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Billy never thought he could have this. sitting on the couch, hands itching for a cigarette that he can’t smoke, not in the house. surrounded by people he loves. and not the fake, routinely expressed love of his family before. no; this is different. this is ease and comfort. breathing deeply and not flinching when voices get excited. not having to put up a front.
everyone is talking over each other. voices bleed over each other, people sprawled across couches and floors and blankets. Max and El are laying on the floor, laughing about something and clutching their stomachs. a terrible, not-so-hidden part of Billy hates them for how carelessly happy they are. but then he remembers the nights when Max comes over and they sit in his room together. in silence. listening to the proof that the other one is alive. how, on the worst nights, El and him end up on opposite ends of the same couch he’s sitting on, head in hands, blaring some of Billy’s music to distract from thoughts.
they truly make up a house of misfits. outsiders. unwanted, unhealed souls.
but things are okay. better.
Steve is next to him, talking mindlessly about his week. Billy has been listening in and out. focusing isn’t the easiest thing in the world for him after everything. Steve knows, though, and Billy’s never mocked for the countless times he’s said “what” or stared blankly when questions are asked.
“-and this asshole at work can’t keep his fucking hands to himself. it’d be okay if it was just me, god knows I can handle some creep, but it’s the others too. Robin and the other family video workers. always comes in during my shift.”
“he ever touches you again, I’ll fucking kill him,” promises Billy. blessedly, Steve doesn’t mention that Billy sometimes can hardly walk around, the pain arching across his body too strong to ignore with a grimace. at least, that’s what everyone tells him. his sour face and pained noises give him away, now that there are people who care.
he’s not alone anymore. maybe it was easier when he was, though. he doesn’t really know how to do this. let people in. let feelings out.
“those violent delights have violent ends,” quotes Steve. “or something like that.”
“you gettin’ all metaphorical on me, bambi?” teases Billy, leaning into Steve. a moth to a flame. an addict to his drug.
“it’s shakespeare, dipshit.” Steve’s laugh. Billy can’t count the amount of times it’s saved him from the edge. the edge of terror in the middle of daylight. the edge of one more breakdown. the edge of sanity as he knows it.
“sorry, I haven’t been keeping up with my summer reading. I’ll have to get back on that before school starts,” deadpans Billy.
the thing is, he knows it’s a sore subject for Steve. Steve, who hated school. but Steve graduated. Billy never gets the chance. he can’t even check out a fucking library book. because the government, apparently, thinks that he won’t go crazy boxed up in this house. he doesn’t get a new identity, no, that would cause too many questions. fuck what he needs, just stay here and watch everyone else grow up. leave. they would anyway. he was always going to be stuck here, in this town, screaming with all his voice. please. someone let him out.
“shit, baby, I didn’t mean-“
“I know you didn’t,” interrupts Steve. Billy should know better, by now, but he never learns. he never has. he just keeps hurting people, it feels like. luckily, it’s not that unfamiliar of a feeling.
“Billy. it’s okay,” promises Steve. “I don’t give a shit about that anymore.” for some reason that just. makes Billy mad. madder than he has any right to be at all.
(but Billy thinks he lost his right to any emotions at all, so maybe he’s not the best judge on that.)
because Billy does give a shit. he does. he didn’t really like school, but it was some place to go. somewhere he had control over some things.
so he gets quiet. apparently that’s how he deal with anger now. doesn’t lash out with his words or his fist. until he’s pushed further.
“I mean, jesus christ, who would want to go back to school? the popularity. the contests. the speaking behind people’s back.”
“maybe that was just you.” Billy’s sulking now, his voice taking an edge that makes him want to punch himself.
“what?”
“maybe that’s just you. some people actually enjoyed getting to go somewhere and see people. at least it was a reason to get out of the house.” he’s sure he’s imagining it, the draft he feels in the room. the way the air goes cold. his hair stands on end, his short strands sticking up.
