questions.”

He steps slightly away, pressing himself up against the wall so he’s not touching Steve anymore, and immediately Steve is filled with regret. That’s not what he wants. Billy should be able to ask anything he wants to - and who else is he going to ask but Steve? Sure, he could talk to Max, maybe - but Steve, selfishly, doesn’t want that either.

He has no idea how to articulate any of that, though. He both wants and doesn’t want Billy to talk to him about the Upside Down; what he really wants is to go back to how things were before. His eyes flicker to Billy’s face in the mirror. He’s brushing his teeth energetically. Maybe Steve’s imagining it, but it seems like Billy is avoiding meeting his eyes.

Steve sighs, and leaves the bathroom. It’s too small for both of them anyway.

*

Billy can’t sleep. He’s fucking exhausted, running on freaking empty, but every time he closes his eyes he feels images and thoughts and questions piling into his brain until he basically wants to scream.

Keeping his eyes open isn’t much better.

It’s not that he doesn’t get why Steve doesn’t want to talk about it. Okay, that’s not totally true; Steve’s weird reticence doesn’t make complete sense to him. But he understands that Steve has already been through all this, done all the revelations, had the discussions - and unlike Billy, he’s actually lived it. It makes sense that he might not want to go back there.

But Billy’s going to explode if he doesn’t talk about it, because everything about what he learned today is absolutely batshit crazy.

He could try talking to someone else, he supposes. He’s pretty sure Max would have the conversation if he tried it with her; he feels like he’s learned more about her in the last twelve hours than he has in the last three years of knowing her. He’s not sure how she managed to keep all this to herself for the last month - although of course she’s had her nerdy little friends to discuss things with.

Billy moves restlessly in bed. He doesn’t particularly want to talk to Max. Or to Jonathan, the other person Billy has the oddest sense would actually be open to it. He wants to talk to Steve.

Through all of this crazy day, Steve has been there. Steve’s the only reason Billy even got through it. Every time he felt like his head was going to explode, every time Dustin or Mike or Jonathan said something totally insane, every time he wanted to just fucking punch something - and those moments came up more often than he would have thought - he met Steve’s eyes, took a deep breath, and managed to keep listening.

Billy felt better because he thought Steve wanted him to know this shit. He thought Steve was on his side. And now it seems like maybe he was wrong.

There’s something else, something he doesn’t want to think about, because if it’s true then they’re back to square one. Worse than square one, because Billy doesn’t have any more apologies to offer, any more ways of walking back all the shit he’s done. What if retelling the story has reminded Steve what a shithead Billy is?

He hates the fact that all this crap was going down and Billy was right there. That everyone lied to him, that after Max laid him out they just stepped over him and got right on with all the saving-the-world bullshit they’d been doing before he arrived. He hates that maybe, just maybe, if he hadn’t been such a massive dick to both Steve and Max for so long, then he would have been let in on the secret too.

Steve, Max, Byers, the other kids - they literally defeated monsters that night. Billy Hargrove just got himself knocked out.

They’d skirted around that part of the story, when they told it. Dustin’s face twisted, his eyes flashing at Billy, and it was clear that for him at least trusting Billy didn’t extend to forgiving him. Max was grimacing, Sinclair was looking at the ground, and only Mike was able to keep talking, to explain what had happened.

Billy looked at his hands and didn’t so much as glance in Steve’s direction.

So maybe that’s part of what’s going on here. Maybe Steve’s back to thinking that Billy’s just some racist asshole, and once the presentation is done he’ll just fade out, nod at Billy at parties, act like they never stayed up until four in the morning swapping secrets.

He rolls over, punching his pillow viciously. That can’t be what happens, can it? Steve stayed with him in that hot room, looked at him with those serious eyes and told him that even he - even Billy goddamn Hargrove - deserves a second chance. Surely, surely, he can’t be rescinding that already?

He wants to scream. This is so fucking unfair. Typical fucking King Steve, keeping Billy on eggshells—

But that’s not quite true anymore, is it? They’d had that almost-argument after the party, where Billy had accused Steve of that, and Steve had denied it, vehemently. He’d said he wasn’t holding the fight over Billy’s head. Well, if that’s the truth, then Steve isn’t fucking allowed to just shut down like this. And Billy… Billy can tell him that.

He’s out of bed before he even finishes the thought. Yeah, it’s the middle of the night, but fuck it. If Steve fucking Harrington didn’t want to be woken up at two in the morning, he shouldn’t have been such a dick, right? For a moment Billy is infused with a sort of righteous glee, because for once he hasn’t done anything wrong.

At least, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t. 

He rolls back his shoulders and throws his head up as he stalks out of his bedroom and into Steve’s. It’s only the two of them in the house, so he doesn’t bother to keep quiet; Steve’s bedroom door crashes into the wall as he barges in.

“Yo, Harrington,” Billy barks. “Harrington!”

Steve stirs, groaning a little under his breath, and for a second Billy feels guilty. Steve actually looks pretty peaceful, lying in bed with his arm thrown up by his face, his hair splayed out across the pillow and the covers crumpled across his chest. He shrugs off the feeling. He gets to be pissed off. He’s allowed to be pissed off - he doesn’t have to squash it down anymore, scared that if he lets it out then Steve won’t want to hang out with him anymore. He walks forward and nudges the mattress with his knee.

Another groan, and Steve blinks himself awake. Billy bends down and switches on the lamp on the bedside table; Steve squints in the sudden light.

“Billy?” he says. “What are you… what time is it?”

Billy shrugs. “After two,” he says unrepentantly. If it wasn’t for Steve, he’d be asleep too.

“What’s going on?” Steve pushes himself into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah,” Billy says roughly. As much as he’s still feeling indignation coursing through him, it’s harder to express it now he’s actually here in front of Steve. Steve is shirtless, sleepy, attractive. But Billy won’t give into that shit. He forces the bite back into his words. “Yeah, something happened.”

There’s a pause. Steve stares at him; when Billy doesn’t carry on talking, he makes bug eyes. “What?”

“You’re an asshole,” Billy says. He stops again. Goddamn, Steve is actually too fucking… fucking cute to be mad at. His hair is all fluffy and sticking up at the back, and his eyes are drooping, and he has pillow marks on one side of his face. He looks soft and warm, and Billy wishes, he wishes he could just lean forward and press his mouth to Steve’s bare collarbone.

Steve, of course, is oblivious to Billy’s tangled thoughts. His eyes widen. “What do you mean?”

“You’re an asshole,” Billy repeats, and then suddenly it’s just - it’s just too much. Too much has happened, and he opens his mouth and starts talking. “You’re an asshole. You brought me there, you wanted them to tell me everything, and now I’m not allowed to talk to you about it? That’s bullshit. You think I want to go begging Max for scraps of the story? All this time everyone knew and no one told me - you let me think it was all my fault, like the fight only happened because of me—” He hesitates, because he doesn’t know what the truth is here. Was it all his fault? “—I don’t know, man, maybe it did. But there was more going on, right? And you just want me to sit here and swallow it and go back to school like nothing happened? Fuck you, man. Fuck that. I thought we were friends.”

Jesus, that came out more raw than he meant it to, and quite without his permission his voice quavers as he says it. But fuck it, he did say it, and it’s true, anyway. He turns to go. He said his fucking piece.

“Billy,” Steve says. Billy turns back; Steve rubs his face. “Jesus, you’re such a drama queen,” he mutters.

“Fuck off,” Billy snaps, and half-turns to leave again.

He’s prevented when Steve reaches out and snatches his wrist.

Chapter Text

Steve has touched him a few times now. He’s put his hands on Billy’s ankle, bumped his hip, and even - that one memorable night - held Billy’s hand. Still, Billy feels it like an electric shock flashing up his arm. He freezes, looking back at Steve. It’s nothing, he knows it’s nothing, it means nothing to anyone who isn’t, well, him - but Steve is holding him, keeping him in place, and he can barely breathe.

“Sit down,” Steve says, and in spite of his obvious tiredness his voice is oddly commanding.

Slowly, Billy sits on the edge of the bed. Steve shifts over a little to make room for him, but he doesn’t let go of Billy’s wrist.

“Harrington—” Billy starts.

“Steve,” Steve says firmly. “My name is Steve, and you can call me that even when you’re mad at me, okay?”

Billy’s throat is dry. He wets his lips before answering. “Fine,” he says quietly.

There’s a pause. Billy tries not to look down at his arm, in case Steve realizes he’s still holding it. The weight of his hand feels comforting. 

“I’m really sorry,” Steve says, and Billy’s head jerks up. Steve’s eyes are wide and sincere. “You’re totally right. The Upside Down…” He sighs, and releases Billy’s wrist, running his hand through his hair instead. “It’s complicated.”

“You’re telling me,” Billy says dryly. He can still feel the phantom grasp of Steve’s fingers, like a brand on his arm. The room feels very dark, very close.

Steve takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t… I don’t really talk about it,” he confesses. His teeth sink into his lower lip. “With everything that happened… Nancy was obsessed with Barb’s death. She couldn’t let it go. I mean, she was her best friend, so I get it, I do, but it was like… it was like it was all she could think about. Even being with me—” 

He falters, and without thinking Billy reaches out and puts his hand on Steve’s.

Steve takes it blindly, curling his fingers around Billy’s as if he’s forgotten who he’s sitting here with. His breath hitches, and then he goes on: “I’m pretty sure she only stayed with me all that time because I was there, because I understood. She practically told me the whole thing - the whole thing was bullshit.” His voice chokes. “Whenever we talked about it, it was all about Barb. Barb - Barb was taken here, you know?”

Shit, yeah, Billy does know that, because Jonathan had explained it in a delicate kind of way that Billy had totally missed in the moment. He’d said… what had he said?

“Nancy and Barb went to a party at Steve’s,” Jonathan had explained, his voice gentle. His eyes - hadn’t his eyes flicked momentarily across to Steve? Billy can’t remember. He’d gone on: “I was nearby taking - taking wildlife photographs—” Steve had definitely shifted in his seat at that, and Billy was sure that whatever Jonathan had been doing, wildlife had nothing to do with it “—and I saw her sitting by the pool by herself. I took a picture of her.” His voice trembled. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but that was the last time anyone saw her. It took her right after.”

Now, Billy says slowly: “You had a party, right?”

“Right,” Steve says, voice low. “Tommy H and Carol were here, and Nancy and Barb. That was it. It was just a small thing.”

Billy thinks about this for a minute. A small party - just five of them, and two of them couples. He’s seen Tommy and Carol at parties before, he knows how they get. And Steve and Nancy… no prizes for guessing what they were up to that might have left Barb sitting on her own outside.

“Steve,” he says, very carefully, “do you think it was your fault?”

Steve looks up at him sharply, his hand jerking in Billy’s grip. He doesn’t pull away though - Billy doesn’t give him the chance. He holds on tight. Yeah, it’s fucking weird, because guys don’t do this, they don’t hold hands, but if neither of them say anything about how weird it is then it’s not weird. He has a feeling Steve needs it.

“Nancy,” Steve says thickly. He swallows. “Nancy thought it was her fault. She brought Barb to the party.”

“What do you think?” Billy watches Steve’s face. He knows what it looks like when someone is fighting tears.

Steve shrugs defeatedly. “If… if it was her fault, it was just as much mine.” He takes another shaky breath. “Barb didn’t like Nancy hanging out with me. She didn’t trust me. And all the shit I did, with the spray paint, and whatever… I made it all a lot worse.”

Billy nods, thinking it over. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, so… so it’s your fault that you didn’t know, right?”

“What?” Steve frowns at him.

“Yeah,” Billy says. “The… the fucking Upside Down, or whatever, that’s totally a thing you could have predicted, huh? Jesus Christ, H… Steve, I knew you were an idiot, but I didn’t know you were dumb.”

Steve glares at him. “Fuck you,” he says. “You have no idea—”

“What about me?” Billy interrupts. “I didn’t know either, right? When I showed up that night, thinking you were some freaky predator after my sister. Is it my fault I didn’t know what was going on?”

That earns him a raised eyebrow. “It was your fault you came after me like a maniac,” Steve snipes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy says, brushing this off. “Fine, answer this, then. Do you think it’s Wheeler’s fault that Barb’s dead?”

“No,” Steve says mulishly. When Billy grins, he rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

He hasn’t let go of Billy’s hand. Which is good, because Billy has no intention of letting him. “I’m just saying, man. I get that, like, a ton of shit has happened to you, but I’m not going to be a dick about it.”

Steve makes a frustrated sound. “I know that,” he says. “I’m not - I don’t think you’re going to judge me, or whatever, it’s just…”

“Just what?” Billy demands. “You liked having me out of the loop, or something?”

“Kind of,” Steve says, which Billy was not expecting. He sits back a little, all the wind knocked out of his sails. He starts to pull back his hand, but Steve won’t let go. He says: “Not like you think, okay? You have no idea how many times I wished you knew so I could just, like… mention things.” 

Steve sighs. “It’s just, you know, we have our whole Jane Austen thing, and this Upside Down shit has taken over my life for so goddamn long. I liked hanging out with you and not having to think about it, you know?” He pauses again. His hand is tight and clammy around Billy’s. “It’s like, I want you to know, but I wish we could just skip ahead to where it’s old news for you.” He drops his head. “I know that makes no fucking sense.”

Actually, it does make sense. A whole lot of fucking sense, and Billy’s heart is suddenly pounding triple time, because it feels like… it feels like Steve is saying that he likes having Billy around, that spending time with Billy makes him feel better about all the supernatural crap he’s been through. Like Billy - Billy freaking Hargrove - is actually making Steve’s life better than it was before.

And maybe, just maybe, Steve is afraid of losing that.

Maybe that’s a little bit of a leap, but not a huge one. Billy has to physically hold himself still to restrain himself from swooping forward, because the urge to kiss Steve is suddenly overwhelming.

Don’t fucking ruin it, he tells himself fiercely. He swallows. “I get it, man,” he says.

Steve looks up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Billy says. “But you don’t have to worry about it, Jesus. I like the Jane Austen thing too, you know?” He gives a short laugh. “Never expected to, but whatever. I’m not going to, like… forget all about it because of all this shit.”

“That right?” Steve says. There’s a tiny smile on his face.

Billy gives a decisive nod. “Yup,” he says. “Shit, man, we’ve only got a week left. You think I’m going to let us fail at this stage of the game?”

Steve laughs. “Fair point,” he acknowledges. Then a little crinkle appears in between his eyebrows. He bites his lip. “And… after we’re done…” He trails off, looking at Billy. They’re sitting very close together. “We’re still… still going to be friends, right?”

What a fucking question for Steve to ask.

“Yeah, of course,” Billy says robustly. He can’t help but laugh. “Jesus. You weren’t actually worried about that, were you?”

“Not worried,” Steve says defensively. When Billy laughs again, he tugs irritably at their conjoined hands. “You’re such an ass.”

“Takes one to know—” Steve yanks at Billy’s hand again, taking him by surprise; he pitches forward, falling face-first across the bed. It was clearly deliberate on Steve’s part, because he’s snickering like a little bitch. Billy is acutely aware that he’s sprawled across Steve’s legs, practically on top of him. 

His reaction is basically inevitable, given how much fucking torment Billy has been through that day. Steve glistening with sweat, Steve half-naked while they read Pride and Prejudice, Steve laughing and running his fingers through his hair… and now Steve basically underneath him. His dick is instantly, humiliatingly hard.

Billy grunts and rolls off Steve’s legs and onto the free side of the bed. He makes sure to stay on his front, pushing himself up on his elbows and praying fervently that it looks natural.

“Douchebag,” he says easily to Steve.

Steve snorts. “Takes one to know one,” he teases. Billy shakes his head, shuffling uncomfortably. Fortunately, his erection is beginning to flag, but the temptation not to let it, to reach down and take hold of himself… well, it’s stronger than he would like.

He flops down onto the pillow, determinedly ignoring it. “Christ, I’m tired,” he says. 

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who decided to have a tantrum in the middle of the night,” Steve points out. 

Billy raises his head indignantly. “I did not have a tantrum! You totally deserved it.”

“Still a tantrum,” Steve says, grinning. He slides down against his headboard until he’s lying down, and then turns to Billy. “You mind if I switch the light out now, your highness?”

“Only one princess here,” Billy mutters sleepily. He closes his eyes. Now that his hard-on has mostly subsided, he really is fucking exhausted. There’s a click as Steve turns the lamp off; Billy barely registers it.

As he’s drifting off, it occurs to him that he’s still in Steve’s bed. It doesn’t seem like the worst thing in the world.

*

Steve wakes up slowly. He’s aware, in a warm hazy kind of way, of having slept particularly well; he takes his time opening his eyes, pushing himself slowly up onto one elbow. He rotates his neck gently, stretching it out.

He freezes halfway through the motion.

Billy Hargrove is lying in bed next to him.

Steve sits up jerkily, the memories of last night rushing back to him. Feeling guilty, going to sleep - and then Billy, storming in at two in the morning to yell at him. In spite of himself, Steve suppresses a smile. Billy’s indignation had definitely been amusing, as much as Steve had deserved it. But then…

Then they’d talked, and Steve had said things he’s never said, not to anyone. He’d talked to Billy about Barb. Steve barely even lets himself think about Barb. He can’t, in case his brain decides that today it’s his fault, it’s his fault that he was such a shitty boyfriend and a shitty person and that because of him Barb died. He swallows, letting his head fall back against the headboard.

They never talked about it, him and Nancy. He never asked if she blamed him. He was afraid to.

Billy hadn’t entertained it, not for a second. He’d been totally confident about it, in a way that had made Steve feel warm and comforted. It still makes him feel that way just to remember it. He’d practically laughed at the mere idea that any of it was Steve’s fault. Maybe… maybe if Billy doesn’t think Steve was to blame… maybe that means he wasn’t.

He looks across at Billy again. He’s sprawled on his stomach, his hair washing over the pillow and his chest rising and falling gently. Steve hadn’t really thought about it last night when he turned off the light; at two in the morning, it felt natural for Billy to sleep here rather than go back to his room. Now that he’s properly awake, with sunlight beaming into the room around Steve’s checked curtains, it seems a little weirder.

Billy also held his hand last night, when his voice was shaking and he thought he was going to cry. Steve’s not thinking about that.

Steve considers waking Billy up, but he looks so peaceful and relaxed that it’s difficult to disturb him. The covers are thrown half across his back, but Steve can still see the line of his shoulder blades, following them with his eyes. There’s a dark mole studded in the center of his spine, low down. The duvet is arranged in such a way that if Steve didn’t know better, he’d think that the smooth curve of Billy’s skin went on uninterrupted, as if he wasn’t wearing sweats but instead was lying here in Steve’s bed totally naked.

Abruptly, Steve looks away. He has no idea why he’s even thinking about that.

Billy grunts a little and rolls over, clearly disturbed by Steve’s movement. His hair is splayed across his face for a moment; Steve’s eyes fasten on a silver chain around his brown neck. Then Billy groans, and sits up.

“Hey,” Steve says awkwardly. It is awkward, isn’t it? It’s not that he’s never shared a bed with another guy before - there have been school trips, and crashing at Tommy’s place after a party, and other situations like that - but never when there was another option. He’s never slept next to another dude just because it felt nicer to do that than to be apart.

What a fucking thought. Is that what they did? Steve shakes his head a little. They were just tired and not thinking clearly, that’s all.

Billy rubs his eyes. “Hey,” he says. He doesn’t seem the slightest bit concerned about waking up in Steve’s bed. Truthfully, Steve isn’t sure why it’s bothering him so much. It’s not that big of a deal.

“Library today,” he comments, in an attempt at unconcern.

Billy grins like he knows just how weird Steve is feeling, which knowing Billy, he does. “You going to freak out if I ask more questions?” he teases.

“Shut up,” Steve says, reaching out to push playfully at Billy’s shoulder. Billy’s skin is very warm; Steve finds his hand lingering. He says quickly: “Ask what you want, asshole.”

Billy’s eyes flicker to Steve’s hand on his shoulder; Steve pulls it back hastily. There’s a moment when he thinks Billy is going to make a comment, but in the end he just says: “What time is it?”

Steve looks at the clock on his bedside table. “Christ. Nearly eleven.” He turns accusatory eyes on Billy. “This is your fault,” he says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy says cheerfully. He flashes Steve a wide grin, and kicks his ankle under the covers. For some reason, Steve’s stomach flips over at the contact. “Come on, man. I’m starving.”

It feels less weird when they’re not in bed anymore. They get up and eat toast in the kitchen, with the usual quantity of teasing and banter. Billy doesn’t put a shirt on, and Steve finds himself sneaking little looks at his bare torso for no reason that he can understand. He’s always prided himself on looking good, but he’ll never have a body like that, no matter how often he works out. He shakes away the strange thoughts and concentrates on buttering his toast.

True to his word, Billy does ask a few more questions about the Upside Down while they’re eating. He wants to know everything, every tiny detail, and the more he asks the more Steve marvels that he himself didn’t ask, never questioned, never wanted to know more than what he’d experienced. He’s almost ashamed of his own incuriosity. He’s done his best to push the supernatural world away and pretend it never happened, whereas Billy wants to absorb it all.

“So what was she doing when she ran off, then?” he asks as they’re waiting for the toast to pop. “El, I mean. Where did she go?”

Steve shrugs. “I’m not sure,” he says. “She met up with someone else like her, I think?”

“Yeah, they said that,” Billy says. “But where? How did she even get there by herself? How come your precious sheriff wasn’t worried about her?”

“He was handling other shit,” Steve says. “I don’t know, man. He’s not my precious sheriff.”

Then, as they’re spreading marmalade: “How did the kid’s mom figure out she could talk to him using fairy lights anyway? How does something like that even come up?”

Steve shrugs again, feeling awkward. “You’d have to ask her,” he says. “I’m not sure.”

Billy nods like he was expecting this answer. “How does the talking through lights thing even work?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. This, at least, he doesn’t feel bad about. “We hardly know anything about the Upside Down.”

As Steve is washing up the plates, Billy comes up behind him. “How come you even got involved this time around?” he asks. “Dustin said he got you to help him find the creature—”

“Dart,” Steve says.

“Dart,” Billy repeats, a trace of a smile on his face. “Why were you even there for him to ask?”

Steve half-turns, oddly thrown by the question. He’s been unable to answer so much that he hadn’t really been paying attention - but this treads on familiar, painful territory. He says uncomfortably: “I was looking for Nancy. We… we fought, I guess. At school.”

There’s a silence as Billy considers this. Steve waits, his hands mechanically moving over the plate, rinsing it long after it’s clean. He’s sure that Billy will have more questions about that - will want to know why they fought, what was said, who was at fault - and then Steve will have to answer. He’ll have to remember the look in Nancy’s eyes when she stood there in that bathroom and told him that loving him was bullshit, confirming everything he already knew, deep down. 

Nancy never loved him, not really. He was safe, that was all.

But Billy doesn’t ask. He just nods, his eyes oddly understanding, and then wanders off to brush his teeth. Steve lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Billy, he thinks, doesn’t get enough credit. He’s more than capable of being understanding, of being kind. Steve feels kind of… honored, that he gets to see it.

It’s just gone midday by the time they finally venture out to the library. They take Steve’s car on the basis that boring cars are made to go to boring places; privately, Steve thinks Billy isn’t actually sure where the library is, but he goes along with the joke, giving Billy a playful shove on his way down the drive. As is becoming customary whenever he touches Billy, his skin fizzles at the contact. He still can’t explain it, but the sensation isn’t unpleasant - it feels kind of nice, actually, in a weird way - so he’s decided not to worry about it.

It’s been a while since he visited Hawkins Public Library. Libraries, while being useful places to go to for school purposes, tend to give Steve the heebie jeebies; they’re like monuments to his own illiteracy. However, with Billy striding confidently beside him, he doesn’t feel quite so intimidated.

“How are we going to do this?” he asks as they walk from the parking lot to the main entrance. Billy definitely hasn’t been here before, if the surreptitious way he’s been scanning the environment is anything to go by. Steve has definitely got to get to the bottom of that at some point.

The question diverts Billy’s attention from the formation of public service boards arranged just outside the entrance. “I guess we should find some books about the… what was it? The Regency era, right?”

“Yeah, and then we have to pick a theme to present on,” Steve says anxiously. He’s concerned about the sheer volume of information that they’ll need to get through; it’s not like any of this comes naturally to him. “So maybe we need to, like… list the themes first, so we can decide which one we like the best.”

“Sure, yeah, that works,” Billy says comfortably. He glances at Steve. “Don’t worry, man. We’ll get it done. We’re ahead of the game, right?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “How do you figure?”

“Isn’t your deadline for finishing the book on Monday?” Billy says. Steve had forgotten about that. “We’re a couple days early.” He laughs. “And if you think any of the other pairs in that class have done half as much work as we have on this then you’re crazier than I thought.”

Well, yeah, but only because Steve’s a fucking moron who can’t read. “I guess,” he says uncomfortably.

Billy shakes his head. “Don’t overthink this,” he advises bracingly. “Come on, princess. You’ll have to get us in here. I don’t have a library card.”

Chapter Text

The librarian ends up finding them a small private room off the main hall so that they can actually talk about what they’re reading. He’s a small, owl-faced man who seems somewhat surprised to see a pair of teenagers in his domain on a Sunday; the library itself is pretty empty, although that doesn’t stop Billy from glancing around it in every direction as they’re led to their room.

Seriously, Steve has got to find out what that’s all about.

“Okay,” Billy says, once he’s taken stock of the little private room. There’s not much to see; it’s a rectangle with a window, a table and four chairs. “Okay, Upside Down brain off, Jane Austen brain on.” He flashes Steve a smile. He’d kept on with the questions in the car, even though Steve couldn’t answer most of them.

“You got it,” Steve says, as if he’s the one who needs the reminder.

Billy nods decisively and puts his notepad and pen down on the table. Steve hadn’t thought to bring any writing materials until Billy had taken his own out of his backpack; it’s fairly obvious which of them is the more scholarly. A lump of nervousness rises in his throat. As usual, he hadn’t really thought about how difficult this would be ahead of time.

“Relax, man,” Billy says quietly. He’s watching Steve from under his eyelashes. “It’s going to be fine.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, not really believing it. He pulls out a chair and sits down heavily. He swallows. “Just don’t know if I’ll be able to pull my weight.”

Billy frowns at him. “What do you mean, pull your weight?”

Steve shrugs uncomfortably. He doesn’t want to think about it, but now that they’re here, actually preparing to do the assignment they’ve spent all this time building towards - he’s feeling fucking pathetic. If it wasn’t for him, Billy could have finished this stupid presentation ages ago. If he’d been paired with anyone else, he could have read the book on his own, knocked something out in no time, and walked away with a good enough grade to never have to think about Pride and Prejudice again. It’s only because of Steve that they’re taking it slow, reading out loud, having their goddamn discussions - because Steve is an idiot.

What kind of lame-ass freak needs to have stories read to them just so they can understand it? Even El can read.

He can’t verbalize any of that, though, so he just says: “Doesn’t seem fair that you had to read the whole book and now you have to read all the library books too.”

Billy sits down opposite him. “You saying you’re not going to help out when we prepare?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“No, of course not,” Steve says irritably. “Just, you know, how are you expecting to actually get this fucking research done? You’re stuck at a library with a guy who can’t read.”

There’s a silence while Billy absorbs this, during which Steve bites his lip. He hadn’t really meant to say any of that. When Billy finally speaks, his voice is careful, like he’s deliberately keeping himself calm, or maybe worried about how Steve is going to react. Maybe both. 

He says: “Steve, you know you’re not actually dumb, right?”

For no reason at all, the question hits Steve on the raw. Unexpected tears prickle at his eyes, even as he blinks them away; he has to swallow down the lump in his throat. He studies the table top, unwilling to meet Billy’s eyes. Billy is far too perceptive about this kind of shit.

He tries to shrug, coughs out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m serious,” Billy says, unsmiling. Like he’s not prepared to let Steve laugh this off. “You think just because you’re, you know, dyslexic, that means you’re stupid?”

“No,” Steve says sourly. He’s starting to hate the way that Billy asks these sarcastic, challenging questions, questions that are supposed to make Steve realize he’s wrong. But fuck Billy, because Steve knows himself, and when it comes to this he’s not wrong. “I’m not stupid because I’m dyslexic. I’m just… both.” He shrugs, folding his arms. “Nancy’s the smart one, not me.”

Billy raises his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed. “What does that b… what does she have to do with it?” he demands. 

“Nothing,” Steve says. His face is hot. He feels beleaguered and uncertain; he’s not sure what Billy is getting at here. What’s the big deal here? Steve can’t fucking read. Any question of smarts is answered before it’s even asked. “Can we just do this?”

There’s a long, long pause, and even in his half-angry, half-embarrassed state, Steve can tell that Billy is at war with himself. He wants to push. Is this how Billy felt when Steve kept needling him about his dad? Abruptly, Steve feels sorrier about that than he ever has before.

“Fine,” Billy says at last, sounding annoyed by the concession. He huffs out a sigh. “Let’s just make a list of themes, or whatever.”

“Fine,” Steve says, pissed off and flustered. He picks up a pen from the table, gripping it hard in his hand. Billy’s eyes track the movement.

He leans back in his chair. “You know what, fuck that,” he says. “Enough with the self-pity, Harrington.”

“Steve,” Steve hisses.

“Steve,” Billy repeats. He crosses his arms. “You’re not fucking stupid, Steve, so stop pretending like you are. We’ve been reading this goddamn book for three weeks now, and you’ve had just as many good ideas as I have about it. And can’t read, my ass, I’ve heard you read, remember?”

“Like a goddamn retard—” Steve begins.

Billy cuts across him impatiently. “So you’re a little slower, so what? You think we’re short on time here? You take however long you need and that’s fine, and if I can help then I will, and none of it’s a problem so why the fuck are you acting like a little bitch about it? Just because your ex is smart doesn’t mean you can’t be too.”

Steve sucks in a breath, and swivels his head sharply away to look determinedly out of the window. 

He can’t speak, can barely breathe, because if he does then he’ll cry and there’s no fucking way he’s doing that in front of Billy goddamn Hargrove. No one has ever told Steve he’s smart before. Not his parents, not a single teacher, and definitely not Nancy. He’s never had a worthwhile idea in his life, never been told that a single fucking thought in his head was a clever one. But Billy… Billy doesn’t think Steve is stupid. Billy thinks Steve is smart.

He’s not smart. Not really, not like Nancy is. He’ll never have straight As or take AP classes or complete extra credit work. And that’s okay, really; he doesn’t want any of that. He just wants to feel like he knows what the hell he’s doing. Right now, it almost feels like Billy thinks that he does.

Billy said Steve has good ideas about Jane Austen.

Just because your ex is smart doesn’t mean you can’t be too.

It’s been almost exactly four weeks since they closed the gate and shut out the Mindflayer. Since Billy sent Steve to hospital with a concussion. How is it possible that after so little time Billy is now the person that seems to understand Steve the best? 

“Class,” Billy says. 

Steve’s head whips around to look at him, even though Billy will definitely be able to see the tears in his eyes. “What?”

Billy doesn’t comment on Steve’s obvious state of emotion. “Class,” he repeats. “That’s a theme, right? Darcy and Miss Bingley think they’re better than the Bennets because they’re higher class—”

“Or money,” Steve says. He surreptitiously wipes his eyes on the back of his hand. “I mean, they’re way richer.”

