#harringrove comfort fic

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Steve is normally pretty good at bouncing back from things. Minor inconveniences and catastrophic disasters alike, and then some.

Today is the fourth day in a row that Billy has come home to find him tucked into bed before five o’clock has even come to pass, when the sun is still a while off from setting and the crickets have yet to chirp.

It’s safe to say that whatever he’s hit must be sticky, because the bounce back isn’t coming anytime soon either.

Billy goes about his routine as usual. Unlaces and kicks his boots off by the door, empties his pockets on the entryway table, and makes for the bedroom.

The first tell-tale sign that something’s wrong is the darkness in the kitchen — nothing heating on the stove or in the oven, no spices lingering in the air or onion skins piled on the counter. Steve will open the windows and busy his hands washing vegetables in the sink, listening to the sounds of the neighborhood as he pours through one of several cookbooks, trying to make something new and interesting.

It’s part of his evening routine. Helps him decompress, in a way, because he can focus on the words on the page and using his hands without having to talk or listen to anything but the calm sounds around him.

Then once Billy gets home, he blabs on and on about whatever comes to mind, and Billy listens as he eats whatever’s been made.

It makes for a good night when Steve cooks.

When he hasn’t, like tonight, a significant ripple disrupts Billy’s routine. Only he couldn’t give two shits about the food being ready when he gets home.

He gently knocks on the doorframe before he pushes the door open, letting a rectangle of light spill into the room. A sliver of it touches the bed, enough to highlight a partial figure under the covers, and Billy’s brows crease together as he slowly approaches.

“Hey, Stevie,” he coos. Sits on the edge of the bed and reaches a hand out to feel over the blanket, palm resting against Steve’s bicep. “Long day again?”

“Mm,” Steve hums.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t beg for a kiss like he usually does, and Billy frowns.

“You okay?”

“Mm.”

“Did I do something? Feel like I haven’t seen you all week…”

For a few beats, Steve just lays there. Then, he sighs.

“No.”

“Then what’s wrong? I’m walkin’ on eggshells here because I’ve felt like you’re pissed at me.”

“Didn’t ask you to,” Steve grumbles.

Billy furrows his brows.

“Well, shit, Harrington, I’m glad we cleared that up. Next time I feel like caring about my boyfriend, I’ll just go fuck myself instead.”

He stands up and steps toward the door, stopping before he’s crossed the threshold. Behind him, he hears a sniffle, and sighs as he rubs a hand over his face. Turns back around and makes his way to the bed again.

“‘Kay, I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry,” he says. Sits back down and fiddles with his ring on his middle finger. “I’m worried about you, baby, but I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.”

It’s quiet between them for a moment. Steve sniffles again, and there’s movement under the covers — presumably him lifting his hand to smudge the tears away from his eyes.

Billy scoots closer and sets his hand on Steve’s arm again for reassurance, rubbing softly up and down.

“I’m just— I feel useless, I guess. I don’t know,” Steve says.

His voice is low and raw. Vulnerable. Billy wonders if he’d been crying before he came home.

“Feel useless how?”

“I don’t… I don’t have anything. I’m nothing.” Steve lets out a shaky sigh and curls closer to himself. Billy’s expression drops. “I’m not smart enough to go to school and make a future for us, and, like, I know working minimum wage isn’t bad, but I want to… I want to have more for us than this, y’know? I’m a failure at everything I fucking try, and I’m scared this is it.”

The brunet chokes out a hushed sob. Turns his head to bury his face in the pillow to muffle the sounds of his strangled breaths.

Billy leans over his partner in a half-hug, laying his head on his shoulder and pressing him down into the mattress. It has Steve taking a somewhat slower, somewhat calmer breath. The first of more to come.

“How long have you been feeling like this?”

Steve swallows thickly, and his throat clicks.

“A while,” he manages. “I try not to think about it.”

“Sweetheart, not thinking about it isn’t gonna help you. Trust me, been there.”

Below him, Steve huffs.

For the first time in a while, Billy’s mind wanders to places he thought were forgotten. Closes his eyes and nuzzles his cheek against Steve’s shoulder as he rubs over his back.

“Y’know, I never told you this before, but I used to think I was unlovable. Wasn’t anyone’s first choice for my whole life ‘til I met you,” he murmurs. Steve’s breathing slows, and Billy spreads a little smile. “If you don’t have anything, Steve, you have me. I’d choose you and our shitty apartment over some sugar daddy with money and a mansion any day of the week.”

Steve sniffles.

“Yeah?” he rasps.

“Mhmm, and you’re not a failure, and you aren’t stupid. Just ‘cause you have hobbies that you don’t make money off of doesn’t mean you aren’t talented either — your customer service skills are honestly scary and I think I’d gain five hundred pounds if you got any better at cooking.”

Billy cracks a grin when Steve snorts. Turns his face downward and kisses his shoulder.

“Five hundred pounds, huh?”

The blond quirks a playful brow.

“How many servings do you have to make when you cook for us, Bambi?”

“I dunno, like, four?”

“And how much do we usually have leftover?”

There’s a short pause, and then Steve chuckles.

“None.”

“Uh-huh, exactly.” Billy props himself up on his hands and gently pushes Steve’s shoulder until he rolls onto his back. “You’re smart, you’re passionate, you’re somebody, okay? If anyone ever tells you otherwise, I’ll buy a gun.”

Steve laughs, and Billy leans down to kiss just below his jaw.

“You’re a dork.”

“No, I just love you.”

Arms slide out from beneath the covers and drape around Billy’s neck, guiding him closer.

“I love you too.”

Steve tilts up into a kiss when Billy lifts his head. The blond hums against him, chewing his lip when they part.

“Wanna come heat something up and cuddle on the couch?”

Steve shrugs, his eyes lingering on Billy’s lips in the short distance.

“How about we order out and take a shower? You smell like motor oil.”

“You like it when I smell like motor oil.”

Fingers card into Billy’s hair, and he exhales a small sigh when they tug lightly.

“I like scrubbing it off of you even more, though,” Steve lilts.

Billy snickers and brushes their lips together again, melting down into his partner like sugar in a sun-warmed glass of tea. When they part, he lingers close, mere millimeters away from sharing another kiss.

“Lead the way, pretty boy.”

[heartbreak-sandwich]

Billy knows better than to side eye you when you talk to Steve. The two of you have been friends since he and Robin worked at Scoops Ahoy together, and though Billy knows you have no interest in Steve, he can't help but satisfy the need to bite the inside of his cheek every time he sees you two talking alone. With one hand in his pocket, he walked with purpose as he approached the table where you two were enjoying smoothies.

"Thought I might find you two here." You heard Billy's voice ring out over the bustling echoes of the mall courtyard. You couldn't be totally sure, but you thought you detected some edge to his words.

"Exactly where we said we'd be?" Steve asked, raising his eyebrows. Billy subtly jutted his chin upwards and let his eyes bore into Steve's. Now you knew he was obviously bothered, but Steve was still staring back in total confusion.

"Right on time" you chimed in, rising to your feet and meeting Billy where he stood. He slung an arm around you and pulled you in by your waist a bit tighter than you expected, all the while never breaking his stare at Steve. Billy was challenging him, and Steve obviously didn't understand what was happening. He looked to the left, to the right, and back to Billy again.

"Is there a problem, Harrington?" Billy asked, venom rising with every word he spoke. Steve shrugged awkwardly in his seat, looked around again, and finally responded.

"Why would there be a problem?" Billy pushed an audible breath from his nose as his grip around your waist grew even tighter, but he didn't say another word.

"I guess we'd better get going," you piped up, longing to break the tension before Billy got too heated. The new mall had just opened, and the last thing you wanted was to be involved in it making headlines again, citing your overprotective boyfriend being arrested all because you and Steve decided to have a smoothie on a Friday afternoon.

You said goodbye to Steve who gave you an awkward half wave, still looking puzzled as ever as you and Billy made your way toward the mall's exit.

"What was that about?" you asked him in a hushed but stern tone.

"What was what about?" It wasn't like Billy to play dumb about his aggression, but the two of you had talked many times about his behavior toward Steve. It was starting to soften, but Billy still had his moments, and he knew it really affected you. You weren't letting it go this time.

"I thought we talked about Steve." Once in the parking lot, your voice was at full volume. You had been patient for so long, but now you were starting to feel annoyed that Billy couldn't just let things go. "We talked all about your fears, your jealousy, and the reasons why you hated Steve - none of which were valid, by the way - and you're still staring him down like prey every time you see him. I don't get it."

"I'm trying, okay?" Billy looked away from you and pulled out a cigarette, opening the door of his Camaro. He really thought you were going to let this go.

"Try harder," you countered, pushing his driver's side door shut mid swing.

"Hey--" Billy threw his arms up in frustration. You knew he was heated now, and so were you. Deciding that you needed the upper hand in this situation, you knew exactly what to say.

"Don't you trust me, Billy?" His arms fell to his sides. He turned around and took a deep breath.

"Babe," he said, turning back to you. "Come on. That's not fair -"

"You know what's not fair?! The fact that my boyfriend and my best friends can't get along because he can't let. Things. Go. You talk about wanting to grow and change, but you don't do it. Where is that going to leave us?" Your eyes stung as they welled up with tears. Billy looked as if you had knocked the wind out of him. The pain of losing you would always be too much for him to bear, and he knew he had gone too far today.

"I'm sorry," he said, reaching his hand out to you. "Please just listen." You took a step toward him. He took your hand in his and pulled you close to him so he could look directly into your eyes. "You know it's because I'm always afraid. I'm always afraid of losing the things I love. El showed me the truth, and you know that. It's just taking me some time, and I'm sorry you're suffering for it."

"I'm trying to be patient," you sniffled, tears spilling over and running down your cheeks. "But it's so hard when all I want to feel is happiness, warmth, comfort. After everything that has happened here in Hawkins, I just want home to feel like home again, and this makes it seem impossible." Billy knew this wasn't just about him and Steve. This was deeper. You were missing the comfortable life you knew before just like everyone else in The Party. He wiped your tears away with his thumbs, his hands cupping your face as he continued to stare into your eyes.

"I'll make home feel like home again. No matter what I have to do, I promise you I will do it for you." He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and embraced you, swaying you gently as your crying calmed down. You knew he meant it, and you knew he was more than capable of doing so. Billy never, ever broke his promises.

[stervrucht]

Steve’s all by himself.

It seems to be that way ever since he broke up with that chick. He walks the halls alone, class to class, and Billy never sees him at lunch. Always leaves right after class too, if they don’t have training.

King Steve.  

The name doesn’t sound all that powerful anymore and there was little Billy had to do for it. Sure, he beat Steve at some of his games, replaced him in the team, but Steve did most of the work himself. 

