#background hellcheer

“Has anyone ever told you that you have really pretty eyes, Billy?” Chrissy asks from across the fire pit. She’s tucked up under Eddie’s arm, their fingers threaded together over her shoulder.

Billy snorts, “not recently, no.”

He and Steve aren’t nearly as tangled up as the pair across from them are, even though technically they’ve been together longer than Chrissy and Eddie have—which automatically makes them the superior couple, obviously. But… he and Steve don’t really do the whole PDA thing, even when they’re in ‘safe’ company. A lifetime of having to hide will do that. It’s a tough habit to break.

But he and Steve are sitting side by side, their knees pressed against the other’s, and Billy’s got an arm slung behind Steve, resting along the back of the wicker loveseat they’re squashed onto. Steve’s even got a hand high up on Billy’s thigh, fingers clamping down every so often. Under the security of their shared blanket, of course. And that’s enough for Billy. More than he ever thought he’d get to have, if he’s being honest.

Eddie shoots Steve with a look of disbelief, like he’d caught him red handed at something truly reprehensible. “For shame, Stevie. For shame! You’re a bad boyfriend!”

“What? I—well, listen, I think Billy’s eyes great! I just—” Steve flounders before he turns to look at Billy, red in the cheeks. “I’m sure I’ve said something about your eyes before. Haven’t I?”

“Maybe. I don’t remember.” Billy shrugs, a little embarrassed. In truth, Billy remembers every compliment that Steve’s ever paid him. His chest, his ass, his arms—but never his eyes. Not that it’s a sore point for him or anything, it was just one of the things Steve hasn’t remarked on.

“Shit, does that make me a bad boyfriend?” Steve lets his head fall back against the meat of Billy’s arm and groans. “I’m sorry. Your eyes are great. Really! They work great too. Remember that time you spotted a quarter across the parking lot? Incredible.”

Billy feels his ears heat up. With a roll of his eyes, he growls at Steve, “don’t hurt yourself, Harrington.”

“I’m being serious!” Steve laughs, voice going high with guilt, and it gets everyone else chuckling too.

“Well, I think they’re a really beautiful shade of blue. And your lashes are so dark. Do you tint them?” Chrissy asks, eye’s focused solely on him.

Billy ducks his head, sort of hating this sort of scrutiny. He’s fine with being the center of attention if he’s playing basketball or balancing on top of a keg, but sitting here like this? It’s… weird. Too intimate. Billy clears his throat, “look, I’m flattered, Chrissy, really, but your boy is literally right fucking next to you.”

“It’s okay, she’s right; you do have really pretty eyes.” Munson winks as he takes another drag from his joint.

“Jesus…” Billy shakes his head and follows suit, though he’s just smoking a cigarette. Such is the fate of being the designated-sober-guy for the night.

“So you don’t tint your lashes?” Chrissy asks again.

“I don’t even fucking know what that means.” He mutters around his cigarette.

But Chrissy seems immune to the very clear ‘fuck off’ signals he’s putting out. She continues, “Well, do you dye your hair?”

“No.” He answers quickly, a reflex.

“Billy.” Steve says in a drawn out type of way and a tilt of his head. He levels Billy with a look. The little shit…

“I don’t!” Billy huffs, defensive as he readjusts himself in his seat.

But Munson smells blood in the water, clearly. “Ooh. Tell us what you know, Stevie boy.”

Only then does Steve have the decency to look apologetic, wincing, “I really shouldn’t.”

“Yeah because there’s nothing to tell.” Billy widens his eyes with each passing word in an attempt at conveying his unspoken threat. Steve’s getting dangerously close to being on the receiving end of a purple-nurple.

Eddie begins to chant, “Tell us! Tell us! Tell u—” before Chrissy reached a hand over and pinches his lips shut.

“Shush.” She tuts.

“Go on, ba–Billy. Who cares?” Steve raises his shoulders, trying to appear innocent. He pulls his knee back only to knock it back against Billy’s, urging him on.

