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It was meant to be a joke. Billy was meant to smile, maybe smack his shoulder and dig his elbow into Steve’s ribs in that playful fuck off, Harrington sorta way.
Billy wasn’t meant to get up from Steve’s bed, shrug on his top (button it all the way ) and storm out.
Because this was what they did. They joked about abusive fathers and alcoholic mothers, poked and prodded at wounds that hadn’t quite healed (and maybe they never would, but Steve didn’t like to dwell too long on that). They pried each other apart with hands that used to harm and now only knew how to hold.
This was what they did. They tugged at each other’s braids like kids in the schoolyard because pain and humiliation was the only way they were ever taught to love.
So Steve was expecting Billy to laugh , because he always laughed. He wasn’t expecting him to leave. To walk away and stop talking to him for-
“Two weeks, Robin!”
“Has it occurred to you that maybe you’re overreacting and Billy’s just been busy?”
Steve scoffed, as though he didn’t know Billy’s schedule back to front and upside down. He rolled his eyes for good measure, blew a strand of hair out of his eyes with a huff, because he was angry about it, Billy fuckin’ ghosting him, and he had a right to be angry about it.
And he stayed angry about it for all of two minutes before thinking about it just made him sad. So Steve sighed to loosen the tightness in his chest, the hurt that was lodged in his throat and threatening tears, and he slumped against the counter.
Was this it ? Was Billy really going to end things like that?
“I mean,” Steve began, fiddling with the new release poster that he should really be sticking on the wall (and definitely not tearing to pieces, it was company property, after all, but here he was). “I know we weren’t like, together- together, but I thought...I don’t know. I thought he’d at least dump me over text.”
“He hasn’t dumped you, Steve.” Robin tried to reason, because she was of the mind that you can’t dump someone if they don’t know about it. Steve was of the mind that most lesbians were probably a lot nicer than Billy Hargrove.
His eyes narrowed into a halfhearted glare and he threw his hands into the air as he repeated: “It’s been two weeks!”
“Yeah, yeah I heard you the first time, dingus.”
And he knew Robin didn’t want to hear it, knew he’d been lamenting the loss of Billy Hargrove non-stop for two weeks, but he also knew she was a good friend, the best, and she would listen without complaints.
But Steve wanted to complain.
He wanted to complain about Billy and feelings and relationships that weren’t even relationships because they hadn’t talked about it (because Billy didn’t really want to talk about it, because he was worried his dad would find out and he wasn’t about to put Billy in that sort of danger just because Steve had been reckless enough to fall for him).
He wanted to argue some more, to vent and whine until anything he might’ve felt for Billy Hargrove was flushed out of his system.
And then his phone chimed with a sound that Steve was far too familiar with, the sound of Instagram letting him know that Billy had a new post and-
Who was he kidding?
Billy Hargrove was in his blood, the shape of his fingerprints embedded into his skin and the taste of his lips still lingering on his tongue. Steve was never going to forget the feeling of Billy Hargrove.
Admitting defeat, Steve pulled his phone out of his back pocket and pointedly ignored the mocking notification in favour of opening the app directly from his home screen and looking for Billy’s account. (And if the handle _billyboy_ populated the search bar before he’d even typed a thing, then that was Steve’s business.)
Steve was expecting one of the staple Billy Hargrove posts: a thirst trap by the pool with a water-droplet emoji caption or some artsy picture of his disgusting black coffee paired with a line from On The Road or something equally pretentious. What he wasn’t expecting, because Billy seemed to be full of surprises lately, was a picture of Billy with a girl .
The girl was pretty (of course she was pretty if she was with Billy) and Steve knew he was at least a little pretty, but this girl. She was the kind of pretty that made fools out of people, with unruly dark curls and eyes that sparked when she smiled and glossy pink lips (that probably tasted like strawberries, because Billy loved strawberries) pressed against Billy’s cheek.
I don’t know where I’d be if I hadn’t met you.
The caption made Steve’s stomach churn, like something or someone had dug it’s fingers into his gut and was toying with his insides.
He stared at the photo, a little blankly at first until the image of Billy with someone else was burned into his vision, until it painted the back of his eyelids when he closed them, until he couldn’t look anymore.
He closed the app, locked the screen and slammed the phone down on the counter.
“Yeah, he um,” his voice was paper thin and it crumpled in his throat. “He’s definitely dumped me.”
Robin, voice filled with more pity than Steve was comfortable acknowledging, said: “Steve, I’m sorry.”
Steve hummed out a response, still not quite trusting himself to use any words as Billy and his new girlfriend seemed to have stolen all of them right from him.