Billy aches for some fire — the kind that Tommy talked about. 

This Steve is little more than a smolder.

Occasionally he can see it, just behind his eyes. When Tommy pushes too far, or when Billy shoves him just right. It’s that fire, and it shines more beautifully—far brighter—than Tommy’s words do justice.

Billy thinks he can pull it from him. Open him up and lay him bare. 

He wants to see Steve break and unleash an all-consuming inferno. 

Read on AO3

[katyawriteswhump]

(i'm still) watching you—harringrove microfic

my first attempt at harringrove and probably totally weird like my usual shit, so… yeah, nervous. but I love prompts/challenges too much to resist… Pls be kind 🙂 

WC: 914. For @harringrovemicrofic prompt, green (I also got a passing mention of Jason Carver in for the additional prompt.)

CW: None. Tags: angst, pining, chronic illness (Fibro/Chronic fatigue), enemies to lovers, h/c, no Upside Down AU, slightly soft Billy? Rating: M.

…

Steve hated sitting in the stands watching the Tigers win without him.

Hargrove rained all over the hoop, right until the full-time whistle ripped through Steve’s skull. Simultaneously, Billy ripped his vest off—shouting, thudding his chest, scanning the crowd.

His crazily soft-blue eyes rested on Steve. That smug grin faltered, and Steve’s heart gave a crazy little squeeze.

Billy’s attention snapped away. His teammates carried him on a lap of victory, and Steve shaded his eyes. Too fucking much. Since he’d got sick, the doctors had droned on about Steve having to pace himself. Today, that’d been a bust—all for the torture of watching Hargrove play.

Even though Steve hated him.

And he’d chew on that image of shirtless Billy for goddamn weeks.

“Stop bawling, Harrington.” Steve startled, squinted into the suddenly too-bright light. Tommy H waggled a stuffed tiger in front of his nose: “You can be team mascot. This one’s got even less backbone than you.”

“Jesus, I’m gonna punch your stupid face in!”

Steve pushed himself up. Despite his dumb threat, it took all his strength to stumble away. Halfway to the exit, he collapsed onto a seat, slumping forward with his head in his hands. The crowd stomped by, sending shockwaves through his aching bones. Nobody offered to help. Probably figured he’d bite their heads off…

A hand landed on his shoulder. “You okay?” asked Billy.

WTF? Steve flinched away. Up close, he couldn’t handle those stupidly long lashes and gorgeous eyes. “M’fine.”

“Want a ride?”

“You leaving already?” Steve gawked at Billy’s pecs. “Guess there’s only so much showboating even your fat ego can take.”

Billy arched his brow. “I’m sick of this shit. Your ex-teammates are fucking losers, you know that?”

Uh… Yeah?

“Whatever, dude. I’m leaving with Nance.” Steve had just spotted her with freshman golden-boy, Jason Carver, scribbling madly in her notebook.

“She’s writing an essay on that asshole. Couldn’t bag me. Seriously, I need space. Figured you might too.”

Space with me? “Jesus, you still never stop talking! You hate me. What’s your game?”

Billy shrugged. “I don’t hate you, man. It genuinely sucks you had to be benched. Don’t have to believe me, but I actually miss you.”

Miss humiliating me? Miss me rubbing my ass against you while you shoved me around!?! Guess I enjoyed touching you as much as I hated you. I mean, uh, I STILL hate you…

“I don’t need your fucking sympathy, Hargrove.”

“Not offering fucking sympathy.”

Steve’s heart repeated that crazy squeeze. He’d grabbed the hem of Billy’s green shorts before he knew it.

Don’t leave. I honestly can’t get up without help right now. Won’t ask for help, either.

Billy harrumphed vaguely, casually offered a hand. Steve clasped it—since when did he dig slippery palms?—let Billy draw him up and sling an arm around him. Even with Billy’s help, the effort of walking consumed Steve completely till he sank into the Camaro.

Billy winked at him from the driver’s seat. “Don’t worry, I’ll go gentle.”

“Jesus, I’m not gonna break.”

“You wanna go home?”

Yeah, I totally should. “No fucking way. Anywhere but this dump.”  

With minimal wheelspin, Billy tore from the school grounds. He didn’t play loud music. They didn’t talk much either. Seemed Billy did occasionally shut up. Only Steve fizzing nerves—WTF AM I DOING?—kept him awake until Billy slammed to a halt.

Steve blinked. “Where are we?”

“One of the few places in this shithole that’s not a shithole.” Billy hurried around and helped Steve from the car.

“I’m not a fucking princess,” Steve bitched.

“Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

“Screw you.” Steve’s glare melted into a laugh that he almost felt.

They’d arrived somewhere in the hills, which smelled of spring grasses. Steve slipped from Billy’s warm grasp—not without a dumbass pang—lay flat on the soft turf. Beyond the trickle of a stream, it was so quiet, he dozed almost instantly.

Then, through the blur of his lashes, he spotted Billy stripping his shorts. Christ, that ass!

Billy headed for the stream. His smirk was as mind-blowing as his body. “I skipped showers.”

“Fucking show-boater.” Steve snickered.

He watched Billy wade thigh deep, splash sparkling droplets over that lick-able, lithely muscled torso. He wished he could watch this a billion times over, ached to join Billy, then his eyelids grew too heavy, his fatigue winning, and… Shit!

Deep inside, something snapped. He slung an arm across his face and cried, drifted, then cried again, shamelessly sniffling. A brush against his arm stirred him. Billy lay stretched beside him, towel around his waist, chin rested on a fist.

“Tears are cathartic, huh?”

Steve rolled to full-on sneer at Billy. Ended up fixed on Billy’s lush mouth, fretting his own lower lip. “Quit mocking me.”

“I’m not. Tears help. Apart from when they’re too damn painful. You don’t have to say which those are.”

Billy reached out, as if to push hair from Steve’s damp eyes, then hesitated. Steve grabbed Billy’s fingers, like he’d grabbed for his shorts. He barely breathed. He clasped Billy’s stream-chilled knuckles to his own burning face, like his life depended on it.

“Meant what I said about missing you,” murmured Billy, as Steve drowned in those adoring eyes. “None of those dicks are half-decent rivals. It sucks we never got a chance to work through that tension and…"

This is a dream, right?

Billy’s fingers slid up through Steve’s hair, gently drawing him closer, and they tumbled into a kiss.

[allthingssteddie]

While Steve is on vacation in California with his parents he sees his boyfriend with an other guy. He’s heartbroken and decides to get drunk and meets Billy who works at the at the hotel he’s staying in. Billy offers to pretend to be his boyfriend to make his ex jealous.

I was thinking they would always meet at the abandoned old lighthouse Billy’s was saying in.

[weird-an]

”Billy, just tell me what‘s wrong!“ Steve‘s voice is urgent.

Billy frowns at him. ”What are you talking about?“

”You are bleeding on the floor.“ There are a few drops of blood on Steve‘s bedroom floor.

Oh shit. He didn‘t realize on of the stitches he made earlier had torn. Getting blood off a carpet is hard. Especially if said carpet probably cost more than Billy‘s life.

”Sorry, I‘ll clean it up later,“ he promises.

Steve seems angrier than before. Billy will have to clean the floor really good. Maybe he can calm him down with a handjob afterwards.

”What the fuck? Let me help you!“ Steve throws his hands up in exasperation.

Billy is surprised by the movement. He manages to suppress a flinch, but instinctively takes a step back. Touch and blood equals broken bones. A lesson he has learned ages ago.

”I… don‘t need help cleaning the floor. Thank you. I‘ll renew the stitches and then get started,“ he assures Steve and then hurries into the bathroom.

He frantically digs through the little bag he has been hiding underneath the sink. He is running low on disinfection, but he will manage.

”WHAT FUCKING STITCHES?“ He hears Steve yell through the bathroom door. He really sounds upset.

Shit, Billy doesn‘t want to blow it. He needs to come up with something to calm Steve down and make him forget about the carpet.

[kallisto-k]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington Characters: Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington Additional Tags: Comfort, Stolen Moments, Harringrove summer bingo, slight angst, mentions of Neil's A+ parenting Series: Part 7 of Summer Days Drifting Away Summary:

Sometimes Billy forgets how good it feels to be held (and that he's allowed to have it).

For my @harringrovesummerbingo card’s prompt: Stolen Moments! 

[bigdumbbambieyes]

within me, an invincible summer prologue

Harringrove, 3k, WIP read on ao3

----

I’m sorry.

When he’s wheeled into the ER by medics and nurses and she’s left outside, clutching his bloody necklace tightly in her palm, she looks down at her trembling fist and whispers as her eyes fill with tears, “I’m sorry, too."

thank you to @chrisbitchtree for looking this over and being the sweetest beta 🤍

[cavinginhisfvce]

'I'll be good, Stevie..."

Paring: Harringrove.

TW: Implied/referenced child abuse and domestic violence.

(DON'T KILL ME, THINGS GET BETTER, they're not what they seem. Kinda.)

This thing between Billy and Steve was fragile.

When it first started, they stepped on each other's toes more often than not. 

Steve was always waiting for the day Billy would lash out, shove him or hit him.

No such day came, even in the most heated of arguments, Billy never so much as raised a finger in his face. He'd yell, they both did, but it never went further than that.

Steve never expected he would be the one to back the younger boy into a corner, never considered he would be the one to snap. 

It all still feels like a bad dream. Steve's hand shoving Billy when he'd gotten close enough to the younger.

The way Billy stumbled into the wall, a startled gasp leaving his lips, is forever imprinted in his brain. The look of utter betrayal and hurt his boyfriend shot in his direction was heartbreaking. The look soon morphed into one of barely concealed anxiety, and fear.

Steve still doesn't know what evoked this response out of him. He doesn't know what came over him, he truly doesn't. 

One minute they were shouting, and the next...

Billy had almost immediately began apologizing, his hands shaking as he stepped forward to grasp at Steve before letting his movements stop short, "I-I'll be good, Stevie. I'll be good, 'm sorry…"

He hadn't meant to upset Steve, hadn't meant to make the older of the two so angry he only saw violence as a means of putting Billy in his place. 

And Steve's heart just shattered. His boyfriend was begging for his forgiveness after Steve hurt him. After he hurt him in a way he swore he never would. 

But he had.

Steve's silence seemed to do nothing but send the boy spiraling further, his bottom lip wobbling as he sniffs, hands once again reaching out for Steve.

This time Steve hesitantly gathers Billy in his arms, noting how the boy almost immediately relaxed into his hold.

"Baby, I'm so fucking sorry. I should never put my hands on you...I know better than that. That's not the kind of man I am…" Billy, for his part tenses up briefly before shaking his head, "it's okay. I've had worse…" he pauses, seeming to ignore Steve's immediate interjection, "was my fault anyway. Shouldn't have started yellin'..."

