Archive of Our Own

Steve likes to think that he’s a good person.

And okay, he knows that there are many shades of gray when it comes to thinking about people in terms of bad or good. It’s not so simple, so black and white. But overall, he likes to believe that given his track record of fending off other-dimensional forces and saving lives, he can consider himself a good person.

There are certain things, however, that definitely do not fall into the good person category. Things like murder, or pouring the milk before the cereal. Or being homophobic.

Which he is not.

At least, Steve hopes he hasn’t been. He’s never considered himself to be a judgemental person, most certainly not in regards to anyone’s preferences or lifestyle choices. Homophobic is not in the list of terms he’d use to describe himself. Because he’s a good person.

But Billy bringing home a different guy every night has been beginning to get under his skin.

Which leads Steve to believe he’s not as good of a person as he’d initially thought. Right? There isn’t really any other explanation for his irritation with his friend’s sex life. He must have tapped into a hidden reservoir of homophobia that he’d previously been blissfully unaware of having.

Last night, for example, Steve had been wide awake at around two in the morning working on a paper for his international macroeconomics class. Billy had stumbled in - reeking so strongly of cheap beer and cigarettes and sweat that Steve could smell it waft through his cracked bedroom door - with a smaller, leaner boy hanging off his lips. They’d stumbled into Billy’s room without breaking apart, where the door had then been kicked shut. Steve had tried to ignore it, but seeing and hearing that had left his blood boiling. 

It’s not like Steve isn’t used to functioning in a space where someone else is getting some. He’d spent countless nights dozing on the couch while Tommy Hagan got lucky upstairs with some girl or another throughout his high school years, and Tommy could say the same for Steve. It’s just something guys do, and it never bothered Steve any then. 

Nevertheless, another night spent listening to Billy and yet another guy had bothered Steve to no end, keeping him awake, tossing and turning in his bed. Eventually, he’d fallen asleep with his headphones in, volume dialed up to ten.

The sound of Steve’s alarm comes far too quickly. Unsurprisingly, time flies when you go to bed at three and have to be up at nine.

Steve goes about his morning routine in a haze, having woken up deep in thought, like his thoughts from last night had been paused but someone hit the play button the moment he woke up.

Before before he knows it, he’s shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth with a grumble, glaring heatedly at the toaster. His sleep-deprived eyes burn from the offending sunlight pouring into the kitchen, and after having to drown out the sounds of Billy and his pick of the week during the entirety of his four short hours of shuteye, the harsh brightness isn’t doing anything for his sour mood.

“You look like a zombie,” Billy tuts as he walks into the kitchen. He struts in lazily, a pair of boxers and a shirt that’s not his slung on haphazardly, his curly hair thoroughly disheveled.

Steve thinks, almost bitterly, that Billy might as well hold up a giant sign with the words guess who got fucked? It’s me! We all know it’s me! plastered across it in big neon letters.

He feels the beginnings of a migraine and he realizes he’s been grinding his teeth in tandem with his mounting frustration. Billy is staring at him with a strange look on his face. “Huh?” Steve grunts.

“I said you look like you just rose from the grave,” Billy repeats. “What’s with you?”

Steve gathers up the sad remnants of his now soggy breakfast, his face twisting into another unpleasant scowl. “Didn’t sleep well,” he grumbles, shouldering past the other boy. “I’m going to be late for class.”

He ditches his bowl in the sink and grabs his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder before heading out the door.

The air outside is crisp and cool. Steve finally unclenches his fists and releases some of the tension in his jaw, but a bitter curl of discomfort is blossoming in his gut at the profound tension he’s feeling in his own home. It’s just not fair.

During their first two years of college, Steve and Billy were the perfect roommates. They’d forged a bond during the second half of their senior year, after Billy had been informally indoctrinated into their Upside Down defense squad. It was a bond so strong that they’d immediately chosen each other as roommates upon realizing that they’d both been accepted by Indiana State.

And it was, initially, like a match made in heaven. They were inseparable for nearly two years straight, but all good things must come to an end, Steve supposes. Because Steve has returned to Hawkins nearly every weekend since the start of the current semester, making more trips home than he’s made during the entirety of his college career.

Not to mention, they’re only four months into their junior year.

It’d started over the summer. The summer after their freshman year, Steve had sublet his room and returned to Hawkins at the request of his parents, while Billy had unsurprisingly stayed behind. But they’d texted and called each other every day, whining and complaining about anything and everything while also expressing their excitement for the upcoming term.

This past summer, however, had been different. It’d started out normal enough, with Steve returning home and Billy sending him off with a wave, giving him the finger until he’d made it to the end of their street and turned out of sight. Nothing out of the ordinary.

It wasn’t until Billy had gone barhopping one night - and met a new, interesting group of friends - that things changed. Billy had gushed about them for three days straight, and Steve had been happy for him, really. He didn’t like the idea of Billy laying around the apartment alone all summer. Knowing that he’d made some new friends made Steve happy.

Until, of course, it didn’t.

Billy’s texts and calls became more sporadic, to the point where sometimes Steve would go days without hearing a peep. And when he did, it was all about how Darren had polished off a whole bottle of tequila and went skinny dipping in a public fountain, or how Giselle had gotten them all tickets to see some band Steve had never heard of and they’d all done so much ecstasy that Billy swore it was a religious experience.

