#so does will

Will placed his hand flat to the door of Steve’s room, and shoved dramatically.  “...wow, Dustin...Dustin was not kidding, it is...plaid.”

Steve glanced around, and sighed, arms full of comforter.  “Yeah, it’s really plaid. They hired an interior decorator, I guess.  Didn’t ask me.” He shoved more pillows at Will, called down “Hey yo, Hargrove,” and dumped the other comforter over the railing after the first.  Billy scrambled out of the way.  

“Watch yourself, King Steve,” he looked up, and exchanged a grin with Will.  “The peasants might revolt when you’re snoring tonight. Pitchforks and torches.”

“Will the Wise, my fine court wizard, would never!” Steve grabbed the pillows in one arm, and Will around the waist--he yelped--and trotted down the stairs.  

Billy was grimacing, head cocked, at Will’s giggles and kicking feet.  “‘Will the Wise’?  What’s that, his--his nerd game name?”

“His D&D character,” Steve corrected, sitting Will’s feet on the floor.  

“Seriously?” Billy tossed something in the fridge with a clunk.  “You coulda been ‘Zarbok the Unendearing’ or ‘Magicmaster’ or ‘Savatage’.  You stuck with William?  Who the fuck wants to be a William, if you could be somebody else.”  He stuck some rattly cardboard boxes labeled ‘lasagna noodles’ in the cupboard, and Steve for once salivated over something other than his lovely ex, or the school bully.  “Done.”

“Are you making lasagna?!” he gasped, but Will cut him off.

“I like being a William,” Will grabbed the movie club box Steve’d left on the counter, and rattled it.  “When we built Castle Byers, Mom wanted to put a ‘Trespassers Will’ sign outside. I’m not five.”  He rolled his eyes, glanced between their blank faces, and sighed.  “It’s from Winnie the Pooh. Piglet says his grandfather was Trespassers William.”

“Trespassers William, huh,” Steve grabbed the movie club box, tearing at the corner, and let his smile grow at Billy.

“No,” Billy frowned back.  “You’re not calling me anything to do with a bear--”

“It’s so perfect, though,” Steve yanked at the box.  “Trespasser.”

“It’s Piglet,” Will stared between them.  “Actually.”

“Trespassers Billiam,” Steve snickered, yanking a side of the box away, and wrinkled his nose.  “...huh. Anybody wanna watch The Smurfs and the Magic Flute?  Or hey, they reissued Snow White.  Jesus.  My mom’s hot secretary thinks I’m five.”

“Your mom?” Will perked up.  

“Yeah,” Steve shrugged, trying to ignore the avid attention of various Williams.  “Do we need to explain where babies come from?  Again?”

“Are you up for that?” Billy raised his eyebrows.  “You could barely handle it the first time.”

“...does Hargrove need to explain where babies come from again?”

Billy smirked, and Will giggled.  “No, I--just--where is she?”

“Oh, uh.  She’s roommates with her really...hot...secretary--” he narrowed his eyes, then blinked.  “Wait, my--my mom’s gay.  That’s definitely weird.”  Billy slid an arm around him, laughing into his shoulder.  “Uhhh, she’s in Boston, usually? She, um, she travels a lot.”

“Why doesn’t she--” Will began, and Steve felt his jaw clench.  The kid must have noticed, because he stopped.

“You got a dad?” Billy leaned his chin on Steve’s shoulder.  

“He’s got his own secretary,” Steve let himself lean back into him.  “I guess.”

Billy squeezed him.  “Where?” 

“Uh, guys--”

“You live here alone,” Will’s eyes were huge.  “You’re all by yourself.  That’s why Billy can stay.”

Steve sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose.  “Okay, look, I’m still seventeen--”

“We’ll keep it quiet,” Billy shifted against him, glancing around.  “Shit, Harrington, how long you been living on TV dinners?”

“Hey, I get Kentucky Fried chicken, sometimes,” Steve squirmed, and Billy stepped back.  

“...the hell’d you do before you could drive,” Billy stepped away, digging a beer out of the fridge.  

Steve snorted, cracking his neck.  “I took the bus?  I had a--” he waved his hand hip-high.  “Little kid bike, y’know, what the hell d’you think.”

“How--how old were--” Will’s eyes just kept getting wider, and Steve cut him off, swallowing around a raw feeling in his throat.

“Not everybody’s got your mom, Will,” he grabbed a chair in one hand, the bag of Christmas lights in the other, tossing them over his shoulder, and strode into the front room.  “Hoy. Buttfaces. How do we start. Let’s make this fort.”  

Will followed him out, Billy bringing up the rear with the sound of a crushed beer can tossed into the sink.  As Will dug clothespins out of one of his totes, Billy slid an arm around Steve, leaning in. “So. How hot is your mom’s secretary,” he whispered, and Steve’s tight shoulders dropped as he barked a laugh.  

“She’s almost as old as my mom,” he grinned, pulling the chair over and climbing on to reach the ceiling.  

“Just my type,” Billy grabbed his hand and kissed his knuckles as he walked by, and Steve stepped too far to the side.  The chair tottered, then slowly began to tip--like the chair got a run-by smooching, Steve thought, rolling his eyes--and he had to shift his feet to balance it on two legs as he stepped down to the side rung, then to the floor as the chair thudded softly on its side behind him.  

He glanced around, head ducked, feeling like a silent movie comedian.  Both Williams were pink-cheeked and watching. “Oh, fuck off,” he put one foot on the rung of the chair to get it arcing upright as he stepped on the edge with the other, and Billy turned away, clearing his throat.  

“Did you practice that?” Will asked, wide-eyed, as the chair settled back on four legs, and Steve cocked his head.  

“...falling...off a chair?  Why...why would I practice that.”

“It looks cool,” Will watched as Steve rolled his eyes, grabbing the back of the chair and rocking it back to two legs while he balanced with one foot on the seat, one on the side rung.  Will clapped--and slid a glance at Billy.  “Billy really likes it.”

“Shut up, Will,” Billy stomped off to grab a blanket.  

“Of course my trespasser likes watching me stumble around--” Steve rolled his eyes, and Will shook his head, opening his mouth, and sighed.  

“...you wouldn’t fuck off from under my window, shithead,” Billy threw a pillow at his head, and Steve took the hit and caught it, grinning over.  “The hell was I supposed to--”

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your mullet,” Steve snickered, and Billy grabbed pillows in both hands and launched an attack.  Will grabbed a couch pillow, forgetting the effect the size of it would have on his reflexes, and ran around waving it at both of them and missing entirely.  

They circled the front room in an infinite loop, supplying each other with thrown pillows, stances wide like they were playing one-on-one basketball.  Billy finally smacked Steve sprawling over the arm of the couch and knelt on the floor next to him, panting. “You wanted me here.  You--you fucking--you came and got me, don’t--”

Steve flailed an arm out, and grappled his shoulders close, talking into his curls.  “Yeah. Yeah, you trespassed a few too many times, asshole. Keeping you.”

“What,” Billy buried his face against Steve’s side.  “You’re not keeping me, you’re--you’re releasing me with one of those radio collars.  Throw me in a truck, drop me in the mountains, hope to fucking god I don’t find my way back.”

Leaning his head back, Steve watched Will edge out of the room, pointing upstairs, and waved with his free hand.  His other hand teased at the hairspray in Billy’s curls. “What,” he had to clear his throat a couple of times to laugh.  “You--you saying you’re--domesticated. Tame. You want to--” 

“Fuck you,” Billy yanked away, standing up.  “Saying I’ll probably knock over your trash cans every night after work.”

“You can always ring the doorbell--” Steve swung his legs to the floor to reach for him, and Will walked back in.  

“I got the sheets,” he said, breathless.  “They aren’t as heavy, it’s easier to tie them--”  He glanced between Steve and Billy, blushing.  

Billy accepted one, stepping up on the chair, frowned at it under his feet, and then squinted at Steve.  

“What,” Steve mouthed, and Billy stuck out his tongue and looked away, shaking his head.  He braced himself, feet as wide as they’d go on the chair, before stretching up to tie the corner of the sheet around the track lighting.  

Steve looked away from his toned stomach where his shirt rode up, cleared his throat, and started gathering other tall things--the metal tubing hatrack from the garage, and while he was there, bungee cords.  They shortly had a canopy wide and tall enough for--he stopped, glancing around for Billy, who was crouched with Will trying to untangle the Christmas lights.  

Steve stepped over, bent in a low bow, and kissed his stubbled cheek, as Will giggled.  “May I have this dance?”  

Billy turned a pink-cheeked glower on him, and Steve crouched, holding out his hand.  

“What are we waltzing to, your highness,” Billy thumped his shoulder into Steve’s, and Steve threw an arm around him to keep his balance.  

“We should get the lights up first,” Will tugged harder at his strand, face bright red.

“I could put on a princess cartoon--” Steve began, straight-faced, and Billy shoved him over, scrambling to his feet and stomping off to the garage, yelling back through the door.  

“You’re a sick fucker, Harrington!  You’re diseased in the head!”  

Steve shot a grin at Will, who was leaning on the floor on one hand, cackling into the other.

When Billy returned, carrying a small suitcase and an armload of cassettes to dump in front of the stereo, Steve and Will were arranging the lights.  They zigzagged them between the hatrack and the chair supporting the other back corner, which lit most of the fort, and then Steve climbed back up and started twining them along its ceiling.  Will abandoned him to look through the cassettes.

“Do you have any Led Zeppelin?” 

Billy grinned at him, leaning in to unclasp the little suitcase, and Steve finished the fifth and last strand to look over and see Will and Billy’s heads together, discussing music.  He switched off the overhead lights--forcing them to huddle closer to the stereo light--and crossed his arms, waiting for them to look up and see his fairy lights.

Billy smacked a cassette in, and crossed his arms at Will, who held up his fists, giggling.  “Next one’s my turn.”  Billy rolled his eyes, and Steve shook his head, grinning, and moved the chair he’d used to stand on out of their blanket fort.  He dropped down to lean between them--and get an unasked-for lecture on, of all things, metal bands who liked Lord of the Rings.  When Will paused to cover a yawn, Steve opened his mouth to rescue Billy, who promptly ejected the Led Zeppelin Will’d been explaining.  Billy popped in a tape labeled “Cirith Ungol,” which sounded, to Steve’s ears, like screaming.  