“yeah, not everyone could be king of the school. it wasn’t always what you make it out to be. I’m sure if you made it to senior year-“
“but I didn’t. and I can make it out to be whatever the fuck I want to make it out to be. at least you fucking graduated. I go through hell and back and I can’t even get myself out of here.” the thing is, it’s unfair. this whole thing. Steve and him, they don’t fight. not anymore. not after they threw blind punches that one night, conflict over a misunderstanding. one that caused Billy a week curled up on his bed, too scared to walk out the door because he was certain, positive, that Neil was on the other side. a week of paranoia and pain.
it’s easier if they don’t fight.
if only he could remember that now, when he needs to. when he’s curling his fists and counting his breath and closing his eyes.
Steve laughs. it’s not the sound Billy wants to hear, though. it’s crass and crude and a bit on edge. “high school wasn’t something that gets you out of here. nothing, and I mean nothing, can get anyone out of this shitty town. you think you went through hell? so did every single person in this room, and none of us got out of here.”
“really?” their voices are getting louder. hushed whispers only last so long. everyone else clears out of the room, leaving behind scared glances. like Billy could do anything to hurt Steve.
“believe me, I know that. I’m the one that did that to them. it’s not self pity that drives me to want to escape this place. I know how to deal with bad situations, Harrington.” there’s terrible truth to his words.
“so I’m back to Harrington now? no pretty pet names when you’re pissed at me, I guess. tell me, if it’s not self pity, what is it? because I can’t think of another reason-“
“I’m a burden here. there’s no one here that needs me, not like they need to others. I hurt people and I cause sleepless nights. if I could leave, it would be better for everyone. but I can’t. I still can’t drive a fucking car because all I see is you and the kids in that parking lot. scared shitless. the engine revving and lights flashing.” Billy doesn’t give Steve the chance to interrupt, continuing his tirade against himself with conviction. “I can just run away. I can’t even fucking walk away. so yeah, maybe. maybe in some world where I finished high school with my fucking 3.5 GPA I would be somewhere else and not here ruining everyone around me.”
“I can’t believe you still think like that,” says Steve with horror. and, oh, he sounds truly horrified. which. well. Billy doesn’t always think like that. only on spiraling bad days. only when Steve isn’t around. and, today.
“sorry your kisses aren’t enough to immediately heal me,” Billy retorts, venom in his voice. of course, he doesn’t mean it. Steve’s helped Billy heal more than anyone else.
“that’s not fair.” it’s a soft accusation from Steve. a valid one. it’s not fair at all.
“nothing is,” comes Billy’s sardonic reply. he gets off the couch and goes down the hallway. slams the door shut. blasts his music and lays down on his bed.
Billy doesn’t sleep that night. he can’t, not when Steve is out there. being mad at him.
see, he’s used to the world being mad at him. not Steve. or maybe Steve is his world. he needs sleep.
Billy can’t fucking believe their fighting about high school, of all goddamn things. Billy was never that passionate about it when it was happening, why should he be now? all that he has is to lose.
in the morning, when he decides he’s tried to sleep enough, Billy tells himself he’s going to make things better. for him. for Steve.
if only things were that easy. Steve finally, finally comes around during lunch to pick up El and Will for the arcade.
using all his will, Billy goes over and leans on the front of Steve’s car. next to Steve. it’s his opportunity to make things right. he’s not going to fuck it up. he’s going to be the good one for once.
“I don’t want to fight anymore.” Billy is begging. he knows that. he also has it engraved in his head that “real men don’t beg. ever.” another one of Neil’s shitty mantra’s that he just can’t get out of his head. it’s as close as he’ll ever get to begging.
“Billy, I don’t want to do this right now. come on, let’s just take the kids and deal with this later.”
“no.” it’s a ghost of the commands he used to give, the power he used to have over people. it’s shallow. empty. but Steve listens, because he’s Steve. he would listen to Billy sing the fucking ABC’s and then tell him thank you. “I want to talk about this now.”
“Billy,” Steve sighs. and that’s enough to make Billy cry, because that’s who he is now. someone who can cry from a single word, the one words that’s supposed to be his own.