Billy growls out a frustrated sigh. But at this point it was inevitable. And it was true–who the fuck cares? It’s just the four of them. And they have a symbiotic, assured mutual destruction sort of relationship going on between them. Steve trusted them enough to tell them about Billy, so Billy supposes he can tell them about something as stupid as his hair care secrets. “Fine! Jesus... I put a little bit of lemon juice in my hair when it’s sunny. It bleaches it a bit over time. Happy, you pack of vultures?”

“Ecstatic.” Eddie mumbles out from behind Chrissy’s hold on his lips.

“Sorry.” Steve mutters, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He’s smiling and on the verge of another fit of giggles for Christ's sake.

“Well it looks great. It makes your eyes pop.” Chrissy leans forward, hands on her knees, as if to get a better look at him in the firelight. Billy feels like a damn bug under a magnifying glass.

“And popping eyes are… good?” Billy cocks a brow. Doesn’t sound good. Sounds weird—like something you’d say about Munson, not him.

“Totally!” She says in that high, sweet voice of hers. Then she gasps, like she’s just remembered something important, “you should let me do your eyes!”

His brows pinch as he takes another pull from his cigarette. “Do my eyes?” Billy exhales a thick cloud of white smoke, “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Do them up, like with make-up.” She clarifies easily.

And with that, Billy nearly sucks back the cigarette dangling between his lips. He coughs, and coughs, and then coughs some more. Has to fucking lean forward to catch his breath, feeling a lot like he did when he first tried that stolen cigarette from his dad at the tender age of twelve. He uses the back of his hand to wipe away the stray tears that had eked their way out during his fit. “No. Absolutely not. No fucking way.”

Eddie perks up, “Ooh. The gentleman doth protest too much, methinks.”

“What the hell’d you just call me?” Billy croaks, his voice still a little ragged from his coughing.

Chrissy continues, ignoring her boyfriend, “You’d look great! I do Eddie’s make up all the time! I’m going to beauty school, y’know. It’s good practice for me.”

In a way Billy isn’t surprised. Eddie is a freak, after all, and the more time he spends with Chrissy the more he’s starting to realize she’s more or less the same.

“Thanks, but hell no. I’m not… like that.” Billy shakes his head, hoping someone would just change the goddamn conversation already.

“It’s just make-up, dude. It’s not a big deal.” Eddie says casually as he stretches his legs out in front of him, a boot propped up on the edge of the firepit. Apparently not caring if the bottom of it melts.

“You really let her paint your face up, Munson?” Billy asks, still trying to wrap his head around what he’s hearing. Because guys didn’t… do that. Queer or not, you didn’t—unless you were… and Billy wasn’t like that! The wires in his head are crossed, he knows that much, but they’re not totally fried, unless Munson’s apparently were.

“Like the London whore!” Eddie bellows out in a truly terrible British accent. “It’s all very Rocky Horror Picture Show when she’s done with me.”

“Jesus Christ… here I thought me and Steve were the queers.” Billy chuckles dryly.

“Hey!” Steve protests, though Billy’s not sure what about. They are queers. Card carrying, cock-sucking pillow-biters, the pair of ‘em. As fucking insane as that still sounds to admit to himself openly…

“It’s fun!” Chrissy exclaims, voice high, defensive.

“Harmless fun!” Eddie reiterates, voice similarly high.

But there’s no fucking way–

“I don’t like shit getting in my eyes.” Billy grunts out stubbornly.

“Now, that is true. He had to use eye-drops for a few days after he scratched his cornea,” Steve tries to tell his story, but he’s already giggling so damn much that he’s barely fucking intelligible. “I had to sit on his chest and hold his eye open while I put the drops in every single time. I felt like I was wrestling a crocodile.”

“Or maybe he just liked you sitting on him.” Eddie eyebrows jump up and down suggestively which only gets Steve laughing harder, nodding along like he was in on the joke. Christ these two are unbearable when they get together…

“Your lips then.” Chrissy cuts the two knuckleheads off, speaking directly to Billy.

Chrissy’s sweet, but there’s no fucking way Billy’s letting her do that to him. Just the idea of it is… well, not only is it totally bonkers, but it wouldn’t even look good. He’s not… feminine. No part of Billy Hargrove could ever even pass a dainty or whatever. He’s bulky, all hard edges and calluses and scars. He knows he’s hot, sure, but Billy’s not beautiful, even if Steve occasionally whispers it when they’re fucking. But Billy’s not stupid. He knows it’s just something you say. It’s not real. Steve doesn’t actually mean it. “I don’t…”

“You should do it.” Steve says, all smiles. His pupils are blown, eyes gone a little glassy with the high. “Why not?”

