do you wanna feel how it feels?

billy's  laughter  was  like  a  tuning  fork  anchoring  him  to  the  moment.  like  the  heat  from  his  body—radiating  a  yearning  to  draw  closer  to  his  sun—his  chuckle  was  a  comfort.  so  far  removed  from  the  wild  cackle  of  that  night  outside  of  the  byers.  before  they  fought  back  to  back  in  the  tunnels,  side  by  side  in  the  middle  school  while  el  used  her  bath  to  tap  into  the  upside  down  and  shocked  the  student  body  when  they  started  taking  turns  driving  to  school  together.  their  rivalry  abruptly  buried  without  the  benefit  of  an  audience  sent  a  wave  of  resentment  through  those  who  were  enjoying  the  show  a  bit  too  much.  the  social  ecosystem  couldn't  fathom  two  charismatic,  good  looking  guys  paling  around  the  playground  without  vying  for  top  dog  status.  it  wasn't  natural,  in  their  minuscule  minds. 

steve's  not  entirely  sure  he  would  be  able  to  pinpoint  when  that  happened:  the  sobering  of  billy's  laugh.  in  the  middle  of  a  dozen  or  more  cigarettes  they  shared  in  the  parking  lot  and  bathroom  between  classes.  sitting  in  the  wheelers  basement  coming  up  with  a  plan  of  attack,  anticipating  the  mind  flayer's  masterplan.  knees  knocking  as  they  took  up  most  of  the  space  on  the  couch.  billy  taking  shotgun  after  dropping  henderson  off  at  the  snowflake  ball,  offering  steve  a  pat  on  the  back  and  words  of  comfort  that  dustin  would  be  alright.  splitting  a  six  pack  in  his  parents  backyard,  facing  away  from  the  pool  and  staring  aimless  into  the  woods.  the  months  were  filled  with  moments  like  all  of  that.  steve's  reality  had  melded  with  billy's  with  such  ease  and  rapidness,  harrington  could  hardly  recall  what  it  felt  like  not  to  sit  beside  billy.  at  peace. 

he  laughed  along  at  the  fishing  joke.  knowing  they  hadn't  packed  fishing  poles  and  whatever  else  they'd  need,  it  was  a  stretch  for  him  to  suggest  it.  he  doubted  billy  had  tracked  down  the  local  bait  shop  for  them  to  detour  before  heading  out  to  the  lake.  ❝  fishing?  yeah,  sure.  what  do  they  call  it  back  in  california?  catching  a  killer  wave?  ❞  he  laughed  some  more  and  shook  his  head.  the  action  stilled  somewhat  as  billy's  implication  sank  in.  one  hand  idly  found  the  place  where  his  chin  met  his  bottom  lip,  and  steve  nervously  rubbed  there.  his  eyes  cutting  to  billy,  questioning.  it  was  fleeting,  his  attention  mostly  kept  on  his  infernal  exploration  of  his  own  vehicle.  it  was  only  when  billy  steadied  him  with  his  calm,  commanding  hey  that  steve  froze.  his  hands  came  back  to  his  lap,  hands  resting  lightly  over  his  own  knees.  brown  eyes  fell  to  the  open  palm  on  the  console  then  darted  up  to  billy's  soft  expression.  there  was  no  dance  around.  it  was…  sobering.  a  clear  sign.  it  said:  i'm  right  here. 

billy  had  been  there  since  that  night.  standing  in  the  same  spot  steve  had  a  different  night.  when  he  made  his  decision  to  change  his  life—irrevocably  and  forever. 

billy's  open  hand  felt  like  another  one  of  those  big  decisions.  right  there  in  front  of  his  face.  it  would  change…  everything.  but  then  it  had  come  up  on  him  as  inevitable  as  fighting  off  that  first  demogorgon  when  he  was  protecting  nancy  and  jonathan  from  attack.  all  roads  were  leading  to  this.  with  that  dawning  realization,  steve  did  grow  still.  the  weight  of  what  billy  was  offering  was  much  stronger  than  his  hand  to  hold.  it  was  terrifying  and…  all  that  he  ever  wanted.  steve  breathed  through  the  yield  of  time.  the  rushing  of  trees  past  the  speeding  car  on  the  blacktop  seemed  to  grow  blurry  beyond  billy.  he  could  no  longer  feel  the  motion  of  the  car's  travel.  space  and  time  collapsed  in  on  itself  leaving  only  billy's  hand  and  steve's  calm  breathing.  steve  reached.  his  fingertips  traced  the  edge  of  billy's  fingertips  then  drew  down  the  lines  of  his  digits,  slipping  into  their  seams  as  easily  as  planting  a  new  set  of  roots  to  freshly  tilled  soil.  the  beat  of  his  pulse  met  the  rhythm  of  billy's  inside  their  joined  palms,  and  just  like  that,  time  started  up  again. 

