Archive of Our Own

He could hear the music before he even pulled fully into the quarry. 

Billy shifts in the leather seat of the Camaro, parking in the shadow of some trees. He lights a cigarette in the darkness, sucking in a lungful of smoke until his bruised ribs protest. He cracks his window, tucking one leg up onto his seat. 

He watches two figures with mild interest in the moonlight.

One of them is Steve Harrington, he can tell by the hair. 

He’s wielding a smooth baseball bat in one hand, throwing up beer cans with the other, whacking them out over the quarry.

There’s a girl beside him, her own bat resting on her shoulder. Billy can hear them laugh over the music. She shoves Steve till he goes stumbling to the ground, long legs splaying like bambi, and she steps up to the post. 

Billy struggles to crack the can of coke he stole from Max on the ride home from school. She was late, meaning they were late, meaning Billy was late getting back to the house. His fingers are aching and swollen from Neil stamping on his hand, as he wedges a broken nail under the metal tab. His cigarette threatens to drop ash over his jeans where it hangs out of his mouth. 

His knee aches something awful, throbbing in time to the bass blaring from Steve's preppy red Beamer. Swapping his cig for the rim of the can, Billy drains half of it, washing away the cottony- metallic taste that his father knocked down his throat.

He sags slowly in his seat, letting his body relax until it hurts. His skin feels too raw, too tight. Billy can almost taste the thrum of music in the air, bass drum on his tongue, cymbals behind his teeth and snare in his windpipe. He thinks there might be something ironic about that.

Billy watches the girl as she tips her head back, bringing her can up to her lips as Billy takes a drink of coke. She drains it, throwing it a few times in her free hand before sending it flying over the side of the quarry. 

The sound of the bat smacking into the flimsy metal echos out over the quarry. It vaguely sounds like the pop of his knee when Neil dislocated it an hour ago. 

The girl throws her arms up, bows with a flourish. 

Steve pushes himself up on one arm to talk to her, Billy can see his jaw work, his profile outlined with moonlight. 

Billy is so tired. The exhaustion settles deep in his bones, limbs loose and aching against the sweaty leather cradle of the Camaro seat. His knee hurts, his ribs hurt, his hand fucking kills, and he’s so goddamn tired of feeling . 

The girl shoves Steve back to the floor with the end of her bat in the centre of his chest. She backs off to Steve’s preppy car, pulling out a bottle of something. The song dies down enough to hear Steve cry “Shots! Pour ‘em out, Robs!” before the Violent Femmes start a deep bass line Billy can feel through the windows.

He remembers Robin Buckley from his AP English class. They sit on the same table. She  has a packet of coloured crayons in the order of the rainbow. Very often her feet will kick at his ankles, or she’ll colour the ends of her blonde hair in with purple crayon, raise her eyebrow at him and waggle the pack in his direction. For a band geek, Billy supposes she ain’t bad. 

Robin never made fun of him for reading out their section of Shakespeare in a haughty English accent, she even joined in until Mrs Wilson glared at them. Billy winked when Robin hid her sniggers into his elbow as he drawled an apology.

Robin throws her head back in a cackle as Steve props himself up on his elbows. Billy watches as he tips his head back, mouth open and the moonlight bleeds through his silhouette. Robin takes a long pull from the bottle before tipping it over Steve’s head.

Steve lets the stream of whatever drink is in the bottle fill his mouth. He kicks a long leg out at Robin, shaking his head and spluttering when she doesn’t let up with the drink. 

“Fuck you!” Steve shouts over the music, struggling to his feet to lunge at her. He misses, staggering into the bonnet of the Beamer. Robin’s laughing, arms wrapped around her sides, one hand loose around the handle of the bat, the other gripping the neck of the bottle. 

Billy snickers along with her, content to chain smoke in his car, window cracked slightly but the Camaro still fills in a haze. He practices his smoke rings, head resting in the gap between the seat and the seatbelt as Steve wrestles the bottle off Robin.

The tape finishes around Billy’s third cigarette. 

He watches as Steve climbs into the Beamer, flicking the overhead light on to search through the box of tapes on his lap. 

His hair is a mess, dishevelled, stuck to his forehead and the back of his neck. The light is bright and reflective, brighter than the one in the Camaro and it shows the sticky trail of booze around Steve’s mouth and down the pale expansion of his throat. The front of his shirt is damp and he throws his muddy jacket off into the backseat. 

He calls to Robin, too quiet for Billy to catch but whatever he says but whatever it is makes her face light up.

Her own hair is pulled back into a hair tie but there’s a darker, wet stain on the front of her washed out red shirt, booze soaking over Ironman ’s blocky head. She waves her arms in excitement, taking another gulp from the bottle. 

Steve pulls a face but takes out a tape and hands it to Robin. 

“No, c’mon! You’ve gotta do it, Steeb!” Robin hangs off the car door as Steve climbs out and picks up his own bat. He wags a finger at her and rolls his shoulders.

Steve takes a few mock-swing, aiming out over the quarry when Robin teeters in front of him, setting the bottle at her feet and pitching the tape to Steve with surprisingly accurate aim. 

Billy grins as Steve knocks it out over the ledge. The sound of the plastic casing shattering rings over the rocks and Robin whoops in delight. Steve grabs the bottle, taking a long swallow before telling her something that makes her bounce on the balls of her feet.

“Hear that, Nancy fuckin’ Wheeler?” Robin yells out over the quarry. “Steve made a mixtape for a dyke ! Where’s yours, huh? Fuckin' gonezo !” 

“Robin!” Steve hiss/shouts, dragging her back by the arm. Billy chuckles at the embarrassed hunch of Steve’s shoulders, imagining the pout on his lips. 

Robin laughs at the real thing, ruffling his hair and picking up another can of beer off the hood of the Beamer. She cracks it and drains it while Steve jams a tape into the cassette player. 

“Let’s hear those gay tunes, aye Stevo!” Robin sways her hips as she throws the empty can up in the air, whacking it over the edge. 

“Only for you, songbird.” Steve grins as she whips round, smacking his shoulder with the end of her bat.

“Hey, I told you that in confidence!” 

“I told you in confidence!” Steve exclaims, holding his bat like a sword. Billy watches them dance about the Beamer, the sound of the wooden bats clacking soon drowned out by the tape.

He lets his eyes half close, flipping the cap of his lighter absentmindedly. Billy’s too tired to organise his thoughts, immediately banning any notion of Steve Harrington having a gay mixtape in his car, even if it’s for his friend. Who’s gay. His stomach twists and relaxes as it sinks in that Steve’s okay with gay people. 

Neil’s harsh grey eyes taunt him in the back of his head. Spitting fairy and little bitch with hair like that , dislocating his knee with a blunt kick. Trapping his fingers under the sole of his boot and snarling something creative like useless fag at him while he rocked his weight on Billy’s hand until he screamed.

“We move like cagey tigers,” Robin cheers, spinning out of Steve’s reach. “We couldn’t get- ouch, asshole!” She laughs as Steve lunches forward and almost knocks her bat out of her hand. 

“We slip through the streets while everyone sleeps,” Robin sings, surprisingly in tune, jabbing Steve in the knee. He stumbles, Billy shaking his head and exhaling a mouthful of smoke with a chuckle. The boy never did plant his feet.

Billy’s almost disappointed when he realises his pack of cigs is empty. He sighs, starting up the Camaro. She purrs quietly under his sore hands as he cradles the leather wheel. 

“We missed you hissed the lovecats,” He pulls away as Robin wiggles her hips, Steve mimicking her. Billy almost stalls the car but Steve staggers and tumbles over, sending Robin into peals of laughter, gasping through “We’re so wonderfully wonderfully wonderfully wonderfully pretty!”  

Billy wonders what Steve would look like in the moonlight. 

Not some stalkerish stares through the trees, only seeing his profile illuminated, but the way his dark eyes might look. Billy shakes his head free of those thoughts as he pulls up slowly along Cherry Lane. 

It’s a painful struggle to lift his leg up through his bedroom window, still sore from banging it back into the socket against the Camaro door before he left. Billy ducks into his room, gingerly setting his feet down onto the creaky floorboards. Billy shucks his clothes off and crawls into bed, the fuckin' Cure crooning him to sleep. 

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He had been pulling up at the quarry around one am for almost a month. 

Neil had broken his window, one of Billy’s barbell weights shattered the glass and cracked the window frame when Billy ducked instead of hitting him. Sneaking out is much easier now. His room is so much colder now. He keeps a tartan blanket balled up under the passenger seat of the Camaro. 

He’ll sit on the hood of the Camaro or dangle his legs over the steep ledge and breath in the crisp air, clearing his head and lungs of the stench of blood and the beer- sick breath of his father, the feel of drywall and knuckles. 

Sometimes he’ll have the blanket over his shoulders or cheap beer, sometimes it's just a pack of cigs and his metal zippo, the black paint scratched where his shaking hands have dropped it more times than he can count.

He’ll fall asleep against the windscreen or cramped up in the back seat, the sun coaxing him awake. The sun is oxymoronic, something so warm and bright doing nothing to stop the biting grey chill of these hick hills. The drive through Hawkins is like a ghost town, streets empty and Billy loves it, feels more at home with the sun following the Camaro like it did along the seafront in Cali.

Billy didn’t always need a reason to spend the night at the quarry. Frankly, it uses too much gas in his car, but that was easily fixed. He doesn’t buy lunch at school, just smokes a cig and eats more of Susan’s watery vegetables at dinner.

Though this time it had been magazines.

Not even dirty ones, work out mags with sweat slick guys recommending a muscle building diet. His father didn’t care much for that.

Susan closed his bedroom door, pulling Max into the kitchen while Neil laid into him. Carelessly knocking him around, leaving him with a black eye and a swollen nose.

Billy had another stolen can of coke pressed against his eye.

