Chapter Text
"You're late. Again."
Max stills in the doorway, halfway through kicking her shoes off, and looks at him weirdly.
"Sorry?" she goes, without sounding sorry at all. "Won't happen again."
She’s spent the afternoon at the Sinclair’s, and Billy’s only comfort on that front is that he has met Erica and knows that there’s no way she’d leave them alone long enough for Lucas to make much of a move on Max.
Still.
"That's what you said last time. But dinner's cold, again."
Vaguely, Billy registers that he sounds like an angry, over-dramatic housewife, but they've got a deal, goddammit.
Max sighs and walks over, pats him on the chest patronizingly.
"Well, that's what we've got the microwave for. I don't see what the big deal is, honestly."
If he’s being completely honest, Billy is not entirely sure what the big deal is, either. (The only reason he ever abided by any curfews at all, was because he knew his father would fuck him up for missing them. Billy and Max are past that kinda shit.) All he knows is that they’re supposed to have dinner together at a quarter past seven. Billy cooks and Max does the dishes. That’s how they’re doing things now; that’s just how it is.
Unfortunately, that’s just how it is probably won’t work well as an argument against Max, who is not known to be swayed by somebody else’s truth.
Billy crosses his arms over his chest and stalks after his sister, who’s proceeded to the kitchen and is peaking into the fridge.
“What d’you make? Ooh, is that Lasagna?”
"Vegetable lasagna,” Billy corrects and Max pulls a face. “Listen, we talked about this. On school nights, I want you home by seven."
Max's mood changes from completely unbothered to pissed-off in a matter of seconds. She shuts the fridge door with a bang.
"I believe we also talked about how you're my brother and not my prison guard. I don't have to constantly listen to you, Billy, you're not my mom."
"And you're free to not listen to your mom when she gets home on the weekend, but during the week you’re my responsibility. We have rules for a reason, remember?"
We have routines, he wants to add in a shout, and you've been blowing them up completely!
"Yes, I remember the main reason being to prevent you from abusing your position of power, which is exactly what you're doing right now!"
"It's not! Jesus, Max, I'm just trying to look out for you,” Billy snaps, probably not sounding very caring, but he couldn’t care less. “And either way, it matters jack shit what you or me want, because fact is, you’re mom left me in charge. Me. You are still a child and you need some fucking structures, period."
"Oh, please, we both know it's not me who needs the structures," Max says bitingly, and walks away.
Great.
They avoid each other for half an hour, during which Max first bangs around her room and then the kitchen, while Billy watches TV in the living room on high volume. Some might say he was sulking, but that’s obviously bullshit.
During a commercial break on Miami Vice, Max edges halfway into the room and leans against the door frame. She’s eating reheated lasagna off of a plate she’s holding up in front of her face.
"This is pretty good," she mumbles around a mouthful, because she’s gross like that.
It'd better be good, Billy thinks, I skipped last period to go to the store and get some greens into you.
Max sighs, and walks over to sit down right next to him with her plate in her lap. She nudges Billy's shoulder with hers.
"Did I ever tell you 'bout this one psychology article Dustin showed me? He found it in the library. It talked about how structures and daily routines are like, super important for people with trauma and behavioral issues."
It's Max-speak for I'm sorry and Billy wants to tell her that the stupid routines aren't worth shit when she's not around to keep the darkness at bay. Instead, he grabs her fork out of her hand and steals a bite of lasagna.
"You're a brat."
Max snorts quietly. "So are you. Probably a family thing, huh?"
She lets Billy steal another bite and tips her head down to rub her cheek against his shoulder a little.
God, Billy wants to hate her so badly.
Max has always been a feisty little bitch, which is actually one of the reasons Billy respects her so much, but for about a month now, she’s been almost unbearable. They’re fighting constantly. Neil might be gone now (or at least close to being gone – the asshole’s out on bail until his trial in May, but until then he’s living in Indianapolis and they’ve got a restraining order), but Billy is still very much stuck watching out for Max. Right at the beginning of January, the bureau Susan worked at transferred her to another branch with longer and better-paid hours. That way she can compensate a little for the loss of Neil’s income, but it also means she’s staying in Chicago during the week.
And the thing is, Billy wouldn’t even mind that much – taking care of his little sister comes much more naturally when Neil’s not forcing him to – if only Max didn’t seem to mind so much. It’s not that Billy expected them to have the perfect life all of a sudden. School still sucks, he does way more cooking than he ever wanted to and then there’s the fucking trial. Plus, Billy and Max are still Billy and Max; it was never going to be sunshine and daisies with the two of them. But for a couple months there, right after New Year’s, it was good. They were a team, and they built a new normal without their parents around.
But then Max decided to turn fourteen and take it as incentive to take the ‘mad’ in Madmax literally. Like, even more so than before. Steve says she's hitting puberty, which is all fair and shit, but that’s not Billy’s fault, is it? Still, Max gets mad at about everything he does these days, even when all he’s trying to do is get them from Monday to Friday without anyone dying. And just let it be known that fighting with Maxine Mayfield is more stressful and exhausting than any professional workout.
So yeah, Billy would love to be able to hate Max, but in few, in-between moments like this, she’ll be sweet and supportive as shit. Just like she was in December. So.
Max pinches his forearm. “Hey, dumbass, still in there?”
Unfortunately, he is.
Billy hands back her fork and gently pushes her face off his shoulder. “Eat, you little pain in my ass. No starving on my watch.”
“Aw,” Max coos, full of sarcasm.
---
Their fragile peace lasts for one and a half days. On Friday, Max dumps the Sinclair kid's ass for the fourth time this year.
The first time it happened, all the way back in January, Max was really sad about it. So sad, in fact, that she teared up a little after dinner that night and promptly got some good distraction out of having to wrestle Billy away from the door to stop him from going after Lucas.
The second time, Billy hardly even noticed, because that break-up lasted all of seven hours.
By the third time, just over a month ago, Max had long caught onto the fact that Lucas would always come crawling back, and spent a significant time laughing about the stupid look on his face.
This time, however, Max is royally pissed. And guess who gets to take the brunt of that?
Exactly.
After spending all afternoon being short and bad-tempered and exceptionally bratty, Max retires to the sofa. Billy should (and really wants to) leave her alone. It’s only the knowledge that, somewhere deep, deep down, Max is probably hurting a lot that makes Billy join her in the living room.