Will crawled across Steve’s lap to get to the case in fascination.  “That’s a pass on the way to Mordor--well, and the orc stronghold in the pass--” 

“What,” Steve groaned.

“In the Lord of the Rings!  You’ve seen the movies, Steve--”  Steve leaned against Billy’s shoulder, succumbing to his fate, as the two nerds pawed through the cassettes, talking about orcs and goblins.  Billy said something about the Dark Tongue, and Steve snickered into his shoulder. 

“But you’ve never read it,” Will yawned again, slumping between them, his shoulder digging into Steve’s chest, his head against Billy’s neck.  

“Tried the Two Towers once, couldn’t figure out what the fuck was going on,” Billy grinned over his head at Steve, and switched out the tape for a more comprehensible one labeled “Attacker:  Battle at Helm’s Deep”.  

“You can’t start there,” Will took that case too, blinking slowly at the lyrics “Vandalizing the countryside/Goblins march in fearless pride”.  “I want to hear all of them,” he tipped himself forward to inspect the cassette case, covering another voluminous yawn.  “And then we can--we can start the book.”

“Yeah, no,” Steve leaned sideways to watch him rubbing his face.  “We can do that in the morning.”

Will squinted at him, unsubtly sliding another cassette around his body to Billy, who blinked wide eyes at Steve before clicking it in the player.  

Steve groaned as another guitar riff reverberated around the room.  “I’m gonna set it up so we can sleep,” he jerked his thumb towards the fort, and Billy scrambled up with him, displacing Will onto the floor.  He didn’t seem to notice.  

Steve started laying out the comforters, and arranging pillows, eventually realizing Billy had sat back on his heels, frowning around.

“Hey, Harrington,” he licked his teeth, grinning.  “Looks like a sex cave.”

Steve covered a loud snort.  “Shut up.”

“I think we could fit the king-size off that bed upstairs in here.”

Steve surveyed the grounds with new eyes, eyebrows raised as he nodded.  “I think you’re right.” He stepped over and hauled Hargrove to his feet, pulling him close for a peck on the mouth, and holding him with their heads together.  Billy let his eyes close for a second, then jerked back, shooting a glance at Will, who was staring at the stereo, bouncing a little in place.

“He’s not even looking,” Billy hissed, and Steve bit his lips, stepping back.  Billy ran his fingers through his hair, staring at Steve, then turned on his heel and stomped away towards the stairs.  The electric guitar cut out as Steve followed.

When Steve walked in Billy’s room, he was lying on his back on the bare mattress, his curls a little wild where he’d run his hands through them.  “...sorry?” Steve tried.

“Doesn’t matter,” Billy shoved himself upright, yanking his t-shirt down.  “Kiss me all you like, you’re the one who fucking--who doesn’t want--”

“Wait, it’s not that I--”

“Look, fuck you,” Billy stalked up and shoved him back.  “Get the other end of this fucking mattress.”  

Steve ducked his head, and did.  As they took mincing steps on the multi-point turn out the doorway and into the bannister, familiar notes on a familiar harmonica floated up the stairs, and Steve cracked up, dropping the mattress to lean against the bannister.  “William Whatever Hargrove,” he gasped, pushing the mattress just enough to feel it thud into Billy, “You listen to the Beatles?”  

“...it was my mom’s,” Billy growled back, and Steve winced, picking his end of the mattress up again.  

“Shit, sorry...let’s just tip it over the bannister, we won’t make this turn.  We can balance it and then catch it, yeah?”  

Billy shrugged, but helped him balance it, and Steve squeezed his shoulder as he slid around him to stand on the stairs.  

“Serve you right if I drop it.”  Billy’s voice was hoarse. “Sled down over your corpse.”

“I think it’s a specific crime if you kill somebody you’re married to,” Steve bounced on his toes to catch the mattress as Billy flipped it towards him.  

“Shut up,” Billy sighed.

“Is it maricide?” Steve mused.  “Maritime? No, matricide?”

“You aren’t my mother,” Billy shoved the mattress, and Steve staggered down the bottom steps.  “And holding hands at the IHOP doesn’t make us married.”

“Think it does, we had witnesses--” Steve jogged backwards to the front door so Billy could get out of the stairwell, and they slid the mattress on its side into the front room.   Billy left Steve holding the mattress, then stopped, beckoning Steve over with raised eyebrows.  

The mattress thumped as Steve pushed it against the wall, sidling over slide an arm around Billy, and look at Will asleep, curled up in Steve’s plaid comforter.  His face was half under the entertainment system, hugging an armload of cassettes so one was partly in his mouth.  

Billy swore under his breath, and went to yank the blankets out of the fort and clear the floor.  Steve pulled some out, and piled them up, but when the next song started, Billy just stood in the center of the fort.  He had his fist pressed against his mouth, and his eyes closed tightly, and Steve dropped the pillow he was holding to go stand in front of him.  

“Hey,” he lifted his hands, remembered Billy’s earlier flailing, and lowered them.  “Do you--you okay?”

“Yeah.   Yeah, I’m good--”  He took a deep, shaky breath.  “The fuck are you--”

“Want me to turn it off?”

“Fuck.”  Billy rubbed his face.  “It’s--whatever. Doesn’t matter.  What’re you staring at, straight boy, aren’t you afraid I’ll try and slow dance?”

“Hey, I suggested it,” Steve grinned, twiddling his fingers as he reached out with both hands and grabbed Billy’s, then leaned close to whisper in his ear.  “Are we doing this or aren’t we?”

Billy groaned, leaning his face in Steve’s neck, but swayed along with If I fell in love with you/would you promise to be true/and help me understand?  “I’m gonna get hard, and you’re not,” he mumbled into the skin under Steve’s ear, and Steve snorted.

“Don’t count on it.”

“If I give my heart to you,” Billy sang along his breath warm against Steve’s ear, “I must be sure/from the very start that you/would love me more than her--”

Steve huffed a laugh into his curls, tucking his fingers, twined with Billy’s, in the back pockets of Billy’s jeans.  “I’ve asked you out, asshole.  You threatened to kill me.”  

“So I hope you see that I/would love to love you,” Billy pressed against him shoulder to hip, singing against his collarbone.  Steve could feel his grin.  “And that she will cry/when she learns we are two--”

“Jesus, I didn’t realize this song was so pissed at my ex,” Steve dug his nails in the denim covering Billy’s butt, and Billy jerked closer, laughing, as the song switched to And I love her.  He stumbled, and Steve slowed, pulling a hand free so Billy’s weren’t pinned awkwardly behind his back when he had Sudden Emotions.  

He listened to Billy’s slow breaths, running a hand up his spine.  “...that’s not my sweatshirt,” he lifted his head to squint at it. “Whose sweatshirt is that?”

Billy yanked his other hand free and slung both around Steve’s neck, laughing helplessly into his shoulder.  “I have my own clothes, Harrington.”

Steve felt himself flushing.  “How was I supposed to know you owned shirts?” he whispered back.  “You don’t fucking wear them.”

“I do fucking wear them,” Billy lifted his head, breathing less than an inch from Steve’s mouth.  He smelled like beer, and chapstick, and toothpaste, and his eyes made Steve feel like a swimming pool was laughing at him.  “I’ve been wearing yours, just ‘cause you keep...shoving me into them.”  He licked his lips.  

“...like...you’re still--days later,” Steve stumbled over his words, sliding his hand up to curve it around Billy’s jaw, and feel his face get warmer with every second they swayed to A love like ours/Could never die/As long as I/Have you near me.  His mouth and throat had gone dry somehow, and he swallowed, and didn’t slide his other hand through Billy’s curls.  “But--good--good to know you, y’know, you know how to--dress yourself. When--once you--get back to California.”

Billy stalled out, suddenly just a cement traffic barrier Steve was trying to dance with.  “What.”

“I mean.  I won’t--it’s not like--you’ll have to zip up your own sweatshirts,” Steve cleared his throat, swallowing again.  “Good. Good thing it’s warm there.”

“California,” Billy repeated.  He nodded, grinning, and yanked his arms back, shoving away from Steve’s shoulder.  “Right. You’re giving me money to get the hell out of your fucking life.  How could I forget that.”

“...you wanted a job, to leave town,” Steve staggered back.  “You said you--”

“Yeah.  Thanks. That’s great, Harrington.”  Billy laughed, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.  “I thought that was some of the shit you didn’t mean. How long’s that gonna take.”

It was probably good, Steve reflected, how fast Billy could switch channels.  Apparently I need to be reminded:  he’s only here because it’s safe. He’d known Billy only wanted to get back to California, but it kinda stung sometimes, being disposable.  “A-a week, maybe two? I called the bank, but I’m--I’m a minor, so--”

“What’s going on?” The comforter rose with Will’s wide eyes underneath it, his face red where he’d hugged the cassettes, and Steve tried not to whine.

“My sweet boyfriend here,” Billy reached out and squeezed Steve’s shoulder, right at the bone.  Steve’s t-shirt was no protection from the grip of his blunt nails. “--he’s letting me have some money to move home to California.  I--I can see all my friends!  I bet my mom really misses me, too, right, honey?”

“Your mom lives in California?” Will’s eyes widened.  “Wow, that sucks.  That--that is so goddamned far.”  He enunciated the swear carefully, and Steve resisted a snort.  “Unless your mom tries to keep you all--wrapped up in bubble wrap, like mine does, sometimes I--I mean--”

“She does not do that, no,” Billy’s eyes were fixed on Steve’s.

Will’s eyes were flicking between them.  “You--you must be excited, to see her, but…what about you and...”  He fixed wide, shining eyes on Steve, who winced, both from guilt and Billy’s bruisingly-tight hold on his shoulder.

“Oh, of course my beloved will visit,” Billy yanked his hand away to fold his arms around himself.  He bared his teeth in a grin at Steve, and Steve swallowed.

“I would if you wanted me to,” he muttered, rubbing his shoulder, and Billy narrowed his eyes at him.

