Chapter Text
“Come ooon, where is it?”
“Maybe if you had put your laundry away like I told you to for the last three fucking days, you’d be able to find it.”
“Not. Helping!”
“Wasn’t trying to.”
Billy sits down in the recliner, beer in hand. He flips the television on, clicking through channels while Max huffs and puffs from her room. The only room. The one room in their too small of an apartment that wasn’t made to be shared by a teenage girl and her older brother turned parental guardian.
“Found it!”
“Great. Shut up.”
“God, what crawled into your stocking and died, Grinch?” Max comes out from her room, a strand of hair sticking to her face, wearing an old red sweater with snowflakes on it. It’s a bit baggy. The sleeves are a little too long, and reminds Billy of green Christmases in California with his Step-Mother’s mediocre cookies.
Part of him still resents Susan for leaving him with Max. Could’ve gone with Mrs. Byers, or Hopper. Hell, maybe even Karen Wheeler would’ve taken her in if he had batted his eyelashes enough. If she only said something sooner, actually spoke up for once, a lot of things could’ve been different. Better. At least for Max.
“Bah-fucking-humbug.”
“That's Scrooge, ass.”
“Surprised you know the difference, Shitbird.” Max stands in the small hallway across from him, arms crossed and an unimpressed look stamped on her face. He has to hold back a chuckle because, honestly? She looks a bit like Steve.
“What else is there to do around here other than read your stupid books?”
“Go somewhere else? That usually works for me.”
“Sorry we don’t all have boyfriends with mansions.” She strides further into the room, stopping when she gets in full view. “You’re not wearing that, are you?” She nods her head towards his torso. Billy now notices his white tanktop has splotches of motor oil smudged in a couple places, and it's clear where he used it as a rag during work.
“Why? Am I not dressed enough for my own place?”
“You’re overly dressed for this dump,” she rolls her eyes, and Billy’s hand tightens around his beer. It’s going to be one of those nights, then. “We’re going to Joyce’s house for dinner. You knew that, I reminded you all week!”
“Not sure who this “we” is you’re referring to. You and Steve, maybe. Don’t think I agreed.”
“You promised!”
“I said I’d think about it. I thought about it. No.” He takes a swig from the piss water masquerading as something worth drinking, when reality is that it can’t even get the lightest of light weights drunk.
“Screw you, Billy!”
“You know what Max? Screw you, too! Sorry I don’t wanna go play happy family with the misfits brigade after working back to back shifts the last three weeks, all so we can keep living in this dump! In case you forgot, someone around here needs to be responsible!”
“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you,” she mumbles.
The can in Billy’s hand groans, and he holds back some very explicit words. He stands, and Max visibly backs away. He ignores the ache in his chest and goes to the kitchen, dumping the rest of the beer out of the can and whipping the empty into the recycling bin. It bounces off the rim, spitting droplets around the floor and skittering to a stop at his feet. Behind him, a door slams closed.
“God damn it… fucking idiot…” He mutters under his breath as he picks up the can. He tosses it, but this time it stays in the basket. He scrubs over the couple wet spots with his sock on his way back to the living room. There, a half eaten TV dinner waits for him next to the recliner. It will probably remain in that spot untouched for the rest of the night.
As he goes to sit, movement catches the corner of his eye. Something flickering. He stares at the four-foot tall pathetic display of a Christmas tree that sits in the corner of the room. Subtly, one of the bulbs on the string of lights dims, and the hairs on the back of his neck stands straight.
Billy reaches the tree in the blink of an eye. He kneels down in front of the culprit, and glares. Sure enough, it flickers again. With practiced hands he quickly unscrews the bulb, casting the room mostly into darkness as the rest of the strand flips off. The TV casts his surroundings into an eerie cool blue hue. He fishes one of the small replacement bulbs out of a nearby bag and screws it in. The tree lights back up, spreading a warm, white glow around him.
“What are you doi—”
“Jesus, Max!”
“What?!”
“Fucking nothing! I’m doing nothing!”
Max frowns down at him, then goes and tosses herself onto his futon. She crosses her arms and glares at the wall. Billy gets back up and throws the defective bulb in the small waste basket in their bathroom. He comes back to the living room and takes his place back in his recliner.