He thinks Max has started leaving him food. There always seems to be a can of drink in the footwell of the passenger seat, sometimes a packet of crisps or an apple, today had been half of a cling-wrapped sandwich.

Her school bag might be worn, torn and cheap but it wasn’t in that bad a condition to be dropping food like this. He’s tried being nicer to her, small things like doing a couple of her chores and dropping her off to the arcade without sneering- one time he even smiled at her. It had been raining and he was late picking her up from the Wheeler's, he smiled in apology and she complained about the boys all the way home. They had been completely obsessed with this movie Steve introduced them to, he lent them the book? He had cassette tapes with the audio book? Or something? And they ignored Max and El all evening? 

Billy couldn’t remember. His nose is throbbing too much to be putting this much effort into thinking about his snarky little step-sister.

When he pulls up to the quarry this time, a familiar preppy red BMW lounges where Billy usually parks, overlooking the lake. Billy rolls his mild concussion around in his mouth, parking in the shadowed corner. 

He lights a cigarette, winding down the window to flick the ash off the end. Smoke curls out of his mouth as he lets his eyes fall closed for a long moment. 

The quarry is near silent. Billy can hear a faint trill of cicadas in the grass, greeting him with their little tune. 

A jarring twang of guitar has his eyes flying open, a flinch threatening his vision, black ebbing at the edges of his vision as he looks over to the Beamer. He winces around his cig, watching the way Steve’s long legs splay over the hood of the car. 

A guitar is cradled in his lap, his head tipped back to look up at Robin. She’s on her stomach, on the roof of the Beamer. Her legs are kicked up, heels bumping her ass, arm dangling down over Steve, glass bottle loosely held, knocking into his head.

Billy can hear her tormenting chortles. He smirks as her voice raises in teasing. 

“C’mon, Dingus!” She drags out the vowels, feet waving in the air. “You promised!”

“Fuck off, Robs. ‘m no where near drunk enough to consider playing for you.” Steve grumbles. He bats her away, attempting to sit up. She grabs the collar of his windbreaker and yanks him back against the windscreen.

“You shoulda known better than to bet with me, Harrington. You suck.” She giggles, drinking out of the bottle.

“Why do you drink fuckin’ varnish remover?” Steve bitches, taking the bottle off her and choking down a long pull. Billy snorts, because of course the princess doesn’t drink cheap and nasty booze. 

Robin seems to have the same line of thinking as she snatches it of him. 

“Hey! I’ll have you know this is bottom shelf quality Voddy- not even in a plastic bottle.” Robin jeers, knocking her knuckle against the side of the bottle to prove it. “Besides, we need something short of hydraulic acid to deal with Billy Fuckin’ Hargrove .” 

Billy frowns. He felt anger bubble up in his aching chest, drowning out anxiety and panic. 

“Can’t believe he asked about me. Me , Robs, can you-” Steve barks out an incredulous laugh.

“Yeah, yeah. It would have been sweet if it was literally anyone else.” Robin chuckles. “Honestly, man. He’s got a weirdly good taste in books.” Steve snorts as she talks, her hand shooting out to cuff him in the back of the head. 

Billy sinks as low into his seat as his aching joints will allow. 

He had bumped into Robin at her locker, knocking her armful of books across the floor with a sharp elbow. Billy hadn’t thought about it, just dropping to one knee and gathering the test pages and paper-backed novel up to pass back. 

Fuckin’ Nate and whoever else, Tommy’s pals snickered as they went passed, chortles of “even a loser band geek can’t be immune to the new King.” Billy sneered at them, satisfied when they scattered.

He had let his fingers linger on the cover of the book, a smile at the corner of his mouth. It made sense Robin is a feminist, the way she argues with people in their English class about Shakespeare’s misogyny bleeds out of most of his work. 

“ Status ought not to be measured by a woman’s ability to attract and snare a man.” Billy quoted, winking at her unimpressed look.

She raised her eyebrow, tucking her papers back into her locker. He lent against the locker beside hers. “You and Harrington hang out, right?” He didn’t wait for her answer before continuing, “Was he- Is he okay? After… y’know.” 

“The night you broke his face and almost killed him? No, he wasn’t okay.” Robin closed her locker with a loud bang.

“He started it.” Billy growled. “He had my step-sister after curfew. I had to get her back. Since when did you know him so well, anyway?” Robin hiked the strap of her instrument case higher on her shoulder and returned his glare.

“We work together, asshole.” She looked him up and down slowly. Billy forced himself to not shift his weight. “I read people well. He didn’t tell me the whole story from that night, but I know he was hurting badly.”

“Knew that Pretty boy couldn’t take a hit.” Billy licked over his teeth, crossing his arms.

“Asshole.” Robin picked his necklace up off his chest, fingertips barely brushing his skin but it landed like a punch. She turned the Saint Mary over in her delicate fingers.

“You don’t know shit.” 

His mother had slipped the chain over his neck one early morning. Neil had gone to work. His mother made him waffles, made him pasta and stacked it in tubs in the freezer, writing on a small slip of paper so he would know how to reheat them.

Billy remembers the heat of the sun through their apartment window, the way it caught the light and shone rainbows over the walls. She told him about Mother Mary, a body of faith and strength. A symbol of maternal love for her son and compassionate love for all people.

Billy remembered the heat of her skin under his little, nine year old fingers as he touched the purpled skin around her eyes. He remembers murmuring “pretty” because her eyes shone blue, so bright in comparison. 

He remembers his father’s face, the day he stopped being ‘Dad’ and became this silent, looming monster. He had never laid a hand on Billy until that night. Smacked him hard in the face, grabbed him with a ruddy palm and screamed “Why’re you crying over that bitch?” and pressed his thumb into Billy’s eye and gave him something to cry for. 

“You don’t either.” Robin smiled up at him, dropping the now-warm silver onto his chest and patting his cheek. Billy thinks maybe he should snap her wrist. “To deny that a mistake has been made when its results are chaos visible and tangible on all sides, that is irresponsibility. What oppression lays upon us is not responsibility but guilt.”  

As he sits in the Camaro, watching the curve of Steve’s back as he tunes the guitar, he feels a twinge of something . He snarls to himself, wrapping an arm over his stomach and curling a little in the seat. 

In retrospect, it wasn’t a good idea to take out his frustration on Steve back in November. Billy knows it wasn’t Max’s fault or even Steve’s fault for trying to protect her. Neil had shoved Billy around, into some shelves that left purpling stripes of bruises over Billy’s back, smacked his cheek in something worse than the pain. The feeling of being small, weak and pathetic.

And anyway, his face had ended up worse than Steve’s in the end. Max still hadn’t been brought home, they both broke curfew and Billy paid the price. He picked Max up from the arcade a few days later, when he could stand without throwing up, and Steve had looked horrified across the car park at him, swollen mouth muttering “Shit, Hargrove, I know I didn’t do that. ” 

Billy had gotten in his face, the cut on his own lip splitting open as he snarled for Steve to fuck off, the temptation to spit blood on Steve’s pastel blue polo too strong to deny. 

Steve’s swigging from the bottle, Robin holding it up to his lips. He’s laughing and it’s something beautiful, the bob of his throat as he dribbles vodka down the front of his sweater. He’s trying to talk through shaking breaths. 

“Okay- fuck, okay! You can’t laugh.” He warns seriously. “I haven’t played in like, literally, forever. If forever is five years.” 

Robin nods and Billy can’t help smile at the nervous way Steve runs a hand through his hair. He recognises the tune Steve starts to pluck, a little uncertainly. 

The new Simple Minds album that was released in February. It was still on the front counter at the video store so Billy would have to wait until nearer April before it would be moved and he could slip the cassette into his pocket. The store had played it while Max browsed for some shitty movie to take to the Wheeler’s the other weekend. 

Robin seems to recognise it too. She rolls onto her back, bending her legs to pedal in the air as she sings, much louder than Steve’s quiet mumbling. 

“...dancing, you know it baby. Tell me your troubles and doubts given everything, inside and out and…” Robin woots at the sky, kicking her feet as Steve gets more confident. 

Billy flicks his cigarette butt out of the window, fumbling for his lighter. He doesn’t look back to the Beamer, feeling like he’s intruding. He’s starting up the Camaro, freshly lit cig clamped between his lips as Steve sings louder, not quite matching Robin’s volume, a grin on his face. 

“Don’t you forget about me. Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t you forget about me…”  

Billy reverses out of the quarry, humming around smoke as he sucks in the nicotine. It does nothing to relax the coil of heat in his gut as he thinks of the long line of Steve’s throat. What the pink bow of his lips must look like when he’s grinning. The way laughter must look in his eyes.

As he drives back to the house, he swallows the taste of blood and smoke. 

He thinks Steve would taste like sweat and starlight. 

He thinks he’s a bit fucked.

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It’s raining the next time the Camaro rumbles her way up to the quarry. Clouds are drawn over the lake, the moon tucked away from the cold splashes of raindrops. 

Billy doesn’t bother getting out of the car, just opens a window and sucks on his cig. switching on the overhead light, he starts picking out slivers of glass in his chest and stomach. He balances each clear shard on the pad of his thumb, flicking them out of the window. 

Once he’s done as much as he can with his blunt, chipped nails, he shrugs out of his jacket and shirt, wadding up the red cotton over his front. 

He closes his eyes, jean jacket back on and tightly done up over his chest to keep the night chill off his stinging skin.

That’s what he gets for looking out for Max, he thinks, rather bitterly. 

Max, Neil’s little golden child, her hair like a halo instead of Satan’s fuckin’ flames, slammed the front door so hard pictures fell off the walls. 

They had been arguing in the Camaro about Max going to the arcade. Neil’s rules; Max can only go out three times a week. Billy had taken her to and from to the arcade twice and picked her up from the mall once.

She had left the car yelling at him for speeding over the hill, shoving him in the side as he pushed past her to get in the house. They both froze when the frame hit the floor, glass cracking. 

