#haunted Camaro

[neonponders]

For @billyhargrovebingo 💙🚙

~ read on ao3 ~

B2 - Free Space (Haunted Camaro)

• • •

Old cars have personality.

Billy knew what he wanted as soon as he saw her. The car market had gone in the direction of making cars look like soap box derby contestants. He wanted a car that looked like a car. Like pizzazz on wheels, an exoskeleton of the driver, and a really stylish boom box for his superior taste in music.

She was a little retrofitted from other Camaro models, but Billy liked that just fine. No other car would look like his. Between her age, remodeling, and the fact that this car had been in an accident already, she was a hell of a steal. The biggest chunk of his money went into having her painted. Billy wasn't the type to have a random red door and a green bumper, but he could certainly enjoy the ever so slightly murky, sapphire blue that made his baby girl gleam in the early dawn light.

Billy learned his car inside and out. He knew how she purred, knew her high speed roars, and every tone and pitch of her tires on any surface...

Billy knows the sound of a human voice. There's something about the sound resonance of a voice that carries differently. A voice just moved a certain way on the ear; arrived at the ear with a tangible difference.

He could hear someone humming even with the car's speakers blasting. That's how it started. Billy kept hearing a voice in his car.

It drove Billy nuts. Scared the shit out of him first, thinking that someone had gotten into his vehicle without him being aware. Made him circle his vehicle like a pacing dog every time he came and went from his car.

One time, it was just a split second as he put groceries in the back of his car...but he shut the trunk and thought he saw a shadow in his rearview mirror. But he was seeing it through the rear windshield - plenty of glares on the curved glass and it was gone as soon as he blinked anyway.

His annoyance swung back into fear when the humming returned. Billy had been tired of his tapes so he indulged in the radio for once, at the risk of same old hits beating themselves over his brain. There were worst things than Fleetwood Mac to serenade the drive along the California coast...

Would you stay if she promised you heaven?

Billy blinked.

Taken by the sky.

Billy knew a voice over a speaker, over the phone...

Love's a state of mind.

Billy knew a voice right next to him. He looked in the rearview mirror, and saw the biggest brown eyes he'd ever seen. They were a little a little tilted...sad looking. Too young to be so sad.

Until those irises flicked to meet Billy's tropical water eyes, and smiled.

"Stop the car."

Billy didn't understand, until he realized he was driving off the road and toward the rocks that tumbled down into the jagged surf below.

A large hand reached past him, and turned the steering wheel the same time his car seized up. In an instant, Billy lurched to a stop on the ocean-side curb. Dirt and sand sprayed into the thorned brush, creating a beige cloud around him.

The voice was gone. Billy was the only person sitting in his car.

Billy didn't have a name for the cold, alarmed sensation gripping his spine. The only words he had made him feel stupid and paranoid. Regardless, he pulled an illegal U-turn and parked in front of the local library.

Hours went by, until his eyes burned from reading newspaper scans. His search was already a narrow funnel of variables, how could this take so long? A ghost haunted his damn Camaro, which gave him, at most, fifteen years of a window to find a car accident that would have killed somebody...

A piece. A piece is all that would be needed...right? His car had a lot of pieces, from all over the country.

Sometimes it wasn't the wreck that killed a person, but the wounds afterward.

Billy was at a loss and too exhausted to read anything else. On a whim, as he walked past the librarian counter on his way out, he asked, "Hey, did you ever hear about a car accident that killed a guy? Like a young guy. My age."

Her eyes widened as if she had already been thinking about such things. "Why, yes. People your age are too young to be dying. Of course I'd remember such a thing. Take your pick: there was that poor girl who died in her boyfriend's motorbike accident in Oregon. There was a whole VW bus of youths who drove into a lake - hot boxed out of their minds and unable to get out of the vehicle. There was another young man who died in Indiana under bizarre circumstances - "

"Him," Billy took a guess. "What circumstances?"

"Oh, well, from what I remember, there'd been children driving the car."

Billy's brows furrowed and she nodded. "My astonishment, exactly, but apparently he was already injured. The kids were trying to get him to a hospital, but the poor fools hadn't bothered putting a seatbelt on the young man. When they crashed, they all stayed put, but he didn't make it."

"Do you recall a name?"

"I'm afraid I don't - not the boy's name, at least. But Hawkins. Hawkins, Indiana is where it happened. Beautiful lake country."

"Thanks," Billy grinned, far too brightly after a discussion about teen catastrophe. He went back to the newspapers and found the articles immediately:

Hawkins Senior in Fatal Accident

Hawkins Sheriff's Department Pushes for Seatbelt Awareness

Hawkins Police Ticket Fees Go Up After Teen Fatality.

Steve Harrington's Obituary. With a picture and everything. It was his senior photo, grinning from ear to ear in some kind of rented tux jacket, shirt, and clip-on bowtie that all the men had to wear for the yearbook. His hair was inflated two inches above his hairline, and glossy under the photography lights.

Steve hadn't worn a tux in Billy's car. Billy couldn't believe he even retained such details after a scare like the one that morning, but...

A jacket. Steve wore a simple athletic jacket and a collared shirt. And a watch. A gold-rimmed watch had been on the hand that stopped the steering wheel.

Billy printed every article focusing on Steve, paid in dimes to the librarian, and jogged out to his car.

Billy drove to the beach. The horizon beamed with neon orange, shadows, and the screams of amateur volleyball players.

Billy gazed at the picture of Steve Harrington. He looked handsome, in a high school dreamy sort of way.

Steve Harrington.

Steve was the only son and child to Robert and Annette Harrington. He was a proud varsity student of Hawkins High School. Steve was co-captain of the swim team and the basketball team, as well as a contributive member of the Prom Committee, Student Council, Key Club, Future Business Leaders of America, as well as a beloved babysitter to the Hendersons and Wheelers. His parents are valued members of the Hawkins community, making Steve a bright light of prospects -

"I didn't have any of those."

Billy had been reading under his breath. Now he looked up at his rearview mirror at the young man sitting right in the center of his back seat. "Hey, Harrington."

He'd been looking out the window at a family packing up their car to go home after a long day at the beach. Then his attention rotated to Billy, who fanned his face with the papers. "I guess those little Hendersons or Wheelers were the ones who killed you?"

Steve blinked slowly, almost like he was tired. "I don't remember."

Billy shook his head gently, as if to say, You don't have to.

Instead, he asked, "What did you mean? You didn't have any what?"

"Prospects."

"With all these extra curriculars, nobody was offering you jobs? No schools lined up begging for your family name on their alumni?"

Steve shook his head, looking sad again. "I don't remember."

Billy exhaled a quiet huff. He pursed his lips, nodding as if coming to a decision. "Well, you seem to be a permanent resident in my car. How does that make you feel right now?"

"Like you have bad taste in music."

Billy couldn't help but laugh at his stupid luck. "Jesus," he cursed, setting an elbow on his open windowsill to prop his head. "I get a pretty boy all to myself and he's a total snob."

Steve's eyes squinted at him, like he was needing all cylinders firing to work through his thoughts. "Who are you? I know your music and I know your dates, but I don't know you."

Billy glared at him in the rearview. It wasn't great, having someone know about his cover-up dates with girls, the out-of-wedlock sex they had, or all the men Billy had in here. Then again, who was a ghost going to snitch to?

"Billy. Billy Hargrove."

Steve smiled. It was almost like the sunlight actually touched his skin. Almost.

[seeminglydark]

Happy Friday the 13th from your fave ghostie influencer.

Caro gets real annoyed when people use them for fake haunting publicity stunts, a little hint to the plot of Book 2, which is funny because they aren’t that fond of real hauntings either. Mostly they try to just avoid going to places that could be trouble either way.

Remember to tune in to my twitch channel on Halloween for a livestream of Caro’s hauntings podcast, Mil-Liminal!

Caro Greene (they/them) is a character from my webcomics Seemingly Dark and Mil-Liminal on Webtoon and Tapas.

[kpop-stories-21]

Day 1: Engineering Fate

Group: ATEEZ

Pairing: Yunho x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Rating: 18-21+

Genres, Tropes, & AUs: Non-Idol AU, Modern Fantasy AU, Magic AU, Spooky Themes, Childhood friends to lovers, Smut, Fluff

Content & Trigger Warnings: Human!Reader, Human!Yunho, spooky content, magic, halloween celebration, haunted house, one short horror scene in the haunted house but it's over pretty quick, unprotected sex(wrap that shit up kids), foreplay, fingering, teasing, size kink, dirty talk, multiple orgasms

Summary: You're not even in town yet and already strange things are happening. Luckily, you encounter a handsome mechanic who is willing to get your car (and maybe your insides) in shape.

General tags: @kpop---scenarios @jeonrose @galaxystardragoness @skittlez-area512 @mybiasisexo @biaswreckingfics @anyamaris @trashlord-007 @liliesofdreamsskz @okiedokrie-main @naturalogre @thelargefrye @yoonguurt @bxffietheblxxdy @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @kwanisms ATEEZ tags: @deltamoon666 @lovelyhange @uraharasfavoriteexperiment

If you want to be added to my taglist, click here

Network pings: @cultofdionysusnet || @sandsofire || @wonderlandnet

MDNI banner, divider, and support banner courtesy of @cafekitsune

Masterlist | Main Masterlist

«-Yesterday | Day 2-»

You'd moved to the city to attend uni, but you made sure to come home every year for the week-long Halloween Festival. By now your professors and friends were used to you disappearing around the spooky season, and there were never any objections to you attending lectures remotely so long as you continued to work on assignments and homework.

For as long as you could remember, Halloween had always been your favourite holiday. So living in a quaint town well-known for being "modernly medieval" and for the Halloween Festival held there every year was like a dream come true. If you didn't have a wish to pursue further education on your path to becoming a lawyer, you might've stayed there your whole life.

This year, however, was off to quite a different start. As you pulled your sputtering blue Mustang convertible onto the gravelly shoulder of the road, you wondered how the hell you would ever make it into town. It was the first day of the Festival and there wasn't much traffic. Most people came early so they could enjoy the entirety of the week without the energy lag from travelling.

