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Billy’s couch was worn. A little threadbare, but soft in a way that felt homely. Steve’s hand traced circles on the material, feeling it’s strange smoothness, resting his head against Billy’s chest, rising and falling like waves with every breath.
Across the room, his coat was hanging on the back of a chair, dusted with snow. Long forgotten.
The couch was nothing like Steve’s. Or at least, the one at Steve’s parents’ house. No, the Italian leather was firm. Stiff. Barely used. It creaked when you shifted, got clammy when you sat there in the summertime. Shiny, pristine, perfect. Billy’s had crumpled blankets and mismatched throw pillows.
An hour had passed; maybe more. They’d both settled like snow on the ground after a blizzard. There was a greater calm after the storm, Steve thought. With everything out in the open, all the damage done.
Everything stripped away, sitting still surrounded by what remains. And what remains was infinitely better.
“I really thought you were gonna leave me again.”
Steve hummed.
“So did I.”
Then he considered for a second.
“If you could’ve asked, would you have?”
Billy sighed, sinking further down into the couch beneath them.
“Course I would. A hundred times. More than that, even.”
Steve smiled, heavy eyes sliding shut, the whole room turning dark, reduced to just sounds. Steady breaths. The rhythmic drops of ice melting outside the kitchen window, falling onto the ledge with a tap.
“So what’s it actually like? You know, LA?” Billy asked.
“Have you never been?”
Their voices were soft, gentle.
“Not exactly. Drove through it, once, though. Heard it’s overrated.”
Steve let out a breathy chuckle. “You heard right.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s loud. Like, way louder than you’d imagine. And it’s hot, but not in a good way, because there’s nothing you can do about it. The offices are air conditioned, but it still feels stuffy. It’s not really what I expected. Too many people.”
Billy sighed.
“Shame you didn’t like it.”
“Not really.” The ghost of a smile sounded through Steve’s voice.
“Why’s that?”
“Well, I wouldn’t be here if I liked it all that much, now would I?”
And Billy laughed. Felt Steve shift so that he wouldn’t fall as his chest shook.
After a moment, Billy spoke up again.
“You know someplace you really would like?”
“No. Where?”
Billy let his eyes slip shut, memories appearing like a movie screen on the backs of his eyelids. Felt himself transported back to someplace he rarely journeyed to, voice dropped down to a murmur.
“There’s a place near San Diego. Nobody really knows about it, not unless you’re local. A beach, with incredible waves. When the sun shines, it’s like everything lights up, it’s… like you’re walking on gold.”
It was quiet for a while.
“Sounds beautiful. You used to go there?”
“Yeah. Once or twice.”
Steve could hear it; the ghost of a memory in his voice. Something that had really mattered to him, once. Maybe it still did.
“Will you tell me about it sometime?”
Billy nodded, a small, gentle thing. Yes.
“I think I will.”
Steve thought back to the start. Thought of endings, of beginnings, and every line and space in between. He thought of his troubled mind, his soul burdened with doubt and shame as he’d driven into Hawkins, already impatient to leave. Restless, almost every step of the way. And he thought about this moment, felt it, breathed it in. He never thought he could be here, like this. It has always seemed impossible. Maybe miracles do happen. Maybe, for some people, it just takes a little more climbing.
Here they were.
After all of it, Steve felt like now, he could finally start living for something real.
He said as much. Murmured it through dry lips, voice gone tired and low.
“Oh yeah? And where are you going to find that?”
He smiled, pressing his head into Billy’s shoulder.
“Already found it.”
For years, he’d had always felt that everyone had moved on, and was now living worlds away. He hadn’t felt like that when he’d supposedly moved on, instead getting strung up into something fake, something wrong, for far too long. He hadn’t been in his own world.
And now he was home. At peace. Wrapped in stillness with the promise of infinite possibilities. Too tired to curse himself for not getting here sooner. But time machines are only an illusion; something the kids talked about when they’d watched too many movies. Things play out differently in real life. Slower, sure. But eventually, they unfold, leading the way into new opportunities, and often ones you could never even hope to dream up.
“Steve?” Billy whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Will you go there with me?”
“Where, to the beach you told me about? You want to show me?”
“Yeah. I do. I really do.” There it was again, that fear, that doubt that showed itself through Billy’s voice. The aftermath of splitting himself open and letting honesty pour out.
Steve wanted to tell Billy he’d go anywhere with him. He’d drop it all, throw a dart at a map with a blindfold on, then pack his bags if he’d only say the word.
But there was time for that. For now, he whispered:
“I’m sure we could figure that out.”
Then Billy went soft and supple, relaxed underneath him. Steve could feel himself doing the same, body releasing what felt like years of tension.
They could go anywhere, but that was tomorrow’s question.
Tomorrow would bring a dozen new questions, and they’d have to play it by ear.
But for now, they had time. They could stay here, warm and safe with each other. Holding onto one another like the two last pieces of a jigsaw puzzle slotting into place. Something broken that was now finally whole again.
Tomorrow would bring its own problems. But they were here, now. And they were staying.
At least for a little while.
At least until the snow melts.