“Of course you’ll visit,” Will stumbled out of his nest and hopped over on one leg, trying to disentangle himself from the comforter.  “Right?”

“Ye-yeah, of course,” Steve swallowed, his throat feeling like a dry riverbed.  “Maybe he’ll come back for the fair this summer. Or--or I could--take you and El and, uh,” he risked a glance at Billy, who’d stalked over to haul the mattress away from the wall and push it towards the fort.  “We could--road trip. Disneyland.” He dodged out of the fort as Billy rammed the mattress at him.

“Oh!”  Will blinked.  “That’s a good idea, the mattress, at home we don’t have a bed that big.  You know what, we could use the couch cushions as walls.  Do--do you live near Disneyland?” He helped Billy lower the mattress.

“Don’t fucking live anywhere,” Billy clambered back out.  “Apparently. I need a--a fucking--smoke.”  He grabbed Will’s head with both hands and messed up his hair, and Will giggled, batting at him, and then spent a few seconds trying to get it back out of his face as Billy slammed out the door to the deck.

“Shit,” Steve watched him stomp down the steps.  “Shit, shit shit. I--I gotta go--I think I said something--I think he thinks I want him out--”

“Okay,” Will bit his lips.  

“I really--I do like him,” Steve groaned, scrabbling at his hair, and wishing it wasn’t true.  

“I know,” Will shrugged, grabbing the pile of sheets.

“Shit,” Steve reached to slap the pool lights on on the way out the door, then braced himself as the cold frosted down his windpipe on the first breath.  He coughed, ducking his face into his collar.  “Shit, shit, goddamn it.”  

“Fuck off, Harrington,” Billy’s voice sounded thick.  

Steve followed it around to the snowy chairs around the pool, and tipped the snow out of the closest.  “I don’t--I’m not trying to--I like you here.” He took a deep breath, dropping into the chair, and frowning over to see Billy’s suspicious eyes barely visible between his hair and his attempt to turtle into the sweatshirt.  

“Yeah, I know you’re lonely, Harrington, shit.”  Billy raised his chin just enough to take a drag on his cigarette.  “‘Course you don’t mind me.  You’re too afraid you’re crazy to date.  Your old friends suck balls.  Your new best friend’s a fucking--toddler.  You’re so tired of this empty house you’re watching princess movies.  Probably nothing sounds better than some fag hanging around just--leaning into you like you’re a fucking flame.”

“Shit, no,” Steve got out of his chair, and Billy held up a hand.

“Don’t fucking touch me.  You don’t--you don’t want all of this pile of--of--screw you.”  he took another shaky drag on his his cigarette, and blew a ring.  “Don’t fucking touch me if you won’t kiss me, or let me just--christ.”  

“Sorry,” Steve swallowed.  “It’s not that I--”

“It’s okay around Will,” Billy turned away as much as he could, squirming with his legs curled in the chair.  “I know you aren’t actually gonna let me go any further with that. But if you aren’t--if I’m your fucking pound puppy, stop fucking romancing me, it’s--”

“Sorry,” Steve shivered, rubbing his arms.  “You’re--you’re so--” He tried to encapsulate the frustration of never knowing how to form his vague feelings into words, to someone who could apparently do it exhausted and shivering.

“What, Steve,” Billy smiled up.  “Am I being too complicated?  Or is that too difficult a word for you?”

Steve stopped, and considered, feeling a bit like he’d been asked to stand in a grave and handed a shovel.  Or maybe smacked with it. “Sorry. I--I’ll go inside now.” Before he turned, he unzipped his sweatshirt, tucked it around Billy--who froze, mid-drag on his cigarette--and shoved his hands in his pockets to tromp back in the house.  

He’d almost made it to the door when Billy let out a hacking cough and roared “Harrington!  Take your fucking sweatshirt back--I just fucking said--”

 When he leaned into the fort, Will was piling up the comforters.  He frowned up. “We need a name. And a sign...where’s Billy?”

“I don’t think he’s gonna hear anything I say right now,” Steve shrugged, kicking the pile of pillows closer to the fort, and tossing them singly to Will.  “I mean I dunno what to say, but I think if I stumble around with a bunch of bullshit right now, he’ll--” he frowned, suddenly annoyed.  “I bet he’d shove me in the pool.”

“Why’s he mad?” Will brushed his hands together theatrically, waving around their colorfully lit blanket cave.  “Lemme get my paper and markers--”

“Looks really comfy,” Steve pushed Will over backwards into the pillows, and flopped next to him, ducking away from a flailing arm.  He grabbed an armful of fluffiness, and buried his face, until he felt tiny sharp fingers prodding his side.  

“Steve,” Will whispered.  “Why’s Billy mad?”

After a long fight against the impulse to smother himself with the pillow, Steve lifted his head.  “...I don’t…” He groaned, kicking his feet. “I mean. I kinda know, like, he’s mad that I...he thinks...okay,” he folded his arms on a pillow, propping himself up to see Will’s intent face.  “Dad Hargrove is such a fucking--he’s a shithead, okay, he’s just--he’s completely--rargh.”  He buried his face in his arms again.

“Yeah,” Will waited.

“So Billy keeps--he doesn’t--he doesn’t think he’s...like-able, y’know, like--nobody could ever like Billy Hargrove, to Billy, so--”

“He doesn’t believe you?” Will sat up, crossing his legs, the better to lean in.  

Steve sighed, rolling onto his back.  “I don’t--it’s like it changes, he thinks I really want Nancy, and I’m lying, and then he thinks I don’t want him at all, but right after that he thinks I want him to--” he stopped with his mouth hanging open, his cheeks heating like burners as he realized he’d almost mentioned blow jobs to Will Byers.  After a long pause, about the point Steve was thinking he really did need to breathe, at least, Will prodded him again.  

“He thinks you like him sometimes?” Will squinted.

“Whenever I’m mad,” Steve said carefully, “--he thinks I want him to do...stuff, and I don’t know if he even wants to do the--the stuff.”

Will squinted harder, cocking his head.  “What kinda--oh.”  He cleared his throat, biting his lips.  “Stuff.  Uh.”

“I don’t wanna do--stuff--if he doesn’t even usually--ugh,” he pulled the pillow over his face again.

“Why...would he...I mean, don’t you believe he wants to--to do--stuff?” he squeaked the last word, hands steepled to hide some of his face.

“Uuuurgh,” Steve lifted his head.  “He just wants me less...mad.  Like.  Like if your mom was upset already, and you took the trash out, you’d be doing it, like--”

“So she wouldn’t cry,” Will nodded, huge-eyed.  “Doing--stuff--is like that?”

“I don’t know!” Steve flailed.  “Maybe! For Billy Hargrove!”

Will tottered to his feet, staggering across the thick uneven layers of comforter and pillows, and grabbed his backpack.  “What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” Steve watched him pull out construction paper and markers.  “I don’t know what he wants.  I think I do, but then I keep fucking up.”  

“You can’t just ask him?  Or--oh, is it like--” Will gripped his markers, frowning down.  “He just--tries to make you happy?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed.  “Or he tries to make me mad?  He’s always just--he does shit to piss me off, he was yelling at me for being dumb out there.  I’m not stupid, he’s just crazy.”

Will nodded slowly.  “...what should we name the fort?”

Steve army-crawled over to look at the tapes.  “Uh, wasn’t this a place?” He waved Cirith Ungol at Will, who wrinkled his nose.  

“A bad place.  What about--”

“Trespassers Billiam,” Steve pointed, grinning.  “All trespassers with that name I toss in here.”

Will made a face, then grinned.  “You’re gonna make him mad again.”

“Uuuurgh,” Steve rolled to bury his face again.  

“Can’t you just...say you like him...even if he doesn’t do, um, things?”

“He’s leaving anyway,” Steve sighed.  “He thinks his mom hates him, but I bet his dad like--got full custody by lying about her, or she’s hiding from him, or--I dunno.  It’ll work out. He’s...he’s got somewhere to fucking be.”  He punched the pillow, twice, then grabbed it to cover his face.

“...that’s...good, though, right?” Will wouldn’t stop talking, and Steve swallowed a couple times, before raising his head to press his thumb against the bridge of his nose.  

“Yeah.  It’s great.  Of course. He doesn’t need all this, he’s got somewhere to go.  If I had the money to g-lend him, he’d be halfway there now.  Cloud of--cloud of fucking dust.”

“...you...you could call him.  A lot. And, uh, and visit.” The mattress bounced as he shifted closer, and Steve forced out a laugh, sitting up.  

“Sorry.  Sorry. You came for a sleepover, and I’m not any fun.”

“I’m having fun,” Will grimaced.  “Not--not while you’re fighting, but.  This is fun. You told me it was a bad time.”

Steve snorted, combing the hair out of his face with his fingers where the pillow-hugging had messed it up.  He crawled to the side to fix the blankets.  

“You--you know,” Will watched him with wide, determined eyes, and Steve leaned away, “Um, you don’t have to be fun.  Not all the time. Your friends will still like you if you aren’t fun.”

Steve almost laughed in his face, but reached over to mess his hair up again instead.  

“I mean it,” Will smacked at his hands.  “Real friends won’t--”

Steve swallowed back another laugh, and tossed a pillow at him.  “I’m glad you’ve got good friends, Will.”

“You have lots of friends!  You’ve got Billy, and Dustin, and--and Nancy--”

I shouldn’t take satisfaction in him running aground.  Steve let his smile widen.  “I’ve got friends when they need something, okay?  I get the call when something dangerous is happening, or a kid needs someplace to go--” he waved around at Trespassers Billiam.  

“Wait,” Will held up his hands.  “No, that’s not--”

“--and I thought he needed me, because--I mean, fuck it, anyway, he doesn’t--shit, I’m sorry, you don’t need to hear this.  Fuck.”

“Steve!” Will smacked him in the face with a pillow, tears running down his cheeks.  

“Shit,” Steve took a deep breath.  “Shit, Will, I’m sorry, I don’t care if you come over.  I didn’t mean that.”

Will smacked him again, and again, sitting on his chest to aim properly, until Steve was curled up laughing, arms around his head.  “Take all that back, you do too have friends,” he smacked at Steve’s protective arms again.  