The colour drained out of Max’s face and Billy curled his hands into fists to stop them shaking. Neil staggered out of the living room, Susan at his heels. Her hands were clasped under her chin, tired eyes wide.

“What happened here?” Neil asked, a polite smile on his ruddy face. 

“I-” 

“I tripped over the door frame, Sir. Lost my grip on the handle.” Billy cut in quickly, staring at the grey carpet beneath Neil’s feet. 

“Billy-” 

“Maxine, maybe you could help your mother with dinner?” Neil wondered aloud. Billy could feel the hard glare on him. 

“Go.” Billy murmured, lip curling into a discreet snarl. The kitchen door was barely closed when Neil had smacked him across the face, fists in Billy’s shirt and slammed him into the wall, hard enough to make the other photo frames shake.

Neil’s lessons, as he calls them, scotch on his breath as he sneers in Billy’s face, are about Responsibility and Respect. He finished this particular lesson by picking up the broken frame and forcing it against Billy’s chest, dragging it hard down his stomach, the button holding his red shirt closed popping off. 

He sat through dinner at the table, hunched over with Max’s eyes on him. They were red-rimmed and every time he caught her eye, she smiled shakily. Neil watched him eat, telling him “Susan didn’t cook a meal for him just so he could waste it, boy.”  

Billy wouldn’t have minded choking on the macaroni, the thick cheese sauce clogging his throat and sitting heavily in his stomach. He cleared his plate, bleeding stomach bloated. He keeps it down until Neil falls asleep, before throwing up as quietly as he can, the shower running while he retched over the toilet.

Max had his keys and jacket ready when he was done scrubbing his teeth. He manages a smile, wiping away toothpaste from around his mouth.

She watched him climb out of his window, switches off his light and pulls his door closed. If they apologised to each other, that would probably be one.

He inhales from his cigarette slowly, until he can feel it burn. He holds his breath. He keeps the smoke in, letting his cheeks bulge out and tears leak out from his closed eyes because it’s not like there’s anyone to see how gross and pathetic he is.

Billy comes up coughing as the clanky rumble of a car travels up the road. He scrubs at his face, hissing when his hand catches the cherry of his cig. 

“Harrington, your car sounds like shit.” Billy says as the red Beamer pulls up alongside him, windows rolled down.

“Could say the same but, y’know, about you.” Steve rolls his eyes.

“Sounds like someone wants to get beaten up again. You ever won a fight, Pretty boy?” Billy spits. He clenches his jaw, sitting up straighter even though the movement reopens the cuts. He hisses, the pain acting as karma for being such a defensive asshole.

“What’re you doin’ out here, Hargrove?” Steve lets his head loll against the headrest, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. 

“Needed to get out of the house.” Steve turns to look at him, mouth hanging open as if he didn’t expect a reply without an insult. Billy remembers his, albeit brief, conversation with Robin. “Quit lookin’ at me like I’m gona go psycho on you, Harrington. New year, new me.” Billy throws up his arms, making lazy jazz hands. 

“The new year was three months ago. You really not gotten into a fight since?” Steve quirks an eyebrow, sticking a cigarette in between his lips. “Fuck, you got a light?” 

“Well. I haven’t started a fight since. So, that’s gotta count for somethin’?” He throws his zippo through Steve’s passenger side window. “ ‘m not gona start one with you either.” He tacks on.

It’s hard not to fidget under Steve’s steady gaze, but Billy isn’t the type of guy to squirm .

“Oh. That’s cool, man.” He lights his cig, idly flipping the lid of the lighter as he takes a drag. Billy listens to the rhythmic click as Steve opens and closes it. “I get what you mean. About the houses. Don’t always feel like home.”

Billy snorts. The rain has eased off a little, Billy can hear the cicadas trilling, gossiping. Mocking.

“Yeah, you’re tellin’ me, Pretty boy. Give my light back.” Billy clicks his fingers on the hand out the window. 

“Fuck you, get it yourself.” Steve bites, pouting around the cigarette. 

“Fuckin’-” Billy opens the door, stepping out of the Camaro, holding his jacket tight against his front as he pulls the passenger door open and climbs in the seat. “Give it.” 

He drops his cigarette butt into one of the Beamer’s cup holders, fishing one of Steve’s out of the open glove box. 

“Fuckin’ Malboros.” Billy shakes his head with a low chuckle. Steve doesn’t give him his lighter back, instead holding it between them, flicking the flame to life. 

“What’s wrong with them? I don’t even smoke often. What do you smoke?” Steve scrunches his nose up.

“Whatever’s cheap and nasty.” Billy raises an eyebrow as he lights his cig, watching a blush stain over Steve’s cheeks. He breaths out a well- formed smoke ring, licking over his teeth when Steve doesn’t look away. 

“Somethin’ you wana tell me, Pretty boy?” Billy blows smoke at him from around his cigarette. Shaking his head, Steve seems to snap out of whatever had him staring.

“Why’re you in my car, Hargrove?” 

“Can’t sleep at the house.” Billy shrugs. 

“Well, you can’t sleep here.” Steve crosses his arms, scowling a little. Billy can’t stop the chuckle that rises in his throat. 

“Sorry, Princess, but someone’s got my lighter.” Billy rolls his eyes, reaching over to jab the older boy in the ribs. Steve bats his hand away as he shuffles in his seat.

“Oi, knock it off. Hargrove, I’m serious!” He grabs Billy’s wrist, trying to twist away from him. He’s only got one arm free, the other holding his cigarette, not risking dropping it.

“Oh! Is little Stevie Harrington ticklish?” Billy can’t stop the glee bleeding into his voice. He eases himself forward a little, able to stretch and hold Steve’s arm, pressing him to the door. His free hand drags itself down Steve’s side, watching the boy flush bright red.

“Billy!” Steve yelps. He’s laughing, gasping between held back chuckles. Billy licks over his teeth, poking and prodding until Steve’s eyes water. “You asshole !” Steve punches him in the shoulder, breathing laboured. 

“Yeah, Pretty boy? Am I too mean to you?” Billy drawls, petting over Steve’s hair through aching wheezes. His hair is soft in Billy’s fingers and he swallows with a click. Steve wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. 

“Maybe ‘mean’ isn’t the right word.” Steve chuckles as his breathing calms. 

“Awh, you don’t like gettin’ teased, Princess?” Billy lets up, sagging back into his own seat. He wraps an arm around his stomach, pressing his shirt to his skin. Steve’s dark eyes dart up to meet Billy’s, dipping to where Billy’s cig is smouldering between his lips. 

“I, uh…” Steve wets his lips. “I-” 

“Sodapop, this is Ponyboy, come in Sodapop.” The crackle of static makes Steve flinch. Billy settles back into the plush seat of the BMW, breathing out slowly. He remembers Max’s bad night at the Wheeler's when the nerd squad ignored her. He huffs a laugh, should have guessed Steve would be into The Outsiders .

“Shit, shit!” Steve rummages around, pulling out a blocky radio from under the driver's seat. “Dustin? What’s wrong, where are you?”

“Usually I’d bitch at you for not answering properly but we’ve got a situation in the woods-”

“Who the fuck is ‘we’?” 

“Uh, you know… Technically not all of us.”

“Dustin, what the fuck.” 

“Me and Red are holding down the fort. Two-bit and Johnny went home but we need you to come see this, Steve. Now. Where are you?” Gods, Billy sucks a deep breath from his smoke, the nerds really are lame.

“At the quarry.” Steve lets the radio fall into his lap, looking to Billy with wide eyes. “Billy, you gotta go. Go home, go anywhere that’s not outside.” 

“Hold up, Pretty boy. You look like you’re about to pass out. What’s the tro-”

“Harrington, when we say ‘now’ we fuckin’ mean now.”  Billy freezes.

“Is that my sister?” His voice dips low, the question like lead in the air. 

“Billy, listen- Fuck, I don’t have time to explain.” Steve tugs a hand through his hair. “You gotta get out the fucking car or promise me you’ll be chill.” Steve’s biting his bottom lip, a sweat broken out over his pale skin.

“You're gona regret it if anything happens to that little shitbird, Harrington.” 

“Okay. Okay-” Steve exhales, chucking Billy his lighter back to him. “Light me a smoke and I’ll explain.” Steve pulls out of the quarry, picking up the radio. “This is Sodapop, come in Ponyboy.” 

“Ponyboy here, ETA?”  

“Less than ten minutes. Slight complication, Red ain’t gona be impressed.” Steve shoots a look at Billy. He clenches his jaw and puts his hands up in a ‘surrender’ action. 

“What, what’s wrong?” Max’s voice comes crackling through. Billy lights two of Steve's cigarettes, holding one out. His hand shakes as he tries to quell the panic, that Max is out of the house and Neil will definitely kill both of them if he finds out. 

Steve ducks his head to take the cig between his lips, brushing against Billy’s fingers. He breaths out a mirthless, breathless laugh.

“Got Dallas with me.” Billy raises an eyebrow. The radio stays silent in Steve’s hand. The Beamer clanks along the empty roads, white knuckled on the steering wheel. 

“Why am I Dallas? ‘n The Outsiders, Harrington? Really?” 

“What? You don’t think I’m cool enough to be a greaser?” Steve shoots back but the panic in his eyes makes something in Billy’s gut uneasy. Steve tries for a grin, quirking an eyebrow. “You look a lot like Dallas, all ‘cold with all the hatred in the world.’ ” Steve flaps his hand, the radio in his lap.

Billy snatches it off him, turning it in his hands. 

“How do I use it?” Steve smiles, small but real, huffing out smoke and pointing at the button on the top. 

“Hold that down while you talk. Be nice, Bil.” 

Billy sucks down a lungful of nicotine before pressing his finger to the button. 