But Steve had tried. He really, really fucking tried, alright? He tried not to feel abandoned by his best friend, even after spending three lonely months in Hawkins, puttering around the big house that his parents had insisted wouldn’t be empty all summer, but, well. Life happens, as his father loves to say.

He’d tried to ignore his hurt feelings every time Billy would bombard his Instagram feed with posts about his wild nights, while the messages Steve had sent earlier in the day would remain unopened and unanswered. Even if it was a nightly occurrence, Steve tried to be okay with it all.

When he’d returned to school for the fall semester, he was still trying. He gave Billy all the smiles he could upon returning, even if they hadn't quite met his eyes. He’d even agreed to meet Billy’s new friend group, and though he was ignored virtually all night, tossed to the side like an old shoe, he was still trying. 

Steve is a very patient person. His threshold for bullshit is startlingly high, but even his abundant reserve of patience hadn’t been enough to keep that fake smile on his face for long. Not when Billy started bringing his little boy toys home, keeping Steve up at all hours of the night. 

The problem is, Steve can’t really say it’s just the noise that bothers him. 

If he’s being honest with himself, he still isn’t quite sure what bothers him about the whole situation. Because sure, hearing his best friend having sex isn’t ideal, but that’s nothing he isn’t used to, per his time spent with Tommy. Although, when becoming roommates with Billy, Steve supposes he’d more so anticipated noisy parties or Billy’s music being played too loud rather than the sounds of passionate gay sex, but whatever. Tomato potato.

And so Steve has spent the last few months going back and forth between being incredibly frustrated, and incredibly determined to understand what the hell is grinding his gears so fucking badly. He’s most recently come to the temporary conclusion that he’s jealous - a conclusion that will inevitably be replaced by the truth when he figures it out, whenever that may be.

Being jealous makes sense, at least. Though he’s not necessarily jealous of the number of guys Billy has landed in the past four months, because Steve can pull chicks left and right if he really tries. So he must be jealous of Billy’s new friends and newfound romantic life that has stolen all of the attention that his friend had formerly reserved for Steve and Steve alone.

And like, that’s normal, right? When your best friend makes new friends and subsequently spends less and less time with you, it’s normal to feel jealous, and a little hurt. But even with the normalcy of those things, it still doesn’t explain why Billy’s new life is all Steve can think about, or why it makes him this goddamn miserable.

Steve plops down onto the bench at the bus stop in front of the apartment, fishing his phone from his pocket.

He doesn’t have any new messages, only a recent Snapchat from Dustin. Seeing his other best friend’s name on his screen makes Steve wonder if Dustin would be able to give him an objective opinion. Sure, the kid is only a junior in high school, but he’s been through far more shit than most people his age. It’s certainly wisened him up a bit.

He’s dialing Dustin’s number without taking more time to think about it. The phone rings three times before anyone picks up.

“Dustin’s pooping,” Max says immediately. “Can I take a message?”

Steve snickers when he hears muffled voices shouting in the background, Dustin’s easily identifiable amongst the others. There’s a brief scuffle before he hears someone snatch up the phone.

“Christ, can you believe these assholes?” Dustin whines, his breathing labored from the previous struggle with Max. “You know, you raised these idiots. I blame you.”

“You try being a single mother and finish high school with another dimension trying to kill everyone,” Steve snorts. “You’re all still alive. I think that’s a pretty decent testament to my perseverance.”

He can practically hear Dustin roll his eyes. “You’re appreciated and you know it. You’ve got a coffee mug that says World’s Best Mom for a reason, asshole.”

“Speaking of my motherly duties,” Steve says, “why aren’t any of you in class?”

“Free period,” Dustin explains. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class? Or are college classes just a myth?”

Steve grins, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder so he can pick at his cuticles. “That’s top secret information, bud. I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Jesus,” the other boy groans, then follows it up with a laugh. “Any particular reason why you’re calling me at 9:30 in the morning on a Tuesday? Or’s all this just for shits and giggles?”

Now gnawing on his thumbnail, Steve considers how to broach the subject. It’s not like he could simply say Billy keeps bringing home a new dude to fuck every other night and it’s driving me up the wall, but I’m pretty sure it’s not the fucking itself that’s bothering me, it’s maybe just the fact that they’re guys. So, homophobe? Me? Yes, no, maybe? Please submit your response within one to two business days.

“Can I ask you a, um…gay-related question?” Steve finally asks, his cheeks heating up.

Sure, the delivery was terrible, but it’s not an unreasonable question. Dustin came out as bisexual during his freshman year of high school, and other than Billy, he’s the most knowledgeable person Steve knows in this particular area. If he hopes to find a solution to his predicament, Dustin is the only person he can realistically turn to at the moment. Billy is most certainly out of the question.

“Is this it? Am I finally witnessing Steve Harrington’s gay awakening?” Dustin jests, though there’s a distinct undercurrent of excitement in his voice. “We welcome you with open arms.”