As you were pondering your options, the sound of a car engine coming towards you grabbed your attention. Praying the driver would be kind and not an asshole, you stepped out of your car, beginning to wave as soon as the black Camaro came into sight. To your great relief, the driver pulled over when they saw your frantic gestures.

The door opened and a tall raven-haired male unfolded long limbs as he slid out. He was absolutely gorgeous, his smile wide and infectious as he loped over to you with something akin to excitement in his steps. He made you think of a giant puppy as you watched him approach.

"Car trouble?" He asked, voice husky.

You nodded. "I felt a bump like I drove over something about a quarter mile back, but there wasn't an animal or anything in the road so I just assumed I rolled over some object that flew out of another car and went on. Now I'm worried that whatever it was may have hit something underneath."

The man's smile widened. "Well you're in luck! I happen to work part-time as a mechanic and I brought my tools with me, so I'll just pop under there and see if I can figure out what's wrong."

Relief flooded through you and you were finally able to return his smile.

"Name's Jeong Yunho, by the way."

"I'm Kim Y/N. Nice to meet you Yunho. I really appreciate this."

Yunho waved a hand dismissively as he retrieved his tools and lowered himself to the asphalt. "I'm just glad I could help."

As Yunho began to work you leaned against the side of your car, watching him intently.

"So what brings you down this way?" You asked curiously. "Are you here for the Festival?"

"More or less." Yunho replied, grunting. "In addition to being a mechanic, I also work part-time as an engineer. I have a standing job at the Festival every year to make sure the rides stay in top condition all week long. But even if I didn't have this job I'd still come down every year, since this is where I grew up."

Your eyes widened with excitement, finally figuring out why his name had seemed familiar. It had been ages since you last met one of your childhood friends. "You used to live here too?"

Yunho poked his head out the side of your car, recognition flooding his handsome features. "Oh my God, Y/N! I thought your name sounded familiar, but I told myself I was just imagining things." He smiled broadly. "I'd hug you, but I don't think you want grease and oil all over your nice clothes."

You giggled. "I appreciate the consideration."

It didn't take much longer for Yunho to finish by examining your car, the two of you catching up on each other's lives. Once he was out from under your car, you put the key in the ignition and turned it, letting out a joyous cry as the engine roared to life.

Yunho offered to follow you to the Festival in case anything else happened, and you accepted. Upon arriving, the two of you were about to part ways when you invited him to have dinner with you once he was done working for the day. He agreed, and you told him where you'd be staying before waving goodbye.

After Yunho left you checked into your room at the inn and then wandered around, trying out some of the rides and grabbing lunch before approaching the large tower-like building that held the magical haunted house. This was probably your favourite attraction, hands down. It was created with wild Fae magic, offering eight different levels for all who entered. The magic also remembered what levels each person had completed, so you never had to repeat the same experience twice. Really, they were more like horror-themed escape rooms than bonafide haunted house experiences. Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open and stepped in.

It was pitch dark save for the outside light coming through the open door. In that light you discovered a flashlight, which you happily picked up. As soon as you did so, the door slammed shut behind you. And so it begins, you thought excitedly as you turned the flashlight on and began to examine your surroundings.

You were in some kind of basement, bits of trash all over the dirty floor along with what looked like an old briefcase. Moving forward, you picked up the briefcase and looked it over carefully. You found a numerical padlock keeping it shut and set it back where you found it, making a mental note to keep your eyes peeled for a five digit code.

Further exploration revealed a desk on which were several notes spattered with a dark substance that could have been either blood or something equally unpleasant. You examined them carefully but found no important information, just stuff pertaining to the backstory of the level.

In the back of the room was a wall covered with graffiti. That was odd, since there were no marks anywhere else in the room. Closer examination revealed a blacklight on a stand, and an idea came to mind. Dragging the blacklight around so it was aimed at the wall, you turned it on. Amongst the jumble of paint was the distinct image of five numbers, most likely the code to unlock the briefcase. Repeating the numbers under your breath, you made your way back to the briefcase and put them in. An audible click echoed through the room and you let out a quiet cry of joy.

Inside the briefcase was a large metal key and an odd triangle-shaped artefact made of some smooth material you didn’t recognize. You pocketed both objects and began searching for a door, assuming the key you’d obtained would get you out of this room. As you were walking you suddenly heard a deep, rumbling growl and froze, doing your best to remain motionless in the hope that whatever was in here with you would lose interest and return to wherever it came from.

The tapping of claws against the hard floor reached your ears, coming slowly closer. You regulated your breathing, praying that you were being quiet enough. Heavy, guttural breathing sounded from directly behind you as your heart pounded a staccato beat against your ribcage. Please, just move on. There’s nothing interesting here. Something wet nudged at the back of your knee and you bit your lip to keep from squealing at the disgusting sensation. A massive tongue licked a stripe up your leg and you dug your teeth further into your lips.

A whistle echoed from somewhere above you and the creature turned, bounding toward the sound with thudding steps that shook the ground slightly. When silence reigned once more you exhaled shakily, releasing some of the tension in your body. Locating a fairly clean rag you’d seen earlier, you wiped the creature’s saliva off your leg and resumed your search for the door to the next room. Your leisurely attitude had vanished with the reminder that this was no walk in the park, you needed to get out of here fast before the creature or its master found you.

Determined, you looked around quickly and found the door within minutes. You pulled the key from your pocket and tried it. It slid in and turned without issue, taking a little more of the tension away. You cautiously pushed the door open and stepped into a much brighter room, sunlight streaming through large glass windows. From the opulence of your surroundings you guessed you were in a mansion of some sort, probably a cover for whatever horrors went on in this place. As quietly as possible, you approached the first door you could immediately see and checked if it was locked. It wasn’t, and you tiptoed into the room.

This was a bedroom, possibly the master suite but you couldn’t be sure. On the dresser was a large, golden key with intricate carvings. You quickly pocketed it and resumed looking around.

Aside from the key, the bedroom was pretty empty, so you stepped out and approached the next door. This one was locked, so you tried the gilded key you'd found. The lock clicked and you were in.

You were in what appeared to be an office. A door at the back of the room caught your eyes and you went to open it. Revealed was a set of stairs going down, probably back to the basement. You closed the door back, no way you were going into that hellhole a second time. Searching the rest of the room proved fruitless, and you moved on.

You now stepped into the lobby, the front doors calling you enticingly. Pulling the golden key from your pocket, you eyed it curiously. To hell with it, you decided. Approaching the front doors you inserted the key and turned it. The doors swung open and bright white light filled the area, blinding you.

You stepped back out onto the grounds of the festival, lower lip extended in a slight pout. You'd hoped to see more of the level before leaving, but your curiosity got the better of you as usual.

You'd clearly been in there for a while, the sun was nearing the horizon and many of the attractions were turning their lights on.

"Having fun?" Came a voice from behind you.

Startled, you jumped and whirled around. Yunho stood there, a lopsided grin on his face.

"I didn't scare you, did I?" He teased.

You stuck your tongue out at him, making him chuckle. "I did the first level of the haunted house, so I'm still slightly on edge."

“Understandable. You ready for dinner?”

As if on cue, your stomach growled loudly and both of you laughed.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Yunho said, still chuckling a little.

The two of you began to walk, making your way back to the inn you were staying at. Once in the small restaurant area, you made your orders and chose a place to sit. Once the food arrived you dug in, silence reigning for a bit as both of you enjoyed your meals.

When both plates were empty, you looked up at Yunho and grinned. “We sure enjoyed that, didn’t we?”

He nodded, returning your grin.

Before either of you could say anything more, a server approached and announced that the restaurant was closing. You apologised for keeping them and asked Yunho if he wanted to talk more in your room. He agreed and the two of you went up to the second floor where your room was located.

You and Yunho talked long into the night about various memories from your childhood and where some of your friends went after you both left. Somewhere along the way the conversation came to crushes and past relationships, and Yunho casually dropped a rather shocking bit of information.

“I’ve had a crush on you since like eighth grade, I think. Still do, as a matter of fact.”

You stared at him in surprise as your brain processed what he’d just said. You’d had a crush on him for just as long, but you never in your life imagined he might’ve returned those feelings. “So have I.” You admitted.

You gazed at each other in silence for a moment, then Yunho leaned toward you a bit and murmured “Y/N, may I kiss you?”

“Please.” You whispered, hands coming up to grasp his shoulders as your lips met and bliss exploded throughout your body.

One large hand tangled in your hair, while the other spanned at least half of your waist. You clung to his shoulders for dear life as fireworks went off behind your closed eyelids. He deepened the kiss, and it felt like he was trying to swallow you whole as he gently tugged you closer until you were sitting in his lap. You shifted, wrapping your legs around him as you tried to get impossibly closer. After what felt like years you parted for air, a string of saliva linking you together.

You yanked at the buttons on his shirt as desire rose within you, a sudden want that was almost crippling in its intensity. Shaking hands hindered your efforts and Yunho’s long fingers stopped you.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” He inquired. You whined, and he chuckled. “Patience, love. You’ll get what you want in due time.” Pulling the shirt over his head in one smooth motion, you felt a shiver go straight to your core at the sight of his toned body. You busied yourself running your hands all over his skin, mapping every line of corded muscle you could find and stopping only to lift your arms when Yunho removed your blouse.

“Like what you see, love?” He asked, a coy smirk on his face.

“Yes, very much.” You moaned out as he dragged his thumbs over your nipples, each touch resulting in a jolt of pleasure that heightened your desire to almost a fever pitch. You needed him inside you yesterday, and you made sure he knew it.

“Please, Yun-ah, need you…can’t wait!”

“Easy now, my love. Just a little longer.”

Tenderly he laid you back onto the bed and you relished in how small you felt as his large frame hovered over you. He made short work of your pants and underwear, eyes widening as he took in just how wet you were. “Look at you, soaked already and I’ve barely even done anything.”

He slid two fingers into you, the long digits brushing your sweet spot and drawing a porn-worthy moan out of you. He added a third and you jolted a little, unused to the stretch but not in pain.