Billy writes it down. “Okay, okay,” he says. “Class, money. What else?”

Steve thinks about it. It’s not easy, of course it isn’t - but somehow he feels more okay with the struggle. Billy thinks he’s smart. “Reputation?” he suggests. “I mean, they’re all obsessed with it, right? Lydia’s reputation for being, like, a total slut nearly ruins the whole family.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s good,” Billy says, still writing. “And Mrs Bennet too, she embarrasses them all by being such a moron.”

“Love, I guess,” Steve says. His cheeks suddenly feel warm for no reason. He coughs. “I mean, it’s a love story, right?”

Billy’s eyes flick up from the notepad. “Right,” he says in a measured voice. His hand twitches, and then he shakes his head a little and looks back down. “Love and marriage, right?” he says, his pen moving.

“Right,” Steve says.

There’s a brief pause as Billy finishes writing down everything they’ve said. Steve tries to think of another theme. Now that Billy has told him he’s smart - his chest clenches at the reminder - he kind of wants to live up to it.

Billy taps his pen on the table. “Family, maybe,” he says thoughtfully. “I don’t know how much we could say about it, though.”

“No, that’s a good one,” Steve says. “Like, all the different families have different set-ups.”

Billy bends over the table again, writing it down. “I guess we could compare the Bennets to the Bingleys,” he says doubtfully.

Steve bites his lip. “What about, like... the title?”

“What do you mean?”

“Pride and Prejudice,” Steve says. “Aren’t they kind of themes as well? Lizzy’s always saying that Darcy is too proud, and prejudice… isn’t that, like… judging someone before you know them, or something?”

Billy’s eyes widen a little, and Steve feels a little rush of pride. “Yeah,” he says slowly. Then, more enthusiastically: “Yeah, I like that a lot. We could definitely do it around the title. There’s a shitload of times where people fuck up because they’re prejudiced, right?”

Steve grins at him, because even though he knows Billy was talking about the book, there’s plenty of those kinds of examples in their actual lives as well. “You said it.”

Billy’s whole face lights up with his answering smile.

*

It’s almost five thirty by the time the pair of them leave the library. Billy’s high as a kite, floating on air, because spending this much time with Steve just kind of does that to him at this point. They walk out of the little stone building laughing and teasing each other, inviting the glare of the librarian. As they make their way over to Steve’s car, Billy even feels emboldened to throw a congratulatory arm around Steve’s shoulders.

He pulls it hastily back the second they reach the brown sedan, though. Billy knows his limits.

They came up with a pretty good system once they’d decided which theme to present on. First they worked together to figure out a structure for the presentation - it has to be ten minutes long, and Billy is determined not to have any awkward silences - and then got down to research. Each of them had certain topics to look up, and once they’d found something worth noting down, Steve would read it out while Billy wrote it in his notebook.

He’d told Steve it was easier that way, because hearing it slower made him take it in better. It wasn’t a lie, exactly - but Billy couldn’t help but feel a certain degree of pride when he heard the confidence in Steve’s speaking voice.

He kind of wants to punch Nancy Wheeler in the face, because how could she date Steve for over a year and let him feel this shitty about himself? Billy’s not exactly an expert when it comes to relationships, but surely the whole point of them - the whole reason to weigh yourself down with just one person - is so that you can support each other. He’s having a hard time thinking of anything Wheeler did that was supportive of Steve, for all Steve claims she made him better.

It seems so obvious to him - made more so by the fact that it was so easy to boost Steve’s confidence. It just took a little time and patience, and it makes him mad that Wheeler didn’t bother.

“So, okay,” Steve says as they drive back to his place, interrupting Billy’s mulish thoughts. “We’ve basically decided what we’re talking about, right? What have we got left to do?”

Billy thinks about it. “Mostly just, like, organizing the research,” he says at last. “And maybe we need to rehearse the thing as well.”

Steve nods like this was the answer he was expecting. “Are we done with the library? We can probably do that stuff after school at your place, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so, man,” Billy says lazily. He tips his head back against the seat. “It’ll probably be pretty easy.”

Steve laughs. “Don’t jinx it,” he says.

He pulls up on his driveway behind Billy’s car. For a moment or two he just sits there, hands on the wheel; Billy glances at him, frowning. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. He shrugs a little awkwardly, and then says: “I guess it’s just weird, you know? It’s kinda nice having company for the weekend.”

Ah, yes. Because now Billy has to go home, and Steve will be alone. It’s not like Billy’s going to be having some super awesome social evening - it’s his dad, after all - but he can imagine, after the eventful couple of days they’ve had, how unappealing the thought of walking into an empty house must be right now.

Impulsively, he says: “Why don’t you come and have dinner at my place?”

Steve looks at him sharply. “Your dad won’t care?”

“Nah,” Billy says robustly. “You know he thinks you’re cool.”

Steve’s face twists. “I don’t think he’s cool,” he mutters morosely. Before Billy can comment on that - it’s such a simultaneously sweet and amusing remark - Steve smiles. “Yeah, okay, man,” he says. “Let’s do it.”

So they do. Billy gets out of Steve’s car and into his own, and they drive in convoy over to the Hargrove house. The sun has already slipped down to nestle behind the chilly trees, and Billy cranks up the heat in the Camaro. Winter in Hawkins, Indiana is a hell of a lot colder than in Cali. He pulls his jacket a little tighter around himself. He doesn’t really have the right clothes for the weather, and he’s not about to ask Neil to buy him anything.

He pulls up outside the house. His dad’s car is there, which is a shame; he was kind of hoping that Neil and Susan had taken the opportunity of a weekend alone to go out. He’d figured that’s what Susan had been angling for when she encouraged him to go stay with Steve. Still, it’s coming up to six in the evening, so maybe they did.

Steve parks behind him, and they both get out of the car, Billy rustling in his pocket for his keys. He wonders if Max is back yet. If she’s not, there’s a good chance he’ll be sent to pick her up.

Mind you, it’s better that way, given that she’s definitely not wherever she told Neil she’d be.

He and Steve walk up the short pathway to the front door, and Billy unlocks it and pushes it open. He’s not really thinking about much; it’s cold, and he’s looking forward to lounging around on his bed with Steve and talking lazily until dinner is ready. Even though he’ll never get everything that he wants from Steve - everything that it’s totally wrong for him to want from Steve - it still feels good to have someone he can chill out with. Someone who knows him, who gets him, and who for some inexplicable reason still wants to be around him.

Billy is so absorbed by these thoughts that the sound of shouting practically gives him a heart attack.

He stops dead in the doorway, Steve right behind him. Instantly he’s on the alert, because that’s his dad’s voice bellowing from upstairs, and Billy knows all too well what the consequences are when Neil gets that angry. It’s a furious clamor of rage and venom, one that Billy has had directed his way far too many times. The only question is, who is he yelling at, if not Billy?

Susan’s shrill voice rings out as if in answer. It’s slightly muffled - she and Neil are obviously up in their bedroom - but Billy can make out the words perfectly clearly.

“It’s a reasonable question, Neil!” she exclaims, her voice high-pitched and fearful. “You can’t blame me for asking!”

“Blame you!” Neil roars in response. Billy flinches at the sound; behind him, he feels Steve do the same. “It’s an insult, Susan, an insult! How dare you question my parenting?”

Billy is rooted to the spot, unable to move. Question his parenting? Since when has Susan ever questioned Neil’s parenting? With his heart in his mouth, Billy’s eyes flicker around, looking for Max. Has Neil found out that she saw Lucas this weekend? Is that what Susan is arguing with him about? But Max doesn’t seem to be anywhere in sight, and Billy doesn’t think Susan would shout like this in front of her.

“If you would just answer the question, I wouldn’t have to keep asking!” Susan screeches. A loud crash follows her words: exactly the sound a fist would make thumping into a door in anger. Susan cries out, and Billy takes a quick step forward before he’s thought about it.

“Billy,” Steve says softly behind him, “maybe we should—”

“The fact that you would even ask, that’s the fucking problem,” Neil spits, sounding more and more enraged with every word. “That you would even - that you could believe - would question—”

Another bang, and Susan gives another little cry. “Just tell me,” she shouts, although her voice is weakening. Billy takes another step forward. “Just tell me,” she says again. “Did you - did you do it?”

“You have no idea what I go through with that boy,” Neil snarls, and Billy sucks in a tight, shaking breath.

They’re talking about him. Not Max. Him.

Dimly, he’s aware of Steve’s hand on his shoulder. He can’t move. He can’t move.

When Susan speaks, it’s so soft that Billy can barely hear her, straining his ears towards the staircase. But it’s not quiet enough.

“You hit him,” she says. She sounds so weary, so disgusted. “You hit him. Tell me it’s not true, Neil. Tell me you didn’t give him that bruise.”

There’s a long, heavy silence. Steve’s hand is like a vice on Billy’s shoulder. It’s the only thing keeping him grounded. He feels like he’s made of ice.

“How I choose to discipline my son is no business of yours,” Billy’s dad says at last. There’s a warning in his tone, a warning that everything inside Billy is screaming at Susan to listen to. When Neil’s voice sounds like that - you don’t keep going. You don’t keep pushing.

But Susan hasn’t heard that sound before. Susan doesn’t know what Billy knows. Her voice rises, and she says clearly: “That’s not discipline, Neil, it’s abuse.”

“How dare you,” Neil says. Billy can picture him, picture exactly how his face looks. He’s not raging anymore. He’s perfectly calm. “You have no right to speak to me like that, Susan. No right at all.”

“I’ve seen you… I’ve seen you get rough with him before, but I didn’t know you hit him,” Susan says shakily. Shut up, Billy wants to tell her, even as he internally scoffs at her choice of words. Shut up!

There’s a very, very brief pause. Billy realizes he’s praying; praying that Susan will walk away, that Neil isn’t as angry as he sounds, that somehow he can close his eyes and disappear. He doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to have to listen to his dad doing the same thing to Susan that he usually does to Billy.

Silence, silence - and then the unmistakable, stark sound of a slap.

Chapter Text

Steve has no idea how he manages to get Billy back to his place. He’s never seen Billy so utterly still, his face gray, his eyes round and shocked. When Steve tugs on his shoulder, Billy is like stone.

“Come on,” Steve says urgently. “Billy, come on. We’ve gotta get out of here, come on, man, just come with me.”

He pulls Billy back out through the front door, closing it quietly behind them and removing Billy’s keys from the lock. Billy is stumbling as though he’s forgotten how to walk. His hands are trembling, and he can’t stop staring back at the house. Back to his dad, to Max’s mom.

Steve gets it. It doesn’t feel right to leave a woman by herself with a man who just hit her. But he can feel instinctively that there’s absolutely nothing they can do to help here. If Neil realizes that Billy heard, that Steve heard - there’s no way that will do anything except make everything a lot worse. Billy’s dad is smart enough not to hurt his wife too badly, because otherwise it’ll be obvious to other people the second she leaves the house. She can’t blame bruises on basketball or roughhousing the way Billy can. That will have to be enough.

For now, Steve just has to get Billy away. 

“Come on, you’re okay, just get in the car,” he murmurs as he leads Billy down the path. He feels a little like he’s talking down a skittish horse, if that was something he’d ever done before. Billy is wide-eyed, totally spaced out, and he keeps tripping over his own feet as Steve takes him to his car.

He gets obediently into the passenger side when Steve opens the door. He’s a little nervous about leaving the Camaro outside Billy’s house, but there’s no way Billy can drive right now. Steve runs around to the driver’s seat and gets in, pulling away as quickly as possible.

He glances across at Billy, and then swiftly away again. Billy is crying.

He’s totally silent, just staring out ahead of him with tears streaming down his face. He’s not making any attempt to wipe them away. Steve’s chest constricts; he almost wants to cry with Billy, which is ridiculous, because nothing happened to him - but listening to Neil scream at his wife, hearing him hit her, has brought home to Steve exactly what Billy has gone through at his father’s hands. He feels sorry for Susan, but Billy has dealt with that exact scenario over and over again. 

Jesus Christ. No wonder he acts out. No wonder he’s always ready for a fight. How could he not be?

Steve drives in silence, giving Billy the space to cry uninhibited. By the time he parks outside his own house again, Billy’s tears have dried up. He gets out of the car without looking at Steve.

That checks out; Steve would be embarrassed too, if he’d just cried in front of one of his friends. He follows Billy more slowly up to the house, trying to think of a way he can show Billy that it’s okay, without making it worse. He has no idea how to deal with something like this. There’s no handbook for this.

When they get inside, Billy suddenly stops in his tracks, half-turning towards Steve. “Max,” he says in a hoarse, urgent whisper.

It takes Steve less than a second to catch up. Max is presumably still out with the other kids. She can’t be allowed to come back to that.

“I have the walkie,” Steve says, feeling a flood of relief that Dustin had pressed it on him. “Go and sit down, Billy. I’ll get it.”

Billy walks slowly towards the living room; Steve races upstairs to his room. He doesn’t really want to leave Billy alone right now. There’s something pulsing through his chest - something a little like sympathy, mixed with anger and outrage, and it takes him a moment or two to identify the feeling as he roots around on his desk for the walkie.

He’s feeling protective. That’s what it is. Everything in him is telling him to make sure that Billy is alright.

It’s that that has him half-running back down the stairs as soon as the walkie talkie is in his hands. He darts into the lounge; Billy is sitting right on the edge of the couch, his foot tapping anxiously on the floor. He looks up as soon as Steve comes in.

Steve goes to sit beside him, switching on the walkie. It makes him feel better to have something to do, a task he can accomplish, a way in which he can help. He puts the radio to his mouth, holds down the button, and says, a little awkwardly: “Max?”

Beside him, he can feel Billy holding his breath. He releases the talk button; only static answers him.

Billy motions for him to try again. Steve repeats, louder this time: “Max? Max, come in. Does anyone know where Max is?”

“Is that you, Steve?” It’s Dustin’s voice. Steve closes his eyes, relieved to have got a response. “What’s going on?”

“Is Max with you?” Billy breaks in impatiently. His voice still sounds cracked and raspy from crying. “Max, are you there?”

“She’s with Lucas,” Dustin says cautiously. “Steve, what—?”

A new voice enters the fray. “What’s going on?” Mike says loudly. “Is that Steve?”

“It’s Steve and Billy,” Dustin informs him. “They’re looking for Max.”

“I thought she was with Lucas,” Mike replies.

Steve shakes his head. “Guys, enough,” he says firmly, and they pipe down. “It’s important. We need to speak to Max.”

“I told you, she’s—”

“What’s going on?” Steve lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, because that, at last, is Maxine’s voice. “I heard my name,” she says.

Billy grabs the walkie talkie out of Steve’s hand. “Max,” he croaks. “Max, can you hear me?”

“Billy?” she says, sounding totally bewildered. “Why do you sound weird?”

Billy ignores this. “Max, don’t go home,” he says.

That, of course, provokes an explosion of chatter from the kids. “What do you mean, don’t go home?” Dustin demands. “Are you threatening her?”

Steve snatches back the radio, because he’s had just about enough of the suspicion and the fuss. Billy has more than proved himself with the Party, in his opinion, and right now he’s dealing with way too much to have to defend himself. He says, his voice sharp: “Dustin, anyone else who isn’t Max, shut up.”

Dustin sucks in an outraged breath. “Steve!”

“I’m serious,” Steve says. “This isn’t a Party thing. Max, are you still there?”

Her voice, when she answers, is shaking just a little. “Yeah, I’m here.”

Steve can’t help it; he puts a reassuring hand on Billy’s knee, because Billy is trembling all over again. “You need to stay with Lucas or with one of the others tonight,” he tells Max. “You can’t go home.”

“Why not?”

Billy lifts his head, holding his hand out for the walkie talkie; Steve gives it to him, their fingers brushing as he passes it over. He watches as Billy runs a frustrated, tired hand through his hair. “Max, it’s me,” he says. “It’s… Things are a bit… messed up, okay? At home, I mean. You should keep away for the evening. Maybe get someone’s mom to call Susan, but not yet, okay? In a couple hours, or something.”

“Billy,” Max says. She hesitates. “Are you… are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Billy says. Steve shuts his eyes, because Billy is not okay, not at all, but he knows that Billy won’t tell Maxine that. He wonders how much she knows. Almost certainly more than she should.

“No, I mean…” Max trails off, and then says in a heavy, meaningful voice: “You know, like, are you… okay?”

Billy is shaking so hard now that Steve’s hand falls off his knee. “Yes,” he says, and Steve suddenly understands what Max is asking him. Well, that answers the question of how much she knows. “I’m fine. I’m at Steve’s.”

“What’s going on?” Dustin asks plaintively, clearly unable to keep quiet any longer. “Why is everyone worried about Billy?”

“Dustin, shut up,” Max snaps. Then, in a small voice: “Billy - what should I do?”

Billy sighs. Steve puts his hand back on his knee, squeezing tight. He wishes he could somehow pour all of his fucking useless protectiveness back into Billy, make him okay again. But all he can do is sit here. How is it that he can fight all the powers of the Upside Down and win, but he can’t do a damn thing in the real world?

“Don’t do anything,” Billy is saying firmly. “Make like you don’t know anything, just ask to stay over. It should be fine by tomorrow. I’ll be there then.”

“Okay,” she says. “Will you tell me then what’s going on?”

Another deep, shaky sigh. “Yeah,” Billy says. “I’ll tell you then. Try not to worry, okay? Everything’s fine, it just needs a little time to settle, you know? Have fun with your friends.”

“Okay,” Max says again. She sounds a little reassured by his words. “I’ll see you tomorrow after AV club.”

“Yeah,” Billy says, nodding even though she can’t see him. “See you then.”

He puts down the walkie talkie and buries his face in his hands.

*

It’s too much. It’s all too fucking much. In the course of twenty-four hours, Billy has found out that demogorgons and Mind Flayers are real, finished Pride and Prejudice, yelled at Steve, only slept about half a night, and now - heard his dad hurt someone who isn’t him. He can’t take it, and for a few minutes he just sits there, head in his hands and trembling from the effort of not bursting into fresh tears.

Then a warm arm curls around his shoulders, and he can’t hold it in anymore.

For every time that his dad has hit him, there has been a corresponding cover story. Messing around with friends, playing sports, falling down - every bruise, every cut, every tender spot has been explained away. Sometimes Neil doesn’t leave marks, and somehow that’s even worse; then Billy doesn’t even have anything to look at, to remind him that he’s not crazy, that it did happen.

He’s not sure why that’s so important, but it is. He needs to be able to see the evidence.

Billy can’t remember a time when his dad wasn’t angry, didn’t shout, didn’t lash out. It’s just always been that way. And since his mom died, no one has ever known. No one has seen it. No one has understood what the marks mean.

He likes it that way. He doesn’t want anyone to know; it’s humiliating to even think about it. When Max confronted him, he thought he might explode with the shame of it. It was marginally better with Steve, but not much. He doesn’t want to be seen. He wants it all to stay hidden. Mostly.

But then sometimes he’s filled with a hot hopeless sense of desperation - wishing that someone could see. Wanting to be rescued.

He’s not a child. He knows that being rescued is just a fantasy. A ridiculous, pathetic dream. But now people know. Steve knows. Maxine knows. And now - Susan knows too.

Susan knows. Susan saw the bruise on his mouth and understood what it meant. And even though he knows she can’t rescue him, knows that her knowing makes no difference - might even make things worse - it still matters that she knows. He has no idea why. He barely even speaks to Susan. But she spoke up - she confronted his dad - she stood up for him. No adult apart from his mom has ever stood up for Billy before.

Seven years of not being able to trust anyone, not having a single person he could talk to or believe in or rely on. And now - Susan Hargrove, the wimpiest, most insipid woman in the world - but she stood up for him. She cared enough to argue with Neil about him.

God, he misses his mom so much.

And Steve - Steve cares too, enough to make sure Billy knows he has someone to talk to. Steve, who’s right here, embracing Billy while he cries, letting Billy’s head rest against his shoulder. Not judging him or acting weird or holding all the shit between them against him. Steve, who advocated for him to find out the truth when no one else wanted to tell him. Susan stood up for him, but Steve is here.

Steve, who Billy is totally, irredeemably, utterly in love with.

That makes him cry even more. Billy hasn’t cried like this in years - not even when his mom died. Neil didn’t like to see him upset. He told Billy to be strong, to be a man. It seems a little ridiculous now; what good has being a man ever done him?

Billy is not a noisy crier. That’s probably courtesy of his dad as well, but right now he’s glad of it; it’s embarrassing enough to be leaning on Steve, body wracked with heaving empty sobs, without adding an extra layer of humiliation that would come with being a wailer. Still, it’s a long time before he’s able to bring his body under control, to slow down his breathing enough to stop crying.

Steve never says a word. He doesn’t try to soothe Billy with empty platitudes. He doesn’t tell him everything will be alright. He just lets Billy cry, his arm tight around Billy’s shoulders, until Billy is finally done.

He straightens up, mopping his eyes with his sleeve. He’s a mess. His whole face is swollen and gross, and his hair is sticking damply to the back of his neck. Steve, clearly sensing the change in his demeanor, releases the grip of his arm a little, but doesn’t let go.

“Sorry, man,” Billy says. He wipes his eyes again. They feel puffy and sore.

“Don’t,” Steve says. His voice is very, very gentle. “Seriously, don’t.”

Billy shakes his head. “I don’t usually—”

“I know,” Steve interrupts. Billy looks over at him. Steve scratches his head a little uncomfortably. He says: “Look, man, just… you know, it’s not even a thing, okay? You don’t… you don’t have to worry.” He shakes his head. “I’m bad with words. I just mean, if all the shit that’s happening to you was happening to me, I’d handle it way worse than you are. You don’t have to worry.”

Steve’s right, he is bad with words, but strangely Billy feels comforted by his garbled little speech. The thing with Steve is that being around him makes Billy feel stupidly safe, even when he shouldn’t. Maybe it’s because Steve has already seen him at his worst. Billy can’t really sink any lower with him, and yet Steve is still here.

“Thanks,” he says. He grinds the heel of his hand into his eyes. “Jesus. What a fucking weekend.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve’s voice is hesitant; no doubt he’s remembering Billy’s reticence the last time he asked that question. Now, however, Billy feels differently. If he’s going to talk to anyone, it’ll be Steve.

That said, Billy feels exhausted, drained from all the revelations and confrontations and emotional outbursts. He’s really not in the mood to pick over everything that’s happened again. He shrugs, stretching out his shoulders; Steve’s hand is still on his back, but it falls away at the motion. Billy tries not to wish for it back. “Can we put a pin in it for now?” he asks. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, man, it’s just…”

“Yeah, I get it,” Steve says quickly. He flashes a smile. He’s so goddamn attractive when he smiles. “It’s been a lot, huh?” 

“I’ll say,” Billy says with feeling. He runs a hand through his damp hair. He feels gross. “You mind if I take a shower?”

“Sure, sure,” Steve says. “You hungry? I could make some pasta, or something.”

Billy nods gratefully. “Thanks, man,” he says. He hesitates, because he wants to say something more than that. Something that encompasses everything Steve is giving him right now - safety, security, comfort. He can’t find the words.

Steve grins like he already knows, and maybe he does. “Go and take a shower, asshole,” he says easily. “I’ll be waiting.”

Billy likes the sound of that.

Chapter Text

Steve finds it difficult to concentrate at school on Monday. He keeps thinking about the weekend, about the raised voices he heard at Billy’s house. He keeps imagining what it must feel like to have that kind of anger directed at him, the way Billy has. It makes him shiver even to think about it.

After Billy had calmed down and taken a shower the night before, they’d settled into a mutual unspoken agreement not to talk about any of the events of the weekend anymore. Steve understood why Billy might not want to go over everything again; he himself was feeling pretty tired out, and none of it had really happened to him. From falling asleep in Jonathan’s bedroom and nearly giving themselves heatstroke to the lengthy conversations about the Upside Down to the horrible scene at the Hargrove house - all in all, it had been a rollercoaster of a weekend.

So instead they ate pasta and played cards, talking intermittently about the kind of inane crap Steve used to think passed for regular conversation, back when his best friend was Tommy H. They went to bed early. It was almost strange, sleeping alone but knowing Billy was on the other side of the wall; the night before, they’d shared the bed.

Steve is well aware how weird it is that he actually kind of missed Billy in the night. He cuts off the thought almost as soon as he has it.

In the morning, Steve made toast and packed them both a sandwich for lunch, while Billy talked to Max over the walkie talkie. She had stayed over with Dustin the night before, because she couldn’t ask Lucas’s mom to call up Susan in case Neil picked up. Luckily, Mrs Henderson had had no problem with the unexpected guest.

“She’s pretty cool,” Steve commented, when Billy explained this to him. “She pays me to pick Dustin up from AV club.”

Billy nodded in understanding. “I guess your little friendship makes more sense now,” he said. “After all the Upside Down crap.”

“We went through stuff,” Steve agreed. He wasn’t really in the mood to talk about it. He handed Billy the thrown-together packed lunch he’d made. “Here.”

Billy stared at the brown bag like it might sprout horns. “What’s this?”

“Food?” Steve said, nonplussed. “For lunch, dude. You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.”

“Thanks,” Billy said. There was an odd wariness in his voice, but he took the lunch bag anyway. Then he smiled, albeit wearily, and ran a hand through his hair. “Thanks, man.”

Steve had a feeling he was talking about more than just the packed lunch.

He dropped Billy back at home before school, so that he could pick up his car. Fortunately, Neil’s car was gone by the time they arrived, so Steve could just pull up outside without worrying that they’d be caught by Billy’s dad. Billy hesitated with his hand on the door handle of Steve’s sedan, looking out of the window.

“You okay?” Steve asked.

“Yeah,” Billy said. There was something like trepidation in his eyes, when he turned back to face Steve. “I guess I’ll see you at school.”

Steve nodded. Just as before, he felt pretty helpless in the face of everything Billy was dealing with. He wished there was something he could say, some way he could make things better. But all he could do was offer up a distraction. “You want to hang out tonight to work on the presentation?”

Billy made a face. “I don’t know, man. I think I’ve gotta face the music, you know? Deal with Max, see how the land lies.”

“Sure, yeah, okay,” Steve said, trying not to sound disappointed. He got it, of course he got it - but he really didn’t like the idea of Billy facing his dad alone. Plus, of course, he was kind of looking forward to spending more time with him. “You going to be okay?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Billy said, although he didn’t sound certain at all. “It’ll be fine.”

Steve hesitated. He didn’t want to push, but he felt like it needed to be said. “If you need to get out of there—”

“Thanks,” Billy said. He flashed Steve a quick smile, all teeth. Steve’s stomach clenched in the now-familiar way.

“I mean it,” Steve said, ignoring this. “Any time, dude. Just come over if you need to.”

There was a moment then where their eyes met, and Billy suddenly seemed to be sitting extraordinarily close to him. His eyes were very blue. Steve was struck with the oddest desire to move closer - to do what, he wasn’t sure. His mouth was weirdly dry, his breath a little short. He wanted to lean forward, to be nearer to Billy—

He shook himself. It was ridiculous. The moment passed, and Billy gave an easy laugh. “You got it, tiger,” he said, pushing gently on Steve’s shoulder. “See you in class.”

“See you,” Steve said, and then Billy got out of the car. Steve didn’t pull away until Billy was behind the wheel of the Camaro.

As it turns out, Billy and Steve don’t have any classes together today, so Steve doesn’t actually see him until lunch. He finds it almost impossible to think about anything but Billy all morning, which he figures makes sense, given everything that’s happened. His brain bounces around from sympathy to anger to something else that he can’t quite identify - something wrapped up in the way Billy sounds when he laughs, and the feeling when they reached the end of the book together. It makes Steve’s head hurt to think about it.

Recess is weird. He’s used to spending it out on the bleachers with Billy reading Pride and Prejudice, but it’s finished now, and Steve figures he should let Billy hang out with Tommy and the others this time around. He spends it sitting in his car instead, listening distractedly to the radio and thinking about the way it felt when Billy called him smart.

He hopes Billy doesn’t think he’s avoiding him. Part of him wants to go find him, just to make sure - but they’ve been hanging out so much lately, and Steve would understand if, after all the emotion of the weekend, Billy wanted a little space from him right now.

As he’s walking back into the school, he spots Robin standing by an open locker, stacking some books inside. She has her hair scraped back into a messy ponytail, and she’s wearing dungarees over a stripy yellow shirt. It’s no wonder that she isn’t in the popular crowd, in that kind of outfit. It looks like she picked up the whole lot at a garage sale.

Steve chides himself for the thought. It’s exactly that kind of bullshit that he’s trying to move past, and he’s annoyed with himself for looking at her so critically. He makes himself look again. Her clothes are kind of cute - just not traditionally fashionable. And what would he know about women’s fashion anyway?

“Hey, Robin!” he calls out, heading towards her.

She looks up with eyes narrowed, glancing around as if to make sure he’s not with anyone else. When she sees he’s alone, her shoulders relax a little. “Hey, dingus,” she says.

Steve comes to a stop beside her. Now that he’s here, he’s not quite sure what to say; he’d only spoken to her in the first place in some kind of visceral reaction against his own inner thought process. “What have you got next?” he asks.

“Math,” Robin replies. She pulls a face. “Chambers.”

Steve gives an involuntary shudder as she names the teacher known throughout the school to be both the strictest and the creepiest. “Gross,” he says. “You sit at the back, right? As far away as possible?”

“By the window,” she says, shrugging. “Quickest escape route.”

He laughs. “Isn’t Chambers up on the top floor?”

Robin cracks a smile. “Exactly.”

Steve laughs again. He remembers this from the brief chat he had with Robin a while back - how easy she is to talk to. He’s not sure he’s ever had this kind of funny back and forth with a girl before; maybe it’s because she’s the first girl he’s ever really spoken to without trying to get into her pants, but he doesn’t think it’s that. He thinks it’s just Robin.

An idea is beginning to take shape, an idea borne from the disappointment he’d felt that morning when Billy said he couldn’t hang out tonight. Cautiously, he says: “Got any plans after school?”

Robin laughs, closing her locker. “Apart from all the homework Chambers is bound to pile on me? I’m fending off invitations left and right, but shockingly my schedule is wide open. You?”

“Nah,” Steve says, frowning. He’s not sure, but it seems like maybe Robin is making a crack about not being popular. “No plans.”

“None of your cool friends are throwing a rager, or whatever?” she asks. Yeah, there’s definitely a streak of bitterness there. For the first time, Steve wonders what it must feel like to be someone like Robin. Sure, he didn’t love losing his crowd of popular friends when he was dating Nancy, but he’s never had to worry about being right at the bottom of the social totem pole. 

It can’t be very pleasant, always feeling like the loser. Especially when it seems so undeserved as it does with Robin. He makes a split second decision. “Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out,” he says.

Robin’s eyebrows shoot up into her fringe. “What?”

“You want to hang out tonight?” Steve repeats. “We could go to the diner or something, get some milkshakes.”

There’s a long, long pause. Robin seems to be wrestling with something, a troubled expression in her blue eyes. Finally she says: “Kinda sounds like you’re asking me out on a date.” 

Steve’s face twists before he can make it stop. There’s something about the idea of going out with Robin romantically that just doesn’t sit right with him: everything inside him rejects it. It’s not that she isn’t cute, because she totally is, but when he looks at her that’s not what he sees. He sees how funny she is, and how quirky and quick-witted. There’s no attraction there.