“Sure, kid,” he snickered, and got smacked again.  

“I-am-your-friend,” Will punctuated every word with another whack of the pillow.  “Dustin-is-your-friend.”  He panted, wiping his face on his sleeve.  “I--I think Billy really--really likes you.  He got those photos away from me and slid them under the cassettes in his carrier case.  I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

“...blackmail?” Steve suggested, and got walloped a few more times, before Will flopped forward over the pillow, groaning.  

“I’m tired and you’re dumb,” he reached down and pinched Steve’s cheeks, hard, and Steve rolled to dump him off.  

“I thought a real friend didn’t mind if I wasn’t fun.”

“Screw you,” Will mumbled, throwing the pillow at him, before clambering back upright, pointing at Steve’s face.  “You said it! I’m a real friend!”

“Feel better?”  Steve grinned over, and got another pillow to the face.

“I do now, yeah,” he sighed contentedly up at the Christmas lights.  “Also, I’m telling.”

“What?” 

“I’m telling Dustin, and Nancy, and--and your boyfriend, and Mrs. Williams--”

“Holy god, please don’t,” Steve breathed.  “Please don’t tell my ex I was whining about her not liking me enough.”

“Mmmm,” Will narrowed his eyes, and smacked him with another pillow.  “Okay, fine. But I’m gonna hint real hard.”

“Christ,” Steve whacked him back with the pillow.  He wrinkled his nose. “Leave it be, they’ll think I’m clingy.”

“Nancy already knows that,” Will rolled his eyes, and Steve felt his throat click.  

He rubbed his face, standing.  “Right. Right. She knows I’m--clingy.  She said that?”

“Basically,” Will shrugged, and Steve nodded, taking a deep breath and blowing his cheeks out.  

“Great.  That’s--that’s really great.  Perfect. Y’know the only reason Billy likes me is I think I’m the first person who didn’t treat him like shit--”

“What?!” Will squeaked, but Steve cut him off.

“Christ fucking hell, did he freeze out there?”  He scrambled over the piles of bedding and loped to the wall to peer through the window.  “...should I go get him?”

“...I could?  Do you want me to?”

“You,” Steve pointed, “--should be brushing your teeth and putting on--sleeping--things.  I’m gonna--” he pointed outside, took a deep breath, and blew it through his cheeks.  “...tell my dickhead boyfriend he’s great and I don’t want him to freeze to death.”

Will snickered.  “Maybe he doesn’t believe you because you sound so romantic.”

“Okay, you’re like nine, so fuck off,” Steve flicked his head, then ignored his detailed rebuttal, math excuses, and flung pillows.  

Will was still yelling “I’m not nine!  And I’m still telling!” as Steve set his shoulders, grabbed the afghan Will had left on the couch, and huddled into it to brave the outdoors again.  

 When he crept ineffectively around the corner of the house, the crunching of refrozen snow reverberating clear to the neighbors, Billy was still curled up in the plastic lawnchair.  All of him except his hair and eyes was covered by Steve’s sweatshirt. The whole chair was shaking.

“Hey, dickhead,” Steve tried, hanging back a few feet.  “Maybe come inside before you freeze solid?”

Billy laughed.  It sounded wet. “Th-think I’m-m already--”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve dropped the afghan over him, sliding one arm under his knees, and one around his shoulders.  Billy’s clothes were cold, and stiff to the touch, like a tarp.

“D-don’t you f-fucking d-dare--”

“Come on,” Steve braced himself, and lifted with his knees, and Billy grabbed for him with both arms, stuttering profanity.  “Just taking you--inside--oof--jesus, maybe--go a little--easier on the reps.”  All curled up, he was heavy as hell, but he still seemed smaller, with his head tucked under Steve’s chin, and his boots in the air.

“Stop--stop this p-prince shit, p-put me down-n,” Billy shivered hard against him, laughing.  

“I could throw you over my shoulder like a fireman,” Steve grinned, hoping Will was in the front room to open the door.  “But I’m kinda afraid you’d crack in half--”

“You d-drop me,” Billy laughed against his neck, “--and I will c-crack you in half--y-you will fucking d-die, I will f-fucking murd-der you--”

Steve went slow, both unworried and undoubting that he would, in fact, die.  And fair enough, if I drop him on his spine down the stairs in the snow.  “I’d do it, y’know.  Date you. I think you--do you--think I’m shitting you, when I say I’d take you out?  ‘Cause I would, I’d fucking do it.”

“...fucking would n-not,” Billy muttered.  His fingers clenched in Steve’s shirt so tight it pinched.

Steve held him tighter, pretending to himself it was so he could see the stairs.  “I mean, if you weren’t leaving.”  

“Fffuck you,” Billy shuddered against his shoulder, in what could have been laughter, or cold.  

“I would!  We could--we could do the drive-in movie thing!”  Steve took a few deep breaths after climbing the stairs, and kicked the door lightly.  

“S-sit at the theater, r-room between us for Jesus,” Billy huffed.

“Theaters are dark, dipshit,” Steve squinted through the door, trying to see Will in the dim front room.  “You can get up to shit in the back of a theater--”  He waggled his eyebrows, and Billy jerked in his arms.  

“...think I did fr-f-fuck.  F-freeze solid,” he muttered.  “C-can’t even kick you. ‘N my lips ‘re numb.”

“I’d bring you forget-me-nots.  Frosty.”

“D-don’t want any ff-fucking flowers,” Billy laughed hoarsely.  His shivering had slowed, bundled against Steve, but Steve was slowly going numb.  

He kicked the door again, trying not to hum ‘Frosty the dickhead’.  “Might just eat all the fancy chocolates and stare at you, then, like ‘Look at me, eating all the chocolate, you actual fucking prick.’”

“What the f-fuck,” Billy burst out laughing, and rolled his head against Steve’s shoulder.  Despite his flush, his face was cold even through Steve’s t-shirt, but Steve remembered, and didn’t pull hims closer, or bury his face in the soft curls.  “You’re g-gonna stare at me and s-slowly eat things?  Y-you’re sure you don’t wanna b-blow job?”

Steve started cackling against the side of the door, looked down to see Billy waggling his tongue around, and lost it again.  “Shit. Jesus. Okay. Stop that, Will’s coming. How’re you doin’, asshole?”

Billy raised his eyebrows.  “D-dinner’s great, ma’am, c-could we get some more breadsticks--”

“Oh, shut up.”  

Will ran to the door, and beamed at them as Steve walked by--for all Billy’s griping, he didn’t try to get Steve to drop him.  When Steve did set him on his feet, he staggered, started to tilt toward him again, and jerked back, stumbling off through the kitchen like an afghan-swathed grandmother zombie. 

“...we better get ready too,” Steve grinned at Will.

“...did you, uh, did you...fix him?”

“...I don’t think I can...fix it that fast, but,” Steve shook his arms out, wincing.  “God, he’s like carrying a--like a stone statue, I need a crane or something--we’ll be right back down.”

Will yawned, grinning.

Billy was glaring up the stairs, leaning against the wall, and Steve slid an arm around him slow enough for him to pull away.  He didn’t. He was quiet while Steve hauled him up the stairs, and quiet when Steve tipped him onto the lid of the toilet and turned away to run the hot water.  The afghan flew by as Steve turned back, but Billy’s hands were shaking too hard to disentangle himself from Steve’s sweatshirt, let alone unzip his own. He was still unnervingly passive as Steve pushed his hands aside and leaned in to unwrap him, and tug the undershirt over his head.  

“What the hell was that?” Steve asked, dropping to sit in front of him and yank on his boots.  “You were just gonna sit out there?”

“Just th-thinking.  Thought I might g-go home,” Billy rubbed his hands together, and up his arms, keeping his gaze on the shower curtain.  “I mean it’s n-not like I haven’t run off before--”

“What, no,” Steve grabbed his hand, and Billy yanked it back, thunking his elbow against the toilet.  

He grinned down.  “Whatcha g-gonna do, Ha-Harrington, lock me in the garage?”

“No!  No, why would--don’t--” Steve yanked at his other boot.  “Come on, dickface, your lips are blue. At least get in the shower.”

Billy pushed himself upright, and Steve kept his eyes on Billy’s holey athletic socks at the sound of his jean zipper.  “F-figure I’d be out of your h-hair sooner.” 

“I want you in my hair, Hargrove--” Steve growled, smacking Billy’s leg, and ignoring Billy squirming around trying to get out of his extremely fitted jeans.  He clapped his hand over his eyes.  “What d’you want from your room? To wear?”

“...whatever, Ha-harrington,” Billy slurred, shivering, and Steve heard the shower stall open, and close.  

He slid out to get sweatpants, and change, then wandered back in--eyes on the floor--to sit on the toilet, and brush his teeth.  He crossed his legs, trying to get the words everybody else used to play well together in his head. “Hargrove.”

“Yep,” came Billy’s voice, over the sound of a thorough soaping.  

“I don’t--” Steve leaned his elbows on his knees, and frowned at the suds on his toothbrush.  “I know I--I say stupid shit. But--” he stuck his toothbrush back in his mouth, thinking as he thoroughly brushed his molars, then jumped as Billy smacked the inside of the shower door next to his head.  

“Fucking christ, Harrington,” he growled.

“The hell d’you wanna hear?” Steve leaned to spit in the sink, and rinse his brush, then glared over.  He bit his lips on a smile at the sight of naked Billy Hargrove, covered in suds, narrowing his eyes. Steve jerked his head away, flushing.  

“You opened your fucking mouth when it’s got nothing in it.”  Billy smacked the glass again.  

“Agh,” Steve let his head fall back against the wall.  “Just--just stay here, goddamn.  I’m not--you don’t--I’m not gonna be--” he waved a hand, then rubbed his face with it.  “‘M not gonna be glad when you leave.”

For a long moment, there was only the sound of running water, and then the sound of bare feet again, and the snap of a plastic cap.  “...can’t leave you high and dry with Will, anyway,” Billy’s voice was muffled by the water.  

“Yes!  That too!”  Steve reached over and slapped his side of the glass.  “What the hell, Hargrove, you just gonna--just let him think I’d throw you out if we broke up?”

