#confessions isn't today's prompt but i wanted to post sth!

[witchsickness]

steve doesn’t really get what hargrove’s deal is.

he’s just, like, waiting for him in his car after school, doing absolutely nothing wrong at all, when hargrove wrenches the door open. almost pulls it off its hinges, fuming like he picked a fight with the world and got knocked down before the first round was over.

and to think that steve went as far as throwing a foreigner tape in the player, because it’s the only music he owns that hargrove barely tolerates. barely.

point is, steve’s done nothing wrong, but hargrove still growls at him, the second his back hits the seat, ‘we need to talk.’

‘oh. right,’ steve says, because he knows exactly what we need to talk means. he’s already calculating all the detours he’ll have to take from now on to avoid every memory-stained spot.

it’s a bummer. hawkins isn’t nearly big enough for a heartbreak.

nothing happens for a bit. hargrove’s silent next to him, eyes fixed straight ahead like he’s hoping for some divine intervention to get him out of this particular pickle. it’s almost funny, how uncomfortable he looks. deserves it, though. that’ll teach him to go around breaking people’s hearts.

eventually, he barks, ‘not fuckin’ here, obviously,’ and then adds, softer and a beat too late, ‘just. drive, will you?’ and spends the rest of the drive gripping the edge of his seat.

it’s a shame. steve really loves that tape. too bad he’ll never listen to foreigner again.

the second steve pulls up by the lake he’ll spend the rest of his life avoiding, hargrove fishes his pack out of his pocket. he plucks a cigarette out, but his hands are shaking so much it gets sucked into the black hole under the seat. maybe steve will find it, months later, and store it away as a keepsake of the day billy hargrove broke his heart.

‘jesus christ,’ hargrove mutters, fingers drumming a wild rhythm on his knees. ‘let’s make something clear. i’m being real nice, telling you this. i don’t have to.’

the alternative would be to get cold-shouldered without a heads-up, presumably. honestly, hargrove’s being very honorable, breaking up with him face to face. steve should be grateful.

plenty of time for that. he can be grateful after tearing the shirt hargrove left at his place a month ago to ribbons.

hargrove, who mumbles something, and rolls his eyes when steve frowns at him. then. then, he says, quietly, ‘okay, fuck. okay. i’m gonna be in love with you. real soon.’

the screeching sounds must be in steve’s head, because the engine’s off. can’t have a crash if the car’s not moving, right?

blinking at hargrove, who’s currently chewing his thumbnail and avoiding steve’s eyes, steve says, ‘come again?’

hargrove scoffs. ‘absolutely not. god, why did i think you’d be even remotely cool about this?’

steve would genuinely like to know, since, historically, he’s never been cool about anything, ever. ‘you—what,’ he says instead, ‘what the fuck, billy. who announces they will be in love with someone? nobody does that.’

‘i do,’ hargrove snaps back, defensive in a way he has no right to be. ‘and it’s a warning.’

things are moving at breakneck speed, and, honestly, steve just needs everything to stop for a second, so he can start catching up. ‘a warning,’ he repeats, ‘what for?’

‘so you can get out,’ hargrove mutters, shrugging, and suddenly. steve knows exactly what’s going on.

‘before it’s too late, you mean. before you. before you fall in love with me.’

hargrove shrugs again, staring at the lake ahead. ‘’s only fair.’

‘right,’ steve says, nodding even though hargrove still won’t look at him. ‘in this scenario, do i dump you before or after telling you i’ve been in love with you for a month?’

at that, hargrove whips his head up. finally. ‘what the fuck, harrington. why didn’t you say anything?’

‘uh. you just kidnapped me to tell me you’re not in love with me yet.’

‘means i will be.’

it’s infuriating, actually, that he’s got a point. steve rolls his eyes, and then shuts hargrove up with his mouth, objectively the most effective way to keep him from doing something stupid. when hargrove whimpers at the back of his throat, steve swallows it. all in all, it’s a good kiss. a really good kiss.

‘how long will it take, do you think?’ steve asks, when hargrove lets him pull back. they’re both skirting breathlessness, and smiling like idiots about it. ‘like, how soon are we talking here?’

hargrove blushes up to his ears. ‘shut up, okay?’ he says, and then, ‘soon, like, a couple of months ago.’