Yunho’s gaze darkened with desire as he continued to work his fingers inside you, curling them just right. The sensation was overwhelming, your body arching off the bed in response to his expert touch. Each thrust of his fingers sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, igniting your nerves and leaving you gasping for more.

“Y/N, you feel incredible,” he murmured, his voice low and sultry. “I can’t wait to feel you wrapped around me.” The promise in his words sent a thrill through your core, tightening the knot of desire that was building inside you.

“Yunho, please… I can’t take it anymore.” You whined, desperately seeking his lips with yours again. The kiss was a feverish clash of tongues and teeth, a collision of passion that made your head spin.

Withdrawing his fingers, Yunho leaned back, his eyes locking onto yours, igniting an unspoken understanding between you. “I want you to tell me at once if anything hurts, okay?” You nodded and he positioned himself between your legs, his broad shoulders framing your body perfectly, and you couldn’t help but appreciate how tiny he made you feel. “Just relax, love. I’ve got you.”

“Please, I need you!” You begged, squirming beneath him, your body craving him. He nodded slowly, a teasing smile playing on his lips as he leaned forward, teasingly brushing against your entrance with the tip of his thick length.

“Such a good girl.” He praised softly, his fingertips ghosting over your clit as he leaned even closer, ready to enter you.

When he finally pressed inside you, it was blissful torture. He filled you to the brim, stretching you out in a way that sent sparks of pleasure radiating from your core. You let out a cry of sheer delight, your body clenching around him instinctively.

“Fuck, Y/N!” He growled, pushing deeper as he held your gaze, his expression a mix of lust and admiration. “You’re so fucking perfect. Such a sweet, tight little cunt and it's all mine.”

You moaned at that, body trembling with arousal as the filthy words tumbled from his lips.

He started moving, slowly at first, allowing you to adjust to his size. The stretch felt incredible, and you were all too aware of how small you felt compared to him. Each thrust was deep and deliberate, sending waves of pure ecstasy crashing over you.

“Yunho!” You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure built higher. He picked up his pace, his body slamming into yours with relentless force.

“Let go for me, my love. I want to feel you cum around me,” he commanded, and that sent you over the edge. Your body responded to his words, the coil within you snapping as you arched your back and let out a scream of pleasure.

“Yunho! Oh my god!” You cried, your body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. You could feel the heat of your orgasm pulsing through your veins, every nerve ending igniting in ecstasy.

“That’s it, Y/N,” he urged, his voice dripping with lust. His pace increased, driving you deeper into the haze of pleasure. “Just like that. You feel so good wrapped around me like this.”

He continued to move inside you, your sensitive body still trembling from your first orgasm when the familiar tension began to build again. The way he held you, his large hands gripping your hips, made you feel both safe and completely consumed by desire.

“Yunho, I’m close again!” You whimpered, lost in the intensity of the moment as he chased his own release.

“Then let go, baby. Cum for me again.”

With one final thrust, he found your sweet spot again, and it sent you spiralling over the edge for the second time. You screamed his name, a high-pitched sound filled with pure ecstasy as you felt your body tighten around him, a second orgasm washing over you in waves that left you breathless and shaking.

“Y/N!” Yunho groaned, his own release following closely behind as he buried himself deep inside you, filling you completely.

You both took a moment to collect yourselves, the room filled with the sounds of your heavy breaths and soft whimpers as you rode out the waves of pleasure. As the world slowly came back into focus, Yunho collapsed beside you, pulling you close against him.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead with a satisfied smile on his face. And as you lay there in the aftermath, feeling cherished in his embrace, you couldn’t help but agree. You snuggled up to Yunho, enjoying the warmth of his body as he curled around you and held you close. You drifted off to sleep with a content smile on your face.

«-Yesterday | Day 2-»

[sterek-stuffs]

Do you get annoyed when people say the Sterek fandom is dead? Well, prove them wrong by reblogging this fresh new rec list of fics published in the past three years!

Pulling Strings by Gia279 54k words, M

Stiles and Derek pull off the ultimate game of survival charades: fooling the alpha pack into thinking their leader, alpha of alphas, demon wolf Deucalion himself, is still alive, in order to find the location of the Darach and save Beacon Hills and their pack, while Stiles learns to control this brand new, unusual power.

The Curse of the Love Sweater by HisBeloved 56k words, E

The "sweater curse" or "curse of the love sweater" is a term used by knitters to describe the belief that if a knitter gives a hand-knit sweater to a significant other, it will lead to the recipient breaking up with the knitter. When Stiles and Derek were children, a misunderstanding created a rift between Claudia Stilinski, owner of The Hale Yarn Company, and Talia Hale, the best knitter and spinner in the county, leading to the opening of Lucky Ewe, Claudia Stilinski's yarn store. Stiles and Derek have been lifelong competitors at the Beacon County Fair and after their mothers died, became owners of competing yarn shops. Derek is a budding knitwear designer on the eve of the release of his first book of patterns. Stiles wants him on his popular knitting YouTube show despite the decade-long feud between the Stilinski's and Hales. Hijinks, fluff, and ridiculousness ensue, and the boys get their happy ending.

Don't they know it's the end of the world? by flemoncake, mute90 20k words, M

Stiles thought being in love in a dangerous, post-apocalyptic world was a bad idea. He voted for pleasant, casual sex all the way. But being afraid of love doesn't stop it from coming after you. Being afraid doesn’t stop anything from coming after you.

love in suspension by creationmyth 6k words, T

They walk side by side back to the camaro, Derek’s all tensed up while Stiles hums some unnamable tune under his breath. When they finally break the treeline, Stiles pulls Derek by the arm so they’re face to face. “Thank you,” Stiles tells him quietly, making sure Derek knows he’s sincere. “It’s what we do.” It is. It really is. (or: Stiles and Derek learn, over time, how loyalty becomes love.)

ouroboros (get it right) by yesimirreputable 5k words, M

You try again, and the story's always the same: you never make it past eighteen.

a light and darkness in the heart of the forest by thedaughterofkings 10k words, T

There's a beast in the forest, they say. If you call to it, it will answer. To save his mom, Stiles will face up to it and hope the price won't be higher than the reward.

nothing but hope and virtue by dappledawndrawn, LeafZelindor 60k words, T

Senator Derek Hale, a California Democrat, had considered a future where he needed to hire a new campaign manager. He'd always expected to hire someone from inside the campaign. They'd have been familiar, respectful, come into his office carefully, with nervous excitement, and called him "sir" too much when asking for their first assignment. They'd have been familiar with the ins and outs of working with a werewolf pack, and everything would have been fine. Not great, maybe, but fine. But instead, Deaton retires with no warning, and almost sight-unseen, he hires Stiles Stilinksi, who is sprawled across his office couch, entering random contacts from Derek's Rolodex into his phone. Derek's a little in love with him. It's going to be a long campaign.

Fairy Wings and Beastly Tails by Bliz, PalenDrome (nerdherderette) 8k words, T

The prince knows it’s risky. He thinks about how he could manage without his wings; what his life would be like without flying or the ability to do spells. He thinks about his father and Scott, and all the others he’d leave behind if he fails. But then he thinks about the creature and the sadness in those green eyes, and how the image haunts his dreams. “I’ll do it,” he says as the Oak Witch’s grin grows wide.

Bite the Moonlight & Bleed Gold by raisesomehale 86k words, E

Seven years after being tricked and imprisoned by the Argents, Derek Hale finds himself off the blistering coasts of Antarctica aboard the Argentum Domina, an illegal prison ship out of which the Argents operate their behemoth, underground poaching empire. Bitter and packless, Derek spends his days working off his servitude by poaching creatures for Gerard to sell on the Black Magic Market, no future or end in sight. Until, Allison Argent brings him a capture case with a reward price so ludicrous that he has no choice but to accept. The only problem is, the target creature shouldn't even exist. Derek is flung fast into the deep webbings of a bigger mystery than he could have ever imagined. And discovers that, like this enchanting creature, not everything is as it seems.

My Soul to Keep by jacyevans, Jmeelee 18k words, T

Stiles came with a whiteboard, and blue dry erase marker, flapping it over his head like a white flag on a battlefield. "Come on," he coaxed. "You must want to say something. You've never gone this long without telling me to shut up." He waggled the marker in Derek's face. Stinging alcohol and pungent polymer singed Derek's nose hairs. His fingers itched to pick up the board, and not because he wanted to tell Stiles to be quiet. He enjoyed the babble that filled the apartment every few days, the hearty food, Stiles' particular, reassuring smell: maple sugar buzz, spicy-sweet deodorant, milk-sour frustration, floral shampoo, and spring grass at night. It soaked into Derek's couch, his bed, his skull. If any of it were real, Derek would take the board and write: thank you.

A Functioning Adult’s Field Guide to Enemies With Benefits by BisexualGoblin (LadyBoBo) 31k words, E

The six years Stiles was away for college, he certainly missed a lot—namely the whole best friend turned into a werewolf thing. But he didn’t think he missed enough to get replaced by a douche bag like Derek Hale. Now with Scott’s wedding looming, it’s the perfect chance for Stiles to show Derek who the real brains of the operation is. If only he could stop jumping into bed with him…

Let's build a beehive by GreyHaven 25k words, G

Ten years after he last saw Derek, Stiles' life is in ruins and he has nowhere else to turn. He has Derek's address but will he be welcomed? A post canon AU about healing, growth, acceptance, and love.

Handstands For You by Fenris13 15k words, E

"No, really, you don't have to—!" Stiles hisses, flinching as Derek rubs soap with needless intensity into the cut. "Shut up and keep still," Derek growls back. Stiles whines in response, squirming in Derek’s grip but otherwise following the order. Stupid werewolves and their stupid regeneratey-healy powers. It’s not Stiles’ fault that he’s wimpy and human, so when he gets thrown down a flight of stairs and through a rotten wooden wall by lake monsters, he still remembers it the next morning.

Shaking the wings of their terrible youths by Daisyapples 29k words, N/r

Stiles didn't expect much when he stopped a stranger being attacked in an alleyway. He didn't expect the wolf following him around New York, didn't expect the help when he was sick, didn't expect the psycho blond attacking him, or the place to stay. He didn't expect the new family. Oh, and he definitely didn't expect werewolves.

