Work Text:
Tonight, the breeze is a light shudder over Steve's bare arms.
He's sitting on the floor in front of his sliding back door.
The door is open to about the width of his shoulders; wide enough to breathe the outside air, narrow enough to be closed quickly.
The sunset is gorgeous. Truly dreamlike in its beauty. Soft pinks and vibrant oranges fading to quiet purples and deep blues in one direction, to bright, blinding, yellow in the other.
It's not red tonight. Steve couldn't be here, looking, if it was red tonight. Couldn't see it without facing flashes of bloody nails, dark-veined blue eyes, doomsday skies.
So, it's not red tonight.
But the shadows are there. On the edge of the tree line. Cast over chlorinated water by a diving board.
Even so, Steve can be here. Because the gap left by the open door is narrow enough to be slammed shut in less than a second. And Steve's bat is resting against the wall, easy to reach. And, most importantly, Billy is in the house.
Billy's sleeping on the living room couch. Protected by two fluffy blankets. Living. Breathing. In this dimension.
He sleeps a lot, these days. Is usually curled up on that couch when Steve gets home from work. Billy hasn't been medically cleared to start working again yet. So, he mostly sleeps during the day, isn't quite able to shut his eyes to the night.
Steve wishes it wasn't like that. Hopes the night feels less like dying, for Billy, soon. Although, admittedly, Steve takes comfort in knowing someone's keeping watch on him as he sleeps.
The sunset is getting less yellow now, more pink and purple. Soon it will all fade to vast, dominating, blues.
A dog barks off in the distance. Steve watches a squirrel twitch its tail, run away up a tree.
Steve likes these sounds, dogs barking, squirrels scurrying. They're safe, but, nothing compared to his current favorite sound, the rustle of blankets and squeak of the couch as Billy shifts into consciousness.
Steve's lips rise in a soft smile, soft like the pink of the sunset. He hears Billy grunt before the couch squeaks again and his feet can be heard finding the floorboards. The wood groans as Billy shifts his full weight onto it, standing. The scuffing of socks brushing over the floor makes way over to Steve.
The footsteps stop in the doorway.
"Good morning, baby," Steve calls, keeping his eyes on the sunset.
Billy yawns, shuffles over to sit next to Steve. He shakes out his arms before shifting onto his side and laying his head onto Steve's crossed legs.
He's brought one of the blankets with him, has it draped over his shoulders and covering him down to his feet.
Steve sets his right hand over Billy's heart, feels his own fill with a molten kind of love when Billy's hand moves up to cover Steve's.
Steve's left hand travels to Billy's hair, stroking the tangled curls in his lap.
This means safety. Means comfort unmatched. Is the first time, all day, Steve can honestly say the sense of impending doom is silenced.
"Sunset's good today?" Billy asks in a whisper.
Steve senses the soft pink between his ribs grow crawling up to his armpits. He feels some of the tension in his shoulders melt as the color starts to glow.
"The sunset's amazing today," Steve responds, with a pleased sigh.
Billy gifts a kiss to Steve's ankle.
"Tell me 'bout work," he instructs.
In the back of Steve's throat, something joins the sunset pink.
"Was pretty average. Nothing special. Except, actually, El and Will came in today. Robin convinced them to rent, uh, the... 'Rocket Horror Movie'? I think?"
The texture of Billy's hair is a quiet sunset purple beneath Steve's fingers.
Billy rolls onto his back, frowns up at Steve, "Huh?"
"Uh, or maybe it was, 'The Rocking Horror Show'? Something like that. Don't think it's a new release," Steve tries to explain.
Billy's eyes light up, a grin spreads over his face, "The Rocky Horror Picture Show?"
Steve's left pointer finger tap-tap-taps against a floorboard, "Yeah! That's the one," he exclaims, relieved to have it remembered.
Billy's eyebrows raise, grin deepens, "Really? No way?"
"Rob said it wouldn't be too scary for the kids," Steve says, starting, now, to doubt her claim.
Billy frees up a laugh at that. His amusement has him vibrating against Steve's thighs; Steve thinks, this must be what it's like to feel at home.
"So you've never seen Rocky Horror?" Billy asks after settling down.
"No," Steve answers, "s'it bad?"
Billy huffs out a quiet chuckle, shakes his head. He's looking at Steve so tenderly, like Steve is the force that keeps his heart beating.
"What's so funny about it then?" Steve demands, tone shifting to a whine.
Billy's lips twitch in the way they do when he's trying to hide a smile.