“Maybe I got drunk and kicked your ass again, and you dropped me in a ditch outside of town,” Billy laughed, and Steve started to stare at him, then rolled his eyes and smacked the glass again.

“He wouldn’t believe that--”

“Might if I did it,” Billy tapped the glass, and Steve frowned over, watching the water run down Billy’s shoulder and over his chest, and feeling the blood that wasn’t already in his face redirect to his crotch.

“Shut up--you look like a fucking mermaid in there, you’re all--”

“All?” Billy’s grin widened.

“Wet,” Steve gritted his teeth, and Billy leaned close, and licked up a big swath of the glass.  Steve stood and pressed his face against the other side, and Billy stumbled back, cackling, as Steve made fish faces, inflating his cheeks with his lips pressed against the glass.  

Billy leaned back in, grabbing the top of the door, and the light refracted off the water in his eyelashes.  His curls were dripping down his face and collarbones, then down the edge of his hand as he tucked them behind his ear.  His grin looked like it was more at himself than anything else, and his eyes wouldn’t meet Steve’s.  

“...at least stay ‘til you graduate, Hargrove.”  He put his hands next to Billy’s on the top of the door, running his thumb over wet knuckles.  His bruises have mostly healed, I can’t let him go.  Back there. God.

Billy licked his lips, and Steve stared.  “...you sure you’re up for...all this, Harrington?” he swayed his pelvis at the glass, waggling his tongue, and Steve turned his head and laughed into his upstretched arm, feeling his dick take even more of an interest.  

He tried not to squirm in his jeans, turning his eyes back to Billy’s.  “Think I know what I’m getting into.” 

Billy stepped right up to the glass, leaning his forehead against it, and bit his lip in a grin.  “Yeah?”

Steve leaned his forehead against Billy’s, separated by the glass, and Billy closed his eyes for a long slow breath--before pushing away, and yanking his hands free of Steve’s.  

“Water’s gonna get cold,” he said hoarsely, sticking his face right up under the showerhead, and blowing his nose.

Steve bit his lips, opened his mouth, closed it, and blew through his cheeks.  “Uh. I could just...tell him we broke up.  If--if you want, if it’s easier.”

The conditioner bottle bounced off the glass directly in front of Steve’s face, skittered around the floor, and nearly hit Billy’s foot.  “Fuck you, Harrington, are you high, make up your fucking mind--”

“No, for real, I mean, we could just tell him.  If you don’t want m--to--just. Just say we can’t be togeth--we can’t keep it together ‘cause you’re leaving m--moving away.  We’re--we’ll stay friends, you’ll stay here, but I couldn’t--I just can’t--”  Steve shut his eyes, running a hand through his hair.

“Oh, ‘cause me leaving is really gonna break your heart,” Billy snorted.

Steve grinned and nodded, eyes stinging, and forced himself to swallow.

“...nah,” Billy turned to rinse, and Steve watched the water run down his spine.  

I’m not even hard anymore, he realized--even how hot Billy looked showering wasn’t distracting enough from how empty the shower would look every time he walked in and remembered, and how echoey the house would be--again--without his snide comments about singing princesses, shoes lying everywhere, careful check-ins about hot chocolate, and the scent of his cologne on Steve’s pillow.  

“Let’s let him think we’ll exchange syrupy love letters,” Billy shot a grin over, and Steve’s lungs seized.  

He cleared his throat again.  It didn’t help. “Fuck, yeah, yes, we can--loads of--total dumbshit poetry.  Stupid drawings on ‘em.  You’ll get a letter with a crunched up candy heart in it and be trying to figure out what it said without saying ‘yeah, your stupid candy arrived broke--’”

Billy finally turned off the water, laughing, and bent to squeeze the water out of his curls.  “You don’t need to actually send any goddamn letters, Harrington--”

Right, of course.  Steve backpedaled.  “Yeah, I don’t have to, shit.  It’ll fuck with, like, you getting a girlfriend, or--”

“Why the hell would--fine, send me fucking letters,” Billy took a deep breath.  “I’ll fucking--woo you back, you royal ass--”

Steve laughed, holding up a towel as he stepped out, and Billy stepped in to lean against him.  Steve kept the towel between his hands and Billy’s wet shoulders, but squeezed him tightly, rubbing the terrycloth up and down.  

Billy huffed a laugh against his shoulder, and drew back, back and neck still red from the shower, frowning at everything but Steve.  “Why the fuck--that afghan is the ugliest--pink and brown and orange with green tassels?” 

Steve snickered, aware Billy’d find other normal not-asshole people the second he got away from his dad, but inexplicably pleased at the permission to send letters.  This is even worse, he told himself, firmly.  Instead of a clean break, now you’ll be waiting for weeks for a letter.  He’ll never even call with an address. It wasn’t like he was any good at letters anyway.  Billy’d probably be subjected to bad diagrams of how they lost basketball games.  He grinned at the afghan, cheeks warm. “Mrs. Williams made it. She said she wanted it to be cheerful.”  

“It’s...bright,” Billy raised his eyebrows, pulling on the sweatpants, and running his fingers through his curls as he patted at them with the towel.  He shivered.  

“...put something else on,” Steve leaned back against the door, keeping his hands to himself.  “You almost froze to death earlier. I’ve got an ugly as fuck afghan and I will use it.”

Billy snorted, shrugging.  

“...you think, when you’re back in California…”

After a few seconds of silence, Billy parted the hair in his face to raise his eyebrows through it.

Steve leaned back against the door, sliding to sit against it.  It creaked. He closed his eyes for a minute, then flailed his hands.  “Just--you think you can go a few fucking days without--driving drunk off your ass, or freezing to death in a--a fucking lawn chair?”

“Maybe?” Billy shrugged, and Steve yanked another towel down and threw it at his butt.

“Come on, fuckhead--”

Billy crouched down to grin at him, tucking wet curls behind his ear, and Steve’s hand twitched toward a drip running along the edge of his jaw.  “You almost sound worried about me there, your right royal majesty--”

“I’m worried as hell!  What if I’d fallen asleep or something, dingus?  You coulda died out there!”

“Dingus,” Billy bit his lip in a grin.  He was turning a little red across where he usually hid his freckles, and Steve wanted to grab him and shake him.

“Why do you think I kidnapped you, I was losing my shit thinking--”

“Does it count?  As kidnapping?” Billy dropped next to him on the floor, crossing his legs, and cocked his head.  “I mean, I climbed out that window on my own.  This time.”  He stuck his toothbrush in his mouth, and Steve buried his face in his hands.

“Oh my god, twice.”

Billy patted his head, getting up to spit in the sink.  

 When they wandered down--sharing the afghan--and tiptoed through the kitchen towards  the fort, it was glowing from within with the rainbow of Christmas lights. Will was on one edge of the mattress, out cold with his mouth hanging open.  

“Trespassers Billiam,” Billy mouthed, wrinkling his nose, and punched Steve in the shoulder.

Steve pointed to Billy, and then the middle of the mattress, and Billy shook his head, eyebrows raised.  Steve nodded, miming a shiver, and pointing at Billy again, then several times at the middle spot on the mattress, and Billy rolled his eyes, leaned his head on his hands and pretended to snore, then pointed at Steve, then himself, then the bed, and put his hand on his crotch.  He lifted it so it stuck out, widening his eyes at Steve, then pointed to the middle spot, then Will, and made a huge X of his arms, shaking his head.  

Steve was trying to keep his cackling silent, shaking his head, but he crawled in, holding the blankets up for Billy to situate himself at the edge opposite from Will.  He still felt chilly against Steve’s hands, so he pulled him close, and Billy made a weird noise that might have been a groan if it hadn’t been so high pitched, and clung to the edge of the mattress.

“Fine,” Steve whispered, letting go, and Billy yanked the covers over his head.  

Steve smacked a kiss against the lump under the plaid comforter, and Billy kicked back at him.

 What felt like moments later, he awoke to Billy’s curls brushing his face as he pulled his arm from under Steve’s head, leaving a chill where Steve had apparently been using Billy’s warm weight instead of a blanket.  Steve squinted into the Christmas lights, listening to Billy trying to navigate in the dark and thud against the coffee table. His eyes started to drift shut again, but when he heard the fridge door open instead of the bathroom, he rubbed his face, muffled a groan into the pillow, and crawled out, hands low to intercept any malevolent furniture.  He heard a familiar pop and hiss, and sure enough, in the dim light from the stove hood, Billy was leaning over the sink shotgunning a beer. There was another on the counter.  

Steve waited--nothing like choking over a shotgunned beer--until Billy sat it in the sink, and folded his arms against the edge of the sink for a few slow breaths.  “You okay?”

Billy went perfectly still, watching Steve in the dark window over the sink.  His breath ratcheted up as Steve stepped closer, so he stopped, smacked a hand back to find the fridge, and leaned against it.  

Billy closed his eyes, lowering his head to rest on his arms again.  He was whispering something.

It was nearly as dark in the kitchen as outside, and Steve started to relax, squinting into the darkness, before he registered Billy’s shoulders shaking.  “Hey,” he tried. “Hey. Dickhead. Sweetheart. Asswipe. Hey, hey,” he slid a hand over next to Billy’s elbow, and knocked his knuckles softly against the counter.  

Billy shook his head without lifting it, and grabbed a white-knuckled handful of his own curls.  

Steve bit his lip, but didn’t touch him, stepping close enough to lean in and hear the news that Billy was sorry he was a fucking drunk rotten sack of shit.  “Hey, no,” he whispered over the stream of furious apologies.  “Hargrove. Honeymustard.” He risked his thumb brushing Billy’s elbow, and he went quiet--so quiet Steve was fairly sure he wasn’t breathing.  “Jesus,” Steve whispered. “Come on, breathe, babe. Fucking--cupcake, jellybean, come on, dipshit--” 

Billy shook harder, now silent, and Steve finally slid an arm between him and the sink--Billy’s knees bent, and he curled away against the lower cupboards, and Steve almost let him go before registering all the knobs and the oven handle he’d be slamming back into, and pushed him sideways against the smooth wood as carefully as he could.  Billy held his arms around his head, face contorted as he suppressed sobs. His wet face gleamed in the dim light, and Steve pulled him in to a careful hug.  