The blond doesn't meet Steve's eye despite the elder's attempts, but Steve presses on.

"No! Fuck, Billy. No. It isn't your fault, it's mine. We yell at each other all the time, but what I did...I crossed a major fucking line."

Billy just shook his head, his face pressing further into Steve's neck as he let out shaky breaths. "Stevie, s'okay...I know you'd never...I know you didn't mean it. I shouldn't have gotten loud. Shouldn't have kept pressing when I knew you weren't havin' a good day.."

The elder tightens his arms around Billy's frame, only gently leaning back to make their eyes meet, "Baby, it's not your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for, please listen to me…"

He pauses briefly, knows Billy is listening from the way he's tensed up in Steve's hold, "you have no idea how sorry I am, bug. I'll forever be sorry."

For a moment, the room is filled with deafening silence before Billy is peering up at the latter, his blues swarming with confusion and doubt, "what makes this any different from when we almost fought last year?" His brows were furrowed, a sign that he was well and truly at a loss and not attempting to rile Steve up. 

Steve takes a breath, lips pursed as he mulls the question over. "We weren't dating then, Billy. Back then, we were just two dumbasses about to fight. But, this…" he cups the boy's cheek, relief flooding his system when Billy shows no signs of discomfort, and instead leans into the touch, "Us...it's not acceptable. You're supposed to be safe with me, you should never be afraid I'll hurt you, like he does…"

The 'He' in question being the blond's shitty father. The sole reason Billy is so willing to forgive Steve for this slip up. Neil Hargrove is the reason for most of Billy's tears, self doubt and general pain in life. 

Steve always vowed to be the opposite of him. He was soft where Neil was harsh and unrelenting. He was warm whereas Neil closely resembles a frozen tundra. 

But, somehow, Steve lost that about himself, no matter how brief, he'd been all too close to being the man Billy feared most in the world.

"Gods, Blue Bird, I will never stop making up for this. I'll never give you another reason to feel unsafe with me. I swear.."

The shorter leans up, quickly pressing a kiss to Steve's lips, the action so feather-like Steve could've imagined it, before he's nodding once. "I know...I trust you, Stevie. M'not afraid of you. Could never be." If not for the fact Billy never broke eye contact, Steve could've easily written it off as him trying to placate his nerves, or sweep an uncomfortable situation under the rug. 

But, as blues held browns, the only thing that was brighter than the love in Billy's eyes, was the truth. 

He wasn't afraid of Steve. 

That felt like enough to have Steve relaxing into their embrace, another apology spilling from his lips as Billy molded their bodies together.

They had shit to work on, that's for sure. But he knew he was safe. He knew that should he decide this relationship was going down, Billy would jump ship with little thought. He'd keep himself safe even if it meant losing Steve. 

[neonponders]

Part 12 for @wrecked-fuse ‘s pocketverse 🍳

Part 11

(Part 9′s art 🌹) ( pt. 7′s art 🧁)

~ on ao3 ~

• • •

“Biwwy! I’m swipping!”

Small Billy sat on the top of the slide, and bent a leg to prop an arm on his knee. He laughed theatrically over small Steve starting to slide down on his tummy. “There’s a new king of the swide! See you on the othewr side, Hawwington - EEE!!”

Big Steve perked up in time to see his littler self grab Billy’s leg and take him along for the ride down. “Okay, you two. I’ve got Cheerios and strawberry cream cheese here - ” the front doorbell rang, “ - and there’s Billy and Max.”

The little ones ran over the dishtowel he’d set down to catch their water from the pool. He tried to keep an eye on them swiping cheerios over the cream cheese until he had to had to avoid slamming into walls. Upon opening the door, he greeted, “Hey. They’re eating breakfast.”

Max held up a toasted waffle and chewed, “Same.”

The little guys ran around the sink in the island counter to hop and wave at them. “Hi, Biwwy! Hi, Max!”

“Hey,” she smiled.

Her stepbrother eyed their swimming attire and returned, “ ‘Sup chipmunks. I see you started with out me.”

Small Billy ran through a sunbeam on the counter to pick up his Indiana Jones hat. Larger Billy scolded, “Keep running like that and I’ll get my whistle out.”

“The sun is bwight!” his smaller self reprimanded and got distracted by little Steve handing him something. “Thanks.”

“Welcome,” Steve smiled, donning his own doll sunglasses. Large Billy couldn’t help but laugh. His littler self looked like a prima donna at the pool: sunhat, orange-patterned linens, and big sunglasses to boot. Steve felt good about himself too, as he called, “Wow do we wook, Biwwy?”

“Like movie stars.”

Large Steve rotated from the counter along the wall to set a cutting board in the sink and a plate of fruit next to the dish of cereal and cream cheese. “Remember to eat real fruit.”

Small Billy complained, “Watermewon again? It’s crwunchy water, Steve!”

“Delicious crunchy water,” he corrected. “If you don’t drink the stuff I give you, you gotta get it somehow.”

The huff that came out of that little body was impressive as he grabbed a pice of fruit and crunched derisively. Steve sent a harmless glare at Billy with a shake of his head. “Do you hate watermelon too?”

“It’s not the best fruit,” he confirmed, but redirected, “How’d you sleep?”

“Great,” Steve replied, and then his features flattened. “Oh, you mean them.”

Billy gazed at him, mildly amused while Max otherwise intervened, “So, is the big pool available? Or am I stuck in here with you two?”

“It’s a good thing you brought your board,” Billy warned. “That’ll save you from walking home.”

Steve intervened, “Keep your fights out in the public where everyone can see them. You’re cramping out style in here.”

Although, it seemed that the little ones were thoroughly ignoring them, instead alternating lyrics of songs that vaguely matched up with the conversation.

“Stuck with you-ou.”

“Happy you’re stuck with me-e.”

“I was dweamin’.”

“In my bed.”

“Shoulda been with you instead.”

“Go go, Stevie!”

The chase down the slide and around the pool commenced. In the meantime, Billy tilted judgey eyes at Steve. “Wham, Steve?”

Unashamedly, he retorted, “I thought you’d be more upset by Huey and The News.”

Billy scrubbed his hands down his face. “It’s up to me to have taste.”

Steve planted a hand on his hip. “Huey and Wham are fine.”

“They have one decent song a-piece,” Billy disagreed. “One.”

He got cut off by the front door slamming open and closed. Robin hollered, “Where are they?”

“Kitchen,” Steve droned.

That prompted her to jog in, dump her stuff on a couch, and then rush down the hall for the garage. Max frowned, “What’s she doing?”

“Putting her bike in the garage,” Steve informed indifferently.

“Why’s she acting like it’ll get stolen in fifteen seconds?”

Steve shrugged. “Robin has two modes: the world can burn while she sleeps or she feels like she’s in New York City.”

Billy pushed off the island counter to go to the impressive entertainment unit taking up an entire wall of the living room. He helped himself to the shelf on which a record player sat, and perused the Harringtons’ collections. As he slid black vinyl out of its sleeve, he congratulated, “There’s hope for you yet, Steve.”

Said Steve gave him a mirthless smile and focused on Robin returning to the kitchen as the closing garage door vibrated a whole side of the house.

“Woooh,” small Billy exhaled with a piece of fruit in his hands.

“Earthqwuake!” little Steve cried, slamming into Billy to hold him close.

Robin laughed tiredly. “Just a short one. It’s already over. What’s breakfast?...Eggs? Again?”

“I’m cooking for three here, what do you want?” Steve sassed over the bowl and whisk.

Robin offered an empathetic sigh and opened his pantry. “Don’t get your apron in a twist. We’ll have French toast. Don’t put those eggs in the skillet yet.”

“Fwench toast?” little Steve piqued.

His bigger self promised, “You’ll have some when you take a break from swimming.”

Max brightened, "Oh! I brought something. They’re not much, but once upon a time, my mom shoved dolls at me. I don’t wanna think about how many of these wound up in landfills.”

She pulled out a few things from her corduroy shorts pocket and dropped them over the Barbie pool. Little Billy looked over the miniature pool noodles and asked, “What’rwe those?”

Big Billy navigated around Max blowing up a small inner tube and said, “They help you float. You can sit on them.”

The inner tube with primary colored stripes soon joined the water, and small Billy struggled to climb on and stay on. He fell off and came up sputtering, his hat floating away, “This is cwap! What is the point o’this?”

Large Billy consoled, “It’s just like the real thing. Here, drop your butt in there.”

He pushed it underwater with two fingers and waited for Billy to gain his courage. Turning around with a dubious glance over his shoulder, he sat down tentatively inside the inner tube. Billy took his strength off of it, and it floated up with the little one on it. Stable, for the most part. Little Billy smirked, “Okay. Not bad.”

Meanwhile, little Steve sat astride a noodle, happy as can be. “I’m widing a girwaffe, Biwwy!”

From the pantry, Robin emerged with a frown. “Hey big guy, where’s your sugar?”

Steve’s brows reached up but he answered, “Garage.”

Max frowned. “You store sugar in the garage?”

“My mom likes to bake, so she buys it in bulk,” he said as he pivoted to got get it, but Robin stopped him so he could stay put.

Billy teased while helping himself to the leftovers in the coffee pot, “Is your mom at a baking conference?”

Steve didn’t roll his eyes, so much as let them wander while he blinked slowly. A newfound freedom outside of high school: not having to answer to petty questions.

Except when Robin returned with the large paper bag of sugar, she informed, “Uh, Steve? The sheriff’s car is in your driveway.”

Max and Billy automatically exchanged looks, but they mirrored confusion at Steve brightening, “Hopper’s here? Good, I can finally hustle him to get these guys a bigger wardrobe.”

On cue, the doorbell rang. Big Steve went to answer it, and little Steve gazed up at Billy with large eyes. “Who’s Hopperw?”

“I think he’s the one who brought you to Steve in the first place.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” little Billy growled. He struggled to get off the inner tube and ultimately rolled off gracelessly.

Large Billy asked, “You two got beef with the sheriff already?”

But all he got was a derisive, “Hmph!” as the small one went to sit on the pool stairs, much as he’d done in the video store when he wasn’t pleased to see Billy.

The greetings filtered into the house as Steve led Hopper into the living room-kitchen. “Yeah, they’re doing fine. They’re learning how to swim.”

The sheriff wore casual clothes today, looking like a lumberjack off duty in his plaid shirt that hung open over a t-shirt and jeans. “I see you wasted no time in telling everyone.”

Max countered, “Not everyone.”

“Good. Keep it that way. I already have the Wheelers on my case. One dating my kid and the other pestering the station for journalism every other day is enough. Well...I know a lack of forgiveness in that face.”

