#all it wants to do is disassociate | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

okaybutlikeimagine · 1 year

Text

Don’t Give Yourself Away

Pt. 2 of the Low Life series that I started forever and a day ago! It’s just the enemies section of the enemies-to-lovers plot, bear with me here

TW: alcohol, underage drinking, driving under the influence, mentions of violence, violent thoughts, Billy just wanting to punch things basically

Read it on A03 here! :D

~~~*~~~

Fuck Steve Harrington.

That’s the consensus that Billy’s brain has come to as he sits in the overcrowded, gratingly loud cafeteria of Hawkins High. It’s been half a day here and that’s the only thing ringing through his ears as he picks at the hunk of ground up meat this school tries to pass off as “food”.

“I mean, who the fuck does he think he is anyway?”

That’s Tommy, grunting over a mouthful of applesauce, his girlfriend sitting next to him and twisting up her mouth in some kind of disgusted agreement. Or maybe it’s more so irritation at the very bitter topic of interest. Billy can only grunt wordlessly back at him.

Tommy’s been rattling off for the last ten minutes about how Steve “betrayed” them, Carol’s listening with vague disinterest, and Billy’s thinking of ways to crawl out of his skin. All it took was one long look at Steve Harrington this morning in the parking lot to tell him he was in some serious trouble. And when that wide eyed girl got out of the same car… Billy felt the bitter fire of jealousy lick at every corner within him. And lord did he hate it.

He hates even more how he can’t even convince himself in some kind of soothing reprieve that she’s just a friend or a sister because he saw them. In the hallway when he was walking from one dreary class to another. Billy heard the guy giggle as she hit his chest and reprimanded him for his “stupid” sunglasses. As he smiled the brightest thing Billy had ever seen and said something that sounded like “I missed you”. Said something like “Tell me about it” when she pointed out that it had only been an hour. He purred it out as he cradled the side of her neck and pulled her in for a kiss; pulled her closer, smiling like she was everything and he couldn’t be close enough. Right there in the middle of the hallway for everyone to see. For all the hope and potential to seep out of Billy’s body and pool onto the ground.

“Leaving us to be with those… freaks.”

The boy in question is about 2 tables over, talking with that girl and some lanky dude with a shaggy haircut who looks like he can’t hold himself upright. Billy thinks it’s the punk he bumped into earlier in the hallway as he stormed away from whatever show Steve Harrington thought he was putting on with that girl. The same kid who Tommy and Carol were picking on earlier as they entered the cafeteria- sending rude jeers and snickers his way about being “cursed” and “creepy”.

Tommy and Carol are jackasses. It doesn’t take a whole lot of time for Billy to put that together- they’re loud and inconsiderate, walking and acting like they have something to prove with everything they do. They look down their noses at everyone they can, despite Carol only being 5 foot and Tommy being not even a foot taller. They take up so little space but walk like they can make demands of the world. Small fish in even smaller ponds. Billy knows and hates the type.

But Steve Harrington… He’s 2 tables over and he’s laughing something loud and bright and handing the lanky dude some of his food in some kind gesture and he’s got his arm around that girl and he kisses her temple where her hair meets soft skin and- and Tommy is right. Who the hell does this boy think he is and why the hell does he think he gets to be that way so unabashedly? Where does he get off, shining so brightly that Billy can’t even hope to get near?

“Clearly he made a big mistake.” Carol mutters, paying adamant attention to her tray and looking pissed to high hell with the conversation at hand.

Ripping his eyes away from the laughing and joyful Steve Harrington does more harm than good, because it means Billy has to look at a sulking Carol and Tommy. Billy hates more than anything that these people are the best people for him to stick to. He’s not here to make life-long friends- he’s only got a couple of years until he can get the fuck out and back to California. He’s not clinging to any hope for happiness here, he just wants people who are popular enough to make life easy and tolerable enough to keep him sane. A year or two and that’s it, he’s out and can scrub all of this clean from his memory. And hell, maybe sharing a common enemy will give him something to do in the meantime.