He knows she’s caught his reaction, because her eyes widen. “Sorry!” he blurts out. “Shit. I didn’t - it’s not that - I mean, I think you’re cool!” He shakes his head, feeling ridiculous. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to offend you. You’re just, like… not my type.”

Strangely, it doesn’t look like he’s offended Robin. In fact, her lips are pressed together and her shoulders are shaking with suppressed laughter. “You’re not exactly my type either, dingus,” she says.

“Not in a bad way,” Steve says helplessly. She actually laughs outright at that. “You’re cute, and all, but not - I’m not—”

“Steve,” she interrupts, clearly deciding to put him out of his misery. “I’m glad you weren’t asking me out on a date, okay?”

Steve sighs. Apparently he’s destined to be the laughing stock of every sarcastic motherfucker going. “Okay,” he says. “Sorry.”

Robin tilts her head to one side. “Why did you ask, anyway?”

He shrugs. “I like hanging out with you,” he says simply. It’s not really any more complicated than that. He doesn’t know Robin very well, but he’d like to get to know her better. He’d like to make some friends he actually likes.

“Okay,” she says. She smiles. It’s a nice smile. “Okay, let’s hang out.”

“Really?” Steve says, surprised. He’d kind of thought she was shooting him down.

She tosses her head. “Yeah, I guess I can squeeze you in,” she says, all nonchalance. “After school?”

“Sure,” he says. Then he shakes his head. “Wait, I have a thing. Maybe four thirty?”

Robin gives him a look. “A thing?”

Steve hesitates. It’s difficult to explain the whole thing with Dustin; it’s not like they’re related or have any reason for knowing each other. What’s he supposed to say - I get paid to pick up one of my ex-girlfriend’s brother’s friends?

Still, he supposes that if Billy can handle it - which he had, long before he even knew about the Upside Down connection - then Robin can handle it too. “I have a kind of babysitting gig,” he says. “There’s this kid at the middle school who I pick up on Mondays after his AV club thing.”

“I used to do AV club,” Robin says. “When do you pick him up?”

Steve stares at her. No follow-up questions? No making fun of him? Robin is acting as though what he said is totally normal. Christ, maybe he has been hanging out with the wrong people all this time. Tommy H would rip him to shreds if he knew about Dustin.

“Uh - four,” he says. “But then I have to drop him off at home.”

Robin nods like this makes total sense to her. “Well, I don’t have a car,” she says. “I usually cycle home, but I’m not doing that if you’re driving. How about we hang out in the arcade or something until you have to go pick him up? That’s right by the middle school. Then we could go for milkshakes after.”

“I could put your bike in the trunk,” Steve agrees. He can’t quite believe it’s this easy. “You sure you don’t mind? He can be a little shit.”

She grins at him. “Yeah, but so can I,” she points out. Then her smile fades a little. “I mean - you know, if you want to hang out with me that long, or whatever.”

“Shut up,” Steve says immediately. “I’m the one that asked, right?”

“Right,” Robin says. Her eyes study his face. “You know, this kind of thing doesn’t really happen, not to people like me.”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

Robin waves a hand at him. “You know, you wanting to hang out with me,” she says, like that should explain everything. When he doesn’t instantly nod in understanding, she goes on a little impatiently: “You’re one of the cool kids, right? You’re not supposed to want to spend time with a band dweeb like me.”

“I don’t really like being one of the cool kids,” Steve says. He shrugs. It’s difficult to explain all the ways he knows that being cool doesn’t matter without talking about all the other shit, the shit that’s so much bigger than school and popularity and who it’s cool to be friends with. “I don’t like being told who I’m allowed to hang out with.”

She’s watching him as he speaks, a tiny smile on her face. “Okay,” she says. “That makes sense.”

“Yeah,” he says.

“I have to get to class,” she tells him. She grins. “See you after school?”

Steve grins right back. “Yeah,” he says. “Definitely.”

He walks away feeling good about the whole thing. It’s nice, knowing that he still has the capability to make new friends. That he doesn’t have to fit into the popularity mold. As he walks to his next class - Ms Thornton is going to have his ass, he’s so late - he finds himself thinking about Billy. Billy’s the one who has given him the confidence to break out of his normal life and actually talk to someone like Robin. The friendship he has with Billy is so much deeper than anything he ever had with Tommy or any of those other clowns. It’s shown him another way of being someone’s friend.

He still kind of wishes he could see Billy tonight, though. He’s not sure why, but it’s like however much time they spend together, it’s never quite enough.

He hopes Billy is doing okay. He can’t imagine how fucking awful he must be feeling after everything that happened at the weekend.

At lunch - after being yelled at by Ms Thornton for being late for Chemistry - Steve finally gets the opportunity to actually see Billy for the first time since dropping him by his car that morning. In spite of the weird-ass day - and in spite of his brain refusing to let him think about anything apart from Billy - he’s feeling alright. He’s hanging out with Robin later, and even though a bunch of shitty things happened at the weekend, there were also some good parts.

Billy knows about the Upside Down now. Yeah, Steve is probably going to have to field some difficult and awkward questions, but he doesn’t have to lie anymore. He likes the fact that Billy knows. 

And even better than that - they actually finished the book. It’s like a part of him didn’t really believe they’d get through it - but they did, and then they worked on the presentation and Billy called his ideas good. Billy thinks that Steve is smart.

It’s a shame that they can only see each other in the big, loud, rowdy group; it means that they can’t really have a conversation. Derrick and Chris meet Steve just outside the lunch hall, guiding him over to their usual table. Billy is already there, sitting next to Tommy and cracking jokes while he eats the sandwich that Steve made him that morning.

“Stevie boy,” Tommy yells out as he sits down, clearly in high spirits. Steve glances over; Carol is sat on his other side. That explains his obvious good mood. “Come and take a seat!”

Carol glares daggers at Steve as he sits down opposite Billy. He ignores her. It’s not like she has a leg to stand on anymore.

He responds to the various nods and greetings around the table. Strangely, Billy isn’t looking at him; when Steve tries to catch his eye, he turns to Tommy instead, striking up an inane conversation about basketball. Steve frowns. Is Billy annoyed with him for not hanging out during recess? Maybe he should have found him, after all. He’d just kind of assumed that Billy would want a break from him after everything.

He waits until there’s a lull in Billy and Tommy’s conversation. “Hey, Billy,” he says.

There’s a pause. Steve’s actually concerned that Billy will ignore him, which would be super embarrassing - and really fucking mean. Then Billy peels himself away from Tommy, turning to look at Steve like he’d forgotten he was there. “Yeah?”

Steve gives him a look. He has no idea why Billy is being such an ass. “What’re you eating? Looks good,” he says, just to remind Billy who actually made his goddamn lunch.

Billy looks down at his sandwich. There’s another pause, during which Steve frowns. Why is Billy acting so weird? Surely not hanging out at recess wasn’t that bad? Unless Billy has started to regret all the deeper conversations they had over the weekend, is pushing Steve away as a reaction. Steve kind of gets it, but that would majorly suck. His chest starts to thump.

Then Billy’s shoulders slump, just a little, and he looks up at Steve. His eyes are very blue, provoking the usual fizzle in the pit of Steve’s belly. He grins his trademark Billy grin. “You want some, princess?” he asks. Before Steve can really register the use of the familiar nickname - beyond an instant little stab of relief at hearing it - Billy has tossed a chunk of bread and ham across the table. It hits Steve’s cheek, and Billy dissolves into cackling laughter.

“Asshole,” Steve says cheerfully. His heart is still pounding, but it doesn’t seem like Billy is mad. Billy is just Billy, funny and cool and Steve’s best friend, and for the rest of lunch he doesn’t do or say anything to make Steve doubt it again.

Chapter Text

Billy is dreading the end of the school day. His classes seem to go by way too fast, way faster than they usually do when he’s watching the clock and looking forward to freedom. After the tumultuous weekend, he’s feeling pretty much numb; he wishes he could rewind, go back to Sunday afternoon - or even better, the early hours of Sunday morning.

God, he wishes he could take up Steve on his offer of hanging out after school. He can imagine escaping to Steve’s place, spending the evening lying around on Steve’s bed, chatting about their presentation. Being around Steve is addictive.

But he can’t do that to Max. She doesn’t know what happened on Sunday, and he could tell when he spoke to her this morning that she was nervous about going home. As much as he’s spent most of his years of knowing Max resenting her, he can’t just let her walk into the lion’s den unprepared.

Besides, it’s not like he has a choice anymore. Steve hadn’t wasted any time in making alternative plans.

It’s not like Billy had meant to overhear. He’d purposefully decided not to seek Steve out at recess, figuring he’d look like a total pussy if he acted like he couldn’t last a measly half hour without him. Instead he’d messed around with Tommy and Chris and Carol and the rest of the gang, and he could tell Tommy was glad for the reassurance that they were still doing their popular crowd top dog thing.

But then he’d needed to swing by his locker to pick up his binder for History, and he’d seen them there together. Steve Harrington and the cute nerdy chick he’d made a point of calling out to that time at lunch.

Billy couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could see that the girl was laughing. That was Steve, wasn’t it? Charming the panties off anyone he so much as looked at. Their conversation didn’t last all that long - recess was pretty much over - but as they finished up, the girl called out, loud enough for Billy to hear: “See you after school!”

“Yeah,” Steve said. Billy risked poking his head around his locker to look at his face. He was smiling. “Definitely.”

Then he started walking in Billy’s direction, and Billy had to hightail to the nearest empty classroom to avoid being seen.

Yeah. Definitely. With a happy, one-hundred-watt grin on his stupid pretty face. Billy grinds his teeth just thinking about it.

Of course Steve was going to start dating someone. Of course he was. Steve’s not the kind of guy who ever stays single for long. He’s sweet, funny, kind, but good at the whole popularity thing as well. He’s a fucking catch. He can get any girl he wants, and if Wheeler is any evidence, he’s clearly the kind of dude who’s in it for the long haul.

Billy tips his head back against the headrest of the Camaro. He’s a fucking idiot for being upset about this.

He’s sitting outside the middle school, twenty minutes early to pick Maxine up from her stupid little club. He’d considered hanging out with Tommy or something for a bit, but in the end had felt too jittery and high-strung to be able to focus on mundane socialization.

He could have hung out with Steve. Steve would understand. But Steve’s fucking busy, isn’t he?

Billy shakes his head. Steve was always going to find someone new to date eventually; he can’t be mad about it, not really. He’d tried to be, at lunch. Tried to ignore Steve, wouldn’t meet his eyes when they were sitting fucking opposite each other. But then Steve had asked about his lunch like a little shit, and he’d remembered everything Steve does for him. Steve packed him a goddamn sandwich. Steve comforted him when he cried like a fucking baby. Steve told him the truth about all the Upside Down bullshit.

Steve is a good friend to him. Billy can’t be an asshole to him just because he wishes Steve would stay single forever. He doesn’t deserve that.

He slams his hand against the steering wheel a couple of times. It doesn’t really help.

By the time Steve’s sedan pulls into the parking lot, Billy is out of the car, leaning against the hood and smoking a cigarette. He closes his eyes as Steve parks right next to him. Somehow he’d managed to forget that Steve would be here picking up the little mophead kid; presumably he’s meeting his date afterwards. Now Billy will have to act normal with him, pretend like he doesn’t care that Steve is going to walk off into the sunset with some chick who isn’t Billy—

Steve gets out of the car. The nerdy girl scrambles out of the passenger side.

Billy actually thinks he might spontaneously combust. Seriously? Steve had to bring her here? He takes a deep, shaky drag of his cigarette, willing himself to calm down.

If one more thing happens to him today, just one more, he might actually lose his mind.

“Billy!” Steve calls out, slamming the car door. “Hey, man.”

Billy takes another long pull of smoke before he responds. He tries not to look at the weird chick. “Hey,” he says. He’s impressed by how calm his voice is.

Steve grins at him. It makes Billy’s throat constrict painfully, seeing how happy he is. Totally unaware of Billy’s… well, Billy’s heartbreak, really. That’s what he’s feeling. “You know Robin, right?” Steve says brightly.

The moment has come. Be cool, Billy tells himself fiercely. He’s not going to lose Steve completely by being a dick to his new girlfriend. He turns to the chick. Robin. What a fucking name.

“Hey,” he says evenly. She is pretty cute, if you’re into that sort of thing; all big eyes and freckles. Of course, Billy isn’t into that sort of thing, will never be into that sort of thing, but after a lifetime of practice, he knows what to look for. The weird thing is, he would never have pegged a girl like this for Steve’s type. She couldn’t be more different from Nancy Wheeler.

“Hi,” Robin says. She has a nice voice, too - strong and clear. “Billy Hargrove, right?”

As if she doesn’t know. Everyone knows who Billy is. But she’s obviously being polite, so Billy just flashes her a wide grin - turn on the charm, they’ll never know the difference - and nods at her. “That’s me.”

Steve, who has by now made his way over to Billy, jostles him playfully in the side. “Billy’s little sister is in AV club too,” he tells Robin. He turns to Billy. “Robin used to be in AV club.”

“Huh,” Billy says, looking at her. She raises her eyebrows, like she knows what he’s thinking: only nerds are in nerd clubs. He crosses his arms, the picture of casual. “Well, maybe you’ll tell me what it’s all about sometime, sweetheart. We never had AV club in California.”

“Oh right, you’re from Cali,” Robin says. “Steve was telling me in the car.”

“That right?” Billy says, glancing at Steve. Wondering, with his chest tight, what Steve could have been telling his new girlfriend. “You were talking about me?”

Steve laughs, like that isn’t fucking terrifying to hear. “You’re my best friend, of course I was talking about you.”

You’re my best friend, of course I was talking about you.

Jesus Christ. Billy could blame his rough weekend for the fact that he’s seriously close to welling up, but it would be a lie. He’s Steve’s best friend? His best friend - over Tommy and Jonathan and Wheeler and little Dustin and everyone else Steve has known forever who never sent him to hospital. Steve Harrington’s best friend is Billy Hargrove.

Robin is watching him, her eyes narrowed; fortunately, Billy has years of experience hiding his emotions. He claps Steve’s shoulder in a congenial kind of way. “I’m touched, princess,” he says jovially. He turns to Robin and winks. “Don’t believe a word he says.”

Robin smiles, although her eyes never leave his face. “Yeah, I’d figured that out already,” she snipes. Billy laughs, although inside he’s kind of pissed. If she wasn’t dating Steve, he’d actually like her. 

The doors to the middle school open, and the kids come out in a little gaggle. Billy spots Max immediately, her long red hair making her distinctive in the group. She’s talking to Mike, her voice strident and argumentative; when Billy attempts to listen in, he hears some kind of electronic reference and tunes out again.

“Here they are,” he says to Steve and Robin instead. He flashes them another wide grin. “If he liked me more I’d offer to take the kid home for you, leave you two lovebirds to yourselves.”

“Whoa, no,” Robin says, so emphatically that Billy’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. He stares at her. She says: “We’re not lovebirds. This isn’t a date.”

“No way,” Steve says firmly. “We’re just friends.”

Robin gives him a look. “There’s no just about it,” she says dryly. “We’re friends.”

Billy looks from one to the other. Neither of them seem remotely disturbed by the concept of being friends rather than dating; there are no wistful looks between them, no signs of unrequited affection. In spite of himself, he feels a little bubble of hope begin to rise. “Oh,” he says, rather nonplussed. “I guess I just figured…” He trails off.

“You’re my first friend who’s a girl,” Steve says to Robin, perhaps in explanation for Billy’s obvious confusion.

Robin is watching Billy again. There’s a curious, pensive look in her eyes. “Yeah,” she says slowly. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Billy doesn’t like the way she’s looking at him, especially when she then turns to give Steve the same narrow-eyed stare. Luckily, the kids have caught up with them by then, or at least the relevant ones. Dustin gives Billy a baleful look as he walks over to Steve; Maxine nods at him. She looks pale and concerned. Billy isn’t particularly looking forward to the drive home.

“Who’s this?” Dustin asks loudly, looking mistrustfully at Robin. 

Robin raises an eyebrow. “I’m Robin,” she says.

“She’s a friend of mine,” Steve tells Dustin.

Dustin gives Steve a searching look. Then he nods. “Okay,” he says. “Fine. Can we go now?”

“What’s got into you?” Steve says, looking surprised. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah, I’m fine!” Dustin says irritably. “Can we just go?”

Steve gives Billy a look over the top of Dustin’s head as he moves back towards the car; Billy shrugs at him. He has no idea why the kid is in such an obviously foul mood, but frankly he doesn’t really give a shit. He hasn’t really forgiven Dustin for shutting him in Jonathan’s bedroom at the weekend, leaving him for so long in the heat. Even now that he knows the truth, it rankles with him that every single one of the other kids was prepared to trust him - to trust Steve! - except Dustin.

“See you, Billy,” Robin says as she gets into the car. She raises a small, nail-bitten hand in farewell.

Billy returns the gesture. It’s much easier to be nice to her now that he knows she isn’t dating Steve. “Have fun,” he says, nodding towards Dustin. He’s getting into the back seat in an unnecessarily surly manner.

Robin snorts. “Thanks.”

“See you tomorrow, Billy,” Steve says. “Maybe after school?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Billy says. He can’t help but smile. He kind of loves it when Steve declares his intention to hang out with him in front of other people. “See you then.”

Steve starts the engine and pulls away with Robin and Dustin. Billy tries to pretend that he’s not watching them go.

“Billy,” Max says. He turns to her. She’s standing by the passenger door of the Camaro looking very small. “What’s going on?”

“Get in the car,” Billy says. He sighs when she just looks at him. “Come on, Max, I’ll tell you on the way.”

She gets in the car, and Billy follows suit. His heart is suddenly beating very fast. He’d been so momentarily elated by the revelation that Steve and Robin aren’t dating after all that he’d almost forgotten about this journey, about his promise to update Max. He doesn’t want to tell her that his dad hit her mom. He doesn’t want to have to explain that.

Max just sits there as he pulls out of the parking lot, her hair like a shroud around her face. She looks sad and very young. She’s probably already guessed what kind of thing might have happened to stop her from going home.

When he reaches the main road, she turns to him. “Billy.”

“Yeah, okay, okay,” he says. He swallows. “Don’t be mad, okay?”

Her eyes narrow. “Why? What happened?”

Billy keeps his attention focused on the road. “Your mom,” he says, and swallows again. It’s so hard to say it, to tell her. “Your mom figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” 

Almost without thinking, Billy touches his mouth. The bruise is gone now, not the faintest hint of color remaining; the cut on his lip has scabbed over and faded. You’d really have to know what you were looking for to see it now. But the memory of it is still there. Billy can still remember exactly what it felt like when his dad inflicted it on him.

“She saw the bruise,” he says in a hollow voice. “You remember, at Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah,” Max says quietly. “I remember.”

It’s like he’s speaking about someone else’s life, someone who isn’t him. He says distantly: “Turns out she didn’t believe my cover story.”

There’s a silence. Billy’s eyes flicker to the rearview mirror; Max looks white and horrified. She says in a small voice: “What happened?”

He doesn’t want to tell her. God, she’s going to be so upset, and it’s his fault - but he can’t lie to her. “Your mom asked my dad about it,” he says. “We - I just got home. They don’t know I overheard. She asked him if he… if he…” He stops jerkily. He can’t say it. He can’t.

“If he hit you,” Max finishes for him.

“Yeah,” Billy says. 

Another silence. “What did he do?” Max says at last. Her voice is wobbly.

“He—” Best just to say it. Just to tell her. “He hit her.”

Max starts to cry. She’s not dramatic about it; he probably wouldn’t even know she was doing it if he couldn’t see her in the mirror. Billy thinks about his own tears, the way he had just completely lost control on Sunday night. Max isn’t crying like that, but it’s still deeply unpleasant to watch her. To see her so upset and to know that he can’t do anything to help her.

Worse than that. It’s his fault she’s upset to begin with.

“Max,” he says. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”

She raises her head. “What?”

“I didn’t mean for her to find out,” Billy says, the words falling out in a rush. He’s suddenly eager to talk, desperate to explain; his alliance with Max is so new, so precious, and he doesn’t want to lose it, not if there’s a chance he can salvage it. “I thought - I mean, she’s seen stuff before, okay, and I knew she didn’t know everything, but I guess I thought she didn’t want to know, you know? And I thought she believed me - I thought she believed what I told her—”

“Billy,” Max interrupts him. When he meets her eyes in the rearview mirror, she’s frowning. “Billy, this isn’t… this isn’t your fault.”

Billy’s mouth falls open, but no words come out.

Not his fault? How can it not be his fault? Susan and Neil were arguing over his bruises. If he’d managed to hide it better, Susan would never have become suspicious. In fact, if Billy wasn’t… well, Billy, then Neil wouldn’t be so angry in the first place. Nobody riles him up the way Billy does. He doesn’t hurt anyone else.

“Max—” he says weakly.

She shakes her head at him. “I’m upset because I don’t know why she married him,” she says. “I don’t know why she’s okay with the way he is.” She swallows, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “He screamed at me and she didn’t do anything, remember? I think you’re right. I think she did know really, but now it’s like she can’t pretend she doesn’t anymore. Not when your face is all fucked up.”

“My face is fine,” Billy retorts without thinking. 

Maxine laughs weakly. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, but if—” Billy starts.

“If he hadn’t hit you, none of this would have happened,” Max counters. “It’s not your fault, Billy. It’s his.” Her face darkens. “He’s a monster.”

Billy bites his lip, hard enough to hurt. “I know,” he says.

There’s a silence while Max thinks through everything he’s told her. Billy just concentrates on driving and trying not to cry; he’s done far too much of that already. He never expected her to take the whole thing so well. He was so sure she would blame him - blame him for getting her mom wrapped up in his drama. He still doesn’t know why Susan bothered to stand up for him, but the fact that she did…

Well. He can’t pretend it doesn’t matter.

They’re nearly home when Max says thoughtfully: “You said we.”

“What?” 

“You said we,” Max repeats. “You said, we just got home. Was someone else there?”

Shit. Billy hadn’t even realized he let that slip. For a moment he considers lying to her - but then he doesn’t really have a good reason to do that. Maxine likes Steve. It’s only his natural inclination to hide everything from everyone that makes lying feel like the easiest option. And anyway, it’s not like she couldn’t figure it out herself. Steve was there when he radioed her last night.

“Steve was there,” he says at last in a measured voice. “We’d been at the library together working on our project.”

He doesn’t dare look at Max in the mirror. She’s far too perceptive. 

“Steve heard it too?” she asks in a small voice.

“Yeah,” Billy says. He swallows. It still feels far too raw, the memory of Steve’s arm around him while he cried. “He got me out of there before they saw us.”

Max pauses. “So he knows,” she says. She turns towards him. “Did he already know? About your face?”

Billy closes his eyes briefly. “Yes.”

She nods like she was expecting that answer. “I like Steve,” she says.

“Me too,” Billy says, before he can stop himself.

She glances at him. When he looks in the mirror, he sees, improbably, a tiny smile on her pale tearstained face. “Yeah,” she says. “I know.”

Chapter Text

Dustin is absolutely horrible to drive home after AV club, so much so that Steve is actively relieved by the time they pull up outside the Henderson house. He bitches about having to sit in the back of the car, he uses a colorful litany of swear words when Steve asks him how his club meeting was, and he grills Robin about obscure pieces of technology when she mentions that she used to be in AV club too. When he’s run out of ways to be a douchebag, he just sits there, staring moodily out of the window.

Robin gives Steve a questioning look; Steve shrugs. He’s as bewildered as she is.

When they reach his house, Dustin gets out of the car without a word, slamming the door so hard that the windows rattle a little.

“For God’s sake,” Steve mutters. He could do without the fresh drama.

Robin laughs. “Go on,” she says easily. “Go and sort it out, dingus.”

So Steve dutifully gets out of the car and follows Dustin up the path. “Dustin!” he calls. Dustin hunches his shoulders, ignoring him. “Hey, Dustin! Come on, man, I know you can hear me.”

Dustin wheels around, arms folded. “What?” he spits.

Steve holds up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, come on,” he says. He’s never seen Dustin like this. “What’s going on?”

Dustin scoffs. “Nothing,” he says. He turns and starts to walk away again; Steve has to break into a jog to keep up with him.

“Don’t give me that crap,” he says. He puts a hand on Dustin’s shoulder. “Dude, come on. Come and take a walk with me for a minute.”

“Aren’t you busy with your girlfriend?” Dustin demands, although he does slow down a little.

Steve rolls his eyes. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he says. “Come on. Five minutes.”

He starts to lead Dustin away, around the side of the house. Dustin moves slowly, dragging his feet. He's obviously determined to make this as difficult as possible for Steve. Steve is racking his brain, but he can’t think of any obvious reason why Dustin is in such a mood. There weren’t any issues on Saturday after all the Upside Down explanations, as far as he can remember; in fact, Dustin was a bit apologetic, having left Steve in the heat for as long as he had.

Still, there’s only one way to find out. He guides Dustin all the way round to the backyard, where the old wooden furniture he remembers from playing poker with Jonathan and Billy still remains. He sits down on one of the chairs; reluctantly, Dustin sits opposite him.

“Right, okay,” Steve says. “Spill it, man. What’s going on?”

Dustin still has his arms crossed. “What do you care?” he says sullenly. “I’m too much of a kid to talk to, right?”

Steve frowns at him. “What?”

“You just think I’m an idiot kid,” Dustin bursts out. “You told me to shut up!”

“What? No, I—” Steve stops. He did tell Dustin to shut up, over the walkie talkie on Sunday night when he was trying to get hold of Max for Billy. He hadn’t even remembered that until now.

Clearly it meant a lot more to Dustin than it had to him. “I thought you had my back, man,” Dustin says. There’s an edge of real hurt and resentment to his voice. “You said you did. Then you turned everyone against me on Saturday, and you yelled at me yesterday.” He pauses. “I thought we were friends,” he says in a small voice.

“Hey, hey, come on,” Steve says, reaching out to clasp Dustin’s shoulder. “Of course we’re friends, man, of course we are.” He frowns. “What do you mean, turned everyone against you?”

Dustin shrugs, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “Everyone agreed with me to do the heat test on Billy,” he says. “I mean, like, Max wasn’t sure, because he’s her brother, but everyone was on board. Then you came along and they all started doubting me, and then it was like I was the bad guy because I wanted to stick to what everyone agreed on.”

“I’m really sorry that happened,” Steve says, and he means it. Saturday’s heat test was supposed to make Dustin feel better, not worse. “I wasn’t trying to turn anyone against you.”

“I know,” Dustin says, sighing. “It’s just…” He looks up at Steve. “I don’t get what’s going on with you and Billy,” he says frankly. “It’s like you like him better than me. Or you believe him more than me. You were helping him yesterday, and you yelled at me, even though he beat you up and I never did.”

Steve closes his eyes. He hasn’t even spared a thought to how his friendship with Billy might come across to the kids; he’s been so absorbed with thinking about Billy, understanding Billy, that sometimes it’s easy to forget that not everyone has the same perspective as he does.

“Hey,” he says, patting Dustin’s shoulder. “You know I like you the best, okay?” He puffs out a breath, trying to think how to explain without giving away Billy’s secrets. “Billy… it’s complicated, you know?”

“Too complicated for a kid to understand, I get it,” Dustin says mulishly.

“No, that’s not it,” Steve says patiently. “I can’t tell you everything, okay? It’s not my thing to tell. Billy has… he has shit going on that I didn’t know about before. It doesn’t excuse what he did, and he knows that, but… I don’t know, he’s dealing with a lot, and I know what that feels like. I’m just trying to cut him some slack.”

Dustin kicks at his chair leg restlessly. “Max said something kinda like that,” he admits.

“What did she say?” Steve asks curiously.

Dustin shrugs. “Just that Billy has stuff to deal with that no one knows about, so we should just accept his apology and give him a break.” He squints suspiciously at Steve. “She didn’t say you knew too.”

Steve nods. “Yeah, I don’t think she knows Billy told me,” he says.

“Why were you looking for Max yesterday?” Dustin asks. “Why did Billy tell her not to go home?”

Steve sighs. “I can’t tell you,” he says. Dustin throws his head back, clearly irritated. “Come on, man, if it was your shit you wouldn’t want me spreading it. If Max decides to tell you then she can, but it’s not my thing to tell. I promise you, though, Billy was looking out for Max.”

“She said that too,” Dustin says. “I don’t like all the secrets!”

“Everyone has secrets,” Steve says. “Look, you can talk to Max, shit, you can ask Billy yourself! But I’m no snitch.”

At this, Dustin appears to unbend a little. “I guess I can respect that,” he says grudgingly. He looks searchingly at Steve. “You really like me best?”

Steve grins at him. “Are you kidding? Of course I do, you’re the only one I can stand for more than ten minutes without wanting to shoot myself.” He leans forward, ruffling Dustin’s hair. “Come on, man, enough of the self pity.”

“Asshole,” Dustin says, but he’s smiling, albeit reluctantly.

“Look, why don’t we hang out this week?” Steve says impulsively. Jesus, Billy is going to have a field day, but fuck it. He likes Dustin, and he doesn’t like the fact that he left a twelve-year-old feeling crappy for a couple of days. “I can’t tomorrow, but maybe Wednesday? We could go to the arcade, see a movie or something?”

Dustin’s smile grows a little wider. “Yeah, you really want to?”

“Sure,” Steve says, and he’s surprised to find that it’s true. He genuinely enjoys hanging out with Dustin. “I’ll pick you up after school at three.”

“Okay,” Dustin says. “Yeah, okay.” He sighs. “And I guess… I guess I’ll try and cut Billy some slack.”

Steve smiles peaceably. “I appreciate that, man.”

“Go back to your date,” Dustin mumbles.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Not my date,” he says, but he does what he’s told. 

*

In the end, the whole thing is pretty underwhelming.

Billy is prepared for anything - another raging row going on when they get home, the house trashed, Susan and Max’s bags packed on the front lawn - but what he gets is pretty much a repeat of every ordinary afternoon after school. Neil’s car is absent, which makes sense, given that he doesn’t usually get home from work until after six. Billy parks on the drive, and he and Max get out of the Camaro and look apprehensively up at the house.

“It probably won’t be bad,” Max says. She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than him.

Billy glances at her. He realizes, with a strange little shock in his chest, that if something bad does happen, he’s totally prepared to protect her. That’s a strange feeling. There are very few occasions in his life when he can remember wanting to look out for someone other than himself.

“It’s going to be fine,” he says robustly.

Max nods doubtfully, and they go inside.

It’s just like any other day. There’s no one in the living room, but Billy can hear movement from the kitchen; presumably, that’s where Susan is. That’s where she usually is at this time of day, if she’s not out somewhere doing whatever it is that she spends her time doing. Normally Billy would just slip on upstairs to his room, but not today. He needs to know.

So does Max, if the steely look on her face is anything to go by. They don’t say anything. There’s no need. They just walk together towards the kitchen.

Susan is standing by the hob with her back to the door, wearing an apron over her slacks and sweater. Her hair is a mass of fluffy curls, hiding the side of her face from view. There’s no way of telling what Neil did to her. Did he leave a mark? Did he hit her again, after Steve hustled Billy out of there? There’s no way to know.

“Mom!” Max cries out. Susan half-turns; when she realizes it’s Maxine, she puts down her wooden spoon and turns around completely.

There’s nothing on her face. Not even the hint of a red mark.

