Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"God, Y/N," Steve groaned from across the table, shoving his fingers deep inside the tangles of his hair. "Are we done?"

"Just one more minute," You chuckled lightly. You knew you hadn't been doing him justice by making him wait as you worked on your project for the past hour, but you didn't want to wait until you were home to finish it. Steve brought the straw to his lips and sipped, staring off into the distance like he'd lost his mind.

"I thought you already finished that," You spared him a glance before returning to your paperwork.

"I like sipping air through a straw. It rids me of boredom," He emphasized the last word, and you nodded reluctantly.

"Fine, fine, got it. Let's go,"

You'd never seen him stand up so quickly. He dashed for the door like he was being chased, and you laughed at his antics.

Steve had promised to accompany you as you went shopping. You could really use his opinions, and you just wanted to hang out with your best friend since he was still recovering from his recent heartbreak with Nancy. Plus he was just starting to turn over a new leaf, and no one was really ready to befriend the just-retired playboy yet.

There weren't all that many clothing stores in Hawkins, but you had a few favorites. As usual, he found himself a seat in front of the changing room and waited as you looked through racks after racks. After finally getting a handful of clothes, you raced into the changing room and pulled the curtain so that only your head showed.

"Are you ready for the show?" You wiggled your eyebrows.

"Never been more ready." He brought his hand to his face and lifted his non-existent sunglasses.

After a quick moment, you yelled from behind the drape. "Okay, here comes the first!"

You stepped out of the room and did a dramatic turn, showing off the floral crop top that you'd found lovely at the first glance. Steve let out a whistle before putting a thumbs up. "Ten out of ten,"

For the better part of the next ten minutes, you changed into the countless fabrics that you'd picked. A majority of them were approved by Steve, although he wasn't so fond of some. You'd always trusted your friend with dressing up since he had had so many lady friends, a past that he himself hated admitting.

"Ok, we're getting to the last one," You announced, earning a hum from him.

The last one was a pair of plaid jeans. As you struggled into the pants, you made a mental note to get a larger size later. 

You whipped the curtain aside, hands fixing the waistband as you gazed down. "This doesn't quite fit but I like the--" The words went dry in your mouth when you looked up. Someone else had taken Steve's spot. That or he had somehow managed to snatch a wig and do some mind-blowing makeup in a matter of two minutes.

The boy who was totally not your best friend looked up from his pack of cigarettes, eyes piercing you under a raised brow. Gaze shifting from confusion to curiosity, he leaned back and sported a lopsided smile. He didn't look like anyone from school -- well, he could be, but you knew almost everyone, so he was at most a new face. He had brown hair that curled around his neck and blue eyes framed by lashes long enough to touch his cheekbone. 

"I think the size's just fine," He commented calmly, eyes never once leaving your face. Warmth crept up your face like a forest caught on fire, but you managed to send him a narrow glare. 

"I don't remember asking for your opinion."

"I do remember you coming out to show me."

It took everything in you not to groan. He was obviously toying around with you, trying to get on your nerves with that confident grin. Luckily, Steve was back before you could lose your cool. He didn't seem anywhere near pleased to see that his seat had been taken.

"Harrington!" The guy exclaimed in false excitement, to which Steve rolled his eyes.

"I left to take a look at the sneakers and you came in and stole my seat?" Steve turned to you with a worried expression. "He didn't do anything right?"

You opened your mouth, but the smug-looking guy cut you off with a shameless wink. "She did do a number on me,"

You gasped, an argument already forming in your head. Steve looked just as exasperated, but before the two of you could snap at him, a girl called from across the shop in a hurried tone. "Billy, we've got to get going!"

"Coming!" He got onto his feet and slapped a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Take care of your girl for me, yea?"

You watched as he sauntered out of your sight, lips pursed at the exchange. 

"I've never seen this guy. What's his deal anyway?" 

"That's Billy Hargrove. He just moved from California, so it makes sense that you hadn't seen him," He sighed. You didn't have to ask to know that he'd already had the misfortune of meeting him before. The mere memory of him made you cringe inside.

"He kinda acts like King Steve," You attempted to break the tension with a little bit of teasing yourself, and Steve rolled his eyes heavenward.

"You're unbelievable." Despite his words, his lips curled into a smile without much resistance.

--

There were a few things Billy learned about you after the encounter at the store. First, you were popular among students as the student council’s president. Second, Steve Harrington was your best friend. Third, you were hard to flatter.

If Billy had to be completely honest, you didn’t seem all that special to him. Sure, you had a nice face and all, but there were plenty of girls like you -- independent, hard-working, with no spare time for boys and romance. No, it was something else that grabbed his interest-- your popularity. From the moment he stepped foot in Hawkins, his name was already passed on by everyone with enthusiasm and anticipation. It wasn't hard to dethrone Harrington, and perhaps he should be satisfied with being the king of Hawkins High, but he was born ambitious. If he could somehow deprive you of everyone's adoration, he would be the one true 'leader' of the whole damn school, respected and looked upon. No one would ever come to him for trouble. No one would so much as disagree with him.

It was supposed to be an easy job. With his easy smile and smooth flirtations, he should've been able to get you in his bed within a week then break your heart in the next. Well, the keyword was should've. You seemed to be immune to his tooth-rotting advances. Billy had seen girls who played hard to get, but no one was as strong-willed as you. Even when he was fatefully seated next to you in math, you were totally unbothered by him. Two weeks had passed since he first set his eyes on you. You didn't even smile at his teasing once.

"Hey, mind if I copy your notes?" He asked one time, leg bouncing rapidly under the table, gum in his mouth. You barely looked at him as you stared ahead at the blackboard.

"Maybe you should write your own. Start by bringing a pen and a notebook."

"That's the thing, pres," It was one of the nicknames he came up with for you. He had one for every single girl he had ever been with. Whether or not he remembered them was another story. "I forgot my bag in my car. Surely you're kind enough to lend me some of yours?"

You glanced up at the clock with narrowed eyes. "If you make your way to the parking lot now, you can be back within 5 minutes. The formulas will probably still be up on the board." When you turned to him, he was staring at you with a blank expression. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go for it."

He reckoned that he should probably give up and chase after some other chicks instead, but his ego was incredibly large, and you were a target he didn't want to let slip that easily. Surely there had to be some ways he could get you to fall for him, right? 

When the last bell rang, you ran out of the room before he could initiate another conversation. He was quick enough to see you enter the council's room though. He took a peek through the thin slit you'd left open and found you looking through thick files in a paper box, muttering about something under your breath. Billy had never had the opportunity (nor the interest) to visit this room before. It was rather cramped with tall lockers standing in all four corners and a rectangular table in the center. It could be a great hideout for when he didn't want to do things in the back of his car or someone else's bed. There was faint sunlight shining through the dirty awning window, shining through the messy strands of your hair. As if sensing his gaze, your head snapped up to meet his. Caught red-handed, Billy entered the room with his signature suave smile, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans.

"Whatcha doing, pres?"

"Finding records of Quiz Bowls from previous years," you said, hands skimming file after file before you pushed the box away. "What do you want, Hargrove?"

"I thought with how much we've talked we could get on a first-name basis."

"I think you meant with how much you've talked," you corrected him with a forced smile. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get to the library."

You dodged his tall figure easily and sneaked out of the room. Billy ran a hand through his messy hair before deciding to follow you out into the crowded corridor. He held his hands up once he caught up to your hasty steps. "Alright, I'll get to the point. What do I have to do to earn a date with you?"

It wasn't like him to be straightforward at all, but you had backed him into such a corner that he couldn't see any other alternative. It was either he died trying or let shown his true intentions. He could probably get to you if you gave him a chance. Plus he wasn't quite ready to be buried six feet under yet. There were still so many girls after him that he hadn't spent time with.

"Start by bringing stationery to classes."

"That's it?"

"Then get me a glass hammer from the hardware store."

The gears in his head struggled to turn for a second. Then you resisted a laugh through your nose, and he realized that he had been played like a fiddle. He had never been played like a fiddle. He looked down at the back of your head first, unsure of what emotion he should be feeling. A smile crept to his face nonetheless, and he shook his head in defeat. "You're unbelievable, pres." 

The words slipped out of his mouth. He wasn't sure if he was just flirting instinctively. Either way, he was sure you didn't care for it.

You were silent for a while. Billy was just starting to consider leaving when you turned to him, a mischievous gleam in your eyes. "Actually, that doesn't sound like a bad idea."

"What, the glass hammer?"

"No, about you earning a date with me."

Billy's eyebrows quirked up. Could it be that you have finally fallen into his trap?

"How about this -- I will go out with you once you have fulfilled five tasks from me,"

"Five? Like once a day right?"

You scoffed. "Of course not. I'll tell you when I need you."

"That's hardly fair, pres. What if you ask me to jump off a damn cliff? Or what if you request once a month?" Billy was starting to get pissed at your proposal. It took everything in him not to snap. No, he had to keep his cool and take you down step by step.

"Do I look that unreasonable to you?" Seeing the doubt on his face, you sighed in resignation. "Fine. I will issue all my requests within a month, and I promise not to get you into any fatal positions, okay?"

A month sounded like a painfully long time for Billy. He could get to know so many girls in a month, but if he really wanted you to fall for him, he couldn't risk letting you know that he was screwing around with some other girls when you were still in this deal of a sort. Hopefully, his sacrifice would pay off in the end and bring him what he most wanted -- popularity and power. He just had to wish that he wouldn't die from the lack of intimacy for 30 days.

"Well?" You pressed him for a response. "Do we have a deal?"

He stared at your now outstretched hand, knowing that he couldn't just back down now. He shook your hand. "A deal's a deal, pres."

--

To Billy's dismay, you didn't act on your end of the agreement until five days later. He was returning from basketball practice when he spotted you waiting in front of the boys' changing room, a thick file in your hands. Your nail was stuck between your teeth, and the serious expression on your face almost made you seem unapproachable. Nonetheless, Billy didn't miss the way you blinked your eyes every few seconds, nor did he miss the sunken circle around your eyes. You'd been looking worn out during the math lesson earlier today too.

"Hey pres," he flashed you a grin, trying to pull you away from your work. "Looking for me?"

Your brows furrowed, and you looked like you were going to poke his little daydream bubble for a moment. The retort never came though as you thinned your lips, no doubt running through devilish ideas in your mind.

"I was actually looking for Steve, but now that you're here, perhaps I'll make good on my words instead. Are you free right now?"

He nodded. Max had already gone home on her skateboard, unwilling to wait for his practice to end. Not that he cared. As a matter of fact, he appreciated not having to drive her home. God knew he needed the alone time in his car, short as it might be. Peace was scarce these days.

You closed the file and held it close to your chest. "Great. I need help making the props for this year's Quiz Bowl. You good to go now?"

"I'm soaked, flower," he pulled on his tank top, noticing the way your eyes glanced over his torso and the feigned annoyance on your face as you looked away. "Give me time to clean up. I'll meet you outside the council room in ten, yeah?"

"Sure." you rushed your response and walked away as if desperate to flee the scene. It was good to know that you weren't completely immune to him.

When he arrived at the room, you'd already had the designs and required materials laid out on the table. You were standing with your back to him, head hanging low as you went through the file you'd been cradling earlier. You'd just huffed through your nose when he knocked on the door, breaking you from your concentration with a start. You regarded the clock above the threshold. "You're late."

"Better late than never," He shrugged, making his way behind you. There was a stack of cardboard, markers in different colors, and a large rectangular felt that looked like it was made out of canvas. "What's the work here?"

"We have to write the questions onto cue cards, prepare seating cards for the participants, and decorate the banner--" You swiveled around when you heard him opening the lockers. "What are you doing?"

"Holy shit," He ignored your question, pulling out an entangled mess of tinsel. "Look at all this stuff,"

"Stop pulling or everything's gonna fall--"

As if on cue, the mountain of board games from the back of the locker tipped over. Billy brought his arms up in front of his face, cursing and stumbling as the boxes slammed into him. When the ruckus ended, his eyes snapped open, and caught sight of the mess he'd made on the floor.

"--Out." You deadpanned, turning away from the disaster. "You better clean it up,"

"I have a better idea," He smirked despite the circumstance, digging out the tinsel from under the boxes. He walked over to the closed lockers and started hanging them up like it wasn't the middle of summer. You watched with a raised brow as he went back to look for ornaments. "This room is way too bland. You should bring in more colors, y'know?"

"By decorating like it's Christmas?"

"By decorating like it's Christmas." He added some finishing touches by hanging red and green trinkets by the window. Noticing your less than impressed expression, he placed his hands on the table and leaned into your space. It wasn't any surprise that you didn't appreciate his handiwork, but you seemed more worn out than annoyed. "What's going on, pres? You look kinda gloomy today."

You shook your head, pulling a chair out from your side. "I've been staying up working on this stupid quiz bowl," The boxes on the floor got in the way and you had to kick them aside. "Also because you bring trouble everywhere you go."

"Do I trouble your heart as well?" He laughed as you groaned, sitting down on the opposite side and propping his leg up on the corner of the table. "You do look like you could use a break. Sleep deprivation isn't a good look on you."

You brushed it off with some talk about responsibilities before you got to work. The job was routine and rather repetitive, the two of you transferring texts onto the cardboards and folding the seating cards. At one point he took out a cig and got kicked in the shin for potentially creating a fire hazard. 

Billy hated boredom. He'd rather spend his time with loud, screeching music and his dumbbells. He'd stopped writing for a while now, but you were still working away with the pen clenched tightly around your hand like it was a matter of life and death. Even with your struggling eyelids, your handwriting was still significantly better than his. He looked around for something that might pique his interest, but nothing was more intriguing than an actual person, so he craned his head to catch a glimpse of your face behind your graceful hair. "Hey pres," He whispered.

"What?"

"Wanna play a game?"

As usual, you only gave him an uninterested look.

"Come on," he drummed his fingers on the hardwood. "Let's play two truths and a lie."

"Let's play a game of silence,"

"You're sure to win since you're so close to falling asleep," He raised a brow. "It'll be fun, and I promise no pervy stuff,"

You squinted at him, waiting for the bomb to drop as if he was unable to make harmless suggestions. You were right, he wasn't. His lips twitched upward. "But the loser will be punished,"

"There it is," Despite your eye-roll, you had to admit that a game sounded better than being serenaded by the sound of pens scribbling. "What's the punishment?"

He held up the multi-colored markers, and you gaped. "No."

"Yes,"

It turned out that you were tired enough to agree to his childish idea. He was already thinking about all kinds of stuff he could paint on your face. Maybe he would start with a good old mustache. "Here's mine -- I can surf, I hate champagne, and I own a giant teddy bear in my room,"

You nibbed at the end of your pen, turning his words over in your head. It was perhaps a habit of yours-- biting on things when you were thinking hard. "You can't possibly have a teddy,"

Billy took the cap off the red marker. A gasp left your mouth as you tipped your chair back, "No way,"

"You underestimated me. Now come on," He beckoned for you to come forward with his fingers, and you reluctantly complied.

"Did you get it from one of your girlfriends?" You said as you closed your eyes, frowning when you felt the cold impact of the pen below your nose. It didn't take you long to realize that he was giving you fabulous facial hair.

"I don't call them my girlfriends," He said. "At least not all of them."

You tried to wipe the ink off your face with your finger, but nothing came off. Hopefully it wasn't waterproof. "Your turn," He said.

"I despise fish, I had five years of drawing classes, and I was born in Hawkins."

His guess came quickly, "You never had drawing classes,"

"Wrong. I wasn't born in Hawkins," Your eyes was glimmering with mischief as you leaned forward in your seat, tucking on his arm to bring him closer. "I only moved here when I was five. Close your damn eyes, Hargrove."

He chuckled, making a show of fluttering his lids before shutting them. The dry texture dragged across his chin and moved in dwindling circles on both his cheeks. Your hand was warm against his chin as you held him still.

"You do draw, then?" He asked.

"Stop talking," You warned as you held the pen still, scared that he would ruin your masterpiece. "But yea. I draw sometimes."

"Any pieces that you'd like to share with the class?"

You smeared a dot on the tip of his nose and sat back. "I haven't drawn in a while, and I have nothing delightful to share." That's what you said, but it felt more like you didn't want to show him any. He shrugged and let it slide.

The game continued as time passed unknowingly, your work cast aside as you laughed at bizarre facts about him. You were most shocked when he told you that he knew how to bake, but when you asked him where he'd learned it, he lied about having picked up a few tricks from an ex. Your grin dropped slightly at that, but he couldn't gather enough courage to tell you that it'd been his mum. You didn't have to know that.

Reality struck when the janitor passed by the entrance and greeted you with a warm smile. Apparently, you'd stayed after school often enough that you'd made friends with her. Billy and you had to rush to finish the assignment, and you wouldn't stop blaming him for distracting you. It was worth it to see the fatigue wear off from your face though. The outcome wasn't as perfect as you'd planned, and the letters on the banner differed in size, but he convinced you to take what you could get, and you weren't about to spend one more minute looking at the mess.

The sun was already setting when you climbed into the passenger seat of his car, pointing to him in the direction of your house. The marker stains were stretching his skin and he wished nothing more than to wash it off, but seeing the mess on your face made him feel a little better. Perhaps you weren't so uptight after all.

"One request down, four to go," Billy said, a cigarette hanging loosely between his lips. "Hopefully you'll come up with something more interesting for me next time,"

"I'm going to ask you to babysit my brother for me,"

"You have a brother?"

"Nope,"

He made a huff that sounded like a laugh. "Well, I don't mind as long as we're doing it together."

Your house came into view after he rounded the corner, and he felt his heart drop in his stomach. He didn't want to leave just yet. The mere thought of going back to his house felt repulsive. He hoped no one would be at home.

"Flattery won't get you anywhere." You opened the door and stepped out. He leaned over, trying to catch your eyes before you left.

"Haven't it?"

You rolled your eyes heavenward before walking off with a wave. He was sporting a smile, and unbeknownst to him, you were too.

Chapter Text

"So let me get this straight. You made a deal with Hargrove and agreed to go on a date with him after he fulfilled five requests from you?"

You'd just told Steve about Billy, and evidently, he was not pleased.

"You're out of your mind. Why would you agree to see more of him?"

"Hey! It's a genius plan, okay?" You slapped his forearm, and he flinched away dramatically, accidentally slamming into one of the passing students. Everyone was getting ready for the first period, as were you and Steve. "I'm going to scare him off by giving him ridiculous requests. Plus I could really use an assistant."

"He must be a shitty assistant," He mumbled under his breath. "And you asked him to work on the Quiz Bowl with you last week?"

You nodded. He placed his hand on his chest where his heart laid and feigned a hurt expression. "You chose the bastard over me? No wonder he was so smug in the changing room. What did you do to my Y/N?"

"I don't think he's so bad, actually. Listen--" You stopped him before he could disagree. "I am fully aware that he's a jerk, but so far he's only been an annoying flirt to me."

Steve shook his head, not buying one bit of your words. He knew well that you could fend for yourself and that you weren't just another girl craving for attention, but he couldn't help feeling wary. "That's what Hargrove wants you to believe. He..." The words died on his tongue as he looked ahead. You waved a hand in front of his face.

"Earth to Steve?"

He nudged his jaw forward, and you followed the direction to see -- speaking of the Devil -- Billy, who was leaning against the locker in his infamous denim jeans, surrounded by two shamelessly eager girls. One moment they were fidgeting with their fingers, the next they were tucking hair behind their ears, all the while Billy listened attentively with gum in his mouth. 

"Imagine having people come after you every two seconds," You shook your head. "Not that you have to imagine,"

Steve groaned. "You seriously need to let it go!"

"What, move on from your fabulously bouncy hair? Never." You chuckled, and at the sound, Billy's eyes flicked over to the two of you. He excused himself curtly, then approached you with large strides. You didn't notice him until you stepped right onto his shoe and slammed into his chest.

"Sorry--" You backtracked, but at the sight of Billy, your shoulders slumped immediately. "Hargrove."

"I'm not digging the special treatment, pres," His stance was deliberately idle, hands shoved into the pockets on his jeans and head tilted to the side, the same confident shine in his eyes. Steve grumbled under his breath, pissed that he wasn't acknowledged at all.

"Maybe I'm tired of seeing your face,"

"That won't work, especially since I haven't got tired of yours quite yet."

Steve shook his head and pulled you away from the staring contest. "Okay, that's enough. Don't you have classes to attend?" He glared at Billy, who simply smiled at his words. Not eager to hear his response, Steve dragged you towards your classroom with a determination that would stand no objection.

"What a douchebag," You heard him mumble to himself, jaw clenched and brows tight. Perhaps you should take his advice and steer away from Billy, just to stop him from worrying like a mother.

--

A few days went by with Billy seizing every opportunity to talk to you. Mainly he just wanted to press you for another 'task'. He was enjoying this instead of feeling discouraged, and the sourness about your failed plan left you racking your brain for more ways to deject him, mostly to no avail. You had something much more important on your plate anyway -- Hopper's birthday on the upcoming Sunday.

Growing up in Hawkins, Hopper'd known you since you were a mere baby and had almost watched you grow up. As soon as you got into high school, he enlisted you to be a part-time helper at the police station. He trusted you to hang up posters around town and transfer documents from time to time, and in turn, you would get to... well, you didn't really get any payment, but you loved helping him. You knew that he'd been having it hard for years, though Eleven's presence seemed to have brought a little light into his grim life. God knew he needed that light. 

You, Eleven, and Joyce had been discussing how to celebrate his birthday for a few weeks now. You knew that he wouldn't pay much care, but the three of you really wanted to do something for him. Phil the officer had agreed to keep him in the station for the day, giving Eleven and Joyce the time they needed to decorate the place. You, on the other hand, were tasked with baking the cake.

"You know that I suck at cooking, right?" You'd tried to excuse yourself out of it, not wanting to ruin the plan, but Joyce had such a way with words that she got you convinced. Even so, you went and bought enough ingredients to stuff the fridge full, just in case anything went wrong.

Your aunt, who was the only person living with you, had gone off to work as soon as the sun rose. Steve was out of town with his parents. Said they wanted to bond or something. You didn't wake until noon, then you carried three thick baking books to the counter, tied the apron behind your back, and got to work.

Everything was going right. Not that you could tell for sure, but with the rock music blasting out of the radio, you couldn't be more sure of yourself. 

That was until you realized that the egg wasn't going to get fluffy no matter how hard you cussed at it. You sighed and cast the bowl aside, grabbing more eggs from the fridge. You'd bought two dozens -- your aunt had called you over-dramatic, but she was just lucky enough to have never seen the destruction and tragedy you could bring to the kitchen.

Starting anew, you told yourself that you still got this.

The new dough felt lumpy in your hands and you tried again. You could do this. Then you finally got the cake into the oven, but it collapsed like a spineless failure in front of you, almost in a mocking manner. This wasn't that bad. You put all your energy into mixing the dough, and the cake got out as hard as a brick. 

Maybe you didn't have it in you after all. You stared down at the eggshells in the rubbish bin. That was only a dozen, and only four hours have passed. You took a deep breath, gave yourself a little pep talk, then dived back into working.

--

You were utterly, undeniably, royally, fucked.

Thumb grazing your lower lip, you stared at the clock as you paced back and forth, biting on your nails. The dinner was set at 8, and it was already 5. There had been 24 eggs sitting in your fridge to give you a confidence boost, and you repaid them by subjecting them to gruesome deaths. There were only two remaining now because you were careful enough to have dropped one on the floor. The egg's ghastly corpse had sucked all the hope out of you.

Joyce was wrong. Perhaps she'd made the mistake of trusting you. You weren't cut out for the high-stakes world of baking. You were probably better off writing some stupid reports for school. You couldn't believe you were about to fail everyone--

Joyce. You rushed to call Hopper's house, but no one picked up. Either they were too caught up with decorating or had gone out. What about Steve? Forget that, he wasn't even anywhere near this town. Your aunt had a strict rule of not interrupting her while she was at work, so calling her was off the table. You dug out your notebook filled with your friends' numbers and started calling them one by one, your pace getting more rushed with every call. A majority of your calls went unanswered. The rest were simply too occupied to offer you any help.

You could go out to the supermarket and grab more dozens of eggs, but the ride to and fro would take too much time even if you had your bike. If you really had to go out, you had to ensure that you could succeed in making the cake in a single trial, and you certainly didn't have that confidence. Not anymore.

What were you supposed to do when all your friends were out of reach? Obviously, no one was coming to save you. It wasn't as if you really knew any friends who could bake anyways.

Then something came to you like an angel in disguise.

"I'm actually quite good at cooking, especially baking. Hey, stop laughing! I'm serious."

Back in the council room, when you and Billy were indulging in rounds of two truths and a lie, he'd told you that he knew how to bake (due to an ex). It had been information that you'd thrown away at that time, but now it felt like it was the only thing you could hang onto in this limitless pit of despair. You flipped through your notebook and found the number of Billy's house. He'd stolen your book and written the digits down, ignoring you when you promised never to call him.

With every beep on the line, you grew more restless inside. You were just about to give up when a gruff voice spoke, "Who's this?"

Not Billy. You cleared your throat, mustering as much courtesy as possible. "Excuse me? I'm looking for Billy Hargrove,"

"What are you, one of his chicks or somethin'?" The man snapped mercilessly, and you frowned. Another faint voice could be heard from the background. There was yelling, a pause, then Billy's voice came through.

"Hello?" 

"Oh, thank God!"

"Y/N?" Your name slipped out hesitantly on his tongue.

"Yes, Y/N. Listen, I need your help. So I have to bake a cake for Hopper's birthday and it's due in three hours, but I just ran out of eggs and I can't make it to and back from the supermarket in time--"

"Woah, slow down, pres," Billy cut you off, and you sighed, pulling yourself out of rambling. It'd been a long time since you'd felt this anxious. "You said you had to bake a cake for the chief?"

You made an affirming sound. 

"And you ran out of ingredients?"

"Eggs. Yes. I bought two dozens--"

He scoffed. "Two dozens and you used them all up? That's twenty-four eggs!"

"Hargrove." You warned. "You have to help me. They're all relying on me for the cake, and I can't afford to fail them. Look -- This'll be one of my requests, okay? Just at least walk me through it or something. Please,"

Billy sighed, and for a second you thought he was going to refuse. He started but was immediately interrupted by the same rude man in the back. They shared a few inaudible words with each other, and when Billy returned, he was sounding on edge and somewhat pissed off. "I'll see you in ten. Have to get the hell out of here anyway,"

He didn't wait for your response and hung up in a rush. You were only grateful that someone was coming to rescue you.

--

You were waiting by the doorway when Billy pulled up in his blue Camaro, kicking up a storm of sand behind. When he walked up to you and you saw the carton of fresh eggs in his hand, you almost wanted to give him a hug as gratitude. Almost.

"Geez, you look..." He stopped a few feet away from you and gave you a once-over. "Like a mother to four kids,"

"Thank you for the compliment," You ran a hand through your hair. There were no doubt a few strands of cowlicks sticking out, and your apron was partly stained with batter. Flour went as far as your forearm. You genuinely looked like a mess. You had to spare some time to clean up nicely afterward.

Billy had driven you home once, but he'd never seen the interior. "Pretty spacious in here," He commented, following you into the kitchen as he looked around. 

"I live alone with my aunt," You explained. "Um... who was that guy on the phone?"

His head snapped to you, and you could see a foreign expression on his face. Something akin to shock and... insecurity. Then he clenched his jaw and walked past you into the hellhole. "No one important,"

"Alright," You figured you'd crossed a line you weren't supposed to.

"You really can't cook for shit, can you?" He whistled at the mess you'd created. "You never cease to surprise me, you know?"

You would've expected to be immune to his adulation, but the heat rushing to your face proved otherwise. A strained scoff left your throat as you shoved the used boxes and bags into the trashcan. "Are you here to laugh or to help?"

He shrugged, "Bit of both,"

Then he shoved his thumbs behind his mullet and grabbed it into a ponytail, using the band around his wrist to hold it in place. His beige shirt shifted according to his movement, showing skin where he'd been too lazy to button up. Or perhaps he left it loose on purpose. He could never button his shirts right. "Let's get to work then?" 