Billy’s not even fully sure what Steve did to these two to have them bitching so much. Tommy’s been rambling uselessly and Carol seems about as sick of it as Billy is, regardless of her seeming to agree. Everyone else around them is paying no mind anymore.

This shit must happen often…

The only information he’s gathered is that Steve was their friend and they had some violent falling out and now Steve walks around with the prissy girl and the punk-ass boy. It’s been a long 10 minutes already.

Just two years...

“Not King Steve anymore.” Tommy bites out and that gets Billy listening.

“King Steve?” He scoffs at the title. “Are you serious? Who the hell called him that?”

“Everyone.” A girl chimes in- Billy doesn’t know her name. He stopped inputting information past a certain point.

“Why?” He asks over his orange juice carton.

Everyone at the table looks at him like he’s grown a second head.

“Because he’s hot.” Carol supplies like it shouldn’t need to be said. Billy holds himself back from comment.

“He’s never had an awkward day in his life.” Tommy says, sounding just as bitter as before. “He acts better than everyone and we all just… agreed.”

At that, Tommy turns in on himself. There’s guilt on his face.

“He practically ruled the school.” Another girl adds, doing a fuck all job of reading the room as she swoons over her words.

And with all that, they’ve answered Tommy’s question.

He knows exactly who he is. He’s the King, because they told him so.

Billy sends another look his way, to the boy that seems to have everything he could possibly need. The boy smiling and laughing. Somehow Billy doesn’t think this fallen “king” made that big of a mistake. This boy looks like he needs nothing more in his life than these two “losers” and a place to be with them… and Billy feels bitterness in himself growing ever faster.

“Yeah, well not anymore.” Billy growls darkly.

The energy shifts at the table- all the dejected faces of these people who have lost their effervescent leader turn hopeful onto Billy. He couldn’t have guessed to overthrow the “king” of Hawkins High on his very first afternoon, but he can’t say he fully dreads it.

People doing what I say? Could be nice. It’s good to have people on my side… and it’s only two years.

“Yeah, not anymore.” Tommy nods in agreement, grinning through something sour still. Billy can’t say he really gives a shit about whatever this dude is going through.

“Anyone else to avoid?” Billy asks dismissively.

“Underclassmen mostly.” One girl complains. “God they are so annoying.”

“Some of them are worth a good screw though.”

The girl smacks the guy who just perked up. “You’re so disgusting.”

“I’m right.”

“Stop screwing freshmen! Just because you can’t get anyone else to touch your dick-”

Billy tunes out their bickering.

“I heard Julie’s a pretty good screw, too.” Tommy says lasciviously, clearly feeling more normal again. Carol doesn’t seem to be having it, though.

“I don’t trust Julie as far as I can throw her.”

“Oh yeah? I’ve heard some pretty good things-”

“She talks too much.” Carol crosses her arms indignantly. “It’s the people who talk the most that have done the least. Plus her mother is the town gossip, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? She never shuts her trap.”

Billy hates a gossip. He makes a face that Carol must register, because she’s giving him a look like she’s been proven right.

“Yeah, exactly. So unless you want a single kiss and everyone to know about your dick that she’s never even seen before, you’ll stay away.”

“Jealous?”

Carol turns to Tommy with a gasp. “You’ve never even touched Julie Warner, so don’t you start.”

Tommy’s grin is feral and Carol looks about ready to deck him, but she just scoots in closer to him and continues to pick at her tray of food.

The brisk fall air coming in from the open window feels like an insult. Billy looks outside and wishes it smelled of salt rather than pine. Wishes the trees weren’t so fluffy but rather slim and impossibly tall. Wishes the world wasn’t quite so gray and brown and hopeless. Wishes, wishes, wishes…

He shoves his hands in his pockets for some protection and feels out the crumpled neon invite he dismissively shoved away before.

“What about... Tina?” He asks with general disinterest, reading from the paper in his hand. They shrug.

“Tina’s cool.” Carol admits. “Her mom is out of town on some business thing so the house is gonna be empty for the party.”

“Doesn’t really matter what Tina’s like though.” Tommy says, scraping the bottom of the applesauce container with his spoon like it’s his dying meal. “A party’s a party, right?”

Billy figures he can agree.

“You’re going, yeah?”

