lane

well…not in public. not around the kids. not around joyce or hopper. not around anyone who might dare to comment on it.

in public he’s all sharp edges and crossed arms and “don’t touch me unless you want to lose a hand.”

but in private?

well it took a bit of time, but in private he’s a koala.

the second the door closes behind them, something in him just… drops. the tension in his shoulders, the guarded look in his eyes, the whole “i’m tough and nothing bothers me” act disappears completely.

steve barely has time to take off his shoes before billy is on him.

arms around his waist. face tucked into his neck. whole body pressed against him like he’s trying to fuse them together.

steve pretends to be surprised every time.

“wow, someone missed me.”

billy grumbles into his shirt. “shut up.”

but he doesn’t let go.

ever.

steve moves around the house with billy attached to him like a very warm, very stubborn backpack. billy would follow him into the kitchen, into the living room, into the hallway with arms still around him, chin hooked over his shoulder, refusing to give him even an inch of space.

and steve loves it.

he loves the weight of billy leaning on him. he loves the way billy’s fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. he loves the quiet little sigh billy makes when steve runs a hand through his hair. he loves that billy trusts him enough to be soft.

sometimes billy will flop onto the couch first, tugging steve down with him until steve is basically lying on top of him and he’d wrap his arms around him, tight, like he’s afraid steve might disappear if he loosens his grip.

steve loves resting his head on billy’s chest, listening to his heartbeat as billy strokes his back in slow, absentminded circles.

“you’re so clingy,” steve murmurs.

“no i’m not.”

“you literally haven’t let go of me for an hour.”

billy shrugs, tightening his hold. “i’m comfortable.”

steve smiles into his shirt. “you’re so cute.”

billy groans. “don’t start.”

steve just kisses over his shirt where his heart is.

and at night… that’s when billy gets the clingiest.

they get into bed and billy immediately pulls steve into his chest, arms wrapped around him like a shield. sometimes he hooks a leg over steve’s too, just to make sure he’s not going anywhere.

steve teases him for it and billy just mumbles a half-asleep, “whatever” but steve loves these sorta cuddles.

because billy clinging to him isn’t neediness, it’s trust. it’s safety. it’s the quiet, unspoken truth that billy feels most at peace when he’s wrapped around steve.

and steve?

steve holds him just as tightly.

because he loves being needed. he loves being the one billy reaches for. he loves every second of being billy’s safe place.

and if billy wants to cling to him all night?

steve will happily let him.

Tommy at the orgy is fucking billy fast and hard. Way too enthusiastic. Like a horny dog in heat just mounting that thing without a thought in his head

Argyles excited to be there. Shares a joint with billy, they’re shooting the shit while argyles hitting it. It’s way more relaxed and chill and giggly cuz argyle keeps cracking jokes and they can’t help themselves

Jonathan’s more serious. Admires Billy like a work of art. Is careful and deliberate with him, takes in every detail to recount later. Maybe gets the camera involved. He’s a little pervert (affectionate)

hawkins feels like a punishment he can’t name. new house, new school but same old bruises and same old man. susan tries, max tries, but billy keeps everything locked down tight. it’s easier to be angry than to be anything else.

and then there’s steve harrington.

steve, with his stupid hair and his stupid soft bambi eyes and his dumb way of looking at billy like he’s not a grenade waiting to go off. billy doesn’t know how it happened. how they went from shoving each other in hallways to meeting in secret, to talking in low voices in the dark, to something that feels like a secret he wants to keep instead of bury.

steve’s house is always empty. his parents are always gone. it’s quiet there in a way billy doesn’t know how to handle.

he sees it immediately the first time he walks into the harrington living room… a small upright piano tucked against the wall. he’s too busy pretending he isn’t impressed by the stupidly big place, to realise he was staring at it too long.

long enough that steve notices.

“you play?” he asks, voice light and curious.

billy scoffs, looks away and shrugs like the idea is ridiculous. “nah, never learned.”

and before steve can ask anything else, billy steps in close, kisses him and lets the warmth and distraction swallow the moment whole. it works. steve melts into him, and the piano becomes just another piece of furniture he refuses to think about.

months pass and their secret grows roots. billy finds himself at steve’s house more often than his own, finds himself breathing easier in the quiet. steve never asks for more than billy can give. he just…stays and billy doesn’t know what to do with that.

🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶

that night was a bad one.

his dad’s voice still rings in his ears when he pulls up to steve’s house. his ribs ache in that familiar, dull way that means he’ll be sore for days. he hates that he’s gotten good at breathing around it. hates that he knows exactly how long it’ll take to fade.

steve’s car isn’t in the driveway, but billy knows he’s just dropping the kids off. he knows the routine. he knows the key in his pocket will unlock the back door. steve had given it to him without hesitation.

he lets himself in and heads to the living room where he sinks onto the couch, elbows on his knees, breathing slow and shallow. he tells himself he’ll wait for steve. he tells himself he won’t think about anything.

but then he looks up and the piano is there.

it’s impossible to ignore. like it’s glowing. like it’s calling him by name.

he tries to look away. he really does. but something in him cracks, small and tired and aching, and before he knows it he’s standing in front of it. his fingers hovering over the keys, trembling.

he hasn’t touched a piano since he was a kid. since california. since afternoons at his neighbor’s house, sunlight on the carpet, his mom’s laugh soft and warm as she guided his hands. since she whispered, “don’t tell your father,” like it was a secret just for them.

since she left.

he sits down.

his ribs protest, but he ignores them. he presses one key. then another. the sound is thin and hesitant, but it’s familiar.

and suddenly he’s not in hawkins anymore. he’s eight years old, legs too short to reach the floor, his mom’s arm around him as she shows him the melody again and again until he gets it right. he remembers the way she smelled like sunscreen and citrus. he remembers how proud she looked when he finally played the whole thing without stopping.

his throat tightens.

he presses more keys as the song comes back slowly, like it’s been waiting in the dark for him to open the door. his fingers move on their own, shaky but sure, and the melody fills the room, soft and aching.

he doesn’t realise he’s crying until a tear hits the back of his hand, but he keeps playing anyway.

steve hears the music before he even opens the door.

he freezes on the porch, confused at first. his parents aren’t home, that was normal they never were, and there was only one other person with a key.

he stepped inside quietly, heart thudding, and the confusion melted into something else entirely when he saw billy at the piano.

billy, shoulders hunched, head bowed, fingers moving with such skill. billy, who never lets himself be soft. billy, who looks like he’s breaking and holding himself together at the same time.

steve doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t want to scare him. he just walks over slowly, quietly, until he’s close enough to see the tears on billy’s cheeks and hear his sniffling.

the song ends on a trembling note and billy’s hands fall still.

steve then wraps his arms around him from behind, gentle, careful of the way billy flinches at sudden touch. he presses his cheek to billy’s shoulder, holding him like he’s something precious.

billy stiffens for half a second.

then he melts.

his head drops back against steve’s chest, breath shuddering, and steve holds him tighter, one hand covering billy’s where it rests on the keys.

neither of them speak.

they don’t need to.

the room is full of everything billy can’t say out loud. the memories, the hurt, the longing, the love he’s terrified to name. and steve feels all of it too.

billy closes his eyes.

he doesn’t move for a long time.

steve’s arms stay around him, warm and steady, like he’s trying to hold all the pieces of billy together before they can scatter again. billy’s breathing is uneven, catching every few seconds.

the house is still. the last note he played seems to hang in the air long after it’s gone.

“hey,” steve murmurs eventually, voice low against billy’s shoulder. “i’m here.”

billy squeezes his eyes shut. he hates how much that sentence hits him. how much he wants to believe it. how much he wants to lean back and let someone else carry the weight for once.

he doesn’t answer. he can’t. his throat feels tight, raw, like if he tries to speak he’ll fall apart completely.

steve doesn’t push. he just shifts enough to slide onto the bench beside him, keeping one arm around billy’s back. his other hand rests lightly on the piano, fingers brushing the keys like he’s afraid to interrupt whatever this moment is.

billy stares at his own hands. they’re shaking a little. he curls them into fists.

“i didn’t know you could play,” steve says softly, not accusing, not surprised in a bad way…just gentle.

billy swallows. “i don’t,” he mutters, even though the lie feels pointless now.

steve gives him a look. not a sharp one. just a knowing smirk. it’s patient. the kind of look that makes billy feel seen in a way that’s almost unbearable.