“Oh my god,” Steve groans, rolling his eyes. “First of all, we aren’t on FaceTime, so you aren’t witnessing shit. And second, I’m still straight as an arrow. I just want that on the record. But, um. I really do need your help with something.”

“Billy will absolutely not want assless chaps for his birthday, Steve. I can tell you that now, so don’t bother asking.”

“Jesus Christ, no,” Steve snaps, sighing. “I already bought his present, and it’s not assless fucking chaps. It’s just…have I ever been homophobic? Or…anything-phobic? To you? Or with Billy, that you’ve like, noticed, or whatever?”

“Dude, you’re like, the least homophobic person I know,” Dustin tells him with a snort. “I mean, you’ve had your ‘straight’ moments for sure, but you always learn from your mistakes, and you came through with getting educated on the culture when I came out to you.”

“That’s what I thought too, you know? But I don’t know, I just…” Steve trails off, biting his lip.

“Did something happen?” Dustin asks. His voice has taken on a more serious edge.

Steve continues chewing on his thumbnail, cringing when he bites into the nailbed. “Sort of? Not really. I don’t know. Billy has been bringing home different guys multiple times a week since August, and it’s starting to seriously get on my nerves,” he begins, then pauses to consider his next words.

“So…is that the whole thing?” Dustin inquires.

And then comes the word vomit. “I just…I don’t get why the fuck it bothers me so much? I have this feeling like, maybe it’s annoying me because they’re guys? I know that sounds terrible, but it’s just…he’s going to do that with them and just flaunt it in my face like that? In our apartment? The apartment we picked out and decorated together? Like, we made it feel like a real home together, you know?”

Dustin makes a noise like he’s about to respond, but Steve barrels on, “and let me just make it clear that none of these guys have really been all that good looking. I mean, maybe if you like sweaty douchebags with tribal tattoos who take more than ten milligrams of Adderall and act like they’ve opened their third eye. Full offense intended. He can definitely do better, but that’s just one man’s opinion.”

“You finished?” the other boy asks after a brief pause. Steve just makes a noise of acknowledgment. “Alright. Well. You’ve given me a lot of shit to unpack here, man. Do you have class soon?”

“Half an hour,” Steve tells him. “I’m just sitting at the bus stop. Needed to get out of the apartment for a bit.”

Dustin hums thoughtfully, then clucks his tongue. “I can work with that. But let me just go ahead and establish that none of what I’m about to say is a joke, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Steve agrees, sitting up a little straighter. “This is now a joke-free zone. Got it.”

“Well, for starters, homophobic still isn’t really the word that comes to mind after what you just told me,” Dustin starts, and even after his vow of seriousness, Steve can almost hear the smile in his voice. “but you may be feeling another kind of homo, sure.”

“Dustin, that makes zero sense and is in no way helpful,” Steve retorts. “You said you were going to be serious.”

“I am being serious, hand to God. Just listen. The way you just talked about the guys Billy is sleeping with? I mean come on, dude. Take a second to think about everything you just said to me, seriously,” Dustin orders. “The answer is literally right there.”

“I…yeah, no. I still don’t get it.”

“Really?” Dustin nearly shouts, and Steve can visualize him throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Christ, you’re the most oblivious person I’ve ever met, and I mean that in the most loving way possible.”

“Would you just spit it out? I’m clearly not getting any smarter here,” Steve huffs. Even though Dustin can’t see him, he still folds his arms over his chest and pouts like a petulant child.

“Fine, look. You’re jealous, that much is obvious. And no, I don’t mean you’re jealous that he’s getting laid and you’re not, so don’t give me any of that shit,” Dustin says, cutting Steve off before he can protest. “You don’t care that they’re guys, you care that they’re not you. You like Billy, dude. For some godforsaken reason, you totally have the hots for Billy Hargrove.”

“Oh my god, ew!” Max’s voice becomes audible once again. She must grab the phone, because this time, he hears her loud and clear, “you want to sleep with my brother? God, I thought you had taste, Steve. I’m so disappointed.”

“Okay, that is grossly oversimplifying things,” he hears Dustin argue. “He wants to date him too, Max. Steve’s like, kind of a gentleman. Billy’s the slut.”

“My brother is not a slut!” Max protests, then pauses before saying, “actually, yeah, he’s a slut, you’re right. But can you blame him? He’s been in love with Steve for like, a century.”

“What?” Steve chokes, nearly dropping the phone. He doesn’t need to look in a mirror to know that his face is cherry red.

“That has yet to be proven!” Dustin yelps. Steve can hear him yank the phone away from Max. “She’s right though. He’s so in love with you that it’s gross.”

“You’re both insane,” is all Steve can manage. His heart feels like it’s about to beat right out of his chest. “I am not hot for Billy, and he is not in love with me. That doesn’t even remotely make sense.”

Dustin snorts. “Steve, let me ask you something. Are you repulsed by gay people? By any member of the LGBT community? Do you find any aspect of the community disgusting, wrong, weird, or anything along those lines?”

“Of course not,” Steve answers immediately. “I could never.”

“Okay, so. Why are you somehow under the impression that you’re annoyed by the gender of Billy’s sexual partners? Please, explain that to me. Make it make sense.”

