The Divine Move

“It’s too high again,” Steve sighs.

“I’m tellin’ you, I feel fine. It’s fine.”

“Yeah my Uncle was fine too. Right up until he died of a heart attack when he was, like, fourty.”

“Jesus, Harrington.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Well, stop saying.” Billy pulls his arm away, tucking it close to his side, away from Steve. 

Steve flexes his fingers, trying to subtly shake the weird feeling of loss. His palm is cold. Empty. He’s suddenly too aware of his own pulse thrumming, a poor replacement for the heady warmth of Billy’s skin.

Christ, he needs to stop. He really needs to stop. Billy took a risk trusting Steve with his care—something that still shocks Steve if he thinks about it too long—and Steve can’t fuck that up by perving on him while he’s supposed to be helping.

He’s not sure how to stop though. Billy started muscling his way into Steve’s space the second he got to Hawkins, but it was never like this. Quiet. Back when he was being annoying Steve was focused on that. Distracted by Billy being an asshole. Not sitting on their beat-up old couch holding his hand and his heart and trying desperately to keep the numbers in his brain when all his brain wants to do is remind him that Billy’s knee is touching his and he could be counting the freckles on Billy’s nose instead of his heartbeats. 

Steve lets his head fall back against the cushions and stares at the ceiling. There’s a stain in the corner that looks like a whale.

“Fine. D’you wanna watch a movie or something?” 

~~

The next day is, to nobody’s surprise, no different. 

Steve checks and double-checks the pamphlets he was given, just to make sure he isn’t misremembering what a healthy heart is supposed to sound like. 

He wasn’t. Billy’s heartbeat is definitely racing. Again. Still? Maybe it’s been like this the whole time, thundering under the metal plate keeping Billy’s ribs in place, thumping so hard Steve doesn’t need to touch Billy to know how fast it is because he can see it. 

He touches him anyways.

“Are you drinking buckets of coffee while I’m not looking? Jesus Christ, Hargrove.” 

“Yes. Obviously. I’m surprised you haven’t caught me yet.”

Billy picks at a thread hanging loose from the bottom of his cutoff shorts. His other hand hangs limply in Steve’s grip. He stares at his own wrist with a furrowed brow. 

“Very funny, smartass. I think I might have to call the doc, this isn’t—”

“I don’t need another fucking check-up.”

“Your BPM says you do.”

“Oh excuse me, Nurse Harrington.” 

Steve blows out a breath. “C’mon, man. It could be something serious, don’t you wanna know?”

“I do know. I know that an appointment would be a waste of everyone’s goddamn time.”

“You—” Steve gestures helplessly with his free hand, fingers tuat and curled with frustration. “This isn’t normal, Billy!”

“It’s—”

“No, no, shut the fuck up, just—” Before he can actually think it through he pulls Billy’s hand towards him and holds it to his chest, wrangling him into position while Billy stares at him in blank shock. “This is what a normal heartbeat is supposed to feel like, alright?” 

Billy’s palm is flat against his sternum, a warm weight between his chest and his hands, ragged, bitten down thumbnail catching on the material of Steve’s shirt. Crystal blue eyes bore into him, wide and unblinking. 

He really should have thought this through.

No matter how much he tries to will his heart to stay steady, the longer Billy looks at him the more it trips over itself. The longer he stays, touching Steve’s chest, letting him hold his hand, the more anticipation threads itself around his lungs, taut and hopelessly tangled.

“...Is it?” Billy raises his eyebrows.

“Um.”

He should definitely probably be panicking right now. And he is, a little, except Billy’s sitting so close and he’s not moving away, and the look on his face is curiosity more than anything else. There’s something tickling Steve’s brain that he can’t quite pin down. It’s distracting enough to keep him from hitting solid ground, keep him looking up at least, ignoring the weird, awkward reality that he’s pushed a boundary that he told himself he wouldn’t.

Except Billy isn’t pulling away.

He’s…

Oh, wait.

Wait a second.

“Oh my god.”

Billy blinks at him. “What.”

“Do I make you nervous?”

“What?” 

There’s an unmistakable pink tinge spreading under Billy’s freckles, and Steve grins. “Holy shit, that’s why, isn’t it?”

“Fuck off, Harrington.” There’s no heat to it.

“All this time I was worried about your health and it turns out you just have a crush on me, oh my god.”

“I—”

“Dude, that’s adorable.”

Billy lets out an embarrassed huff, “Shut up.” His gaze drops to his hand, still trapped against Steve’s chest. When he glances back up there’s something tentative about the way he does it. He opens his mouth. A beat passes. He closes it again. 

“The answer is yes,” Steve says gently.

“You…”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“So…do you think you and your heart can handle doing something about this, or—”

Billy’s nails dig in as he lunges forward, crashing his mouth into Steve’s. It’s messy and enthusiastic, as much an oh god finally as a yes I can, Harrington, shut the fuck up. By the time they come up for air Billy is straddling Steve’s thighs, gripping the front of his shirt like his life depends on it. 

And it turns out Billy’s heart is just fine. Especially when he has Steve taking care of it.