All eyes turn to Billy again, expectant. Suddenly, the weight of whatever “leadership” role he’s taken on has hit him. Maybe he should have just skulked in the corner and kept away from anyone’s attention. Maybe all those “freaks” they pick on had the right idea of lurking in the shadows and keeping your head down.

Then again, no. Talk is dangerous, and… Mr. Chief Hopper said it himself: “Not a lot to do around here but talk.” If they’re gonna talk, he’d rather control the conversation.

Two years…

“Is there anything else to do in this piece of shit town?” He asks by way of an answer, with a sort of disgust he can’t wipe from his words.

They all laugh with mirthless agreement. Clearly, Billy was right. A boring old town full of cow shit and corn stalks- nothing to be proud of or excited about here. He’s surrounded by people itching to get out, just like him… except Billy’s not going to be like them. He’d bet his soul that at least half of these kids are gonna become burnouts trapped in the general area; like wriggling and desperate flies in a small town spiderweb.

“So, Billy…” The girl next to him purrs, scooting in and getting far too close for comfort. “Tell us more about California.”

Billy absentmindedly squirms out of her grip and silently begs for strength.

~~*~~

“I’m very sorry Billy,” Coach Walters or Wallens or goddamn Walrus says, not sounding very sorry at all. “But the roster was already decided over a week ago.”

They stop in front of his office, the man fumbling with a set of keys. Billy’s glaring down at them with furrowed and angered brows, feeling himself snarling at the clanging metal.

He looks up when the Coach does, his expression failing slightly at the almost sympathetic look on the coach’s face.

“I’m sorry. You’re just too late.”

“I can’t be too late.” Billy insists, voice straining a bit. He’s not going to say he’s been following the coach around desperately ever since school got out 20 minutes ago, asking and pushing and borderline pleading to try out for the basketball team… because no one’s here to see it anyway so he doesn’t have to admit to shit.

“You are.” The coach sighs, reaching out to grab the equipment from Billy’s hands. He offered to carry it, thinking it’d give him an edge of favor. Now Billy holds it back like it’s a hostage.

“You can make an exception for me.” Billy says assuredly. Coach Walrus shakes his head, bushy eyebrows low and deep frown unable to be hidden, even behind his abundant whiskery beard and mustache.

“I’ve given two exceptions already to other guys.”

“That’s not my problem!” Billy bites, holding back a wince when the coach frowns harder at him.

There’s a pause, a staring match that holds all of Billy’s hope for a decent time here in this wretched place. There’s nothing to do around here but wander the streets, and the temperature is dropping far too rapidly for that to be comfortable much longer. He doesn’t want to be huddling in the cold outdoors this fall, or god forbid by the time winter sneaks around. And there’s no way in hell that Billy is spending more time at home than he needs to. Billy’s got a few things going for him, but he could count those few things on one hand, and he’s not going to sit here and let one of those things be ripped away by being a week late when that isn’t even his fault.

He stares. He refuses to back down. He refuses to hand over the equipment.

“It is if you wanna make the team.” The coach says lowly. Threatens, if Billy had to guess… but there might be hope in that statement, and it keeps Billy from throwing the sports equipment down on the ground at his feet.

The coach stalks into his office. Billy follows.

“I was on my team back at home.” He tries quickly, heart pulling uncomfortably at the thought of it. He can’t think about things he misses, or he’ll get stuck.

“Alright, that doesn’t mean much.”

“We were in the best division in the state. We won championships.” Billy’s selling his former team way up. No one has to know, and certainly not this man. He only hopes he doesn’t look into it too hard.

The coach takes pause, eyeing Billy as he fiddles uselessly with paperwork on his desk.

“That says nothing about you as a player.”

Billy’s going to pull his hair out. He clutches the bag of dodge balls in his hand with a death grip.

“I can show you how I am as a player.” Billy grits out, vague recognition of threads breaking from under his grip. “If you just let me try out.”

The coach raises his eyebrow.

“You can put that equipment over in that corner.”

Billy looks down at the fraying bag and his popped out veins. He takes a few steps to toss the assaulted bag in the aforementioned corner.

“I just don’t have that kind of time right now, Billy-”