And nobody's ever chosen him.

"Catchin' a killer wave, huh?" He laughs, and it's something sunny. "Now you're speakin' my language, pretty boy." Billy's grin widens, playful, like now they're onto something together. But his grin sobers when he turns over and catches Steve go still. Watches in real time as Steve finally sees. Finally understands what Billy's been saying all along. There's a softening in his eyes as Steve looks to him with a question there in those pretty doe eyes. Billy nods, and it's tender, full of longing. "There's a wave right here," he murmurs, low and sweet. "If you're ready t'catch it." Catch me, I'm right here.

It feels like forever, the moment that stretches out between them. Billy just keeps driving, palm turned upward on the console. And Billy's been pushing at Steve ever since he came to Hawkins. Pushing in a way that was trying to peel back the layers. To get Steve to notice him. But Billy doesn't push now. Just waits. Because like. It matters. It matters a whole hell of a lot that if this is the moment, then Steve chooses for himself. On his own. And goddamn could Billy just blow up thinking about it, especially when Steve goes so still. But he feels something else in the stillness. Steve's calm and steadying breaths. Which calms Billy. Steve's breathing settles him, at peace. Even when the question still hangs in the air, Billy isn't nervous. Isn't afraid. And Billy's a wave and he's rolling, rolling, rolling,

Until Steve catches him. Chooses him. Reaches out, traces the length of Billy's fingers. Steve's always been cool to the touch. Cool like a wave soothing the heat on Billy's skin. He feels the way Steve's fingers slot into place. How his own fingers curl around Steve's in answer. And Steve's skin is cold, and Billy's skin is burning. But when their hands are joined, the temperature's just right. Like how it should be. Billy smiles, the kind of smile that reaches his eyes like sparkling sunlight on water. "Hey, Stevie," he murmurs, and it's something new. He says it like a homecoming. His thumb gently rubs against Steve's skin as he makes the final turn. Pulls up to the lake. Throws the car in park. Turns to Steve. Keeps holding his hand, but takes his free hand. Reaches out. Tucks a strand of brown hair behind Steve's ear. Gentle, tender, and,

the way her skin prickles and seethes as she responds, doesn't affect him. words aimed like daggers are dodged with zero urgency; he sees why she's doing this. it's all too familiar, in a way that makes him blink calmly against the heat in her words. pushing him away. hoping he'll make it easier and just leave. and then she'll play victim within herself at the consistency of abandonment. because why would you want closeness when that's only ever brought a fallout? if only it were that easy. the wind whistles through the trees, the small hills of the graveyard feeling miniscule and their own worlds feeling entirely too large for the space they're inhabiting together.

instinctive defense that is desperate to stop her from carving herself open further sharpens within, but it stalls behind closed lips. she moves closer, and suddenly the lack of distance feels intolerably small. his hands flex at his sides, pulse hard against his throat. her face searches his for answers he doesn't know how to give. the tension is lifted as restless currents of winds move through them, and he wishes it could just cool it rather than move it about between them.

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐱. he's silent again, pilling through the perfect thing to say until he's reminded that nothing has ever been perfect about him and he surely is far from the clinical kind of person that can provide means to a solution. so he drops the need to police, to coach, to walk the younger girl through these overwhelming and ever-evolving themes of grief that he knows nothing about. ❛ he hurt you. he pushed you away. then he scared the shit outta you for months. but i think... ❜ it doesn't have to be seamless. ❛ at the end, i think he saw it. the versions of things, of himself, that could have been. ❜ his face twists in fragility; he's nearly reluctant to keep going. because it's not just about billy anymore. he knows the feeling; too many things in his own life seemed to come up right at their ending. like sand slipping through the cracks in between your fingers. it's inevitable, impossible to avoid.

