#billy has to live somewhere else at the start and then they move to california i don’t care he needs to be there with his mom for the

[ickypuppi3]

billy’s mom waking him up while it’s still dark, whispering even though neil’s working the night shift. it’s a couple days before his tenth birthday and she’s telling him they’re going to have their very own adventure, just like the ones in billy’s books. she grabs an already packed suitcase from under billy’s bed and kisses him on the nose, tells him to get dressed quick. the two of them leave in an old beat up yellow bug that she managed to get for a third of the asking price and keep parked around the corner until now. they stay with friends and jump from place to place so neil can’t track them down. billy gets used to surfing couches and staying in motels.

he spends his tenth birthday in a diner, his mom gets him a big stack of pancakes and a milkshake with extra cherries. gets a candle out her pocket along with her silver lighter. sings happy birthday and pulls a face when the waitress frowns at them, just to make billy laugh. she sips at her coffee while billy tucks in. smiles when he holds some out with a “c’mon mama, share with me.”

billy thinks it’s neat. thinks it’s the best birthday he’s ever had.

they eventually end up with a place in california, a little bungalow near the coast and billy grows up with his mom. billy gets pretty shirts from the thrift store ‘cause his mama lets him do stuff like that. doesn’t call him a queer, doesn’t force a baseball bat into his hands whilst yelling at him for crying, for being a pussy. his mom lets him read and keep a journal and press flowers between the pages of the neverending story, she plays hendrix and dusty springfield and laughs when billy comes home from his friends’ house with his first piercing at thirteen. she doesn’t tear down his posters or yell when she finds him using her eyeliner.

and everything’s perfect. sort of.

they have bad days- billy’s mom has bad days. billy calls them gray days ‘cause that’s how the world looks when she’s like this. all her color gone. no singing-dancing in the kitchen or baking five different kinds of cake because she couldn’t decide which one was best, no last minute trips to the beach or sitting outside at night and telling billy about the stars. instead she’ll stay in bed, won’t go to work. she’ll stare at the wall blankly and look right through billy when he tries to talk to her. she won’t take the pills the doc gave her and billy doesn’t know what to do. never knows what to do. just chews at his lip until it bleeds, bites at his thumb until it’s red raw. he’ll get in the bed with her. lay beside her and just talk like she used to do with him when he had a nightmare. hum a song to her.

billy’s still pissed at the world just slightly less so. still has that anger and anxiousness simmering just below the surface and shows his teeth when cornered. he’s still hardened in a way that a kid shouldn’t be but. it’s different. there’s no neil. the only bloody noses he gets are at school, when he fights with the kids who call him a fag and a fairy, call his mom a basket case. he uses fists when they laugh and ask if she’s all there with a finger pointing at their heads, ask if billy will “catch the crazy.”

those are billy’s bad days. sitting in the principals office, icing his knuckles.

when he’s fifteen, billy manages to bag a job at the local auto repair by turning up every day and telling howie how good he’d be, that he knows cars and it’s all he wants to do and please please please. eyebrows pulled together, eyes puppy dog wide and hands clasped in front of him until howie grumbles, throws an oily rag at billy. says fine but billy’s gotta pay for anything he damages. someone brings in a chevy camaro and billy asks howie to let him help fix it up. does the begging again until howie laughs. says get a hold of yourself, kid, voice fond as he ruffles billy’s hair.

billy’s four months away from turning seventeen when the doorbell goes. he’s eating a sandwich and watching knight rider. he’s wearing the necklace his mom got him for his last birthday and- he answers the door. doesn’t think twice. freezes when he sees neil standing there. he looks different. hair a little shorter and more wrinkles. where billy’s gained weight, gained muscle, neil’s lost it. his eyes are a little sunken and he’s still got his wedding band on. he reeks of booze. billy has to remind himself to speak, just says “yeah?” his voice comes out small and neil smiles at him. smiles and billy feels this weird twist in his stomach ‘cause .. that’s his dad and he hasn’t seen him in years and it twists and twists and-

turns out. not much has changed. billy realises a little too late that neil will always be neil. they run again. have to leave everything behind. billy doesn’t get to say bye to his friends, to howie, to the car. they leave a lot of stuff behind and head in any direction away from neil. they both try to keep the mood light, take turns driving and play the tapes billy grabbed. they end up in indiana- hawkins. they stay at a motel until billy’s mom finds a place for dirt cheap. it has two bedrooms and a dingy bathroom, a living room slash kitchen and one hell of a damp problem. it’s dirt cheap for a reason.

it’s above a shop in town and- it’s fine. their landlord is an asshole but they’re together and they’ve got a roof over their heads. billy’s enrolled at hawkins high and his mom gets a job at the laundromat. he tells her that he doesn’t need to go to school, that he could just work and help pay the bills but his mom won’t have any of it. says that she wishes she had finished school and that billy’s too clever to waste it. that he has potential.

billy knows the reason she dropped out of school was because she had him. he just nods, rests his head on her shoulder.

it’s billy’s first day at school and his mom drives him to make sure he actually goes. he gets out the car and tries to shake the nerves off. straightens up and puts on his act. plasters a fake smile on his face and it’s working, he’s got most of the girls swooning and the boys at least seem curious. billy looks around and his eyes land on a guy leaning up against a bmw. his hair’s coiffed to high heaven and he’s wearing a polo, preppy as fuck but- pretty. it’s one of the first things billy realises about him, all doe eyes and moles dotted just about everywhere. he’s got a smirk on his face. not aimed at billy but the guy beside him.

pretty-boy walks over to him and billy raises an eyebrow, plays it cool. he introduces himself as steve and billy gets the idea that he’s top dog at hawkins high, is immediately proved right when they step into the building. king steve, freckles calls him. billy laughs- catches steve looking at him when he does and feels his face get hot. steve just smiles wider, calls billy california and tells him to sit with them at lunch. billy tries to ignore the way steve’s smile makes him feel like the rug’s been pulled out from under his feet.

he nods and steve grins. tugs at one of billy’s curls.

says “i think you’re gonna like it here, california.”

[loubrary]

Billy Hargrove x Male Reader

Headcanons: You’re new in town and help Billy become a better person.

Warnings: mentions of violence and homophobia, hints of smut.

A/N: This doesn’t really follows the ST timeline but who cares about canon or accuracy, am I right?

[ Masterlist ]

Your parents move you a lot due to their jobs, they’re always researching something in some strange corner of the world. You can’t understand how you went from living in South America for the last six months to living in middle-of-nowhere Hawkins Indiana.

You’re out to your parents, and they’re very supportive. You consider yourself lucky, they’re very modern and open-minded people.

The kids at your new school don’t know what to make of you with your different clothes, hair and accent. Some of the teachers are fascinated to learn of the places you’ve been to. 

When you met Robin your gaydars went off and you’re both excited to have a Fellow Gay in town. She introduces you to her friend Steve and the three of you become very close. Soon you are also helping Steve take care of his kids.

Billy hears of this strange new kid and goes to look for him to show him who owns this school. When Billy sees you he is enthralled, the world stops and all he sees is you, he feels a strange sensation inside, and he hates it.

In the days that follow, Billy makes his moves. He is mean to you, calls you names. He tries to intimidate you and scare you. But you’ve dealt with his type many times before and you have some tricks up your sleeve. 

Billy hates that you don’t react to his taunting. You just smile and laugh.

“F*g!”

“You too?! Wanna go on a date, darling? Bad boys with pretty hair are totally my type, Hargrove.”

His words don’t work, so he changes his tactics. 

You’re walking through an empty hallway when he attempts to grab you and slam you against the wall. Only to find himself on the floor completely immobilized. He had no clue you had trained in various martial arts. 

Putting the pain aside, Billy is turned on by the feeling of being dominated, he feels himself hardening against the cold floor. 

You lean down and whisper in his ear, “think twice before daring to touch me, pretty boy.” You let him go. 

One side of him wants to fight but when he sees the determination and fearlessness in your eyes he backs down. “This isn’t over,” he huffs and leaves stomping the floor.

Billy leaves you alone after that. He only glares at you and curses at you under his breath. He hates that he can’t stop thinking about that day. He hates that he enjoyed being under your control. He hates how he can only cum to images of you. But at this exact moment he hates seeing you with Steve laughing. 

You feel his eyes on you, how they follow you as you move. When you face him his face hardens and his fists clench, but there’s something in his eyes you can’t decipher. 

One day you’re alone in the showers, or so you think. You turn and see Billy checking you out from the other side, completely frozen. You notice his hard-on and his eyes open wide. He thinks you’ll say something but you just smile and wink at him. He leaves hurriedly trying to control himself. 

That confirms your suspicions and you know what is up with Billy. You’ve met guys with internalized homophobia, but never like Billy.

After that, teasing Billy becomes one of your favourite activities. You pay him visits at the pool, making sure he gets a nice view of you. You notice when he covers his lap with his magazine, and tries to focus on something else. 

“Why do we come to the public pool? We both have pools at home,” Steve complains. Robin laughs at the clueless boy, and proceeds to explain the situation.

One day Billy finds you alone and he attempts to make a move on you. He was so confident believing you’d accept his advances. 

“I’m not some desperate lonely gay boy, Billy. I don’t bend over for any hot guy that offers me his dick.” “So you think I’m hot?” He smirks. You scoff leaving him there.

Billy hates that you rejected him. How is it possible? He thinks of the guys he tormented and then fucked back in California, how easy they fell to their knees for him. 

Billy has never met a gay guy as confident and unafraid as you. Deep inside he feels jealous and admiration for you. He secretly wishes he could be as open and be free as you.

You get paired for a project, you are prepared to do all the work and let him take part of the credit. You’re shocked when he asks if you want to get together to work on the project. You’re even more shocked when you learn that he actually understands the material and is quite smart. 

Against your better judgement you invite him to your place. You’re surprised he shows up on time.

When he greets your parents, it’s like he’s a completely different person. He laughs at your dad’s jokes, compliments your mom, and even asks about what they are working on.

Billy is even more jealous of you when he sees how loving and caring your parents are, how happy and peaceful your home life is. 

The second time he comes over he has to excuse himself and go to the bathroom to splash some water on his face and calm down. All he can think of is everything you have that he doesn’t.

He finds you and your parents sitting tightly together as your mother reads a book out loud in french for you and your dad. 

“Sit down honey, I’ll translate for you,” your mother says. 

By the fourth day he accepts your parents’ invitation to stay for dinner. He has fun, he’s fascinated by your parents’ stories and their research work. 

You get a glimpse of the real Billy and can’t help but smile. 

One day during dinner your mother talks about your exes trying to embarrass you, and asks Billy if there’s a special boy in his life.

Billy’s breath hitches and starts to sweat. He stands up quickly bumping into the table, saying he has to leave. 

Your mom tries to apologise and your dad asks him to stay. 

You follow him outside the house. “Billy, wait!” 

He turns around to face you and his eyes are red as he tries to hold in the tears. “Hey, it’s all—“ “I’m not a... I’m not.” he grunts before getting in his car and speeding off. 

Billy parks somewhere secluded and hits the steering wheel with his fists, he cries and yells in anger. He’s angry, sad, jealous. 

He cries for his mom, for a life he wishes he had, for the love and support he yearns for. 

Billy returns the following week to finish the project. He plans to just focus on the project, finish it and never return. 

Your mom answers the door. “So good to see you, love, we’ve missed you,” she says warmly rubbing his arm, “sorry about the other day”. He almost doesn’t hear the last sentence, he hasn’t heard those words or felt that way in a long time. Someone being happy to see him, missing him, calling him love. 

Your dad greets him and calls him son, and asks him to join him later in the study to show him their latest findings. 

You and Billy don’t talk about what happened. You focus on your project.

“Have you always been out to your parents?” Billy blurts out.

You decide to be honest. “Yeah, they sort of figured it out when I was little.” You tell him how growing up you met all kinds of people through your parents. You tell him about your parents’ gay friends that you call uncles and aunts. Telling him how you always felt free to be yourself with your parents even though you know the world is cruel and unaccepting. 

After a moment of silence Billy speaks. He talks about the only openly gay person he ever met, a friend of his mom back in California. He tells you about how his father hated his mom’s friend and got in fights with his mom about it. 

He tells you about his dad, how aggressive and angry he is. He doesn’t tell you about the physical abuse. He went on about how unhappy he was, and how different your lives were. 

You start to see why Billy acts the way he does. Bullying others is his way to feel he is in control.

“How do you do it?” 

“What?” 

“Being gay like that, you don’t hide.” 

“We only live once, I’m not gonna let a world full of bigots tell me I can’t be myself and be happy.” You pause. ”Billy? You can always be yourself here.”

After you finish your project, Billy keeps coming to your place to hang out. 

He’s more relaxed and tones down the attitude. He even starts being nice to Max.

He’s still the bad boy to everyone else, but when he enters your home all that stays outside.

You learn more about the real Billy. How he likes science and music. How curious he is. How funny he can be. And you slowly start to fall for this Billy.

One day Billy and you are in the living room listening to music lying on the carpet and giggling when your mom comes in. “Honey, your friends are here.”

You both look up and see a shocked Steve and the kids, and a grinning Robin. Max is especially shocked by the whole scene.

“Oh hey guys, you know Billy, right? We’re just listening to this new album.”

Billy panics, and stands up to escape, “I have to go.” You understand, not wanting to force him into anything. 

The others sit down looking suspiciously at Billy as he leaves. Billy avoids all eye contact. “What did I get himself into?” Billy thinks. 

Meanwhile Robin and you have each other’s arm over your shoulders as you sing dramatically.

“Is anyone going to talk about how you were on the floor giggling with Billy Hargrove?” Mike asks. 

One rainy night, Billy is driving to your house. His eyes sting, his knuckles turn white gripping the wheel. He feels his cheek and eye starting to swell. He stays on the driveway debating on what to do. He sees your bedroom light on and goes to ring the bell hoping that you open the door.

It’s your mom that opens the door. “Billy? Come on in, love, you’re soaking wet.” When he steps into the lit hallway your mom finally sees his face. “Oh my god, sweetheart. What happened?” 

“Who is it darling? Oh Billy!  Are you okay, son?” Your dad asks him.

Billy wants to lie, he had this planned, he would have said how he got into a fight with another guy and didn’t want to go home looking like that. “I got—I...” he tries. But he can’t keep it in anymore. “It was... My—my dad...” he chokes as he lets out a cry. 

He feels two sets of arms engulf him, and he lets is all out. He cries like he’s never cried before. He thinks he hears your name being called. He hears your parents’ voices, encouraging and supportive words he can barely make up. He cries even more when he think of how these people that he met not long ago care more about him than his own father. 

You find your parents consoling Billy. Your mom is holding him while your dad rubs circles on his back. And Billy holds on to them like his life depends on it.“Billy?” He looks up to you and you see his broken face, all the pain and suffering he has endured and your heart breaks for him. 

You help him get up and walk him to the living room. Your dad goes to prepare the guest room and your mother prepares some tea. Billy is curled into a ball under a blanker with his head on your lap. You run your hand through his hair as you rub his arm comfortingly. 

When he calms down, he starts telling you of everything his dad has done. All the punches, the bruises, the hurtful words. 

Later you take him to the guest room, you help him get his clothes off and rub some medicine over his bruises. 

“Can you stay with me?” 

“Of course.”

You hold him close, his face pressed on your chest. 

For the first time in a long while Billy sleeps peacefully.

After that day your parents take action, they’re on the phone with their lawyers, looking at how they can help Billy and Max.

Your parents help him get custody of Max. 

The both of them move in with your family. 

“Can’t believe you’re taking me to live with your boyfriend,” Max tells him. “He’s just a friend,” he groans. “Yeah, right.”

That night Billy is in your bed as you read to him, his head on your lap. “Thank you,” he says pulling your book down to look at you. “What for?” You ask, running a hand through his hair. “For saving me, and Max.” You smile and kiss his forehead and continue with the story.

In the morning you wake up to Billy facing you, looking at you and he smiles. 

“You okay?” He nods and reaches for your hand, holding it tightly as he scoots closer to you.

You move a loose strand of hair behind his ear, caressing his cheek, feeling how soft his skin is. 

You two stay like that for a while just enjoying each other’s warmth in silence, playing with your hands and looking into other’s eyes. Neither of you can’t stop smiling. 

“I love you, (y/n).”

“I love you too, Billy.”

[mckennamayfairgoode]

Show Me the Foothold From Which I Can Climb [Part One]

Billie Dean Howard x Reader

Word Count: 6k

Request: i saw that your requests were open and i wanted to ask if you could do something for billie x reader, i LOVED your other one. -requested by anon

Warnings: Nothing yet, except minor character death, but it will get VERY heavy later on. (Future TW include: addiction, alcoholism, grief, depression, suicidal thoughts.)

A/N: I’ve spent too long working on this, so I decided to break it up into parts and post it instead of going back over the same scenes again and again. I’m not sure how many parts it will be. Probably three or four. A big thank you to @lucyintheskywithxanax​ as usual for being my plastic duck. You are The Best (no, really, you are). ❤

Song: Mountain at My Gates by FOALS. Also mentioned is I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers.

“Let’s take five minutes, okay? Sorry, everyone, they’re being stubborn today.” Billie smiles apologetically at the camera crew and the sight of it alone is enough to ease the mounting frustration in the room. Shoulders relax and tension melts away as if the atmosphere hadn’t been stifling just moments before. You call it ‘The Billie Effect.’

“Five minutes and we’ll try again,” the director agrees, giving the crew the go-ahead to take a break. There’s a spattering of pleased murmurs before everyone uses the opportunity to disperse around the house or go outside for some fresh air.

You adjust the camera on your shoulder and watch as the director walks up to Billie, his hands moving in animated gestures as he speaks. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you can imagine. The long day has not made him any more pleasant to be around. The smile on Billie’s lips is charming as she attempts to sooth his ruffled feathers. It only takes a moment, one hand resting on his shoulder to make the interaction seem more intimate than it is, before he turns away from her with a satisfied expression that makes something inside you tug unpleasantly. Once he turns away from her, Billie’s bright expression falls and her brows pinch together. 

You wait for him to walk away before easing up to her side, eyeing his back as the distance between you grows. “Was he giving you trouble?”

“He’s the director of the show, Y/N,” she points out and when you turn to her, you see that her smile has returned, beautiful and real and just for you. Your heart seems to breathe a sigh of relief.

You shrug the shoulder not currently occupied by a camera. “Yeah, well, without you there wouldn’t be a show,” you remind her, annoyance clear in your tone.

Billie laughs, low and husky. “Easy, tiger.” She wraps a hand around your bicep and runs her thumb along the edge of your shirt sleeve, barely dancing across your bare skin and shooting tingles up your spine.  “Everyone has their part to play, even him.”

You roll your eyes. “It’d be easier if he played his part somewhere else,” you mutter.

She grins, her big brown eyes dancing with amusement. You watch that familiar teasing glint bleed into them like wine stains into a beige carpet.  “Careful there, sweetheart. I’m starting to get the impression that you care about me.”

“And I’m starting to get the impression that you want me to care about you,” you retort playfully, watching the pleased smile morph her beautiful face into something soft and sweet. No one gets to see her like this. No one but you. That smile only lasts a second before her shoulders tense, just barely, just enough for you to notice. Her gaze flicks to the side. You’ve been around long enough to know that she’s feeling or seeing something you can’t. Your voice softens into a soothing tone. “Everything okay, pretty woman?” 

Billie startles, her grip tightening on your arm as she steadies herself before she flashes you a comforting smile. “Just fine, sweetheart.” She raises a slender hand and with one long acrylic nail extended, points to a spot in front of you both. “I can feel them right here, but they won’t come out.”

You both look at the space like your combined staring power will overwhelm the spirits and force them to reveal themselves. You don’t realize how close you’ve drifted to one another until you go to nudge her shoulder with your own. “They will,” you say. 

The darkness in her eyes eases at the conviction in your tone. She raises an eyebrow. “And how do you know that?” she asks. “We’ve been here for eight hours and have nothing to show for it.”

You resist the urge to move a wayward curl back behind her ear.  “You’re Billie Dean Howard. No one can resist you.”

Her smile turns sly. “Not even you?”

You turn to face her and feel your heart stutter. She’s already looking at you, her eyes warm and tender. “Not even me,” you finally say, your tone leaving no doubt that you are dead serious. The space between you is so small your noses would brush if you tipped forward. There’s a split second where you think you might kiss her. If you weren’t in the middle of a haunted house surrounded by your coworkers, if you were alone, and if she was looking at you like she is right now, maybe you would lean in and wipe that sly smile from her face with your lips. 

“You ready, Billie?” A masculine voice startles you both out of the moment causing you to jerk away and take a step back from each other. Billie is elegant and composed as usual, but your heart thunders in your chest like you are a storm splitting open the sky. You glance at her lips. Had she been leaning in too? 

Billie gives the director a nod before turning back to you. The intensity hasn’t left her eyes. You search them for a moment, find the sincerity there and anchor to it with your heart. A slow grin spreads across your face and you nod to the starting marker on the floor. “Come on, pretty woman. I promise to get your good angle.”

She scoffs, an amused expression lighting up her face. “You always get my good angle.”

“It’s not the only thing I plan on getting,” you flirt. “Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll prove it to you later.”

Billie laughs and tosses her wavy curls back. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, sweet thing,” she purrs, trailing her fingertips along your shoulders as she passes behind you.

You watch her go and know your expression must be lovestruck. Her presence always makes you feel weightless, a bird’s wayward feather in free fall. You think you might be able to float to the ceiling if you tried.

“You don’t really believe in this bullshit, do you?” a voice asks over your shoulder. You glance behind you to see your new assistant standing there looking perplexed and bored.

You raise an eyebrow, shifting the camera on your shoulder. “Why are you working here if you don’t believe it?”

He shrugs, following you to the mark and standing behind you. “Needed the experience,” he says simply.

You look into the viewfinder, adjusting the angle and shuffling until the sunlight streaming in from the living room window carves highlights into Billie’s cheekbones. She looks like a marble sculpture, like she belongs in the Louvre and not this haunted house in southern California, like she will be cemented in time, beautiful and endless. “Stick around,” you tell him. You pull back, look over the top of the camera, and lock eyes with Billie from across the room. “She’ll get them to show. She always does.” 

--

“Holy shit.” Your assistant's voice comes out in a breathy whisper, barely audible over the rattling sound of wheels rolling along the pavement.

You grin but resist the urge to snicker, because you’ve been there before. Skeptical and unsure, drawn to Billie of course, in awe of her smile, but not a believer in anything you couldn’t physically see. Then she had brought a derelict house to life with light that was not natural and shadows that liked to play pretend and you had watched her speak to someone whose presence you couldn’t even feel. That moment had changed you. 

Once upon a time, you had been so very small and fearful of the things you did not understand. Locked in your castle and warned away from the room at the end of the hall, you were protected, but sheltered, and your world had been so very small along with you. Until one day, you met a princess with golden hair and big brown eyes, who was kind and good and could see things you could not. 

The princess had taken you by the hand and led you to the end of the hall where she cracked the door open so that you could take a peek into the room you were not allowed in. Inside that room was a darkness and in that darkness was a glimmer of something bigger than you. You’d tugged at her hand to ward her away from the things you feared, but she stood tall and faced the darkness head on.

“Don’t be scared,” she’d said. The princess turned on a light - you think it came from within her - and the darkness shrank back, twisting into shadows that held out their spindly arms but could not reach you no matter how hard they tried. She looked at you and she smiled. “I won’t let them hurt you,” she promised and you believed her. You were a mountain and you were not afraid of anything. 

“You’ll get used to it,” you say, reaching the studio van and gesturing for him to help you load the equipment cases inside. 

He doesn’t look like he believes you. In fact, he looks like he might lose his lunch right there on the sidewalk. He wouldn’t be the first who couldn’t handle a glimpse of the other side. Ignoring it won’t make it go away, but you don’t say that. Instead, you latch the doors behind you, bid him goodnight, and meander down the sidewalk in the direction of your car. 

You watch the van’s tail lights disappear around the bend for only a moment before Billie’s soul inevitably calls to yours and you turn to look for her. She’s still standing on the front porch speaking with the homeowners. Not surprising. Billie hates to leave a job half finished. She nods her head empathetically, places a hand on the man’s arm, and says something charming no doubt. The couple laughs in response, just as you knew they would. No one can resist Billie Dean Howard. You lean back against the hood of your car, tuck your hands into your pockets, and wait.

It doesn’t take long. A few minutes later, she struts toward you like she’s on the red carpet and not a cracked, chalk-covered sidewalk in the middle of the suburbs. Your heart flounders in your chest like a fish on the deck of a boat and you wonder if you will always be this helpless when faced with her presence. “Hey, pretty woman.” You nod to the road behind you. “Wanna go for a drive?”

“And where would you be taking me on a Friday night?” Even across the distance, you can see the mischievousness in her expression. Billie loves to play games, and you are more than happy to indulge her.  

You reach in your pocket for your keys, absentmindedly playing with them as you grin. “Sorry, I can’t tell you that. Try again.”

Billie slows to a stop in front of you and tilts her head, eyeing you with a barely concealed smile. She tries to look stern but the glitter in her eyes betrays her. “What are you up to, Y/N?”  

You shrug. “I’m just keeping my promises,” you say simply. You reach over and open the passenger door for her with a flourish. “Your chariot awaits.”

