Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After graduation Steve’s sure he’ll never have to hear the name Billy Hargrove again. He’d never have to put up with the guy again. And Billy—well, he very clearly couldn’t stand Steve since the beginning. It’d be best for the both of them to permanently go their separate ways.

So when they end up at the same college at first it’s easier just to ignore each other. The first semester is awkward—to say the least. Passing nods, avoiding eye contact in the dining hall, pretending not to notice when mutual friends introduced them like strangers. Never fully being able to avoid each other.

The history between them pressed like a bruise, too tender to poke at. Dark and ugly, too uncomfortable to bring up, too heavy to be entirely ignored.

It wasn’t until sophomore year that things start to shift. Seeing each other almost every day in the same lecture hall. The nods turned into something that didn’t feel so forced. A cigarette or two shared out behind the library. Also the fact their dorms were on the same floor this year had them slowly—almost unwillingly—settling into something like a friendship.

Far from smooth sailing, definitely not easy, but familiar in a way neither of them would admit out loud. It kinda started when they got paired together on a group project—American Lit, it was on some dense novel that Steve barely even skimmed. Because who the fuck was Henry David Thoreau. Transcendentalist? Steve was in over his head, beyond ready to just drop the fucking class.

But Billy—shockingly—made it easier, tolerable. Took the time to help Steve along. So he could at least make some sort of sense of what he was reading. Sure, they argued most of the time, at some points could barely stay on track. It was a disaster at first, but the project got done. Boosted Steve’s grade enough to at least take some weight off his shoulders.

They still hung around each other even when the excuse to do so was long gone.

It became easier to start up a banter across the beer pong table than to keep pretending they didn’t know each other, ended up in the same circles, at the same parties. It just happened. They drifted closer and neither of them shoved away.

But halfway through the second semester the tension was impossible to ignore.

Instead of spending his time at parties getting fucked up and hooking up, Steve found himself more often than not seeking out Billy. Their time together easy, as if they’d always been friends. As if there wasn’t a point they were at each others’ throats. Their banter grew sharper but underneath it was something else, a sort of edge. A heat that had nothing to do with anger.

Steve would catch Billy watching him sometimes, that lazy half-smile curling like smoke. And worse, Steve didn’t look away.

It wasn’t steady. They still fought, still snapped at each other. But it was different, threaded through with something heavier, something that kept Steve awake at night, staring at the ceiling. 

He didn’t tell Robin. He didn’t tell anyone. But part of him knew—whatever this was, it was heading somewhere. Steve wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. Probably far from it.

Then eventually the night came where everything seemed to snap into place. The party was loud and sweaty, music thumping through the walls of a packed house. The energy chaotic, laughter and shouting spilling from every corner. 

The bathroom reeks of beer and smells like too much cologne, tiles sticky underfoot. Steve only came in here to get a moment to breathe, maybe assess just how drunk he was, clear his head or whatever.

But

But Billy had followed after him, door clicking shut, lock turning as if it was always supposed to.

Which maybe it was—it’s possible the whole night had been building to this.

It started small.

Billy sliding a shot towards Steve with two fingers, grin lazy and deliberate. “C’mon Harrington.” Steve had downed it with one swallow, throat burning. Billy didn’t even touch his own shot—just watched Steve the whole time, eyes dark, like the liquor was never the real challenge.

Then it was Billy crowding him against the wall in the hallway, leaning close under the excuse of the music. “Didn’t think you’d keep up tonight.” It almost sounds like a compliment but honestly with Billy he never knew. When they’re passing in the crowd, Billy will brush up against him one too many times—a hand at his back guiding him past, to the point where Steve knows it’s intentional. Billy makes sure he knows.

When they’re not together they keep catching each other’s eye across the party. And every time, Billy smirks like he’s daring Steve to look away first. At first he pretends not to care—soon enough finds himself tracking where Billy is. Steve getting dragged into dancing with his lab partner—she definitely hadn’t been subtle in her interest. But Steve’s mind was elsewhere—he also didn’t wanna make the rest of the semester awkward by blowing her off, so.

It’s not long before Billy’s there too, cutting through the crowd, pushing too close as he passes by, lips practically at Steve’s ear. His tone was casual, offhand, like he could’ve been talking about the weather, “Still trying too hard, pretty boy. Some things never change.”

It rattles Steve—because what the fuck is that supposed to mean? He spends the rest of the song running over it in his head, eventually breaking away ducking into the bathroom. His head was spinning—thinking that this is all just the same game they’ve been playing for years. Just Billy being Billy.

But now here they were, Steve’s head snapping up, eyes locking with Billy’s in the mirror. The bass still thudded faintly through the walls, but in here it was muffled enough that Steve could hear his own breathing—too fast, too shallow.

“Hargrove—what the fuck?”

Billy stepped closer, reflection tilting his head grin widening. “Don’t act surprised. You’ve been watching me all night.”

That had him spinning around with a scoff, leaning back against the sink, “You’re drunk.”

“So are you.” Billy’s hands braced against the porcelain on either side of him, caging him in. His gaze flicking down, then back up. “That your excuse?”

Steve’s mouth went dry. He almost wanted to laugh it off, push past him and let them both off the hook by playing it off as some sort of joke. Just another stupid game. The way Billy was looking at him felt like a dare.

Now he could barely hear the music over the pounding in his ears. Billy’s hand slips under his shirt, fingers spreading heat against bare skin like he owns it. Steve breathes through his nose, torn between shoving him off and dragging him closer—because either way it’s already too much.

“This is a bad idea.” Steve eventually manages.

“Yeah?” Billy’s other hand lifts up, tracing over his jaw before his hand slides into his hair—movements slow but deliberate as he pulls just enough to make Steve’s breath catch. “Then say you don’t want it, Harrington.” Billy says it low and certain, close enough that the words buzz against his skin. Steve could smell the smoke on his jacket, the whiskey on his breath.

Steve opened his mouth—to argue, to deny, he wasn’t sure. But the words don’t come. His hands fist into the front of Billy’s shirt, trying to steady himself. “Billy— just hold on a minute.“

His smile says trouble, Steve leans in anyways.

Billy continues to hold him in place, his back is digging into the sink, he can barely think. Can’t even pretend that this isn’t exactly what he wants.

He doesn’t lunge like Steve’s expecting. He takes his time, continuing to push closer. Hand sliding down to Steve’s hip, now cupping his jaw with the other, thumb brushing just under his lip. The touch was almost gentle, but the look in his eyes wasn’t. Steve could’ve—probably should’ve—pulled away.

He doesn’t.

Then finally Billy does them both a favor and closes the distance between them. It’s slow at first—a press of lips that burns hotter than it should. Steve makes a noise he’s not proud of.

It’s not longer before Billy deepens it. His grip on Steve’s jaw tightening, angling his face. The kiss is messy—reckless. It’s been years in the making.

Billy kissed like he was proving something, like he was trying to leave Steve wrecked—which honestly wouldn’t be hard, considering he’s halfway there.

When Billy finally pulled away, he didn’t go very far. Dragging his lips down his jaw, then lower to his throat. Teeth scraping and tongue soothing the sting. Steve’s head tipped back, a groan ripping out of him when their hips grind together.

“Fuck—“ Steve breathed, voice strangled.

Billy chuckled against his neck, low and hot. “That’s it, fucking knew it.”

The next kiss was brutal—all teeth, tongue, and heat. Billy pushed between his legs, fingers now digging into his hip, hard enough to bruise. Steve arched up into him not even trying to stop himself, answering the pressure with his own.

Everything blurred—all of it crashing together like it’d been waiting too long to ignite. Eventually Billy’s hand slipped lower, starting to undo the front of Steve’s jeans. “Say the word and I’ll stop.” he murmured.

Steve didn’t say anything—just like they both already knew he wouldn’t. Instead he drags Billy in for another kiss. Steve also knew somewhere in the back of his mind, this wasn’t gonna be just a one time mistake. This was something neither of them would walk back from.

Billy could definitely feel how hard Steve was, there was really no hiding it anymore. Especially once the guy finally goes to palm over his dick. Steve’s gasp tore loose against Billy’s mouth, ragged and helpless. Maybe he should push him away, say enough. But instead he just pulls Billy closer, urging him on.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, baby.” Billy’s voice burns through him. Then he moves. Not a retreat—a shift.

His grip on Steve’s jaw slid lower, to his shoulder, then his waist, twisting him in one sharp motion until Steve’s chest was pressed against the sink. The porcelain groaned with the force and so did Steve.

“Billy—“ Steve’s voice cracked, palms flying out to catch himself on the cold edge. His reflection stared back at him, wide eyed and flushed, Billy’s frame looming close behind him.

Billy pressed in, chest to Steve’s back, hand tight on his hip to hold him there. He bent just enough to ghost his mouth along Steve’s ear, voice low and vicious with satisfaction.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “You know how many times I’ve thought about this—knew you’d fold for me.”

