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Make sure nobody sees you leave; hood over your head, keep your eyes down. Tell your friends you're out for a run, you'll be flushed when you return.
It wasn’t meant to be like this, they weren’t meant to be like this. If people found out about how the two of them loved each other, they would be social outcasts at best and Steve didn’t dare to think about a worst-case scenario. They were careful when they were together, sneaking in and out of windows, only showing affection when they were alone, ignoring each other during daylight hours. They had to be careful because they couldn’t imagine not having each other.
The night hours gave them protection from the accusatory glances and the speculatory questions they usually received. Billy would say he was going for a run, Steve said he had another shift to work, that someone was sick. Whatever excuse they could find, they would use.
What started in beautiful rooms ends with meetings in parking lots.
The extravagance of the honeymoon period was always destined to dwindle away, but it never seemed to bother them. “Why would I need all of that when I already have you with me?” Billy used to say as he lit another cigarette. Steve never used to argue, knowing that he couldn’t do grand gestures of love for Billy like he could do with Nancy or the other girls he had dated.
The parking lot near the trailer park was their usual meeting spot. Nobody around those parts took notice of anyone else. Billy would arrive first, sometimes waiting for hours before Steve arrived, just to escape Neil. When Steve came, they would just enjoy the serenity the other brought.
Their love was something unspoken, but they didn’t need words, they needed each other.
And that's the thing about illicit affairs and clandestine meetings and longing stares. It's born from just one single glance. But it dies, and it dies, and it dies.
Steve still frequented the lot often, although he was alone now. He came every single night, hoping to see his stupid Camaro sloppily parked to one side, but he never did. And he never would again. The Upside Down had taken many things from Steve; it had taken the last of his teenage years, it had thieved his sense of safety, and now the Mind Flayer had taken his love, his Billy, away.
It made him want to scream. And cry. And give up. He couldn’t do anything but nod along, he couldn’t unless he wanted everyone to know about them. It was selfish but he wanted the memories of the two of them wrapped in each other to stay between them – it was all that he had left, and he would be damned before he ever gave that up.
Besides, Billy was dead now. What did it matter to everyone else what he had done with his life? He would be remembered for the awful person he was to everybody else; nobody would believe him if he said that Billy Hargrove, certified shithead, whispered promises of love and forevers. The promises didn’t matter now, and their love being shared certainly wouldn’t change anything.
It wouldn’t bring him back. Nothing would.
Leave the perfume on the shelf that you picked out just for him. So, you leave no trace behind like you don't even exist
When Max came to him with a box of her brother’s things, Steve wanted to send her away. It felt like a sick form of taunt for her to be here with pieces of him. She gently placed the box by his feet, before whispering a soft “I knew and I’m sorry,” before taking off again.
The box was small and tattered. Max must’ve put it together in a rush, he thought as he began to dig through the contents. It held only three things. Billy’s leather jacket which still held his last packet of Marlboro Reds, and his lighter was at the top. Underneath that was a polaroid of the two of them at Lover’s Lake; Billy had shoved it into his pocket immediately. Steve has never seen it until now. The two of the were perched on the Camaro, slightly buzzed. The photo was blurry, but it perfectly captured the unspoken between the two of them.
Lastly, was the small bottle of cologne that Steve had given him for his birthday. It was way too expensive for what it was, but he didn’t mind, it was worth every penny. For so many years, Billy had survived on the little his father had allowed him, but this bottle was something that was his. He had worn it nearly every day.
And you know damn well, for you, I would ruin myself a million little times.
Looking down at the jacket, the photo, and the bottle, made it all real for Steve. Billy was gone and he wasn’t coming back. He wouldn’t have the long nights behind the trailer park talking about everything and nothing at all, he wouldn’t have the fleeting glances from across the room, and he wouldn’t have his unspoken love returned. He was a ruin without Billy, but he would do it all over again for one last goodbye.