Billy narrows his eyes at his boyfriend. “You just want me to look stupid.”

Steve frowns, mouth hanging open in his apparent bewilderment, “Wha-? Why the hell would I want that?”

With a jerky, defensive shrug, Billy answers, “because you get weird when you’re high.”

“Sure, maybe—but I don’t get mean. That’s your thing.” Steve pokes a finger to Billy’s chest.

“I’m just gonna go get my makeup bag!” Chrissy chirps, already up on her feet.

“No–Chrissy, I’m not…” Billy tries to call her back, but she ignores him, disappearing into the bright Harrington house behind them.

“Don’t bother trying to stop her, Hargrove. She’s tiny but she always seems to get her way. It’s like her super power.” Eddie passes on his advice, but Billy just rolls his eyes and grumbles something about not rolling over like a bitch.

When Chrissy comes back, it’s with a fucking suitcase, not a bag. She heaves it up onto one of the glass side tables that creaks and groans under the weight. The boys all watch in fascination as she snaps open the clasp and it unfolds its sides, then unfolds again. It was like a fucking magic trick; the case just keeps getting bigger and bigger.

“There.” She says, hands on her hips, seemingly satisfied. “Okay, Steve, move your tush.”

“Chrissy, I’m not–wait, what are you doing?” Billy’s attention goes from Chrissy to his retreating boyfriend, who’s sliding out from under their shared blanket to stand.

“Moving my tush,” answers Steve, “duh.”

“I was thinking of red at first, but now that I’m looking at you up close, it would overwhelm you. Especially since you won’t let me do your eyes,” Chrissy explains as she plops down where Steve had been, sitting on top of their blanket, effectively sealing Billy in, “so maybe pink.” She holds up several tubes of lipstick to his mouth, humming as she goes.

The corners of his mouth pull down as his brows come together, “Pink?”

Eddie shifts to stand, slapping his thighs as he rises. “Okay, I’m stealing your man, Hargrove.” He threads an arm through Steve’s, “Stevie and I are gonna go see which one of us can hold our breath the longest under the water.”

“For the record, I’m just going to make sure he doesn’t drown.” Steve clarifies as Eddie pulls him towards the pool.

“Come find us when you’re done!” Eddie says in a sing-song voice.

Chrissy just waves a hand over her shoulder in response, more a motion to ‘go away’ as opposed to a farewell wave.

“Those two idiots are going to get themselves killed.” Billy murmurs, stone still as Chrissy holds up yet another tube of lipstick, checking the little color sticker stuck on the bottom.

She giggles, “nah, not when we have Hawkins finest lifeguard here to keep us safe.”

Billy scoffs, gets ready to argue about distractions and inebriated states when pop! Chrissy uncaps a tube of lipstick and the words die in his throat.

“Okay, hold still.” She says, and everything in Billy runs cold. He feels like his heart stops beating in his chest. His lungs solidify. He shuts his eyes so he doesn’t see it coming.

But the expected waxy touch doesn’t reach his lips.

“Billy?” Chrissy asks, in her distinct high, soft voice. It’s strangely soothing. Sort of reminds him of–... Well, another pretty blonde lady who helped him put lipstick on. But that feels like a lifetime ago, back before Billy knew to be ashamed of this sort of thing. Back when he was just playing dress up while the house was empty besides just the two of them. “Billy, if you really don’t want to, I won’t make you. You know that, right?”

And there it is; his out.

The thing he wanted and would have taken a few seconds ago, without hesitation. But… if he’s being honest, he sort of hates that she’s gone ahead and offered it up to him like this. Because now Billy has to make the active choice in this whole humiliating ordeal. How much easier would it have been if she would have just forced him? If it remained out of his hands?

But Chrissy isn’t like that. She isn’t actually pushy. No, she’s… Helpful. Like she could see something in Billy, maybe. The same thing his mom saw. Something Neil had spotted at some point too. Maybe that’s why his dad hates him so much.