He sits down next to her and drops a Mars Bar into her lap as a cautionary bribe.
"D'you wanna talk about it?"
Max looks at him as though he suggested she pull her toenails out one by one. "Yeah, sure, let's braid each other's hair and talk about our feelings. Fuck off."
"Calm the fuck down. You're the one who always says we need to talk about shit."
"Yes, shit like your father's child abuse trial being only a month away. Not my ex-boyfriend being the world's greatest dumbass! You're currently coming in a close second on that title, by the way."
"Wow, you're mean," Billy acknowledges, mildly impressed (but no longer surprised at all) by her hostility. "Am I supposed to be proud or offended?"
"Oh my god, I don't care!"
With that heart-felt sentiment, Max chucks the Mars Bar at Billy and storms off seething.
If dramatic storm-offs were an Olympic discipline, Max would win gold.
"Teenagers," Billy sighs loudly.
"I heard that!" Max shouts from down the hall, "You are a teenager, too, you fucking dumbass!"
Nice.
---
I Guess That’s Why They Call It the Blues is playing on the car radio and Billy is going to barf.
“Are you going to change the station or do I have to?”
“What’s wrong with Elton John? This is a great song.”
“What’s wrong is that you’ve got the taste of an old lady.”
“Better the taste of an old lady than no taste at all,” Steve snarks back, but he does start to fiddle with the buttons until he finds a rock station. Then he turns the volume down. “What’s up with you today, grumpy?”
It's Saturday, which means Billy is free from his constant babysitting duty. Susan's home for the weekend as usual, and gets to spend quality time with her daughter. (That is when her daughter allows it. After the whole Neil fiasco, Susan wasn't charged with failure of rendering assistance , if only because Hopper deemed it sensible to keep at least one parent around in order to keep Max out of foster care. That does not, however, mean that Max has forgotten her mother’s involvement, or lack thereof, in Billy's ordeal. He takes some sort of sick pride in the fact that Max chose his side over her mom's.)
Billy, on the other hand, gets to spend quality time with Steve. They drove the Beemer up to the quarry and are currently smoking weed. Usually, they’d be at Steve's fancy rich boy house, but for probably the first time since they started dating, Steve's parents are home. It's unprecedented - if the Harrington’s aren't travelling around Europe or China, they generally spend their weekends at fancy dinner parties in Indianapolis or Chicago. But today, they decided to stay home and host their own goddamn dinner party for some work people, which is why Steve will have to be there in a fancy suit and talk to people he despises about things he has absolutely no interest in.
Billy only knows all of this because Steve has been ranting on and on about it until five minutes ago, when Billy pulled out the weed. He's calmed down now, and Billy decides to vent his own grievances while he's got the chance.
“Max is being a bitch,” he says. No use beating around the bush.
Steve clicks his tongue. “I really hate that word, Bill.”
“…Max is being a fucking brat.”
“Mh-hmm. You’ve been saying that a lot lately. What she do this time?”
She’s always so mean to me sounds like the words of a five-year-old; Billy realizes that. Steve is a great listener and all, and he tends to understand Billy’s feelings better than he does himself, but Billy draws the line at making his boyfriend believe he’s dating some sulky little kid.
“Keeps coming home late,” he says, because that’s a more rational part of the problem. “Doesn’t call either, just misses dinner, by, like, an hour, and then acts like it’s no big deal. Drives me crazy.”
“I never would’ve thought you’d become such a stickler for rules.” Steve tries to hide his snicker by taking a drag of their shared blunt and promptly starts coughing. Billy would be more concerned if he hadn’t just been laughed at.
“Just – do not tell me I’m a hypocrite, alright? Max does that enough already. And I mean I get it… but why does this have to be so fucking hard?”
“I think maybe you both still need some more time to get used to… everything. I mean… nothing about your situation is usual. There’s no textbook method, here, I think.”
Billy tips his head back and gestures wearily. "I don't even know why I care so much. Max is right - I hate rules. Hell… don’t tell her I said that."
"Well, I think it's obvious."
"Oh yeah?" Billy snaps his fingers for the blunt. "Share your wisdom with me, pretty boy, why don't you."
Steve rolls his eyes, but he does hand it over. "Well, apart from the fact that you got attached to Max in the matter of, like, three weeks," he starts out and holds up a hand when Billy immediately begins to protest. "No use denying it, babe. Apart from that, right now is the first time in forever that you have a stable and functioning home life. And of course you’d want to keep it that way."
Billy almost snorts. "Very funny. We're nowhere near functioning, Steve. Last night we had cornflakes for dinner. And all my socks are pink because Max keeps adding red shirts and shit to our whites."
"I'm not talking about household stuff, of course you guys would suck at that," Steve says and plucks the blunt right out from between Billy's lips. "I'm talking about an emotional level, here. You know, feeling safe, and appreciated. And there's always someone on your team, who’s got your back when you need it. I’m thinking your newfound enthusiasm for rules and routines is your unconscious way of trying to hold on to that."
"Max makes me feel a lot of things, but appreciated is not one of them,” Billy grumbles, entirely ignoring that last part, because Steve looks way too proud of himself. “Telling me in colorful words how much I suck is basically the only form of communication she’s still capable of when it comes to me.”
"You’re exaggerating,” Steve sighs. He takes one last drag and puts the blunt out in the ashtray. “And why do you always have to denounce everything I'm saying even when I'm clearly right?"
"Because I hate it when you're right," Billy grumps and Steve's expression softens immediately.
"Aw, babe. It'll be alright."
He reaches over to pull Billy halfway across the center control, until Billy's head rests on his shoulder. Billy doesn't even care that it's hella uncomfortable, because Steve smells pretty amazing, even though he'll never say that out loud.
After a beat of silence, Billy says, "I also hate when you call me babe."
He can feel Steve's shoulder vibrate with quiet laughter. "No, you don't."
Billy doesn’t bother with a verbal answer; instead, he runs his nose up the other boy’s neck until he can press his mouth to the soft skin behind his ear. Billy grins when he feels goosebumps erupt on Steve’s neck. But then a hand slides between Billy’s mouth and Steve’s skin, and Billy’s not grinning anymore.
“Hey, no, no,” Steve says, voice just a tad high-pitched, “We’re not done talking yet. You know the deal, babe. Talk first, kiss later. Your emotional stability is more important than getting off, and I’m getting the feeling you’re really bothered by this Max thing.”