Dear Fellow Traveler by lanalua (this is me!) 32k words, M

Years after shit went down in Beacon Hills a traumatized Stiles is dating Lydia and living in New York, trying to avoid and get over anything related to the supernatural. When he finally decides to go back to his hometown and face his fears, he will be lead down a path of self-discovery that will change the course he had set for his life. Stiles shook his head. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Derek, it was just that he couldn’t. If he’d had magic the whole time, did it mean he could have been less useless back in highschool? Did it mean he could have helped, maybe kept Erica and Boyd alive? Kept Derek and Scott from leaving? It was too much. Guilt tore through his stomach like an arrow. He felt himself start to hyperventilate again.

As always, check the tags in individual fics to find out if they're right for you, and don't forget to leave the authors some love!

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation (Sal Fisher): The Path We Tread [25]

Sal's freshly folded Breaking Benjamin hoodie is soft in my hands. I haven't washed it, but I figured I'd return it after accidentally stuffing it into my bag the other night.

I set it on top of the cat carrier that's prepped and housing a cheerful Gizmo who purrs like a fully powered motorboat. And he's too cute, too happy to see me, so I grin down at the orange feline and brace one hand on Sal's car door and lean down to give the little guy some scratches.

He purrs against my hand, big green eyes closed as he shoves his head into my palm and basically pets himself. I can't help but huff out a laugh, smile widening because of the little fur ball.

Yesterday, The Faces and I spent the day visiting with Henry and Lisa. Since they aren't moving to LA with us, considering they have their music store here, we wanted to spend as much time with them as possible. Especially Larry and Sal.

"Are you done coddling my cat?" Sal gripes behind me. I sigh a bit disappointedly, rubbing under Gizmo's chin before zipping the carrier closed.

Turning to the cat dad, I back away from the black Camaro. Sal gives me a not-so-serious glare before placing himself in my previous spot, snatching the hoodie I'd just laid down and unfolding it. So particular.

"He likes my coddling," I murmur, tipping my head to the side as I peer at Sal both out of curiosity and admiration. The sun beating down on him, illuminating all the shades of blue in his hair. It's still chilly here, Nockfell's norm. 

Which explains why Sal starts pulling the hoodie over his head, but I still have to try my best not to gape. What happened to him being terrified of my cooties?

"No one likes your coddling," he responds, deadpan.

I regard him nonchalantly, pursing my lips. "Your mom does."

Sal's eyes go wide, the action setting off a warpath of alarm bells in my head. I watch him warily, but then the corners of his eyes crinkle and he whips his head away from me to choke on a... giggle.

My mouth twitches in a smile that I desperately attempt to stomp down. His laughter is so symphonic, so heavenly, so rare. Worst of all, it's infectious. And, most concerning, the joke wasn't that funny. So I hesitantly inquire, "What?"

Sal takes a breath, tucking a strand of cobalt hair behind his ear. Like he's purposefully trying to display that damned dagger that haunts my every sleeping and waking moment. "There's a punchline to that joke," he croons, eyes alight with such mischief that I brace myself, hold my breath.

"My mother is dead."

The breath I held punches past my lips, expelled in a gag-cough tag team on my lungs, my throat, my fucking brain. My cheeks flush scarlet, the warmth of my embarrassment rippling through my body. Sweat beads at my forehead as utter dread courses through me.

His mom is dead?

"I— I'm sorry, I didn't—" I sputter, rushing to get the apology out as soon as possible. Because, while I wouldn't bat an eye if my own mother left this plane of existence for eternity, I certainly would if my father did.

Sal shakes his head, eyes shutting and head tilting forward as if to say he accepts my apology. "You didn't know," he says nonchalantly. "Besides, it's nice not to have to talk about her so seriously. I wish people didn't tiptoe around the topic."

"They tiptoe for a reason," I hiss, although halfheartedly. I'm just relieved he isn't suddenly snapping at my heels with rage again. "Because it is serious."

Sal shrugs, a calm and relaxed glow to his cerulean gaze. For once. I almost forget that he's public enemy number one for a moment. "Yea, well," he sighs dramatically, hands stuffed into his pockets. "Gave me a reason to scare the shit out of you again. Seeing you ready to kiss my feet and beg for forgiveness is just such a lovely sight."

He does all of this on purpose. And screw him for using me as his comedic act constantly. "Suck it, Fisher," I sneer, feeling the terror in my veins finally transform into muted contempt. The anger isn't so bad, not like it used to be.

His gaze snaps to me, and just like every other time we look at each other, I can't tell what he's feeling as he murmurs, "So long as you consent."

I gulp, ditching what wrathful thoughts had gathered in my fortress of a mind. It's all quickly replaced with a throbbing in my very bones, another tinge of color to my cheeks, and a wild replay of all the times he had his head buried between my legs recently.

Hands clamp down on my shoulders and I flinch with the agility of a cat who just lost it's second to last life-- since Sal has taken all my other damn lives.

"Hey, angel," Ash coos from behind. I peek over my shoulder to see her grinning down at me. But her happy expression doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Sal's going to drop us off at the airport. As much as you two live to hate and loathe each other, we need to talk."

Oh, no. Oh, fuck. We need to talk? That statement never, ever ends well. Does she know about us? Is she about to kick me out of the group— or Sal? Or is there going to be this brutally mortifying conversation about how she knows but she'd never tell anyone and she absolutely requires an invite to the wedding?

I suppress a shudder.

Instead, I purse my lips, tongue cemented to the roof of my mouth as every one of my four limbs goes completely rigid. "I'd rather hotbox in a car full of Larry's farts," I declare, more than ready to do just that. He ate about half his body weight in tamales last night.

Ash's eyes go wide, her brows furrowing as a guilty smirk quirks her lips. "You would rather—" she cuts herself off, shaking her head and looking up at the sky to avoid the giggles she would no doubt conjure up if she looked at me for too much longer. "Just get in the car, y/n," she commands, voice wavering with hidden laughter.

I look back to Sal and take note of the lack of color in his eyes. Seconds ago, they were bright and full of mirth. Now... they're empty. Grave. Numb.

It snaps a little bit of clarity into me, so I do as Ash said and climb into his back seat, right beside Gizmo who chirps a greeting to me. I give the orange cat a smile as Ash shuts my door, but I'm roiling with too much anxiety to do more than that.

Ash is about to have a meeting with me and Sal. The three of us. She's either going to ball us out for fighting so much, or she knows that we're fucking. And if it's neither of those, then I don't know what else it could be. I think the unknown scares me more than the other options.

Ash plops herself into the passenger seat, using the 'oh-shit' handle to adjust herself before shutting her door and buckling. She throws her head over her shoulder, grinning at me. "So," she says giddily as Sal climbs into the driver's seat. "Hot rod, old ass, family heirloom. How are we feeling?"

I raise an eyebrow that she can't see. "It's a car."

"And a treasure," she finishes thoughts I did not have, watching me with eyes that say I should cherish this gift of a ride. "How are you not tweaking with excitement? This thing is older than you!"

"Because it's a car," I repeat, narrowing my eyes at her. I don't want to kill her short-lived joy, but I'm too paranoid.

The car suddenly roars to life and maybe— for a split second— I understand Ash's elation. It might be older than my grandpa (bless his heart) but it purrs like a newborn kitten. I'll give it that much.

Sal mumbles something I can't hear then situates his hand on the back of Ash's headrest, head peering over his shoulder to back out of the driveway. His eyes meet mine for a short moment before they avert to the window, making sure Henry's car is down the road before beginning to back up.

Oh, if I was Ash with his hand behind my head like that, I'd be feeling a lot of things. Horny being the most prevalent. I definitely wouldn't admit that though. 

"Hey," Ash mutters, eyes on Sal who switches gears and begins driving behind his dad. "Are you... are you sure?"

So it's something they both know about? A spear of unease slashes through my gut, a clear reminder of this conversation we're about to have. The acknowledgement of it makes the inside of Sal's car grow thick with tension. It's almost unbearable— even Gizmo's purring has halted.

"Just get it over with," Sal grumbles, eyes on the road and fingers wrapped around the steering wheel.

I swallow thickly, watching the way Sal completely checks out of reality. Something about his position, his unblinking gaze tells me he's drifted somewhere foreign. He isn't here right now— he's simply driving.

"Okay," Ash whispers before turning to me. Her glossy lips are stretched into a tight line, a shadow of grief darkening her angelic features. "Listen," she starts, normally light and airy tone morphed into something a bit apprehensive, sad. "I'm not going to get into the details of this because it's not my story to tell. But Sal, Larry, Todd, and I agreed that it would be in everyone's best interest to give you a heads up... and somewhat of an explanation."

I swipe my tongue along the seam of my lips, my mouth suddenly dry with the worry that skitters along my spine. I say nothing, simply wait for her to continue.

"We are moving to LA to be closer to opportunities, and since it's more fitting for our streaming careers," She tells me, viridian gaze zeroed in on mine. "But there's another, more pressing reason as to why we're moving."

I nod along, waiting, biting my tongue in nervous anticipation. This is where I crumble to ruins, right? When every bad decision I've made comes crashing down around me. I mentally brace myself, fingers closing around the door handle a bit tighter.

"There's a... woman." Sal's hands tighten around the steering wheel, unknowingly mimicking my own actions. "She really hurt Sal. She was put in prison for two years, but... she's being released next week. We don't want Sal to be near her, nor do we want to be near her."

Every bit of air leaves my lungs upon hearing Ash's words. Two years? What the hell did she do to him? I glance at Sal through his rearview mirror, noting how he stares disinterestedly through the windshield.

A kind of emotion I can't quite explain rushes through me. It's understanding, shared grief, fury, sorrow. None of it is aimed at him. It's for him. And part of me aches to avenge him, to find this girl and make her hurt the way she made him hurt.

The truth of it is painful, like some part of me is slowly being ripped apart from my body. It's all so unfamiliar. I can't understand why I feel so strongly about it, especially since I don't even know what this unknown woman has done. The sudden influx of emotions and undeciphered realization that's suddenly hit me overpowers every one of my brain neurons, but I make quick work to try and break everything down.