"Yea," You pulled yourself out of your frozen state and stepped aside, watching him take out three eggs from the carton. He handed one to you after making sure that you weren't so bad that you'd fail at cracking it open. 

If you hadn't believed him when he'd said that he could bake, you sure as hell did now. He really knew what he was doing -- knowing just when to stop mixing and how many ingredients to add without even casting a look at the recipes, and for the first time, he was serious. There was no hint of smugness on his face, only concentration. At some point, he'd started asking about how you'd really messed up with your attempts.

"People don't always tell you this, but you shouldn't use cold eggs. They don't really beat well. As for the texture... you can't beat it for too long. It gets all dense and shit,"

"Noted, professor."

Billy glanced at you before going back to the bowl, shifting the flour into the mixture. "I wouldn't mind being a teacher if it means having you as a student,"

"There it is. Classic Hargrove," You rolled your eyes. He chuckled before sliding the bowl over to you. 

"Now try to mix it. Cut it through the middle, then bring the spoon around,"

You did as he told, though your movement was somewhat awkward. When he placed his hand around your wrist to give you a guide, you felt your hand go frail in his hold. Maybe his grip was just too strong. Or maybe it was his breath against your hair.

If someone told you that you would be baking with Billy Hargrove in your kitchen one day, you would've called them crazy, but here you were, standing next to him, both his hair and sleeves lifted up as he watched you stir in the bowl. And you were making small talk. Perhaps you were the crazy one now. Steve was right as always.

"Okay, that's quite enough," He took the bowl over from your hands and dumped everything into the saucepan. You yelped,  "What are you doing?"

He shrugged. "Baking it? I'm not familiar with using ovens. My mum always preferred using a simple saucepan,"

"Your mum?"

Billy paused once again, hand still around the handle. You were about to steer the subject away when he nodded slowly. "Yea. She liked baking a lot,"

"Must've been nice. I bet you ate lots of baked goods,"

That brought a smile to his face. "I really thought I would grow up with diabetes."

The cake would take an hour to come to life, so you took your time cleaning the kitchen island and utensils. He didn't miss the chance to smudge a handful of sticky flour to your face while avoiding your retaliations swiftly. You two moved out to the living room afterwards. As he took out his pack of cigarettes, you rushed to open the windows. He spotted the radio by the sofa and leaned in to turn it on. An upbeat song came on, and his fingers immediately reacted to the beat. His eyes darted to the phonebook laying next to him then. Curiosity got the better of him. You watched as he flipped through it, ready to scold him if he dared drop ash on the book from his cig. After a few flips, his face lit up as he showed you one of the pages. It was a doodle you'd drawn of your class teacher a few weeks prior.

"Don't look at that!" You snatched the book from his hands, a hint of a blush tinting your cheeks. It seemed like you were pretty defensive about your art. He shrugged and dropped it, instead starting another conversation.

"You really are dedicated, aren't you?" A cloud of smoke masked his face. "When did you decide that you wanted to be the council president?"

You shrugged. "Someone's gotta,"

His eyes shot up to meet yours. You had lifted yourself up onto the window sill, legs barely grazing the floor. "And what makes you that someone?"

Your arms crossed defensively, but somehow you didn't feel like snapping at him. "I just wanted to make myself useful. Plus it may help get me into nicer universities,"

"Geez. That far into the future, huh?" 

"You have to start planning sooner and later.I guess I just can't stand wasting my life away."

"So every second not working your ass off is a waste of time?"

"Of course not," It does feel like that sometimes.

Billy rested his hand against his nape. When he felt that his mullet was missing, he pulled off the band and let his hair fall back in place. His eyes were half-lidded, and the corner of his lips was tilted downward, yet despite his lazy posture, he remained attentive throughout your conversation.

"I don't think it's so bad to relax though," You raised your brow at that, expecting some sort of twist where he made it into a flirtation. "It's gotta be better than wearing yourself out before your life even starts,"

"I'm not wearing myself out,"

"Whatever you say, pres. I'm not really in the position to give you any advice, but I can at least say that it's important to let yourself loose sometimes," He winked.

"Of course you're saying that. You're an expert in that field," If you had to be honest, you weren't really sure whether his words were worth trusting. After all, what would he know about life when all he did was go around and flutter his eyelashes at gullible ladies? Still, it wasn't the first time someone called you out on being a workaholic. Let yourself relax, enjoy your adolescence, let some weight off your shoulders. Steve'd said that you always seemed to be carrying the world on your back like it was your obligation. Could it be that you just wanted to make others proud? Or was it just a sense of responsibility provoked by your equally hard-working mother?

You did not want to be reminded of her right now. You took the empty seat next to Billy, and he slung his arm over to the back of the sofa. "So what do you suggest I do to 'let myself loose'?" 

"Oh, let's see..." He bit on his lower lip. "Crash some parties, get drunk, steal something from Walmart..."

"You are aware theft is illegal right?"

"That's where the fun is, pres. You gotta add some action in your life. And some spice."

You rolled your eyes, looking away from his suggestive grin. "Those are shitty. Surely they are not the only things you want out of your life?"

Billy let his mind wander for a moment, and you waited patiently. At last, he spoke in an unsure tone. "Get a nice house and a nice job, I guess. I haven't really thought about it,"

"That's pretty vague," You smiled. Of course he hadn't considered planning his future, but perhaps he had a point about enjoying high school first. "It's not like you're in a rush, but I don't think it's pointless to start looking for a direction you want to go. Life can't be all actions and spice."

When he didn't reply, you turned and found him looking at you, lips tightly pressed together as if in deep thought. There was flour bleaching a few strands of his hair. You reached out, took his locks in your hands, and rubbed the white away. You raised a brow at his lack of response and he blinked out of the haze. He took another hasty drag. "Yea- yea. Those are good points,"

Your attention slid to the clock on the wall, and you stood up promptly. As much as you'd like to sit here and continue talking with Billy, you'd better get dressed for Hopper's party. He watched you curiously, body leaning forward as if he was about to follow you. You allowed yourself to hold his gaze for just one more second. In hindsight, the fact that you'd just discussed your future with him sounded absurd, maybe even unbelievable, but it happened, and it was apparent that he wasn't just a devil-may-care kind of person. There were probably days when he would lay in bed and contemplate his life, and days when he actually spent time on job-seeking websites with a new home in mind. You felt that you were getting close to knowing that Billy Hargrove. You shook your head and pulled yourself out of the thought.

"I'm gonna get changed," You said and headed for the stairs. Billy followed your movement with keen eyes before rushing to follow you, hands buried in his pockets. You turned when you heard him trailing from behind. "What?"

He shrugged, dabbing at the head of the cig with his index finger. "I thought I would get a room tour, you know?"

You narrowed your eyes. "No. What made you think that?"

He licked the roof of his mouth and clicked his tongue. A smirk spread across his lips, though it didn't quite reach his cheeks. "We had a really good chat back there, hadn't we?"

"Are you --" You frowned, turning his words over in your mind. Surely he wasn't trying to get into your pants. He wouldn't, would he? You scanned desperately for some confirmation on his face, but it wasn't hard to figure out his true intentions.

There were two emotions rushing at you so quickly that you couldn't fathom which hit first. Was it disappointment or anger? Was all that talk just about softening you up so you would agree to have sex with him? You shook your head sharply before storming up and away. Billy didn't follow. The hardness in your eyes was enough of a response.

--

Billy swore that his heart flatlined when you reached out to touch his hair. You were getting something out, but he couldn't care less about what it was. No one had touched him this way before -- soft and genuine. He almost expected you to pull on it with all your might and start screaming at him. (Neil loved that. Billy despised it.) The only other time someone would play with his hair was when he was making out with some forgettable ladies, and even then he didn't really appreciate it.

Hell-- no one had ever cared enough to ask him what he wanted to do with his life. There had been this one teacher back in California who had tried to get him to open up after he'd beaten some guy up for bumping into him. He had kept his mouth shut. The truth was, he didn't have the answer himself. The teacher had probably known that too because she'd simply sighed and sent him to detention.

There were girls who would ask him more private stuff. They shot questions like 'how did you get your car', 'when did you decide to let your hair grow', 'when are we going to do it in your house instead of mine', just to fill the silence. Billy didn't enjoy the idea of letting them in on himself. He wasn't expecting anything long-lasting from them anyways. 

So why were you any different? Why was he so affected by that simple gesture? He wasn't an innocent elementary schooler who would blush around his crush anymore, but something about your delicate action made his mind short-circuit. When you raised your brow at him, he snapped out of the spiral of thoughts and tripped on his words like a loser. "Yea- yea. Those are good points,"

What the fuck was that? Billy Hargrove, king of Hawkins, flustered by such a mindless gesture? You turned away from him, and he found his eyes chasing your movement. He could ask you to do it again, move into his space, and let your fingers hover on his cheek. Make his skin tingle. 

"I'm gonna get changed," You announced and started to walk off. He shot up from the sofa against his better judgment and shoved his hands into his pockets. Maybe this was it. He was just horny and in desperate need to get laid. That would explain it.

You turned when you heard his footsteps. "What?"

"I thought I would get a room tour, you know?" He was distracting himself with the burnt-out cig in his hand, running the words over again in his head. It didn't feel right, like he'd chosen the wrong response for your question, but no one could take their words back.

It appeared in your eyes first. Your eyes diminished into a squint as your brows caved in, a sight that he'd seen dozens of times already. Your mouth hung open for a moment before you shook your head in a disapproving way. It was the way a disappointed father looked at his troublesome children. Saddened, fatigued, and fed up. It was enough for him to know that he'd made the wrong move. Should he not have asked you that? He knew that you had no intention to sleep with him, but you should've known by now what kind of person he was. You might've been expecting some decency from him, but he didn't think he could ever reach that stage.

Maybe he was disappointed in himself too.

The cake was done, but you were still holed up in your room, probably cussing him out in front of your mirror. He found extra whipped cream from the fridge and started decorating it with strawberries.

When you'd called for help, he had been chilling in his room with a lollipop dangling from his lips, music blasting from his hi-fis. He was bored out of his mind, and was wondering if he was going to call one of those girls from science class. He hadn't expected someone to reach him, let alone you. That burnt his plan to ash, because he was still hellbent on trying to charm you, and it wouldn't work without loyalty. As soon as he answered, you asked him to bake with you, and it was so ridiculous, but he came to your rescue anyway. Only since it was a request.

It wasn't anything like baking with his mother. She was a woman with a huge stack of skills. A walking encyclopedia. Baking was just one of her talents. She could determine the amount of ingredients by her sixth sense alone, and she could make almost anything he'd asked for. He always insisted on watching her, because quality time with his mother was scarce. He would even mess things up deliberately just so she would take his hands gently and lead him to the sink to get cleaned up.

With you, you were the watcher, constantly peeking over his shoulder to observe his work. He had to say, having an audience was nerve-racking at first, but that was easily drowned out when all he could think of was how he was like his mother in this scenario. Maybe it was the ponytail.

He divided the cake into four layers and started spreading cream and putting in the strawberries. You were taking too long. By the time you got down, he was already finishing up on the last layer.

You cleared your throat and he turned to you. It wasn't every day you wore something so fancy, and he was really digging it. Maybe he should ask if Hopper would let him crash his party. I am out of my mind.

"...Strawberries?" He managed to ask, holding up the sliced fruit. Your fingers grazed his as you took it. You let out a pleased hum at the finished cake.

After it'd been carefully stored in a paper box, you took it out to the living room without a word. Were you still mad? He couldn't have fucked up that badly.

"Do you need a ride?" He tried again, and you scanned the clock before nodding.

"Thanks, by the way. For helping me with this," You held the cake up, looking at him sideways with a slightly more forgiving look. He only smiled in response.

The ride to Hopper's was short since he didn't live far. You were less upset than before now as you bopped your head to the song. He still couldn't wrap his mind around why you'd acted so strongly back in your house. Had you already forgotten what he was there for? Everything he'd been doing was for one sole goal-- break your heart, take over Hawkins High. But why was he even so hellbent on gaining power? 

He didn't want to consider that question.

The sun was just starting to set when you got out. You bent down to speak to him.

"Thanks again, Hargrove. I couldn't have done it without you."

Some flirtatious response was about to roll off his tongue, but he quickly switched. "Anytime. Have fun, yea?"

"Alright. See you tomorrow."

He watched as you walked off, the warm hue of the dusk painting you like a real art piece. It was only when he heard another car getting close that he remembered to leave. It could get ugly if he was found parking outside of the chief's house.

--

Any good mood that Billy'd been feeling perished the moment he stepped into his house and spotted Neil positioned on the couch with a can of beer in hand. Susan wasn't anywhere to be seen, which was odd because Neil rarely ever let her leave his sight.

It was foolish for Billy to think that he could sneak up to his room with the loud TV as a distraction. He had barely made it halfway across the living room when Neil spoke in a low voice. "Billy."

"What?"

"Where have you been?"

Billy gulped. "Out. Doing a project with some friends," He tried to walk away again, but Neil turned and hurled the can at him. It flashed right before him and hit the wall, white foam spilling out violently on the floor. His heart was dangling at the back of his throat, drumming in his skull.

"You dare lie in my face?" Neil paced towards him with his fists by his sides, eyes wide and bloodshot he stared at his son. "I work my ass off for this family and this is how you repay me?"

There was definitely something going on between him and Susan. Neil didn't always have a reason for his violent outbursts, but they were worse when Susan was involved. Even more so if he was drunk, and he happened to be both of them tonight. He grabbed a fistful of Billy's shirt and pulled him close, overwhelming him with the reek in each of his breaths. "Was it that bitch on the phone? The one who called in the afternoon?"

Billy's face twitched. He hated hearing Neil refer to you, much less with that insulting word. He kept his mouth shut as he glared at the man.

"Answer me, god damn it!" Neil yelled, veins popping up on his neck. 

"No." Neil pulled his head back slightly at the way Billy's voice croaked before raising his hand. He swung hard-- like he was fighting a burglar off his property. Like he was beating up some nasty criminal who would be better off dead. Billy stumbled to the side, held up by Neil's hold on his shirt alone. 

"I bet you had a good time, yea? I've seen the chicks from this town," He pushed Billy back against the wall. Billy was wrapping his hands around his now, trying to loosen his grip on his collar. It was starting to get suffocating. "I understand why you'd like to bang some random girl instead of staying at home and doing something useful--" He launched another stinging punch. There was no strength in Billy's arms -- not enough for him to fight back. He didn't even have enough willpower to do that.

"You know, it's all because of you. Susan started going on and on about how I was being too harsh on you--" His breathing was getting ragged, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead as he dragged Billy close again. Jesus-- Billy grunted. Get the fuck off of me. "If only she knew that you were just out there sleeping with some bitch--"

"Don't call her that." Billy finally said, the words shocking both Neil and himself. He regretted it the moment he spoke. Silence filled the living room. Slowly, Neil let go of Billy and stepped a few steps back.

"Fuck did you just say to me?" He challenged quietly.

"I said, don't call-" 

His arm flew towards Billy. Billy dodged swiftly, but couldn't foresee the low blow on his stomach. He coughed when he felt the impact, staggering back and doubling over. Neil pulled him up, only to strike him on the face again. The lamp was knocked over as he fell hard on the cold floor, heart still pounding loudly in his ribcage.

"You have some nerve in you, don't you?" Neil looked down his nose at his son, not a bit of remorse in his eyes. He walked back to the sofa and watched Billy get back on his feet. With an arm slung over the backrest and a new can of beer in his other, he shook his head pitifully. "Don't get cocky just yet, son," He spat. "You know full well what you've done. All you ever do is bring me despair. I swear to God-- if you drive Susan away like how you did to your fucking mother, I'm going to rip you apart."

He jabbed his fingers at Billy, thrusting each of his words into him with an unyielding gaze. "Now get the fuck out of my sight!"

Billy couldn't remember how he managed to walk back to his room. His body was aching-- his back, his face, his goddamn stomach, and his chest. He closed the door behind him and locked it shut before stomping over to the mirror, head drooping low as he tried to regulate his breathing. He couldn't yell or kick in frustration because Neil would just come up and give him another lesson. There was a lump in his throat that he couldn't make go away no matter how hard he clenched his fists or how deeply he tried to inhale. It felt as though the room was closing in on him. He was probably going to die of suffocation.

After God knows how long, he finally felt the heaviness on his chest lighten. He looked into the mirror and saw blood on his lower lip from a cut and redness where Neil'd twice struck. There were tears staining the corners of his eyes, but he willed himself to push them back. It was pathetic seeing himself in this state. 

He slowly laid himself down on the bed. He probably needed to tend to his wounds, but his mind was too hazy to pay mind to the pain. The ceiling stared back at him. If you drive Susan away like how you did to your fucking mother. Neil had always blamed Billy for his mother's absence, but he'd never believed in it or let it get to his head. He tried to recall all the time he'd spent with his mother-- the warm sun and calm waves on the beaches in California, her plain white dress, her calloused hands wrapped around his face, Neil's fists on his cheeks, her standing in the kitchen with a stupid apron that said 'kiss the chef', the empty beer cans on the kitchen island.

He was thinking of you again, but he forced himself not to. He couldn't bear the thought of facing you, battered and hurt, eyes wet like a wimpy kid. It wasn't just you-- it was everyone, be it Max or Susan or Tommy from school. He'd rather die than let anyone know how weak he was. He shut his eyes, pushed away all those meaningless thoughts, and made an oath to himself. He wouldn't let anyone hurt him how Neil did. He wouldn't show anyone what a coward he was, and he wouldn't give anyone else the power to look down on him. One day, he would be capable enough to leave this shithole, and he would. Then he would settle somewhere far away from Neil and from the reminder that it was all his fault. It was because he was so unlovable that his mother left him behind.

In the silence of his room, Billy let his mind run wild the entire night.

--

"What happened here?" Abby asked, one brow lifted up. Being a member of the student council, she'd come to drop off some documents from the teachers. She certainly hadn't expected to see Christmas decorations hung up around the room.

"Oh right," You couldn't believe you'd forgotten to take those things down. In fact, you'd been meaning to, but it was undeniable that all the tinsel and trinkets were making the room more uplifting. "I figured it would be great to add some colors to this place,"

Abby nodded, mouth jutted to the side like she was still unsure. "Fair enough." She placed the documents into the locker and slammed it shut. She turned to look at you, only to notice the small paper bag in your hand. "What's that?"

"Just some leftovers of the cake from Hopper's last night. I'm gonna give it to a friend," You smiled slightly.

"Man, I can never fathom how you manage to help Hopper and be the council president at the same time." She held the door for you and followed you out, heading for the canteen. Abby wasn't a particularly close friend, but you liked her easy-going attitude. Plus, she was probably the most hard-working one among the council. Most of the remaining members were just hoarding the titles without actually showing up for work. You were starting to forget their faces.

"Don't sweat it, sometimes I can't even fathom it myself."

At the mention of Hopper, you remembered how he'd asked you to stay behind after Joyce and Will had left and El had returned to her bedroom. Apparently, he'd returned just in time to see Billy's car leaving his driveway. 

"You know, I actually happened to see that Hargrove kid's Camaro at my house today. You know anything about that?" He'd asked, though he obviously knew the answer already. You were sitting side by side on the front porch, looking out into the dark woods.

"Why chief, I'm utterly clueless," You joked. At his glare, you rolled your eyes. "I asked him to help bake the cake with me,"

"Oh, lord." Hopper pinched the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh. 

"What?"

"You're running around with him?"

"Hopper." You said sternly. "I know what you're thinking-- Billy Hargrove, Hawkin's bad boy, bound to break all the young ladies' hearts--"

"So you do know what his deal is."

"I'm not stupid, Hop. And I'm not succumbing to his charms. I'm just getting to know him from a safe distance. Plus, we kind of made a deal and he's working for me now."

Hopper shook his head. "Look at you, hiring people already. You grow up so damn fast, what am I supposed to do with you?"

You nudged his shoulder with a teasing smile. "Feeling wistful, Hop?"

He sighed, looking down at his folded hands. "You're old enough now, and I know that you're capable of making your own decisions, but please, for the love of God, listen when I say this. Don't let your guard down around Hargrove. I don't know him personally, but I've heard enough. All I ask is for you to stay safe. He may seem nice now, but boys like him have so many tricks up their sleeves, you'd never know. And from what I've seen, his father isn't all that better."

"His father?"

"Do you understand me, Y/N?" He ignored your question, waiting until you nodded. "Well then. I'll give you a ride home. Thank that kid for the cake for me, and tell him to watch his steps."

Hopper wasn't always upfront with his feelings and opinions, so the conversation'd been a little awkward, but you knew that he was just looking out for you, and you couldn't be anything but thankful for that. As much as you'd like to trust Billy, you knew you couldn't just jump right into him without armor.

Why were you even trying to trust him anyways?

Abby'd just started talking to you about her terrible accident involving a squirrel during the weekend when a group of people ran past you, yelling about a fight in the canteen. Immediately, students that were just chilling in the corridor started following them. You and Abby shared a look before deciding to check it out.

There was already a huge commotion in the canteen by the time you arrived. A dense group of students were circling around someone, and you couldn't see anything even though you tip-toped. There were whistles and whines, and occasionally someone would cheer. Your blood ran cold when you heard someone clapping their hands loudly. "Get him, Hargrove!"

"Excuse me," You shoved your arms in between the crowd and started pushing your way through. Most of the students made way for you, and finally you saw what was happening in the middle of the mess. Billy was hovering above someone -- Jack from science, if you remembered correctly -- hands gripping his collar as he kept him on the floor. There was a huge brown stain on Billy's white shirt, and his hair was falling in front of his face messily.

"I can't hear you," Billy said, and Jack mumbled something incoherent. His lips were shaking, and there were bloody cuts here and there on his face. Hell-- his left eye looked to be sunken. "Still can't hear you!"

Billy raised his fist, and you stepped into the circle. "Stop it!"

The ruckus died down as everyone turned to look at you, except for Jack who seemed to be too weak to even lift his head. Billy furrowed his brows as you walked closer and kneeled down beside Jack, examining his injuries. "Can someone help me bring him to the infirmary?" 

Not too surprisingly, it was Abby who pushed her way through and offered assistance. As you swung Jack's arms around both your shoulders, you casted a look at Billy, who was standing at the side with his hands in his pockets. He didn't look anywhere near remorseful. If anything, there was something akin to pride in his eyes. 

It wasn't the Billy you spent time with yesterday.

You and Abby supported Jack to the nurse, and you volunteered to stay with him. You were almost certain that he would faint seeing how weak he was, but it didn't take long for him to regain the energy to talk. The nurse'd already tended to his cuts and wrapped bandages where they were needed, but his black eye was still hard to watch. There was dried blood by his nostrils, his jet black locks disheveled. He looked like hell. 

"We called an ambulance for you. It's better to get checked and make sure that your aren't concussed," You told him once he looked conscious enough. 

He sighed and nodded. "Thank you, Y/L/N."

"Would you mind telling me what happened?"

He cringed as if the memory alone was hurting him. "Look, it was my fault, okay? But I--" He trailed off and started again. "I spilled soup on Hargrove's shirt. It was an accident. I was in a rush, and I didn't bother to apologize. He asked me to, so I did and tried to clean him up, and the next thing I know, my tray was knocked off from my hands and he was punching me in my face and telling me be more sincere,"

"That's all?" You frowned. Based on his injuries, you'd expected something more serious than spilled soup. 

"Yea. I guess I just--" He shook his head. "I couldn't even fight back. He was too overwhelming. I guess it was my fault--"

"No, it wasn't your fault, okay?" You reassured him. "It was a mindless accident, as you said. He shouldn't have hurt you."

"I guess so. Maybe this is a reminder for me not to cross him again," He turned to look at you with squinted eyes. "Wait. I heard that he's been hanging out with you a lot lately."

"Who said that?" 

"Everyone, I guess. Or someone. It's none of my business anyways, sorry. I'll just remember to stay out of trouble." He turned away, and you looked down in silence. Hopper and Steve's words bounced around your head like needles going in and out, all of them warnings about what kind of person Billy was. Maybe you really didn't know him as much as you thought. Maybe you needed answers from the man himself.

The nurse returned a moment later and brought Jack away to someone who'd bring him to the hospital. You grabbed the paper bag and left the room afterwards. It didn't take long for you to find Billy, who was just coming out of the washroom. There was no one else but you and him in the corridor. The lunch break was over and everyone'd already returned to class. He spotted you walking towards him and started heading away, but you chased up to him. "Hargrove!"

"What is it?" He stopped and turned so that he was facing you with one side of his face. He looked bothered.

"What is it? You just beat up some guy back there! What happened?"

"I'm sure Joe already told you."

"His name is Jack, and yes, he did, but I still want to hear it from you."

Billy looked down at you with a contemplating expression. "There's nothing to add." He tried to walk away again, but you pulled him back by his elbow and turned him so that he was facing you completely. You were about to press him for more answers when you saw the cut on his mouth. "Jack said he didn't fight back,"

Something akin to horror dawned on his face. He freed his arm from your grip roughly, his eyes turning hard as he stepped away. "Well, maybe Jack wasn't as honest as you thought. Will you just leave me alone?"

Your shoulders slumped. He was acting foreign, but then again, how much did you really know about him? For all you knew, he could've been faking everything. That's what Hargrove wants you to believe, Steve'd said back then. This might be his true colors then.

Billy started to turn his back on you. 

"Wait," You said. "Is there really nothing else?"

He sighed, swiveled around, and said, "You expect too much from me, pres."

You watched as he disappeared around the corner, your fingers curling around the handles of the paper bag loosely. Maybe he was right. Maybe you'd been giving him impossible expectations. At the end of the day, Billy Hargrove was just a frivolous guy who didn't care if anyone got hurt as long as he was having his ways, and you just happened to be naive enough to have wanted to understand him.

Chapter Text

You had no idea what to do with Billy.

It wasn't that you were disappointed in him-- after all, who were you to be disappointed? You knew from the beginning that you were just one of the many people he was going after. It was foolish of you to have expected more. 

What were you even expecting? For him to turn out to be a caring, gentle person? Well, he had already proven otherwise.

It didn't help that he was trying to get back on your good side, although he was pretty bad at that. He'd probably never needed to please someone before. There were the paper balls that he would throw at you, and the awkward attempts at chatting you up. No matter how hard he tried, it felt like things had gone back to square one. Perhaps even square zero, because you didn't even care to engage in his flirting anymore.

He only brought up the requests once, written inside a paper plane with a winking face. You crushed the plane in your hand and threw it into the bin. He never mentioned it again.

Well, every cloud had its silver lining. Once again, work had managed to burden you enough that you had no time to fuss over your questionable relationship. There had been talks of an inter-school swimming competition, and you had been confirming details with the student body president of the partnering school. As well-liked as inter-school events were, you absolutely despised them. It wasn't that you hated organizing events, but how could you bring yourself to enjoy it when the whole ordeal left you with little to no time for rest? 

To be fair, you brought this upon yourself when you decided to run for the post of president, so there was no one else to blame but you. At least Abby and Steve were willing to help, even though Steve was mainly just there for mental support.

Steve seemed relieved that you weren't talking to Billy. That was fair. He'd been telling you from day one that Billy wasn't someone to be friends with. You just never listened.

Speaking of Steve. You looked up at the boy sitting on your bed with a hand dipped into the packet of chips, another holding a magazine about celebrity gossip. 

"Don't you dare get that grease on my bed." You warned. His eyes shot up at you, before he hovered his dirtied hand on your blanket, laughing as your eyes widened. He lifted it back up.

"I thought you were here to help."