“Deep breaths, come on, shithead, jesus--breathe, babe--I scared the shit out of you, christ, breathe--”

Billy made a soft noise in his throat, finally taking an uneven breath against Steve’s neck, and Steve stroked his back.  God, not the time to crush him in a hug.  Later. I’ll squeeze him until he doesn’t want to leave.  The air in the kitchen was cold, and Steve could feel himself getting gooseflesh as he rocked them back and forth.  His legs started to ache in the awkward half-crouch. He kinda wished he’d worn a shirt to bed, feeling Billy’s tears run down his collarbones and collecting in the waistband of his sweatpants.  Billy’s back felt as cold as earlier as he stroked it, and cupped the back of Billy’s head to hold the constant mumbled “Sorry. Sorry, shit. I’m sorry,”s against his shoulder.

When Billy finally lifted his head, he jerked away, staggering upright to the paper towels and juicily blowing his nose.  

Steve allowed himself to be drawn over by the hand clenched on the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Sorry,” Billy panted.  “Fuck. Shit. I didn’t--I didn’t get any of that, Harrington, I couldn’t--” he laughed, wiping his eyes, “--I’m too fucking stupid to understand words in my own language, sometimes.”

Steve reeled him back in.  It was hard to tell whose heart was pounding harder.  “Shit. Jesus. Welcome back. Christ.”

“Missed whatever you yelled at me,” Billy laughed into his shoulder again, still shaking.  “T-too much of a fucking drunk to understand words. Couldn’t get my ears to switch on. Tell me what to do again,” he took a slow breath.  “I don’t hurt anywhere. You throw me out finally? Fucking--fucking getting drunk in here with your kid out there sleeping? I can just--”

“Jesus, shut up.”  Steve buried his face in Billy’s curls, squeezing him, and Billy nodded, taking a shaky breath.  “Not fucking throwing you out. I’m not even mad, babe--”

“You’re mad as hell,” Billy snickered, sniffling.  “You’re shaking--”

“Not mad at you,” Steve slid his hand up to rub the back of Billy’s neck.  “I’m not mad at all at you.”

“...what now?”  Billy swallowed.  “You’ll get pissed again if I try and blow you.  Probably been apologizing.  I fucking apologize better now, is that right?”  He laughed. “I thought.  Y’know, finally, this is the part where you grab my hair and slam my face into the counter.”

“You didn’t do anything, jesus.  I don’t give a shit if you wanna finish off my shitty beer.”

“I’m shameful,”  Billy snorted into his shoulder.  “I can’t stay sober for one day to help a little kid build a pillow fort.  You should hate me even more now.” He was giggling, whispering in Steve’s ear, and he wanted nothing so much as to shove away, but he yanked him closer.  

“Christ, shut up.  Stop--stop telling me I hate you, I don’t.”

“Fucking scum.”  Billy breathed against his ear, his warm lips brushing Steve’s neck.  “Throw me off those stairs. Back out in the fucking snow. Make a better ice sculpture than I do a human being--”

“Stop,” Steve hugged him closer, pressing their heads together so Billy didn’t lick him.  “Sorry I scared the shit out of you.  Don’t flip your shit. I shoulda waited.”

“...fuck, I got you all snotty again,” Billy swallowed, pulling away enough to grab another paper towel, and start dabbing at Steve’s chest.  “God, I’m disgusting.”

“Y’know,” Steve leaned back against the counter, as Billy pushed him back to wet the paper towel in the sink.  “You--you drink a lot, and yeah, you cry a shit ton--”

“Fuck you,” Billy muttered, running his fingers under the faucet to test the temperature.

“No, just, I mean--anybody would, right.  Your whole life is bullshit.”  He jerked as Billy pressed the hot, wrung-out paper towel against his chest.  “I think you’re doing okay.”

“Just blew my lid because you walked in the kitchen.”  Billy wiped the hot towel along his collarbones, and Steve shivered, and tried to keep his train of thought.  

 “Yeah, but like.  That’s ‘cause something happened, right.  You don’t just--”

“Just fucking ask,” Billy growled, stalking back to the sink and wetting a new paper towel.  

Steve pushed himself up to sit on the counter.  “No, I don’t--I mean, I can guess, you don’t have to tell me anything.  I mean. You don’t...want to, right--”

“Fuck no.” 

Steve took the paper towel when he wandered back over, lifting Billy’s chin to wipe under his eyes.  “Okay, then.” Billy’s eyes widened and teared up again as Steve carefully patted along his moustache, and Steve yanked him close again, laughing into his hair.  “Christ. Maybe if everyone wasn’t so shitty to you, me being normal wouldn’t set you off--”

“You are not normal,” Billy huffed a laugh against his chest.  “You are abnormal. You are a fucking mutant.  God.  I’m fucking exhausted.”

“We should get back to sleep,” Steve didn’t let go.  “...d’you need the other beer, first?”

Billy flinched.  

“Listen, I...used to, um, I dated Carol’s sister.  Couple years older--”

“Shit, I don’t care,” Billy slumped against him, his skin cool and still damp, and Steve kept rubbing his neck.

“No, I know, I just--” Steve grimaced.  “Uh, before she went to college, her mom was taking her on this trip for a couple weeks, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to--hide.  Y’know. Things. So we said she had the flu.” 

“...mmm,” Billy slid his arms around Steve’s waist, yawning.

“So, uh.  She came over and hugged a toilet for a few days, and--I mean, it sucked, no lie, but I don’t think you’re any worse than she was.”

Billy grunted, then lifted his head, squinting.  “...you’re offering to help me dry out? Jesus, Steve.”

“If you want.  I’m good at calling people in sick,” he grinned.  “Want me to get you some aspirin?”

“I guess,” Billy mumbled, dropping his head back to Steve’s shoulder.  “...wait, that’s why you’re friends with Tommy and Carol.  Carol’s sister.”

“I guess?” Steve shrugged.

 After he chugged the second beer, Billy allowed himself to be hauled upstairs, and pushed him in the right direction a few times as he stumbled.  He swallowed the aspirin dry, then sighed and accepted the glass of water Steve shoved at him, dropping to sit on the floor. He leaned against the bathtub, letting his eyes drift shut as he drank it.  Steve grabbed the glass, slapping his toothbrush in his hand, and Billy brandished it, glaring. “...didn’t think you’d noticed,” he breathed, then winced. “I mean--I musta been pretty fucking obvious--I know you saw me hiding the tequila behind the microwave.  When we were making bread.”

“I wasn’t sure,” Steve shrugged, outside the open bathroom door, his eyes on the window.  “But it’d be, y’know, good, if you could stay sober driving west.”

“Depends on how I’m paying for it,” Billy snickered, and Steve frowned over, but then he shrugged.  “Sounds shitty, but. Sure. I guess.”

 Steve kept his arm around Billy’s shoulder on the way down the stairs, and Billy leaned in to whisper “So what now, Harrington, do you rock me to sleep?”

“Don’t test me,” Steve whispered back.  Jesus, here it is, the part of the slumber party where he’s so tired everything’s hilarious.  

“In your lap?” Billy grinned, and Steve barely resisted kissing his face.  

“Necessary part of the slumber party,” Steve whispered back, and Billy snorted.

“Never got invited.”  He thudded against Steve as they got near the mattress, knocking them both into it, and Steve ended with an armful of Billy Hargrove, trying to giggle silently, the two of them sprawled on top of the blankets.  Steve rocked him, whispering Rock-a-bye-baby in his ear, and he laughed harder, strumming an air guitar.  

Billy’s silent wheezes of laughter shook the mattress until Will mumbled in his sleep, and he finally just rolled them both sideways off the mound of blankets, curling into Steve and pulling the blanket over their heads.  It was hard for Steve to stop laughing, when every time he started to doze off, he could still feel the back pressed against him shaking with giggles.  

 Will awakened them with Fellowship of the Ring at seven o’clock.  Steve squinted at the clock, and then smacked him with a pillow, but Billy waved.  “S’fine. Jus’ sleep.”

“Nope!” Will clambered over and dropped his skinny butt on Billy’s back, which was half on Steve, and both older boys yelped.  “These books are really long, guys, we gotta get reading.  I made a schedule--”

“I thought this fucking kid was cute,” Billy grabbed a pillow, trying to hide, and Steve held up a hand.  

“‘Nother hour, Will.  Just--just another hour.”  

“Fine,” Will groaned, flopping backwards across their legs, and Steve pulled Billy closer, trying not to think about sleeping alone.

 When Billy did consent to be awoken, he stumbled and grumbled his way to the kitchen, and Steve huddled tighter under the blankets.  

After a while expecting attack, he caught the smell of bacon.  He sat up in bed, looking around at piles of blankets and pillows, then followed soft voices to the kitchen, where Will was sitting on the counter kicking his feet, and Billy was chopping something.  Steve waited until the blade of the knife wasn’t near anything, and pulled out a chair. “Smells so good in here.”

“He says I’m Boromir,” Billy grinned over.  “I have no idea who that is, but--”

“He saves the Ringbearer and prevents Sauron from taking over the world, his mom’s gone, and his dad is a shithead,” Will reported, and Billy cocked his head, nodding.  

“Uh, your majesty,” Billy turned to face Steve, wiping the knife, and sitting it back on the counter.  “Omelettes are almost ready.”

“We were gonna bring you breakfast in bed,” Will grinned.  “And read--”

“Eat first, jesus,” Billy rolled his eyes.  

“Really,” Steve stood, preparing to sneak over, and Billy pointed the spatula at him.  

“Siddown.”

Steve did.  When the omelette, bacon, and fried potatoes landed in front of him, he stared.  “Holy fuck, Hargrove, this looks like restaurant food.”

“Yours does,” Billy handed over Will’s--somewhat smaller--selection, and pulled up a chair with his own, which had apparently tipped over and spilled most of its filling.  

Steve took a huge bite, and groaned happily.  “Oh my god, you asshole, this is amazing. I love the--cheese, it’s melty--there’s crunchy things!” he took another bite, and Billy snickered, choking.  “And spicy things!” He took another bite, holding a thumb up.  “Mmhmmf!”