"We'll rent it once your kids return it. You'll just have to wait and see."
Steve groans, "Biilllyy, you know I hate waiting!"
"Yup," Billy says, popping the 'p' and rolling his eyes.
He reaches up and brings Steve's head down, traps him in a vibrant orange kiss.
Steve might cry, he would if he still remembered how to. He's safe. This is home. This is home.
Billy pulls back. His eyes are watering. He's happy. Steve can tell by the way he scrunches his nose, squeezes Steve's hand.
"Whenever I sit here with you, looking out at the sunset, I think, it's the day kissing the night awake," Billy says.
Steve smiles down at Billy in gentle purple. He moves the hand that isn't clutching Billy's own, back to his lover's hair. Let's his fingers glide over it.
"Reminds me of you," Billy clarifies, closing his eyes.
Steve hums in question.
Billy continues, "You do the same. Kiss me awake at night," he rubs his head up and down over Steve's thigh, wraps an arm around his waist, "You're my sunset."
And Steve's glowing now. Taken over by all the colors of the sunset.
Steve's not good at crying. Hasn't felt tears on his face in... he doesn't know how long. Billy, though, is good at crying. He tears up practically any time he's struck by emotion.
Sometimes, like now, Steve wishes he knew how to release the suffocating hold he's had choking his emotions since he first realized his parents didn't love him back. He wishes he could let go of control, drop the façade, even for just a few seconds.
Because he's safe, here, with Billy, in this dimension. He knows nothing bad would come of displaying his emotions. He's safe. He's loved. He's home.
But, years of suppressing his emotions. Burying his feelings. Hiding behind a mask. They don't just disappear. He can't just reset.
So it's still hard for him. To express his own emotions outside of responding to those of others. Because, he can be angry in response to someone else's rage, can be sad in response to someone else's despair, can be affectionate in response to someone else's care. But, he can't quite seem to feel like a human on his own. Can't seem to say anything serious with his eyes open, or kiss Billy first, couldn't respond to Nancy's grief while simultaneously burying his own terror, guilt, confusion.
It's okay, though. Because Billy knows. Billy knows how to love him and how to listen to him and how to see him. Because he's made a point of learning to understand Steve. Because he cares. Because he loves Steve back.
So, when all Steve can do is close his eyes and whisper, "I love you," Billy knows he means it. Even though, right now, Steve can just tell and not entirely show.
So, when Billy twists, kisses Steve's stomach, presses his face up against him, Steve knows he means, 'I love you too." Even though, right now, he can't entirely tell, just show.
And when Steve keeps stroking Billy's hair, not only in response to Billy setting his head on Steve's lap, it's progress.
The sun is fully set by now. Soft pinks and quiet purples overtaken by vast blues. And it's okay. It's still beautiful. The stars are glowing brighter now. If you look closely, maybe squint, you'll see the clouds building abstract patterns in the shifting blue.
Steve looks down at Billy, now. Squeezes his hand and says, "I should get started on dinner."
Before Billy can groan he adds, "And. I uh, I know that you're nauseous, and it hurts. But. Can you try today? At least have some smoothie, for me?"
Billy sighs, narrows his eyes at Steve, "That's not fair, you know. Making it 'for you'. Can't do that when you know I'd do anything for ya."
Steve isn't sure how to reply to that. It's true. But. Things are complicated for both of them right now. Nothing feels, just, simple.
"Seriously, sunset," Billy emphasizes.
Steve takes a deep breath, "Ok. You're right. It's unfair to guilt you like that. I just don't know what to do sometimes. I just want to keep you safe. For always."
Billy groans, shakes his head, but smiles too, "Can't always be here ta keep me safe from everything, Stevie. Sometimes, some things, are just always going to be bad. But. I'll try to try your smoothie. S'long as it's blueberry."
Billy's right. Again. Sometimes bad things stay bad. But, they live among good things, too. And sometimes, good things are just good-- no catch. Reality is complex. Multifaceted. Too jumbled up to be just good/bad. Too chaotic to read within the lines. Meaning, the universe holds its breath. Meaning, the universe exhales in time.
And, so. When Steve helps Billy up from the floor, closes the door. When Billy walks behind Steve with his arms wrapped around his lover's waist, whispering, "we'll take it slow, sunset." When the two walk into the kitchen swaying, dancing (slow). The sky meets the Earth, and the view is neither one, nor the other. The Earth meets the sky, and the view is, maybe, both.