“okay,” steve says, like he’s agreeing to the lie even though they both know better.

billy’s chest aches. not just from the bruises.

he drags a hand over his face, wiping at the dampness he wishes wasn’t there. “i haven’t… in a long time,” he says, voice rough. “since i was a kid.”

steve nods, waiting.

billy hates talking. hates opening doors he’s spent years nailing shut. but his body hurts and the music is still in his head, and his mom’s face is still too close, and steve’s hand is warm on his back.

“my mom taught me,” he says quietly. “before sh-”

he takes deep breathe.

“before she left.”

the words feel like they’re being pulled out of him, slow and painful.

steve’s fingers curl slightly against his side.

“she must’ve been good,” he says softly.

billy huffs a breath that’s almost a laugh, almost a sob. “yeah. she…she really was.”

the silence that follows isn’t heavy. it’s soft. like a blanket instead of a weight.

steve leans his head against billy’s shoulder. “you can play here whenever you want,” he says. “you don’t have to hide it.”

billy’s breath stutters. he looks at the piano again. the polished wood, the quiet keys, the reflection of two boys sitting too close on the glossy surface.

“i don’t…” he starts, then stops. he doesn’t know how to say he’s scared. that playing feels like opening a wound. that remembering hurts almost as much as forgetting.

steve seems to understand anyway.

“you don’t have to,” he says. “only if it feels good. only if you feel comfortable and safe too.”

billy lets out a shaky exhale. “i don’t know”

“that’s okay,” steve whispers. “you don’t have to know right now.”

billy leans into him then, just a little. enough that steve shifts closer, enough that their shoulders press together.

steve’s thumb rubs slow circles against his back and billy just breathes slow. for the first time in a long time, he lets himself breathe without bracing for impact.

after a while, steve nudges him gently. “you wanna sit on the couch? or stay here?”

billy thinks about moving. about standing up and pretending none of this happened. about putting the walls back up.

but he’s tired. so tired.

“here’s fine,” he murmurs.

steve smiles against his shoulder. “okay.”

they sit like that, side by side on the piano bench, the room dim and quiet around them. billy’s heartbeat slowly evens out. the ache in his chest softens, just a little.

he doesn’t play again.

but he doesn’t pull his hand away from the keys, either.

and steve stays right there with him, warm and steady, until the shaking stops. he lifts a hand, slow enough that billy can pull away if he wants. he brushes his thumb under billy’s eye, wiping away a tear he missed. his touch is feather-light, careful.

then he kisses him.

it’s not like their usual kisses. not rushed, not heated, not a distraction from something billy doesn’t want to feel. this one is slow and gentle and almost shy. steve’s lips press against his like he’s afraid to break him, like he’s holding something fragile.

billy melts into it before he can stop himself.

his hand comes up to rest on steve’s knee, grounding himself. steve’s fingers slide into his hair, not pulling, just holding. the kiss is warm and unbearably tender, and billy feels something inside him loosen, something he didn’t realise he’d been clenching for years.

when they pull apart, steve stays close, their foreheads almost touching.

“I love you” he whispers.

“I love you too”

he leans his head against steve’s then, eyes closing as steve wrapped an arm around him again. he lets himself rest there, just for a moment.

the piano sat quietly in front of them, the last notes of the song long gone but the feeling lingers, soft and bittersweet.

Steve stumbles and almost crashes face-first into the ground when his foot catches on a gnarly tree root he didn’t notice in the weak light of the setting winter sun.

“Fuck,” he breathes, not daring to curse the way he wants to, which is loud and angry, and a bit fearful too. What the flying fuck did Dustin think he was doing when he stormed out of the Byers’ house, angry and upset, and straight into the woods surrounding it.

The fucking woods.

Did he not hear about the containment breach at the lab in the news? How could he not? They broadcast it on WSQK and local TV. Hell, there was even an announcement by Principal Higgins this morning during homeroom. He can’t imagine they didn’t do the same thing at Middle School.

But an experimental animal on the loose apparently cannot stop Dustin Henderson from … whatever the fuck is going through his head. Steve doesn’t get it. But that doesn’t mean he can just abandon the kid.

So, he’d crashed into the woods right after Dustin, still catching glimpses of his fleece-lined denim coat in the underbrush at first, but losing sight of him completely soon after.