Chrissy doesn’t hate him though. Even though he was an asshole in high school, and pretty much everyone hated or was afraid of him back then. But now that they’re out of high school, and Billy’s out out, at least to the handful of people here tonight, he’s surrounded by people that don’t hate him, even though they have every right to. It’s still sort of surreal.

And now Chrissy’s sitting here in front of him on her folded legs, with seemingly endless patience—like she’s got all the time in the world for Billy to work through his impossibly complicated shit. Like how actual friends treat each other, maybe. Billy doesn’t really know. The only real friend he’s ever had turned into his boyfriend, so his frame of reference for this sort of shit is probably fucked up beyond recognition.

But maybe they are friends. And you could trust friends, in theory. He could trust Chrissy, in theory.

“No, it’s okay.” Billy swallows, feels his adam's apple bob in his throat, “I don’t care.” He lies as he flicks what little remained of his cigarette into the crackling fire pit beside them.

She beams, looking like pure sunshine even in this dim, flickering firelight. And fuck, she really is too good for Munson; way out of his fucking league. Just like how Steve is way out of Billy’s. But hey, some people just had shitty taste in men, what’re you gonna do?

“Okay. Well, then pull your lips tight over your teeth–oh, not that tight. Just enough that they’re not–yeah, that’s perfect.” Chrissy instructs him gently, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t make him feel the sharp, hot feeling of shame at any point. Then Billy feels the distantly familiar smooth feeling of lipstick over his mouth. He’s already itching for another smoke, but that may just be his nerves acting out.

“Oh yeah, pink is definitely your color. Eddie looks completely washed out in this shade, but you have those nice warm undertones.” She says, pulling the lipstick along his bottom lip now, taking her time around the edges. It feels like she’s going over his lip line, but he doesn’t comment. Doesn’t risk moving his mouth and throwing Chrissy off. She seems to be completely in her zone. “Dollface looks perfect on you.”

“Doll face?” He frowns. Coming out of his mouth it almost sounds like a slur.

“The shade. It’s called Dollface.” She explains as she pulls back a little, and Billy tries very hard not to immediately wipe all of her hard work off on the sleeve of his shirt. “Can I put blush on you too? I have the perfect shade that would match it.”

“I don’t–... I don’t want to look like a clown or anything.” He mutters, hyper conscious of how different his lips feel when he speaks now.

“It’ll be subtle, I promise. Like mine.” She motions towards her own face and Billy has to squint to see what the fuck she’s talking about. But there is a slight peachy tone to the apples of her cheeks, now that he’s looking for it. “I wouldn’t want to cover any of your freckles up, after all. They’re so cute.”

Jesus… He’s never had this many compliments paid to him so fucking quickly, and all on things that no one ever fucking mentioned. Sure, he gets lots of remarks on his ass and his chest, but those were things he worked tirelessly on, spent hours doing squats and pumping iron. But his eyelashes? His freckles? The blue of his eyes? Those weren’t things he earned. They were just… him. Base model, nothing special, piece of shit with anger issues, Billy Hargrove.

But he nods nonetheless. “Okay.”

“Okay.” She repeats with a smile. She leans back towards her magic make-up bag and fishes out a plastic compact that opens up like a clamshell, along with a big fluffy brush. She swishes it around the pigment for a second before tapping off the excess in a colorful cloud. Billy watches her with an enraptured sort of fascination. She grabs a napkin, and a few other sticks of something before she settles back around in front of him again.

“The trick is to suck in your cheeks, like a little fishy.” She says before she demonstrates it.

And even though it feels stupid and embarrassing, he does the ‘little fishy face’ right along with her.

She hums her approval as she swipes the soft bristles against his cheeks. They catch a little on his stubble. He hopes it doesn’t wreck her brush.

“Perfect,” she coos, soft as a dove. Chrissy snaps the clamshell of pink blush shut and puts it aside before she picks up some of her dark pencils. “Now, I know you said you didn’t want anything in your eyes, but I thought maybe we could try just a water line? You don’t need to, but I promise it won’t go anywhere near your actual eyeball, just your lower lash line. It would really pull the whole look together.”