“This is Dallas, come in Nerd Gang.” Billy winks, hissing, “See? Nice!” 

“Shit- This is The Gang, we read you.” It’s Henderson that answers, unsure but not scared. 

“I’m gona need one of you fellas to fill me in, your mom’s busy fretting at the wheel. I don’t trust him to talk and not crash.” Billy tries for calm but he’s pretty sure his voice tips into threatening, if the smack on his arm from Steve is anything to go by. 

There’s a flush on Steve’s cheeks. After a few moments, the radio crackles through and Billy’s head ends up spinning as Henderson and Max talk over each other to explain about this parallel world and monsters and girl-sized lab experiments with powers. 

Billy stretches his arm and cuffs Steve in the back of the head. 

“Hey, asshole! I’m driving. What was that for?” Steve yelps, glaring over at the younger boy. 

“That’s for almost getting my sister killed. Lucky I don’t break your damn face again.” Billy snarls, with less bite than he would have liked.

“My kids might be stupid but they play it safe when I’m not around.” Steve grumbles. “I may be a pretty shit boyfriend, but turns out I’m a damn good babysitter.” 

“Sodapop, Dallas, where the fuck are you?” The radio spits out. Billy holds the radio out to Steve, finger hovering over the button. 

“We’ll be a few more minutes-” Steve grits out before Billy interrupts him.

“You'll hear his piece of shit car comin’ a mile off.” He sniggers, catching Steve’s fist as he swings half-heartedly at his shoulder. They get there eventually, Billy swears Steve’s car needs an oil change.

Steve keeps a goddamn nail bat in the trunk of his car. 

Billy strides up to his shithead step-sister, yanking the axe out of her hands. 

“Are you actually insane?” He has a hand fisted in her shirt but she doesn’t blink. “You- There’s- Max .” She covers his fist with her small hand and grimaces. 

“It’s okay. We can handle it, and if you grow up maybe mom will let you stay and play with us.” Max pats his chest condescendingly, gently. Billy blanches, realising his shirt is bloody and scrunched up somewhere in Steve’s car. 

Shaking himself, he pulls his jean jacket over his bare chest and rests the axe on his shoulder. The curly haired Henderson kid is glaring at him.

“So!” Steve claps his hands, nail bat and a torch wedged between his feet. “What’re we here for, Dustin?” 

“We trapped a demodog in a box and it keeps almost escaping.” Henderson grins, taking Steve by the arm and trying to drag him into the woods. 

“The, uh, monsters from the Topsy-turvy?” Billy asks. He smirks when Henderson glares at him with a scowl. He waves his torch in Billy’s eyes, making him grimace. “I know!” Billy groans, swinging the axe as he walks slightly behind Max. 

“You,” Steve points to Billy with the end of his bat, “Are not as cute as you think you are.” 

The action reminds Billy of the jokey banter Steve and Robin have. Billy grins, genuine and bright. 

“Pretty boy, you think I’m cute?” Max rolls her eyes, elbowing him lightly in the side. Steve splutters, almost tripping over a tree root. 

“That’s not what I meant!”

“It’s what you said.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Steve’s face is bright red and Billy can’t stop from barking out a laugh. 

“Guys, shut up!” Henderson hisses. “Just up this hill.”

Billy drags his feet as the walk, mind reeling with leftover panic for Max’s safety and very-present panic about a fuckin' parallel universe where shadow creatures literally kill people. 

Underneath two thick branches and several rocks is a plastic storage box. There’s a low, rumbling growl, almost like a purr but it sends a shiver down Billy’s spine. He can feel his heart beat faster, the air seeming to get colder around them. Max bumps into his arm but she doesn't snap at him to back off. Her fingers are curled in the cuff of his jacket. 

“Hey, Pretty boy?” Billy can see the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck are raised. “What was that about the shits ‘playing it safe’ when you’re not around?” Steve exhales, loud and shaky. 

“Okay, everyone who’s not an adult, stay back. Billy, you think you could catch it or are you only quick on the court?” Steve raises his eyebrow.

“Where’d you want me, Princess?” Billy splays his arms, trying for cocky and careless, squeezing Max’s shoulder quickly before following Steve closer.

“Hey! That’s not fair, Billy’s not even 17 yet.” Max crosses her arms, lips pulled back in a snarl. Steve pauses and Billy rolls his eyes at Max’s smug face. 

“Oh, grow up, Harrington.” Billy snaps, resting the axe on his shoulder. Even Henderson has some surprised jaw-dropped expression. 

“You’re in Robin’s year.” Steve says, dumbly. 

“Yeah, and?” Billy licks over his teeth. “She’s also 16, dumbass. One of the youngest in our year actually.” 

Steve looks mildly disgusted with himself. Billy frowns, there’s no way Steve wanted to bone Robin, he heard her call herself a dyke.

“Come on, lemme grab the diddlydog and we can all go to bed.” Billy swings the axe in a low arch. Steve seems to be having an internal struggle. Henderson notices too, exchanging a glance with Billy before nudging Steve in the back. 

“I’m not happy with this.” Steve says, pointedly not looking in Billy’s direction. Groaning, Billy shoves into him, knocking their shoulders together. 

“Really, Harrington? You’re gona sulk ‘cus I’m what? Underaged?” Billy snickers as Steve grabs his arm. 

“Careful. Dustin, where’d it come out of?” Steve has a tight grip around Billy’s bicep. He scours the ground around them until Dustin points. 

“That tree. Me and Lucas were staying round Will’s and he sleepwalked here. It was like a veil at the bottom of the trunk.” Steve doesn’t let go of Billy as he walks to where Henderson pointed and pokes the base of the tree with the bat.

“Scared yet, Hargrove?” Steve raises an eyebrow as Billy flinches when the creature hits the side of the box and roars. He meets Steve’s eyes and clenches his jaw. 

“Bite me, Harrington.” Billy licks over his teeth in a growl. Fuck what Steve thinks, Billy's been fighting the monster under his damn bed since he was nine. Billy’s monster stinks of scotch and stale dust and blood. 

The monster underneath the box smells of dust. Billy sucks in a sharp breath, almost choking on the dry, cold burn in his throat. Steve’s hand is warm around his arm, the moonlight catching on the cut of Steve’s cheekbone. 

“What’s the plan, genius? Let it out and hope Billy can grab it?” Max rolls her eyes. Billy shakes Steve off his arm and climbs uphill to slip the hair tie off Max’s wrist. 

“I know, I know but we need to see what we’re dealing with. C’mon, Madmax. Trust us?” Steve tries, his voice soft but confident. Max stares hard at Billy. Her arms are crossed over her chest, chin jutted up at him as he pulls his hair up and out of his face with her red scrunchie. 

“Gona Crocodile Dundee this bitch.” Billy winks, a smirk spreading over his face as he sees her fight a grin off of hers. He makes ‘finger guns’, shooting them at her and Henderson as he walks away.

“Fuck, you’re lame.” 

“Hargrove, drop the axe and get over here.” Steve points to a spot by a tree, just beside where the box is. 

“Is that his ‘mom’ voice?” Billy mutters over his shoulder, trudging to where Steve is still pointing with the end of his bat, his other hand propped on his hip. 

“You’re doing as you're told, aren’t you?” Steve raises an eyebrow, muttering “Brat” under his breath. Billy balls his fists, trying to ignore the blood rushing to his face and heat pooling in his stomach. He opts to stare at Max, rather than watch Steve brush sweat- slick hair away from his face with a sigh. 

“I’ll wedge the box up with this stick-” Steve ducks down to pick up a damp branch, “and get it to focus on me. That means no noise from any of you.” He points to the kids, where they’ve moved to the back of the box but glares at Billy. “Hargrove, you try your fuckin’ crocodile tamer bullshit. Not like we have a better idea.” 

“Hey!” Billy crosses his arms defensively. “I’ve held a croc down before. Max, tell him.” 

“You were like 13 and had three trained adults helping you.” Max sniggers. Billy grumbles, biting his lip as he tries to remember what the guys did back in Cali.

“Fuck off, it was all me.” Billy preens, retying his hair to keep his hands occupied while Steve bent low in front of the box. 

“Hargrove, these things aren’t pretty. Don’t fuckin’ freak out and get us all killed.” Steve warns. Billy bares his teeth in a forced grin. “Alright, just letting you know.” 

Steve wedges the branch underneath the edge of the box, the kids straining to take some of the weight of the heavy branches. 

The monster hisses, a dark limb swiping out at Steve, it’s claw glinting in the moonlight. It’s flower-shaped head pokes out as Steve scrambles back, clicking his tongue. 

The creature smells the air. Billy holds his breath as it freezes, body half out from under the box. It's all sinewy limbs, covered in thick skin that looks slick in the moonlight.

Suddenly, it lets out a high scream, limbs poised to lunge at Steve.

Billy jumps at it, grabbing its shoulder, his knee landing solidly on its back. He presses his weight on shin, pinning its hip, the other leg wedged tight to the monsters other side.

It whips its head around, toothy pink petal scratching over his chest and catching under his jaw. Billy grunts, forcing his elbow into its neck, pressing its head into the ground. 

It bucks and shrieks but Henderson’s at his side, cheering under his breath as he climbs onto the monster’s back, using Billy for support. 

The monster stops moving, Henderson shifting his weight on its spine. Billy slowly tries to readjust his grip on its shoulder. 

It twists under him with a deafening screech.

Henderson loses his balance, Billy barely manages to wrap an arm around the kid to stop him falling into the monster's claws. The flower-shaped mouth latches on to the exposed skin of Billy’s chest, jagged teeth catching over his collarbone and shoulder. 

Steve’s quick to bring the nail bat over it’s head. The force of it punches the air out of Billy but the monster lets go of him to snarl at Steve. Max is hacking at it’s back legs, flashlight flitting wildly over the trees and the ground. ‘Madmax’ , he sees it now.

