Chapter Text
Steve Harrington blinked awake, squinting at the dim morning light filtering through dusty blinds. His back ached like he’d slept on a pile of bricks, and his legs felt cramped, something was wrong. His bed had never been the softest, but this felt too strong, as if he was sleeping directly on wood and it felt smaller.
As his eyes adjusted, he frowned. This wasn’t his room.
The walls were plastered with posters, Motley Crüe, Van Halen, and a few he didn’t recognize. A small bookcase sat in the corner, its shelves haphazardly crammed with vinyl records, some books, and an ashtray. A guitar leaned against the wall, next to a pile of clothes that looked like they hadn’t seen a washing machine in weeks. The faint scent of cigarette smoke lingered in the air, mixed with cheap cologne and something metallic.
Steve rubbed his eyes, groaning as his hand brushed against his chest. He froze. His hand felt… off. Rougher. Bigger.
He scrambled out of the bed, noticing that his legs—not his legs—hit the floor with a thud that felt heavier than normal. His eyes darted around the room, landing on a cracked mirror above a dresser. Slowly, cautiously, he walked toward it.
The face staring back at him wasn’t his own.
“Shit.” Steve’s voice, Billy’s voice rasped. He stumbled back, his heart hammering in his chest.
Before he could process what was happening, the door burst open.
“Wake up, Billy! Max is already waiting for you!” Neil Hargrove’s voice thundered through the room like a crack of lightning.
Steve spun around, wide-eyed. Neil loomed in the doorway, his expression etched with irritation. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, but the weight of his presence filled the room.
“Are you deaf, boy?” Neil snapped, his glare narrowing.
Steve froze, his mind racing. He knew from Max that Billy’s father was bad news, but this, standing in the same room as the man, was a whole different level of terrifying.
“I—uh—yeah, I’m up,” Steve stammered, his voice trembling.
Neil’s gaze hardened his lip curling. “You look like hell. You stayed out late again, didn’t you? You’re going to get your ass out there, take your sister to school, and stop screwing around. Got it?”
“Yeah,” Steve muttered, nodding quickly. His pulse pounded in his ears.
“Speak up!” Neil barked, taking a step closer.
“Yes, sir!” Steve blurted, straightening instinctively.
Neil sneered, shaking his head. “Pathetic. Get moving.” He slammed the door shut on his way out, leaving Steve to slump against the dresser, his heart racing.
He took a shaky breath and turned back to the mirror. “What the hell is going on?” he whispered. The reflection didn’t answer, but the exhaustion and frustration in Billy’s face told him everything he needed to know.
This wasn’t his body.
It was Billy’s.
Billy woke slowly, his head pounding but his body… feeling strangely light. The dull aches he always carried in his shoulders and back were gone. He felt almost… good. Better than he had in a long time.
The bed beneath him was soft, far softer than the lumpy mattress he was used to. It was warm, too, cocooning him in comfort that he’d never experienced. His first thought was that he must still be dreaming.
But as he opened his eyes, the room around him pulled sharply into focus.
“Where the hell am I?” he muttered, sitting up quickly. The room was clean. Too clean. The walls were painted a soft beige, with a few framed pictures hanging neatly. A shelf lined with books and trophies caught his eye, along with a desk that looked like it belonged in a damn catalog.
This wasn’t his room.
His breathing quickened as his eyes darted around, taking in every detail. The bed was massive compared to his own, covered in plush pillows and a comforter that didn’t feel scratchy or smell like smoke. A closet door was ajar, revealing rows of neatly hung clothes that screamed money.
Billy swung his legs over the side of the bed and froze. His legs, not his legs. They were leaner, smoother, and didn’t ache when he moved. His hands smaller, softer trembled as he brought them to his face.
“What the—” His voice cut off as he caught his reflection in the full-length mirror near the closet.
Steve Harrington stared back at him.
