nic

But they never talk about it. Somehow, for months of this, it never comes up in conversation how to define their relationship. It’s not exactly necessary, both of them being content as they are with what they have with each other. Whatever they think it is.

Until, of course…

Senior Prom.

Billy’s been dodging prom invitations left and right for two weeks now, leaving a trail of pouty glossed lips behind, claiming he has no interest in going to “the party equivalent of daytime tv”. Steve hasn’t said anything about it except a half-muttered comment that he went to Junior Prom with Nancy, after which he immediately changed the subject. Billy assumed he didn’t want to go either.

Which is why Billy’s surprised when he hears through the school grapevine that Becky Olson asked Steve to Prom and he said yes.

When Billy shows up at Steve’s house after school that day, he’s rage smoked half a pack of cigarettes and stewed in his anger all through the afternoon. Even Max heard about it all the way in the middle school, and offered to take Steve’s bat to his balls. Billy drops Max off at home after promising that if he doesn’t kill Steve, he’ll let her at him.

He lets himself into Steve’s house (Steve always leaves the door unlocked for him) and goes straight to Steve’s room (it’s routine by now), where he finds him sitting on his bed, going through cassette tapes.

“Hey, man,” Steve says. Entirely unconcerned.

Billy’s nostrils flare.

“What the fuck, Steve? Is that what you’re gonna say? ‘Hey, man’?”

Steve does look up then, and frowns at Billy, fucking confused. Like Billy’s saying nonsense.

“Yes? Hello? How was your day?” Steve says, nose scrunching up. “What am I supposed to say?”

Billy can’t fucking believe this. This whole time, Steve’s been so- Now he’s acting like he didn’t even do anything.

“Maybe start by telling me what the hell you’re thinking going to prom with some chick!” He yells, like he hasn’t been cursing her name for at least two hours.

Steve gets up from the bed then, runs a hand through his stupid hair, crosses his arms. Billy can see he’s closing himself off, going on the defensive right off the bat.

“Why are you mad at me about this? You don’t even wanna go,” Steve doesn’t raise his voice, but his words echo in the room same as a slap on his face would.

“I don’t know, Steve, maybe I’m mad my boyfriend’s going on a date with some girl!”

This isn’t making any fucking sense. Steve isn’t like this, an inconsiderate asshole going behind Billy’s back. He’s sweet. He’s always been sweet.

There’s something wrong here, and Billy can’t put his finger on it, and it just makes him angrier.

Steve rears back, brows going up, up, up towards his hairline, eyes wide, a sea of white around brown.

“Boyfriend?” He repeats. Licks his lips. “How- Why would you say boyfriend?”

Billy’s stomach sinks, takes everything in his abdominal cavity with it. He feels hollow, weighed down. All the fight has been sucked out of him.

That’s why the conversation felt off.

"Because we've been dating for like, three months, Steve," Billy says, or forces out, and his voice comes out shaky.

They were. He thought they were. Steve’s been- He holds Billy’s hand. They go on dates, as much as they can while staying under the radar. Billy stays over most weekends. It’s never been like this with anyone else, for Billy, not even in California. Even Before.

Steve’s eyes are still wide, but his eyebrows are doing the puppy dog thing, turned up at the inner corners like he’s hurt.

“I…” He starts, stops. Decides on something else. “We never talked about this.”

Billy rears back this time, feeling the sentence like a blow, and Steve follows him with a step forward, hand reaching out.

“I mean- shit,” Steve says, stammers, runs a hand down his face. “I didn’t know you felt that way. About me. I thought you didn’t-”

“What the fuck did you think when we were going on fucking dates, Steve?!”

“You’re my best friend!” Steve says, and it stings. “We do everything together!”

“And suck each other’s dicks, too!”

“I thought-”

“Thought what, this was some friends with benefits shit? If you’re my best friend and we’re boning, how’s that different from a relationship, Steve?!”

“We never talked about it!” Steve finally raises his voice, and the sound of it stuns Billy.

Steve makes an aborted motion with his hand, then again, before closing it into a fist by his side. He rubs at his eyes with his other hand, but not before Billy sees they are wet.

“I’m not going to assume you’re in love with me, Billy! What if I’m wrong? What if I spend months thinking you love me and it turns out to be bullshit?”

Steve’s breathing hard as he finishes speaking, cheeks blotchy red, and hands shaking. He looks terrified right now, terrified Billy’s going to give up on him and leave, going by how he glances from Billy to the door; terrified he’s hurting Billy, because he keeps reaching out but doesn’t step any closer.

Billy feels something click, then, a piece of the puzzle that was grating on him with jagged edges smooths outs and slots into place. That’s the Steve he knows, with his head tangled in so many feelings he can’t parse them out, but never uncaring. Never cold.

“Well, I do,” Billy says, stepping closer to Steve.

He walk forward until their toes are almost touching, until Steve has to tilt his head down to look Billy in the eye. Billy takes a breath and raises an eyebrow, raises his chin, gives Steve his best smirk like wants to eat him alive. Takes a chance.

“I do love you. Whatcha gonna do about it?”

Steve’s eyes jump between his, mouth parted, like a man lost searching for something. Like he’s looking at something holy. Billy feels tentative fingertips at his elbows, then fingers running up his triceps, until finally one of Steve’s hands closes around his arm. The other continues up, up, a long tingling line to his neck, and Steve cups his jaw like something precious. Rubs his thumb on Billy’s cheekbone, feather light, but Billy feels it like a brand.

“You mean it?” Steve’s voice comes out in a ragged whisper, breath spilling over Billy’s lips.

“I do.” They’re so close. Billy wants to take in all of Steve’s face, the way he’s looking at Billy, with his eyes half lidded and his lips parted, like he’s everything Steve could ever want.

“Basketball in the park,” Steve says, out of nowhere, voice still low. “In February. You complained about the cold the whole time but you still kicked my ass. I bought you a burger at the diner, after. That was our first date.”

Billy’s face splits into a grin so wide his cheeks hurt, and he bunches his hands in Steve’s dumb polo shirt, pulls him closer until Steve has to lean down those two inches to press their foreheads together.

“I love you,” Steve whispers against Billy’s lips, “I’m so in love with you.”

Billy nods, barely moving his head, unwilling to part where they’re touching, “‘m in love with you.”

Their lips really touch then, feeling like the first time even if they’ve kissed a thousand times before, are as familiar with each other’s mouths as they are with their own.

The scrape of Steve’s teeth against Billy’s bottom lip pulls a moan out of Billy, and he presses himself tighter to Steve’s body, pulls at his chest, his hips, wants to climb inside him and never leave.

No one’s ever felt like this. No one’s ever made Billy feel like this, this wanted, this needed, like the world starts and ends with them, together. That’s why Billy was so sure they were together. It couldn’t be anything else.