WELCOME TO HAWKINS.

     Billy’s silence speaks volumes.  He stares at her,  jaw growing taut,  then looks away.    “    Think you’re funny?    ”    His nose crinkles with a sneer––the same kind  Neil  wears when his patience is running thin.    “    Don’t bullshit me,  Max.  That the same little prick that hangs around all those freaks?    ”

     “    I’d be less worried about what I’m doing and more worried about the guy who’s  stalking you.  Who is he?    ”

     “    Right.    ”    He thinks back on California,  the blistering heat of summer.  The dead cat’s  funeral pyre.  At least,  that’s what he’d called it back then.  Harrington had changed his perspective on a lot of things.    “    You hear the shitbird’s got a  boyfriend  now?  Kid’s friends with the  freak-show  who moved in down the road from Munson.    ”

     “    What’d those little shits need  this  time?    ”

     “    What the hell are you looking at?    ”

[ criminal offensive side-eye ]

[ bombastic side-eye ]

     Billy knows how to tend and treat his own injuries.  That’s what he had learned after years of living with Neil Hargrove,  and the last thing he needed––the last thing he wanted––was the shitbird’s help.  The last time Max tried,  Billy had been crumpled in a heap on the kitchen floor with  the coppery taste of pennies  in his mouth and his face red with tears,  blood,  cuts and bruises.  His voice had been no more than a rasp when he told her,  ‘get away from me’,  and pushed himself to his feet so that he could lick his wounds in private.  

     The reflexive impulse to tell her that now is overpowering,  but he bites down on his tongue until it aches in his mouth and breathes deep,  leveling her with a look that’s an impossible read.

     “    Whatever,    ”    The shirt is pulled over his head and thrown into a pile at the foot of his bed.  The bites look worse when they’re exposed like this,  full impressions that went deeper than surface level;  he notices while examining them in the mirror,  cursing under his breath with a pinch between his brows.    “    It didn’t look that bad when I left.  Didn’t hurt this goddamn bad,  either.  Looks like I got attacked by  a zombie,  huh?    ”

     get away from me,  max.   fragments of forget - me - not blue on the floor around his knees.  leather doubled over in neil’s hand and coming down on his back with that ugly smacking sound,  dull resignation in his eyes mixed with the fear and fury of a captured dog in an animal control van.  she hadn’t approached him since then,  not while he was hurt.  but this wasn’t neil,  so it’s different,  right?  he didn’t snarl in the same way this time.  didn’t use the ice pack right away,  either,  but while he’d bared his teeth at first,  he didn’t bite.  not really.   so it's different.   right?

        “that midget? yeh, guess you can call him that,” she shoots back without missing a beat. she doesn’t stop because she recognizes max’s voice based on a brief conversation they shared ( and honestly, she has so many that they all blur ), but the shock of red hair and the flat tone itself. she’s gone to bat over less where her little brother is concerned and it’s only catching for fact the source of the question that the instinctive tension is knocked loose. what follows after is a delayed broad grin. deanna adjusts the too-big-for-her jacket draped over her shoulders and lifts her chin in a nod of acknowledgement. “nice headphones.” it’s a guess, a shot in the dark, but: “your brother as hella nerdy lookin’ as mine?” 

     “   yeah,  i know,  and it’s not even like a yes or no question,  it’s like — multiple choice.  there’s no wrong answer.   ”

     that’s not how multiple choice works,  and billy looks like he’s about to tell him so.  like he’s annoyed and amused and turned on all at once,  like steve’s the best and the worst thing that’s ever happened to him and he’s got plenty to say on the subject either way.  a moment ago,  steve was straddling him.  billy had flipped him onto his back   (  he’s supposed to be pinned,  but he’s got an arm pillowed languidly behind his head and he keeps shifting his hips just enough to be irritating  )   when the talk turned.  skated into a potential danger zone with  ‘ thin ice ’  written all over it.  which is great,  because it isn’t about what he thinks it’s about.

     “   spit it out,  harrington.   ”

     he releases an  oof  of an exhale.   “   little late for that,  man.   ”

     “   oh,  you think this is funny?   ”

     “   no,  i mean — i,  like,  literally  already swallowed it,  so.   ”

     billy makes a noise,  like a snort and a scoff in the same breath,  and rolls off of him to drop back down onto the mattress.   “   jesus,  princess.  if you’ve got somethin’ to say,  just say it.   ”

     lazily,  so billy has the opportunity to resist even though steve knows he won’t,  he straddles his hips a second time and then takes his hands.  fingers laced,  guiding them up above his head and leaning forward in the same motion.

     “   you call this multiple choice?   ”

     “   yeah,   ”   steve says,  tonguing the corner of his mouth,   “   yeah,  hear me out.  we’re gonna go to dinner,  and then we’re gonna see a movie,  but —   ”

     “   a  date?   ”

     Except that he does,  because all of his attempts at apologies so far have held no weight without  words  behind them.  Billy’s wondered if he’ll ever find the right ones––the right way to convey what he wants and make it sound as meaningful as it should.  He’s wondered if he’ll ever learn,  or if he’ll turn out like his father instead:  fractured,  incapable of remorse,  resistant to  change.  He drags in a breath and looks away when Harrington steps closer,  reaching for his cigarettes instead.    “    I’m going out for a smoke.  I can’t talk about all this  shit  right now.    ”