The two sit across from one another, the television is barely audible, but neither of them are watching it anyways. The building creaks and groans around them as the December breeze attempts to blow the place down. Max starts fiddling with something and it crinkles in her hands. Billy sneaks a glance and sees a small box in her lap, wrapped in white paper.
“Quit it.”
“Quit what?”
“Messing with whatever that is. Fucking annoying.”
“Whatever.”
Billy simmers there, feeling holes being bored into the side of his head. He looks at the clock, and notes the time. Six twenty-four. Dinner is at seven, not that he intentionally remembered that fact. Sure enough, the doorbell buzzes twice in quick succession, and the two of them jump slightly in their seats. They share a look they both understand as “that didn’t happen”. They’ve been sharing that more and more recently.
“Don’t forget your coat.”
“Billy, just come with us.”
“No.”
“Why not?!”
“Because, Max, I’m tired. Just go.” He pleads, more than orders.
Just one long night's sleep, maybe without waking up in a sweat. It shouldn’t feel so selfish to ask for that.
He watches as she rises from the sofa, eyes red. He wouldn’t admit it, not even to Steve, but it hurts. She disappears behind him. The swish of her coat and the slamming of their door echo through the apartment, followed by the stomping of feet down the stairs.
Once the ground floor door closes, it's completely silent. The television is turned off. He gets up to go to the bathroom when there’s a knock at the door. He ignores it.
More knocks. He takes a piss.
The flushing toilet fails to drown out a seemingly never ending pittering that feels like spikes being driven through his skull. He stomps over to the door and swings it open.
“Hi.” Of course, there is Steve, cheeks rosy from the cold, and bundled up in a black wool coat that has no right looking so good. On his shoulders, several snowflakes are slowly melting away.
“What.”
Steve shrugs his shoulders innocently. “Nothing.”
They stare at one another, before Billy backs down, and steps aside. Steve waltzes into his and Max's apartment like he always does. Like he’s always lived there. Always belonged. He pulls out one of the mismatched chairs at their small, circular dining table that's currently covered in bills, and looks up at Billy.
“I’m not going.”
He leans back in his seat.. “Okay, me neither, then.”
“You have to.”
“Eh, they won’t miss me.”
“Bull-fucking-shit. You know damn well if you don’t show up, there’s gonna be a witch hunt.”
“I told Max if I’m not back down in ten to drive there without me. Let them know that I got stuck trying to wrangle a caveman and failed.”
“Not in the mood.”
“Are you ever?”
For Steve? Unfortunately, always.
“No.” Billy leans against the counter in front of him.
“Damn, I thought that was funny.”
“The only funny thing is you thinking Max will make it to the Byers house in one piece.”
“Why? Are you failing that hard at teaching her to drive?”
“Oh fuck you.”
“Maybe, if you’re lucky.” Steve pulls Billy by the belt loops, looking up at him with those big, brown doe eyes that never fail to make him weak in the knees. “Don’t think bad boys get presents though. Only coal.”
Billy just shrugs, looking away. “Yeah well, bring on the whole damn mine.”
“Hey. Come on.” He feels his loops get tugged again, and he moves with them easily. He always moves easily, if Steve is the one pulling. “It’s her first Christmas without Susan. I can’t imagine how she’s feeling.”
“Well, if it's anything like me, pretty peachy.”
“Billy.”
“Sorry.”
For him, it's a more sweet than bitter blessing, Neil being gone. For Max, though... And the thing is, Steve probably does have some idea how she’s feeling. Even worse, maybe. It's probably harder knowing your parents chose not to be with you on Christmas, rather than couldn’t because they were six feet underground. Neil wouldn’t have even done that. How else would he have gotten his shitty Christmas photos to show off to his coworkers?
“Max really wants you to go.”
“She tell you that?”
“Not in so many words, but, you know.”
He hums an acknowledgment.