The mirror was already fogged, Steve’s forehead pressed to the glass, when he felt it—Billy’s hand at his waistband, tugging hard. His pants slipped low, pooling just enough to leave him exposed, vulnerable.

Steve’s breath hitched, eyes darting to his reflection. Billy’s grin hovered over his shoulder in the glass, wolfish, triumphant.

“Easy,” Billy muttered, stilling for a moment. “Relax—I’ve got you.” Before his hand moved low, easily slow and deliberate, until Steve jolted forward at the touch.

A slick sound broke the quiet—crude, messy, and improvised. The hand that’s not busy, gently easing up and down his back—grounding him as much as holding him in place.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, his grip on the sink desperate, knuckles white. He tried to find words, but all that came out was a broken moan, lost to the thrum of bass on the other side of the door. It’s not long before everything is set into motion. The inevitable ending—and beginning to the constant orbit they’ve pulled each other into.

Billy rocked into him, sharp enough to make the sink shake again. His chest rose and fell, ragged, while Billy’s smirk curled at his ear.

The counter rattled under their weight. Steve’s grip faltered, his mouth falling open. His body giving way before his brain could catch up. The line between resistance and want dissolved in the heat between them. The moment tipping past control.

”Yeah,” Billy muttered, a hand is twisting tight into Steve’s hair, holding him there even when Steve knees start to buckle. “Right where you’re supposed to be.”

The sounds filling the bathroom are obscene. Steve’s palms slipped on the sink, sweat and condensation making it impossible to hold steady. 

Each thrust driving him forward into the counter. Steve choking on the noise that breaks out of him— loud, needy, moans start spilling out of him, no matter how hard he tries to bite them back.

And Steve knew, with bone deep certainty— this was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

Steve wakes up to a pounding in his head, the distant thrum of bass still stuck in his ears. Even more painful and irritating, sunlight streaming in through the half-busted blinds. The room smelled like smoke, sweat, and the cologne Billy’s always wearing. He groans, throwing an arm over his face like maybe it’ll help shield him from all of it.

His brain is already replaying flashes of last night in brutal detail. His throat is dry, body aching in ways that remind him of Billy’s weight pressing into him, the way Billy didn’t let up until all the fight was wrung clean out of him.

Billy’s hands on him, grip too tight on his hips, the scrape of his rings along his skin, mouth hot and hungry, laughter spilling out against his throat in between kisses, like he was enjoying how rattled Steve was. Like he’d planned to unravel him in the middle of a house party, drunk and careless and absolutely certain Steve wouldn’t stop him. Like he knew Steve wanted it just as bad as he did.

He swears under his breath, thinking if he tries hard enough he can banish the memory.

He can’t. Especially when he finally drags his arm away, there are a couple of faint marks low under his collarbone. He doesn’t have to look in the mirror to know Billy left more.

From across the room, he hears the pop-hiss of a soda can.

“Morning, sunshine.” Billy drawls.  At least one of them doesn’t feel like shit. Which is like, so fucking unfair.

Steve’s almost sure they drank the same amount.

He counts backwards from ten in his head, still trying to get his eyes to adjust. Billy’s standing there in basketball shorts and a half-zipped hoodie, hair still damp from the showers. Sunglasses on even though they’re fucking indoors.

Steve wants to say something smart, ask Billy if he’s maybe trying out for biggest douche on campus. But all that comes out is, “You’re too loud.”

Billy, who looks disgustingly put together compared to how Steve feels—just grins and sets a Gatorade down on the nightstand. Orange, which Billy hates. But still buys because it’s Steve’s favorite.

Not that Billy’s ever told him that, but Steve pays attention. He knows that Billy doesn’t like orange-flavored anything. He says it the worst right next to banana or grape.

“And you’re a lightweight. Quit whining.”

“Can’t believe you’re upright,” Steve mumbles, sitting up on his elbows, fumbling a little when he grabs the bottle, twisting the cap off.

Billy smirks. “Superior conditioning.” He taps his chest, “Y’know what they say, practice makes perfect.” Steve can see a peak of the tattoo that he knows sprawls further down Billy’s ribs.

Steve looks too long, then hides it behind a long drink of Gatorade. “Whatever, Hargrove. That’s bullshit.” He grumbled.

“Maybe.” Billy’s drops down in his chair, pulling the sunglasses off, tossing them up on the desk. “Still having a better morning than you.” He leans back, lazy, looking unbothered as ever, swiveling the chair for half a turn then back again. Doesn’t touch what’s fragile sitting between them— at least not yet.

The silence that follows isn’t awkward— not exactly. Just heavy. Weighted with everything that’s unsaid. It’s not like he didn’t see the way they were headed— it’s as if they’d been circling each other, seeing who would crack first. But actually crossing that line? That changes shit.

Steve doesn’t know what to do with that.

Billy’s gaze trails down Steve’s neck, his chest. They linger— then slide away again. No smart comment, no smirk.

Steve waits for it, braced for a jab, the smug remark. Some sort of line that Billy’s made a career out of. But it never comes.

Instead, Billy says, casual as anything, “You staying or you got somewhere to be?”

Steve shakes his head, instantly regretting the motion. Eventually, he says, “Not till two.” Even though he knows Billy already knew that.

Billy nods, satisfied, like that was the only answer he needed.

“You know, for a guy with his own dorm. You end up in mine a hell of a lot.”

Steve doesn’t have the energy for this. He rolls his eyes, letting his head fall back on the pillow. “Your bed’s bigger—and you don’t have the most annoying roommate known to man.”

His roommate was always— fucking always, yapping on the phone with his long-distance girlfriend. The type of asshole who wants to fall asleep on FaceTime. But then proceeds to snore his ass off the minute he dozes off.

He’d almost feel bad for his girlfriend— but he’s heard enough to know they deserve each other. They’re both straight-up assholes.

Billy isn’t wrong though. They partied together all the time, and more often than not, Steve would sleep it off in Billy’s dorm. He had the luxury of not having a roommate, and he did have a better bed. That wasn’t a lie. Then there was the fact that Billy never minded; half the time, he was the one offering, so.

Maybe it did have something to do with the fact that he has a confusing— also constantly growing— crush on Billy Hargrove.

Whatever.

It all still feels so strangely normal for them, him half-naked and hungover in Billy’s bed. Except all those other times Billy hadn’t fucked him stupid the night before. At the party and then again back at his dorm— so it’s not like Steve can say they just got caught up in the moment.

“Sure, you ever notice how it’s always my bed though? My fridge. My couch. You end up in my space more than yours.”  Billy says it almost thoughtfully, spinning the chair halfway again, letting it squeak back around. “Cause I noticed a while ago.”

“Whatever, not like I ever hear you complaining.” Steve shifts, going to kick the blankets the rest of the way off, all of a sudden too hot. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Billy shrugs, and there’s no snark in his tone; it doesn’t even sound smug. “Not complaining. Just an observation.”

After a moment, Billy leans forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes locking with Steve’s. “So go on, Harrington. Tell me you regret it.”

Steve freezes, all wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. He wants to roll his eyes, say something— but it doesn’t come.

Billy sighs, corners of his lips tilting up, his gaze trailing down the length of Steve’s body. The curve of his shoulders, the line of his chest, the mess of his hair. “And don’t look at me like that. You knew where this was headed, we both did.” He states it simply as a fact.

So they’re definitely doing this— Steve doesn’t know if this is better, or if he’d rather they just go on business as usual. He scoffs, too fast, muttering. “Guess I didn’t picture it like this.”

“Didn’t stop you any.”  Billy lets the words hang. And Steve’s kinda glad he doesn’t elaborate any, he already has the mental picture in his head— and there’s plenty of ammo to use. Steve wasn’t anything other than a willing— even enthusiastic participant. A couple of times he’d even begged for it. When they’d gotten back to the dorm, Steve didn’t waste any time before he was all over Billy.

Billy’s got this look on his face like he’s got Steve all figured out. Like he’s already read every answer Steve doesn’t have the guts to say out loud.

And it kinda pisses him off, makes him wanna snap back— he was such a cocky bastard. But he just moves to finish off his Gatorade instead, it’s not like he can deny what he’s saying. They both know Billy isn’t wrong.

But he doesn’t have to stay in here and listen to his shit either. Even though his body protests, aching all over, he pushes himself upright, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to reach for his discarded jeans.

He doesn’t get very far. Billy’s out of his chair in a second, catching his wrist midair before he can even grab them. Not rough, not gentle either— just enough to make Steve stop.

“Relax.” Billy’s voice is low and steady, like it’s not up for debate. He’s closer now, standing over him. Steve can feel the heat radiating off his skin. “Not like it’s the last time anyways.”

Steve’s head snaps up, heart in his throat, steels himself before saying, “You sound real sure of yourself.”