With an annoyed groan, Billy slides back into his own seat and crosses his arms over his chest petulantly. “That’s a really stupid rule, you know that, right?”
“No, but maybe now you know how Max feels.”
Billy gapes at him. “Fuck off.”
“No, thanks. Okay. Let’s look at this whole thing rationally, from the beginning.”
“What thing?”
Steve waves his hand around. “You and Max’s relationship. Obviously.”
“Are you serious right now?” Billy says through gritted teeth.
He would much rather be making out right now. Dumb Steve with his dumb concern for Billy’s feelings and his emotional stability. Ugh.
“Yeah, come on, work with me. Four months ago, you and Max were on pretty bad terms. Terrible terms, actually. Max wasn’t even speaking to you, remember?”
“Of course I remember, Steve, for fuck’s sake.”
“So you tried to make it better, but that was, you know, slow work. So what happened that made Max forgive you, and put you guys on the same team for the first time ever?”
The answer to that question is both simple and vaguely depressing.
Billy rubs a hand over his face. “My dad put me in the hospital.”
"Exactly. Nothing brings people together better than a common enemy," Steve muses wisely and Billy gives him a look. Steve shrugs. "It's what Dustin told me when I had a small crisis about suddenly being friends with a couple of eight-graders."
"I know for me and Max you're talking about Neil, but what enemy do you have in common with the nerds, exactly?"
"Babe, come on. You know I can't talk about it.”
Billy accepts this with a grunt, but only because they've had this conversation multiple times and Steve simply will not budge. All he ever got out of him was that Little Byers stumbled onto that chemical leak at Hawkins Lab, and Steve and the nerds, eventually including Max, got mixed up in exposing that threat to the public. The government had them all sign some non-disclosure agreements in order to keep all the nasty details under wrap, and Steve is annoyingly devoted to those.
Max, on the other hand, was a little easier to guilt trick into talking, because they live together and Billy makes her dinner (or at least something that passes for dinner) five times a week, so he also knows that the chemical leak wasn’t the only accident in need of covering up. According to Max, the lab did a bunch of horrible experiments on several animals, and the resulting mutations broke free and threatened to overrun the town. Apparently, Billy showed up at the Byers's house back in November just as the rugrats were preparing to fight those "creatures", but Billy doesn’t quite understand why that fight was up to a bunch of kids and their babysitter, and of course he also knows that Max was absolutely lying through her teeth.
But even as she did, the look on her face was so haunted, Billy thinks he might not even want to know the truth. And even if he does, he doesn't want to make Max tell him, if it frightens her so much.
So instead he nags Steve, who doesn't tell him shit, but at least he doesn't lie and keeps his facial expressions under control.
"Hey," Steve snaps his fingers next to Billy's face. "I was on my way to making a very good point, you know. About you and Max."
“Yeah, yeah, I’m listening.”
“Okay, so, taking Neil down together put you and Max on same team all of a sudden, right?”
“Common enemy,” Billy agrees, because that does make a lot of sense.
Steve nods eagerly. “And that gave your relationship, like, a turbo boost, right?”
“…I guess.”
“And that’s great and all, but it also means you skipped a hell of a lot steps in between,” Steve concludes, once more looking mighty proud of himself, but right there, he’s lost Billy.
“Steps? What steps?”
“Jeez, no idea. But you went from I can barely stand you, to I’ll protect you with my life in the course of one night. I dunno what standard practice is, but that’s probably not it.”
“Yeah, sure, okay, but we were doing fine,” Billy argues, “The first couple months, when Susan first started her job in Chicago and we were on our own, we we’re doing fine.”
Steve hums. “Okay, this metaphor is gonna sound like shit but hear me out: I think January and February were kinda like, your honeymoon phase.”
“Our what now?” Billy pulls a face.
“You know, like - everything was still fresh, you were still hurt, Max was really protective and you had this new-found appreciation for each other. And that all lasted for a while, but now you’ve established yourselves in your… I don’t know, in this situation and you’re both remembering, like: hey, this person’s actually still pretty annoying. Like, sure, I don’t want anyone to kill them or anything, but that doesn’t mean I can’t fight them on a daily basis.”
Billy is stumped, and he would be lying if he said Steve’s metaphor didn’t go over his head a little bit. He’s really not good with all these emotional facets of everything.
Steve shrugs apologetically. “Plus, you know, Max is fourteen now. You got yourself a full-blown, hormonal, female teenager in the house. I dunno what you were expecting.”
That argument, Billy understands. “Yeah, okay, she’s Madmax, she’s hitting puberty hard, everything’s either stupid or embarrassing, I get that. But why does she have to take it all out on me? What’d I do? She gets mad at everything, even when I’m not even doing anything, even when I’m trying to be nice. Why doesn’t she care that we’re always fighting? And why the fuck does she think it’s okay to be nice once every blue moon, and then go back to being a bit – fine, a brat – five minutes later? Where is the sense in that?”
Steve looks stumped now, too, which makes two of them. Fuckin’ great.
“Babe, I would love to explain to you the mysteries of the female psyche, but I’m really no expert. I get you, but teenage girls – yeah, no. Maybe you should ask someone who has experience in that field.”
“Experience?”
“Yeah, you know, someone who’s actually been a teenage girl.”
Steve catches Billy’s eye and Billy knows he’s thinking of Nancy. But yeah, no way in hell is that happening. Absolutely not.
“That is not happening. No way.”
“I figured,” Steve sighs. He does a lot of sighing when they have this kind of conversation, but he also seems weirdly into it, so Billy isn’t too concerned.
“Cool. Can we be done talking now?” With a playful wiggle of his eyebrow, Billy pushes a hand between Steve’s lower back and backrest of his seat, slides it beneath Steve’s shirt. “I really think there are much better things we could be doing.”
Steve bites his lips against the smile on them. “Fine. But only because I ran out of smart things to say about this.”
“Sure,” Billy agrees lowly, still running his hand over Steve’s skin, “I’m sure that’s the only reason.”
---
Sunday after breakfast finds Billy in his room, smoking by the open window and reading up on his AP English assignment. It’s the only day of the week he gets to himself, and boy does he enjoy it. However, as he’s learned over many years, Billy’s luck just won’t let him enjoy anything for too long.
A good half hour past noon, there’s a loud knock on his door. Max doesn’t wait for an answer, just comes in and walks right over. She drops Billy’s leather jacket in his lap, covering his book.
“Get going, asshole.”