Now, I understand why he was willing to give me anything so long as I agreed to sex the other night. It was as much of an escape for him as it was for me. I wasn't the only one who needed a distraction.

I feel everything so deeply right now, and assessing the depth of all this emotion makes me realize that I must care for Sal a lot more than I originally thought I did.

Ash lets me mull over the information before speaking again. I feel my heart rumbling, echoing through the hollowness in my chest as she spills more to me.

"The reason we're telling you this at all is specifically because there are people shipping you and Sal together online. Of course, the focus on whatever the hell is going on with you and North has taken some of the heat away from you and Sal— but there's still enough going around that it's worth warning you." I suck in a shaky breath. "This woman has been known to target other women who have a close relationship to Sal. It's all via stalking online and harassment, but it's something I don't want you to have to go through. Something none of us want you to go through."

I'd take it all if it meant I'd get to enact revenge. For myself. For Sal. For both of us. I don't know.

Ash must see it on my face; the tidal wave of emotions that keep crashing into me relentlessly. She gives me a knowing look, a sad smile as if to say she understands. "So, keep us in the know, okay?" She says sweetly, reaching back with her hand, opening it for me. I blink, clutching her warm palm in mine. "If anyone messages you and it's really shitty, or if Sal is mentioned or something, tell us. We'll figure it out." She squeezes my hand, thumb running over my skin. "You aren't alone."

My eyes flit over to Sal again, trying to catch his gaze in the mirror. It almost seems as if he's avoiding me. I try to tell myself it's because he's driving, obviously, but it doesn't feel that way. He doesn't even bother to check if there are any cars behind us, just robotically stares ahead with the air condition gently ruffling his hair. Sleeping with Sirens softly playing on his radio.

My gaze drifts to him throughout the rest of our thirty minute drive to the airport right outside of Nockfell. I can't help myself. Can't help the weight that burdens me.

Eventually, Sal looks down from the windshield to shift his car to park once we get into the parking lot. Then he looks to Ash, gestures for her to get out of the car. And Ash, ever the goddess, snorts before opening her door.

I turn to Gizmo, stick my finger through a slit in his carrier, and scratch under his chin before parting ways, preparing to leave through the door that Ash has opened for me.

"Okay," Ash sighs, a cheery lilt in her voice. "Enough of the bad, more of the rad. It's moving time."

Sal throws open his door before it can even fully unlatch, a man desperate to escape the horrors of his past. The sight causes a twinge of pain in my chest, but I ignore it. I can contemplate this conversation when I'm safe on our plane and have nothing better to do.

I warily walk into the parking lot, surfacing beside Larry who has a blanket bunched in his arms and a pair of headphones around his neck. Something tells me his flight is going to be nice.

Larry takes note of me and throws an arm over my shoulder, offering me a sleepy grin that I try my best to fully return The comfort of his somewhat embrace is needed though. I'm still feeling the whiplash of the conversation I sat in on for the ride here.

I gently grab Larry's wrist and hold on, his thumb comfortingly rubbing over the inside of my palm.

"I think I've got everyone's bags ready to go," Henry says with a little sigh, hands on his hips and cheeks colored pink from handling everyone's luggage. I spot the backpack I came with and watch as Neil scoops it up, throwing a strap over his shoulder.

"I can't believe we're leaving," Ash mutters from beside me, frowning at Henry and Lisa. Her parents didn't come along to tell her goodbye. I hadn't asked her about it because the stress of moving is already enough on her shoulders, but I can't begin to imagine how painful the situation must be for her. I remember how tough it was for me to realize my mom didn't want to be a part of my life anymore-- at least, she 'wanted' to be a minuscule part of my life but not for the right reasons.

Henry smiles warmly at her, walking over to ruffle her hair. "You've said that about fifty times in the last 24 hours, squirrel." His dad chuckle follows and I find myself subconsciously smiling at their interaction. Henry became a stand-in dad for Ash the same way Lisa became a stand-in mom for me. Realizing this brings me some solace. It's a little sliver of light in the darkness of my overwhelmed mind. 

Ash smacks her lips then purses them, trying and failing to hide her affectionate smile. "I know, I know," she fusses, running lithe fingers through her chestnut hair. "It just... doesn't feel real. I've lived in Nockfell for so long."

"And I would be failing all of you if I let you stay here any longer," Henry says gently, helping Ash with her hair by tucking a strand behind her ear. "You're all blowing up. Your options and resources are astronomically limited here. We, as parents, don't raise you to walk in our footsteps. We raise you to walk beyond the path we tread. You're all doing that." Henry's gaze passes over all of us, his eyes watery with a mixture of torment and pride. "So I want you to thrive somewhere that you have a chance to exploit your gifts--" Another sweet smile and I'm getting emotional alongside him. I didn't think I'd wake up this morning with a constant lump in my throat. "Just come visit every once in a while, 'kay?'

Larry's arm flexes around my shoulders and I blink past my tears, squeezing his wrist in my hold. I watch as Sal walks up beside Ash, a hand grasping her shoulder as her bottom lip begins quivering.

I didn't expect this to be so... hard. I knew it'd kill me to leave Nockfell a second time, but taking my old friends with me and having to part with people who have slowly become family is deeply gut-wrenching.

I've learned a lot on this trip. I saw so many things that make it hard to leave because I'm afraid of never seeing them again. I found out that Sal Fisher has a heart, and it's a pretty good one. He has issues, some of which have no doubt influenced his personality, but he's not soulless. He can be kind, he can be funny, he can be a friend. And Henry has clearly been a large influence on the good parts of Sal-- his father is the most selfless person I've ever met, gentler than a mother with her newborn. He has a heart of gold with morals and values that defy modern humanity. The moment Sal took my face into his hands and averted my attention during a panic reflected all the things his father has taught him-- all the warmth he has that he's hidden for so long. Hidden from me.

Looking at Sal now, noting his hand that tenderly runs over the back of Ash's head in nearly the same way Henry did, just reinforces the difference I've observed.

Ash wraps Henry up in a crushing hug, squeezing the man close to her. And he doesn't seem to mind-- in fact, he holds her just as tight. The man presses a kiss to her hair before moving over to hug his son.

We all hug Henry and Lisa, our parting about as heart-wrenching as an ASPCA commercial. But the bright side is that we know we'll see each other again. With our jobs in the streaming industry, we'll have enough money to make frequent trips.

Lisa holds me for a long time, her head rested atop mine and her fingers threading through my hair. Giving me the mother-like comfort that I crave every now and again. And Henry, he presses a kiss to my head the same way he did for everyone else. It's a soothing relief to know that I matter as much to him as the rest of The Faces do.

As I break away from my embrace with Henry, I watch Sal pull Ash to him, his hand cupping the back of her head and holding her close. I can't quite describe the kind of emotion that zaps me when he pulls his dad's signature move and presses his prosthetic lips to Ash's forehead. It's such a precious moment to witness. Ash's response makes it even sweeter; she playfully swats at his arm before leaning down a tad to kiss the cheek of his mask.

I can't help but smile fondly at their sibling-like affection, even if it echoes a bit in the hollowness inside me. I want to be cherished so badly in this moment, to be loved the way this family loves each other.

Sal moves around, hugging Larry, Todd, and Neil before taking a step back as everyone prepares to say their final goodbye's.

The disheartened smile doesn't leave my face as everyone mutters saddened parting words. But I spare a glance at Sal to find him watching everyone the same way I am. His eyes are squinted, the sole indication of his smile beneath that prosthetic.

My breath catches when his eyes, a crystal clear image of the overcast sky today, meet mine. He simply looks at me for a moment, then holds up a hand, middle finger on display.

I blanch, oxygen rushing back into my lungs, filling the void I've refused to acknowledge. Compared to his refusal to even come to the airport in Vegas, I'd say this is a step up.

I bite down on my bottom lip in an attempt to disguise the smile that pulls at my lips and the fluttering in my chest as I flick him off in return.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Dragging my backpack onto this rickety airplane takes a lot of guts. It's so run down and beat up that I can't help but wonder if Amelia Earhart was the last person to sit in the pilot's seat. But hey, if I go missing, I'd be solving a lot of problems. Win-win?

I walk down the skinny aisle, pausing to find my seat-- only to realize that Todd and I are riding together for this trip.

I smile warmly at my dear friend, scooting past him and toward the window seat.

Sighing, I plop into my seat and fasten my seatbelt. "Hey, Todd. It's a shame you and Neil got separated."

Todd tips his head in a silent greeting, a little smile on his freckled face. "Not a shame at all. This is his punishment," he replies nonchalantly. I simply blink at him while fighting off an onslaught of giggles. They seem like the type to have random arguments and disagreements every once in a while. They're totally the couple that fully believes their hiccups make their relationship fun, too.

"I stand corrected then," I chuckle as I pull my phone from my pocket. "Just so you know," I continue, leaning toward him to whisper, "I'm on your side."

Todd laughs, the sound much like bells tolling on a lovely spring morning. He pats my wrist, gives it a little squeeze. "As you should be."

I give him another quick smile before looking at my phone.

I probably shouldn't message Sal. I should just leave it be. I'm not obligated in any way, shape, or form, but... the whole situation is weighing on me. I won't be able to stop thinking about our conversation until I extend my hand-- in whatever weird way that I can given this situation Sal and I have found ourselves in.

And, yes. Of course my messaging him is a split second decision that I'm bound to regret. I feel... closer to him. Like we've bonded somehow. 

Famous last words.

This is a true fool's rose-tinted glasses because Sal is complicated. All of this is complicated and I'm probably mistaking my relation and guilt for his traumas as us forming a connection. 

I swallow over the nerves that ravage me whole and pull up discord, clicking on Sal's and my private messages. His last text to me altered our entire situation. It started all of this:

SALLYFʌCɜ: i wouldn't have made the promise if i didn't intend on keeping it. watch what you say and give ash five minutes to remember that you're in the room. actually, give her brain a boost. SALLYFʌCɜ: come here.

I chew on my bottom lip, contemplating his last message to me before typing up a quick message. I want it to be simple, easy, done. Without considering the past too much.