“Hi, honey,” Susan says warmly. Max throws herself forward, into her mom’s arms. It’s such an unusually enthusiastic display of affection that it takes Susan a moment to respond; then her arms come up around Max’s back, so naturally that Billy has to look away for a moment. “Oh, sweetie, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Max says, her voice muffled in Susan’s sweater. “I just missed you last night.”

Susan laughs, stroking Maxine’s hair. “It was just one night,” she says. “I thought you wanted to stay at your friend’s house!”

“I did,” Max says swiftly. She pulls back, out of the hug, and looks up at her mom’s face. She must be looking for the same thing that Billy did: some kind of evidence of what Neil did. But there’s nothing there. It kind of makes sense. Billy knows better than Max that a single open-handed slap doesn’t leave marks the next day. Hopefully, that means Neil didn’t do anything worse than that after he left.

Susan frowns under Max’s scrutiny. She says uncertainly: “Was school alright, honey?”

Max steps back, clearly aware that she’s acting kind of weird. “Yeah, it was good,” she says. “AV club was really cool, Mr Clarke showed us this really cool device…” She’s off, launching into a meandering story that Billy can’t be bothered to even try and listen to. 

As a distraction, it seems to be successful. Having ascertained that Susan isn’t hurt - not, Billy tells himself fiercely, that he would care if she was - he turns to slope away to his bedroom. It’s kind of embarrassing to admit, but he’s actually looking forward to doing his homework. Since this whole thing with Steve and Jane Austen started, Billy has quite enjoyed the act of studying. What a fucking lameass.

“Billy,” Susan says quietly, over Max’s head. He looks back at her. She has a strange, concerned expression on her face. “How… how was school?”

Billy thinks of Susan’s behavior over the last few days. The way she’s been checking in with him more often than usual, making a point to include him in conversations. The way she’s made him a packed lunch for school the last few days. He thinks he gets it, now.

“It was fine,” he says, even though it really wasn’t. He shrugs. “The usual.”

She meets his eyes. She looks troubled. “I’m glad, honey,” she says.

He can’t look at her. It’s too unnerving, looking at someone - an adult, a real adult - who knows, and who stood up for him, and who stands here now exuding all this sympathy - he can’t handle it. He doesn’t know how to deal with this. “Thanks,” he says, and hastily escapes.

It’s better in his bedroom. His face is burning with something a little like shame, the memory of the look in Susan’s eyes making something in his chest feel tight and painful. Who fucking cares if she knows? Billy’s spent three years thinking she knew anyway, or at least knew enough to look the other way. But now - now she really knows. Neil hit her because of what she knows. Neil hit her, but she still isn’t looking at him like she blames him, and Max doesn’t blame him either—

Billy really doesn’t know what to make of that.

For a mad moment, he wishes he could actually talk to someone about it. Actually open his mouth and explain how weird and shitty and confused the whole thing is making him - how Neil has him on eggshells, every second of his shitty life, and how now he doesn’t know how to act around Susan, because he doesn’t know what she’s thinking, he doesn’t know what she said after Neil slapped her - he doesn’t know what’s going to happen next.

He wants to say it, say it out loud. He wants to tell someone how bewildering Maxine’s reaction was, how he doesn’t understand the way they’ve gone from enemies to tentative allies - even if she still thinks he’s a piece of shit. Does she still think that? He has no idea.

He wants to talk about the Upside Down, too - all this insane crap that has suddenly been delivered at his door, so ridiculous, so much - how does Max handle any of this? How do any of them? He wasn’t even there, but it’s still so overwhelming. He can’t even begin to get a handle on any of it.

It’s like every weird shitty painful little shard of Billy’s life has been stuffed into the tiniest of spaces, and now it’s too full, and even something as insignificant as the look on Susan’s face is enough to make it all threaten to spill out. To explode. Billy can’t make himself small enough to stop that from happening. He can’t make himself disappear.

He’s felt this way all his life, or at least since his mom died. His way of dealing with it has always been to make himself big - too big to ever feel small. The biggest, loudest, strongest, toughest guy in the room. But when he’s here at home by himself, he doesn’t feel big anymore.

He wants his mom. He wants Steve.

Billy’s sure Steve would talk to him about any of this stuff. About all of it. He’d listen, and he’d try to understand, and he’d probably make Billy feel better just by being there. But Billy can’t talk to Steve. Not when the way he feels about Steve is so huge a part of all the confusion and mess he’s pushing down into that tiny dark space that isn’t big enough for it.

Furiously, Billy dashes at his eyes with the back of his hand. Hasn’t he cried enough tears recently?

He spends the rest of the afternoon until dinner concentrating on his homework assignments. He’s deliberately forcing himself not to think about any of it - his dad, Steve, the Upside Down, Max, his mom - everything that’s overwhelming him gets shoved into the back of his brain while he focuses on Algebra and History and Social Studies. The rate he’s going, he’ll be surprised if he doesn’t end the semester with an A. 

When Susan finally calls him down for dinner, Billy has got himself under control. Reapplied his eyeliner, added a little concealer to his red eyes. It’s the ritual he always goes through after his dad hits him. Makes sense he’d have to do it when his dad hits someone else, as well.

Neil is sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper when Billy comes in. He looks as unconcerned as always, as if he didn’t haul off and slap his wife the night before. Billy sneaks a look at Susan; she’s dishing up rice and stew over by the hob. She doesn’t look any different either. Would he be able to tell, if he didn’t know? He doesn’t think so.

If Billy himself is this good at hiding - and he’s willing to bet that he is - then maybe he can’t blame Susan for not seeing.

Except, no, because she has seen things, but it’s taken her three years to join the dots. To see the bruise on Billy’s mouth and understand that it’s Neil who put it there. Then again, Susan isn’t Billy’s mom. It’s not her job to see what’s going on with him.

“Take a seat, honey,” she says, spotting Billy hovering in the doorway. He frowns, but obeys. It’s still weird when she calls him that.

Neil doesn’t react to Billy’s presence at all. That’s not exactly new, but it still makes Billy feel on edge; he almost wishes his dad would explode, yell at him, slam his hand on the table. Neil’s indifference feels like a ticking time bomb.

Susan brings the plates to the table, and Billy eats as quickly as he can without actually inhaling his food. Neil folds away his paper, cutting up his meat and vegetables methodically and not looking at anyone else around the table. There’s no sound except the scraping of knives and forks, the sound of Max sipping at her water glass, the clatter of the salt and pepper shakers being picked up and used and put back down. It’s profoundly awkward, and Billy finds himself longing for Steve to be there to divert the attention away from the silence.

At last, it seems that Susan can’t take it any longer. She puts her knife and fork down, takes a sip of water, and says in a faux bright voice: “So, Billy, how’s your presentation going? You’ve got to be coming up to the deadline, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” Billy says cautiously. He can’t help but glance at Neil. His dad continues eating like Billy hasn’t spoken at all. “We were at the library yesterday finishing up. The presentation is on Friday.”

“That’s wonderful,” Susan says faintly. Her eyes, too, skitter to her husband. “Are you done with it, then?”

Billy swallows a mouthful of rice. “Almost,” he says. He’s trying not to think about finishing the presentation. He knows he and Steve will still be friends after - they’ve said so explicitly, now - but they probably won’t hang out quite so often. They won’t have the reason to. “We’re going to finish up tomorrow, probably. After school.”

Neil shifts in his seat then, just a little. Susan casts him a worried glance, and then looks back at Billy. “Lovely,” she says. “Is he coming here, or are you going there?”

Billy hesitates. He hadn’t actually thought about it - he and Steve barely even discussed it earlier. It was just a passing comment, really. He hopes Steve meant it. “Not sure yet,” he says.

“What are his parents like?” Susan asks. “Are they alright with you going over there so often?”

“Yeah, they’re fine,” Billy says, as if Steve’s parents are enough of a presence to even know how often Billy hangs out at his place. Jesus. Why are all parents so shitty? “They don’t mind.”

Susan nods like she was hoping for that answer. “Well, then, I think it would be lovely for you to go there—”

“Susan,” Neil says. His voice is very calm, very even. Susan’s mouth shuts with a clack. Billy’s senses are buzzing, and out of the corner of his eye he can see that Max has put down her cutlery, looking alert and ready. Billy’s dad shakes his head like he hasn’t noticed all the commotion he’s caused by simply saying his wife’s name. He says smoothly: “Billy’s going to think you don’t want him around.”

Jesus Christ. It’s shitty enough when Neil does it to him, but somehow being there and hearing him do it to someone else - using Billy to hurt someone else - is even worse than when he’s the recipient of his dad’s vitriol. Billy sees Susan flinch, and it’s so fucking unfair. Maybe if he hadn’t overheard what happened last night, he would think Susan was trying to get rid of him - or, more likely, wouldn’t have even thought about it. It’s unusual for him to give Susan more than a passing thought.

But he did overhear, and he knows better now. Susan - as unlikely as it still seems - is trying to protect him. That’s why she’s suggesting he spends the evening with Steve.

“Of course I want you around, honey,” Susan says now, obedient as ever to Neil’s overbearance. She gives Billy a shaky smile. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I didn’t mean to make you feel—”

“Thanks,” Billy says hastily. He chances a glance at his dad. He can’t risk Neil’s ire by insisting on going to Steve’s. He makes himself meet Susan’s eyes. “Thank you.”

Across the table, Susan gives him the ghost of a smile.

Chapter Text

Steve tosses and turns on Monday night, unable to properly get to sleep. He can’t stop thinking about Billy, and what might be happening at the Hargrove house. Is Susan hurt? Is Billy hurt? What is his dad doing to him now? 

His only consolation is the fact that if Billy really needs to escape, he’s promised to come here to Steve’s place. The fact that he hasn’t done that… well, hopefully that’s a good sign. Unless Billy is just too proud to actually take Steve up on his offer. Or he wants to, but his dad has stopped him. Or he’s so badly hurt that he can’t drive.

Jesus. Steve needs to get some sleep.

He’d been distracted all afternoon with Robin, as much as he’d tried not to be. Robin was fun, sharp as a tack and absolutely fucking hilarious; at the arcade, before Steve went to pick up Dustin, she had him in stitches trying to beat her high score at Pacman. Steve isn’t exactly a gamer. He found himself relaxing, enjoying the opportunity to just chill out with someone in a non-dramatic way.

But he couldn’t quite get Billy off his mind, and he’s sure she noticed it. Occasionally he caught her frowning at him, like she was trying to understand something about him and couldn’t quite get there.

Seeing Billy outside the middle school was such a relief that Steve was practically jubilant. It was stupid, really; he knew Billy hadn’t gone home yet, that the worst was still to come. Still, it was just good to see him, to know he was alright, at least for now. Billy seemed… weird, but Steve figured that was to be expected. He kept throwing Robin wary, suspicious glances, although he seemed to relax a little by the end of the conversation.

Steve was glad of that. He wanted Billy and Robin to get along. Although Billy is undeniably his favorite, just the hour with Robin after school was enough to convince him that he wants her as a friend as well. 

The thing about Billy being his best friend just kind of slipped out without Steve really realizing he’d said it. He didn’t miss the way Billy’s eyes widened in surprise, and truthfully he was a little surprised himself - but it didn’t take him long to decide not to worry about it. It was true, anyway. Who else could hold that spot? There’s no one Steve talks to the way he can talk to Billy, as weird as that seems. Maybe Jonathan, but their history just makes things too weird, and anyway, Jonathan’s not—

Well. Steve shakes his head, rolling over to lie on his side. For some reason, it feels weird to think about why he likes Billy better than Jonathan. 

Robin had frowned at him again as they got in the car, but this time her expression was a little more knowing. She didn’t say anything, though. Dustin was there, being a total asswipe, and soon Steve’s thoughts were more absorbed with that than anything else. 

When he got back in the car after dropping Dustin off - and smoothing over all the hurt feelings that came with that - Robin glanced over at him. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. He gave a slightly embarrassed laugh. Even though Robin hadn’t really questioned his odd bond with Dustin up until now, it still felt weird. “He’s mad I haven’t been paying him enough attention lately.”

It was minimizing, but he couldn’t think of a better way to explain. Robin cocked her head to one side. “You guys aren’t related, right?”

Steve shrugged. “He’s kinda like my little brother,” he said - which was true, he found as he said it. That was nice. “It’s complicated.”

Robin laughed. “Cute,” she said.

Steve drove them to the diner. It had been ages since he last got milkshakes with someone -  probably Nancy, back before everything went to shit. He shook his head fiercely. He was determined not to ruin this by thinking about Nancy. It still hurt, sometimes - but he was moving on. She sure as hell had.

As he was parking, Robin said: “So that’s Billy Hargrove.”

“What?” Steve said distractedly. He turned off the engine. “I mean, yeah. You must have seen him around, right?”

“Yeah,” Robin said. She had a strange little smile on her face. “He hangs out with you all the time. I’ve seen you guys around school.”

It seemed like a weird thing to pick up on. Billy was well known in school for a lot more than hanging out with Steve. He shrugged, climbing out of the car; Robin followed suit. “Yeah, I guess,” he said. “He’s a cool guy.”

“Didn’t seem to think much of me,” Robin observed.

Well, yeah, Steve had picked up on that too, but he hadn’t read too much into it. Billy was going through a lot; of course he wasn’t going to be in the mood to turn on the charm. Making a new friend - even one as cool as Robin - wasn’t exactly going to be high on his priority list right now.

There was no way of explaining any of that to Robin, though, so he just said: “Don’t take it personally. He just takes time to warm up sometimes.”

Unexpectedly, Robin laughed. “He seemed to warm up fine when I told him we weren’t dating,” she pointed out dryly.

They walked into the diner, and for a few minutes Steve’s attention was taken up by the hostess showing them a table and taking their orders. Robin ordered a banana milkshake, which made him like her even more, because banana had always been his favorite too. Still, the rule of milkshakes was that you always got something different so you had something to try, so he opted for chocolate.

By the time that was done, Steve had mostly forgotten about Robin’s comment. But now, lying in bed at midnight, he can’t stop thinking about it - and he doesn’t know why.

Why would Billy be cold towards Robin - and Steve can admit that he had been - right up until that moment when they both emphatically denied any romantic interest in each other? Now that Robin has pointed it out, it seems obvious that that’s what happened. More than that, it’s like some part of Steve - some part of him buried deep in a place he can’t access - understands it. It doesn’t feel like a surprise. It feels like something that makes sense, except that it doesn’t.

It’s not because Robin isn’t part of the popular crowd. Steve is sure of that. He thinks Billy would have acted the same way if it had been anybody. Now that Steve thinks about it, Billy was pretty snide towards Heather Green when she showed an interest in him at Derrick’s party. An interest in Steve, that is. It seems like Billy is quick to dismiss anyone who might want to date Steve, popular or not. But why? And why does that not feel… wrong?

Steve turns over, shoving his fist into his pillow. It should feel wrong. It should bother him, shouldn’t it? The idea that Billy will be hostile - no, not hostile, Billy wasn’t hostile towards Robin, just… cold. Cold, closed off - towards anyone he chooses to date. Steve doesn’t want that. He wouldn’t be like that, if Billy got a girlfriend—

He cuts that thought off right away. The idea of Billy getting a girlfriend - Steve can’t explain why, but he doesn’t like it. He can’t even imagine it. What would that look like? Billy doesn’t have girlfriends - he told Steve that himself. He doesn’t want a girl to talk to, to take out on dates, to confide in, to spend all his time with. And that’s good, because if he did then he wouldn’t have time to do all those things with Steve.

Well. Apart from the date thing, obviously.

That’s probably the reason why Billy was weird about Robin. Steve is no stranger to the fact that things change when you’re in a relationship; wasn’t that the whole reason his friendship with Tommy went sideways? He doesn’t want that to happen with Billy, and he’s sure Billy doesn’t want that either.

There’s nothing to worry about, anyway. Steve is still getting over Nancy, and Billy can stick to his thing where he just hooks up with girls on a casual basis.

Weirdly, that doesn’t make Steve feel much better. He doesn’t particularly like the idea of that either.

Steve punches his pillow again, trying to get comfortable. Is it so bad that he doesn’t want to add any more complications to his life right now? He just wants to hang out with Billy and talk about Pride and Prejudice. With everything that’s happened over the last month or so, doesn’t he deserve that?

At least the rest of his afternoon with Robin had been fun. They’d just talked, talked in a way Steve is only just getting used to doing with someone. It was nice to feel that the romantic potential of spending time with a girl was just not there, that he could just enjoy spending uncomplicated time with her. Robin had plenty to say, too. Plenty of witty remarks about their teachers, their classmates, the weather, the president - pretty much any topic of conversation that came up, Robin had something funny and dry and sarcastic to say about it.

Steve can’t remember the last time he laughed that hard.

It was interspersed, of course, with his concern for Billy. Every so often he’d catch a glimpse of the clock on the wall above the counter of the diner, and think about what Billy might be doing. Now he’d be arriving home; now he’d be hiding in his bedroom, pretending to do his homework; now he’d be having dinner with his family…

At least, he hoped that was what Billy was doing. He hoped nothing else had happened to derail Billy’s usual schedule.

He’s sure Robin noticed his distraction, but she didn’t comment on it. She made it easy for him to stay engaged with her. They ended up getting burgers, stealing each other’s fries like they’d known each other way longer than they actually had. Robin teased him for carefully picking out the slice of tomato from his burger. Steve snatched an onion ring from her plate when she wasn’t paying attention.

As they were finishing up, she said: “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Steve said. He slurped the last bit of his milkshake. “What’s up?”

She tipped her head to one side as if considering him. “How did you and Hargrove even get to be friends?”

They’d talked a little about Billy already. Steve found his name popped up more than he would have anticipated; partly it was because he’s been spending so much time with Billy lately, but it was also because he found he wanted to talk about Billy. It gave him an opportunity to think about the object of his concern openly, rather than surreptitiously. 

“We’ve been doing this project together,” he told Robin.

“Yeah, I know, you said,” she replied. She shrugged. “It’s just, you know, the last time I spoke to you a couple of weeks ago, you said you didn’t even like him. Now he’s your best friend?”

She had a point, although it made Steve feel weird to think about it. He remembered telling Robin how much he didn’t like Billy, that time out on the bleachers when she teased him about losing his boyfriend. That seemed so long ago now.

“It’s complicated,” he said. He thought about it. Was it complicated? “Or, like, maybe it isn’t? I guess we just had to spend more time together. He’s pretty cool.”

Robin frowned at him. “Must be one hell of a project.”

Steve coughed. “I mean, yeah,” he said. Weirdly, he actually wanted to tell her. He hesitated, biting his lip. “Billy… Billy helps me. I don’t… I’m not such a great reader.”

It was out there then. Steve found that the admission didn’t bother him as much as it could have. After all, he thought with a smile - Billy thought he was smart.

“Oh, okay,” Robin said. She seemed to sense Steve’s embarrassment. “That makes sense.”

They changed the subject then, and Billy’s name didn’t come up again. Robin made Steve laugh with the story about her Aunt Jodie and the Christmas ham - it was hilarious when she was telling it, but when he went over it again in his mind, he couldn’t quite remember why - and after another twenty minutes they paid for their burgers and Steve drove her home.

“This was fun,” he said to her, at exactly the point in the evening where if she’d been someone else he might have kissed her.

He really had no desire to kiss Robin.

Robin grinned at him. “Yeah, it was,” she says. She adopted a Southern drawl. “We’ll have to do this again sometime, honeybunch.”

“You got it, sugar,” Steve returned. Robin laughed at his bad accent, and then got out of the car to take her bike out of the trunk. She waved at Steve as she walked up the path into her house.

It was fun. It was fun, and Robin was cool and hilarious and definitely not unattractive - so why didn’t Steve want to kiss her?

Why can’t he stop thinking about Billy?

He’s like a zombie the next day at school. He gets in trouble in two separate classes for dozing off during the lesson, and by the time recess comes around he just wants to find a quiet corner to fall asleep in. He has a more important mission, though. He didn’t get to school in time to find Billy before class - due in no small part to sleeping through his alarm - so he’s determined to track him down now and make sure he’s doing okay.

Steve is well aware he’s acting like a total loser. He can’t help himself. What he overheard on Sunday - what he knows about Billy’s family - goes so far beyond anything he has experience in. He can’t help but feel involved now.

Fortunately, Billy seems just as amenable to spending recess together as Steve is; he falls into step with him in the corridor less than a minute after the bell rings, and it feels totally natural for them to walk together to their usual spot outside on the bleachers. Steve takes a surreptitious look at Billy. He doesn’t look hurt, but then, Steve hadn’t spotted the bruise the first time.

“Getting a good look, princess?” Billy asks. He sounds amused. Clearly Steve is not being as subtle as he thought.

“Sorry,” he says. He yawns. “Christ, I’m tired. Are you alright?”

Billy looks a little startled. “Yeah, of course,” he says. They reach the bleachers; Steve sinks down onto a bench immediately.

He tips his head back. The cold air on his face is helping him stay awake. “You’re not, you know…” He yawns again, widely. “Sorry, this isn’t because of you! I mean, you know, you’re not - he didn’t—”

“No,” Billy says quickly. “I’m fine.”

Steve squints at him. “Would you tell me if you weren’t?”

Billy’s face twists, confirming what Steve already knows. “That’s not - shut up, man. He didn’t - nothing happened.”

“You sure?” Steve presses, because he’s well aware that Billy isn’t above downplaying this.

“Yes, Jesus,” Billy says, rolling his eyes. He sits down next to Steve. “I’m fine.”

Steve exhales, relieved. Maybe it’s a stupid thing to think, but he feels like he knows Billy well enough by now to be able to tell when he’s lying and when he’s telling the truth. Besides, Billy’s sitting close enough now that Steve is fairly sure he’s not wearing any cover-up. He hesitates before asking his next question. “And - Max’s mom?”

Billy sighs, running a hand through his hair. “She’s okay, I think,” he says. “He didn’t - I mean, I don’t think anything else happened. Like, apart from what we - what we heard.” 

That’s also a relief, although Steve hadn’t really realized he was concerned until the question is answered. It felt wrong, leaving Max’s mom behind like that. “That’s good,” he says.

“Max knows,” Billy says. “I told her.” He hesitates. “I told her you were there.”

“Okay,” Steve says. Billy is acting like he’s worried Steve might be annoyed by this, but it makes total sense to him. He thinks back to the day Billy and Max told him they were working together now. “She’s known for a while, right?”

Billy nods. His eyes look far away and unhappy. “Yeah,” he says. “We talked about it.”

“That’s good,” Steve says quietly. Billy turns sharply around to him; he shrugs. “To have her on your side, you know?”

Billy sighs. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I guess so.” Then he seems to shake himself. “Anyway, man, enough of that depressing shit. I never asked you about your date!” He laughs, nudging Steve playfully.

Steve rolls his eyes, but Billy’s laughter is infectious. “Oh my God, it was not a date!”

“Sure looked like a date,” Billy says. He’s looking off into the middle distance, and Steve thinks again of why the idea of Billy dating someone feels so weird and alien to him. He can’t explain it in actual words, but it’s not a stretch to think that Billy might be feeling the same way.

“Yeah, definitely not,” he says firmly. “She’s not my type.”

Billy shifts, just a tiny bit, and the movement brings him a little closer to Steve. He’s sitting close enough now that their knees are almost touching. Steve, incongruently, catches his breath.

Billy says softly: “No?”

Steve can see every individual hair on Billy’s face. If he wanted to, he could reach out and touch them. “No,” he says. His voice has dropped to half a whisper; he clears his throat. “I’m not into her.”

“That’s… good to know,” Billy says quietly.

Steve nods. For some reason, his heart is suddenly beating very fast. “And… she’s not into me,” he explains.

“Really?” Billy almost sounds surprised by that, which is gratifying. Steve notices, when he looks at him, how very blue his eyes are; it’s not the first time he’s become aware of it, nor the first time his stomach has clenched in response to seeing it. What is new, however, is the stray thought that wanders into his mind this time. He finds himself wondering - what does Billy see, when he looks at Steve?

Does Billy notice his eyes too?

He coughs, suddenly confused. “Um… Yeah, she told me.”

“She told you,” Billy repeats. He blinks a few times, and then leans back almost imperceptibly. “Right, right, she told you she’s not into you.”

“Right,” Steve says. Why is his heart pounding? “I’m not… I’m not looking to date right now.”

Billy nods slowly. “Huh,” he says, and Steve thinks of him saying that’s good to know just now. “Huh, okay, man. Makes sense.” He flashes Steve a quick smile. “So much other shit going on, right?”

“Yeah, exactly,” Steve says, even though that’s not - that doesn’t quite feel like the truth. He doesn’t know what the truth is, except to know that he doesn’t want to date Robin, he doesn’t want to date anyone, he just wants to sit here in the chilly December sunshine and talk about Pride and Prejudice with Billy.

As if reading his mind, Billy says: “You coming over tonight to finish off the presentation?”

“Yeah,” Steve says gratefully. “Straight after school?”

“You bet,” Billy says, and he gives Steve another smile, a small one that makes his cheeks dimple.

The bell rings before Steve can say anything else; they both head off to their classes, although Steve’s head feels scrambled all the rest of the day. He blames it on his tiredness. He can’t focus properly on anything, and it’s an effort to participate in the usual lunchtime stupidity with Tommy and the others, even though being around Billy makes it generally easier.

Tommy notices, of course. He’s still as exuberant as yesterday, holding Carol’s hand all through lunch, and he quickly picks up on the fact that Steve’s not joining in properly. “What’s the matter with you, Stevie?” he demands.

Steve gives him a sleepy smile. “Didn’t sleep well last night,” he says, yawning as if to prove his point.

“Princess is missing his beauty sleep,” Billy teases; Steve gives him the finger.

Tommy laughs, waggling his eyebrows. “Me neither,” he says suggestively, and leans over to kiss Carol noisily on the cheek. Carol endures this with her eyes screwed up. Steve watches her, wondering abstractly if the performance the pair of them is putting on is really representative of where their relationship is right now.

“Yo, Steve, you coming to Heather’s shindig on Friday night?” Chris calls across the table. He grins. “Word is she’s hoping to see you there…”

Steve rolls his eyes. He’s heard vaguely that Heather Green is having a party on Friday night, but he’s not so sure about actually going to it. She came on pretty strong at the last party he was at, and he ended up spending half the night running away from her.

On the other hand, that party was still one of the better ones he’s been to. “Might put in an appearance,” he says airily. “Not sure yet.”

Tommy wolf-whistles. “Don’t know why you’re ducking her, man, Heather’s hot,” he says. Beside him, Carol winces, but doesn’t comment. Steve glances at her. She wouldn’t usually let Tommy get away with saying something like that - but chances are she doesn’t feel like she has the right to police him right now.

“Not my type,” Steve says, before anyone spots him looking at Carol. He gives a theatrical shudder. “Clingy, you know?”

Billy laughs loudly, and then Derrick starts talking about the other girls who might be at the party who could be considered hot, and Steve can go back to quietly yawning behind his plate.

He’s not sure why he’s so interested in Tommy and Carol. Maybe because they always seemed like the perfect couple, but now there’s something fractured between them - something that might not be fixable, for all they’re both putting on a show to try and smooth it over. Steve’s known Tommy for a long time. He knows that the way he’s being right now isn’t quite real.

Nancy never cheated on him - but if she had, could he have forgiven her? Is that the kind of thing you can forgive? Steve shakes his head, yawning again. Surely cheating is the ultimate in not caring about another person, not putting them first, not even thinking of them. How can you forgive that?

Then again, Nancy didn’t care about him even without that level of betrayal. She didn’t put him first. She didn’t think of him.

It’s his tiredness making him maudlin, he knows - but Steve suddenly feels impossibly sad. Would it be so much to ask to have someone in his life who only wanted him? Someone who would make it clear, every moment that they spent around him, that they found him interesting and worthwhile to be with. Nancy never did that. He dazzled her with popularity and charm for a while, but then she spent a year making him feel like being himself wasn’t quite enough for her.

Maybe being Steve, just Steve, isn’t enough for anyone.

No, that’s not true. Billy likes Steve exactly the way he is. Billy thinks that Steve is smart, and he laughs enough when they’re hanging out that he must find Steve funny as well. Billy has never said or done anything to make Steve feel like he needs to change. 

Being Steve is exactly enough for Billy.

And as it turns out, being Billy is exactly enough for Steve too.

Chapter Text

Billy sucks in a lungful of cigarette smoke, tips back his head, and wonders how the hell he got here.

It’s Wednesday afternoon, and through a convoluted series of events, Billy has found himself sitting outside Jonathan Byers’ rickety little house, smoking and talking to Byers himself. It’s certainly not how he expected to be spending his time after school, but he has to admit that it’s not as unpleasant as he might have thought. Jonathan - unlike Steve, for example - is actually capable of smoking without coughing up a lung.

It’s more than that, of course. Jonathan is not like Steve at all. He doesn’t have Steve’s lazy confidence, the self-assurance that comes with having been popular all his life. What he does have is a strangely powerful quiet poise that Billy can’t help but respect. 

He’d started up a conversation in Homeroom that morning, apropos of nothing - as if he and Billy have always been friends. As if the concept of the two of them talking was totally normal.

Maybe it should be. He’d turned around and flashed Billy a quick, shy smile, and said: “Hey, man. You okay?”

Billy was so surprised that he forgot to put on the Billy show. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, nonplussed. “I’m good, I’m good.” He added, hesitantly: “You?”

“Yeah, all good,” Jonathan said. He glanced around, clearly checking if anyone was paying attention to them. They weren’t; he went on: “Just wanted to check in, you know, after the weekend.”

For a heartstopping moment Billy thought he was talking about the incident with Neil and Susan - but then he remembered that to Jonathan, the big news of the weekend was Billy finding out about the Upside Down. It was funny, really; that had almost been put on the back burner after everything else that had happened.

“Thanks, man,” he said.

“If you want to talk about it,” Jonathan said earnestly, and then paused, looking a little bashful. “I mean, you know, I’m sure you and Steve have, like, gone over it—”

Billy snorted. “Steve literally knows fuck-all,” he said. He shook his head a little. He still couldn’t quite believe how much Steve had buried his head in the sand as a coping mechanism. “Every damn question I asked him, it’s all I don’t know or I’m not sure or I wasn’t there for that part.” He didn’t feel guilty for badmouthing Steve for this; he still can’t understand how a person could be involved in something as complex and strange as the Upside Down and not ask more questions.

Well. He can understand it. But only because it’s Steve.

Jonathan laughed. “Yeah, that sounds like Steve,” he said. He shrugged. “Well, if you want answers from a more reliable source, you know where I live.”

“I do,” Billy said slowly. He narrowed his eyes at Jonathan a little suspiciously. He had to remind himself that Jonathan wasn’t like the kids. He wasn’t holding shit over Billy’s head; he’d been chill with him even before the weekend.

As if hearing his thoughts, Jonathan said: “I’m serious, okay? Come over after school, or something. If you want.”

“Thanks,” Billy said, and meant it - although he didn’t have any real idea of taking him up on the offer.

But then he’d got to the end of the school day, driven Max home, and found himself feeling too restless just to go up to his room and do nothing. He couldn’t hang out with Steve. Steve was spending the afternoon with his little curly-haired friend. Billy had laughed himself silly when Steve told him about it; Steve had pushed his shoulder and given him the finger, but at the end of the day Steve had plans and Billy didn’t.