Henderson’s knees are bruising against Billy’s side. Their combined weight keeps the monster pinned down while Steve lays heavy blows to its shrieking head, the crack of bone sending a shiver down Billy’s spine. 

After what feels like hours of holding on, his fingers digging into the papery, oily, dry, thick skin of the monster, it finally stills under them. 

Max doesn’t stop with her heavy, grunting swings until Steve gathers her up in his arms, the axe slipping from her grip. 

Steve is splattered with black, cold blood. It’s in his hair, across his face and shirt. Max has black streaks in her flaming hair, her eyes wide and her hands shaking in the moonlight as she sinks into Steve. 

Billy tightens his arm around Henderson, rolling off the monster with a pained growl. Henderson sits on his stomach, one leg trapped under Billy’s back, and pokes at the cuts.

“Fuck off, would ya?” Billy bats his hand away but Henderson doesn’t let up. He prods around the wounds, pressing until Billy hisses and swears.

“We did it. You actually dundee-ed a croc!” Henderson grins, gleeful and toothless. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Billy pats him solidly on the back. “Well done us.” Steve stumbles over, laughing. 

“Billy! You- We-”

“Yeah, yeah.” Billy wheezes, Henderson’s knee digging into his stomach as the kid stretches to wrap his arms around Steve’s shoulders. Steve pulls him free from Billy, Max taking his place at Billy’s side. “Nice work, ‘Madmax’.”

She punches him in the shoulder, her face thunderous. 

“You’re lucky you didn’t get hurt worse, or I would have killed you.” She grinds out. Her eyes go soft when he smiles at her. 

“Alright, can you stand? We better get the kids home, it’s almost three.” Steve offers a hand to Billy. He grunts as Steve pulls him up, Max supporting his elbow. 

“Shit, I've gotta get my car.” Billy catches Max’s eye. “We gotta be home before 5.30.” He doesn’t know if it’s a good or bad thing that his sister looks as worried as he feels. 

“Okay. Okay I’ve got a plan.” Max picks up the radio, the flashlight and the axe from the damp floor. “Steve takes us to the quarry, you get the Camaro and go to Steve’s. Steve takes me and Dustin home.” 

“Hang on-” Billy starts, frowning at her as they head to the Beamer, the monster being half dragged, half carried by Steve, himself and Henderson.

“No, listen. You can shower the monster blood off at Steve’s, borrow some clothes and clean those cuts. Come home after. It doesn’t matter if you’re late, bring home a carton of orange juice and I’ll cover the rest.” 

“You can throw your jacket in the washing machine. Save questions from if you wash it at yours.” Steve says from beside him. 

“Max, if I’m late-”

“Billy, trust us . I swear, I’ll cover it.” Billy focuses on walking, anxiety and unease coiling up in his chest. 

“Fine, okay. But if it goes to shit, I’ll end all of you.”

“Hey, what did I do!” Henderson splutters, grabbing hold of Billy’s free arm to lean on as they get to the car. 

Billy finds himself in Steve’s bathroom, using probably too much of his products as he washes the dirt and blood out of his hair. 

He had followed Steve half way to Loch fuckin’ Nora. Max waved at him through Steve’s back window, shouting “Orange juice!” with a grin. He smiles back with gritted teeth when they turn off to go to the Henderson's.

Steve’s shit at giving directions, but Billy counted up the houses until he got to Steve’s and plucked the spare key off the top of the outside light. He kicked off his muddy boots and nosed through the house until he found the laundry room, throwing in his jacket on a short cycle.

He used the bathroom in Steve’s room, like the older boy suggested. The water was hotter than Cherry Lane was capable of and Billy groans, the grime washing off his skin. He washes his hair and scrubs down his legs, gentler over his stomach and chest. 

The punctured bite marks start bleeding again as he screws his eyes shut, the soap stinging as he cleans the wounds, water swilling rusty down the drain.

He hears Steve call through, knocking on the bathroom door about clean clothes and how he can use Steve’s toothbrush but he’s gotta swear he doesn’t have rabies. Billy snorts, letting his mouth fill with water just to gargle the heat around his mouth. 

He does end up cleaning his teeth, the shower shut off and towelling his hair dry with one hand. He barely glances at himself in the mirror, catching sight of yellowed bruises and deep, narrow teeth marks in the shape of a petal starting at the hollow of his throat,  draping over his collarbone and shoulder. 

He pulls on his jeans and opens the door, towel over his shoulder. 

“Got a shirt, Harrington?” Steve sits up on the bed when Billy comes in. His mouth drops open for a second, eyes on his chest.

“There’s antiseptic cream under the sink. Sit down and I’ll do it.” Steve swallows. Billy raises an eyebrow at his pink face but sinks onto the end of his bed. He listens to Steve rummage in the cupboard, glancing at the clock. It’s quarter past 5. He’s going to be late.

It almost hurts, trusting Max. 

“Here, move that.” Billy blinks. Steve’s kneeling on the bed at his side, tube of cream open. Billy pulls the towel off his shoulders, dragging his hair back up into a bun with Max’s scrunchie, wet from his wrist. 

Steve smears the cream over Billy’s skin. It stings but not enough to hiss through his teeth.

“What’re these from?” Steve asks, low and soft as he brushes over the jagged cuts on Billy’s stomach.

“Glass.” 

“Glass?” Steve covers them with cream too, even though they’ve already scabbed over.

“Yeah. Gone deaf, Princess?” Billy clenches his jaw as Steve's fingers skate over his skin. 

“No, I just- Sorry. Thanks for tonight. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” There’s something in Steve’s voice that gives Billy the idea that Steve would have known what to do, but he’s just glad he didn’t have to.

“How’d Max get out there?” Billy asks instead. 

“Skateboard, I guess? Dustin biked but they all fit in my car okay. All the kids have a radio. Max’s isn’t turned on during the day though, so she won’t get caught with it.” Steve smiles honestly, getting up to search through his chest of draws. 

“You get her it?” Steve nods, chuckling a little. 

“Yeah, man. I mean, if she’s gona be part of The Party, I need to be able to keep in touch with my kids.” Billy doesn’t know whether to bristle or preen over the fact Steve consider’s Max one of his kids, his responsibility. 

“Good babysitter. I see it now.” He settles on, catching the black top Steve throws at him. Steve stretches his arms out and bows. “Such a weirdo.” Billy sighs, shaking his head and pulling on the henley. 

Its collar covers the marks, a little tight over his shoulders and biceps but the material is soft and stretches warm over his skin. 

Steve sits back next to him, seeming to sink into the bed. His shoulders sag and his eyes close, dark circles under them. 

“I’ll let myself out.” Billy smiles, resting a hand on Steve’s knee to lean on when he stands. 

“See you tomorrow?” Steve turns on his side, pillowing his head on his arm. 

“Yeah. Sure, see you tomorrow.” Billy clenches his jaw as Steve yawns, settling into a sleepy smile. He can feel the half closed eyes on him as he leaves. 

His jacket is still in the machine. Billy swears under his breath and raids Steve’s fridge. He carries a carton of orange juice and three cokes to the Camaro, replacing the key on the top of the outside light. 

Steve fuckin’ Harrington. 

If someone had come up to Billy when he first swung his legs out of the Camaro, in front of the high school on his first day in Hawkins and pointed at Steve, Billy would have pissed himself laughing.

Steve wore Nike sneakers and windbreakers and failed more English tests than Billy’s ever taken. Steve, who ruled the school with weekend ragers and weed and dopey little minions like Tommy H. 

If someone had come up to Billy, pointed at Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, who stinks of woody, expensive cologne and Farah Fawcett hairspray, Billy would have passed out from laughing. 

Steve got dumped by some bullshit priss and can’t plant his damn feet on the court. Steve hasn’t smiled bright in school since, but looks at the kids like that’s his whole world. Maybe it is. Steve didn’t even fight for the title of ‘Keg King’, didn’t say a word when Tommy and Carol and whoever else left him. 

Tommy talks about Steve almost constantly. It had given Billy a headache, the first week at school. How Steve used to be his best friend before he turned bitch. How Steve this, and Steve that and Billy should be sick of hearing about him.

Steve has a nail bat in the trunk of his car and risks his life for his kids. For Max. For Robin, probably. For Billy. 

He pulls up outside the house on Cherry lane. His bedroom light is on. He left it off. 

Billy swallows as he gets out the car, the cardboard carton of juice denting under his fingers. He uses the front door. It creaks a little as he goes inside.

Neil’s leaning against the living room door frame, his arms folded over his chest.

“Where do you think you’ve been?” His voice is steady but loud, sending a shiver down Billy’s spine. He clenches his jaw, stomach flipping in anticipation. 

“I-”

“Billy?” Max coughs, calling him weakly. 

Neil frowns, his eyebrows furrowing as they both look to where Max stands. She has a blanket from Billy’s bed wrapped around her shoulders, her skin pale and sweaty. She sniffs, her eyes red rimmed and watery. 

“Max, are you okay?” Billy brushes past Neil to crouch by her. She nods, swaying on her feet. “Steady.” 

“Did you get my juice?” She asks in a small voice. 

“I did, I got it. Want to head back to bed and I’ll bring you a glass?” Billy smiles gently, his heart hammering in his chest as he hears Neil shift behind him. 

“ ‘kay.” She sniffles. “Dad, can you come tuck me in?” Her voice is honeyed and Billy forces down a smirk as Neil coos. 

“Of course I can, sweetie.” Billy gets up, heading to the kitchen to pour a glass of juice as Max starts spouting bullshit. 

“I felt really sick during the night and accidentally woke Billy up when I was in the bathroom.” She sounds strained, her voice thick in her throat. “He said orange juice would be better than water to make me feel better but I didn’t want to drink the rest in the fridge so Billy said I could have my own.”

He carries Max’s glass and the juice into her room. Neil is perched on the edge of her bed, his palm on her forehead. His grey eyes are soft as he pats Max’s head.