They stay there, Billy swaying as Steve pushes and pulls him by his belt. Billy knows he’s in trouble, but the thing about Steve Harrington is… He’s kind. Too kind. Too loving. Knows how to quiet himself and give Billy the room to breathe while still being right there if needed. He’s patient. Doesn’t harp, or nag. Well, doesn’t harp or nag more than necessary. Billy knows he isn’t exactly the easiest to deal with, but Steve is no walk in the park either. He’s a stubborn ass if there ever was one.
But, luckily, he’s a stubborn ass who knows that Billy will do what he should do. For the most part. Steve also knows he might need time to be angry about it, or sad, or frustrated, or scared. Just needs a little time to feel it. For the longest time he didn’t get to feel. With Steve, he can. He’s allowed such a kindness.
“I don’t have anything,” Billy finally mutters.
“Hmm?” Steve stops rocking him.
“For Max. Couldn’t get anything. Had to work doubles the last couple weeks to make sure we’d make rent. The damn heat bill is too fucking high and I couldn’t—”
“B, it’s fine. Doesn’t matter.”
“I’m supposed to be a fucking parent or some shit, its my fucking job to put a roof over her head and food in her endless pit of a stomach and—”
“Hey, hey, stop.” Steve is standing now, arms around him. He doesn’t remember when that happened, but he feels the tightness in his chest weaken its grip. “I think what she really wants, is just her brother. I don’t think she expects you to get anything, but I know she wants her family there.”
“She has you guys.”
“She has her friends, yeah, but she needs her family.”
Billy inhales in the crook of Steve’s neck. It smells like cedar and pine, and something lighter. Some hair product or something, probably. He exhales, and pushes back against Steve.
“I’ll be down in five. Let me change.”
“You sure?” Steve feigns concern, but Billy can read his face plain as day. Excitement. Relief.
“Yeah, go make sure your car didn’t get jacked.” Billy leans in and presses a kiss to Steve’s lips. They're warm, and taste of cinnamon chapstick. He pulls back, and Steve chases ever so slightly. He always does.
Billy smirks. He always does.
Steve exits out the door as Billy heads into the living room. He pulls out a far too expensive suitcase from under the futon, and reaches for the “H” shaped clasp on the front. He rummages through until he finds a pair of dark jeans and a maroon button up, and takes them to the bathroom.
As he enters, he catches himself in the mirror, and grimaces at his reflection. The circles under his eyes are noticeable, and his hair is more brunette than blonde, these days. He strips his work clothes and tosses them into the hamper. The faucet creeks as he flips the water on. It's frigid against his skin, but helps reduce the tiredness that's become a mainstay.
He pulls his jeans over his legs, grabbing his belt from his work pants and fastens it. Next, he throws his shirt on. He slips the first three buttons through their holes. He examines himself in the mirror, and eventually his eyes settle on his chest. He buttons his shirt the rest of the way.
As he walks back through the living room, he stops at the tree. His fingers trace over a small envelope with “Max” scrawled on it. He contemplates taking it, something is better than nothing after all, but nothing is all he has to give. He leaves it there, so she at least has something to open Christmas morning. The room goes dark as he flips the tree lights off, and he gets to the front door. He grabs his winter coat, the one that's made to fit a man with a slightly thinner frame, and heads down the stairs to where Steve is waiting for him.
“Forget something, Pretty Boy?”
He’s sporting a sheepish smile, the one Billy knows always comes with something he didn’t ask for.
“Yeah, actually.” Billy watches as he reaches inside his coat pocket and produces a navy blue scarf. Something impossibly soft for someone so incredibly sharp.
“Damnit Steve, we agreed, no prese—”
“No presents, I know, I know. Just, here.” Billy fusses as Steve wraps the soft length of fabric around his neck. It’s already warm, and smells just like his boyfriend. It makes him a little flustered, how much he wants to press it against his face, but he resists the urge. “Its more a present to myself, really.” He steps back and examines the way it sits around Billy, a wide smile making its way to his lips.
“How’s that?”
Steve opens the door to the parking lot.
“I won’t have to listen to you complain about how cold it is!”
Billy rolls his eyes and bites back the smile that threatens to crack his facade. He smacks his shoulder into Steve as he walks past him, and Steve just laughs. Billy piles himself into the passenger seat, and mentally prepares himself for the journey.