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“My handsome boy.”
His mother hugged him the morning she left. Wrapped him in an embrace that smelled of cinnamon and oranges and sand. He had breathed in it, unknowing that it would be the last time he would feel her embrace. The last time Billy would ever see his mother.
“Stop crying already!”
His father had never been one for physical contact. Well, physical contact beyond his fist slamming into his son. Neil was violent. Had always been. It grew worst after she left. When the beer bottles began to litter the counter space and the fridge was empty more often than it was full. When he would disappear for days, only to stumble in with some new woman in his arms. They would pinch his cheeks with their sharply manicured nails and ruffle his hair and tell him what a handsome young man he was. Billy hated their touch. Hated how fake they were. Hated how quickly they came and how quickly they left. Until one stayed and brought a child of her own and he hated her touch the most.
“Well aren’t we just too handsome.”
He grew tall and firm. With golden locks that cascaded around the nap of his neck and skin glistening with the touch of the sun. It was when they started to notice him. The middle aged mothers, just as desperate for a touch as he was. He was fourteen but they said it was just a number. They’d trail their perfectly groomed nails along his chest and whisper words into his ear. Offer lemonade as they paid him for cleaning their pool. Lead him through their homes, offering an affection he crave. Dirty. Always so dirty after.
“I love you Billy!”
Ryan had touched him softly. Had fixed every bruise and stitched every scar. Had held him as Billy cried and bleed and broke. Had shown him kindness, compassion, love. Had offered a warmth that Billy hadn’t known in years. As quickly as those soft hands, those warm comforting embraces came, were they taken away.
“I won’t have a faggot for a son!”
Replaced by the harsh force of his father’s fist into his jaw. Over and over, until every inch of his skin was cold and black and broken. When states lines and countless miles were placed been him and the only source of affection he had ever known.
“Plant your feet, Harrington.”
He was drawn to him. Drawn to the warmth that swam off the small town king. Steve radiated it. When he moved away, Billy felt cold again. He touched him at any opportunity he could. Pressed against him on the court. Brushed against him in the hall. Slid a hand over the other’s towel clothed backside while in the showers. His hands wandered. His eyes wandered. Always enough to brush off as an accident. Never enough to raise suspicion.
“Don’t cream your pants about it.”
Billy slammed his fists into his face and for the first time, he felt cold touching Steve. He felt cold and broken and dirty. Billy embraced that cold. It was familiar. It was more comfortable than the warmth Steve offered that Billy knew he could never have.
“Seven feet.”
The strange little girl with the strange little powers touched his face. She brought him forward, clearing the fog from his mind. She wasn’t warm. She was cold, like him. Broken. Desperate for the warmth of those around her. She brought forth the smell of cinnamon and oranges and waves rushing over sand. She brought back his mother’s soft embrace. She brought back the warmth he’d spent so many years searching for. That warmth was pulled away at the beast in front of him impaled its way though Billy’s chest.
“You’re awake! He’s awake!”
Hospitals had always been a sour spot for Billy. He hated how they smelled. How static and cold they were. The sheet he slept on were course. The blanket far too thin to keep him warm. Tubes ran into both of his arms. The tube he had down his throat the first few days burned. Max had swarmed around him. He’d been too exhausted to ask her to stop touching him. Her touch burned. She was always careful, brushing her fingers along the back of his hand, muttering that they would be better this time around. Her touch was always too warm.
“It’s not much, but it’s home.”
They knew. The strange little girl knew. They all knew. The bruises, the scars, the years of abuse that hardened his heart until everything around him was as cold as he was. They wouldn’t let him go home. Not after they knew. There was a spare bed in the Byers. They placed it opposite Jonathon’s. It was a small room but they fit both beds. He hadn’t known what to do at first. What with their constant touching. When he grew too cold, they seemed to sense it. Will would come out of the woodwork, sliding onto the couch next to him and showing him a drawing he had done. Jonathon would brush his his knuckles against his when they passed the joint back and forth. El – who had moved into the home with Hop since Billy had led a monster to destroy their home – would not hesitate to crawl against Billy and bury herself into his shirt. Hop would touch his shoulders, asking how he was doing.
“Breath for me, Billy. Deep breaths. There you are.”
Joyce’s touch were always too warm. He had pulled away when she first touched his shoulder, guiding him into the cluttered little home and apologizing for it not being anything grand. She was always careful about touching him but when she did, it burned. She was warm and motherly and always smelled of something sweet. She’d held him as he sunk deeper and deeper into a panic attack, the cold and the screams and the moldy fog overtaking his senses. She’d held him against her, whispering words of comfort for a child who wasn’t her own. The cold burned away in her arms.
“You’re lucky your cute, otherwise I wouldn’t watch this crap.”
Steve fit against him like they made to be a pair. He slide between Billy’s legs, pressing his back against Billy’s torso as they lay on the couch. It was like those quick touches in gym. All those brief touches of light that Billy so desperately craved. Yet the touches weren’t brief. And they weren’t laced with a guilt and a fear of some wayward eye catching him. They melted together on the couch, a thin blanket draped across both their legs. Steve’s hair smelled of almonds and grass. Recently he’d switched to a conditioner that smelled of coconut and ocean waves. Billy breathed it in, finding comfort in the familiar scents.
“It’s a classic. You work at a video store, how have you not seen this?”
The room smelled of pizza and sex. The television started up to a black and white scene, eerie music started rolling through the speakers. Billy wrapped his arm around Steve’s waist, drawing him in closer. Their bare skin shimmered with sweat as their heat melted together. Billy breathed it in, soaking up all the warmth he was still afraid would leave him. Steve promised him it wouldn’t. Joyce promised it wouldn’t. They all offered their warmth and never threatened to take it away.
“Hop proposed to Joyce yesterday.”
He’d asked Billy if he would be a groomsman. Wanted all three of his son’s up there with him. Billy hadn’t cried. Anyone who said otherwise was a liar. He hadn’t cried when they told him of the engagement. When the six of them moved into a bigger home and Billy took the room opposite of Will. When they presented papers for adoption – he only had a few months before eighteen but they wanted him. When he had melted into Joyce’s arms and he found a soft warmth that had left with his mother. A warmth he had searched for long for.
“Its about time.”
Steve looked back at Billy. The smile on his face could rival the sun. Billy pulled him close, breathing in the warmth that was offered. The movie started up, casting shadows over the living room. Billy slide his hand around, wrapping his finger’s between Steve’s. A soft boiling warmth trailed through Billy’s veins, ignited by the family and love that he taken him in.