“Look, why don’t you come over tonight?” Robin continued, because she knew Steve wasn’t good with silence, because that’s when his thoughts were the loudest and she knew his head must be screaming right now. “Heather’s gonna be there too so you can finally meet her. We’ll make tacos and eat ourselves silly and watch Friends. It’ll be fun.”
And, okay, maybe hanging out with Robin and her girlfriend didn’t sound like Steve’s idea of a good time right now, but Robin was doing her best for him so he would do his best for her.
“Yeah,” he agreed, holding a resigned sigh tight in his chest. “Yeah, okay.”
.
Steve wasn’t one to give up easily. He was stubborn, a brat when he really wanted to be and he didn’t like to lose, but he had to confess that making tacos in this shoe-box of a kitchen, in Robin’s tiny, run-down apartment (that she was very proud of, because we don’t all have rich parents like you, thank you very much, Steven.) did make him feel a little better, a little lighter.
For a few hours he forgot all about the way billy walked out, left him. Forgot about the pain in his chest and the longing for something that wasn’t his anymore and never really was in the first place.
For a few hours, a few fleeting but blissful hours, Steve felt like his old self, the self he liked, the self he was somewhere between King Steve and Billy Hargrove, when it was just him and Robin and Scoops Ahoy! and everything felt like it would work out in the end.
And then there was the sound of the front door opening and closing, a voice that was full-bodied and sweet like sugar calling out: “Robs, babe, I brought an extra! And we got desert, so you can’t be mad!”
Steve wanted to laugh at that, because if there was one thing he knew about Robin it was that she was always happy to take in a stray. She took in Steve, after all, when she found out he spent all of his nights alone and lived on two-minute noodles and Kraft Mac ‘n’ Cheese and even though she acted like it was such a drag, Steve knew she loved it when The Party invited themselves over and crowded-up her already cramped living room. Robin said it was because she grew up with too many cousins hanging around. Steve said she was just a softie.
So Steve almost laughed at that, felt it bubbling like fizzy lemonade, opened his mouth to giggle out a witty retort.
And then any words that he’d had died on the tip of his tongue. The laughter evaporated in his chest.
Because then in walked Heather, a girl with unruly dark curls and eyes that sparkled when she smiled and lips that probably tasted like strawberry gloss. And standing right beside her was the extra she’d dragged along, the last person Steve wanted to see, Billy fucking Hargrove.
Steve felt the colour drain from his face as his eyes met Billy’s. He immediately dropped his gaze, bit the inside of his cheek in hopes that the pain would drown out the voices reminding him how much he loved those ocean blue eyes.
His thoughts were racing a mile a minute, desperately trying to connect the dots as though they would form some elaborate consetllation in his mind (and not a straight fucking line) because he had to be wrong.
He had to be.
I don’t know where I’d be if I hadn’t met you.
It was a line, Steve knew that now. It was just a line Billy used to lure people into his web, into his bed and into his little black book. He’d used it on Steve, whispered it in his ear, murmured it against his skin after a long night of chinese takeaway and talking about their dreams. It didn’t mean anything, he knew that now too. Not when he was using it with her.
And suddenly all that sadness he’d been feeling, all the loneliness and shame, the whys and what ifs, it all boiled away until there was nothing but a soft rage simmering in the pit of his stomach.
“Are you serious, Billy?”
The words tumbled past Steve’s lips before he had even realised he was speaking, and he put down the wooden spoon he’d been using to stir the mince (the only job Robin trusted him with) in favour of running his hands through his wild, unwashed hair.
Billy shuffled his feet, glanced at Steve and then back at Heather.
“Look, I didn’t know you were gonna be here-”
“That’s not what I’m talking about!” Steve cut him off, voice a little higher than expected, a little louder than intended. But he was fired up now, because yeah, Billy might’ve broken his heart but at least he hadn’t cheated on him. Not like Heather was doing to Robin, right in front of his face.
And Steve considered himself a good person. He’d worked hard to become a good person who made good first impressions, but right now all that goodness was being hurled out the nearest window, first impressions and good reputation be damned, as he pursed his lips and pointed a finger at the girl who was hurting his best friend.
“And you! How could you do this to Robin? She loves you, and you’re gonna throw that away just to fuck Billy-”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Heather took two steps forward and held up her hands to silence him. “I’m gayer than Hayley Kiyoko, my friend, and I’m not cheating on Robin.”
Steve scoffed, crossed his arms over his chest and turned his head.
“Yeah, no, dude,” Robin chimed in, “I can guarantee she is not sleeping with Billy.”
