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Trophies line the walls of the room. Various miniatures of swimmers and basketball players. There are pictures; a few anyways, with locations that look nothing like this shithole of a town.

Discarded beer bottles lay knocked over on the ground. A pill bottle with small white capsules inside sit on a desk beside a pocket calculator that’s been gathering dust. If he strains his eyes, he can just make out the word “migraine” on the label. The rest of the words are all medical bullshit.

He could’ve left. Snuck out in the dead of night. But he ended up having way too much to drink. He knew if Hopper caught him driving home with a buzz again, he could kiss his keys goodbye till Christmas at least. He thought, being the police chief’s kid now, he could get away with everything, but apparently that’s just on TV.

The blankets shift behind him, and he holds his breath.

He stares straight ahead as the body beside him stretches. Legs brush against his, and Billy closes his eyes, ready for it. To be told to leave, that this was a mistake that’s never repeating.

It doesn’t comes

Instead, the legs invade, intertwining with his, and a head finds its way against the back of his neck.

“You awake?” The voice asks. It’s rough gravel against the silence of the early morning. Billy nods his head.

A chest settles into his back. It’s warm, and slightly scratchy as a nest of hair brushes against his skin.

“Sleep well?” The words are more honeyed against the base of his skull.

He nods yes, lying.

“Me too.” He’s pulled back. Arms wrap around his side, and fingers find their way lazily gliding over his stomach until they rest against his chest. He wonders if this is the treatment all the girls get. Morning cuddles before getting kicked to the—

“Heh… Boobies…”

“Shut up.” Billy groans as he tries to hide the way he leans into the touch. He revels in it, letting it brand his skin in ways he’s longed for years. His thoughts vanish for a moment, and he etches this into his mind, and onto his flesh, before it will be inevitably ripped from him.

The groping stops, and is replaced by a soothing rubbing motion. Rough fingers graze across his nipples, sending shivers up his spine.

“I really had fun last night… I hope you did, too… I know it was my first… I mean, not my first, but with, well…”

“I know, Harrington…” He cuts Steve’s ramble off. “It was…”

It was perfect. It was everything Billy had imagined in his head almost every night since he moved into this good-for-nothing town, and laid eyes on that stupidly perfect head of hair.

“Good.”

“Yeah?” He feels Steve lean up on one elbow, and Billy turns to meet those doe eyes that got him into this situation. His hair is… a mess. A rats nest in all honesty. His chest hair is disheveled, there’s a pillow mark on his face, and a slight sheen of drool at the corner of his mouth, yet—

“Yeah, Pretty Boy. Real good.”

His eyes wander down further. Bruises blossom around Steve’s neck. He can barely make out teeth marks, and scratches that disappear over the curve of his shoulder. Again, he commits his work of art to memory, for soon that’s all it will be.

Because this… Them… drunken stupidity.

A year of high school angst and years more of recovery and fighting side by side against an otherworldly being that he still can’t wrap his mind around all coming to a head.

Meaningless, for one. But everything to the other.

“Hey.” Steve’s hand stills. “I can hear you thinking.”

Billy huffs, and turns over. “Might wanna try doing it yourself sometime.” He grumbles. “Be more than just a pretty face.”

Steve’s hands and limbs retreat, and Billy readies himself. It’s what he deserves for always lashing out when things get uncomfortable. Scary. Real. His therapist says it’s his defense mechanism, but the fuck does she know. His fists have done more protecting than anything else ever did.

“I have been.” Steve’s voice is quiet, but serious from where he whispers behind him. “Thinking. That is.”

“Good for you.” He says after a moment.

“Yeah, well, it could be good for… fuck this is so cheesy.”

That stirs a snarky chuckle out of Billy, and an elbow in the ribs. He turns over to where Steve is lying on his back, arms behind his head, staring straight towards the ceiling. The faint rays of light shining through the curtains catch in mahogany hair and coffee eyes. They dance across the moles dusted over Steve’s face and neck.

“Go on.” Billy prods.

“I mean, just… I know this is probably crazy, and stupid, because, god, why would you want this, but, like…” Steve runs his hands through his hair and lets out an exasperated sigh. Billy tentatively reaches out, resting a hand over his chest. Steve quickly takes it into his grasp, sighing a deep breath.

“I’ve been thinking. A lot. About, well… you. And me. Us. And after last night—“

“You don’t mean it.” He interrupts.

“I do.”

“Just saying that cuz I blew your brains out last night.”

“Jesus, Hargrove—“

“Just saying. Guys’ll go crazy for some good head.”

“I- It’s not- I mean, it was good. Great even, but like, before then I just…”

Steve’s fingers trace lazy circles on the back of Billy’s hand. He holds it tight to his chest as he continues.

“When you first got to town, I was just… I don’t know. It was like I was a magnet, or something. I felt like I was getting pulled towards you no matter what happened, like those super strong ones they had in physics class, remember?”

“The ones that would break pieces of each other off every time they slammed together.” Billy adds. He remembers the chunks flying, and sparks soaring after each crash.

“Yeah. Those ones.”

“… Still feel that way?”

“No…”

Billy tenses.

“Not in the same way. Not with the breaking, but just… whatever this is. We’ve been circling around it for years, now. After Starcourt and the hospital was one thing, but… after that night at the quarry? And your dad?”

Billy looks down at the permanent scrapes across his knuckles. The white, marred skin where a knife sliced through his bicep. The scar on Steve’s stomach where he stupidly put himself between him and Neil.

Steve shifts to his side, putting them face to face.

“I’ve just been thinking. And… I…” Steve’s eyes fall down to Billy’s lips, and that was all he needed.

Billy leans in, slotting their lips together. The little moan that escapes Steve is enough to send him into orbit. Billy presses his body into Steve’s neither doing a thing to hide their excitement.

But there’s no hurry. No urgency, now. Billy takes his time as he sucks another bruise across Steve’s collarbone. And Steve is reverent as he takes Billy into his mouth for the first time, gazing up at the halo of curls that splay over his pillow above him.

Billy’s toes curl as Steve kisses every inch of him on his way up. Even his scars. The ugly, twisting reminders of the trauma they share. He sighs as he tastes himself on Steve’s tongue.