“Tell me I shouldn’t be.” Billy smirks almost amused, eyes glittering as he lets go of Steve’s wrist. Instead sliding into the mess of his hair, tugging lightly until Steve meets his eyes.

It’s infuriating that Billy is so nonchalant and sure about all this. While Steve’s sitting here, red-faced, barely able to string a couple of thoughts together. “You’re such a dick.” He scoffed, moving to stand.

But suddenly, Billy’s hands are pushing at his shoulders, foot hooking behind his ankle. Knocking him off balance, sending him sprawling back onto the mattress.

Billy doesn’t give him any time to even think before he’s got a knee up pressing into the sheets. Not much time is wasted before his thigh is practically wedged between Steve’s legs. One hand braced by Steve’s head, the other hand planted flat on the middle of his chest, just enough pressure to keep him pinned down.

“Tell me.” He repeats softer this time, eyes pinning Steve down just as much as his hand. “C’mon, sweetheart. Say it.”

Steve’s jaw works, and he shifts underneath Billy’s weight— restless. It almost feels like he’s been caught in a trap. He tries to pull together something to shut Billy down, tries to muster up a glare. But his chest betrays him, rising too fast under Billy’s palm. His pulse hammering beneath his skin. Worst of all— he’s already half hard. Can’t help his hips twitching up, trying to get some friction, his body betraying him in real time. 

He tosses his head back against the sheets in frustration. Then, to make matters worse, Billy crowds in closer, palm sliding up to the base of his throat. His grip is still loose, but it still leaves Steve’s head spinning.

“You’re unbelievable. Fine— you’re right. Always so fucking right.” He snaps, saying it like a complaint. Not like he can lie anyways, not with his cock throbbing against Billy’s thigh.

It’s as if Billy’s rewarding him when he gives Steve the friction he’s searching for. “Good boy.” A satisfied grin spreads across his face like he’s got the exact answer he was looking for. “See, isn’t the truth a beautiful thing?” It makes Steve want to smack him.

It’s almost— almost humiliating. His face burns, but the praise has his dick straining against his boxers. There’s something about how Billy talks to him that he can’t ignore. Nobody in his life has ever talked to him that way. It’s always Billy. 

Billy’s hand drags his hand down slowly, grazing down his ribs, knee still pressing in between his legs. Steve doesn’t even have time to respond— or maybe it’s more like his brain short circuits, and he can’t say anything. Dumb with the way Billy’s touching him.

“You’re really easy to read, Harrington. Don’t know why you try and pretend.” Billy smirks, his hand moving almost where Steve wants it. So fucking close. “You should be used to admitting I’m right. Now you might even start to like it.” The way Billy’s looking at him has him almost squirming under all the attention.

Then, like the asshole he is, Billy pushes off the bed, straightening up and stretching like the whole thing had been nothing. “C’mon, man. Get dressed. Might do you some good to get some real food in you before you pass out again.”

Steve knows better though— this wasn’t nothing. Last night wasn’t nothing. Far from it, and Billy knew it too.

Still, Steve drags himself upright, trying to pull it together. He mutters something about Billy being a fucking prick, but still finds himself moving to pick up his jeans. He hates how easy it is— how Billy doesn’t even ask twice. Worse, how much Steve actually wanted to follow.

Chapter Text

It’s been a week.
Seven days of pretending they’re still just friends who hang out too much, who always end up in the same place at the same time.

The first time it happened again was around two days later. They were in Billy’s car, driving around aimlessly. It’s half past midnight, windows up, air heavy with smoke, music playing on low for once.

They’d met up to smoke— nothing more. Billy had a couple joints rolled and a grin like he knew exactly how the night would go. Steve climbed in anyways.

One thing Steve’s not gonna be pass up is having someone smoke him up—especially when most of the time that person is Billy. His weed was always good, another plus was Steve didn’t have to do anything other than show up.

Steve eyes were heavy and bloodshot as he watched Billy tap ash into an empty soda can. It takes him a moment to realize Billy’s passing the joint back to him. The last one. Billy had said, but he’d been saying that since the second. He takes another slow drag even though he’s probably a little too high at this point. Hitting the joint once more before passing it back.

“We gonna keep going in circles?” Steve asks, watching the empty road roll past, his head tipped back against the seat.

“Why? You in a hurry to get somewhere?” Billy rolls down his window tossing the roach out once it’s burned down. Doesn’t waste much time before he’s lighting a cigarette. He rolls down the passenger side window too, letting the smoke pour out.

Steve is grateful for the fresh air, only answers Billy’s question with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

Billy drives for a couple more minutes, giving the car time to air out. He eventually parks in the lot behind the gym. Which Billy claims is lowkey for the most part. He usually just goes with whatever Hargrove says, he pays more attention to shit like that than Steve ever has.

He watches as Billy cuts the engine, one hand draped over the wheel, the other brushing through his hair as he leans back in the seat. He’s talking about nothing— music, some fight he got into, the usual— and Steve’s only half-hearing it, half-watching the way the light catches the curve of his jaw when he drags on the cigarette.

“You good?” Billy’s voice snaps him out of it, he’s giving him this knowing look, smirk tugging.

Steve snaps out of it, eyes flicking away to stare out the windshield, slouching down in the seat. “Yeah,” Steve muttered. “Just—fried.”

“That’s the whole point, Harrington.”

The car is warm and for a long moment it’s mostly quiet besides the low hum of the radio and the ticking of the engine cooling. Eventually he glances back over and Billy’s looking right him—steady and unreadable.

For a second Steve thinks he might be about to say something that matters. Instead Steve looks away, breaks the silence between them.

“You ever think we hang out too much?”

Billy raises his eyebrows, exhales through his nose, laughing softly. “Why, you getting tired of me?”

“No. Just thinking, I guess.”

Billy reaches over settling his hand on Steve’s knee, deliberately sliding higher, thumb pressing slow circles into the denim, dragging across the seam of his jeans in a slow absent line. “Well how ‘bout you stop thinking. Probably not one of your strong suits.”

Steve can hear the shift in Billy’s breathing, feels it echo in his own chest. He’s closing the space between them and Steve knows— they weren’t just here to smoke.

“You gonna look at me or just keep pretending you don’t want to?” Billy murmurs.

Suddenly Steve is definitely too high. Doesn’t stop him from turning his head, and that’s all it takes. Billy’s cigarette ends up in the ashtray, his hand moving to the back of neck. The air between them shifting—warm, close, humming with static. Just like the last time it’s already almost too much.

Billy doesn’t waste much time before leaning in, so close he can feel every exhale. “Still good?” Steve nods his fingers catching on Billy’s jacket.

He can smell smoke, weed, and something clean under it— maybe shampoo or detergent—Steve doesn’t know but it’s messing with his head.

When Billy kisses him, it’s soft at first—unhurried, almost thoughtful. But it’s not long before Steve’s on top of him, straddling his lap in the cramped space, his jeans bunched around one leg and Billy’s sweatpants halfway down his thighs. Billy murmuring in his ear, fingers digging into his hips, gently guiding his movements. And it’s good—so fucking good that Steve doesn’t know why he was ever pretending in the first place.

                                 -

The second time it happens, it’s in the locker room after practice.

The place is nearly empty—just the buzz of the old fluorescent lights and the steady drip of a shower someone forgot to turn all the way off. The air smells like soap and sweat, strangely quiet now that everyone else had left.

Billy’s at his locker, shirt half-off, towel hanging loose around his neck. His hair’s damp, curling at the ends, and there’s a faint red mark along his shoulder where his jersey rubbed raw. Steve’s leaning against the opposite row of lockers, like he’s waiting for Billy to finish up, or maybe just pretending he has a reason to still be there.

Billy glances up through the mirror on the inside of his locker door, grin already forming. “You stayin’ for the encore or what?”

Steve stops scrolling, looks up from his phone. “Didn’t realize there was one.”

“There’s always one,” Billy says, smirking turning to face him. “Should know that by now, Princess.”

Steve shakes his head, rolling his eyes like it’s no big deal. “You always gotta push it, don’t you?”

Billy shrugs. “Only when you let me.”

That earns him a look, one that should be sharp, but comes out softer than Steve means it to. Billy grins anyway. The sound of the vents hums louder—or maybe that’s just Steve’s pulse catching up to him.

Steve’s really in over his head here. He knows he should back off, maybe leave whatever this was between them alone. But he can’t help himself— he wants to be pushed.

“You ever gonna tell me why you keep hangin’ around after practice?” Billy asks, voice low and amused.

“Maybe I like watching you run yourself into the ground,” Steve says, aiming for steady.

“Sure.” Billy takes a step closer, lazy and deliberate. “That all it is?”

Steve doesn’t answer. The air feels heavy, dense with everything neither of them’s saying.