And Steve wanted to argue, to tell them about the caption and why he was right and Heather was lying because of course she wanted Billy, would be crazy not to, but then Billy was talking, saying things he’d never say to Steve (things like I’m sorry) and that was enough to render him speechless.
“Shit, Heather, I’m sorry. This is my fault.”
Heather looked at Billy, considered him carefully for a moment before looking back at Steve. A lightbulb seemed to go off in her head, her entire face lighting up in a silent oh of realisation.
Then she said it out loud.
“Oh, this is Steve.”
And Steve shouldn’t be surprised, wouldn’t be, except that Heather was looking at Billy, not Robin. That tone in her voice that said this is the guy you’ve been telling me about was for Billy.
Maybe two weeks ago the knowledge that Billy might’ve talked about him to someone would’ve made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, maybe even a little giddy, but right now, knowing he was saying things to her and using the same words he’d mumbled against Steve’s lips as they lay tangled up in Steve’s sheets before they fell asleep, well. That knowledge just made Steve feel a little sick.
“You know what,” Heather spoke again, her voice sharp enough to cut through the tension. (And it was a nice voice, Steve could understand how Billy would rather hear that over his own, couldn’t blame him for choosing her.) “I actually need a shower. Robin, come with me.”
Heather was grabbing her arm and dragging her out of the room before Robin had the chance to agree.
And then it was Billy and Steve all alone, but together, in Robin’s shoe-box of a kitchen, and alone but together, wasn’t something they’d been in two weeks. The tension was back, and Steve didn’t know what to do this time.
“I’m sorry.”
And there it was again, those words that Billy never used, at least not with Steve. Except that this time they were*m for Steve, but they’d been for Heather first, in some ways were still for her, and although he would’ve begged Billy to say them weeks ago (fuckin’ months ago), hearing them now just didn’t feel like enough.
Steve had had enough.
Enough of bullshit and enough of its not you, its me because it was clearly him. He was the reason no one stayed. And he’d shut up and sat down and just fuckin’ took it with Nancy, but he loved Billy more than he’d ever loved her, didn’t know he was capable of loving the way he loved Billy. And yeah, Steve knew that was his own fault, knew he was the only one falling, knew there’d be no one to catch him. And okay, they weren’t together-together, but they were something, and Steve deserved an explanation. He wasn’t going to shut up and take it this time, not with Billy.
“No,” he said, and then: “what the fuck, Billy? You just dump me and run off and now you’re saying sorry? Like that means anything right now?”
Billy’s eyes, so bright and blue, were wide, like he was shocked, like he hadn’t expected Steve would finally standing up for himself.
And Steve almost felt proud, smug, felt the rush of his King Steve days.
But that all washed away when Billy said: “I didn’t dump you, Steve.”
And for a second, Steve let himself hope. Hope that Billy still wanted him, that this had all just been one big misunderstanding. But then Steve remembered shit like that only happened in those romantic comedies that Nancy made him watch, and he let out a small breath, let the hope leave his lungs. Let his head hang a little so he didn’t have to look at Billy, because looking made him want and that hurt.
“Right,” he scoffed, “because you can’t dump someone if you aren’t even together, right? But it wasn’t- we weren’t nothing, Billy! At the very least we were friends, so what the fuck? What the fuck was that?”
He was getting worked up again, he could feel his breathing growing shallow and his voice getting tighter and higher and louder and he looked at Billy, who stood there watching him with a look that Steve couldn’t read, his face a blank canvas, and that. That made Steve’s blood boil, because he could always read Billy, had spent hours studying him but now he was a closed book and Steve knew he didn’t fuckin’ deserve that. He deserved a reaction and he was going to get one.
“You can’t just get up and walk away without saying anything, I deserve- no. You know what? Fuck it. I don’t care, I don’t wanna hear anything you have to say to me. I fucking hate you!”
Billy flinched, that feigned nonchalance fading away as his blue eyes darkened like a stormy ocean, his lips twitched downwards and Steve swore, he knew, because he was top of the class when it came to Billy fucking Hargrove, he knew that only happened when Billy was about to cry.
“Please don’t say that.”
His words were barely there, soft but still hard enough to knock the wind out of Steve. Because Billy rarely said sorry, but he never said please.
Steve dropped his guard with a shaky exhale.
“Well what do you want me to say, Bill? We’ve been together for months, or not together but you know what I mean. And I know we haven't had sex and its been a secret because of your dad and I’m fine with all of that, you know I always have been. I’m happy with whatever you’ll give me but if you aren't...if you want out, don't you think I should have some sorta explanation?”