Both Steve and Billy furrowed their brows at Hopper approaching the island counter. The explanation came soon enough in Hopper saying, “Still not over that apple incident, huh?”

Small Billy stood up and accused, “You twicked me!”

Little Steve agreed, “It wasn’t verwy yummy...”

Big Steve came to stand next to Billy as the latter interrogated, “Apple incident?”

Hopper moved out of Robin’s way to make French toast as he explained, “I cut a piece of apple for them to eat. The station’s secretary is always trying to get me to eat green stuff.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Not a Granny-Smith.”

Hopper nodded apologetically. “The little guys can’t do sour. What can I say?”

Small Billy had a lot to say. “You made my tummy uppy! And yourw apple was shit!”

Hopper lifted deadpan eyes at Steve and Billy. Steve shook his head. “No way. You delivered them talking like that. And Ellie’s, like, the pickiest eater alive. Why’d you give them something acidic?”

“I suppose I was still in shock at seeing both of you in tiny form,” Hopper responded. “The M&M’s made up for it, though. Right?”

That gave little Billy pause. He crossed his arms and scoffed, “Barwely! Cwunchy water’s shit!”

“Okay, sweet B,” Robin consoled over the sizzling on the stove. “You’ll have French toast soon.”

Max had approached the counter by this time and unconsciously set her hands on the granite. Little Steve sat down on her fingers to finish his cheerio, inducing small Billy to join him. Their heads were large enough that the proximity allowed Billy to nuzzle his hair against Steve’s. Their larger counterparts stood riveted to the display until they warily glanced at each other with weighted silence.

After the initial shock of their touch, Max recovered to ask, “Where did you get them, anyway?”

Hopper sighed, “I couldn’t tell you where they’re from. I assumed they were the original Steve and Billy just...shrunken. But they didn’t know who I was, and you can imagine my relief when Steve answered the door after I brought them here. Beyond that, I assumed they were safest with, well, themselves.”

Robin countered, “That doesn’t explain much.”

Hopper plucked a small piece of watermelon for himself and finished, “I don’t have any answers for you. I assume they came, in some part, from their original selves. Looks like I was right.”

Robin brought a plate and knife to the island and cut the first slice of French toast into strips as Steve informed, “They’re more expensive than you’d think.”

“People always are, regardless of size,” Hopper smirked, but Steve’s pursed lips and flat gaze made him realize, “You’re saying you need money?”

“I’m saying it’s only a matter of time before I lose a shirt or something. They only have, like, two outfits. Some pajamas and different shoes would be nice. The only store that carries their size is place on Magnolia Street.”

Hopper’s lips disappeared under his mustache. He didn’t like that at all. He guarded, “You seem to have made it out of there all right.”

Steve scoffed. “The shopkeeper watches me like I’ll steal something.”

Hopper’s gaze switched to Billy. “And you?”

“She likes me,” he grinned. That earned an openly disgusted grimace from Max and a nose wrinkle from Robin.

The latter realized aloud, “You don’t like being hit on by old Bettys, Hop?”

“I have every reason to be terrified,” he declared.

Robin laughed while Steve otherwise deflated somewhat. “Why am I the red flag customer?”

Billy responded as he took a bite of toast and tore off a couple pieces for the little ones, “You’re too pretty for her tastes.”

Steve pointed wide eyes at the counter with a sassy shake of his head. “I’m not the one with big blue eyes and pants that don’t fit.”

Max and Robin locked gazes but said nothing. They didn’t have to, as the little ones got their first taste of French toast.

“Woooh!”

“It’s like pancwakes!”

“Spicy! Cinnamn. Cinnamwon...”

Big Billy consoled his smaller self, “You got it,” and they watched the latest sugar rush run around the pool.

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

It’s hard to be strong, sometimes.

“Nothing’s gonna fix me.”

Billy can do the heavy lifting. Can pull the freight with nothing but the sweat on his back to show for it.

“I’m jus’ gonna hurt forever.”

But this?

He isn’t strong enough for this.

“You aren’t,” he coos. “I won’t let you.”

A strained little sob hiccups out of Steve, and he simply shakes his head. The veins running up the length of his neck thump fast with his pulse, rising to the surface of his flushed skin. Tense and angry, like his eyebrows, pinched together harshly no matter how much Billy shushes and croons at him.

He’s got Steve’s face buried in his chest, shirt completely damp around the collar, and Steve’s fists tangles weakly at the sides.

Right now is probably the calmest he’s been all afternoon since this started.

Billy buries his nose in Steve’s hair and closes his eyes, arms wrapped softly around him. Grounding him in place. Smoothing carefully over his back, wary of pressing lest he cause another river of tears.

“Why does something that’s supposed to help hurt so bad?” Steve whines.

As much as Billy wants to squeeze him as tight as he can, he doesn’t. Instead settles one of his hands against Steve’s head, holding his cheek to his chest and gently stroking his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t know,” Billy admits. “Sometimes stuff doesn’t work, and you find out the shitty way.”

Steve huffs and makes a frustrated, pained sound into Billy’s shirt that’s followed by a warm wetness soaking into the fabric. Billy shushes into his hair again.

He wishes he could take the ache away. Wishes he could, even for just a moment, see what it feels like.

What could hurt so fucking bad that it has Steve crumbling into a mess of throaty sobs? Steve, who has been knocked around like a ragdoll and simply dusted himself off after?

“‘M gonna hurt forever,” he whines again.

Digs his forehead into Billy’s chest, shifting and rocking himself softly on top of him like he’s trying to physically shake the pain off, and Billy urges him to lie still with a gentle hand on his back.

“You won’t, it’ll pass.”

He tries to say it with certainty, but there’s a slight rasp in his voice to match the mist gathering in his eyes. Even when he gets Steve to fall still again.

“It hurts.”

“What hurts?”

A shaky sob leaves Steve’s lips as he curls his fingers tighter in Billy’s shirt at his sides.

“Everything,” he urges.

Presses himself down hard, muscles tense, like he’s trying to smother himself. Billy keeps his hand smoothing delicately up and down his back.

“I know, baby. Just breathe, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Steve’s muscles shake from the effort, but he eventually listens. Inhales a shallow breath and sighs it out, drawing another one in as slow as he can manage with his elevated heart rate.

It takes a few moments, but his grip eventually eases again. He sniffles and nudges his face against Billy’s ruined shirt, huffing softly.

“It hurts,” he rasps, voice just above a whisper.

“I know, Stevie.” Billy noses a kiss into the brunet’s hair. “I know.”

They lay there like that for a while. Steve eventually tires himself out, nodding off on top of Billy even though he’s still crying. Too emotionally and physically exhausted to stay awake through the pain.

Billy just holds him. Lays his head back on the pillow once Steve’s breathing finally evens out and exhales a long sigh.

He might not be strong enough to fix Steve, because most medications aren’t even strong enough for that.

He supposes that being strong enough to love Steve will suffice, though.

Then at least he doesn’t have to suffer it alone.

[camaro-and-smokes]

Nightmares

Chapter 3: Steve

Tags for this chapter: Heavy angst, hurt/comfort, regret, references to major character deaths. See all tags for the full fic on AO3.

Other chapters on tumblr >> / Read on AO3 >>

Moodboard by the wonderful @a-redharlequin 💜

Summary: Steve hated himself because he got away with everything that happened easily. He didn't die. He hardly had any injuries, not on the outside at least, ones that would remind him of what happened every time he looked at the mirror. Except that it was exactly that what reminded him. That he had no scars or he hadn't come back from the dead. And now he was on the brink of possibly losing part of his family. And it scared the shit out of him.

::::::::::

Billy is already falling, Steve knows that. But it still looks like that he's floating in the air. Hung up there like a grotesque puppet in the puppeteer’s hands. It was just a fraction of a second ago when the meat tentacle let go off him.

Billy is no longer screaming like he did just a moment ago. The Mind flayer is collapsing in front of him and they're falling at the same pace, Billy and the meat monster.

Steve realises maybe it was Billy who destroyed it.

And suddenly he's sad, sadder than he's ever been. The sorrow turns into desperation because it suddenly hits him that if the Mind flayer is falling apart, so is Billy.

He wants to help, but he can't move a muscle. It's as if he's glued to the floor, where he's kneeling behind the railing. He tries to shout, but his mouth is sealed shut and when he raises his hand to feel his lips, there's no mouth at all in his face.

He tries to get a hold of the railing, but his arms are pulled against his body and soon he's just one massive piece of meat with no limbs. All he can do is to witness the horrible vision in front of him.

And Billy is still falling, halfway to the floor, lifeless.

Steve knows that by the time Billy hits the ground, he's going to die within seconds. He has to save him. Has. To.

But now he himself is fusing with the concrete floor and he's anguished and furious that he can't do anything, he can't stop what's going to happen.

He can't save Billy.

Sorrow hits him like a freight train, forcing the air out of his lungs, and all that he has left is regret. He never got to know Billy. Instead of pining like a pathetic fuck, he should've done something.

The last thing Steve sees is Billy hitting the floor limply, blood spurting out of his mouth, dying. This time for good.

---

Steve opened his eyes and took a deep breath and another. He was panting, and the familiar, endless desperation and anxiety was lingering overwhelmingly. It's just a dream. It's just a fucking dream he told himself, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. But like always, he couldn't hold back tears.

He's responsible for Billy dying. Even though he did what he did, he could've done more. He should've done more. Instead of lying to Billy and getting beaten by him at the Byers, he should've told him the truth to him the moment when he got out of the Camaro. He should've...done so many things differently.

If he'd done that, Billy wouldn't be hurting now. And Eddie wouldn't be hurting now.

He could've saved them both from what they had to go through.

He should've done that.

But it's better than nothing to have Billy back the way he is. Even though he's broken, and Steve has to take care of him. But he does it gladly because he loves Billy from his whole heart and couldn't live without him. But not a day passes by when he doesn't blame himself for what happened to him.

Or to Eddie. He could've told Eddie that he didn't have to be a hero. That it was okay not to stand against a force that was unfathomable and easily overpowering a mere human, as they'd both witnessed so many times by then. That alone would've made a difference. He knows that now.

And so he takes care of Eddie, too. Billy loves Eddie and over the years Steve has come to love him, too, in his own way.

They're family, and Steve would die defending them. He would take all the pain from them if he could. Because what he has is nothing compared to them. What is losing hearing from one ear or having migraines or vertigo or PTSD when his loved ones had fought for their lives and even died? Even though they came back, they're paying a price that is just too much.