“Well I can vouch for myself.”

“I can’t just have kids vouching for themselves and getting onto our Varsity.”

“I was the best player on my team!”

Some would say that’s debatable, but-

“You were the captain?” the coach asks with a skeptical look. The words “best” and “captain” don’t have any correlation in Billy’s mind, but he nods his head anyway.

“Yes, I was.”

A lie. But it’s not like captain even matters, especially when the real captain was the son of the coach and mediocre at best.

“And do you have someone who can vouch for that?”

Billy reels. He hears a gruff, distant voice in his head.

... name and number… someone I can call… your best interest in mind...

He desperately wishes things could just be easy. He wishes it wasn’t such a witch-hunt to find someone who cares.

“You can call my coach.” Billy says, trying not to sound as lame as he feels. He’s fully aware his coach retired last year, it’s some new guy now that Billy didn’t bother to meet before the move. He knows if this man calls, he’s not going to get much by way of an answer. He’s hoping it’ll work in his favor- he seems so busy with fuck knows what that maybe he’ll just get sick enough of this to let it slide.

The exasperated sigh that leaves Coach Walrus seems like the nail in the coffin, Billy’s just not sure which coffin yet-

“Coach?” calls a voice, smooth and distant. “Coach Wallace?”

Another groan fills the room as the coach pushes past with an apologetic face to get back into the gym. Billy follows, feeling more flustered than he’d like. They’re not done here, they can’t be-

“Sorry Steve.” Coach Wallace laments.

Steve.

The boy in question is standing in the door, mid-afternoon sun backlighting him with a glow that makes Billy want to hurt someone. Maybe him. Maybe there’s something to be said of Billy wanting to destroy every pretty thing he sees.

Steve looks at him with confused curiosity in his eyes. Billy can’t help but puff his chest out at the evaluation- maybe Steve even rakes his eyes up and down Billy.

But Steve looks away quickly. Billy tries not to deflate.

“Are you still coming by for dinner?” Steve asks, looking at the coach. Billy scoffs. Steve glares.

“Oh, yes, sorry Steve. I hope I’m not keeping your parents waiting-”

“Nah, if I know my mom she’s still mixing drinks and… making hors d'oeuvres or something.”

The fuck is an “or derve”?

The coach and Steve laugh. Steve’s laugh is too damn pretty. Billy thinks about ways he can wrap his hands around a laugh.

“I just came by to ask if you still need help getting to my house.”

“Oh yes, if you could. I’ve been there so many times, you’d think I’d have the trip down by now.”

“Eh, it’s a little out of the way.” Steve shrugs, popping out his hip, hands in his pockets. His nonchalance is liable to drive Billy to murder. “I just uh… I’ve got somewhere to be tonight and I’ve kind of gotta… get ready for that. But no rush-”

“Ohhh… a nice date tonight?”

Get ready, huh?

Steve rubs the back of his neck, smile sheepish. He’s just so polite.

“Eh it’s… it’ll be something.”

“Alright well then let’s-”

Billy clears his throat as loudly as possible.

“Oh! Sorry Billy uh... “ The coach heaves another sigh, like Billy couldn’t be any more of a burden. Billy fucking hates that sound. “Look. I’ve made a lot of exceptions already, but you seem committed to wanting to be on this team and lord knows we could use the commitment here. So… I’m taking your word for it just this once. Practice is right here every weekday right after school except for Mondays, alright?”

“Got it.”

“If I decide at practice that you’re not up to snuff, don’t throw a fit with me.”

“That won’t happen.”

Billy doesn’t specify which one he means. The coach seems to notice.

“I mean it.”

The coach points a thick, red finger in Billy’s face, his own very serious. And with that, he’s turning back towards Steve and leaving the gym. Steve is still standing there, backlit by the sun, leaning against the door and only shifting to let the coach leave first.

He peels his eyes away from Billy, looking impossibly and offensively disinterested.

And fuck Steve Harrington.

That’s the consensus that Billy’s brain has come to as he climbs into his bed that night, the nippy chill of the late October Indiana air seeping in through his drafty windows. It hasn’t even been 24 hours to come to this; it seems as though everything in this town can be ruined in a matter of 24 hours or less.

He’s fitful as he sleeps, as always. And as always, his sleep is mostly blank images and stressful feelings. However, every now and then, in between the anxious dark, he sees a sort of prettiness he wishes he could get his hands on and wring out- violently.