Billy shot to his feet, swaying slightly as his head spun. He stumbled to the mirror, gripping the edges as he stared at the face that wasn’t his own. The hazel eyes, the perfect hair, the stupidly clear skin. He touched his face, Steve’s face.
“This can’t be happening,” he whispered, Steve’s voice echoing in his ears. He clenched his hands into fists, trying to steady himself.
The room swam around him momentarily before he forced himself to focus. The problem wasn’t just that he was in Steve’s body.
The problem was that Steve was in his.
And last night…
Billy’s stomach twisted as the memory crashed into him. Neil. The yelling. The fist that had caught him square in the ribs, the cigarette that had burned on his skin. He’d barely stumbled into bed after it was over, trying to block it all out. And now Steve, Steve was in his body, in that house.
“Oh, shit.” Billy ran a hand through his, Steve’s hair, pacing the room. He had to figure this out. He had to call home, make sure.
He froze, his eyes landing on the phone sitting neatly on Steve’s nightstand. Of course, Harrington had a phone in his room. “Fucking rich kids,” he muttered, grabbing it.
His finger hovered over the dial. Should he call? What if Steve wasn’t there? What if Neil answered? What if Steve was there, getting the beating meant for Billy?
Billy swallowed hard, his chest tightening. He couldn’t think straight. The plush, comfortable room around him felt like a mockery, a stark contrast to the place he’d woken up in every day of his life. His stomach churned, threatening to revolt.
He sank onto the edge of the bed, gripping the phone like it might save him. His hands shook as he dialed the number.
The line rang once. Twice.
Billy’s heart pounded in his chest.
Steve paced the room, his thoughts in overdrive. He pulled open the wardrobe, hoping to find… what? A clue, maybe? Something that would explain how he ended up in Billy Hargrove’s body? Instead, he found a pitiful assortment of clothes, a couple of threadbare t-shirts, two leather jackets, three denim jackets, and some jeans. He shuffled through the hangers, frowning.
Where were the winter clothes?
Steve picked up one of the jackets and rubbed the fabric between his fingers. It was thin, hardly suited for the cold Hawkins mornings. There were no sweaters, no coats. He glanced at the pair of boots on the floor, scuffed and worn down to the soles.
“Is this it?” he muttered to himself, a sinking feeling growing in his stomach.
He let the jacket drop and started to take in the rest of the room with fresh eyes. Billy’s room wasn’t just messy, it was sparse. Aside from the posters, a few books, a few vinyls, and the guitar, there wasn’t much here. No personal touches, no knickknacks, no sign of hobbies beyond the music. Even the bookcase, which at first seemed full, was filled with maybe fifteen books.
It hit Steve all at once, Billy didn’t own much of anything.
Turning back to the mirror, Steve hesitated. He knew it wasn’t polite to look at someone else’s body, especially like this but curiosity gnawed at him. Billy’s body wasn’t just strong. It was carved like marble, all hard lines, and lean muscle. Steve’s jaw dropped as he flexed an arm, feeling the muscles ripple under the skin.
“Jesus, Billy…” he muttered.
But as he turned slightly, he froze. The light caught on something. There were bruises scattered across his, Billy’s ribs and shoulders. Purple, green, and yellow splotches in various stages of healing. Steve twisted further and his stomach lurched. Cigarette burns. Small, circular scars dot Billy’s back.
Steve staggered away from the mirror, his heart racing. He clutched the edge of the dresser to steady himself, swallowing hard against the bile rising in his throat. “What the hell…?”
He stared at the burns, unable to look away. His mind raced with half-formed thoughts, each one worse than the last. This was real. This was Billy’s life.
Before he could process it, the door slammed open again.
“BILLY!” Neil’s voice cut through the air like a whip.
Steve whipped around, his hands instinctively clutching the dresser. Neil stormed into the room, his face twisted in fury.