And they need to take care of him, too. He's pathetic for having to have them drive him around. That he can't even do that. Yes, he can at least work a full-time, safe, boring desk job at his father's company. He never imagined it would come to that, but it was a stable income and more than well paid the bills. And yes, he could set his own work schedules—the one privilege brought by being a Harrington and one he unashamedly used—so if he showed up at work at six am he could work in peace for at least a few hours and then leave well before everyone else.

But while he paid the bills, it wasn't enough. Not to him. He would forever be the one who got it easy...

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. The door to the room opened and the sliver of light through the slit hit Steve's eyes, making him turn his head quickly away. “Turn off the light,” he croaked. “Sorry,” Billy said and turned to turn off the corridor light. He looked back into the room. “Bad dreams?” Steve sighed, sniffled and wiped his eyes to his arm, sitting up. “Did I wake you up?” “No, I was already awake. Took a shower, the scars still ache. I heard the bed creaking.” Steve let out a laugh. “We have to buy a new mattress here.” Steve reached out his hand. “Come here, baby.” Billy walked into the room and stopped in front of Steve, who wrapped his arms around Billy's thighs and leaned his head against his stomach, letting out a deep sigh. Billy ran his fingers through Steve's hair. “It was just a dream,” Billy whispered. “I know. But it happened. It hurts,” Steve said, his voice cracking. “And I should've done so much more, I—” “Shh,” Billy shushed softly and leaned down to press a kiss on Steve's head. He placed his hand on Steve's chin and gently pulled it up, forcing Steve to look at him. He smiled. “I'm here. You brought me back.” “I love you, freckles,” Steve whispered. “I love you too, cookie. Do you want me to lie down with you for a while? It's four am, you could sleep for another hour.” “Yeah,” Steve replied and laid back on the bed, making space for Billy.

When Billy laid down, he pushed Steve over to his other side and wrapped himself against Steve's back, placing his arm on Steve's waist and pulling them tightly against each other. Steve pulled Billy's hand from his waist in front of him, laced their fingers together and kissed Billy's fingers, breathing in his musk from them that was mixed with the lingering smell of tobacco. Billy was the constant that rooted him, anchored and soothed him. When Billy was there, there was nothing Steve couldn't do. Billy was the one who he thought of first and last. Even after all this time. Billy was the one for him and always would be.

Which was why the feelings he was tangled in right now made him loathe himself. He squeezed his eyes closed and pulled Billy's arm tighter against him. Billy kissed Steve's neck gently. "Wanna talk about it?" After a while, Steve sniffled. "I can't lose you." "You'll never lose me, baby." "I can't lose him, either," Steve whispered after a while. Billy sighed, placing his cheek against Steve's neck, and inhaled Steve's scent. "You're not losing him either. He's right there. He will always be." “I don't know if I can take another...” Steve paused and swallowed. “I can't go through it again, you know. Anyone I love dying.” “He's not going to die. He's gone through so many experimental treatments...” “I'm really worried about this one,” Steve whispered. Billy was quiet for a while. “I know. I'm too. It scares the shit out of me.” Steve spoke again after a good while. “I asked Owens about it. It's a full on cancer treatment. They'll shut down his immune system and then introduce the drug into his circulation. He has to stay in the lab for a few weeks in insolation. The virus can actually kill him if the treatment doesn't work.” Billy was silent for a while, taking it in. “Fuck. Eddie said nothing about that.” Steve grimaced. “He's trying to protect us. Once again. Like he did with the last treatment, too.” “You know he means well. That sounds grim.” “It's not like we're all teetering on some edge all the time,” Steve scoffed. “Baby, he knows you worry, he just doesn't...” “Not telling me makes me just worry more when I eventually find out. It's not helping!” Billy hugged Steve and laid kisses on his neck. “Worrying does nothing good, babe. It just makes you anxious. You can't fix it by worrying.” “I know!” Steve snapped and pushed Billy's hand away, sitting up. He could feel Billy's eyes on his back.

“He thinks you don't care about him anymore,” Billy whispered. “What?” Steve asked. He looked over his shoulder at Billy. “Why?” “You haven't spoken about this with him, have you? About how you feel? That you're scared.” “He should know that.” Billy sat up and wrapped his arm around Steve's waist and hugged him sideways. “Steve. He's scared shitless, too. He needs to know that you'll be there for him. That he can count on you.” “Then why didn't he tell me?” Steve sniffled. Billy leaned his jaw on Steve's shoulder. “Talk to him,” he whispered. “And let him take you to work. Or at least let him choose whether or not he does that.” Steve hugged Billy's arm and laced their fingers again. “Okay.” “He loves you, you know,” Billy whispered. Steve closed his eyes and swallowed, trying to hide another sob that was forcing its way from his throat. “I know.” Billy sighed heavily. “I know I've said this before, but it's okay that you don't love him back the same way he loves you. It's okay to love him the way you do.” “You love him. You love him, so I love him. We're a family.” “And that's enough, baby. But talk with him, okay? He's always concerned about how you feel, you know that. You're not as solid to him as you are to me. He needs to be reminded that you care about him. Have a boys’ night out. Or I'll get out of your hair for a few hours. Anything.” “Okay, I will,” Steve whispered, hugging Billy's arm on his waist tighter.

---

Billy's idea of adding Eddie to their relationship didn't please Steve when he first heard it. He wanted Billy just for himself, and even the idea of sharing him made him see red. But he also couldn't keep anything from Billy. Steve believed that he shouldn't keep Billy from having what he wanted, as long as he was also a part of it somehow.

Steve and Eddie knew each other well by the time Eddie came over for the first time in the role of Billy's boyfriend. It was awkward because Steve had never thought of Eddie that way, and it took a while for them to relax around each other, especially when being affectionate with Billy. But when Eddie stayed over night more often, it got easier. Because Steve had never known he’d like to watch Billy having sex with someone else, and Billy hadn't known he’d like to be watched by Steve when he was having sex with someone else. And it was a revelation to all of them they liked to have threesomes, and when they could do that with the person they loved the most...

It still took a while before Steve was ready to really let Eddie in. Back then, they were still living in a small three-bedroom apartment as “roommates”.

“Fuck!” came a yelp from the living room. Eddie ran back to the living room to see what had happened. His DnD manuals and notebooks were spread on the living room floor where he'd been creating his latest campaign. He'd left the room just for a minute to go to the kitchen to get some coffee—hoping that no one would mess with his carefully organized notes during that time. Steve was sitting on the couch, his other leg over his knee, looking at the bottom of his foot. “I stepped on something sharp, but I can't see anything.” “Oh. It must be the nine-sided dice I lost. Sorry. One of them vanished into the carpet, but I thought no one would come here before I could clean everything up, so I didn't look for it immediately.” Steve closed his eyes and sighed, shaking his head. “No, it's fine. You live here too.”

Eddie looked down at his stuff on the floor. “I know it would be probably better if I didn't.” Steve looked up at him. “Why do you think that?” “Because...” Eddie chewed his cheek. “...because we're both here just for Billy.” "Isn't that as good a reason to live with someone as any?" Steve asked earnestly. When Eddie didn't reply but fiddled with the chain hanging in his jeans, Steve continued, "I mean, don't you want to share your life with the person you love the most? Billy loves you and I love Billy, and he wants to have us both in his life. So, isn't this the most convenient solution?" Eddie looked at Steve, worried. "You're sure?" Steve let out a laugh. "Eddie. You already live here. You know how possessive I am of Billy. But if I still had issues with you and him doing things with together...we wouldn't be living under the same roof, let alone sharing a bed."

Eddie nodded. "I just..." He paused and sat down on the other end of the couch. "Do we...I mean, you and me...How does this thing work between us?" Steve tilted his head. "I don't follow." Eddie's cheeks reddened. "Do you like me?" “Of course I like you.” “No, I mean...That way?” “Oh.” Steve looked away. “I...uh...” He looked back at Eddie after a while. “No. Not that way. Sorry.” Eddie bit his lip and nodded vigorously. “No. I mean, yeah, okay, it's okay.” Steve leaned towards Eddie and reached out his hand. “It doesn't mean that I don't care about you. And kissing with you when having sex with Billy...” Steve said, smiling, “I like that.” Eddie kept nodding so much and so fast that Steve felt his head spinning. “You're important to Billy. He loves you. And I love Billy more than I love life. That makes us a family, Eddie. You, me and Billy. Never think otherwise.” There were tears rolling on Eddie's cheeks and he turned to wipe them away on his arm. Steve moved to sit next to Eddie and placed his hand on Eddie's thigh, stroking it gently. “I don't know how these things are supposed to work, but I...I care about you more than just a friend. More like...a brother. You're part of my family. I would kill for you. Come here,” he said and wrapped his arms around Eddie. Eddie burst into full on sobs with the hug. “I love you,” he whispered between his ugly, snotty sobs. “Yeah, I know.”

So, they finally truly became a family. And with that, they had to find a more private place to live, away from too many prying eyes. Corroded Coffin was becoming a big name and it wouldn't really do any good for Eddie's rising star if everyone found out that he was not only gay but also living in a polyamorous relationship. Price of fame in the 90s or something like that. So, together they bought some land from the middle of nowhere with the hush money they got from the government and had a big, one-storey house built there. It allowed Billy to roam around the house without problems, kept Steve from falling from the stairs because of a sudden vertigo attack, and gave Eddie his own recording studio and the peace from his fans when he was not doing so well.

---

Steve crawled next to Eddie in their bed and wrapped his arm around his chest. “Bambi,” he whispered to Eddie's ear. “Mm-hmm,” Eddie muttered. “What time is it?” “Early.” “Is there coffee yet?” Steve snorted. “Didn't get that far yet. Billy said that we need to talk first.” Eddie opened his eyes and turned to look at Steve. The big Bambi-eyes looking at him, filled with sudden tears, made his heart break. Eddie was never good at hiding what he felt. “I'm fucking scared,” Eddie whispered, his voice cracking. “Hey, I'm here,” Steve said and tightened the hug he held Eddie in, placing his head against Eddie's. “I'm not going anywhere.” “You were slipping away...” “No, I'm not. I'm...” He paused. “You didn't tell me how serious the treatment is. How dangerous. I asked Owens about it and...I was shocked. I panicked.” After a few sobs, Eddie spoke again. “I didn't want to hurt you or Billy with it. You're always so worried about me...” “We love you! That's why we're worried. Because we care a hell of a lot.” Steve felt his own eyes filling with hot tears. “I love you. And it breaks my heart that...that I can't do anything. That nothing I do takes the virus away. I...” “You already do enough,” Eddie whispered, smiling, and placed his hand on Steve's cheek, brushing it with thumb. “You are enough.” “I know it's complicated,” Steve whispered. Eddie's smile widened. “No, it's not. We're a family, remember? You don't have to carry all the weight alone. Just let me do my part. Whenever I can. And the treatment...well, Owens thinks this might be it.” “I really hope so,” Steve whispered and tightened his grip on Eddie even more. “I really do.”