Billy frowns. Hasn’t he given enough?

Sensing his hesitation, Chrissy continues to plead her case, “it might just tickle, a teeny tiny bit. And if you don’t like it, I’ll stop right away. Deal?”

He hesitates, running his tongue along his teeth as he mulls it over. “It won’t touch my eye at all?”

“Nope. I’ll hug the outside of your lid, I promise. You just gotta stay super still for me, okay? And it washes right off. One lap around the pool and it’ll probably be all gone once you get out.”

Oh, right. Billy had forgotten about how he was going to get this gunk off. He had work tomorrow, and he couldn’t exactly show up at the pool looking like… well. Whatever he looked like now. Billy wasn’t exactly sure. It made his insides squirm.

“Fine. As long as it’s quick.” Billy huffs, readjusting his legs so that they didn’t fall asleep on him.

“Quick as a bunny!” She uncaps the pencil and leans forward.

Her hands are back on his face–only this time she’s pulling down at the skin where his eye bags usually form if he doesn't get enough sleep. Billy expects it to hurt, or maybe to burn a little, but she’s right; it just tickles. He flinches when the cool tip of the pencil initially hits the sensitive skin of his lower lid, but Chrissy remains as patient as a saint, and just waits for him to stop blinking before she tries again. And this time Billy knows what to expect, so Chrissy’s able to do a full swipe, left to right, focusing a little on the outer edge, before she moves onto the next eye and does the same.

“Now,” She murmurs as she retrieves the napkin, “kiss this.”

He screws his face up, “what?”

“To get the excess off. And it makes the lipstick last longer.” She waves the bit of tissue in his face. “Trust me, I’m almost an expert.”

Billy sincerely has his doubts, but he kisses the tissue, blotting his lipstick. It still feels like a lot is left on his mouth, but it doesn’t feel as… heavy. Sort of feels nice, actually. And when he pulls the napkin away it’s marked the perfect imprint of his pink kiss. If he didn’t just finish making it himself he wouldn’t have thought his lips were even capable…

“Do you want gloss?” Chrissy asks, pulling him from his fog.

“Won’t that ruin the—“ Billy points towards his mouth, “this layer?”

She shakes her head, sending her blonde ponytail into motion behind her, “No, it sort of just seals it. And bonus, it tastes like bubblegum.”

Steve likes bubblegum.

“Alright.” He says quickly, with a jerky sort of shrug. He’s already made it this far, he might as well see it through all the way. And it’s not like he’s going to do this again or anything… may as well go full hog.

So she pulls out a wand coated in the clear looking gel and does a final swipe over the top of his lips with it. It feels sort of sticky. And now that it’s sitting under his nose, he really can smell the bubblegum.

“Done!” Chrissy exclaims as she pulls her hands away. She holds them up and away from Billy, as if to reassure him that she’s finished with her torture. “Smile for me so I know I didn’t get anything on your teeth.”

And there’s no way he can give Chrissy anything remotely genuine at the moment, so Billy simply bares his teeth for her to inspect.

“No lipstick on your teeth. And I think I did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself.” Chrissy says, admiring her handiwork.

“Yeah?” Billy clears his throat, not knowing where to look. Eddie and Steve are still busy splashing and shoving each other in the pool, so at least he doesn’t need to worry about them. “I don’t look too stupid?”

She smacks his arm with the back of her hand, “You don’t look stupid at all, silly. You look great!” She then starts tidying up her makeup, putting everything back in its proper place. Billy watches her with the same fascination as he did while she was taking it out.

“Your mom teach you this shit?” Billy asks.

She frowns, just a little. “Some of it.”

He nods. His leg bounces. Resists the urge to rub at his eyes. The hard shells of Chrissy’s makeup containers clack together as she rearranges them.

“My mom used to—“ Billy mumbles, quiet enough that he very much doubts Chrissy had even heard him, but when he looks up, she’s stopped putting her things away, and her eyes are on him. Waiting for him to go on.

He clears his throat, doesn’t even know why he’s confessing this to her, but a strange compulsion seems to have taken over him. He feels the words right at the tip of his tongue before he can think to bury them back down, back to somewhere deep within himself. “My mom used to do this for me sometimes. When I was really little.”