❛ doesn't mean you stop living because he can't... and it doesn't mean you punish yourself because things weren't perfect. nobody gets it right in time. ❜ steve can't hide the sadness in familiarity that reaches his eyes and forces his gaze back down. there's history to his words. regret. a list of names that hurt at each syllable. he pulls at the fabric of his sleeve. he hadn't noticed the way the stitching in the seam there is starting to fray, threads pulled apart from the overwear.

there were versions of himself he wishes he'd fixed sooner. and when she throws her hands up, and offers him a question on if she's past saving, something contorts in his eyes and he answers almost immediately – too fast to have been rehearsed. ❛ no, max. ❜ the words come from something deep in his throat, bubbling out disheveled. ❛ it's not too late. ❜ the conviction in his words almost sounds angry. because the alternative answer would send him down a spiral he's not prepared for. ❛ you're still being a pain in my ass, ❜ he reaches forward to poke her at her shoulder. ❛ a clear sign it's not too late. ❜

the next pause is formed with misshapen thoughts trying to find their way out. his lips part again and he squints, then closes his mouth. he starts again, steadier now– ❛ i think... i think this pisses me off so much because it sounds like you've already decided. ❜ already decided she's a goner. the real fear is hidden, but implied; he knows she'll hear it without him having to actually say it.

She's gotten back enough to see the way Steve changes. How he drops the I'm-older-than-you-so-I-know-better bullshit that kind of always made her roll her eyes and also reminded her of Billy. And it surprises her, the way Steve is no longer the protector in her life, but just, well... Steve. Fragile and sad and broken and left on the cusp of something in a way she understands, but cannot fix for him, or for herself. Her brows pinch with a vulnerability she hasn't previously shown. Fingers coil up, reach the cuff of her sleeve. And suddenly, she's a little smaller.

"There's something I need to tell you." She's looking past his shoulder for a second, finding breath before she looks at him. "I was never afraid of Billy." Instantly, Max sees images of her standing by the sauna door, confused as to why the hell Mike was telling her to get away from the door as if she could just leave her brother there. The movie reel in her head skips. She sees herself standing at the end of the hall when the Mind Flayer made Billy get El. She planted her feet, just like her brother. Called out to Billy because she wasn't afraid of him. She knew him, and this wasn't him. Knew if Billy could just break past the Mind Flayer, then he'd answer her drawn charge and call foul on this Mind Flayer. He'd stop the Mind Flayer, like if anyone could do it, Billy could. She knew he could because he always got back up. Billy, get up, please! The movie reel breaks, goes black. It's forced on Max's part. Like she always just blacks out whenever she starts thinking about Billy on the floor of the mall.

"I was scared of what changed in him when we moved, okay?" She stops, looks up at the sky, shifts the weight on her feet. "Look, I know it doesn't make sense, but Billy wasn't the guy you knew when we lived in California. He just wasn't. And it's like I told Lucas. He was a dick, but he wasn't angry. Everything just changed when we moved. And I think I know why now." The letter she left behind her at Billy's grave flaps in the breeze. A whispering of what happens at home. Bad fights. Neil. A monster in human form. Max is afraid of it, and she inches closer to Steve. "I got pissed at everyone because none of us are grieving the same person. I couldn't miss him around any of you. Like nobody could understand why I miss him." And there it is, the admission of truth. It's Max-shaped, which is just a sister without a brother and a girl who's alone, alone, alone...

Yet Steve is still standing there. Spitting out truth in a way that she needed all along. Messy and unpolished, like how she feels. "Are you telling me not to punish myself like you did to yourself?" It's quiet, it's not a fight. It's just that she's sick of doing this thing where they dance around it. Like they just can't do that anymore in this new space.

New space. It's defined by the speed at which Steve replies from the heart. Outlines it with the way he pokes her. Max blows out a breath, leans away dramatically in comparison to the gentle force with which he pokes her shoulder. And for the first time, Max answers him, like old times. It's proof of life. She leans her shoulder back into his hand and rolls her eyes. A gentle shove back. "Yeah?" Her face scrunches up. "Well, the feeling is definitely mutual, because you're a pain in my ass, too." She shrugs, like it's not barbed. "Guess that makes us even, right?" It's more than that.