“Well, sweetie. See how you’re feeling and let me know if you’re up for school later.” Neil tucks her blankets tighter around her shoulders and doesn’t bother looking at Billy as he leaves. Billy closes the door slowly.

Max holds her hand out for the glass, holding it steady while Billy fills it up. Despite her not being sick, she looks small. Wrapped up in Billy’s faded blue blanket, both hands on the glass as she sips. 

“Everything okay?” He murmurs, kicking off his boots and settling against the footboard of her bed. 

“Nothing we can’t handle.” She says, still in her sick voice. She’s smiling though, white and wide at him, nudging her toes against his thigh. “You okay?” 

“Just as you said.” He settles down, curling around her feet, one of his legs handing over the footboard. “We got a few hours. ‘m gona sleep.” 

“I’ll make you lunch. You smell of Steve.” She scrunches her nose up, poking his abdomen through the blankets. 

“Yeah, showered and borrowed a shirt.” Billy drapes his arm over his face, the sleeve of the henley warm and smelling strongly of washing powder. “Might keep it. It’s soft as shit.” Max huffs, shuffling down the bed so she can curl into the curve of his spine. 

“You were really cool today.” She murmurs after a long while, the back of her head against his shoulder. 

“I’m cool all the time.” Billy yawns. 

“Not just with the demodog. You were cool with looking out for Steve and Dustin.” She pushes herself up on her elbow, leaning over him. “You’re a secret nerd.”

“Fuck off, Max. I just have good books. You should give The Outsiders a try.” Billy knocks her elbow out from under her. She drops to the bed with an oof and grumbles, pulling the blanket tighter around her. 

“If you read it to me, I will.” 

Billy huffs a laugh at the obvious challenge in her voice, even from where it’s muffled against the sheets. 

Max’s alarm clock blares out some obnoxious wake up call at 7.30. Billy doesn’t move, a bone-deep tiredness has settled into his limbs and his feet feel too heavy to even consider moving. 

Max has a similar idea, groaning low as she stretches out. Her heels dig into his leg and as she gets up, her elbow catches him in the jaw. He doesn’t know how she was laying but Billy’s pretty sure she shouldn’t have almost hit him in the damn throat. 

He grumbles low, muttering a curse under his breath but he presses his arm tighter over his eyes. 

“Maxine, honey?” There’s a tentative knock at the door. 

“Yeah, mom? I’m getting up.” Max opens the door, the floorboards creaking under her feet. “I feel a lot better!” She bounces on the balls of her feet. 

“Is Billy getting up?” Susan asks quietly. 

“He’s going to take me to school but he stayed awake most of the night. He didn’t want me to be sick in bed.” Max’s voice dips into a childish whine. 

“Oh, of course, honey.” Susan coos. “Go on, get ready for school.” Billy suppresses a groan, imagining the pitying look on Susan’s face when it comes to Max. It’s similar to the look she gives him when he’s bloody and half-conscious, the same look she has when Neil’s knuckles are bruised.

God, he needs a smoke. 

The empty pack sits on his dashboard, zippo lighter still in the pocket of his jean jacket.

He sucks in a lungful of Steve’s henley. 

He pushes himself out of bed 20 minutes before Max needs to be at school. He takes his hair out of its bun, leaving the scrunchie on his bedside table and combs his curls out as well as he can in the small mirror on his wall. He sniffs at his small bottles of cologne, trying to pick one that won’t drown out the scent of Steve from the shirt. 

He catches his own eye in the mirror, frowning. He pushes the thought out of his head, spraying the one in his hand on his neck and ducking into the kitchen to pour a coffee. 

Max swings her feet as they drive to school. He picks up a pack of smokes and she doesn’t complain about the wait. She says bye with a grin and runs to where the nerd gang are standing by the bike shed. Dustin stares at him until Billy raises two fingers to his temple in a salute.

He doesn’t see Steve all day, not that he’s looking. He steals Tommy’s faulty white bic lighter. He eats the ham sandwich Max left in his cup holder, the crusts cut off unevenly. He’s pretty sure if he looked, ‘ asshole’ would be carved into the butter. 

Robin kicks his ankle during AP English. She doesn’t look at him, colouring a strand of blonde hair blue. Billy goes back to pillowing his head on his arms, only to get kicked again. 

“The fuck you want, Buckley?” He turns to look at her, cracking one eye open. 

“Oh, he's grumpy. Late night?” She pouts at him teasingly.

“The fuck is it to you?” 

“Steve came in wearing your jacket.” Robin prods the toe of her converse sharply against his leg. “Any reason why Steve was wearing your jacket? Didn’t think the two of you were friends.” She wiggles an eyebrow at him. Billy closes his eyes, equal parts too tired, not able to find the fire to snarl about not being a fag, and not sure if it’s true. 

“Didn’t he tell you why he had it?” Billy settles on, kicking gently  at her with his steel-toed boot. 

“He said it got dirty and he washed it for you.” 

“Yeah, mud and blood.” Billy snorts “Imagine the Princess scrubbing spunk outta my jacket.” He doesn’t realise he said it out loud until Robin stifles a bark of laughter, kicking him again, her hand clamped over her mouth. 

“Oh God, he’d be mortified.” 

“Stupid face would go all red and he’d stress when the stain doesn’t fade as quickly as he thought.” Billy huffs at the thought of Steve flushed and embarrassed. They snigger together for a long moment. Billy forgets why it was funny in the first place. 

Robin rests her feet on his boots, poking the end of her crayon against his arm. 

“Don’t flip out on me but I see you, Hargrove.” Robin murmurs. “How you look at the girls around here. Nothin’ like how the other guys look at them.” 

“Watch your mouth, Bucks.” Billy sighs, propping his head up on his hand and opening his eyes. “Steve looks at girls just fine.”

Robin holds his gaze. He forces himself to keep breathing, seeing so much understanding in her eyes. Billy can’t bring himself to say anymore. He can’t bare to tell her that his father wouldn’t hesitate to put him in hospital again over a boy and ill-timed kisses. He can't stomach the idea of his father laying into someone as soft as Steve, no matter what he says about being able to take a hit. 

“My mom wouldn’t hurt me over who I love, but I know nothing would be the same if she knew.” Robin says softly. It’s not a ‘coming out’ statement, not glaringly obvious, just enough that she knows Billy will understand. 

He offers her a smile.

He shifts his feet so one of her ankles is trapped between his own. He asks her what to do, so low and almost desperate, if Billy was capable of that. Robin smiles, freckles like fortune telling constellations over the bridge of her nose. 

“Human beings have an inalienable right to invent themselves.” She pokes his arm again. Billy lays his head down on his arms, murmuring permission and jabs about her being a complete nerd. 

Robin colours the ends of his curls in blue and purple. She scribbles on the nails of his left hand in red for good measure

His jacket is in his locker by lunch.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next time he sees Steve is after his birthday.

Susan brought him a cupcake for dessert one night during the week. Neil handed him a white envelope with two 10 dollar bills in, no card. Max didn’t know when his birthday was. He’s not even sure Neil knows the actual date.

Billy’s driving along an open road of asphalt. He spent most of the day on the road, windows down and the radio turned up so loud he couldn’t see to drive. He stopped off in some little town outside Marion to spend Neil’s money. 

His voice is hoarse from singing, palms aching from the manic drumming across his console and steering wheel. But it isn’t often he’s free to act how he likes. No ginger little bitches in the passenger seat or high school fuckheads in the wingmirror. 

He barely pays attention to the fact that a good day for him is driving and singing, just being himself. Well, he could be himself until 8pm, then he has to turn the radio down and pick Max up.

It’s Saturday so Max is at the arcade. There’s blood in Billy’s mouth, swollen tongue running over his teeth. He speeds past the Welcome to Hawkins sign and lowers the music, grinning maniacally as he takes a corner too fast. Blood drips down his chin, through his bared teeth and he can’t stifle the laugh that bubbles up.

Doesn’t see why he should.

Neil gave her money for pizza. That means she’ll be cramped up in a booth with the rest of the nerds. She told him everything. About the Upside Down, the night at the Byers, in more detail than they had that night out in the woods. Billy read her a few chapters of The Outsiders in return. 

He pulls up beside the Beamer in the parking lot of the arcade. Steve is sat against the bonnet of the Beamer, arms wrapped around himself. Billy can see his shoulders shaking in the slight breeze. 

It’s been a good day, Billy thinks as he climbs out of the Camaro. Steve smiles at him, eyes bugging out slightly. Billy knows his hair has to be tangled and wind-swept. He’s wearing an open blue shirt underneath his leather jacket, blood splattered down over his bare chest. 

“Hargrove, what the fuck?” Steve murmurs, hands twitching with mom-instinct. Billy laughs, leaning beside him.

“It’s a good day, Pretty boy.” He says, by way of greeting. His voice is a little scratchy, throat dry. Billy smirks, recognising the red shirt over Steve’s chest, under his windbreaker.

“ ‘Cause you’ve seen little ol’ me? I’m flattered, honestly, but I’m not sure your reputation could handle the hit.” Steve winks, smiling easily back. “What’s with the…” He gestures to Billy’s torso.

“I got a birthday present today. Wana see?” Billy raises an eyebrow, pulling his aviators up to rest on the top of his head.

“Your birthday’s today? Max didn’t say!” Steve turns towards him. His lips are pulled into a pout.

“Easy, Harrington. It’s not today, and Max didn’t know.” Billy reaches out, smacking his palm on Steve’s shoulder, bringing it up to ruffle his hair. Steve squawks, batting him away. 

“Well, shit, man! Happy birthday.” Steve grins, getting up to rummage in the front seat of the Beamer. Billy doesn’t watch him. He stares into the shade of the arcade, spotting the red of Max’s hair. He waves at her when she sees him. 