He doesn’t know what kind of animal has escaped the lab, can only hope it’s not one of those hellspawns the kids call Demodogs. Because if it is, his ass is grass.

Longingly, he thinks about the nail-spiked bat in his trunk. The one he already used to beat more than one of these monsters to death and still didn’t think to grab before following that dipstick Henderson into the woods.

Fuck!

Joyce and hopper? Adopt him

Steve’s parents? Adopt him

Tom and Janet Holloway? Adopt him

Robins parents? Adopt him

Claudia Henderson? Adopts him

The Sinclairs? Adopt him

Billy getting incorporated into the group and everyone’s parents flock to him because he is a wounded bird in need of caring and rehabilitation. Get loved bitch!

he’s doing a terrible job.

he’s sprawled out next to steve harrington on a hill in the middle of nowhere. a place steve found and declared “perfect for a secret picnic date.” billy had rolled his eyes, but had climbed up next to him anyway, because steve asked and billy is weak for him in ways he’ll never admit out loud.

the basket is half‑empty now, crumbs everywhere because they’re both teenage boys who cannot eat normally. billy keeps brushing crumbs off steve’s chest, pretending it’s because they’re annoying and not because he likes touching him.

steve keeps smiling and leaning over to kiss him, slow and lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world. billy melts every time, though he’d rather die than say that out loud.

they’re so wrapped up in each other that they don’t notice the voices.

“i swear it’s this way,” dustin says, stomping through the grass.

“you said that ten minutes ago,” mike complains.

“dustin, are you sure suzy even wants to talk to you?” lucas asks.

“she’s my girlfriend,” dustin says, offended. “of course she wants to talk to me.”

“i think it’s sweet,” el says.

“i think it’s gonna be a disaster,” max mutters, lathering yet another layer of sun cream onto her already red arms.

they’re hauling equipment…wires, a radio, even a toolbox dustin insisted on bringing unnecessarily. they’re arguing, laughing, bickering, completely unaware that they’re about to walk into the most shocking scene of their lives.

will is the first to notice. he stops dead in his tracks, eyes widening. 

max notices and looks up next. she freezes too. “oh my god.”

because there, on the hill, are steve harrington and billy hargrove.

lying together.

laughing.

touching.

kissing.

KISSING.

mike’s jaw drops. “what the-“

lucas slaps a hand over his mouth. “shh!”

they all squat low, hiding in the tall grass with equipment now abandoned.

dustin squints. “is that..are they…!? is steve? is billy! what is happening!!?”

el tilts her head. “they are happy.”

max is still staring, stunned but… soft. “i knew something was up,” she whispers. 

will nods. “we shouldn’t interrupt.”

“but steve is…steve is KISSING billy,” dustin says, like he’s reporting a crime.

“yeah,” max says. “and billy’s kissing him back. so shut up.”

on the hill, steve rolls onto his side, propping his head up on his hand. “you know,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from billy’s forehead, “you could let me help more.”

billy tenses. “help with what.”

steve gives him that look. the soft one, the one that makes billy feel seen in ways he’s not used to. “with your dad.”

billy looks away. “i don’t need-“

“i know you don’t need me,” steve says gently. “but i want to be there. you don’t have to do everything alone.”

billy swallows hard. his chest aches in a way that’s both painful and good. “you’re too nice,” he mutters.

“and you pretend you hate it,” steve says, leaning in again to kiss the corner of his mouth. “but you don’t.”

billy doesn’t answer, but tilts his head to kiss him back properly, slow and grateful.

down the hill, the kids collectively lose their minds in silence.

“they’re being cute!?” dustin whispers, horrified.

“they’re being in love,” el corrects.

max’s eyes soften even more. “good,” she says quietly. “he deserves something good.”

mike looks like he’s witnessing the collapse of reality. “but they hate each other?!?”

lucas shakes his head. “apparently not man. we’ve been played!”

“we should go,” will says. “if they see us, it might… mess things up.”

“yeah,” max agrees. “billy’ll freak out. and steve will probably fall over and die.”

“true,” dustin says. “he’s very fragile emotionally.”

she squeezed her eyes shut. maybe if she stayed still enough, the universe would forget she existed.

instead, the universe sent billy hargrove.

she’d just closed her eyes when a shadow fell over her.

