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growup-thatbeautiful · 2 years

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our world- harringrove

My contribution to @harringroveweek July 29th! I decided to mix two of the prompts, Harringrove Lake House and Summer Vacation to make a part 2 for halfway up the stairs, although it counts as a stand alone fic as well! It can be read here on AO3 as well.

summary: “But at least you have your man beside you, huh? The world cannot shake you from him.” Steve genuinely doesn’t know what to say to that. Sure, he thinks Billy’s going to be be his side. It’s not like he can imagine otherwise, not with how engrained Billy is into his life, his daily routines. Where would he be without Billy making fun of his movie choices but watching them anyways? Or Billy himself making Steve watch the most sappy romcoms he can find, just because he knows how Steve secretly loves them.

“You’ve got that look in your eye, topolino. Billy really has your heart, doesn’t he? Tucked away somewhere, and you have that look like you don’t want it back.”

tags: steve harrington is a good babysitter, domestic fluff, summer vacation, herrington lake house, established relationship, happy billy hargrove, billy is an asshole and we love him for it

warnings: smoking, neil hargrove, implied/mentions homophobia, steve’s parents being terrible people, mentions of anxiety, light cursing

translations: “ Il buongiorno si vede dal mattino” - a good day starts in the morning

“hanno una casa adeguata?” - are they from good homes?

“l'amore non è bello se non è litigarello.” - love is not beautiful if it is not a fight.

“Ringrazia le stelle per te." - thank the stars for you

“Già cosi cresciuto." - grown up already

“Senza senso.” - none sense

“non essere timido” - do not be shy

“When night lays sad upon you

Go watch a simple sunrise

Love can open your eyes

In our world .”

There aren’t a lot of things Steve’s parents are good for. They leave the power off when they forget that Steve is going to be home while they’re away somewhere. They send him away to camps during the summer or insist he gets a job to keep him out of the house, where he can’t cause any noise, which apparently is a flaw of his. They kick him out of the house for having a boyfriend his senior year, and ironically, force him to move in with his boyfriend. Not that they could have known Billy was also going to be kicked out, but hey, he’s not one to complain. Except that it was an all together shitty time for the both of them. He was basically given extra time to spend with Billy, working around being high-school students supporting themselves with help from Joyce and Hopper, of course.

The one thing his parents are still good for, though, is this. The only connection he still has to his family, his Nonna. She’s a true force of nature, an unrelenting presence of joy and comfort, even when she’s hundreds of miles away. When Steve got kicked out, she was the first one to call him, the only one in his family to reach out at all, and she’s never wavered in her love for him. Not once.

Steve wasn’t sure how it would be, brining Billy into this world of his. Italy is definitely different than Hawkins, especially when someone stays for two weeks at their boyfriend’s grandma’s villa on the lake. There’s only so much of Steve’s past Billy can take on before he flies off. Or so Steve thought.

Turns out, there was never anything to worry about in the first place. Billy gets on with Nonna like he’s known her his whole life, spends the most evenings with her in the kitchen learning from someone who actually has the patience and care to teach him how to do things he never got taught. Steve knows Billy didn’t ever get anything like this with his family. His dad preferred to remain distant to any of his family, and his mom’s family ignores the fact that he exists, an unwelcome blemish to remind them that their daughter wasn’t perfect.

Nonna is the last of Steves family that speaks to him, but she’s the only semblance of family that Billy even has. There’s no one Billy talks to besides Steve, Max, and the hordes of children that come along with them as a package deal.

All of this contemplation, which Steve usually saves for late nights when he can’t sleep, occurs in the early hours of the morning, when he’s half awake and debating whether or not to fall back asleep. It just feels so nice, so safe, to be here with Billy in a place he grew up in.

Nonna’s house has always been home. During holidays, he would come here while his parents went on some cruise, and he would spend evenings counting the stars with Nonna on a checkered blanket and coloring on the kitchen table while Nonna made bread.

A very distant memory shows his Nonno, with his kind eyes and horrible sense of humor. A man Steve remembers to have always worn a worn down leather cap and a smile, who he only got to see for the first few years of his life.

Nonno’s death, when Steve was ten, didn’t impact him like it did the rest of his family. For some reason, he found it easy to escape the feelings of grief and anxiety because he was just happy to be with his family. That was before his parents decided he wasn’t worth the effort, before they let go all his tutors and left him to suffer on his own. He was happy then, to run around and try to make as many people smile as he could, giving out hugs and doing what little kids do best.

Nonna held onto his hand during the funeral. She didn’t let go all of the car ride home and into dinner. When she did, his hand was red and sore, but he wore it like a secret prize, a testimony to show how he helped.

As he got older, he came to Nonna’s fewer and fewer. The beautiful house became less of a home to him and just a place he went sometimes. A brief escape from his real home, which also wasn’t much of a home.

Then he had Billy, who is as much his family as anyone else. From the standard Steve’s actual family set, he’s much better. Steve is almost positive that all those lost homes of his past were just him saving up his energy for Billy later on in life because maybe he’s a little superstitious sometimes. Who isn’t?

Especially with someone like Billy. He’s supportive while being utterly, ridiculously antagonistic and the sweetest asshole Steve knows.

An asshole whose currently laying almost completely on top of him, his arms and legs sprawled out across the bed.

Steve’s just thinking about falling back asleep and letting go of the march down memory road when their door is shoved open and Nonna comes in.

“Rise and shine, sleepyheads. Il buongiorno si vede dal mattino. You won’t get anything done from that bed .”

“I can think of a few things we could do,” mutters Billy. “And I don’t even know what the other part you’re of what you’re saying means, so I can ignore it all I want.”

Nonna doesn’t waste a second and pulls the blanket off of their bed, jolting Steve wide awake from the cool morning air. “It means it cannot be a good day if you waste it in bed. Come now, hurry up. We have a lot to do to get ready.”

“What would she have done if we weren’t wearing any clothes when she tore the cover off?” muses Billy, running and hand through his hair and sitting up.

“Why would you share that thought with me? I don’t want to think about my grandma finding us in- well-“

“Uncomfortable circumstances?” Billy’s suggestion is coupled with a glint in his eye that Steve knows could mean he should prepare for something vile to come out of Billy’s mouth. “Well, uncomfortable for her. Probably quite comfortable for us .”

“You’re disgusting.”

“That’s why you like me,” answers Billy. They shuffle around the room, getting dressed and trying not to bump into each other. Steve has a strange tendency to run into things in the morning, including but not limited to walls, doorframes, animals, sleeping children on the floor, and most commonly, Billy.

“Yeah, I like you for your personality.”

“I have an excellent personality. You should know better than anyone how charming and polite I can be, baby. How else would I have gotten a golden boy like you?” Billy sidles up behind Steve and wraps his arms around his waist, tugging him tight to his chest.

“Lots and lots of flirting and cigarette breaks.” Steve leans into Billy’s touch, a sensation he can’t deny himself, ever. They do have to hurry, though. He should tell Billy to let go. Right. Right? But Billy is so warm, so inviting, especially when he fits so perfectly against Steve. His better angels win and he reluctantly turns around to face Billy. “We have to get ready.”

“You have to get ready. I still have time before the rugrats get here. Get to it, pretty boy, you don’t want to keep Nonna waiting.” With that, Billy waltzes back into bed.

“You’re so fucking mean,” whines Steve, ruffling through his bag for a shirt. To return the favor, he adds, “I’m pretty sure she said your name too.”

“Maybe. But she’ll just text me what I need to do and I’ll do it. See, Steve, I’m smart and decided to take the job that let me do the same amount of work but talk to less people and go to less airports.” Billy’s voice is muffled by the pillow and his hair is scattered everywhere in wild curls. Steve takes his phone out and snaps a picture, saving it to the photo album called “ asshole that i love. ”

“By her texting me, you mean she’ll tell me to text you in her phone because all she knows how to do is the voice command thing.” Steve choses not to respond to the second part.

“Yep,” says Billy, popping the ‘p.’ “Now go away and let me sleep. Your favorite mug is in the sink, I cleaned it last night for you. Oh, and we’re out of that honey you like in your tea, but I’m going to get some today.” Steve is struck by the sheer adoration he has for Billy, in a moment when he’s being his usual difficult self. But he also cared for Steve, last night, before Steve even knew he would need it. He noticed how Steve pours a mountain of honey in his tea and even knows which brand he likes. He’s going to the grocery store, for christ’s sake. Steve didn’t think there was much that could get Billy to willingly go to a grocery store, but apparently running out of Steve’s honey does the trick.

“Okay, thanks, Billy. I’ll see you later, love you.”

“I love you too,” Billy mumbles, probably half asleep already.

Nonna’s voice rings through the house. “Steve, topolino, hurry up. We have to be at the airport in an hour and I need to tell Billy how to set up.”

For Billy’s sake, Steve chooses not to yell across the house. Nonna is waiting for him in the kitchen, a mug of coffee in one hand and another one for Steve in the others.

“Billy fell back asleep, but I’m ready.”

“That boy always looks like he needs a good nap,” comments Nonna. “I wrote out instructions for him to have on the fridge. It shouldn’t be too hard, but I know he wants to get things ready for his sister.” She hands Steve his mug and motions for him to sit in the barstool across from her by the counter.

“Yeah, she hasn’t traveled a lot out of the country. None of them have, actually. I hope they make it without any problems. I don’t know how well they could handle anything going wrong, most of them are prone to not handling some things well.”

“I’m sure they are going to be fine, but I know that won’t help you feel better. You can’t help but worry about them,” consoles Nonna.

“I was the same way about my child, and then worse with you. There’s nothing in the world that can stop you from worrying about them, credo. They’re yours as much as they’re anyone else’s.” Nonna doesn’t give him a chance to respond to that; she turns around and rinses her mug and heads towards the car. It’s just like her, to only speak when she needs to, when someone else needs her to. Steve dutifully follows behind her, sliding into the passengers seat.