Billy’s tongue flicked out to lick his lips with a flourish, waggling his tongue a little more than necessary, a nervous tick that Steve was too familiar with. He wanted to joke, tell him to keep your tongue in your mouth, don’t be gross like he usually would but his stupid jokes were the reason they were standing in Robin’s kitchen fighting instead of in his bed kissing, so instead of making jokes about Billy’s tongue, Steve bit his own.
“I don’t wanna have sex with you.”
His words were blunter than Steve had been anticipating, seemed to smack right into him with a force strong enough to make him stumble. And it hurt, because this was Billy and he wanted Billy so much but Billy didn’t want him and that hurt more than it ever did with Nancy, but at least Billy was talking, was being honest. That was enough.
“And that’s confusing. Because I like kissing you, fuck, I like touching you, and you’re so fuckin’ pretty, you know? So I should wanna fuck you, but I don’t. So Heather made me go to one of those meetings with her and she- fuck, she’s like me and she took me under her wing while I’ve been figuring it all out in my head and what that meant for my future- for us, Steve.
“And that day, with you, I found out there was a word for it. This shit’s real. I’m not alone and I'm not making it up, and its fuckin’ normal. I’m normal. I’m- fuck. I’m asexual, Steve. And then you made that joke and I realised that I’m not gonna be enough for you. So I fuckin’ bailed, okay? I couldn’t...I just couldn’t.
“I caught up with Heather earlier today. She finally fuckin’ convinced me to talk to you about this shit, that’s what the stupid fuckin’ post was about, alright? So there. I fuckin’ talked.”
Billy looked defeated, beaten down with his arms crossed over his chest in a defensive stance Steve hadn’t seen in months. And Steve…
Steve felt like an asshole.
Because he remembered that joke, had spent the past two weeks replying it in his mind on a loop. Had spent the past two weeks thinking it’d be the last thing he got to say to Billy.
They’d been at Steve’s house, in his bed, a mess of tangled hands and tangled tongues and sweet nothings whispered against flushed skin. And then Billy had stopped kissing back, said he had to be home for Max.
You’re all tease, Hargrove. When’re you gonna make it worth my while?
Steve had been an idiot. Of course he couldn’t have known what Billy’d been feeling, but he should’ve. Should’ve paid more attention, should’ve thought about his words, should’ve been a better not-quite-boyfriend.
And Steve had never been good at being a boyfriend, but he figured this was a good time to learn.
“Billy, I don’t- I don’t care about that! I don’t need sex, I just need you because I...I love you.”
He had said it in a while, not since Nancy and definition never before that, and he hadn’t been scared to say it to her, but his heart was pounding against his sternum, could hear it loud in his ears, as he laid the truth out in front of him, tugged out his own heart to wear it on his sleeve.
And he didn’t expect Billy to say it back, but he also didn’t expect Billy to frown, bear his teeth and snap.
“That’s the dumbest shit you’ve ever said. I know what you were like before Wheeler,” Billy said, and the mention of his ex, the girl who didn’t love him then, just like Billy doesn’t now, felt like a slap. Steve wanted to cry, wanted to run and hide so Billy didn’t see it, but Billy was blocking his only exit. “King fucking Steve. Girls talk, you know. Guys do, too.”
But Steve had already decided he wasn’t gonna take it this time, was gonna fight for Billy, so he swallowed the painful lump in his throat, swallowed his pride and his fear and every insecure thought that was bouncing around in his head.
”Yeah,” he said, “okay, but that was then, and this is now. And now I love you. You're all I fucking want Bill, in any way you'll let me have you. Even if you just wanna be friends while you're going through this...I mean it'll suck because I think about kissing you like, all the time, but I can wait.”
He was expecting Billy to scoff at him, to roll his eyes and call him stupid again. He wasn’t expecting Billy to close the distance between them, take Steve’s face in his hands and kiss him.
But that’s what Billy had been doing best lately, subverting all of Steve’s expectations. (He didn’t mind too much this time.)
“You know what this means, pretty boy?” Billy mumbled into the kiss.
“That you’re a big sap who loves me too?”
Billy laughed, threw his head back and fucking cackled. Steve had missed that sound and in that moment, made it his personal goal to hear it every single day.
“Thought that much was obvious,” he said, deep and low before bringing his lips back to Steve’s. “Means your mine now, Harrington. I’m not walking away again.”
And what could Steve do, other than smile against Billy’s lips, wrap his arms around his neck and mutter into the kiss.
“Good.”