[discodeviant]

Over the Bottle, Under the Bridge

Billy/Steve | Teen | 2.1k Hurt/Comfort, No Upside Down + Mentioned Alcoholism and Drunk Driving

And so it begins >:) Combining prompts for the above two cards and very excited about it, so I hope you look forward to them and enjoy this one <;3 <3

Made for @steveharringtonbingo and @billyhargrovebingo! Also on AO3

Most days, he couldn’t look at Steve anymore, and Steve couldn’t look at him. Pain swam in his eyes like it did back in high school. Refused Steve’s help like he did back in high school when he thought he didn’t deserve it, and Steve screamed into his pillow every night back in high school because he was in love with a goddamn mountain of a boy who swore it wouldn’t be anything but glances and handjobs in the back of his car. But even Billy couldn’t keep himself away from hands that held him so gently, lips so sweet and comfortable against his. He fell right into Steve’s heart just the same as Steve fell into his, and Steve missed him. He missed Billy’s eyes when they were full of spunk and glowing in excitement. He missed Billy’s smile and kisses and breaths in his ear when he whispered, “Always and forever, Stevie-boy.”

It had been a month since they shared the bed. One month since he came home from the hospital. Almost. Twenty-six days was painful enough for Steve to lay without him, especially when he insisted on the couch. More of Steve than there was of him, he said, and neither had the energy to argue. The bed didn’t smell so much like Billy—a little bit, but his hairspray didn’t permeate into the pillow and sheets anymore, and his body wasn’t there to make it comfortable at night or for midday naps. Maybe Steve cried sometimes when Billy was asleep in the living room. Steve’s heart ached for him. Robin said it would take time, but it was so long already. Too long, too long.

He told Billy he would be back from the store soon with his medicine. Some painkillers and anti-inflammatories, antibiotics, antidepressants, it was too much for too goddamn long, and Billy hated it. Made a point to grunt with every handful he swallowed down with beer in spite of his doctors telling him not to drink. He was still alive; that was good enough. Steve didn’t think so and told him as much every damn time, but he’d grunt, and he’d complain, and he’d look in the distance somewhere to avoid Steve’s eyes and his own ailment. Every time. Every damn time—but, when Steve opened the apartment door with his grocery bag in one hand, keys in the other, it was too quiet.

“Billy?”

Neither the radio nor TV were on, and Billy wasn’t reading on the couch or the balcony. Steve’s heart leaped up to his throat in a flash of panic before he took his shoes off, put his coat up, breathed. The bedroom door was closed, so he knocked. “Billy, you sleeping?” Oh, he hoped so, and he wished that had been what he walked in on when he turned the knob and pushed the door in, but his heart squeezed tight and deflated in the same breath.

“Can I not just have one goddamn day when—where you don’t fucking wait on me, Harrington?”

Billy sat in the center of the bed in a tank top and underwear, hunched over himself with both legs out. His left foot just hung off the end as he stared at the space where his right should have been. Instead his leg ended just below the knee—stitches mostly fallen out by then, but he still had scabbing that Steve found him picking at once in a while. Now, though, both hands were balled in fists at his sides and trembling with the rest of him. “Oh, baby…” Steve slumped and put everything on the floor before he rushed to sit right next to him.

He tried to push away. “Fuck’s sake, Steve,” he said with no bite, only sorrow, and he gripped tightly to Steve’s arm anyway as fresh tears shone in the waning daylight. They didn’t say much more for a while. Billy let himself be held without words or any more comfort than that: Steve’s arms around his shoulders, face in his neck, heartbeat against his arm that his own synced up with before he got a chance to realize he was crying again. When he spoke up, it was a broken whisper. “I hate this.”

“I know you do, baby,” Steve said, lifting his head just enough to readjust. “I know.”

“God, I’m so sorry…”

Then he looked up, turned to look into Billy’s eyes for the first time all day. “Hey, what are you apologizing for? Hm?”

“Everything.” Such a sad little laugh; it broke Steve’s heart. “I put you through too goddamn much, man. Always been a fuckin’ freak, and now look at me.”

“Come on, don’t say that.”

“Why not? Fuck. Can’t surf, can’t drive, I can hardly walk.”

“It hasn’t even been two months, Billy. You will.” He let Steve’s fingers glide through his hair, catch and untangle curls that hadn’t been tended to in days.

“Wish I’d have just taken the normal fucking road—“

“Billy—“

“How the fuck would I know!”

“Hey, hey, you couldn’t,” Steve said, moving his hand from Billy’s scalp to his back, rubbing between his shoulder blades to try and ease his rising anxiety. “Baby, you can’t ever know. You can’t see the future. It's not your fault, you know that.”

“This isn’t fucking Hawkins, man!” There he went again, sobbing with every word, lip trembling, fingers gripping around Steve’s shirt to keep him afloat. “Had a damn beer, I didn’t have to worry about anyone being on the road at midnight, especially not in your bougie-fucking-neighborhood.” Steve couldn’t help the hint of a smile pulling at his lips, remembering the flutter in his chest when Billy rolled up with a swagger that he had with or without booze. A smile that wanted to see him and kiss him, a body that wanted to love him. “I could have done this shit to someone. Took this long and a guy in a fucking semi to knock my head into place, and I still can't go a day without a fuckin' beer." He sniffed hard and rubbed at his eyes with his palm. "Christ. Fuck, I’m so sorry—“

“Billy, hey, shh… it’s okay.”

“No it’s not,” he said. “I thought I was doing so good too.”

“You’re still doing good!”

“Is this good?!" He gestured, big and loud and stiff, to his leg, the two empty beer cans behind him on the pillow, the cloud of matted darkness over his head. "I’m not that guy anymore, Steve. I can’t. I’m not.”

“What guy?”

“Whoever the fuck you fell for in high school.” His eyes fell even further, then, somewhere deeper inside him where he didn’t want Steve to look. “Shit, I hated myself then too, but not like this.”

“Billy.” Steve sat up, shifted in front of him with a hand on his cheek.

“What…”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me, Billy. Please?” he asked, and his voice was so sweet that Billy couldn’t keep his gaze away even if it hurt to look. Steve might have cried too if he wasn’t so determined. “Listen to me, okay?” Billy only leaned into his hand more, no longer resisting the thumb wiping away his tears. “Listen, you’re different in a lot of ways. A lot of good ways. And so am I. But you’re still you. You’re still Billy. My Billy.”

“Hardly.”

“No, completely. You are still the sweetest, most charming asshole I’ve ever met,” he said, and Billy finally smiled, laughed a real laugh. “See?”

“Yeah, whatever…”

“I’m serious!” They laughed a little more, then came down from the high, still with smiles and eyes for each other. “I will always love you, Billy Hargrove. No matter what. Tell me you know that.” Billy sighed. “Billy.”

“I know.” He whispered into Steve’s palm, and maybe he still didn’t quite believe it even seven years later, but Steve proved it time and time again. “I love you so much, Stevie, I’m sorry…”

“You don’t need to be sorry, baby, I know. I know.”

Their foreheads touched. Steve leaned in to kiss his cheek, and Billy stole one for his mouth right afterwards. Something familiar and comfortable that made his doting stomach turn. Whispers got lost over each other’s tongues, and Steve’s tears couldn’t hold back much longer than that. They were both salty, overwhelmingly so, with the last month having built up behind hardened outer walls and unbreakable shells, and Steve still smiled against Billy’s lips. One hand tugged at the back of his shaggy mullet in the way that made him croon; the other held his arm, then his hand, then his waist and down to his thigh, which made him flinch.

“This,” Steve said, running gentle fingers along his leg and to the rounded stump, “doesn’t change a fucking thing. I promise.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

Steve kept his palm over Billy’s knee and what remained below it, slowly caressing even though it was still numb to the touch. Billy felt the heat coming through his skin and up the rest of him, shooting into his heart with an intensity that he kept simmering just below the surface. God, he missed Steve, and he felt silly for ever being ashamed when he could still be touched like this. Still loved so closely, so intimately. “I couldn’t wait to come home that night,” he said, still whispering, still basking in the good part. He held Steve’s hand as it ghosted over his leg, trying to accept it, trying to understand.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” It was so hard, but Steve made it feel so easy. “I wanted to ask you to marry me in the restaurant, but there were so many people, I chickened out.” They both laughed from their noses again, bigger smiles against each other’s cheeks. Steve’s heart melted and fell right through him. “So I wanted to come home, take a shower, get into bed…” He followed Steve’s hand higher up his thigh, closer to the middle where he still hesitated to let it go any further. “You looked so fucking good in that shirt.”

“It was yours.”

“I know.” More laughs; he started to feel okay. “I just… I wanted to make you feel like you never have, you know?”

“Yeah… Yeah, I know.”

“God, you’re my fucking world. And now you’re my damn nurse. I’m so sorry… I still wanna make you feel that, Stevie, so bad.”

“Hey. You wanna know something?”

“Do I?” Billy asked, and they laughed, and Steve told him anyway.

“I feel that every day.” Billy’s brow raised—a question that Steve nodded to answer. “Every day of my goddamn life, and it’s all your fault.” He leaned over Billy a little further, kissing him slow and deep enough to push him onto his back with no fight. Steve smiled, Billy cried some more and tried to ignore the tingle in his toes that wasn’t really there. Steve’s hands rode up from his thighs to the bottom of his shirt and pushed it over his belly. “C’mon, you’ve been doing your crunches.”

Billy chuckled—“Shut up”—and let Steve slide his shirt off anyway, ever-mesmerized by the body he’d been so lucky to love. Steve’s knuckles pressed into his sides and back; Billy sighed in short huffs, embarrassment and pleasure, a blend they’d perfected over the years. Kisses along his chest and abdomen, down to the waistband of his briefs where he gasped and exhaled a long, shaky breath.

“It’s okay,” Steve told him, eyes up, nose down, lips moving further down his left leg. Knee, shin, ankle. “Still got your tattoos.” A thumb rubbed the underside of his toes as loving eyes watched them wiggle away from being tickled. Then to the sole, Steve kneading into it gently and kissing the side of his foot before going back up and across to the other knee. Billy swallowed hard. Trembling hands found their way to Steve’s hair, somewhere they knew they could settle and be safe, fumble and fidget without consequence.

“Steve.”

“Hm?” He looked up into Billy’s warm, glossy eyes, though his lips didn’t move again, so Steve slid back up to touch their noses and say, “You’re just as perfect as the day we met.” Billy smiled, shook his head. “You are. Listen, we’ll go slow, okay?”