He was sure he could track down someone else to hang out with if he wanted to - Tommy or Derrick or Chris or even one of the girls if he wanted to bang - but he didn’t want to. He wasn’t in the mood for mindless chatter, and he definitely wasn’t in the mood for sex.

Well, not sex with a girl, anyway.

Even then, he hadn’t necessarily intended to come to the Byers’ place, but after twenty minutes of aimless driving he couldn’t help himself. Jonathan had gone out of his way to offer, and Billy wanted to talk about the Upside Down with someone who could actually answer his questions. Now that he was alone, everything that had happened over the weekend was buzzing around his head like a swarm of hornets, stinging him with everything he knew, everything he didn’t know, everything he couldn’t control. At least with Jonathan Billy might be able to sort some of it out in his mind.

Mrs Byers opened the door when he knocked. She looked much the same as she had the last time he had come round - soft, untidy, not particularly happy. There were shadows around her eyes, and Billy remembered that her boyfriend had been killed by demodogs.

“Hey, Mrs Byers,” he said. “I don’t know if you remember me—”

“It’s Billy, isn’t it?” she said. She smiled at him. She had a very gentle smile. “Jonathan said you might be stopping by.”

Apparently Jonathan really was a mind-reader. Billy hadn’t really known he’d be stopping by until he got here. “Is he home? If it’s a bad time—”

“Come on in, Billy,” Mrs Byers interrupted. She stepped back, giving him room to come inside. As he passed her, she lifted her hand in a somewhat aborted motion towards his face. “That’s healing well.”

Billy’s fingers went to his lip reflexively. He’d forgotten that she’d noticed his bruises before. “Yeah,” he said. It felt weird, having an adult comment on him in a non-critical - almost caring - way. 

Her dark eyes studied him. There was an intensity to them that made him uneasy, as if she could see right through him - but then, Jonathan’s propensity for fortune-telling had to come from somewhere. Billy gave himself a little shake. He’d met Mrs Byers all of twice; there was no way she could know anything about him. 

“Jonathan’s in his room,” she said, gesturing down the corridor. “Do you remember the way?”

“Yeah,” he said. He flashed her a smile. “Thanks.”

So that was how he’d found himself here. Jonathan hadn’t expressed any surprise in seeing him; he’d greeted him like there was nothing weird at all about Billy being there, as if the fight, the heat test, none of it had ever happened. And the first thing he’d done was to offer Billy a cigarette. Cut, of course, with a sprinkling of quality marijuana.

“Christ, I needed that,” Billy says, exhaling. He looks over at Jonathan. They’re sitting out the back of the Byers’ place, wrapped up in a couple of afghan blankets Jonathan snagged from the living room and leaning against the wall. 

He passes the joint over. Jonathan takes it delicately from between his fingers and takes a drag. “Feel better?”

“Yeah,” Billy says. He closes his eyes. “Man. What a week.”

“Figured you might want to, like… offload,” Jonathan says. He pauses. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, though. We can just hang out.”

Billy looks at him again. He means it, Billy can tell. “Fuck, life is weird,” he says. He laughs disjointedly. He’s not even fucking high yet. “Hanging out with Jonathan Byers, Jesus.”

Jonathan’s eyebrows flicker. “Because I’m not part of the popular crowd?”

“First time that’s stopped mattering,” Billy says frankly.

“Yeah, knowing about all the Upside Down shit kinda makes it a moot point,” Jonathan says. He takes another toke on the cigarette and hands it back to Billy.

Billy frowns as he takes it, because that wasn’t quite what he meant. He pulls the blanket a little tighter around him. “It’s not that,” he says, because he doesn’t want Jonathan to think that he’s insulting him, even if Jonathan doesn’t really mind. He has a vague feeling that being insulted is something Jonathan is used to; it doesn’t sit right with Billy, as much as he might have been the one to bandy about the insults in the past. He sucks in a breath of smoke. “It’s not… I mean, I guess I never…” He stops.

Jonathan is watching him. “Never what?”

“Christ,” Billy says, closing his eyes. It’s been a while since he’s done this - long enough that he can feel the weed affecting him already. Making him more open, more likely to tell the truth. “I never had real friends in Cali,” he says. “It was only ever… you know, the crowd. Being in.”

“You were always in, huh?” Jonathan observes.

Billy nods. His hand, he notices abstractly, is trembling a little where he’s holding the joint. “Guess so.”

“And now?”

Billy shrugs. “I’m still in,” he says. He doesn’t really feel like talking about it. It’s not as though he doesn’t know what’s made the difference. Or who.

Jonathan bows his head like he gets it, his eyes as unfathomable as his mother’s. He sits there, his eyes hooded, and Billy watches him. He realizes, with a slight shock, that he likes Jonathan. Not the way he likes Steve, of course - internally Billy shudders at the very idea of looking at Jonathan that way, and wonders anew at Nancy’s nonsensical preference - but as a person. He likes the way that Jonathan is calm and easy to talk to. He likes the non-judgmental, chilled atmosphere when he’s around him.

“Well, anyway,” Jonathan says. He holds out a hand; Billy puts the joint into it. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

Billy rests his head against the wall, thinking about it. “How do you even deal with this shit?” he says at last. “All this… this Upside Down shit. How do you even start?”

Jonathan laughs softly. “It’s an ongoing struggle,” he admits. He takes a pull. “It helps having Nancy. You know, having someone to talk it over with. Otherwise you feel like you’re going crazy.”

“Steve didn’t think Nancy helped,” Billy says without thinking. He blushes when Jonathan looks sharply at him. He shouldn’t have said that - but it’s true, all the same. Steve - Steve didn’t have anyone to make him feel less alone about the Upside Down. Nancy never even told him it wasn’t his fault.

“He said that?” Jonathan says.

Billy shrugs. “Shit, man, it’s not my business,” he says quickly.

Jonathan sighs, his hair flopping into his eyes. “I guess I can see why Steve might have said that,” he says. “Nancy… Nancy was having a hard time when she and Steve were together.”

“Yeah,” Billy says. “Barb, right?”

“Right,” Jonathan says. “She wanted someone to take responsibility for Barb dying. She’s better now that they have.”

Billy thinks of Steve, spending a year taking responsibility while he waited for Nancy to come to terms with Barb’s death. He thinks about the fact that it took leaving him for her to do it. He says, noncommittally: “Yeah.”

Jonathan hesitates, his teeth worrying at his lower lip. “Does… does Steve talk about Nancy a lot?” he asks at last, his voice anxious. Guilty.

“No,” Billy says, without really taking a moment to consider whether or not that’s true. He doesn’t want it to be true. He wants Steve to be over Nancy. But that’s selfish, and fucking pointless anyway - it’s not like it would make a scrap of difference to him either way. He sighs. “I mean, sometimes, I guess.”

Jonathan nods like he expected that, exhaling a curl of smoke. “I feel bad,” he says. “I like Steve, I do.”

“He’s not mad at you,” Billy says. Of that he’s certain; Steve has a strange level of respect for the boy who enticed his girlfriend away. After finally finding out all the circumstances, Billy understands it a little more.

“Yeah, I know,” Jonathan says. He laughs uncomfortably. “He probably should be.”

He hands the cigarette back to Billy, who holds it in his fingers without inhaling. Jonathan, he thinks, would be a very difficult person to stay angry with. He’s too calm, too gentle, too easy to talk to. He says, uncertainly: “I think… I think he’s glad she’s with you, man.”

Jonathan looks at him, head slightly tipped to one side. “You think?”

It feels weird, talking about this behind Steve’s back. Especially when Billy has his own reasons for wanting to discuss it, wanting it to be true. He rolls his shoulders, taking a drag on the joint. “I don’t know,” he says. “What he said at the party—”

“Oh, yeah,” Jonathan says. He laughs. He has a nice laugh. “That was fucking hilarious.”

“He meant it,” Billy explains, and then shuts up, because Jonathan is looking at him in an altogether too knowing manner.

“You like Steve, huh?” he says slowly.

Billy shrugs again. “Sure,” he says, trying to pretend his heart isn’t thumping. The truth is - the truth is, it’s delicious, getting to talk about Steve. Billy has so many things he wishes he could say about him - so many things that he likes about Steve, so many things he wants to let himself indulge in saying. “Sure, yeah, he’s cool.”

Jonathan is nodding. “Yeah, he is,” he says. He laughs again. “I hated him at first.”

Billy gives a grim smile, sucking in more smoke. “Not as much as I did.”

“I don’t know, dude, I think I could give you a run for your money,” Jonathan says, smiling. “Did he tell you we fought?”

“Yeah,” Billy says. “He said you beat the crap out of him.”

Jonathan runs a self-conscious hand through his hair. “Yeah.”

“He said he deserved it,” Billy adds, taking another puff.

Jonathan looks at him, obviously surprised. “He said that?”

Billy nods. “Well, yeah. You knew that though, right? Didn’t he apologize to you recently?”

He hands the cigarette to Jonathan; it’s a moment or two before Jonathan takes it. He seems oddly taken aback by Billy’s words. “Yeah, he did, but I didn’t realize—” He stops, narrowing his eyes at Billy. “Didn’t you apologize to him recently?”

Abruptly, Billy’s heart is in his throat, although it shouldn’t come as that much of a shock that Steve has told Jonathan about that. He coughs past the feeling. “I guess he talks to both of us about each other,” he manages at last.

“Looks that way,” Jonathan says cheerfully. Unexpectedly, he grins at Billy. “I guess we’re returning the favor, huh?”

“Looks that way,” Billy mimics. Jonathan laughs. 

Oddly, Billy finds that he doesn’t mind so much that Steve has talked to Jonathan about him. On the contrary, he feels somewhat flattered by it, that Steve thinks he’s important enough to talk about. Jonathan feels like a very safe person to confide in. If Steve decided to talk to someone about Billy, he can understand why Jonathan is the person he chose. And the fact that Steve did decide to talk to someone about Billy…

Well. It doesn’t mean anything, of course it doesn’t mean anything - but Billy can’t help but feel a swell of something warm in his chest.

For a few minutes they sit in silence, smoking and shivering a little in the chilly December afternoon air. It’s a nice, companionable silence. When Jonathan breaks it, it’s to talk about school. Easy, mindless chatter, the kind that Billy explicitly didn’t want when he came here - but it’s nice, relaxing, and he decides that it doesn’t matter. He makes Jonathan laugh by relating the conversation he and Steve had with Susan the night before about college.

They’d been sitting at the kitchen table eating dinner, halfway through their presentation work and eager to get back to it - or to avoid the chilly atmosphere around the Hargrove dinner table, although Billy doesn’t tell Jonathan that part. Neil had been completely silent as he ate the lasagna Susan had made, and Max kept sneaking little anxious looks at him across the table.

Then Susan had said, completely out of the blue: “What are your plans for college, Steve?”

Steve had been so surprised that he choked on his water glass. Jonathan has the appropriate amused reaction to hearing about this. “What?” he said, mopping his mouth.

“Are you thinking about college?” Susan repeated patiently. “It’s not long until school is over, is it?”

“Um,” Steve said. He cast a desperate glance at Billy; only fear of Neil kept him from laughing openly. “I mean, it’s six months.”

Susan nodded encouragingly. “Yes, but I’m sure the school has started talking to you about it.” Then she turned her big, naive eyes on Billy. “Haven’t they, Billy?”

Billy stared at her. When he gets to this point of the story, his impression of Susan makes Jonathan snicker. “I guess they’ve mentioned it,” he said.

“So what are your plans, boys?” she pressed. “Don’t tell me you don’t have any idea!”

“It’s as if,” Billy says to Jonathan, “she thinks we have our lives, like, totally sketched out already. Do you have any idea what you’re doing after school finishes?”

Jonathan shakes his head emphatically. “Not a fucking clue,” he says.

Billy laughs, although upon reflection, it feels a little strange to laugh at Susan just now. She’s never asked him about his future plans before - never taken an interest in him before - certainly never stood up for him before. He swallows. “I guess it was just her weird-ass way of trying to connect.”

“My mom’s the same,” Jonathan says.

“She’s not my mom,” Billy says automatically. He thinks again of how Susan had tried so hard to keep the conversation going, long after it became abundantly clear that neither he nor Steve had the faintest idea what they would be doing in six months. She’d been full of false, nervous cheer, urging them to think of the future.

Jonathan is nodding, pulling on the last of the joint. “Right, right, I’m sorry,” he says. “I knew that.”

Billy is still thinking. Why had Susan suddenly taken such an interest in their future plans? Why was she pushing him to think about the end of school? It’s not like he’s never thought about it. Being a legal adult - finishing school - means the possibility of getting away from Neil. But it’s always felt so far off, so impossible, that he’s not really given it too much thought. He’s only ever focused, instead, on getting through the next day, the next fight.

But now that Susan has said it, he tries to really picture what it might be like, actually leaving school. Would his dad pay for college? Would he even be able to afford it? If he doesn’t go to college, where would he go instead? What would Neil expect him to do?

Is it possible that - in a slightly more subtle way this time - Susan was looking out for him again?

Billy shakes his head. It was almost certainly a throwaway conversation - Susan trying to do the mom thing. Maybe she’s just wondering how much longer she has to put up with Billy. After all, Neil hit her because of him. Maybe she’s wondering how long she’s got left before her marriage becomes a normal one.

Steve had been nervous when he’d come over the night before. It was obvious in the uncertain set of his chin, the way he kept glancing at the door when they were up in Billy’s bedroom, as if Neil might burst in on them at any moment. Perhaps taking his lead from Billy, however, he didn’t mention what had happened on Sunday night. Billy was relieved. He’d had quite enough of that at school.

Instead they just did what they were supposed to be there to do - worked on the presentation. At this point, they’re pretty much done. They organized their research, found a multitude of quotations to support their points, and decided who was going to say each part. 

“What do you think?” Billy asked at nine, when Steve was getting ready to go home. “Meet tomorrow to run through it a couple times, and then we’re done?”

That was when Steve explained about his plans with Dustin. “But we could meet Thursday?” he suggested. He hesitated, his eyes flickering towards the door again. “My place? If… if your dad won’t care.”

Truthfully, Billy wasn’t sure whether his dad would care or not. Neil tended to go through phases of being incredibly controlling over where Billy went, what he did, what time he got home - and then forgetting, and just being glad to have Billy out of his hair. After all the trouble with Susan, Billy suspected they might be entering the latter phase, but he couldn’t be certain.

“I’ll ask,” he said.

Steve smiled. “Are you going to this thing at Heather’s on Friday?”

Billy shrugged, although internally he felt rather pleased that Steve was asking. “Yeah, probably,” he said.

“Cool,” Steve said. “It’ll be more fun if you’re there. You want to stay at mine? It’s my turn to be the designated driver, right?”

“Right,” Billy said slowly, trying not to think about the last time he stayed at Steve’s place. Falling asleep in Steve’s bed - holding his hand - and that was without even getting into the last time they went to a party together. Steve, drunk - Steve soft and open and affectionate—

Still, if he’s designated driver, he won’t be getting drunk - which is probably for the best. And anyway, technically the last time he slept at Steve’s place was on Sunday night, and they hadn’t shared a bed then.

God, he’s got it bad. Reluctantly, Billy tears his thoughts away from Steve and back to the present moment with Jonathan. Jonathan has ground out the cigarette against the wall by now, and is simply sitting with his head tilted back and his fingers curled around the edges of the blanket. Jonathan offered to talk to him about the Upside Down, to answer any of his questions. Billy has never really experienced anyone being kind on purpose, with no ulterior motive beyond simply being a nice person.

Well, there’s Steve, of course, but that feels different somehow.

He sort of wants to ask why Jonathan is being so nice to him, but that’s far too sentimental a question, probably induced by the pot. Besides, he’s fairly sure he knows the answer. Jonathan is just one of those people who is nice to everyone.

“The Upside Down,” he says, and Jonathan turns his head to look at him. Billy coughs. “I have questions.”

Jonathan nods. “Shoot, man,” he says, his voice a little sleepy.

“Okay,” Billy says. He’s totally ready for this. He’s had questions building for days. “Okay, here’s one. How did the freaky chick—”

“El,” Jonathan says peacefully.

Billy waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah, El,” he says. “I still don’t get how she even found the goddamn Mindflayer in the first place, when she didn’t even know it existed.”

Jonathan pushes himself into a slightly more upright position. “Okay, okay,” he says. “It’s a kinda weird one - let me explain…”

Billy settles himself against the cold brick wall, closes his eyes, and listens.

Chapter Text

Steve slightly surprises himself by having a great time after school with Dustin. He knew the kid was cool, of course, from the time they spent working together over all the Upside Down crap a few weeks ago, but it’s not like they’ve ever actually hung out apart from that. Dustin is, after all, only twelve years old.

He may be twelve, but he’s one of the funniest motherfuckers Steve has ever met, and mostly it’s not on purpose. He has an earnest, slightly over-the-top way of approaching life that makes Steve laugh. He’s still in that early-teen phase of caring way too deeply about everything that Steve has grown out of by now; it makes him feel nostalgic, and also maybe a little sad.

When did he lose that? When did it become cool to pretend like you don’t give a shit? Of course, he’s advised Dustin to behave that way with girls - and he stands by it - because as far as Steve can see, there’s no other way to maintain popularity at school. But still, he remembers a time when he had Dustin’s level of sincerity and innocence.

He probably lost it a few years earlier than Dustin, but still.

They go to the movies straight after school, and after a brief argument about whether or not Steve might be able to get them in to see Beverly Hills Cop - Steve flat refuses to even make the attempt to sneak a twelve-year-old into an R-rated movie, so it’s not a discussion that gets very far - they buy tickets to Supergirl.

“It’s okay,” Dustin says consolingly to Steve, as if he was the one disappointed by the Beverly Hills Cop thing. “Supergirl has Helen Slater.”

Steve has never heard of Helen Slater, but a quick glance at the Supergirl poster on the wall of the movie theater is enough to convince him. “You want popcorn?”

Dustin just gives him a look like it’s a stupid question, so Steve buys popcorn and soda along with their tickets, and they go in to wait for the movie to start.

“Have you seen any of the Superman movies?” Dustin asks as they’re sitting down. “It’s okay if you haven’t, this one’s a spin-off.”

“What’s a spin-off?” Steve asks, taking a sip of his soda. 

Dustin gives him bug-eyes. “You know, like a movie set in the same universe but about different characters,” he says, like it should be obvious. “How do you not know that?”

“I’m not really a movie person,” Steve says. He thinks of the incredulous look on Billy’s face the last time he said that, and smiles in spite of himself. How can anyone not be a movie person?

Dustin has a similar reaction. “What? Why not? How can you not like movies?”

Steve shrugs, throwing some popcorn into his mouth. “Just not my thing,” he says breezily.

“Do you… not want to be here?” Dustin asks in a small voice.

“Shut up, dude,” Steve says. He reaches out and ruffles Dustin’s hair. “You can explain all the shit I don’t understand.”

As it turns out, there’s a lot of shit Steve doesn’t understand. Fortunately, however, he’s not the only one; Dustin gets more and more indignant as the film goes on, and Steve is treated to a whispered commentary that he mostly tunes out, describing how poorly the lead actors are performing. It seems that Dustin isn’t the only person in the theater to feel that way, judging by the amount of popcorn that gets thrown at the screen.

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin says at last, as the lights come on an hour and a half later. “Don’t think about it, okay, Steve? Not all movies are like that!”

Given that Steve’s main source of entertainment was watching Dustin’s blood pressure rise, it’s easy for him to agree. “Whatever you say, man,” he says. “Hope you don’t mind if I give the first three a miss, though.”

“No, but Superman is actually good!” Dustin insists. Steve stands up, stretching. “And Superman II! You can skip the third one, the third one is almost as bad as this one. Oh, but you could borrow some comics! I have, like, a ton of DC.”

“Sure, yeah, okay,” Steve, who has no idea what DC means, says. “You want to get a burger or some pizza?”

Dustin gives him a look. “You’re not interested in comics, are you?” he says despondently.

“No, but you can still tell me about them,” Steve says. “Let’s have pizza, I had burgers earlier this week. You coming?”

“Fine,” Dustin says, obviously lured by the temptation of mozzarella and pepperoni. “You don’t know about anything cool.”

Steve rolls his eyes, grasping Dustin’s shoulders to steer him towards the exit. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Come on, man. I’m hungry.”

The fact that Steve doesn’t know about anything cool doesn’t in any way deter Dustin from talking nineteen to the dozen about the merits of the various Superman movies while they’re walking to the pizza place. Steve keeps an expression of thoughtful concentration on his face, nodding in all the right places while Dustin explains the reasoning behind some of the discrepancies between comic and film, and even manages to ask a couple of questions that at least make it sound like he’s keeping up.

“It was just such a mistake to cast Richard Pryor in Superman III,” Dustin says earnestly, as Steve guides him into the pizza place. “It changed the whole tone of the movie.”

“I think Richard Pryor’s pretty funny,” Steve says. He leads the way to one of the booths over by the window, tugging Dustin’s wrist so that he sits down opposite.

Dustin is still talking. “Yeah, but that’s the point! It wasn’t supposed to be funny.”

The arrival of the waitress - a pretty redhead who gives Steve a tired smile as she approaches - thankfully cuts off this analysis. “What can I get you boys?”

They order. It takes a while, because Dustin insists on poring over the menu like he’s never had a pizza before, but this has the benefit of taking his mind off his Superman indignation. By the time the redhead has walked away with her pencil behind her ear, Dustin is onto a new topic.

Unfortunately, however, it still isn’t anything Steve is particularly interested in discussing. “So, now we know it’s not you or Billy - who do you think might be possessed?”

“Dustin,” Steve says carefully, folding up his menu. “You know we can’t be sure that anyone is possessed.”

“I think they are!” Dustin protests. “I think someone’s following me! I saw the same blue Chrysler twice in one day yesterday!”

Steve frowns at him. “Where?”

“In the school parking lot!” Dustin says excitedly. “And last week there was this woman with dark hair doing, I don’t know, some work or something outside the school where the gas mains are, and then!” He pauses importantly. “Then I saw her again - right here.” He hisses this last part, and it’s clear that he’s been waiting for his moment to reveal this fact.

In spite of himself, Steve feels his heart skip a beat. He leans forward across the table. “Which woman?”

Dustin jabs a finger towards the counter. Steve takes a surreptitious glance over his shoulder. There’s a tall woman standing by the till, apparently paying for her pizza; she’s in her mid-twenties, with olive skin and dark hair. She’s wearing a tan jumpsuit that reads NIPSCO on the back.

“Dude, I’m pretty sure she just works for the gas company,” he says, turning back. “Was she the one driving the blue Chrysler?”

Dustin’s face twists. “Well… okay, in the end that turned out to be Stacey Bexdale’s mom. She had to borrow a different car for the day because Stacey’s dad had a job interview in Ohio. But it could have been something else!”

Steve raises his eyebrows, impressed. “Wow, you’ve really been keeping watch.”

“You can’t be too careful,” Dustin says firmly. 

“Still, man, I think that woman was probably just doing some work at the school,” Steve says, trying to make his voice sound reassuring. He looks back at her. She’s already heading for the exit. She hasn’t so much as glanced their way.

Dustin watches her leave with a doubtful expression on his face. “Well, maybe,” he allows. He looks at Steve. “Are you still mad at me about the weekend?”

Steve blinks. “What? No! I wasn’t mad, dude, come on.”

“You seemed mad,” Dustin says in a small voice. 

“Jonathan was mad,” Steve says, because that’s true. “He was mad you guys left us in there for so long. But I get why you did.”

There’s a pause, during which Dustin seems to be struggling with something. At last, he says: “Is Billy mad?”

The waitress reappears with their sodas, giving Steve a moment or two to think about how to answer that question. Although Billy hasn’t said anything specific about the heat test, Steve doesn’t get the impression that he’s quite at the forgive and forget stage about it. Dustin is definitely not Billy’s favorite person. Billy’s expression when Steve explained what he would be doing this afternoon had proved that much. 

Dustin is still looking at him expectantly. He says cautiously: “I mean, I think he gets why you wanted him to do it.”

“Billy is such a psychopath,” Dustin says. He holds up his hands when Steve opens his mouth to argue. “I know, I know! You’re friends with him now, he has shit going on, whatever. I don’t know what his shit is, do I?”

“You can ask him if you want,” Steve says, amused. He tries to imagine that conversation going down. 

Dustin pulls a face. “No thanks!”

Steve laughs, taking a sip of his soda. In all fairness, Billy would probably respect the balls on Dustin if he did ask the blunt question - but that doesn’t mean he’d answer. “It’s okay if you don’t like him, man,” he says to Dustin now. “You don’t have to hang out with him. Just, you know, don’t give me a hard time if I want to.”

“Fine,” Dustin says, sounding highly disgruntled. “But he’d better not hurt you again!”

“He won’t,” Steve says peaceably. It’s nice, being able to say that with so much certainty. Even a couple of weeks ago, he wouldn’t have been able to. 

Dustin wrinkles his nose like he doesn’t really believe it; Steve suppresses a snort. Dustin’s over-protectiveness, while misplaced, continues to strike him as rather sweet. He thinks of telling Robin that Dustin is like his little brother. He’s never had that kind of relationship before. It’s nice, having someone he can just be silly and maybe even a little childish with, not having to worry about being cool. Just messing around in a fun, stupid way.

That’s exactly what they do for the rest of the afternoon. The pizza arrives, and they compete to see who can make the longest mozzarella string from slice to mouth. Steve wins, although Dustin nearly pisses himself laughing at the sight of him with tomato all over his face. Dustin educates Steve about arcade games and movies. Steve educates Dustin about basketball and being a ladies’ man. They agree on the fact that baseball is a useless sport. They argue about whether or not Phoebe Cates is hotter than Kim Basinger, eventually agreeing that they’re both hotter than Helen Slater, but only just. By the time he pays the bill, Steve’s stomach is hurting from laughing so hard.

“Thanks,” Dustin says, as they walk to Steve’s car. He scratches his curly head. “Um… do you want me to pay you back, or something?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Steve says swiftly. He nudges Dustin’s shoulder. “I had a good time, even if your movie choice is fucking terrible.”

Dustin snorts and elbows him back. “What would you know?” he says, sounding so much like Billy that Steve shakes his head. He looks up at Steve. “We’ll do it again, right?”

“Sure, man, of course,” Steve says agreeably, and means it.

All in all, and quite improbably, it’s been a pretty good week thus far. Steve is in a good mood as he drives home after dropping Dustin off. He gets in at nine, dashes off some math homework he’s been neglecting - math is the one subject he can get away with doing that for - and then lies comfortably on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and idly thinking about Billy.

It’s weird how much his thoughts are occupied by Billy these days. He supposes it makes sense - they’ve been spending a ridiculous amount of time together over the past few weeks, and there have been quite a few ups and downs. But still - sometimes the places his mind wanders seem oddly unconnected with school or any of the drama they’ve been dealing with.

Steve rolls onto his side. Like sharing a bed together, for instance. He can’t help but think about it - the way it felt natural, and how well he slept with Billy beside him. The fact that he’s almost - kind of - slightly - missed that familiar presence beside him the last few nights.

It makes no sense. The last person Steve shared a bed with was Nancy, and even then it wasn’t as often as he would have liked. Her parents weren’t wild about her sleeping over at his place, so it only worked if she lied about where she was going. Anyway, it’s been weeks since they slept together. Why would he only start missing it now?

Maybe it’s just that having Billy there reminded him how nice it can be, not to be alone at night. Not to be alone, period. 

Steve rolls back onto his back. He’s mostly satisfied by that explanation. Mostly.

He wonders what Billy is doing right now. He’s glad he spent some time hanging out with Dustin, of course he is - but there’s still a tiny part of him that whispers that he could have had the afternoon with Billy instead. That feels just a little sorry, to have missed out on that.

Steve falls asleep in a strange haze of both contentment and discontentment, partly happy with how well his social overtures with both Robin and Dustin have gone this week, but also somehow feeling like he’s missing something, although he can’t identify what it is or how to get it. He’s aware of dreaming vividly, but can’t remember any of his dreams by the time he wakes up. He feels irritatingly unrested and in need of coffee.

School passes slowly on Thursday. Steve is tired and grumpy for absolutely no reason. He spends recess playing basketball with Billy and the others, which marginally improves his mood; however, the only thing he’s really looking forward to is spending the evening finishing off their presentation practice together. Unfortunately, the knowledge that this is a really fucking lame thing to be excited about just makes him grouchier.

“Earth to Harrington!” Tommy barks at him when he misses his third easy score in a row.

“Oh, eat shit,” Steve grumbles. This, of course, earns him a round of raucous laughter from the peanut gallery.

Billy, however, narrows his eyes at Steve and doesn’t laugh. Instead, he claps an arm around Steve’s shoulder, which has the effect of instantly making him feel better. “Get a grip, princess,” he says in a low voice. Steve’s heart jumps a little at the nickname.

“Fuck off,” Steve says without heat. He leans into Billy’s arm, just a little. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

Billy frowns at him. His body is very warm against Steve’s. “What’s up with you not sleeping, huh?” he demands. “You okay, man?”

At that precise moment, Steve does feel okay. He gives Billy a tired smile. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” he says. It feels nice to be asked. It feels nice that Billy cares. “Come on, let’s play, huh?”

Billy grins at him, and Steve’s stomach fizzes in the familiar way. He’s stopped questioning it at this point. Something about Billy just makes him feel… happy. Yeah, in spite of his weird mood and general exhaustion, that’s what he’s feeling: happiness. Being around Billy is just kind of like that.

At the end of recess, as they’re walking back inside, Billy says casually: “After school, yeah? Your place.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, smiling. 

He manages to grab a power nap during study hall before the end of the day, so he’s marginally less tired by the time he finally gets into his car to head home. Billy never said what time he was going to head over, but Steve thinks he probably has time for another half hour or so of disjointed sleep on the couch. Billy has to take Max home, after all.

It’s closer to an hour before the sound of the Camaro crunching across the drive wakes Steve up from his doze. He sits up, rubbing his eyes. He’s still tired - but he can’t deny the pulse of energy that surges through him just from hearing the car. 

Billy comes in the way he usually does - eyes roving around, looking for anything different. It’s only been a couple of days since the last time he was here, so the scan doesn’t take too long.

“Why do you do that?” Steve asks curiously. 

Billy’s eyes flick back to him instantly. “What?

Steve gestures around the hall. “That thing, you know, where you look around everywhere.”

Billy scratches his head. If Steve didn’t know better, he’d say Billy is a little embarrassed, his cheeks just the tiniest bit pink. It makes Steve smile, makes his stomach clench and his chest tighten in the usual way.

“I don’t know, man, I just like to know what’s going on,” Billy says. He shrugs. “I’ve always done it.”

“You do it more in new places,” Steve comments. “I saw you in the library.”

Billy shrugs again, kicking off his shoes. “Yeah, well, there’s more to remember,” he says. “I guess it’s like… listing everything that’s there in my head, or something. If I don’t do it, then it’s like…” He shakes his head. “Fuck. I don’t know.”

Steve moves a little closer. Billy’s hair is wild around his shoulders. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, man,” Billy says. “It just feels weird. It makes me all…” He wriggles his shoulders expressively. “...all jumpy, I guess. I like to know where shit is.” He narrows his eyes at Steve. “No one’s ever asked me about it before.”