He made a whining noise. "That stuff is so boring,"

"That stuff is a proposal that I have to present to school officials this Friday," You sighed. "But yea, it is boring,"

There was faint music coming out of your hi-fi. You had a leg propped up on the chair as you typed away on your computer, occasionally sticking your nail between your teeth. It was a bad habit of yours that had been called out on since you were a little kid, but you just couldn't seem to quit. Steve had left an empty bag of biscuits on the floor, but you were too lazy to go and pick it up. Hell, you could've called Abby over instead had you been closer. At least she would listen to your presentation rehearsals with concentration instead of just nodding and humming.

At some point, he'd started vocalizing to the song, head bobbing as he shouted out rumors about recent stars. Like knowing Tom Cruise had a holiday house in Hawaii would help. Steve was similar to Billy in this way -- good company, but not helpful at all.

A huff left your lips at the thought of Billy. 

Steve casted the magazine away and walked over to you, throwing himself up so that he was sitting on your desk. It creaked under his weight. "Can't this wait until tomorrow? You still have like two days to finish this up." He said, scanning your face for any sign of fatigue.

"I need this to be perfect lest I make a fool out of myself in front of all those people." You said. When he didn't reply, you looked up at him and found him watching you. "What?"

"Is it about Hargrove?"

You groaned, throwing your head back. He was already starting to explain, but you cut him off. "You really do have a way with words, don't you?"

"Can you blame me? You've been acting strange ever since you and him--" He trailed off. "You know. Separated or something. You weren't actually together, right?"

"He was just helping me out, so no," You reached out for a pen and fiddled with it mindlessly. "Look, it's in the past already. I only miss the free labor."

"And the remaining requests?"

"At the bottom of the sea."

He bit the inside of his cheek before hopping off the desk, sending it into a violent shake. You glared at him. 

"That's fantastic. I was just scared that he might've broken your heart. You should see how frantic girls act once he dumps them. As if they didn't know that it was bound to happen,"

He was right. It was bound to happen. So why was there still a stubborn sliver of hope in your heart? You looked up at the wall, on which you'd stuck sheets of random sketches. It occured to you that it'd been so long since you'd drawn anything. There was simply no time. You shook your head and decided to return to work.

--

"Talk slower and you're perfect." Abby gave you a thumbs up as you walked back to the oval table, slumping into the chair beside her. The two of you and Steve had borrowed the meeting room for rehearsals, one for the large space and two for a taste of the real deal.

"Can I be honest? I think I'm gonna freak out." You buried your head into your arms, nose bumping against the hardwood.

"It's going to be perfect." Abby placed a hand on your shoulder. She was going to be your assistant, and you trusted her enough to know that she wouldn't screw it up. It was yourself that you didn't trust.

"Exactly," Steve stood up from the table like he was dying to get out of here, rounding the table, grabbing you up, and shoving you into the hallway. "You just do your best and they'll succumb to your charm in no time."

"Yea, my charm." You shoved him playfully. Abby trailed behind, laughing as Steve piloted you around. The three of you might've looked like a strange mix, but they were genuine people that you could trust. You wouldn't give them up for anything.

"Well, I'll come by after school and we can go together?" Abby said once she was outside her classroom. You nodded and waved her goodbye.

You and Steve were about to part ways when someone called you from behind. "Hey, pres!"

Steve made an exaggerated show of rolling his eyes. You turned around and saw Billy jogging towards you, sporting a loose shirt with red stripes. He had a trained smile on his face. 

"Let's just go…" Steve murmured, tucking at your sleeve persistently. 

"What is it?" You asked Billy instead. 

"Nothing, just…" He rubbed his nape, at a loss of words for a moment. "Just wanted to wish you luck for the meeting thing later."

You were curious about how he knew about the meeting, but it was probably just from rumors flying in the air. Almost everyone was hyped for the competition, especially since they would be meeting people that were actually from outside of Hawkins. 

You opened your mouth to thank him, but Steve beat you to it. "Thank you very much, Hargrove." He started to drag you away. Seeing as the conversation had been sabotaged, Billy shook his head and started to turn away.

"Wait!" You said, and both of them stopped in their tracks. "Isn't it maths?"

"I'm skipping," Billy tilted his head. "Wouldn't want to distract you."

Steve looked between you before rolling his eyes. "Good riddance." 

You let him lead you away this time

Math lessons were always somewhat insufferable with Billy as your seatmate, although he hadn't been bothering you as much. Nonetheless, the empty seat next to you felt out of place. It would've been really nice if he'd been there to distract you with cheesy lines. Now you were stuck with yourself and a very old friend, doubt.

You had your notes laid out on the table, but your attention was on the cue card in your drawer. Numerous people had stopped by to give you their support during the day, but none of them really got through to you. The nervousness was still there in the back of your mind.

"Ms. Y/L/N?" Someone called from the door. You jumped in your seat. Was it already time? It couldn't be. You were still in class. Did they arrive early? 

It was the secretary from the office. She gestured for you to come out, and you almost tripped on your feet on the way. Get it together. 

"Hey," She said in a hushed voice even though you were alone in the corridor. You were tidying your clothes already, smoothing out any crinkles that'd got onto your shirt. 

"We got a call from a hospital. Your mother fell off the ladder while working. You were her only emergency contact, so--"

"Wait, what?" Your heart hung in your chest as you tried to process her words. My mum fell off the ladder? What was she doing on a ladder? She's in the hospital? She's in the-

"You can go to the hospital right now, but it's outside of Hawkins," She gave you the name of the hospital. "And I know that you're having a meeting with officials from the other school later, so you can make the choice for yourself, okay? And... hey. Calm down, alright?"

You nodded and closed your eyes, trying to focus on your breathing, but your thoughts were messy. Rushed. "I-I need to grab my things."

You couldn't remember running in and out of the classroom, nor could you remember darting through the hallways, hearing only your own panting. There were only two things on your mind right now -- presentation, hospital. Presentation. Hospital. Over and over again.

Steve was in the Science Laboratory. The teacher glared at you when you burst inside and asked for his presence, but he didn't stop you. 

"What's going on? Is it the presentation?" Steve asked once he was outside, holding your arms as if you were about to fall over. You might be on the verge. 

"No. No, it's my mother. She's in the hospital. She, uh, fell off a ladder." You kept tripping over your words like you'd lost the ability to form coherent sentences. Steve's face fell into surprise.

"Shit. This is bad. Uh..." He asked gingerly. "What're you going to do?"

"I don't know, Steve!" You sighed, pacing back and forth in front of him. "I have no idea. What should I do?"

Steve threaded his fingers through his hair. "I- I'll go see your mum, okay? You stay and take care of your work."

"Oh, that won't do. I have to see my mum." You grabbed his hand and started leading him to the parking lot. "You can bring me there, right?"

"Of course, but what about the presentation? Can Abby do it alone?"

Can she? Should you even let her do it alone? You didn't answer. Steve let you be. The two of you basically flew down the stairs to the parking lot. Once you were standing right next to his car, he shoved his hand into his pocket and gasped. "Shit. Shit. I left my keys inside."

Your eyes widened, but you held back the strong words as you waved him off. Steve ran away as fast as he could and left you alone in the parking lot.

--

Billy lit up a cigarette and turned to lean on his Camaro. He was alone in the car park. Some time had passed, but no one had yet to show up.

He'd asked someone out. After things turned bad with you, he wasn't sure what to do. A part of him was sure that this little game was over. Maybe he should just give up. Let it go, move on. Then there was this other voice in his head that held him back, persuading him to talk to you and fix things.

So that's what he did. He spent the whole break looking for you, and just as the bell rang, he spotted you walking with Steve. He tried anyways, to strike up a conversation, but you didn't seem to care, and Steve was constantly in the way. Maybe it was fate's way of telling him to stop making a fool of himself. 

Hell, what was he even doing? It was a fortunate situation. Anytime a girl got angry at him, it was an opportunity for him to drop out. That way, he could save the arguments and tears, and he would seem less like the bad guy. He should be grateful. Ecstatic, even.

He kept turning to the direction of the school entrance, somehow dreading the arrival of his date. She'd suggested going to the cafe. Cafes sucked. He agreed anyway. 

A deep sigh left his lips. Maybe he should flee. He opened the car door and dropped the cigarette, stomping on it to put out the glow. He was already a foot in when he heard frantic footsteps nearing.

He turned around. You were running towards him like he'd just stolen your purse. For a second, he thought you were here to catch him in the act, but you didn't look to be angry once you were close enough. If anything, you looked on edge.

"Hargrove!" You bent forward, trying to catch your breath. "Hargrove. Can you give me a lift?"

"What?" He craned to the side to look at the clock. "Where are you going? Aren't you having a meeting?"

"No, I have to go. Please give me a lift." The address of the hospital rushed out of your lips, and he frowned, taken back.

"The hospital? What-"

"Y/N!"

Oh, there's Harrington. Again. What are you two, a package deal?

"Let's go!" Steve waved, standing by his own car with the keys dangling in the air. You looked back at him, and Billy blurted out, "I'll give you a ride."

You turned back to him. Steve raised his arms in the air in the background, eyes wide. Billy flashed you his most charming smile.

"Give me a second." He watched as you ran back to Steve, who was about to open the door for you when he paused, frowning at you like you'd just said something ridiculous. Billy took a few steps so he could hear you.

"...I'm going with Hargrove."

"Like hell you are! Get in the car!"

"No! You need to go to the presentation. You need to tell Abby to fill in for me, and you're going to be her assistant,"

"I don't know shit about the presentation!"

"You know enough!"

Steve shook his head sternly. ""Just ask Hargrove to help--" He stopped once he realized the stupidity in his suggestion. You put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. 

"Please. I trust you. You can do this."

"You're unbelievable." Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. A moment later, they shot open, and he finally nodded. "Fine. I'll stay and help Abby." He shot a glare at Billy then, "Just be careful, and call me when you come back."

"Of course. Thank you, Steve." You pulled him into a tight hug before running back to Billy. He opened the door for you, and you climbed in swiftly. Once he was inside, you repeated the address to him. From the rear view window, he could see his date emerging from the building.

He stepped on the pedal and drove away.

--

There was loud rock music coming out of the radio. Billy kept stealing glances at you. You didn't seem to notice as you looked down at your bag. Your brows hadn't relaxed since you'd approached him in the parking lot, and you'd been grazing your lips with your thumb and pulling away, as if resisting the urge to bite on it as you always did.

The silence was getting unbearable. Maybe he should say something nice. Something to lift the mood. He cleared his throat and willed his voice not to falter. "So... does this count as a request?"

Fuck. That surely was nice.

"Whatever." You said.

He sighed. "Can I know why we're going to the hospital then?"

You shot him a hard look. "It's my mum, okay? Are you happy now?"

"Jesus, fine." He snapped, gripping the wheel with extra force. He didn't like that you were being rude to him. He was literally driving you all the way out of town, request or not. An explanation was the very least thing he deserved.

Well, it was for your mother, and you were clearly in distress. He supposed he wasn't so rotten in his heart that he would refuse to help.

A few minutes passed. You spoke again, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped."

"It's fine," He glanced at you then back at the empty highway. "Are you feeling better?"

You lifted a shoulder. "Probably, yeah. How hard did I freak out?"

"You kind of looked like you were escaping from a mental asylum."

"Thanks for the compliment, Hargrove." You finally smiled. Billy felt relief wash over him. "Where were you going, by the way?"

Billy tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and let his hand rest there. "You know. Just drive around and stuff,"

A skeptical frown formed between your eyes, but you didn't press him for more answers.

He prefered having you here rather than some other girl he randomly picked. At least you weren't asking him to bring you to a boring cafe. Maybe it's because he knew you better, but again, how much did he actually know about you?

Realization hit him rather later. This was the first time he got to be alone with you since the 'fight'. There was no one (Harrington, for instance) to interrupt you, and nothing that you could use as an excuse to get away from him (say, council meetings). Maybe he should address the incident with Jack. After all, it was where everything went south. Or was it when he was at your house, looking up at you from a few stairs below, trying to figure out what the heck he was feeling and ending up saying the wrong words?

You were so confusing. He was so confusing. He couldn't figure himself out anymore. Not since he realized that it had't been arousal he'd felt when you'd touched his hair. He couldn't put a word to that emotion-- and he quite frankly wanted to keep it that way.

"Can you roll the window down?" You asked.

"Just don't jump out."

You looked from left to right, making sure it was safe before you leaned your head out, feeling the wind hit against your face mercilessly. It was work trying to keep your eyes open, but you managed. Your hair was whipping chaotically in the air. Everything that you'd put into perfecting your look was now in vain. 

There were only endless, expanding trees in front of you. It would take some more time before you would see buildings. Billy couldn't understand what you were doing, sticking your head out when there was nothing to see at all. Maybe you just wanted to cool down. He wasn't sure what had happened to your mother, but it mustn't have been good.

You pulled your head back and checked the time. It would've been the last period had you stayed at school. "Do you think Steve and Abby will be fine?"

Billy had no idea why you were asking him unless you were in dire need of reassurance. He shifted in his seat and did his best impression of a compassionate friend. "Well, Harrington is probably going to do a decent job, and I don't know any Abby, so they'll probably be fine."

You rolled your eyes. "Abby is a member of the council. Doesn't she have science classes with you? She may be quiet, but she's really smart. Don't go after her, though."

"Why, because you would be jealous?"

"Because she's too good for you."

"Sounds like jealousy to me."

You shook your head and spoke between laughs, "You're insufferable, Hargrove."

Billy tried to get that laugh out of you again for the rest of the ride, but as you neared the destination, you started to return to a state of nervousness. The two of you finally arrived, and you got off before he could round the car and hold open the door for you. You were basically storming into the building when he caught up from behind and told you to slow down.

The nurse directed you to a room, and you walked off by yourself. Billy remained by the reception counter, unsure of whether he should be following you. Surely, you were more than capable to go in by yourself. It wasn't as though he would be of much help anyways.

Mere steps later. you turned back to him and beckoned him to follow. He was on his heels immediately.

The two of you stopped in front of a closed, milk-colored door. You were taking deep breaths, eyes focused on the handle below. He placed a hand on your shoulder. "It's alright,"

He didn't know what exactly was alright, but it was the only thing he could think of at that moment, and it was usually what he'd like to tell himself when he was in distress himself. You nodded before making your way inside. The woman sitting on the bed beamed like the sun as the sight of you. He then walked to sit down from across the hallway. The door was left slightly ajar. If he strained a little, he could probably make out what you were saying, but he stayed put and waited.

"...Isn't this your third part-time job? You don't even like the smell of paint..." Your voice came out of the room. 

If he hadn't struck that deal with you, he would've been stuck with the same impression others had of you-- capable, unyielding, resolute. But ever since he'd got to know you, you kept surprising him. It became easy to notice when you were tired from having pulled an all-nighter, or when you were trying to stay calm while biting on your thumbnail. He'd seen you fuss over eggs and cake. He'd seen you frantic, losing your cool. He'd seen you sit on the window sill from some distance away, and close up as you cleaned the flour out of his hair. How were you able to disclose so many sides to him in such a short time? It couldn't be that easy.

It was immensely hard for him. He could still recall you standing in that corridor, asking about Jack and the spilled soup, eyes pleading him to say something good. He'd told you to leave him alone and turned his back on you. He wanted with all his heart to explain to you that he was just... afraid. He had been petrified when Jack's clumsy hands found their way to the bruise on his stomach, courtesy of his father. Before Jack could even have the time to register it, Billy's fist was already slamming into his face. And it felt good at that moment-- seeing someone vulnerable and defenseless beneath him as he taught his lessons, but then you ended his little show and he found himself unable to face you.

He wasn't sure if this meant that you'd already forgiven him. 

For more than five times he'd tried to take a drag, but there was always a nosy nurse around the corner that perished his thought. He gave up eventually and focused on the dreadfully quiet hallway. He could hear you laugh. It was weightless in the air, weightless in his heart. 

The door was finally opened after what felt like years. You looked like a heavy weight had been put off your shoulders. Billy stood up and walked to you. "You don't need to stay longer? I can wait."

You shook your head, nose scrunched up. "She basically forced me out. She's mostly fine... if you consider a broken leg and a minor concussion fine." You turned back to look at your mother and found her watching the two of you with an intrigued expression. You crooked a brow. "What?"

"You didn't introduce me to your friend, I just assumed you came with Steve." She smiled at Billy, showing her perfectly white teeth and thin eyes. "What's your name, dear?"

"Billy Hargrove." He crossed the threshold and bowed formally. You elbowed his arm with a look that said, you're overdoing it.

"That's a sweet name." Your mother's smile turned wider. Billy didn't think it was possible.

"My mother gave it to me," He was sharing too much now. "Or so I've been told." Too. Much.

"She must have good taste. I hope my daughter hasn't been giving you too much trouble?"

"Not at all, ma'am. She's a charming company."

"Okay, that's quite enough from you." You grabbed his elbow and started leading him out, not before leaving a few words for your mother. "Take some rest and call me tonight, okay?"

Your mother waved. "Got it, don't pay my bills!"

Once you were out of earshot, Billy started chuckling behind you. You swiveled around and made a face at him, "What?"

"Your mother's a delight."

You scoffed. "You're also a delight. I mean, charming company? Ma'am? Who are you and what have you done to Billy Hargrove?"

The corridor led you back to the reception. You pulled out your wallet and asked for the bills.

"I thought your mum specifically told you not to pay her bills."

"She knows it won't stop me." You handed the money over and started to leave. The clock right above the exit caught your attention, and your posture slumped. "The presentation just started..."

"The presentation you won't be attending." he slapped his hands onto your shoulders and steered you out of the hospital. "Let's go back and wait for their good news."

The reminder of the presentation seemed to have weighed you down again. Your lips had been pouted from the moment you'd got back to his car, and you kept staring the receipt in your hands like it was the most interesting story ever written. Billy reached out to turn down the music. "You good?"

You nodded slowly, letting your head hang low. "I think so. Just... feels like all my efforts were for naught."

"Steve and Amy are bringing your work to life now, aren't they? I don't think they've all gone to waste."

"It's Abby," You corrected. "But I guess you're right. It just feels like nothing is going my way."

"When has life ever gone our way?"

You turned to him with interest glistening in your eyes. You looked just like your mother. "Are you speaking from experience?"

"All of us have it hard" was all he said. He ignored the memory of Neil ranting about his boring job that'd popped up in his mind. It was such an unwanted intrusion. Before you could ask more, he drove into a petrol station to fill up the tank.

You followed him out of the car, walking around purposelessly like a curious kid. You went into some dense woods by the station at some point. You were still out of sight when Billy finished.

"Pres?" He called. No response. He looked back at the empty highway. There was not a sign of you.

"Here, Hargrove!"

Your voice came from somewhere on the other side of the woods. He pushed the leaves aside as he made his way through, and when the last branch was out of his face, he found himself looking at an endlessly wide beach. 

"Isn't this place nice?" You said as he walked towards you. "I didn't know they had a beach around here."

"Yea... it is nice." Billy said. If he had to be frank, this beach couldn't even hold a candle to those back in California, but he hadn't been to one for so long that the mere sight of it was enough to brighten his mood. He leaned down and scooped up a handful of sand. It slid through his fingers like smooth silk. The waves were calm and rhythmic, and the sun was not too strong. It was almost perfect for surfing.

He looked back at you, who had a fascinated look etched across your face.

"I take it that you haven't been to a lot of beaches?" He asked, following as you walked towards the water.

"I went more when I was a kid, but I don't think I've seen any since twelve." You said. "It must've been nice living in California."

He hummed. There were pros and cons, but it was true that it was convenient going to the sea, even more so than finding a restaurant. And his house was more spacious there. Hawkins, in comparison, was a close-knitted town, almost secluded. It'd made him feel like an outsider at first, but he'd put extra work to make himself as well-known as possible. There were already girls coming by to give him cookies by the third day. They lived on the other side of town.

You took off your shoes and socks and submerged your feet in the waves. A gasp slipped out when you felt the cold water against your skin, but you adapted quickly. "Come on, let's walk." You said.

"Don't you need to go back?" he asked as he took off his own footwear. God, how he'd missed the sand. 

"I'm gonna miss it anyways." You said, almost wistfully.

There were more people chilling on the beach in the far distance, but here it was just the both of you. Billy looked around as the water lapped against his feet and ebbed away. If he'd had extra clothes, he would've dived right into the gray expanse of the sea and buried himself in its gentle crashing already. He'd float endlessly, squinting up at the grey clouds on the sky, and imagine being carried to somewhere far, far away. 

You bent down and picked up a white seashell, grinning like a child who saw every random stone on the sidewalk as a diamond. Your clothes were fluttering in the air. A gust of wind sent your hair into a flurry, and you complained about it getting all tangled and messy. 

"We should have a swim," You looked out at the vast sea.

"Is this your way of coping? Being spontaneous?"

You shrugged. He shook his head. He wouldn't normally turn down an offer to swim with a lady, but unless he could somehow find additional clothings out here in the middle of nowhere, it would be a shitty idea.

"Well... maybe we can sit there on the sand?" 

"We have no beach mat," He recalled the convenience store at the gas station. "Well, I could go check if they sell any back at the station."

You clapped gratefully and watched him stride off. "And get me an ice cream!"

It turned out that they sold all kinds of beach toys there, but Billy only grabbed a bamboo mat and two cups of ice cream. You weren't going to dig around the sand and build a sandcastle anyways. Based on your current flow, though, it wouldn't be a surprise if you demanded those tiny plastic tools.

Billy placed the mat on a shady spot under a tree. The mat was small. Your shoulders were touching as you sat side by side. He'd given you the strawberry ice cream and intended to keep the mango to himself, but you switched them before he could have the chance to protest. Fine. He would let you have this one. Only this time.

"They really should build a beach in Hawkins." You mused. "It's better than therapy."

"I know." He said. He couldn't count how many times he'd wandered out, looking for comfort in his old home. Nowadays, the only way to let off some steam was to punch something. Even then, it didn't always work.

Gray clouds were starting to gather upon you, and the air was getting brisk. You looked down at your empty cup, mind seemingly miles away. You looked as though sleep would get you any moment with your drooping eyelids and pouty lips. The excitement left you as quickly as they'd come.

"I don't think I've thanked you yet, so thanks. For driving me all the way out here." You said quietly. It was about time, honestly-- you'd gone up to him and hopped into his car in a rush, and your mood had been so atrocious that you'd totally forgotten that he'd been helping you the entire afternoon. 

"Well, it's fine. It's family stuff."

You scoffed. "Mum's always up to something, but yea, I guess you can't really ignore family stuff."

"She gets into trouble a lot?" He asked, immediately backtracking when he realized that he was probably being too privy. The last thing he wanted was for you to get offended again and ask him to take you home. He didn't want to ruin this too. "I mean, if it's okay to tell. I'm not really in the place to ask."

"No, it's fine." You made a face, like it was no big deal. "My mum does a lot of part-time jobs. She's trying to earn enough money to buy a house for the both of us." You peeked tentatively at his reaction before continuing. "It's not like my aunt's bad company, but I've been living with her for as long as I can remember because of...reasons. Mum never really got the chance to take care of me, so she wants to make it up to me. Sometimes she goes too far and strains herself, and then I'll have to come and fix her mess, over and over again."

That was probably too much information you were revealing here. You were always wearing your heart on your sleeves. One of these days it would probably backfire on you, but Billy didn't want to take advantage. Not right now, anyways, when everything seemed so right. "It almost sounds like you're referring to yourself." You gave him a confused look, prompting him to continue, so he did. "You're always taking on a shit load of work and tiring yourself out in the process. Guess it runs in the family,"

"You make it sound so terrible. It's called passion."

"Are you sure it's not burden?"

"No. Look, it's basically just like how you are with girls--"

He groaned. "You're kidding. How are they the same thing?"

"It's passion!" You retorted, "We overwhelm ourselves with things we love."

"Does your mother have something to do with it?" 

"No." You fiddled with the sand. "Maybe. I don't know. I guess a part of me just couldn't stand seeing her suffer alone. Maybe I was just trying to help her in my own way. Are you analyzing me, Hargrove?"

Billy chortled at the absurdity of your words. You were giving him too much credit. He was merely curious. "I don't have the slightest intention to analyze you. I was just wondering if you only chose to become the student body president because of your mum. At least I can say confidently now that it's more than fame for you."

"Of course it's more than fame, king of Hawkins High." You bumped into his shoulder with a lazy smirk. "Now that is a title for someone desirous."

He wasn't sure about that part. Was he doing it for fame and fame alone? Or was it just because he couldn't stand the vulnerable man he saw every time he looked into the mirror? Having someone suck up to him could certainly make that wimp go away for some time. 

"We should head back before it's too late." You tilted your head back, letting your messy hair fall around like a bird nest. Even after the chat, you still looked drowsy as hell, but Billy wasn't in a hurry to bring you back just yet.

"You could use a nap." He said. It was a weak excuse.

"I could sleep in your car."

"I know, but doesn't napping on the beach sound a lot better?"

"Not without a proper seat." Your brow raised in a teasing manner. "Unless you want to sacrifice your shoulder?"

"Are you trying to get close to me, pres?" He leaned into your face boldly, and you recoiled with parted lips. "It's your choice. You can have it for as long as you want."

You mumbled something under your breath before shifting so you could rest your head on his shoulder comfortably. This close, he could feel the rises and falls of your chest as you breathed, as well as the warmth of your arm against his. Everytime your head rolled forward, he had to hold it in place while being careful not to wake you up. Your hair was tickling his nose, but he didn't have the heart to pull away. Instead, he waited until you were snoring quietly to put his head atop yours.

Unbeknownst to you, he was taking as much solace as he could in this short moment of serenity. The pale sky and the growing tides expanded infinitely in front of his eyes, and yet all he could focus on was your body curled up against him. He could feel something blossoming in his chest. He remembered feeling it back when you'd touched his hair on your sofa. Now that he was alone, he could finally decide that it wasn't just him being turned on. Far from sex, actually. There was still no word for this emotion. The only thing he knew was that he would want to feel it again and again, forever.

He closed his eyes and surrendered his guard, letting his weight lean back against yours as he drifted into sleep. 

--

A pair of hasty hands forced you out of your peaceful nap. Still in a haze and suffering from pain across your spine, you shoved Billy's hands away. He groaned and pulled on the mat under you instead. "Get your ass up!"

You were about to snap back at him when you felt wet droplets hit your skin. It was raining now, the sun long hidden behind the dark, looming clouds. The drizzle was getting heavier by the second. You bolted up and let Billy take the mat as you made your way back to his car.

"What the hell?" You quickened your pace. It was turning into a downpour.

"Better start running!"

At some point, the rain'd gotten so strong that the road looked misty in front of you. The two of you held the mat above your heads, which did nothing to stop the raindrops from soaking you from head to toe. They were flying sideways, thanks to the howling wind. By the time you arrived at his car, you were shivering with water dripping from your hair.

"You didn't notice it was going to rain?" You questioned once Billy'd started the car. You must've missed the way the sky darkened, or perhaps you did but simply did not care. It was already past 6. The street lamps had lit up automatically, but they were clouded with the thick felt of rain.

"I fell asleep." He said. His cloth was clinging to his skin, contouring his occassionally shuddering body. The windows were all rolled up in an attempt to make it warmer inside, but your teeth were still clattering non-stop. You wished for nothing more than a fireplace and a warm drink at the moment, but it didn't seem possible with how slow Billy was driving. He couldn't be blamed. If he sped, you would probably face a horrible death in this weather.

There was no sign of the rain ceasing. If any, it only seemed to get heavier. The thunders were loud enough to make you jump despite having already been warned by the lightning. Outside, the air was basically a curtain of mist.The car was quiet but for your sniffles and shaky breaths. You turned on the radio, but all it would talk about was how sudden and strong the rain was, like you didn't already know.

"I think I'm going to freeze to death." You muttered, hands running up and down your arms. 

"I actually think I'm gonna beat you to that." He squinted. "Hey, you see that?"

Amidst the endless road, a neon sign cut through the fog like a beacon of hope. You learnt that it was an inn as you got closer. At this point, you just wanted someplace warm. And maybe some hot food. Billy pulled over without a second thought.

The air was piercingly cold when you got out. Billy wrapped an arm at your shrinking form as he led you inside. Even in this weather, he was still warmer than you.