~~~~*~~~~

In his 16 years of public schooling, there’s one important lesson Billy has learned: being popular isn’t as important as being intimidating.

He could be the most friendless, insignificant sap on campus- in fact, Billy’s starting to think he would have preferred that option -but being feared is the only status of any worth. Being feared means no one talking shit about him. Being feared means everyone bending over backwards to get on his good side. Being feared means no trying to shove him around or trying to pick a fight because they know he’ll dish it out just as good as he can take it.

Back at home, Billy got into fights outside of school. Plenty of them. Enough to have all the students know he wasn’t one to be messed with. More than a few bruised faces and black eyes told everyone to never dare accuse him of empty threats. But here, in Bumfuck, Indiana with only the cows and their shit for company, no one knows a single thing about him. He’s just the latest newcomer who happened to ride in on a glittery California wave.

He figures this blank slate has given him a few options: hope someone starts a shitty rumor about him, start that rumor himself, or get in a fight.

He’d rather anything but that last one. No part of him wants to expel more energy than is absolutely necessary in this place. Everything’s easier when you let others do the work for you.

And for as angry as he’s been these last couple of days, he’s tired most of all. Tired from new homes and new time zones and new schools and new roads and new people and the same old expectations he’s always had to deal with… he’s just tired. There’s too much figuring out to be done. For as boring as this shitty town is, nothing’s normal here. He doesn’t want to have to do so much to exist comfortably. And he certainly doesn’t want to have to waste the energy on beating someone’s face in if he doesn’t need to.

He wants all of the benefits with none of the work. If he can get through this by staying low and having everyone assume more of him than he’s willing to give, things will be good.

He just has to get through it. And getting through it tends to be the hardest part.

He hears talk. Lots of it. None of it is quite what he wants yet. It’s only been a day, but every second counts when it comes to reputation, especially when that reputation is riding on a rumor. By the end of next week the momentum will die down and he knows he can’t wait that long. So he listens intently to the talk around him- mentions of “rockstars” and “roads paved gold” and “is that a scar?” and that’s what catches Billy’s ear the most. There’s hope filling in him that maybe he’ll get exactly what he wants.

“He doesn’t deserve an exception. He just moved here.”

The voice is coming around the corner from where Billy is shoving useless books into his locker. It almost sounds familiar, but in a way that grates at Billy’s ears.

“I don’t know, man.” A far less familiar voice responds.

“He’s cocky.” It’s spat out with disgust. The boys can’t see Billy if he can’t see them, but he knows the words are about him. He can feel it tugging in him. “Why does he think he gets special treatment?”

“You get special treatment, too.”

“What? No I don’t.” The familiar voice is a petulant little whine now.

“The coach visits your house all the time.” And that’s what seals it.

This guy is talking to Harrington.

“... okay but that’s different though.”

That’s Steve Harrington. With his self-entitled confidence and his irritated whine. He’s not getting what he wants and he’s pissed about it. Or maybe it’s more than that. Billy is clutching his last book with white knuckles, wondering why his being on the team means anything to this rich little prick.

“You weren’t even here for tryouts, were you?” It’s the other guy. Billy’s seeing red. “You were still on vacation, but Coach let you on the team anyway.”

He can hear Harrington stutter, grasping for straws on how to defend himself.

“Yeah but... But that’s just different c’mon man, you know that. Coach knows me, he doesn’t know this… asshole.”

“He might be good for the team.”

“Who cares? He’s a pain in my ass.”

Billy doesn’t realize how hard he slams his locker until he rounds the corner and sees wide eyes and open mouths. He realizes he doesn’t care far quicker, though. His fists are clenched hard, knuckles cracking. People are whispering. He can’t hear their words. He’s staring down this stupid boy with his pretty face and wants so badly to see it ruined. Wants so badly to take one of the many things this self-centered prick gets to have as his own. Wants to ruin what he has- wants to rid him of even half of that privilege.

Harrington’s face is shocked, but it washes away into dismissiveness. He raises his nose up.

“He’s just a worthless poser. He doesn’t belong on the team.”

Billy seethes.

But Harrington doesn’t see it, because he’s turned around and walked away. The other guy is still standing there, gaping, before he walks away too, but Billy barely realizes. He’s got laser focused vision on Harrington. Billy’s fists flex.

He wants to do something. He wants to hurt him. He wants to chase him down the hall and get his hands into him. Feel his flesh under him. Feel him writhe under him.

He wants him gasping for air and pleading.