Nonna’s car is beautiful. It’s partly where Steve got his love for his own car, which Billy has kindly nicknamed “piece of shit,” but Billy doesn’t have much ground to stand on. Billy loves his Camaro way too much to complain about Steve’s own car dedication.

Nonna’s is a brilliant deep green, vintage convertible that Nonno, when he was alive, carefully took care of, waxing it often and taking it out every night for a ride around the lakes. When he died, Nonna learned how to do the same and has kept up with it ever since. She says it gives her something to do, but Steve knows it’s more than that.

Obviously, though, it’s not big enough to fit all six of the kids, so they have a cab to meet them at the airport. A shame, really, that they won’t all get to experience to joy of this car, not that they would care in the slightest.

“I cannot wait to meet the children. How many are there again? Steve, hanno una casa adeguata? Or are they ones I need to send Christmas presents to?“ She worries, fixing her scarf around her neck and going through the motions of checking the mirrors, even though she’s the only one who drives it.

“They have good homes, Nonna. Joyce and Hopper, who I’ve told you about, they take care of most of them. Billy and I help out as much as we can, too, when there are rough nights.” The engine rises to life with an honest to God purr, and they pull gracefully out of the driveway. Green forrest’s and glimpses of blue waters blur by from outside the window.

“Good, good. I always knew you would be kind. My little Stevie, growing up and getting too old too fast.”

“I’m not grown, Nonna,” laughs Steve. “There are still a lot of things I need to figure out first. A lot that I don’t know.”

Nonna brushes the thoughts away with a flick of her hand. “No one knows everything they think they should know. Ever. It’s not a condition of living.”

“Since when did you get all philosophical?” Steve jokes. “I was just talking about the fact that Billy and I happen to almost set fire to the kitchen once a month and routinely forget to pay our bills.”

“Those are bad too,” agrees Nonna. “But at least you have your man beside you, huh? The world cannot shake you from him.” For emphasis, she grabs his arm tightly, assumedly the worlds behalf. Steve genuinely doesn’t know what to say to that. Sure, he thinks Billy’s going to be be his side. It’s not like he can imagine otherwise, not with how engrained Billy is into his life, his daily routines. Where would he be without Billy making fun of his movie choices but watching them anyways? Or Billy himself making Steve watch the most sappy romcoms he can find, just because he knows how Steve secretly loves them.

“You’ve got that look in your eye, topolino . Billy really has your heart, doesn’t he? Tucked away somewhere, and you have that look like you don’t want it back. You know, I used to have that look in my eyes. No, don’t scoff, it’s true. Your grandfather was quite the charmer. Very pretty too. Green eyes that made me think of the ocean and hair like yours, except he brushed it sometimes. The first night we were together he took me dancing. Imagine that? Me, with my books and my glasses, getting dressed up to dance with a boy. The whole town was shocked, of course, that I said yes. He was encantevole. I knew the moment he took my hand and we waltzed to that old song about the flowers that I wasn’t getting my heart back anytime soon.”

“I know the feeling,” mumbles Steve. Nonna smiles at him and pats his hand lovingly.

“The first months together were absolute bliss. Of course, we had our fights. But you know they saying: l'amore non è bello se non è litigarello. Fighting is healthy. It made us stronger. I’m sure you know that.”

“Billy and I used to fight a lot,” admits Steve quietly. It’s strange, because he never talks about this. They kind of just…ignore it, like it never happened, like it isn’t how they met or how they fell in love. “I used to hate him. The way he would walk around like he was better than everyone else, like there was something superior about him that no one else had or even knew. Now I know that it wasn’t that he actually thought he was better than anyone at all, he was just trying to hide the fact that he assumed there was something wrong with him. He was told for a long time that there was something wrong with him, so he believed it and took it out on everyone else. If he was mean, no one could see that he was hurting, was bleeding his heart out and drowning in Neil’s anger. He was fighting fire with fire, just in two separate places. Max is the only who who kind of knows what it was like for him. But as far as Billy’s told me, he tried to keep it hidden from her. Maybe to protect her. Like I said, he doesn’t talk about it.” Steve breaks off, looking out the window. It’s not exactly his favorite topic, but it’s nice to discuss it with someone.

“You were talking about how you used to fight,” prompts Nonna gently.

“Right. We played basketball together in high-school, and that was the worst point. One night I was sitting for the Byers because Jonathan was off with Nance, and Max was over there too. Apparently she didn’t tell Neil or her mom, so Billy went looking and found me there with her, in a house full of teenager boys. It didn’t look good, and he made some fair assumptions about what was happening. It was…bad. Both of us probably should have ended up arrested, or at least in the hospital afterwards. Naturally, things got worse between us after that, and I think things got worse with Max too. I’m not exactly sure, I was a little out of it for a while. Trying to figure out why I cared so much that Billy wouldn’t look at me in the halls, why it mattered at all that he stopped coming to basketball. Somehow, Max was the one to piece it together. She basically locked us in a room and told us to get along or beat each other out of hatred. We chose to try and get along, which turned into what it is now.”

“Just like that?” Nonna asks.

“No,” laughs Steve. “I wish it was that easy, but it really wasn’t. It started with small things, like smoking by the quarry together or scheduling drop offs and pickups around each other’s schedules. Then, it became more over time, slowly. We still fought, but nothing past petty arguments and self-depreciation. Being with him became easy, and he was the one I wanted to talk to about things. I don’t think I realized what it was until one night when we were sitting outside by my pool in the middle of the fucking winter, wearing sweatshirts and sweaters and swim shorts for when we would get into the hot tub. It reminded me so much of that night with Nancy, when I knew I loved her. And I did. Love her, I mean. Billy was smoking and I was just watching him do that stupid thing he does where he blows smoke into your face when you’re sitting next to him. Annoying as hell. He probably hasn’t done it to you, though. Anyway, he was doing that, and I just thought to myself, “Man, I really love him.””

“My Steve, such a romantic. Who would have known? I always thought you were going to be a heartbreaker, but here you are, with your high school love, coming for a summer visit. Staying home with me most nights and playing card games. How lucky am I? Ringrazia le stelle per te.” Nonna reaches over the dashboard and rests her hand on top of Steve’s, patting it gently.

“Thank the stars for me? Nonna, you’re practically the only reason I ever though I could even be with Billy.”

“You would be with him anyway. You are soulmates. Anima Gemella. Twin souls, like your Nonno and me. I do have one question, though.”

“Ask away.” He would tell her anything in the world right now, sitting in this car soaked with memories of summer nights and deep talks.

“Why did you ever fight? I mean, yes, boys at that age are stupid and difficult, your father taught me that much, but why fight? Why not treat him like any of the others that got in your way?”

“I guess because, to me, he was reckless and dangerous most of the time, and not in the way any high-schoolers from Hawkins ever were. There was something just a little too short about him.”

“Weren’t you?” Nonna questions softly. “Weren’t you reckless and dangerous, going out in the nights.”

“Not then. It was after Nancy, so I had calmed down. And I was never the way he was, not that that makes me better or anything. He had a shit ton on his shoulders. It wasn’t till he opened up so painfully to me that I could appreciate what he had been through. It takes strength, you know, to live like he did and still have a good heart left underneath.”

“He has that strength and much more,” observes Nonna. “We are lucky to have him in our family now.” Steve’s face fills with warmth at the idea that Billy is his, his family’s, something that will stay with him forever. It’s not the first time he’s entertained the idea, but to hear his Nonna suggest it is entirely different. Coming from someone else, it seems more realistic, like it could actually happen.

He stares out of the window for the rest of the car ride, green scenery fading into urban areas and eventually the chaotic roads and twisting terminals of the airport. Waiting for him and Nonna on the pickup/drop off platform is Dustin, Lucas, El, Mike, Will, and Max, each carrying bags of luggage and looking around sheepishly.

Steve gets out of the car as quickly as Nonna turns off the engine and practically trips over himself to get to them. They all seem to be in one piece, so that’s good.

“Henderson!”

“Harrington!” Steve collides with Dustin, hugging him tightly. He hates to admit how much he’s grown to care about Dusin, how much his strange but undeniably comforting presence is missed.

Nonna comes over to inspect them, introducing herself to each of them with a smile. “When you said children, I assumed you meant actual children. Steve, these are practically adults. Già così cresciuto.”

“Wheeler, don’t look so happy about that,” warns Steve, but there’s no malice in his voice. He forgets a lot of the time how they’re growing up just like he is. To him, they’re still children, but really, they’re adults like he is. Sure, most of them still live in Hawkins for now and have him around to “take care of them” when they need it, but that doesn’t mean he’s really needed. They’re all graduated now, they’ve all moved to bigger things. This is their last summer as kids in Hawkins before they go off to grand places and become who they’re supposed to be. Steve isn’t ready to let them go quite yet, and he knows that time won’t come anytime soon.

The next hug he gets is from El, who holds him just as tight as he holds her. Steve is well aware that it isn’t easy for her to be so far away from home, from Hopper, from the only place she’s ever felt safe. “How’re you doing, kiddo?”

“I’m glad to see you,” she mumbles into his sweater. “And I miss my dad.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he misses you a whole lot too. How was the flight?” He looks her in the eyes, holding her at arms length but not letting go. He knows El, so he knows she’ll let him know when she’s ready.

“High up in the air,” she answers truthfully.

“That seems about right.” He goes through the line, hugging some of them and just saying hi to others, until he reaches the last one.

“Where’s Billy?”

“It’s nice to see you too, Max.” She begrudgingly gives into his waiting arms and gives him a hug. “He’s at the house.”

“Is he okay?” she whispers into his ear, still in his arms.

“Yeah, he is,” Steve assures, pulling away to look Max in the eye. “He wanted to make sure everything was ready for you. Got your favorite fruits at this local market, made sure to have lots of sunscreen for you to swim. Many brotherly things while he complained about always having to take care of your, his words, scrawny ass.” Max rolls her eyes and flips him off.