The lobby of the inn was dimly lit, the wooden walls decorated with frames of scenic photos. On either sides of the counter were arches that led to two passageways. It wasn't a remarkably huge place, but it was cozy enough. You stepped forward and tapped a bell. A white-haired woman emerged from the left arch with a smile, which contorted into horror when she saw the state you were in. "My word! Look at you two!"

"Hi, sorry, we would just like to warm ourselves up here." You explained with the most polite smile you could manage at the moment. The woman shook her head at you dismissively.

"Just warm up?"

"Yes, we'll leave within an hour or so."

"Where to?"

"Hawkins."

She placed her wrinkled hand over her heart and exclaimed, "Hawkins! You're not going to make it until tomorrow morning. What you need is a room, sweetheart."

You eyed Billy, who was off looking at the photos, uninterested in your conversation. You rolled your eyes and turned back to the lady. "I'm afraid we can't stay."

"Why not, then?"

You were at a loss of words. Technically, there was no valid reason for you refuse. Your aunt probably wouldn't mind as long as you gave her a heads up, and the lady was right about driving back to Hawkins. Not only would it be an excruciatingly long journey, but it was also dangerous. Staying the night might be the most sensible choice after all. You sighed and nodded. "Alright then. I'll--" You took out your wallet and clicked your tongue. You'd spent them all on the hospital bill. You tugged at Billy's damp shirt and turned him around. "You got money?"

"Yea, what for?" He frowned.

"Our rooms, smartass." You rolled your eyes. "We're staying the night."

A smirk went to his face, and you glared at him. He let the unspoken words hang in the air before heading to the counter to make your reservations. As you waited, you walked back and picked up the phone strapped to the wall. As expected, your aunt was indifferent towards your decision, already too tired out of her mind from work to care. You considered calling Steve just to tell him you were safe, but Billy walked up to you before you could ring on his house.

"So... I have good news and bad news." He said slowly.

"Just get to the damn point, Hargrove!" You gestured at your wet clothes. He tilted his head, stubbornly waiting. Jerk. "Fine. Give me the good news."

"Good news is," He held up a single key. "We got a room."

Your eyes widened. "A room?"

"That's the bad news." He said it like it was nothing, and you shook your head immediately.

"Why would you get one room? Are you out of money?"

"Nope."

"Then why?" You looked over his shoulder at the now empty counter. "You did this on purpose, didn't you?"

"I would, but the truth is, the rooms are all booked, so unless you want to sleep in my car tonight, this is the only choice you've got." He put the key up between your faces, waiting for your answer. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. There was no choice here. The room was your only option.

"Fine, a single room it is. You go first, I have to make a call."

He winked at your dismayed expression before walking off. "Roger that. See you in 344."

"This day can't get worse." You entered Steve's house number and waited. He picked up almost immediately. "Hello?"

You let out a relieved sigh at his voice. At least there was someone comforting in this scenario. "Hey, it's me."

"Y/N? Where have you been?" His voice raised into a yell, almost angry.

"Sorry, I got--" How were you supposed to tell him that you spent a few hours on the beach with Billy instead of returning home? "Held up by something."

"Well, where are you now?"

"I'm at an inn. The rain's too heavy to be driving. We're staying for the night."

The lobby was quiet but for your nervous footsteps as you paced back and forth. Finally, Steve spoke again."You're with Hargrove. In an inn."

You hummed.

"Fuck's sake..." He sounded like he was shifting in his position. "Well... at least you are safe there."

You bit your lower lip, bracing for the pending outburst. "Yea, we did get a room."

"A room?"

"There was only one left."

Steve didn't say anything for so long that you were starting to worry. "Earth to Steve?"

"Where is the inn?" He demanded.

"You are not coming here. Not in this weather." You said firmly. You understood that he was anxious, but it was still too risky.

"So what, I'm just supposed to let you stay in a room with him for a night? Are you two even on good terms right now?"

"I guess so? We had a little talk, I guess." teeth chewing on the tip of your thumb, you sighed. "I'll be fine, Steve. I promise. I think there are double beds. He isn't going to do anything bad."

He grumbled. "I still don't like the idea, Y/N."

"I know. Look, I'll come back first thing in the morning, alright? Then you can scold me all you want and tell me about the presentation. How did it go, by the way?" It was a silly attempt to distract his mind, but you still had to try.

"It was great. They really bought your idea." He said. "Wish you'd been here to see the looks on their faces."

You chuckled. At least now you knew that your hard work didn't entirely go up in flames. Steve gave you some more nagging and a very threatening note to pass on to Billy before letting you go. You practically raced up the stairs to the third floor and found the room in no time.

Billy opened the door, and you stepped into the warm air with a sigh. A heater was placed just next to the entrance. "I love heaters." You said and walked further in when you abruptly stilled in your track.

"You're shitting me." You stated, staring at the sole bed in the middle of the room.

"What?" Billy said. He was taking his shirt off now, shaking the water out of his hair. You looked away immediately. "I said it was a single room."

"Not a single bed!" You exclaimed. The bed was obviously made for two, with two pillows and all, but it was still a problem. "Who's even going to sleep on this thing?"

Immediately, Billy hopped onto the bed in his still-wet pants. Your shoulders slumped. "Jerk."

"Hey, I did pay for this room." He observed you for a moment before getting off the mattress. "Just kidding. You can take the bed. I'll have the couch, but I get to shower first."

The couch was situated at the feet of the bed. The room wasn't particularly spacious itself, so the couch didn't look too big. Billy could barely fit on it. A television sat next to the bed. A round table was placed in front of it, with a curtained window on the side. 

"Let's just--" You could feel a headache coming. There was no easy way to go around this. "You know what, you go clean up first. I'll figure this out."

You waited until the water'd been turned on in the bathroom to flop onto the couch. This entire day had been going so off-track, you weren't sure if you were in control anymore. First you had to leave your presentation behind, then you spent the afternoon baring your life to Billy, and now you were going to share a room with him. A room that he paid for. You couldn't just let him sleep on the couch, right?

You tried putting the pillows in the center of the bed, but you couldn't sleep without one and they couldn't reach the end of the bed anway. The towels obviously weren't going to work. There was nothing in the room that could act as a barrier, unless you were to cut the armrests off the couch. 

This was hopeless. Your life was hopeless.

Your apparent roommate was taking too long in the shower, and you found yourself bored out of your mind with nothing on your hands. For the past five minutes you'd been standing in front of the heater and waiting for all the water to evaporate, but now that you were dry, you were truly left with no purpose in this room. Sprawling across the couch, Your eyes darted to the table and spotted a thin stack of paper and a second-rate pencil. Inns and hotels tended to provide things like this. You used to draw on then when you were a kid.

You picked up the paper and pen and stared at its whiteness. It'd been so long since you'd even thought about drawing anything. Sometimes you would come across other people's art and lament for your lost passion, but there was no point. All your inspirations had been lost as soon as you took up the post of student council president. 

Surprisingly, though, a picture faded in and out of your mind, like cloud shifting and threading in the fabric of your imagination. Your hand worked obediently to bring the image to life, dragging the dark line across the grainy paper. Before long, you'd recreated the quiet beach from earlier. With a shaky breath, you lifted the paper up to eye level.

It was only when you were drawing that you felt most authentic.

As if on cue, Billy emerged from the bathroom later, dressed in nothing but the white robe provided by the inn. You shoved the paper behind your back. "What's up, pres?" He asked upon seeing your slouching form on the couch.

"I don't know how to make this work." You gestured at the bed, hand still clenching the wrinkled paper from behind.

"I told you, I'm taking the couch."

"That'd be too selfish of me." You looked up at him. His mullet was clinging to his nape, but he was looking more refreshed now. The robe barely reached over his knees. He smelled like really good soap. 

A moment later though, you realized that he was watching your hidden arm. You cleared your throat and pulled out your hand, looking away.

"Are you hiding drugs, pres?"

"Oh yes, a whole bag of coke," You played along.

"Mhm," He sauntered over to you and darted to the left. You mirrored his action, and he flipped to the other side, arm outstretched as he reached behind your back.

"Stop!" You warned, but he took no notice of your tone as he continued looking for a loophole in your defense. You were stronger than he'd expected, but he was known to play dirty. Before you knew it, he was already caging you with his arms by the side, a smug smile on his face as he watched the pink blossom on your face.

"What are you doing?" You frowned. It took everything in you not to trip over your words with his breath fanning your cheeks. You wondered how anybody could hold contact with his unclouded blue eyes.

He broke into a short chuckle before putting his arm around your waist-- or so you thought. His hand grazed over the paper and tugged it out, backing away to make sure you couldn't reach him.

"Hargrove, you bastard," You mumbled, leaning forward in your seat. There was no point in fighting him now, not when you were still kind of breathless from having his face up close. You watched as his shit-eating grin fell, and wondered if your art'd really been so bad. "Just give it--"

"This is some nice stuff, pres." He said, turning the paper over before returning to the art. You didn't look convinced. "No, I'm serious. I am no artist, but I can still tell that there's some skills in you."

"Yea, that means a lot," As he walked unconsciously closer, you yanked the paper out of his hand and crumbled it into a ball. Even though his compliment did reignite some sort of confidence in you, you were adamant not to let it get to your head. "We have more important matters at hand," You jerked your chin towards the bed.

Billy shrugged and walked over to his pile of stuff and pulled out a cig, then threw himself onto the space next to you. The couch sagged under his weight. "Maybe there is no other way."

"Are you telling me to share the bed with you?"

"I didn't say that." He was resisting the urge to smirk. He didn't have to say it for you to know what was going on in that head of his. "Why don't you stop thinking and go take a shower while I order some food? You remember that you're still soaked, right? God knows Harrington will have my head if you get sick."

He did have a point, as much as you'd like to deny that. Your clothes were sticking so much to your skin that they were starting to morph into you. You took your own robe and headed into the bathroom, where the air was still humid and warm. The scent of Billy's cologne hung in the air. You heaved a deep breath and wiped your palm across the mirror. You were worn out, but you couldn't really tell if it was showing on your face. You'd always looked the same. At least you had a wonderful albeit painfully short nap on that beach. It was the best rest you'd had in days.

You finished cleaning up in no time, and when you got out, there was already a tray of covered food in the middle of the room. Billy was watching the TV with his legs propped up on the table he'd moved, the cigarette hanging between his fingers. When you came out, he gave you a quick once-over before returning to the show.

"What did you order?" You asked, taking up your previous seat. 

"Steak, fries, this and that. Also some beer." He lifted the cloche dramatically. You didn't wait to dig in, desperate to fill your stomach. The first bite felt like heaven.

The TV was playing family feud, where two families were standing on opposite sides of the stage as the host announced the question.

"Name something that goes up and down." The audience immdiately erupted into peals of laughter. Billy suppressed a snicker in his chest.

A kid around El's age stepped forward. His hair was a brilliant ginger, nicely combed and parted in the middle. He had to tip-toe to speak into the microphone. "My grades?"

You chuckled at his answer. It was not on the list, but it was still a good one.

"Could've just said escalator." Billy commented, shoving a forkful of greens into his mouth. 

"Or planes."

"The stock market?"

"My life, probably." 

The little girl from the other family got airplanes correct, and you let out a victorious 'Ha!' despite the mouthful of food. Billy leaned forward, brows slightly narrowed. He was starting to get serious. 

"Everything, because, you know, gravity?" The girl said next. The host looked at her, gaping. It was apparently common sense that had been forgotten by everyone else. Alas, it was not on the list.

"You think that zipper's on that list?" 

You rolled your eyes at Billy's words. Of course his mind would go there. You reached out and cracked open a can of beer. "Absolutely not."

Your face scrunched up at the taste of the drink on your tongue, but it was a much needed simulus. As you sat back on the couch, your elbow bumped into him, and you mumbled a sorry. He hummed, eyes glued tightly to the screen. Maybe he was just hellbent on seeing zipper on the list. It was probably just your imagination, but you felt that he hadn't been looking at you a lot since you'd come out from the shower.

Still, everything felt so... normal and domestic, even though there was absolutely nothing normal about this situation. The food on the table, the clinking of utensils against the porcelain dishes, the game show that aired every Friday night. Even the fact that you were spending an entire night with Billy Hargrove seemed a little less disastrous now. Maybe you'd been overreacting. Maybe it wasn't such a big deal after all. Or maybe it was, you'd simply calmed down.

It was so easy to let loose around him. Recalling what you'd told him on the beach now, you felt a wave of uneasiness wash over you. There was absolutely no reason for you to have spoken so much, even though he'd been the one who asked. After all, he could use this against you in the future. But he wouldn't. You were mostly sure of it, because he was right next to you now, just as he had been back on the sand, jaw resting on his palm as he watched the show with keen interest. Somewhere between your numerous hang outs, a seedling of trust had taken root in your heart, and you'd been nurturing it ever since, hoping to know more of him, hoping to solidify your confidence in him. His incident with Jack had thrown you off, but it wasn't enough to pluck the plant out entirely.

The father of the red-haired kid stepped forward, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He leaned into the mic and cleared his throat confidently. "A zipper."

Once again, the crowd erupted into hysterics as the host recovered from the surprise. Billy pointed at the screen with a look that said 'What did I say?'. At that moment, he looked like a innocent, genuine boy who just wanted to win a silly bet. You shook your head. "It's not on the list."

"You're in denial."

The host waited until the cheers had died down and turned to face the giant board. "Dickson said a zipper..."

"His name is Dickson?" Billy exclaimed. You slapped his forearm while stifling your own laugh.

The last bar flipped, revealing the word zipper. You buried your face in your hands as Billy clapped loudly and turned to you. "What did you say again? Absolutely not? It's not on the list? Now you know everything's possible."

"I hate this game." You tried to ignore his wide smile, refusing to feed his ego, but it was hard to hold back your own grin as it stretched across your lips.

The two of you watched until the show ended, dishes piled up on the table casted aside, stomachs tired from all the laughing and joking. It was near midnight, and your eyelids were starting to get heavy again as you brushed your teeth. Billy was lying on the couch when you came out, arms folded behind his head.

"They only have one blanket." You stated, eyes darting between the milky sheet and Billy's white robe. With the heater on, he probably wouldn't get too cold. It was just that he wouldn't be able to move his limbs in that constricted space.

"I'm fine, just go to sleep." Well, if he insisted. You turned the light off and crawled into the bed, shifting until you got comfortable in the foreign sheet. The only thing that filled the silence in the room was the humming heater and the distant hollers from some rooms away. If you strained your ears, though, you could hear Billy's somewhat heavy breathing as well. Occasionally, he would roll around, trying to find a suitable position, but you doubted it was possible.

Sometime during the night, with a foot in the land of Nod, you heard Billy huffing. His voice broke through the silence in the room. "You awake?"

You only hummed, not even sure if you were hearing him correctly.

"I was just thinking about what you said on the beach."

You hummed again, this time sounding confused. You'd said a lot of things there.

"You know, that thing you said about me being desirous?" He pressed. It sounded like he hadn't been falling asleep at all.

"Yea," Your reply was terse.

"And about me going after girls as a passion. Do you really think that's who I am?"

Feeling a little more awake now, you turned to lie on your back, eyes still closed. "Why are you asking me that?"

Silence. Then, "I want to know."

You buried your lower face under the blanket, relishing the warmth as you pondered his question. You wish you could've given him a proper answer, but you brain was terribly muddled with sleep. "That's what everybody thinks of you. Who are you then, if you're..." You trailed off. "If you're not that?"

"I don't know." Came his timid answer. "I don't know what I'm doing all this for. I thought it was for myself, you know, because that's what people always say-- live for yourself, yada yada. But when you told me about your mother, I started thinking about whether I've been doing it for someone else."

"Is that such a bad thing?" You frowned, trying to process his words in your brain.

"I was hoping you'd tell me." 

The disappointment in his voice filled you with guilt. You squinted open your eyes and tried to sit upright, head spinning at the movement. "I can't tell you who you are. And I don't think my mother was a bad influence--"

"That's not what I meant." He clarified.

"--I know, I know... What I mean is, it's not so bad to live for someone else. Sometimes we need people to hold on to." Trying to string words together felt as hard as trying to see colors in the dark now. "But it's still your life at the end of the day, so if you don't know who you are yourself, you can't expect me to have the answers."

"Alright." He said at last, like a student who'd just finished listening to his teacher's lectures. You sank back into the bed and heard him shuffling around.

"Get in the bed," You said, throwing your arm onto the space next to you.

"I'm good."

"Get in the damn bed, Hargrove." 

He didn't move for a moment, as if in contemplation. Then he got up and walked over, and you could feel his presence by the bed even with closed lids. He climbed under the blanket, careful to leave some space between you, and placed his pillow. When his leg brushed up against yours, he slurred an apology. Even without a blanket, he was still warmer than you. You chased the source of the warmth and turned to his side. You really liked the scent of the soap. 

While your breathing slowed, Billy seemed to be awake still with his sharp breathing. Perhaps he was still hung up on the conversation, since you hadn't been able to give him a solid answer. You reached out and patted the gap separating him from you. "It's okay not to know the answer. Just remember that you're your own person. Don't let anyone strip that away from you." Hesitantly, you added, "I'd like to believe that you're more than you think."

He didn't reply. Maybe he was already asleep, but you couldn't bring yourself to dwell on it as you slipped out of consciousness, surrounded by warmth all around you.

--

There were a lot of things you told Billy. One thing you didn't though, was that you moved in your sleep a lot. And by 'a lot', he meant enough to wake him up once an hour.

The first time he'd been woken up, you'd curled up into a ball next to him under the blanket, pressed tightly against his side. He had to adjust the blanket to make sure you wouldn't suffocate to death, but he didn't move away.

It happened again when the room was still pitch black. It was still in the dead of the night and he didn't bother to check the time. You had an arm slung over his torso as you lay on your stomach. He told himself to go back to sleep.

You were closer to him the next time he felt you move, an arm still holding onto him, your face buried in the crook of his neck. You were blatantly clinging to him like a koala to a tree. His arm was dead under your weight. There was not a single drop of blood in it. Slowly, he pulled it out from under you, and waited until the tingling ended to pass out again.

This continued as a cycle for the entire night until Billy spotted a ray of sunlight filtering into the room through the curtain. You'd somehow managed to crawl on top of his chest, and he'd somehow come to wrap his arm around your waist. It took him a moment to realize what was happening. It was already pretty warm in this huge bed, but your proximity straight up sent fire roaring through his veins. He could feel his whole body still, and it wasn't just because you'd been laying your weight onto him.

It would be easy to drift back into sleep, but he decided to keep his eyes open and glued to the ceiling while waiting for an appropriate time to wake you up. If you'd been any other girl, he would've pulled you out of your dreams already, but he knew how much you needed that sleep. Plus he wanted some time to be alone without actually being away from you.

He wished you wouldn't remember the conversation from the night before. It was probably the closest he could ever get to telling you about himself, and it was such a stupid question-- because why would he not know himself? Everyone else did. He was the king, the heartbreaker, the selfish bastard son. He was ambitious with dubious morals. He liked loud things. He was a disaster that left destruction anywhere he went, and he'd embraced all of these identities proudly. It didn't bother him becoming what people perceived of him. It was easier this way, like he was having his job done for him.

Though he couldn't help but wonder-- had you meant it when you said that you believed he could be more, or was it just to shut him up? And if it really was the former, what was it that you saw in him? What face did you want him to wear?

Sometimes he'd sit and think about how you had your life all figured out. You were responsible, diligent, rarely demoralized, and most importantly, blunt. You didn't put on any filter when you told him about your family. You didn't hide under layers of makeup when you asked him to help clean up your mess. It was almost unfair how you had it so easy. He wish he had your strength to tell you all these things buried inside his chest, mainly because he was sure that you wouldn't turn against him, but how was he supposed to do that when he couldn't even untangle the mess himself?

He turned to nuzzle his nose into your mess of a hair. That made you stir, and he immediately pulled away and turned his face away, feigning sleep. After a few minutes, you fell back into sleep, cheek squished against his chest.

This was killing him. He got off the bed despite feeling his heart plummet at the absence of your warmth and cleaned up, changing back into the now-dry clothes from yesterday. He went downstairs and greeted the old lady, went for a drive around the vicinity, then came back to you still sleeping soundly. As much as he'd like to leave you in this state, it was almost noon, and he supposed you still had a home to go back to.

"Rise and shine, pres." He pushed your shoulder softly at first, then applied more force when you didn't respond. You swatted his hand away, and he tugged the blanket off of you entirely. Enraged, you grumbled at the absence of warmth. Your hair was touseled after a whole night of shufflng, and the hem of your robe had ridden up to your upper thigh. Billy was suddenly reminded by the image of you coming out of the washroom with drops of water falling from your hair, neck clean and legs bare. He needed to dunk his head in ice.

A mischievous thought crossed his mind. He decided that he wasn't nice enough to spare you. He leaned down, mouth hovering centimeters away from your ear, and whispered, "Are you dreaming of me?"

It worked like a charm. You jolted away, eyes squinting past the mist of sleep. "Jesus, Hargrove. That gave me goosebumps." Your words were still slurred, but at least you were looking at him now. He laughed at your disheveled look before throwing you your clothes. 

"Get dressed, we're leaving."

You looked out of the open window. There were birds chirping on the dense tree outside, the sun up high and ferocious. It was as though the rain'd never happened at all. Reluctance dawned on your face. You were probably just sad that you had to wake up. 

His eyes landed on the crumbled paper on the table. He waited until you'd turned away before shoving it into his pocket. Why he'd done it, he wasn't sure himself. Perhaps it was due to how he'd felt when he first laid his eyes on it-- even though it was sketched in black and white, the image was enough to provoke nostalgia from deep within him. He was already yearning to go to another beach, despite the fact that he'd just been to one not 10 hours ago.

The two of you ended up having lunch in the inn before leaving. The old lady seemed to be apologetic about the whole single-room-situation, but you told her that you had the best sleep in a while. Billy couldn't say the same for himself. To add to it, you actually asked him whether you'd accidentally kicked or punched him in your sleep. He said no, and you'd said, "What a pity. It was the perfect opportunity."

"We could always do this again."

"Dream on, Hargrove."

He drove you back to your house then, listening to you sing along to the songs on the radio station, occasionally switching the channel to piss you off. You were horribly off-key, and whenever you came across lyrics you didn't know, you would make some quiet murmuring noises to make up for it.

Everything felt so real and grounded. He wish he could sit here with you for a couple more hours. Or lie with you on the white bed, an intended distance between you. It didn't matter what he was doing as long as you were next to him. You were like a parachute as he plummeted into a giant endless pit.

"Well, this is me." Rides with you were always so quick. He turned down the volume and turned to look at you. "Thank you, really. For dealing with me for an entire day."

"It wasn't so bad. I had lots of fun." He said, attempting a lopsided smirk. It turned into a fragile smile instead.

"Of course you did." You gave him a knowing look, eyes glistening through your lashes. This was usually the part where Billy would get a flustered kiss. Were you close enough for that yet? Had he shown you enough of himself? He roamed your face for some sort of signs, but you were impossible to read. The nervous darts of your eyes might mean that you were thinking about the same thing, though.

He leaned in ever so slightly, and you arched your head back, looking a little breathless as if you'd forgotten to breathe. This time, you weren't angry at him for making a move. "Two more requests, Hargrove. You're getting there."

A chuckle forced its way out of his throat as he glanced down. "You do realize that your requests feel more like dates than anything, right?"

You shrugged, leaving the answer to his imagination. "I'll see you on Monday then?"

He nodded without a pause. then watched as you got out of the car, turning to slam the door like you'd already done it dozens of times. "Bye, Billy." 

Hearing his name on your tongue was rarer than seeing the sun at midnight. In fact, he was pretty sure you'd never called him by his first name before, for reasons unknown. His chest seemed to flutter at the sound. He was just overreacting, he thought to himself, but he didn't mind it. Quite the opposite, really, as he doubted that he would ever tire of it. Stop overreacting.

You were already steps away when he remembered to reply. Your name stayed at the back of his throat, like an unspoken confession. He would save it for when he was ready. 

Somewhere inside his heart, he knew that he wouldn't be the same after this impromptu 'trip'. He knew it by the way your words played over and over in his head like a broken recorder -- 'I'd like to believe that you're more than you think'. He knew it by the way he unfolded your version of the beach and stuck it on the wall next to one of his posters. But mostly, he knew it by the way he saw you in everything. The messy mattress in the morning, the faint noise from the television, even down to the soft patter of the evening rain. 

Hidden among these feelings was fear. Fear that everything would turn to ash once he'd fulfilled all five of your requests. Fear that you would no longer look at him like you were trying to pry open his soul. Fear that, once you do, you would be horrified by the abomination you'd find. He wanted you to know him without seeing all his scars, and though it seemed impossible, he knew that you would find a way. You always did.

Chapter Text

This early in the morning, the sun was still peeking out shyly from behind the clouds. Still, even the slightest hint of sunlight was enough to rival the chilly morning air. You were leaning against your bike near the entrance, a foot resting on the pedal as you sketched the school in front of you.

It wasn’t everyday you got to spend your morning standing and drawing like you had no care for the world, but the non-stop train of work had finally come to an end for the time being, and you found yourself with extra time. You got to go to more places now instead of holing up inside. Sometimes sitting alone in nature helped make the lines go. You’d almost forgotten about how nice it was to be able to pick up a brush and just create something entirely self-indulgent. Your eyes darted between the view and the lines on your sketchbook, crinkles pasted between your brows as you made adjustments on the paper. 

A loud engine roared into the schoolground, and almost everyone turned to look for the source. As expected, Bily was announcing his arrival flamboyantly. Out came him and a tanned-skin girl with fiery hair. You remembered that she was his little sister, Max. Steve’d told you a little about her after being info dumped by Dustin. She didn’t look too pleased as she quickened her pace to leave the scene, a skateboard in hand. Billy stayed by his car, letting his eyes roam until they settled on you. He waved with a big smile, and you rolled your eyes with a grin of your own.

It was undeniable that you’d been growing closer with him since the night you’d spent in the inn. You had vague memories about what you’d talked about late at night, but seeing that he had no desire to bring it up, you figured that it was better to leave it in the past. It'd become his favourite pastime to hang out with you, and you had to agree that his company was getting more and more bearable. Sometimes it was just to spend the recess, while other times he would offer you lifts to and fro school. He brought you lunch in the council room, amidst the Christmas decoration, and would save you seats in the canteen if he had to. But eating in the canteen had its drawbacks. For one, Tommy and Carol were almost always around.

Billy called them his friends, although he didn’t quite treat them as such. They didn’t really talk about anything serious, and most of the time it was just endless gossip, like who slept with who last week, the stray cat behind the gymnasium, and the mysterious disappearance of some poor girl’s wallet. They probably only befriended Billy because of his status, like moths flocking to the light, trying to become one of those untouchable, superior people around here. This wasn't the first time you hung out with them, though the past experiences taught you to stay away. You’d known them through Steve, so it was natural that you distanced from them after Steve decided to turn over a new leaf. It was good riddance.

The two of them seemed to be intrigued by your relationship. They didn’t believe that you were a couple (which you weren’t). Apparently he wasn’t your type and you weren't his. They were taken back when you told them about the deal though.

“And Hargrove agreed? I can’t believe he’d go to such lengths just for a date.” Carol said as she chewed on her gum.

“The Devil’s probably at work here.” Tommy agreed. You did a subtle eye-roll.

As if that wasn’t enough, the teasing was ceaseless. The two of you could be talking about the most random shit and Tommy would butt in and say, “What are you discussing among yourselves, lovebirds?” And then Billy would smack his head. Once Billy went away to buy lunch, and Carol told you that she’d never seen Billy so attentive in conversations, especially those that were ‘bland and boring’. “You could be saying buttcrack and he’d still look at you like you are saying the most profound thing. Of course, that’s probably just a show.”

