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‘Fragile’ is the first word Steve might use to describe this balance they’ve ended up in, half on accident. It’s an unfamiliar place, one that Steve never could’ve imagined before. An alternate reality, untouched by the laws of the mundane world. Everything is secret here, holy in an aching way, and it can’t be brought into the daylight and desecrated. A strong wind blows against it’s dim-colored glass walls, and some days it’s only held up by iron will, nothing else.
It’s strange, how they both do want to keep those walls standing and whole. It’s difficult to remember how they left behind all the pain and the frenzy of rage and arrived here, in this temperate storm’s eye.
Steve still carries small scars on the skin of his face, ones that have faded until they can barely be seen, but that will never completely heal. In the morning he looks into the mirror and strokes one with his fingertips; he doesn’t feel it, not really. His gaze slides from the tissue that replaced the wounds and touches other small hurts. Bruises on his neck, and then, through the open bathroom door, the bed and the mess of golden curls on the wrinkled pillowcase.
He turns the tap and lets the cold water rush into cupped hands. Takes a sip. Towels his hands dry and returns to the bedroom.
Sleeping, Billy looks the part. Fragile. His eyelashes rest against the bruise-dark skin under his eyes and a hand grips the sheets where there’s still warmth left over from Steve’s dreams.
The edge of danger that usually colors him strong is gone like this, in the mornings. In these tiny moments of peace that Billy steals from the world when he’s here.
-
Despite its fragility, the glass structure stays intact. They have no choice but to hold it up, in spite of its heavy weight.
From the outside it looks like nothing’s really changed. They play well together on the court, and the coach is happy with them. Off it, there’s a cool concord between them; each stays out of the other’s way. Billy lets his stolen royal status slip through his fingers, but he remains popular, wanted, the mystical stranger. He still gets invited to all the parties where Steve no longer has a place. Steve sits in the cafeteria with Jonathan and Nancy and tries not to feel like a pointless decoration.
It’s different outside school. When his parents are away, Steve keeps all of his doors and windows locked, but Billy knows where he’s hidden the spare key.
Billy stays away from the shadow of his father as much as he can, only going home to sleep and sometimes to pick up Max when she needs a ride to school. Billy has a job at a hardware store, and though the pay isn’t much, it builds into savings. Billy hides bills in several places, just to keep them as safe from Neil as they can be. There are rolls of them in the side pockets of his backpack, in Steve’s sock drawer.
Most of the money goes into an account that Billy’s opened in the smaller bank in town. Neil will never pay for an education, but the account is out of his touch. Steve watches it all with quiet pride; how the money builds and how, little by little, it brings a certainty that allows Billy’s shoulders to relax and lower, allows the hands that curl into fists of anger all too often, finally to open.
Often, at night, Billy drives his car to Steve’s yard, and Steve settles on the front seat of the Camaro. They drive somewhere, music too loud and the windows at least partway open to let the cigarette smoke out. Sometimes they drink cheap beer, sometimes they share a pair of earbuds and listen to ballads that Billy’d never admit he likes. Sometimes they stay out long enough that the sunset fades away, leaving the sky black and starbright, and that’s when they dare to kiss, like that. Out in the crisp air, surrounded by darkness and silence.
It stays like that, the balance stays unbreakable. Steve buries his hands in Billy’s hair and pulls him close, so that there’s no room for daytime pretense between them.
-
There are also nights when they don’t go anywhere. Billy finds the key under the windowsill and creeps in like a burglar. He finds Steve in the living room, or he goes up the stairs to knock quietly on the frame of the half-open door. Steve has heard the steps on the stairs, has known to wait for him; only Billy can sound like he’s both hurrying and stomping impassively at the same time.
Steve reaches out a hand and pulls Billy to him, and Billy comes easy. They both have all these secrets, these dysfunctions, but this they’ve already learned; how to pull the other close and hold him there. How to strip, fast and frenetic, while holding each other almost unbearably carefully, as their lips move in a perfect rhythm.