“What the hell are you doing, standing around like an idiot?” Neil barked, his voice reverberating in the small space. “I told you to get ready! Do you think I’m going to wait all day for you to pull your head out of your ass?”
Steve stammered, his mouth opening and closing without a sound. His brain screamed at him to say something, anything, but the words refused to come. He’d never been in a situation like this before. His father had been distant, sure, but this was something else entirely.
“I—I’m getting ready,” Steve finally managed, his voice cracking.
Neil stepped closer, his presence suffocating. “You’re getting ready? That’s all you’ve got to say?”
Steve flinched, his heart pounding. He had no idea how to handle this. Every instinct told him to push back, to stand up for himself but this wasn’t his body, and this wasn’t his fight. It was Billy’s.
“Max is out there waiting for you, you worthless punk,” Neil spat, his voice low and venomous. “You’re going to take her where she needs to go, and you’re going to do it now. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Steve whispered, his voice barely audible.
Neil’s eyes narrowed, his lip curling. “Louder.”
Steve straightened up, trying to steady his voice. “Yes, sir!”
Neil stared at him for a moment longer, then sneered. “Pathetic.” He turned and slammed the door behind him, leaving Steve standing there, shaking.
Steve exhaled shakily, his chest heaving. He glanced back at the mirror, the bruises and burns glaring back at him like a haunting reminder. He didn’t know what was happening, but one thing was clear, Billy’s life was nothing like he’d imagined.
He felt sick.
The phone clicked, and a soft voice answered, almost hesitant.
“Hello?”
Billy’s breath caught in his throat. He knew that voice, Susan. His stepmother. He gripped the phone tighter, unsure what to say. His mind screamed at him to hang up, but he couldn’t.
“Uh… hi,” he said, his voice coming out awkward and wrong. Of course, it sounded wrong, it was Steve’s voice.
“Who is this?” Susan asked, her tone confused but polite.
Billy hesitated. He couldn’t just blurt out the truth, that he was Billy in Steve’s body, calling to check on himself. That sounded insane. He scrambled for something to say.
“It’s Steve Harrington,” he said finally, cringing at how strange it felt to say that.
“Oh.” Susan sounded surprised. “What can I do for you, Steve?”
Billy’s heart pounded. He needed information, anything that might tell him what was happening back home. “Uh, I just… I was wondering if Billy’s there or if he already went to school.”
There was a pause, and he swore he could hear her tense on the other end of the line.
“He’s… not available right now,” she said carefully.
Billy clenched his jaw, frustration, and panic bubbling up inside him. “What do you mean ‘not available’? Is he okay?”
Susan hesitated again, and Billy felt his patience snap.
“Is he okay?” he repeated, more forcefully.
“I… I don’t think it’s my place to say,” Susan said quietly. “You’ll have to ask him yourself.”
Billy’s stomach churned. That wasn’t an answer, it was avoidance. He could hear it in her voice, the way she always tried to tiptoe around Neil, around the truth of what went on in their house.
“Can you tell him I called?” Billy said, his voice tight.
“I will,” Susan promised, though she sounded relieved to be ending the conversation. “Goodbye, Steve.”
The line went dead.
Billy stared at the phone in his hand, his thoughts racing. Something was wrong, something more than just this body swap, more than just waking up in Steve’s perfect life. He tossed the phone onto the bed and pressed his hands to his face, trying to think.
If Steve was in his body, he was at the mercy of Neil. And if Susan couldn’t even tell him what was happening…
Billy stood abruptly, pacing the room again. He needed to get to his house, needed to figure out how to switch things back before anything worse happened.
But he didn’t know where Steve had gone. He didn’t know how to fix this. And the longer he stayed here, the more the panic built in his chest.
He needed a plan.
Steve finally dressed, awkwardly slipping into Billy’s tight jeans and one of his old, faded shirts. The fabric felt worn and scratchy, and there was no hiding the lack of winter clothing in Billy’s wardrobe. He groaned inwardly but made the best of it.