You weren’t sure if that was really how Billy looked in others’ eyes. He was the same to you -- flirty, laid-back, although he seemed to have gotten more soft with you. Truth was, a month had already passed since you’d made the deal, meaning that you’d failed to hold up your end of the promise. Contrary to your expectations, he didn’t seem to care. He still stuck around even though he could just walk away right now. You wouldn’t blame him for it, though it would be saddening.

Aside from your bizarre lunches with Carol and Tommy, things were actually going well for once. 

Today, Billy’d dragged you to the gymnasium after school. It was empty, and you took a seat on the frontmost bench, doodling random objects on your book as he practiced shooting. All you could hear were the echoes of his steps and the ball bouncing on the floor. At some point, your doodles became sketches of him, his black shirt clinging to his body, hair all matted down on one side, face flushed and tense. You memorized the way his steely eyes fixed on the basket on the grainy sheet and traced his rapid movements with your dark ball pen, leaving ink blots where you stressed the pen in thought. You looked up again, ready to capture another pose, and met his eyes instead. Panic rushed over your body, and you feigned calmness as you flipped to a new page. 

“You know,” He said, bringing his shirt up to dab at his face, revealing the tanned skin of his lower abdomen. “Since you’ve been drawing so much lately, don’t you have something you can show me?”

You held his gaze, the clutch at your sketchbook growing tighter. “I’ve got nothing worthy of showing.”

“Really?” He flopped down next to you, calming his breaths. “I’m sure anything you make is pretty.”

With an exasperated head shake, you placed the book on the other side of the bench. Not even Steve had seen many of your creations, and you would die before you let Billy find out you’d been drawing him. Drawing felt too private and personal. It was like you could weave everything you’d been burying in your heart into colors and shapes and still no one would notice it. And you would like to keep it that way.

“Speaking of art. I saw something about a painting competition earlier. I think the winner gets some kind of tour at an art school or something.” 

“And?”

“And I think you should join.”

You scoffed. “I’m not going to an art school.”

“Why not?” He asked with a frown. “You learnt art for years. I figured you must really like it.”

“I do, but it’s gonna take up too much time.”

“I thought you’re taking a break from student council work?”

“It isn't really my decision, Billy,” His name slipped out of your tongue like oil. “Who knows when they’re gonna throw a bunch of tasks at me again?”

“Just think of it as an alternative then. Being an artist doesn't sound that bad. You’re literally paving the road for your future.”

You gave him a stern look that made clear that you didn’t want to continue this conversation, then grabbed your bag and stood up. “I'm not joining, that's final. And I'm leaving by myself.”

“I can give you a--“ He paused and squeezed his eyes shut. “Nevermind. I need to pick up Max.”

He threw his denim jacket over his shoulder and ran up to you, who were already waiting by the exit. “You wanna grab lunch tomorrow?”

“Someone’s clingy.” You teased. “I’m already booked though. Steve is not very pleased that you’ve been ‘hogging me’.”

He tried to shield his eye-roll with a blink. It was funny how he tried to hide it even though you already knew that they weren’t on good terms. “Of course he is. Next he’s gonna say that I’m--" Meow. “--leading you--"

“Wait.” You stopped in your tracks, and he paused as well, “What?”

The place was as quiet as it could be. You thought you'd heard a cat, but it was probably just your ears playing tricks on you. “Nevermind. What were you saying?”

“I said, he’s gonna accuse me of leading you astray--“ Meow.

“Stop.” You clearly heard it coming from somewhere behind you this time. You walked back, peeking into the bushes for any sign of a cat. Billy threw his hands up, clearly unsatisfied about being cut off twice.

The leaves rustled. After a moment, what looked like a shorthair peeked its head out, round eyes boring into yours, pointy ears shot up. “Hey there,” You cooed, making your actions small so you wouldn’t startle it.

“What the hell?” Billy walked up to you, looking at the cat with a tilted head. 

The cat slowly made its way out of the bush, still watching you with an unbudging gaze. 

“Is it a stray?” 

“Don’t know,” You said. There was no collar around its neck, but cats generally disliked collars. Its fur was a little ruffled, which didn't really prove anything either. “Looks like it’s lost, though. Didn’t Carol say something about a stray cat around here?”

“I can’t recall. Never paid much attention to what she says.”

“Ouch,” You said in a monotone. "Poor guy. It looks so hungry.”

As if agreeing, the cat meowed quietly. You were about to stroke its fur when Billy pulled your hand back sharply. “It could be feral, you know.”

“Does it look feral to you?” You twisted your wrist out of his grip and stepped back from the cat. “Dangerous or not, we need to do something about it.”

“You wanna feed it?” Billy frowned, watching your thinking face. You turned your face up to him with raised brows. 

“Do you have anything you can feed it with?”

“People don’t just have cat food lying around randomly, you know.” He said. “We could go and grab some tuna, but we won’t make it back in time.”

He was right. School was closing soon, and you wouldn’t be able to return before the gates were closed for the night. It wasn’t as if you could take it home either. For all you knew, it might just be some cat who’d wandered to the wrong place. It might not react well to sudden human contact. Not to mention your aunt was allergic to cat fur, so that option was out of the window.

Seeing the struggle on your face, Billy sighed. “Wait here.” 

“What?” You asked, but he was already walking away. Turning your attention back to the stray, you tried to look for any injuries on it. As it wiggled its tail, you craned your head and figured that it was a male cat. He looked mostly harmless, although he still shied away from your attempts of touching him. He probably needed more time.

It wasn’t everyday you saw a stray cat around Hawkins, and you figured that if someone’d lost their cat, it wouldn’t be hard to retrieve them in this tiny town. If not lost, he could have been abandoned. You couldn’t cross out the possibility of him being a wild cat either. Just because you’d never seen him before didn’t mean he never existed.

Billy came back a few minutes later with a small metal plate he’d got from the canteen. “Please tell me you didn’t steal it,” You said.

“I didn’t. I paid for it, actually,” He replied sarcastically, kneeling down to plant the plate onto the ground. His action startled the stray, and he mumbled an apology. Taking out his water bottle, he poured the remaining into the bowl.

“Do you think it’ll be enough?” You watched as the cat sniffed the water before sticking his tongue out to lap at it.

“Let’s hope so. Come on, let’s go now,” Billy tucked on your elbow. “You can feed it all you want tomorrow if it’s still here.”

“Fine.” You let him drag you away, and only dropped your gaze when you turned around a corner. “He's a male cat, by the way. I checked.”

“Okay?” He said unsurely, “What, you wanna name him?”

“No. He might be someone else’s cat for all we know. They might be putting up posters for him as we speak.”

That seemed to remind Billy of something. He pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to you. The torn edges at the four corners indicated that it’d been ripped off roughly. It was the painting competition he’d mentioned earlier. You dropped your hand without reading the details. “I told you, I’m not interested.”

“Just give it a thought. I don’t see why you shouldn’t go for it.” He said, now taking out his car keys. You realized that you’d been following him to his car while your bike was on the other side of the car park. You shook your head, letting the conversation drop again. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?” 

“Hopefully not,” You said. He smiled knowingly at your words. Before you walked away, you met Max’s eyes. She was seated in the passenger seat, head leaning against the window, seemingly bored out of her mind. You gave her a quick grin and headed for your bike.

--

The theme of the competition was ‘nocturne’, and it was as Billy’d said. The three winners would get a tour at the most prestigious art university in America and a higher chance at being accepted after graduation.

Steve said that you should join, that since you’d been picking up drawing again lately, it would be great to see where you were at. You didn’t care for it though. You simply couldn’t see the point. Yes, the prize was tempting, and yes, you did already have a few ideas you’d like to bring alive, but you’d rather not get your hopes up. You already spent enough time thinking with your thumbnail between your teeth, and the only conclusion you got was that it wasn’t worth it. Say you were lucky enough to win, then what? Were you going to an art school then? There was no prospect, and way too many responsibilities for you to bear. The image of your mother working until she was worn to the bones was already a good enough reason why you shouldn’t go down this path. It was better to look for something stable, like business and finance.

But ever since you’d drawn that picture of the beach, you’d been itching to draw more and more. There were more sheets taped to your wall now, most of them recent. Scenic inspiration was always popping up inside your head. It was like you’d unlocked Pandora’s box. The once faded passion for art resurfaced as a ravaging storm.

The fact that Billy wouldn’t let it go only made things worse.

“You're so hung up on it that I'm starting to think that you yourself are interested. If you want to join so badly, then by all means, do so.” You told him during lunch, munching on the doughnut. You were sitting at the back of the gymnasium again, watching the cat enjoy the tuna you’d bought. Two days had gone by and there was still no news concerning a lost cat. Perhaps he really was a stray. 

“Will you join if I do?”

You rolled your eyes, stuffing the last of your lunch into your mouth. Billy leaned in and held the cat up, placing him on his lap. The cat struggled for a few moments before eventually giving up, turning to nuzzle his head into Billy’s chest.

“He really likes you,” You said, watching the two interact like they’d known each other for years. There was a certain softness in Billy’s grin as he cradled the cat, hair falling over his face like willows. He looked like he’d swallowed a star and was now shining like one. You couldn’t turn your eyes away. It was suicidal.

Shifting so that you were facing him directly, you took out your sketchbook and made a show of holding your pencil in front of his face. A smirk spread across his face. “I must look really good for you to want to draw me.”

You huffed. “Flatter yourself all you want. The cat is all that I want to draw,”

“The cat needs a name.”

“Have you got any ideas?”

“I was thinking doughnut,”

You stared at him dead in the eyes. “You can’t be serious,”

“Then please, spare me your wisdom.”

Tapping the pencil on your chin, you rummaged through lists of names in your mind. “How about Lucy?”

Billy’s face scrunched up, obviously displeased.

“Fine. What about Sunny?”

“That’s so generic. You suck at this so bad,” He dodged your hand as you leaned in to slap his arm. “Oh, I have the perfect name. Picasso,”

“I’m gonna Pica-shove this pencil up your ass instead.” 

His eyes rounded at your words, and you tried to hide your obvious smugness behind your book. Occassionally, you’d have to look up from the page and scan him with your eyes, but you were too absorbed in your work to notice the way his throat bopped every time you regarded him with that concentrated look.

You closed your book once you were done with the drawing, and he frowned. “You’re not going to show me what you drew of me?”

“I already told you, I was drawing--“ You bit your lip. “Picasso. It’s actually not a bad name,”

“I’m infallible,” He joked temporarily before his face morphed into something serious. “I know I keep bringing it up, but do you really not want to join the competition? And I mean whether you want to or not, fuck everything else. Just your desire.”

You let your head fall back against the wall, eyes shut as you ran his words over in your head. “I guess I do want to try, but--“

“Then go for it,” He cut you off. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. After all, the choice of going to an art school lies with you. I just don’t think it’s so bad to at least try. It’s your life. You’re... You’re your own person,”

A laugh left your chest. “That’s deep, Billy. Where did you copy that off from?”

He only smiled, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. “Someone I really admire,”

It was getting too bright to look at him again. The world was all the blue of his eyes. The rest was just some blurred whirlpool. With each passing second you could feel yourself being dragged towards him. 

“Give me Picasso,” You redirected your attention. Billy placed him in your open arms, the brief contact making the hair on your forearm stand up. You could still feel his gaze on you, but you refused to meet it. Instead, you opted to get comfortable here on the ground, a stray cat in your embrace, Billy sitting across you. It felt good to be the only two people in this world.

--

It was hard to keep secrets among family members, especially when a cat was involved. Eventually, the constant absence of Billy irritated Max, giving the young girl no choice but to see for herself what her godforsaken brother was up to.

“His name is Picasso,” You said as Max basically melted with the cat in her arms. Billy had his legs stretched out next to you, head drooped to the side as he sported an impatient expression on his face. It was apparent that he didn’t appreciate Max’ presence. You, on the other hand, thought that she was a nice girl. She might have a bit of a personality and a tough shell, but what rested beneath was all delightful and heart-warming. She was similar to Billy in this way. You kept that comment to yourself.

“How long has he been staying here?” 

“Since last week. We thought he was lost, but there hasn't been anyone looking for their cats.”

“Aw, poor guy.” Max nuzzled her nose into Picasso, who meowed as he craned his head away. She stole a glance at Billy before gently putting the cat down. There was definitely something going on here. It was uncharacteristic for him to be so quiet.

“Anyway,” You started. “Billy and I were just talking about setting up a little house for him around here. It seems that he doesn’t like going to any other places,”

That finally got the boy to look at you, though he only nodded.

“But it’s the rainy season. Won’t it be bad for him to stay outside?”

“Just build a roof, genius,” Billy finally snapped, and you shot him a glare. Max only rolled her eyes.

“So are we gonna build it now?”

“Maxine,” He breathed. “We don’t have shit to work with,”

You cut in, not wanting to make Max feel too uncomfortable. “We could go and grab a tent from that outdoor gear shop downtown,”

Billy looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were siding with his sister whom you’d only met for half an hour, but it was hard to stand his ground in front of two very determined ladies, which was why he had to reluctantly drive you to the shop in his Camaro. He looked salty as hell for the whole ride because you decided to sit with Max at the back. It almost felt like a betrayal.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Billy?” Max asked when you were strolling down the aisles together, face turned away from you.

“Straight to the point, huh?” You chuckled. “Well, your brother asked me on a date, and I told him to earn it by completing five honorable quests.”

“Just for a date?” She tilted her head, trying to wrap her head around the concept. “How long has this been going on?”

“A little more than a month?”

That made her jaw drop. “A whole month? I can’t believe he’s still sticking around,” She clicks her tongue and looks at you apologetically. “No offense. I think you’re cool and all, from what I’ve heard. It’s just that Billy doesn’t always go this far for one single date.”

“None taken, and I actually can’t figure it out either.”

Max spotted a patterned mat and added it to the collection of tools in her hands, which were mostly towels and a few trinkets that she thought Picasso would like. “So, what were your requests like?”

A smile crept to your cheek just at the memories. “The first one was making props for the quiz bowl. For the second, he came and helped me bake a cake, and last week he drove me out of town to visit my mother,” You left out the part where you spent too much time out on the beach and got stranded in an inn in the middle of the highway. It was sweet, but you’d like to keep that to yourself.

“He baked?” The hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “Billy baked? I haven’t seen him in the kitchen since we moved here, except when he was looking for alcohol.”

“I thought he baked a lot. He told me that he learnt it from his mum,”

“He told you about his mother?” That seemed to surprise her. You nodded, and she shook her head. “Wow. You really turned him into a new man.”

You could already deduce that their family wasn’t perfect from the little that you’d heard. There was Hopper who told you that Billy’s father was bad news, and the memorable experience of being called a chick over the phone. You understood why he didn’t want to disclose too much information. Family stuff was private, especially when it wasn’t pleasant.

“You girls done chit-chatting?” Billy appeared at the end of the isle, a long cardboard box in his hand. It was a teepee tent. He wasn’t pleased to see all the stuff Max was getting at the counter, but he kept his mouth shut and paid for everything.

It turned out that he was basically a professional in building teepees. “Back in California, we used to build one of these everytime we went to beaches,” He said as he tightened the knot around the three long sticks. Max was sitting on the ground close by, holding Picasso in her arms. “Sometimes we play games to decide who has to be the builder.”

“So you were a recurrent loser, then?” You asked, prompting him to continue with this topic. He scoffed, leaning down to spread the striped canvas on the ground. “I always won, but you can learn a lot by seeing alone.”

In no time, the tent was up and ready. It was barely large enough for one person, but it was just right for Picasso as he rushed inside and settled like it was his home all along. Max set up some toys inside, and you tied a golden bell at the entrance. It was looking like a cozy little hut once it was done.

“Are you serious? I did all the labour and I don’t even get a seat?” Billy looked down on the two of you sitting on the mat. 

Max made a show of pulling at the edge. “Too bad there’s not enough space. You’ll just have to tough it out.”

“Don’t you dare get cocky just because pres is here,” He snapped, causing her to flinch, shaken out of her confidence. Though, that was not enough to shut her up entirely.

“You’re all barks and no bite.”

“You little shit--“ His hands balled into fists as he stared down at the redhead. You remembered that look in his eyes-- he’d looked the same when he’d incapicitated Jack in the canteen. But here he didn’t make a move. Instead, he closed his eyes as if calming himself, before pulling out his cigs and turning away.

Max looked at you in confusion as if she couldn’t believe what was happening. He was probably not anywhere near nice to her, but it was good to see him making an effort.

“Well,” You attempted to cut the tension. “I’m going to join the competition.”

It worked like a charm. Billy turned and faced you with a delighted smile, one that jolted your heart alive. “Really? That’s great.”

“What competition?” Max asked.

“Art. Pres really has a gift for it.”

“Shut up,” You rolled your eyes as you tried to stifle your grin.

“Is there anything you can show me?” Max leaned into you, eyes glistening with anticipation. It was hard to say no to that face, so you pulled out your sketchbook which you’d managed to fit into your pocket. You flipped past the pages on which you’d drawn Billy, and showed her one of Picasso. Her face lit up, and she looked so appreciative that you decided to tear it out and give it to her.

The three of you spent the rest of the afternoon there. At some point Billy’d forced himself onto the tiny mat behind the two of you, but you didn’t mind as you leaned your weight against him. Even though he and Max didn’t see eye to eye, you felt that they could look past their filters of each other with some work, and you were glad that you could be there to see it.

--

Billy had no idea what he was doing in the local art and craft supplies store. All he knew was that he was standing out like a sore thumb among the startled children and parents. Probably shouldn’t have thrown open that door, he thought as he took off his sunglasses, .He cleared his throat and wandered further into the sea of colorful tools and paints.

He’d actually been scared that he’d crossed a line pushing you into joining the competition, but it seemed like the right thing to do. He’d only seen your art once, and you never really drew much, but from the times you did, you would have this mesmerized look in your eyes. That was enough for him to realize that you truly loved what you were doing, and perhaps that's also why it was so hard for him to tear his eyes away from you. 

To his surprise, he found himself looking forward to each and every moment spent with you at the back of the gym. Back in California, there were more wild animals, both on land and in the sea, but Hawkins was all people, so having Picasso around was a treat. Sometimes it felt like you were the only two people in this world, plus a gray little shorthair that could almost be considered your pet. He would’ve kept this all to himself if he could, but Max just had to butt in and ruin the fun. Even worse was that you actually enjoyed her company, so he couldn’t just shoo her off. 

Well, technically he could, but he didn’t want to show that side of himself to you again. Not when everything was going so well. It was hard to fathom what exactly he was feeling. It might be love, but he’d rather it be something else, because it was such a heavy word with too many strings attached. He just wanted to be alone with you, perhaps with the exception of Picasso. He wanted to listen to you talk about the most boring stuff, and he wanted to watch you looking at your little sketchbook with pride, wondering what it was that had you so absorbed. Maybe he also wanted to hold your hand for a bit, just to make sure that you weren't some sick illusion created by his brain.

It was a scary feeling. When he knew so much about you, he felt that he too had to do the same, but it was hard. If he opened up, everything would rush out like a flood and threaten to carry you away in its vicious waves. He couldn't let that happen. For now, he would just try. 

Everything inside the store was an enigma to him, and the cashier was staring at him for an unnatural amount of time he was spending strolling the same aisles. Too prideful to ask for help, he picked up the most expensive set of paint he could find and paid for it. He would give it to you the next time he saw you and watch the smile bloom on your face, preferably at the same spot behind the gym, where you would be perfectly alone.

There was a miscalculation in his plan though.

Having a teepee on campus was sure to arouse some curious gazes, much to his displeasure, and most of these gazes were less than welcomed. Suffice to say, he almost punched through a wall when Tommy and Carol showed up, chewing gums loudly in their mouths. It felt like they were intruding on an intimate moment.

“What is all this? Y’all playing house?” Tommy joked, and Billy caught you rolling your eyes at his comment. “Where did you even get a cat like this?”

“He’s a stray.” You said. From your tone alone, it was hard to tell whether you were agitated, but Billy knew that he most definitely was.

“That’s cute,” Tommy leaned in to pat Picasso, who shied away from his hand and escaped from your arms. Cursing under your breath, you chased after him without a second thought. The smile on Tommy’s face dropped a little as he crouched down, speaking to Billy in a low tone. “I’m holding a party next Monday-- well, it was supposed to be Sunday, but they say that a storm's brewing. You’re showing up, right?”

Blowing a puff of smoke at Tommy's face, Billy pulled the cig out of his mouth and shrugged. “We’ll see.”

“That’s not an option, man. You have to come. You know what people are saying?” Billy tilted his head to the side, looking at the boy with anticipation. “They think you’re losing your charm. I mean, you haven’t been to parties and shit for almost a month. It’s no good for the king of Hawkins, right?”

He scoffed through his nose. He hadn’t heard that name for some time, and it’d been blissful not having to conform to the role, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the ecstatic numbness after downing cups of alcohol, or the sheer excitement in people’s cheers when he showed up. There was a sense of peace that you could bring him, but it wasn’t exactly like standing in the middle of the crowd, ears ringing from the deafening music, sweat dotting the back of his neck--

“So? What do you think?” Carol pressed, and he sighed, shoving his fingers into his hair.

“Fine. I’ll be there.”

Victory broke out on the couples’ faces. They shot you a polite smile when you came back before leaving.

“What were you talking about?” You asked, letting Picasso back into the teepee.

“Gossip, rumors, whatnot.”

“Uh-huh,” You frowned in skepticism. “Well, that is none of my business anyways, and I have to go.”

He caught your wrist just as you started walking and guided you to sit down beside him. Carefully, he took out the nicely wrapped gift from behind. He could feel his chest thumping as you looked down on it.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

You tore the paper apart within seconds, and your face brightened at the set of paint inside. “Billy, this is--“ The surprise on your face morphed into worry. “--Expensive, right?”

He shrugged, tapping the ash off of his cigarette. It was true that he’d never bought something as costly before, but he wasn't really thinking straight. “Just a lil’ good luck for your competition. Don’t sweat it.”

There was still hesitation on your face, but you held the box close to your heart anyways, turning your face up to him. When you smiled, he felt like he was seeing you for the first time, his head filled with the same question-- Why did he never notice the glow in your eyes and the humble curve of your lips? How many times have you passed him by while laughing, and how many times had he failed to hear your weightless voice?

“Thank you, Billy.”

He simply returned the smile. There was too many feelings in his chest that he’d rather them leave unsaid.

--

“The weather forecast said that the storm’s hitting us tomorrow.” Steve said on a cloudy Friday, his entire upper body immersed into the tent as he tried to encircle Picasso into his arms, the movement threatening to knock over the delicately built teepee. When he’d heard that you were keeping a stray cat at school, he demanded immediately that he had a look.

You winced when his leg hit Picasso’s bowl of tuna, and you leaned in to shove him away. “Move your ass!” You stretched your hands out at the curious cat, who jumped into your embrace without hesitation. Steve scoffed bitterly, but softened up when you put Picasso in his lonely arms. The two of you settled down as cozily as could be on the ground. Bless Max for buying a mat.

“Anyways, as I was saying, a storm’s hitting tomorrow, and I don’t think Picasso can survive in a teepee,” He said, sticking his head under your nose as he examined what you were sketching in your sketchbook. It was a tentative draft for your competition entry, one that focused on the moon. You’d planned to go out on Monday night when the moon would be the fullest this rotation, and you would be using oil paint solely because Billy’d bought you a set. Usually you were more comfortable with acrylic, but it wouldn’t be so bad to try new things once in a while.

Steve had been skeptical when he saw the oh-so-expensive set of paint on your table. “Hargrove doesn’t seem like the type to buy fancy shit just to woo girls,” had been what he said at the time. It wasn’t something you’d expected either, but if past experience was any indication, Billy was full of unforseen surprises.

“What are you suggesting?” You asked, trying to picture the night sky in your mind, but it was hard to predict the environment, especially when you weren’t even at the intended location. Weathertop was your first choice, seeing as it was the highest point in Hawkins. You would be the closest to the moon. How you were going to see your canvas in pitch black was a problem, though.

“We have to move him somewhere...” 

“Can you bring him to your house, then? Since, you know, my aunt’s allergic.”

“Nah, mum hates pets.” He pouted, nuzzling his nose into Picasso’s short fur. Picasso whined and pulled away, paw stretching out to your arm. With a chuckle, you gave his head a good rub.

“Well, he obviously likes me better anyways.”

 “Sure, that’s only cause he only knows you,”

Your pencil hovers on the rough paper, the words stalling in your mouth. Finally, you said, “I actually had help taking care of him.”

“Who, Abby?”

“No,” You bit on the tip of the pencil, a replacement for your thumbnail.

“Then who?” He frowned.

You looked him dead in the eye, waiting for him to put pieces together. Realization dawned on him centuries later, and his face just went loose-- eyes round, mouth agape-- before he shook his head. “Jesus, Y/N. Really? Hargrove?”

“Yes, Hargrove.” Billy’s voice startled you from behind, and you turned to find him standing with his hands shoved into his pants, a very curious Max lurking from behind.

“Hey Y/N,” Ignoring the staring contest between Steve and Billy, Max stepped up and gave you a tiny wave, which you reciprocated.

“You’re in my seat,” Billy stated.

“I don’t see your name written on it.”

"I did pay for it. Do you need to check the receipt?"

The tension in the air was unbearable. You cleared your throat and looked up at Billy, who finally tore his eyes away from your best friend. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting Picasso, obviously,” He regarded the cat now curling up in Steve’s arms. “And to see you.”

You ignored the last sentence. “Steve said there's a storm tomorrow. We need to move Picasso to somewhere safe.”

“How about your house?” Billy suggested as Max walked towards Steve, politely asking to hold Picasso. He was becoming the superstar around here.

“My aunt’s allergic, and Steve’s parents don’t keep pets.” You squinted at him. “What about yours?”

“What?” He backtracked. Overhearing your conversation, Max turned her attention to you as well.

“Your house. Will it be okay for you to take him in for the weekend?”

Sharing a quiet look with Max, Billy shook his head sharply as if there was simply no way. “Not gonna work.”

“But Neil’s--“ Max started, and Billy cut her off before she could say more. “Let’s ask someone else. Maybe Abby? Or Tommy and Carol?”

Both you and Steve winced at his last suggestion. They were definitely not the type you’d entrust with Picasso’s well-being.

“Nevermind, I’ll just ask Hop.” You mumbled, although you knew that the chance of him agreeing was low. He probably wouldn’t want to take care of one more soul when he already had El. Still, that seemed like your only shot at the moment. You gathered everything you’d laid out on the ground, broke down the tent, and headed out to the parking lot.

An argument broke out as Steve and Billy both proposed driving you there, and it ended with Max commanding that you get into Steve’s car since it was bigger. You pushed everything into the trunk and got inside, while Max rode with Billy. Driving side by side, you could see the tension in his jaw. You didn’t have to be there to feel the awkwardness that hung in the air.

It didn’t feel right leaving Picasso in someone else’s care no matter who they were. Even though it’d only been days, he’d become such a comforting companion to you. Every recess break and after shool time spent with him was sweet, not to mention that he was quiet enough that it actually helped you focus on your work. Had your aunt not been allergic, you would’ve taken him under your care already.

Hopper smiled at first upon seeing you, then it dropped a little when he saw Steve; uncertainty crept onto his lips when Max stepped in, and by the time Billy even showed his face, his countenance was as cold as ice. 

To be fair, you were an unlikely line-up. 

“What’s this about, kid?” Hopper asked, eyes trained on the cat now in Steve’s hold. You told him everything, from how you’d found Picasso at the back of the school to building a tiny shelter for him, and that you needed help keeping him safe. At last, he rested his hand on his forehead and leaned against his desk. The air was stiff as you waited, with Max and Billy standing awkwardly to the side.

After what felt like forever, Hopper finally looked up at you. “You know I can’t take him in, kid.”

You sighed in exasperation. “I know, Hop, but--“

“And you should start thinking about calling animal protection. It doesn’t matter whether he has food or not, you can’t just leave him out in the wild.” 

You glanced at Billy briefly. Not that he could help you out of this, but he was the one who’d first met Picasso with you, and it only felt right to know about his opinion on this. 