But I end up typing, deleting, and retyping up until our pilot announces that all passengers are boarded.

My fingers quake as I type up my last attempt and use every bit of willpower to refrain from deleting it all over again. My thumb hovers over the 'send' button and I force myself to look away, quickly smashing the button and pursing my lips as embarrassment rips me to shreds.

I spare a glance down.

VIOLETVIOLENCE: i'm good for more than just fucking if you need a reminder

Why the fuck did I say that? Why couldn't I be normal and just tell him I'd listen to his problems?

He starts typing.

I slap my phone face down onto my thighs and refuse to breathe for a full minute and a half. I take the time to build up the confidence to look, give myself a pep talk. I don't really care how stupid it was. It's done-- I can't change it. It doesn't matter and I don't care.

So with my heart knocking on my ribcage, I hesitantly lift my phone and look down.

SALLYFʌCɛ: i know. SALLYFʌCɛ: thank you

The guiltiest grin blooms on my face. I try my absolute hardest to smash the expression down, to tell myself that his appreciation isn't that serious. That this is just basic human decency. But, damn, something about the way he bothered to say 'thank you' instead of just 'thanks' or even nothing at all...

I put my phone on airplane mode then shut it off, look out the window as our plane begins to power up.

"Hey," Todd suddenly says, his voice inquisitive and a little concerned. "So, sorry if this is prying too much but it's kind of fucking killing me."

I turn my head to look at him, brow raised at his tone. "Don't worry about it," I murmur. "What's up?"

His dark eyes stare into mine-- deeply, investigating my soul like some kind of spiritual detective. I can't help but squirm beneath his heavy gaze, waiting for him to share his thoughts.

He starts slowly shaking his head. "I can't tell which one you're fucking."

Mentally, my eye is twitching.

I catch the shocked cough that almost escapes my mouth. Fear claws its way up my spine as I search through filing cabinets full of words in my head. "Uh," I intellectually start with. "Who says I'm fucking someone?"

Todd blinks, something like clarity morphing his features-- like he just got his answer. "Because you have North bricked up in the supply room of Henry's music store and Sal tracking your every movement like a dog salivating over a steak."

My mouth opens and closes silently up until my mental filing cabinet of words flies open and forces unintelligible sounds and words to fly through my mouth. I choke over my panic and slap a hand over my mouth, watching him with wide eyes.

Part of it is absolute amusement and disbelief over Todd's claims, but the other half of me is petrified by the fact that he sniffed me out immediately. Well, he's trying to, at least.

"I'm sorry?" I snort, my words muffled due to the hand that stays clutched to my mouth.

Todd gives me a no-bullshit look. "I won't say anything," he promises with a shrug. "I know I outted you in Vegas, but that's why I'm discussing the situation with you first this time."

"I'm not--" I pause, dropping my hand from my mouth to properly speak to him. I'm trying to school this and keep the terror out of my gaze, but I think he already knows. "I'm not fucking anyone," I declare, tilting my head down to accentuate my claim.

Maybe he'll buy it. I need him to buy it, actually.

It's not that I don't trust Todd, it's just that I know what he's going to say. It's the same thing anyone in The Faces would tell me-- the same thing Sal has insinuated repeatedly. That I shouldn't be fucking him. I want to avoid that because I already know. I don't want anyone else burying themselves in whatever the hell is going on because I don't even fully understand it myself.

This group is tight-knit. They care. They care so much that they would immediately tell me and Sal to end things and forget it ever happened because fuck buddies are 'toxic' and we 'hate' each other. But with Sal and me, it transcends all of that. We don't have half the issues we started out with, not to mention, our arrangement is working fine. And I'll admit that Sal is the farthest thing from shallow. There are so many twists and turns in his maze of a mind that I'm urged to navigate through it.  

Maybe we're nothing remotely close to normal, it's the complete opposite of what constitutes as tradition. But everything before this pales in comparison. God forbid he hear my thoughts, but Sal is becoming a friend. I had to quickly accept that notion the moment I got defensive over his trauma. 

Todd smacks his lips, a clear sign that he doesn't believe a word I've said. "Fine," he sighs. He seems a bit disappointed... but understanding. Todd loves drama, but he's thoughtful as well. He won't push me to talk if I don't want to. And let's face it, I'm sure he's already set on his opinion of the topic. The only thing he doesn't have is my confirmation. 

"Just be careful, okay?" Todd's brows furrow a bit, a small frown pulling at his lips. "I know it isn't my business, but some secrets are a lot worse than you'd imagine. Fuck who you want, just don't get close enough to get wrapped up in feelings you'd regret."

Apprehension wraps its bony, ashen fingers around my heart and chokes the life out of it. I stare at Todd with wide eyes that have reacted of their own accord. I clench my teeth and think hard about how to organize my thoughts into something comprehensible. 

"Is there something I should... know? About either or both of them?" I decide to ask, clearing my throat when my words come out whispered and hoarse, tangled with anxiety.

Todd presses his lips together, showing off his short temper. "I literally just told you they have secrets and to watch yourself. Read between the lines, y/n. Shakespeare should have taught you as much."

The pounding of my heart dies down a bit at Todd's rushed, frustrated sarcasm. The tension and fear are slowly dissipating, so I'll take Todd's claim to mean that he's just worried for me. North's and Sal's secrets can't be so bad-- everyone has baggage. And I mean, Sal's quite literally been through the wringer. An accident so bad it marred his face, a shitty woman who hurt him, and a dead mother. It can't get that much worse, can it?

I scoff playfully. "I hate Shakespeare. He was the worst person to choose for a comparison, Todd," I say gently, giving him a hesitant smile.

That sets Todd off. For the rest of our two hour flight, he argues with me about Shakespeare's genius. He made some pretty legit claims, saying that Shakespeare knew just how to throw backhanded comments to petty royals who didn't have smarts to decipher the true meaning. That Shakespeare was damn lucky he didn't get killed-- unless he was! 

Yep, a whole debacle on his death came from that. It kept me entertained though. More importantly, it distracted me from Sal who, now that we've landed and are heading to our new apartments, I can't help but worry about.

Ash is sitting beside me watching the buildings of LA pass us by. She squeezes my hand here and again, smile widening when we come across landmarks she spent her own time searching up. It's so sweet-- all the places Ash couldn't visit on her first trip here are all available to her now.

Meanwhile, Larry's animatedly chatting with our Uber driver-- somehow he happened upon the topic of Speedos. Interestingly enough, our driver seems more than happy to let our friend talk. Neil chimes in here and again to add to Larry's outlandish remarks, making the driver nod in agreement or chuckle.

I watch the streets, slowly beginning to recall all the times I've walked these sidewalks within the past year. All my surroundings are starting to become familiar. 

It's comforting knowing I won't be walking these streets alone anymore.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

I set my backpack on the floor, taking in the wide expanse of Sal and Larry's brand new living room. It's enormous; tall ceilings to accompany the loft to one side of the room, then a wall of windows with balcony doors across from me. As modern as it is, it has a nice, darker touch to it. The floors are grey oak, the walls a charcoal color, and the ceiling is bright white— a perfect contrast to the shade crawling upward.

I lick my lips, trying my best not to gape at the only room I've seen so far.

Larry whistles his adoration for the place, standing in the center of the room with his hands on his hips, inspecting every nook and cranny of his new home. He's but a speck of dust in a fancy cave. "This shit's pretty hardcore," he murmurs.

Neil places his bag on the floor beside mine, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Didn't you check the place out already, Lar?" he asks, a cheery edge to his voice.

Larry, in response, snorts and waves Neil's comment off. "Duh," he sarcastically answers. "This place has too much pizazz for me to not admire it like a middle aged man admires his new lawnmower. This is ejaculation material, bro."

Todd sighs obnoxiously, but Neil nods his head beside me, handsome smile on his face as he says, "Fair enough."

I seem to have found myself quite the group.

Ash glides her way through the entrance, giving the big room a once over and an approving nod that says she likes the apartment. She glances over at me, gestures with her elbow. "Looks pretty similar to ours, Vee," she chirps, viridian gaze glittering in the lovely sunshine that filters through the big windows. Sal and Larry didn't get an apartment, these dudes bought a house. In the sky. This thing is too extravagant to be undermined with the term of 'apartment.'

And then Ash's claim spins around my head, hitting all sides of my cranium to solidify the fact that we have a near identical home.

My eyebrows bunch together and I blink at Ash. "Wait, what?"

Ash simply shrugs, little grin plastered on her lips as she scrolls through her phone and plops herself onto the floor. She sits criss-cross applesauce and drags my backpack over to her, tucking it into her lap like a pillow. "I'm calling Sal to let him know we made it," she mutters, clicking on her phone a couple times before putting it on the ground in front of her.

I see a pig-tailed, really tiny Sal on her phone. His contact picture. He and Ash are standing side by side, both of them holding up bunny ears behind each other's heads. Ash looks exactly the way I remember her as a teenager. Sal looks the total opposite of what I thought though.

Part of me expected him to be this super lanky, scene kid. I mean, the hair said enough. But he just looks awkward and childlike here. His eyes are big and bright, happy. He's on his tiptoes to try and add some height to his small stature, so he doesn't look quite as short next to Ash. It's refreshing— clearly, he hasn't always been so... closed off, mean, and unhappy.

The call suddenly accepts and I'm forced back to reality, especially when someone who absolutely cannot be Sal Fisher answers the phone.

"Hey, sweetheart," he starts warmly, tone cosplaying as a literal cinnamon roll. Gooey, sweet, and cozy. "Did you guys make it safe?"

What brain slurping alien has taken over his body? There's no way that's him.

I think back to our night in Nockfell-- he called me sweetheart. He's calling Ash the same. Is this the true Sal? Laid back, caring, and gentle? Is that what he was trying to portray to me when we acted as distractions to one another?

"Sure did, mi corazón," Ash replies in a sing-song voice, rocking back and forth. "How are you and Gizzy? Staying safe? What's the ETA?"

I hear a low, content chuckle from the phone and swear I've been thrust into an alternate reality. "I'm fine, Giz is great. He's napping on my lap while I drive. Staying as safe as an eyeless guy can. And we should be there around midnight tonight."