“Start the tally, I’ve got one bird in the air so far,” announces Steve. “Dustin, help me with the luggage, will you?” Dustin nods and comes over to Steve, hauling bags into the backseat of the trunk.

“What’s it’s looking like out there? Any drama or panic I need to know about?” Steve asks. Now, normally, he knows it’s not his place. Sure, he’s their babysitter, but he’s also their friend, which he takes just as seriously. If they want to tell him something, they will. But this seems different, somehow. This is his home, his family, his world. They don’t have their usual support systems out here, which could be hard, even if it’s only for a little while.

“A little on the plane because it was louder than Will thought it would be and El didn’t like that there was nowhere else to go, but Mike was able to calm both of them down. Max has been worried about Billy a lot, though. She says he doesn’t usually have good experiences with new places or family members, and this was a lot of both, so…”

“He’s been good. Great, actually. She’ll see, he fits right in here. He even made a friend without fighting them first.”

“I don’t believe you,” Dustin immediately replies. “He doesn’t know the difference between saying hello and punching someone in the arm.” The trunk slams shut and Steve gets into the Taxi with Dustin, Max, and Lucas. The other three are in the car with Nonna and probably learning a whole lot about why Steve is the way that he is.

“Not fair, he only did that once. He really has a friend, though. Her name is Maria and she’s like four or something.”

“Your brothers only other friend here is a four year old,” snickers Lucas. Max elbows him, but there isn’t enough room and Dustin ends up with an elbow in his ribs.

“Jesus, save the fighting for the house, yeah? She might be five. But yes, that and my Nonna. Good thing his besties are all here now, though. Right, Max?” Steve turns around to look at the less-than-thrilled occupants of the backseat.

“I’m going to pretend like you didn’t just say that,” deadpans Max.

“I’m just trying to be hip like you cool kids.”

“You can start by not saying hip,” supplies Dustin helpfully. Steve hopes that his death glare shows his appreciation properly.

“Thank you for that, Henderson.”

“Anytime.” For the rest of the car ride, Steve chimes in on the conversations from the front seat whenever he feels like it, but otherwise let’s them do what they want. He’s just happy they’re here and relatively okay.

When they get close to the house, Steve turns around as subtly as he can to watch their reactions. The backseat has gone quiet suddenly, three pairs of eyes drinking in the scenery greedily.

“This is Nonna’s house,” Steve explains quietly, not wanting to interrupt their observations. It’s not often that there isn’t constant chatter between them. “Welcome to your week long home.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” whispers Max. “No fucking way this is a real place.” Steve can’t help but agree. With the sun shining directly above them, the house gleams a brilliant blue, the flowers blooming and preening in the sunlight. The barest glimpse of the lake behind the house is visible, almost blending into the sky.

“Steve, you idiot, why haven’t we been coming here every summer?” Dustin demands. “This is a place that deserves to be shared.”

“It’s not mine to share, for one. And, in case you don’t remember, I had a job last summer that was very demanding.” His response is met with snickers and not-so-secret glances.

“Scoops Ahoy barely counts as a job,” Lucas points out. “Your legal contract said that you could be paid in ice-cream if you wanted. That doesn’t sound like a career to me.”

“The only good thing to come out of that shit was Robin,” Max adds. “And all the ice-cream we got for free from inside sources.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome. I’ll take my thanks in the form of ice-cream payment. I’m thinking of starting a whole new currency.”

“It’s too bad Robin couldn’t be here. Someone needs to keep your ego in check, and none of us can do it as good as her.” For good measure, Max kicks the back of Steve’s seat to get the message across.

“Thanks for that, Max. As much as Robin would love to be here with you idiots, she’s doing that band program thing for college. Showing the incoming freshmen around or something, I don’t really know what they do in band.”

“Start cults,” suggests Lucas.

“No, that’s basketball.” Dustin’s comment starts a whole other mini-argument between Lucas and Dustin about whether or not sports count as a cult. Steve knows whatever he says will be used as “ brainwashed jock propaganda, ” as Dustin puts it, so he’s content to listen for the last few second of the drive before they make it up the driveway.

The car slows to a stop and the kids stumble out, tripping over each other like they’ve never gotten out of a car before. It’s almost endearing. Almost.

The first thing Steve does when he gets out is tip the driver heavily. He turns around and is met with a sight that makes him want to curl into a ball and cry out of pure pride in Billy and Max.

Max must have run towards Billy as soon as he came out of the house, because she’s already up the front door, her luggage abandoned by the car. Everyone except Steve and Lucas is pretending not to watch them, but Steve can’t seem to look away. He assumes Lucas can’t for the same reason.

Billy and Max have come a long way since he got away from Neil. They saw each other less, which meant they had time to take a step back and reflect on all the shitty things that happened to them. Billy could finally breathe safely without constant threat of abuse in his own home, so he cooled down a little, got to place his anger to the side.

They figured out how to heal together, how to relearn what they are to each other. It was-still is-a hard process, one that takes time and a whole lot of effort. But they finally reached where they are now, a sort of “I love you but I don’t know how to show it other than constantly making fun of you” way. Which doesn’t work well when they both obviously just want to reach out and make sure the other is actually there.

Steve is surprised when Billy reaches out and roughly pulls Max into a bear hug. It’s clear that everyone else is just as shocked as he is, but they all look away when Steve catches them staring. He himself looks away too, out of respect. Billy, as touch starved as he’s proved to be, doesn’t let himself get close to people like that. Truthfully, Steve is the only one he knows of that Billy gets near usually, besides occasional arm punches and hair ruffles just to annoy Max. He wishes Billy would allow himself more, but he knows it’s a process, albeit a slow and long one. Pushing Billy at a pace he doesn’t want to go at is one of the last things Steve wants to do.

Billy and Max break off their hug at some point and join the rest of them.

“Fancy seeing you guys here,” Billy drawls, draping an arm around Steve. “Hello, nerds and children my boyfriend has adopted. Welcome to Nonna’s house. Steve and I will not be helping you carry your luggage up the stairs or to your rooms because you’ve stolen him from me all day and I have tales to tell of the grocery store cat lady. Off you go, have fun with that duffel bag that looks like it’s full of bricks, Henderson.” Steve is honestly happy to see that Billy’s back to being his usual rude self after his moment with Max. It would be a lot more concerning if he had said hello, like anyone else would.

“Right, so room assignments: Max and El, you’re together. Boys, you can divide yourselves however you want, I cannot stress how much I don’t care. I would recommend two and two, though, unless you want to all be in the same room. Again, I don’t care at all. Guys, don’t give me those looks, you’re not sharing rooms.”

“You and Billy are sharing,” points out Max. As soon as she realizes what that means, she’s going to regret it, Steve thinks.

“We’re eighteen, legally we can do what we want,” adds Dustin.

“Congratulations. I don’t even know why you care about who shares rooms, Henderson, and I don’t want to get into it either. El, Hopper would literally kill me if he found out you and Mike shared a room here, and I know he would find out cause he has ears and eyes everywhere. And as for Billy and I—actually, I don’t need to explain that to you. It doesn’t matter what Billy and I do because—well—because I say so.”

“You have never been less cool than you are right now,” Mike informs him. “Don’t you want to be cool?”

“I want to be alive. Now go away. And if you think I’m not checking later, you’re probably right because I won’t, but I do want you to think about if it’s worth losing my trust.” Steve looks at them pointedly until they decide it’s not worth it and haul their luggage up the porch and stairs one at a time.

“That was the lamest thing you could of said,” laughs Billy. “Very hot of you, baby.”

“Fuck off,” complains Steve. “You try and get them to do anything without sounding like a mother.”

Billy laughs and kisses Steve’s cheek, drawing him into the kitchen. “What, I said it was hot. I mean it, seeing you give the kids that evil eye that Joyce gives them really gets me going.”

“You’re about to go spend the night on the couch,” warns Steve, but there’s absolutely no way he’s making that threat come true. Billy just keeps grinning and pulling Steve closer. Steve is absolutely and happily helpless to say no.

“Bullshit,” calls Billy. “You’ve only ever made me sleep on the couch once, and that was when I actually did something wrong. I’m pretty sure you’re used to me being an asshole, baby. Don’t pretend it’s not why you love me now.”

Steve hums in agreement and lets Billy maneuver him to where he’s sitting on the counter, Billy in between his legs. “So, tell me about the cat lady. Did she ask you what color cat you were this time?”

“She did. I told her I’m a tabby. Then I told her my boyfriend is one of those squished-face ones with beady eyes with the personality of one that hates everyone.”

“Damn, that’s so sweet of you. You might earn your spot on our bed back if you keep that up,” says Steve dryly.

“Good. I can’t imagine what I would do without you taking up the whole bed.” Steve eyes Billy through slanted lids, accusation on his lips.

“You’re fucking joking. Billy, you’re the most octopus-limbed sleeper I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t hear you complaining at night.”

“That’s because you snore.” For that comment, Billy pinches Steve’s side, right where Billy knows he’s the most ticklish. Steve shrieks and clamps a hand over his mouth, falling back against the counter and hitting his head. This, of course, only makes him laugh harder, causing Billy to join in as well. Every time Steve almost is able to stop, he meets Billy’s eyes and starts up again, the cycle going on and on. Eventually, Nonna comes over to see what’s going on, which just makes them laugh harder. By the time they’ve finally calmed down, the kids have all dropped their luggage off and are downstairs in the living room, pointedly ignore Billy and Steve losing their minds.

“Do you regret letting me invite them yet?” Steve asks, gesturing to the other room.

“Not at all. I always said I wanted a big family,” Nonna explains, rustling around then kitchen for food.

“Why do you think I brought them here? It can’t be that I actually enjoy their company.”