“Because…because…fuck, I don’t know! The hell else would it be? Unless…but no, no. That’s not - I can’t be gay. I dated Nancy. Who’s a woman. You know, seeing as how she has boobs. And a vagina. See how that might contradict your little theory here?” Steve questions. He feels like he’s won, but then again he’s not sure what he was competing for, or when he’d even started competing in the first place.

“Okay, it’s important to me that you understand that you don’t have to have boobs or a vagina to be a woman, so jot that the fuck down,” Dustin says, his voice stern. “It’s also important to me that you understand the revolutionary concept of liking both men and women. It’s called bisexuality, perhaps you’ve heard of it -”

“Bisexual? Me?” Steve blurts. His eyes blink rapidly as he tries to digest Dustin’s words. His mind races, so many thoughts rushing through his head at once that he feels the beginnings of a cluster headache.

“Yeah, you. Unless you’ve been using yourself as a metaphor for someone else.” Steve hears Dustin’s words, but his brain is too full to process them completely.

It really doesn’t make sense, at all. In any way, shape, or form. Unless - dare Steve even think it - it’s not as crazy as it seems. Steve Harrington, bisexual. There’s something that feels right about that. Something that clicks into place. Not in a painfully obvious way, like some big revelation accompanied by rainbows and glitter. But things start to make sense.

Why else would he be so annoyed - no, not annoyed. Sad. Why else would he be so sad about losing so much of Billy’s time and attention? Sure, having a best friend grow distant and unattentive after finding the confidence to throw themselves back into the dating pool can really suck. It can cause a lot of jealousy and hurt, that’s for sure, in more ways than one.

Yet Steve knows, deep down, that this jealousy doesn’t truly stem from his friend trying to find that sort of happiness. He can see now that the jealousy stems from the fact that Billy would rather share intimacy with seemingly anyone on the planet but him, that he’s been feeling such a profound sadness over seeing Billy fall into bed with each new guy because clearly, Steve just isn’t good enough.

Honestly, he doesn’t know what’s worse: feeling like a raging asshole for thinking he’s just bent out of shape about Billy’s sexual preferences, or knowing now that he feels so terrible about the whole situation simply because Billy doesn’t want him. The latter is enough to make his heart squeeze and his stomach drop.

He can see now that what he has with Billy is different. It’s special, rare, and the most important fucking thing in the world to Steve. He can’t help but feel like the world’s biggest idiot for failing to realize that until now. And though their relationship has been tumultuous since the moment they met, there’s nothing in the world that has made Steve feel so secure and accepted.

Steve can’t deny that they still butt heads more often than not. But even though there’s still non-stop aggression between Billy and himself, even though they still fight, still push and shove, still find themselves in a constant struggle with no winner, it’s so obvious now that there will never be a winner of that fight.

At least, Steve hopes there isn’t. He loves butting heads with Billy, because it’s been a very long time since there’s been any real malice or ill will behind any of it. The aggressiveness between them is just how they are, a now playful and familiar theme in their lives. He doesn’t want that to stop.

But they’re also soft and comforting and caring and gentle with one another. When they’re alone, when it’s just the two of them in their own little world, they’re still Steve and Billy, but with softer edges and warmer smiles. With Billy, he’d created a home. And he doesn’t want that to stop, either.

“Dustin, I totally think I’m bisexual,” Steve finally says. There’s something akin to wonder in his voice.

The other boy chuckles at this. “Congrats, buddy. Welcome to your new life, starting now.”

“But seriously, it kind of is a new life,” Steve replies. He feels his heart doing a funny dance behind his ribcage. “But how do I tell Billy that I’ve been acting so weird because I thought I was homophobic but it turns out I’m just really upset that the guy that’s boning him isn’t me?”

“Honestly,” Dustin says thoughtfully, “that’s actually not a bad way to break it.”

Steve considers this, then deflates a little. “I don’t even know why I bothered asking. He obviously doesn’t feel the same way.”

“Dude, trust me, he definitely does. He looks at you like you hung the stars in the goddamn sky, I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. It's kind of gross, honestly.”

“Except if he really felt that way, he wouldn’t be literally plowing his way through every guy at Indiana State. And the surrounding area.” Steve is only slightly bitter. Slightly.

“Steve, he’s been under the impression since, I don’t know, the beginning of fucking time itself that you’re straight. Nothing will break your heart worse than falling for someone who you think has no capacity to ever return those feelings, believe me,” Dustin tells him. “And what better way to cure a broken heart than fuck it out of your system?”

“I’m going to pretend like you know that because of movies, and not from personal experience. Because as your second mother, that is not information that I need at all,” Steve faux gags.

“Sure, fine. Whatever makes you happy,” Dustin hums absentmindedly. “Look, however you want to deal with this whole Billy situation is up to you. If you really don’t think he feels the same way, there’s no requirement that you have to tell him how you feel.”

“I just feel like I would know, you know? I’ve been living with him for over two years. It’s something I think I would’ve picked up on by now,” Steve says with a dejected shrug.

Dustin heaves a tired sigh. “If that’s what your gut is telling you, then listen to it if you feel like it’s the right thing to do,” he says easily. “But you’ve been seeing him for so long through the lenses of a straight guy, right? Maybe now that you’ve realized you’re not as straight as you thought, you need to take another look at everything through new lenses.”

