do you wanna feel how it feels?

steve  heard  about  the  post-grad  fatigue  following  high  school.  it  went  something  like  the  freshman  fifteen  what  with  all  the  stress  and  the  sudden  freedom  of  not  living  at  home  making  the  body  go  berserk.  he  hesitated  to  believe  it  since  he  was  embodying  the  exception—not  being  a  freshman  in  college  or  doing  anything  overwhelming  apart  from  chasing  after  faceless  monsters  around  hawkins  and  keeping  up  with  the  gang  of  kids  that  knew  all  about  the  strange  happenings.  steve  was  surprised  to  admit  his  feet  hurt  after  his  eight  hour  shift  slinging  ice  cream  at  the  mall.  how  could  the  former  captain  of  the  basketball  team's  feet  hurt  after  standing  behind  a  counter?  a  shudder  chilled  his  spine  as  he  exited  the  back  door  of  the  employee  access  bay  of  starcourt.  the  streetlights  were  lit  in  the  parking  lot,  and  his  head  was  hung  as  his  heavy  eyes  surveyed  the  drag  of  his  steps.  he  could  understand  being  out  of  shape  having  not  been  to  basketball  practice  for  many  weeks  now.  it  wasn't  like  he  lounged  around  in  front  of  the  tv  though  in  his  spare  time…  steve  shook  himself  from  his  anxiety  spiral.  looking  up,  he  was  pleasantly  surprised  to  see  billy's  camaro  blocking  the  sight  of  his  bmw.  he'd  fully  intended  on  crawling  into  his  maroon  beemer  and  high  tailing  it  over  to  the  community  pool.  it  had  become  something  of  a  routine  to  meet  each  other  after  work  or  during  their  respective  shifts. 

while  steve  was  only  slightly  disappointed  @dealtgod  beat  him  to  the  payoff,  he  was  more  relieved  to  save  time  before  he  was  able  to  see  his  boyfriend's  face.  after  such  a  boring  day  filled  with  different  ice  cream  toppings  and  horrible  bright  lightning  of  the  mall,  his  weary  bones  longed  to  curl  up  in  the  limbs  of  billy  and  fade  away.  his  eyebrows  knotted  the  closer  he  trudged  towards  the  blue  vehicle  because  he  noticed  the  trunk  was  open.  bringing  himself  around  the  rear  of  the  camaro,  steve  peered  around  the  hatch  and  was  stunned  to  find  billy  curled  up  inside.  “  hi…  ”  he  ventured.  his  jacket  was  dangling  from  the  crook  of  his  elbow.  he  unfolded  it  and  offered  it  to  billy,  tucking  the  warm  garment  around  billy's  shoulders  even  though  he  was  still  really  confused.  he  reasoned  if  billy  was  tired  sitting  in  the  blazing  sun  all  day  like  he  was  tired  building  mountains  of  sundaes,  there  wasn't  much  for  him  to  question.  maybe  billy  just  wanted  a  quick  cat  nap  while  he  waited  for  steve  to  clock  out.  sitting  on  the  bumper,  steve  let  out  an  audible  sigh  at  the  lanky  weight  of  his  body  being  taken  from  his  barking  dogs.  he  longed  to  untie  his  shoe  strings  and  kick  off  his  sneakers,  but  he  worried  about  the  debris  in  the  parking  lot.  “  you  know  when  i  said  i  was  going  to  abduct  you  from  work  one  of  these  days…  this  isn't  quite  what  i  was  getting  at.  ” 

a  small  smile  curled  his  lips  as  his  heavy-lidded  brown  eyes  searched  the  shape  of  billy's  pockets  for  any  signs  of  his  pack  of  cigarettes.  after  rooting  around  a  couple  of  possibilities,  steve  took  out  the  marlboros  from  their  hiding  spot  and  pinched  out  a  filter  between  his  lips.  after  returning  them,  steve  reached  for  billy's  hands  and  weaved  his  fingers  through  his  boyfriend's  calloused,  strong  grip.  “  you're  not  cold  out  here,  baby?  you  could've  got  in  the  backseat  or  something.  ”  the  knot  reformed  between  steve's  eyebrows  as  his  study  of  billy  became  more  persistent.  taking  the  unlit  cigarette  from  his  lips  with  his  free  hand,  steve  leaned  down  into  the  trunk  and  pressed  his  mouth  to  billy's  forehead  much  like  a  mother  would  to  check  a  child's  temperature.  steve  roamed  his  parted  lips  back  and  forth  until  he  decided  nothing  was  out  of  the  ordinary  before  kissing  billy's  temple  and  leaning  back  a  bit.  “  missed  you  toda—  ”  his  eyes  narrowed  in  on  a  darkening  bruise  to  billy's  eye.  “  hey…  hey,  what  happened?  “  steve's  fingers  combed  through  billy's  curls  as  best  he  could  while  still  holding  the  cigarette  he'd  stolen  from  billy's  pack.  ”  you  get  smacked  by  a  drowning  kid  or  something?  man,  that  looks  nasty.  “  he  clicked  his  tongue  and  started  to  rise  from  the  trunk.  ”  i'll  go  back  and  get  you  some  ice.  " 