“Oh, silenzio. I know you have dreams of your own family. Someday you’re going to miss them.” Steve ignores the eyebrow raise he gets from Billy, filing it in a “conversations for later” folder in his mind. “Steve, I don’t know why you would ever have to babysit them. These kids are practically angels,” comments Nonna, gesturing to the living room where they’re all playing cards together. Mid-game, Will made up some rules that Steve definitely doesn’t understand, so there’s a lot of general yelling about who’s cards could beat who’s in a fight. Especially because they’re just using regular playing cards.

“I can’t believe you would say that. Betrayal from my own grandmother. Do you know how many times I’ve caught them doing something vaguely illegal or completely life-threatening with absolutely no adult supervision? They are far from angels.”

“Senza senso. You cannot convince me that these children are anything less that perfect.”

“Little shits never get along when we’re at home,” grumbles Steve. “Billy, go start a fight, please.”

“I’m afraid I’m a little past those days, baby. Sorry to disappoint.” Steve sighs exaggeratedly and leans his hands on the counter.

“Go do some of your world class babysitting, Steve. Your boy and I have some cooking to finish up.” Nonna pushes a laughing Steve out of the kitchen while Billy shrugs innocently and blows a kiss at Steve.

“Steve, do you want to play?” asks El as soon as Steve is in sight. “You can be on my time.”

“Sure. As long as none of you try to explain the rules.” At that, Mike and Dustin launch into an explanation that Steve tunes out on instinct.

“Got it?” asks Mike. Steve just nods and sits down on the floor next to El.

Turns out he doesn’t actually need to understand the rules at all. The game, if it can even be called that, is utter chaos. Steve doesn’t know if him and El have 10 points or -127 jewels, or if those cancel each other out. He doesn’t even know how they got jewels or points.

After the fifth consecutive time losing, Steve suggest that they play another game. “Come on, anything else. This game is shit and obviously rigged.”

“You’re just a sore loser,” accuses Mike. He’s completely correct, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that. Luckily, Steve doesn’t have to come up with a response, because Nonna comes in and tells them that it’s time to clean up for dinner.

“Got it. Everyone, go wash your hands. Don’t give me those looks, I’m not letting your sticky kid fingers touch all of my food. Shoo.” Steve sends them off to the different bathrooms downstairs and starts setting the table in the dining room.

They file in one by one, making a show of shoving their hands in Steve’s face to make sure they’re clean enough. He didn’t even ask them to do that, and somehow they all have the same idea and do it anyway, just to spite him.

When they finally take their seats, Lucas says, “You think losing in almost all of your basketball games would make you better at losing.”

“Jesus, you guys don’t let anything go, do you? I thought we finished this conversation.”

“This conversation will never be finished because it’s hilarious and you suck,” explains Mike kindly.

“Are we playing the game where we try to embarrass Steve?” ask Billy, coming to the table with a bowl stacked high with bread. “I love this game.”

“That’s not a game,” insists Steve.

“Oh, we are playing a game? What are the rules?” Nonna comes into the room with the steaming pot of pasta, bringing the aroma of spices and tomato with her.

“I’m so glad you asked.” Dustin gives a brief explanation of the game, which doesn’t take long at all because the only rule is that it has to be as embarrassing as possible. Lovely.

“Oh my god,” groans Steve. “Do we have to do this right now? Why can’t we just do that thing where everyone goes to their own rooms and east in silence.”

“That’s not what families do, topolino . We are eating together and making fun of you together. It’s bonding.”

“I have an idea,” says Billy. Steve doesn’t trust that look in his eyes at all. “Nonna, why don’t you tell the rest of us why your nickname for Steve is topolino . That’s a good place to start, I think.”

Nonna claps her hands together and grins. “Perfect idea. First, everyone get food, and then I will tell you all about little Steve’s childhood obsession.”

“Why did I invite any of you?”

“You didn’t, I did,” says Nonna cheerily. “And I am so glad they are so that I can fill up my table again. Just as you should fill up your plates. Non essere timido.” Billy takes that as his cue and starts filling up his plate, leading the others to follow.

“I believe we were promised a story,” Will reminds Nonna, smiling mischievously.

“Of course. Well, when Steve here was just a little ragazzo, he had quite a strange habit. God knows where it came from, but little Steve always did have a few things about him we never quite figured out. Anyway, one time Steve was staying with me for a while. I think he was around two or three years old, if I’m not mistaken. Well, every night Steve would come up to my room and shake me awake then ask me for some cheese. I have absolutely no idea why, and he never offered an explanation either. He would simply, routinely ask for cheese in the middle of the night. Topolino, his nickname, means little mouse. I’m sure you can figure out the connection there.”

“He still does that, you know,” informs Billy. Steve barely resists the urge to kick him under the table.

“I definitely do not do that, just so we’re all clear.” No one looks convinced by his words. “Billy, tell them I don’t still eat cheese in the middle of the night.”

“Not every night,” Billy says, hiding a smirk underneath his hand. “Only on some occasions.”

“You’re a dick,” Steve complains. “I don’t do that anymore, and I only ever did for like…a few months, but don’t ask me why. I, like the rest of you, have no idea what went on in my younger years.”

“No one did, Steve.” Steve sends a fake glare in Dustin’s direction and changes the topic as quickly as he can.

The rest of dinner passes in a similar fashion, with the line of fire switching from Steve to Billy to then going around the table and telling embarrassing stories about everyone. It’s surprisingly domestic and so easy to be with them like this. Like they’ve been a family all along.

Nonna puts the kids on washing duty and tells all of them goodnight. “Usually I would stay up later and party with you young people, but I’m feeling old today. I’ll see you in the morning whenever you come down. There will be some sort of breakfast. Buonanotte, amori miei.” A chorus of goodnights follow her up the stairs, a tired smile on her weathered face.

Billy takes this as a perfect opportunity to pull Steve outside the the ivy-covered stone courtyard. They sit on the stairs, looking up at the stars above them, Billy a step higher than Steve in order to serve as a backrest. The cold stone soaks through the material of Steve’s sweater, a balm to his tension.

“So how are you really doing? Don’t give me the bullshit you give everyone else.”

“I’m tired,” Steve answers honestly. “I’ve been running around all afternoon making sure everyone is okay. El doesn’t like traveling, for good reason, and Will isn’t great with being so far away with his family, so Mike is trying to help both of them while Max tells Lucas how Ericka is going to steal all his shit, which she might actually do, and Dustin just wants to help everyone else out, so it’s a whole mess.”

“Little shits,” Billy says fondly. “They’re glad to be here, though. You just see the bad parts right now because you’re busy playing mother hen, but it’s going better than you think. I haven’t seen Max smile this much in a while. And El, she’s practically in wonderland with all these new things for her to see. Mike has that sour look of his face, and Will gets to be with his friends for a week straight, which is all he ever wants. Lucas is just happy to be with Max and his friends too, and Dustin still can’t believe you even invited him at all. Baby, you being here alone brings us together.” Billy’s voice is so passionate, so earnest, that Steve can’t help but believe him a little, as much as his doubts don’t want him to.

“Thanks for helping Nonna in the kitchen today. I know she likes having someone beside her. Most of the time she doesn’t nowadays, so it’s nice of you to be there, even if you’re just trying to get away from the noise.” Steve leans against Billy, going lax against him. “Don’t give me that face, I know when they get too much for you. It’s okay, they’re too much for me too sometimes. It’s nice to have a gentle presence like Nonna to reset yourself sometimes. I don’t blame you. And if you think I don’t know when you need to take a break, you’re fucking wrong. Why do you think I told you to help her?”

“Way to smoothly change the conversation, baby. And I didn’t know you could be so subtle about taking care of someone.” Billy runs his hands over Steve’s arms lightly, soothingly.

“I have my gifts,” says Steve. “Really, though. Thanks for sticking with me, crazy attachments and all. Most people don’t stick around their partners when they accidentally adopt six children.” Steve can feel the heartbreak in the way Billy tightens around him.

“You don’t have to thank me for sticking around, it’s not a chore. And, well, unfortunately for you, I’m going to love you forever. At least, until you die tragically and I’m forced to marry a rich person who buys me everything I want and talks to me once a week.”

“Billy, I mean this with the most level of love that I can, but please for the love of god shut the fuck up. You were being nice for like two seconds.”

“I will not,” says Billy happily. “Not until you realize that this isn’t something I take lightly. You got six anxiety prone, incredibly difficult children passports and permission from their also incredibly difficult parents, not that that’s a bad trait for parent to have, to come to your family home. In Italy. That’s not nothing, baby. Give yourself a little credit.”

“It’s just that this isn’t mine to take credit for. You’re the one who was calm and collected while I was practically having a breakdown over convincing Joyce and Hopper. It’s Nonna’s house, not mine, and it’s only because of her that we’re here at all. If anything, I just made things more difficult by cutting out my parents from the middle and losing contact for so long.”

“Hey, Steve, no. That’s not fair to yourself at all. Not a single one of them gives a shit whether or not you had a breakdown setting it up or if your dad was involved. I’m fairly positive, actually, that they’re relieved you didn’t have to deal with him. Everyone here knows what it’s like to have hard times, and them not a single fucking person should ever blame you for letting go of a harmful environment. They kicked you out of the house, so you don’t let them back in your life. And who cares that it’s Nonna’s house? With the amount of dumb shit she tells me you buy for her to put here, it’s basically yours.”

“That was surprisingly coherent,” Steve admits. “And really sweet.”