Max looks a Steve for a long time. Hears his words-- the truth and fear in what he's saying (and what he's not). "I need you not to get mad, Steve." She squeezes her eyes shut. "Please don't get mad." When Max opens her eyes, it just all comes out. "Because I did think that way. For a while. Like I just wanted it all to go away." There's a crack in her voice, raw and small. "But I don't want that anymore, okay? I don't want it to be too late. But when Vecna got in my mind, he said my time's up. And you know I've been having those nightmares. The bloody nose." She gestures vaugely at nothing.

billy hargrove in every scene (29/∞)

It hangs over her, the way the only thing he says is 'yeah, he came.' She knows there's more there. She can see that there's more there. The 'and?' she wants to ask is practically seeping out of her skin, as she looks back at him like she can will him to tell her about that split lip he's still trying to hide. She's such an idiot for not having put it together earlier. Basketballs to the face was never how he'd known how to tell her what to do when she'd gotten that bloody nose at cheer practice. That cut on his eyebrow when they'd run into each other during that blizzard. Those gossipy whispers around town. The way he'd made that little comment about how Max could spend more time out of the house when Dottie had given him that coat for her. The sound of his voice last night when he's said my dad can't find out about this, Dottie.

He doesn't need to say out loud that he isn't okay: he does that by saying he's fine the same way she had, looking away just like she had because right now it's almost a curse that they see through each other too well. They're both full of shit and they both know it.

The question genuinely surprises her, and she's sure that the surprise flickers over her face before it clicks into place: he thinks her dad is just like his dad. "No." Of course Billy saw through her dad's little performance in the police station. Saw the way he'd been holding her arm and thought it was hurting her (her whining about it probably hadn't helped; it really hadn't hurt, she'd just been surprised), thought it was a normal occurrence and not something so out of the ordinary that she'd made a point to complain about it. Didn't know that it was just her dad's way of making sure she was right where he wanted her, that he hadn't been holding tightly enough to actually hurt, or leave a bruise; didn't know that it was her dad's way of acting like he'd been worried about her by holding onto her. He hadn't been there to see the way her dad had let go of her as soon as they'd gotten out of the station. "No, he's not like that," she promises, shaking her head.

She considers for a second, then, holding his gaze long enough to make sure he knows she's telling the truth, then looks away for a second, somewhere over his shoulder, trying to decide. It's a delicate thing, deciding if she should actually say out loud that she knows his dad hits him. Sure, they tell each other a lot of things. Almost everything. Dottie's pretty sure that he hasn't told many people what he'd told her about liking guys instead of girls. But still, neither of them have been fully transparent about their fathers.

You know.

And it's not good enough anymore, like it just fucking isn't. Not for either of them. This thing they've been doing for months now. Seeing through the bullshit- seeing more about each other than most people ever cared to know about either of them. It was enough for a while, the quiet way their friendship sort of settled into their bones. There in the safety of the space they made for themselves in the Camaro. In the laughter that warmed them on the hill that day they went sledding with Max. In the trek to Grady's farmhouse through the snow, hooked arms and full of sheer stubborn will to make it. In the way they protected each other on the basketball court the day that dickwad decided it was a good idea to push Billy and Dottie (hell no!). But now Billy's sick worrying about Dottie, and he's only getting sicker watching Dottie look at him with the same worry on her face.

It's like the words they aren't saying are kililng them.

Billy knows what's through the threshold of this door they knocked down together. A friendship, a love, that doesn't turn away. Something he's never had before, not even close. He feels it in his chest, this tightened, wound up thing that's been there for years. It's gotten tighter with every tragedy, every hand that hurt, that took, that used him up and left him to die. Billy's died a thousand little deaths since he was seven. Made it easier to numb a pain and emptiness that seeks to kill him a thousand more times, never once completely putting him outta his misery. But this thing tightens in his chest one last time, standing here with Dottie. It's like the final painful pressure before relief.

And maybe the pain will always be there, but the emptiness won't.

So why is Billy scared to death of it? Neil's ghost gets in his face, a hot and bruising answer. Neil's hands aren't here, but they are for Billy. In a way. Because Neil's hands are straightening Billy's face. Locks him in place, and Billy's not moving in front of Dottie. He's frozen. And it's Neil's voice that gives him the what for. Because a pussy like you doesn't deserve this.