But it was like Neil saw something when Billy handed him the last of the money. Neil saw hope. And that just didn't sit right with the bastard. The way he spoke, anger simmering beneath the condescending tone, drawing out each word like Billy's dumb. Talking about responsibility. How his payments were mostly going to interest. An incredulous, 'Didn't. You. Know that?' Well, it must have slipped Billy's mind, Neil explained. Except that it didn't. Because Neil never said a fucking thing about interest. Just told Billy to pay back the two grand. And it's like Neil thought Billy could never do it. But when he did, Neil just found another way to own him. Because now Billy's got more payments. More entanglements that keep him trapped in that house with Neil. The house Billy's gonna die in.

And it all happened fast, so fast. The way Billy clapped back. The tone. The frustration. The crack in his voice (oh, vulnerable boy) when he reminded Neil of what he said. Neil's brow lifted as quickly as his hand. Landed right in Billy's eye. Fists grabbing onto Billy's shirt, holding him up. One hand coming up to correct Billy's face. To hold him there. To hold him in that house. Prisoner. 'You do not tell me what I said.'

Now Billy's holed up in the trunk of a car that's not his. Sleeping under the summer stars in the parking lot of the mall. And Billy was gonna surprise Steve tonight. Just not this surprise.

Billy hears his boyfriend's dragging feet before he sees him. Stirs a little. Fights the war in his head that screams to hide his face and the thing in his heart that's beating, longing to look up at Steve. Tucks his chin in a little, peers up at Steve under long lashes. Steve, who's peering back in a way that makes Billy's insides get all soft and fluttery and also,

Embarrassed. At himself. Pathetic. Hiding like a goddamn baby. Licking his wounds alone. And maybe Neil was right all along. Billy hears him in his head, screaming: 'Hey! Billy, stop! What the hell is wrong with you? What'd we talk about, huh? What, you afraid you're gonna get hurt, is that it? What did I raise, a pussy for a son?' And every time Billy runs, Neil's voice breathes down his back. 'Hey! That's right! Run like you always do!"

Except Steve's greeting punctures the memory. And the jacket he tucks around his shoulders is like a shield. A shield that stops Neil from coming back. "Hi," he answers, kinda choked up and gravelly. Needs a second. Breathes in Steve's scent from his jacket. And then, comes back to him. The Billy baby Steve knows. "I'm cashin' in, baby. Ready for you t'abduct me from work. Saved you the trouble of catchin' me." It's lighter, his voice. A little teasing. And warm, like Billy's voice could heal Steve's weary bones and bring him back to life. Which is something. The way Billy's heart gives even when he's on the verge of tears.

Billy shifts a little, opens up. Lets Steve search for the cigarettes. "Goin' right for the pat down, huh?" Stays there in the distraction, the little dream Steve conjured up where they just get away from this shithole for a little while. Blows out a breath. Squeezes his eyes shut. Like he's trying to keep Steve's gentle touch on his body forever, not the painful pulsing radiating from his eye. Billy can't help it, the way he slots his fingers into Steve's hands so naturally. Like they belong there. Billy's hands are warm, calloused. Steve's are cool and a little raw from slinging that ice cream scooper all day. It's instant, the way Billy's thumb starts stroking Steve's hand, soothing like a balm. "I'm fine, don't worry about me, baby," he says. "Couldn't sleep in the backseat." Billy can't bring himself to say he can't sleep there because he thought they'd be sleeping there together, in his car that's not his car now...

And Billy knows. Knows before that cute little knot forms between Steve's brow that he wouldn't settle for the I'm fine. Billy's usual smoke and mirrors works on everyone else, not Steve. And Billy just doesn't have it in him to push him away tonight. He just squeezes Steve's hand tighter. Carefully lifts his head up just enough to accept his boyfriend's kisses on his forehead. All while feeling the anxiety pulsing in his ears. Waiting, waiting, waiting for it. For Steve to notice, like just put him outta his misery already, goddamn,

There it is. Billy catches the way Steve's eyes narrow in inspection. "'S just a bruise. Been through worse." And all of a sudden, Billy can't bring himself to look at Steve. Squeezes his eyes shut, nose scrunching. Holding back tears. Tiny tremors ghost across his skin. Billy's shaking, focusing on the way Steve combs through his curls. He doesn't know if he wants to blow up thinking about how Steve missed him, or that Steve's first guess is so innocent-- so far from the truth-- or that Billy's about to ruin everything.