Yeah. No.
“It’s Sunday, Max,” Billy says slowly, through gritted teeth. He shakes the jacket off and it drops to the floor. “There is only one rule for Sundays - do you remember it or do you need a refresher?”
“I’m not-“
“Alright, a refresher then. On Sundays, you leave me alone. So scram. Go set something on fire or whatever, I don’t care.”
“I promise I’ll set something on fire next week,” Max says icily, “But today is also the first Sunday of the month, which means you and Steve are taking us out for milkshakes and burgers, remember? It’s tradition. And I would really like to not be late this time.”
Shit. Billy does remember (now), but that doesn’t mean he’s in any way keen on it. He reaches up and grabs Max’s face in both his hands, squishing her cheeks together firmly.
“Maxie, my little pumpkin,” he says sweetly, as if he were addressing a toddler who’s having trouble putting two and two together. “It can hardly be a tradition when we’ve only done it twice now, can it? That’s not how traditions work.”
Forcefully, Max pulls his hands off, but keeps her face close. Her smile is all kinds of threatening. “Well, we’re working on it becoming a tradition, aren’t we? We’re picking up Will up at a quarter to. I’ve taken your keys, so if you’re not in the car in two minutes, I’m driving.”
With that, she turns on her heels and storms off.
Seething, Billy grabs his jacket and runs after her.
(Max has to be wrestled away from the driver’s seat. Billy would like to blame it on puberty hormones or whatever shit is wrong with her, but it’s probably just Max being Max.)
They’re five minutes late, which Billy thinks is totally within reason, but of course Steve and the other three nerds are already waiting in the parking lot. Will, clearly uncomfortable with the vague hostility Billy and Max are emitting, is out of the car within seconds and basically sprints over to join the other boys. Billy and Max follow at a more dignified speed and Steve meets them halfway.
"Hey, Little Red," he says and winks at Max.
"Hey, Steve," she says back with a roll of her eyes, but she smiles.
As the kids start towards the diner, Billy leans in close to Steve's ear. "See?" he whispers, "You call her Little fucking Red and it's fine, but if I even say Maxie, it's like I didn't even speak."
Steve rolls his eyes with the same sort of exasperated fondness Max just did.
"Okay, let’s just forget all the profound things I said yesterday. Maybe she just hates you on principle 'cause you’re her brother."
"So what - she rightfully hates me for being an ass, I put in all the work to redeem myself, and now she hates me on principle?! That's hardly fair."
"Or maybe you're just overly sensitive.'
"Hey!"
"Yes, hey," somebody agrees, and they turn to see Dustin in the door to the diner. "Are you guys coming or what? We’re starving, Steve. Starving. Also, you’re the one with the money, so get a move on, please."
Because being ordered around by fourteen-year-olds is now a fixed part of his life, Billy trudges after Steve into the diner. The booth the rugrats chose can't be missed, because it’s easily the loudest one in the whole place.
"-come on Max, look at him!"
"He's miserable!"
"He's desperate!"
"He's pining for you-"
"Mike, shut up, I am not! I am none of those things."
"Uh-huh, sure you're not, but do you realize that you're not helping your own case by saying that right now?"
"Dustin, I swear to god-"
"What the hell are you guys discussing right now and do I even want to know?" Steve cuts in, before gently shoving Dustin and Mike further into their bench so he can take a seat next to them.
Billy squeezes onto the other bench next to Max, who's got her jaw clenched and kinda looks like she's about to rip Mike's throat out and shove it down Dustin's.
"They're trying to get Max to take Lucas back," Will pipes up from where he's squished against the window next to the boy in question.
"Shut it, Will," Max huffs at once, and begins to rip her napkin to shreds.
Billy knows that it's only their shared soft spot for Little Byers that keeps her from lashing out more. He also knows that she's long since forgiven the Sinclair kid and wants to take him back, but she's not gonna back down now in front of their whole group. Billy looks at Lucas, who's chewing his lips and stealing little sideways glances at Max, and feels sorry for the kid.
Ah, damnit.
"Well," he speaks up gravely, and they all look at him, "I think Max is doing just fine on her own. She'd be stupid to take back anyone who deserved to be dumped before.”
While Lucas gapes at him in betrayal, Max fixes him with a glare and balls up the reminder of her napkin.
"Oh, I'd be stupid to?" she repeats menacingly, "You would just love it if I never dated anyone ever, wouldn't you?"
Billy shrugs. "'Course I would. You think I like knowing you that whenever you're out with your friends you're also gonna be kissing your little boyfriend? Nah. Better this way."
Max's nostrils flare with fury.
"Well, just for your information, I can and will kiss my fucking boyfriend whenever and wherever the hell I want, and you can go ahead and shut up about it," she seethes, and then, as if to prove her point right then and there, she turns, grabs Lucas by the collar of his shirt and kisses him full on the mouth.
For the first time since they got here, their table is completely silent. Everybody is staring at Max, who in turn is inspecting her nails with pursed lips and blushing cheeks. Lucas just gazes into space with a dazed smile on his lips.
A nearby waitress uses the opportunity walk up and take their order. “What can I get you lot?”
Steve eyes the kids, the majority of which are still slack-jawed and not paying attention, and sighs.
“Okay, let me see… we’ll have three hamburgers, one without onions and one with extra fries, then four cheeseburgers, one without pickles, one with extra cheese and all of them with extra fries.”
The waitress is having trouble keeping up. She gives Mike, who has broken out of his temporal stupor and is now snickering heartily, the stink eye. “And to drink?”
“Milkshakes, please. Uh, three chocolate, two vanilla, one strawberry, and then one banana for the weirdo amongst us.”
“Hey!” Dustin complains, as the waitress walks away with her head shaking.
“He’s right, though,” Will grins, “No one in their right mind gets banana.”
“Oh yeah, well that’s rich coming from you, Mister basic-as-fuck-vanilla-“
Annnd… they’re back to arguing as though nothing ever happened. Billy feels a leg press against his and looks up to share a half amused, half resigned look with Steve. Steve lets his eyes wander over Billy’s face, unbothered by the ongoing milkshake discussion all around them, and the look turns into something a little more suggestive. The pressure against Billy’s calf increases.
“Gonna head to the restroom,” Billy says gruffly, “Forgot to wash my hands.”
“Oh, damn, me too,” Steve plays along, even though not one little nerd is listening to a single word they’re saying.