Billy keeps moving, slow enough that Steve could step back if he wanted to. He doesn’t.

Billy stops just close enough that Steve can smell the soap on his skin, the faint trace of sweat underneath. His hand comes up, fingers brushing the edge of Steve’s jaw like he’s testing something, the barest touch that still manages to pin him in place.

“So why are you still here, Harrington?”

Steve swallows hard wringing his hands together. “…I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” Billy says, quiet but sure, “you do.”

His thumb catches on the collar of Steve’s polo, tugging it just enough that Steve’s breath stutters. Before he can process it all, Billy’s using the grip on his shirt to push him up against the lockers, crowding up in his space. The kiss hits fast—hot, familiar, reckless. It’s not gentle; it’s the kind that leaves no room for second thoughts.

The metal of the lockers rattle, and lets out a noise that’s almost a whine. There’s the sound of a towel hitting the floor, a breathless laugh caught between them, the scrape of sneakers on tile. It’s messy and rushed, all heat and instinct, the kind of thing that feels too real to name.

When they finally break apart, both of them breathing hard, Billy’s still close enough that Steve can feel the warmth of his breath against his cheek. Billy looks at him for a long second, then smiles—small, smug, but not unkind.

“Guess that answers that,” he says, voice rougher than before.

He grabs his duffel bag from the bench, slings it over his shoulder, and heads toward the door. Just before he disappears around the corner, he glances back.

“C’mon, baby. What—you got something better to do?” He raises his eyebrows with a knowing look, all like—this is what you were waiting for right?

The door swings shut behind him, and the room falls back into its empty hum. Steve stays where he is, palms pressed to the lockers, trying to slow his heartbeat. The drip from the shower keeps going—steady, indifferent. He snaps out of it, following after him. He’d be an idiot to ignore such an obvious invitation. Probably better to do this in Billy’s dorm than get caught with their pants down in the locker room.

He tells himself it’s just another spur of the moment thing. But even as he thinks it, he knows better.

                                -

After the next couple days, everything is supposed to be normal again. That’s the rule. It’s definitely easier than having to admit he has feelings for Billy. It’s not even worth considering, just—fuck no.

Act like nothing happened. Pretend he’s not still thinking about the way Billy’s mouth felt against his throat, or, how Billy’s hand felt wrapped around his dick—his hands rough and movements practiced. So far from all the other hookups he’s had, Billy paying so much attention to what Steve likes, doesn’t even have to ask—focused on every little reaction pulled out of him. Billy’s hand tangled in his hair forcing him to tilt his head up, all like—look at me, Steve. Open your eyes, baby.

Doesn’t let himself think too deeply on just how intimate it all felt—how intense.

Steve tells himself it’s fine. It’s college, people hook up, it doesn’t mean anything. Except he and Billy are still friends — still stuck in each other’s orbit — and that makes it harder to pretend.

Billy’s already there when Steve gets to the dining hall — sprawled out at their usual table, tray half-empty, legs stretched under the bench like he owns the place. There’s an empty chair waiting across from him, like he knew Steve would come anyway.

Steve drops his bag, sits. “You’re early.”

Billy shrugs. “You’re late.”

He says it with that same easy grin, that same casual tone that makes it sound like nothing’s ever serious. Like the locker room didn’t happen. Like didn’t fuck him stupid the other day. Like he hadn’t taken his time, making Steve come before his own pants came off. Like by the time Billy finally pressed into him, he was desperate and almost crying which might have been embarrassing if he wasn’t basically incoherent. Couldn’t think about anything other than Billy.

If anyone else paid attention, they’d never know.

But Steve knows                                                             
   And it’s driving him insane.

Whatever, and he’s definitely not gonna sit here and some sort of define the relationship conversation with Billy.

“Practice go late?” Billy asks, stabbing at the remains of his fries.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “You could’ve texted.” Because like they both have phones that work. Billy obviously can’t be bothered to hit him up, worse—he had no problem leaving him on read either.

Billy looks up. “About what?”

Steve’s jaw tightens, it was a stupid thing to say anyways. “Forget it.”

That earns him a weird look from Billy, but thankfully he lets it drop and changes the subject. Goes into this story about one of his professors spazzing out in the middle of a lesson.

Steve’s barely listening. He’s watching the way Billy’s hair curls against his neck, the cut on his knuckle, the little scar by his lip that wasn’t there last semester. It’s all so stupidly familiar it hurts.

Every time Billy leans back, stretches, runs a hand through his hair, it pulls Steve’s attention like gravity. He keeps waiting for the shift — for Billy to look at him the way he did two nights ago, when it felt like something real. When there was weight behind it.

He hates how easy it is for Billy to be normal about this. All while Steve is losing his mind.

Billy pauses, watching him for a beat. Then, “You good?”

It shouldn’t get under his skin.

It always does. The way Billy can twist just two words, turn it into something that feels heavy—private. Like there’s some sort of unsaid meaning by it. Or maybe it’s all in Steve’s head, his mind running in circles trying to find meaning where there was none. He doesn’t know—just knows he’s definitely not good.

Steve rolls his eyes, shrugs. “I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Billy says. “You keep saying that like it’s supposed to sound convincing. I call bullshit, Harrington.”

“Just tired.”

“Yeah, you said that yesterday. And the day before.”

Steve gives another shrug. “Guess I’m consistent.”

Billy snorts. “You’re something, alright.”

He leans back in his chair, watching him too closely. “You’ve been weird all week.”

“I have not.” He scoffs, a little too defensive.

“Yeah, you have.”

Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Billy, drop it.”

Billy tilts his head, pushing away his tray . “No, seriously. What’s your deal, Harrington?”

“Nothing.”

“You suck at lying,” Billy says, voice flat. Very much not dropping it. “Always have.”

“I’m not—”

“Overthinking again?” Billy cuts in, leaning forward now, elbows on the table. “’Cause I can hear the gears turning, man. It’s loud.”

Steve looks up, frowning. “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

Billy smirks. “Sure I do. You’ve been walking around like I ruined your life or something.”

“Jesus, you’re so full of yourself.” Steve was trying to not piss Billy off—he really was. But none of this is going how he planned and now he’s one that’s pissed off.

“Not wrong, though.”

He can’t help it, his patience was already thin to begin with. Steve slams his fork down, not loud but sharp enough to make Billy flinch. “You really think this is a joke, don’t you?”

Billy’s smirk fades, eyes narrowing. “Did I say that?”

“You didn’t have to.”

For a second, neither of them speaks.

Then Billy huffs out a laugh, low and humorless. “You’re pissed ‘cause I’m not losing sleep over what we’ve got going on. That it?”

Steve glares. “I’m pissed ‘cause you act like it doesn’t matter.”

Billy’s jaw flexes. “And what do you want me to do, huh? Bring you flowers after practice? Make you a playlist? Write your name on my notebook?”

“Forget it,” Steve mutters.

“See? You start it, then you got nothing to say.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” Billy cuts in—voice rising just a touch, not angry, just sharp. “You wanna fight about it ‘cause that’s easier than saying what you actually mean.”

Steve stares at him, throat tight. “And what’s that, Billy?”

Billy pauses. The words are right there — too close, too dangerous. He forces a smirk instead, leans back like he’s got all the time in the world.

“That you like it,” he says finally. “That you like me— how bout it’s supposed to be fun and you’re getting all up in your fucking feelings.” Billy gestures between them. “You keep acting like we tripped and fell into it. Like it wasn’t a long time coming.”

There’s something steady in Billy’s tone — not smug, not teasing, just sure. And that’s what makes it worse.

Steve goes still. His face flushes — half anger, half something else. “I never said that.” It comes out as mumbled, suddenly regretting that he said anything. “You’re so exhausting.”

“And you’re predictable,” Billy shoots back, grin flickering before it fades. “You’re pissed because I didn’t make it weird. That’s exactly what this is.”

“I’m not—that’s not—“ Steve sputters out, “Man, fuck you. You’re the one that fucking started it.” He knows it’s a weak comeback but whole conversation is going sideways, he can’t keep up.

“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” Billy says, rolling his eyes. “You’re the one making it complicated. You wanna be mad, be mad. I’m not sticking around for it.”

Steve pushes up out of his chair—because how the fuck did this all get flipped to where he’s the problem? “Yeah, well, maybe not everything’s as simple as you want it to be.”

People glance over from other tables. Neither of them notices.

Billy stands up, the chair scraping. “Relax, man. I’m just saying.” He slaps Steve’s shoulder lightly as he passes, grin back in place like nothing happened. “You think too much. That’s your problem.”

“Oh what you’re just gonna fucking walk away?” Steve can’t help himself, doesn’t even care that he’s making a scene.

Billy turns toward the trash cans, dropping his tray with a clatter—has the nerve to just leave. Like Steve is just an annoyance.