“you dying or something?”

she knew his voice. everyone knew that voice. billy hargrove, resident bad boy, king of dramatic entrances, and the reason half the girls in school cared about lip gloss.

robin blinked up at him, startled. “uh… no?”

he raised an eyebrow, like he didn’t believe her for a second. he was leaning against the side of the bleachers with his beefy arms crossed, hair wild, bruises blooming across his cheekbone like abstract art. he looked like trouble, which was exactly his brand.

robin, meanwhile, looked like a crumpled napkin.

“you sure?” he asked. “you look kinda… not great.”

“wow,” she said. “thanks. that’s very comforting.”

he smirked, just a little. “i’m a comforting guy.”

she snorted. “that’s not what i’ve heard.”

and then she froze, because oh god, she’d actually said that out loud. to billy hargrove. who could probably end her socially with a single hair flip.

but he didn’t get mad. he just laughed under his breath, like she’d amused him.

“still… you okay?” he asked, voice softer.

he hadn’t left? that was the weird part. no, it was weird they were even talking in the first place! they’d never spoken, despite sharing an english class where he pretended not to know the answers and she pretended not to notice he definitely did.

robin hesitated. she didn’t owe him anything. but something about the way he asked….like he actually cared, like he wasn’t just killing time, made her answer.

“cramps,” she croaked out. “pretty bad ones.”

billy nodded, not grossed out, not confused, just… thoughtful. which was suspicious. most guys reacted to the word “period” like it was a nuclear threat.

“hold on,” he said.

robin watched him rummage through a beat‑up gym bag slung over his shoulder. she blinked as he pulled out a small bottle.

“painkillers.”

she stared at it. then at him. then back at it.

“you carry tylenol around?” she asked.

“yeah.” he shrugged, looking away. “my-” his jaw tightened for a second. “my stepsister, max….she gets headaches. won’t be long til she’s cramping too. i keep some on me.”

it was a lie. or half a lie. robin could tell. but it wasn’t the kind meant to deceive. more like the kind meant to protect something he didn’t want to talk about.

she took the bottle. “thanks.”

he just shrugged.

she sat up to swallow two pills dry then curcled back down onto the bench. billy stayed stood, like he wasn’t in a hurry to get back to the gym full of yelling jocks.

“you want me to walk you to the nurse?” he asked.

robin snorted. “absolutely not, she’s totally useless. i’ll be fine once these kick in. i just needed to escape the entire population of hawkins high for a while.”

“fair enough”

they sat in silence. not awkward, surprisingly. more like a truce. robin wasn’t sure what to do with that. billy hargrove was supposed to be chaos incarnate, not… calm.

she was about to make a sarcastic comment when the gym doors slammed open.

“hargrove!” steve harrington’s voice echoed across the court.

billy turned instantly, posture straightening, expression shifting into something robin had never seen on him before. he smiled. not the cocky smirk he used on girls or the sharp grin he used before fights. a real smile. soft and warm.

steve jogged over, hair bouncing as his grey tshirt stuck to him. he didn’t see robin tucked under the bleachers, which was fine. she was basically a cryptid at this point.

“coach is looking for you,” steve said, slightly breathless. “you can’t just disappear in the middle of drills.”

“yeah, yeah.” billy waved him off, still smiling. “I’m coming”

steve rolled his eyes but grinned, starting to walk backwards. “then come on man!”

billy turned to robin before leaving. “so, you gonna be okay?”

the fact that he asked again made something twist in her chest. not romantically, god no! but in a way that said maybe billy hargrove wasn’t the one‑dimensional disaster everyone assumed.

“yeah,” she said. “thanks.”

he nodded. “see you around, buckley.”

he said her name like he’d known it all along.

then he jogs after steve, falling into step beside him. they bumped shoulders, laughing about something robin couldn’t hear, and disappear back into the gym.

robin watched them go, and something clicked. the smile. the softness. the way billy’s whole body language changed when steve showed up.

oh.

oh.

well, that explained a lot.

she lay back down, the painkillers finally starting to dull the worst of the cramps. sunlight filtered through the bleachers, warming her face. the gym noise faded into a distant hum.

“thanks again,” she murmured, even though he was already gone.

part 2