Ash frowns. "Midnight? Why don't you guys stay the night at a hotel? Kinda risky to drive for so long."

Sal hums in contemplation. "My chances of finding a pet-friendly hotel are scarce. It's more trouble than it's worth. I don't usually go to bed 'til early in the morning anyway— you know that. I'll just get our bags down when we get there and save the unpacking for tomorrow."

"Let us know when you get here then," Ash murmurs worriedly. I grab my phone and check the time. It's six in the evening. Is he really going to drive for another six hours? "And please, drive safe. Don't forget to eat and stay hydrated. You literally take, like, two weeks off all our lives the longer you aren't around," she adds, tone much like a grandma fussing.

Sal laughs heartily on the line and my lips quirk up at the sound. "I will, I will," he replies to her, voice lovingly tender. "I'm about to stop to pick up dinner and feed Gizmo. I'll update you later, 'kay?"

"Okay," Ash chirps, satisfied with Sal's promise. "Ik houd van jou!" She kicks her feet after speaking, pinching her lips together and staring at the ceiling excitedly, waiting. Ash and her languages... I have no idea which one she just spoke, but usually if it's not in English, she's saying 'I love you.'

"You too, darling." Sal knows her as well as I do. This interaction is too precious-- I should not have been present for it.

Ash ends the call then looks over at us. "He's in such a good mood," she whisper yells, exhilaration scrawled across her face. She looks like she just did a line of coke. "He never says he loves me too!?" She whips her head to Larry, eyes narrowing as she inspects him. And Larry, he balks; holds his hands up in surrender to accompany his saucer-sized gaze. 

"Is he on drugs? Did you give him something?" Ash asks, raising an eyebrow but never letting up that little glare she has going. 

"No!" Larry exclaims, voice cracking. His surrendering hands turn upward in an exasperated shrug. "Why the hell would I send him on a road trip with drugs? We're talking about Sal."

"Exactly. We are talking about Sal. Sal who likes to party with you. See where I'm going?" Ash counters, tilting her head to accentuate her point.

Larry opens his mouth to argue, but then his brows furrow and he snaps his mouth shut, looking off to the side contemplatively. I'm still reeling over this news about Sal supposedly liking parties. "Okay, I see," Larry grumbles. "But seriously, I didn't give him anything. Hell, I don't even have anything."

"I wonder what the hell has him so cheery then," Ash mumbles to herself.

"It's trauma, dude, I swear," Larry declares passionately, pointing at Ash with one hand while the other buries itself into his hair. He's just had an 'aha!' moment. "He's fucking coping. Let the man cope."

Ash stuffs her face into her hands. "Larry," she says darkly, voice muffled. My hair stands on end at her tone and I note Larry grimacing beside me. "That is not funny."

Larry purses his lips and takes two steps back. I watch him struggle, cheeks going red as his mouth works. Like he's trying so desperately hard to not say something. But when can he ever keep his mouth shut, right? This is King Cockblock. Emo Buff Daddy.

"Sal would've laughed," he says softly, wincing when Ash's head snaps up and she sends him a cold glare. 

I giggle when Ash launches into a full frontal attack, heading straight for Larry who squeals like a piglet. Todd simply sighs, pinching Neil's arm who laughs at our friends.

As unclear as everything is, I know that I can rely on the people here with me. The excitement on their faces just from knowing they have a new start, surrounded by one another. This is solid, this is good.

Ash and I eventually find our way three stories above Sal and Larry's apartment to our own apartment. It's at this exact moment that reality sets in. Not only will I be beside Ash every single day from here on out, but the rest of our friends are in the same exact building. For as long as I've felt alone, I feel stuffed with company and I love every bit of it.

She wasn't wrong either. Our apartment is essentially the lighter, more feminine version of Sal and Larry's. The floor is a dark, mahogany color but the walls are eggshell white, creating a lovely contrast in the room. Our ceilings are still stunningly tall, but unlike Sal and Larry, we don't have a loft. Just a lot of fan room, as Ash joked. 

We spent time having our 'ooh' and 'ahh' moment, exploring our spacious three bedroom apartment and its bathrooms. And not long afterward, we set up the one blanket I brought with us in the middle of our living room. We ordered ramen and had a picnic beneath the moonlight fluttering in through our balcony windows. 

It's a girl's night that I've been craving since the moment I first left Nockfell all those years ago.

Ash ends up dragging me and our little blanket out onto our balcony so we can stargaze. In fact, we're in the middle of discussing Twenty One Pilots's new album when pale hands suddenly drop onto Ash's shoulders. 

She and I both yelp, Ash's arms flailing and her eyes squeezed shut in absolute terror as she flings herself off our blanket. I flinch, spinning in my sitting position to see Sal who's absolutely grinning beneath his prosthetic.

I look past him, noting Larry and Neil hovering in our living room with bags and suitcases surrounding them.

Oh, an important note, all three men are completely shirtless. Even better, they're a little sweaty too.

"What the fuck, Sally!?" Ash yells, sighing exasperatedly as she lifts herself from the ground and walks over to Sal, wrapping him up in a tight hug. "You're lucky I'm relieved about you being here because I would so twist your dick if this were any other situation."

"Thanks for sparing me then," he chuckles, hand splaying across Ash's lower back as they break their embrace.

I've found myself wordless all day. I feel like a spectator-- like I'm not even here with them on this balcony.

Ash ignores his remark. "Why are your nipples out? Why do you smell like a wet dog?" she asks instead, wrinkling her nose and leaning away from him.

Sal rolls his eyes and moves his arm away from her. "Because I've been unloading. Why else?" He steps aside, ushering Ash back into the apartment with a gesturing hand.

She follows his unspoken command, walking through the balcony doors and beholding the sheer amount of smelly men in our new home. "You should have called us for help," Ash murmurs, hands on her hips as she comes to a stop before Larry and Neil.

Sal doesn't answer her immediately. Instead, he looks over at me with his bright eyes that have been phenomenally captured by the moonlight above. He tilts his head toward the door, silently telling me to follow Ash's lead.

Gulping, I lean down and quickly gather my blanket in my arms, trying my absolute best not to express the nerves ravaging me whole. Sal's here. I don't really hate him like I thought I did. And he hasn't spewed insults at me yet. It's awkward and I feel... shy?

I start walking to the door, making absolute sure not to look at him. 

As I pass through the threshold, I can feel the very tips of Sal's fingers brush along my side. Even in LA's smoldering weather, chills suddenly erupt along my skin. I don't know what kind of touch it was-- a greeting or a reminder of his presence-- but it was certainly something. 

I suck in a quick breath, counting my steps so as not to trip over my feet as I walk further into the room. 

Sal follows, shutting our balcony doors behind him and moving to point at all the luggage on the floor. And, oh, thank God, someone was either smart enough or kind enough to bring an air mattress. "This is all your shit, Ash," Sal sighs sarcastically, though there's some amusement beneath his facade.

"How did you manage to fit all of this into Sal's trunk?" Larry asks, gathering his hair into his hands, a ponytail between his teeth. "Everyone else had, like, three bags. Here you are, bringing your entire closet and then some."

"Uh, yea." Ash's attitude comes out full force, a glint in her forest eyes that says she's ready for this argument. "I brought my entire house, dude. I just moved states away, if you didn't know."

Neil cackles, grabbing onto Larry's shoulder for support. "I'm so glad we all moved together. I never get tired of you guys."

Someone get this man out of the room. Neil's a really handsome mouse surrounded by vultures, especially shirtless like this. Sal blinks at him then turns away and-- honestly-- I'm not far from having to do the same.

Ash smirks at Neil, shifting her weight to one leg to accentuate her little sassy pose. "You're going to get tired of us when we finish unpacking our stuff. After that, we're going pack up all of y/n's stuff to haul it here."

Neil tries to mask the way his face suddenly falls at the reminder that we're moving me here too, but he miserably fails. His quivering lips say enough and the group of us can't help but burst into laughter.

"It shouldn't be too bad." I send Neil a reassuring smile. "I'll rope Nate into helping us somehow--"

"Your hot LA bestie?" Ash squeaks excitedly. She turns to me with her hands fisted beneath her chin, her previous attitude mist in the wind now.

My brows furrow. "You think Nate is hot? You? Ms. Scissoring Expert herself?" I can't help but pick on her a bit.

Ash's excitement morphs into flattery at the name I came up with for her. "Oh, come on. It's not that shocking is it? I indulge in men sometimes."

"Yea, every three blue moons," Sal chimes in, watching us with a tilted head and narrowed eyes.

Ash sticks her tongue out, mocking him before she focuses back on me. "Definitely invite the hottie," she tells me with raised brows.

Whatever Ash wants, Ash gets.

I grab my phone without another word and start typing out a message to Nate. Ash watches over my shoulder, her coconut and poppy scented hair brushing along my chin.

Me: hey, i'm moving. help pack???? pls???? :DDD

Nate: I swear I wasn't serious about revoking your brownie rights. You don't have to leave.

Me: LMAO i promise that's not the reason the faces just moved to la & ash invited me to live with her soooo

Nate: So you hate me is what I'm hearing.

Me: --_--

Nate: Lol. Kidding. You know I'm happy to  help with whatever you need.

Me: this is why ur my favorite ex <33

Ash gasps. "You dated the hottie?" I fling my head around to look at her, forgetting she was in on this entire conversation.

"Woah," Larry adds, hands waving like he's washing windows. "You dated the guy who tried to kill you before our stream?"

I shake my head disappointedly, glancing down at my phone to see if Nate fixed my fuck up. And he has, so I show everyone the message.

Nate: We've never dated. I'm not your ex.

Me: but you're clingy like one so you  might as well be... plus you literally drop everything to help me

Nate: Have fun packing on your own.

Me: I'M SORRY I WAS JOKING

Larry's cackling by this point, watching the conversation over my other shoulder. "I'm so proud of you for inheriting my good humor," he squeezes my shoulder in his big palm, causing a grin to split across my face.