A minute later, Steve has him pressed up against the wall of a tiny bathroom stall, arms bracketing Billy’s head as they kiss as quietly as possible.
“What was that for?” Billy whispers when they break apart to catch their breath, but he can’t keep the pleased smile off his face.
Steve grins back. “You just tricked Max into getting back together with Lucas.”
“No, no, pretty boy. You weren’t listing: I told her not to get back together with him.”
“Uh-huh,” Steve goes, “You knew she would do the exact opposite of what you told her. And you used it to give her an out, so she could take Lucas back without losing face, even though you knew she’d get mad at you instead. You put her happiness before your own.”
“And you think that’s hot, do you?” Billy snorts. What a dork.
Steve traces one of Billy’s eyebrows with his thumb. “No. I think it’s cute.”
Billy blushes up to the roots of his hair. He can’t remember ever being called cute. He also can’t remember the last time a compliment made him blush. God, what is Steve doing to him?
“Well I think it’s cute that you know everybody’s order by heart,” he teases, lowering his voice further when somebody walks past the restroom.
Steve stills, waiting, but nobody comes in. Billy tries to pull him back in, but Steve resists.
“We should get back out there,” he murmurs against his Billy’s, “Can’t leave the poor waitress to deal with the kids for too long. They’ll get kicked out.”
Billy groans softly in frustration, head tipping back against the wall with a thunk. “God, I hate that you are such a babysitter.”
Steve shrugs good-naturedly. “Sorry, babe. Got a reputation to uphold.”
He presses one last kiss to Billy’s exposed neck before backing out of their stall with a cheeky wink and leaving the restroom.
Billy is left there wishing they were still making out. Honestly - Max and the rest of the rugrats could trash the place for all he cares, if only Steve kept his lips somewhere on Billy’s body.
---
That evening, Billy is stuck at his desk in his room, frantically trying to finish an essay that he put off until last minute. To be fair, he did forget he’d be spending the afternoon with the rugrats. It’s been an hour since dinner curtesy of Susan, and Billy’s hand is starting to cramp with how quick he’s writing, when his door opens out of nowhere and Max wanders in. Again.
Twice in one day - seriously?
She takes a seat on his bed, puts a paper towel on her lap and calmly starts to peel a fucking tangerine. Billy turns in his chair to stare at her incredulously.
“Maxine,” he says lowly, drawing her name out in a way he knows sounds dangerous.
She looks up from her fruit with a raised eyebrow. “William?”
“Why aren’t you hanging out with your mom?” he asks, working hard to keep his voice even. He’s really not in the mood and he hates it when she comes in without knocking. Hates it.
Max scoffs. “She was trying to teach me how to use her sewing machine.”
“So what, you didn’t feel like it and thought, hey, let me just go annoy Billy, cuz you’re not already doing that all through the week?”
Max gives him an innocent smile. “I live to annoy you, didn’t you know that?”
“I knew,” Billy says darkly.
“You gonna kick me out?”
He really wants to say yes, but Max doesn’t seem particularly angry right now, which is something he should probably enjoy while it lasts. He turns back to his work.
“Not if you stay quiet. I really have to finish this by tomorrow.”
He fully expects Max to talk back and give him an excuse to make her leave. She can hide from her mom in her own room. But to his surprise, she stays silent. After a minute, Billy get suspicious. When he looks over his shoulder, Max has abandoned her peeling task and is shifting curiously through some of the magazines and papers on Billy’s bed.
He growls and flings a pencil at her. It hits her on the shoulder.
“Hands off, shitbird. Ever heard about privacy?”
“Have you?” Max chucks the pencil back but misses by an inch. She goes back to fiddling with the tangerine, cheeks pink. “Just for your information, I know exactly what you did today at the diner. With me and Lucas. I’m not stupid, you know.”
Billy snorts meanly. “Coulda fooled me, pumpkin.”
Max lazily flips him the bird, then scrunches up her nose. “I really don’t appreciate being manipulated.”
“Didn’t hear you complain today when you were holding hands with Lucas under the table.”
“Fuck off. Don’t do it again, do you hear me?”
That is probably the closest thing to a thank you he’s gonna get. He really feels like complaining about what an ungrateful brat Max is being.
“Sure,” he says instead, because he really doesn’t have time for a full-blown fight right now. “Consider me one hundred percent uninvested in your middle school relationship drama. Just don’t come crying to me the next time you dump him.”
“Fuck you, too,” Max says.
Then she gets up, walks over and hands him half of her freshly peeled tangerine. So there’s that.
---
A couple days later, on Wednesday evening, Billy's talking to Steve on the phone. Because that's something he can do nowadays. Billy can call his boyfriend from the house telephone without having to be scared of his father catching him and beating him up for being a fag. It's awesome.
Of course, he does have to keep an ear out for Max (who probably wouldn't beat him up but cannot know either way), but she's in her room listening to Cyndi Lauper and probably won't come out unless it's absolutely necessary.
"You're off after sixth period tomorrow, too, aren't you?" Steve is saying, "Wanna come over after? We could make something for lunch."
"Yeah? You're gonna cook for me, pretty boy?" Billy all but purrs into the receiver.
"If you have time," Steve say back evenly, but Billy can hear the smile in his voice. "Max is having lunch at the Wheeler's tomorrow, isn’t she?"
"I think so... Hold on, I'm gonna check." He sticks his head into the hall. "HEY, Maxie?"
The music pouring from her room stops, but there is no response. Fucking-
"Come on, Maxie, I'm on the phone!"
Steve is snickering into his ear. "Maybe she'll answer if you ditch the pet name."
Huh, you think? Steve ain't seen nothing yet.
"Hey, PUMPKIN," Billy shouts through the house, "I need a word!"
"You're doing it on purpose," Steve notes, the little genius, "No wonder she's always ignoring you. I would, too, in her place."
"I'm just teasing-" Billy starts, but at that moment Max appears in the threshold after all, arms crossed over her chest, looking pissed.
"My red hair does not justify the comparison to a fucking pumpkin, goldilocks," she says, vaguely disgusted, "What do you want?"
Billy covers the receiver with his hand. "You're catching a ride with Nancy after school tomorrow, right? And having lunch at the Wheeler's with the rest of the nerds?"
"Oh," Max says, and it's all she says. She locks her arms together a little tighter and makes a complicated face that Billy doesn't like at all.
Without taking his eyes off Max, he pulls his hand away from the receiver. "I'm gonna have to call you back."