Steve almost follows after him—but he knows there’s no point. It’ll just cause a whole other scene in front of the dining hall and he doesn’t need their business spreading around half the campus.

Needless to say, he’s a little surprised when Billy knocks on his door later on that night, telling him he’s going to smoke a cigarette. The invitation isn’t lost on Steve even if Billy doesn’t just ask like a normal person—still he’s pulling his hoodie on and following, pathetic—as if he’d been trained to, like some fool who hadn’t learned his lesson.

They’re both quiet the whole walk around it still drags on after Billy’s lit up a cigarette, passing Steve one without bothering to look up. It’s almost uncomfortable—standing in the chill air, too much left unsaid between them. Billy finally exhales, running a hand through his hair.

“Look, I’m not gonna fight about this,” he says. “We don’t need to make it into something it’s not.”

Steve blinks, his eyebrows drawing together, doesn’t like how that sounds. “Then what is it?” Steve asks after a moment.

Billy meets his eyes,. “It’s easy. You and me. No labels. No mess.”

Steve’s stomach twists, but he nods. “Right. Easy.” He looks down to light his own cigarette, can’t look at him. Hates that he might be right. It’s probably the best answer he’s gonna get.

Billy steps closer, close enough for Steve to feel the heat coming off him. “And if you can’t handle that—”

“I can handle it,” Steve cuts in too fast. Too defensive. He doesn’t want to hear the alternative. Doesn’t want to fuck this up. It’s barely been a week and he’s already reading into things, already imagining things Billy never promised. Just like Billy said, he overthinks everything. Overthinks until he spirals.

There’s something wrong with him.

Billy raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Billy sighs looking a little skeptical, eventually he reaches forward to squeeze Steve’s shoulder, touching lingering before he steps back. “Good.” He drops his cigarette and crushes it under his boot. “Then we’re fine.”

But as he walks away, Steve’s chest aches with the weight of something that doesn’t feel fine at all.

Chapter Text

The weeks after that night blurred together into something that wasn’t quite casual and wasn’t anything close to simple.

Billy’s no-labels, no-mess rule still hung between them like a line drawn in sand — one both of them kept stepping over.
They were still hooking up. More now than before. Every hangout ended almost the same way: yanking each other’s clothes off, knees knocking, mouths finding each other like muscle memory.

Billy kept acting like it didn’t mean anything. His actions didn’t match his mouth. Everything he did screamed the opposite.

He’d leave Steve’s hoodie draped over his desk chair instead of telling Steve to pick up his shit. He’d fall asleep in Steve’s bed and wake up there too, one arm heavy across Steve’s stomach. When before he used to just turn away.

He’d touch Steve’s hair when he thought he was asleep, tracing lazy lines across his jaw like he couldn’t help himself.

And when Steve caught him once, Billy just murmured,
“Go back to sleep, Steve,” like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing anymore.
Not for either of them.

Once, he’d grabbed Steve’s wrist on instinct crossing the street back to campus, thumb brushing over the pulse like he hadn’t even realized he’d done it.

And the little things kept piling up.

Billy turning up outside Steve’s dorm with fast food, muttering something about him “probably forgetting to eat.” Billy standing too close in line at the dining hall, voice rough when he told some guy behind them to “back the fuck off.” Billy using Steve’s shampoo without asking, the smell of it clinging to him the next morning.

It wasn’t supposed to feel domestic, but it did.

Like they’d slid into a routine without ever deciding to. Steve tried to tell himself it was just because they had already been pretty tight to begin with.

Steve tried not to think about it, tried to convince himself this was still the same easy thing it had started as. But it wasn’t. Not when Billy kept breaking his own rules in quiet, thoughtless ways that made it impossible to pretend.

Billy tugging the neck of Steve’s shirt straight before they walked into class.

The casual possessiveness that made it impossible to breathe.

The way his eyes softened, just barely, before he looked away.

And it was the slip — Billy calling him baby in front of someone else, quick and low and impossible to pass off as a joke. The silence that followed had burned hotter than any argument they’d had yet.

Billy had made it complicated, even if he refused to admit it.

And Steve was the one left holding all that weight in his chest, pretending he didn’t care.

So when Billy texted asking if they were still meeting up, Steve couldn’t say no.

He should have. He knew how it would go.

But he went anyway, because no matter how much this thing was twisting him up, he wasn’t ready to walk away from it.

⸻

The library was too quiet to ignore the constant tap, tap, tap of Billy’s pencil against the desk.

A steady rhythm that gritted on Steve’s nerves like sandpaper.

“Can you not?” Steve finally snapped, voice low but sharp. He was one second away from smacking the pencil clean out of Billy’s hand.

Billy didn’t look up from his half-finished worksheet.

“What, am I distracting you, baby?”

And like—was that even a question?

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes about rolling outta his head.

“You’ve been distracting me since you fucking sat down.”

It hadn’t even been Steve’s idea to study tonight. Billy was the one who dragged him here, grumbling something about the last psych exam Steve had bombed.

Usually, Billy would be patient — taking the time to explain small things that Steve couldn’t seem to wrap his brain around. He never made Steve feel stupid, never got shitty when Steve asked him to go over something for the second or third time.

But this wasn’t one of those times.

“And yet here you still sit.” Billy leaned back and stretched out in his seat. “Touchy tonight. What’s eating you?”

Normally, Steve could take a lot of shit from Billy. He usually had no problem holding his own. But the past couple weeks were getting to him — the way Billy was still so nonchalant about whatever this was between them.

Like Steve wasn’t waking up in Billy’s bed more often than not.

Like they weren’t together almost every night, even when they weren’t screwing. Once, when Steve started to get up to leave, Billy reached out — just a hand on his wrist, voice low.

“Stay. It’s late.”

Like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was Billy tossing one of his sweatshirts at him, grumbling for Steve to get coffee from the shitty machine down the hall.

Billy dragging him to late-night diners after parties, still dumb and drunk. Billy wordlessly pushing half his fries across the table without being asked. Always fucking picking up the bill.

Or them crashing on the couch, some movie playing in the background until Steve fell asleep against Billy’s shoulder. Almost always waking up in bed the next morning.

It wasn’t just sex. Not when Billy let him sprawl across his mattress, never complained about Steve’s cold feet pressing against him. Billy pulling him close in the middle of the night like it was second nature.

It’s all he could think about and it just kept adding up. All of it too much but at the same time not enough.

And Billy acted like none of it meant anything. As if Steve was imagining the whole damn thing.

Steve cracked. “You. It’s fucking always you.” Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? Billy drove him insane, but he couldn’t stay away.

And of course — of fucking course — Billy smirked and said, “You act like that’s a bad thing.”

Steve’d had enough. He snapped his book shut and spoke without thinking.

“You don’t take anything seriously. Not school, not me, not—”

He cut himself off, jaw clenching.

Billy, like the bastard he was, laughed.

“There it is. There’s your problem. We’ve been over this, Harrington.” His voice was rising, matching Steve’s frustration.

“Wanna be someone’s little girlfriend? Start looking somewhere else.”

The words hit harder than a punch.

Steve shoved his chair back with a screech, standing fast.

“Can’t fucking stand you. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking.”

When Billy went to stand, Steve was really considering hitting him.

But before he could, the bitchy librarian appeared, glaring daggers.

“Out. Both of you. Now.”

She pointed to the exit, declaring neither of them welcome for the rest of the night.

Billy wasn’t far behind when Steve stormed down the steps. Cigarette already between his lips, voice chasing after him.

“What the fuck do you want me to say, huh? Newsflash—you knew exactly what you were getting into. Now you’re the one who wants something I can’t give.”

Steve barked a humorless laugh, almost halfway across the lot before stopping. Something he couldn’t give? Isn’t that a bunch of bullshit?

“Yeah? So I’m the one that made it complicated. Right.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

When Steve spun around, Billy was right there. He’s expecting some sort of smirk or grin but instead Billy’s nothing but serious.

It’s almost enough to throw Steve off, almost.

“It means you’re full of shit,” Steve said. “You’re the one who started this. You came after me. You can’t fucking quit, can you? You’re the one that made it mean something more. Don’t stand there and put this all on me.” His voice rose. “You’re the one who made it more than fucking.”

Billy’s moods will shift on a dime. The little things that didn’t used to sting now hang heavy between them — who Steve talks to, who looks at him too long at a party, who texts him back.

Billy doesn’t say he’s jealous. He just acts like he’s not.

For a second, Billy just stared — like he wasn’t expecting Steve to call him a liar right to his face.

Then, quieter, calculated: “Careful now, Harrington. Don’t mistake bad habits for feelings. You’re easy. I call, you come. It’s convenient. That’s all.” His voice is cruel, looking like some sort of cornered animal.

Yeah, Billy had said meaner —a lot meaner shit than that. Usually, Steve would tell him to fuck off and walk away.