Sometimes it’s all fast, angry echoes of the beginning of this relationship, mingling with new fights and new hurts.
Sometimes it’s so slow and gentle that it hurts like a knife in the stomach, like a fist that hits the face too hard. Sometimes Billy looks Steve in the eye, and Steve feels so much that he scares himself.
-
“You know how easy this could end, right?” Billy says into the dusk on the third day of April, his gaze locked on the ceiling in Steve’s bedroom. Billy brings up the dubious balance for the first time, unexpected, abrupt.
Steve makes a questioning sound. This isn’t a thing they talk about. They don’t talk about anything that’s so close to these dangerous waters, so close to the truths between them. Feelings are a forbidden place, and the future’s only spoken of in vacillating terms. Neither of them wants to stay in Hawkins for the rest of his life, but there has been no agreement that they’d leave together.
“I’m not… right”, Billy continues.
Steve turns on his side and looks at Billy, trying to understand what the creased brow and the serious look are trying to say, or perhaps what they’re trying to hide.
“What do you mean?”
“It’d be enough for me to… to get angry, just once.” Billy’s voice crumbles into a whisper at the last word.
“That’s what you’re scared of?” Steve answers, whispering as well. It’s what he should be afraid of, too. He should know that boys grow up to be their fathers, should know that Neil’s violent blood flows through Billy just as strong as Steve’s parents’ faults flow through him.
“I’m not scared of anything”, Billy says, his eyes still on the shadows on the ceiling.
“I don’t believe you”, Steve hums. Billy turns to him now, and now his face is colored by irritation. Steve continues before he has time to snarl anything.
“That’s why I’m not too worried. Because you’re scared.”
Steve should worry. The scars on his face remind him of that every day, but he doesn’t want to. He can’t keep worrying and guessing and waiting forever.
After that night, Billy has never hurt him. On the contrary, he’s asked permission even for gentle touches, with disjointed words and stolen glances. He’s been angry after that night, for sure, a thousand times. At Steve, at his father, at himself, but he’s never lifted a hand again. He’s screamed and raged and left, slamming the doors behind him, but he’s never once lifted a hand.
Maybe Steve should still expect it, should protect himself and stay away.
He no longer knows how, nor does he want to. He smiles into the darkness and presses a soft kiss on Billy’s bare shoulder.
-
The balance remains unbroken precisely because they don’t talk about it.
Steve has all these feelings and wishes, but he keeps them in and only takes what he can get; The wordless nearness. The steady hands on his body and the sweetly unsure way that Billy crawls back next to him under the covers after having a smoke early in the morning. The vague way Billy caresses Steve late at night when he thinks he’s already fallen asleep. The fingers shifting through his hair.
Steve does feel that he’s not the only one leaving these things unsaid. It’s all in Billy’s hands on his skin, but neither of them wants to bring it up.
Two boys teetering on the threshold of adulthood. That’s what they are. Holding onto the door frame so hard it hurts, knuckles white, because they’re not brave enough to hold onto each other.
Billy sits on the edge of the bed, looking at the college brochures the overly enthusiastic student counselor gives abundances of to anyone who doesn’t escape fast enough. Billy could become an engineer of some kind, maybe. That’s what he’s apparently been thinking about. He’s got the brains to get a stipend too, if only he’d try for it.
-
That kind of doors won’t open for Steve.
Truth is, he’s not very smart. He can’t do great things, he can’t write beautiful words that would get him into university. He knows how to be strong and how to protect. He’s easy to hold on to in the middle of a storm, but after the storm dissipates, he lacks the kind of surface anyone could hold onto. Nancy demonstrated that well; she couldn’t do it, or didn’t want to.
Steve is the kind of person who lives in the moment, not quite knowing how to plan ahead. He finds himself in the middle of things and then does his best to survive, but the future is hidden behind a curtain of fog he can't see through. It’s easier to focus on what he sees, on what’s here.
Right now, right here, as Steve’s leaning over Billy and his hand is sinking into the soft pillow next to his head. He forgets himself and just watches the warm light of the lamp on the bedside table, how it shines golden on Billy’s hair and softens his face. It turns the bed into a separate little island in the darkness of the room.