“Here, you seem like the type to hit me if I actually get you anything.” Steve comes back to sit beside him, elbow brushing Billy’s. He passes him a can of lemonade. 

Billy snorts, bumping the older boy's arm. He cracks the tab, swilling the first mouthful around before spitting it out bloody. It stings across his tongue.

“It’s exactly what I wanted.” Billy spits again, just blood and saliva this time. The action knocks his aviators down his face. He lets them fall there, sliding into place on the bridge of his nose as he tips his head back to take a long swallow from the can. 

“Oh, fuck off!” Steve barks out a laugh, bumps Billy’s arm back with a little more force. “So what did you get today?” 

“Yeah? You wana see?” Billy leans closer to him, jabbing his elbow in Steve’s ribs to make him squirm.

“Yes, asshole! Show me or fuck off.” Steve grumbles, stealing the aviators off Billy’s face and pushing them up his own nose. He flaps his hands, a goofy smile on his lips. “How do I look? You like it?” 

Billy growls, low in his throat. Steve’s eyes look bigger, darker, behind the tinted red lenses. 

He reaches up to hold the arm of the glasses, sliding them down Steve’s nose slowly. He licks over his teeth carefully, the metal ball of his new piercing clacking quietly. 

“Uh…” Steve breaths. Billy can feel Steve’s breath on his face, a blush quickly spreading over the older boy’s cheeks. He keeps his tongue out for a moment, half because the air is cool against the sore flesh. The other half is Steve’s eyes are wide and drawn down, staring at Billy’s mouth.

“You like it?” Billy asks, letting go of the glasses in favour of dragging his thumb over the hot skin of Steve’s cheek.

Steve makes a choked noise, eyes flicking up to meet Billy’s for a second then falling back to his slightly parted lips. 

Steve jumps as the arcade door flies open. His elbow knocks into Billy’s arm, glasses almost slipping off his face. He coughs, hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

Billy turns his head slowly to face the kids, not moving from where he’s lazed against the cherry paintwork. 

The kids are loud in greeting, rushing up to Steve, clamouring for his attention. Billy clenches his jaw, swallowing hard when Steve’s voice cracks as he says “hey.” 

“Didn’t keep you waiting long?” Max asks him. 

“Nah, just a few minutes. With the company, it just flew by.” Billy grins, waggling his tongue at Steve. The older boy’s cheeks match the colour of the Beamer and Billy can’t help but chuckle. 

“Hold on, you get that today?” Max grabs his arm, pulling at him. 

“What gave you that idea?” Billy drawls, gesturing to his bare chest. Max tuts, kicking his shin. 

“You got blood on your necklace.” She scrunches up her nose. 

“Yeah, yeah. Get in the car, shitbird.” Billy sighs, baring his teeth half-heartedly. He knocks his shoulder into Steve’s as he walks to the Camaro. 

“Wait-” Steve catches Billy’s elbow. “What’re you doing tonight?” He asks quietly. Billy looks past him, seeing Max is hugging the nerds goodbye. 

“Depends.” Steve glares hard at him, squeezing his arm through the leather. 

“Quarry, around 10? 11? Me and Robs are going up, I’ll bring drinks.” Steve smiles so earnestly and something twists in Billy’s stomach.

“I might be late.” He tells him honestly.

“Steve! Come on.” Henderson shouts. Steve wets his lips, waving a hand behind him. 

“You gona wear my shirt tonight, Harrington?” Billy licks over his teeth, grinning when Steve’s hand tightens on his arm. 

“I-uh…” Billy pushes him into the side on the Beamer, winking. 

“See you later, Pretty boy.” Billy climbs into the Camaro, reaching over to pop the lock for Max to slide in. He puts the car in gear as he pulls away, watching the way Steve touches the aviators. 

Max waves wildly to her friends, Shoving at Billy until he relents and touches two fingers to his temple in a salute. The little Byers returns his gesture with a shy smile. 

Max chatters happily all the way home, telling him about her new high scores and the prize she's saving up for. Billy laughs at the right moments, rolls his eyes when the tone of her voice dips and punches her shoulder when she jeers at him, but Steve’s gaze on his mouth stays in the front of his mind. 

Neil is slumped into the worn seat of the sofa. Max murmurs about how easy it would be to suffocate him, as they peer around the doorframe. Billy tugs on her braid and comments about how that's a peaceful way to go. 

He helps Susan do the dishes, tearing a slice of bread up into chunks as he puts the plates away. He chews carefully, keeping the food between his teeth. Max makes him a glass of salt water and covers another two slices with jam, messily feeding him with muffled giggles as she spreads jam over his mouth as he washes the knife up.

Susan smiles, patting his back and kissing the top of Max’s head before going to bed. It’s nice, Billy thinks, screwing around with Max. He swirls his mouth out with the salt water, spitting some at her. 

She yelps, jabbing him in the kidney as she ducks away. 

He showers, washes and conditions the knots out of his hair, scrubbing his teeth and scratching the blood off of his necklace. He grins to himself and the shower tiles, thinking of Steve’s wide, brown eyes.

He pulls his hair up in a bun. He tried not to make a habit of it, Neil always commented on him being a fairy whenever his hair was involved, but Max didn’t ask for the scrunchie back. 

He dresses in the usual tight blue jeans and a black unbuttoned shirt. It's nearing ten o’clock but Max is kicked out across his bed when he comes in. She waves The Outsiders at him. 

“Aren’t you sick of that yet, shitbird?” He grumbles. 

“Nah, but I won’t make you read to me tonight since you’ve got a whole…” She waves one hand flippantly. “Thing going on there. I’ll read. Put the stereo on, there’s already a tape in there.” 

“Fuck off and get your crap out of my stereo.” 

“Just do it, asshole.” She takes a pencil off his bedside table, throwing it at him. 

“Fuckin’ fine, then.” He snarls, pressing the buttons on the stereo, and throwing himself onto the bed. 

“Hey!” Max smacks his shoulder, attempting to raise her knees from where they’re trapped under his back. “God, you’re a dick.” 

“Fuckin’ read, then.” Billy tucks an arm behind his head, feet hanging off the side of the bed.

“Asshole. I was sitting in the waiting room…”  

Billy closes his eyes half listening to Max, half to the tape. He recognised the soft croon of Simple Minds , and cracked an eye open to look at her. 

“Hey. What tape is this?” Billy prods Max’s knee. She stops reading, smiling softly.

“I got Steve to make me a tape for you.” She shrugs. Billy hums, frowning a little. Max keeps reading. 

She reads a chapter and a half before Neil comes down the hall, one hand supporting his weight on the wall. Max doesn’t stop reading, content to ignore him but she nudges her foot in Billy’s side when he tenses up. 

Neil pauses in the doorway as Max reads. Billy keeps his eyes closed. The scuff of Neil’s feet starts up again, down towards his bedroom. Billy huffs, laughing despite the anxiety that crept up in his chest. 

Max tries to read more but she giggles along with him. 

“Do you like the tape?” 

Billy turns to look at her with a smile. 

“Yeah. Harrington pick out most of the songs or?”

“Some. I don’t really know the music you like.” She shrugs. They waste another hour or so, Max reading until her voice cracks and she throws the book down on his chest. “Why would you let me read that?” 

“Hey, woah. It’s good.” She kicks at his side. He laughs, catching her feet. “Tell me you hate to love it!”

“I hate to love it and you!” She throws a pillow at him. Billy stills for a second, his chest warming. He lunges at her, grabbing her wrist and pulls her into his chest.

“I hate to love you too.” He mutters, squeezing an arm around her before letting go. Max’s face is red and he’s sure he is as well but he pops the tape out of the player and grabs his jean jacket, slipping his keys in the pocket.

“Here,” He plucks one of his Queen cassettes from the neat stack and throws it to her. “Educate yourself. Give that one back before you take another.” He flicks off the stereo and goes to switch the light off but Max pings a hair tie at him.

“Can you do my hair before you go?” She catches his arm with a smirk as he goes to shove her out of the room. Billy grumbles but ends up sitting on his bed, her cross legged in front of him, brushing out her hair. 

“Gettin’ long.” He comments, sectioning it to braid.

“Hair does that, you know?”

“Shut up.” He yanks a little, tightening the strands as he plaits them. She hisses “asshole” through her teeth. He ties off the braid, flicking her ear. “There, done. Go to bed.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She flips him off, the tape and book in one hand and shuts the bedroom door. Billy shoves his arms through the sleeves of his jacket and swings a leg over the splintered windowsill. 

He drives just over the limit through Hawkins until he hits the long, open road up to the quarry. The soft light on the dashboard of the Camaro tells him it's just gone one. He lights a smoke, parking in his usual spot, partially hidden by trees and shadows. 

His eyes are drawn to Steve, even as he’s climbing out of the car. 

“No- look Robs, I can do it!” Steve’s not wearing a jacket, red shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Billy blows smoke as he walks, coming to lean against the bumper of the BMW. Steve’s legs kick in the air as he attempts a handstand, knees and elbows bending. He holds it for maybe three seconds before he falls to the floor. 

Robin giggles loudly from where she’s stretched out on the roof of the car, her converse almost clipping Billy in the shoulder as she wriggles around. 

“You didn’t do fuck!” She sounds delighted, clapping her hands. “Pass me.” She waves her arms.

“No! We can’t drink it all.” Steve whines from where he’s laying on the ground. 

“Why’s that, Pretty boy?” Billy finishes his cigarette and pushes off the Beamer, crouching beside him. “You’re gettin’ my shirt dusty.” He sucks his teeth. Steve has a wide grin on his face, Billy’s sunglasses barely sitting on his dishevelled head. 

“Billy! You came- See, Robs? Billy's here! Told you he would.” Steve shouts, eyes not leaving Billy. 

“Yeah, I’m here. You gettin’ up?” Steve considers it, feet shuffling in the dirt before he sighs and drops his head to the floor. 