But before he could think it through, he shoved Billy — hard enough that the guy slammed into a parked car. Metal denting. The alarm wailing to life in a flood of light and sound.

“There he is,” Billy scoffed, straightening. “C’mon, Harrington. Let’s get it all out.”

The fight was on.

When the first punch landed, Billy barely faltered. He thumbed blood from his lip and smiled. “Know you can hit harder.”

Steve does exactly that— didn’t need to be goaded anymore.

Weeks of hurt bled out as anger — every denial, every shrug, every fucking smirk.

He swung again, fist cracking into Billy’s jaw. “Out of everybody on this fucking campus you could’ve used, why me, huh?”

He knew he was showing too much of his hand, but he didn’t care anymore.

Billy spat blood and shoved him back before he could lunge again. “Princess wants answers? Think what you’re about to get is a fucking concussion.” The threat falls a little flat, something suspiciously like regret flashing across his face.

Steve swung again, but Billy caught his wrist, yanking him off balance and driving his shoulder into Steve’s stomach. They hit the ground hard, gravel biting through denim and skin. They rolled, fists flying as Steve claws for the upper hand. Thrashing and snarling, but Billy blocked, shoved, twisted until finally —

With a grunt, Billy flipped them.

Steve’s back hit asphalt, breath rushing out of him. Billy straddled his hips, pinning his wrists to the ground, effectively bringing everything to a stop.

Both of them bloodied, panting, staring at each other. Billy leaned close, lip split, blood dripping on Steve’s shirt.

“You done yet?” he rasped.

Steve’s chest heaved, lungs burning—bucking up and straining against Billy’s hold. It doesn’t last more than a moment before he goes limp. The fight bled out of him as fast as it had come, exhaustion crashing over him like a wave.

He closed his eyes, breath catching on a shaky exhale. “—Yeah,” he muttered. “Whatever.”

It wasn’t surrender; it sounded a lot more like resignation. A heavy, breathless acknowledgment that he’d let Billy push him too far again. For a moment, it was silent besides the shrieking car alarm and labored breathing, the last scraps of adrenaline trembling through Steve.

His anger had run its course, but not before he let it chew him up from the inside out.

Billy held him there a beat longer, eyes flicking across his face. His mouth opened like he might say something, but nothing came. Concern flickered there, raw and unguarded.

Finally, Billy eased back, frowning at Steve’s split knuckles.

“Christ.”  He didn’t gloat, didn’t grin — just stood, wiping blood from his chin.

Steve didn’t move right away, staring up at the sky like it might swallow him whole.

Billy lingered until Steve sat up before reaching down to help haul him up on his feet.

“C’mon. Should probably get outta here before campus security shows up.”

For the first time all night, Steve agreed.

He still didn’t look at Billy, just nodded, following after him.

After a beat, Billy spits out another mouthful of blood and saliva. He mutters low, “You fight like you’ve got some sort of claim on me.”

The words hung between them, sharp as glass. Then a tired sigh.

“And maybe you do. Just don’t expect me to say it twice.”

Steve didn’t answer. He just shoved his hands into his pockets, letting their shoulders brush as they walked.

It wasn’t hatred between them anymore.

It was something heavier. Messier.

Something real — something neither of them was ready to name.

                                 -

The campus was dark and pretty dead, thankfully. They’d made it halfway to their dorm before Steve finally said it.

“You really think I’m just convenient?”

Billy stopped mid-stride, looking straight at him for the first time since they started walking — not angry, just raw around the edges, caught somewhere between frustration and regret. He scoffed, “What do you want me to say, Harrington? You want me to kiss you before class? Hold your hand in the hallway? Let everyone know you’re my fucking boyfriend?”

Steve rolled his eyes, the anger in his chest flaring hotter. “Don’t do that, that’s not what I asked.”

“Jesus Christ.” Billy muttered—not angry, just raw around the edges, caught somewhere between frustration and regret.

Billy sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, tilted his head back toward the sky, like he might find an answer up there. “Maybe because you’re asking for something you’re not even sure you want.”

And that’s not—

It isn’t what Steve expected at all. It catches him off guard.

“I know what I want,” he said it too fast, too defensive. Real smooth.

“Oh yeah, you sure about that?” Billy looked at him, really looked at him. The kind of stare that pinned you in place, one that had Steve squirming—looking down at the ground.

“Since when do you get to tell me what I want, Billy?” He finally scoffs. “You always act like you got it all figured out.”

“You think I know what to do with any of this?” The look Billy gave him wasn’t angry anymore — it was tired, corned. “Look Harrington—it doesn’t have to be this deep. We can just… keep it easy. Like it was.”

Now Billy was the one sounding unsure.

Steve didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Billy’s voice had already given him away.

For a second, neither of them moved. The streetlights buzzed overhead, pale and unforgiving.

Billy ran a hand through his hair, muttering, “You make it impossible to keep this simple.” And that— that sounds a lot more like the truth.

“Maybe it was never simple,” Steve said quietly. “Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing.”

Billy laughed once — no humor, just breath.“Yeah, well. I screw things up.” He mumbled, rubbing at the dried blood under his nose. “You should’ve figured that out by now.”

He took a step back, the distance deliberate. “We should just go inside before we make tonight even worse.”

Steve stared at him, and they just kept going around and around. “You’ll just find me tomorrow.”

Billy’s mouth twitched, like he wanted to argue but couldn’t. “Maybe I will.”

Chapter Text

Steve wakes up in his own dorm, still sore from last night’s sequence of events. The fight still stamped into his skin, ribs sore from being slammed into the asphalt, palms scraped raw and red and his knuckles swollen and split. He just knows Billy has to feel so much worse.

He sat up with a grimace, flexing his hands—starting to assess the damage. The night before replaying in flashes. Billy’s bloodied grin, the blare of the car alarm, the sound of his own fists connecting. He hadn’t landed every hit, but he’d landed enough. And Billy had let him.

The way it hadn’t ended in the parking lot, the tension snapping in a whole different way once they got back to the dorms. Steve barely had time to cross the threshold before Billy was on him again, all clumsy and bruised. A shove into the wall, a push to the bed, mouths colliding rough, teeth scraping split lips.

No words, no apologies—just the same fire turned into something rough and hungry. It hadn’t made sense then, and it didn’t now. The fight didn’t settle anything, just tangled them even tighter.

When he meets Robin halfway across campus to walk to class, she stops short, glancing down at his hands, eyebrows raised. “What the hell happened to you?”

Steve rolls his eyes, grimaces. “Study group got intense.” He shrugs as they fall into step beside each other.

Robin snorts, so she must not be too worried. “What, you tried to punch a textbook and it hit back?” But then her eyes narrow. “No seriously, you don’t look like shit.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s fine, can we just drop it.” He tugs his sleeve over angry-looking knuckles and waves her off. If she thought he looked bad, wait until she got a look at Billy.

The look on her face said she didn’t buy a word he said, but thankfully she let it go—for now.

Two days passed. Not silence, not really—just space. They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. The distance felt more like a mutual agreement. No more fire between the two of them, at least till the smoke cleared.

Billy, for once, had his own distractions. Something about two papers he hadn’t started with a due date fast approaching. Then some big test he couldn’t afford to bomb.

The space should’ve helped. But to Steve—it still felt like Billy was everywhere. Voice too loud in the halls, laughing in the quad, hearing his music play from the quiet of his own dorm, shoulders brushing on the way to class, he’d sit beside Steve during lectures as if nothing had happened.

People on campus could put two and two together, the matching marks on both of them. The math wasn’t hard. Whispers started making their way through the halls. Like Guess Harrington finally snapped. Something about That was probably just round one. And some chick in his English class, boldest of them all, whispering to her friends: That wasn’t a fight, probably just a lovers’ spat.

Billy didn’t entertain any of it—though that’s what Steve had been expecting. Instead, he’d just shrug, brush it off till people stopped asking. Billy’s non-answer shutting the talk down faster than anything Steve could’ve said.

The bruises stood out sharp against his tan skin, split lip and black eye looking especially stark under the fluorescent classroom lights. Whenever Steve caught sight of him Billy would smile back, wearing the purple and yellow as if it was some kind of trophy.

When they finally collided, literally, it was in the dorms’ back stairwell, one that was usually deserted because most people just took the elevator or the stairs toward the front of their building.

Really nothing dramatic, more just bad timing. Steve coming down the stairs, Billy coming up, neither of them moving aside.

Billy’s hand shoots out, catching Steve’s shoulder to steady him. His grip was warm and heavy, too familiar. “Well, well, just the guy I wanted to see.” The corner of his mouth tugs up into a grin, pulling at the split in his lip.

Billy all like—“Miss me?”

Then he moves back a little, giving Steve room to step onto the landing between the second and third floor.

“You wish.” He rolls his eyes but the animosity between them has long faded.