“You’re probably right,” Steve murmurs, mostly to himself. He looks up in surprise when the campus bus comes screeching to a stop in front of him, and quickly checks his watch. “Shit, I’m going to be late for class. I’ll use my new sexuality glasses or whatever to look at all the, uh. The things.”

“Through new bisexual lenses, but close enough,” Dustin snickers. “Call me later if you need to.”

They say their goodbyes, and then Steve hangs up and scrambles onto the bus before the doors can shut and leave him behind. He slumps into one of the few remaining seats, rubbing his temples. The amount of information that has just been thrown at him is incredibly overwhelming. There’s so much bouncing around in his head that it’s hard to make sense of anything.

He could make a list, try to organize it all. People who have their shit together do that, right? He may not have his shit fully together, or at all, but he’s competent enough to make a simple fucking list. It’s a step in the right direction, at least. And honestly, that’s about as good as it’s going to get.

For now.

International macroeconomics is significantly more difficult than Steve had been expecting, but it’s a class he enjoys nonetheless. Today, however, he feels like he’s going to crawl out of his own skin if he has to listen to another minute of the lecture.

“Could you stop tapping your pen?” the girl next to him asks.

Steve stops tapping his pen against the tabletop, giving the girl an only mildly sour look. When he looks back at the clock, only thirteen seconds have passed, and he finally gives up. He grabs his bag and nearly sprints out the door, saying goodbye to his attendance for the day, reminding himself that he at least turned in his paper. Definitely the more important of the two.

The bus ride back to the apartment is spent in silence. He knows Billy doesn’t have classes on Fridays, which means he’ll either be home or at work. And given that Steve had seen Billy’s schedule on the fridge and Friday had been labeled off, the other boy will without a doubt be home. Steve can’t help but hope that Billy decided to hit the gym or run some errands in his downtime. It’d save him a whole lot of trouble.

Soon, the bus is pulling up to the apartment complex and Steve is beginning to think he should’ve seen macro through to the end in order to give himself some more time to think, or devise a plan of action, or at least come up with something to say.

When he walks into the apartment, the first thing he sees is Billy wrapped up in the fluffy maroon blanket that Steve always curls up in during his weekend Netflix binges. He can’t help but smile, though it falters when Billy catches his eye.

“They cut class short or are you just being lazy again?” Billy asks, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“Couldn’t focus,” Steve mutters. He tosses his bag onto the kitchen table and makes his way to the squashy armchair adjacent to the couch that Billy is currently lounging on. “I turned in my paper, so whatever.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a macro paper due,” Billy says accusingly. It registers momentarily in Steve’s brain that the other boy knows his schedule. It shouldn’t be such a major thing, given that they live together, but it causes an unmistakable curl of satisfaction to blossom in his gut.

Steve yawns and stretches. “I guess I forgot, it’s been kind of busy this week. I finished it at like two or three this morning.”

There’s a moment of silence where something flickers across Billy’s face that almost looks like dawning realization, and then maybe even guilt. “Well, shit. Sorry if I was loud when I came in, I thought you’d be asleep. And you know, you usually sleep like the dead, so…”

“What was his name?” Steve blurts out the question before his brain can catch up with him. When it does, he’s slightly horrified. “I mean, the - um. That wasn’t - Jesus Christ. So...anyway, good talk - uh. Bye.”

Steve feels his face burning as he makes a beeline for the sanctuary of his bedroom. He hears Billy’s footsteps following behind him, and it has him feeling like a caged animal with nowhere to run.

“You’re being weird,” Billy remarks, crossing his arms and leaning against Steve’s door frame. Steve is puttering around his room trying to find something to occupy his hands, anything to distract himself from the trainwreck of a conversation he’d just had. “Steve, would you stop acting like a spaz and just spit it out? You’re giving me motion sickness.”

“Why do you have to be so you all the time?” Steve actually shouts this time. It’s unintentional, but the words don’t feel like ones that can be said at any other volume. They’re too dramatic to be spoken in an inside voice. “I mean, you’re infuriating!”

Billy arches a brow. “This isn’t new information, Steve.”

Steve cackles wildly, and he knows he must look crazed at this point. “Of course it’s not. Nothing is new to you. Nothing surprises you or affects you because you’re the all-knowing Billy, one of the wonders of the world, for your reservoir of knowledge exceeds that of the universe. Well, guess what, I finally know something you don’t know.”

“Steve -”

He doesn’t really know who or what he’s most annoyed at. Billy quite a bit, himself for sure, but there’s something else and he thinks it may just be the situation itself reaching its peak. Steve feels incredibly tired all of a sudden, and he wishes, not for the first time, that his life could just be simple and easy for once.

“Forget it,” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m just tired. I’ll feel better once I take a nap.”

It’s a bold-faced lie, and both of them know it. But Billy, despite his abrasive demeanor, is never one to push Steve’s boundaries. He knows that when Steve is ready to talk about something, he’ll talk. The only problem now is that Steve isn’t quite sure he’ll ever be ready, or brave enough, to talk about this.