He hangs the phone up and very deliberately goes to sit at the kitchen table. Max, visibly reluctant, follows him into the room. She leans her back against the counter, biting her lip. Jeez.
Billy gestures tiredly. "Let's hear it, shitbird."
"I can't go with Nancy and Mike tomorrow."
'Course she can't. The one afternoon Billy could make some good use of Max being at a friend’s house. Typical.
"Why not?" he demands.
Max shrugs sheepishly. "Cuz they're leaving after sixth period."
"Yeah. So?"
"Well, I'm not done after sixth period."
"Yeah you are, tomorrow's Thursday." Billy squints to where a copy of Max's timetable is pasted to the fridge. "On Thursdays we both finish after sixth period."
"Well, not tomorrow."
"For fuck’s sake, will you just spit it out already?"
She pulls a face. "I might have gotten detention."
"Seriously? What for?"
"Doesn't matter."
Billy raises an eyebrow. "Well which teacher gave it to you?"
"Miss Davies," Max mumbles, eyes on everything but Billy.
"Seriously?" he repeats. "Miss Davies is probably the nicest, most fair teacher at that whole school - and that's coming from me! What on earth did you do to make her give you detention?”
“I told you, it doesn’t matter. It’s none of your business.”
“Max.”
“Fuckin- Fine! Fine!” she exclaims, throwing her hands up, “I wasn’t feeling great this morning and she kept asking me what was wrong and it was fucking annoying so I told her to mind her own damn business. I know that was stupid, I don’t need you telling me that, so don’t even try. And you, of all people, are not allowed to get angry at me for getting detention, because that would just be… that would be so-“
"I'm not angry that you got detention,” Billy interrupts, “I'm angry that I'm gonna be stuck waiting to drive your sorry ass home, when I had plans."
Well. He was about to have plans, but it still counts.
"So?! You don't have to cancel your plans. Do whatever you want, I'll be just fine. It's detention, not prison. Jeez."
"And how do you think you're getting home?"
"I’ll skate! Duh!”
Billy grits his teeth against the insults threatening to spill out. "Did you miss the weather report tonight? It's supposed pour tomorrow. You're gonna be soaked and get sick and I don't want that on my conscience.”
At that, Max laughs. It sounds cruel. "Oh, that's funny. Weren't you the guy who constantly threatened to make me skate home? Can't remember you having much of a conscience back then."
Billy deflates at once. "Don't do that, Max."
"Do what?!"
"Throw my past in my face!"
"Your past?” she repeats incredulously, “It hasn't even been half a year! People don't change that quickly!"
And that - that hurts.
Billy's not gonna lie - it really hurts. He knows their relationship isn't great right now, but he really thought they were done with the trust issues. His disappointment must show on his face, or maybe she just spoke too quickly, because Max looks shocked at her own words.
"Great. Glad to know what you're really thinking," Billy deadpans humorlessly.
"That's not- I don't think... shit."
Max turns around and bends down until she can brace her arms on the countertop and bury her face in them. Billy supposes he's glad she seems to feel bad, but he's not yet ready to feel sorry for her.
“So that’s settled then. I’ll pick you up after detention. Unless my lacking conscience decides to leave you out in the rain after all, who knows.”
It’s the wrong thing to say.
"Why do you always have to be such an asshole?!" Max all but screams and in one fluent, furious movement that Billy honestly did not see coming, she wipes the closest kitchen appliance off the counter.
Billy flinches as their toaster slams onto the tiles with a loud and ugly crash. A few plastic parts break off on impact and skip away across the floor.
Holy shit.
The angry tears must've already been collecting in Max's eyes, but as she stares at their broken toaster in shock, they spill over.
"Max-" Billy starts, but she's running out before he even makes it to his feet.
He’s doing just fucking peachy at all of this, can you tell?
---
If anyone would bother to ask Billy how he’s currently doing at life, he would say: Moving from one low point to the next with as much dignity as possible, thanks.
Today’s new low happens like this: After school, Billy has an hour to kill before it’s time to pick up his little sister (who has not spoken a single word to him since last night) from detention. That alone is sad enough, but Billy doesn’t spend said hour smoking behind the gym or buying booze in that one shop that doesn’t check ID or getting off with his boyfriend. No, instead he goes grocery shopping with his boyfriend, because they’re out of Froot Loops, which is how he ends up in the cereal aisle at Bradley’s, listening to Steve Harrington lecture him on unhealthy breakfast items.
“Harrington, I really don’t give a fuck about how much sugar is in here,” Billy shakes the box in Steve’s face. “All I know is that Max is already not talking to me, and it’s not gonna get any better if she doesn’t get her stupid Froot Loops tomorrow morning.”
Steve raises an eyebrow. “I was only suggesting that you guys might wanna try something a little more nutritious, that’s all. Breakfast-“
“I swear to god, if you tell me breakfast is the most important meal of the day, I will rip your pretty head off.”
“You really gotta calm down, ba-…Hargrove,” Steve says evenly, eyes on an old lady tattering past, “It’s only been one night, Max is gonna come around. She’ll be back to arguing with you about… breathing, or god knows what, in no time.”
“Is it pathetic that I kinda wish she would? Argue with me about breathing, I mean.”
Steve pulls a face like, sorry but yeah, definitely.
With a heartfelt sigh, Billy chucks two boxes of Froot Loops into the basket on Steve’s arm. “I know. I can handle her bitching just fine, y’know. I can,” he repeats, when Steve raises a doubtful eyebrow, “But when she ignores me, it just rubs me the wrong way. It…”
“It reminds you of before, yeah, I know,” Steve finishes and starts pulling him into the next aisle. “I’ve told you before, I can come help you talk to her anytime, if you want me to. Dunno if it would actually help… but Dustin made me mediate between Max and Mike that one time, remember, when they were just about ready to kill each other? Took a lot of screaming, but now they’re fine… ish.”
God, does Billy remember. The second week of February, he just about had to stop Max from committing homicide, and to this day he doesn’t know what exactly they were even fighting about.
“I don’t think I’ve sunk that low just yet, thanks,” Billy mumbles.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he catches Steve’s face falling and immediately feels bad. He checks for any watchful eyes nearby, then catches Steve by the wrist as subtly as possible.
“But I appreciate the offer,” he says seriously and gives Steve a smile that he hopes says, I would kiss you if we weren’t in public. “And if I don’t wise up anytime soon, I’ll definitely come back to it.”