His chest fills with bile just at the thought… the thought of wanting…

Billy turns and walks the other way.

He doesn’t know why he does it. He still sees Harrington’s face in his mind, dismissive and uninterested, and then it all morphs into just shapes… and there’s more energy coursing through him now than there has been since he first stepped foot on the soft and muddy Indiana soil- and it’s poisonous. It’s the sort of energy that wrecks through his body, making his limbs shake and his heart race until he’s finally got his hands on something. It’s the sort of energy that makes him feel sick when he thinks back on it afterwards… that makes him feel like a familiar monster. The sort of thoughts that make his heart race with anxiety alongside the adrenaline. There’s just a scary kind of freedom in roughing someone up- he’s big and he’s strong enough. He’s worked hard for it. There’s control in taking it into his own hands. It feels like all he can do sometimes. All he needs is to get a good grab. He can get anything within reach. He just needs a reason.

“Hey, Hollywood… what’s with the red face? Can’t handle a little Indiana sun-”

There’s a reason.

He doesn’t register anything until he’s in the front office, being sternly spoken to by the vice principal. He gathers from the conversation that he gave the guy a bruised stomach and he “should be lucky it only got that far” because “from what I’ve heard, you’ve got a new coach. And he doesn’t take kindly to this kind of behavior.”

Billy doesn’t even think about it until later that night, when he’s getting ready for Tina’s stupid party and hears those afternoon words repeat through his mind. Words questioning his worth, questioning his character, threatening to take away something he just barely got… all because he got angry. All because he couldn’t handle himself. All because he’s a mirror. He’s just a reflection of all the worst things he sees...

No, it happened because of Harrington. Because of Harrington most of all. Yeah. Because Harrington couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut or his shitty opinions to himself. Because Harrington has a face too pretty for his own good.