“You want the door open or closed?” Is all Billy asks. His voice is quiet and gentle, and Steve wants to cry.

“Closed,” he tells him, then flops down onto his bed. “Thanks.”

When he hears the door click shut, he grabs a pillow and hugs it to his chest, burying his face into it with a pitiful whine. Steve feels like a child, bitching and moaning about the unfairness of his life instead of nutting up and doing something about his problems.

He just can’t help but be the slightest bit petrified that if his feelings are addressed, if he tells Billy how he feels, then things will never be the same. Because no matter what Dustin or Max might say, he genuinely doesn’t see how those feelings could be reciprocated on Billy’s end.

Steve has never even so much as suspected that Billy might be interested in him, and just because he’s supposedly been seeing his friend from a purely heterosexual perspective until now, he can’t help but feel like he would’ve noticed something, anything, by now.

Steve groans, rolling onto his stomach. He tries to will himself to get up, to go sit down with Billy like an adult and lay all his cards out on the table. But he’s scared, plain and simple. He doesn’t want to lose his best friend, he doesn’t know if he could handle that on top of being rejected.

So instead of doing the mature thing, Steve swaddles himself in his blankets and falls into a restless slumber, hoping he can just sleep away his problems.

It doesn’t quite work. He sleeps away the afternoon, only rousing when an obnoxiously loud car horn blares outside his window. Steve groans, rolling over and looking at his clock. It’s only seven, but the sun has all but set, cloaking his room in near-darkness. The apartment is quiet, enough so that it makes his ears ring.

He tiptoes out of his bedroom, only to be greeted by more silence. The door to Billy’s room is ajar, though it’s empty and dark, as is the rest of the apartment. He doesn’t know when the other boy left; he’d slept so hard that a bomb could’ve gone off and he wouldn’t have stirred. But now that he’s awake, he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

Steve trudges into the living room and plops himself down onto the couch. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and checks his notifications, squinting in order to shield his eyes from the brightness of his screen. He has a few texts from Dustin and one from Max, and a few Twitter notifications from Nancy.

Fleetingly, he wonders if Nancy would be able to help him with his current predicament. She’s always been his most mature and responsible friend, and she’s certainly never been shy about being brutally honest with him. Which, at the moment, some brutal honesty and level-headed advice are probably exactly what he needs.

Not only that, but given that she goes to the Rose-Hulman Institute of Technology and lives just twenty minutes from him, meeting with her would be very convenient.

hey nance - 7:39 p.m.

have time to grab a bite? - 7:39 p.m.

It only takes a moment to get a response.

always :) fifi’s sound good? - 7:41 p.m.

Steve smiles, quickly firing back a text confirming the location as well as the time. He feels a little more settled and less on edge. Nancy tends to have that effect, it’s one of the reasons he’d fallen in love with her all those years ago. And though their incompatibility had been too great to ignore, Nancy has remained one of his closest and most trusted friends.

He shoves his feet into his shoes and grabs his keys before slipping out the door, vowing to use this time with Nancy wisely and get his shit together in regards to this Billy situation. If there’s one person in the world that can help him sort this mess out, it’s Nancy Wheeler.

He’d be a goddamn fool not to take advantage of that.

“You’ve hardly touched your food. Care to tell me what’s really going on?”

Steve slumps even further into his seat with a sigh, tossing the cold french fry he’d been fiddling with back onto his plate.

“You know how I used to get myself into trouble pretty much any chance I could get?” Steve asks, releasing the lip he’d been chewing on from between his teeth.

Nancy snorts. “Used to? I think you’re being a little too generous, Steve.”

“Fair point,” he acknowledges with a smile. “I, uh. Did it again, but this time I don’t know if I can figure out a way out of this mess by myself. It’s kind of been a really confusing day.”

“Confusing how?” Nancy inquires, propping her elbows onto the table and resting her chin on her clasped hands.

Steve heaves another sigh, accidentally biting down on the inside of his cheek so hard that his mouth floods with the metallic taste of blood. “Dustin thinks I’m - well. He thinks I’m bi. And I think I am too.”

“I can’t say I’m completely surprised,” Nancy tells him, but gives him a warm, gentle smile. “I can see how that can be confusing, at first.”

“What really sucks is that that’s not even the most confusing part,” Steve replies. He buries his face into his hands with a groan. “I think I’m in love with Billy, Nance.”

There’s a momentary pause where Nancy just studies him, her expression perfectly neutral. Then she cracks a small smile and says, “I can’t really say I’m surprised by that, either.”

“Apparently Dustin wasn’t either,” Steve says meekly, “or Max. Though she didn’t say it in so many words.”

“You’ve always been more inclined to love based on feelings and emotions above anything else,” Nancy acknowledges. “And honestly, I’ve never seen you more in your feelings than when you’re with Billy.”

“Which is funny to me, because I had no idea until a few hours ago,” he says. “And when I realized what I’ve been so goddamn oblivious about for so long, I went home and slept. Because I’m a real adult, obviously.”

“Have you talked to him at all?” Nancy asks, taking a bite of her chicken wrap.

Steve flushes bright red. “Uh, yeah. Kind of. It didn’t really go well. I freaked out.”