“Yeah?” His fingers press into Steve’s shoulder, thumb brushing over the bare skin above his shirt collar. “Maybe I do.”

Steve feels the words in his chest, tries to disguise the hitch in his breath as irritation. “You’re so full of shit.” His voice is tight, brittle.

Billy leans back against the wall, posture lazy like he’s got all the time in the world.

His eyes are locked on Steve’s—bright, even in the dim stairwell light. Jaw still bruised, black eye faded and lip still split and raw as if Billy couldn’t stop fucking with it.

And like a broken record Billy’s all like, “Well you haven’t left yet, so I really can’t be that bad.”

And Steve raises his eyebrows like oh really?—he shifts sideways, going to slip past him. The stairwell was narrow, concrete walls pressing in on either side, railing to the right. But Billy just mirrors the move, planting one arm against the wall just above Steve’s shoulder, all nonchalant as he cuts off his path.

“I’ve got better things to do, Hargrove.”

Billy leans closer, his other hand sliding to brace against the railing beside Steve’s hip. Effectively boxing him in, nowhere to go except through Billy. Now he can feel the heat rolling off Billy’s body, smell the smoke on his skin, practically feel his breath catching as he tilts his head. “Name one.”

Words don’t come, part of him wanted the pressure to stay. He wanted Billy to stop him, and yeah the guy definitely pisses him off—pushes and pulls him in a way no one ever has. In a way no one else ever will. But— Steve really did miss this, missed Billy.

Then there was the sting in his knuckles that reminded him exactly who left Billy looking so banged up. He hates it—hates that Billy can make him lose control like that.

When Billy’s gaze briefly shifts down to his mouth, that’s all it takes.

Steve’s grabbing him by the front of the shirt, dragging him in slow. The kiss wasn’t rough. It was careful, almost cautious—gentle, complete opposite of what the fight had been.

His mouth brushed over Billy’s busted lip like an apology he couldn’t say out loud.

Billy only pauses for a half beat, a little taken off guard. But then slides a hand to the nape of Steve’s neck, pushing in close as he smiles into it, kissing back with equal weight. Steady, unhurried and certain.

Steve’s hands stayed knotted in his shirt, letting Billy corral him till his back presses against the concrete wall. The kiss stretched on, turning into more than one. Breaks for air blurred into quick returns, over and over, hands slipping under shirts and fingers tugging on belt loops.

When Steve would start to pull away, Billy’s mouth tilted back against his and it started all over again.

Eventually Steve used the hand in Billy’s shirt to ease some space between them, both of them breathing hard. For the first time in days, the tension between them didn’t burn. It settled, heavy and close.

Steve still doesn’t say he missed him.

Instead of saying that, what eventually comes out is, “You look like shit, by the way.” His voice ragged but edged with something that wasn’t quite an insult.

For a second Billy just blinked at him, fingers still tracing over his hip bone, expression caught between disbelief and amusement. Then unexpectedly, he laughed. A real laugh—warm and bright, echoing off the walls in the empty stairwell.

Steve thought, against every shred of good sense, that it might be one of his favorite sounds.

“Yeah?” Billy looks at him all fond, in a way that lodges in Steve’s chest. “And whose fault is that?”

The air between them felt less like a fight and more like a truce. He lets his hand slide over Billy’s chest, leans in to brush their lips together, noses bumping. Steve already knows they’ll end up back in Billy’s dorm. The weight between them no longer crushing, going almost easy.

“So—we good?” Billy’s smile is crooked, reaching down to take Steve’s hand, thumb carefully running over his knuckles.

Steve huffs, but it comes out more like a laugh, corners of his mouth twitching up despite himself. “Yeah, we’re good.”

For now, at least.

Billy pushes some hair behind Steve’s ear, leaning back enough to look him over. “Glad that’s settled.” He said it like a joke, but it lands too soft to really be one.

—

By the time midterms rolled around, the bruises had faded to ghost colors and the campus had moved on to talking about the weather and who was flunking out, who was cheating on who, and what parties were worth going to. Mostly.

Things between Steve and Billy didn’t go back to what they were before. They didn’t flip into anything new either. It was murky. A truce that held if no one looked too closely.

Some mornings Billy was there—leaning against the brick outside Steve’s dorm, hood up, steam coiling off two paper cups. He’d flick one toward Steve like he was passing a basketball. “They messed up my order,” he’d say, even though Steve had never once seen Billy with a caramel anything.

“Right,” Steve would mutter, burning his tongue because he never waited. The sugar was stupidly perfect. He didn’t say thanks anymore. He didn’t have to. Billy’s half-smile said he’d heard it anyway.

Other days, Billy didn’t exist. Whole afternoons swallowed him up. No texts, no sightings. He’d resurface after dark like he’d never been gone—propped against the hood of his car outside the gym, tapping ash into the wind. He’d nod at Steve like they’d had a standing appointment.

“What, started to miss me?” Steve would ask.

“Always,” Billy would say, eyes bright, daring Steve to call him out any further. 

He didn’t. Not out loud.

The next crack doesn’t come right away, it’s actually surprising it doesn't show sooner.

It was Friday in the middle of the day, they’d been together most the morning, they’d both just finished their last class of the day, heading back to the dorms. They crossed the quad together because it was faster, not because of anything else. Or that’s what Steve told himself. Billy walked with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, shoulder a half-inch from Steve’s, drifting in and out of the sunlight like he couldn’t decide whether to be warm or cold.

A group from their American Lit class peeled off the path. One of the girls—Tessa, the one who always borrowed Steve’s notes and forgot to return them—grinned when she spotted them, turned to say something to the guy walking beside her.

“You two fighting again or flirting again?” He called out as they got closer, laughter tucked behind the words. “Hard to tell.”

The group chuckled, harmless, like it was just another running joke. Steve didn’t laugh.

Billy didn’t miss a beat. He tilted his head, mouth curling into a grin that hit somewhere between smug and genuine. “Depends on the day.”

That got a bigger laugh; Tessa shook her head as she walked past, still smiling. Billy’s grin lingered for a breath before he’s clapping Steve on the back all like c’mon we got somewhere to be, like it was nothing.

Steve kept quiet until the group was gone. “You make it real easy for people to talk.”

Billy hummed, a sound with no owner. “People talk ’cause they’re bored.”

“Is that what this is?” Steve asked with a weak gesture between them, before he could stop himself. “Boredom?”

Billy glanced at him then, a quick sideways flash of something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You can’t be serious.” His tone is disbelieving and stops Steve in his tracks, a little stunned. 

He picked up his pace like he was late, which he wasn’t. Steve watched him go for two beats and then followed—because that’s what he did.

Later that night, Billy showed up at his door anyway. No text, no warning, just a knock that came three times in the same rhythm Steve had started recognizing as his.

Steve opened the door to find Billy leaning on the frame, hood up, hair damp from a shower, the smell of cigarette smoke still clinging to him somehow.

“Figured you’d be out,” Billy said.

“Well I’m not.”

“Clearly.”

Billy pushed past him like he lived there, dropping onto Steve’s bed with a thump. He reached for the remote and turned on the TV, volume low enough that it was mostly white noise.

Steve closed the door but didn’t move away from it right away. “You could’ve called.”

Billy shrugged. “I was already here, and you’re welcome.” 

“For what?”

“For saving you from whatever sad documentary you were about to watch.”

Steve exhaled through his nose, but his mouth tilted despite himself. He crossed the room and sat on the opposite side of the bed, leaving space between them. “So what— this is just some place to crash for you?”

Billy stretched out, arms behind his head. “You say that like you mind.”

Steve didn’t answer. The silence stretched, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable but wasn’t easy either. The TV flickered against the wall, throwing pale blue over Billy’s face. His eyes were half-lidded, calm in a way Steve almost never saw when other people were around.

“About today,” Steve started, and Billy groaned softly.

“Don’t start.”

He scoffs “I wasn’t—”

“You were. I can already hear the gears grinding.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“Something about people talking, you not liking the attention we’re getting.” Billy said. “Or me being impossible. Or whatever.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “I mean that’s not wrong.”

“I’m never wrong,” Billy muttered.

“You are when you won’t admit it what you’re doing.” Steve snaps, defensive. “What is this all just you fucking with me?”

Billy lets out this loud put upon sigh, head tilting back to look at the ceiling “Steve c’mon. Why do we always have to do this?”

“Because you say one thing and do another. Because you keep showing up like this.” Steve gestured around the room. “You said this was just supposed to be easy. Fun. Remember that?”

Billy’s turned his head to meet his eyes, he’s not smiling anymore, looks a little more awake then he did just moments ago. “Still is.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I wanted to be.” He finally shrugs. The words landed soft, too soft. Steve didn’t know what to do with them.

For a minute, neither of them spoke. The TV murmured something about ocean currents. Billy’s hand found the edge of the comforter, absently tugging at a loose thread.

