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Billy’s not…avoiding Steve. He wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t do that, really, seeing as they share quite a few classes with one another.
He’s just…not being near him as much as he could.
As much as he normally is.
Because, look, it’s not like Billy Hargrove stalks Steve Harrington, he doesn’t. He just likes him. Yeah. That’s it, he likes him. And his stupid hair, and the way he looks all concerned when Billy’s concussed out of his mind and is allowed to cuddle him on the sofa. And yeah, maybe that’s a really specific scenario that happened a few days ago, but heck, if it isn’t the first thing he thinks of when he sees the guy.
And now? Well, hell, now Billy can’t pick on Steve Harrington anymore.
Because Steve has the high ground. He’s got dirt on Billy, stuff people will believe and look at him like he’s weak, like he needs saving like some princess that’s locked away in a tower. And he’s no princess. He’s rough, and tough, and he’s dumb enough to get in trouble with his father. He’s not naive enough to think everyone else gets the same punishments, but he does know that he deserves them, most of the time.
But, now that Steve knows, everything is off balance and Billy still owes him on top of all that shit.
Harrington looked after Billy, and he has nothing keeping him from opening his stupidly attractive mouth, and blabbing to the whole school.
..But he doesn’t.
And so, Billy owes him even more. Every single day.
So yeah, if he’s keeping out of Harrington’s way a little bit, it wouldn’t be dumb to think it’s slightly on purpose. Maybe.
He’s walking with Tommy, who’s spouting some bullshit about a film he’s just watched, when the other guy is shoved into him harshly by a blur of blue and brown. Billy pushes him off on instinct, and he falls to the floor, knowing better than to protest as Billy watches Steve look at what he’s done.
“S-Sorry.” He fumbles out, blinking down at Tommy, “Clumsy.”
He’s blinking a lot more than he needs to, and he’s pale as anything. Billy would be willing to bet he’s running a high fever, with the way his hair’s falling apart. He smiles, hoping he doesn’t look too stupid in front of Tommy, and grabs Steve’s arm to steady him.
“Hey, Harrington. What do you say we skip class and go to yours, huh? I can drink your parents’ booze and we can watch whatever shit’s on this time of day.”
Steve blinks again, staring into Billy’s eyes like they hold the secret to his sanity, and nods slowly, smiling with an equal amount of haste.
“See ya, Tommy,” he says, leaving the boy on the floor and pulling Steve in tighter.
He plops Harrington on the passenger’s side, and sits on the bonnet for a quick smoke. He can do this.
It’s not like it’s anything hard.
Just..looking after someone sick.
He’s done enough of that for himself to know what needs to be done.
He can do this.
Except…he’s never done this before, not really. Because when Max gets sick she has Susan. Because Neil either doesn’t get sick, or hides it as well as Billy does.
Because he doesn’t know how to be caring for someone else, when he isn’t 100% certain anyone else cares.
But, Steve’s sick, and Billy owes him more than he can ever repay him, so the least he can do is make sure he’s ok. And if that includes cuddling with his not-quite-mortal-enemy? That’s just what he’ll have to do.
He crushes the cigarette under his toes, and takes a breath before getting into the car. Steve’s either sleeping or passed out, but either way, he stirs when he’s poked so Billy figures he’s ok as he brings the car out of the parking lot, taking care to avoid bumps and drive as slowly as possible.
They arrive at Steve’s house a while later, not long enough to count, really, but excruciating if you can’t tell if someone is sleeping or dead and are driving at the speed limit.
But, they’re here, and Billy gives Steve a harsh shove to wake him up. He squints at the other boy with something akin to anger, but more pained. Billy ignores the stab of guilt that builds in his gut and focuses on pulling Harrington out of the car.
Steve somehow manages to have enough sense to give Billy the key to the house, but also tries to walk into the wall, so he isn’t entirely certain that didn’t come from a place of divinity or dumb luck. He deposits the boy onto the couch, hopping up to get some ice, when he’s stopped. Harrington is still gripping his arm.
“No.” He says, simply. Billy tugs his arm back, but Steve grips tighter, not enough to hurt yet, but just about.
“I have to get you some things, Harrington. You need ice, and medicine.”
“I need…” Steve thinks, for a moment. Billy helps him out,
“Ice-“ he prompts.
“No. I need you.” And he grins, wide and stupid. Billy tugs his arm again, because the way Steve’s face looks is not good, and Billy’s heart is going like a drummer in a marching band.
“-and drugs.” He finishes, trying to catch Steve’s eyes.
“Drugs?” He asks, perking up.
“Yeah. The good stuff. Just for you, Harrington.”
“You want to do drugs then..” he trails off, and wiggles his brows in a way Billy thinks was supposed to be suggestive, but ends up just making him laugh. Steve pouts, which only makes Billy laugh louder. But the grip isn’t iron tight anymore, so he gets to slip out and get the stuff.
He places the ice in a towel for Steve’s head, puts some more in some lemonade (and yeah, sure, he knows sugar isn’t supposed to be good for ill people, but sugary drinks lift spirits when you’re sick, no matter what the doctors say), one for each of them, and grabs some medicine and skittles, bringing it all into the room.
“Right. Got it all, and more.” He goes to place the ice on Steve’s head, but he flinches and shakes it vehemently, but when the lemonade is given, he gulps it down.
“Steady. If you’re not feeling sick, you will if you drink that fast.” Steve shrugs and puts the cup down, holding his hand out for the drugs Billy has. He takes one from the blister pack, and pours a few skittles over it, then pours out a drug less handful for himself, before looking over to Harrington, who’s preoccupied with gently poking the ice pack as if it’s going to bite him.
He nudged Steve’s hand, and presses the drugged handful into it.
“Drugs.” He says. Steve smiles, and takes them all, one by one, watching Billy do the same.
“Whoa.” He says, grabbing Billy’s arm again, “That’s good shit. It already feels like the room’s spinning.”
Billy rolls his eyes and grabs a piece of ice, popping it into his mouth. Steve watches him do it, and does so too. Billy smiles, reminded of his boyfriend back in California and the way his baby sister used to copy whatever they did, when she was really tiny. And the way he yelled when Neil hit him so hard Billy knew he’d never come home.
But he deserved it, for being too close to someone like Billy.
He must’ve done, or Neil wouldn’t have done it.
Steve pulls Billy’s arm right into his chest, so that Billy is contorting trying not to lie on Steve, and failing miserably.
Harrington looks at him. Opens his eyes fully, and looks at him. For one heart stopping moment, Billy thinks maybe the fever broke, and Steve has come to his senses.
But, no. Instead, Steve’s look seems to be that he has decided a hand is not enough. That Billy is now a teddy bear and he will stop at nothing to wrestle him into position.
And Billy’s being a good nurse, and he owes Steve the world, and even if he didn’t he wouldn’t push someone this sick onto the floor, so he lets Steve squeeze him tighter than a boa constrictor, and press his whole face into his belly, wrap his legs around Billy’s and fall very deeply, very quickly, asleep.
Billy presses the ice on the back of his neck, only getting a small shiver to know it’s working, and focuses on the tiny breaths Steve takes.
He’s sure as hell when tomorrow comes, everything will be as awkward as hell, and Steve’ll probably try to get him to answer stupid questions and they won’t talk again for ages, but at the moment, Steve doesn’t think he’s a victim, or a princess, or any of that shit, and Billy doesn’t owe him anything other than simple human kindness.
They’re just two not-quite-mortal-enemies not quite hating one another.
And for once in Billy Hargrove’s much too long, much too complicated life, everything makes perfect sense.