--

“We’re here,” you announce, stepping out of the car and shutting the door behind you. 

Billie follows you at a leisurely pace, her head turning this way and that as she takes in your surroundings. She looks out of place up here, like a beautiful porcelain doll left in the middle of the woods. She is your diamond in the rough, your supernova in an empty sky. She burns. You wonder if it’s for you.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes?” you respond, already knowing the question that will leave her lips.

“Why have you brought me to a cliff?”

You laugh and hold out your hand. “Do you trust me?” you ask, serious despite the light tone to your voice.

Billie does not hesitate. She sets her well manicured hand in yours, looks you in the eyes, and says, “Always.”

You have to swallow the lump in your throat to respond. “Good, because I was going to drive us both off the cliff, but there’s a concrete barrier in the way. We’ll have to go on foot and just jump off instead.”

She chuckles, low and throaty in just the way that makes your spine shiver. “Oh, darling. I’m going to need some incentives if you’re going to make me do all that in these shoes.”

You smirk and, mindful of her expensive heels, begin leading her down the smoothest path to the cliffside. “I’m sure I can come up with something.”

“I’m sure you can,” she purrs. Her hand in yours is soft and warm. You have held hands before. Large hands, small hands, the hands of those you love and hands from a distant past that you haven’t held for a very long time but still remember. There had been fingers wrapped around a thumb bigger than yours, hands clasped palm to palm as your brother helped you cross the street, pinkies interlocked to cement promises that would surpass time and age, fingertips pressed together beneath the table in the library with the girl who always laughed at your jokes. They were not like this. Holding this hand felt like coming home. Like you were meant to hold it. Like you have held it before.

As you near the aforementioned barrier, you turn to her with an impish smile. “Close your eyes,” you say.

Billie quirks an eyebrow. “I don’t usually do that on the first date.”

Your heart jumps, excited, happy, hopeful. “You let me bring you to a cliff on our first date?” you ask, playfully appalled.

Her smile grows fond. “It’s starting to grow on me.”

You bite your lip to quell the grin forming and tug at her hand. “Come on, the incentive lies in what will happen after you close them.”

“Well, how can I resist when you put it like that?” she teases, shutting her eyes and trusting you to guide her the rest of the way. You do, one careful step at a time, until you are near the edge. You look out over the view and feel your soul untangle itself from your heart, but it does not leave, not yet. It wants to be free, but it doesn’t want to go alone. 

You glance back at her, just a moment, maybe just to check that she’s real and not a vision that lives in your head. “You can open them now.”

She does. 

From a bluff overlooking the city, you watch as the sun sets, a jeweled crown that settles itself on the head of a skyscraper, radiant and eternal. Just for her. For the princess in your fairy tale. Almost as if you had willed it into existence all by yourself, lights start appearing in the city. Streetlamps, headlights, lights from offices and businesses and apartments; all of them blink on, one tiny speck at a time, until the whole of Los Angeles is alight with stars of their own making.

You don’t say anything and neither does she. You don’t need to. Billie’s fingers slide between your own, more intimate than any night you’ve spent in bed with another woman, and she squeezes. Just once. Your soul follows the invisible thread between your hearts and entangles itself with hers. They float away together like flower petals on a summer breeze.

You turn to her as she looks off into the horizon. Your eyes follow the shape of her face, from her forehead to the gentle slope of her nose, the curves of her mouth to the jut of her chin, and you wish you were tracing it with your fingertip instead. The setting sun casts a glow to her hair turning it different shades of molten gold and pink and you think you have never seen a more beautiful sight.

When she turns to face you, your eyes meet and your noses touch, much like they almost had earlier that day. Only this time there is nothing stopping you from closing the distance. Your breath hitches, your heart thunders, you are a feather in free fall, but you will not be afraid. Billie would never hurt you. Not your protector, your safety, your light.

You tangle your free hand into her hair and pull her close enough to brush your mouth against hers. It’s soft and tender, flowers grazing in a moonlit meadow, the gentle fluttering of a butterfly’s wings, the ocean lapping against the sand on a lazy, summer night. 

Her other hand reaches for your cheek, pulling you closer. You melt against her, breathe her in, think maybe this is what happiness is, maybe this is what eternity would feel like as long as you are with her. She sighs into your mouth like she has been waiting for this moment as long as you have. Your soul ignites as her nails graze your cheek, gentle and revering, like you are precious, like you are important, like you are the flower petal that may float away.  Maybe you fell in love with her then. Maybe you have been in love with her all this time.

--

“Hello?”

“Hi there, sweet thing. Where are you?” Your tired ears perk up at the sound of Billie’s voice, a smile lighting up your face as if it had been waiting just for her. 

“Hi, baby. I’m at the studio going over the footage from yesterday. Are you still at the interview?” You glance out of the nearby window. Night has already fallen and rain pelts against the glass like a swarm of angry bees. “It’s late.”

“It ran over by two hours,” she explains, her voice tight and clipped. 

You furrow your brows. “You don’t sound happy about that. Did it not go well?”

You hear the flick of a lighter. “If you call four hours of talking in circles ‘well’ then one would say it went perfectly fine.” She sighs. “Maybe I was just impatient.” 

“For what?”

“For you.” Your breath catches in your throat. You almost trip going down the stairs but manage to catch yourself in time. “Y/N?” 

“I’m here,” you manage to say. 

You can practically hear the smirk in her voice. “I’d like to see you tonight. What do you think?”

Heartbeat thudding in your ears, you finally reach the main lobby and come to a stop in front of the studio doors. Thunder rumbles through the building, shaking the glass and seeming to bounce off empty corners to echo back at you. You can barely see the street behind the sheets of rain. Maybe Hell has finally frozen over and Los Angeles is in the midst of a hurricane. “I’m thinking it’s the perfect night for a movie and takeout,” you say once you’ve gained control of your vocal chords.

Billie exhales. The sound of it wavers; she’s smiling. “My place is closer; is that alright with you?”

“Yes, of course,” you respond and hope you don’t sound too eager. Even though you are. Even though all you want is to see her look at you with that exasperated fondness that makes your heart melt. You want her to push you away, to laugh, to pull you right back in before she kisses you senseless. You just want to be home.

“Good,” she pauses and you can picture that fond expression in your head as clearly as if it were right in front of you. “See you soon, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip, trying and failing to soothe your expression into something calm and collected. “See you soon, pretty woman.” You don’t even bother putting on your jacket before dashing outside into the torrential downpour.

--

Traffic in Los Angeles is always congested at best no matter where you go. Cars, taxis, and buses stay bumper to bumper until you get further away from the city and closer to Billie’s suburbs. The rain makes it hard to see the road, let alone other cars, so you keep your hands tightly gripped around the wheel and maintain a steady pace as you follow the bright yellow shape of the taxi in front of you.

Even with the storm raging around you, you feel invincible, like nothing can touch you. Thunder rumbles in the distance, lightning cracks the air, and rain pelts the roof of your car like lead bullets, but you don’t hear any of it. Your mind is a paradise and it is so quiet. Your thumbs tap rhythmically against the steering wheel as you sing along to the song on the radio.

“But I would walk five hundred miles and I would walk five hundred more-”

You let the music sweep its way into your very being, washing over you and bringing with it a sense of peace. It makes you think of Billie and you realize you’re never not thinking of Billie, not anymore, not since she planted herself in your earth and lit up your night sky with a blazing sun. It feels like she has intertwined herself so closely to you, to your heart, to your soul, to your spirit, that you are no longer sure where she ends and you begin.

Captivated by her smile, enraptured by her kind heart, drawn to the passion that runs through her veins in lieu of blood, lovesick, lovestruck, love, love, love. Every little memory you make with her anew blinks on like a star in a sunset painted cityscape and you want to point your finger in its direction and tell her the tale of how a princess - with light embedded in her soul - saved you from your castle.

You’re thinking about her still when you notice the taxi peel off into the next lane. You don’t see him until it’s too late. 

A boy on a bike.

He darts in front of you out of nowhere or maybe he had been there the whole time and you just couldn’t see him in the rain. You see him now. Time slows down to a crawl - or maybe it never slowed at all; maybe you have been on the other side all along. 

He’s wearing a blue jacket. You notice it as your foot slams on the breaks, as you twist the steering wheel to the side in an attempt to swerve around him, as your car’s tires screech and slip against the rain-soaked street. It’s navy blue. You hear the sickening thump it makes when you hit him, feel the car jerk as you crash into a utility pole and the airbag knocks you in the face hard enough to make you black out for a second. Maybe two. You’re not sure. All you know is that when you finally summon the strength to open your eyes again, you’re assaulted by the smell of chemicals from the deployed airbag that burn your nostrils when you breathe. Your body aches from where you slammed against the seat belt on impact, your face, your chest - your heart, you think - but you can barely feel it. You are numb.

You blink rapidly to clear the dark spots from your vision, but all it does is serve to make you dizzy. Your head spins, feeling much like the inside of a snow globe after it’s been shaken up by an overeager child. With panic churning  inside you like a hurricane, you claw at your seat belt. Your fingers are shaking and clumsy and they don’t seem to work anymore and sobs well in your throat because this can’t be happening. It must be a dream, a nightmare, anything but what you know deep in your heart that it is: reality, the darkness whispers. A tendril of it slithers through the keyhole. It watches you. It is grinning.

“Come on, come on,” you mutter, or at least you think you do, before throwing open your door with one hand and scrabbling for the seat belt latch with the other. You manage to hit the release and go careening out of the car, landing on your hands and knees with a smack against the wet pavement. 

A man runs up to you, clutching your arm and pulling you up with large, gentle hands. Rain falls into your already blurry eyes, clinging to your eyelashes like tears as you look up at him and notice he has a full, greying beard. His mouth is moving but you can’t hear him over the ringing in your ears. 

You look away from him, searching, wild, crazed. Maybe you are crazy. Maybe you are a lunatic. A crowd has half formed on the side of the road, sporting parkas and umbrellas. Like anxious birds, they flutter around a slumped figure laying unnaturally still on the ground. It wears a navy blue jacket.

You push the man away, stumbling on shaking legs like a newborn foal as you attempt to cross the distance between you and the flock of people. Dread fills your bones, cements itself as a lump in your throat, but you don’t stop. You can’t. Someone on their cell phone tries to reach out to you, but you shove their hands aside. Rain soaks the thin cloth of your t-shirt causing the material to cling to you like a second skin. But you can’t feel it. You can’t feel anything. 

You fall to your knees before him, landing with a splash in the puddle beneath you. Your mouth moves rapidly as you speak words you can’t hear: a chant, a plea, a prayer. Wake up! Come on, kid, just wake up. I’m so sorry. Please, wake up. All my fault, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You beg - to gods, to monsters, to spirits and ghosts and the nature of things - but it falls on deaf ears as if you had never spoken at all. You feel for his pulse, for a sign, for anything. There is none. The darkness laughs. It is muffled behind the door but you can feel the vibrations of it running through your veins.

You hunch over yourself, fingers clutching at the wet pavement as you dig your nails into the asphalt, wanting to crawl inside your own body like a cocoon, wanting to feel something, anything. The ringing in your ears is so loud, so intense it fills your head and drowns out every other sound. The woman who has knelt down at your side and put her hand on your shoulder as she tries to speak to you. The thunder you can feel rumbling through the earth beneath your palms. The sirens from emergency vehicles you only know are there because the red and blue flashing lights cast a glow on his motionless form. You have never known another sound. It rings and rings and rings. It is endless.

You want to close your eyes. You want to block it all out, pretend that you’re still in your car, that you’re almost to Billie’s suburbs, and any minute now, she will greet you at the door. Well, would you look at that, she’d say. I don’t remember ordering dessert. Her eyes would glimmer and she would smile, beautiful, radiant, the light inside of her too bright for her to do anything but shine.

Billie- Your mind latches onto her like she is your buoy in the middle of the sea, and just the thought of her will keep you afloat even as the darkness uses its spindly arms to pull you under the surface. You reach for the invisible thread that binds your hearts together and, insistently, desperately, you tug. I’m so sorry, Billie. You force your eyes open. You force yourself to look at him. At the boy you did not see.

His bike lays in the middle of the road, bent and misshapen. The back wheel is still spinning.

From your open car door comes the notes of a familiar song. It echoes through the night, beneath the steady beat of the rain and the high, rumbling noise of thunder, and it is not beautiful anymore. It is haunting.

“Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles-”

You can’t feel anything.

“-to fall down at your door.”

--

“Will sh- b- okay?”

“Mil- conc-ssi-n, sh- in shock-”

“Try -alking t- he-”

Voices echo around you, so muffled and distorted that you can’t understand what they’re saying. They sound like they’re coming from very far away and the effort it would take to listen far outweighs the energy you have. You feel drained, like you’re sitting in the bottom of a fish bowl and the words bounce off the water to somewhere else. Not to you.

Not until you hear her.

“Look at me, Y/N.” Hands cup your face in a gentle hold, fingers tenderly stroking the skin of your cheekbones. The voice is so familiar. It cuts through the haze fogging your mind and you reach out as if to embrace it, to let it crawl inside your heart and warm you from the inside out. “Come on, sweetheart. Look at me.” 

You blink. Billie? Your eyelashes flutter as the world gradually comes into focus, no longer a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. With it, comes an angel. An angel with sunset hair and glimmering eyes and a kind smile. “Pretty woman?” you ask, and you wonder what happened to make your voice sound so raw and broken.

“There’s my girl,” she murmurs, ducking her head to meet your eyes. “Focus on me, baby.” You try to, holding her gaze like you would rather drown in it than face the demon you can feel hovering over your shoulder. She has a furrow between her brows, the one she has only when she’s truly upset. Why is she so sad? Why are you?

“Billie, I’m so sorry,” you whisper, but you can’t remember why you’re sorry. Only that you should be. Only that your heart aches, you smell like chemicals, and it feels like you just went a round with a boxer and lost. But it’s all a blur and you can’t remember why.

Billie reaches up and brushes your hair back away from your face. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay.” Her smile is forced and the implication behind it only stirs the panic forming inside you until it spins so fast that it feels like you’re standing in the eye of a hurricane. 

“Ma’am, we need to speak with her,” a voice speaks suddenly from the doorway and you snap out of your trance, out of the safety of Billie’s gaze, and find yourself in a hospital room, in a hospital bed with an IV in your arm. The walls are a stark white that hurts your eyes to look at. It’s bare and sterile and impersonal; it feels like you just woke up in a padded cell where you are gradually losing your mind.

Billie looks over her shoulder; you follow her gaze and feel your stomach drop unpleasantly. A police officer stands just inside the door. You become suddenly aware of a bone deep chill pervading your entire body. There’s a blanket pulled up around your shoulders but you can’t seem to stop shaking. Why can’t you stop shaking? 

“No,  you don’t,” Billie says, the words tense as they leave her lips. The edges are sharp and you know if you were to reach out, they would cut you just as easily as a blade. You have never heard her sound like that before. “She’s still in shock. She won’t be able to tell you anything you haven’t already figured out from the cameras.” Your mind falters. The hurricane intensifies, becoming a swirling mass of wind and rain. It threatens to swallow you whole.

The officer steps into the room and raises his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s just procedure, Ms. Howard.”

Billie frowns, standing up and sliding in front of you as if to shield you from him. “I don’t give a damn. You could drag the Dalai Lama down here for all I care. I’m not letting you speak to her until she knows what’s going on.”

“Well, I’m not the Dalai Lama, I’m an officer of the law and if she’s responsive, I need to take her statement,” he insists, not unkindly. He looks over Billie’s shoulder at you, his expression apprehensive and sorrowful. Something is very, very wrong. You can feel it in your bones. The hurricane lashes out at you, angry and scared. You wonder if the hurricane is you.

Their argument drifts to the background as flashing lights from the window capture your attention. Blue and red. Familiar. The colors start to blur as rain hits the glass pane and you can only watch, mesmerized, as one droplet becomes two and three and then thunder - it rumbles so loudly it startles you and your heart leaps, pounds, races in your chest - and, suddenly, as if it had been this way all along, the hurricane is not inside of you anymore. It is all around you, surrounding you, and you are stuck within, caged like a bird, trapped like a ghost in a haunted house, you are a lunatic in a padded white cell. 

And then you remember.

Rain. So much rain. Sheets of it that slick the pavement and thunder that shakes the earth. But you are going to Billie’s, where you are warm, where you are safe, and a little rain is worth it to see the look on her face when she opens the door and sees you standing on the other side. Well, would you look at that, she’d say. I don’t remember ordering dessert. And she would smile and she would shine and you would walk among the clouds like a god. 

Something inside you stirs, something troubled, something bigger than you. An exiled giant chained to the mountain pass, a forgotten creature locked in the depths of Hell, the darkness behind the door. For the first time since meeting Billie, you feel afraid.

A taxi, bright yellow, the color of sunflowers and sunshine and that knitted sweater Billie likes to wear in the summer. It veers off; you watch it float away, along the yellow brick road, maybe into the sky to Neverland, down the rabbit hole, it goes and goes and goes. And then a boy and a navy blue jacket and a bike with a misshapen wheel that never stopped turning.

The darkness pushes at the locked door, snaking it’s spindly arms along the edge, seeking for a way out, searching for a weakness. You can feel its eyes on you, watching you through the keyhole. 

A mistake, you didn’t see him, you tried to stop, to swerve, you tried to do anything else but what you did, it’s your fault and you know it, you did this. The road was so wet, you could feel it beneath your hands, flashing lights illuminate his body, blue and red, someone touches your shoulder but you can’t feel it, wake up, wake up, unnaturally still, a song, your ears ring, it’s endless, still, so still, blue and red, it casts a glow to his face, but I would walk five hundred miles and I would walk- You dig your nails into the pavement. You can’t feel anything. 

You did this. It’s your fault. It’s all your fault.

You can feel it the moment the lock shatters and the door swings open. It feels inevitable, like you have been staring into the abyss this whole time, and it has finally decided to swallow you whole. The darkness slithers out and you watch it with bated breath. You have never known a fear this great, the moment you stared into the darkness and didn’t have your light. 

Your soul calls for Billie, screams out her name, begs and pleads for her to protect you like she always said she would. You reach out for the invisible thread tethered between you and you tug and tug and tug but your hands are slippery and you can’t hold on. Your fingers brush her sleeve. 

The darkness seems to smile. You can feel its amusement, its maliciousness, its cruelty. You are frozen in place as it moves towards you, ensnared like a rabbit in a trap, you are a lunatic in a padded cell. It’s spindly arms reach out. I’m so sorry, Billie. It embraces you like an old friend.  

You let it.

[me-4eva]

Harringrove Feedback Fest

This list is by no means exhaustive but OH MY GOD THERE ARE SO MANY GOOD FICS IN THIS FANDOM!! Anyone who knows my taste should know these are heavy on the angst by and large but there are also some sweet ones in there! (Also huge thank you to @gothyringwald for starting this!) It is currently very late so I will go through tomorrow and add some more details about each one but these are fics that live rent-free in my head... also I’ve tried to tag the authors as best I can

In no particular order:

What you had and what you lost by @its-tortle

Donna Richardson, formerly Hargrove, née Marcs, has not seen her son in nearly a decade. She had run from her husband in a panic with no time to turn back for Billy, and by the time she searched for him, he was gone without a trace.

It was her greatest regret.

OR

The one in which Billy's mom comes to look for him, just as he's begun to heal.

My broken house behind me (and all good things ahead) by @ageolwian

He relives in vivid, distorted detail that time he got into it with Jonathan behind The Hawk; and when he got beaten into oblivion at the Byers’ old house; and that interrogation under duress beneath Starcourt Mall; all of them blurring together into one violent mess inside his head. Carol Vaughn holds him off the floor by his throat in Joyce Byers’ kitchen, while her boyfriend yells at her from the sidelines that he’s had enough, Carol, that he can’t breathe; the lights around them flash neon pink and blue by turns, and at some point a gang of Russians drive a Cadillac convertible through the living room wall.

Carol says, ‘hey there little Stevie,’ and kisses him on the cheek.

Or: Mr Hargrove’s supposed to be in Chicago all weekend.

We will be citizens by sarapod (four_right_chords) (couldn’t find a tumblr so linked their AO3 account!)

"This disease will be the end of many of us, but not nearly all, and the dead will be commemorated and will struggle on with the living, and we are not going away. We won't die secret deaths anymore. The world only spins forward. We will be citizens. The time has come."

The Party lives through the plague.

Fuck my heart, hope to die by Yassoda

When Steve notices Billy missing school, he tries to think nothing of it.

He fails.

He ends up sticking his nose in something unexpected, somewhat sad, somewhat dangerous, but ultimately good.

Like Steve needs more danger in his life.

---

A lot of Billy's life being shitty, and Steve's life being shitty, and them dealing with that however they can.

Lego Therapy by @cherrydreamer

Billy struggles with his recovery after the Mindflayer.

Steve helps.

With some Lego.

Bruises on both my knees (for you) by @bentnotbroken1fanfiction

Billy hasn't been able to satisfy the itch beneath his skin since leaving California. Unfortunately, he doesn't think he has a chance in hell to find what he needs in small town USA.

But that all changes when he sees the fire in Steve Harrington's eyes the night they fight. He sees something in them that he sometimes sees in himself when he looks in the mirror.

Harrington has demons. Just like Billy

Billy Hargrove Hates Nancy Wheeler by deadwife

Billy Hargrove Hates Nancy Wheeler.

Or

Steve gets in a car accident, and nobody understands why Billy Hargrove is in the waiting room with them.

you're cold (and i burn) by @holdenduckfield

Move on. Let it heal.

Maybe that’s why Steve said yes when Max asked him to help move boxes out of Billy’s room after the dust settled. He could hear her voice. Too many. Too heavy.

Just like his wounds. His grief. Too many. Too heavy.

(Or, Steve steals the glass ashtray from Billy's bedside table and things start to go bump in the night.)

put your lights on by @desk-of-nekostar

better leave your lights on, 'cause there's a monster livin' under my bed, whisperin' in my ear

Tommy Hagan doesn't deserve Steve Harrington, but Billy Hargrove sure as fuck doesn't deserve him either.

Vaya Con Dios by GayerThings

Neil said Hawkins was a 'fresh start', away from the sins and vices of San Francisco. A good, proper place for the family. It's everything Billy loathes. But it's somewhere quiet, a shit-hole Billy can lay low in until he makes a break for it and escapes this nightmare. He has a plan. Finish high school, save up some money, and run. No friends, no secrets spilled, no caring about anyone or anything.

But everything changes after his fight with Steve at the Byers' house when he's brought home the next morning in a cop car. It's just like old times. Something goes wrong, and he pays the goddamn price for it. Sometimes it's just for existing. Sometimes he thinks his dad dragged them out here with the hope that Billy will mess up and someone else will do his dad's dirty work for him. So he tries to hide it. All of it. Climbs to the top of the popularity ladder with his fists and his charm. Finds the easy girls. But even then he still can't stop what his dad's been trying to beat out of him for as long as he can remember.

Not with King Steve in the picture. Not when the goddamn bastard keeps messing up his plan.

Second Thoughts by @callieb

That night, 1984

Steve sits at the kitchen table, a pack of frozen carrots wrapped in a tea towel against his swollen purple face. "I'm fine," he says. It’s over. They fought the monsters, and they won. Now he can rest.

Except in real life, the credits don't roll, and they don't get to skip ahead to Christmas.

Of Cats and Men by Thei

Billy hits a cat with his car, and finds himself responsible for three little kittens.

Fortunate Son by Ludovico_is_my_homeboy

Experiment Seven escapes the Lab.

Driven on by Brenner, an inter-dimensional gateway, and his own obsessive love, Experiment Six follows him.

getting better by banksoflochlomond

"Dude," Dustin says, "You can't just Schrodinger's Cat your way out of trauma."

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Californian Dream (Pt. 07 of 11)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 2.6 K

Summary: Being part of one of the richest families of California doesn't mean you're happy. Your life is boring, and you're surrounded by meaningless people and their meaningless talk. Even during Summer, with the break you have from college, there's nothing good going on. Nothing but the new pool guy, Billy, the most handsome man you ever saw. You were successfully avoiding him, not wanting to act like an idiot in front of the guy until Billy accepts to be your date for a fancy gala you're forced to attend. The night was going well, even better when he sneaked you out to go to the beach. But a gang of criminals breaks into the party, kidnapping the heirs to the wealthiest families, which includes you. So, for your safety, your parents want you to stay with Billy, living in his apartment until the criminals are caught. And that could take weeks, maybe even months.

Warnings: Light violence

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{Stranger Things Masterlist}

{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

×

Broken

“Listen, listen...” Cupping your cheeks and drying off some tears, he looks into your eyes. “I'm all sweaty and disgusting. Let me shower and then we'll talk, alright?”

Forcing yourself to nod, you look down, suddenly ashamed of how you were clinging onto to him. “Alright.”

“Ok.” He hesitates a little before heading to the bathroom.

With both hands on your head, you pace around the living room, the image of Alice's hands burning through your mind. Why did they do that? Was it some kind of punishment for her trying to run? Or were they sending a message? Or are they just that cruel? What will happen to the others? To the last one, if the police don't find them and if the private investigators fail?