Dottie's no makes Neil dissipate. Leaves Billy standing there in front of her, head frozen in the same position that the ghost of Neil made him to be. He moves for the first time, face lowering, body coming out of it. A flash of fear flickers in his eyes. Because it's like even the thought of Neil makes his body go numb. His brow lifts and his eyes search Dottie's face. Momentary confusion. "Larry's not... like that?" He's reading the surprise all over her face like he's kind of lost. And he is lost because like. What does Billy Hargrove know except that a father is a man who beats his kid? A father is a man who locks his son in his room like a dog.

Billy kinda falters, shifts his weight. Like a kid who's caught, guilty. "He's not puttin' his hands on you." And it's not a question; it's like Billy's gotta repeat Dottie's confirmation for it to sink in. He's quiet now, listening. Feeling every word Dottie's saying. Processing it, brows pinching, concern etching worry lines there. "Hey. Hey." It's low, serious. "Dottie, listen t'me, all right? Just 'cause Larry doesn't hit you doesn't mean he's not like that." He stops, head tilts like a heart breaking. "It doesn't mean he's not hurtin' you in other ways. He shouldn't be treatin' you like that."

And then Dottie does it. Says it. Names it. Names what he's been going through ever since his mom left. Billy shakes his head, tries to deny it with a futility that's fucking embarrassing. He closes his eyes, thick lashes catching tears he's trying in vain to keep back. Dips his head, frowning-- deep, pronounced. Covers his face in his hands. He's not like your dad. It echoes in his brain, the truth that's finally admitted from someone else. The gentleness in her tone wraps around him, safe. A foreign thing. Tears slip. He wipes them away, pulls his hands away from his face.

"It's- not that bad." A lie. "He just--" Billy shakes his head, looks off to the side before looking back at Dottie. Blue eyes framed by an ocean's worth of tears. "He's gotta have things a certain way. And when they aren't done his way--" Billy points to his busted lip as evidence. Scoffs, like he's chiding himself. "I shouldn't've gone out. Shouldn't've drank and got caught by the goddamn cops."

Who's fault is it?

"It's my fault."

the girls are fighting

(x)

he  didn't  want  to  push  billy  to  answer  him,  but  if  they  left  it  to  the  shadows,  billy's  hope  would  be  lost  with  it.  steve  had  to  know  what  he  went  through  so  that  he  could  pull  him  back  from  that  brink.  it  was  the  hiding,  the  forgetting  until  it  hurt  again  that  got  billy  to  thinking  that  maybe  he'd  earned  his  spot  on  the  punching  block.  if  not  him  then  he'd  be  sacrificing  someone  else  to  the  pain.  steve  would  not  stand  for  that.  he'd  pull  billy  back  into  the  light  he  exuded  and  show  him  it  was  meant  for  him  as  well  as  any  others  he  chose  to  shine  it  on.  steve  hoped  billy  hadn't  lost  that  flicker.  even  if  only  an  ember  remained,  he'd  stoke  it  back  to  life  with  the  burning  cherry  of  his  cigarette.  just  like  he  used  to  put  his  hand  around  the  back  of  billy's  head  and  pull  him  in  to  light  his  smoke  with  his  already  lit  one.  their  lips  puffing  to  breath  some  spark  through  the  tobacco.  it  was  that  fire  they  wanted  out  of  billy.  steve's  stomach  twisted  sharply  from  that  sudden  connection.  the  thing  steve  wanted  to  reawaken  and  protect  in  his  love  was  the  thing  they  tried  to  pry  out  of  him. 