He ran a hand through his, Billy’s blonde hair, then paused. "Oh, no way," he muttered, realizing what he had to do. He grabbed a comb from the desk and went to work, slicking it back the way he’d seen Billy do countless times. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough.
The ache in his body wasn’t helping, his ribs throbbed with every movement, and he felt nauseous just standing. Still, he pulled himself together and made his way to the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror still jarred him, but he ignored it as best he could.
When he finally walked into the kitchen, Susan was at the counter pouring coffee. She glanced up and gave him a small smile, though her expression seemed tense.
“Steve called earlier,” she said.
Steve froze, feeling a strange sense of vertigo at hearing his name like that. It felt surreal. He was Steve. But right now, he wasn’t.
“Oh,” he said, struggling to sound casual. “Uh, I’ll talk to him at school.”
Susan hesitated, her eyes darting to Neil, who was seated at the table with a newspaper. He looked up at Steve, at Billy with a hard, evaluating stare, but he said nothing.
The silence felt suffocating. Steve grabbed a slice of toast from the counter, mumbled something about being late, and bolted for the front door.
When he stepped outside, the sharp winter air hit him like a slap to the face. Max was already waiting by the Camaro, arms crossed and tapping her foot impatiently.
“What the hell is taking you so long?” she snapped, climbing into the passenger seat.
Steve rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, “Good morning to you too.”
As he slid into the driver’s seat, the car felt… strange. Familiar, in that he’d seen Billy driving it a hundred times, but foreign now that he was the one behind the wheel. His hands gripped the leather steering wheel, and he couldn’t help but admire it.
Billy’s car was a beast, sleek, powerful, and polished to perfection. It was nothing like the clunky family car Steve was used to.
For a moment, he felt a weird burst of confidence. Being in Billy’s body, being Billy felt different. Billy had a reputation. People feared him and respected him. He was someone who took what he wanted and didn’t give a damn what anyone thought.
Steve adjusted the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Billy's big blue eyes. His eyes were really beautiful and he had freckles. Max shot him a side glance. “You gonna drive or what?” The confidence wavered, replaced by the heavy reminder of where he was and what kind of life Billy lived.
He started the car, and the engine roared to life.
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve muttered, shifting into gear. The Camaro rumbled as it pulled out of the driveway.
The silence in the car felt heavy. No music. No conversation. Max slumped in her seat, clearly annoyed but quiet, which Steve was grateful for. He wasn’t sure he could handle her sharp tongue right now.
As he drove, the reality of the situation hit him again, harder this time. Billy Hargrove was in his house, in his body. Probably eating breakfast in his kitchen, maybe talking to his parents who rarely got home, maybe calling his friends. Ugh, They returned home at the most inconvenient time possible.
Steve gripped the wheel tighter, his mind spinning. What if Billy messed up his life? What if he told his parents something crazy or—
“Are you gonna turn or just stare at the road all day?” Max interrupted, her voice cutting through his thoughts.
Steve blinked, realizing he was sitting at a stop sign. “Right. Sorry.”
Max just rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath.
As the Camaro sped down the road, Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something much bigger and much worse than either of them could handle.
Billy stood in front of the mirror in Steve’s room for far too long, adjusting his hair and clothes. Steve had an overwhelming amount of stuff, hair products, cologne, even clothes he hadn’t worn yet, with tags still attached.
Billy picked a simple outfit: jeans and a Polo shirt. It wasn’t his style, but it felt right for Steve. As he ran his hands through the thick, styled hair, he couldn’t help but mutter, “God, Harrington, how do you even manage all this?”
When he finally made it downstairs, the scene stopped him in his tracks. Steve’s mom was bustling around the kitchen, her blonde hair perfectly styled, humming softly as she set plates on the table. Steve’s dad sat at the head, reading the newspaper, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.
Billy hesitated, unsure how to act. The kitchen smelled warm, like coffee and buttered toast, homey.