Turning the damn TV off, you messily wipe the tears away, going to the bedroom, sitting on the bed and waiting for Billy to come out. You just want him. You feel safe with him, and if this makes things weird after, you'll apologize.

This time, when the door opens, you manage to hold back, pushing back the urge to jump into his arms again. Billy looks sad, only breaking eye contact to put his shirt on. “Come here.” And that's all it takes for you to run into his embrace again, more tears taking the place of the ones you dried off, then fighting for more space. “I'm sorry.”

You can't say anything. There are no words to be said now. So you just cry, arms around his midsection as you let your heart out. It's a mix of fear and desperation. It could've been you if Billy wasn't there to sneak you out. You wish you could see Alice, but at the same time, you don't want to. Seeing her hands on the TV was bad enough. You can't even start to think about the trauma she went through. This whole thing can't be happening, it feels like a nightmare.

“Come. Lie down to rest a little.” Billy guides you to the bed, and you only move because of him. You barely feel your legs. When you lie down, and he moves to stand up, you hold his arm.

It's not the time to blush or feel nervous. Or to think about what it means. You want him, you need him here. With you. “Stay, please.” Begging, you move aside when he nods. Billy lies down on his back, facing the ceiling. You hold his arm, just so you're touching him somehow, but it's not enough. The tears keep coming, your mind keeps imagining what else those people, your friends, the people who you grew up with, are suffering right now. “B-Billy...” Your voice cracks, and you squeeze his bicep a little.

“What, princess?”

“I'm sorry...” You whisper, already moving closer to him.

Billy's eyes meet yours, a worried and confused expression on his face. “What for?”

You don't say anything, you just move closer to him, laying your head on his chest. A breath escapes your lips when you feel his arms around you, grounding, protecting you. Now more than ever, you understand what Billy did for you when he sneaked you out of the gala. It could've been you with chopped fingers, or going through something much worse.

“You make me feel safe.” You mutter, eyes closed shut. His heartbeat is calming, and slowly, your breathing starts to slow down until it's steady again. Billy has a hand around your waist and the other comes to caress your cheek every once in a while. But the most important thing is that he doesn't let go.

You're not sure how long you stay there, but the only thing keeping you from falling asleep is the pain in your stomach. You're hungry, and that's the only thing that makes you move, sitting up straight. Moving the hair away from your face, you look down at Billy. “I'm sorry for... Doing this, but I just needed to... I needed you.”

“It's alright.” He sits up too, a hand softly rubbing your arm. “Are you feeling better?”

“Not really.” You mutter, running a hand through your hair. “But I'll make us something to eat. We're both hungry and it'll distract me.”

“We can do it together, what do you think?” He asks as he stands up, offering you his hand. You take it, letting him guide you to the kitchen.

Billy keeps the small talk as you cook and then eat, even succeeding to take a few laughs from you. When you're done with the dishes, you go back to the kitchen table to share an ice cream you bought yesterday. Seated side by side, you have a little fight every time you happen to move to get some ice cream at the same time, slapping each other's hand with the spoon.

“Do you wanna talk about...” Billy speaks low, careful. But it's ok. You'll have to talk about it eventually.

“They cut off three fingers from her right hand and the index finger from the left.” Your voice is weak, and you look down at your empty spoon. “They showed it... I mean, it was covered by white bandages but... It was obvious, and there was some blood on it and I just can't understand why they'd do something like that.”

“They don't need a reason.” Billy caresses your cheek, his finger running through the line of your jaw. “I know you feel awful but I can't help but feel relieved that's not you.” His stare is intense but kind. “Even before, I'd hate to see you in her place.”

“Even before?”

“Before I knew you better. Now... It would kill me if anything happened to you.”

“I don't think I wanna go back home.” It comes out suddenly, without considering what it truly means. But it's the truth. The truth comes to a lot easier to you now that you're not constantly trying to hide what you think or feel. “I know it's mean to think about myself now but I don't think I can go back. I can't keep doing that. I can't waste the summer with those stupid events, and I can't go back into studying law, I can't...” You stand up, pacing around with both hands in your head. “I can't keep pretending those people are my friends and I can't keep pretending that person is who I am.”

“What is your plan, then?”

This makes you turn around to look at Billy again. He hasn't moved, the ice cream long was forgotten and his attention on you. “Won't you even try to make me change my mind?”

“No.” He stands up, coming closer until you're face to face with him. Billy seems sad, a deep breath leaving his chest. ”We are responsible for our happiness. That's why I left Hawkins and if you want to leave California–”

“It's not about California.” Cutting him short, you sigh. “I love California. I just want... This.” You gesture at the apartment. “Having a place that I like, that doesn't fit a hundred people. Studying something that I care about, going to the places I wanna go, making real friends.” Since Billy started taking you to some parties, you've been growing close to Stacy, Anne, and Jimmy, Billy's friends who are now becoming your friends too. You feel more comfortable with them than you ever felt with the people you grew up with.

“Well, you don't have to think about it now. When you have to make a decision, you'll know what to do.”

“Yeah... I think I will.” You should look away, but his eyes... You feel like you could sink, and drown, and die. Slowly, you stand on your toes, trying to feel if Billy will step back. You don't even know what you're doing, it's almost involuntary, you're just chasing his lips.

But instead of moving away, he meets you halfway bending down a little to connect his lips to yours. Your arms quickly embrace his neck and you end the final distance between your bodies. You don't wanna think too much. Whenever you kiss Billy, you don't wanna think about anything. You just wanna feel. And right now, more than ever, you need him, this close, the taste of his lips so addictive, making you a little mad when you need to pull away to breathe. But you don't move away, you stay there, foreheads touching. With your eyes tightly shut, you caress his cheek, fingers tracing his jawline.

He's just about to say something when the phone starts ringing, and very reluctantly, you step back, gesturing for him to answer it. When he turns his back at you, you immediately touch your lips, smiling a little. As stupid, as insane as it is, Billy is the only guy you want to kiss. He's the only one you'd ever want to kiss. “What's up?” He says. “No, I can't go today... Because I have something more important to do here. I'll go on Friday. Bye.”

You're just about to ask him what was that about when you remember he was supposed to go to the gym today. “Hey, you can go. I'll be alright.” No, you won't. But still, you don't want him to stay if he wants to be somewhere else.

“Completely out of question.” He walks to you again, reaching out his hand. “Come. Let's watch some nice movies or something.”

And so it happens. There's this random movie going on, and you try to focus on it the best you can. On the couch, Billy holds you all the time, and it doesn't take much until your head is on his shoulder. But the happenings of the day got the best of you, and soon enough you feel yourself tired, eyelids heavy with sleep, falling close.

When you open your eyes again, you're in bed, with the morning light piercing through the light fabric of the curtains. You have the blankets all around you, and for some reason, when you get up, you feel cold. Maybe it's the air-conditioning, but Billy likes this temperature, and you haven't had a problem with it until now. So you just decide to put on a cardigan instead.

It's a war against yourself not to watch the news. You want to know how's Alice, but you don't want to see another take of her mutilated hand. Or hear what the reporters are saying about it. So you basically pace around the house, doing nothing, but trying to keep busy. For some reason, you're terribly tired, exhausted even, struggling to focus on this afternoon talk show instead of changing the channel.

The gang probably already let out the next rescue. Will it be the same? No, it's probably more. Who will be the next one they'll release? How many fingers will they still have left? Will they have both arms? Or all of their teeth? The thoughts won't leave you alone, and the talk show sucks, so you stand up, moving to the window and setting your eyes on the ocean out there, the horizon on a light shade of blue as the sun sets.

The noise of the door opening makes you look over your shoulder. A wave of relief washes over you when you see Billy, and you're just about to run to him when he mutters a harsh ‘hello’, moving straight to his room. Stopping in your tracks, you try to process it. Turning the damn TV off, you brace yourself as you go back to the couch, waiting for him to come back. But it takes longer than normal, and when you finally hear the bedroom door opening, your eyes follow him when he moves to the kitchen space. And that's when you notice you're starving.

Pushing yourself up, pulling the heavier coat you have on now even closer to your body, you walk over to the table. “Billy, can you make something to eat, I'm really–”

“You've been in here all day and you couldn't even cook something?” He suddenly snaps, both hands on the sink and his back turned at you. The roughness of his voice gets you by surprise, startling you.

“I–”

“I have been out all day, working my damn ass off, and now I have to come home and make dinner too? Don't you think I might be exhausted?” Without looking at you, he opens the fridge, looking for something, but after a few seconds, he violently pushes the door shut.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Bursting out, you try not to let the tears roll down. You're overwhelmed right now, and the last thing you need is Billy freaking out for whatever reasons.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” He finally turns to face you, slamming his hands on the table. “You have no idea what it is to deal with your kind. I clean your pools, I fix and wash your fancy cars, I change the lamps from your chandeliers, and I'm not even treated nicely. I'm the staff, the working class, a freaking nobody who's only useful to put together broken things, and then I can be kicked out.”

“My kind?” Raising your voice, a humorless laugh escapes your lips. “Haven't you said something about me being the only owner who ever offered some help?”

The laughter that escapes his lips surprises you. It's mean and cruel, so unlike everything you have seen of Billy. “And how exactly would you help me? Raking leaves?”

“Yeah, I–”

“When you're skimming the pools, it's cute. You're a good soul helping the unfortunate. When I'm skimming the pools, I'm the unfortunate, who couldn't find a better job other than serving the upper class.” He's yelling, his eyes full of anger. This isn't Billy. Something happened, but right now, you don't care. You don't think it's fair to throw it on you, but maybe he's right. Maybe coming here was a mistake. “And that's exactly what I'm doing here, in my own house. Or have you forgotten what your dad said, huh? That I'll be paid after those assholes are caught so I gotta make sure all your needs are attended? So yes, I guess I'll make you something to eat. I wouldn't dream of letting you do it yourself, ma'am.”

“This good soul will be leaving your apartment tomorrow morning.” You mutter, turning on your heels and heading to the bedroom. It's his turn with the bed, but you don't care. If that's how Billy sees you, this is who you'll be. The mean, rich kid you were raised to be. You push the door closed so violently that the loud bang startles you, a hand coming to your heart. Locking yourself inside, you climb into the bed, hiding your face in the pillow.

After all this time, you can't believe that's what Billy thinks of you. After opening your heart to him, saying things you haven't even admitted to yourself before, he still sees you as one of those people. Maybe this was a huge mistake. Maybe letting Billy get so close was a mistake. Maybe kissing him... That was the worst part. You never thought you'd want that with anyone, but he came and lit up this spark in you. Now, it's over, and you're heart is broken. Tomorrow you'll either find a place or just check if Anne or Stacy can let you crash at their place for a while. But you can't stay here. Whatever you thought you and Billy could become... It's over.

×

@multific @dontxfearxthereaper @nope-thanks @nikkixostan @shinydixon @clockworkballerina @infinitelycharmed23 @lilred91

[yikesharringrove]

hop or max (or both👀) realise how close bill and steve have become and love it because they can just see how happy the boys are

The two boys hadn’t noticed Hop standing there.

They were sitting, pressed hip to hip on the stairs outside the Byers’ when he arrived to pick up El.

They were passing one cigarette back and forth despite the full pack sitting between them, and the outline of a pack he could see in Billy’s breast pocket.

They were talking softly, giggling, touch lingering as they passed the cigarette back and forth.

Billy’s face was soft, was open when he looked at Steve. Hop didn’t know much about the kid, but had heard stories, stories of how rough and tumble he tended to be, how he was hard and mean.

He looked like a damn teddy bear next to Harrington on the steps.

And Jesus, Steve was almost unrecognizable to Hopper.

He had known the kid for a long time, knew his dad all through school, knew Steve when he got old enough to start causin’ trouble.

He had seen Steve looking bored and proper, like he was above everything, like he was too good for Hawkins. He had seen Steve get knocked down a few hundred pegs, had seen him rattling about the town with a nervous twitch in his shoulder, a crazed glint in his eye and a spiked bat in his trunk.

Hell, he’d even seen the kid breakdown, had found him in the woods one night, crashing through with his bat, had started spewing off about how he needed to make sure they were all gone, that everyone’s safe.

(He had cried and shook and slept on Hop’s couch for about a day and a half after that.)

He was used to the spoiled little prince, or the haunted teen with trauma past his years.

He was not used to this carefree boy, this giggly mess sitting next to his friend, sharing a cigarette.

He liked the look on Steve. Liked the line of his shoulders when they weren’t carrying the weight of the world.

-

Max huffed.

She had been woken up by a few thumps in Billy’s room. He had originally figured Neil was in there being awful, but then she heard giggles, unmistakable teenage girl giggles.

That gave way into unmistakable teenage girl moans.

She slammed a pillow over her head, blocking out the high-pitched whimpering. It was the same as the past few nights.

This girl, whoever she was, Billy must like her if she kept sneaking into his bedroom.

Usually, Billy was sneaking out, not letting this girl in.

When the noises had stopped, she took the pillow off her head.

“Sucks that your parent are home. It makes me nervous, you comin’ here. When do they leave again?” She rolled over, didn’t care to hear the chick’s response. She put on her headphones, falling asleep to the Metallica tape still in Billy’s walkman, didn’t hear Steve say, just two more nights, Bill.

-

“You need any help?” Hop was elbows deep in the sink, scrubbing at the dishes from dinner.

Steve was leaning against the counter, rolling up his sleeves. He didn’t wait for an answer, just shoved himself next to Hop and began scrubbing.

“You and Hargrove seem to be close.” He was too focused on rubbing the stains off of Joyce’s dishes to see how Steve’s cheeks went red.

“Yeah, we’re friends.”

“I think you’re good for each other. You both seem better.”

“‘Do you mean better?” Hop shrugged.

“He doesn’t seem as pissed off. I haven’t given him a speeding ticket in over two weeks for rage driving, and you haven’t seemed so, I don’t know, fucked up.”

Steve had to put the dish down as he laughed, was laughing so fucking hard he had to squat down, try to collect himself. He wiped his eyes when he stood back up.

“He’s secretly a really nice person. Don’t tell him I said that.” Hop winked at him.

-

Max threw Billy a weird look.

She had asked for a ride to Steve’s house, which was met with a I’ll be ready in ten from Billy. Twenty minutes of him getting his hair just so, they set off.

And then Billy got out of the car with her, walked her to Steve’s door.

“Don’t you got a date?” Billy just furrowed his brows at her. She looked pointedly at his clothes, the red shirt he only wore on his dates, almost all the way unbuttoned.

“Nah. Just haven’t done laundry in a while.” He was staring her down.

“Are you and Steve even friends?” But he didn’t answer. The door swung open, revealing Steve dressed casually in a pair of sweats. He smiled at Max, ushering her inside to the kitchen with the rest of the brats as he stepped onto the porch to talk to Billy.

She doubled back.

“You look nice. Got a date?”

“Yeah. Leggy brunet. Totally hot. Has this tight ass, is such a slut.” She cringed at the way her brother was talking about this poor girl. Plus, ehy had he lied to Max, said he didn’t have a date.

“Sounds like a wet fucking dream.” Billy muttered shuddup as Steve laughed.

Steve was making fun of Billy, as wasn’t getting the shit beaten out of him for it.

“Well, come in then. It’s cold.” It really wasn’t but she raced off to join the others in the kitchen, left too soon to see Billy pin Steve against the door, kiss him roughly for a few seconds.

Billy snuck out again, after dropping her off at home.

-

Hop was on quarry duty tonight.

It was Valentine’s Day, which meant most of Hawkins’ young couples would be parked at the quarry or Lovers’ Lake or one of the other lookout make out spots.

Hop was wandering through with a flashlight, knocking on windows with a Hawkins PD, get outta here, you’re trespassing.

He came upon Billy Hargrove’s unmistakable car, the dark blue Camaro parked under a large tree, mostly hidden from the other’s.

He was expecting to knock on the back window, but heard voices coming from the hood.

Billy and Steve were passing what smelled like a joint back and forth, laying back on the windshield looking at the stars.

“Fuck knows I got no other plans for this year. I don’t mind waiting.”

“It’s a whole year, Steve. You’d be stuck here until I graduate.”

“What else am I gonna do?”

“You might still get into Chicago.”

“Don’t hold your breath, Bill.” 

Hopper came stomping up to their line of sight. Steve put out the joint against the side of the car and tossed it into the bushes.

“Subtle.” Billy shrugged at Hop.

“I was expecting to have to pull you off some girl, Hargrove.”

“Hawkins chicks ain’t really my type.” Hop just shook his head.

“Well, you two are still trespassing. Services roads closed at six.” Steve just nodded vigorously as he slid off the car.

“We’ll scurry right off, Hop. Sorry.”

“And if you two are gonna smoke, please do it in a house, or somewhere I can’t smell it.”

The two slammed themselves in the car, Hop could hear them laugh as the car roared to life.

-

Max was digging through the backseat of Billy’s car, trying to find her skateboard.

He had hidden it from her, like a fucking child, so she snagged his keys when he was too busy being a meathead, working out in the living room.

It was as gross as she was expecting. Billy like to keep his car very clean, especially compared to his pigsty of a bedroom.

She picked up an old worn sweatshirt, found a plain shoebox underneath.

She didn’t want to snoop, but she was curious.

There were a few pictures of Billy’s mom right on top. She only recognized her from the necklace around her neck, the one Billy now refused to take off.

There were some movie ticket stubs, a big wad off cash she made a mental note of, a slip of paper she recognized from a fortune cookie from the place Billy would take her on Thursdays after school in California to get their two for one entree special. He had some jewelry in there, probably more of his mom’s, and a gaudy valentine covered in glitter.

She closed the box, didn’t care to dig further than the valentine, didn’t see Steve’s neat handwriting inside of it, the pictures Billy hoarded underneath it, pictures of Steve, pictures of him and Steve, even a few saucy ones of Steve.

Instead she turned her attention to the hoodie, to the faded Hawkins High Swim Team on the front.

She gave it back to Steve next time she saw him.

“Found it in my brother’s car.”

It would be back in a few weeks, anyway.

-

Hop opened the door to the cabin when Steve rapt on it.

He was toting a bunch of board games, was there to watch El for the night.

Hop raised his eyebrows when Steve set them down, revealing the faded Judas Priest shirt. He knew Steve liked shitty pop, wouldn’t be caught dead listening to hard rock.

“Nice shirt.” Steve looked down at himself, going red.

“Oh shit, Bill slept over last night, he must’ve left it.”

And then Hop noticed the bruises. The dark hickies on his neck, just under the stolen shirt.

Hop’s pretty sure he would’ve never heard the end of it if Steve had a girlfriend, pretty sure the kid’s would’ve lost their shit over it.

So Steve maybe was dating in secret, dating a boy in secret, a boy he spent Valentine’s Day with, a boy he giggled with and shared cigarettes with, a boy who’s shirts he stole and forgot he was wearing them.

But Steve was soft when he sat down next to El, smiled at her nicely and asked about the book she was reading.

So Hop shrugged, and went to his late shift.

-

“You wanna go to the mall?” Billy was standing weirdly in her doorway, trying to make himself look like he belonged there. “Could call up that chick friend of yours.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“What’s the catch.”

“No catch. Just needed to get something from the mall. Thought you’d wanna go.” He had been acting really off lately.

He’d been talking to her how they used to, before Neil doubled down and moved them halfway across the country. He had even made a joke the other day, one that wasn’t a mean comment masquerading as a joke.

“Lemme call El. Maybe Hop would drop her off.” She was even more suspicious as he smiled at her, went to back to his room. She talked to El for a moment, who said Hop would drop her off in ten minutes.

She poked her head in Billy’s room, saw him looking in the mirror, primping himself.

“Does your girlfriend work at the mall?” He gave her a withering stare.

“Don’t have a girlfriend.” She grinned.

“You so do. You know, I heard her sneaking in here a few months ago. I know that you sneak out to go and see her.” Billy flushed. “And it’s always the same voice, so don’t lie and say it’s different girls you perv.”

“Shut up, Maxine.”

“Make me, William.” He stamped his foot like a little kid.

“That’s it! No more mall for you today. I’m just gonna go by myself.” She blocked him in the doorway.

“Just tell me her name.” He shook his head.

“Fine. Tell me where she works and El and I will leave you two alone.” He shifted his jaw around.

“She works at Scoops Ahoy?”

“Isn’t that where Steve works?”

“He introduced us.”

But, But that didn’t add up. Billy had been seeing this girl long before Steve started working there. Maybe they knew each other before? No, Steve famously didn’t have any friends besides the party when Billy started sneaking around with that gir-

And then it hit her.

The fucking sweatshirt.

The Hawkins High Swim Team sweatshirt.

Leggy brunet. Totally hot. Has this tight ass, is such a slut.

She almost threw up.

Steve was her brother’s secret girlfriend. How did she not fucking see this.

“Cool. We’ll let you two be gross or whatever.”

He gave her a tiny smile. She was trying her best not to scream.

Hopper dropped El off and Billy drove them to the mall, let Max pick the music and at one point, had even hummed along to the Hall & Oates song. Fucking Rich Girl.

She pulled El along to The Gap when they hit the mall, Billy making a beeline for Scoops.

“We’re gonna spy on Billy.” El just smiled slyly and nodded vigorously.

They crouched behind plants out in front of Scoops, could just hear Billy talking to Steve’s coworker.

“Dingus, your homoerotic rival turned lover is here.” Steve’s shoes squeaked as he launched himself from the back room. Max’s hands were clammy. She was right.

“Don’t be so loud, Rob.”

“There’s no one here.” Max heard a sound like something being hit dully. Steve yelped. Billy just slapped his ass. “But, you are not allowed to leave me for more than your fifteen. Not like last week. The rush came and I was alone for an hour, Steve. An hour.”

“O-kay, Rob. We’ll be quick.”

“And disinfect any surface you two fuck on. I refuse to touch that.” Billy roared with laughter as Steve squawked indignantly. Max peeked up to watch Steve drag Billy into the backroom. Billy grinned at Robin, a really nice, happy smile before turning to Steve.

[mediocre--writing]

Favorite Crime

S- I was your willing accomplice, honey

Bad news. Bad news, bad news, bad news.

Nobody had a single good word to his name, besides a praise for his party facade or his skills in bed.

But there's always a deeper story behind a headline, or that's what Nancy had always told him. That this unflattering headline covered a hurt, poor person who was, more than likely, being villainized for a story. That's what happened with Jonathan, right?

Bad guy has a shitty family life and it turns out he's not the villain at all, just different in a way people don't yet understand.

But how can someone so cruel and crude have a deeper story than just being a jackass?

Turns out, it's always more complicated than calculus homework Steve still doesn't understand.

A short word from Max itched a scratch inside Steve's head that had been bothering him since the first day. The way he sauntered, never just walked, nor did he ever cower, the way he always looked so fine, so perfect, so okay.

Just like Steve does, he guesses. The focus on his hair and his clothing and how he's perceived, it doesn't matter to him how he looks, he just wants people off his back.

So, it's not surprising that it was an uphill journey, more like a completely vertical wall standing between them, but they somehow made it to the top, made it together.

Somehow, despite the fights and denials, despite the reluctance and the running, it was rough, and it seemed like gravity was strongest at the top, trying to pull them down the closer they got together. They're standing at the top, this once unattainable point that seemed like the top of the world where the sun shined brightest on them and only them. Nobody else.

Except there's always someone else, isn't there?

It's not always someone falling in love with someone else or falling out of love with the one they were destined to be with, sometimes there's pressures you can't fight on your own, sometimes they're even too strong to fight with someone else. Sometimes you can't defeat your enemy like the knight slays the dragon. Sometimes you don't live happily ever after with the princess and she just stays locked in her tower until someone can actually save her.

B- Doe-eyed as you buried me

The eyes, the lashes, the soft glances in the hallway and the sweet smiles shared during practice. They all pile up over time, creating this deep, strong warmth that keeps your body warm. The warmth that you don't notice until you're separated from it for a second too long.

The fire ignited in a once ice cold heart that gives meaning and light to a corrupted soul begging for help.

Those big, brown eyes that were once referred to as "ugly cow eyes," a statement that Billy couldn't disagree with more. Because even if they were cow eyes, they were sweet, beautiful, innocent eyes that were so willing to love.

Eyes that opened his own, opened his eyes to a bright, new future he didn't even know existed before.

It was smothering, the feeling, which he hadn't felt in almost ten years now, one he didn't realize he'd forgotten what that love felt like, what being cared for felt like.

He fell into love like a poor, unexpecting animal would fall into a hunter's trap.

It was like he knew it was happening, he noticed he was falling and tried to grab onto the sides of the trap, try to claw his way out, but he inevitably fell to the bottom, laying on his back, but he noticed that this trap wasn't so bad. He could still feel the sunlight on his cheeks and there was someone there, laying next to him who offered great comfort as they waited for the predator to kill them both.

But it felt safer when there was dirt being put on top of him to keep the burning heart warm, it was like the predator wouldn't be able to spot them if they hid for long enough under this false hope, because they were still stuck in the bottom of the trap and they were only digging themselves deeper.

S- And now, every time a siren sounds, I wonder if you're around

Steve's favorite color was always purple. He liked the harshness of red and the calm of blue and purple always seemed to fit the blend. It was a strong color, something he'd associated with his best days and reminded him of this innocence he loved.

He doesn't love purple so much anymore.