As they head for the check-out, Steve snorts. “I’ll be expecting your call then, shall I?”
“Ha, ha.”
“Uh, by the way, can we drop by Melvald’s real quick?” Billy asks five minutes later, as he pulls out of the parking lot at Bradley’s.
Unexpectedly, Steve’s face lights up. “Are you going to talk to Joyce about Max? That’s a great idea!”
Billy blinks at him, unimpressed. “I need a new toaster. What, you’re that desperate to get rid of me and my stupid problems, Harrington?”
“That is not it! That is so not it! You know that I love it when you talk to me about your problems, but I’ve told you before, I am just no expert on young teenage girls and their… Jesus fuck, stop laughing.”
Billy grins at him widely, tongue between his teeth, and Steve rolls his eyes. It’s just too easy to yank his chain.
“Fuck off. Why d’you need a new toaster anyways? Yours blow?”
“No, didn’t I mention? Max threw it on the floor last night so now it’s kinda broken.”
“What?!”
Mrs. Byers, who insists Billy call her Joyce and sits behind the till at Melvald’s rather boredly when they walk in, is delighted to see them. She makes small-talk with Steve up front while Billy grabs the least expensive toaster they’ve got, and when he comes back to get rung up, it takes her all of two minutes to get the whole story out of him. It starts with “What happened to the old one?” and ends with “Aww, sweetie.”
Steve leans heavily on the counter and fixes poor Joyce with a beseeching look. “He needs help.”
Some boyfriend that guy is. Billy glares at him.
Joyce, however, just waves him off. “Nonsense. Billy’s got this, don’t you, sweetie?”
What do you say to this? No Ma’am, I’ve in fact no idea what I’m doing?
But she isn’t done yet: “He knows that he and Max are gonna be just fine, and that he can always talk to Max when it gets too bad. He knows that she’ll always come through for him when it really matters, because that’s what family does. Isn’t that right, sweetie?”
Billy swallows heavily, but Joyce doesn’t seem to expect an answer, she just pats both their hands with a small smile and shoos them out.
Billy drops Steve off at Casa Harrington before heading back to the school. Detention doesn’t finish for another ten minutes, so Billy resigns himself to waiting in his car and hoping that Max has calmed down by now. The heavy rain that’s been coming down all day is pelting against the windshield.
He puts the new toaster in the passenger seat where Max won’t be able to miss it, because Billy might want her stop ignoring him, but that doesn’t mean she not still a colossal brat. Billy pulls the key from the ignition and starts rotating them around his fingers as he waits. His eyes wander across the mostly deserted parking lot, bored, until he sees somebody move over at the far end of the lot.
It’s a man, about his size, with a dirty brown jacket and a huge black umbrella. He’s walking between two cars, his back to Billy, and the rain is obscuring his vision. But that haircut… that haircut looks exactly like… like-
Billy feels his entire body go numb. His keys tumble form his slack hands and he forgets how to breathe.
This cannot be happening.
He- he’s got a restraining order, they’re only a month from the trial, this cannot be happening. Max is going to be here any minute, if she sees him… if he sees her-
The man turns.
It’s not Neil.
With the force of a punch to the gut, feeling returns to Billy’s body. He sucks in a breath as his heart hammers away in his chest and his hands close around the steering wheel in a vice-like grip. The sudden rush of adrenalin leaves his mind feeling dizzy and kind of fogged up.
The passenger door is ripped open.
Vaguely, he registers Max huffing in annoyance as she chucks the toaster into the backseat and takes her seat, arms crossed, face turned away. He knows he’s supposed to drive them home now, but his hands seem to be frozen to the steering wheel. They won’t move. Nothing will.
Max loses her patience within seconds.
“Are you gonna start driving anytime soon?” she snaps, head whipping around furiously to face him.
Billy might be relieved to hear her voice, but it’s dim beneath the heavy weight of something on his lungs.
“Hey!” Max bellows directly into his ear and he flinches magnificently. Max stares. “Okay, you’re starting to freak me out. What the fuck is wrong with you? Is this some sort of punishment for yesterday? I’ll pay for the stupid toaster, alright? Jeez.”
Billy is glad to note that he has regained enough control over his body to shake his head at her words. He can explain himself – everything’s fine.
“Neil,” is all he manages to croak out and Max snaps to attention immediately, head whipping around as she searches their surroundings.
“Where?” she asks, her voice hard, “Billy, where?”
Weakly, Billy detaches one hand from the steering wheel and points. He feels Max sag in relief next to him.
Billy half expects her to shout at him for being stupid, but she’s calm when she says, “That’s not Neil, Billy. That’s just some random guy.”
“I… know… but.”
“But he looked like Neil for a moment?” Max guesses, eyes on the guys back as he gets into an old Ford. He drives off, and Billy’s hands slide down the wheel into his lap. He nods.
His breathing is still off, but it’s fine. The guy’s gone and it wasn’t Neil. He’s got everything under control.
“Okay,” Max says, still calm.
She doesn’t sound angry. She doesn’t even sound annoyed, which is weird, because she gets annoyed by everything and they’ve been loitering in front of the school for way longer than necessary now, when they could already be on their way home, and Max probably hasn’t had lunch yet, just because Billy’s being so unbelievably stupid and maybe he’s got nothing under control and… and-
“Hey, dickhead.” Max’s voice cuts through the fog in his head. “You’re hyperventilating. Billy, hey, look at me. Look at me.”
Billy looks.
Max is kneeling sideways in her seat, leaning towards him, eyes full of concern.
“It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be fine, but I need you to breathe with me, alright?” She puts one of her small hands on Billy’s chest, which, he now realizes, is rising and falling at an alarming speed. “In and out, big guy, come on. You can do it. In and out.”
Billy stares at a weirdly curled lock of hair at Max’s temple and tries to match her exaggerated breathing as she keeps talking him through it.
Vaguely, he recognizes that he was on the brink of blind, uncontrollable panic and he didn’t even notice. Jesus Christ.
“In… and out…” he mumbles along with her after a minute. The fog is starting to clear up.
Max nods in encouragement. “In and out, that’s right. Just a little slower… there we go. God job.”
After another minute, Billy is sweaty and shivering, but he’s come back to himself. He tips his head back and groans. Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Max gives his chest a final pat before pulling her hand away and sinking back into her seat.
“Well, that wasn’t fun,” she comments after a beat.