steve  chanted  his  name.  “  billy,  no…  god,  oh  billy…  ”  what  could  steve  do?  he  felt  so  powerless.  the  guy  with  all  the  connections,  with  more  than  enough  to  go  around.  how  could  he  save  someone  he  loved  from  monsters  like  that?  he  needed  the  open  air.  after  his  pacing  and  physical  excursion  to  expel  all  of  his  pent  up  frustration  and  hopelessness  at  the  state  he  found  billy  in,  the  hands  he'd  pulled  him  out  of,  steve  returned  to  the  car  and  hugged  his  sobbing  boyfriend.  steve  didn't  have  the  right  answers,  but  one  thing  that  wouldn't  change  was  he  would  do  absolutely  whatever  he  needed  to  do  to  keep  billy  safe.  he  apologized  against  his  shoulder,  into  his  hair,  over  his  ear  and  across  his  cheek  as  steve  rubbed  his  lips  across  billy's  skin.  not  for  anything  he'd  done  in  their  past  but  for  the  abuse  he'd  endured  from  the  moment  they'd  met  and  all  the  time  before.  he  wanted  to  wipe  billy's  slate  clean.  once  and  for  all.  he  wanted  to  show  him  what  his  love  could  make  of  them.  how  billy's  place  in  this  world  was  more  important  than  what  anyone  who'd  hurt  him  had  led  him  to  believe  before  now.  then  steve  spilled  words  of  love,  of  devotion,  of  complete  and  unconditional  surrender.  his  heart  was  billy's  and  he  would  keep  billy's  heart  from  this  night  on.  steve  wiped  away  billy's  tears  as  billy  had  been  trying  to  catch  his.  steve  had  always  longed  to  give  himself  over  to  someone.  he  had  so  much  love  and  protection  and  loyalty  to  give  if  only  he  had  the  chance  to  show  it.  instead  of  masking  his  emotions  with  a  cool  persona  or  building  walls  to  keep  all  the  cruel  judgement  out,  he  could've  spent  his  time  proving  himself  to  someone.  he'd  tried  proving  himself  to  billy,  but  he  let  himself  down. 

never  again.  billy's  confession  of  not  being  able  to  go  back  made  steve  nod  against  his  shoulder.  “  i  know,  i  know,  ”  he  agreed  fervently.  “  i  am  sure.  billy,  i'm  so  damn  sure.  ”  he  pulled  back  and  held  billy's  face  in  his  hands.  his  eyes  were  steel  and  his  mouth  was  set.  “  whatever  it  takes.  whatever  it  fuckin'  takes,  you  hear  me.  nothing  is  gonna  touch  you  ever  again.  it's  us.  i'm  sure  now,  and  i  should've  never  doubted  it.  i  promise  you,  billy…  i  am  your  home,  and  you're  mine.  home,  baby.  it's  gonna  be  something  me  and  you  have  never  known  before,  but  it's  going  to  be  everything.  do  you  believe  me?  ”  his  eyes  were  big  and  the  most  vulnerable  he's  ever  been.  even  in  their  most  intimate  of  moments,  steve's  never  felt  this  raw  before.  it  wasn't  just  his  body  and  his  desire  he  was  sharing  with  billy  in  this  moment—he  was  making  the  final  commitment.  he  was  no  longer  running.  he  was  planting  his  feet  right  here  in  front  of  billy.  he  was  drawing  the  charge  against  anything  or  anyone  that  would  try  to  hurt  him.  steve  was  going  to  be  billy's  hero  if  it  was  the  last  thing  he  ever  did. 

He's not alone. Not anymore. And Billy can hear it in Steve's voice. Hear the love, the devotion, the surrender he murmurs into his ear. That he'll never be alone again. And it's natural, it's from the heart, and it's all coming outta Billy's mouth. Billy murmurs it back into Steve's hair, Steve's cheek, Steve's ear. Tear-choked sobs, breathy and hard to hear. Love, devotion, surrender. Their faces hover close, wiping each other's tears away. It feels like wiping away all the bad things. Making way for good things. And Billy thought he had seen the real Steve before. Thought they had laid it all bare when they were laying bare in bed together long before this moment. But Billy's seeing all of Steve now, walls completely knocked down. And hell, Steve's seeing all of Billy. No more walls.

"We won't go back there." It slips out true, like confirming Steve's own agreement. But it's we now, which is an important distinction. Because Billy's letting Steve in, accepting his protection. Billy's never been protected in his entire goddamn life. And it's a vulnerability he hasn't known, but falls into with Steve in a way that's deeper than anything Billy shared before. And he's there, in Steve's arms, his face cradled by Steve's hands that shield his face from the hands that hurt, that hit. He brings his hands up, curls his fingers into Steve's hands. Committed. Blinks past the tears to look at his boyfriend. Sit there in his gaze, lost in those brown doe eyes turn to steel-- a love and protection so sure and steadfast and undeniable that Billy feels it everywhere. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, because it's a lot. This is a lot. Those little lines form between his brows. He lowers his head just enough to press his forehead to Steve's. Facing the truth, facing what it feels like to be loved and safe, for once and from now on. Everything in his body cries out, not in pain, but with something else. Something like a voice that had been beaten and drugged and forced into the closet now finally being heard. Because Steve's listening. "I believe you," he says, peeling his forehead away to look at Steve again. Billy's pulling from memories-- tiny embers still there in his heart, not entirely doused after the hospital, after that thing. They're threads to the time they shared, the words they spoke to each other. And Billy's body is broken and not the same and there are parts of him that will never be the same. But there's that tiny ember in his eyes, blue like the sea and shining like the light that reflects off the water. "Steve. My Steve. Come home."