Will nodded, wide-eyed.  “You cook better than my mom--” he leaned back to yell “Sorry, Mom!” at the ceiling, and grimaced at his plate, while Steve cackled, leaning to bump shoulders with Billy.  

“You don’t have to cook all the time, dude,” he shoveled in another bite.  “So damn good, though--”

“You’ve never even seen the movies?  Steve has the movies,” Will’s track switched back to Lord of the Rings as though they’d never left.  

“My dad liked C. S. Lewis,” Billy shrugged, watching Steve vacuum his omelette.  “I read Narnia.”

“Narnia,” Will took a big bite and chewed, crossing his arms, and Steve tried not to snort.

“They were friends, y’know,” Billy grinned over.  “C. S. Lewis and Tolkien. C. S. Lewis wanted more religion in his books, he was a theologian--” 

Will blinked, wide-eyed, and Billy was in the middle of explaining what that was, with phrases like biblical inerrancy and referring to discrepancies between the books of Genesis when Steve could not hold his laughter in anymore.  He buried his face in his arms, cackling, and Billy shut up mid-sentence.  The knife on Steve’s plate scraped, and he lifted his head, wiping his eyes, to see Billy collecting the dishes.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to throw you off,” Steve snickered.  “Oh my god, I have such a--”

“I know it sounds dumb, I’m probably getting it wrong, but you can shut the fuck up now.”  Billy cranked on the water, leaning against the sink. “It--it was--I probably didn’t even understand it.”

“Shit, no, you were making sense, that’s why I was laughing,” Steve balled up his napkin and tossed it at Billy’s butt.  “You see it, right, Will, here I am fucking--fucking mooning over this curly brunette with booksmarts.”  

Will blinked between them, and started giggling.  “You did make sense,” he beamed over. “I don’t know anything about that stuff--”

“See?  And he’s a toddler, if it made sense to a toddler--”

Will cackled, kicking Steve under the table.  “How come I keep getting younger?”

Steve grabbed Will’s napkin and threw that too, and Billy squinted at him.  “All this time you’ve been pretending you were normal, and you’re smart as hell, you asshole fuck.  I have a type, oh my god.”  He buried his face in his arms again, laughing.  

“I was just saying what I read,” Billy shook his head, smiling tightly.  “I remembered some of it. Don’t get your hopes up that I’m--different, I’m still Billy fucking Hargrove, and that’s--”

“Yeah, you keep saying that,” Steve got up and slid his arms around him, reaching to turn off the water.  “I keep finding curly brunettes that are way too smart for me. Long eyelashes and big eyes, jesus.”  Billy’s face was hot to the touch when Steve leaned in to kiss his freckles, then his mouth.  

“Augh,” Will flailed in the corner of Steve’s eye.  “Aaah! I don’t want to know your turn-ons, Steve!”

Steve pulled Billy closer, sliding his hand through the soft curls in question, and tucking his face against Billy’s ear--and Will’s chair groaned against the floor as he pushed it out from the table and fled to the front room.

“Let’s read when you’re ready,” he yelled over his shoulder, and Steve pulled back, clearing his throat, and turned on the water to wash the dishes.  

“Fucking chaperone coulda stuck around long enough for a real kiss,” Billy stepped close and leaned his hot face against Steve’s shoulder, taking a deep breath.  “Well fucking played, he thinks you think I’m a catch.”

Steve bit his lips, then leaned to bump shoulders.  “You know you are a catch, though--”

“Jesus fuck,” Billy shoved away, stalking back into the front room.  

Steve turned off the water and followed him out to find him face-down in a pillow, neck and ears red.  

“Finally,” Will groaned.

 After breakfast, and one chapter of The Fellowship of the Ring, with many questions such as “What are hobbits,” and “What do you mean I missed the dragon,” Billy drove off to the auto-repair place, and Steve did the dishes.  Will picked up the phone on the third ring, when Steve yelled that he was up to his elbows in suds, and brought it in to hold to his ear.

“Hey, kid,” came Hopper’s voice, audible to both of them through the loud handset.

“Sheriff Hopper?” Steve took a deep breath.  “Did--did something happen?”

Hopper sighed.  “Not yet. But Neil Hargrove called.  He says there’s stuff missing from his house.  He’s considering pressing charges for robbery.”

“...what?” Steve tried.

“He’s accusing your boy Billy of robbing his house.”

“He--he just took--he took socks.  Some sweatshirts.  His schoolbooks,” Steve breathed, and Hopper sighed again.

“Yeah, I figured.  But since Billy’s a minor, it’s sticky.  When’s he turn eighteen?”

“I--I don’t know--”

“Huh.  Well, we can keep Mr. Hargrove wading upstream with it--”

“But it’s his stuff,” Steve prodded the melted cheese he was scrubbing, his brain watching film of Billy being loaded into a police car, and mug shots, and orange outfits.  “They’re--they’re just his clothes--”  Will was quiet, holding the phone up, and Steve grabbed the hand towel, drying off so he could take the phone, and pull Will’s head to rest against him.

“Yeah, son, I know.”

Steve flailed an arm, wanting to pace in a circle.  “He--he can borrow my clothes, we can give his clothes back--”

“You gonna buy him a new car, too?  Calm down, kid. Neil Hargrove won’t realize we’re giving him the runaround for a while.  Max said Billy’s leaving town anyway. When?”

“He was--we thought he’d stay here.  Just until he graduated,” Steve could hear his voice getting a little high, and tried to swallow down the thickness in his throat.  

“Might want to speed that timeline up a bit.  We can keep the man chasing his tail--it’ll keep him busy for a while, but it’s gonna piss him off, eventually, and he’s--we don’t know what he’ll try then.  Might want to keep an eye on your boy, until you can get him out of town.”

“Shit,” Steve ruffled Will’s hair, dodging Will’s batting hands.  “I need to go, Hopper, he’s getting his car fixed. Wait--do you, uh.”

Hopper waited on the line.  

“Uh,” Steve swallowed.  “You know when I asked you about Billy’s mom.  Um, do you--can I have her number?”

“...lemme look it up,” Hopper sighed.  “I’ll call back with it--”

“Don’t leave it as a message,” Steve cringed into the phone.  “He thinks she hates him, I just wanna talk to her--”

“Yeah, okay, kid.”  There were some rustling noises.  “I found it, you got a pen?” Steve wrote it in the magnet pad on the fridge, and folded it up in his pocket.  “You play it safe, Steve, and give me a call if you need anything.”

“If--if Mr. Hargrove comes?”

“Then you definitely give me a call, and don’t open the door.”

“Okay.  Okay. Yeah.  Okay. Thank you.  I gotta go.”  

“I can finish the dishes,” Will said in a small voice, once Steve had hung up.  

“Shit, thanks,” Steve squeezed his shoulder, and ran to pull on his shoes.  “We’ll be back soon. Sorry.”

 When Steve pulled up to the service place, they had the Camaro’s hood up, but Billy was nowhere to be seen.  Steve popped in the office and took care of the bill, sending up a little prayer that nobody receiving the bill’d look at the make and model of the car requiring a new battery, then accepted a paper cup of coffee, and stood out on the sidewalk.  He almost spilled it when he was suddenly drug, Billy’s fist in his jacket, around the corner of the building.

Billy hauled him clear down by the dumpsters, in the cement-walled dead end between the car shop, a cinderblock fence, and what smelled like a neighboring pizza place.  “Harrington,” he unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket, and flattened it against his leg. “I--I swung by the clinic first, they had my--”

“Hargrove, I need to talk to--”

“Shut up, shut up,” Billy put a hand over Steve’s mouth, then yanked it back.  “I’m--I’m talking, don’t--don’t pretend you can’t hear me.”

“It’s important, dickface--”

“This is important,” Billy held his hands up, twitching towards Steve, then smacked the paper into his hand.  “Not to you, but. It’s--it’ll just take a sec, just--come on.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, leaning against the wall next to the dumpster to watch Billy pacing around, flicking his lighter five times more than he should have needed to to light his cigarette, and swearing quietly into his cupped hands.  “Am I listening or reading--”

“I know this wasn’t--anything,” he waved his hand between them, smirking at the wall behind Steve.  “But I thought--if you thought--”

Steve snorted.  “My purty talkin’s rubbing off on you.”

“Fucking read it,” Billy leaned against the wall next to him, taking a long draw on his cigarette.

The paper was Billy’s test results for STDs, and Steve blinked, reading “Negative.  Negative. Negative.” in a long line.  

“If--just, if that’s why,” Billy laughed, blowing smoke in a long trail.  “I’m clean. At least. And you came, your majesty, don’t pretend I was no good.  You fucking liked it.  You liked my mouth.”  He flicked his tongue at Steve, but wouldn’t meet his eyes.  

“Jesus, B--Hargrove,” Steve folded it back up, his mouth stumbling as his brain started running like a hamster wheel. 

Billy snatched it back.  “Fuck you, fine, sorry I don’t have a fucking cunt, my liege.  Tell me when to clear out when you bring home all those other bitches in the sea--” he shoved by, and Steve caught him around the waist, letting Billy’s momentum spin them around.  

“Ssh.  Gimme a second, goddamn.  Hopper called, your--” Billy’d gone rigid against him, watching his face, and Steve forced a smile.  “It’s okay, he’s got your back. For--for now, it’s fine.”

“The fuck did he say,” Billy shoved him back against a dumpster, folding the test results up, and tossing them over Steve’s shoulder.  

“Your dad’s...he’s making trouble.  You should--”

“The fuck did he say, Harrington,” Billy leaned in close, blowing cigarette smoke that smelled like toothpaste.  

“He wants you arrested for theft,” Steve grimaced.  “Hopper said they’ll keep him chasing his tail, but you should leave town.”

Billy clenched a hand in Steve’s jacket, and slammed the other one into the dumpster.  

Steve grabbed his arm as he pulled back to punch it again, checking his fingers.  “Shit, hold on, Hargrove--”

“Just a dumpster, Harrington,” Billy shoved him off.  “Just fucking trash back here. Doesn’t matter, let me fucking--” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Steve grabbed him around the upper arms.  “Hold the fuck up, don’t break your hand. Come back with me. We’ll go yell in the woods, okay?”