Steve can’t see the blue of his eyes for the sharp contrast of shadow and light, but those eyes are looking at him intently. An amused smile tugs at the corner of Billy's lips. It’s the arrogant kind, a little bit cocky and mean. All too cute, and for this moment, entirely Steve’s.
“What?” Steve asks.
“You disappeared”, Billy complains, “somewhere inside that pretty, empty head of yours.”
It’s a throwaway line, doesn’t mean anything, but in the light of Steve's recent thoughts, it stings. He doesn’t let it show.
“Fuck you”, Steve says. “Anyone would get lost in those baby blues.”
Billy rolls said baby blue eyes and pulls Steve closer, into a deep, possessive kiss. Steve wants to answer it and pretend everything’s alright, like before, but there’s something about tonight that makes him drop the pretense for a moment. He turns his head, and Billy’s kiss comes to a halt on his cheek. Billy huffs, searches for his lips again, but Steve pulls further away. Not even enough to no longer feel the warmth of Billy’s body, but the new distance suddenly feels like it’s miles wide.
Billy looks at Steve. His forehead creases and his lips fall into a pout. There’s something endearing about the look, but Steve’s gaze catches on the trace of fleeting uncertainty in Billy’s eyes. It feels as though the moment of parting that’s been approaching for a long time has suddenly arrived.
-
“Sweetheart”, Billy coaxes. He tries for a joking tone of voice, but it comes out mocking. “What’s wrong?”
His hand settles carefully on Steve’s side. He should push it away, but the warmth of it feels good on his bare skin.
“It’s nothing, I’m just. Thinking about the future.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Exactly. That’s the problem here.”
He’s aware he sounds like a whining little kid.
“Fuck, I didn’t mean it like that”, Billy grunts. Nudges Steve’s chin with his nose.
Steve lets out a laugh, but it’s strained overtone is audible to them both. Billy sighs and rises to lean on his elbow. He kisses the side of Steve’s neck, soft as a feather, until it tickles him and makes him squirm.
“What would you do? If there was nothing to stop you?” Billy asks.
“I have no idea”, Steve admits, but Billy shakes his head at him, knowing he’s not telling the whole truth.
“Well… maybe something with kids?” Steve wonders aloud. He hasn’t let himself really think about it, but the thought feels right.
“God, I should’ve guessed”, Billy mutters. “Steve Harrington, kindergarten teacher.”
“There’s no need to worry about that. It’s not like they’ll take me.”
Billy sighs again and ruffles Steve’s hair, burying his fingers in it. It feels good. In some other situation, Steve might purr and let Billy roll them until Steve would end up under him.
Now he just looks at Billy, whose gaze is tightly locked on Steve’s chin. Whose face flushes as he speaks, slow and careful.
“Why not, if you try hard enough.”
He pauses for a few heartbeats. “I’ll… be here. Trying to help and all.”
Steve closes his eyes, just trying to breathe. Fuck.
“Yeah? You been thinking about that?”
“Haven’t been thinking about anything”, Billy lies, knowing Steve knows he’s lying. “Just throwing ideas around.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Yeah. We’ll study for entrance exams together. Uni exams too. You’ll have to write your thesis yourself, though.”
“Even if I got in on the first try, a thesis is years away”, Steve remarks, his heart in his throat.
“Yeah.”
Their eyes still haven’t met, but a small, fragile smile creeps in to lift the corner of Billy’s mouth. Steve has to lean in and give him a kiss.
Billy presses a smile against his lips. Takes him by the hips and pulls him on top of him, onto his lap, pressed against his warm body, from head to toe. Their foreheads touch, so that neither can see the aching tears rising to the other’s eyes.
He shouldn’t think of this as any kind of promise, but Steve can’t help smiling as he wraps his arms around Billy, as he decides not to let go for a long time yet.
They tip over, crossing the line into a new, completely different kind of balance. Maybe this is what it feels like to be sure.