Billy strokes his boyfriend's hair one last time, gentle and loving, before Steve pulls away. Feels his sighing breath left on his collarbone like a blanket, a balm. And Billy doesn't want to leave, doesn't want to unravel from him, but the worry's churning in his stomach. Because Steve's hurt, and they have to keep moving. "Take it easy, baby," he murmurs, eyes fixed on the way Steve carefully rubs his head. And if a gaze could heal wounds, then Billy's eyes would have healed the blood and bruises on Steve's face. "What'd y'do, pack the whole house?" And it's tender, kinda shy-sweet teasing, even with snort that escapes as he says it. That auditory response in Billy that's always overwhelmed whenever he's faced with such love and care. And the thing is, Steve kinda did. Billy's standing by the trunk of the bmw, fingers coiling around the itchy hospital gown at his thighs. Pulls down, keeps the fabric close so the wind doesn't catch it. Like he's hiding himself. Watches, kinda floored, kinda like he's gonna blow up over the thought and care laid out in the trunk of Steve's bmw. It's not just first aid and basic supplies to survive; it's also pieces of Billy restored back to him. His old clothes, the pieces that meant so much to him-- that made him feel like himself. And then that one shirt that belonged to Steve. Billy's eyes linger on it, remembering. Then he reaches out. Cards his fingers through his clothes (and one of Steve's). Feels the familiar fabric that once felt good on his body. Not like this hospital gown, thin, exposing, and sterile. Tears burn hot in his eyes, which is fucking ridiculous to be crying over clothes, and yet here he is. Rubbing his eyes and hiding his face like some goddamn child. And then, Billy pulls his hands away, finds Steve's eyes. "You kept all my shit?"

He swallows, thick and heavy. Feels somethings flutter in his heart when Steve calls him darlin'. Billy's cheeks flush, immediately shy. And Billy's never been shy. But now he is. He blows out a breath, lets it linger between them. "You gonna lean against that beamer like some dreamboat while I change?" Billy's nose scrunches, freckles bunching. Tries navigating the shyness between them along with the fire that's glowing, coming back to life. He takes a second, blinks a few times. Tilts his head. Then looks back at the clothes. Picks Steve's old t-shirt first. Because it smells like him and it's not as revealing as Billy's clothes. Digs out his denim long-sleeve button up shirt next. Billy needs layers. Layers upon layers now. Hesitates over the tight-fitted jeans, fingers recoiling there. Can't do that. Chooses baggy sweatpants. The ones he'd wear during gym class over the winter. Collects briefs, then socks, then sneakers. His old, beat up unbranded canvas ones and sets them in a pile. Takes a breath and,

Does the easy parts first. Keeps his hospital gown on as he steps into his briefs. Puts his socks on. Shimmies into his sweats. Steps into sneakers. Ties them up. His back straightens up then. "Stevie." It's whispered. Hesitant. Billy's out in the open, but he's not. Because he feels Steve's protection still around him. So he leans into that. "I'm not--" He stops, looks right into Steve's eyes. Wants to brace him for it. "Fuck, Stevie. It's not pretty. What you're gonna see. Okay?" And Billy's gotta do it now, or he's never gonna fucking do it. So his fingers catch the hem of his gown, and he pulls it up over his head. Discards it in a heap on the ground with a finality that says he's done with that. The past. The weight of that gown. But he's standing there with raised, purple-red scars that look like multiple suns with solar rays shooting out from the core. They're everywhere. One big hole covering his whole chest. Smaller scars, still the size of dinner plates, on either side of his torso, at his waist. There's the same mirrored scarring on his back. Shame heats Billy up, but he stands there with Steve. Because they're home, they are each other's home, and it's like Steve said. It's a new thing, and if they're gonna do this, then here he is. Walls knocked down, all Billy.