The neon signs above shops and restaurants, composed of this beautiful red and dashing blue turned the dark mall into a bright purple.

The fireworks bouncing off the walls and their faces glowed in bright yellows and greens and blues and reds and purples.

And that purple hue covered everything that night. Not a single light was burning brighter than that purple color.

The red blood gushing down his chest wasn't beautiful and the sight of his dashing blue eyes closing was more horrifying than any sight he'd ever been forced to watch.

He hated purple. He hated the mix of blue and red and he hated the beautiful purple color that highlighted his face while he struggled to breathe, while he searched for Steve’s eyes and reached out for his hand before he just--stopped.

And the sirens, God, the sirens.

They were loud and blaring and the god damn red flashing lights were mixing with the blue lights from cop cars and Steve was so fucking sick of seeing those colors everywhere. So fucking sick of that loud blaring noise, but that also could have been a result of the concussion and blood loss he’d experienced within the past 48-ish hours.

And, he gets it, that sometimes people just don’t get lucky enough to make it.

But it’s been close to three months and every time a cop car or ambulance passes him, he just wants to sprint after it, like he wanted to that night, just to see him one more time before the inevitable ends it for good.

The inevitable, isn’t it always funny that you can stop it? Or--could have stopped it. There’s always a solution that could have prevented this “unpreventable” event, yet people pretend it isn’t so. That people die because it’s “meant to be” and not a tragic fate that no good person deserves.

The inevitable, isn’t so inevitable, turns out, on a day in November when Max admits a hidden truth.

And they meet again, but it feels the same. They missed each other unlike any person they hadn’t seen. They just sit for hours, barely talking but just holding hands, squished on this tiny hospital bed where a, supposedly dead, teenager and his boyfriend sit and silently cry.

And as they hear an ambulance pull up outside of the hospital, Steve doesn’t tense like he has been for the past months, he just squeezes Billy’s hand tighter and feels his breathing from where they’re touching.

B- But I say that I hate you with a smile on my face

The camaro, the doctors warned him that he may not like driving it, some form of PTSD from the night and the accidents that had occured, but Billy felt more released from his problems as he drove the car than when he had to sit in a hospital room or talk with his step sister and the nerd herd about...well, anything.

And the sunrise, how beautiful sunrises were above treelines as you release your problems with a loud rev of an engine.

He’d done his morning like he always would, made coffee when he woke up, got dressed, poured an extra cup for Steve, kissed him on the forehead when he left it on the nightstand, then lounged around the living room for a while.

Except today was different.

Billy wasn’t getting up at 6am, he was getting up at 5.

And he didn’t get dressed and lounge around, he got dressed and loaded his favorite things into his car.

But he was making the cup of coffee for Steve to wake up to when he got up at 7, it just probably wouldn’t be as hot as it usually was.

There’s a new step, but just for this day. He rips off a piece of paper from the notepad that they left by the phone.

He rips off the corner, enough to fold in half so it sits upright on the nightstand.

He draws a sloppy heart, one Steve always said just looked like a fat ‘X’, and signs a little ‘B’ in his “fancy prince handwriting” as Steve always called it.

He set the paper next to the cup of coffee, pulled up the sheets on his side of the bed, pushed Steve’s messy bed head back and left a soft peck on his forehead, then one on the tip of his nose. Steve’s pink, chapped lips moved into a soft, dopey smile as Billy pulled the blankets over his chest more, it was starting to get cold with October approaching.

The camaro roared under him as he started it up and pulled out of the driveway, working his way West, all the way to California: somewhere where his abusive dad wasn’t around and neither was the pressure to hide himself.

He hid everything, his sexualities, a majority of his home problems, his mental issues, how he’d see things, things that weren’t there and never had been. He’d continue wearing himself thin trying to keep up this facade, it was like he’d pushed himself down so far he forgot what he was supposed to like, what he used to hate.

For the best. This was better because he didn’t feel like Billy, he felt like different versions of some other person who was acting the role of Billy. Felt like his personalities didn’t match from person to person, lost the cathartic feeling of exposing all his thoughts to Steve, it made him feel guilty.

And Steve didn’t deserve that. Never did.

Billy was never good for him. He split everything up. Split up his own parents' marriage, he was the cause of most of their fights, and he ruined any and every relationship he’d ever been in, even the ones with Max or other people his age that he could have been a real friend to.

He still thinks about Steve, often. Thinks about him with a fond smile but hates how he was around him. Hated that feeling of hiding who he really was any time he was with this person who was supposed to be the best thing for him.

Hated the way Steve made him feel the need to pull at the reins to stop but made him want to go faster, faster, faster.

Hated Steve. Hated the way he loved him, but he just couldn’t force himself to be that happy.

Well, I hope I was your favorite crime...'Cause baby, you were mine.

[neonponders]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for tagging me @lazybakerart 💗💋

I’ve got two big writing projects on my plate this week lol but one thing I’m kind of indulging is a break-up/getting back together fic that I actually started in this post, but I’ll share what I have so far underneath the cut ~

(and excuse me while I overshare, because I’m still stupidly proud of this The Mummy_au post that I made if anyone wants a taste of that)

Tagging (if you want) ✨ @ghostofjellyfishforgotten , ✨ @smashmouth-hargrove , and ✨ @withoneheadlight 

(also just a heads up for the wip below: it’s once again me exploring my own asexuality through Steve, but I don’t know how far I’m going to go into it. Still, that might be a content warning people may need if they’re sex-repulsed 🌹)

Ch. 1

Sex with Billy was fine. Good, even.

When they finally moved past every look and touch being a threat veiled in a tease, Steve enjoyed looking at Billy. He enjoyed looking at Billy and discovering those California eyes already on him. He liked Billy’s hands. The man had beautiful hands; strong, thick fingers but...somehow elegant.

He liked Billy’s body, even though he sometimes worried that the guy seemed determined to break it ten different ways. Cigarettes, alcohol, excessive working out, and sometimes all at the same time.

Sex didn’t always mean Steve got to cum. Usually he didn’t, actually. But he enjoyed Billy’s kisses on his neck, and the taste of his tongue, and - admittedly - he loved just having all of Billy’s attention enraptured on him. Steve didn’t mind taking his dick inside because once he got used to it, that felt surprisingly good. When he managed the pleasurable sparks and sensational tingles that mounted into something explosive, he understood why sex was great. But for the more frequent, calm nights, he’d come to think of it as a weird yet pleasant massage.

So he took it. Because it was easier on his hands and knees, for one, and because Billy had a control complex. And Steve could hide his lack of enthusiasm.

Not to say that Billy was selfish or careless. Far from it, Billy Hargrove was an incredibly doting lover. Big surprise, there. Considering how the guy

Well

Existed.

Steve couldn’t really blame Billy for never noticing that he could go a long time without sex. Because Steve liked resting his hand on Billy’s chest while they watched a show or movie. It didn’t matter how much bare skin he had access to. In fact, the more coverage, the better. A clothed body is better to cuddle with than skin that can get sticky or irritated.

Steve liked kissing. He’d always liked kissing. Kissing was the reason he’d assumed he was like everyone else: the desire to kiss, crushes and girlfriends, masturbating, even the giddiness of sex with someone new.

But something fizzled out very quickly in Steve’s brain. Once hands and intent started moving beneath clothing, Steve just...didn’t want it. Suddenly a lot of things popped into his brain that he’d rather be doing. But he persevered because he loved Nancy, and her blooming sexual prowess and bravery was sexy.

Fun.

Billy was a whole big bag of new with an edge of scary that turned out to be more endearing than Steve thought possible. So it was easy to go like that for a while.

Normal.

Eventually he had to admit to himself that he didn’t like taking showers at 1am because he didn’t enjoy being covered in his own, and Billy’s, sweat. He didn’t like feeling the drips on his skin or the tackiness of too many skin oils on his hands.

He hated admitting to himself that he felt relief whenever Billy went out of town for work. He missed Billy, of course, but a lot of things had begun to snowball together in Steve’s life: changing jobs, managing bank accounts and savings, and there were a lot of truths Steve was facing outside of his relationship.

He was tired. Damn tired. He spent many days off wondering if people in their twenties feel this tired all the time or if it was just him. It must just be him. Because Steve sees Robin just as much as he doesn’t. She’s got goals.

And Billy

Billy has big dreams. He’s ready to work damn hard and already is. That’s why he uses his hefty gas money funds, to travel around. Scout the areas. Steve even drove him to the airport once, so Billy could really gain some distance over the weekend. Expand his network.

As if the universe knew, some bigwig passing through Hawkins on their way to Chicago ran right into Billy. A bigwig looking for a handsome, charismatic, young guy to mentor. It really couldn’t be more perfect than divine intervention. They’re Billy’s inlet to the business. Modeling, acting, freaking UNICEF ambassadorial work if he wants to feel extra important. If he gets big enough to have his face mean something around the world.

Within one conversation, he’s got a business card, and an appointment in a Chicago skyscraper next week to take measurements and do a rudimentary photo shoot. The manager warns him that it’s the agency getting to know him, but like any job interview, it’s his chance to interview them right back. Billy likes that a lot—feeling like he has a stake in something instead of just being a corporate pawn. And maybe he eats right out of the manager’s hand, but it’s still a shot. And he’s taking it.

He immediately goes to Steve’s work, fired up from seeing a future for the first time like he finally got the right prescription glasses. The only caveat is that Billy has to move out of Hawkins, which isn’t even a flaw, really. It’s as close to perfect as life’s ever been for him.

Steve can only listen quietly as he sits at the table in the break room. Because Billy’s got big dreams that are already coming true. Every detail of his enflamed speech is given over pacing feet; he can’t even bother to sit at the table. Billy’s got so much energy he’s already mentally and emotionally out the door.

Steve…isn’t. His mental health has been on a downward slope since before they graduated, and it won’t allow him to reach anywhere. He doesn’t have any dreams to steer him in any direction anyways.

Billy’s rant begins to wind down about what he wants to do; his fire about his dreams and his motivation simmers down to an even boil. Steve’s impressed and already proud of the person Billy will become, but Steve can also hear Billy’s frustration with him and their relationship.

For not keeping up.

Steve’s…kind of never been able to keep up. In bed or in life.

And perhaps the saddest part is that Steve doesn’t even have it in him to fight for it. For them. He doesn’t feel worthy enough to hold Billy back. So he doesn’t.

Billy snaps a little, “Why aren’t you saying anything? I’ve been talking about this for the last two years! Steve?”

He’d gotten distracted by looking at his backpack hanging on the wall. Steve’s throat hurt. Two years? God, it’s really been two years already…

He pinched his fingertips over the table as he began, “Billy, I support you. I know you can get there—wherever it is you want to be. I’m not going to tell you to stop or slow down. You’re going somewhere. But I’m…”

He took a breath to finally say it. “Not. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t think I have the energy to figure it out any time soon. You should go.”

Steve can see the disappointment sinking through Billy’s features. And the anger that he’s so used to throwing up as a shield. Billy has so much energy coursing through him as it is, Steve can’t blame him for swinging right into the direction of livid.

The real surprise comes from how soft he speaks. No yelling. No hitting the table. No wrenching Steve up by his green uniform vest. They were long past those outbursts. Which…really just confirmed Steve’s decision. Billy had come a long way. He could go so much further.

“That’s what you have to say? Just like that…you’re really giving up on us?”

Steve knows he’s gaping like a stupid fish. But it isn’t just like that, is it? Billy’s been revving his engines to get the hell out of Hawkins ever since he got here in the first place. Steve tries to say as much, but Billy cuts him off.

“I thought you’d be excited for this. You should be hauling me out of here to pack my bags.”

Steve tries to offer a small smile, but his voice betrays him. “I thought I kind of am? I didn’t take you for the long distance type.”

It’s not the response Billy wants. That should make Steve feel better than it does; the blatant display that Billy wants more of Steve. His excitement, his attention, maybe his companionship…

Steve doesn’t know what he wants—or rather, he does. That’s the issue. Billy’s wants and Billy’s problems can all be resolved by leaving one critical piece behind.

Steve.

Some more things are said, but Steve doesn’t do well on the spot. Especially when the limelight is Billy. Steve fails the tests and he fails the interview. Billy storms out, leaving Steve at the table, pinching his fingertips white before he unconsciously glances at his backpack again.

The backpack full of apartment lease papers. The papers Steve’s already signed because even with his insecurities, the mornings he woke up to discover Billy spooning him after having returned in the middle of the night were his best days. Because Billy’s silly insistence on hand poured coffee was his favorite drink. Because Billy was funny and weird like an artist and loony like a nerd with his video games, and Steve knew—or at least hoped that—Billy loved him the day he started holding his hand while driving that stupid, loud, beloved Camaro—

Because Steve’s heart was a magnet. It stayed where it landed and tugged back even when pulled away.

All he’d needed was Billy’s autograph to be given the keys. Keys to the rest of their lives, if Billy wasn’t already so far away.

Ch. 2

Robin gripped Steve’s arm, hard. A gargled sound escaped him as he grimaced and tried to pry her hand off. Her other hand pointed at one of the catalogues on the store’s many counters. When he invited her with him to pick out glasses, he hadn’t expected to walk out of the freaking optometrist’s office with bruises…

Nor had he thought he’d see a familiar face in the catalogue. Plenty of models were looking editorial chic, advertising that anyone could look as good in whatever glasses they chose.

Except Billy really did look good. The picture was just a vague image outside, the camera focused on Billy’s three-quarter profile gazing off past the photographer.

“I didn’t expect him to actually be working this fast,” Robin admitted. “It’s been…what? Seven months, give or take? I thought casting calls for models were competitive.”

“Not if you look like Billy,” Steve huffed with a quiet mixture of humor, sadness, and just a sprinkle of spite. A sprinkle of jealousy, if he was being honest with himself. The self-help book tucked under the covers of his bed talked about honesty. So he admitted honestly, “He looks that good and knows how to stand out in a room…good for him.”

He could see in his periphery Robin looking up and scrutinizing him. “Really?”

Steve shrugged with a nod. “Yeah. What’s the other option? Him struggling for work?”

Robin sighed and plucked a display set of glasses at random to try on and occupy herself. “That’s big of you, but everyone wants something cathartic. It’s annoyingly impressive that he landed the front cover of a magazine in less than a year.”

Steve opened the catalogue to give them both a reprieve. “You wanna get food after this? Take your mind off the audition?”

For all the good being a band geek did, Robin had experienced her own humbling experiences over the last few months. Like failed auditions to be in city orchestras. She and Steve were feeling very stuck in Kansas while Billy gallivanted around Oz.

• • • • • • •

The plot gets messy because years will actually go by, and Steve and Robin get married so that they can share insurance benefits (and be safe in their bi/lesbian open relationship, buy a house together, etc. It’s the life/happiness security Steve wants but obviously there aren’t any romantic feelings).

Of course this is when Billy happens to reenter Steve’s life. He’s got some hot-shot model he’s been seeing, and apparently Steve is married so there’s the added dash and twist of ~ cheating ~

I’ve been in some kind of mood, all right.

If you made it this far, thank you for reading lol.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter twelve: nathan

probably my favorite chapter so far. this was one of those things that i just kept picturing along the way and with the way i feel about bands going back on tour right now (couldn't have picked a worse time if you ask me), the more tender i feel about this chapter in particular.

"and she runs through her days, with a smile on her face. and she runs and she waits, and i wait." -"tyler", the toadies (for some reason, that song always played in my head whenever i thought about this chapter)

Esmé had decided on Santa Catalina Island, which meant that whenever Sam wanted to visit her mother, she had to take the ferry from the very tip of San Pedro. She had made the move from Reno the day after Sam had returned to Lake Elsinore and Louie had long gone back up to the Bay Area at that point, and yet he entire move in and of itself took her a few months to carry out.

“I take the last ferry across the Channel on the twelfth and then that'll be it,” she told Sam over the phone when they finally had a chance to communicate with one another in the beginning of November. “You either take a boat or a sea plane to come here.”

“Oh, how fun!” Sam proclaimed.

“It's twenty two miles from the harbor in San Pedro over to Avalon—it's a little bit pricey, so save your money, baby.”

“I've been saving money,” she assured her.

And indeed, she had. Since she returned home from the Bay Area at the end of August, she had saved up the left over grant money and the stray change that she scoured from spending down at the market three blocks away. Whenever Bill received his final money, he gave her a small portion of it. A part of her wanted to run over to the bank and open an account for herself, but she knew that he could perhaps figure it out for himself after the fact.

When she hung up the phone, she wondered where exactly she could go from there. Matilda and Cassandra didn't celebrate Halloween: they didn't even what it was, or the fact that they had birthdays for that matter.

When that thought crossed her mind, it hit her right then.

Alex had turned twenty years old at the end of September, and Joey at twenty eight years in the couple of weeks prior to that point.

Anthrax weren't coming out to California until after Christmas, and after the struggle she had had with Testament in breaking herself out of there, she wondered if it was even worth it at that point. Testament themselves were going to be in Reseda the week before Christmas.

If only there was a way out of there. If only there was a way that she could pick up and walk away from there without any questions thrown at her.

It made sense for her to pick up and leave there at any given point whatsoever: the day before, she spoke to Marla over the phone once again.

“Bel wants me to go back to the City,” she told her.

“Why's that?”

“She told me I seem more in my element there. Me and Genie both. Apparently that position at the school opened up again and so I didn't hesitate for an interview, and guess what? I start tomorrow!”

“Oh my god, that's excellent, Mar!”

“Also—get this. I just so happened to look into records there, especially those of students and faculty who've worked and attended there in the past. Your record says you're still a citizen of New York at least until the first of February. After that, you're officially a resident of California.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and apparently, ol' Billy boy hasn't been a citizen himself. Not for one second. I actually had to dig around and research his name—apparently he has never legally lived here.”

“What do you think I should do?” she asked her and her heart skipped a few beats at the sound of that.

“Well—it's November, so there's still time to void it. The only drawback is I'm not sure as to how you pull it off, though, because it's a two party thing. It's like—okay, you're taking shit for it just being out there. The best way to void it is to walk away from there and go somewhere else, and never think about him again.”

“There's just one problem with that,” Sam pointed out.

“And what's that?”

“It's a royal pain in the ass getting out of here. The last couple of times I hung out with Testament, I literally had to bust through a window just get outside.”

“Holy shit. So he's not messing around with literally keeping you locked in there forever. Okay.” Marla hesitated for a second. “Yeah, I'm not sure as to how to do that...”

Sam's heart sank at the sound of that. For all she knew she would in fact be stuck there forever.

Locked up in the highest tower that overlooked the lake itself, just like Rapunzel. No way out and no way to see any of her friends again. No way out.

Over the next couple of weeks, she turned to the books that Bill had in that room, one of which she returned to quite often was Poor Folk from Dostoevsky given the main characters found themselves forgoing the arts all for the sake of living and coexisting with the rest of the world. Next to Wuthering Heights, Other Voices, Other Rooms from Truman Capote, and the compilation A Good Man is Hard to Find and Other Stories from Flannery O'Connor, Sam found herself embedded in the pages of books he otherwise would have gotten rid of: one day he pounded on her door and demanded she hand over the books in there so he could burn them in the fire place.

She thought about one of the things that she and Louie had spoken about on the ride home from the Bay Area, and she stashed those four books in particular under her mattress so he wouldn't have to see them again anyway. She kept them with her and if she ever left that house, she would hold them dear to her as she did Siddhartha.

She thought about Joey and if he found anything good to read over in Europe or during the North American stint of their brand new tour. She hoped that he would: there had to be something else to pique his interest, besides music and playing hockey. Indeed, she was unable to find her way over to the nearest music shop for a copy of that new album; it wasn't like she could play it right away, but she figured she could find a copy for herself to take with her in the instance of her finding her way back to New York. She had no idea if she would, however: the books and her own imagination were her only friends at that point.

There came a point, right on the morning of Veteran's Day, which also happened to be a Friday, wherein Sam found herself deep within the pages of Siddhartha once again. The one thing she had at her whim that really reminded her of Cliff anymore: the scent had all but vanished from the interior of that hat, she hadn't seen any yellow tulips anywhere embedded in the bushes of oleanders all over the place in the southland, and Bill was so strict about spending money that she yearned for a new mug of Mexican hot chocolate for the last three evenings since the sun had gone down and the marine layer blanketed the entire area. She leaned back on the bed with her legs stretched out before her and the book propped open on her waist, and she wished to hear Cliff's voice again.

She wished to hear Joey's voice again.

Indeed, she pictured Joey reading aloud a passage from the current chapter. The same passage that Cliff had read to her that day in the bookstore. She yearned to hear that upstate accent again.

What she would do to hear his accent again.

She closed her eyes and she strove to hear it purely from memory, but it had felt like an eternity since she had seen him. It felt like an eternity since she had even so much as felt him against her body. She opened her eyes and she returned her attention to the book before.

Soft noises emerged from downstairs but she never stirred once. She rubbed her eyes; she was about to pick up her bookmark and make her way downstairs for a glass of water but then—

“Miss Taylor! What're you doing here?”

Sam stopped right in her tracks. A woman's voice floated upstairs. Even thirty feet below her, she knew that voice.

“Marla?” she asked aloud. Another woman said something to him.

“Are you sure about that, Miss Grimes?”

“And Belinda?”

Sam climbed to her feet and she made her way over to the doorway. She recognized those New Yorker accents anywhere.

She made her way down the stairs, down to that second landing and she peered over the railing. Sure enough, there was Marla and Belinda right before the front door with their hands pressed to their hips and their glares fixated on Bill. Belinda had cut her blonde hair up to her shoulders, but it still had that lush ribbonlike curl to it; meanwhile, Marla had dyed her hair a striking bright green with a black stripe upon one side of her head. The latter looked up at the landing and her face lit up at the sight of her.

“Sam!” she called up to her. “Get your things—Bel and I are getting you out of here.”

“What? She can't leave, Miss Taylor. You know that. She's supposed to be here until at least June.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you preachy condescending abusive fuck ass,” Belinda snapped at him.

“Not in front of the children, Miss Grimes!” Bill fired back. Sam craned her neck for a glimpse into the next room: Matilda and Cassandra were in there knelt down on the floor.

“Fuck you.” Belinda flashed him the finger. “They're gonna learn it anyways, especially after living with you and your sorry two faced ass. The jig is up.”

“You're in a whole lot of trouble with the state, buddy boy,” Marla added.

He chuckled at that. “I am so sure. And how do you know?”

“I work with the school now, you pig. I know who you are, too—William from Cleveland.”

“What the—fuck, Bill, you're not even from California?” Sam demanded.

“Get your things, Sam,” Belinda told her again before he could say anything in response to her.

“You're not going anywhere!” he barked and he reached for Marla's arm.

“Touch me again and I'm calling the cops on you,” she warned him as she jerked her arm back from him, and he laughed at her. She then reached into her purse and pulled out a big black brick shaped phone. With two fingers, she tugged the silver antenna out from the top. “You think I'm joking?”

In the meantime, Sam hurried up the stairs for her clothes, including the Death Angel shirts, and all of her art supplies, all into her bags. The last things she took were the piece of rice paper in the desk drawer and the four books stashed under her mattress. It took a bit of time but it was all she had at the moment: she was careful to tuck the rice paper in between the compilation and her journal given its delicate nature. However, this whole entire time the graphite on there held up with the passage of time.

She set the black hat upon her head and slipped her shoes on, and she bowed out of that room right as Marla and Belinda had backed Bill up towards the doorway of the living room. The girls were still knelt down on the floor with their Bibles on their laps. It was a miracle that he had lasted that long on such an otherwise strict paycheck, but then again, she wondered if he had his ways in other places rather than a reliance on looking before he jumped.

He sneered at Marla, which only became more apparent to Sam as she descended the stairs with her things tucked underneath her arms and her purse slung over her shoulder. She hoped that he wouldn't see the tops of the four book covers as they jutted out from the inside of the purse all the way down the stairs. She adjusted her hat with one hand and Belinda backed up towards the door.

“There's no ignoring the problem you've made, buddy boy,” Marla scoffed as she joined them there. “Ignore it all you want—it's not going away. If anything, you've created a shitstorm for yourself.”

“I'm so sure that it's a real problem,” he taunted the three of them, but Sam knew for sure that he only did it because Matilda and Cassandra were in the next room over saying their daily prayer.

“You're messin' with a couple of New York girls, asshole,” Belinda scolded him.

“You're messin' with a California girl, too,” Sam added.

“Which state am I in trouble with exactly?” he laughed at them.

“The ones we just said,” Marla told him. “Are you really that stupid? Because the only way you're fucked from this point onward is if you are really that stupid.”

“Oh, and we're still legally married,” he reminded Sam in a singsong voice. “You're not leaving.”

“You signed a pre-nup, dumbass,” Marla snapped, “you're also bone broke now so you've got absolutely nothing now except for this house here—and I think the bank might have something to say about this, too. Yeah, Sam here doesn't, either, but she doesn't care. And she's still a citizen of New York, too—that's according to the records at the school.”

“Besides, you know those guys I took a ride with a few months back?” Sam recalled for him. “And the one who gave me a ride home a few months back, too?”

“Vaguely,” he replied with a little gyration of his head. “I was writing when you returned here.”

“I fucked him in the back of his car,” she scoffed at him. “So even if we're still married, you've got no choice but to null it now.”