Steve’s mom noticed him first, her face lighting up. “Oh, good morning, Stevie!” she said cheerfully, walking over to him. She leaned in and kissed his cheek.
Billy froze. It was such a foreign gesture, so soft and affectionate, that he didn’t know how to respond. He stared at her for a second, her warmth catching him off guard. Before he could stop himself, he hugged her.
“Oh, Stevie, are you okay?” she asked, sounding concerned.
Billy panicked. He couldn’t tell her the truth. No, my mom died years ago, and I forgot what it’s like to have one. That wasn’t going to fly. So he said the first thing that came to mind.
“I just missed you,” he muttered.
It felt weird coming out of his mouth, but it seemed to work. Steve’s mom smiled, her eyes softening. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, patting his cheek.
Billy let go quickly, clearing his throat and stepping back. His eyes darted to Steve’s dad, who was now watching him over the rim of his coffee cup.
“Morning, Steven,” the man said, his tone clipped but polite.
Billy stiffened. “Good morning, sir!”
Steve’s dad lowered the newspaper slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Sir?”
Billy cursed internally, feeling his face heat up. “Uh, sorry. I mean, good morning, Dad.” The word tasted foreign on his tongue, but it seemed to satisfy Steve’s father, who gave a slight nod before returning to his coffee.
Billy felt awkward as hell and desperately wanted to get out of there. “I should get going,” he mumbled, moving toward the door.
“Wait!” Steve’s mom called after him as he started putting on his shoes. She came over, holding out her purse. “Do you need anything, Stevie? Do you want to eat something?”
Billy hesitated. He didn’t need anything, well, not really but the question was so unlike anything he’d ever heard from Neil or Susan that it made his chest tighten.
“Can you give me 10 dollars? I'm going to be late for school and I'll-” he asked, testing his luck and needing to explain why he asked for the money but Steve's mom stopped him
She didn’t hesitate. She just smiled and handed him the money. “Of course. Take care, Steven.”
Billy stared at her for a second, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Thanks,” he muttered. “Bye.”
He walked out the door and climbed into Steve’s car, gripping the steering wheel tightly. For a moment, he just sat there, staring out the windshield.
Then the tears came. They were hot and sudden, and he couldn’t stop them. He pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, his shoulders shaking.
It wasn’t just the kindness, it was the stark contrast. The warmth, the care, the fact that Steve’s mom didn’t question him, didn’t demand anything in return. She just gave.
Billy let out a shaky breath, wiping his face roughly with the sleeve of Steve’s shirt. “Get it together,” he whispered to himself. “You’re not Steve. You can’t fall apart like this.”
He took a deep breath and started the car, the engine purring to life. As he pulled out of the driveway, he tried to focus on the road, but his mind kept drifting back to that moment in the kitchen.
For the first time in years, someone had made him feel like he mattered.
Steve’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel. His mind was racing, and the silence between him and Max felt unbearable. Finally, he slammed on the brakes, pulling the Camaro over to the side of the road with a sharp jolt.
Max looked at him, her eyes wide with irritation. “What the hell are you doing? Why are we stopping?”
Steve turned to her, his heart pounding. “I have to tell you something.”
Max raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting from annoyance to suspicion. “What?”
Steve took a deep breath. “I’m Steve.”
Max blinked, then rolled her eyes. “You’re not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny, Max,” Steve said, his voice firm but pleading. “I am Steve Harrington, trapped in Billy’s body, and I need your help.”
Max stared at him for a moment before snorting. “Yeah, okay. Sure. And I’m Madonna. Can we go now?”
“I’m serious!” Steve snapped, his frustration boiling over. “This isn’t a joke. I woke up this morning in Billy’s room, in his body, and you have no idea how weird that is!” His voice sounds frightening when he screams.