“Don’t expect it often,” warns Billy, but Steve can’t seem to believe it with the way Billy’s holding him like he won’t ever let go. “Even if this place isn’t yours, we’ll always have our shitty apartment back at home. Sure, the sink runs red sometimes for undisclosed reasons and the shower turns cold randomly, but it’s a place that’s ours. And, unfortunately, at this point, it’s theirs too. Maybe they don’t live there, but where do they go when they want movie nights? Or when someone has a bad day that they don’t feel like talking to their parents about? I’m sure it’s more for you than me, because last time I tried to talk to El I think I scared her more than anything else, but that doesn’t change the fact that wherever we are, they’re going to need you. Baby, look at me.” Billy tilts Steve chin up and backwards so he can look into Billy’s ocean eyes. “Just because they’re growing up doesn’t meant they won’t need you, which I’m pretty sure is the real reason for some of this insecurity. Those kids couldn’t get through 12 hours of us leaving before they texted and asked for help. I know we aren’t the best examples because both of us don’t rely on our parents for shit, but we have Joyce and Hopper who take care of us now. There’s no point in growing up like you don’t need people to help you out. That’s not something you outgrow, and I would know, because I tried. Look how much I failed. Those little shits don’t stand a chance. I’m afraid you’re stuck with them too.”

There’s a familiar tightness in Steve’s throat that he chooses willfully to ignore in favor of sinking further against Billy, if that’s possible.

There are a lot of times when Steve is overwhelmed by the world. Days when it feels like all the gears align perfectly to make him break.

But he never does. Sure, he has setbacks, has moments when he wants to cower under the covers and steal Billy’s day away for him. He has times like when he was younger, where he’s moving backwards and everything else is moving forwards. But why shouldn’t he be able to move backwards sometimes, live in memories of easy days or happy moments?

Steve bends to hard times like a resistant blade of grass, pushed back and forth but never uprooted. If he’s a blade of grass, then Billy is an oak tree protecting him at the right angle to save him from some of the wind and standing strong and unmoved through the ages, growing deeper with time.

Those moments pass as shadows of times like this, though. Moments when the world seems like it belongs to him and the people he loves. When all that he can see and hear are things that give him comfort, make him happy. Like the sound of El’s laughter from the kitchen and Will insisting to a very confused Lucas that the best way to wash the dishes is without soap. There’s the soft light from Nonna’s room, the billowing cotton curtains piercing white against the dark courtyard.

And there’s Billy behind him. Billy, who takes Steve’s burdens on his back without complaint, just shoulders forcefully through navigating the troubled seas of their lives. Billy, who holds Steve close like he is now, in a way that says he’s never going to let go first. Billy, who’s such an asshole ninety percent of the time, but has incredible capability for kindness that’s unrivaled by any other Steve knows.

Billy makes it feel like the world is made for them specially, each stone step and precious laugh. And who knows, maybe it is.

Maybe it can be.

#stranger things #harringrove #harringrove week #july 29 #HarringroveWeek #harringrove comfort fic #steve harrington #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy x steve #steve x billy #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy bby #harringrove fic #harringrove fanfic #harringrove fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #billy hargrove fanfic

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thatgirlwithasquid · 2 years

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Harringrove Week - Summer Rain at Skull Rock

(This fic is also posted on my AO3 account: here)

It also fits the prompt ‘Hawkins Community Pool Shuts Down For The Day’ but I’ll be doing that again tomorrow anyway because I like that prompt.

Pre-Season/Series 03 | Fluff | Implied/Referenced Sex (but you see nothing) | Kissing | Kissing in the Rain

Words: 2,089

Summer in Hawkins gets hot. It gets very hot. The kind of hot where your clothes cling to your skin and your head aches from the heat. The kind of day where a cloudless sky means the shelter of your home is a much better bet than braving the glare outside.

On summer days you see mothers slathering their kids in suncream before they head out to get icecream or to have a picnic. On summer days people pile into the pool, splashing and screaming and squealing, desperate for a reprieve in the form of even a splash of that chlorinated water.

Steve goes, too, on days he’s not working. He watches from behind his shades as the mothers swipe sun cream onto their kids' faces like warpaint before they run, armband adorned, into the war waiting to happen. Wisely, most parents sit on the sidelines until the lifeguards call it and the kids have to vacate the water so that the adults can have a calmer swim.

Steve tends to sit on the sides, too. He claims a couple of chairs and tosses the kids’ shit on one, lounging on the other. Sometimes Steve does join the fun, joining in the splash battles Dustin and Lucas always start. Most of the time he just tries to enjoy the limited shade the parasols offer.

Robin comes with them sometimes. Her time is split fifty-fifty between swimming and lounging. They talked a lot at their job at Scoops, and, oddly enough, now here they are, best buds - well, tied with Dustin cause Steve has a soft spot for the little nuisance. They gossip about the other Scoops employees, the customers they get at work, school life, Steve’s ‘inability’ to tell when a girl is hitting on him during his shifts. They also joke about how they’re just here to check out the lifeguards. And it’s half-true for Steve, at least. He just sure hopes Robin and him don’t have eyes for the same one…

You see, the thing is, Steve can, despite what Robin’s whiteboard tally may suggest, figure out when a girl is flirting at him during his shift. He can always tell. He’s Steve The Hair Harrington - as Robin keeps liking to remind him! He knows. He just thinks it’s a little typical that girls are showing more of an interest now he’s not trying to flirt with them. He doesn’t want to flirt with the random girls. He’s got eyes for someone else.

He’s not the only one, either. Steve’s not blind, he sees the way the girls stare and, more disturbingly, the grown women pose. He likes to think he’s not a jealous person… but he is, he totally is and he knows it. After all, that shit with Nancy and Jonathan? Yikes. Not his best move. So, yeah, maybe Steve is slightly inclined to glare at Mrs Wheeler from across the pool time to time because she keeps staring. He mostly manages to restrain himself, though, by reminding himself that they’re not the ones Billy Hargrove grins at from across the pool.

And they’re certainly not the ones that get pulled into the locker room, or showers, or even, on one memorable occasion, the place where they keep the chemicals for things that, frankly, are probably arguably public indecency.

Steve Harrington has been dating Billy Hargrove for three months.

They keep it mostly on the down low, other than the impromptu kissing in any half-concealed place, and the frankly concerning amount of times that has escalated to something a little less PG. Steve and Billy don’t flirt in public, or go on dates to diners. Their relationship isn’t traditional like any of the other ones Steve has ever been in, and it’s absolutely nothing like Nancy.

Their relationship is sneaking in each other's windows at midnight to steal a few hours pressed together and gasping into each other’s mouths, or whispering conversations and tracing featherlight fingers across sunkissed skin. Their relationship is driving - read ‘speeding’, because Steve has not managed to talk Billy out of being an absolute maniac on the road - through the streets on the edge of town at sunset. Their relationship is sitting at the top of the quarry that no one has dared go to since the not-actually-Will incident and laughing at stupid shit. Their relationship is stolen moments and fleeting glances and it’s theirs.

Sure, Steve would like to be able to walk up to the guy and bury his face into his shoulder with no regards for who’s watching, but that’s just not possible in a town like Hawkins. It’s just not possible with Billy’s father - not that Steve’s would be happy with it either. So they settle for heated stares across a community pool, and it still burns hotter than any time Steve had flirted with Nancy without a care given to who saw or heard. It’s better because it’s Billy and the guy is a fucking piece of art, even if at first he was pretty damn pissed at himself for being so into the asshole.

Max knows, because of course Max knows. Neither of them has said anything, and she hasn’t either. But she knows. And Steve knows she knows, and it’s oddly cool. Steve didn’t think he was possessive, but he can’t deny the little bit of smugness he gets from knowing that someone knows he’s the guy who claimed Billy Hargrove.

Billy, however, is incredibly fucking posessive. What, with the dragging Steve into whatever dark corner he can to thoroughly melt his brain because ‘Can’t have you forgetting just how good a thing you got going here, Pretty Boy’? Then there’s how he always has a hand on him, an arm over his shoulder, something whenever they’re together. And how, when Steve tells him about Robin bullying him again because he didn’t make a move on whatever random girl flirted with him that day, Billy practically growls out ‘Well, they’re gonna have to get lost, because you’re mine’ - which always makes Steve’s stomach swoop.

So they keep stealing their moments, keep telling each other with prolonged stares how much they want to be together right then, how much they want to talk, and touch, and taste, even if they can’t.

They can’t always, though. Life gets in the way. Billy has to work, Steve has to work. Billy has to babysit Max, Steve has to mother a group of six shitheads… which also happens to include Max. Basically, they have other commitments, so some days they only see each other for twenty minutes between their shifts ending and whatever their next respective tasks are - and Billy makes those minutes mind blowing.

As of today, Steve hasn’t seen Billy in three days. Three. Whole. Days. And it’s about the worst experience of his life.

They’d planned to see each other at the pool during Billy’s shift. Make eyes for a while before sneaking off to the bathrooms to get more handsy than is publicly acceptable in any situation. But, for some reason, it’s raining. Not just a gentle patter, either; it’s raining buckets out there - it’s as if, to make up for the cloudless sky from the last few days, the sky had decided to save up all its tears and cast them down all at once.

So, yeah, the pool is closed, and Steve is inside, staring at the raindrops hammering against his own pool mutinously because what the hell is he supposed to do now? Steve was supposed to be able to spend today gawking at his boyfriend and maybe getting off somewhere else they shouldn’t - Steve thinks Billy has a list of inappropriate places he wants to fuck Steve because it’s rarely ever the same place twice. But, no. The rain.

He’s so bored and pissed off that he’s almost considering calling up Dustin to bitch at for the sake of something to occupy his now disgustingly empty time, but then he hears it. A familiar rumble of an engine and a car pulling up his drive.

Steve’s grin is manic as he scrambles to get himself together.

Within a handful of minutes he’s shoved his feet into some shoes, shrugged on his denim jacket - the one he stole from Billy last week - and is throwing open his front door.

Billy is leaning against the side of his car, clad in only jeans, a half-buttoned shirt and his boots like the downpour currently matting his curls doesn’t so much as register to him. Not that Steve really cares, either, since he barely remembers to throw closed and lock his front door before he’s sprinting out to meet his boyfriend.

His boyfriend, who grins down at him with that familiar feral look. That familiar feral look that heats even further when his eyes flick down to the jacket that is currently getting drenched across Steve’s shoulders.