“right, yeah. we’ll talk later.” Billy hates the way that his voice shakes. breaks. he hates the knots in his stomach that wind themselves tighter at the word later. because later leaves room for never. and Billy. he can’t deal with another never. not with Steve. he already has a million nevers to deal with.
“no.” Steve’s answer has strength behind it. “Billy, don’t take it like that.”
“it’s okay,” comes Billy’s immediate response. “you don’t have to do that. not for me. save it for the kids, they can use more coddling than me. god knows I should be able to wait a few hours.” and then he runs away. well. as much as he can. really, he pushes himself off the hood of Steve’s car, without grace, and limps himself back to the front door, muttering about damn scars that shouldn’t hurt anymore but they do.
they don’t hurt quite as much, though, as the fact that he’s leaving Steve, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, mouth open in a pretty circle. for what seems like the millionth time, Billy’s pushing and pushing and pushing,waiting for the other person to break. cause then he can blame it on that. say he pushed someone away instead of saying they left him.
it’s the one part of himself he never got rid of. it didn’t get carved out of him with that monster. no gaping whole missing his compulsive distancing, no sir. that part he gets to keep.
coincidentally enough, it’s also a part of himself that he despises the most. and a part that kept him safe. you can’t hurt friends you don’t have.
it never stopped him from loving, though. nothing could ever stop his beating heart from attaching itself to anyone who showed him attention. Steve, Max, Joyce, El. no one can escape his horrible, twisted, heart. the heart that reaches out without his permission and makes living, breathing, even, torture. as if he doesn’t have enough pain to deal with.
Joyce, like usual, seems to know what’s going on. she shoos the other kids out of the way and sits them up down at the kitchen table.
“he didn’t want to talk,” says Billy shortly.
“who? Steve?” Max peeks her head around he corner.
“are you goin’ to the arcade or not? Steve’s leaving.” probably already left after Billy’s pathetic display of an attempt at kindness.
“not anymore.” she takes a seat next to Joyce.
“so, honey, what’s going on?”
“you didn’t hear from the other side of the living room wall?” mumbles Billy tiredly. “we got into it yesterday. something about high school and me saying everything wrong.”
“sounds about right,” comments Max. Joyce nudges her and she corrects herself. “I mean, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. you’re a very sensible person.” the solemn tone of her voice makes her seem older. mature. beyond her teenager years.
“I can’t lose him,” Billy mutters. he can’t.
“kiddo. you won’t. he’s smarter than that. you think I listen every time Jonathan said he hated me in eighth grade? kids do dumb stuff all the time and say even dumber things. you’ll get over this together.” Billy hopes Joyce is right.
“it’s not like either one of you have enough brain cells to actually think about any of this.”
“fuck off, Maxine.” she doesn’t. she stays by his side the whole time he waits for Steve, saying nothing about his bouncing leg. he knows it drives her crazy. he loves her for it.
he gets his second chance to prove himself later that night. he prays that Joyce is right. they’ll get over this together. Steve drops off the kids back home before dark. always before dark.
“hey, pretty boy.” he sidles up next to Steve, leaning against the car. Steve is smoking, one hand shoved in his pocket. “got a minute to talk?”
“sure.” it’s more than Billy expected already. progress.
“look, I feel real bad about everything that happened earlier. you didn’t deserve any if that.”
“see, you’re the asshole,” wonders Steve. “you’re the asshole, but I’m the one who ends up feeling bad every time.”
“you shouldn’t,” says Billy, like his words mean anything right now, like if he could make Steve believe him, somehow, he would. “I know I’m an asshole. that’s the only thing that didn’t change when all that shit happened.”
“at least you’re self aware,” agrees Steve. it feels like an olive branch between them, between whatever fight this is.
“why can’t we just have each other without all this other shit?” Billy mourns. and, oh, isn’t that so true? he mourns for them just like he mourns the childhood he’s ruined for the kids. for Max and El and Will and even Lucas. it feels like all he does is mourn things that aren’t there. but. Steve’s there. he’s here, right beside Billy.