His face hardened and his eyes burned into her like cigarettes. Had she known better, she could have sworn that he sprouted horns upon the crown of his head.

And yet there was no way she could feel afraid of him. None whatsoever.

“Get out of here, whore,” he hissed at her.

“Good!” she shouted right into his face. “I absolutely hate it here anyway. I pity Mattie and Cassie and anyone who buys into your preachy drivel—they're gonna grow up so fucked up because of you. Anyone who listens and buys into your stupidity are as fucking screwed as you and they deserve it for being so stupid. I hate this house and I hate what you preach. Do me a favor and DROP DEAD!”

He raised a hand to her face and Marla and Belinda stopped right in their tracks. She closed her eyes as she awaited impact, but it never came.

“I ought to condemn thee straight down to hell,” he snarled. “I'm the righteous one. The three of you are in need of correcting, behaving in wicked ways.”

“Oh, fuck off with that already—fucking piece of trash human,” Belinda spat back at him. Sam opened her eyes and Marla opened the door. Sparing no expense, they ducked out of there and back out to Marla's rental car right as he chucked something at them. It missed Belinda's head by about an inch.

“What the hell was that?” Marla demanded.

Belinda scooped it off the grass.

“It's a glass,” she told her.

“My gift to you!” he called after Sam, and Belinda chucked it right back at him. She aimed so far off from him that it sailed right through the living room window and shattered it into a bunch of pieces.

“Fuck!”

The three of them piled into the car and Marla fired it up right then and there. Before Sam could even so much as strap herself into the back seat, they sped away from there. They reached the corner and she straightened herself into an upright position. She strapped in and straightened out her purse and the outside of her overnight bag. All of her clothes still in there: she never took most of them out of there all the while she lived there at the house.

“Where are we going?” Sam asked them once they passed the market three blocks away.

“To a man named Dave,” Marla explained, and Sam's face lit up.

“Oh! I haven't seen him in forever and a day it seems.”

“Hope he's home. Megadeth are in bit of turmoil themselves right about now.”

“What's going on with them?” she asked them.

“Dave's in rehab and his guitarist is way too hooked on heroin,” Belinda explained, “or something like that. He told us and he said it in kind of a rushed manner, too. But it explains why they weren't able to play at Monsters of Rock.”

“And why the boys were able to play there,” Sam followed along. “I mean, if nothing,” Marla joined in again, “we'll just take the next flight back to New York and then come back out here in a month to see the boys.”

“My mom's also moving down to Catalina,” Sam told them.

“Oh, yeah?” Marla flashed her a smile in the rear view mirror.

“Yup, she's taking the next boat ride out there—tomorrow, actually.”

“Wow!” Belinda declared.

“Twenty two miles over the Channel. That means we're gonna have to come back out here anyways.”

“Right?”

“I'm gonna need a new desk now, too,” Sam added under her breath.

“We're in L.A., and we might be going back to the Big Apple soon,” Marla assured her as they reached the freeway. “There are new desks abound no matter where we go.”

They rode out of Lake Elsinore and Orange County in no time: Sam thought about Chuck and Tiffany as they zipped through Corona and all the way up to Alhambra. She knew that she would see them again soon enough, and she hoped that she would get to see them in Reseda for sure.

Within time, Marla drove them to Dave's little place tucked away in the heart of the inner city itself. By a moment's glance, they could tell that he wasn't home.

“Well, I gotta turn in this rental anyway,” Marla said with a tone of glee to her voice.

“Back to New York it is then!” Belinda declared and Sam clapped her hands at that.

She didn't care that it was going to be so late in the evening by the time they returned there and that she would have to stay with both Marla and Belinda for a time: she was headed back home once again. The first flight back there left at one thirty but the three of them were happy to be there in the airport in anticipation.

“By the way, I didn't give you this,” Marla started.

“What's that—” Sam was cut off by her old best friend's embrace. Belinda joined in right behind them for a group hug.

“Little bit of good luck before we take off,” Marla herself said and she brushed away a tear from her eye.

“I like you with green hair, too,” Sam told her.

“Had a feeling you'd like it,” she said as she ran her fingers through her hair. “The black stripe was Frankie's idea. He was like, 'hey, you ought to do the reverse at some point!' I was like, you want me to look like one of the negatives from my Polaroid camera don't ya?” The three of them laughed at that.

“Have you gotten their new album, by the way?” Sam asked them.

“Anthrax's new one?” Marla shook her head at that.

“Yeah, I haven't been able to get it, either,” Belinda added. “We've been working and going back and forth from New York to Albany for a while now. Just haven't been able to splurge much. And we just haven't been able to see it around, either, even over in New York.”

“Have you heard Metallica's new one, though?” Marla asked her with a concerned expression on her face.

“Metallica put out a new album?” Sam raised her eyebrows at that.

“Yeah. It's—It's weird. I'll show you once we get home. Yeah, we weren't able to get the new one from the local boys but we were able to get our paws on a new one from Metallica, though.”

Sam chuckled at that, and soon they boarded the next flight out to New York City. A few hours time and she recognized that skyline in all its glory against the violet November sky. A month was all she needed to regain her bearings there. Marla had kept the apartment in Hell's Kitchen but most of her things weren't there given she had gone up to Albany at some point.

“Your couch is still here, though,” she told Sam once they stepped in through the front door. There it was, pressed right against the wall next to the porch doors. She set her things down on the floor and scurried over to the couch, and she lay down on those soft cushions. The black hat sprawled off of her head and onto the arm over her head.

“God, I missed this thing,” she declared. A soft tinkling noise caught her ear and Genie leapt up onto the couch cushion next to her hip. “And there's Genie! Hi, baby.” She petted her head and the cat treated her to a loud purr. A little jingle bell dangled off of her new purple collar.

“We took good care of it,” Belinda told her. “Even though Marla only lived up there for a bit, she was like 'there's no way I'm laying on this thing.' Genie took especially good care of it.”

“What happened with the whole thing up there, by the way?” Sam asked her.

“What, in Albany?” Marla said.

“Yeah.”

“It was either make the commute from here to Albany, or move. And I was like 'Bel, there's no way I'm moving.' I feel too at home in New York City. I lived up there for about a month—well, we spoke over the phone about it.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah.”

“But I moved up there for about that long. I couldn't take it. Most of my stuff is still up there, except for my clothes, my bed, and the real important things.”

“Like my couch!” Sam declared.

“Like your couch, yes! Anyways—seeing as we're back in New York, how 'bout we treat ourselves to some Chinese?”

“Ooh yes please!” Belinda proclaimed with an excited tone.

Over the course of that month before they returned back out to California, Marla took good care of Sam there in that old apartment. Even though she spent whole days down at the school and Belinda had gone up to Albany, Sam herself was more than content to be back in New York City once again. There came a day close to Thanksgiving, whereby Sam cracked open that Metallica album in question and gave it a good lengthy listen.

Cold, clinical, and almost robotic in sound and with something else to it, especially at first listen. Jason was nowhere to be heard, and she wondered if there was any part of it that was intentional at all. She knew she would have to listen to it a few more times before she could even understand any of it.

But in the meantime, she had her city at the helm again.

It really was home to her as she picked up her art once more.

She had survived a strict, dry household and thus she felt so liberated, as if she could make art for the world to see from that point onward.

Indeed, when she returned to her inks and her good colorful markers, she found herself drawing herself more and more. Herself in her room. Herself busting those windows merely to escape. She survived those dastardly ways and she was there to show the world the whole story in the meantime.

All the time by herself and she was able to illustrate the story of it.

She added the final touches as she gave that new Metallica album another listen, that time with the headphones on. If she paid close attention, she could hear the ever so slight sliver of a bass guitar in there. They had turned it down all the way, or at least almost all the way, and she wondered why that was the case and why they decided on that in the first place. But then again, just like the four books she had swiped from the bedroom back in Lake Elsinore, she kept going back to it. Cliff's absence remained with them, a silence so loud that she felt a need to include a bonus drawing of her and Cliff at the back of the journal. The two of them together one last time.

By the middle of December, she felt ready to show the world the story of herself in that house, her having escaped it as if she had broken out of a prison. She wanted to show her friends in Anthrax but they were right in the thick of that strenuous tour at that point: thus, she hoped to show them when she got to see them in California for New Year's.

Another early morning flight out there for the Testament shows in Reseda and she had the journal tucked under her arm the whole way out. Los Angeles was a big city and that was a big area: no way Bill could find her or even know where to look for that matter. They landed on the opposite coast at about five in the morning, where the next rental car awaited them in the parking lot.

Two weeks there and the three of them would be in the wrong area anyway, over at Dave's house for real at that point. Two shows in Reseda and both times the three of them were about to stand in the back, far and away from all the commotion up front but she knew that those five men were going to sound so big for that little room. Chuck at the very front with that little portable microphone in hand. Alex, Eric, and Greg on either side of him, and Louie's hair flying behind that drum kit. It was that day before the first night that Sam had somewhat forgotten the outburst she had had with them, even though she would never forget it altogether.

“Gonna be quite the Christmas gift, isn't it?” Marla asked her with a grin on her face as they walked out to the airport parking lot.

“Absolutely!” Sam declared.

After those shows, the three of them planned on spending Christmas down in Long Beach, where Anthrax would be playing at next for New Year's. If Testament themselves returned to San Francisco afterwards, Sam wondered if her father was up there at that point given her mother was already moved into her new place on Santa Catalina Island.

“We've got plenty of time before the boys show up—we can go up there,” Belinda suggested as they climbed into Marla's rental car.

“That's hell of a drive, though,” Sam pointed out. “Louie and I took the P.C.H. from the Bay Area to the middle of L.A. this past summer. Took us all day. And that's that highway, too—if you guys are thinking of the Five, it's gonna be at least that long.” She paused for a moment. “We can take the train up there.”

“And shell out a couple hundred bucks for three train tickets?” Marla looked at her, horrified. “I don't think so.”

“Besides, I wanna get to know the Golden State more,” Belinda added. “Show us this place, Sam.”

“Yeah, show us around,” Marla encouraged her, “especially since it's still plenty early.”

“Okay. Besides, people make this commute all the time on a regular basis, too. So you get on the Interstate—the Five—and you just go all the way up, over the Grapevine and into the Central Valley. Gonna tell you guys this right now, though—there's a reason why Louie and I took the coast instead of the valley, though. I'll show you on the way up there.”

Indeed, they took to the freeway itself and they wound out of the City of Angels in no time.

Once they had cleared the Grapevine, Marla glanced about the base of the Central Valley itself.

“Yeah, you're not kidding,” she remarked. They wound their way through the southern outskirts of Bakersfield until she took the first exit off at Buck Owens Boulevard.

“What's the matter?” Sam asked her.

“I don't know if I can do this, Sam,” Marla confessed as they pulled up to the stoplight right there at the offramp. “This is gonna be like four commutes to and from New York City to Syracuse, up to where Joey lives. And these rental cars, they're not that hearty, either.”

“Well, let's find a phone—I'll call my mom and I'll see if she's got my dad's number or if he has a new one now.”

“I'll call Frankie, too, tell him we're here.”

The light turned green and they rolled forward, right underneath the goldenrod Bakersfield sign and onto a narrow street; Marla turned into a parking lot on the right and, outside of the building there stood two payphones.

Sam couldn't climb out of that car faster; even though she stood right before that first phone there near the building's edge, she checked her pockets and even the little pocket of her wallet for loose change. Nothing. Even though she had plenty of dollar bills, she had spent the rest of her loose change on getting away from Bill and settling back into New York City again. Sam doubled back to the car, where Belinda rolled down the window for her.

“Hey, Bel, you got any spare change?”

“Just a bunch of pennies,” she replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Damn it.” Sam frowned and she set one hand on the edge of the rooftop. The late morning sun broke through the clouds overhead and Belinda squinted against the bright golden light. Her blonde curls glistened in the light as if they were in fact made of gold as they kissed her collar bones.

“I like you with short hair, by the way,” Sam remarked.

“You do?” Belinda ran her fingers through her shoulder length hair. “I just wanted a little change. You know—new era of life, new look and whatnot. It was starting to get hot, too.”

“I bet! I bet it's difficult to work with glass all around you, too.”

“That's understatement—” Belinda froze and she looked right behind Sam. She turned around and Marla strode up to them with her hands tucked into her jeans pockets.

“What's going on?” Belinda asked her, concerned.

“So I just got off the phone with Frankie,” Marla began; the grave look on her face was so obvious. Sam wondered if something horrible had happened again.

“And?” Sam herself shook her head.

“Not only is there a blizzard over in New York right now—and flights are getting delayed—and they don't know if they'll get home following the shows here in Cali, but I guess Joey—met someone.”

Sam frowned at that. “What do you mean 'he met someone'?” she asked her.

“Holding hands with another woman,” Marla clarified. “A blonde woman. Frankie said she looks older than you, too.”

“What the—fuck—we just saw him!” Belinda declared, and Marla nodded her head at that. A heavy feeling sank over Sam's chest. “He was by himself, too! He was missing her!”

“Oh my god,” Sam muttered.

“Yeah, I—I'm speechless right now,” Marla admitted. “I don't even know what to say. I don't know—other than—I am so sorry, Sam.”

“No!”

Her stomach turned and writhed, as if she was ready to throw up right then and there. Her memory went blank after that.

At least when Cliff was killed she still had a bit of clarity left. Here, she found herself in a thicker fog than that of the bank outside the San Francisco Bay Area.

She found herself somewhere outside of Bakersfield, somewhere north of there. Marla and Belinda, who were as stunned and shattered as her had gone off somewhere, thus she was left to her own whim. Her memory had left her.

All she could do was head on down to San Pedro and catch the next boat ride to Avalon.

She could barely see where she was going, even though it wasn't raining there on that road. She wiped away the tears but it was useless. More emerged with each and every step down the pavement. A long way down to San Pedro but she was willing to get there on foot regardless of anything.

Too much had happened. Too much too soon. Too much that yanked the rug out from underneath her.

“Samantha!”

That big voice. She turned her head and she gazed in the direction of the oncoming car. He slowed up right behind her: even through the glass of the windshield, she could make out the sight of him in there. She recognized those deep eyes.

He was the last person she wanted to see, however. She kept on walking and she folded her arms across her chest.

“Samantha?” he called out to her again, that big full voice laced with a little bit of pain and concern. “Samantha, are you alright?”

“What do you care?” she hit back at him with tears in her eyes. She made eye contact with him and he gaped at her.

“Samantha, what happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped as more tears fell down her face. The sky overhead darkened even more, but she was more than willing to walk down to San Pedro from wherever she was in the Central Valley.

“God, it looks like it's about to rain,” he pointed out. “What happened?”

The sound of his voice brought even more tears to her eyes.

“Wait a minute, do you need a ride home?” he offered her.

“I can get there myself...” she assured him with a break in her voice. The tires crackled on the gravel strewn about the side of the road as he pulled closer to her. He inched closer and closer to the shoulder there and she almost stumbled into the grasses there. Hundreds of miles of nothing all around them, and the rain was coming.

“Samantha, where you going?” he asked her again, that time in a more mellow tone. “I'll take you there.”

She burst into tears at the sound of his voice. A gust of cold wind washed over them both, and he shivered at the feeling.

“You'll freeze before you get there!” he warned her. “Come on. Please? I’m getting cold just looking at you.”

“No!” she shouted at him, such that it made him recoil back. “No, Alex, I promise—”

“Samantha, you’re a long way from home,” he begged her, and she could hear the tears in his voice as well, “and you've gotta be freezing right now. Please, get in.”

He stopped the car and pushed open the passenger door for her. She stopped and looked down at the seat next to him: he set his hand there and his long guitar player fingers splayed out before him. She looked up at his face, which had softened at the sight of her with his dark eyebrows raised and those deep eyes big and glassy, as if he was about to cry himself.

“Come on,” he begged her in a broken voice. “I have a blanket in the back seat if the heater’s not enough.”

She swore she saw tears brimming his eyes as well, and she peered up the road before her. Hundreds of miles back to San Pedro, and she had to cross over the Grapevine to boot as well. There was no way she could make it there, especially with the rain coming and the snow that could possibly fall on the road ahead of her. She brushed away another tear given she knew she had no other choice but to go with him. More tears followed suit as she climbed into the warm and cozy seat next to him, and she shut the door next to her. She set her handbag down on the floor between her legs and she buckled herself in.

“Okay,” he gently said to her, and he switched on the dials before her. “Let's get you warmed up—I'm turning the heater on full and there is a blanket in the back if you're not warm. Okay. Now, where are you going?”

“Catalina,” she replied in a broken voice and she folded her arms across her chest.

“Okay, so—uh, down to San Pedro,” he clarified; he took a glimpse into the side mirror before he returned to the road. He had his right hand on the turn signal but no one rode up from behind him. Straight ahead of them was the freeway, which in turn led over to the Grapevine and then wound back down into the Los Angeles area. “Okay, that's a ways away, so take all the time you need with this. But in the meantime—what happened? Tell me everything.”

She sniffled again and another tear drifted down her cheek as the reality settled over her.

“Joey loves another woman,” she started in a low voice, and then she stopped, to which Alex frowned at that.

“That's it?” he asked her, and she sniffled again.

“I thought—I thought he was the one for me,” she wept. The tears fell down her face as much as the torrential rain that loomed right behind them. “I thought we were going to be together for sure.”

“Well... did you tell him how you feel?” he asked her in a small voice. She sniffled and she looked over at him, baffled.

“What?”

“Did you tell him how you feel about him? Because it seems to me that that's—that's something you tell somebody. That's something they need to know.”

“It's so hard, though. I never could tell him, either.”

“Never could tell him—not even when we were on tour together?” And she shook her head. “Not even—” He scoffed and rolled his eyes a bit. “—not even at Aurora and Emile's wedding?”

And she shook her head. “There was no way I could tell him then.”

“Not even—all the times you went upstate with him? When you lived in New York?”

“I just couldn't,” she whispered. “I just couldn't do it.” She brushed away even more tears. “I don't know where Marla and Belinda went, either.”

“What do you mean?”

“We got the news from Frankie and—my memory just went blank after that.”

“Damn.”

They had gotten a ways on the freeway, a few miles from the Grapevine, when he took a glimpse down at the gages behind the steering wheel.

“I have to get gas,” he told her.

“You're driving down to Reseda?” she asked him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just got my license—I might as well. Chuck and Eric were like, 'dude, let's take a bus.' And I was like 'I'm not taking a stinkin' bus all the way down to Reseda. I'd rather drive.' I took a back road because there was a bunch of traffic in the north side of town and that was when I saw you walking on the side of the road through a bunch of barren farmland no less.”

“Seven hours of nothing,” she echoed Louie's words.

“Seven hours of nuthin'!” Alex proclaimed. He took the next exit at Frasier Park and he was quick into the nearest station. The clouds overhead collected and blanketed the sun from their view. Rain awaited them in no time, and they said it never rained in L.A., either. He unbuckled and shivered against the wind, and then he returned to her.

“By the way, do you want anything?” he offered her in a gentle voice. “I can get you something.”

“A bandage,” she whispered.

“A bandage?” He gaped at her. “Are you bleeding?”

“In the heart,” she bawled, and he tilted his head at that. She buried her face in her hands and wept, and he reached over the parking lever for her, and he held her as close as he could. She bawled right into his shirt: his hand rested on the back of her head and his other hand was on her back. His chest was warm and his little body was soft; some of his black curls caressed over her. He stroked her back and then she lifted her head for a glimpse into those deep eyes, the ones she knew she would always recognize regardless of anything.

“I'll be right back,” he vowed to her.

She stayed there in the front seat all by herself for only a moment, but it was enough for her to try and reminisce on what happened before then. Joey found love somewhere else, and then—nothing.

A tap on the window broke her concentration. She rolled it down and he handed her a blue chocolate bar.

“Here—” he said, and he handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she sniffled.

“Bought it with the last bit of spare change in my pocket.”

She gaped at that and then he proceeded to fill up his tank. She looked on at the wrapper on the chocolate bar and she wanted to weep some more but she couldn't. Instead, she unraveled it and broke off a little piece off of the top. Within time, he climbed back in and gave his black curls a toss over his shoulder. The black hair dye stayed intact on his gray streak, but Sam knew it was there, however.

“Do you have a jacket on you?” he asked her. “The guy in here told me it might snow—like any minute.”

“I don't.”

“Okay. Well, that's what the blanket's for. I'll take care of you in the meantime.” He started up the car again and without a moment's hesitation, he returned them to the road before them, almost black as it beckoned a fresh layer of snow.

“I was gonna see you guys in Reseda with Marla and Bel—but I don't know where they are, though.”

“Well, if we see them—I'll tell them I picked up and took you to your mom's house. You know, you come back over to the mainland and they'll waiting for you. I can't promise a lot of things, but I can promise you that, though. Seeing them and telling them that you're alright, Samantha.”

“Let me ask you something,” she started again.

“Ask me anything,” he told her.

“Why do you call me 'Samantha', and not 'Sam'? Everyone calls me Sam.”

“Respect. I just feel better calling you Samantha, too. I mean, you were Cliff's girl.”

She sniffled again and she brushed away a tear.

“I was wrong about you,” she confessed in a broken voice. “I mean, I already said that that time we finally got to talking to each other, but I'm even more wrong now.”

“How so?” he asked her.

“You're so sweet.”

And he shook his head. “Just doing what I can,” he replied.

“All you guys are, really,” she continued. “Chuck gave me his number, Greg got me out of the house the first time around, Louie gave me a ride home, and Eric showed me where Cliff hailed from.”

“And we took you to where Cliff's ashes are scattered, too,” he added.

“I feel so dumb,” she confessed with a shake of her head.

“Don't. You had your own problems to deal with. Sometimes it's hard to see what you've got when you're up to your neck in shit.”

His words stayed with her as they made their way over the Grapevine and back in the Los Angeles area, where it was in fact already raining. But Alex's heater kept them both warm against it all. Cozy and safe against the cold and the rare instance of rain there. Another hundred miles along the two Interstates, they reached the harbor at San Pedro where the boat over to Avalon awaited her. All she needed was a ticket.

Those bills in her wallet proved to be enough for a round trip to her mother's house and back to the mainland. She turned Alex, who awaited next to her under the awning.

“Are you gonna be okay?” he asked her.

“I think so. Well, I'm gonna be at my mom's house over on Catalina. No idea when I'll be back here for the second night, though.”

“Well, take your time with it all,” he advised her. “Again—if I see Marla and Belinda, I'll tell them where you are.”

“Now are you gonna be okay?” she asked him. “Because it's—twenty two miles from here to the island by the ferry ride.”

He shifted his weight right in the spot there before her.

“I can't do that,” he said. “Not today. Maybe another time, though?”

“Would you?”

And he nodded his head at her, and the soft expression returned to his face once again. She threw her arms around his slender body: slender and yet still very soft, still that soft teenage boy she hugged on his birthday and over in Germany.

“Thank you,” she whispered right into his ear.

“Just doing what I can,” he whispered back to her. “Just doing what I can.” He sighed through his nose, and she was about to burst into tears if she held him for a second longer. “You might wanna get going, too. The boat's about to leave.”

She let him go and turned towards the big white boat that awaited her at the dock. He bowed his head and stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets to protect himself against the cold rain.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” she promised him; she remembered that that was the last thing Frank told Cliff.

“And I'll see you tomorrow.”

[hartigays]

3. “It’s always been you.”

3. “It’s always been you.”

billy storms out of the apartment, seething and fighting back tears. because billy hargrove does not cry. ever. he didn’t back when he lived with neil, he didn’t after his mom left, he didn’t when he got arrested for possession and almost lost his scholarship to UCLA.

he’s not about to start now.

not because steve pretty boy harrington has to go around acting like a grade-A asshole, with his soft hair and big eyes and pouty lips, screwing everything with a goddamn pulse. no sir. billy won’t give him that luxury.

the reality is, steve has always had a thing for plowing his way through as many people as humanly possible. or so billy heard all those years ago when he’d first arrived in hawkins and started inquiring about the pretty-faced indiana boy who billy just couldn’t seem to stay away from.

but billy thought all of that was behind them. they live together, for fuck’s sake. they’d moved out to california together so billy could go to school, and so steve could take a position at one of the offices of his father’s company in LA. steve hasn’t been seeing anyone, billy hasn’t been seeing anyone. they’ve been happy. content.

and okay, so maybe they aren’t dating. maybe billy hasn’t exactly told steve how he feels. but, like, steve should know. billy has gone out of his way to make it glaringly obvious. steve may be oblivious, but he’s not dumb. not like everyone thinks.

billy is pretty damn sure there’s no way steve isn’t aware of how he feels.

the worst part is, billy thought steve actually felt the same. at least, he had up until today, when he walked in on steve sitting on the couch with some girl, laughing and smiling and whatever the fuck else. he’d walked out before he could see anything more, despite steve’s desperate pleas for him to come back so they could talk.

there’s nothing to talk about. billy thought steve liked him, steve doesn’t. it’s done. he just needs some time to... process it, or whatever. billy finds himself on the beach soon enough, and he slips off his shoes so he can stick his toes in the sand, plopping down with a sigh.

it’s a private beach tucked a ways away from the pier, but billy knows the owners of this plot. they don’t stay at their beach house until the winter, when they want to escape to somewhere a little warmer during the colder months. he’s pretty sure the rest of their time is spent in aspen. so for now he’s safe to sit here and think, staring out at the water as the sun sinks below the horizon.

billy has brought steve here a lot. they’ve picnicked here several times, and billy even brought steve out a once or twice to teach him how to surf before they knew that steve was irreparably bad at it. the thought makes billy’s heart squeeze, and he has to pinch himself as a reminder to not be such a pussy.

because it’s whatever that steve is into some air-headed cheerleader type with a tiny waist and hair like strands of gold. it doesn’t bother billy one bit. not at all. he Does Not Care in the slightest.

maybe if he keeps telling himself that, it’ll somehow become true.