“Get in the car,” he says by way of greeting, and Steve doesn’t even hesitate before he’s sliding into the passenger seat.

The car hums back to life and Billy is pulling out of Steve’s driveway and down the road, away from that achingly empty house. Steve can’t take his eyes off of him. Not for a second. He’s too entranced with the way rain glints like diamonds in his eyelashes.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says into the empty air between them.

Billy’s grin is smug and taunting.

“Oh, princess, I know.”

Steve snorts out a surprised laugh.

“Where are we even going?” he asks through his grin.

“You’ll see.”

Billy pulls his car up along a stretch of empty road. There’s nothing here other than trees for as far as the eye can see - that being up until the bend in the road - but Steve thinks he knows where they’re going. After all, he’s one of the guys who put it on the map in the first place.

Steve and Billy don’t go to Skull Rock often, despite their reputations as ladies’ men and their habit of getting handsy in any cliché place that could possibly come to mind. That isn’t for any lack of wanting to go there and kiss under that famed shape. No, they simply avoid it because it’s too popular, and they can’t afford to get spotted.

Other than that one time they drunkenly wandered past the spot after some party they both went to, and then secretly scarpered off from together, they’ve never been there together.

But today it’s pouring, so no horny teenagers will be out getting drenched just to make out at The Spot. No horny teenagers, that is, other than Steve and Billy.

When their car doors thunk closed behind them, Billy strides round the car and takes Steve’s jaw in hand to tilt him into a bruising kiss before clasping their hands together and leading him along as they weave through the trees. It’s not an easy trek, mostly because they keep slipping and sliding in the mud beneath their feet as they try to walk. It’s also partially because of how they keep stopping to push one another up against some tree trunk to brush their lips together briefly, leaving them giddy and breathless and half forgetting that they even had a destination in the first place.

When they do get there, though, Billy grins at him, threading his fingers through Steve’s belt loops and tugging him along as he walks back, back, back. Back until Billy’s leaned against the rock, pulling Steve in close until the space between them is entirely eliminated, their drenched, skin-warm fronts plastered together. They’re breathing the same air, puffing against each other’s lips.

Billy’s eyes are so fucking dialated as Steve stares into them that he thinks he could actually drown in them. Thinks he could fall into that pool of darkness and never breathe again. But that would be fine, because it’s Billy and Steve doesn’t need air when he’s around him. His affection for this boy rolls like a steady tide into his chest, rising, filling his lungs with life should he start to suffocate.

Fuck, he loves Billy Hargrove so much.

“You’re wearing my jacket,” Billy observes, eyes breaking from Steve’s to flick back down only for an instant before they’re on his again, somehow hungrier than before. His voice is gravel-rough, sending shivers down Steve’s spine that has nothing to do with the warm summer rain hammering against them still.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Think it looks good on me?”

“Princess, you look ravishing in it…”

#harringroveweek #stranger things #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #fanfiction #that ended abruptly but i think continuing it would've ruined it so you're gonna take what you can get #squid writes

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

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Harringrove April Day 24- Afterlife

tw religious themes

Neon lights, broken glass, a monster screech, searing pain, relief. Billy looked down in just enough time to see the monster pull back from where it had impaled him, the ground rushing towards his face.

There was no moment where his life flashed before his like everyone in the movies talked about, all he saw was Max. He couldn’t hear her, he could just feel himself dying, tasting blood in his mouth as he tried to form an apology.

For everything he’d done, by his own accord and by the monsters, for everything he hadn’t done and would never be able to do. He was sorry not only to Max, but to all of her friends and to his own, but mostly to himself.

It was a terrible way to die, but at least it was quick, he thinks. He was never supposed to get a happy ending anyways. You sin, you repent. You don’t repent, you go to hell, and well, Billy never knew how exactly he was supposed to earn forgiveness when his sin was being himself, simply existing, so.

Still, he tried to make sure things would be different. He went to every service, prayed every night like a good Christian was supposed to and tried to make up for being the way he was, but those things just felt just like a performance. Especially now that he was dying, he knows all of that was just futile attempts at pleasing the man upstairs that had gotten him nowhere near any closer to the pearly gates.

He’s terrified, but he thinks he deserves what’s coming all the same. As much as he’d like to see a familiar face once he goes, he knows he doesn’t have a place in paradise.

Honestly he doesn’t think he minds it so much, where he goes after it happens; he just wants to be away from all the suffering.

Not just the pain, but everything that had led up to it, what he’d seen and done, he deserved this fate. He should repent for those he’d hurt, those he’d killed.

He just feels bad he won’t get to spend all of eternity with those he cares about, watching from down below as Max exchanges her ticket with the angels. Maybe Steve at least would end up with him too, since he was a sinner all the same, at least in the dark of the night, every third night out at the quarry, but he feels like shit for even thinking that.

But, as the mall blurs to nothingness around him, just before the unseen forces could fulfill those worries and wishes, Billy wakes up.

His alarm clock goes off on the bedside table, and he startles so badly he falls out of his bed.

Frantically he searches for the gaping hole in his chest, the bleeding bite marks all along his sides, but they come back with nothing. He lets his head fall back and hit the floor, and laughs, exasperated. It had all been a dream.

He picks himself up off the floor, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and he freezes. Minutes pass as he stares at his reflection, creeping sense of dread like something was missing sending a chill up his spine.

He could imagine the blood all down his torso, the monster that had impaled him looming behind him in his reflection. His mirror image moving just a little bit in a way he hadn’t, blinking too many times, a twitch at the corner of his lip he didn’t feel.

Memories come rushing back, shattering glass and tires squealing, broken ribs and chemical burns, red hot heat, gun fire, fireworks, his blood on the tiles, agony like he’d never felt before. He wasn’t the most responsible when it came to what he put in his body, but no amount of the cheap drugs he could find at parties could make him feel all of that .

It hadn’t been a dream. He had lived through all of that and he died.

Now he was in his room, and according to his calendar it was the 27th of June, two days before he was, or would be, possessed by the shadow. He had to get to the bottom of this. Fast.

#harringrove #well implied harringrove anyways #harringrove april #billy hargrove #ej writer #story by ej!#to the anon who asked for more religious Billy #this is not my response to that! I have something else in store for you!#also this is definitely going to be continued so don’t worry! it’s a little excerpt from the wip I mentioned in the wip tag game #called second chances #there will be multiple chapters but this is the prologue to that!

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grey-sides · 2 years

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Hey, hey Day 21 of chrisbitchtree's Harringrove April! Today's prompt is "cardboard" and yesterday's response is here. This one is explicit!

AKA The First Time

There's a cardboard box full of wine propping the basement door open. Billy can hear the kids in the basement, using the big TV to watch some new movie. Steve is in his kitchen, listening to music and singing along like he's forgotten Billy is here too. Maybe he has, Billy wasn't invited. He's just Max's chauffeur for the evening because Neil gave him another talk about respect and responsibility earlier and Billy wasn't about to test his patience. He could probably leave, go tool around by himself for a while like a loser. But there's a box full of wine propping the basement door open and Steve's parents are out for the evening.

Billy snags a bottle, something dark and red, hopefully dry. It's not a twist-off because the shit is probably all imported so he has to venture into the kitchen. Maybe he can wedge the cork out with his pocket knife, on further consideration, or he can sneak into the kitchen and find the bottle opener before Steve notices. Harrington's not that observant anyway.

But despite the loud music and Steve singing over it, he does notice. He turns as Billy inches into the kitchen, snapping his mouth shut and raising his brows. Yeah, he definitely forgot that Billy was here.

"Hey, man," he gets out eventually, clearing his throat. "Whatcha got there?"

Billy debates hiding the wine behind his back, but he's not a fucking kid. Steve probably drinks more than him now anyway. "Wine." He holds up the bottle and Steve makes an amused face. "What?"

Steve shakes his head and holds his hands up. "Just didn't take you for a concord man, is all." He opens a drawer and roots around before tossing Billy a wine key.

Billy scowls because he doesn't know what that means, but he catches the opener anyway. He sets the wine on the counter to open it up, grunting in annoyance at the stupid little knife that doesn't do shit to get the wrapper open. "Your parents gonna be mad about this?"

"Nah, they probably won't even notice. My mom hoards wine like it's going out of style." Steve waves a hand and then reaches out to take the bottle from Billy, cracking the wrapper with ease and sinking the corkscrew into the cork. He twists it with his whole arm, his hand covers the entire wine key and Billy looks away, clenching his jaw.

When the cork finally pops free, Harrington raises the whole bottle to his lips and takes a sip. He wipes off his mouth with the back of his hand, but Billy can already tell this wine is going to stain his mouth purple. He steps forward and takes it from Steve, taking a long swig and trying not to make a face. It's sweet, bordering on too sweet and it almost tastes like grape juice. But Billy isn't a quitter so he gets it down and looks up at Steve. "Fancy."

Steve huffs out a laugh, stepping away from Billy to turn down the music. He leans against the counter, crossing his arms. "Didn't realize you were gonna hang around."

Billy takes another drink and checks the label for some proof. It doesn't list that, of course, just where the grapes were grown. "Yeah well couldn't pass up the opportunity to steal your wine."

"Right," Steve agrees, bobbing his head. "Steal my title, steal my wine, you just wanna be me, man?"

Billy scoffs, walking around the island, the bottle of wine swinging between his fingers. "Stealing implies you wanted to keep your title." He steps up to meet Steve's eyes, searching his gaze.

Steve licks his lips, mouth parted just slightly, just the barest hint of his teeth under his top lip. He snags the bottle of wine from Billy and tips it back again, eyes sliding over to watch. Billy's mouth is tacky sweet from the wine and he wants Steve's arm out of the way so he can push in closer. To punch him maybe. Or lick the wine from his lips.

"Heard you used to run this shit town, King Steve," Billy whispers, dropping his gaze to Steve's throat.