Hopper had a point, as much as you preferred to ignore it. It didn’t matter how large the teepee was or how often you fed him, nature was still a dangerous place with illness and vicious predators lurking around the corner. To have someone professional take care of him would be the safest option, and deep down you knew it was inevitable. Finally you nodded, silently agreeing to the arrangement. Taking out a thick phonebook from his drawer, Hopper proceeded to call up the organization while the four of you waited, stealing pensive looks at the cat that’d managed to steal your heart in such a short time.

He threw down the phone loudly, causing Billy and Max to flinch. They must’ve been spacing out.

“They’ll come and take him on Sunday. I could ring a few numbers if you really can’t find anyone to take the cat.”

It stung that you couldn’t even spend your remaining time with Picasso, but you still nodded. “Okay--“

“Wait,” Max spoke up, hands folded in front of herself as she bit her lower lip. “Actually... we can keep him.”

“We can’t.” Billy retorted, clasping a hand around Max’ arm as if warning her not to talk, but the girl continued shakily.

“Our parents are out of town for a few days, and we should have no problem taking care of a single cat--“

“It’s out of the question,” Billy stressed his words, tilting his head to look down on his sister. “Maxine.”

Her eyes flew over you, a silent pleading observable in her gaze. You cleared your throat, successfully gaining the attention of Billy, who was startled into letting Max go as if he’d temporarily forgotten about your presence.

“It could be your second to last request, Billy. I beg that you accept the great honor of protecting Picasso from all harm--“ You prompted invitingly. “You know him. It will be short and not troublesome at all, plus you get to spend one last day with him!”

You kept your anticipation in check as you asked, knowing that he’d definitely reject if there really was a huge inconvenience, but he simply shook his head in defeat. 

“Fine.” was all he said before he walked out of the scene, pulling out a pack of cigarettes in the process. You let out a relieved sigh knowing that Picasso could stay under a reliable roof.

Max suggested that you accompanied them home, which you gladly agreed despite Steve’s glares. You were about to follow them out when Hopper called for you, a cautious glint in his eyes as he whispered, “I know that kid said their parents aren’t home, but look out for yourself nonetheless. And your cat.”

Some time earlier, Hopper’d said something similar, about how their father Neil seemed ominous, but you never felt the need to think about it. You gave him a solemn nod before leaving.

--

This shit is the worst, Billy thought as he took a drag, watching Steve drive away after having moved everything into his car. Max was an idiot for proposing that idea. Even if Neil and Susan were not around since they wanted to ‘have fun’, even the smallest hint of an animal in the house would cause Neil to go berserk. He never felt deeply for any other human beings, let alone a vulnerable little cat.

You and Max were talking by his car, with Hopper standing by the threshold, eyes fixated on him like a python. 

“Hargrove.” He called after a while. The three of you snapped your heads at him expectantly, but he only beckoned for Billy to follow. The young boy dropped and stomped on his cigarette until it was reduced to ash.

As soon as they were around the corner, Hopper turned around with his fists digging sharply into his hips, brows furrowed.

“What are your intentions with Y/N?” He demanded.

“With all due respect, sir, I think I’m the one in a bind.” Billy grinned.

The chief rolled his eyes, five seconds in and already fed up. “I’ll be straight with you. I don’t care what kind of contract you are in with Y/N or how much you’ve managed to deceive her. Don’t think for a second that I don’t know what you’re up to. If you so much as hurt a strand of her hair, so help me God, I’ll make sure you never get to drive that fancy car of yours again.”

“Aren’t you the chief? Is it really okay for you to threaten an innocent young man?”

“You’ll be surprised at how many lines I can cross for people I care about.”

Billy sighed, rolling his head back. “Fine, got it. I’m too good for her, I know.”

Hopper held his eyes for a moment as if he hadn’t expected those words before jerking away. “Leave, and look after the cat with your life.”

By the time he got back, you were already seated at the back of his car, much to his dismay. You tried to pry the content of their conversation out of him, but he simply shrugged it off.

It was only when his house came into view that he started to feel nervous. The house hadn’t been tidied since the adults had left, and he was pretty sure there were still a few empty beer cans lying around the living room. He recalled all the times he’d been thrashed around and wondered if you would notice a dent on the floorboard or remnants of broken glass. It wouldn’t be hard to put pieces together -- a bastard son had got to have a bastard dad, right?

Max helped carry the folded tent while you held Picasso. Billy considered not letting you inside, but the words wouldn’t come out, so he just surrendered and threw open the door with a clash.

“Woah,” You blinked at the loud sound and followed Max inside. The audacity to look happy about all this, Billy thought as he observed Max.

“I’ll clean things up,” He mumbled, his actions hasty and clumsy, his body blocking your view as he gathered the trash. His heart was drumming in his ribs. He’d never had anyone over before, in fear that they would find out about his shitty family. But there were only two crumbled cans on the sofa, and nothing else looked out of place. It probably just looked like any other household.

“We can set up the tent here,” Max pointed at the space in front of the television. Billy snatched it away from her before pacing to his room, “Living room is off limits,”

“But--“

He stared down at her. “Off. Limits.”

“Asshole.” She murmured before beckoning for you to follow. 

Hand around the doorknob, he turned around to meet your gaze. “Let me do the setting up. You can hang out with Max first, and don’t go to the main bedroom.”

“Yes sir,” You made a show of saluting, and the corner of his lips twitched before he entered his bedroom, immediately shutting the door behind him. There were dirty clothes thrown all around and unwashed glasses sitting on the desk. Your art of the beach was still hanging on the wall. He threaded his fingers through his hair.

He had a lot of cleaning up to do.

--

“I know he’s acting like an ass, but allowing you to come here is already a big step.” Max said, patting the space on the bed next to her. You walked over, eyes taking in the posters and decor she’d hung around. It wasn’t a big room, but it was cozy enough, and it felt like a safe space.

“He never invited anyone over before?” Considering how many girls he’d hung out with, you were almost certain that he would've had tons of visitors.

“Never. Since, you know, Neil doesn’t take it well.” She watched Picasso roll around on her mattress, fingers dancing on his tummy.

“Why?”

That caught her attention. She turned to you sharply, confusion evident in her eyes. “What?”

“Neil doesn’t like him bringing people home?”

The look of her face said something like, why are you asking about the obvious? And you were starting to wonder if it was something you should know before she gasped. “Oh shit, you don’t know.”

“Know what?”

“I- I can’t say,” She stammered, suddenly flustered. “I thought Billy told you. Sorry,”

“It’s fine,” You pursed your lips, suppressing the disappointment in your voice. You already knew that Billy was hiding a lot of things from you, but it didn't make you feel any better. Sometimes he felt so distant, like he was saving steps between everyone he met and making sure that no one would see him clearly enough. One day he was earnest and the other it was like you were looking at him through binoculars, unable to make out the full picture.

“Let’s, uh, talk about something else?”

“Sure,” You gave her an encouraging smile.

Turned out there were a lot of things that coud be the subject of your chatting. Conversing with her was as smooth as silk. She just had this blunt sincerity about her that could break down your walls. Not to mention that she knew almost everything about pop culture.

“Before I knew you, I always thought you were kind of nerdy. The kind of students who only care about grades and nothing else,” Max chuckled. Her laughs were light and contagious, and your own chest rumbled. The two of you were lying side by side now, listening to the distant noises coming out from Billy’s room and the creaking of the floorboard under Picasso’s steps.

“Have I proved you wrong?”

“Definitely, yea. I for one never expected someone like you to hang out with Billy,” She rolled her eyes at how the conversation inevitably swerved back to her insufferable brother. “Because he’s such a jackass and you’re just so...nice.”

“He isn’t that much of a jackass to me,” You said. “But of course, it could just be another one of his facades. Apparently he becomes an entirely different person when he’s not wooing someone.”

“To be fair, he does act differently around you.”

“Different how?”

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I guess... he’s calmer, if that’s possible. He’s still mean, but you can actually see him holding back. And he looks at you in a way that I’ve never seen before,”

You let out a dry laugh, “So I’ve heard.”

“I’m serious!” She defended. “But who knows what’s going on in that messed up head of his? One moment he’s protective and the other he treats you like shit, although the latter is more common.”

It sounded as though she was talking from experience, but you resisted the urge to ask. You were about to change the subject to her beloved skateboard when the door was swung open, to which Max bolted upright.

“Knock, Billy!”

Billy rapped his knuckles against the wood. Max rolled her eyes.

“It’s all set, you wanna come over? I promise it won't be as boring as my little sister.” He moved on to ask you, throwing shade casually. You laughed at the way the girl next to you groaned before getting off of the bed. “Your sister is nowhere near boring, but sure.”

He held the door open for you before kneeling down to swoop Picasso up. “And I’m taking Picasso.”

Max’ protests were silenced as he slammed the door shut.

His room was a little larger, and just like Max, he had a few posters decorating the walls. The whole place just screamed Billy. The teepee had been re-established in front of the desk where he placed a hi-fi set and mirror, at the end of his bed.

“Nice room,” You commented, letting Picasso scurry back into the familiar tent.

“I’d say likewise if I could.” He said. You glanced at him sideways before moving to sit on the floor next to the cat. He suggested you could sit on his bed instead, but you were getting used to abandoning chairs. Reluctantly, he slid down beside you, back pressed against the wardrobe, legs spread out in front of him.

You haven't been to a lot of bedrooms in your life. There was Steve’s, which you were familiar with, and then an ex’s, that’s all. But despite this, it never was quite big of a deal to you. It somehow felt different in Billy’s room though, like you were peeking through the window, looking at something you shouldn't be looking at.

Billy showed you his wardrobe and all the beloved articles of clothing he’d collected throughout the years, including ones that he was too attached to to throw away, and made a mental note to wear the red shirt more often since you liked it . He showed you his collection of tapes and discs and played his favourite rock songs so loudly that Max was banging against the wall for him to shut up . You found a drawer full of accessories and he let you try them on, sneaking a bracelet that you’d taken liking to into your pocket . Picasso kept trying to join the treasure hunt, paws rummaging through the mess. You talked about teachers whose names he couldn’t even remember and the most ridiculous couple you'd ever seen on campus. You said, “I don’t even have this many eyeliners,” and proceeded to draw a panting dog on the back of his hand. And then Billy was laughing, eyes crinkled as his face blossomed like fireworks, an overwhelming speculation.

It was at this moment that you realized it was a smile you never wanted to lose. You believed that it was his innermost self shining through his dirtied armor, and you were looking at him for the first time now, not as the playboy in math class, but as the boy who showed you everything he was proud of with unmasked excitement. Your heart was hanging at the back of your throat, threatening to jump out of the window.

Your stomach was still hurting from the laughing when he took a drag on his cigarette, lips still tilted up at the corners. He caught you glancing and casually tipped the cig in your direction. “Wanna try?”

You raised a brow at him, and he looked away realizing the absurdity of his action. “Nevermind. The chief gave me a very strong warning about not hurting you and shit.”

“Of course he did.” With a roll of your eyes, you snatched the cig out of his hand and held it to your lips hesitantly.

“Just take a small breath,” He instructed. You weighed the stick between your thumb and index finger before pulling smoke into your mouth in a blunt inhale. It filled your throat within seconds and sent you into a coughing fit.

“Shit,” He patted your back, trying to stifle a laugh. “Did you have to take in so much?”

“Shut up, Billy.” You pushed his hand away playfully, casting a disregarding look at the culprit between your fingers. He pulled it out of your loose grip with the hand with the puppy drawing.

It didn’t take long for the effect to kick in. You could feel your muscles relaxing as you slumped against the wall, arms resting by your sides motionlessly. The weight on your head had been lifted off for the time being, though you could tell it was going to give you a little headache after wearing off.

“Is this how you feel all the time?” You asked after a while.

“You get used to it. Helps me relax.”

“From what?”

He shrugged. “Life.”

You didn’t say anything then, trying to grasp the lyrics coming out of the speaker, eyes looking at the space between your hand and his. It might’ve been your imagination, but you swore you saw his hand inch toward you in a series of timid movements. When he was a pinkie’s reach away, you were startled by Picasso’s unannounced intrusion as he stepped between the two of you. He meowed, looking at you like he'd never done anything bad in his life. Billy heaved a big sigh as you held Picasso up. “It’s dinner time, isn't it, sweetheart?” 

“You could stay. I mean, we’re probably just gonna order takeout, but still.” Billy said.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to ruin your family time,” You joked. “But seriously, I have to get food for me and my aunt, and well, it’s getting late already.”

He followed your gaze to the setting sky outside the window and pursed his lips. “Fine. Wouldn’t want to ruin your family time. Are you going to come by tomorrow?”

“Only if the storm doesn’t sweep me away,”

“Right,” He shut his eyes, recomposing himself. “I’ll... I’ll walk you out.”

The two of you stumbled out of his room, suddenly uncomfortable in your own skin as if you’d just woke up from an embarrassing dream in which you’d indulged. It did feel like a good dream.

Max was bummed out that you were already leaving. You could tell by the look on her face that she was contemplating asking you to stay the night, but you were sure that letting you inside their house was already a big deal, and Billy would probably lash out on her if she didn’t stop making risky decisions.

“You should swing by on Sunday and see Picasso one more time.” She gave you a tight hug, squeezing your middle before pulling away. The restaurant you were stopping by was just a few blocks away, and you decided that you’d be better off taking the bus home from there. You weren’t sure if it was wise to spend even more time with Billy. You were already feeling lightheaded, and it wasn’t from the cigarette. Well, mostly not. Either way, there was a time bomb strapped to your chest, some grand revelation, and you didn't want it to explode just yet. Whatever you were feeling could wait.

“I’ll try, promise.” You finally turned your attention to Billy, who’d been uncharacteristically silent. “Don’t miss me too much, Hargrove.”

“Can’t believe we’re back to last name basis,” He feigned a hurt expression, but you refused to indulge him. Giving the siblings a wave, you started turning away from them when he called out again.

“Pres?”

“Yeah?”

“Tommy is holding a party on Monday, I was just wondering if you’d like to go.”

Ah, Tommy’s notorious parties. You’d only been there once and it was already more than enough impact for your entire life. They really were something else.

“That day’s a full moon, I have to carry tons of stuff to Weathertop and paint my competition entry, you know, since you persuaded me to join.”

His face fell. “That I did. Forget it, I just... wanted you to be there.”

Max looked up at his brother with a curious frown. You could come join me instead, you thought, but didn’t let it be heard. Surely he still had to fulfill his role as Tommy’s friend, and parties were not something he’d just miss out on casually. You gave them an actual goodbye this time and walked away.

It had been naive of you to have thought that you could keep him by your side without at least being curious of his origins, and even more so that you expected to know about him without falling for some parts midway. You could see it now, how Carol said he was acting differently around you, how Max wasn’t used to seeing a brand new side of her brother. Somewhere along the way he’d begun deviating from your impression of him, and somewhere along the way you’d started looking for his company too. There was still much to learn, but you were confident now that it was a process you wouldn’t mind waiting for, because every chance you got to hang out with him felt like a sweet discovery. Despite all the warnings that surrounded him, you just wanted to take his hand, brush his hair and hold his face as you told him, “I’ll wait".

Chapter Text

The storm did hit, and boy did it hit hard.

It brought ceaseless rain with it, ricocheting against the windows in the house like a restless symphony. The wind howled like an old woman in grief, and going out was practically impossible. Still, none of the gloomy weather had managed to drag Billy down. Stuck inside, he spent hours talking to you on the house phone, pushing the couch close to facilitate the short wire. He had Picasso purring in his lap as Max shot him glares, annoyed that he hadn't stopped talking for the majority of the afternoon and that every time she wanted to walk past she'd have to hop over the wire.

You said you were working (of course you were), but you indulged him nonetheless. There were moments when you asked him to repeat himself because you hadn't been listening, but he didn't mind at all. He could bear with you blabbering to yourself for as long as you wanted anyway.

He started to feel strange after you'd visited their house. It was probably no big deal for you, but in his point of view it was oddly intimate, and the scary thing was that it was almost enchanting. The moment he started opening up to you, all the safely locks began to dissolve, and it took everything in him to suppress the secrets back down. He wasn't ready yet.

The day after the weather havoc, you dropped by on your way downtown. Animal protection arrived early at noon with their loud truck and took Picasso away.

"Can we still visit him?" Max asked one of the uniformed men.

"We'll inform you of where we're going to settle him." Was all he said before the truck drove away in a rush. And with that, Picasso was gone. There were streams of sorrow coursing through Billy's heart, as well as the same uneasiness that always accompanied when it came to any form of loss. He didn't know how to cope with them.

"We're still seeing each other, right?" He asked you. The main reason you'd been hanging out so much the past week was because of Picasso, and now that he'd left, there might not be anything holding the two of you together anymore. Well, that was except for the deal.

"Don't you worry, I still have one more request up my sleeves, and then you're finally gonna get that date." You teased.

"Right, the date. It's been so long that I've almost forgotten."

That was obviously a lie. But what came after the date? Were you to part for good? He knew for a fact that he wasn't looking forward to breaking your heart anymore, not without hurting himself too, but maybe you had other plans in mind. Maybe you would break his heart instead.

Max gave an irritated head shake at how long you spent lingering in each other's space before you rode away on your bike.

"Is this thing with Y/N serious?" She asked, earning a cold glare from her brother.

"It's not of your concern, is it, Maxine?"

"Maybe I just want what's best for my brother and my friend."

"Well, I advise you to stay in your lane. And Y/N isn't your friend, don't flatter yourself." He said before slamming the front door in her face as if she didn't live in the same house. 

Max rolled her eyes. "And here I thought he's changed."

--

Tommy's party night came fast. He had one of the largest houses in Hawkins-- three storeys and a backyard with an exquisite swimming pool. Also a generous number of guest rooms, but his parents probably weren't aware of what they were being used for. They were more often away than they were home.

There had been a great amount of people going up to Billy asking whether he was going to show up. The party wouldn't be complete without the king, they said. Adding flavour to the whole thing, they said. Instead, he tried to invite you once more, but you were hellbent on going to Weathertop alone. Guess you didn't really belong to the crowd.

The routine was the same. Dressing up, cologne, accessories, hair. His hand went and grabbed the red shirt instinctively. He had to admit that it looked extra dashing after you'd pointed out that it was your favourite. After spending half an hour creating the best look, he got out of his room and ran right into Max, who had a bowl of cereal in her hands.

"Where are you going?" She asked, frowning at his clothing of choice. She'd learnt to identify when he was dressing to impress.

"Out." He answered curtly. "And stay home. You're dead if you leave the house."

He was going to get his life together, he told himself over and over again as he nodded to the music on the radio. He would find answers in the lousy crowd and the addicting alcohol. The party was where his soul was. It was his home, even if the word sounded foreign in his mouth.

The engine announced his arrival way before his car could be seen, and he did a final check in the rear view mirror before driving right through the parting crowd, only stopping when he was inches close to the wall. He dragged himself out and landed on his heavy boots. Tommy wasted no time greeting him.

"Glad you could make it, Hargrove." He shoved a red plastic cup into Billy's empty palm. "Everyone, let's hear it for the king of Hawkins High!"

The people hollered, screamed, whooped with laughter, faces morphing together. Billy recognized only four people from among them. He brought the cup to his lips and downed the pungent liquid with a single gulp before raising it high in the air. The crowd erupted eith excitement. With warmth swimming from his head to toes, he finally felt some relief. 

The night had just begun.

--

There was a queue of emptied cups around Billy as he sat on the wooden table, one foot perched up while the other barely grazed the ground as he looked over at the crowd. Not too far away, people were banging their heads to the muffled music coming out of the speakers, and next to them was the group of the secluded who were leaning down and snorting coke. The girls that weren't racing upstairs were standing at the centre of the house, stealing glances at the spotlight of the night who turned out to be uncharacteristically inactive.

"Hey," Someone came up beside him and shoved the cups away, bringing herself up onto the table swiftly. "People are wondering why Billy Hargrove is looking like a sad puppy in a party."

The girl was blonde with symmetrical curls that reached down to her ribs, and her makeup was visible from up close, from foundation to lipstick. Deliberated or not, her skirt had ridden up her thighs when she'd hoisted herself up.

"Are they wondering or is it just you?" He asked, tipping his head back to look at her more fully. "What's your name?"

"Chris." She said, letting some of her hair fall over her face. "So, tell me, what happened to the great Dionysus?"

"I'm a God now, am I?" He had to murmur because of how much she'd leaned in, but he stayed completely still, slightly challenging the assertive character. Flirting was nothing new to him, and yet it felt as though he'd forgotten some skills.

"You do have the resemblence." She pulled away abruptly, jerking her head in the direction of the pool in the backyard. "Wanna come?"

And so he did. There were another dozens of people partying outside, and one careless step would surely send him tripping over a littered plastic cup. He let Chris lead him by the wrist. Once they've found somewhere secluded, she trailed her fingers up his shirt and let loose the first few buttons, all while her eyes observed his face analytically. He should probably do something, but he couldn't stop noticing how she was looking at him like he was more a misson than an actual person.

Everything else felt like replaying the same scene of a movie. He knew exactly what was going to happen-- a little seduction here and there, then it's off to the bedsheets-- but someone must've tampered with the script, because she dropped her hands and sighed, shoulders slumping. "I'll go get some drinks."

Billy's hand reached for her as she walked away, but it hovered in the air instead. She basically concluded that there wasn't going to be any action between the two of them tonight. Whatever she'd seen in him must've thrown him off. No one had ever walked away from him before. Maybe except you, but you were very much different.

Someone clasped his shoulder from behind, pulling him around. People were always laying hands on one another around here. It was Tommy, red-faced and drunk out of his mind.

"Dude. What the fuck was that?" With every word he spat out, Billy, upon smelling the sharp alcohol in his breath, tilted his head backward.

"None of your business."

"Well, it is my business that you haven't been getting any. You've been here for an hour, man. Where's your showmanship?" Tommy emphasized his last point by throwing his arms around in wide and inappropriate gestures. "Where the hell has the king of Hawkins gone to?"

There it was again, the king. The playboy. The life of the party. Even a fucking Greek God. He knew that these were the only things people knew him for, and he didn't even need to hear it to know that. He could tell just by the flattering looks they threw at him. All they wanted was a piece of him, and while he was conquering the whole school, others were using him as some sort of achievement too. 'Get into Billy Hargrove's bed' had become an item on the to-do list that one needed to complete to become one of the cool kids. And for a while, it was fine. He didn't care about what others had in mind as long as he was having fun. But now, he found himself unable to face these undermining gazes.

"Jeez. Come on." Seeing that he wasn't getting any solid answer, Tommy dragged him away and once again handed him a cup of vodka. "Just open your eyes and look at the sea of opportunities. Go pick one and drag her to my room, yeah? I've reserved it especially for you." He slipped the key to his bedroom into Billy's pocket before stepping away to some nearby friends.

The key weighed like rocks. A bunch of partygoers were already soaked wet in the pool, their tops casted away so carelessly that it would certainly prove troublesome to retrieve them later. Far in the corner a couple was making out like there was no one else in the world. Someone screamed near the bushes, followed by mixed laughers. He could make out what the group of people next to him was talking about if he focused hard enough, but his mind was hazy, and it wasn't just from the alcohol. It was getting overwhelming-- all the chatting and hollering and upbeat songs were exploding in his ears, and there was so many movements on display that his eyes couldn't catch up.

He raised the cup to his mouth and finished the vodka in one go. The liquid trickled down his jaw and to his neck, cool and sticky around his skin like fingers clenching around his trachea. His eyes settled on a brunette slouching on the edge of the pool and started making his move, sure that not even in her dreams would she believe how lucky she was about to be. And even if the same thing with Chris happened, it wouldn't be hard to find another stranger who was up for real fun.

At the same time he was running over lines in his head, a very frustrated Jack had stumbed out to the yard, eyes frantically scanning the foreign area. He came up to one person after another, trying to discover the whereabouts of his missing date, only to be shooed away mercilessly. When it became apparent that he'd lost his girl in the rotten crowd, he threw his head back and heaved a big sigh, slowing his steps until his foot came into contact with a discarded cup instead of the hard floor.

What happened next was a blur of exclamations and flashes of colors, his arm flinging in the air until it found purchase on someone. The two of them stumbled into the cold water with a giant splash.

To say that Billy was pissed was an understatement. One moment he was fixing his collar, the next someone had grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him backward. He didn't even have the time to see if it'd been a fight when he was pulled into the pool.

He was quick to react though, immediately shoving his head out of the water only to be hit by a terrible coughing fit. Though his head was spinning, he turned around and saw Jack who'd just emerged himself. The yard was suddenly dead quiet, like someone'd just shouted something scandalous.

Jack gave his eyes a few good rubs before opening them, and upon realizing who he'd just dragged into the water, his face fell in something akin to horror. "Oh, I'm so sorry--"

"Son of a bitch," Billy groaned, moving the damp locks out of his face. "Are you looking for a fight?"

The water barely reached Billy's sternum as he stood. Jack backtracked at the irritated boy that was nearing him, bringing his hands up as some fragile defense. "No, it was an accident, okay? I'm sorry, Hargrove--"

Billy paused when he saw the quiver in Jack's lips and the trembles in the corner of his eyes. Suddenly he was looking into the mirror-- a weak person who was still dreading the same fists that'd been hitting him since he could tell time. He would've thought that he would become numb, that his skin would heal and grow thicker and thicker until he would feel no more pain. The numbness never came, and the wounds still bled to this day.

"You think you can get away with pushing the Billy Hargrove with a sorry?" It wasn't Billy who spoke, but Tommy who'd kneeled down by the edge. He looked at Jack like he was examining a new toy. "And to think that you would've learnt your lesson."

He hopped into the water and grabbed a fistful of Jack's dark hair. Jack tried getting his hand off, but to no avail. The two of them continued the awkward struggling as mumbling started rising from the watching crowd. Finally, Jack gave up and tried to move to a position that would render the least pain to his scalp.

"Well, Hargrove?" Tommy raised his brows, jerking his jaw towards the defenseless boy he was holding before him. 

Everyone was watching with intrigue now, waiting for the showdown even though it was just an accident. And deep down, Billy knew that too. He couldn't bring his fingers to curl, couldn't stand the thought of landing his knuckles on the same spot he'd punched on Jack's face back in the canteen. There was a ridiculous fear in him, that as soon as he struck out, you would appear out of thin air, make your way through the onlookers and yell at him to stop. And then you were going to look at him with that painfully agonizing look that torn his insides apart. 

Tommy clicked his tongue impatiently. "Hargrove."

Rolling his eyes, Billy dragged himself forward until he could hold Jack's collar up, bringing his face up to his own. He tried to ignore the pleading in Jack's eyes. The water rolled under their movements. It was freezing.

"If I see you one more time, you are dead meat. You hear me?" 

Jack nodded frantically, urging it to be over as soon as possible.

And then Billy let him go. A wave of disappointment washed over the audience. The jig couldn't be over already. But Billy wasn't planning to get into any stupid fights tonight, and Tommy wasn't very pleased with that.

"I think you're forgetting how to properly warn people," He snapped, glaring at Billy with a cold gaze. "Maybe I should jolt your memory."

Without warning, he slammed Jack's head underwater, and the crowd around them broke into loud gasps. They were more of surprise than horror or even disgust, like it was all just an elaborate shitshow. Jack's arms flew around helplessly as he tried fighting out of Tommy's grip, but he was way too frail to actually have an effect on him.

Billy sprung into action before he realized what he was doing. He was much stronger than Tommy, and getting his hands off of Jack's head was an easy task. Once Tommy's fists were loose, Billy dragged him out of the pool and threw him right onto the floor. The ring of bystanders recoiled. Seeing that the shark had left the water, Jack crawled out and ran back inside the house with his tail between his trembling legs. Not once did he look back on the two bullies, now staring at each other.

"What the hell was that?" Billy snapped.

"'What the hell was that?'" Tommy mocked. "What the hell is wrong with you, letting him go?"