Max crossed her arms, her expression hardening. “Billy, are you messing with me right now? Because if you are, I swear—”
“Max, listen to me! Ask me anything about Steve. I mean, about me, something only I would know.”
Max hesitated, her skepticism evident. “What am I supposed to ask you? This is stupid.”
“I don’t know, just… Look, Max. I know about El, the Gate, the monsters, all of it.”
At the mention of El, Max’s face changed. Her eyes darted to the window, and she fidgeted in her seat.
“I know about everything that happened with Will, Nancy was my girlfriend. I love to drive you guys around,” Steve continued, his voice softening. “I’m not Billy. I would never mess with you like this. You have to believe me.”
Max opened her mouth to say something but stopped. Her hands gripped the edge of her seat, and her breathing quickened.
“Oh, shit,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Steve’s heart skipped a beat. “Max?”
She turned to him, her face pale. “If you’re really Steve… then where the hell is Billy?”
Steve swallowed hard. “He’s in my body.”
Max let out a shaky breath, her hands flying to her hair. “Oh my God. This is insane. This is insane!”
“I know, I know,” Steve said quickly, trying to calm her down. “But you have to help me. I don’t know how this happened, but we need to figure it out before things get worse.”
Max shook her head, still processing. “Worse? How could this get worse?”
Steve’s stomach churned as he thought about Neil. About the bruises on Billy’s body. About the cigarette burns.
“You don’t want to know,” he said quietly.
Billy felt like he was suffocating as he stepped into the market. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the warmth of the morning sun was quickly replaced by the artificial chill of the store’s air conditioning. He shoved his hands into the pockets of Steve’s jacket, trying to look casual, but the way people greeted him only made his anxiety worse.
“Good morning, Steve!” a friendly voice called.
Billy turned his head and froze. It was Joyce Byers, smiling warmly at him from behind the counter.
His heart raced. What the hell do I say? He didn’t know much about her except that she was Will and Jonathan’s mom, and that she was somehow always wrapped up in whatever crazy shit the kids were dealing with.
“Uh… good morning, Miss Byers!” he said, forcing a polite smile.
“Heading to school?” she asked as she wiped down the counter.
Billy hesitated, licking his lips, a nervous habit that felt more like him than Steve. “Yeah, I’m, uh… I’m a bit late, actually.”
He wanted to bolt, but Joyce didn’t seem to notice his discomfort.
“Are the kids with you?” she asked casually, glancing up.
Billy’s stomach dropped. The kids? He hadn’t even thought about them Dustin, Lucas. Steve was practically their chauffeur. Billy had no idea where half of them even lived.
He swallowed hard, his tongue darting across his lips again as he tried to think of an answer. “I’ll, uh… I’ll pick them up after,” he said, his voice uneven.
Joyce didn’t question him, thankfully. She just nodded. “Alright, well, drive safe. Those roads can get icy this time of year.”
“Yeah, sure,” Billy muttered, glancing around the store. He needed to get out of here, but he couldn’t leave without what he came for.
He approached the counter and tried to keep his voice steady. “Can I get a pack of Marlboro Reds? And, uh, a Coke?”
Joyce raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. “Sure thing.” She grabbed the cigarettes from behind the counter and rang him up.
Billy handed her the money Steve’s mom had given him earlier and grabbed the bag, mumbling another, “Thanks.”
“Have a good day, Steve!” Joyce called as he turned to leave.
Billy just waved over his shoulder and pushed through the door, the cold air hitting his face as he stepped outside. He tossed the bag onto the passenger seat of Steve’s car and climbed in, gripping the steering wheel tightly.
He felt like he was going to throw up.
People liked Steve. They talked to him, smiled at him, treated him like he mattered. Everywhere Billy went, it was a reminder of how different their lives were. Of course, people love Harrington, he thought bitterly. They’d never look at me like that.
He ripped the pack of cigarettes open and fumbled for one, lighting it with a shaking hand. He took a deep drag and leaned back against the seat, the nicotine hitting his system hard. It didn’t really help.