For some reason, this makes Steve feel inordinately pleased - as though the fact that he’s noticed something about Billy that no one else has is in some way a privilege. “You don’t mind me asking, right?”

“Shut up,” Billy says, cheeks coloring a little more. Steve grins at him.

Hanging out with Billy puts him in a good mood that carries him all the way through the next day. While Steve is aware of a general sense of nervousness about their presentation, he’s not feeling overly troubled. Part of that is down to how well their rehearsal went the night before; the other part, of course, is because Steve has never been the kind of person to worry about things before they happen.

Billy is definitely a little more keyed up, but by mutual unspoken agreement, they don’t talk about the presentation until they’re actually heading into last period English.

Steve thinks idly about the evening before with Billy while Shelby Holland and Tiffany Buckton deliver their - rather impassioned - presentation on feminism in Pride and Prejudice. Or something like that. Steve tunes out when Shelby starts shouting; her shrill voice hurts his ears, and it’s difficult to actually hear what she’s saying. Instead he lets his mind wander back to Billy, the way Billy looks when he’s blushing, the sound of Billy’s laugh. The sense of pleasure that had risen up in him when Billy told him he was the first to ask about Billy’s little habit.

He’s startled by the sound of Ms Young’s crisp voice, cutting through Shelby’s diatribe. “Thank you, Miss Buckton, Miss Holland,” she says. “An interesting examination of feminist issues within the context of eighteenth century literature. Are there any questions for this pair?”

She pauses; no one in the class raises a hand. They all look, in Steve’s opinion, rather shell-shocked. 

Ms Young nods as though she didn’t really expect any questions. “Well done, ladies,” she says. “You’ll receive your grades on Monday. A round of applause—” here the class obliges with some scattered clapping “—and now, who’s next?” 

She consults her list. “Ah, yes. Mr Hargrove and Mr Harrington, let’s hear from you.”

Steve’s stomach drops abruptly to the floor in belated nervousness.

So this is it - this is the moment. Steve feels his chest pounding, his breathing coming fast and anxious. The chair makes a horrible scraping noise against the ground as he pushes it back. He glances at Billy instinctively.

“Don’t sweat it,” Billy murmurs, flashing Steve his trademark grin. It has the effect of making Steve smile, dissipating some of the little cloud of worry surrounding him. “Come on, dude - we’ve got this.”

They have. They’ve totally got this. They spent hours last night practicing their presentation, making sure they were word perfect. By the time they were done, Steve was exhausted but confident. He’s certain they’re the only pair to have put this much work into it.

It’s definitely the most work he’s ever done for a school project. It makes him feel kind of… proud. Like he’s doing something grown-up, something that will actually benefit him in the future. He thinks of Nancy, proofreading his shitty college essay that he totally cribbed from the examples the teachers gave them at the beginning of the year. She wouldn’t even recognize him now.

Billy’s stepmom - is Steve allowed to call her that? He’s not sure - had asked him about college, when he’d been round at Billy’s place on Tuesday night. He’d basically panicked. He has no fucking idea what he’s going to do when school ends. He’s still got the application forms, but after everything…

Well, college isn’t really on his radar, even though he knows his dad is expecting him to go. He doesn’t even think he wants to go. Isn’t seventeen way too young to know what he’s going to do for the rest of his life?

Steve reaches the front of the classroom. College feels big, scary, looming ahead of him like some impossible fortress barring his way, but this - this he can do. He’s practiced this.

Jesus Christ, he’s King Steve, isn’t he? It’s not been that long since he held that position. He can do this, knows how to win over a room of his classmates, even though it feels like they’re all staring at him. He and Billy represent the absolute top of the food chain at high school. More than that - Steve fought off fucking monsters a month ago. A goddamn presentation is nothing after that.

He straightens up, rolling back his shoulders and clenching his clammy hands around his notes. Billy’s right. He’s got this.

“Our presentation is on pride, and prejudice,” he says, his voice ringing out, strong and confident. He glances briefly at Billy, who has an encouraging look on his face. Steve clears his throat. “The book’s called that for a reason, so we figured those were the most important themes to explore.” In the back corner of the room, he sees Ms Young make a note on a piece of paper. “Pride - lots of the characters are proud. Sometimes it’s a good thing, sometimes it isn’t. Pride is… You can have pride in yourself, be proud of something good you’ve done, but it can also go too far, like Mr Darcy being a snob. And prejudice…” He stops, waiting.

Billy slides in effortlessly. “Prejudice is when you make a judgement before you really know something,” he says smoothly. “It’s about, like… looking at something from the outside and not bothering to find out more about it. Not making the effort to see what’s going on under the surface.”

His eyes meet Steve’s. They’re blue, light, amused. Steve smiles without meaning to.

He looks back out over their audience. Well, no one’s going to sleep quite yet.

“In this presentation, we’re going to explore how these themes affect the actions of the main characters,” he says. “So, to begin, let’s look at Mr Darcy…”

Chapter Text

“...thank you for listening. Are there any questions?” 

Steve stops speaking, looking out over the class with that cute, expectant look on his face that makes Billy’s heart flip over. He’d been brilliant, as Billy had known he would. You don’t get to be King Steve without knowing how to command a crowd, as much as it’s a skill Steve has developed unconsciously.

At the back of the class, Ms Young finishes writing, putting the cap on her pen with a soft click.

A couple of hesitant hands are going up. Steve points to one of them, a quiet bespectacled chick whose name Billy doesn’t know. “Uh, yeah, I was just wondering, like… You said, you know, that whole thing about prejudice, about how Darcy and Elizabeth both judge each other before they really know each other, right? But wouldn’t you say that Lizzy, like, judges Darcy based on the shit he does? I mean, the stuff she thinks about him isn’t unfair, right?”

Billy glances at Steve. They haven’t worked out any kind of system for who answers questions, but Steve is already diving right in, in his element. 

“Some of Lizzy’s judgements are accurate, sure,” he says confidently. “Darcy definitely does shi… stuff that makes her not like him, or whatever. But she also believes all the crap Wickham tells her about him, without actually checking to see if it’s true. And when she really gets to know Darcy—” his eyes flicker to Billy, just for a second “—she finds out there’s a lot more there, under the surface. She just had to give him a second chance.”

Billy’s throat feels tight. He swallows down the feeling. 

Ms Young stands up. “Thank you, gentlemen,” she says smoothly. “A well-crafted response. You can take a seat. Now, who’s next?”

Steve and Billy walk to their seats to the sound of applause from the class. Billy is shaking. All this time - all this work - and they’ve done it. They’ve actually done it. They read the book, they worked together, and now it’s over, and the only thing left to do is wait for the grade.

“Fuck,” Steve hisses to him as they sit down. “Jesus Christ.”

“Well done, man,” Billy whispers back.

Steve flashes him a quick smile. “You too,” he says. He smiles again, more slowly, as though just beginning to realize what it is they’ve accomplished. Billy tries to imagine what it must be like to be Steve in this moment. He himself is pleased to have finished the presentation at last, but he doesn’t have Steve’s lifetime of struggles with reading, with English work. And Steve - Steve hadn’t just coasted through it. He was magnificent.

They sit through the remaining presentations for the rest of the class. Billy is definitely biased, but he doesn’t feel like any of the others are as good as theirs. A couple of people clearly never finished reading the book. Ms Young frequently has to prompt questions, but theirs was spontaneous. He’s sure they rocked it.

Well, even if they didn’t, it’s over now. It’s done. They never have to sit and struggle over eighteenth century language together again.

Billy is an idiot for actually being disappointed about that.

When the bell rings, he’s slow to pack up his things to go. He’s still reeling a little, not quite able to believe that the thing is finished after all this time. Pride and Prejudice - if it hadn’t been for that, he and Steve would never have become friends. Steve would have just gone on hating him until the end of time.

It’s a sobering thought.

“Mr Hargrove, Mr Harrington,” Ms Young says from behind them, as Billy’s swinging his bag onto his shoulder. “I’m sure you’re anxious to go home, but if I could just detain you for a moment or two?”

Steve and Billy exchange glances. She doesn’t seem annoyed, but it’s difficult to tell with Ms Young.

She gestures them over to her desk, sitting down behind it and shuffling together her little stack of notes. Billy follows, going to stand in front of her; Steve is right beside him.

She says: “Well, the two of you certainly gave the assignment some consideration.”

Billy frowns. Steve says uncertainly, “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

Ms Young nods in a business-like sort of way. “Have either of you given any thought to the next semester?”

“The next semester?” Billy repeats.

“Indeed, Mr Hargrove,” she says crisply. “It occurs after Christmas.”

Billy just about resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah, I know,” he says. 

Ms Young raises a single eyebrow. “Mm,” she says, sounding spectacularly unimpressed by smartass students.  “Well, as I’m certain you’re aware—” she pauses, scanning them both with her penetrative glare “—we’ll be studying the sonnets of Shakespeare next semester. Of course, I assume you’ve both read them, considering that the text was on the summer reading list.”

Steve mumbles something under his breath. Billy doesn’t even bother responding.

“The project next semester is not a paired presentation,” Ms Young goes on. “It’s a written paper, to be completed independently.” She pauses, looking meaningfully between the two of them. “However, there’s no reason why two students can’t study together, or even work together while writing it. As long as the paper itself is written individually.” She pauses again, giving them both another significant look.

“Okay,” Steve says, sounding bewildered.

Billy, a little quicker on the uptake, says slowly: “Are you - are you telling us to work together on the paper next semester? As long as we submit them independently?”

Ms Young gazes at him, her face totally impassive. “Certainly not, Mr Hargrove. I would never presume to tell you how to use your study time. I’m merely providing you with information. How you choose to work on your paper next semester - if at all - is entirely up to you.”

“Yeah, but it kinda sounds like you’re advising us to do it that way,” Billy argues.

“Mr Hargrove,” Ms Young says quellingly. “I have been teaching English to seventeen-year-olds for twelve years, and in all that time, I have never been so foolish as to attempt to give them advice.” 

Billy blinks at her. Perhaps for the first time ever, he’s lost for words.

She shakes her head at him. “Now, it’s the end of the day, and I have a rather large pile of presentation assessments to do, so if you would…?” She gestures towards the door.

They walk rather stupidly out of the classroom. Billy’s mind is whirring. If she was saying what he thought she was saying - even though she fucking denied it like a total adult - well, in that case… it’s like she noticed him. Noticed them both. Goddammit, Billy has never felt quite so observed as he does at the moment, so used to adults missing what’s right under their noses - but he can’t deny there’s a tiny part of him that feels a little warmed by the whole thing. His chest is tight.

Steve says: “What do you think that was about?”

Billy laughs, because seriously, Steve Harrington is the most oblivious motherfucker on the entire fucking planet. “She thinks we work well together, and she’s saying we should keep doing it next semester,” he says. He glances at Steve, who has a frown on his face. “I mean, whatever, man, she’s just doing the teacher shit, right?”

“Right,” Steve says quickly. His eyes skitter past Billy’s face. “Right, yeah, the presentation is done, right?” He laughs, although the sound is a little forced. “No reason to put ourselves through all that shit again.”

They’ve reached Billy’s locker. Steve waits patiently while Billy puts his books away; Billy is thinking. He says cautiously as he shuts the door again: “I mean, we could. Like, if you wanted to.”

Steve gives him a swift little glance. “It’s no big deal,” he says.

Billy shrugs, the movement carefully casual. “I’m in if you are,” he says, beginning to walk towards Steve’s locker. It occurs to him that they haven’t actually discussed this synchronized exit from school; they’re just doing it like it’s normal. He likes that. He gives Steve a playful nudge with his elbow. “Pride and Prejudice turned out pretty good, right?”

“Right,” Steve says. He looks at Billy again. He’s smiling, and it makes his face light up. Billy has to look away hastily. “Yeah, okay, man. Let’s do it.”

There’s a short pause. Billy is feeling unreasonably pleased with the agreement; he searches for a new topic as they reach Steve’s locker. “Heather’s party tonight,” he comments.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “You’re still coming, yeah?”

“Of course,” Billy says. He nudges Steve again. “You’re driving, right?”

Steve laughs, opening up his locker. “Yeah,” he says. He flashes a grin. “My turn to take care of your drunk ass.”

“Please,” Billy scoffs. “Some of us can handle our liquor, princess.”

That earns him a middle finger. “You want to come to my place first?”

Another warm little jolt in Billy’s chest. He half-turns away, trying to make out like it’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal, not really, and yet it feels so fucking good to have Steve like this, to have a Steve who wants him around, who wants to be Billy’s friend so openly. “Sure, yeah,” he says a little croakily. “I have to pick Max up first.”

“I’ll follow you,” Steve says easily. “You can leave your car at home if you want. I’ll take you back tomorrow morning.”

Tomorrow morning. Like Billy staying over is such a commonplace thing to happen that Steve doesn’t even have to question it. Billy nods, just barely able to school his expression into something more casual. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “After you, princess.”

Steve’s brilliant answering smile makes the punch in the arm fully worth it.

*

Steve can’t stop looking at Billy’s goddamn face. He can’t stop smiling. From the moment he walked back to his seat after finally finishing the presentation, he’s been feeling it - this spreading warmth, this sense of accomplishment, this bubbling well of happiness inside him. He had no idea it would mean this much.

Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s just Billy. Steve can’t be sure.

He follows him to the middle school and then home, waiting in the car while Billy picks up some clothes. Neil’s car isn’t outside the house. That doesn’t surprise Steve. It feels like the kind of day that it would be impossible to ruin, so of course Billy’s dad isn’t here. He can’t be. 

They don’t really speak much on the way back to Steve’s place. Steve’s fingers are tingling on the steering wheel, like he’s got electricity running through his veins. He feels… exuberant, fizzing with excitement and pleasure and potential, like he’s already drunk. Yeah, like he’s drunk - the way he felt a couple weeks back at Derrick’s party. Warm and happy and ready for the evening ahead. He has high hopes for Heather’s thing being just as good, even if he can’t drink.

Billy mostly just looks out of the window as Steve drives through the quickly darkening trees, although every so often he glances over, his eyes dancing and a smile on his face.

Steve wants to say something. He wants to acknowledge what they’ve achieved. They’ve worked so goddamn hard on this presentation, and now it’s done, and even though Ms Young didn’t explicitly say that they did well on it he’s pretty sure she implied it, and all of it happened because of Billy—

He has no idea how to express any of that.

He parks outside the house. It’s not even four yet, but it’s already dark and freezing outside. Winter is setting in properly, and Steve won’t be surprised if it snows in the next few days. They’ve been lucky to get this far into the year without it. He’s not a huge fan of the cold weather; he jumps out of the car quickly, heading straight for the warmth of the house. Billy is right behind him.

Billy stamps his feet on the front porch mat while Steve lets them inside and switches on the hall lights. At this time of year he’s got the heating on all day, so the room is cozy and warm. Steve kneels down to take off his shoes, trying not to look at Billy as he peels off his jacket.

There’s a weighty pause after they’re finished, when they’re both standing there with their outdoor clothes removed. Billy stands by the front door, Steve facing him a little further down the hall. Billy’s hair looks tangled and untidy, and Steve has the oddest urge to touch it - to run his fingers through it. He shakes his head. For some reason, his heart is thumping.

The silence stretches on. It doesn’t feel awkward, exactly - but there’s a strange tension between them. Not bad, definitely not bad - but heavy. Steve’s breath is coming in strange short pants.

Then Billy grins, and it breaks the atmosphere. Eyes on Steve, he says: “Congrats, man.”

Steve lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Jesus, dude, you too,” he says sincerely.

There’s the slightest pause, and then somehow - Steve can’t be sure who steps forward first - they’re hugging.

Steve has held Billy’s hand. He’s had his arm around Billy’s shoulders, and vice versa. They’ve even shared a bed. But actually hugging him - wrapping his arms around Billy’s body, feeling the warmth of him, the mess of his hair tickling the side of his face - feels like something else. It feels like a level of friendship Steve’s never had with anyone, even though it’s not like Billy’s the first person he’s ever hugged. He and Tommy hugged it out only a couple of weeks ago, for fuck’s sake - but this isn’t like that.

It isn’t like that, because hugging Billy isn’t the same as hugging Tommy. He’s hyper-aware of Billy’s breath, right by his ear. He can feel Billy’s heartbeat. His fist is clenched around the back of Billy’s shirt, Billy’s chin tucked over his shoulder, Billy’s whole body pressed up against him. This isn’t a couple of bros hugging it out. This is a real hug, a proper embrace, and Steve kind of hopes it’ll never end.

Of course, it has to end, and Steve pretends that he doesn’t care when Billy steps away. He shouldn’t care. It’s not… not normal, for two guys to hug like that. They hugged way too long for it to be casual. It didn’t feel casual. But Steve can’t say any of that.

He can’t look at Billy. He has no idea if the hug felt the same way to Billy as it did to him.

“You mind if I take a shower?” Billy says, when there’s been enough of a silence for it to be weird.

“Sure, yeah, of course,” Steve says. He glances at Billy and then hastily away. Billy is still standing extremely close to him. “You need me to get you a towel, or whatever?”

Billy’s eyes, as always, seem very blue. When Steve looks into them, his stomach clenches painfully. “No, that’s cool,” Billy says slowly. “I got it.”

“Okay,” Steve says. He can hear the quickness of his breaths in his voice. “Okay, so… so yeah, okay, let’s shower, and then I’ll make some dinner?”

He must sound like a moron, but Billy doesn’t laugh at him. He just nods, his eyes never leaving Steve’s face. “Yeah,” he says. “Sounds good.”

Of course, they still have to walk up the same stairs. Steve is just ahead of Billy, suddenly desperate to escape into his room; he hears Billy open the door to the guest room, but doesn’t turn around to see him go inside. Once he’s safely shut inside his bedroom, he walks straight over to the bed and collapses on top of it.

Something is seriously wrong with him. Steve rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Why is he feeling this way? Jesus Christ, he’s spent two weeks ignoring the way his body reacts every time he’s near Billy, but this - it’s like he can’t pretend it’s not happening anymore. But what the fuck is it? Why is he simultaneously so happy and so fucking nervous around Billy, why does he keep noticing stuff about Billy like the color of his eyes and the way his cheek dimples when he’s smiling? Why can’t he get Billy goddamn Hargrove out of his head?

Why doesn’t he want to?

He stays like that, unmoving, a confused swirl of thoughts buzzing through his brain like a swarm of bees, until Billy taps on his bedroom door and calls through to let him know that he’s done in the shower. He waits a moment or two for the click that tells him Billy’s gone into his own room, and then heads for the bathroom.

A shower will help. The hot water will wash away all the fucking weirdness in his head, and then he can just focus on the party. The party, where he’s going to have the same awesome time he did a fortnight ago. He’s going to hang out with his friends, play some sober beer pong, dance his ass off. It’s going to be a good goddamn time.

He can’t explain why he doesn’t believe it. Why he doesn’t want to go.

He stands in the shower for a long time, letting the water fall around him. It doesn’t help the way he was hoping it would. He thinks about the fact that ten minutes ago, Billy was standing in exactly the same place as he was. When he rubs the soap across his chest, it’s still wet from Billy using it first.

At last, when his fingers are starting to look like prunes, Steve shuts off the water and steps out of the bathtub. He grabs a towel and starts to dry his hair, shaking his head in annoyance. He’s still feeling it - that strange combination of warmth and frustration, that fizzing, rushing tightness in his belly, that sensation that he should be able to figure this out, he should understand it - but he doesn’t. He can’t. And it’s not going away.

He takes his time getting dressed. For some reason he can’t explain - because he doesn’t seem to be able to explain anything at the moment - he’s nervous about leaving his bedroom. He’s anxious about the prospect of going downstairs and seeing Billy again. He picks out his clothes with care, spends time styling his hair. Then he stalls, sitting on the edge of his bed for ten minutes or so.

This is ridiculous. It’s Billy down there. Steve’s best friend. Sarcastic, quick-witted, hilarious - and totally not scary. Steve shakes himself and stands up. He’s not hiding up in his room just because his body is having some kind of reaction he doesn’t understand. He’s not a child.

He walks downstairs and into the kitchen. Billy is sitting at the table, but he gets up as Steve comes in.

Steve’s throat suddenly feels strangely dry. Billy is wearing a tight black tee with dark jeans. His hair is lying in damp curls around his shoulders, his chin smooth from a recent shave. His arms look strong and brown as he folds them across his broad chest.

“Hey,” Steve says. His voice sounds weird to his own ears.

“Hey,” Billy replies. His eyes flick up and down Steve briefly. “Took your time.”

Steve takes a step forward. The odd, heavy tension he felt in the hallway before escaping upstairs is still there. “Yeah, sorry,” he makes himself say. He gestures towards the refrigerator. “You want something to eat?”

“Yeah, man, I’m starving,” Billy says. His voice is easy, relaxed - but there’s something underneath it as well. Whatever is going on between them right now, Steve’s not the only one feeling it. He’s sure of it. Billy’s just better at hiding it than Steve is.

There’s not very much food in the house; it’s been a while since Steve went shopping. He digs around in the freezer for a couple of Swanson TV dinners rather than attempt to find something more complicated to cook. 

Billy sits back down at the table, glancing at the meals. “We actually watching something tonight?”

“I mean, yeah, sure, man,” Steve says, bending down to turn on the oven. The suggestion fills him with a certain sense of relief; at least if they’re watching a movie, he doesn’t have to struggle to act normal, to figure out what to say to Billy. “You want to pick something? My parents have some videotapes in the lounge.”

A beat. “Yeah, okay,” Billy says at last. He slides off his chair, heading for the door. Steve deliberately doesn’t watch him go.

They eat the TV dinners in true traditional style, on their laps in front of Alien. Steve has actually seen it before, but he doesn’t say anything as Billy pushes the tape into the player. He draws the curtains closed, switching on the floor lamp in the corner of the room. Even though Steve’s lounge is pretty spacious, it still feels close and cozy in the muted light.

Steve spends the first ten minutes of the movie feeling pretty pissed off with himself. It’s the first time since he and Billy became friends that he’s felt this tongue-tied. They should be laughing together the way they usually do, bantering back and forth, Billy making fun of Steve and calling him a princess - but instead there’s this strange, oppressive silence hanging between them. 

He doesn’t know what to make of it. And he doesn’t know how to make it go away.

The movie does nothing to dissipate the tension the way he’d hoped. Instead it almost seems to exacerbate it: the stillness of the dark room, the loud tinny noises coming from the television, all serve to emphasize the weird new distance between them. Steve can barely focus on Sigourney Weaver, too distracted by the closeness and weight of Billy’s body on the couch just a few feet away from him. He can hear every breath Billy takes.

It’s fucking torture, and he doesn’t even know why.

At last, at last, after two hours of unbearable currents running between them like electricity, the credits start to roll. Not for the first time, Steve glances up at the clock on the mantelpiece; it’s nearly eight thirty, an acceptable time to head out to a party. There’s just one problem.

He doesn’t want to go.

It makes no fucking sense. The entire afternoon has been excruciating, leaving Steve speechless for the first time in his entire relationship with Billy. Even when they were fighting, they always had something to say to each other. Now, right at the moment that they should be celebrating, with the presentation finally behind them - now, suddenly, it’s awkward. Painful. Steve should be racing out of the door, ready to leave all the uncomfortable silences behind him. But he’s not.

He’s not. Because somehow, underneath all that, there’s something else mixed in. Something he doesn’t understand, something connected to the ways that being around Billy makes him excited and happy. And he doesn’t want to leave it behind. He doesn’t want to leave Billy behind.

There’s no way of articulating that to Billy that won’t sound fucking insane, so Steve stands up reluctantly and goes over to the TV to start rewinding the tape.

“I guess we should get going,” Billy says. There’s an odd hesitation in his voice.

God, this is weird. It’s so weird not being able to talk to Billy. “Yeah,” Steve says hoarsely. “Let’s go.”

So they do. They put the video away and throw away the remains of their dinner and brush their teeth. Steve runs a last minute comb through his hair and picks up his keys. Billy shrugs on his jacket and Steve tries not to look at him. They do all the things they’re supposed to be doing right before a party - everything except talking. There’s no banter, no excitable chatter, the way there was last time. They might as well be on their way to a funeral.

It can’t just be Steve. Surely, surely, if it was just Steve, Billy would have commented on the weird atmosphere by now.

He gets into the car. It’s cold inside, cold enough that Steve automatically pulls his jacket a little tighter around himself, cranking up the heat. Billy instantly puts his hands up in front of the heaters; Steve looks away.

“You know where it is, right?” Billy says.

“Yeah,” Steve says. He knows where Heather Green lives. It’s not far - maybe ten minutes away. Nowhere in Hawkins is very far.

They lapse back into silence. Billy holds onto the grab handle and looks out of the window. Abstractly, Steve sees that he’s gripping so tightly that his knuckles are white.

He drives back towards town, weaving down the lonely road that winds through the woods. He should be afraid of these woods. He’s seen too many things happen here. But Billy is with him, and in spite of the taut atmosphere surrounding them right now, Steve feels safe with Billy. Even though everything about what’s going on with them right now feels unendurable, there’s still nowhere Steve wants to be more.

It’s ridiculous. But it’s true.

Heather lives closer to town than Steve does, on a wide sweeping avenue near the Henderson place. As they approach, they start to see cars they recognize parked along the street. From everything that Steve has heard around school, it’s not going to be such a big rager as Derrick’s party, but there are still a fair few people here. Heather’s front door is open, and there are lights on inside.

There’s an empty spot a few feet away, and Steve pulls into it. He sits there, his hands on the steering wheel, looking up at the house. His friends are in there, or at least the people he used to think of as friends. Tommy and Carol, provided that they’re still pretending everything is fine between them. Derrick, Chris, Jerry, all following along wherever Tommy leads. Girls - so many girls. Heather, of course, as hostess - ready to flirt with him, push her tits out, sidle up to him with her mouth sticky with lipstick and her legs going on for miles.

He should want this. He should want to walk inside.

“Are we going in?” Billy’s voice is very, very soft.

“Yeah,” Steve says. But he doesn’t move.

They wait. The clock on the dash ticks over another three minutes, the sound loud in the stillness of the dark car. Steve still hasn’t taken his hands off the steering wheel.

“Steve,” Billy says quietly.

Steve casts him a quick glance, and then looks back at the house. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, we should go in.” He hesitates. He just needs to take his hands off the wheel - open the door - go into the house. He just needs to move.

He says: “Or—”

“Or?” Billy repeats, his voice barely a whisper, but Steve can’t explain it. He can’t say what he means by that or - because what else would they do but go inside? What else can they do?

For the first time since they started eating dinner, Steve turns to look at Billy properly. Really looks at him, looks at his face and his mouth and his troubled eyes. Or, he’d said. Or what?

What does he want to do?

He wants to reach out. He wants to stretch out his hand, across the great barrier of space between them - and in a sudden reckless moment he does.

He reaches out, and puts his hand on Billy’s knee.

Chapter Text

Billy can’t breathe.

Steve’s hand is on his leg, and he can’t breathe.

He’s been feeling it all afternoon, ever since he arrived at Steve’s place after school. Ever since that hug in Steve’s front hall, that sudden crush of Steve’s warm body against his own - a hug that lasted way too long for it not to be weird. Billy’s wanted Steve for a while, but this afternoon his wanting soared up to a ridiculous level, so much so that he could barely speak to Steve all evening.

He knew Steve had noticed. He expected him to make some kind of inane, Steve Harrington-esque comment about it. What he didn’t anticipate was Steve’s own brand of awkwardness to be reflected back at him all afternoon, so that by the time they left for the party there was a whole boiling pile of steaming tension between them that Billy had no idea what to do with. He had no idea what it meant.

But now Steve’s hand is on his leg. And Billy can’t breathe.

Steve is looking at him, but not at his face. He’s looking at Billy’s knee, where his hand rests. It was deliberate, the way he’d reached out. Billy had seen him come to the decision, watched the thoughts forming on his face before he’d done it. He doesn’t think Steve really knows what he’s doing or why he’s doing it - but he is doing it.

They’re supposed to be at Heather Green’s party right now. There are cars all around them, cars belonging to the popular kids from school, all gathered in her lounge drinking beer and acting stupid together. They’re supposed to be in there too.

Or, Steve said. Or what?

All this time, Billy’s been so certain that he’s the only one who feels the way he does. He’s tortured himself with it, because the idea that Steve - that anyone, but Steve especially - could want that - want him - has just been so impossible. So insane. But now—

“Yeah,” Billy half-whispers blindly. He has no idea what he’s agreeing to, but he has to agree. Whatever Steve is doing - Billy agrees.

When Steve lifts his hand off Billy’s knee, his whole leg tingles. Very slowly, as if he’s forgotten how to use it properly, Steve puts his hand on the gearstick. There’s a gentle rumble as the car pulls away and down the street.

The silence is electric. Billy is afraid to move, afraid to breathe. Steve drives back down the road that leads away from town, back through the thick dark trees that punctuate the chilly horizon. The night is cloudy, only Steve’s headlights illuminating the way. Billy looks straight ahead. He doesn’t dare glance at Steve.

What is Steve thinking right now? In spite of himself, a shiver of something like hope - the promise of something good to come - runs through him.

It feels like a long time before they get back to Steve’s place, even though it can’t be longer than a quarter of an hour. Billy keeps thinking that Steve is going to turn the car around, take them back to the party, say that it’s all been a mistake - but he doesn’t. He just keeps driving, and when he gets back to his house, he parks outside like he never intended to go to the party at all.

Maybe he didn’t. There’s never been a party Billy’s been less anxious to get to. He just had no idea Steve felt the same way.

What the fuck is going to happen now?

He sits in the stationary car, unsure of what he should be doing. He doesn’t think Steve really knows what to do either; he’s sitting in the driver’s seat with his hands on the steering wheel, staring up at his house the same way he had at Heather’s place.

Billy thinks he gets it. Waiting outside a house - that’s one thing. If he gets out of the car, if he goes inside - then he’s making a choice. 

The moment stretches on and on. Billy can’t - he can’t decide, he can’t choose this for Steve, as much as he wants to. He’s desperate to know what will happen if they go inside - but it’s not up to him.

Then Steve’s hands jerk off the wheel, and he unbuckles his seatbelt. He says, voice throaty: “We should - we should go in.”

“Yeah,” Billy croaks. He swallows, and reaches down to click open his own seatbelt. “Yeah, okay.”

They get out of the car. Steve dawdles as he locks the door. Billy shoves his hands into his pockets, waiting. Waiting for Steve to take the lead. At last, Steve starts walking up towards the front door, Billy close on his heels. Billy tries to look at his face, but Steve is walking quickly, his shoulders hunched over against the cold. He unlocks the door with slightly shaking hands.

Once inside, Billy takes off his shoes and jacket out of habit. Steve does the same, his back turned so that Billy can’t see his face. They stand there in the front hall, neither of them looking at each other. Billy’s chest feels tight, his heart pounding. They’ve stepped through the threshold now. Whatever happens now is going to change things. He can feel it.

“I think—” Steve cuts himself off, half-turning. He coughs, running a hand through his hair. His eyes skitter about, unable to meet Billy’s. “I think I’m going to hang out upstairs.”

The ghost of a pause. Billy sucks in a quick, short breath. He feels a little like he’s not actually in the room - like he’s floating somewhere else, watching himself live this moment, because this can’t really be happening.

“Okay,” he says.

Steve starts climbing the stairs. He’s moving slowly, his arms hanging stiffly by his side. Billy follows behind him like a ghost.