Fuck Steve Harrington.

~~~*~~~

Billy likes it loud.

Everything. Everything loud. Loud music, loud sex, and certainly loud parties. Loud parties bring a comfort that quiet ones could never hope to grasp. Billy can’t be around this many people without his body vibrating from constant energy. Without his eardrums shaking from the wailing music.

There’s no thoughts to be had while inverted and chugging watery beer out of a dirty, spit soaked keg. He gets a high off of the overstimulation, his body rushing itself over with adrenaline. Then he kicks his foot, and the guys at his ankles let him down, and his ears are buzzy enough to drown out the cheering he can see is taking place in his honor. His heart is thumping heavily. The cheers get louder as his blood settles back into its regular flow. He can feel large hands patting and pawing his shoulders and back.

He cheers along with them, vibrating with the words he’s saying even though they’re gibberish to his ears. There’s no need to be coherent as he shouts, wandering back into the house and cutting through the crowd of people as he puffs his cigarette. He feels a hand- must be Tommy’s -lingering on his back and shoulder. Hit him there. Stay there. Lingering lingering. He’s too out of his mind, too out of place to care too much.

Being drunk makes it easier to stay at this lame party. Most of it is blurry to him, what with his stuttering movement and the way his eyes have started to water after being upside down for so long. He’s fixated on streamers hanging from the ceiling, figuring they must actually be toilet paper now that he’s got his hands on them, pulling them absent-mindedly from the ceiling like a cat with yarn. He’s dizzy with everything, suddenly aching for something for his mouth to do, thinking of going for his cigarette again or even tonguing at the paper when-

Fuck.

He keeps a good grip on the toilet paper, hardly realizing that he’s bringing it with him as his focus is completely honed in on a figure leaning up against the nearest wall. He pushes past writhing bodies, vaguely hearing the music as it shouts over all of them. There’s only one person Billy cares about right now- maybe only one person he’s cared about all week.

He doesn’t have words and doesn’t feel he needs them. Tommy’s scratchy voice says all he needs him to.

“We’ve got ourselves a new Keg King, Harrington.”

Billy stares Steve Harrington down with fervor, but he can only see himself in the reflection of Harrinton’s glasses. He’s blurry even to himself, and it leaves him angry.

“Yeah, that’s right!” Is the voice of another guy Billy never bothered to remember the name of. “Yeah, eat it, Harrington!”

Harrington takes his glasses off then, face looking every bit as serious as Billy feels. They just stare as time vibrates around them. Or maybe it’s just Billy. Billy still has no words in his throat, and especially not with Steve’s eyes on his. Billy thinks, briefly and loosely, about how he still wishes he had something to do with his mouth right now.

And then it’s just as always- as if Billy couldn’t be more boring if he tried -because Steve looks away with disinterest. He shifts his focus over to Tommy and his lips curl into something that straddles the line of a smile and a sneer.

“Harrington, huh? Whatever happened to Stevie?” He asks it in a way that makes Billy’s blood run hot in a way that isn’t just anger. It gets Tommy shifting nervously. Harrington’s smirk just grows wider.

His eyes flick back over to Billy for a quick second, before leaning in and speaking seriously to Tommy: “You can tell your new King I hope he enjoys all my sloppy seconds.”

Tommy’s face burns a bright red but Billy can’t see that because he can’t look away from Steve. He’s a whirlwind of everything violent and intoxicated and overwhelmed and far too strong. He sneers, ready to lunge but his body won’t let him. His feet are planted.

“Happy Halloween!” Harrington chirps, looking far too happy and far too satisfied and far too bright in his all-black outfit as he walks away. And Billy wants to lunge at him. Wants to spit out all of his hatred. Wants to blame his whole life on this one guy as he saunters away.

But Tommy stalks away with a dark mutter. And then there’s a crowd sweeping Billy up and leading him back over to the dance floor.

And it’s times like these Billy is glad it’s loud, because he doesn’t need to speak to anyone. But it’s times like these where Billy hates it loud, too, because loud means people. Lots of people. People touching him and writhing against him and sweating on him. His stomach starts to churn with the way everyone is undulating around him.

He shoves his way towards the window, seeing most people have migrated either inside or out back, now that the keg seems to be empty. There’s a few stragglers still coming in fashionably late, lots of cars parked outside, but there’s a small patch of dried grass over to the side that’s completely vacant. It looks like a haven right about now. He pushes through the crowd until they part like the red sea for him, giving him the chance to stumble outside and lay out on the grass.

When he gets there and flops himself down, he laments how rough and scratchy it feels. He silently cusses out Tina and her folks, figuring there’s no way it can be drier here than it is back where he’s from, down near the border where they're in a drought most of the year and the heat dries up the plants. Figures they must just be cheap. Can’t even take care of their own lawn.

And Billy wonders who he’s kidding. His old man is the same damn way.

He lays back, head feeling woozy from leaving the heat of all those bodies and heading straight into the crisp fall air. While the grass is harsh and offensive against him, he’s still grateful for the stability now pressed against his back. For a second, quick and warm, he feels fully safe.

And if there’s anything to be said for Hawkins- for all of Indiana and the piece of shit Billy still firmly believes it to be -it’s the night sky. It’s every star above Billy that’s winking back at him crystal clear. It’s the hundreds of them… hell maybe thousands of them that are in view right now on the crunchy grass next to Tina’s house.