It was the look we’d pass across the kitchen table when Dad was drunk again and dangerous, the level look that wants to tell you something, in a crowded room, something important, and can’t. - Marie Howie, “The Promise” [x]

—- this came across my dashboard… and I just thought of them.

@dealtgod mused: (from billy!) Don't look at it if it makes it worse. Just look at me.

Ally takes a deep breath and just nods, wishing this wasn't how this was going when she had had a whole plan. They had both needed to get as far away from parentals as possible, and so she had put together this whole plan to drive out aways, enjoy having a chance to just breathe, and then treat him to food if he'd let her at a diner she goes to when she's out doing monologues for State. Instead, she'd fallen on a path to show him a place she enjoyed, and now she had glass in her ankle and she was trying not to give off this damned 'damsel in distress' vibe because she was anything but.

“I'm more upset about the fall than...this...” she offers, but it's clear as she sits there and lets him handle her ankle that she's just as annoyed about the injury. Ally prides herself on being able to take care of herself--something she's pretty sure they both have in common--but until the glass is out, she's not sure she can actually walk any farther. Not that she should be walking with glass inside of her to begin with. She looks at Billy though, taking a deep breath as she motions to the bag she brought. “I brought a makeshift first aid kit just in case--and no, before you start, I'm like so graceful normally so it's not because I'm accident prone, I'm just...prepared.”

Pressure from bandages is the only type of embrace Billy Hargrove ever gets that's not a fist to the face.

He's practiced in tending to wounds. Too practiced. Doesn't blink at Ally's blood getting all over his hands. Just blows out a breath. Shakes his head, like kinda incredulous and fond at the level of annoyance that radiates off her. And the goddamn pride. Tones and languages he speaks. "Jesus, Ally. Got glass in your goddamn ankle, and you're talkin' 'bout being annoyed by the fall." He lets the other part go. The way Billy feels it in her voice. That she's equally annoyed by the injury. Lets her focus on that while he's focusing on

Glass shards in skin. Billy's body is quiet. Still. Calm, so calm. Even as he begins to move. Which means it's serious. Something about Billy being still means this isn't a game. Keeps the heel of her foot slotted in the dip between his legs as he reaches out. Grabs the first aid kit. "Who the hell's startin'? You or me? Didn't say one word, Davis." It's all a distraction. Billy's wiping a pair of tweezers down with an alcohol wipe. He nods a bit at the mention of being prepared. Remembers their first meeting. How Ally was prepared then, too. It's like the hypervigilance in him. Makes something twist in his stomach, a little sick. Thinking about what's-- no-- who's made Ally like this. So prepared. Thinks about why they're out here in the first place. To get away. Covers up that sick feeling of dread with, "Got a portable car jack in the trunk and a first aid kit in tow, huh. A real Girl Scout."

And then Billy's getting serious. "Hey. Look at me." He's looking at her, blue eyes kinda intense under pretty long lashes. "Gotta get this glass out, all right? Gonna hurt like a bitch. Ten seconds. It's over. Got it?"

They're both capable, stubborn people. And if Dottie had to pick someone in Hawkins to run into out in a blizzard, Billy's pretty high on that list. (Not as high as someone driving a working snowplow, but still pretty high.) Maybe it should be surprising that he's high on the list since he's only lived in Hawkins for a few months, but after that first time he'd given her a ride home after her dad left without her after the game, Billy had never left after games without her, even though he had no obligation to keep making sure she had a way home, and in her opinion that said a lot about him. Certainly it said that she was better off instead of worse off stuck out here with Billy.

She gives a little snort of laughter when he announces his plan B. She decides not to point out that if they can't find a mailbox five minutes away, he's not gonna find his way past the edge of town to even get to a highway for California. She opts for the more helpful "It won't be, we'll see it. It's got a weathervane on top of it." She's pretty sure that the weathervane is too rusty to actually work anymore, but they don't need it to work -- she doesn't give a single shit about the direction of this wind -- they just need to see it. Which they will. They kind of have to, or this gets a hell of a lot more dire, but they will.

; — @dealtgod CONTINUED from X🩸

A DECADE OF RUNNING, of LATE NIGHT DIVES, of backwater diners, of PEOPLE WATCHING — it'll make one SELF AWARE in a way that feels a lot like STARING DOWN THE BARREL. She's become WISE to those who look a little bit HAUNTED or HUNTED or both. A little bit LIKE HER. The SCENT of him has her masking the CRINKLE of her pert nose, smelling like tobacco and cologne and OLD WOUNDS.