And Billy fucking whined. “I don’t wanna go slow.”

“Billy…” Steve gave him that look, the devious one that said his word was final and Billy would have to put up with it. Not that he ever complained. Much less when Steve’s knee pressed against his groin after not going near it since the night before their date, before everything went wrong, before Billy lost his goddamn leg and thought he’d lose Steve too. “Let me give you this, okay?” he asked, right up against exhausted lips, and Billy nodded, kissed him hard, breathed in as much of him as he could. “And, hey. I’ll say yes when you’re ready. I’m yours.”

He thumbed through Steve’s hair, tucking it behind his ear and pushing it away from his face. Whispered when he asked, “Always?”

“Forever, Billy.”

[theshippirate22]

ROARING

Miss Robin Buckley had never known silence in her life. She was a mirage, a shimmering well of infinite exuberant diction and complex syntax. She could talk her way into any situation- and then promptly talk herself out of it if the need arose- with the help of her unrecognizable awkwardness and insurmountable charisma. She’d gone to one of the finest prep schools in the country, quickly picking up as many languages as she could so that when English failed her, she’d have something else to replace it. She also picked up the art of business and the linguistics of sales, which worked so seamlessly with her babble, she was the top fountain pen supplier in the place by the end of her first semester. It was also there, in that dignified, brick and mortar establishment in South Carolina, while sitting in the headmistress’ office for the third time in two weeks (the first two times, she was scolded for speaking out of turn after being continuously warned and now she’d said something rather unbecoming in Russian to a girl that most certainly deserved it), that she met Steve Harrington. He’d gotten in a fight during his math class and earned himself a split lip and a concussion for at least the fourth time and the only reason they didn’t send him home immediately, was that Robin recognized him as a distant relative and noticed his panic at having to face his parents, and instantly convinced the headmistress that expulsion would have no phenomenal effect except to terminate the generous flow of donations from his parents. It seemed from that moment on, walking out of the office with nothing harsher than a slap on the wrist, that the two might never be separate again without devastating consequences.

******************************************************

message me to be added to the tag list! first chapter of ROARING coming soon!!

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[sipsthytea]

Glimpse of Us

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Billy Hargrove

Warnings: Hurt/no comfort, angst, Major Character Death

Word Count: 3,647

Status: Complete

It was so far-fetched, Steve knows. 

Dear God, he knows. 

Trying so desperately to find it - to find him - in the iris of some unassuming date. It was unfair and selfish, to both himself and whoever was that night's victim. But Steve Harrington would do anything, anything, to see - even if it's only a glimpse of Billy Hargrove. 

Sometimes he will.

In the darkness, with the shadows passing over his room, drawing across the walls, he can smell the smoke of a cigar. Floating just above him, lulling his body to sleep, entrapping his mind in a dreamless abysse. He can feel the burning heat of a Californian body lying beside him, running calloused fingertips across his arms, searing patterns into his skin. In his mind's eye, just beyond the endless nothingness, he can see the coil of blonde hair - beautiful in its wild nature. 

Beautiful. 

Sometimes he won't.

Nothing will come to him. Nothing will wrap around him, guide him into the rest that pulls at his eyes. Nothing to aid the ache in his heart. He'll lay there, staring at his ceiling fan as it spins, eyes following the blades, and beg for Billy to find him. He'll beg himself into insanity, beg himself to tears. Beg until he feels that he might just implode. On nights like those it hurts the most. Trying to soothe the hurt of being alone again, lost in the wood of his empty house, wide awake on cool sheets. He tries to imagine the smell of sea salt or the movement of a Saint Christopher necklace. 

He tries. 

He tries. 

But it evades him. 

Cruel. 

Unbelievably cruel. 

So he draws himself up, forcing himself through the cold night air. Steve tugs on the stray clothing he finds, running trembling hands through his hair. He throws himself into his car. Knuckle whitening grip on the steering wheel, guilt burning in his stomach. 

He knows he shouldn't do this, knows that this is nothing more than a shot in the dark. But Steve also knows that his entire being prays that the shot will land. That he'll see Billy. His Billy. 

He has to try. 

__________

She's pretty. 

Long blonde hair, curling around her lean shoulders, sea-blue eyes fanned by her golden eyelashes. The apples of her cheeks rest high on her face, sharp and beautiful. The curve of her cupid's bow leads to the fullness of her lips, dusted with lipstick and coated with shiny lip gloss. She is truly beautiful. 

She introduces herself as Bianca, offering him a well-manicured hand with a breathy giggle. She rests her chin on the palm of her hand, smiling at him, and Steve wastes no time. He leans in closer, ordering her a drink, and breathes in the intoxicating scent of her perfume. 

It doesn't smell of the beach - smelling of peaches and cinnamon - but Steve thinks that it's close enough. 

He asks her if she smokes. 

"Doesn't everyone?" She responds with another giggle, this one toppling over the bustling noise of Steve's thoughts, "Do you?"

He shakes his head, "No," He looks down at his hands before flickering his eyes back up to her, "But I love the smell." 

A blush arises on her sharp cheeks and Steve knows he's got her. 

__________

He feels guilty; terrible. 

But he doesn't feel guilty enough to push her away as she kisses him, her body pressed against his. He can feel the curve of her breasts, the movement of her tongue against his own. She's practically biting at his lips, smearing her lipstick across his cupid's bow, but it's perfect. 

Messy. 

Guilty. 

"Come on, Pretty Boy, you scared?"

No, this is perfect. 

She pulls away and they both gasp for air. Her blond bangs have fallen in her eyes, obscuring her face enough to have Steve snatching her back for another kiss. His hands work down her jean jacket, practically yanking it from her shoulders. The band t-shirt she wears beneath it makes Steve angry. 

It isn't Metalica. 

"Always gotta be Metalica, baby."

It's wrong. 

Bianca wraps her arms around his head, pulling closer, grinding her body down upon his. Her lips work furiously against his own, and Steve feels lightheaded as he's devoured. 

It's fine. It's good enough. 

It is good enough. Good enough for Steve to push her onto the bed, watching as she bounces against the mattress. She's already working the hem of her skirt, shimmying out of it. Truthfully, Steve doesn't care to see the rest of her body, doesn't care to see the miles of her legs or the curve of her ass, but he still utters out a single. 

"You're beautiful..."

She smiles at him and helps him pull his shirt over his head. He can feel her skin upon his and he's blazing. Burning from the inside out. It's nearly enough. Her nails scratch against him, drawing lines across his shoulder blades and outlining his ribs. The sting is nearly good enough to make him cry. Nearly enough to make him lose himself in the throes of her hand shoved down his underwear, pulling him from the restraints of the fabric. It's nearly enough to make him burst in her hand. Nearly enough to make him cry out a name as he enters her. 

Nearly. 

Nearly. 

Nearly. 

Nothing but nearly. 

It's never - 

"Steve!" She cries, rocking back into him as he grinds forward into her, her legs locked behind his back. The bite of her nails in his skin, tears bubbling in her eyes. Steve stares into her face, watching as her eyes roll back, mouth dropping open. Beads of sweat follow the smooth contours of her body, traveling down the valley of her breasts, down the heaving of her stomach. 

She's beautiful. 

"Steve!"

Her eyes find him. 

The black of her pupil has engulfed most of the blue, but Steve can still see a sliver of the sea, beautifully blue. 

"Steve!" 

Steve sees Billy. Just a glimpse, a sharp pass of his groaning figure in the darkness of his room. He sees Billy's smile and his mouth and his lips and his eyes. Steve sees Billy in Bianca's eyes as she cums, clenching hard around him 

"Steve!"

Steve hears Billy. 

"Steve."

"Fuck."

Steve throws himself against her, burying his face into the crook of her neck, and cums. Biting hard on his lips to keep him from whimpering out, "Billy."

__________

Bianca was wonderful.

Kind and smart 

She was practically perfect. 

"Where did you meet her again?" Dustin asks, looking at him through furrowed eyebrows. 

Steve had run into the little shit crew - or what was left of it - on one of their dates. 

"Does it matter?" He hissed, rolling his eyes. 

The questions made him uncomfortable. Made him feel like they could see right through him as if everyone could see his selfishness. They could see his lies, the feelings in his chest. Feelings that weren't for her. 

"I guess not," Dustin shrugged. 

__________

Steve bought Bianca cigarettes. 

Always Marlboro Reds. 

At first, she thanked him with every pack, looking at him with the same easy smile she gave him that night. But soon, she begins to take them with skepticism, "You sure do love the smell of smoke, huh?"

He smiles at her, trying to hide the drop of his stomach, "I do." 

She doesn't say much else, only drawing a white cigarette from the fresh pack. As she fishes her lighter from her pocket, holding the stick between her lips, her blue eyes find him. He sees it again. With the click of her lighter and the strike of a flame, Steve sees Billy. Dancing in the brightness of the afternoon, hanging in the muggy air. Steve sees Billy Hargrove in the ocean of Bianca's eyes. 

Bianca blinks. 

"I think I might quit," She says, blowing out a puff of smoke. 

Billy's gone.

__________

Steve doesn't fight her as she struggles to quit. He doesn't aid her either. Cursing into his palm when she updates him on her achievements, telling him of two days, then a week, then a month. He hadn't even begun to realize that that much time had passed. 

The guilt sits in his stomach heavier than ever. 

On her birthday - that Steve forgot was her birthday - she sleeps over. One of her friends had thrown a small get-together for her. There'd been drinking and no sign of cigarettes. Steve had confetti in his hair, silly string on his shirt as he drove them back to his house. She looked over at him drunkenly, a sated smile on her face. 

Her hands crawled beneath his clothes, finding his belt buckle. She ducked down below the steering wheel, and Steve lay his head back against the headrest. The pleasure that shoots up his veins makes him curl his fists. He glances down at her, but only finds the mess of her golden hair. He lets his hand fall down into the strands, imagining the coils that are supposed to be there. 

He leans back, a groan rising in his throat, watching through heavy lids in the darkness of his car. His rearview mirror is empty, only dully reflecting the shining light of the moon back on them. 

"You look good, pretty boy," A voice purrs, Steve looks back, eyes staring into the glass. 

There, looking as alive as ever, Billy Hargrove rests. Legs spread open across the backseat, sitting like the fucker that he is. Billy cocks his head to the left, swiping his tongue across his teeth. 

"You look so pretty like that, Stevie, down her throat," He continues, and Steve thinks that he might be going crazy, but he lets his eyes slip shut. 

"Oh, no, baby," Billy tsks, "Eyes on me."

Steve obeyed with no hesitation. 

"Good boy."

Steve shudders and tightens his grip on Bianca's hair, she gags. He couldn't care less. 

"Does that feel good, Steve?"