San Diego was vastly different. Even in the small towns bordering it, the stars could never be this abundant and bright. Only when Billy and his friends dared each other to paddle out into the ocean on their surfboards late at night could they see anywhere near this many stars. Only on the farthest and most secluded corners of the beaches, or the very tip of the more vacant piers.

There’s some comfort and some pain when Billy thinks about how these are the same stars that can be found in San Diego. Roughly. Right? It’s certainly the same Fall moon. It’s a different breeze hitting him right now, chilling him down to his bones and making him wish he was on that surfboard. Wishing he and his friends were talking about something stupid and childish. Wishing the harsh ground beneath him was rocking like a rolling wave.

Billy’s always hated wishes. Despised them. He never gets anything he wishes for. They’re not worth the breath.

Still somehow his brain never quite gets the memo.

He’s dizzy with booze and people and wishes. He’s staring at the stars, watching them twinkle, wondering how the real search out here in the boondocks is for a plane in the sky rather than a celestial body, and he wishes for things. He wishes for pretty things. Wishes for things he can get his hands on. Wishes for ease. Wishes for salty breezes. Wishes for seagulls. Wishes for seashells. Wishes for and wishes for and wishes for-

He hears the door open and slam- heavier now than it has been as people wander into the party late. He sits up quickly, immediately feeling that keg he chugged earlier and that joint he hit before getting here and those beers he had in the car ride over and-

Someone is trudging down the walkway, smacking bushes angrily as they go. Billy watches with unfocused eyes, noticing first the dark outfit and then the coiffed hair.

“Harrington!” Billy shouts after him, heart pumping quickly, watching as the boy doesn’t slow even for a second. He heaves himself off the ground, head feeling heavy, wondering if his eyes are deceiving him or not. “Harrington, you…”

The boy’s steps falter. He shifts his attention, just a little, in Billy’s direction and there he is. That pretty face. Billy hates the way Harrington shifts his attention away so quickly, just like always. As if Billy couldn’t be any more worthless if he tried. As if Harrington himself is the one deciding factor of something like that.

So Billy starts to walk after him, his own steps lazy versus Harrington’s urgent pace.

“How’s it feel? Huh?” Billy’s mouth feels like mush, so he yells louder to compensate. “Being such a loser? Losing everything you had?”

He watches as the moon illuminates the bit of Harrington’s pale neck exposed to the air. He wants his nails in this boy’s skin. He wants to dig into him and under him in every way. He wants a lot of things he can’t stand to put into words.

Harrington still isn’t looking. His stride still isn’t breaking. Billy is pissed, tries to walk a little faster, tries to yell a little louder.

“Must really suck doesn’t it, champ? Hm? Knowing you don’t mean anything to anyone anymore.”

If Billy isn’t mistaken, Harrington starts to walk faster. It feels kind of good and kind of sick to see him react. So he keeps yelling after him.

“Knowing you’re nothing to them now, eh hot shot?”

Harrington’s steps get heavier. Billy feels a cackle rising up through his throat.

“Knowing you lost it all-”

“God, no one gives a shit about you!” Comes a voice that startles Billy, knowing it’s not his own, but rather Harrington’s. He’s damn near screeching as he spins around quickly. His face is bright red, even in the dim light of the night, and his expression is folded into rage. “Not a single shit!”

Billy nearly falls as he stumbles back, suddenly being faced with a shift in momentum. He cements his feet to the grass as best he can, staring down Harrington and his dark eyes. His mouth falls open in his shock.

“They?” Harrington continues, gesturing wildly to the house behind them. “Aren’t worth anything. They’re gonna forget you in a month, tops. And then what do you have? Huh?”

Billy blinks, bewildered and suddenly boiling, Because how dare he… how dare he-

“Who cares what you have to say! You mean nothing! Just get the fuck away from me.”

And then Steve turns back around, stomping down the street, probably to find his car. And Billy watches after him, stumbles backwards a bit, clenches his fists tightly. The words stick to the cold air like a tongue to a frozen pole, rushing around Billy’s head in heavy, dark promises. In harsh and brittle words of truth.

No one gives a shit…

His knuckles crack again with how hard he’s clenching them, and he moves to go after him with his fists- but he fumbles. His head is spinning with harsh truths now too. Everything feels wrong and sour. He tries to chase after him, go get his hands on him, to make him pay- but he just stumbles forward like he’s a deer with newfound legs.

And Billy wishes. Billy wishes with all his might to get his hands on something tangible and breakable and fragile.

He can’t help it… he watches Steve pull away and down the road, driving faster than Billy’s heart is beating. Billy feels wreckage inside of him.

He turns back to the party to shove his way through the crowd, to grab another drink, and to get the hell out of here.

#Billy Hargrove #Steve harrington #Steve Harrington still being an asshole supremacy rise up #i say as if I have not been a part of the problem #fic #yearning #angst #stranger things #tommy hagan #carol perkins #i had a sort of a revelation recently about Billy and how I feel about him #and how I feel about a lot of plots with characters who seem violent but broken #you know that scene in Punch-Drunk Love where he says he wants to bash her face in and she says she wants to rip his eyes out and suck on #them??? yeah.... yeah I just think Steve and Billy would turn into that #i think Billy disassociates and wishes to do violence bc sometimes I disassociate and wish to do violence and even tho I don't do violence #I do understand #y'know?? does this make sense??#you feel so much you are so overwhelmed all you can think to do is *squeeze* and squash and hurt and cry #and rip and shred and tear???#yeah..... yeah.............

8 notes · View notes