It’s something that should be embarrassing. Something to laugh at, like the punchline of a joke. But Chrissy doesn’t laugh. She smiles gently. “Those sound like happy memories.”

Billy frowns—he’d never thought of them as happy, per se. More embarrassing than anything else. Something he can’t look in the eye. Billy ducks his head, feels his eyes sting. He should stop, he knows. Just shut the hell up. Because why the hell is he getting himself worked up over a dumb childhood memory in front of some chick he barely knows? It’s stupid.

And yet, the idea of not saying more seems even more unbearable than eating his words.

“I’d ask her to, when she was in the mirror getting ready or whatever.” Billy explains, daring to meet her eye before retreating to somewhere off in the distance. “This was before I knew it was, y’know… not something boys did. My dad made sure I knew it though, after he caught us. I didn’t ask after that.”

The truth of it is, maybe those memories could have been happy if they didn’t exist exclusively under the shadow of Neil. He can’t picture his mom’s smiling face without also picturing Neil’s disgusted one. Can’t remember how it felt having the make up on his face when the bruises lasted so much longer. He can’t hear the soft words his mom had whispered to him over the roar of the awful names Neil called him afterwards—the ones he never stopped calling him. It’s no wonder Billy’s so goddamn fucked in the head.

Then, there’s a hand slipping overtop of his, small and soft, squeezing against his rough, calloused ones. “I’m sorry.”

Billy feels a rush of emotions, but he’s not entirely sure which direction they’re flowing. Hot or cold.

Part of him wants to stand up and scream at Chrissy that he doesn’t need her fucking pity—that Billy Hargrove doesn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him, that sympathy is for the weak—and Billy isn’t weak.

Some shit Neil would do.

But in the moment, Billy can’t find the strength to do any of it. He just sits there and squeezes her hand back. So maybe he is weak after all.

“My parents were tough on me too,” Chrissy explains, keeping her voice low. “I sort of always felt like a disappointment to them.”

”You?” Billy scoffs, his voice frustratingly shakey, “you’re like, perfect.”

“Yeah, well, some parents are dummies. They get all upset when their kid turns out differently than how they expected.” Chrissy says with a tilt of her head. And Billy knows she isn’t just talking about her own mom and dad. “Dumb, right?”

Billy nods as he sniffs back any congestion that dared try and accumulate in his nose, along with the tears he doesn’t let fall. He blinks a few times, letting the air take them. “Yeah, real fuckin’ dumb.”

Chrissy smiles, and it’s like she’s beaming. Too fucking good for Munson, Billy thinks again as she stands, bringing him along with her by way of their clasped hands. “You ready to show the boys?”

A new wave of uncertainty hits Billy straight in the gut, but he keeps pace with her. ”You sure I don’t look stupid?”

“I’m positive. You should trust me, Billy. I’m like, really smart.” Chrissy insists, a playful giggle on the edge of her words.

Billy scoffs in response, but he doesn’t bother arguing. She is smart. Smarter than the rest of them combined, most likely.

When they approach the pool, Steve and Eddie are so preoccupied with staying underwater they don’t even notice Chrissy and him. Which suits Billy just fine; he doesn’t want to draw any more attention to his painted face than it was already inevitably going to get. They just slip into the shallow end and wait for the other two to come up for air. Or drown.

It’s Eddie that breaks the surface first in a flurry of splashing and gasping breaths. He’d probably catch his breath faster if he stopped cursing for a second, but Eddie’s got one of those mouths that never fucking stops.

Steve is the second to rise out of the water. While Eddie looks like a drowned fucking rat, Steve looks like he’s materialized out of a copy of Sports Illustrated as usual. His hair’s slicked back, but he gives it a good shake and briefly runs his fingers through the strands, somehow making it look just as good as always. God’s fucking favourite, that one.

Billy’s gotta look away because sometimes it’s even too much for him to take in.

“You cheated.” Eddie accuses Steve.

“Yeah, I cheated by not smoking a pack a day for the past four years like you have.” Steve snorts as he backstrokes to the shallow end, followed by Eddie’s doggy paddle.