“thought i might find you out here.”

billy doesn’t turn around at the sound of steve’s voice, keeping his eyes forward even though his stomach sinks. “congratulations, you’ve finally managed to develop critical thinking skills. let’s bust out the champagne.”

“i can go if you want me to,” steve says softly, even though billy feels him sink down onto the sand next to him, close enough that their arms brush.

billy just snorts, shrugging. “i don’t give a shit what you do, harrington.”

steve just sighs, and for a long time he doesn’t speak. out of the corner of his eye, billy can see him staring out at the sunset, looking rather forelorn. billy wishes he could turn that look into something soft, something happy, but steve has made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t have that right.

“you know, i remember the first time you took me here,” steve says finally, and billy can’t help but glance over at him. steve’s smile is warm and soft, but tinged with something like sadness. “you tried to teach me how to surf. the first time, i mean. i slipped off the board and busted my ass so hard on it you had to carry me home.”

“you suck at surfing,” billy acknowledges, nodding. “badly.”

steve huffs a soft laugh. “yeah, i do. i just remember thinking that it was still one of the best days i’ve ever had. because that was the day i knew you loved me as much as i love you.”

billy goes completely still, his heart leaping up into his throat and his eyes watering, because what the fuck? where does steve get off making an admission like that just to make billy be less upset with him?

“don’t do that,” billy says, his voice rough. “you don’t get to do that. don’t pretend like you feel the same just because you don’t want me to be pissed at you.”

“billy,” steve starts, sounding distressed. he pauses, meeting billy’s eyes and fuck, they’re filled with tears too and billy doesn’t know how he feels about that. “it’s you. it’s always been you.”

the words break something inside of billy, and he crumples. he can’t pretend to be mad anymore when the truth is that he’s devastated. plain and simple.

“you sure have a funny way of showing it,” billy tells him, sniffling and wiping his nose on the back of his hand. “i saw you two. you were two seconds from playing couch twister. would’ve been if i hadn’t walked in when i did.”

“leanne is gay, billy,” steve groans, burying his face in his hands. “she works with me and she’s gay. has a nice girlfriend named annalise. they have a fucking kid. we were just- jesus, i can’t believe i even have to explain this. to you of all people. i’m the dumb one, remember? fuck. we were just going over some fucking spreadsheets. yeah, riveting stuff. super romantic.”

“i didn’t- are you fucking with me?” billy asks, because he’s starting to feel really fucking stupid and a small part of him is hoping he didn’t just throw a (rather humiliating) tantrum over nothing. “you guys were giggling. and sitting so close, i just... i thought you were making a move.”

“god, you can be more dense than me sometimes, you know that? we were giggling about you, dumbass. i told her that i liked you and she wanted to know more,” steve explains, shaking his head in disbelief. “it was just- i dunno. like two friends at a sleepover giggling about their crushes.”

“would you quit calling yourself an idiot?” billy huffs. primarily because he can’t think of anything else to say - his mind is racing too much. but also because it’s true. “this kinda proves that if anyone’s an idiot here, it’s me. i just- i don’t understand why you never said anything.”

steve is shoving his hands through the sand repeatedly, watching the sand run between his fingers. “you know i’m bi, i told you as much. i figured you were like me, or gay, or- i dunno. i just thought you weren’t ready to talk about it yet. i left the ball in your court, thinking that once you were ready, we’d, y’know. address the fucking elephant in the room.”

“the elephant being... ?” billy trails off. and he knows, but he really just wants to hear steve say it again.

steve rolls his eyes, laughing. “you know what i mean. but fine: the elephant being that i’m in love with you. and that i’m really, really hoping you love me, too.”

“i do,” billy says, his voice soft. “and i’m an idiot. i’m sorry.”

“you’re not an idiot. i probably would’ve thought the same thing if the roles were reversed and i walked in on something like that.” steve glances over at billy, giving him a tender smile. “just... next time, let’s talk to each other, yeah? i think that’ll save both of us a lot of grief.”

billy just hums, nodding his approval. they sit in comfortable silence for a little while, both still too nervous to make a move despite having just confessed their love to each other. at this point billy just finds it endearing, but he really, really wants to be closer to steve, and not just emotionally.

“i am gay, you know,” billy starts, his palms sweating, “and i really want to kiss you.”

“i know. and i think i’d like that.”

steve’s lips are soft and yielding beneath billy’s. his kisses feel exactly the way billy imagined they would - tender and sweet and a little shy, but curious. billy tries to keep it slow, not wanting to shove them into uncharted territory, but it’s only a matter of time before billy has steve’s back hitting the sand, hovering over him, their lips never breaking apart.

steve just sighs into the kiss, embracing the new position without complaint. he relaxes into the sand, one hand threading through billy’s curls, the other curling into the tufts of hair at the base of billy’s neck. it’s a kiss that billy never wants to end. but he knows there’ll be more. so much more.

“i’d say at least now we can get a cheaper apartment, but i think we’ll both still need our space every now and then,” steve says when billy pulls away, staring up a him with big eyes.

“yeah. plus it’s... ” billy trails off, his cheeks flushing bright red.

“it’s what?” steve asks, his brows coming together in confusion. “seriously, what were you going to say?”

“it’s home,” billy says gently, bracing both arms on either side of steve so he can swoop down to capture his lips again whenever he wants to. “home is wherever i’m with you, but- y’know. i like our place. it feels like us.”

“you’re such a fucking sap, oh my god,” steve laughs, but he’s smiling so brightly that billy thinks the whole beach could stay lit up for the rest of the night. “billy hargrove, secretly soft and mushy inside. who would’ve thought.”

“wasn’t, ‘til i met you,” billy tells him honestly.

and it’s true, for a long time billy hardened himself to the world, protecting himself with an armor of indifference until steve came along and melted him to his core. but billy isn’t one to complain, not when it means he gets to go to sleep and wake up to steve’s smile every day now, for the rest of his life. forever, maybe, if steve is up for that.

he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[magniloquent-raven]

@bambixxblue wrote this absolutely gorgeous piece and i got a little carried away writing my take on billy’s pov and so here we are lol pls enjoy!!

--

Billy always figured rock bottom for him would be something Shakespearean. Self-inflicted tragedy. Family bullshit gone too far. Madness and mayhem and spectacle. 

He did not picture this. Dying slowly of boredom, too fucking exhausted to even stay pissed at Max. When he got to Hawkins all he had was his anger. With the ocean two thousand miles away and his first and only relationship ended with an awkward, “Clean break, y’know? Don’t really...want to do long distance.” The guy couldn’t even make eye contact when he said it. But then, he never could stomach looking at Billy’s bruises. 

It felt empty. Their breakup. Billy barely felt anything afterwards, and that numbness had...grown. Spread. Without any of the things he used to give a shit about, he’s drifting tetherless and cold and so fucking lonely. He hit rock bottom in Hawkins, Indiana, when he shrugged off Max’s needling because he just can’t bring himself to fucking care anymore. 

She’s noticed, he knows she has, he isn’t subtle. He isn’t terrorizing her anymore and she’s started to poke at him again. Hesitant, asking about innocuous shit, trying to figure out if he’s forgiven her, but he can’t tell her it isn’t as simple as that. So he ignores her. 

As much as he can, anyways, he’s still playing the big brother in front of Neil. Driving her around and shit, pretending he isn’t counting the days until he graduates and he can ditch her. This town. Everything. 

He hasn’t found anything in Hawkins worth sticking around for. It’s not like he has friends here. Tommy and his posturing, Carol and her wandering eyes, they don’t give a fuck about him. None of the people who hang around him do, they’re just idiots trying to seem cooler than they are. Or get in his pants.

Makes pretending easy, at least. It’s not like there’s a shortage of girls to hit on. 

Even though he kind of wishes there were. Wishes going through the motions didn’t make him feel so sick, didn’t leave his stomach hollow and his heart heavy. With girls back in California it was...whatever. It was fine. Something to do. It made him feel wanted, and that was enough sometimes. But now… now he knows what it’s supposed to feel like, and he hates how wrong anything else is. 

There was this one girl, Heather, and talking to her was actually nice. They got along well enough that he didn’t have to fake laughing at her jokes, smiled a little more real around her. Except the whole time she was playing with her hair, and biting her lip, and he had to act like that was what he was focused on, not the fact that they could actually be friends if that was something he was letting himself do. 

Because Hawkins isn’t worth his time. It isn’t. Fuck this town and fuck Indiana and fuck trying to make this shithole more bearable because having one conversation with someone he actually got along with opened up a chasm in his fucking chest. He cried himself to sleep that night. Felt everything he’d been pushing away since he moved to Hawkins. All the ways he missed California, and feeling like he belonged somewhere. 

The taste of salt made it worse. He hated crying. Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood and holding his breath until it hurt because he couldn’t make a fucking sound or Neil would hear him. He’d always hated it. But especially now. When the taste of salt makes him ache for things he can’t have anymore. Nights by the pier, stolen kisses that tasted like cheap beer and the saltwater still on their lips. Afternoons spent teaching Max to surf. The precious few memories of his mother, sunshine in her hair and sand between their toes. 

He avoided Heather after that. Hadn’t exactly started keeping to himself as much as...trying to disappear into a role. The one Hawkins High had assigned him. Brash outsider, newcomer, bad boy, whatever. He made damn sure that was all anyone would see him as. Acted the part. Didn’t talk about anything that mattered. 

And he kept driving Max around. To school, mostly, since they were both going to the same one, which was fucking weird, but made shit easier. To the arcade sometimes. And to her little nerd club.

She’s talked about it, he’s sure, but he couldn’t be bothered to listen. It was enough that he got her there, he didn’t need to know what she was doing once he dropped her off.

But she still chatters away, gushing about having friends and talking to people who get her. He’s not jealous. He isn’t. 

He turns the music up a little and ignores her scowl at the obvious brush-off.

He also ignores how hard she slams the door when she gets out. It’s passive-aggressive, but they’ve perfected being assholes to each other in several languages by now. She doesn’t flip him off as she stomps away though, and he’s not sure if that’s progress. 

Billy’s itching for a cigarette. Neil hates it when he smokes around the house, and if he brings Max back stinking like Marlboro Reds... well it wouldn’t be good. So he can’t even smoke in his own fucking car.

But it’s cold as fuck in Indiana and his leather jacket isn’t enough.

He shifts in his seat. Fuck it. He’ll wait. He can smoke anywhere that isn’t the high school fucking parking lot. He’s about to take off, one hand on the steering wheel, when he looks up and-- 

Oh. Fuck. 

There’s another car in the parking lot. There’s… fuck the car, there’s this guy in the driver’s seat, and--

Forget Indiana being cold, he’s suddenly warmer than the California sun, could heat the whole damn state with what’s unfurling in his chest. 

Because...because holy fuck. 

He was already looking at Billy, with big fuckin’ doe eyes, soft lashed and expressive, and sparkling with something Billy doesn’t quite have a name for. 

And somewhere in the back of his brain he remembers Tommy whining about some guy, some guy who drove a beemer, always toting those kids around. Max talking about one of her friends’ babysitter or whatever, talked about him like he hung the fucking moon, and--

And Billy kind of gets it now. Understands the fuss over Steve goddamn Harrington. 

The smile tugging at the corners of Steve’s mouth-- that mouth, goddamn-- is...it’s soft and small, and weirdly intimate considering they’re making eye-contact through two sheets of glass. Billy almost feels like he’s intruding on a moment, except...the warmth in Steve’s eyes is inviting. Makes him feel more at ease than he’s been in...ever. 

Jesus fucking Christ, the way the September sun makes Steve shine, his thick brown hair well-kept and glossy, the faded remnants of a summer tan making his skin glow. He’s beautiful. Like a work of fucking art, somehow made flesh and living in Indiana of all places. Billy could spend hours looking at the lines of his profile, the cut of his shoulders, the way his hair falls across his forehead.

Three seconds and one smile. That’s all it took to make him waver. To light him up and make him forget about not caring, about keeping his distance and running the second he gets the chance.

He’s run from a lot of things in his life. Some things he regrets, but he knows he wouldn’t regret anything like he’d regret running from this. 

So he smiles back. Almost. Enough. Enough to bring a pretty flush to Steve’s cheeks. 

Yeah, this is going to be fun.

[something-tofightfor]

I would truly like to hear one random HC for each of the characters you write for.

It took me a million and a half years to answer this. I don’t THINK I forgot anyone ... aside  from John and he doesn’t count because I haven’t really written for him yet (don’t tell him that I’ll never hear the end of it). I also didn’t include Ben because I have about a million HCs for him based on what he posts on the Internet. 

PS: ENJOY THE LAST ONE.

Logan: 

Here Comes the Sun-iverse: This is probably already kind of known based on Hands to Yourself, but Logan doesn’t like to back down from a bet. He’s stubborn as hell when it comes to finding a way to win and to be right… but when it comes to you, he’s even worse. It’s not because he wants to prove you wrong or anything like that, it’s because he’s so used to being competitive at work that it’s hard for him to leave it at the office. Not that you mind, because most of your bets lead to the two of you having a very enjoyable time together. 

Ink: As a surprise for you after you healed completely from your kidnapping and won the court case, Logan flew Asher (and his family) in to LA for a week at Disney … and so that you could have a private session with him. Logan hadn’t thought of something else that he wanted, but was more than happy to invite Asher + the family to his house for the night, and even though most of the session was Asher touching up places that had been marred by the desert sun, you also added a little ink to your sides/near your waist. 

Another fun little HC? Every time Asher tattoos you in the future, Logan’s in the room with you … and he takes his turn with the tattoo machine. During the at-home session, Logan tattooed your hip. 

Wyoming: The best - and most meaningful - gift that Logan has ever gotten in his life was you agreeing to sell Fireside to him so that he could create the rehab center. Based on the work he’s done with Delos, he was entirely prepared to have you (and your aunt and uncle) say no, or fight with him to increase the offer, winding down the time, so the three of you agreeing with very little hesitation and for the first offer price told him that you didn’t sell for the money - you sold because you believed in him and wanted to be sure that the property would be put to good use. That, in turn made Logan much more focused on ensuring that everything went well. 

Tonight: Even after you said that you’d come over the night he called, Logan still expected you to be a no-show. He’d convinced himself that he’d pushed you away for good because he’d treated you so poorly (in his own mind, anyway). So it was a total shock to him to find out that that wasn’t the case… and that you trusted him almost completely. Every time Logan has a bad day, or feels like he’s going to turn back to the way he was, he remembers the way he felt the minute you knocked on his door that night - and everything that came after. Despite the image that he projects, he’s actually very hard on himself every second of every day. Seasons to Cycles: Logan’s biggest dream is to see the Hosts used in a capacity that has nothing to do with pleasure or excess. After getting clean and starting to prove to Jim that he deserves a future with the company, he pulled together a bunch of different people in different fields to discuss the best ways to use Hosts in real-world situations. He knows it would be an uphill battle to convince a large portion of the population to accept the Hosts into everyday life, and doesn’t want to take jobs away from hard-working and deserving people, but he knows that there are a lot of situations where utilizing a Host’s capabilities make more sense than sending a live person in. (They’ve come up with a few, and you’ll see some of those within the story)

 Billy: 

Steel City: Billy’s desire to go to the beach was real. He’s seen sand in the desert for years, and has of course been to the Shore in Jersey, and to New York beaches … but he’s never been anywhere tropical. He’s never seen the ocean turn from murky gray-blue to crystal clear, and he’s never felt it warm enough to actually spend a ton of time in it. Billy always fantasized about going to a tropical place and picking up the hottest woman he could find at a resort or in a bar, but after everything happened with the Castles? He knows it’s out of the question. (Or is it?)

He’s Not Here: When Billy ended up on the roof on NYE and saw that you were there, too, he stood and watched you for a solid five minutes. You spent those five minutes saying goodbye to him, and he spent them (silently) telling you everything that he couldn’t actually tell you. He wanted you to turn around - and if you would have? He would have told you everything, and figured out a way to get you somewhere that Rawlins couldn’t find you, even though he knew you wouldn’t have wanted to leave his side. Billy never once questioned that you’d actually loved him while you were together - which is what made keeping everything from you so hard, even though he knew it was necessary. 

 Ryan Brenner: 

Neon Lights / Just A Place: When Ryan was barely 20, he and Cowboy and Ginny were spending a couple nights with friends in California. Since he wasn’t a big drinker, and there were a couple of joints being passed around along with a bottle of cheap whiskey, Ryan overdid it. He woke up to a buzzing noise … and Ginny standing over him with a pair of hair clippers in her hand. Needless to say, she’d started in a place that they couldn’t hide … and so, still half buzzed, Ryan went into the bathroom of the apartment they were in and finished the job. 

From California, they headed back into the west/midwest … where it was chilly, and that’s where the hat came from, courtesy of Ginny, because she felt bad. It started out as a legitimate way to keep his head warm while his hair grew back, but Ryan grew attached to it throughout the years, refusing to retire it even when it got old and tattered. 

 Sam Adams: 

Mr. and Mrs. Adams: Sam likes to tell stories. But the thing is… none of the stories are ever exactly the same, even when he’s telling it for  the hundredth time. The main details are always the same, but there are tiny embellishments scattered throughout … usually downplaying the significance instead of making things seem more urgent than they were. And when you get Paul involved? Or John Hancock? Or Kelly? You know you’re in for it. They mean well, but those men love to talk. It’s a problem, but it definitely keeps things interesting. 

King Caspian:

His Favorite Place: Caspian’s map reading skills when he’s on the Dawn Treader are amazingly accurate, but he’s much less accurate when on land. It’s never gotten him into trouble, but it frustrates him, because he doesn’t feel that there should be a difference. He knows how to read  the maps, but for whatever reason, open sea and sky are much easier to decipher than forests and trails and towns. He has a a hand in planning the route of every voyage on the ship, but when land travel is required, he relies on others to make the plans. 

Benjamin Greene: 

Tipping Point: Benjamin’s favorite part of Julia’s house was the library, but what he loved even more than that was the quiet. Since they were so far out and away from town, he’d often sit outside on the back patio in the mornings and afternoons, reading or studying, or just listening to music. 

But as time passed, the silence became oppressive, reminding Benjamin just how far away from everything that he knew and loved he was - how much of his life he’d changed for Julia, and he spent less time outdoors and more time inside, headphones in and a book held between his fingers. Moving back to London to live with Zac/Bianca/Eric wasn’t as hard a transition as he’d thought it would be, and Benjamin actually slept with his window open a crack so that he could hear the traffic again. 

Bonus character who will not be named but is going to feature in a coming story: 

 His friends would describe him as volatile, but it’s not always his fault. He’s got a sixth sense about the emotions of others, and can sometimes feel changes in people’s moods. So while he doesn’t always go looking for a fight, he won’t back down from one. Bar fights are normal, and even though he’s usually the one that ends up putting an end to them, he always gets in at least one or two good hits before it happens. Seeing him, you’d be surprised by his strength, but it doesn’t take long for you to understand that it’s there … and that you shouldn’t doubt it. These senses have definitely come in handy throughout his life, but they’ve also likely put him into danger… and will continue to do so.

[cenestpasmoi-bechloe]

Wherever you may go, wherever you may be, I will never be far away

Beca has been exhausted with work and overtime in order to provide nice things for Chloe, and pay the bills, etc. When Beca comes home at around 11pm, she finds Chloe curled up on the couch after attempting to wait for Beca. Beca becomes very very soft. :)

Title from Billy Joel's Lullabye (Goodnight My Angel).

Thank you to the anonymous donor for participating in the Pitch Perfect Fandom Drive! This fic is gifted from anon to @green-eyed-weirdo on Tumblr.

Thank you for contributing! Also, happy belated birthday to @green-eyed-weirdo !

I hope you enjoy it and I apologize for taking so long!!

For more info on how to help, visit the @ppfandomdrive page.

Read on Ao3

Beca is exhausted. She’s been working her ass off at Capital records, trying to make a name for herself, and to provide for her small family of three.

Her girlfriend Chloe, herself, and their newest addition, their rescue puppy they had named Chase, because of how he had chased Beca around the first time she saw him. He was a mix of a Collie and something else they couldn’t figure out, but he was the cutest dog ever. At least that was what Chloe had said, and Beca had come to understand it.

But she would never admit that to Chloe. But that dog was damn adorable.

They live in a nice 2 bedroom apartment in Pomona, CA where Chloe can go to Vet school, at Western University of Health Sciences, and Beca can commute to her office.  Chloe has two more years of school, and she’s going to become a Vet after that, but while she goes to school, Beca is the main source of income. They weren’t broke, but they weren’t rich either, and they tried their best to keep it that way. Chloe worked at a Veterinary Clinic near the school, and helped pay the apartment rent. Although Beca had insisted that she didn’t have to, Chloe had somehow convinced her. And Beca couldn't say no to Chloe Beale.  

They had started dating after the USO tour, after Beca had gotten signed to Capitol, and Chloe had been accepted into WesternU, when Beca finally decided to sack up and tell the ginger her feelings.

Their move to California was scheduled around the same time, and having lived in Brooklyn together before, and having started dating, they had mutually decided that moving-in together was a good idea. Her workplace was not too far from where Chloe was going to go to school, and it being cheaper to live in a bigger apartment in Pomona than being crammed in a small apartment in Hollywood, they had chose to live near WesternU. They had started out living in different rooms at first, but found themselves sleeping better, and much more comfortable together in Beca’s room, and they had transferred Chloes old room into a guest room/Beca’s studio when she needed to work from home, or she wanted to work from home.

Beca usually has work with her clients until 7pm, then edit and work on other things until around 10 and then finally, head home. The drive was about 30 minutes, 45 minutes tops, and she would get home at around 11. She had her days off on Wednesdays, and Saturdays and Sundays were half days, or she would sometimes have the weekends off. She always tried to spend more time with Chloe, and she tried to keep a no-work-at-home policy although there were exceptions. That was easy since she had a girlfriend who she could barely say no to.

Tonight was one of those late nights.

The wifi stopped working, and then there was the printer jamming incident, and then had to make sure her emails were sent to her boss about the new client. She finishes up around a quarter to 11, and she gets in her car, sending a quick text to Chloe, telling her that she’d be heading home now. She doubted that she was still awake though since when she gets home at 10:30, she’s usually getting ready for bed, and on days like this, she’s usually fast asleep on Beca’s side of the bed. She drives home, and gets home at about a quarter past 11.

She unlocks the door quietly, and then opens the door slowly, making sure she doesn’t wake up Chloe, who is probably in another room. She just wanted to be safe, just in case. And then Chase comes trotting over to the door, welcoming her home.

“Shhhh… don’t wake mommy up okay?” She says as she crouches down to pet the puppy.

She sees that the light is still on in the room and looks up, seeing her girlfriend curled up on the couch, asleep.

She’s wearing Beca’s gray Bellas sweater, the one that was originally Chloe’s, she stole it somewhere around her sophomore year when she started living in the Bellas house. She had declared that it was hers now, and Chloe had allowed her to keep it all through the years, and now, Chloe’s back to wearing it again. She smiles, walks to the couch, and sits on the floor to kiss the ginger’s cheek.

“I’m home baby.” She says cupping her cheek and kissing her on the lips.

Chloe flutters open her eyes, and wakes up, looking sleepy as heck as she looks at Beca. “I was waiting for you to come home. “She yawns and stretches, rubbing her sleepy eyes.

“Sorry I’m late. I was supposed to leave earlier, but a lot of things happened, I can explain tomorrow. “ She smiles and pecks Chloe’s forehead.

“It’s okay. Did you have dinner?” The ginger asks her as she sits up and stretches her arms.

“No. But I’m not that hungry though.”

“Becaaaaa…. you have to eattttt…”Chloe says to her as she gets up. “I have some leftovers I can heat up.”

“No it’s fine. I’m fine. I’m gonna take Chase out before I get ready for bed. Wait for me in bed?” She asks the ginger, getting up and leaving her bag and taking her jacket off, leaving it on the couch. “Chase. Let’s go out. Bathroom time. “ She says to the dog and he runs to the door excitedly.

“Okay fineee, but I’m coming with you two. I don’t wanna be left behind.” She says with a pouty face as she grabs the leash off the hook.

“Okay then, let’s go.” She takes the leash from the ginger, and connects it to Chase’s collar. “Mommy’s coming with us too.”She smiles, holding onto the leash. Chase jumps up and down excitedly, “I know bud, I’m happy that she’s coming with us too.”She says to the pup and pats him on the head.

“Let’s go!” The redhead returns to the living room, and they both walk out the door, letting Chase mark his territory around the complex, while Chloe and Beca talk about their day, holding hands and walking together.

“Jill keeps texting her boyfriend at work, and she’s always on her phone. I don’t understand how she still has a job.”Beca giggles as she talks about her day.