The landing upstairs seems ridiculously long. Steve doesn’t turn as he walks down it, but he must be aware of Billy right behind him. There’s something unnatural in the set of his shoulders, the way he’s holding himself. Neither of them know what’s happening right now - but they both know it’s something. 

Steve reaches his bedroom. He reaches out, pushes the door open; Billy follows him inside. Once there, Steve looks from side to side like he’s not sure quite what to do with himself. Billy knows the feeling. He’s still having trouble breathing normally.

At last, Steve walks over to the bed and - without looking at Billy - lets his legs fold underneath him, collapsing into a sitting position on the floor and leaning up against the bed behind him. He draws his knees up to his chest and looks pointedly away from Billy. 

There’s a space beside him on the floor.

It’s so, so difficult to step into it without an invitation. Billy still doesn’t really know what Steve wants, and he’s terrified of doing the wrong thing. But he’s always been afraid of that with Steve - and he hasn’t gone wrong yet, as improbable as that seems. He steps forward, and sits down beside Steve.

The space between them is negligible. Billy can feel the heat of Steve’s body.

There’s a clock somewhere in Steve’s room. Billy has never noticed it before, which is unusual for him, but now the only sound is the gentle ticking as the seconds go by. When Billy glances at Steve, he sees that his hand - the same hand that had reached out to touch Billy’s knee - is trembling.

They’re supposed to be at the party. Instead they’re sitting here in the quiet stillness of Steve’s bedroom - dark, because Steve hasn’t turned on any of the lights, but with a dim muted light coming in at the window where the curtains aren’t drawn. Billy is acutely aware of his breathing, the movement of his chest rising and falling. He moves his face fractionally nearer to Steve - and it seems like Steve does the same, because they feel just the tiniest bit closer to each other than they were before.

The clock ticks for a while longer, the minutes sliding by. Billy can’t help himself; he keeps glancing at Steve, and every time he does he feels like his heart is about to jump out of his chest. Steve’s hands are still shaking, his knees up by his chin, but he doesn’t look upset. He doesn’t look like he wants to be somewhere else. He looks the way Billy feels - like he doesn’t know what’s going on.

Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

He turns his face to look at Steve. Steve is sitting so close, close enough to touch - close enough that Billy could count the moles studding the side of his face if he wanted. His skin looks soft and warm. Billy closes his eyes. The proximity is torture, but it makes him feel an odd kind of peace as well. He’s in love with Steve. Being around him is always going to make him feel at home.

This time, when he looks at Steve, Steve meets his eyes.

Billy has wanted Steve for so long now that it’s become commonplace. He’s developed strategies for playing off the way his heart beats too fast when they’re sitting together, for avoiding dropping the slightest hint of how he feels so that they can stay friends. One of those strategies is to try not to spend too long looking into Steve’s eyes. He’s always been too afraid of what he’ll reveal.

But he’s looking now. And Steve is looking back, their faces mere inches apart. Billy can’t quite make out the expression on his face, but there’s no mistaking the way he’s gazing at Billy, deep and intense.

His eyes flicker down to Billy’s mouth. The movement is so sudden that Billy almost misses it - but then it happens again.

Billy’s heart is thumping so loudly that he’s sure Steve must be able to hear it. It doesn’t matter. Whatever Steve wants, Billy wants it too. He just wants Steve. It’s never, ever even occurred to him to hope that Steve might want him too. Even now, he can’t quite let himself believe in the possibility—

Steve kisses him.

It happens so gently that Billy can’t quite pinpoint how it begins. They’re sitting so close together, Steve’s eyes searching his face - and then Steve moves forward, closing the distance between them in a matter of moments, and his mouth finds Billy’s in a hot, sweet rush of contact.

For a second, Billy actually loses his breath, gasping audibly. The sound seems to spur Steve on. He presses against Billy a little more forcefully, his lips opening a little around Billy’s. Pleasure ripples through him, and he shuts his eyes, leaning into the kiss.

Steve’s lips are soft like a girl’s, but the similarities stop there. His chin is square and hard, and his Adam’s apple is brushing against the side of Billy’s neck. Billy can feel the roughness of his stubble, the broadness of his shoulders. The distinct lack of breasts. It sends a thrill straight to his groin, because Billy has been fantasizing about kissing Steve for weeks now, but he’s been fantasizing about kissing a man for far longer than that. He never thought he’d get this.

The fact that it’s Steve only makes it sweeter. Billy has to hold back a moan as Steve lifts his hand to wrap around the back of Billy’s head, his fingers tangling in Billy’s hair. The feeling of it sends shivers through his body, a desperate fizzing pleasure that pools in the pit of his belly, and he wants more of it. He needs more. He reaches out, his hands finding Steve’s shoulders, and pulls him closer.

Steve groans, deep and low, and the sound goes straight to Billy’s cock.

His lips part, and Steve - as if he’s been waiting to do it - slides his tongue into Billy’s mouth. It should feel just like kissing a girl, but it doesn’t. No girl has ever kissed him like this. He’s never felt strong fingers digging into his skull, or a large hand coming up to tug greedily at his collar. Billy presses himself forward, his nose crushed against Steve’s cheek. He can’t think - can barely breathe - only able to feel and move and slide against Steve’s skin.

He wants more. Steve wants more, because he starts to stand, tugging insistently at Billy so that they scrabble at the edge of the bed until they’re sitting on it rather than beside it. Steve scoots backwards towards the pillows, pulling at Billy’s shirt so that he’s forced to follow. The whole time, they’re still kissing frantically, fiercely, mouths pressed together warm and delicious. Billy chases Steve’s lips, half-falling on top of him as they kiss. He can’t think about anything except the heat of Steve’s mouth, the feel of Steve’s hands on him.

Steve rolls them over, pushing Billy down into the mattress, his fingers tearing through Billy’s hair. Billy gasps loudly; he can’t help it. It feels fucking incredible, having Steve’s hands holding down his shoulders, their hips pushed together. He feels small, completely out of control, because Steve has taken over. Steve is bigger than him, stronger than him. 

Once, not so long ago, Billy saw the first glimpse of King Steve and cheered at the sight of it. He didn’t know it then, but maybe this was what he’d wanted, even then. Not the fight. A different kind of challenge - one where they both get to win.

Steve bends down, attacking Billy’s mouth with his own, and Billy lets out another ragged moan.

At the sound of it, Steve grinds down into Billy’s hips. The movement creates friction against Billy’s cock; oddly, Billy was only half-hard, too distracted from everything else to have the attention span for an erection, but at the touch that changes in an instant. His hard-on is almost painful, but it’s the sweetest kind of pain. Steve ruts against him again - he’s hard too. Billy bucks his hips, fingers scrabbling at Steve’s shoulders, desperately drawing him in for more.

A part of him - the tiny part that somehow still has the capacity for conscious thought - hopes that Steve will do something more than just kiss him. Wants Steve to touch him, to do something about his bulging, throbbing arousal. The other part of him is afraid of it. Kissing Steve - kissing a boy - is exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time, and Billy’s not sure he has the courage for more yet.

He thinks maybe Steve feels the same way, because he pushes up against Billy’s cock once more, and then lifts away. He doesn’t stop kissing him, though. By now, Billy’s mouth is tingling, raw from kissing. Maybe Steve feels it too, because he draws away a little and starts to mouth at Billy’s neck instead of his lips, his teeth scraping the underside of Billy’s chin. Billy shivers and moans, the sensation washing through him like an electric current.

He wants - he wants everything. He wants this. This is everything he’s been wanting for far too long, and the euphoria of actually getting to have it is threatening to burst out of his chest like an explosion of fireworks.

Steve’s mouth finds his earlobe, sucking for a moment before he returns to Billy’s throat. It shouldn’t feel so goddamn delicious. Steve’s technique is rough, sloppy, all over the place, like he’s drunk on arousal, like the taste of Billy’s skin is overwhelming him. Yet every touch of his lips makes Billy shiver and tingle, his whole body quivering with the sensation of it. He’s no longer aware of the noises he knows he must be making. He’s losing all coherency, all thought. There’s only Steve.

It’s not supposed to be like this. Billy’s always the one in control. Every girl he’s ever slept with, that’s how it’s been. He’s the one who takes the lead. He’s the one pulling the strings. And the girls love it; it’s never crossed his mind to do it any other way. Why would it? If he’s leading the show, then he knows exactly what’s going to happen.

But this - with Steve, it’s different. Steve isn’t giving him a chance to assert himself, and honestly Billy doesn’t want to. Not knowing what will happen next - not knowing is making him hard, horny, desperate. Waiting to see where Steve’s mouth will land next - his lips, his throat, his collarbone. Looking up from his vulnerable position and meeting Steve’s eyes, dark and frantic.

He wants Steve. He’s dreamed about Steve. Now he has Steve, has the reality of him, hot and heavy and greedy.

His last coherent thought before he sinks into the delicious, tantalising taste of Steve’s mouth is to pray he never loses him.

Chapter Text

Steve wakes up with a start. His eyes pop open as if someone had doused him in cold water, and he’s instantly, fully awake like he’s on his third cup of coffee. He lifts his head up, looking around the room for a moment, and then drops back onto the pillow. He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands.

Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ.

Slowly, Steve turns his head to the side. Billy is lying there asleep as Steve knew he would be, his face turned towards Steve, his chest rising and falling gently as he slumbers on. He’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes - they both are - but Steve can see the faint mark of a hickey on Billy’s collarbone.

He put that there. He sucked on Billy’s neck until it bruised. That was him.

Steve’s heart thuds painfully in his chest, his throat constricting. What the hell happened to him last night? How did he get here? Billy is asleep in his bed - it’s not for the first time, of course, but this time - this time it’s not because Billy stormed in in the middle of the night. It’s not because they were tired and forgot where they were.

He kissed Billy last night. He leaned over and kissed him, just like that.

And Billy kissed him back.

Steve glances over at Billy again. He looks… Steve can’t quite articulate how he looks. There’s something about the peaceful set of his face that makes Steve’s stomach flip over, and he’s arrested by the sudden desire to reach out, to touch the soft skin of Billy’s cheek, to tuck a stray curl behind his ear. He swallows. What’s wrong with him? The stuff he wants to do with Billy - the stuff he has done with Billy - that’s the stuff he used to do with Nancy. That’s the stuff you do with a girlfriend.

Billy’s not his girlfriend. Billy can’t be his girlfriend. Billy’s a guy. What does that say about Steve? Steve’s no queer.

“Harrington,” Billy grumbles. Steve looks sharply over to him; he still has his eyes closed. “Stop thinking so loudly, I’m trying to sleep.”

Steve looks back up at the ceiling. How can Billy be so calm? He’s just lying there like everything that happened didn’t happen, like it’s totally normal to spend the whole evening making out with another guy instead of going to Heather Green’s party. Like it’s totally normal to like it.

Because that’s the worst part. Steve liked it. He liked kissing Billy. He liked the way Billy tasted like cigarettes and mouthwash. He liked the way Billy’s face felt in his hands, his body underneath Steve’s. He liked the heady, powerful way it made him feel to kiss Billy, to press into him—

Steve swallows, and looks pointedly in the opposite direction to Billy. Jesus Christ, thinking about it is turning him on.

It can’t be turning him on. This isn’t - Steve isn’t like this.

He glances back at Billy; he’s gone back to sleep. Billy isn’t - Billy isn’t freaking out. Why isn’t Billy freaking out?

Then again—

“Steve,” Steve says hoarsely.

Billy’s eyes pop open. He looks disgruntled. “What?”

“Steve,” Steve repeats. “You called me Harrington.” If Billy called him Harrington… maybe he’s not quite as calm as he’s pretending. “You’re not asleep.” 

There’s a moment where Billy appears to be deciding whether or not he should try and deny it. Then he gives a little sigh, and rolls onto his back. “Busted.”

“Moron,” Steve scoffs. Billy gives him the finger. Steve laughs - and then stops himself. For a moment he’d almost forgotten - almost thought that things could be the same. That they could just mess around, tease each other.

He almost wants to cry. He doesn’t want that to go away.

There’s a long silence. He has no idea what to say. His instincts are crying out to fake it, to pretend like nothing happened - but somehow Steve doesn’t want to do that with Billy. Their whole friendship thus far has been based on the fact that they’ve talked about things, told the truth about things - even right at the beginning. Steve remembers telling Billy about his fight with Jonathan, remembers how refreshing it felt to be able to tell someone.

Even now, he’s not willing to change that dynamic.

“Steve,” Billy says quietly. 

When Steve turns towards him, he finds Billy watching him. There’s something in his eyes - something wary that makes Steve’s chest ache. Is Billy scared about the same things he is? He doesn’t want them not to be friends anymore. He just doesn’t understand what happened.

“I’m sorry about the party,” Steve says in a rush. It’s fucking inane, he knows it is, but it feels like the safest part to latch onto. He has no idea how to even begin with the rest.

He kissed Billy. He got hard, kissing Billy.

Billy’s face twists. “Are you?”

He tries to think about it. Is he sorry they missed the party? It’s hard to consider it properly; the memory of Billy’s body, pliant and warm underneath him, keeps rising up in his mind. “I don’t know,” he says.

“Okay,” Billy says. Steve doesn’t like the way his voice sounds, unsure and uncomfortable.

It’s distracting, talking about this while they’re still in bed. Steve wants to do it again. He shouldn’t, but he does. He wants to lean over again, to kiss Billy, to feel his mouth again. But there’s no cover of darkness to make it easy this time. The sunshine is pouring in through the window, and Steve’s not brave enough. He doesn’t know how he found the courage last time. 

Somehow, he’d been totally certain about it. It was what he wanted, but more than that, it was what Billy wanted too. In the cold light of day, it’s difficult to feel so sure.

Billy is still watching him. He kissed Steve back. He could have pushed him away, asked him what the hell he was doing - but he kissed him back.

“I don’t—” Steve begins, but he has no idea how to finish that sentence. “What - what happened?” he says at last. “What did we do?”

For a long moment, Billy doesn’t answer. His eyes search Steve’s face, as if trying to figure out if it’s actually a serious question. Yeah, of course Steve knows, technically, what they did - but he can’t make sense of it. He can’t make sense of the fact that he wanted to do it, that he liked it, it felt good - and he wants to do it again.

“You kissed me,” Billy says eventually. Hearing him say it out loud makes Steve’s stomach clench.

“Yeah,” he says huskily. “I know, I just—”

“You wanted to,” Billy interrupts a touch defensively. “I didn’t - I didn’t make you do it.”

Steve blinks at him, startled. Make him do it? How could Billy make him do it? “Of course not, man,” he says. “But - I haven’t - I’ve never—” He pauses, struck by a sudden thought. What he’s trying to explain, of course, is that he’s never even thought of - of kissing a boy. He likes girls, only girls, and Billy isn’t a girl, so the fact that Steve wanted to kiss him makes no fucking sense - all of which ought to be pretty obvious, really. He’d assumed it was the same for Billy. But is it?

I didn’t make you do it. Why did Billy say that? Steve frowns, trying to force his sluggish thoughts into some sort of order. Billy looks nervous, wary, uncertain - but he doesn’t look confused. He doesn’t appear to be grappling with the same utter bewilderment as Steve. He looks more like - more like he’s afraid of what Steve is going to say.

“You’ve done it before,” Steve realizes with a gasp.

Billy sits up. “What?”

Steve pushes himself up into a sitting position as well. “You’ve done it before!” he repeats accusingly. “That - with me - you’re a guy!”

Billy raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, no shit, princess,” he says dryly.

“You’re a guy,” Steve repeats a little pathetically. “I don’t—”

“Obviously you do,” Billy cuts in. He sounds almost bored. “You did.”

Steve frowns at his tone. “But—”

“Look, Harrington—”

Steve doesn’t lose his temper very often. Even when he does, it usually takes quite a bit to rile him up. But nothing, nothing could have prepared him for everything that happened last night, and he’s feeling scared and confused and weirdly horny, and confused about being horny, and like he wants to hug Billy but also maybe run away and hide, and he doesn’t know what to do and now for the umpteenth time Billy won’t use his fucking name—

He explodes.

“Don’t call me that!” he yells. “Jesus fucking Christ, how many goddamn times? My name is Steve. Stop - stop trying to pretend you don’t give a shit, and call me by my fucking name!” Billy opens his mouth to say something, but Steve is on a roll. “What the hell is wrong with you, huh? Do you just do this shit on purpose to piss me off? Is that - that’s what happened last night, right? It’s bullshit, Billy. It’s bullshit. We should have gone to the fucking party, and then - then none of this shit would have happened, and I could just be normal and have normal friends—”

He stops. Billy’s face is white. Suddenly, Steve feels sick. Why did he say that? He didn’t mean any of that.

What has he done?

Billy drops his head. Very carefully, he slides out of Steve’s bed. He doesn’t look around, doesn’t say a word, and as he heads for the door Steve realizes with a sickening lurch that he’s about to leave.

He’s about to leave, and if he does - if Steve lets him walk away - it’s over. They’re not friends anymore. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows.

“Billy,” he calls. Billy’s back stiffens, but he doesn’t stop. “Billy, wait, please, come on. I’m sorry. Please.”

Steve can’t - he can’t let this be over. He can’t let Billy walk away. He doesn’t understand what happened last night, he can’t make sense of his own head, but Billy’s too important to lose. Right now, that’s the only thing Steve’s sure of.

Billy has stopped right by the door. He doesn’t turn around. His shoulders are hunched, and as Steve scrambles out of bed and goes over to him, he sees that Billy is shaking. He bites into his lower lip, hard enough to taste blood. How could he say those things to Billy? To Billy, who hears that kind of shitty nasty crap from his dad every day. 

“I’m sorry,” he says earnestly. He almost reaches out to touch Billy’s shoulder, but thinks better of it. “I’m really sorry, man, I didn’t mean any of that. I’m just…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Billy says thickly. He still doesn’t turn around.

Steve is an asshole. He reaches out, taking Billy’s elbow. “Just - come and sit down, okay? I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m freaking out, man, but I shouldn’t have said that shit.”

He’s not sure what he’ll do if Billy refuses to be guided to the bed - but fortunately Billy doesn’t refuse. He walks stiffly, not shaking off Steve’s arm but clearly not inviting the touch either. His eyes look distinctly wet, and Steve hates himself. He hates himself, because he’s supposed to be the person who doesn’t say this kind of shit to Billy. He knows Billy better than anyone.

They perch on the edge of the bed; Steve releases Billy’s arm, and Billy draws it back swiftly into his lap. He’s still sitting rigidly, and he won’t meet Steve’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again helplessly.

Billy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I get it, you don’t have to keep saying it,” he says tightly. “Steve.”

Well, Steve probably deserved that. “I didn’t mean it,” he says. “I didn’t want to go to the party. I don’t want normal friends.”

At that, Billy gives a slightly wet-sounding laugh. “Jesus,” he mutters. “Didn’t realize I was so abnormal.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Steve exclaims, before he realizes that Billy is smiling. He shakes his head. “Ass.”

Billy raises his eyebrows. “Pot, kettle,” he says dryly.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Billy says. His shoulders have relaxed. “It’s fine, man. Whatever.”

It’s not fine. Steve doesn’t feel fine about it. But he doesn’t know how to get back onto solid ground. He kissed Billy last night. Billy has obviously done it before - Billy isn’t freaking out about it the way Steve is. Billy didn’t forget that Steve is a dude. But Steve doesn’t understand any of it, and even thinking about it again makes panic rise up in his chest. Billy is a guy.

“It’s not because it’s you,” he blurts out, even though to Billy’s ears that probably makes no sense at all. He’s not freaking out because he kissed Billy. Hell, if he was ever going to make out with a dude, Billy’s the one he’d pick; Billy is his best friend. But - Billy’s a guy.

Billy’s face does something complicated, moving between surprise and pleasure and finally landing on amusement. “Thanks, princess,” he says. There’s a small smile playing on his lips.

God, Steve wants to kiss him. It’s so strong a desire that he almost does it without thinking. He’s sure Billy can sense it. He can’t help but glance at Billy’s lips, remembering what it felt like to press up against them last night.

“You’re a guy,” he says in a small voice. 

“Yeah, I know,” Billy says heavily. He shrugs, the tension suddenly back in his shoulders. “Sorry.”

Steve’s head whips up to stare at him. “What? Why?”

Billy blinks. “You wish I wasn’t, right?” he says warily. 

Steve can’t help it then. He reaches out, taking Billy’s hands. He’s done that before, anyway; they’re allowed to hold hands. He likes the way they feel. Billy goes along with it, but there’s a kind of hesitant disbelief in his expression that makes Steve want to kiss him all over again.

“No,” he says. “I mean, that doesn’t even make any sense. I just - I’ve never wanted to kiss a dude before, you know?”

He’s said it now. It must sound so weird to Billy. Billy so clearly knows what he’s doing, has experience with this, and Steve’s little freak-out must seem pathetic to him. Steve drops his head. His heart is still pounding like he’s just run a marathon, but somehow it’s easier now he’s just admitted it.

Billy gives him a strange sideways look. At least he doesn’t look like he thinks Steve is pathetic. He says carefully: “Okay, so… so you wanted to, then.”

Steve frowns. “Of course I wanted to.” Surely that had been obvious?

“And now?” Billy looks pale, like he’s afraid to ask the question. Why is Billy afraid? Billy’s the most confident person Steve has ever met, but right now his eyes are filled with uncertainty. Is he worried that Steve won’t want to be his friend anymore? 

Surely, surely, after everything they’ve been through together, he can’t be worried about that.

Very slowly, because it’s still exceptionally difficult over the beating of his heart and the buzzing in his head, Steve leans forward. Last night the kissing was frantic, passionate, but this time it’s just the lightest brush of his lips against Billy’s. He feels Billy kiss back, a gentle touch that makes his stomach flip-flop and his cock stir.

He draws back. “I don’t know,” he says frankly. He meets Billy’s eyes. They’re so blue, so brilliant. “I haven’t done this before.” He coughs, embarrassed. “I don’t want to stop, though.”

“Okay,” Billy says softly.

In spite of himself, in spite of the panic and anxiety still threatening to overwhelm him, Steve smiles. He has no idea what’s going on, no idea what’s happening to him - but kissing Billy feels good, and if he can do that - if Billy wants it too - then that has to be a good thing. He leans forward again, pressing another soft kiss to Billy’s mouth.

He pulls back. “Is this - is this normal?” he asks. 

Billy lifts one eyebrow. “Normal?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. He sighs, because he doesn’t know how to explain without sounding lame. Billy has kissed boys before. Billy knows what he’s doing. How can Steve ask if he’s doing it right without sounding like a total idiot? “Like… is it okay?”

“Yeah,” Billy breathes. He kisses Steve again, tiny nipping kisses that make Steve shudder with instant want. “Yeah, it’s okay. It’s, like… super okay.”

It’s a warm relief, spreading through Steve’s chest like a sunbeam. Billy still wants him. He sinks into the kiss, giving himself permission to stop thinking about everything else. There will be time to freak out about the fact that Billy is a guy. Right now, however, Billy is right here in front of him, soft and warm and ready to kiss him, and Steve just lets himself enjoy it.

It’s some time before he comes up for air. The kissing stayed a little less urgent and frenzied than last night, but Steve’s lips still feel swollen and tender by the time they’re done. Billy’s hair is a tangled mess. It makes Steve smile to see it.

“I’m starving,” Billy says. His voice sounds more normal, more Billy-like. “Come on, princess, you’re the host here, right? What’s for breakfast?”

Steve laughs, shoving playfully at Billy’s shoulder. He feels exuberant, joyful. “Douchebag,” he says cheerfully. “Scrambled eggs for his highness?”

“I guess that’ll do,” Billy says in an affected voice. He’s grinning, his teeth flashing and his eyes sparkling. “After you, princess.”

Steve makes scrambled eggs on toast and serves it up with a nonchalance he’s not quite feeling. Billy, who obviously wasn’t lying about being hungry, eats ravenously, apparently oblivious to the whirlwind going on inside Steve. There are so many conflicting emotions that he’s not quite sure how to handle it. The panic is still there - the bewilderment, the pulse of fear, the sense of wrongness about the whole thing - but there are other feelings crowding in his brain as well. Happiness. Warmth. Pride. He can’t explain it.

He almost wishes there was someone he could talk to about the whole thing. Steve always operates best when he can process things out loud. He had a similar impulse when Billy first apologized to him; that had led him to Jonathan’s door, and it had helped, but there’s no way Steve can talk to Jonathan about this. Everything inside him revolts at the idea. He can’t tell anyone about this. God knows what they’d say.

Oddly, he thinks of Robin. If he was going to tell someone - which he emphatically is not - he has the strangest feeling that she’d be the person most likely to understand.

Steve shakes his head. He’s not telling anyone.

He kind of wants to spend the morning making out some more, but that also feels a little scary, so he’s okay with it when Billy suggests playing some poker instead. They head into the lounge; Billy rustles up the cards while Steve draws the curtains. He stands by the window for a few moments, looking out at the trees. It turns out his prediction yesterday was right. His front yard is a swirl of newly laid snow.

“Christ,” Billy says, joining him by the window. He shakes his head. “So this is winter in Hawkins.”

Steve glances at him, momentarily surprised by the comment until he remembers where Billy comes from. “You don’t get snow in California?”

“Up in the mountains, maybe,” Billy says. “We never went. I’ve never seen snow up close.”

“What, never?” Steve repeats incredulously. 

Billy shakes his head. “Nope,” he says. His eyes flicker across the outside scene. It’s still snowing, the flakes whirling down to coat the front yard in a layer of frost. Right now, it’s still pretty thin, but it’ll probably get to be several inches thick in the next few days. Steve isn’t the biggest fan of the cold.

Still, though. To have never gone out in it. “It’ll be thicker later on,” he says hesitantly. “We could… I don’t know, go out for a walk this afternoon, or something. If you want.” A little thrill goes through him as he says it, like he’s asking Billy to do something wild or out of the ordinary rather than just offering to take him out in the snow. Jesus Christ.

“Yeah, okay,” Billy says casually. He looks resolutely out of the window. “If you don’t mind me sticking around that long.”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve says, frowning. Maybe he’s feeling a little weird about everything that’s happened, but he doesn’t want Billy to leave.

Billy walks over to the couch, shuffling the cards in his hands. “Cool, yeah, okay,” he says, in the kind of voice that’s definitely supposed to sound like he doesn’t care either way.

Steve doesn’t buy it for a second. For someone so good at poker, Billy’s absolutely shitty at bluffing.

He hides a smile and follows him over to the couch. “Cool, man,” he says. “Let’s do this.”

Chapter Text

Snow turns out to be… pretty great, actually. Billy doesn’t have the right clothes for it, so he borrows Steve’s spare winter coat - because of course he has two - and jams his hands deep in the pockets so that they don’t get cold. Steve offers him some gloves, but there are limits.

It’s the first time Billy’s ever really been cold anywhere, honestly. San Diego just didn’t have this kind of climate. He’s going to have to think about spending some of his hard-earned savings on a coat like the one he’s wearing right now, because Neil sure as hell won’t buy one for him.

Still, he forgets all that once they actually get outside. The snow is coming down more thickly now, the sky already darkening above them even though it’s barely three. Ice crunches underneath Billy’s feet as he steps out into Steve’s backyard. He looks down with interest at the layer of frost coating the ground.

“This is some shit,” he murmurs.

Steve laughs. “It’s just snow,” he says.

Billy colors. “Don’t laugh at me,” he says. He’s still feeling strange around Steve, slightly off-kilter. They’ve spent the afternoon hanging out, talking about dumb shit and playing poker. Sometimes it feels the way it always does, easy and fun and low-key, but then—

Then Billy remembers, and it’s not so easy to be chilled.

Steve kissed him. Quite a lot, actually. They spent hours last night rolling around on his bed, making out. It still feels like a dream, like a ridiculous dream that might burst and float away if Billy thinks about it too much. He’s been dreaming about kissing Steve for so long now - and last night it actually happened.

It actually fucking happened. Billy got to kiss Steve. He got to kiss a guy, to feel the warm rough heat of a boy pressed up against him. It freaks the hell out of him, but there’s a weird rightness to the whole thing too. Like a puzzle piece finally clicking into place. Billy Hargrove is a person who’s supposed to kiss guys. Girls… girls just shouldn’t enter into it.

It’s never felt like this with a girl. This… fullness of feeling, like every part of him was utterly engaged in kissing Steve. It’s hard to explain, but there’s usually an odd sort of disconnect when he fucks girls. He can be totally into it, getting his rocks off, but his mind will still wander, and the way the girl looks, the way she feels, means nothing. She’s just a body. But with Steve…

Billy swallows. He knows the answer to this. He’s known it since Brandon Clement first stepped into his classroom in California, and maybe even before then.

He’s a homo. He’s not into chicks because he’s a queer, and making out with Steve was the first time he’s ever had a sexual experience he actually wanted.

“I’m not laughing at you,” Steve says, and Billy wrenches his mind back to what’s actually going on.

Steve looks unexpectedly earnest, given that they’re only talking about the snow. He’s been sneaking little glances at Billy all afternoon, like he thinks Billy might not notice. Billy can’t be totally certain what Steve is thinking about the kiss, but given his pretty epic freak-out this morning, it’s safe to say that they’re both on somewhat shaky ground.

Strangely, even though the things Steve spat at him had hurt, Billy feels oddly untouched by the whole thing. Maybe it’s because he’d apologized so quickly, had been so obviously distraught by what he’d said. Maybe it’s because he was so confused by everything that had happened. As much as it would be nice to imagine that Steve has been fantasizing about kissing him the way Billy has, it’s clear that that’s not what happened. Billy’s willing to bet that Steve has never so much as thought about kissing another guy before last night.

He crunches through the snow, stopping to look up at the big flakes swirling slowly down to land on his upturned face. It’s very quiet out here in the middle of nowhere, the trees looming tall and dark around them. There’s something rather beautiful about the coldness of the air, the way his breath mists in front of him.

Steve kissed him again this morning. It’s not just some stupid late-night bullshit that they can just write off. Steve held his hands and said he was sorry, and then he leaned forward and kissed him again. And that, too, went on for a while.

What does that mean, though, if Steve didn’t - if he never thought about guys before, the way Billy has ever since puberty? Does it mean it doesn’t count? 

It can’t mean that. No one could kiss like that and not want it.

So he shakes his head and tries not to think about it, because he seriously has no idea what to do with all the thoughts clamoring inside his brain. Instead, he gives Steve his trademark Billy grin, and says: “Come on then, H… Steve, show me what it’s all about. What’s the big deal with snow, anyway?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, man, it’s just cool when you’re a kid, you know?” he says. “What, you want to make snow angels?”

“I’m new to this shit,” Billy says, shrugging. “Never made a snow angel, never built a fucking snowman, never had a snowball fight. Come on, princess, you’ve lived here all your life, right? Show me how to play in the snow!”

Steve scoffs at him, but somehow it’s funny this time, and totally improbably they do play in the snow. They have a snowball fight first, because they’re teenage boys and that’s clearly the best way to spend an afternoon out in the snow. Billy practically freezes his fingers off as he scrapes snow off the ground, packing it into tight blocks and hurling them at Steve. Steve laughs, ducking behind one of the deck chairs arranged around the pool. When Billy tries to follow, his boots skid across the icy ground, and he nearly ends up on his ass.