Billy stands there for a minute. Can't look at himself. So he just looks at Steve, like watching how he reacts. Eventually keeps moving. Grabs Steve's shirt like a lifeline and pulls it over his head. Quickly collects the denim button up shirt and puts that on, too. Leaves it unbuttoned. Kinda like the old Billy, kinda like a new Billy.

He steps forward, feels the warmth on his skin again. Warmth from the clothes, from Steve's scent, from the two of them standing in front of each other. "You all right, baby?" Billy reaches out, fingers lightly touching Steve's arm, asking. Because it's a lot. Like this is a lot. He's trying to make sure Steve's okay after seeing what that thing did. The memories it churns up, violent and hard. But Billy's fingers are on Steve's arm, reminding him that he's still here. And then, the other part of it all. That they're together, making something new. Patching up wounds and,

She shakes her head reassuringly when Billy asks if Brian was being weird about it. "Nah, not really weird about it." If anything he'd actually been normal about it rather than weird about it, which does strike some part of her brain as something that shouldn't be normal, but it's whatever. It was really no big thing, he hadn't been pushy or anything, and she doubts it'll come up at school again. But it had taken Billy a little longer than usual to ask that, like he's worried or something. There's nothing for him to be worried about. "It wasn't a big deal, I could just tell it wasn't just about a ride home." Maybe it would've been something she'd have had to put more thought into if she hadn't already known she was getting a ride from Billy -- because there hadn't been any conversation with her dad before he'd left telling him she had a ride; he never checked in with her before he left, she always just figured it out when she didn't see his Cadillac in the parking lot.

It only really occurs to her now that she's stopped bothering to even look for his Cadillac in the parking lot. Not that she'd ever truly expected to see it there any of the times she'd looked, but even if she knew her dad would never be there waiting to take her home, she'd also have been lying if she said she wasn't a little disappointed every time he proved her right. If she hadn't known that he liked the publicity of showing up at the games with her, she'd have wondered why he even bothered to insist on giving her a ride to games when if he'd just let her drive herself she'd have had her own car to get herself home after. But it's a nicer ride home with Billy, anyway, and if she thinks about it, Dottie's not sure that they would've ended up being such close friends if he hadn't started driving her home from every basketball game, so maybe in some weird way she should thank her dad for being such an asshole.

He scrunches his nose, squints a little. Picks up the guilty tone in her voice. Feels kinda fucking bad about it. "Yeah, well," Billy starts, keeps it cool. Casual. A little dismissive, like it's not a big deal. She doesn't need to feel guilty about it. "Some guys do. Some don't." He's silently kinda wishing Dottie would just drop it. Like they're friends. Real friends. He trusts her, which is saying a lot. People don't stay in Billy's life long enough for him to develop this thing called trust. But still. This is the kinda shit he keeps locked up. This is the kinda shit that could make her hate him. Make her leave, too.

'So that's why you've been staring in the mirror like some faggot.'

Neil's words start echoing in his brain, sharp like a knife. Cuts Billy up inside, all internal bleeding. Internal wounds. And the thing is, Billy can patch himself up on the outside. Taught himself basic first aid in the bathroom, all alone, after Neil beat him. But Billy doesn't know how to stop the internal bleeding. Which is why he's always just drowning on the inside. A slow and painful suffocation. Billy starts drumming his fingers on the wheel, trying to drown out Neil's voice in his head. Stop the hemorrhaging. Doesn't work. He reaches out, turns the volume dial up. Thinks maybe the music can get loud enough to drown out the subject.

oh god.

he blinks, face turning a nice shade of red. looks away to gather a bit of himself, to help his brain think even with it melting out of his ears. "billy." jason's a little out of breath. "-i'd..love that." he let's himself sneak a look into his smile. "your smile. it's so pretty." it's a soft slip of the moment thing. "you look...so good." a once over. gets a smile of his own, his face still warm. rubs his nose to get a semblance of control, or something. earth to jason. stays so close to billy doesn't move until he does.

"what movie are you...did you have...i mean any ideas on what's playing?" he tries to sound casual, he doesn't know if he lands there.

And Jason keeps going, so Billy goes with him. Scrunches his nose, feels something funny because what the hell is Billy Hargrove supposed to do with two genuine compliments now? Eyes follow the way Jason rubs his nose, kinda shy maybe. So Billy shifts gears. Flirty, but sweet. "Got such pretty eyes, Jason. You know that? Who needs a movie t'see stars when I get t'look at you."