“You think too much,” Billy said finally, voice quieter now.

“One of us has to.”

Billy huffed a laugh. “Not tonight.”

He leaned back until he was flat on the mattress, one arm flung across his eyes. “You can relax, Harrington. I’m not here to start a fight.”

Steve stared at the ceiling, not sure he believed that. “I mean have you ever just show up to talk?”

Billy’s mouth curved, unseen. “Depends on the day.”

That earned him a huff of laughter and an eye roll. “You’re an ass.”

“Yeah,” Billy said, this almost fond look on his face.  “Tell me something I don’t know. Now you just gonna sit there or you gonna fucking relax and lay down?” 

Steve goes with the latter.

It was in between late and early before either of them moved.

The room was dim, the blinds half-closed, the air heavy with the kind of quiet that follows whatever they never talk about.

Billy was stretched out across his bed, one arm behind his head, bare skin catching the thin stripe of sunlight that cut through the window. Other hand absently tracing along Steve’s back and across his shoulders.

It was obvious they were both awake, the moment still stretched between them—something that was easy, soft—simple and comfortable.

Billy’s voice broke the quiet.

“Doing anything tonight?”

Steve glanced back at him, mumbling,“Thought we already were.”

Billy huffed a laugh,  “Ryan’s throwing a thing. Figured already knew, you going or what?”

“You inviting me or ordering me?”

“Same difference,” Billy said, grin tugging at his mouth.

—

The house party on Maple was overcrowded, everyone already wasted. Lights running the walls like a fucked up Christmas. Music that could wallpaper your brain. Steve lost Robin somewhere between the kitchen and the stairs and found a scuffed wall he could lean against until the room tilted right again.

The place was already shaking by the time Steve got there.

Music thudded through the floorboards, lights flashing between colors that made everyone look a little blurred around the edges.

He spotted Billy first—half sitting on the kitchen counter, talking to a group that had gathered there like it was his throne.

Same half-buttoned shirt, same slouch that said he didn’t have to try.

Some girl was leaning on the counter beside him, smiling like she already knew how this was supposed to go.

She laughed at something he said, touched his wrist, and waited for him to look at her.

Billy didn’t.

He took a sip from his cup, eyes skating past her, landing somewhere over the crowd.

When she finally said, “You always this hard to get, Hargrove?” he just smiled.

“Depends who’s asking.”

Somebody in the circle called out, “What, Harrington already called dibs—worried your boyfriend’s gonna be jealous?”

Billy’s grin deepened. “Something like that.” Someone else said something Steve couldn’t hear. Billy said it so easily, so matter of fact that Steve didn’t know what to make of it.

The laughter that followed was louder than it should’ve been.

Billy gave the girl a look that was somewhere between apologetic and mocking, looking so easy and unbothered, and turned the conversation back to nothing in particular.

He didn’t add anything else. He didn’t need to.

Across the room, Steve froze mid-sentence.

He heard the laughter, saw the half-turn of Billy’s head, that careless gesture of the cup.

For everyone else it was a joke.

For Steve it wasn’t.

Steve stayed where he was. The joke didn’t sting, exactly. It landed somewhere stranger—half humiliation, half heat. Billy didn’t deny the label. He didn’t grab it either. He just tossed it into the air like a coin and watched everyone jump for it.

The moment stretched long enough for the crowd to swallow it, the music pulling people back into motion.

Billy went on talking, leaning against the counter like he hadn’t just dropped a line that would echo in Steve’s head for the rest of the night.

The laughter eventually drowned beneath the next song, but Steve couldn’t shake the echo of Billy’s voice.

He tried to disappear into the crowd, talk to someone—anyone—but the air inside the house felt heavier now, humid with sweat and music and too many people shouting over one another. Ended up settling on getting drunk.

When he turned, Billy was weaving through the bodies toward him. His cup was nearly empty, his grin mostly gone.

“Thought you ditched,” he said, close enough that Steve could smell the vodka on his breath.

“Was thinking about it,” Steve admitted.

Billy leaned in, one hand settling on Steve’s shoulder to steady himself. He squeezes enough that it’s almost comforting. “Nah, can’t have that. You’re the only one worth talking to in this place.”

Steve gave him a look, half amused, half wary. “Pretty sure you’ve been talking to everyone.”

“Yeah, but they don’t matter, man—not like you do.”

That should have sounded like a joke, the way the words come out his mouth, lazy and slurred.

It didn’t.

Billy’s thumb brushed the edge of Steve’s collar  before he’s twisting his fingers into it, using his grip to tug him forward. “You still mad about that thing earlier?”

“Not mad,” Steve said. “Just tired of being the punchline. Since everyone thinks this is so funny.” He grumbles, averting his eyes to anywhere but Billy’s. It doesn’t come out as bitchy as he meant, he sounds hurt—almost disappointed.

Billy studied him, eyes softer now. “You think that’s what I was doing?”

Steve didn’t answer. The noise from the stereo climbed, bass shaking the floorboards. Billy took a step closer, voice low.

“I wasn’t laughing at you, sweetheart. You know that, right?”

Steve shakes his head but doesn’t pull away. “Then what was that?” 

“Me not hiding it,” Billy said simply. “You’re the one who keeps nagging me to stop pretending.” 

The words hit like a missed step. Steve stared at him, trying to decide if he’d heard it right.

Billy went on, still quiet but steady. “You worry too much about what people see. I’m tired of acting like I don’t—” He stopped himself, shook his head, tried to laugh it off. “Forget it. I’m drunk.”

But Steve could see the truth sitting there between them, stubborn and unpolished.

Billy dragged a hand through his hair, restless. “You ever think maybe this’d be easier if we stopped acting like it’s some accident? I know you want this just as bad as I do. But you just want to overthink it to death.”

Steve blinked. “What?”

Billy met his eyes then, no grin, no armor. “You and me. We keep ending up here anyway. So what’s the point in making everything so difficult. I mean you just want a label so you can feel safe,” he said deadpan, blunt. He sounded tired. He never sounded tired. “You want me to say the word so you stop spinning.”

The words weren’t loud, but it cut through the music all the same.

Before Steve could answer, someone stumbled past, bumping Billy’s shoulder, laughing, breaking the moment apart. Billy caught his balance, took it as an excuse to back up a step, his guard snapping back into place

“Don’t look so spooked, Harrington,” he said, half smiling again. “I’m just saying what we’re both already thinking. Wanna me to tell you we’re going steady, huh? That there’s nobody else.” 

Steve doesn’t say anything, doesn’t like where this conversation has gone. Doesn’t like that they could have an audience. No one’s really paying attention, but still.

”Let’s get some air, c’mon. Not really feeling this party anymore.” Before Billy can answer Steve’s grabbing him by his shirt and tugging him along.  Once they get outside they don’t get very far before Billy’s grabbing his arm to stop him, obviously not done with their conversation.

“Here’s something you don’t have to guess at.”

He stepped closer. Not caging. Not crowding. Just near enough that Steve could see the tiny nick under Billy’s eye he hadn’t noticed before, the way the light fell in uneven bars across his mouth.

“I like you around,” Billy said, quiet and flat and terrifyingly bare. “More than I should. More than I thought I would. I don’t know what to do with that without fucking it up.” His throat worked. “So this is what you get.” He finished after a long pause.

The wind lifted, cold enough to bite. Steve couldn’t feel his fingers for a second. “Then why keep pulling me in?”

“Because you let me,” Billy said, not apologizing. “Because you come. Because it’s easy until you try to make it something clear cut.”

Steve’s laugh scraped. “This isn’t easy.”

“It is for me until you look at me like that,” Billy said, exasperation bleeding into it now, hand cutting through the air. “Like I’m supposed to be good at this. Like I’ve got a map.”

“Then say that.” Steve’s voice rose, cracked, carried. The empty lot swallowed it. “Say you don’t know. Don’t act like I made it up every time I ask what the hell we’re doing.”

Billy opened his mouth. Closed it. Something like fear flashed over his face so quick it could’ve been a trick of the light. He stepped back as if distance would help him think. It didn’t.

“Okay, fine.” he said, and it wasn’t surrender so much as a corner turning into a door. “I don’t know. There. Happy?”

“No,” Steve said, softer. “But it’s real.”

Billy’s drunk so Steve’s not really sure how this’ll end up turning out tomorrow, but for right now it almost feels like enough.

“Okay,” he said again. Quieter.

The moment died. Billy looked like he’d stepped into a cold shower. For a second, he wasn’t the biggest thing in the room. He was just a guy who didn’t know how to keep something without breaking it.

“Think this is enough for one night huh?” Billy finally broke the tension, he throws an arm around Steve’s shoulders tugging him into his side. “C’mon, I’m fucked up. Let’s go back to yours, it’s closer.” 

It’s really not. But Steve nods anyways.