Nancy gives him another comforting smile, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “That’s perfectly understandable, Steve. You know that, right? I mean, it’s reasonable to be a little overwhelmed, especially given that it’s been, like, barely half a day since you had these big realizations.”

He knows she’s right. Which isn’t surprising, because throughout the entire time that Steve has known her, Nancy has very rarely ever been wrong. But it still doesn’t solve the even bigger problem that he’s having.

“I just don’t know what to do about Billy,” Steve admits. “I mean, we live together. Dustin is convinced that he’s in love with me. Max too. But I just…I don’t see it. And I feel like if I tell him how I feel, I’ll ruin everything.”

“Well,” Nancy begins, giving him a secretive smile, “I wasn’t going to say anything, in case it would be out of line. But I have to agree with Dustin and Max.”

“Seriously? You too?” Steve practically yelps, incredulous. “Am I the only person on this goddamn planet that just doesn’t fucking see it?”

“I think you just might be,” she laughs, then sobers, assessing him with kind eyes. “Do you want my opinion on this, or do you just want to vent?”

“Both,” he answers honestly. “But I’ve vented enough. Your opinion is what I came here for in the first place. You’ve always been the smart one, Nance.”

“You are smart, Steve,” she chastises, “you just doubt yourself too much. But you have been a little clueless about this. I mean, pretty much everyone could see how Billy felt about you the moment you two met.”

“And I’ve been in the dark for over three years,” Steve mutters. “Typical.”

“Look. Everything he did initially…you know he had a lot of reasons. But all of it was also so obviously done just to be close to you, in the only way he knew how,” Nancy says, clasping her hands together. “And then when you became friends, he leapt at the chance to live with you, because he loves you. In more ways than one. If he couldn’t be with you, being close to you would have to suffice.”

Steve blinks, processing her words. “But why wouldn’t he just tell me? I mean, why choose to suffer like that instead of just saying something?”

“Steve, listen to yourself,” she huffs, exasperated. “Why are you choosing to suffer instead of just saying something?”

“But…that’s different. It’s different. It has to be different,” Steve objects, his head spinning for the hundredth time today. 

Because she has a point, a point that makes far too much sense. If Steve is terrified out of his mind at the thought of telling Billy how he feels for fear of ruining everything that they already have, then why couldn’t it be the same on Billy’s end?

“And yet it isn’t,” Nancy says softly. “He got accepted into UCLA, his dream school, but he chose to go where you were going. He chose to live with you instead of getting his own place, like he’d always planned and saved for. He’s spent the last few years dedicating all of his time and energy to you. Every spare moment, every last one, has been yours, without question. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.”

Another long series of truths. Steve feels his stomach churn, maybe with regret, or guilt. He still tries to deny it all anyway. “Maybe I’d buy that if, you know, he wasn't regularly sleeping with half the guys on campus every other night.”

“Oh, come on,” Nancy groans, rolling her eyes. “Both you and Billy have been under the impression that you’re straight. If he’s started seeing other people, it’s because he’s finally trying to move on from how he feels about you, because it hasn’t been reciprocated. That’s not unreasonable, Steve.”

She’s right and Steve knows it. He doesn’t like that he knows it, but he does. “If he’s moving on, then what’s the point of me even trying to tell him how I feel?” His voice is laced with bitterness.

“No one is saying you have to,” she says with a shrug. “But don’t you think you’ll regret it if you never say anything?”

It’s a heavily weighted question, and Steve takes his time considering it. There are a lot of risks in telling his best friend how he feels. If everyone else is wrong, if Billy doesn’t feel that way about him, it could ruin their friendship. They’ll be trapped in an apartment together, dancing around each other awkwardly, trying to just stick out their living situation until the end of their lease.

But if Billy feels the same way, Steve could be with the person he cares about the most in the world. He could be the one pleasing Billy every night, holding him and caring for him and loving him. His clothes could be the ones Billy throws on in the morning before moseying into the kitchen to make Steve his coffee the way only Billy knows he likes, better than Steve could ever hope to make it.

They could finally be everything Steve now feels like they were always meant to be. The way they should have been all along, would have been, if Steve hadn’t been so stubborn and blind.

“I should tell him,” he says finally. “I have to tell him.”

“I think you’re right,” Nancy agrees, her soft smile back once again. “Actually, I know you’re right. And you know I’m never wrong.”

Steve gives her an appreciative smile, and this time he’s the one reaching across the table to grasp her hand. “Thank you, Nance. Seriously. I have to…I need to go home. I have to talk to him.”

“Go on then,” she says easily, giving his hand one last squeeze.

They quickly say their goodbyes, and Steve darts out of the diner after tossing a few bills onto the table. The air outside is bitterly cold, as all evenings are during November in Indiana. It helps clear his head a little, so he cranks down his windows during the drive back to the apartment, hoping to be in a more level headspace when he arrives.

The drive is far too quick. Objectively, he knew it would take him less than fifteen minutes to arrive, but as Steve unlocks the front door, he wishes that he’d had more time to compose himself. He finds himself hoping that Billy is still out of the apartment as he walks in.

No such luck.

The television is on, and whatever Billy is watching is playing rather loudly, but it fades into the background when their eyes meet.