The lack of remorse in his voice ticked Billy off. He leaned down and dragged Tommy up, making sure that his hands clenched hard enough that they jabbed into his throat. A heaviness was building up inside his skull. It was the telltale sign of anger, as he'd come to recognize since a very young age. "You were crossing a line trying to drown him."

"Since when do you care about lines? Come on now, don't tell me you're going straight?"

Billy's eyes twitched. Tommy scoffed loudly in his face, "For real? First Harrington, now you? Well, he may have managed to turn over a new leaf, but you can't, Hargrove,"

"It's not any of you fucking business, is it?" Billy breathed, contained fury rumbling in his tone.

"It's not, but if you really think that saving that wimp one time is going to make you a saint, then you're gravely mistaken. You're never going to change, because it's all in your blood. The cruelty, the violence, the roughness. You can try, but you'll always crawl back to this shithole."

Billy knew what Tommy was doing. He was trying to drive him up the wall so that this shitty party could get some heat. He was using him because he knew how easily he could get physical, which should mean that he shouldn't give him what he wanted-- but that's the thing. Billy had never held back before, and he sure as hell wasn't going to gain the skill out of nowhere.

"To think that it only took one single bitch to rid you of your glory--"

His fist flew out with perfect aim. Tommy's whole body was flown backward, the bone in his nose cracking as he dropped to his butt with a painful thump. He had a triumphant smile on his face as the crowd started whooping.

"Fight, fight, fight!"

He got back on his feet quickly, holding his hands in front of him. "Showtime, Hargrove."

As smug as Tommy was, his fighting skills was second-rate, his movement slow and his punches soft. He was overwhelmed by Billy's blunt forces within seconds, once again brought to the floor, doubling over with his mouth agape.

"Get up, scumbag," Billy commanded, letting his body take control. Adrenaline was racing through his veins both from the alcohol and the cheers from all around him. Tommy leaned over and tried to stand, only to be kicked down again. It felt good hearing him groan at the sharp pain, but the satisfaction was short-lived as he broke into laughters quickly, as if this was all just some sick joke.

"You see?" He cackled, eyes glistening with madness. "I was right about you."

With a yell, Billy brought his fist down on Tommy's face. The first punch broke something in his cheek again. The second punch narrowly missed his eye. The third had blood dripping down Billy's hands. Then the fourth, the fifth, until Carol emerged from the crowd, finally done with being a unsympathetic outsider. It took three people to hold Billy back as he kicked his legs in the air, hungry for a few more strikes. People started circling around the bloodied boy on the floor in curiosity, and it was only when Billy was outside of the circle did he feel the sharp pain wash over his body. He was tired. 

"Let go." He said. The people taking control of his arms backed away immediately, not wanting to be the next target of his horrifying outbursts. Drops of blood now blended into his drenched shirt, he got to the washroom under tentative glances.

Fate was a cruel bastard. 

He threw open the door and found that the room wasn't empty. Jack had taken his shirt off and was squeezing the water out of it. At the sight of Billy, he pulled on both ends of the crinkled shirt as some kind of ropey weapon.

Billy heaved a sigh. He didn't want to fight anyone else. For now, he just needed some silence from both the world and his screaming head.

The air in the washroom was thick with tension. He didn't have to say anything for Jack to know what kind of violent show'd just gone down. Nonetheless, that didn't stop the latter from peeking cautiously at him.

"Are you done staring?" He asked, meeting Jack's eyes in the mirror. Jack flinched and turned his back around, carrying on with his shirt. Someone knocked on the door, breaking the short-lived silence, and Billy shouted at them to go fuck somewhere else.

He had to get the blood off of himself. The soap wasn't doing the job though, because no matter how hard he rubbed at the fabric, the evidence that he'd just drawn blood from his supposed friend just wouldn't go away. Focused wipes soon turned into frustration, until his shirt was all wrinkled.

"Detergents should do the trick." Jack suggested timidly behind him. At some point, the boy'd returned to his staring session again. He approached the sink and reached for the drawer underneath, pulling out a tall bottle of kitchen soap. "Just apply some to the blood and rub it under water."

Billy took the bottle without a word. To his surprise, it worked like a charm, and he wondered how many clothes could've been spared had he known this trick earlier. 

There was absolutely no reason for Jack to linger around. However, he did look like he wanted to say something, but due to very understandable reasons couldn't bring himself to do so.

"Spit it out." 

Jack started, then mumbled, "Sorry for running into you earlier. I know I can be really clumsy, and…" He frowned, turning the words over on his tongue. "Nevermind. I was going to thank you for not sending me to the hospital again, but that was really just basic courtesy, wasn't it?"

His eyes widened when he realized the implication amidst his sentences. "Actually, thank you! I know I am a real pain in the ass sometimes. Totally deserved that."

Billy rolled his eyes at his pointless rambling as he ridded the last visible spot of blood.

So far, he hadn't heard any commotion outside but for the incessant music, and there was no siren, meaning Tommy probably didn't call an ambulance or the cops. If he did, Billy would be in huge trouble, and he didn't want Neil to have to pick him up from the station as soon as he returned from his joyous trip. But the fact that he'd absolutely obliterated the host of this party stood, and it was bound to spread like wildfire. Soon enough it would reach your ears. 

There were definitely other, more urgent things that required his attention, but all he could think about was how you were going to react. The last time he hurt the boy standing topless behind him right now, you got so upset. And so did he, for that matter, because he played a part in pushing you away even though you'd tried to put him in a better light. He didn't deserve it. Everyone who said he was a cruel, heartless, hot-headed bully was right.

"There's one thing I'm curious about though," Since when was Jack such a blabbermouth? "Why did you let me go?"

Billy slammed his shirt onto the counter and swerved around, "Did you want me to hurt you?"

"No! No, of course not. I just... you looked hesitant for a second. That's unlike you."

As if everyone else hadn't been telling him the same thing. He almost couldn't recognize himself in the mirror anymore.

"Forget it," Jack shook his head and shoved his hands through the sleeves of his damp shirt. He reached for the doorknob, but Billy called out, "Why do you think I let you go?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

Jack sighed. "I don't know. Maybe you had a mini seizure? Or a moment of morality shining through, if that's possible."

Flinging the shirt in the air to smooth out the crinkles, Billy pursed his lips. "It's probably not."

Silence reclaimed the room as Jack carefully observed the other boy. Finally, he started putting his mouth to use again. "It's not really a matter of possibility, in my opinion. It's about whether or not you're determined enough to change. I mean, look at me! Everyone says I'm weaksauce, but I'm trying really hard to be tough for my girlfriend. That's what she deserves."

"Your girlfriend?"

"Chris. She's the light of my life." He didn't have to say it out loud. The lovesickness on his face was enough. "I lost her though. One second we were still dancing and the next she's gone."

Billy sniffled. He wasn't going to tell the poor guy that his girlfriend was only missing because she was hitting on him.

"The point is, I believe that I'll be worthy of her one day, so I'm not gonna say impossible just yet." Jack cleared his throat. "So if there's someone you want to change for, it's never too late."

Unable to muster a response, Billy stared down at the crimson shirt in his hands. The blood had been cleaned off, certainly not completely but enough that no one could spot the different shade. And yet, it looked to him like it was soaked in rage-- the rage that stemmed from Neil and ate him whole, the rage that was a monster that'd inhabited inside him like a parasite. His arms were still tingling from the force he'd put into roughing up Tommy, though his mind was clear despite all the alcohol he'd drunk.

He ignored how the damp areas of his shirt stuck to his torso and fixed his hair. He didn't think he had it in him to rid of the hatred in his mind, because he could still recall every jaw he'd broken, every blood he'd drawn, every person he'd humiliated just so he could feel some kind of superority from it. The scary thing was, he still felt like power when he was standing over Tommy, and had it not been Carol's interverence, he wasn't sure if he could've restrained himself.

He was too broken, the pieces too scattered for him to pick up. No matter how hard he tried, there would always be something amiss.

But hard as it was, it wasn't always painful. Not everyone looked at him like he was a tragic abomination. Not Max, even though he was never a responsible brother to her. Not Susan, although the pity in her eyes was sometimes worse. Not Jack right now, brows raised in anticipation as if he was waiting for some big revelation or epiphany. And certainly, not you. You were always kind to him, always saw him in a way that he'd never been seen before. 

Maybe that's what he needed right now.

Opening the door would mean that he had to face the world he'd scarred, but he had a destination to reach. Billy sucked in a long breath before shoving the bottle of detergent onto Jack's chest, a hand grabbing his shoulder in an almost friendly manner. "Good talk, but I have a question. How do you get to Weathertop?"

--

Alcohol and anxiousness might be the worst combination. Billy had to drive extra slow in the night just because he, for once, didn't want to crash and die on the road and call it a wrap. Jack'd given him detailed instructions on how to reach the tip of Hawkins, and he was trying hard not to let the information slip away from the edge of his memory.

The houses became scarcer and scarcer until there was nary a sign of residence. Soon, the road turned uphill, and the ground got rocky. 

It was such a shitty plan. He didn't even know if you were still there. It was already close to one in the morning, and he didn't take you as the type to stay up late on a school day. The only thing propelling him was his lack of judgement at the moment. He just had to talk to you, knowing that you would make everything better.

He couldn't see anyone at first, just the silhouettes of distant trees and the round ominous moon hanging on the sky like a sore thumb. But then he noticed a stream of converged light, and as he drove closer, he could see you sitting on a picnic mat, messy equipment laid out all around you, a wooden easel supporting a canvas. You were squinting when he finally stopped and got off the car, your hair messed up and your hands stained with paint.

"Hey pres," He said quietly, scared that you'd vanish from under his eyes.

"Are you a fragment of my imagination?" You joked.

"Am I that dreamy?" He played along, but as soon as he was close enough, you scrunched your nose up, "That's some strong liquid. Should you even be driving?"

"I was as slow as a snail."

"You could've still thrown yourself off a cliff. Not that I want it to happen," 

He sat down on the place you'd emptied out for him, and finally laid eyes on the canvas for the first time. In reality, he could really just see a giant white orb in the sky, but you'd managed to add details to its shades and rocky lumps from imagination alone. What's more, the colors were distinct even when your only source of light was the headlight you'd strapped unprofessionally to your bike. The oil paint gave an irregular texture to the art, and he was tempted into reaching out to touch it. You slapped his hands away.

"It's not dry yet, genius." Your eyes slid to the redness of his knuckles. "Jeez. What happened?"

It was a cowardly move, but he averted his gaze. There was no hiding from it. Alcohol, bruised knuckles and parties could only mean one thing, and you weren't stupid.

"Forget it. It's not worth talking about." 

"Uh-huh. Sure."

He looked at you, bemused. "What, you're not gonna keep asking?" 

"Are you going to tell me?"

"Fair point."

You swiped up some navy with your brush and continued dabbing at the painting, still looking energized as ever. "When are you done?" He asked.

"Almost, I think. It's just that something is always not right when I step back and look at it." 

"It's perfect, the way I see it."

"Of course it is." You rolled your eyes, unaware that he was being more genuine than not. He dug out a pack of cigarettes, only to cast them away when he remembered that he was sitting right in front of your art. If he did anything to ruin it, you wouldn't let him off so easily. He wouldn't forgive himself either.

"I'm already thinking about how you can include me in your winning speech." He said. "'A great friend of mine persuaded me to join this competition, and although I turned him down on several occassions, his preserverence finally moved me'."

"Oh, you're already drafting my winning speech?"

"If you don't win, this whole thing's got to be rigged."

A lazy smile hinted at your lips. He knew that he wasn't the best supporter around here, but one thing he was sure about was that he would never let doubt get to you. You were the most capable person he'd ever seen.

After a few more strokes, you dropped your brush with a clink and threw your hands up. "Okay, I'm done!" 

Getting onto your feet, you took a few steps backwards and shaped a frame with your fingers, dramatically checking the canvas and looking for areas needing improvement. There was nothing more to add. After hours, your entry was finally done.

"God, that was draining," You huffed, returning to the mat and flopping onto your back. Billy shoved the plates and brushes of different thickness away and lay down an arm's length away from you, far enough that he could take a drag without worrying about fire hazards. The headlight created a stream of light atop the both of you.

"You at least enjoyed it, no?" He said, letting the cigarette sit between his teeth loosely.

"I guess so." You wriggled your index finger at him, and he gave you a dubious frown, which only turned deeper when you gestured at his pack of cigs. He complied anyways, bringing his lighter up to its end while you held one with wobbly fingers. This time, you didn't descend into an intense coughing fit. "If you compare it to schoolwork, then yes, I definitely enjoyed it. Anyways, how did the party really go?"

"It sucked ass." He said honestly. "Shit went down. Kind of boring too, but what can you expect from Tommy?"

You placed a hand above your heart, feigning hurt.

"I should've come up here instead. Feeding my blood to mosquitoes would've been so much better."

"I can't believe it was that bad." 

"You wouldn't say the same had you been there. Or you are just excellent company." He watched you from aside. "What? I meant that. You should start charging people who spend time with you. That's how good you are."

It made him giddy how the smallest hint of red crept up to your ears. 

"I suppose you're not so bad yourself," You said. "There's someone you can never beat though."

"Who?"

"Picasso, duh."

He shook his head, feeling bittersweet just at the memory of the adorable little cat that left way too soon. "When I get out of this town, I'm going to get him back. Or buy another one, maybe a dog."

"Desperate to leave Hawkins?"

He mulled over your words in his head. It wasn't that he resented this place. It'd been nice thus far, though it wasn't enough to make him feel at home yet. He wasn't even sure if he would ever find a place that felt like one. Mostly, he just wanted to leave Neil once and for all. He would go as far as he needed to and forget about him altogether.

"No, just wanna start a life of my own."

"And what'll you become once you're out and about?" You nibbed at the cigarette carefully, breathing out smoke in between your words.

This conversation was giving deja vu. He recalled talking about your futures at your house the day he went over to bake. At that time, he was totally clueless about the direction he wanted to take in life. It was also when he started admiring you for your dedication. 

He still had zero idea, figuring that everything would play out eventually as long as he'd escaped.

"Maybe I'll return to California. Pick up surfing again."

"Oh, surfing," You nodded thoghtfully. "I wish I could visit Calif one day."

"How about right now?"

You turned to him sharply, partly intrigued and partly baffled. "At 1 am?"

"What better time than the present, right?"

He couldn't help feeling disappointed when you turned him down. It was a ridiculous proposal, and he knew that, but every cell in his body felt absurdly  out of place tonight, so he might as well indulge. Maybe another day then, he suggested. He could take you there when he was sober and well-prepared.

"A surfer and a painter. Sounds like a cool duo." 

"I never said I wanted to be a painter, did I?" You retorted.

"But you must've considered it. You said that it lacked prospect, something like that."

Sighing, you nodded. "Something like that. Theoretically speaking, it really sounds like something I could work with forever, but realistically--"

"You can't plan everything in life. Sometimes you just have to stay put and go with the flow. Who knows? Maybe you'll even open a gallery."

You took the cigarette like you wanted to get drunk and concluded, "Fine, I guess it does sound fun." 

He closed his eyes. The nature was soft. No rock music, no yelling at the top of lungs, just some good ol' leaves rustling and insects chirping. Rarely did he have any chance to try and calm the constant storm in his head. It certainly wasn't easy, but he thought that your presence must've helped comfort him.

His eyelids were getting heavy, trying to drag him into oblivion, but he didn't want to crash just yet. For someone who sucked at using his words, he sure did love chatting with you. It's almost as if he was a whole other person when you were around.

It was one of the many things he liked about you. He didn't have to worry about not knowing what to say. You drew the words from his throat yourself.

And the many other things... your habit of biting your nails, for one. It was something you just couldn't quit. And the way you held your head up with your fist during math lessons because the teacher was just so boring, and yet you still decided to stay awake. Your art, definitely. It wasn't so much the products he liked, but your passion.

You were just so much, and so different, and Billy didn't know how much he had to sacrifice to be 'worthy' of you, as Jack'd said. Would he have to pull out the tragedies pent up in his chest like skein, and how long would it take? Would he have to act like a goody two shoes who wouldn't punch someone just to destress? It was basically impossible. It was the rage that kept him alive.  Sure, he might be able to hide the distress under layers of facade, but sooner or later it would surface in the ugliest form possible, and inevitably he would ruin everything good. 

He opened his eyes only to face the dark sky again, and turned to catch a glimpse of you, breath catching in his throat when you looked back at him. All your features came alive in the glow of the light. Lashes fluttering as your gaze trailed down, you dragged your hand across the grass and teased your index finger against his, waiting for any sign of disapproval. When he didn't move, you moved to take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers loosely. His hand was much larger, but somehow they still fit like two puzzle pieces, took to each other like fish to water. 

"Thank you, Billy, for pushing me to do this. I don't think I would've come back to painting without you," You brushed your thumb across his bruising knuckles.

His shoulder was strained at a wrong angle as he held his arm out, but he tried to ignore it as he gave your hand a small squeeze. He almost didn't want to move, certain that he would feel better if he pretended to be a corpse.

"I used to dream of being an artist all the time. I guess growing up made me realize how silly it was. But hey, didn't you say that we're our own persons? That really got me thinking. Maybe you should take your own advice too."

He chuckled ironically. "You know, it was actually you who said that line."

You frowned. "Was I?"

"Yea, the night we got stranded at an inn?"

"I don't remember that."

"You were really sleepy. I was basically forcing you to talk to me."

"Well, good to know that I'm wise even when I'm half asleep." You scoffed. It wasn't even an elegant laugh, but he'd trade a few years of his life just to hear it a few more times.

He was going to die young.

Your voice got carried away by the air, and with it went the lightness in his chest. A more solemn emotion set in. It was controlling, manipulative even, and it made him run his thumb over your skin, rough with dried paint. His other hand came up to brush the hair out of your face. There was this look in your eyes, like you were waiting for him to say something. He could feel something swelling from within like a balloon, like a soft tune that was building up to a deafening conclusion. There was no word for it.

"There's another thing," You breathed as he trailed along the side of your cheek. It felt like an artist discovering contours and shades. Any moment now, his obscure feelings would spill out of his lips. It would surprise even him. Inside his head, everything had grown into some full blown orchestra with his heart posing as the mad conductor. He was losing his mind. He was going to tell you how much he adored you, and it was going to destroy him.

"I think I'm in love with you." 

His words came out of your mouth, and his mind swirled into descension. He'd expected his feelings to go out with a grand crescendo, but it was instead a tiny squeak. It was the sound balloons made when the air ran out instead of being popped. Everything leaked out until there was nothing left inside his chest. It was scary how one moment he was on cloud nine and the other he was being pinned to the ground.

"Billy?" You called, and he remembered that he hadn't given you any response whatsoever. Worry settled between your brows-- no, it was more like fear. You were scared that you might've said the wrong thing at the wrong time. 

"I-" Breathlessly, he shook his head, "It won't work."

"What?" 

Shit. "No, I mean--" Come on, stupid words. "I can't do this."

"Oh." You held yourself up by your elbow, pulling your hand away from his. Regret spread across your face like a confusing veil. He tried to strings his words again and failed miserably. Love was the one thing he had no experience in, and now he couldn't even improvise.

Your voice was fading out. He couldn't hear his own, nor could he make out the words coming out of you. He was shuffling his stack of cards and trying to pick one that could give a good answer, but at this point it was obvious that all of them were rotten. There was no right answer. You said some more unintelligible things, and he struggled with himself like fish out of water. Desperate, helpless, doomed. 

"I'm sorry I said that.' You said at last, and he had to watch you leave in a haste, as if you couldn't stand to be around him.

The one time he tried to make things right, he fucked up royally.

Chapter Text

The school was all talks about how Tommy's party went down. At first, people said Billy had beaten Tommy to a pulp. By the third day, it was generally believed that they'd got into a fight because Billy'd broken his bed. 

Rumors around here tended to spread like wildfire, and they only strayed further away from the truth with each whisper. You believed only 20% of that, which was that Billy got into a fight with Tommy, but the spur was still unknown.

There wasn't anyone you could ask to confirm anyway, even though Tommy was always in the parking lot, surrounded by gasping students, yelling about how he got at least a few ribs broken. By the intensity he put in his words, it was obvious that all his bones were mostly intact.

Billy's car was there, but the owner was nowhere to be seen. This had been the case for the past three days. His car would be parked outside early, empty and deserted. It was like he didn't want to give you a single chance of approaching him. He was skipping math lessons, and the only time you saw him was when he turned the corner into the gym. He was a phantom the rest of the time. It was hard to determine whether he was deliberately avoiding you since he'd always been the one to approach you back then, but you knew the answer deep down. It would make perfect sense after the... mishap that happened that night.

It was an accident to you, because you knew that you'd never let yourself be so rash had your mind been clearer. To be frank, you remembered only two-thirds of what happened. He came to find you at the dead of the night, you talked, you had some cigarette, you felt that you'd die if you didn't tell him your feelings immediately, then you went and said the L word--

You would rather not think about it.

"Anyways, where's Hargrove?" Steve asked casually. He was giving you a ride to the post office so that you could submit your carefully packaged art to the organizer. "Strange that he hasn't been stealing you away."

"Don't know. Haven't seen him."

Steve was immediately suspicious. "Did something happen?"

You hadn't told him anything that happened at Weathertop. "Maybe he's still hungover after the party."

"Right..." He dragged his word out. "What actually went down though?"

"Wouldn't know."

The post office came around the corner, bringing a halt to his questions. A woman in her 40s was seated behind the counter, chewing gum loudly as she scratched the tip of her painted nails. It took three knocks on the plastic window for her to snap out of her daydreams. You had to monitor the whole transfer in fear that she'd bump the package against the wall and create a glorious dent on the canvas.

The moment it left your sight, the certainty in your chest lost its gravity. You weren't even totally sure why you joined in the first place, just that Billy was really adamant. Perhaps his little push was all it took.

You didn't notice the tricks up Steve's sleeves until it was too late. He dragged you to a nearby diner and ordered a whole table of fries, all so that he could have the chance to interrogate you properly. 

"Say you really win this thing. Are you really going to an art school then?" He asked between bites. 

"Jeez, I haven't thought that far," That was a lie. You'd been tossing the idea over and over in your head every waking second. It wasn't a decision to be made rashly after all. 

"Says the one who always has her shit together." Something flitted through his eyes. "You know that I'll give you full support no matter what, right?"

You stabbed a fry deep into the ketchup. "Of course."

"Good." 

You finished it off in two bites.

"Can you tell me what actually happened with Hargrove then?"

"Steve," You leaned back in your seat, face scrunched up in annoyance. He immediately threw his hands up in defense, though he wasn't going to let you off the hook again.

"No, I need to know! If that bastard hurt you--"

"He didn't hurt me, Steve."

"Then what the hell happened?"

"He's busy, that's all."

"He doesn't even go to class."

You huffed, and for a moment looked like you were going to cry, but you heaved a deep breath and made it go away. "It wasn't his fault. I scared him off."

Steve leaned in, prompting you to continue.

"I... the night of the party, Billy came by Weathertop. He might've ditched the party or something, I don't know, but he'd obviously been in a fight. We talked for a while, I smoked a little and got dizzy, and I told him that I--"

He blinked.

"That I was quite possibly in love with him. It was stupid. I shouldn't have said that."

With a sigh, Steve pushed his fingers deep inside his nest of hair, like he was trying to make sense of rocket science. It was understandable. Imagine knowing that not only did your friend try smoking, but also fell head over heels for someone you'd been warning about since day one. 

As if it would make everything better, you added, "It's unexpected for me too."

Faint music came out of the radio, and a few tables behind a man was clinking his fork against the plate. Your eyes found purchase on a woman opposite of the road, walking her dog with a serene look in her eyes. You waited and waited.

"Is it though? Unexpected?" Steve started, looking down on the food. "I think I've always known. The way you were growing closer, the look you had in your eyes when you're watching him. I guess love works in inexplicable ways, huh?"

There was hurt in his eyes, and you could tell that he wasn't just saddened because of this sudden revelation. He was reminiscing about something, or rather someone. 

"Do you think it was wrong? That I shouldn't have said it?"

"I don't know him, Y/N. For all I know, and I have to say this, he could've just bailed. Put an end to all this. Maybe he was confused. I have no idea what goes on in that head of his, but if there's one thing I know, love isn't right or wrong. Maybe it really was bad timing, but what you're feeling is real, and it doesn't deserve to be judged upon."

You sucked in a breath. "Wow. That's deep."

He laughed bitterly, and as he picked up another fry, it felt like all the tension in the air had dispersed like a fog cleared by a gust of wind. "Gotta ask though. What do you really see in him?"

He might sound nosy asking such a question, but you knew it was also partly out of curiosity. Billy, in a lot of people's eyes, wasn't the best candidate to fall for.  He was more of a one-night-stand kind of guy, maybe a short fling to a few. But to you, he was none of those things.

"He's not that insufferable to me. Sure, he has violent tendencies, and sure, he could get unsympathetic, but there's more to him. I think deep down there's someone who's just as genuine and fragile as all of us. He was the one who pushed me to get into this competition, Steve. Without him, I probably would've thrown away all my brushes and paints already. But if I have to pinpoint when I realized that, it was when we were spending the night together back at the inn. I feel like he was being the truest version of himself. Not the asshole, not the damn king or whatever, but just a friend who's stranded in the middle of the storm with me,"

Steve still had some uncertainties etched into his brows. 

"Girls usually flock to him like moths to fire. He doesn't even have to ask to have someone kiss his face off. The thing is, I didn't want to smush faces with him, but I didn't turn him down either. Falling in love with him was an accident, but getting to know him was a choice. I did it on purpose, and if anyone else was to try as I did, they would see the same thing I can see."

"Your eyes sparkle when you talk about him, you know." Steve pointed out after a few seconds of blank silence, and you blinked subconsciously. His lips curled into a smile. "Although that doesn't work so well in changing my opinions. He's still a disaster."

"A disaster I fell in love with." You shrugged before trying to steer the conversation away from this topic. Talking about it might be a tad embarrassing, but it made you realize how much Billy meant to you. All those moments spent talking to him weren't something you could just throw away without a care, and you weren't going to let things between you stay broken, not without giving it your best.

--

Finding someone had never been so hard before. Trying to track down Billy felt like a wild goose chase, and it didn't help that you had a pursuer of your own. Ms. Kelly, the counselor, had been trying to reach out to you concerning something about holding talks to improve students' values. Chances were they'd seen the purple, swollen spots on Tommy's face and decided that they weren't going to tolerate teenagers going around and beating the shit out of each other anymore.

You ended up finding him a few days later when he was enjoying his last few breaths of fresh air before he had to enter the school. He had his back to you, looking out at the people passing him as he lifted his cigarette. You raised your hand and were about to grab his attention when he turned abruptly, jolting back before he could crash into you. 

"Hey," You said, fiddling the hem of your shirt with your uncomfortably vacant hands.

"Hey," He said through a sigh.

"I think we need to talk. About that night."

"Right," His cigarette dangled between his teeth as he waited. It was obvious that he didn't want to initiate any discussion himself. It was fine with you.

Thoughts swam like a vigorous storm in your head, so you just grabbed the first coherent sentence you could form. "I just… want to say that I'm sorry for dropping the bomb like that. It was probably not the right moment and I was getting foggy from the cig and had no idea what I was saying."

He cleared his throat. "You don't have to apologize. Was it really just the cig talking?"

"I mean--" It would've been hard meeting his eyes, but it wasn't much of trouble considering how he wasn't looking at you either. "It doesn't matter. I just don't want to ruin things between us."

"You won't ruin us. It wasn't your fault anyway."

"Then why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not." He turned to lean against the roof of his car, arms propped up to hold his head. 

You rolled your eyes at his blatant lies. "Yea, sure."

"Just because I'm not sticking to you like glue doesn't mean I'm ignoring you,"

The corner of your eye twitched. There was absolutely no need for him to get defensive like that, but he did anyway. This conversation wasn't going the direction you'd wanted. Something was still bugging him, and now it was bugging you too.