“I’m sure you’re like that sometimes, I swear, sometimes my phone doesn’t stop vibrating with texts from you.”The redhead jokes, holding Beca’s spare hand which isn’t holding Chase’s leash. The summer breeze makes it a bit chilly, and Chloes glad that she wore her hoodie.

“Oh, I’m not that bad!” Beca exclaims in her quiet nighttime voice, “But I also can’t resist my girlfriend sending me sexy snaps in the middle of the day.”She smirks, squeezing the gingers hand for a moment. Beca had to make sure she had set her notifications to be private, she had that one incident when she almost showed her girlfriend on Airplay at a work meeting. From then on, she knew to keep her notifications discreet. She didn’t need anyone seeing her messages. “I swear to god I almost died when I accidentally opened my Snapchat from you during a meeting. I made it just in time but that was so dangerous.”

“That was because you sent me a raunchy text baby. It’s all your fault. “Chloe scoffs.

“I could’ve been fired!” She whisper yells, raising both her occupied arms up.

“Oh stop exaggerating!”The ginger laughs.

"Oh I'm totally getting back at you for that time!"She jokingly says, pointing at Chloe. "I'm gonna do something to make you so horny that you'll have to take a break, no take the day off!"

"Oh, try. You'll never be able to do that. Remember who always loses the no touching challenge?"

"..um... you?..."

"Oh you wish."Chloe giggles, kissing her nose and running ahead of them. "You can't catch me!!"

"H-Hey!! Chloooooo!"Beca follows along with Chase, but it looks like Chase is taking poor Beca on a run.

“Hey Bec?” Chloe says as they make their way back into the house, unhooking Chase’s leash off of him and letting him run inside.

“Huh?”Beca looks at the ginger, closing the door behind and then making sure it’s locked.

“I love you.”She says, her smile soft and genuine.

These are the moments that make Beca’s heart pound like crazy. Like how did she deserve this angel? How? “I love you too.” She repeats back, kissing the ginger and wrapping her arms around her. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”she mumbles into Chloes shoulder as they awkwardly toddle over to the couch and fall onto it.

“Everything Bec. You’re amazing. I wonder if I ever deserve you. You spoil me too much baby. “She chuckles as she kisses her forehead.

“And you tease me too much.”Beca jokes, and she earns a light slap from the ginger. “Heyyy! Thats not fair!”

“Its fair alright, I tease you because you’re just too damn adorable.”

“Am not! I’m not adorable! I’m badass!” She says as she tries to pry herself away from Chloe, but her girl is too strong, making her stuck in Chloe’s embrace.

“Okay, okay, whatever you say cutiehead.”She giggles, kissing her right on the cheek.

“Ugh, I hate you.”Beca pouts jokingly.

“You do not hate me. Exaggerator!”She kisses her cheek again, this time much more like a wet-grandma-like kiss.

“Ewwwwww… you kiss like a grandma! My cheek is wet!”Beca complains, wiping it off with her arm.

“Want me to do it again?”Chloe asks, going in for the kiss again, but Beca’s hand stops it from reaching her cheek. “Noooooooooh!” Her lips get closer again.

“I don’t hear a please Beca.”Chloe teases, getting even closer.

“NOooooooh!”

“C’mon Beca. Just one word baby.”

“Okay fine! Please stop!” Beca gives up and Chloe’s lips retrieves.

“See? That wasn’t so hard? Was it Beca? When you’re a good girl, you get your way, or can get things faster.”She winks. “But when you’re a bad girl, you don’t get your way, and sometimes you can get more pain or teasing from it. “She lowers her hand down to Beca’s ass and squeezes it, making Beca wince. She had been a bad girl in bed last Saturday, and the pain was much better but its still hurt a bit. But that story’s for another day.

“Can we go to bed? I’m really tired. Like exhausted.”Beca asks her girlfriend, looking up at her with pouty eyes.

“Okay. Let’s get to bed, really tired. I don’t know where my Beca went though.”She jokes and giggles, taking her hand and leading her to the bedroom.

“Its almost 12. Which means it’s already tomorrow, and now we don’t have anymore time to sleep…”Beca mumbles as she walks into the closet and gets changed into her pajamas, an oversized teeshirt, which is of corse Chloe’s, and plops down on the bed.

“You’re okay. C’mere baby.”Chloe says as she lifts the comforter up and slides in, waiting for Beca to do the same.

Beca yawns as she gets in and curls up close to Chloe, her bing the little spoon and Chloe being the big spoon. “I love you.” She closes her eyes, and lets Chloe wrap her body around hers, feeling safe and comfortable.

“You’re quite the over thinker, aren’t you baby.”Chloe chuckles as she peppers kisses all over Beca’s head, and then starts running her fingers through Beca’s hair, allowing her to relax.

“But it’s true though, i.....”

“Shh… baby. Stop talking and calm down.” The ginger says gently and kisses her head once again.

Beca’s train of thoughts don’t stop though,she stops talking but the thoughts in her mind keep running, and she can't seem to stop them. She thinks about how perfect her life is, with Chloe and Chase, and how she want to pop the question soon. How she's gonna do that, what say to ask Stacie to help her pick the engagement ring, and then how the wedding is gonna be, how she's gonna tell the Bellas, and on and on and on and....

“Beca. Turn off your thoughts. I can still hear the gears turning.”Chloe says.

"I'm no...."

"Save the questions and the thoughts for another day Becs. " She rubs her arm.

“Mkay….night...”Beca mumbles, turning and facing Chloe’s body, curling up once again as she rubs her back.

It can wait another day.

She soon relaxes and lets sleep take over, feeling safe and sound in Chloe’s arms.

Chloe kisses the sleeping brunette's head for the last time before she falls asleep.

“Good night, my angel.”

[femmeharringrove]

Another summer, another fight. It scared them to find demogorgons roaming the forests of Hawkins again, the immediate concern being that another gate was open somewhere, but instead of a gate they found a nest; they'd been breeding in this dimension. There are unknowns here, of course. How long were they nesting? How many escaped the fight? How many escaped Hawkins before they even knew the nest was there?

But unknowns can wait. The battle is over, things are okay for now. Steve's destination isn't the Byers' home, not this time, but he's got a car full of chatty teenagers to drop off so he drives on autopilot. The kids won't make anything of his silence until much later, they hardly notice it now. But Steve can't talk, can hardly focus on anything but the eternal trip to the familiar home filled with warmth and relief and family, his family. The kids clamber out and Dustin hesitates, asks Steve if he's coming in.

He's not, he can't, but he smiles his most reassuring grin, runs a fond hand over the teen's curls, and promises to be inside in a minute. Dustin smiles back and nods before scampering inside. Steve watches with a sad sort of relief; his kids are safe, his loved ones are alive. Most of them are, anyway. They survive this time, and so he calls it a success.

Steve looks down at his bloodied jacket and groans softly. He's not making it this time, and he's okay with it.

The Beemer moves out of the driveway silently and he finds the strength to reach the quarry before the car turns off. He should go home, but his mother won't appreciate if he drips blood on her carpets. The quarry is his safe space, these trees know his secrets well. This is where he used to come with Billy long ago, when those ocean eyes and bright smile were still around. This is where their friendship blossomed over beer cans and rolled joints, where Billy trusted him with the truth about Neil and where Steve trusted him with his whole heart. They made love here, hidden away in their cars, they danced to old cassettes and talked about running away to California and making a life for themselves. This is where Steve came after Starcourt, face bruised and ribs broken and heart shattered. He grieved here, healed here, learned to move on here. It's almost fitting that he choose to die here, too. Bittersweet, he thinks.

He turns the car off and thinks about Dustin, about his kids. They'll be finishing high school soon. Dustin's already got an acceptance letter from some big tech school out in California, and Will's gotten a hefty scholarship to a New York arts school. Max is going to law school, she told him not very long ago, and he knows she's going to make one hell of a lawyer. Lucas and Mike are going to North Carolina, and El isn't quite ready to leave the nest yet, but when she does, when Hop lets her go, Steve knows she'll do something amazing. He wishes desperately he could be there to see it, but he's fading fast; the flow of blood from the gruesome series of bites along his torso is slow, but it's adding up. He hopes they don't grieve too hard, that they don't miss him too badly. Especially Dustin.

Dustin, his favorite child. His best friend. Claudia's told him several times even she saw him as an extension of their family, the older brother and mentor her Dusty always needed. The kid's loud, obnoxious at times, but Steve loves him fiercely and he hopes, really hopes that the kid knows that. He's got a letter in his desk for Henderson, for each of his kids, for everyone in his life, wrote them in an emotional haze after Starcourt nearly four years ago when he almost died in a Russian base. There's even a letter for Billy, a farewell to the love of his life. Steve hopes the kids get those letters so that they can at least have that closure, that form of goodbye. That's what those letters are, really. Three nights after the mall he wrote them just in case he died without the chance to say goodbye. Those letters hold everything he's ever wanted to say but never felt able to.

When they're found, Steve wonders what his parents will think. He wonders if his mother will cry, if his father will feel remorse for his absence. It hurts that he's dying without the chance to heal their broken relationship, and in his dark car he finds himself aching for his mother's hug, his father's hand stroking his hair. He wants to tell them that he loves them, in spite of everything. He wants to say sorry, he's sorry he wasn't the child they wanted him to be. But most of all, he just wants their company.

He knows Joyce will cry, thinks Hopper might too. Nancy and Robin are going to cry, there's no doubt in his mind. Steve hopes they don't feel guilt over this, that they don't blame themselves. Because it's not their fault, no matter what they may tell themselves. Robin's going to take this hard, he's abandoning his partner in crime. He hopes she finds another, that she gets to run off to Nashville and get her music gig going. He hopes she finds a girl who loves her goofy ways as much as he does. He hopes Nancy chases her dreams, that she catches them, that she and Jonathan live a happy life together. He hopes everyone lives a happy life after this. He hopes they move on.

"It's gonna take a while, Pretty Boy." Steve opens his eyes (when did he close them?) and slowly rolls his head to the side, stares at Billy in the passenger seat. Billy looks youthful and happy, his skin tanned and freckled and free of the Mind Flayer's scars. He's holding Steve's goodbye letter. Steve blinks once, twice, smiles faintly.

"I've missed you, dumbass," he grumbles, and Billy laughs easily. The sound is floaty and musical.

"Ditto, Stevie." He smiles fondly, and for a second Steve feels like they're teenagers again, sharing their affection in the safe confines of the quarry. Steve can forget the grave reality of the situation. He smiles back, reaches out to poke Billy's warm cheek, and slid his gaze lazily back out towards the lake.

"Is it scary?"

"Not really." Billy shakes his head. "Not when you know what's coming." Steve nods in acknowledgement.

"Can I do anything to stop it?" he asks. The blonde shakes his head again, his smile soft and sad.

"Nah. Sorry, Babydoll, but your time's running out." Steve takes a shuddering breath, nods again. Billy's hand seeks his out, squeezes gently. "Hey, look at me." He waits until Steve obliges, unfocused eyes settling on him. "You did good, Steve. You did real good."

"I don't want to leave them," he whispers, and he's starting to tear up now, the gravity of the situation setting in. "Who's gonna look after them, Bill? I can't - I can't just leave them." Billy leans in as Steve's voice wobbles, his calloused hand wiping the brunette's tears away while he hushes him softly.

"They're going to be okay," he soothes. "Trust me. You've done everything you can, you've done your job. You've been the best damn babysitter this world's ever seen." Billy's arms wrap around him comfortingly. "You've taken such good care of them, now it's time for you to rest." Steve sniffles as he leans into his boyfriend's arms, closing his eyes again.

"You think so?" he manages to ask.

"I know so." A hand runs gently over Steve's wild hair. "I worried about that too, was real worried about you and Max. But look at you." Billy shifts, tilts Steve's head and gets the dying man to look at him again. "You went off to police school or whatever they call it, you became a cop." And Steve had, he'd been a cop for two years. It was the right choice in his mind, even if his parents weren't keen on the idea. Hopper was proud of him, though, and everyone else supported him the whole way through. Judging from the look in Billy's eyes, the blonde is proud of him too. "You've helped those little shitbirds through high school, you've given Buckley a real friend, you've been there for Wheeler and her boy toy which is really impressive, sweetheart, because they drive me nuts." Steve snorts softly, a faint smile on his face, and Billy chuckles before pressing on. "You brought a little sunshine to everyone's life, Steve, and that's amazing. You've left your mark on them all forever. Those kids? They're never going to forget you. None of them will. And it won't be easy for them, losing you, but you moved on after me, didn't you? They're going to keep going. But I promise, they won't forget Steve Harrington." Billy's voice is so confident and soft, Steve can't help but believe him. He worries for his little family still, but he believes the other man. They're going to be okay, somehow. He doesn't have to worry anymore.

So instead, he presses closer to Billy, ignores the dull pain in his body, and smiles.

"Now what?" he asks. Billy hums low in his throat as he cards thick fingers through Steve's hair.

"Now, we move to California," he chuckles. "Right by the beach, baby. We'll watch the sum set over the ocean every night, adopt a couple of dogs or some shit. It'll be good." Steve hums softly.

"Sounds good," he agrees. He's silent for a little while after that. Steve's body feels numb, but that doesn't startle him. "Hey, Bill?"

"Yes, Bambi?"

"I thought you were supposed to feel cold when you die." Steve blinks hazy and slow, a soft smile on his face. "But I just feel really warm." Billy squeezes him gently.

"Warm is good, Pretty Boy," he murmurs. "It's over, Steve, close your eyes. You can rest now." The brunette nods, almost closes his eyes, but stops.

"You'll stay?" he asks.

"I'll stay," Billy promises. "Sleep, Sunshine. I'll be here when you wake up." Satisfied by that answer and too tired to keep his heavy eyelids open, Steve closes his eyes, smiles softly, and falls asleep.

It's Hopper who finds him just past dawn, after spending much of the night searching for the young cop. He has to sit down, can't move for a few minutes after the discovery. Dustin screams when they get to the hospital, crumples on the floor and begs Hopper to bring his best friend back. Max outright faints at the news and spends the day clinging to El, who can't stop crying longer than five minutes. Robin begs them to tell her it's a joke and rages for a few minutes before dissolving into tears herself. Steve's parents get the call in their Tokyo hotel room just before going out for the night; his mother trembles so hard she can't even try to stand. If his father feels anything at the news, he's good at hiding it. They come home to arrange the funeral and are faced with several teenagers waiting for them, Dustin yells at them until Hopper steps in. His mother looks at his lifeless face and whispers an apology he can't hear.

Steve Harrington is laid to rest next to his old high school rival, and an old nail-studded bat is left at the headstone. Nancy gives a tear-jerking eulogy at his funeral, and Dustin barely gets through a smaller speech about his big brother. Max writes a speech, but ultimately is only able to tell the small crowd that Steve was the brightest ray of sun in her darkest time. His parents allegedly were "too emotional" to speak about their son, and no one questions it. Joyce speaks, though, about this heartbreakingly sweet boy she came to love as her own, and Hopper says he would have been proud to have the kid as his son.

His letters are found and are handed out that night, and Max leaves his letter for Billy by the other's headstone unread. They all cry through the words scrawled out in that familiar handwriting, his assurances of love and pride for them all, and promises that they would get through this. Sitting at the quarry that same night, sharing laughter and tears and memories of the man, they decide that maybe, even if they can't see it now, Steve's right. They'll try and get through this. It's hard navigating a storm when the sun's been lost, but they're going to try.

[staticscreenwriting]

The vision of your happiness - Billy Hargrove

This is my entry for @lets-hargroove​‘s Valentine’s Day writing challenge. I chose “Are you wearing that for me” as my prompt. This is pure fluff. I hope you guys enjoy & happy belated V-day.

A crisp layer of frost lays upon the grounds, covers the hills and the valleys and wraps the entirety of Hawkins in a sparkling blanket of ice.

It’s february and it’s freezing and (Y/N) wishes herself back to warmer days. To skin glistening in the sun. To the scent of heat and sunscreen. To hanging out by the pool. Watching him. Waiting. Counting down the minutes until it was time for him to clock out.

To fucking in the showers, trying not to get caught. To summer and pleasure and excitement.

It all seemed to exhilarating then. The keeping things hush hush. The sneaking around. It was their secret then and keeping it was an adventure. It was bold and daring and fun. 

But summer soon gave way for the fall and then the cold winds of winter. And with the snow and the cold, came the realisation that whatever it is they have — is an eternal “almost”.

With the pool being closed until may, the two of them had eventually been forced to relocate their tête-à-tête to another place. Gone are the days of spending what felt like an eternity underneath the warm spray of the shower. Nowadays he picks her up somewhere, they drive out to lovers lake. They park somewhere a bit off the path — to make sure their secret stays their secret. They kiss. They make out. They fuck. And once the fogged up windows clear up again, they get out. They share a cigarette. Sometimes they talk.

And then they let the realistation settle deep inside them. They let it consume them. From their hearts outwards. To their brains. Their lungs. Their bones. The realisation that this is just a temporary fix. That what they have is everything and nothing all at once. It’s halfway something. Halfway in love. Halfway happy. 

She thinks that’s what hurts the most. The knowledge that there is something there, it’s just not enough for him. If this was just sex, if it was nothing more, it would be so easy. But there’s a palpable tension between them. A certain kind of connection. A tingling in the air. 

Yet there’s a big cloud that seems to follow them around constantly, hanging above their heads heavy with rain about to pour down on them. She knows what the cloud is made of. Billy knows it too. It’s the knowledge that he hates it here, that he 100% wants to go back to California. It’s made of fears and doubts and the absolute horror that comes with thinking about the future. 

And the biggest part of it all, is the fact that Billy Hargrove doesn’t do relationships. 

So they stay there, on that line of being halfway something. 

Billy is leaning against the Camaro, cigarette dangling from his lips making him look so effortlessly cool it’s almost unfair. His hair sticks to his skin from their earlier workout, she thinks it makes him look like James Dean. That thought scares her. Billy, and this has to be blatantly obvious to him too, is a vision of all things gorgeous in this world. He’s soft golden curls and sharp jawline. He’s wicked grin and sparkling blue eyes. 

He’s an amalgamation of all things beautiful in the world. And (Y/N) is — well, she’s (Y/N). She knows she should be happy about things being the way they are. If sex, and friendship, is all she’s gonna get from him — she should be thankful about that. To even have that is more than she ever deemed possible.

But it doesn’t make her happy. Not all the way. Only ever halfway.

“ You going to the Valentine’s dance thing on friday ? “ Billy murmures around his cigarette.

“ Nope. “ 

“ Why not ? You got something better to do ? A hot date ? “ 

If only, she thinks, if only there was someone else. Maybe things would be easier than. Maybe it would be easier to let go of Billy. Alas there is no one else. Just him. 

“ No. No one’s asked me and I think it would be kinda shit to go by myself. I mean, it’s a Valentine’s Day dance so showing up alone is social suicide. “ 

For a moment, a spark of hope flickers inside of her. Like maybe this is the moment he’s gonna take the next step with her. Pull them out of the shadows, out of the deserted dressing rooms and fogged up cars and into the light. So that anyone can see. And she’s not asking for a love confession or anything. It’s just that dancing along the line of being something and being nothing is awfully exhausting and absolutely confusing.

“ Well, Valentine’s is dumb anyway.” 

Just like that, the flicker is gone. The hope is gone. All that is left is painful emptiness.

It’s not exactly the truth, per say. Someone has asked her but that person is Michael O’Hara and though he’s a nice enough guy, he’s not Billy. In fact, Billy detests him. He’s fairly well off, his dad owns a construction company, his mom does charity work. They have a nice house and a big garden and a golden retriever. They are everything personified that Billy resents. She didn’t tell him no. She didn’t tell him yes either. 

How was she expected to give Michael a proper answer if her heart was all over the place ?

“ Well you sound like a romantic. “

“ It’s all bullshit. “ 

“ You telling me you don’t believe in love ? “

Billy takes another drag from his cigarette, the muscles in his jaw straining as he inhales. If god ever came close to creating perfection, Billy was it, (Y/N) thought.

“ You telling me you do ? Tell me one couple that makes you believe in it ? My parents hate each other. Your parents hardly acknowledge each other. Outlook’s not so good if you ask me. “

He has a point, (Y/N) has to give him that. None of the adult relationships in their lives seem to work out too well. If love had ever been there in the first place, it is gone by now. And yet, to give up on it entirely seems foolish. If you can’t believe in love what else is there to believe in ? 

And what if the one person you love most, thinks it’s but a stupid fantasy.

“ So you don’t ever wanna like — fall in love ? Get married ? “ 

Billy regards her for a moment, barely letting his eyes travel towards her but she can see him glance through the corner of his eyes. “ Waste of time. “

It’s like a dagger straight to her heart. Waste of time. Waste of time. It repeats like a mantra in her mind. Over and over again.

“ That’s good to know. “ 

“ Mmh “.

A silence settles upon them and even though they often find themselves in a situation much like this one, it feel different now. As if the world has somehow shifted, lost the gravity that previously held it all together. Now they’re floating in a limbo. Drifting further and further away. And for the first time in a while (Y/N) doesn’t know how much longer she can hold onto him.

“ What are you doing tomorrow night ? “ Billy asks, dropping his cigarette bud on the ground before facing her properly for the first time since they’ve gotten out of the car. His eyes are intense and sometimes she thinks she can see something in them. Something more. Something that’s certain. Something that’s a definitely, not an almost.

But as soon as it flashed up, its gone again, making her wonder if it’s just a case of wishful thinking.

“ Work. You know the diner goes all out for Valentine’s week. “ 

Billy knows this. In fact it was Valentine’s week last year that the two of them properly met for the first time. 

Billy was bitter, about his move to Hawkins, about the situation with his dad, about life in general. 

And to top it all off, Hawkins Indiana seemed to have been captured by 

the greeting card industry. There were dances and parties themed after Valentine’s and paper hearts in every shop window. It felt like the world was mocking him.

The boy was hasn’t even been loved surrounded by an abundance of superficial displays of affection.

So he ended up at the diner, hoping for some peace and quiet — and some chili cheese fries.

What he go instead, was a diner looking as if Cupid himself had thrown up in there, a jukebox playing 1950s love songs and her. 

Her smiling. Her laughing. Her looking at him, eyes full of wonder and excitement and joy. Her.

Her dressed as a — heart ? 

“ Hi, welcome to Stella’s and happy Valentine’s week. My name is (Y/N), I am your waitress today. Can I start you off with some drinks ? “ 

There was something about her then. About the bliss in her voice. The smile on her face. about how she looked absolutely ridiculous in the foam heart costume that gave her very little room to move her arms. Ridiculous. But also fucking adorable.

“ Are you wearing that for me ? “ 

He expected her to react like all the other Hawkins girls did whenever he paid them even the smallest amount of attention. Blush and get flustered and wrap herself around his finger.

She didn’t though. She smirked and said “ I might be” and winked and then asked for his order of drink again. 

And for the first time in his life he thought that Valentine’s maybe wasn’t all that bad.

“ Hmm… I might pop round then. Get some chili fries. Grace you with my company. “ 

She hates that this makes her heart flutter. It shouldn’t but it does. It also comes with a bitter aftertaste though. Because this affection is only reserved for when they are alone or in the company of people they don’t know all too well. She knows that as soon as one of their classmates shows up, he’s gonna recoil. Pretend like she’s just another girl. Someone he almost knows, but doesn’t.

It hurts. God does it hurt.

And yet she smiles and nods and says “ sure “ and kisses him like she’s not desperately trying to hold together the pieces of her heart slowly crumbling. 

Earth Angel by the penguins is blasting from the jukebox and Billy enters the diner. The bell above the door chimes up and alarms (Y/N) of a new customer.

As soon as he catches sight of her, Billy thinks his heart might give out. She’s not a heart this time. She’s an angel. Maybe a cupid. He’s not sure. She’s in a red tulle skirt, a white shirt with a red heart on it. Red angel wings are strapped to her back and she’s glued little red sequin hearts to her cheeks, just below her eyes.

But her lips. God, her lips are what really make him feel some kind of way. Red and glossy and like they might taste of cherries or strawberries or candy apples. 

“ Hi “ she chirps as she approaches him, a bounce in her step “ Happy Valentine’s week. My name is (Y/N) and I am your waitress today. Can I start you off with some drinks ? “

He smiles back, a smile that he actually means, one he feels in his heart. Which is fucking terrifying honestly. 

“ Are you wearing that for me ? “ he asks, slightly tugging at a feather of her wings.

And just like the first time, she smirks, directs him to a table, winks and says “ I might be. “ 

And just like the first time, his heart starts beating just a little faster.

Things seem to go so well, until they don’t. 

For almost two hours, Billy sits in his booth, eating chili cheese fries, watching (Y/N) move around the diner. Every once in a while she comes over, steals a fry, leaves a kiss on his lips. It all feels so so gentle, so sweet. So right.

And then — reality settled back in.

(Y/N)’s heart drops as soon as she bell chimes up and she catches sight of who it is that has just entered. 

Tommy and Carol are loud. They are obnoxious. They are exhausting. But that’s not the reason why she’s dreading their company. It’s the influence they have on Billy.

All the softness and the affection vanished in the matter of a heartbeat. He’s back to being bitter and stoic and cold. And it hurts.