“So he admits to cheating. I want that on record.” Eddie calls over to Chrissy and Billy, who’ve propped themselves up on the stone steps leading into the pool, patiently (or, impatiently if Billy’s being honest) waiting.

Steve flips around when his feet can touch, and immediately locks eyes on Billy. And then he just. Stares.

God, Billy really wishes he weren’t sober for this. That was sort of an oversight on his part. Hell, he hadn’t even grabbed a cigarette on his way over so he’s got nothing to do with his hands besides letting them hang by his side, his elbows propping him up behind him.

“Holy shit…” Steve mutters, coming towards him like he’s locked in some kind of weird tractor beam.

“Looking good, Hargrove.” Munson says as he crowds Chrissy, who doesn’t seem put off by the attention. In fact, she sort of lights up under it. So weird. “I almost couldn’t tell you two sexy blondes apart.” He winks.

Billy rolls his eyes, grimacing at the remark. He makes a mental note to give Munson a Charlie horse the next time he’s within arms reach. But when his eyes return to Steve’s, he’s… like, struck stupid or something.

“You kill off one too many of your brain cells under the water, pretty boy?” Billy quirks a brow, trying to give what he hopes is a sharp grin, even from behind his pink lips. “You and I both know you can’t afford to lose anym—“

Then Steve’s kissing him.

Actually kissing him.

In front of people.

…They’ve never done that before. Not ever. Not that they’d ever talked about it, but they didn’t need to. Because Steve and Billy didn’t do PDA. It just isn’t in the cards for them. And yet—

Steve seems to hear Billy’s internal struggle and pulls away, taking some of Billy’s bubblegum lip gloss with him, looking a little sheepish as he licks his lips. “Sorry. I couldn’t really control myself there for a second.”

“You’re hanging around with Eddie too much.” Chrissy laughs, and is rewarded by a playful bite to the cheek from Munson, as if to prove her point of his impulsivity.

“You just look so… good.” Steve admits, and Billy’s stomach doesn’t do an entire flip inside of him. It doesn’t. He’s fine. “You look beau—”

“Don’t.” Billy cuts in. He’s already exposed enough, he doesn’t need Steve to wax poetically about his fucking beauty in front of an audience. Even if it is just Chrissy and Eddie.

“But you do!” Steve insists, smiling, going all syrupy on him. Must still be feeling the effect of that joint from earlier.

”I swear to god, Harrington, I will drown you.” Billy gets his hands on Steve’s biceps and keeps him at bay. Steve pouts and whines.

Yep, definitely still high.

“Good luck, he can stay under for like four whole minutes.” Eddie mutters, still sulking about his defeat. Steve throws him a long suffering roll of his eyes.

“C’mon, let’s see if you can win back your dignity with a game of chicken.” Chrissy all but shoves Eddie off. He’s like a fucking leech. Though Steve isn’t too far off at the moment.

“You know I’ll never say no to having your legs wrapped around my head, sweetheart.” Eddie swoons and even Steve has the decency to balk at the audacity.

“Alright, you take shoulders.” Billy sighs as he pushes off the hard steps. He’s a way sturdier bottom than Steve could ever hope to be.

When Steve doesn’t answer, Billy claps his hands on either side of the column of Steve’s neck, hoping the hit’ll knock a little sense into Steve’s oxygen deprived brain. “Hey, you with me, amigo?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Steve finally sputters out, still unable to break eye contact, “Always, baby.”

Billy ignores the way it makes every inch of him feel warm, and fucking. Cherished. God damn. Harrington really is going to be the death of him.

By the time their game of water chicken has wrapped, Billy’s been thoroughly soaked so there’s not much makeup left on his face, save for a slight pink residue on the lines of his lips. It’s for the best, he thinks. It didn’t look right on him anyway…

But when Chrissy’s hugging him goodbye, she not-so-subtly slips Dollface into his pocket and pulls away with a cheeky, knowing sort of grin. He almost cracks a smile before Eddie is glomming onto him, insisting he also is in dire need of a goodbye hug.

Billy shoves him off before he gets too comfortable, and Eddie folds with a manic, downright deranged laugh that somehow, against all odds, seems to be growing on Billy. Will wonders never fucking cease?