“Hey,” Billy acknowledges quietly, grabbing the remote and lowering the volume. “Feeling any better?”

“Yeah, totally,” Steve answers absentmindedly. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “You have a second to talk?”

“I have all sorts of seconds,” the other boy says easily. His lips quirk up into a gentle smile and it makes Steve’s heart do a funny dance.

Steve heads to where Billy is seated, sitting at the opposite end of the couch. “So, it’s come to my attention that I’ve been unbelievably fucking stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Billy supplies immediately, giving him a stern look. “We’ve been over this. Several times.”

“Sure, sure,” Steve chuckles, but he still feels on edge, wound too tightly. “But recently. I’ve been very stupid. And an asshole. To you more than anyone.”

“You haven’t -”

“I’m in love with you,” Steve blurts before he can stop himself. “And for the last few months I’ve been under the impression that I’ve been this homophobic piece of shit because you keep bringing home these annoying, smelly little bar hags - yes, bar hags, thank you - and -”

“Steve, hold on -” Billy starts, but Steve cuts him off. He can’t stop; he feels like a champagne bottle being uncorked.

“I thought I was annoyed because I was bothered by dudes fucking other dudes, but then I realized that I’m just annoyed because I want to be the guy fucking you, all the time, everywhere, at any hour of the day,” Steve rambles, wringing his hands. “I want to fuck you until you can’t think about anyone but me. And then I want to keep fucking you after that, every day, for as long as you’ll let me.”

Billy has an odd expression on his face. It’s almost pained at first, and then it fades into questioning, then to his own version of realization. And then acceptance, and finally peace. It’s stark in contrast to what Steve’s version of realization had been.

“You idiot,” Billy murmurs. “You absolute, unbelievable idiot.”

Steve blinks at him, and then, “I don’t quite think that’s fair.”

There’s a pause, and Billy is just looking at him, searching his face as though he’s analyzing everything he sees there. He probably is, because he’s weird like that. “You could’ve just said so.”

“Yeah, okay. Good one,” Steve snorts.

“You have got to be the most oblivious person I’ve ever met,” Billy sighs, rolling his eyes. It comes off as endearing rather than annoyed. “If they gave out scholarships to people based on cluelessness, you’d have a full ride here.”

“Okay, dickhead, maybe now is a good time for an explanation,” Steve snaps, frustrated with the shift in conversation, suddenly turning light and jubilant whereas he himself still remains unsettled and raw.

“I’ve wanted you to fuck me since the day we met,” Billy says with a shrug, as though it’s the most obvious and simplest of facts. Steve feels his jaw unhinge and fall open. “It was driving me nuts. ‘S why I started bringing my ‘smelly little bar hags’ back. I figured I’d have known by now if you were interested, and I had to relieve the tension somehow. But, now I know.”

Billy makes a move to turn the television volume back up, but Steve lurches over and grabs his arm before he can. “Wait - so what does that mean? For us?”

“What do you think it means?” Billy asks, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t - you didn’t give me anything to go on. Except that you want me to fuck you,” Steve says, and Billy nods slowly, almost as if to say yeah? And?  “I just - that’s not all I wanted to - why is this so hard, what the fuck?”

Billy pushes himself forward, then cups the sides of Steve’s face in his hands. “Steve, you’re thinking way too hard right now. Just stop, take a breath, and chill.”

“How am I supposed to be chill when you want me to fuck you but I don’t even know if that means you like me or if you even want me to like you or if you just want me to -”

Steve gets cut off by Billy’s lips pressing against his own, and oh. So that’s what people mean when they say and everything just fell into place. For once, there’s no undercurrent of aggression. Billy’s lips are incredibly soft - in fact, everything about him is soft.

He’s in wool sweats and a soft cotton t-shirt, topped off with fuzzy socks, and his hair is freshly washed - Steve can smell his shampoo and feel the softness of the strands between his fingers as he threads them through his curls. Billy tastes like honey and the chamomile tea he always drinks in the evenings. It’s a soft, tender kiss that doesn’t last nearly long enough before Billy is pulling back.

“I love you, dumbass,” Billy finally replies. “I wouldn’t want just anyone to fuck me.”

“But you -” Steve begins, but this time Billy cuts him off.

“I might’ve fucked plenty of people in my life,” Billy continues, almost shyly, “but getting fucked, well. Never wanted to do that, to let anyone do that - never, until you.”

Steve takes a deep breath, because duh. Billy’s only thought for a large chunk of his life was to survive, his only goal: self-preservation. Giving himself to Steve in such an intimate and vulnerable way would be the ultimate show of trust. Of course that’s Billy’s way of expressing his love. In terms of who fucks who. And it’s so perfect, so them, and Steve is so gone on him that he can’t help but dig himself into the hole just a little deeper.

Steve pulls a hand from Billy’s hair so he can find one of the other boy’s hands and thread their fingers together. “So, you love me.”

Billy grins. “So, I love you.”

If he’s being perfectly honest, Steve is getting a little sick of the dramatic pauses. But this one, the one right before they meet for another kiss, vibrates with a new kind of energy. It feels light, joyful, and unburdened in the light of new possibilities.

It feels like home.