This, of course, sends Steve into fits of laughter. While Billy is still struggling to his feet, Steve stands up and pelts a few handfuls of snow at him.

“It’s on, princess,” Billy yells at him. He picks up some more snow, forming it into a ball in his cold red hands.

They fight for half an hour or so, chasing each other around the outdoor furniture and in the fringes of the trees surrounding Steve’s backyard. Billy is warm and breathless, totally unable to feel his fingers but having more fun than he might have expected; he and Steve laugh and jeer at each other, shouting insults across the pool while snowballs fly through the air. Billy’s hair is full of ice, his cheeks hot and red.

At last, by some sort of mutual agreement they collapse into the wet deckchairs, both of them hyper and out of breath. The snow on the ground is half-melted from all their running around.

“Jesus,” Billy puffs. He glances at Steve. Steve’s eyes are bright and warm, dancing and happy. “More of a workout than basketball.”

“I haven’t had a snowball fight in years,” Steve says, head flopping back against the chair. “Not since I was a kid.”

Billy laughs. “Hey, I’m catching up,” he says. He surveys the trodden yard. There’s not very much snow left. “Looks like a snowman is out, huh?”

“I was never too into those anyway,” Steve says. “Your hands get too cold, even with gloves.”

Billy looks down at his own hands, splotched with red and blue. He can’t really feel them, but then again, Steve did offer him gloves. “So what’s next in the snow adventure? You said something about snow angels, right?”

Steve gives a breathless laugh. “There’s no fucking snow left,” he says. Then he turns his head to meet Billy’s gaze. For a moment they just look at each other, Billy looking at Steve’s flushed happy face, and then Steve’s eyes flicker down to Billy’s mouth and he thinks that maybe Steve is thinking about kissing him.

He doesn’t, though. He laughs again, tipping his head back, and they sit there for a few minutes. Billy finds himself hoping that the late afternoon moment can just go on forever. It’s fucking lame as hell, but sitting here with Steve - messing around with Steve, throwing snowballs at each other, watching Steve’s hair get flatter and flatter as he runs around - it’s the happiest he’s been in a long time.

“Jesus, your hands!” Steve exclaims suddenly. Billy follows the line of his gaze. He’s looking at Billy’s cold numb fingers, and there’s something a little like concern in his face. “I told you to wear gloves. Give them here.”

“What?” Billy says stupidly.

Steve makes an impatient sound, swinging his legs around and reaching across to grab Billy’s hands. His woollen gloves feel warm and scratchy against Billy’s skin. Steve starts to rub at his hands, but then he stops, frowning.

There’s a pause. Steve’s eyes flicker up to Billy’s face. Then he drops Billy’s hands and peels off his gloves. When he curls his fingers around Billy’s again, the touch of his skin is like a brand.

Billy doesn’t speak. He can’t speak. He just lets Steve rub some warmth back into his hands, intertwining their fingers together, tracing the lines of Billy’s palm with his thumb. His chest feels tight, his heart beating impossibly fast.

He wonders abstractly if Steve would have done this yesterday - if it’s to do with the kiss. The touch feels too gentle, too intimate to be friendly, but Steve has done things like this before. They’ve shared a bed, they’ve held hands. They’ve hugged. It’s hard to know how much of it is meant in the way Billy means it, and how much is just Steve.

Then again - Steve isn’t like this with anyone else. So maybe every time Steve touched him before, they’ve been leading up to this - even if Steve didn’t know it himself.

“Is that better?” Steve asks quietly. He’s not rubbing Billy’s hands anymore, but he hasn’t let go.

Billy’s swallow is audible. “Yeah,” he says huskily. “Thanks.”

Steve is so near to him, his breath creating a little mist by Billy’s face. It’s like Billy can see the thoughts forming in his brain, can see him summoning up his courage, can see the nervousness in his eyes. As if Billy might turn him down. As if he has no idea - no idea! - how much Billy has thought about this, wanted this, before today.

“I dare you,” Billy says.

Steve chokes on a little laugh, and kisses him. 

His mouth is warm but his nose is cold, pressing into Billy’s cheek and making him shiver. Billy leans into the kiss, gasping into Steve’s mouth as Steve’s hand comes up to tangle in his damp hair. They’ve made out all of three times and Billy’s already figured out that Steve has some kind of thing about touching Billy’s hair, grasping the back of his skull, tugging a little on the strands - and he is more than okay with it. He shudders and shuts his eyes, cold hands forgotten.

Steve - Steve kisses with a confidence that Billy’s never had, in spite of all his bravado. He kisses like he knows exactly how to do it, like he knows exactly how every touch makes Billy shiver and catch his breath. He kisses like he knows Billy will follow his lead - and Billy does.

When they finally draw apart, Billy is shaking. It’s partly the cold, because sitting in one place has chilled him through in spite of Steve’s thick coat, but it’s also just the aftershock of kissing Steve. Touching Steve, feeling Steve. He still feels a little like he’s in a dreamworld. This can’t be real, except for the fact that it is.

Steve touches his cheek. There’s a soft hesitancy in the movement, like he’s not sure how Billy will react. Billy’s too boneless and peaceful to do anything but lean into his hand.

“I…” Steve begins, but then trails off. He lets his hand drop, looking away.

Billy frowns. “What?”

Steve looks back at him, his expression faintly unsettled. “Is this… I mean…” He coughs, looking embarrassed. “Are we going to - I mean, at school - we’re still friends, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Billy says slowly, because he’s fairly sure that’s not the question Steve actually wanted to ask. 

“And…” Steve says. He takes a breath, apparently remembering that he’s King Steve. “Like… this. Are we going to do… this?”

“At school?” Billy says archly. Steve gives him a middle finger. Billy hesitates. “Do you want to?”

Steve lifts his chin, just slightly. “Do you?”

Billy rolls his eyes. “Pussy.” Steve just raises his eyebrows, waiting. Billy sighs. “Yeah,” he says, trying to sound like it’s nothing. Like it’s not literally everything he’s been thinking about for the last month. “Yeah, okay, yeah. I do.”

A slow, happy smile spreads across Steve’s face. “Yeah?”

“Jesus, I said so, didn’t I?” 

His curt reply doesn’t faze Steve in the slightest. “Me too,” he says almost shyly. He gives another slightly embarrassed cough, rubbing the back of his neck. “Cool, yeah, okay. Cool.”

There’s a beat, and then they’re kissing again. Billy clings to the collar of Steve’s coat, and Steve’s hand slides into the almost-familiar place at the back of his head. Billy finds himself wishing that he could just fall into this moment, let it swallow him up, never have to resurface into his real life. 

But he can’t do that. Soon he’ll have to go home, and the thought of that is enough to make him draw back from Steve. He has no idea what sort of mood Neil will be in when he gets back, but things still feel dicey enough that he probably shouldn’t push his luck by staying away an extra night. Not that Steve invited him, anyway.

“You okay?” Steve asks, obviously picking up on Billy’s sudden uneasiness.

“Yeah,” Billy says. He meets Steve’s eyes. There’s another reason he doesn’t want to leave, of course. Right now Steve is distracted, happy, mellow - but the freak-out that morning still happened. Billy’s afraid that alone, without Billy actually there, Steve will remember all the reasons why this is a terrible idea. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he lies.

Steve tips his head just slightly to one side. “Are you… worried about going home?”

Jesus Christ. What is it with Steve Harrington and noticing all the right stuff at all the wrong times? Billy shrugs, irritated. “It’s fine.”

“You could stay,” Steve offers. That brings a lump to Billy’s throat; he quickly swallows it down.

“Don’t think I should,” he says briefly.

Steve nods with far too much understanding. Billy still hates the fact that he knows. “What’re you doing tomorrow?”

Billy shrugs again. As things stand, he doesn’t really have any plans; it’s the first weekend in a while that he hasn’t had to think about the damn English project, and it’s strange how wide open his social life suddenly feels. Wide open, and kind of bereft, honestly. “Hanging out with Tommy or some shit,” he says.

There’s a pause. Steve says: “Do you think he’ll notice we weren’t at the party?”

This has occurred to Billy as well, but there’s not much he can do about it now. “Probably,” he says. “It’ll be fine.”

“I think he’s kinda jealous, man,” Steve says thoughtfully. “I mean, that you and me are hanging out so much, or whatever. You know, because me and him used to be friends, and then you and him were, but now—”

Now, Steve and Billy are best friends - and something else as well, although Tommy doesn’t know about that. Billy doesn’t tend to think about Tommy’s feelings very much - or ever, really - but he has to admit that what Steve is saying makes sense. Billy still doesn’t actually care what Tommy H, or any of those other shitheads, feel about his friendship with Steve, but he also doesn’t want Tommy getting suspicious of their relationship.

“I guess I’ll put in some facetime with him,” he says with a sigh.

“You could—” Steve begins, and then cuts himself off, looking a little embarrassed. Billy gives him a questioning look; he shrugs. “Well, you know. You told him he should come next time we hung out here.”

Billy lifts an eyebrow, surprised. “You want to hang out with homeboy here?” 

“Sure,” Steve says casually, but he’s not quite meeting Billy’s eyes. “Some of the other guys too, if you want. It’s not like anyone will be home.”

It almost feels like Steve is offering him a chance to spend some more time together this weekend. Like he doesn’t want Billy going off and doing his own thing. Like he wants to be around Billy as much as Billy wants to be around him. Billy still can’t quite believe that Steve asked him whether they’d carry on doing… whatever it is they’re doing… at school.

“I’ll call him,” Billy says, swallowing down how pleased he is. “Carol too?”

Steve hesitates. “Maybe keep it just the guys,” he says. 

There’s something in that, something Billy doesn’t quite get, but he doesn’t comment. Carol annoys him anyway. “Cool, yeah, okay,” he says. “I can use the phone here, right?”

Steve smiles. “Yeah, of course,” he says.

They head inside after that. It’s getting too cold to sit out in the backyard, in spite of how pretty everything looks with its coating of frost. Billy is a little reluctant to take off the coat, because it’s the warmest he’s been for a while in the Indiana winter, but Steve’s house is warm enough. They kick off their shoes and hang up their coats, and then Billy phones Tommy while Steve putters about in the kitchen making coffee.

Tommy sounds unreasonably pleased when Billy invites him to hang out at Steve’s place for a guy’s night tomorrow, which seems to confirm what Steve said about him feeling a little left out. He readily takes responsibility for calling a couple of the other guys to invite them, and promises to bring beer. Billy realizes halfway through the conversation that Tommy is making the assumption that they’ll all be staying the night afterwards. It must be what they used to do, back when Steve and Tommy were besties.

He checks it’s okay with Steve after he puts down the phone. Steve just laughs. “You kidding? My parents are literally never here, this house was like sleepover central.”

“Huh, okay,” Billy says, trying not to feel resentful. He’s been enjoying having Steve to himself in the big empty Harrington house; it’s weird to be reminded that Tommy was here long before he was.

Steve hesitates, and then moves over to him. “I guess we can’t…” he says, and then trails off. He bites his lip, looking awkward, and then reaches out and takes Billy’s hand. “I mean, you know, while they’re here.”

“Of course not,” Billy snaps, because Jesus Christ, what a stupid thing to say - but he doesn’t let go of Steve’s hand.

“What time are they coming over?” Steve asks.

Billy shrugs. “Around six, I think. We were talking about ordering pizza.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Steve says. He pauses. “You’ll have to ask your dad, right?”

Billy swallows. “I don’t think he’ll care, if I tell him ahead of time.” He’s not actually totally sure of that, but fuck it. Neil tends to prefer him out of the house rather than in; Billy just hopes he’s not still on some power trip with Susan.

“Sure, sure,” Steve says, nodding. “But… like, you could maybe tell him… tell him it starts at three, or something.”

That takes Billy aback. He looks at Steve; Steve gazes steadily back. It’s been a whole day since they sat on the floor up in Steve’s bedroom and kissed for the first time. Steve has had all day to change his mind, and he hasn’t - on the contrary, he’s inviting Billy over early tomorrow, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he wants to do in those extra few hours.

“Yeah,” Billy says unsteadily. “Yeah, okay.”

Steve is still holding his hand. Clumsily, Billy leans forward, moving slowly to telegraph what he’s going to do. His mouth finds Steve’s, and he closes his eyes. There are tremors radiating through his body, his breath coming in shallow pants as he kisses Steve. He’s never felt so nervous in his whole fucking life.

The kiss doesn’t last long enough. Billy wants to spend the rest of the evening making out with Steve, and from the way Steve is breathing heavily, his eyes dark and his cheeks flushed, he’s not the only one. Unfortunately, however, his dad will be expecting him - and Billy wants to rack up some brownie points so that he can come back tomorrow.

“I have to go,” he says reluctantly. Steve is standing right up next to him, his hair brushing Billy’s cheek. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be a moron,” Steve says at once. He presses his lips to Billy’s cheekbone. It’s a soft, tender gesture. “I’ll drive you home.”

Billy nods into Steve’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he says.

Steve kisses his cheek again, touching Billy’s shoulder, and then they step apart. Billy feels kind of spaced out, like he’s floating on air. 

They don’t talk too much after that. Billy’s a little afraid of breaking the fragile moment, like it’s some kind of delicate glass sculpture that can’t stand up to too much handling. He packs his things together, thinking abstractly about what excuse he might give to Tommy if the subject of Heather’s party comes up. It can’t have been a particularly remarkable occasion, because Tommy would have said something on the phone if it was.

At last, he’s standing on Steve’s doorstep, bag in hand. He’s not exactly raring to go.

“I guess we should go,” Steve says. He doesn’t look particularly happy about the prospect of Billy leaving either, which gives Billy a little thrill.

He wants to kiss Steve again, but somehow it feels weird with the front door open, even though there’s no one else around. Like it’s the kind of thing that needs to stay inside. “Yeah, okay,” he says.

It’s cold in Steve’s car. Without comment, Steve passes him the coat he lent him earlier, and Billy shrugs it on gratefully. It’s nothing special, just a black puffer jacket with red and navy blocks of color on the front of it, but still it makes Billy feel… well, he’s not sure what he feels, but there’s something in the fact that he’s wearing something that belongs to Steve. He shoves his hands in the pockets of the coat and doesn’t look at Steve.

He can’t think of anything to say on the way back to his place. The silence isn’t awkward, exactly - but there’s a steady thrumming tension in the air between them. Billy wants to kiss Steve again. He’s desperate to kiss Steve again.

When Steve pulls up outside the Hargrove house, they sit there for a moment or two without speaking. At last, Billy says: “I guess I should go.” 

“Yeah,” Steve says. His eyes flicker across to Billy and then back again. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

Billy grins. “Yeah, of course,” he says. He takes off the coat rather reluctantly, trying not to shiver in the sudden cool. “See you.”

He’s halfway to his front door when Steve calls after him. “Billy!”

Billy turns around. Steve is getting out of the car; in his hands he’s holding the coat. “Yeah?” Billy says warily.

“Take this,” Steve says. He grins suddenly, and Billy feels an unexpected shiver of want go through him. “Not my color.”

Before Billy can answer, he darts forward and presses a tiny, fizzing kiss to the corner of Billy’s mouth. He flashes another wide, beautiful smile, and jogs back to the car. Billy is left bewildered with the coat in his arms.

Bewildered, but smiling his fucking face off.

Chapter Text

The rest of the weekend leading up to Sunday afternoon goes extremely slowly for Steve. He’s a bag of nerves, and he can’t seem to find anything to settle on; television is boring, all his homework is done, all his usual hobbies and pastimes seem dull and uninteresting. In the end, he resorts to cleaning the house, and by the time he goes to bed that night it’s spotless and he’s ready to tear his hair out.

Kissing Billy once - well, it doesn’t make any sense, but it can be written off. It can be… a mistake, a lapse in judgment. But Steve didn’t stop at once. He must have kissed Billy six or seven times on Saturday, and each time he felt totally lost in it, like he never wanted it to end.

Even now, he can’t stop thinking about it. He barely sleeps on Saturday night, lying in bed and remembering exactly what had happened the last time he was here.

It’s fucked up. It’s so fucked up, it’s so wrong, because Billy is a guy, and Steve likes girls, but still he can’t stop thinking about it.

It should have been awkward as hell afterwards, and in some ways it was - but Billy’s still the same person Steve’s come to know over the last few weeks. He’s still Steve’s best friend. He’s funny and clever and gives Steve a hard time every minute of the fucking day, and spending a couple hours messing around in the snow with him was some of the most fun Steve’s ever had with anyone.

Except that that wasn’t all they did. They had a snowball fight, sure, chasing each other around the backyard until they were both breathless and exhausted like any ordinary teenage boys might - but then Steve had looked at Billy and seen his flushed smiling face, and he hadn’t been able to resist it.

I dare you, Billy said. Like kissing him was some kind of challenge, when really the difficult thing was stopping.

Billy is a guy. It doesn’t make any fucking sense. Billy is a guy.

Steve likes girls. Steve likes Nancy, with her serious eyes and smooth face and plump breasts that fit perfectly in his hands. He’s attracted to Nancy, attracted to girls - it’s a girl he pictures when he jerks off. He’s never jerked off to the idea of a dude. How could he?

Steve swallows, because now that the idea is there, it’s difficult to shake. Jerking off to a guy - he can’t. He shouldn’t. But without really thinking about it, he’s reaching into his boxers, drawing out his cock - and he’s already half-hard.

What would he even think about, if it was a guy? In vain, Steve tries to keep the image of Nancy’s perfect tits in his head - but the picture swims away from him, and instead he sees Billy’s electric, shark-like smile. Billy’s eyes, bright and sparkling. He thinks of the way it feels to kiss Billy, the feel of Billy’s hair tangled around his fingers. He remembers pressing his body against Billy’s right here in the bed.

Fuck, he’s hard. He’s so hard, hard and leaking and desperate, and he gives a ragged moan as he starts to move his hand around his cock. 

Billy kisses like he fights: fierce and frantic, throwing his whole body into it. He held Steve’s shoulders, fingers digging into the flesh like he couldn’t get close enough, like he was drowning in Steve, like kissing Steve was a triumph. There was a desperate, frenzied passion in it, and just the memory of it is enough to send Steve tumbling over the edge in about five seconds.

As he lies there, dick softening and jizz pooling on his stomach, Steve thinks of the other kisses. The kisses they shared that morning. They were softer, clumsier, and although they’re not quite the turn-on that the fraught tangling of bodies was on Friday night, the memory of them makes his chest hitch painfully. It felt nice, to be kissed like that. Like Billy… like he cares.

Steve shakes his head, reaching for a Kleenex. Billy doesn’t care, not like that. Hell, Steve doesn’t care. They’re two guys. Two guys aren’t supposed to give a shit. The only person who ever made him care was Nancy, and that’s fine, because she’s a girl - but it doesn’t count with Billy. Billy is a guy.

Billy is a guy - but Steve can’t stop thinking about him. And he can admit, just to himself in the privacy of his bedroom, that maybe he’s attracted to him. That maybe all the weird things he’s been feeling over the last couple of weeks - the way his stomach fizzes when Billy smiles, the way he always wants to touch Billy’s hands, the way he gravitates towards Billy every fucking second of the day - make a whole lot more sense now.

Steve groans, burying his head in his pillow. This isn’t him. None of this can really be happening to him.

He sleeps badly that night. He’s restless, tossing and turning, and he wakes up several times during the night and then struggles to get back to sleep. He jerks off again in the early hours of the morning, after a particularly vivid dream that was basically a mirror of Friday night’s action. It’s almost a relief to get up the next morning, as crusty and heavy as his eyes are.

He can admit to himself that he’s looking forward to seeing Billy again. That there was a reason he suggested that Billy came over earlier than the other guys. It makes him feel weird and squirmy and uncomfortable to think about it - but also kind of turned on.

There are hours and hours to go until then, though, and Steve has absolutely no idea how to fill them. He eats breakfast slowly, trying to drag it out, but it’s still only just gone ten by the time he’s finished brushing his teeth. In the end, he decides to head out and get some groceries. He’s been meaning to go for a few days anyway, and it’s something to do to pass the time.

He thinks about Billy in the car on the way to the store, because what else is he going to think about? He wonders what Billy is doing right now. If Billy thought about him at all last night.

Steve’s head is a goddamn scramble. He tries to concentrate extra hard on picking out his groceries, just for something else to think about. Unfortunately, however, the two for one deal on plum tomatoes isn’t quite as engaging as the memory of Billy’s mussed-up post-kiss hair, and Steve has trouble concentrating on his shopping list. He dawdles as he pushes his cart around the store, trying to while away the time.

Billy will be coming over later. Steve shouldn’t want it. He should want Billy far away. He’s not sure what’s wrong with him, what Billy has done to him, because he’s never been like this. He’s not - he’s not some fucking homo - he’s not queer. How can he be? He still gets hard when he thinks about sleeping with Nancy. That hasn’t gone away.

This thing with Billy - it’s wrong. Yeah, it felt good, felt amazing - but it’s wrong. 

Ironically, given the fact that he’s spent the last twenty-four hours feeling bored and out of sorts, Steve isn’t really in the mood for company that afternoon. The thought of seeing Billy again has his stomach in knots. He wants it, of course he does, he can admit that he wants it - but he shouldn’t want it, and that’s the problem. Thinking of Billy’s warm skin, the taste of his tongue and the feel of his hair in Steve’s hands - well, he shouldn’t be thinking about it at all, and it shouldn’t make him shivery and turned-on. None of this is supposed to be happening.

He makes himself some lunch when he gets back from the grocery store, but he’s too jittery to eat much. Every minute that passes is a minute closer to Billy coming over, and it has Steve strung-out. It shouldn’t be happening, but it is happening, and the worst part of all is that he knows he wants it to happen. He wants it all.

He knows he wants to kiss Billy again. The thought of it is making him… well, it’s turning him on, honestly. His stomach is doing somersaults, his mouth dry, his hands clammy - but inexplicably the anticipation feels good. He looks over to the clock above the oven for the hundredth time, picking at his sandwich. It’s nearly two. Billy will be here in an hour.

This isn’t right. He can’t explain it, can’t articulate even to himself why it all feels so wrong, but he feels it deep inside himself. Not because Steve has any kind of inherent problem with queers, but he knows he’s not like that. He’s not one of them. Steve likes girls.

He likes girls. He has to like girls. But - but Billy is going to be here soon, and Steve kissed him, and Billy isn’t a girl.

Steve can’t make sense of it.

He fidgets with the cushions in the lounge, plumping them and rearranging them, but it’s too tidy from his panic-clean last night for him to do too much. He takes a shower, washing his hair more slowly than usual and carrying out an unusually meticulous shave. He absolutely does not agonize over what to wear, because he absolutely does not give a shit about it. And if he spends a little more time than he normally would drying and styling his hair, it’s only because Tommy’s the kind of asshole who would make fun of him if it wasn’t perfect.

At ten to three, Steve is downstairs in the kitchen, throwing out the remnants of his lunch and pretending that he’s not watching the clock. He can’t remember the last time he felt this nervous.

There’s the crunch of tires across gravel outside. Steve thinks he might actually be sick.

When Billy knocks on the front door, it takes Steve a minute to actually get himself in gear enough to go and answer. His stomach is churning, his mouth dry and his eyes heavy with lack of sleep. He can’t decide whether he’s excited to see Billy - or whether he just wishes he’d go away.

He opens the door. Billy is standing there, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, wearing the coat Steve gave him yesterday afternoon. There’s a wide, shark-like grin on his face, and he’s wearing an earring shaped like a tiny dagger. Steve’s chest leaps, and the question of whether or not he’s pleased Billy is here is suddenly not up for debate at all.

“Hey,” Billy says.

“Hey,” Steve says. He’s aware that he’s smiling without quite knowing how it happened. “Come in, man.”

Billy comes in. Steve shuts the door. He waits while Billy takes off his coat - Steve’s coat, Steve’s coat on Billy’s body, and somehow that’s something but Steve doesn’t quite know what - and kicks off his shoes.

“You just going to watch me?” he asks challengingly.

Steve shrugs. “Got a problem?” he says with a bravado he doesn’t really feel.

Billy laughs, his teeth flashing. “Guess not.”

“You want a drink or something?” Steve asks.

“Sure,” Billy says. He follows Steve to the kitchen. Steve doesn’t want to give Billy a drink - he wants to touch him, kiss him, put his hands in Billy’s hair - but he’s not sure how to begin, and he’s feeling oddly shy.

He makes them some coffee instead, realizing as he does so that he knows exactly how Billy likes it. That doesn’t mean anything, though. He knows how Tommy likes his coffee too. He knows how Nancy likes it—

He cuts that thought off before he can finish it, because Nancy is different. Nancy has to be different.

“Have you… had a good day?” he asks lamely, just for something to say.

Billy shrugs. “It’s been alright,” he says. “Took Maxine to see her little friend.” He grins wolfishly. “Apparently he’s not her boyfriend yet. She got kind of pissy when I asked. Takes a lot to embarrass Max, but what can I say? I’m an expert.”

“Lucas isn’t her boyfriend?” Steve says, surprised. He’d kind of thought that was a done deal. “The way Dustin tells it—”

“Ten bucks says he will be by the end of the year,” Billy says. “They’ve got this lame school dance next Saturday. You wait, if he doesn’t make a move then she will.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, that sounds like Max,” he says, even though he doesn’t really know Max that well. It’s as good a topic as any to fill the strange, tense space between them. Billy is only standing a few feet away, hands wrapped around his cup of coffee, but it still feels too far. Too far for Steve to step forward, take the mug out of his hand, press his mouth up against Billy’s the way he wants to. Too far to start.

They stand there in the kitchen and drink coffee together. Steve drinks too quickly, feeling on edge and weirdly cold, even though the central heating is switched on and his coffee is warm. He can’t stop looking at Billy, eyes flickering over to him as if drawn by a magnetic field. Billy doesn’t seem to mind. He has a little smile on his face, and his blue eyes are sparkling.

Carefully, Steve puts down his coffee cup on the countertop behind him. Across the kitchen, Billy mirrors his action.

He takes a step forward - and that’s all he needs. That’s all it takes. Billy is suddenly right there, and Steve stops thinking. He just closes that tiny piece of space between them and kisses him.

Billy tastes like coffee. His body feels warm and solid up against Steve’s, and Steve presses forward into him. His hands come up to cup around Billy’s face, his fingers sliding into Billy’s hair. Billy gives a soft sigh under his breath, and Steve responds with a low moan. He moves forward, propelling Billy backwards; Billy’s back hits the refrigerator with a thump, although Steve just about has the presence of mind to move his hand up to protect the back of Billy’s head. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles into Billy’s mouth.

Billy gives a breathless laugh. “Shut up, princess—”

The familiar nickname is enough to send shivers through Steve’s body, heat pooling in his groin. His fingers tighten in Billy’s hair and he pushes his tongue frantically into Billy’s mouth. He’s pressed right up against Billy, and he takes a moment to enjoy the feel of his body; he’s so broad, so firm, so utterly there, and without really realizing what he’s doing Steve cants his hips into Billy’s.

Billy gasps loudly, tipping his head back momentarily so that it thuds against the refrigerator door. When Steve draws back enough to look at him, he sees that Billy’s eyes are closed, his mouth slightly open and his cheeks flushed red.

He did that. He made Billy react that way. It’s a heady rush of pleasure to realize it.

His pelvis is still tilted into Billy’s, and he pushes forward a little, just to hear the little moan Billy makes at the contact. Billy’s cock is somewhere there, behind a few layers of fabric. The thought is equal parts frightening and exciting. Steve grinds his hips into Billy’s once more, and once more Billy lets out a ragged groan.

“Steve,” Billy murmurs. Little tingles of pleasure dance through Steve’s body. “Steve, Steve—”

“Yeah?” Steve says into the hollow of Billy’s neck. He presses his mouth to Billy’s collarbone, and Billy moans again.

“Can we - upstairs?” Billy asks. His voice cracks a little, and again Steve feels that hot rush of satisfaction in the knowledge that he - he, Steve Harrington! - made that happen. 

Then he processes what Billy said. Upstairs - upstairs where his bedroom is. Steve’s breath hitches. It’s not like they haven’t done this upstairs before, because of course they have - but it feels different somehow, going upstairs on purpose to make out. Like there’s an intention there.

If he ever said that to Nancy - let’s go upstairs - it usually meant that they were going to have sex. If they were already up there, hanging out or doing homework, and they started making out - well, that was one thing. But starting off somewhere else and then relocating…

He can’t have sex with Billy. Billy is a guy - he lacks the necessary equipment. But still, hearing Billy ask to go upstairs - it makes him think of sex, and he shivers right up against Billy’s body, cock pulsing.

“Steve?” Billy says.

“Yeah,” Steve mumbles. He kisses the side of Billy’s neck to hide his confusion. “Yeah, okay, let’s - we should—”

There’s the briefest of pauses, and then Billy reaches out a tentative hand. He touches Steve’s cheek. It’s an oddly intimate gesture, and Steve feels himself shuddering in response, eyes fluttering closed. He presses into Billy’s palm.

Billy says: “We don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Steve says, and he does. God, he does. There’s nothing he wants more than to be upstairs with Billy in the half-dark of his bedroom. Everything he was feeling earlier, every piece of doubt and confusion, seems to have melted away against the reality of Billy’s warm body and soft mouth.

“Okay,” Billy says.

Steve reaches down to find his hand; he finds that he doesn’t particularly want to stop touching Billy, even for the short time it’ll take them to walk up to his bedroom. Billy glances down at their interlocked fingers and then looks at Steve, but he doesn’t comment; he just squeezes Steve’s hand as they head out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Steve’s heart is thumping. The last time they were in his bedroom like this, they kissed for the first time instead of going to Heather Green’s party. He still can’t quite believe that it happened, that he sat outside Heather’s house and didn’t go inside. He can remember how much he wanted to touch Billy that night. He remembers driving back home with no clue what he was doing, only the knowledge that whatever it was felt right.

It felt right. He doesn’t understand how, because he knows, he knows it’s wrong - but nothing about what’s happening right now between him and Billy feels wrong. It feels fucking incredible. 

When they reach Steve’s bedroom, Billy pulls him in for a kiss with a groan, and it takes less than half a second for Steve to respond in kind. His hands find their way into Billy’s hair again, and some part of his brain manages to marvel at how well his fingers fit around Billy’s head. He kisses Billy hot and wet and sloppy, tugging him back into the room and onto the bed.

Billy’s arms snake around him, fingers pressing into Steve’s hips, just at the waistband of his jeans. Steve gasps into Billy’s mouth and rolls them over until Billy is underneath him. He presses open-mouthed kisses down the side of Billy’s neck, and then, daringly, to the triangle of bare skin showing at the top of Billy’s chest where his shirt isn’t fully buttoned.

Billy’s fingers dig into Steve’s waist once more, hard enough to bruise. Steve finds himself making a soft, mewling sound at the back of his throat.

There’s a moment when Billy’s hands flutter, and Steve’s heart is in his throat, because he thinks that maybe Billy might touch him lower down. Might put his hands on Steve’s ass, the way he would if he was fucking a girl. Billy’s fingertips brush the denim of Steve’s jeans - but in the end, his hands settle back at Steve’s waist. Steve tries not to be disappointed.

Disappointed, because Billy isn’t touching his ass. It’s fucking crazy, totally insane, because Steve doesn’t want that, he can’t want that - but he does. He wants Billy to touch him, and he’s not sure why Billy isn’t doing it.