Steve pulls the wine away and puts it on the counter. His breath smells like alcohol when he breathes in Billy's face. "Who says I still don't?"

Billy smirks, dragging his gaze back up. There's a challenge in Steve's eyes. "You want me to get out of here then? Let you rule your kingdom in peace?"

Steve stares at him for too long. "What do you want from me, man?"

Billy laughs a little and drags his tongue along his lower lip. "Summer'll be here soon," he says, sliding one arm over to half-bracket Steve against the counter. "Got any plans for a fling?"

It's dangerous, he's liable to get hit but maybe that would satisfy this urge in his gut. Maybe now he'll get to break another plate over Steve's head, one of his own, Billy wonders if they're monogrammed.

Steve swallows and tilts his head back a little, looking down his nose at Billy. "What makes you ask that?"

Billy leans in further, and Steve's arm presses into his chest. He takes a deep breath of Steve's cologne, strongest near his neck. "What's a little royal romance? The disgraced king and his usurper?"

Steve's arm on his chest drops. The bottle of wine clatters onto the counter, but it doesn't spill. Steve drops his chin to meet Billy's eyes. "This isn't a fucking joke, man."

"Did I say something funny?"

Steve goes quiet and he looks away. The apples of his cheeks are turning red. "Tell me it straight- what are you asking me?"

Billy steps back and gives him a little breathing room. "What do you say, King Steve? We can take this upstairs and you can show me why they called you King? You say no and I'll get out of here, go sit in my car and we can pretend this never happened."

"And if I say yes?"

Billy's smile grows and he traces his left hand over Steve's hip, fingers teasing at the hem of his shirt. "Just a summer fling, something fun to keep us busy."

Billy watches Steve's throat work while he swallows again. Steve looks back at him, eyes half-lidded. "Yes," he agrees slowly. "Let's go upstairs." He captures Billy's wandering hand and pulls him out of the kitchen, past the basement door, and up the stairs.

At the door to his bedroom, Steve seems to hesitate so Billy reaches out with his free hand to open it. His room is covered in plaid and he's got a pile of dirty laundry in one corner. It smells like boy, heady cologne, and a little bit of sweat. And it makes Billy ache in his jeans.

It’s clear to Billy that Steve hasn’t done this, not with another guy before, so Billy takes charge. For now. Just to get Steve comfortable. Billy pulls Steve into the room and over to his bed. It’s messy, unmade, but Billy doesn’t care when he presses Steve into it. He pushes Steve down by his shoulders, head into the pillows, and Steve’s breath shudders out of him.

“You tell me if you want to stop, okay?” Billy asks him, watching Steve nod. “That’s not an answer.”

Steve licks his lips, staring up at Billy. “Yes, yes, okay,” he groans.

Billy smiles and leans down, grabbing at Steve’s belt. They don’t have much time, so he doesn’t admire the way the leather feels on his fingers or what the denim would look like with semen splashed across it. He just pulls the belt off, dropping it to the ground and shoving Steve’s jeans down mid-thigh. He wears briefs and they do nothing to hide why he used to be called King Steve.

Steve seems to kick his brain into action, reaching out to undo Billy’s belt next. He also has to contend with the shirt Billy has tucked in, but he’s going commando today, hoping to get lucky on a warm Friday night. Billy watches him toss the belt over the bed too and they coil together like two snakes. And then Steve’s warm palm is sliding over his length and Billy bows his head on a low moan.

They don’t have much time, but Billy shifts up a little and pins his left hand beside Steve’s head. His hair falls in a curtain around Steve’s face and his right hand grabs at Steve’s length. Billy hopes his calluses from lifting weights hurt a little bit because he’s not sweating through his palm and there’s nothing to ease the way.

Steve’s mouth hangs open, his dumb plush lips turning redder the longer Billy touches him. The very inside of them is stained purple from the wine and Billy resolutely does not think about dipping his tongue in there. He focuses on Steve’s hand on his cock, warm and big and making his knees feel a little like jelly.

“Just like that,” Billy breathes, rolling his hips into Steve’s hand. He could move down a little, could press their dicks together, and work with Steve. But he’s feeling selfish and this isn’t anything anyway. So he takes what Steve gives him and he returns it by half.

“Fuck,” Steve whispers, eyes squeezing closed. Maybe he’s picturing some chick or some other guy. It doesn’t matter to Billy, this will all be over soon. “Hargrove.”

Billy’s heart does not clench in his chest at that and his stomach does not squeeze with desire. Steve isn’t even saying his first name, but it does make Billy speed his hand up a bit. He bites his lip and he breathes hard, used to being silent so Neil doesn’t hear. Steve obviously has the luxury of making a sound. He whines and moans and bucks up into Billy’s hand and Billy carefully tucks each noise into the recesses of his mind. He flicks his wrist and spreads his thumb along Steve’s head and he watches Steve fall apart beneath him.

Billy feels it coming, the wave is going to crash over him at any moment and he’s probably going to get cum on Steve’s dumb polo. He rocks his hips down, fucking into Steve’s fist with abandon. When Billy cums it’s with the quietest groan and his fingers tighten on Steve’s cock.

Steve moans, arching up against Billy. His eyes fly open and his pupils are huge when he stares at Billy, voice catching in his throat at his climax. He pants through it, knees tightening up against Billy’s sides and Billy pulls his hand away. He reaches for the tissue box on Steve’s bedside table, cleaning himself and his hand off. Then he scoots back to pull his pants up and tucks his shirt into his jeans.

“Fuck,” Steve mutters, heaving himself up to grab his own tissue. He reaches down for his belt and the buckle clatters against Billy’s. His cheeks are pink and he’s sweating a little, but Billy climbs off the bed and stretches like nothing even happened. Billy’s head is rushing and he needs his pulse to calm down, but he’s not about to cuddle with Steve.

“Think I need a cigarette,” Billy says when Steve is decent, made up prim and proper before Billy came in and ripped all his walls down. “You coming?” He stops at the door, hand holding it open.

Steve gets off his unmade bed with a nod, tossing their tissues in the wastebasket. He follows Billy back downstairs, this trek on the stairs involves no touching. The kids haven’t come up or if they have, they don’t seem to care that Steve has been missing for a bit. Together, they head out back, to stand up against the brick of the house and share a cigarette, the closest they’ll get to kissing tonight.

There's a cardboard box full of wine propping the basement door open, but now it's missing a bottle and Billy knows what Steve Harrington looks like when he cums.

#harringrove #chrisbitchtree #greye writes #stranger things #drabble #billy hargrove #steve harrington #tw alcohol

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nancywrote · 4 years

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“razorblade” | Harringrove (2k words)

TW: self harm, mentions of past abuse

---

Billy thought it was over, he thought he could leave it all in the past and forget about anything he’s ever done to himself as a result of his father’s mistreatings.

He doesn’t realize how wrong he is until he walks in on Steve shaving.

---

When Billy lived with his dad, he wasn’t the most mentally okay. Or emotionally.

Of course, all in fair reason, but he really fucked up.

His dad was abusive, that wasn’t new knowledge, but Billy would take after him unintentionally. He’d hurt others like his dad would, say things his dad did, and when Tommy H. pointed out how he sounded like his dad (Tommy knew nothing about the abuse, only some words), Billy felt his skin turn to ice and gut wrench in disgust and realization.

He hated it.

So, so much.

And then he indulged in a habit he never thought he would. Which he’s shameful of, even if only done so few times, he still sees the discoloration on his arms.

It was just… so much at the time.

He would get hurt, or yelled at, and he’d retreat to his room or the bathroom. He’d grab something, anything sharp, and he’d begin its descent. It was all he was in control of, it gave him an escape, it distracted him and it made him feel like he was punishing himself in a way for ever saying or doing anything similar to something his dad’s done.

The red.

The red speckles that ran down his wrist. At first, not much came out of it. But he learned after the second try that he had to wait after some cuts, because he didn’t have anything quite at his disposal yet that was sharp enough or deep enough. He knew that after waiting, he’d see red, and he’d feel the sting and the heat and it made him feel so… something.

He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it was something that comforted him.

The warmth, like a heater just on his arm. Never quite spreaded throughout his body. He’d cover them with his sleeves, always made sure to bring a leather jacket for extra measure and for his usual bad boy get up. Became practically inseparable from that jacket afterwards. Sometimes the sting remained even during school.

The first time he did it, he felt shameful that he had. He felt almost weak and powerless and like he’d ruined himself even more and just overall corrupted and rotten.

But then his dad called him out on wearing an earring to school and called him a queer, and then while in his car he found a way to scratch at his arms enough to induce some form of heat before Max would come. His nails were sharp enough to dig into his skin just right. After that, he’d bring a razor with him to school just in case he wanted to have a little break in the bathrooms.

That’s how he learned of the waiting game; the second time.

He only ever did it because of his dad though, but one time, he saw Harrington on the verge of tears during practice and that sight alone sent him into a spiral at home. He felt like he was to blame, like he was stupid for not reaching out, and like Harrington will never like him for the things he’s done. Ever.

But now, he’s different.

Billy is so much different.

He’s distanced himself from razors, sharp things, never gets them close to his arms or wrists and never thinks about them. He’s moved in with Steve because Steve’s always alone and Steve knows about his dad now. They have bedrooms right next to each other just in case Steve’s feeling paranoid or alone or Billy’s scared of his dad or thinking of his mom.

It’s nicer, to live with Steve. Because Steve understands him.

The blank paper at his desk mocks him though, because Steve’s done so much for him, called him strong countless times and told him he could do it, but he’s still not able to write the first fucking words.

Writing a letter to his mom just… made no sense.

He couldn’t even find her.

They’ve been on the search for two weeks now, since Billy’s moved in, but no progress was made. Still, Steve asks him all the time to write a message to her. Billy just doesn’t know what he should say.

Maybe it’s better he doesn’t.