There’s no smiles from him as she approaches his table, the one they have just invited themselves to. 

“ Hi, happy Valentine’s week. My name is (Y/N) and I am your waitress can I get you something to drink ? “ 

Carol only musters her with a mix of amusement and ridicule. Tommy though, loudmouth he is, laughs at her. Not a funny, radiant, charming laugh. A mean one.

“ Look at you ! I hope they pay you a bunch for putting you into that stupid get-up. “ 

It doesn’t hurt. In fact, she doesn’t give a single fuck about what Tommy thinks.

What hurts, is Billy. Billy laughing along. Not a charming laugh either. Not the laugh she loves. A mean one. A ridiculing one.

What hurts is the way he looks at her then, as if she’s a stranger. As if he hasn’t been inside of her just last night. As if he hadn’t been placing soft kisses along her neck, whispering sweet nothings against her skin.

What hurts is when he scoffs and says “ She’s a waitress, Tommy. How much are they possibly paying her ? Not enough to wear that ridiculous shit. “ 

That’s what hurts. So damn much.

(Y/N) hopes he can see it in her eyes when they lock with his. That it breaks her. That it hurts her so much. She hopes he can see it, she hopes that he knows. She hopes that a little part of him, even if it’s teeny tiny, she hopes that part hurts too. 

“ They pay alright actually. “ she responds, wiping the table clean once again and pulling out her notepad.

“ Are you coming to the dance, (Y/N) ? “ Carol chimes up before ordering a diet coke.

“ Actually, I am “ 

It’s then, that Billy’s eyes snap up. They hold something else now, something she’s not familiar with. If she didn’t know better she’d say it’s jealousy. She does know better though. Billy isn’t jealous. You have to care to be jealous. And Billy obviously doesn’t care. At least not about her.

“ Really ? Who are you going with ? “ Carol inquires. 

“ Michael O’Hara “ 

She tries to see something in Billy’s reaction though he stays still. As if the frost from outside has suddenly taken over his body as well, freezing him in place. 

“ Oh, “ Carol says “ he’s a sweet guy. Good for you. “ 

It’s strange but she sounds almost sincere. As sincere as Carol can sound. And that, is maybe a tiny flicker or joy in this god awful situation. 

“ Yeah, he really is a sweet guy. There’s very few of them.” (Y/N) replies before walking towards the counter to get their drinks, not granting Billy as much as another glance.

It’s a while later, Carol and Tommy long gone, that Billy walks up to the register. There’s the usual suaveness about him. He looks so effortlessly cool. But where he usually seems unbothered, something doesn’t seem right in that moment.

“ You just gonna ignore me for the rest of the night ? “ 

“ Oh I’m sorry, I’m busy trying to make a living on my silly little waitress job. “ 

Billy scoffs and it makes her angry. He’s so smug, so complacent. “ God, you can’t seriously be pissed because of that comment. It was a dumb joke, (Y/N). “ 

“ Jokes are meant to be funny. “ 

“ And it was. “ 

“ Not to me, it wasn’t. “ 

He shakes his head in a dismissive motion. As if she has no right to be offended. No right to feel hurt.

“ You said you didn’t have a date for the dance, now suddenly you’re going with Michael O’Hara. Pretty boy Mike ? He’s not even your type. “ 

“ How the fuck would you know that ? “ 

“ I know you. “ 

“ You don’t know shit, Billy. “ 

“ I know what you like and it’s not guys like him. “ 

“ Oh really ? Do you ? If you knew me that well you’d know that the way you’re treating me when your friends are around, that hurts Billy. If you don’t want them to know that we’re fucking, that’s fine with me. I just don’t understand why you have to be such an asshole when they are around. Why can’t they know that we’re friends at least ? Am I really that embarrassing ? Are you really that ashamed of me ? “ 

Billy combs his fingers through his curls in the same way he always does when he’s aggravated, when he’s annoyed, when he’s frustrated. She hates that she can tell 

his moves and gestures so clearly. Hates that she knows him so well when he seems to know absolutely nothing about her. If only she didn’t love him so much, life could be so easy. So simple.

So painless.

“ It’s not like that “ he tries to explain.

“ Then what is it like ? Explain it to me, Billy. Because quite frankly I don’t understand it. “ 

Time seems to slow down as she’s waiting for him to reply. To give her an explanation, and apology, anything. 

What she gets, is silence. Thick with words unspoken. Thick with tension. With pain. With heartbreak.

“ Yeah that’s what I thought. Go fuck yourself, Billy. “ 

She disappears through the swinging doors and enters the break room, just about holding it together. That’s until she hears the bell above the door chime up once again, then the door slam, then the unmistakable sound of the camaro starting.

Then, and only then, does she allow herself to fall apart. Slide down the wall, sit on the floor. And cry. And feel. And cry some more.

Until eventually she’s all out of tears and all that’s left is a feeling of overwhelming emptiness.

Michael is a nice guy. He’s attentive and sweet and a real gentleman. He’s picked her up at 6 sharp, he’s been extremely charming when meeting her parents, he’s wearing a gorgeous suede suit. Everything about him should make her swoon. He’s the guy her heart should be longing for.

Only love doesn’t know no rules nor guidelines. It doesn’t operate on rational thoughts. 

The heart wants what it wants and, no matter how much she tries to fool herself into believing there’s anything she can do about it if only she tries hard enough, (Y/N) heart doesn’t want Michael.

She has to admit that simple fact to herself as she’s clutching a cup of spiked punch in her hand as Michael sits next to her rambling about some topic or another. He’s such a nice dude and deserves better. Better than a girl who’s heart is somewhere completely else.

The gym suddenly feels stuffy, like the walls are closing in and the room is getting smaller and smaller. There’s too many people here, too much noise. She needs a breather. A second to catch herself. To soften the inevitable fall.

“ Hey, Mike. I’ll go catch some air real quick, “ she announces, softly squeezing his arm in a friendly way. He’s so nice. He’s too nice.

“ Oh sure, d’you want me to come ? “ 

“ No. No you enjoy yourself. I uh — I’ll be fine. “ 

And he doesn’t complain or object and, when their eyes meet, she can see it all as clear as day. The defeat. The disappointment. The sadness. The gratefulness that it’s ending before it’s properly begun, before too many feelings got involved.

He knows, as well as she does, that this ain’t working. This isn’t even an almost and though the outcome isn’t what either of them had desired for it to be, a definite nothing is quite a lot better than an uncertain almost.

“ Alright. Let me know if you need me. “ 

She nods, then pushes through the crowd of dancing teenagers, sweaty, sticky, unruly. The cold february air hits her skin as she steps outside, goosebumps are rising all over. Her fingers are itching for a cigarette but she’s shared the last cigarette from her package with Billy the other day and hasn’t gotten around to buy a new one.

So she rests her back against the cold concrete wall of the school building and looks up into the sky. The stars twinkle back at her like tiny rhinestones on a veil of dark blue fabric. It all seems so vast right then, like she’s but a tiny speck of dust on the grand scheme of things. It’s both, scary and insanely exciting. 

“ You got a smoke ? “ 

His voice sends involuntary chills down her spine. It’s like golden honey melting in a cup of warm milk. Thick and rich and warm and homey. 

His voice sounds like home, when it definitely shouldn’t. It does anyway.

“ What are you doing out here, Michael not bring it ? “ 

“ Look if you’re here to make fun o — oh wow. �� 

He’s in a suit. Not a uber fancy one that one would wear to a wedding, but a suit nonetheless. There’s no bow, no tie, no cummerbund. His shirt is halfway unbuttoned. He’s still wearing his biker boots and the silver earring is dangling from his earlobe. 

If there was ever a person who looked out of place, it’s Billy in this moment. 

“ I’m not here to make fun of you. “ 

The sincerity in his voice is overwhelming. Like nothing she’s ever heard before. Especially not from him. “ I’m sorry. “ 

It’s two word. Two simple fucking words. And yet they hold the meaning of a lifetime. It seems that once he’s spoken them, her world gains back a bit of gravity. That with accepting his own faults he is pushing her world back into the right position. Slowly. Carefully. But he’s doing it nonetheless.

“ You’re wearing a suit. “ 

“ It’s a dance, it’s mandatory. “ 

“ Why are you at the dance ? Thought you didn’t believe in love. “ 

“ It’s not that I don’t believe in love, “ Billy confesses “ It’s just that I was never shown how it’s supposed to feel or work. I wasn’t loved in a long time so the way we feel about each other is making me freak the fuck out. Because I’ve not felt like this in a long time, if ever. I don’t know how to deal with it so I sabotage myself. You are not embarrassing though and neither is your job. You are far from it. You are way too good for my dumb ass. “ 

“ What are you saying, Billy ? “ 

“ I’m falling in love with you and it terrifies me. I’m so scared of fucking it up that I ruin things before it can get that far. But then I — I realised that I could lose you. And the Michael O-fucking-Hara of all people. And that thought is honestly way worse. Because when I’m with you I have good moments, and I don’t have a lot of those in my everyday life but with you — with you there are so many. So I realised I have to stop being such a pussy and actually get off my ass and tell you how I feel even if it’s scary. You’re allowed to stop me any second by the way, talking about my feeling makes me feel icky but I’ll do it anyway if it means you’ll forgive me. “ 

“ Billy. “ 

“ Because I am falling in love with you and I don’t care who knows or doesn’t know. I just need you to know. That’s all that matters. “ 

If there was ever a moment to be soft, to be kind, to be forgiving — it is tonight. Underneath a thousand sparkling stars, as a lovesong plays from the inside of the gym. As he looks at her with eyes filled with adoration and passion and — .

She takes his face in between hers and for a second, all she does is look into his eyes. Maybe she’ll regret this one day. Failure is always a possibility. But so is success. So is the prospect of a loving relationship. A romance that will defy the odds. That will be so different to the examples their parents have set. 

Her lips meet his in a soft kiss, so gentle it’s hardly there at all. And yet he feels it all over. In his head, his heart. From the top of his head to the tips of his toes. 

“ Sometimes good things are scary, Billy. Like Rollercoasters or Horror Movies, or love. “ 

He kisses her again, takes her breath away. But she thinks if this is how it goes, she’ll gladly do without oxygen.

“ Hey Billy, I got a question. “ 

“ What’s that ? “ 

She looks him up and down, then smiles. A smile so radiant it can rival the stars.

“ Are you wearing that for me ? “ she asks and tugs on the bottom of his suit jacket.

And Billy ? He kisses her again, then smiles and replies. “ I might be. “ 

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Californian Dream (Pt. 02 of 11)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 2.9 K

Summary: Being part of one of the richest families of California doesn't mean you're happy. Your life is boring, and you're surrounded by meaningless people and their meaningless talk. Even during Summer, with the break you have from college, there's nothing good going on. Nothing but the new pool guy, Billy, the most handsome man you ever saw. You were successfully avoiding him, not wanting to act like an idiot in front of the guy until Billy accepts to be your date for a fancy gala you're forced to attend. The night was going well, even better when he sneaked you out to go to the beach. But a gang of criminals breaks into the party, kidnapping the heirs to the wealthiest families, which includes you. So, for your safety, your parents want you to stay with Billy, living in his apartment until the criminals are caught. And that could take weeks, maybe even months.

Warnings: Light violence

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{Stranger Things Masterlist}

{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

×

Open Book

You're checking your hair for the third time on the huge mirror in the main hall. The lilac dress fits you perfectly, of course, since your mother wouldn't allow you to buy anything that didn't look marvelous. Your hair, Amelia's doing, it pinned up on a high bun, a few strands allowed to be free, only to frame your face. But you can't wait to let it all down, to strip out of the dress and put on some normal clothes. The night would be doomed if it wasn't for Billy. Since the almost drowning incident, your father is very thankful, and he's even giving Billy generous tips. And you've been going out of your way to talk to him, offering help, even though he always refuses. And Michael is only allowed here on formal occasions when your father and his have business to discuss, so it means you haven't seen him in the last couple of days.

The bell ring drags you out of your thoughts, and you immediately get nervous. Taking a look at the clock, you notice he's right on time. Rushing to the front door, as fast as your high heels allow, you gesture for the butler to leave it to you, and he nods and walks away. Taking a deep breath, you pull the door open, and a smile comes to your lips straight away. Billy looks amazing, and in this suit, people will be talking for a very different reason. He'll get many stares, you're sure of it. He won't look misplaced, he'll be the center of all attentions.

“You... Clean up real nice.” As you stutter, you notice as he quickly runs his eyes through your body, making you blush.

“You too.” He says with a smile, before tilting his head towards the car. “Should we get going? I'm sure you'd hate to be late.”

“Oh, no. God forbid.” You say, sarcastically, making your way to his car. And what a car. A dark bluish Camaro, if you're not mistaken, which you think suits him perfectly. “Hey, what a machine, huh?” You exclaim as you get into the passenger seat. Billy walks around the car before settling down beside you.

“I'm sure it's nothing compared to what you may drive.” Giving you a glance and a small smile, he speeds away, through the rocky path that leads to the gates.

“Well, my pink Cadillac is not as badass as this baby here.”

“A pink Cadillac? That's girly.”

“I'm a girl if you haven't noticed.” He slows down at the gates, and you kindly waves at the security guard as you move to hit the street.

“I noticed, don't worry.” His Camaro makes a wild noise when he speeds up, flying through the road, so you decide to buckle up.

“Good.” Why does it makes you happy you know he noticed you're a girl? “So, what's her name?” You ask, gesturing at the car when Billy gives you a confused glance.

“She doesn't have one.” Chuckling, he turns his attention back at the road ahead. “But you're right, she should have a name.”

“What are the chances you'll let me chose it?” Moving on your seat a little to turn your body towards him, you bite your lip to see his smile.

“Only if you come up with something really good.”

“Lily.” You burst out.

“Absolutely not.”

“But is my favorite flower and it's beautiful.” Defending yourself, you can't keep the smile from your face.

Billy furrows his eyebrows, shaking his head lightly. “Nope. No way. You're not naming my car Lily.”

Since he seems very focused on the road, you get the chance to look at him. Your eyes run through his face, his cheeks, jawline, lips. His eyes, that you concluded, are the same color as the ocean. You wish you had a good excuse to look at them, just for a while. “Not even if I say please?”

“Not even if you make puppy eyes.”

With a dramatic eye roll, you decide to give up on the matter, for now at least. Half an hour later, you finally get to the hotel where the gala will happen. You advise Billy to park his car three blocks away since it'll be a lot easier to leave after the party is over. Then, you leave the car and walk the rest of the way. The hotel entrance is already crowded, and you know at least half of all these people, but so far, you haven't spotted any of your friends.

“Can I hold your arm? Just because that's how the dates walk around in these things.” Shyly, you ask as you climb up the stairs to the main hall.

“Sure.”

“Thanks.” Muttering, you take his arm, now already at the entrance. The two men by the door give you a nod, gesturing for you to get inside. People know you, there's no need to ask for an invitation. The hotel's hall is beautifully decorated, with tiny white and yellowish lights scattered through the walls, and then hanging, coming all together on the chandelier. You can't deny it looks amazing, but still, you'd rather be somewhere else. “So... That's how it happens.” You start, walking around with Billy. “We find our table, and on the way, we make sure to spot and greet some people. The goal is to make your presence known. Then, since it's a beneficial gala, I'll have to make a donation.” Shrugging your shoulders, you wave at one of your mother's friends. “Then we go to our table and endure the rest.”

“No dancing?” He asks, after a small pause you make to greet Mr. and Mrs. Whayland, and thankfully, not James.

“I don't dance on these things, but...” Letting go of his arm for a moment, you turn around until you facing him, slowly walking backwards. “I will if you let me name your car Lily.”

“No dancing then.” He simply says with a smirk. “Quit it. You won't–” Billy suddenly grabs your arms, pulling you to the side. When you look behind you, you notice you almost hit one of the waiters, his tray full of vol-au-vents. “Careful.”

“Oh, my gosh. Sorry.” Giggling and a little embarrassed, you give the young man an apologetic look. “Let me get these.” Reaching out your hand, you take two pieces, handing one over to Billy. “Try this.”

“What is that?”

“Vol-au-vents. Some French thing. It's a pastry with some kind of sauce. It's good.” Carefully not to drop any sauce on your dress, you give the small thing a bite, gesturing for Billy to do the same, eyes focused on his face as he eats. “So?”

“I like pizza better.” He concludes and you nod.

“You're definitely the best date I could find.” Taking his arm again, you pull him to the table where most of the food is placed. There are waiters here too, making sure it's always be full. “Now, chose something.”

You take a quick glance at his face as he thinks. You're happy he doesn't seem so out of place here, or at least he doesn't let it show. “Shrimp cocktails.” He says. “Are they as good as they look or will I be disappointed?”

“I wouldn't know. I'm allergic to shrimp so if you're planning to kill me, that's the fastest way to do it.” Halfway through your sentence, Billy stops on his tracks, his hand now just hovering over the shrimps. “But you can eat them. Just... For real, don't touch me with that hand.”

“Let's not risk it then.”

“Alright.” Blushing, you clear your throat. You did hear some stories about Billy, mostly from your friends, trying to talk you out of coming with him. Billy has a way with women, never really going out with the same more than a couple of times. He's up late partying, punching people in the face when they get on his nerves, stuff like that. But he's being very nice with you today and was kind enough to make this hell of a huge favor. You don't care what he does in his free time, he's a nice guy. “This over here.”

“Brandy snaps.” You say, taking one for yourself. “I love this.” Some of the chocolate gets on your thumb as you eat, so you suck it clean, a gesture that makes some people around give you a disapproving stare. Flustered, you turn back at the table.

“Everything alright?”

“Yup. Come, I want to make a donation and sit down.” The incident makes you a little upset. These rules, as stupid as they may be, are meant to be followed, mostly on an event like this. Not even silly accidents as getting some chocolate cream on your thumb are acceptable. When you get to the table, you ignore the line of people behind it, taking one of the paychecks and a pen, you start writing down. “Last time, I donated fifty cents. As a joke, you know. People only do this to show off how much money they can afford to give away.” You tell Billy as you sign down your name. “My mother gave me a hell of a lecture.”

“So how much will you donate now?” He asks, coming a little closer to read what you're writing.

“Twenty.”

“Twenty dollars?”

“Twenty thousand.” You say as you put down the value, sliding it into the rectangular glass box. When you move to take Billy's arm again, he has his eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Nothing. It's just a lot of money.”

Not really, but you won't tell him that. “At least it'll buy something someone needs. Our table is by the windows, thank God.” You exclaim once you finally read your name on a piece of paper attached to the centerpiece of the table. Pulling Billy with you, you take a seat, your eyes immediately finding the beach, just across the street. “We can see the beach from here. A total win.”

“(Y/N)?” Your father calls, and you abandon the ocean for a while, finding him standing beside your mother.

“Hi, dad. Mom. How's the organization of–”

“Is he your companion for the gala?” He cuts you off, exchanging a glance with Billy. You knew they'd be mad, but something just clicks inside you. Through the corner of your eyes, you see Billy immediately looks away, at the beach.

“Yes, father.”

“Didn't you had other guys to–” He's interrupted by an announcement, his and your mother's being called alongside several other people. “We'll discuss this later.” And he leaves, your mother only giving you a hard stare.

“I bet it won't be pretty when you get home,” Billy speaks, still looking through the window. “They might even ask for someone else to attend to your pool.”

“Well, if it wasn't you working that day, I could've drowned so... I'll make sure to remind them of that.” Then, everybody stands up. You, taking the chance, walk closer to the window, arms crossed, forcing your eyes to find where the horizon is, now mixed with the dark sky. Soon, Billy joins you, eyes on the landscape. “Sorry about that. I swear I don't understand why is such a big deal.” You do get it's because he's just the pool guy, an employee, but still, it's stupid. Why can't he be your date? Would your father rather Michael, who almost got you killed, came with you? “I... I'm having a good time with you. This would suck a lot more if I were with some of those idiots.”

“Don't worry about me. I'm used to it.”

“You shouldn't be.” Turning around, you rest your back against the glass, gesturing at the party in general. “Do you know why people make such exaggerated donations? Because the five highest paychecks will be announced, so everyone will know. And you think people will find that selfless and generous? No. They'll start counting, calculating how much those people actually have on the bank to afford to spend so much.” There's a mocking tone on your voice, and you struggle to keep it down. “This isn't about helping those in need, is about social status.”

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Billy suddenly says, and the idea is so absurd it makes you chuckle, looking at him.

“What?” Looking around, you shake your head. “I can't... I can't just leave.”

“Why not?” He shrugs his shoulders. “You donated, your parents already know you came, and some woman gave you a death stare just because you sucked some chocolate off your thumb. You achieved all your goals for the night.”

Tilting your head to the side and looking at the floor, you consider it. The night is far from over, and the thought of having to sit here for hours is horrible. And the possibility of leaving thos place makes your heart beat faster. “Where?”

“There.” When you look up at him again, he's gesturing at the beach.

Slowly, a smile comes to your lips. Quickly scanning through the people, you notice they're quite focused on the host, who's still speaking. “Alright, let's go. But we gotta be careful.”

“We will. C'mon.” Billy grabs your hand, moving through the tables, but remaining near the wall. As you keep his pace, you're on high alert, checking if anyone is looking your way. It feels like it takes forever for you to reach the entrance, only half open, but when you do, you're relieved to notice those two men aren't here.

“We're out!” You burst out, quite loudly, bringing a hand to cover your mouth. Quickly, you rush downstairs, walking around the huge fountain and right into the sidewalk. You make a small pause, waiting for some cars to pass by before crossing. You can't stop smiling when you reach the other side. That's when you notice you're still holding his hand, so you let go, looking away. “I can't believe we're doing this.”

“It's not a bid deal.”

“It is for me.” Using his shoulder to balance yourself, you take your high heels off before stepping on the sand. “I never did anything like this.” Feeling the sand under your feet is amazing. This night just got so much better. “You're the best date I could ever find and that's final.” Turning on your heels, you find Billy coming your way, also barefoot.

“A lot of people would disagree.”

“I don't see anyone else here, so their opinion doesn't matter.” Reaching out to your bun, you pull all the pins, letting your hair down and dramatically shaking your head, until the strands fall all over your face. “This feels like freedom.” You giggle, taking a deep breath, aware of how stupid it may sound.

“I don't understand you.” He says, and you open your eyes again, looking at him. Billy walks by, and you quickly move to follow his pacenalong the beach.

“What don't you understand?”

“I met a lot of chicks like you. Rich, wearing rings more expansive than my car, with easy access to anything money can buy and they're happy.” Putting a strand of hair behind your ear, you glance at Billy. His shirt is half unbuttoned under the suit, giving you a glimpse of his chest, and that makes you blush and look ahead again. “But you don't sound happy.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you breathe out, not sure how to answer to that. “I know you probably think I'm just some spoiled rich kid with rich kid's problems who has everything yet wants more–”

“I know people who are just like that.” Billy makes a pause, and you give some more steps before turning around to look at him. “You're not one of them.”

“Are you sure?”

“You're the only boss I ever had who offers help.” As he speaks, a small ripple reaches your feet, and you jump a little before giggling and walking into the water until it reaches your calves, soaking your skirt. “You'll ruin your dress.”

“Mother won't let me wear it again since everyone already saw it so...”

“So... You always do what's expected of you.”

“I'm an open book to you, am I not?” Furrowing your eyebrows, you wonder how did he got there so fast. People don't notice it. You're always in perfect disguise.

“I just know where to look, I guess.”

“Well, I do what's expected of me, yes.” Walking out of the water, you feel the skirts of the dress getting attached to your legs, but you don't mind. “I gave up trying to argue with my parents a long time ago so I just... Follow the rules. One day after the other.” This is sad, you know it. Just mentioning it sucks. Being part of the high society is a privilege, or so they say. But you? You don't have a choice. “The good part is that it's Summer and there's no college. The bad part is that there are some stupid events to attend to, like that gala.”

“I know some people who would kill to be invited for something like that.” Billy tilts his head to where the hotel is.

“If you were somehow enjoying that we can go back.” By the look he gives you, it's quite obvious he wasn't, so you smile, walking closer to him, and pretending to pin your hair up again. “I can just fix this and we can go.”

“That's not my kind of party, don't bother.” He takes both your hands, pulling them away from your hair, causing it to cascade down again.

“And what's your kind of party?”

“You wouldn't like it.”

“Try me. You will never know if you don't take me to one.” The moment you say it, you understand what you meant, and the smile fades from your lips as you both resume your walking. Billy wouldn't take you anywhere else, not somewhere where his friends would see him with you, some wealthy, stupid girl. And your parents would never approve you going somewhere... Different. Somewhere not filled with millionaires. “Nevermind.” You're quick to add. “I throw my own parties. Just blasting music in my bedroom and dancing with myself.”

“So that's where that music comes from.” He chuckles, and you playfully elbow him. “Maybe someday. If your father doesn't kick me out of your property, we might see a little of each other every once in a while.”

“Yeah. You could let me rake some leaves at least, I'm sure I can–” A loud, deafening explosion cuts you short, and you cover both your ears out of instinct. When the impact is over, you turn around, easily finding where the dark smoke and flames are coming from. The hotel. “What the hell.” You're still speaking when a dozen black vans come into your sight, all heading to the hotel. Seconds later, the shootings begin.

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