Billy feels heat rising in his cheeks. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be stupid. I think that was a panic attack. Dustin had one, once. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I’m fine. Sorry.”
Billy fumbles for his keys that he must’ve dropped sometime between catching sight of the Neil lookalike and making a fool out of himself in front of his little sister. He doesn’t remember dropping them. But there they are, stuck between his thigh and the seat.
“Hey, no,” Max says, covering the ignition with her hand. “Not yet, okay? I don’t wanna drive in a car with someone who’s still shaking. Let’s just hang out here for a couple more minutes, alright? There’s no rush.”
He doesn’t bother arguing.
While Billy focuses on trying not to think, Max turns the radio on and puts her feet up on the dashboard. Billy is too worn out to tell her to knock it off and figures that after handling this shitshow just now, she deserves a bit of leniency. He closes his eyes and focuses on the sounds of REO Speedwagon’s Can’t Fight this Feeling, the rain drumming against the windows, and Max rummaging through her bag.
Just as the song comes to a close and some DJ starts chattering about Top 100 charts, Billy feels something poke his shoulder. He blinks his eyes open. Max is holding her half-full bottle of water out to him.
“Want some? You look… wilted,” she says, which, thanks a lot.
“You’re not drinking enough,” Billy grumbles.
Max gapes at him. “My god, when did you become such a worrywart?! If somebody told me, like, a half year ago that one day Billy Hargrove would be concerned about my hydration, I would’ve laughed in their face. It’s so weird.”
Yeah, well, maybe people can change after all, Billy thinks, but he’s not saying that.
“Sorry to freak you out, pumpkin, but half a bottle of water is just not enough for, what, eight hours of school? Maybe you’re the one that’s actually wilting.”
“I’ll give you wilting!” Max snaps back at once and gives him a look that could, in fact, make any plant wither away. Then, with a resigned shake of her head, she grabs Billy’s right hand and slaps the bottle into the palm of it. “I refilled it after fifth period. Drink up and drive us home, dumbass. I’m fucking starving.”
At home, Billy makes Mac and Cheese and almost burns himself twice. He’s antsy and on edge in the aftershock of thinking he’d have to face his father.
Max has been sitting at the kitchen table, unwrapping their new toaster and complaining about it’s rather unfortunate khaki coloring (Billy reminds her just who is responsible for the new one in the first place, which shuts her up, if only on that particular topic). By the second time he drops the spatula, Max gets up with a dramatic sigh. She takes her sweet time plugging in the ugly toaster, before hip-checking Billy away from the stove.
“You never get the cheese right, anyways,” she narks.
Billy rubs a hand over his face. He would like to be done with this day now, please.
It takes an hour of doing weights and other exercises in the living room, with Max doing homework right next to him on the coffee table, for Billy to feel remotely normal again. All the while, he and Max are arguing with each other.
Billy knows she’s doing it on purpose – she’s the queen of storming off, after all. Any other given day, she’d be doing her homework in her room after having slammed the door shut behind her, and would not come out until 8 p.m. to fight Billy for the TV remote. Today, though, she doesn’t leave him alone for longer than it takes to go to the bathroom.
And he’s grateful for her badly veiled concern, he is, and he’s damn glad she’s not ignoring him any longer, but it’s just so exhausting. He can’t back down, can’t lose his face when Max is fighting him on everything from how to make Mac and Cheese is to whose turn it is to choose what show they watch before bed.
And Billy’s never saying this out loud to anyone – it’s scary enough that he’s thinking it in the privacy of his own head, he doesn’t know what’s becoming of him – but he just wants a hug. He wants Max to stop bitching around and for her to sit on the sofa next to him, not as far away as possible; he wants her to rub her cheek against his shoulder like she sometimes does and say that they’re a team.
But he doesn’t know how to ask for that without making a fool of himself, or without somehow making Max mad at him yet again. He wants the sweet, fiercely protective Max from New Year’s Eve, who hugged him and claimed him as family, and vowed to protect him from Neil as though her tiny ass could do much about it.
But as it is, they sit on opposite ends of the sofa, pelt each other with raisins from the trail mix Max has gotten out of the pantry for dessert, and bash each other’s taste in music.
Eventually, Billy’s had enough for one day. He leaves Max on the sofa and gets ready for bed early. Screw it all, you know? Screw broken appliances and pubescent little sisters and abusive-parent-lookalikes and fucking panic attacks. Billy’s done.
Half an hour later, he’s just about to turn off his bedside lamp when there’s a soft knock on his door. After a beat, it creaks open and Max sticks her head in.
Jesus, what now?
“If you came to tell me again that Killer Queen is better than I Want to Break Free, you can just, like, leave.”
“It is. You’re mental, it just is-“
“Leave-“
“-but that’s not what I came to say,” Max finishes, talking loudly over him.
She moves her whole body into the room and leans her back against the door, which clicks shut behind her.
Billy is so tired. “Well spit it out then, I want to go to sleep.”
“I’m sorry about last night, alright,” she blurts out, cheeks coloring. “I just lost it.”
That’s great, now tell me you don’t hate me and come give me a hug, Billy thinks, before he can stop himself. Jesus Christ, somebody needs to slap him.
“It’s just a stupid toaster, Max,” he says gruffly.
“I don’t give a shit about the fucking toaster, dumbass,” she snaps, “I didn’t mean what I said about you, but I know it hurt your dumb feelings or whatever, so I’m sorry. Got it?”
Only Max could be this mean while apologizing. Billy gapes a little, stunned, but she plows on.
“Also, it’s not even ten o’clock and you’re already going to bed, so.” She takes a deep breath. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m exhausted, ‘cause my pain-in-the-ass little sister has been nagging me all fucking day.”
Max doesn’t take the bait. It’s obvious that she’s worried about him, which it’s sweet but also really humiliating.
“If you’re… Look, you’re not gonna, like, forget how to breathe in your sleep, are you?”
Billy rolls his eyes to cover his embarrassment. “Don’t be stupid, of course not.”
“Okay. Cool,” she says, but she keeps looking at him pensively. “But if… I mean, if you wanna argue a little more about Queen songs, just gimme a shout, alright?”
Billy huffs out a small laugh. Nothing brings people together like a common enemy, isn’t that what Steve said? At least his piece-of-shit dad is good for something.
“Will do,” he says lightly. “Night, brat.”
Max’s lips twitch. “Night, asshole.”