Like SANUINE lakes have lingered under the skin in places HER EYES CAN'T FIND. It's a scent she's grown accustomed to from him. SYRUPY HEART aside, there could be any number of reasons THIS is the case. BUT THE HUNTED EYES. They led her to believe otherwise.

She's never actually said words to him, KNOWING BETTER than to break the boundary of what is CLEARLY his method of operations. COME IN, SMOKE, COFFEE. HACKLES RAISED, devoid of conversation. AND WHY PRESS?

It's absentminded, the slide of BLACK COFFEE in front of his stool. TOO BUSY trying to decipher exactly how OLD old wounds were based on SCENT alone. BUT HE SPEAKS — the sound of his voice prompting a startled BLINK to break the thoughts BUZZING around her pretty little head. BLEACHED curls swaying out of her NEON PINK scrunchie to frame the high apples of her cheeks, DIVINELY falling into place with the TILT of her head at him.

❝I believe these days 's called coffee,❞ she murmurs gently underscored by the ROLL of her freckled shoulder in a SHRUG. The motion crinkling the pale CANARY waitress uniform that's CINCHED around her, the garb a size too big and SLIPPED into easily as the last girl SLIPPED out of it and OUT OF TOWN ENTIRELY. JUST AS SHE'D DO. Her apron KNOTTED tight around to lessen the PAPER BAG effect of it.

BARBIE PINK CLAWS smooth the wrinkles at her arm before gesturing idly to the cup then to him, ❝you come in and order that. Often enough that half the time, I don't remember if you've truly told me or not.❞ Her voice is all SOUTHERN CHARM, flowing out of her more like SONG than speech.

❝Would you like it to be a trick, honey?❞ A dark brow arches at him, LEVITY giving a slight curl to the corners of her GLITTER GLOSSED lips. TRYING TO COAX THE HINT OF A SMILE, AT LEAST. ❝Or do you prefer 's just a cup of coffee?❞

She's some new girl, or new enough. Not to the scene, but to this specific shithole. Because she's in a dress too big and that's like. Too impermanent. Bleached, so then... What's she running from, hiding from? It makes him stall for a second, wondering. Thinking about his own mousy blonde curls. How they frame his face, how he's gotta start sleeping in curlers now to get them just right. Like how they used to be. Fed by California salt air and water and heat that made them full, thick, bouncy. They're flatter curls now. Flat like this bumfuck mid-western landlocked town that makes him want to die. He locks the curls into place with Aqua Net. Hairspray holding onto something. The real Billy, the old Billy. The person he was before the only thing ever given to him was violence. Lack of safety. He's not the same. Lost and wayward. And Billy's lost a lot of things, but mostly Billy's not himself. Curls a little dead, like his life.

She's blinking, head tilting, like okay play the innocent. Billy straightens in his seat, shoulders rolling back. Compact strength that somehow makes him larger than life. He places the cigarette between his lips, lets it bob up as he inhales. Doesn't break his gaze from her.

"Haven't told you a thing, baby." It's all smoke. Which rolls outta his mouth as he speaks. "Never heard that southern drawl. Which means two things." Billy now holds the cigarette between his index and middle finger, curls his fingers around the cup. Like okay, he'll accept the coffee with reservation, but, "You're watchin' me. And you're not from here, either."

He huffs out a laugh. Breathy. Through the nose. Half-amused, half-dismissive, but fully captivating. The way it frames his face. Creases the edges of his eyes. Upturns the corner of his mouth ever so slightly. Billy captures the room. Loud in presence, like it's the show. It's all for show. An armor he wears to shield from,

PROMPTS FOR PLATONIC OR NEUTRAL DYNAMICS

the set of keys jingle together as they're swung around one finger, the ASSUMPTION immediately made that he'd be driving. 'cause why wouldn't eddie be?? the shocking speed, swerving corners, general recklessness?? could be an issue, some would argue. but at least it gets them out of here FASTER. billy's words cut through the noise, as eddie slowly turns to look at the other. eyes narrowed in irritation at the words. he's never been great at taking orders. not his style.

Licking lips or balled fists. Coming to take, take, take. Same fight, different person. Fine. Eddie wants to come in hot. Wants to play the game? Billy can answer. He stands there, unmoving. Feet planted, like he can take it. Because he has to take it. Neil's ghost is in his brain, yelling, What did I raise, a pussy for a son? And Billy looks like a little fucking titan. Calm. Strong. But the play has never been about the planted feet. It was about the charge Billy's planted feet draws from the others. The charge that is ultimately the foul. That's how the game works. Or is supposed to work. That one day, someone finally calls foul on the hands that hit, that hurt, that take, that prey upon him. Until then, Billy gets up, takes it, and