“No, I don’t think I will.” Steve hums, eyes slipping closed. 

“Alrighty.” Billy shakes his head and straightens up. Steve makes a small noise as Billy’s knees crack. “Hey, Bucks. What’re we drinking?” 

Robin slides down the windscreen and waves at him. 

“Mr Richboy stole a bottle of rum from his dad’s study-”

“Hey! It’s a special occasion.” Steve cries indignantly from the floor. 

“So special you won’t even tell me what it is!” Robin throws her hands up. Billy grabs the bottle of rum off the floor, taking a long gulp. His head already hurts from their whining. 

“I brought ice cream!” Steve exclaims. Billy rolls his eyes. “Help- help, I’m stuck.” Billy takes another few swallows, burning his throat. 

“Come on, Princess.” Billy grabs hold of Steve’s hand and shoulder. He hauls him off the floor, uncoordinated limbs wrapping around Billy like a koala. “Fucking hell, how much have you drank?” 

Steve giggles against the side of his head.

“Not enough to ask to see your tongue piercing again.” Steve whispers the last part like he was disclosing a secret. “I bought ice cream.”

“Oh, yeah?” Billy asks, dropping Steve onto the bonnet of the Beamer. Robin staggers up and rounds the car, searching the trunk. 

“Here!” She pulls out a blue cool bag. Billy climbs up beside Steve, keeping a tight grip of the bottle as Steve falls into his side, aviators pushed up on his nose. “We got mint and chocolate.” Robin sits on the other side of Steve and pulls out the half empty tubs and three spoons. 

“Nah, thanks. I’m good.” Billy grins. 

“I-” Steve struggles to lift his head from Billy’s chest to his shoulder. “I brought ice cream.”

“I know.” Billy consoles, pushing him into a sitting position. Steve's warm against his side. “I’m lactose-intolerant.” Steve grumbles, turning to rest his back against Billy's shoulder as he takes the carton of mint and one of the spoons.

“Where’s the booze go?” Robin questions through a mouthful of ice cream. 

“Here.” Billy offers her the bottle, keeping a grip of the neck of it as Robin almost drops her carton. 

“Whoops!” She laughs, Steve joining in with slurring giggles. Billy pours the rum into her tub of ice cream, watching a grin spread out over her face. 

“Ew! You’re so gross.” Steve sucks the ice cream off his spoon as Robin mixes hers in with the rum before drinking it out of the tub. He slides off Billy’s shoulder onto his lap. Billy raises an eyebrow, gargling a mouthful of rum. It stings around his piercing.

“God, you’re gross too!” Steve huffs, wriggling to get his head settled comfortably on Billy’s thigh. Rolling his eyes, Billy licks over his teeth. 

“You’re gross too, y’know.” Billy says conversationally, stretching his arm to tip more drink into Robin’s carton. 

“No, I’m not. I got ice cream.” Steve frowns, scooping some mint onto his spoon. He cranes his neck to eat it. 

“Bet I can make you do something gross.” Billy smirks. Robin splutters through her spoonful of chocolate rum mix and punches Billy’s shoulder.

“God, I should have known you were a gross gay.” Billy barks a surprised laugh, taken off guard by her bluntness. 

“And what kind of gay are you?” He asks her, flicking the sunglasses down off Steve’s nose so they hit his lip. He whines, causing Billy to roll his eyes and right them. 

“Band gay, obviously.” Robin tuts. 

“What am I?” Steve says curiously, ice cream smeared down his chin. Billy didn’t see him drop any but there’s now a stain on his red shirt. He pokes at the stain with a sigh, Robin giggling as she notices it too. 

“Disaster Bisexual.” She clicks her fingers around her spoon. Billy laughs, almost dropping the bottle.

“At least I’m not a gross bastard.” Steve pouts. 

“Oh, no. You’re definitely gross. Want me to prove it?” Billy looks down at him, licking slowly over his teeth. He watches Steve follow the movement with his dark eyes. 

“Shuddup and give me a drink.” Steve raises his arm to reach for the bottle but Billy keeps it out of reach.

“No, no, no! You gotta drink it grossly .” Billy grins, baring his teeth in challenge. The rum is strong and has gone to his head much faster than he anticipated but he feels nice and warm and surprisingly comfortable with Steve in his lap. 

“I’m not gross. Just give me the drink.” Steve whines the vowel out, head rolling from side to side on Billy’s thigh. 

“Yeah, okay.” Billy winks, taking a mouthful of rum. He takes hold of Steve’s chin, tugging gently. 

“No- the fuck, Billy?” Steve laughs, hand coming to push Billy's face away. Billy makes an exasperated noise, swallowing the warm rum. 

“Come on, Stevie! Be a little gross with me.” Billy winks, bouncing his thigh gently to make Steve’s head rock. He takes another gulp, holding it in his mouth and tilting Steve’s chin up. A blush has stained itself across Steve’s cheeks.

He opens his mouth, letting Billy press their lips together, rum trickling into Steve’s mouth. Steve swallows with a small noise, tongue gently touching Billy’s as he chases the taste of rum. 

Steve tastes like mint and dark chocolate, of rich rum and of something so sweetly Steve that has Billy inhaling sharply from his nose. He holds Steve’s chin, raising his knee to cradle his head between his thigh and stomach. Steve’s tongue curls over his, gasping another quiet whine into Billy’s mouth as he licks over the metal bar. 

“Okay?” Billy pulls back slightly. Steve’s eyes are darker than Billy’s ever seen them, his face red and a thin string of spit is connecting their mouths. As Steve nods, Robin punches Billy’s shoulder.

“Can you guys, like, not? I’m literally sitting here, third wheeling with a pint of ice cream.” 

“Hey! You gotta be nice to me, it’s technically my birthday.” She rolls her eyes as Billy chases the string of spit with a broad lick of his tongue over Steve’s lips.

“Gross.” Steve scrunches his nose up, biting his lip as Billy sits up. 

“Bet you want another drink though.” Billy grins. Steve pouts, relaxing into Billy’s lap and eats another spoon of ice cream. The younger boy chuckles, knowing he’s right. 

“You bite ice cream?” Billy sneers as Steve scrapes his teeth along the chunk of mint on his spoon. 

“I’ll bite you.” Steve grumbles. 

“I’ll let you. When you’re sober.” Billy strokes through Steve’s hair, pouring more rum into Robin’s ice cream. “Let me set you up with someone.” Billy prods Robin’s shoulder. “Like… a guaranteed date with a chick I choose.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?” She laughs, drinking her ice cream. 

“Because I have incredible taste!” Billy frowns, hand slipping from Steve’s hair to cover the older boy’s face defensively. Robin settles against Billy’s shoulder, spoon between her teeth. Steve drapes his legs over Robin and turns to press his face against Billy’s bare stomach. 

“Can I see your tongue?” Steve asks, breathing wet on his skin. Robin turns her head to look at Billy, raising her eyebrow. 

“ That is the taste you have.” Billy hums in agreement, trapping the rum bottle between his knees and pulling Robin to lay back on his shoulder. 

He sticks his tongue out at Steve. His long fingers stroke over his tongue, dipping behind his teeth. Steve gasps as Billy nips at his fingertips. He lets his hand fall away, tucking inside Billy’s shirt, warm palm against his ribs. 

“Will you really let me bite you when we’re sober?” Steve asks after a long, quiet moment. 

“Whatever you want, Pretty boy.” Billy rests his hand on the top of Steve’s head, stroking his fingers over his forehead. Billy closes his eyes and tips his head back until it hits the windscreen. 

He’s not sure if it’s the rum that's warming his chest and making his stomach flip, or whether it’s the comfortable weight of Steve against him, Robin beside him. Billy’s pretty sure this night means they’re friends. Actual friends, not just colour-his-hair-with-crayon friends or pick-her-books-up-off-the-floor friends.

Billy doesn’t know what him and Steve are. Whether they were friends from that night in the woods, when he showed how brave and selfless he is, how dorky he is. He wouldn’t mind being Steve’s friend, even if his stomach hurts at the thought of being just friends .

It’s got to be past three am, the air is chilly and the Beamer headlights don’t stretch very far out over the quarry drop. 

Billy’s warm and comfortable, a windscreen wiper jabbing him in the back. Steve is soft and pliant, lips pursing against Billy’s abdomen. He flexes, feeling Steve’s gasping breath. 

Robin’s snoring softly on his shoulder, melted ice cream tub on her lap.

Billy thinks of Max, back at home. She’s probably curled up in bed, stolen faded blue blanket still strewn over her covers. Her radio is tucked under her pillow, turned on but volume low, her palm pressed against it.

Cicadas chirp from the bushes, singing something soft and happy. Billy opens his eyes to look up at the sky. He can almost feel the Earth spinning beneath them, the stars winking at him. 

Cicadas chirp something pure and joyous. Billy can’t help but agree.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Inspired by this poem by Neil Hilborn

It’s September. Don’t you know, cicadas,

that it’s September? The timing

is never right, cicadas. We never get to see

water becoming ice. Nothing

is ever right. If you fall asleep you always

wake up in the same place. You can

learn to sleep but that won’t make you

a sleepwalker. You can learn to love

but that won’t make you

a prisoner. You don’t know

how to fix a bathtub drain, cicadas.

You run your finger

around the trap to clean out your long,

long hair, but every time

I tell you that, you don’t listen,

you never listen,

cicadas. It’s hard to hear music

when you are always making it. You can’t

douse a fire and then

blame the ashes. You can’t sing when it’s cold,

cicadas. Steam, cicadas,

is the opposite of song, and remember

when I told you we never

get to see when water becomes steam?

We have to communicate,

cicadas. You have to tell me

what you need before everything

falls apart. Yes, you told me once.

You can’t push once and watch something

fall over. Nothing changes just because

you want it to.