He feels so much more content just waking up to Steve’s voice every day anyways. He’s so much happier now that he has the freedom to wake up anytime and do whatever he wants. He’s happier with Steve, he doesn’t really need to know if his mom’s still out there, because she left him. Steve should be his priority, and he is.

A small crush, an unimportant one. Billy doesn’t wanna ruin their friendship.

He slaps the desk tiredly and gets up, willing his eyes open with as much energy as he can muster in the early morning. He usually is more of a morning person than Steve, but that’s within reason for the two.

Steve likes nighttime because he can pretend his family’s still there and asleep. Billy likes mornings because he’s just used to waking up really early to get things done and over with before his dad tells him to drop Max off. He’s just used to it, finds the sunlight calming as well.

Max actually visits every weekend, Billy’s been trying his best to be a better brother and it seems it’s working.

Or she just likes Steve, like the other kids.

Billy stretches and rubs his heavy eyes, opening the door into the hallway with his free hand. He wants to call out for Steve, but he knows Steve’s probably asleep anyways. Might as well check in.

He ducks his head under the lights hanging from his door frame that Steve used as decoration for his room. Billy thinks it’s unnecessary, but he likes knowing Steve put all that up just for him to feel at home. It’s cute.

Opening the door to Steve’s room as quietly as possible, Billy peers in to find the bed empty. He does, however, hear a faint buzz coming from the bathroom. His heart stops momentarily.

Without thinking, he leaves Steve’s door open to run in and throw open his bathroom door. His heart’s racing, all the energy he’d lost before returning. He fears what he’ll see but finds himself able to breathe again just a little when his eyes land on a surprised and sluggish looking brunette with shaving cream slapped onto his face.

“Billy?” Steve questions, voice raspy.

“Holy shit,” Billy breathes. His heart’s coming to again, but it’s hard when he sees that razor in Steve’s hand. “Put that-- can you- can you put that down? Please?”

He doesn’t usually ask for things like that with Steve unless he’s being paranoid of his dad.

“Yeah- sure, of course!” Steve quickly turns off his electric razor and places it next to the sink, turning the water on to quickly wash off his cream.

It’s sloppy and completely half-assed, but the moment he’s done dabbing off the excess with a towel with Billy just looking at the razor like it killed somebody, he’s quickly pushing Billy out the bathroom and closing the door behind himself.

“What happened?” Steve asks, dusting Billy’s shoulders as gently and caringly as possible.

It brings Billy some comfort, it makes him feel a little fluttery inside, but he’s still distraught with panic. His eyes don’t feel like they’re in the right place.

“Are you-- uh. Are you okay?” Billy stupidly asks, completely ignoring Steve’s initial question with how hard his heart is still beating in his ears. It’s distracting, the fear’s slowly bringing him back to when he had a razor in his own hands. It makes his stomach twist in all the wrong ways.

Steve’s mouth opens momentarily and then he gently pushes Billy onto the bed, kneeling on the ground right in front of him and looking up at him the way Billy does sometimes when Steve has nightmares. “Billy,” he says, hands on Billy’s knees and brows woven together in concern, “What’s wrong?”

Billy doesn’t know how to respond, he’s frozen in place and the warmth on his knees bring back so many memories he wants to hide. So many memories suffocating him.

It’s not long before he finds his cheeks wet, and Steve immediately jumps up a little to brush Billy’s curls out of his face as carefully as possible. “You’re crying,” he says disbelievingly.

Billy’s not much of a crier. He gets more angry or unresponsive, tears aren’t his thing. Steve’s more used to yelling back or holding him until he’s back in reality again.

He always tries to avoid thinking about how nice it feels to be held by Steve.

He really wants to not be held right now, because he’s afraid of being warm. He wants to be cold.

His throat closes and he stutters a choke, covering his face with his hands. His shoulders shake with his sob, and he feels Steve staring at him.

He feels shameful, disgusting, he hates that he ever hurt himself. Steve’s gonna hate him, leave him, kick him out, think he’s fucked up or something--

“Billy, please talk to me. Did I do something?” Steve’s words come out rushed, but he’s still there, right by Billy, not yet leaving which means so much, “I want to know, please, tell me. I want to help you.”

Billy’s so scared, so disgusted and relieved but Steve’s scared too. Steve has helped him so much, maybe...

Maybe Steve can just.

Help him.

But that feels like a stupid thought, because he’s already done it and Steve can’t turn back time.

“I’m fucked up, Steve,” Billy rasps, muffled by his hands. He can feel how wet his face is and is so relieved by the coldness of his tears. It keeps him grounded.

“Why?”

“‘cause I… fuckin’...” no matter how much he wants to trust Steve, he just can’t say it. He feels like somebody’s holding him by the tongue, it just won’t come out even if he wants it to and he can’t even imply it. Steve’s gonna leave me, he thinks. Steve’s gonna go.

Steve gently wraps his slender fingers around Billy’s wrists and tugs a little. It’s not so much a request to show himself as much as it is an invitation to open up.

It’s Steve saying that Billy can deal with it himself, or Steve can deal with it with him. It’s Billy, or trust.

He really trusts Steve.

So he lets Steve’s wrists act as the weights to his hands and drops them a little insecurely. He avoids looking at Steve, knowing his face is a mess but unable to hold in the sobs and tears.

His eyes keep shut, unable to look anywhere. He doesn’t want to see anything with an edge, anything to remind him he’s alive. He just feels so shameful and broken and wrong.

“Billy…”

Steve’s hand comes up to Billy’s face and wipes a tear, “Look at me, please.”

He opens his eyes and stifles a croak of ‘I’m sorry’. Bites his tongue, not willing to dig the hole even deeper.

Steve’s looking at him with furrowed brows and serious eyes. They’re glossed over, his cheeks and nose are red and Billy realizes he’s trying not to cry too.

He wonders how many times Steve’s had to hold back from crying anytime Billy screamed at him.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Steve asks, shaken. He keeps his thumb rubbing Billy’s cheek. Even though his palm is so warm, Billy feels like his hand keeps him up. A different kind of warmth that keeps him grounded in a new way. A way that makes him feel okay. In a healthy way.

He takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes for a moment and looks Steve dead in the eye. He knows his lips are quivering, he knows he looks a fucking wreck, but he owes Steve this much.

“I did it.”

That’s all he can say.

And then the wetness leaves Steve’s eyes in the form of tears, and Steve breathes and places both his hands on Billy’s face and leans in to press their foreheads together for a moment. And then Steve runs his fingers along Billy’s jawline then wraps his arms quickly around Billy and brings him in for a hug.

But it’s not a hug. He’s holding Billy, and he’s not letting go.

He’s keeping Billy safe.

Billy cries harder, burying his face in Steve’s neck and letting himself be held. He keeps his arms dropped, knows he doesn’t need to reciprocate for Steve to know.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay,” Steve whispers. His voice is delicate and shaking, but so full of emotions. He holds Billy tighter to him and tangles his hands in his hair, “It’s okay,” he repeats.

It’s not an it’ll be okay. It’s an it’s okay.

And Billy forgets his arms, and he feels like maybe it can be. Maybe, it really is.

Maybe nothing about him has changed, at all. Maybe he’s still okay. He stopped for a reason.

Steve keeps whispering that it’s okay into Billy’s ears, getting weaker every time with his own tears. Their tears almost mix together on Steve’s neck.

They sit there for a moment, close to each other, crying, and Billy feels himself taken more and more by Steve’s warmth. Not the razor, never the razor. Just Steve.

He feels so much safer. This is his reality now. He doesn’t ever want to escape it, and he thinks that maybe he does have more control than he thinks he does.

So he brings his arms around Steve as well and pulls them closer together, closes his eyes in his neck and lets himself breathe.

He’s alive.

The air is fresh, entering his lungs.

He’s not abnormal.

He’s not wrong, rotten, or different because of this.

He changes because he wants to.

He changes when he wants to.

And he’s changing by being nicer, by being a better person, by being the him that his father never wanted him to be. He’s changing by being Billy.

Finally, it’s silent save for their breathing and silent sniffles. The sobbing’s dulled with every second, until they’re just holding each other like they’re all they have.

In a way, they are.

Steve shifts and quickly pulls back. Billy doesn’t get a good look at his face but catches a glimpse of sheen on his cheeks, it makes his chest tighten. Steve sits up on the bed next to Billy and then pulls him in again.

This time, Billy’s head is on his chest, almost like he’s on his lap, and he’s just being cradled.

Steve seems to take a breath and hesitate, unsure if he should say something. He finally, nervously, clears his throat. “Do you want me to throw it away?” he asks.

Billy shakes his head.

“I can grow a beard, you know. Most I get is a stubble anyways.”

Billy chuckles weakly but keeps his head on Steve’s chest. He feels so safe and warm and okay.

“I’m sorry,” Billy says.

Steve rubs his thumb on Billy’s shoulder, letting his chin rest on his head and closing his eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But I--” “-- You’re here now. That’s what matters to me. That’s what should matter to you, that you lived. And you’re okay.”

Billy keeps his mouth shut and feels his cheeks redden. A good kind of red, not a blood kind of red. A red that’s nice, a rose red. Nothing close to a stinging red. A comforting red.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

They stay there for most of the morning, with Billy lying on the bed and Steve sitting cross legged with both arms holding Billy to him as sweetly as possible. Billy falls asleep eventually, and Steve almost considers leaving him alone but then throws the blanket over the both of them and finds sleep tugging at his lids as well anyways.

So maybe they do cling to each other for the rest of the afternoon.

But one thing’s made clear to the both-- no matter what, no matter why, no matter how, they’ll always stay true to their word and care for the other. Steve will never kick Billy out, and Billy makes a solemn vow to himself to never yell at him again.

One can imagine the surprise Steve gets when he wakes up to Billy waving a letter in front of his face grinning.

#stranger things #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #fanfic #my fic

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