(and he knows it isn’t a dream because he only has nightmares. he can tell it isn’t real when he turns over and Steve isn’t there, no, some dark thing is there and it’s definitely not Steve. Steve is bright and warm and alive.)
why should he mourn now, when this one thing he wants is right there? shit, nothing else has ever been easy for him. why should this be?
fuck it.
“look, Harrington, I don’t know how to do any of this. especially not now. I can’t get out of this fucking driveway without you, and even then my options are limited. I can’t take you to a nice dinner or flirt with you in front of your parents. there are so many things that I just can’t give you, and you deserve someone who can. but, well. I’m too selfish to let you go. shit, you’re one of the only good things I got going for myself, you know? I don’t think I can cope with loosing something else.” his hands are shaking, but not as much as his voice. he. well, he didn’t mean to give himself away that much. show so much of his hand. “you’re the person in this shithole that’s helped me out of my own personal hell. you’ve saved me a million little times from a depth of myself that I hate going into. I couldn’t do anything, anything without you. I think you might be stuck with me for a while. bitchy moods and all. petty fights about high school and all.”
“I just want to come home to you,” breathes Steve, like a prayer. Billy isn’t religious, stopped believe the first time Neil raised a fist, but if believing in some trivial god meant hearing Steve say shit like that, he would get down on his fucking knees. right here, right now. “that’s all I ever want. I don’t care if I come home and you can’t talk because all you hear is It’s voice in your head or you can’t stop talking to drown out the other voices. the ones that scream your name and beg you to save them. it doesn’t matter to me if you’re in your room crying, which i know you do, or you’re with El drawing, which I know you’re shit at. I don’t ask you to take me out to dinner or stop smoking. if you’re in a bad mood I’ll be in a bad mood with you. if you’re looking for a fight, I’ll take the blows because I know you don’t mean a fucking word of what you say when you get that look in your eyes. I would never ask you to take that off.” Steve gestures to the bright pink bracelet that Max gave Billy a few months ago. she has a matching one. he never takes it off. it’s ratty and dulled, and yet.
and yet it’s something that’s truly his.
“I just want you to be home when I walk through the door. and I don’t mean my parents house, where the furniture is uncomfortable and unused. where I can’t sleep without having nightmares about all the people I love across the whole town from me. where I don’t know if you’re okay. where my mom gets drunk and my dad ignores us, like if he doesn’t look he can pretend we aren’t there. most of the time, no one’s there anyway. that’s never been my home.”
“Steve, you don’t have to say this for me.”
“yes, I do,” replies Steve stubbornly. “because I don’t think you believe a word I’m saying.”
“I believe the parts about you being a perfect boyfriend and me being a shitty one,” supplies Billy helpfully.
“you aren’t shitty,” sighs Steve. “you just have a lot of shit to deal with. and I’m here for you through that. you’re going to have bad days. I’m going to have bad days. that’s okay. it’s part of this fucked up town. the one that we unfortunately live in.”
“I’m sorry.” he finally says it. he’s always meant to say it. especially to Steve.
“I know. and you don’t have to be. we all have moments when we wish things were different.” ah. there it is. the awful truth.
“I don’t.”
“what?” Steve, beautiful Steve, looks up at Billy. those big eyes. he’s missed those eyes.
“I don’t wish things are different. if none of this happened I wouldn’t be here with you.” it’s as simple as that. really. “in whatever other world we exist in, this never happens without the rest.”
“you’d take all those things to be with me?” Steve asks. like it isn’t a stupid question. like the answer isn’t right in front of him, manifested in apologizes and stumbling words.
“I would” swears Billy. “I would do it all again to see your smile.” he kisses Steve on the cheek.
“to hear your laugh.” a kiss on the forehead this time.
“to listen to you talk.” Steve’s jaw. a shuttering breath from the both of them.
“I’m still mad at you, you know,” whispers Steve. but his hands are coming up to run through Billy’s shortened hair. gripping right. pulling him close.
“I know, baby. let me make it up to you?”
“lead the way, Hargrove.”