He popped open the Coke and took a long sip, his mind racing. He didn’t even know how he was supposed to handle this day. The thought of pretending to be Steve at school was overwhelming, but what scared him even more was knowing that Steve was out there, walking around in his body.
Billy closed his eyes for a moment, the cigarette dangling from his fingers. “What the hell are we gonna do?” he muttered to himself.
He glanced at the dashboard clock and sighed. Time to face the day.
Steve nodded to Max as she climbed out of the car and headed toward the middle school. She still looked shaken, but she was trying to play it cool, brushing him off with a quick, “See you later, Steve.”
Steve smirked at the subtle jab but felt a pang of nerves. If Max believed him, that was one step forward, but convincing everyone else at Joyce’s house after school? That would be a whole different story.
He parked the Camaro in the high school lot and leaned back in the seat, taking a deep breath. His ribs protested the movement, and he winced. His hands rested on the wheel for a moment before his fingers started twitching.
It was strange, this nagging itch, a tightness in his chest he couldn’t explain. He felt restless like he needed something, and before he even realized it, the word popped into his mind: cigarettes.
Steve frowned. He’d never got addicted to cigarettes. He’d smoke at parties or when he was bored but now his body was screaming for it. His lungs felt hollow, his fingers tingling with a need to hold something.
“So this is what addiction feels like,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. “Yeah, no thanks. My body’s better off without this crap.”
But the craving wouldn’t go away. His jaw clenched, and his legs jittered as he stepped out of the car and scanned the lot.
Tommy Hagan was leaning against his own car nearby, chatting with a couple of other guys and laughing loudly. Steve sighed, his frustration mounting. If anyone had a cigarette or could get one, it would be Tommy.
“Hey, Hagan,” Steve called as he walked over.
Tommy looked up, his grin widening when he saw Billy, no, Steve, in Billy's body. “Hargrove! What’s up, man?”
“I need a cigarette,” Steve said bluntly.
Tommy frowned, tilting his head. “ Dude, you know that I don’t smoke.”
Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He didn’t have time for Tommy’s quirks right now. “Yeah, but someone here does. Go get one for me.”
Tommy hesitated, then shrugged. “Sure thing, man. Be right back.”
As Tommy walked off, Steve leaned against a car, watching the lot. His eyes scanned the students milling around, laughing, talking, moving in groups.
It hit him then, he’d never really seen Billy with friends. Not real ones, anyway. Billy was always alone, stalking through the halls like he didn’t care. People talked about him, sure, and he had a reputation, but there was no one who really liked him.
That thought sat heavy in Steve’s chest. It wasn’t pity, Billy would never let anyone pity him but it was something close. A realization, maybe, of just how lonely the other boy’s life was.
Before he could dwell on it, Tommy came back, holding a cigarette triumphantly.
“Here you go, man,” Tommy said, grinning. “But hey, where’s your pack? You always have a pack.”
Steve took the cigarette, tucking it between his fingers like he’d seen Billy do. He gave Tommy a half-smirk, trying to channel the other boy’s usual cocky demeanor. “Forgot them at home. Woke up late.”
Tommy laughed. “Figures. You’re always late.”
Steve nodded, pretending to light the cigarette before slipping it into his pocket. He wasn’t actually going to smoke it now, but having it seemed to calm his body down a little.
“Thanks,” he muttered, patting Tommy on the shoulder.
Tommy beamed, clearly happy to have been useful. “Anytime, Hargrove.”
As Steve walked toward the school building, he felt a strange mix of emotions. He’d gotten what he needed, but the whole interaction left a bad taste in his mouth. Tommy’s eagerness to please, the way he worshiped Billy just to ride on his coattails, it all felt hollow.
“Billy deserves better than this,” Steve thought, shaking his head.
But for now, he had bigger problems to deal with. Like surviving high school as Billy Hargrove.