He doesn't know who's asking, but his answer is the same regardless, 'No,' He nearly says, 'Not good enough.'

But he doesn't have to, Billy answers for him, "I know it doesn't. Not like me, right?"

Steve shakes his head, never like Billy. Bianca begins to pull up, a lewd pop following her movements, but Steve can only push her back down. 

"Let go for me, Pretty Boy," Billy's eyes are shining, such a daring blue, such a tantalizing blue, "Let go."

Steve comes with a loud groan, quickly releasing Bianca's hair and catching his fist in his mouth. He bites into his flesh and can hardly suppress the sound of Billy's name leaving his lips. 

Bianca comes back up coughing, massaging her throat, "I don't think I've ever seen you that excited," She giggles, but it melts into another coughing fit. 

He chuckles breathlessly, still lost in the clouds. 

He pulls her in for a kiss, and his eyes look back up to the mirror. 

But once again, Billy's gone. 

Steve breaks the kiss and tugs her upstairs. 

Hope in his heart, and guilt sitting heavy in his stomach. 

__________

As she sleeps, Steve is restless. The sound of her soft breathing should be enough to lull him to sleep; the heat of her body should be enough to trick him. 

But it isn't. 

He lies wide awake, staring at the emptiness of his ceiling, eyes following the ceiling fan. 

Steve knows, he knows that he's only passing time beside her. He doesn't love her, doesn't think that he ever will. She's nearly perfect - no, she is perfect - but he still can't think of anything but Billy. Can't see anyone but Billy. 

He's tried, tried to fall for the gentleness of her kiss, or her touch, but it's not right. 

It's not Billy. 

It'll never be Billy. 

Billy's gone. 

The bitterness of his thoughts makes tears burn in his eyes, a lump rising in his throat. He's lost and alone, the guilt eating at him. He's selfish but he's still human, there's only so much lying he can do. 

She suddenly turns, throwing her leg over his body, wrapping her arms around his torso, "Go to sleep..." She mumbles, nuzzling into his chest. 

"Go to sleep, Pretty Boy..."

Steve has to suppress the sob that nearly leaves his lips. He clings to her for the night, trying to savor the smell of cigarettes that has begun to die on her skin. 

__________

Robin looks at him like he's an idiot. Something he fully expected. 

"You're doing what?"

"Dating Bianca."

She shakes her head, placing a hand on the counter, "No, no, I got that, but you're dating Bianca Delmore?"

"Bianca," He confirms, the video store had been pretty slow, so Steve had nothing to save him from the questions. 

"Why Bianca?"

"She's pretty and smart," He shrugs, trying to avoid the burning glare of Robin's eyes, "I don't know! I just like her."

"You like her?"

"I like her."

She stares on for a few moments more and Steve knows that she knows he's bullshitting, she can see it - can see right through him - but he doesn't budge. He wasn't ready to let go, not quite yet. Her eyes narrow on him, and he begins to fidget, she knows. 

"Alright, I guess."

But she relents. 

Steve breathes out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding in.

__________

It's the anniversary. 

July 4. 

The fireworks that pop in the sky make Steve jump. He's never really been one to care too much about celebrating America, but he'd always been one to go out to the parties. Bianca had been trying to convince him to go out more, claiming that he, "Needed the sun!"

It made him roll his eyes. 

He just didn't want to go out, not tonight. He couldn't tonight. It was too hard. 

"Steve!" He heard Bianca's voice carry from downstairs. 

Steve could only cringe, fighting another flinch as more fireworks popped outside his window. It painted the sky in beautiful light, illuminating the streets of Hawkins, but Steve couldn't stomach being outside. He hated being away from the beauty of tonight, from the joy of tonight, Dustin wanted him to come and watch the light show with the rest of the little shits, but he had declined. He hated the look that Dustin gave him, with a smile, saying, "It's ok, buddy."

"Steve?" Bianca's voice grew closer, her ascending footsteps trailing into his bedroom. He lay on his bed, an arm thrown over his eyes. 

She stepped through the threshold of his door, the wood creaking beneath her feet, "Steve? Are you alright?"

He didn't answer her, trying to dissolve into the fabric of his sheets. He wanted nothing more than to disappear, than to float away into the nothingness. To melt into the wood of his bed frame, drip into the ground, and hide away. He wanted to be safe. Curled in his -

"Steve?" He felt her hand ghost over his elbow, a hardly there touch, but it made Steve shoot up. He looked at her with wild eyes. 

She jumped back, nearly collapsing on his dresser. 

The guilt burned in his stomach once more, but it was nothing compared to the erratic beating of his heart. He could feel it, nearly bursting from his ribcage, the fear hurt. 

Bianca's ocean eyes were wide with surprise, holding her hands in front of her like a shield, gasping out, "Steve!?"

He landed on the floor and nearly fell back onto his bed, tiredness coiling within him. He looked up at her face, sad to see the makeup surrounding Bianca's eyes, or the twists in her hair. She was covered in glitter, shining as the fireworks cast a tantalizing light over her skin. 

He hadn't realized he was panting until she whispered out, "It's ok...just breathe..."

And he did, Steve gasped. He sucked in the cold air of his room, trying to steady himself on his trembling legs. She only watched him, and he was sure that she was confused, probably disgusted. But she said nothing. 

He fell back onto the mountain of his pillows, with a groan, and he could feel the tears on his cheeks before he knew he was crying. Could feel the salt roll down his face, falling onto his sheets, and the sobs building in his throat. 

He was crying. 

Sobbing. 

Clinging to the sheets around him, threatening to snap the threads that connected the linen. His nails dug into the pillows surrounding him, he wanted to throw something. Throw anything. He wanted to curse the world for being so cruel, for taking something so precious from him. He wanted to - 

"Steve," Bianca's voice was hardly above a whisper, "It's ok."

Suddenly, she was wrapped around him, pulling his head onto her chest, and he could hear her heartbeat. Calm, alive. He could hear the way her life drummed through her, the way it flowed into him. She rubbed soothing circles onto his back, tracing mindless patterns as he cried. The warmth that enveloped him only invited more tears, only pulled the sobs from the pits of his stomach.

She only held him. 

Slowly rocking him as he pressed his wet face into her glittery skin. Her cheek pressed against his hair, and she whispered sweet nothings into the strands, laying kisses there for good measure. 

Bianca held Steve as he emptied himself of emotions long built, as he emptied himself of his grief. Of his sadness. Of his mourning. 

Mourning Billy. 

She held him. 

And Steve wanted her to. 

"Will," He sucked in a shaky breath, "Will you stay?"

Her eyes were warm and kind, she nodded, "Of course, Steve."

__________

Bianca laid with him until his tears and sobs dissolved into drying cheeks and sniffles. She laid awake with him, even when he could see the push of sleep begin to take over, she was wide awake. And Steve stared, he stared into the never-ending blue of her eyes, wanting to cry every time she blinked. He clung to the strands of blonde hair that adorned her face, to the eyelashes that touched her cheeks. 

Selfish. 

Guilty. 

When he had begun to calm, she tried probing the story out of him and when he refused she merely said, "Okay, whenever you're ready," and smiled. 

He really was terrible. 

And she really was perfect. 

She just wanted him to be happy, just wanted to make him happy. Steve wanted that for her, but he knew why he was here with her. He knew why he had picked her that night, she had been what he was looking for. 

Close enough. 

Blond enough.

Blue-eyed enough. 

Rough enough.

She had been enough to remind him of Billy. To look into her eyes and catch a glimpse of who he used to be, of who he used to be with Billy. 

He reached for her hand in the darkness, pulling it close. 

"I'm sorry," He muttered, feeling a new wave of tears burn in his eyes. 

"Don't be," She didn't know what he was talking about, and didn't know to be angry with him. To feel used. Steve didn't tell her. 

He only nodded and pressed a kiss to her skin. He dropped his head down, laying his cheek against her hand. She was perfect and he still couldn't love her, but perfect doesn't mean it's working. 

There was nothing he could do. 

Nothing he could say. 

Steve sighed before looking back up. When he did, slowly going to catch himself in the blue of her eyes, Billy was there. 

Laying across from him, a smirk on his lips. His Saint Christopher's necklace hangs over his tanned skin. Steve could feel the heat of Billy's hand against his own, the scratch of Billy's jeans across his legs. He felt so real. 

"I've got you Steve," His voice was smooth, spilling from his lips and dropping Steve into the pits of his sadness once more. But he felt safe. He felt as if nothing could harm him, not with Billy here.

"I'll always be here."

Steve wasn't sure who was speaking, unsure if it was truly Billy or if his mind was erasing Bianca, but he could care less. To Steve, it would always be Billy. 

"I'll be here."

He only nodded, not trusting his voice. 

Silence pooled over them, and Steve nearly fell into the arms of sleep. With Billy beside him, Steve could trick himself into thinking that he would still be there when he awoke. That Billy would always be there.

That Billy was there to stay. 

But it wasn't true. 

It would never be true. 

"Steve," Billy's voice called out to him, but it was distorted, melting in with another, "I - I love you, Steve."

Billy sounded nervous, almost scared. It was wrong, and it wasn't Billy. 

But to Steve, it was. 

It was good enough. 

"I love you," He whispered back, "I have always loved you."

Billy squeezed his hand and smiled. 

"I love you, Pretty Boy," Undeniably Billy.

"I love you, Steve."

"I love you," Steve didn't let himself finish, knowing that if he did it would shatter everything. But he looked into Billy's eyes, drinking in the days of California and planning their escape, and closed his eyes. 

Steve let his eyes close before whispering out a final, "I love you."

When the words fell from his lips, he carefully opened his eyes once more, slowly adjusting to the darkness of his room. 

He opened his eyes and there was Bianca, smiling back at him, a blush on her cheeks.

She looked so happy, so complete. 

He blinked and there was Bianca. 

He blinked once more and there was Bianca.

Kind. Sweet. Beautiful. Perfect. 

But it's not what he wanted. 

He wanted nothing more than to be with Billy. 

He wanted Billy. 

He would always want Billy.

_____________________

A/N:This work has been cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name SIPSTHYTEA. Thank you for reading and feel free to request fics!!

[oopsiedaisiesbaby]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington Characters: Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington, Joyce Byers Additional Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Good Parent Joyce Byers, Hopper makes a brief appearance, Coming Out, Unrelated to the Hurt Portion of Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship Series: Part 12 of You Make Me Crazy, You Make Me Wild Summary:

“Look, I can’t take this pain away for you and I can’t fix it either,” Billy whispered softly. “But I’m here for whatever you want and need. I love you, baby doll.”

“I love you more,” Steve breathed into the younger boy’s collar, his body relaxing slightly. “Just hold me?”

“I can do that,” Billy agreed.