Billy pulled himself into the shaking tension Steve remembered from first meeting him, slapping a smile on his face and allowing himself to be drawn back to Steve’s car.  “So I’m going to jail,” he grinned over, as Steve pulled away from the curb. “For taking my shit. That’s new, actually. Used to be for assault. Or I was gonna set myself on fire.”  

“What.”  Steve tried not to speed--the last thing he needed was Billy deciding he and the sheriff department needed to have a shootout at the OK Corral.  

“Yeah, I shoved him back.  He said he’d have them try me as an adult.  For assault. Adults can get the death penalty.  His word against mine. Shit.” Billy let his head loll against the window, his breath coming fast through his clenched teeth.  “Adults get the electric chair. I’m big, I’m strong, nobody’ll ever believe I didn’t swing at him. It’s actually lethal injection here, I looked it up.”

“Hopper believes you,” Steve flapped a hand over until he found Billy’s, and squeezed it.  “He said he’ll give him the runaround until you get out of town.”

“Sure.  I’ve never fucking talked to Hopper--” 

“He believes me, then,” Steve swung around a turn.  “And I have a bat, babe. Shit. Bi--dickhead.  He’s not taking you anywhere.”

Billy was laughing over his verbal stumbling, but his breaths were still sounding punched out of him.  “He said I was gonna burn to death. One of these times coming home drunk, if I didn’t go in the ravine, I was gonna--I’d spill some liquor, and drop a cigarette.  Burn to death in my car.”

“Christ,” Steve swallowed, listening to Billy try to force himself to breathe.  He was making these awful muted screaming noises between his teeth, trying to muffle them with the arm of his jacket.  

“Fucking inferno,” Billy whispered, and Steve squeezed his hand again, patting it.  

“Tell me about your dumb nerd music.  Goblins, and--” 

“Didn’t bring any,” Billy’s laugh sounded strangled, as he grinned over, but at least he wasn’t staring at his imagined death out the window.  

“What’s that sugar song you’re always singing.  What’s that about.”

“It’s--it’s Def Leppard,” Billy swallowed, closing his eyes.  

“Almost there,” Steve told him, and kept asking about the band, and their other songs.  Billy was describing one of their music videos as they pulled up in the driveway, and Steve squeezed his shoulder.  “Okay, I’m gonna go get--we can throw bottles at trees, or something, okay?”

Billy snorted, letting his head fall back against the headrest.  “You don’t want me in there around Will.”

“I’m just going in the garage, we don’t need snow in the house.  I’ll grab you another jacket.” At Billy’s smirk and nod, he dashed in, grabbed his ski jacket, found a crate, started loading it up with bottles, and saw his bright red toy bat leaning in with the skis.  He opened the door to the house and leaned in. “Hey, Will? Everything’s fine, but we’re gonna go and just--scream at the woods--I guess--”

Will’s head popped around the doorway to the front room.  “Okay..?”

“Sorry,” Steve waved.  “We’ll be back soon.”

 Billy was having a smoke, and Steve rolled his eyes, flumping the crate of bottles in the snow by his feet, and digging gloves out of the pockets of the jacket.  He grabbed the hand without a cigarette in it to tug a glove on to.  

“I’d think being from California, you’d be more worried about the cold, not less,” he growled, as Billy stuck the cigarette in his mouth and surrendered his other hand.  He was already pink-cheeked from the wind. “Christ. I hope you wear sunscreen.”  

“Why, you wanna put it on me?” Billy allowed himself to be maneuvered into the coat, waggling his tongue.  

“Whatever keeps you safe,” Steve groaned, handing over the crate of bottles, and stalking off around the side of the house.  

“Where’d that bat come from?”  

Steve twirled it.  “Got it for me before I was old enough to join Little League.  Used to hit trees with it. Doesn’t, y’know, vibrate your whole arm like a wood one.”

“That what that trophy was for?  Little League? By your bed.”

“Yee-up.”  

“You don’t still play?”

“Stuff happened,” Steve led him over to the trees, and spun the bat around his hand to offer the handle.  Billy rolled his eyes, but took it.  

“What, I’m supposed to hit a tree?”

“Or throw bottles into that rock over the ditch.  Pretend it’s your dad. Pretend it’s--”

“I got something,” Billy tromped through the snow over to a tree, and hit it.  

“Harder,” Steve coached.  “And call it a fuckhead.” Billy grinned back at him, and shook his head, but faced up against it again.  

 As Billy got into it, he got louder, and Steve looked over to see Ms. Williams’ face pressed against her window.  Billy didn’t notice him waving, too busy roaring profanities at a tree, so Steve jogged over to her house, stomping on the porch and blowing into his hands as she opened the door.  

“Sorry.”  He waved at the shuddering trunk.  “He’s, uh, there’s a lot going on, so I gave him my old plastic bat.”

She nodded slowly.  “Well, he doesn’t look like he needs any assistance.”

“Maybe I’ll go back later and cheer,” Steve nodded frowning over the porch railing.  “I just didn’t want you to think we were fighting.”

“You look tired, again,” she held out the bowl of strawberry-shaped candies, and he grabbed a handful.  Billy’d actually eaten one.  Maybe his tongue’s too sharp to mind candy shrapnel.  He crouched to hug the head of the nearest dog, and then frowned up.  “Ma’am, would you--”

She raised her eyebrows, and he bit his lips.  “M-may I use your phone?”

She set him up at her little phone desk, with pencils, and a paper pad, and he dialed Billy’s mother.  He let it ring for several minutes, then hung up and let his head drop against the desk.

 When Steve wandered back out, he had two mugs of hot cider, and Billy was starting to get slow and clumsy with the bat.  “Hey,” he held out the mug, and Billy squinted at it, then at him, panting.  

“Where’d...I didn’t buy cider.”  

Steve stepped closer, raising his eyebrows, and Billy took it, inhaling.  

“...this isn’t mix cider.  Where’d you even--” he frowned behind Steve, flushed, and put his hand up and waved.  

Steve swung around to see Ms. Williams waving in the window, and waved back.  “Figured I’d give you a minute. Y’know, just in case my face was on any of those bottles.”

“What,” Billy laughed.  “Why--no.” 

“I dunno, you were pretty mad last night.”

“I wasn’t--ugh.”  He tossed the bat down to wrap both gloves around the mug of cider.  “...thanks for this.”

“Sure,” Steve reached over and brushed snow out of the hair around Billy’s ear.  “Should get you a hat.”

“Nah,” Billy grinned.  “You can keep doing that all you like.  I’m gonna make lasagna,” he took the last swig, and grabbed the bat, “--and then I think I can sit still.  Maybe.”

“Use it all you want,” Steve couldn’t fight back a huge grin.  “It helped?”

“Didn’t even break the bottles,” Billy shrugged, and Steve grabbed one and hucked it at the rock he’d pointed out in the ditch, sighing as it exploded in a shower of sparkles.  

“Might as well.  That one was my math teacher who uses essay questions.”  He grabbed another.  “And Hawkins Labs.”  

Billy watched, mouth quirked, then grabbed one, frowned at it, biting his lips together, and threw it with a grunt of effort.  He took a shaky breath when it shattered, and Steve wondered who it had been aimed at, but just offered another. Billy got through about half the crate before they were both laughing too hard, bent over.

“So,” Steve staggered, snickering, and Billy grabbed his jacket, steadying them both.  “You were not in Little League.”

“Fuck you!  How the hell do I keep missing--” 

“It’s a huge fuckin’ rock,” Steve wheezed, smacking his shoulder.  “It’s huge, how--we’re like twenty feet away, dude--do you need me to paint a target on there, or--”

“I could probably lift it--I could throw you at it--”  Billy slid an arm around Steve and hefted him, grinning, and Steve kicked, shoving at his shoulder, and discovering the appeal of muscles that could lift him one-handed.

“No!  No! I’m sorry!” he cackled.  “I won’t make fun of your shitty-as-hell aim!  I promise--here, put me down,” he stumbled in the snow as Billy sat him back on his feet, and turned away to cover his face.  Oh my god, would it be too obvious if I put SNOW on my face, I’m on FIRE, wait, I need to just--he let himself fall forward, flumping body-length in the snow.  Calm the fuck down, Steve, he’s leaving.  He’s leaving. He’s leaving. If you jumped him right now he’d probably think he owed you.  Just--just pushed him right down in the snow and yanked his pants open. Kissed his lips until they were hot from our breath.  Christ.

“What the fuck,” Billy crouched next to him, prodding his shoulder.  

Steve lifted his face out of the snow enough to talk.  “I’m making a snow angel.”

“I think you’re doing it wrong,” Billy dropped next to him.  “You’re such a dork. Can you breathe?”

“I’m fine,” Steve groaned.  “Kill me.” He turned his head, opening his mouth, and Billy was sitting in the snow, watching him with pink cheeks and snow in his hair.  Steve put his face back in the snow, willing the hot tightness in his pants to subside, particularly where it was kinda squashed by a lump of snow.  “Christ,” he whispered, into his hands.

“If you’re so amazing, you throw them,” Billy growled, punching his butt.

“I will,” Steve tottered to his feet, arms numb, and regretting his decision to stick his dick in the snow, even if in hindsight he couldn’t think of a better idea that didn’t involve Billy’s mouth--jesus, I need a long shower with the door locked.  He tried to push his hair out of his face with gloves on, and then just shook it.   “I’ll show you up. Gimme a bottle.”  

Billy got up, brushing himself off, eyebrows raised.  

“And name it.” 

“What?”  He frowned over.

“Fucking name it, or picture a face, or something.”

“Okay?”  Billy held one out, and Steve threw his best pitch into the mound of bottles that’d rolled unbroken from either side of the rock.  The crash sent some birds flying up from the surrounding trees, and Billy burst out laughing, wide-eyed. “Holy shit.”

Steve accepted the last couple, tagging an outlier, then waggling the last one.  “This one’s just a ‘Fuck it, why do you have to leave.’”

Billy blinked at him, watched it shatter, and ducked his head.  He took a deep breath, tucking his hair behind his ear.

Steve slung an arm around him.  “Come on, dickweed. Let’s go make lasagna.  Tell me what to do.”