"Look--" He massaged the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "What you said was just surprising. I was caught off guard. We both said shit we didn't mean. End of story."

"But there's still something you aren't telling me! You don't even act like you want us to get better--"

"I don't? Then what the hell are we doing right now?"

"Arguing, apparently, because you got weirdly defensive over nothing!" You took a shuddering breath, willing yourself to calm down. "That's just it, isn't it? You're bored now. You don't want to be attached to any strings. That's why you're being distant."

"If that's what you think of me, then sure." He snapped, throwing the burnt-out cigarette onto the far ground.

Getting into a full-blown yelling session was the last thing you'd want to do, especially not in the parking lot. You were here to fix things, not shatter the broken shards into even tinier pieces. You just had to be... more patient. 

Noticing your effort in regulating your breathing again, Billy shook his head and looked down, eyes shut. "I really can't understand you, pres, and it--" Something caught in his throat. You waited expectantly. One moment he was still gathering courage, and the other his eyes were swimming over your shoulder, widening in shock. "Shit." He cussed and cast you a brief look that spoke absolutely nothing to you before fleeing.

"What?" You raised your arm at his abrupt exit, but then you heard Ms. Kelly speak behind you and you understood immediately. 

"Pity, I almost caught that Hargrove kid. I need to have a chat with him," She returned her gaze to you. "What were you two talking about?"

"I, uh, asked him about what happened with Hagan. He didn't tell me anything."

"That's expected. Well, since we're here, let's discuss the talks I mentioned earlier..."

You nodded along as she babbled on, but your mind was blank as a sheet of white paper. All you could focus on was the upsetting stir in your stomach when you realized that, despite the subtle message that had tried to break through Billy's facade when he gave you that last look, you couldn't understand him. He was a closed book written in a dead language. 

Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw Max stalking around the walls. You looked away promptly. 

--

Billy wanted to put his head through a wall. Or inside a fridge. Either would work. He just needed some distraction.

That's what he'd been telling himself the past few days: All I need is a distraction. Then things will heal by themselves and lay out a path for me. But he might've been wrong.

Maybe things wouldn't have gone so wrong had he not gone up to Weathertop, drunken and confused. Maybe he shouldn't have let his emotions take the wheels because holy shit, they didn't say the things he wanted them to say at all.

This was ironic, because Billy wasn't quite sure what it was that he wanted to say anyway. How was one supposed to respond to 'I think I'm in love with you? The one time someone said something similar to him, he simply hugged her back, burying his tiny, soft face into her tummy, assuming that if he inhaled enough of her scent, she would stay forever. She didn't. He could still remember her perfume though.

Max reached out to turn the music down, which he found offensive. They were on their way home, and she was acting as if she was sitting on a misplaced pea. As they drove past the river, he felt the urge to run the car right into the water. It surprised him that he didn't, considering that Neil and Susan were also returning tomorrow morning.

"I talked to Y/N today." Max started. Billy's grip on the wheel tightened.

"Why?"

"Because I miss her and you won't bring me to her."

"She's not your friend, shitbird."

Max grunted in annoyance. "Evidently she isn't yours either."

"And since when is that any of your business?" Billy turned to her temporarily, brows furrowed. "Do the world a favor and get friends your own age."

"She told me about Weathertop," His heart stopped. "I thought you were at the party."

Billy came to a sharp halt right at the middle of the road, and Max lurched forward with a gasp. "What the fuck was that for?!" She screamed.

"What did she tell you?"

Max frowned, still taken back by the sudden stop. He snatched her wrist in his trembling hand. "Answer me, shithead!"

"Fuck, fine! She told me she said something untimely, that's all!"

The moment he let go of her hand, she started massaging the area with a hiss. It was fortunate that you hadn't told her the specifics. He was going to turn back and reconsider drowning himself if Max out of everyone got a sneak peek at his mess.

No more conversation ensued until they arrived home. Like a bullet, Max stormed out of the car and went straight through the door into her bedroom, slamming the door loudly. Billy told her that he was going to break it down the next time she made such a noise before retreating to his own room. It was impossible to feel comfortable in this room anymore. He saw your shadow on the space in front of the closet, where you'd both sat and talked, and he saw the painting of that beach in the middle of nowhere hung up on the wall. It stood out among his hardcore posters like a single blossom among dry branches.

When the knocking came, he was half passed out. The noise was incessant and adamant though, and he pulled it open with full force and glared at Max. "Fuck do you want?"

"I want to talk about Y/N."

"Spare me." He started to close the door, but she held it open with both hands. 

"Please, I don't want to-- I don't want to see my friend hurt like this."

"Max," He growled. "If you don't let go in three, I'll break your skateboard."

Hesitation flit through her eyes, but she stayed put. Billy's eye twitched. "Three."

Nothing.

"Two."

Still nothing. What the hell was wrong with her?

"One."

Billy flung the door open. Max stumbled as he looked around for her beloved skateboard. Panicking, she ran in front of him. "Please, just hear me out this one time."

"No, fuck you and your nosy head."

"I just want to know what happened that night! It's obvious how awkward you are with each other right now, and I can't bear to see that, because--" She faltered. "Because you are much nicer around her, and I want my brother to be like that again. You're a totally different person when you two are together! What could've happened?"

"Do you think I'm really going to consult my own sister about my problems?"

"I may as well be your only option unless you want to go to that guy whom you beat up."

He'd always known how ridiculously righteous Max could be. Even when she was still learning basic math, she liked to roam around the house like a security guard. Whenever someone in the family looked down, she'd go up to them and offer them help, as if those tiny, fragile hands could do more than hold a spoon. It didn't take long for her to understand that Neil wasn't someone she should have on the list of people she cared about, and soon later she crossed Billy out in the same manner. Susan... Well, she was always sad. There was no helping her.

It was shameful to admit this, but Max was probably the more sociable twin. Sure, Billy was the one who crashed parties and dominated the hallways, but she had real friends that she could stick around. On the other hand, he was untrained and unfamiliar, like he'd been studying for the wrong exam.

Fine. Maybe a tutorial lesson wouldn't hurt so much.

Max sat in the far corner inside his room as he shook his leg on the edge of his bed. She was waiting for him to come forward with what you really said to him. So he did, in a flat tone, trying to act like he didn't care.

"Okay," She inhaled. "What did you say to that?"

"That it wouldn't work. That I couldn't possibly return her love."

Her head drooped. "What?"

"Are you here to judge me or help me?"

"Both, so shoulder it like a man. Why would you even say that?"

"I was confused, alright? What would you even have said if you were in my shoes?"

"Oh, I don't know, tell the truth?"

"My confusion was true."

"But what was really stopping you?"

Billy scratched his scalp. This felt like an awful interrogation, but he tried to recall the details of that confession anyways, unpacking the bomb that'd already gone off and couldn't possibly explode again. 

He wasn't lying about feeling confused, but fear had also played a part. He should've been ecstatic that you loved him because that was all he could've asked for. Instead, he chickened out because it was that unlikely to happen to him. You were almost his polar opposite. While he was busy digging a hole to bury his feelings, you were authentic and unafraid, and you made love look so easy and unexpected.

"It wasn't easy for Y/N, you know," Max snapped him out of his train of thoughts. "I mean, confessing to you? It's probably the greatest risk any teenager can take. The smart ones know that you'll never be a part of anything serious. Y/N trusted you enough though."

And then he went and shattered that trust. Would you ever believe in him again?

"So what was it, Billy?"

It was his scraped knuckles. He didn't tell you how it sent the faintest shock of pain through his veins when you touched his bruises. He didn't tell you about the maniacal laughs spilling out of Tommy's mouth as he sacrificed himself for drama. He didn't tell you all the awful things he'd done, even before he came to Hawkins. The thought of telling you how easy it was for him to break things tore him apart. He could find no words to tell his truth, that there was always rage in his arms and that they were always looking for a place to land on, that he would sometimes stand in front of the mirror and ball his fists until all his fingers' joints popped and strained. That he had the tendency to ruin everything good.

He already ruined his mother and all the relationships that came after. He couldn't add you to the list. 

"I was afraid that she would hate me for who I really am." Neil's face intruded his mind. Maybe if Neil wasn't his father, he wouldn't see him in so many places.

"So you're not ready to tell her?"

Billy paused, then shook his head. As if that was somehow the answer she was looking for, Max smirked confidently and leaned forward. "Then that's what we're going to work on."

For the better part of the afternoon, she dumped a bunch of tips on opening up on her poor confused brother. There was writing a letter, but words had never been his forte. Then she tried to get him to practice, which was shot down by him after he stuttered thrice. Her next suggestion was to talk back-to-back, but the grumpy boy complained about its absurdity before they could even give it a try.

"You are not any better at this game, are you?" He snapped.

"Well then, maybe what you need to do is to man the fuck up!" Max glared at him boldly like he couldn't just storm out and light her skateboard on fire. "Grab her a bunch of roses and an expensive cake and get your ass to her doorstep!"

"I'll give you one more chance to say that in the right tone." Billy strained his eyes, pulling out an intimidating scowl.

"You know what? I don't have to. This is your mess anyway! I don't have to clean up your mess!" Max shot up from her spot in a fury, waiting for a response. Finally, with a dissatisfied groan, Billy ushered her to sit back down. She might be an annoying helping hand, but he would be totally helpless without her. 

Diving right back into business, Max snatched a piece of paper off his desk and started jotting down things that girls liked. "Surely at least one of these will work on her."

So that's what Billy spent the rest of the day doing-- going through the list, contemplating on whether any of those things would appeal to you. A lot of them he knew would attract dozens of ladies with no difficulties, but you weren't like them. There wasn't anything in particular that stuck with him, but he didn't tell Max because he didn't want her to throw another stupid tantrum. Her previous mention about a cake kept resurfacing at the back of his mind though.

It was what he settled with at the end. A handmade cake, and he was going to have it done as soon as possible and get it to you tonight. He had no idea what would happen tomorrow when Neil came back, and he didn't want to sit around and wait for fate to kick him in the ass.

"Now, let's talk about my payment." Max buried her fists into her sides, craning her head up in anticipation. They were now in the kitchen. "I want to go to Will's house tonight."

"Who's that?" Billy asked nonchalantly, rummaging through the cabinets for ingredients. Susan wasn't the type to make desserts, but she still kept some basics around.

"Will Byers?"

His hand hovered mid-air. "The freaky kid who came back from the dead?"

"Hey! He's a nice guy. And I deserve it after helping you for soooo long."

Fuck it. The house was empty anyways, and he could use some alone time. "Fine. Don't be back later than me."

"When are you returning then?"

"That's something you have to figure out yourself." Billy said. Max rolled her eyes in disbelief. 

--

By the time Billy was done with the hand-sized sponge cake, the sun was already long gone, and he'd already practiced how to confront you for a minimum of six times. It was frustrating, but he knew better than to let it out on the dough. 

He already screwed up too many times. He wasn't going to ruin this again.

After carefully transferring the cake into the best looking box he could find, he started looking through his packed wardrobe for something suiting. He settled with a simple dark suit, at first buttoning all the way up but then deciding to let loose at the collar. Looking like a business major wasn't really his thing. 

Cake, check. Outfit, check. Apology, check. He was all set until he heard engines nearing outside.

What the fuck?

Blood running cold, he rushed to the window and peeked through the curtain. Neil's car was rolling into the driveway like an impending judgement. Billy pulled away from the view and backtracked.

Max had already left. He should make a run for the window. He cradled the paper bag in his arm and raced toward his room, only to be stopped by the sound of the door opening. Fuck me.

Standing at the doorway was Neil, who was eyeing Billy suspiciously. "You're going out?"

"You're home early." He swallowed painfully.

"Is that not to your liking?" Neil retorted. Susan emerged from behind, hair a little ruffled, an immature pout stuck to her face. "Susan got pickpocketed. We lost the vacation mood and decided to come back early."

"Nice."

A thick veil of tension draped upon the living room. Neil was staring into Billy's soul as Susan moved the luggage inside the house. The only coherent thought in Billy's thought was: please get into your room. Please don't ask anything.

"Let's go out for dinner?" Susan suggested. Billy wasn't sure if she was too dense to notice the awkwardness or if she was trying to make it better. She wasn't helping in any way possible, though.

"I already ate," Billy said. "We. We had takeout."

"Did you now?" Neil asked, a thick brow raised in challenge. He knew, and he was toying with Billy.

"Well, that is fine," Susan butted in once again and walked toward Max' room. She was so smooth and quick that Billy wasn't able to stop her before she reached the door. "Maxine, sweetheart?"

Billy looked back at Neil. He was glaring.

"Is she not at home?" Susan said slowly, like she was in a play of her own.

"It's past curfew. She should be inside, right, son?"

Billy's heart hammered. "She isn't."

Finally, Susan was quiet.

"Excuse me?" 

"Max isn't here. I don't know where she is."

"Well, it is your job to know, isn't it?" Neil raised his volume, and when he wasn't met with a response, he yelled, "Isn't it?"

"Yes, sir." Billy despised how his voice was slightly trembling. As was his body, but he was trying to stand tall.

As Neil flung his arm up to rub his head, Billy flinched away instinctively. Neil stared at him with amusement. 

"Darling--" Susan started.

"Have you been having fun since we left? I bet you did. I bet you broke every single rule I set for you, and forgot every responsibility I ever taught you," Neil nodded to himself. "And you were planning to go out! Must've felt good being a rebel."

He walked further into the living room, circling the sofa as he thought to himself. He was obviously mad, but he wasn't bringing his fists down yet. He was trying to delay Billy's punishment, which was worse than a direct punch to his teeth. The door was still wide open. He could make a run for it, but his feet were firmly planted on the floor, and he was forced to face this sleep paralysis demon that was actually his goddamn sick-in-the-head father.

"A rebel--" Neil finally lurched forward and grabbed at the paper bag in Billy's hand. "--Give it to me!"

Billy tucked at his end of the bag persistently. It was much easier to fight when you were on his mind, much like that time when Neil'd called you with the most unfitting and insulting name. It shocked even him, the way he spoke back to the person who'd been laying punches on him.

"Let go, you son of a bitch!" Seeing that the tug of war wasn't going anywhere, he threw his fist back and let it fly directly into Billy's nose, and thus started the bloodbath. The bag flew out of both of their grasps and landed on the ground in defeat. 

"You're not going anywhere, you hear me?" Neil grabbed a fistful of Billy's mullet and pulled him up close. "No, no. You need a fucking lesson."

He let go with a forceful shake of his wrist and walked towards the door, closing the only exit Billy could go through. Susan had retreated to the very end of the living room as alway, like a coward who could only pray to herself that the fight would end soon, but never once acted on it.

Noticing Billy's hateful gaze on Susan, Neil grabbed a plastic cup off the coffee table and threw it at the back of his head. "Look at the person who's disciplining you, shithead!"

"I'm not a shithead," Billy grumbled, curling his fingers inward.

"Keep telling that to yourself." Neil said, grabbing more trinkets to throw at his son despite the fact that he was very good at dodging. When he finally got bored with throwing useless shit around, he walked up to Billy and gestured to him to stand against the wall. "Stay there, and don't move an inch. I want a proper apology from you."

What the fuck am I apologizing for, being your son? Billy thought to himself, the rage pent up inside him rumbling like a ill-contained storm. He wanted to let it out so badly, but he'd never done it before and he wasn't ready to find out what the repercussion would be.

He complied, slumping against the wall with his head raised and tipped backward. "Sorry, sir."

"Sorry for what?" 

"Sorry for not looking after Maxine." Like it was his fault.

"And?"

"And," Billy swallowed, searching inside his mind, trying to find the names for the crimes he didn't commit. "And for not fulfilling my job when you were away."

"Go on." 

"That's it, sir." He concluded quietly,

"That's it?" Neil asked. Billy nodded. Then his fist came back again, this time stronger than the last, and it left a tingling numbness on Billy's cheek. "That's fucking it? There's a ton of things you've never apologized for! How about not being someone who's actually smart and not just a jock who picks girls off the street?" He grabbed Billy's arm as he tried to stand, only to send him back again with another punch. "How about fucking up every single thing I told you to do? How about getting us into this spectacular shithole of a town?"

That was actually Max' fault. Billy tried to pry Neil's hand off of him, but with every contact with the cold merciless floor, left the very tiny energy that remained in his limbs.

"I'm tired, Billy. I'm tired of your stupid face and I'm tired of you living in my house like a parasite." Neil stared down at the battered boy on the floor. "But mostly, I am tired of you ruining my life. It's all you've been doing ever since your mother brought you alive, and you're not satisfied with fucking her up. You have to fuck me up too?" 

As Neil walked over to the trashed bag on the floor and kicked it to the far side, Billy heard a ringing booming in his head as his vision blurred. All those punches were finally reflecting on his body, the fading numbness paving way for the sharp pain that was sure to bother him for days to come. Through the confusing colors, he could make out a few things. The sound of the paper bag being kicked around like a football, Susan's hazy face as she stood and watched, and overlapping words flitting through his mind. 

It was true. He fucked everyone's life up. His family's, his friends', including Tommy's, and his very own. Maybe he deserved it, after all. Maybe it was all he could be. But if there was anyone he trusted, it was you, as stupid as it might sound. And you'd once told him that he could be anyone he wanted, so he believed that too.

"Don't think that I take pleasure in beating you up, kid. I'm only doing it to make you better..." Neil said, now standing with his back to Billy. There was a porcelain plate on the coffee table, not far from Billy's reach. He grunted and got on his knees, pushing himself away from the floor because he wasn't going to just lie around and play dead.

"You'd think I enjoy it, but my knuckles get all sore afterwards, ain't that right, sweetheart?" Neil turned to Susan, who was watching Billy with parted lips. Before he could react, Billy had already snuck up on him and gave him a firm, spiteful push. Neil stumbled forward and held his arms up between his face and the wall. "You son of a--"

"Bitch? I'm your son, dad," Billy said shakily, but he didn't freeze this time Neil dived for him. He dodged to the side and watched Neil stumble forward awkwardly, like he was surprised that the punching bag was evading his attacks. 

"Guys, please--" Susan started, but was shot down mercilessly. "Shut it, Susan," Neil grunted as he lunged forward again, like a dog without a leash, a wild animal that was getting rid of a competitor in his habitat. Billy kept slipping out of his reach, now with ease and confidence. After a few desperate tries, Neil finally slowed, and Billy took the chance to kick his side and send him to the floor. He landed with a beautiful thud, like music to ears.

"Look me in the eyes," Billy leaned down and spoke each word with enough force, making sure Neil could not only hear them but also feel them on his face. "I'm not a bitch, and I'm not going to stand and take your beating. You're not as powerful as you think--"

The words caught in his throat as Neil swept his feet. He plummeted again, wincing. Pain blossomed on his arm, which he used to absorb most of the shock. Neil grabbed the porcelain plate in the meanwhile and raised it high in the air, face sweaty with veins popping up on his neck. As the bowl shaded the light ahead, Billy saw only a ruthless villain, lost in violence. He rolled to the side. The glass shattered into pieces, flying in all directions. Holding the remaining shard in his hand, Neil struck again, and this time Billy caught his wrist with both of his hands and knocked him in the stomach. He walked backwards and watched his father move with intense concentration.

Neil swung his hand around madly, and the heat was getting into Billy's head too, because he was feeling more frantic by the second. There were narrow misses as he tried to be the offensive side, but when there was such a weapon threatening you, you couldn't help acting cautious. He didn't even realize that he had been backed to another wall until the sharp point was looming before him and he had nowhere to retreat to. He turned to the side and let his shoulder take the hit, screaming as he felt his skin pierce under the grass.

"Hah!" Neil scoffed, taking pleasure in the sight of his son's blood, drawn by none other than him. Susan gasped at the corner of the room and ran out of sight. Billy couldn't care less as he moved to punch the smile off Neil's face. The pride was wiped off entirely as Billy pounded his fists into Neil's broken nose and bloody lips, feeling the bones crunch under his hands, the pain in his shoulder so intense that he felt nauseous. 

"Oh, oh god!" Susan emerged from the washroom, now holding a wooden first aid kit. It was only when Billy decided to get off the immobile man that she had the guts to get closer, her body shaking terribly. "Oh, Billy, darling, what have you done?"

He looked at all the blood on the floor and wondered which was his and which was his own father's. He wondered about whether he was going to jail for this, and whether the police would trust him. The ones back in California never believed in him because Neil had an incredible talent in blackmailing people. The living room was trashed, furniture shoved to the side and dozens of mixed shards lying on the floor. Everything looked wrecked as hell. 

It didn't really feel like anything had changed at all, Billy thought as he moved his fingers slightly, feeling the strain in his muscles. He didn't let himself blink at the sight until his eyes were running dry, then he tore them away and darted for the door.

He still had amends to make.

--

The school should've realized that holding talks did nothing to stop students from punching each other by now. And yet, you were still drafting up the stupid invitation letter because it was your rightful duty. 

Some nights you just wanted to evade your responsibilities and sleep. This was one of those nights, but to no one's surprise, you were adamant that you finished the work as soon as possible. Another reason was that you wanted to wear yourself out enough so you wouldn't form unnecessary thoughts.

A little past midnight, you decided that it was late enough for you to pass out. You crawled into your cozy bed and turned off the bedside lamp.

The silence was soon interrupted by something hitting against the window. You brushed it off as the tree. 

The assumption was revoked when it repeated the second, then the third, then the fourth time. Finally, you resolved to check it out yourself and whipped open the curtain and pushed the window.

Normally at this hour, you could only make out silhouettes and contours in the dark, but tonight there was a blue Camaro parked right outside, its headlights glaring into the darkness. In the middle of the blinding night stood Billy, expression unreadable. Your heart leapt, the sleepiness perishing quickly.

"What are you doing here?" You whisper-yelled. You didn't want to risk waking up your aunt in the adjacent room.

"I wanted to talk." He said quietly. There was a sincerity in his voice that made his offer impossible to refuse, even though he had never really been in your room before and the only time he brought it up, it created such an... unpleasantness between you.

It turned out that Billy sucked at climbing. There were cussing and hissing whenever he lost purchase on the wall or the bricks, but he eventually made it. When he was about eye-level with you, you smiled a little. "You really suck at this--"

Your words hung in the air when you saw the soaked state of his right sleeve and the crimson trickling down his arm. A piece of shard was sticking out of his shoulder. "Shit, Billy."

You immediately helped him inside and settled him on the bed. He glanced around curiously before looking back at you with pursed lips. 

Neither of you spoke for a few seconds before you concluded, "You need to go to a hospital."

"No, no. I can't yet." He said stubbornly, and you were about to retort when you realized that there might be a perfectly justifiable reason. Perhaps whatever that led to a piece of glass in his shoulder wasn't something the authority should know. 

You shook your head and went out to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom. You weren't the best at treating wounds, but you also weren't going to just let him bleed out. When you returned, he was holding your sketchbook in his hands, looking back at you like a criminal caught red-handed. On the page was the sketch you did of him back when you were sitting at the back of the gym, lounging around with sweet Picasso. You sat down next to him and jerked the book out of his hand with a condemning glare.

"Wanna tell me what happened?" You asked, rolling his sleeves up. For a moment there, he really looked like he was going to say something, but it fell through as he remained in silence. "Fine then. This may hurt a little."

With as little trembling as possible, you removed the white glass with the sterilized tweezer, wiped the blood off the visible area, and put the biggest bandage you could find over it. He didn't even make a hiss throughout.

Seeing that he wasn't saying shit was maddening to say the least. He had just ignored you for days, and that little chat wasn't anywhere near friendly, and now he was sitting in your room, requiring your help so that he wouldn't bleed all over the place. All without an explanation. 

"You can take the bed. I'll get the sleeping bag--" You stood up in defeat. To your surprise, Billy grabbed your wrist and led you back down, almost desperately. 

"It was... it was my dad." He said. Your breath caught in your throat. "He was mad because I let Max stay out past curfew."

From the way he was peeking at you for any signs of repulsion, you almost felt bad having felt annoyed at his secrecy. "Does he do this to you often?"

"Whenever he gets angry. And he gets angry... quite all the time."

Pieces were starting to fall back together. You recalled his fighting poses and wondered how many times they imitated those of his father's. 

"He likes to think that it's my fault. My fault that every single bad thing happened to him, my fault that mum left, my fault that we had to leave sweet California--"

"It's not your fault, Billy. I'm sure of it." You stopped him, bringing your finger up to trace the edge of the bandage. He watched with intrigue before continuing.

"You don't know that."

"No, but I know you." You said. 

"As a horrible person?" He scoffed pitifully. You rolled your eyes and took his face in yours. He stilled against your touch for a split second before immediately melting into it.

"As someone who doesn't deserve any of this happening to you, no matter how bad you may've been."

Billy exhaled shakily. "Doesn't stop me from being horrible. I... I knocked him out and left him there. With his wife."

"It still wasn't your fault."

"It doesn't change the fact that I have blood on my hands, does it?" He snapped quietly. "It's like no matter what I do, I'm still the old me who can't accomplish anything but bring shame to the family."

"What he says doesn't determine who you are. You are your own person, right?"

He glanced at you briefly, like he couldn't stand looking at you for too long. "That's funny. I don't even know who I really am." He paused. "I've been acting how others expect me to for so long."

"If it's any help, the Billy I know is this-- he was there to cheer me on as I picked up painting again, and he was there to ride out the storm with me in an inn in the middle of nowhere. But most importantly, the Billy I know showed the realest sides of himself to me, something that I never would've expected from him."

Something glistened in his eyes. "Is that what made you... you know. Say that back on Weathertop?"

"That I am in love with you?" You teased. He shook his head in disbelief. "Yes. I believe so."

He moved to bury his face into your shoulder, and you decided to pull him down to lie with you altogether. He shifted so that he wasn't straining his injured side, and let himself relax next to your warmth.

"What if I can't be good enough for you?" He mused once again, his fingers flinching as his mind ran.

"It's already enough that you want to be good. We are all bad in some senses, but not everyone has the courage to face it."

"Well, Max might've helped talk some sense into me."

You pulled away and looked into his eyes, amused. Never would you have thought that he would be lectured by her. "Max did?"

"Yea. She reminded me that you must've trusted me a lot or something." He gulped. "I was really scared that I'd hurt you. Fuck, it sounds so stupid, I know, but I don't know how to control myself sometimes."

You let yourself ponder his words, fingers smoothing out his tangled locks. "I'll give you my last request then."

"We're still at that?" He frowned.

"Of course. Five requests, remember? This is how it goes. I just want you to keep trying. We'll always figure something out, be it about your father or about yourself. You simply have to hold on. Love will come to you one day, I promise."

Billy went quiet for a few minutes then, and you worried if you'd spoken too much or gone too sappy. But then he nodded against your collarbone. You could hear the smile in his voice. "I promise not to give up. Does this mean I've finally got the date?"

"I think you earned more than just a date, mister." You leaned down, your lips capturing his like magnets. His warmth against you was making your nerves go haywire, but there was no other place you'd rather be right now. He was safe in your arms, and he was real. He was very real.

After what felt like forever and 2 seconds at the same time, you turned around to turn the lamp off. "Get some rest. We'll deal with whatever happens tomorrow."

His breathing was way more steady now, and he was so peaceful and calm that you doubted he was still awake, but then he spoke against the silent pitch blackness, clear and soft.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Y/N." 

--

Billy laid awake the entire night. 

His shoulder had already stopped hurting, and the image of Neil having been absolutely destroyed had stopped haunting him. No, it was your body pressed up against his that kept him up for hours on. 

He couldn't begin to fathom how lucky he was to have you here like this, totally passed out, quiet but so very real. He move a strand of hair out of your face with the same hand he'd used to connect with Neil's jaw. These fingers that once drew blood were trying to do something soft now. 

His heart might not be ripe for harvest yet, but he had a feeling that this softness would pay off. Then maybe one day, he would find himself in the most ridiculous situation and realize love for what it really was. At that time, he would've changed into someone you deserved. 

For now, he just had to believe in you.