The boy's start talking about something that I don't care to listen to. I just spare Sal a couple glances, noting his unfazed and easygoing persona right now. All day, I went against all that my DNA has decided about him. I've worried and sympathized, battled myself constantly at the expense of my own sanity just because he showed some of his truth to me once. 

Nockfell changed things. 

I left LA lustful and I've returned with a friend.

-----

A/N::::: WHO'S READY FOR THE GANG TO MEET NATE OMGGGGGG

so sorry it's been fucking FOREVER guys >~< this was kind of a hard chapter to write. i had a general layout with certain scenes and whatnot but i've had to do SO many transitions, as you can see. I kinda hate that cuz i'd much rather stick with one theme and gently lead into side pieces in one chapter rather than bouncing ALL over the place. but, as you can tell, this chapter was needed to address some of sal's issues, y/n's thoughts and feelings as of current, as well as the way their relationship has changed a bit :3

ofc the other reason i've been gone is cuz of that stupid accident i had o_O for those who don't know, the summary is that i hit my foot so hard it made me faint and i literally shmacked my head on the floor HAHAAAAA here's the update: it's been two weeks and my foot hurts even more than it did when the accident happened. the day of, i got x-ray's and my doc said that i just had a bruise but i'm going to another doctor for a second opinion. i'm literally not even bruised anymore, but still swollen asf and can hardly walk sooooo that's tomorrow's agenda. i'll update you guys again when i find out more!!! (psa, if my foot is broken/fractured before my beach trip in two weeks, the hospital i went to better start counting its MONEY not its DAYS because guess who'll be going to fucking COURT with my DISCHARGE PAPERS AND WORK EXCUSE STATING THAT I AM HEALTHY AND OKAY TO WALK AROUND??????????)

tell me how i can improve! how could i make my transition smoother? what are some thoughts and/or actions i could add in to make things more entertaining and personal? also give me some fun words!! i need to expand my vocabulary >.<

anyway, as always, i love you guys with all three of my working limbs, even my janky foot. smooches and squishes my loves <333

(p.s. sorry for the long ass note)

(p.s.s. sorry for the shorter chap </3)

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hi! I've been searching for a fic where Derek left Beacon Hills and Stiles ends up with the camaro, possibly when Derek texts him where to find it after a falling out with Scott. I remember he looks in the glove box and finds everything he would need to leave town as well. I can't seem to remember anything else, but the glove box scene has been haunting me.

Thanks for everything you do!

I don't know it. If anyone recognizes it send me an ask or IM. Thank you.

[welcometololaland]

Is it true you’re writing a sequel to The Ring-In ?

If so that might be the best news I’ve heard in ages. The Ring-In is my favourite fic

hello, anon :) it is true. thank you for asking about it!

i'm concurrently writing eurotrip and the ring-in sequel. my goal is to finish both by mid-late September!

i am SUPER happy with ch 1 of the ring-in sequel. it has exactly the same vibes as the first one (imo), but chapter 2 is a little slow going because i have this particular, kinda silly sex scene i want to write and i think i've built it up in my head too much and now it's haunting me. ANWYAY. we persist. i just finished a circuit breaker prompt fill, so my attention is turning back to the ring-in!

you didn't ask for this, but have a snippet from ch 2:

“I didn’t want to mention it before, but my dad just messaged out group chat—” Carlos grits his teeth. “Where’s he taking the Camaro, TK?” “Nowhere bad!” TK protests. “He’s just excited about driving it to some date he’s got tonight. I guess he thinks it’s a…chick magnet.” Carlos snorts. The very concept of his car being used to seduce women is so foreign from its intended purpose, which is to accelerate fast, look pretty and be a convenient place to make out with TK. In Carlos’ admittedly biased view, the only person who is truly flattered by the passenger seat of his car is his husband. “Anyway,” TK adds, now scrolling their shared roadtrip playlist. “We know that it’s basically impossible to get up to anything freaky in that car because of how small it is—” “TK,” Carlos says sharply. “That’s— He’s your father.” “I’m just saying!” TK protests, dropping his phone into his lap as his left hand flails about demonstratively, “We’ve tried to do road head like, seven times, and—” “You’ve thrown your neck out?” TK throws him a dark look. “No need to rub it in. Last time it needed a lot of ibuprofen.” “Yes, as the almost-beneficiary of road head, I would know.”

thank you for being curious about this fic, it's always such a compliment when people ask!

[dropofbittersea]

Stiles could feel Derek’s blistering fingers against the small of his back, the ache in his body easing away. He didn’t say anything as Derek moved past him, leading them out to the gravel driveway where the Camaro was parked. He knew he shouldn’t look back. He could already feel how his hair was standing up on the back of his neck. He tried to take deep breaths, but there was a terrible pressure against his chest, one that threatened to build until he fucking turned around. He doesn’t want to, but he feels like he will die if he refuses. He dug his toes into the soft ground, pausing in his step as he finally gave in. He turned slowly, his heart in his throat now. He catches her standing in the doorway, the marred, burnt corpse he envisioned all those years ago.

He didn't realize he had vomited until Derek was at his side, voice slightly panicked, “Stiles, what’s wrong?”

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, the back of his hand coming up to wipe at his mouth. His throat burned with the acidity, fresh tears falling down his cheeks as he said, “Derek, I think your house is haunted.

or Stiles sleepwalks and wakes up in all of the haunted places of Beacon Hills

[half-oz-eddie]

The thing about loving someone—you have to understand that there are times when they'll be far away.

Right now, Billy was far away.

After Starcourt, Billy and Steve were drawn to each other pretty quickly. When they got into a relationship, Billy was running on adrenaline. He was living on a natural high, floating on a sea of love. Everything felt blissful and perfect and beautiful. Everyday with Steve was an exciting adventure—sneaking around, late nights in the Camaro, handjobs when sex was too strenuous for his body. It was all perfect. Steve was so loving and patient, Billy was constantly in disbelief. The Upside Down wasn't the only alternate universe. Billy was living in a totally different reality from before, where everything was a fairytale.

But there was no happily ever after, and the story was far from over.

Once the honeymoon phase ended, things slowed down. The love was still constant and reassuring, but there was more time for Billy to assess life and his trauma. He'd realized he was burying it under all the excitement and it all came crashing down...slowly, painfully.

First it was the nightmares, then the hallucinations, and then, the jumpiness when Steve's hand would slide onto his shoulder from behind.

It got to the point where Steve couldn't touch him anymore, could hardly speak to him, and eventually, they slept in separate rooms.

The love still hadn't changed. Billy told Steve he needed to figure this out on his own.

Billy would disappear a lot, driving around for hours until sunrise. He would talk to El here and there, for the reassurance that the mind flayer was gone. She even gave him confirmation that he was free, and it was only the memories haunting him, like a poltergeist.

Eventually, he realized running wasn't an option. You can't run from your memories. You have to face them head on.

If he could be brave and take on the mind flayer singlehandedly, he could take on his memories and fears, too.

So he tried. He put on a brave face and he fought like hell. "You're not here anymore. You don't control me. I control my life now and no one can stop me. No one tells me what to do. Not anymore."

Eventually, he believed his own words, and he found his power.

For the first time in 6 months, Steve could feel the right side of the bed dipping and fingers running through his hair.

"You came back to me." Steve mumbled, his lips slowly curving into a smile.

"I can't stay away from you forever, pretty boy."

They fell into a peaceful slumber, dreaming about the new adventures they'd share together.

[mrprettywhenhecries]

stubborn love [b.h]

one. | round and round

Billy Hargrove ✘ Win Lewis (OC)

⇾ w.c. 3.1k words ⇾ warning(s). canon x oc pairing, f!oc, angst, anti Karen Wheeler, flayed!Billy, allusions to chemical consumption, angst ⇾ a/n. It's been a while since I've updated this fic, but I've had Billy on the brain recently and was missing him and Winnie. Thank you for being patient and please enjoy! Comments/Reblogs are greatly appreciated 💚

[ masterlist ] [ win lewis bio]

It had felt like hours since Win had given up on trying to keep her mind occupied and away from thoughts of Billy and the date he’d boasted of having that night, instead giving into sleep despite the early hour.  Though she’d tossed and turned at first, she’d finally slipped into a semblance of slumber when a frantic pounding at the front door roused her like a shot, her heart leaping into her throat at the urgent racket.

Nearly falling out of bed, she scrambled up, grabbing her robe on the way to the door.  Switching on the kitchen light, she unbolted the lock and yanked the door open, not ready for the sight that awaited her.

His fist raised, poised to knock again, was none other than the man she couldn’t get off her mind.

Billy Hargrove.

As soon as he saw her, he dropped his arm and looked over his shoulder anxiously, shifting his weight from foot to foot as if ready to make a break for it.

“Billy, what–?” Win began, her indignant exclamation catching in her throat as she got a better look at him.

He looked like he’d been in a fight, the angry gash above his eyebrow was smeared with dried blood and his rumpled curls clung wetly to the sheen of sweat and dust on his forehead, but it was the haunted look in his eyes that made Win pause–she’d never seen him this scared before—not even on the night Max had gone missing and she’d witnessed Neil’s abuse first hand.

“Billy, what happened to you?” she exclaimed, her voice coming out hoarse with concern and she caught him as he stumbled forward, practically collapsing into her arms.

“M’sorry, didn’t know where else to go,” Billy mumbled and Win shook her head, waving his apology away.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up,” she said, pulling him inside.

Before she shut the door, she noticed the cracks across the Camaro’s windshield and the dent in the dark hood and frowned.  It looked like Billy had hit something big.

“Take your jacket off, I wanna make sure you don’t have any other injuries,” Win instructed as she led him to the bathroom and flipped on the overhead light, pausing to wash her hands before grabbing the first aid kid from under the sink.

“Shirt off too,” she added, surprised that Billy obeyed without a word, shrugging off his leather jacket and unbuttoning his dress shirt.  Any other time he would’ve smirked smugly and made some coy comment about how she just couldn’t resist getting him naked or some shit, and the marked difference in his demeanor made Win’s stomach churn nervously.

In addition to the cut on his brow, his palms and chest were scratched raw, as if he’d been dragged across the ground and Win hissed at the sight, trying to wrap her head around what could have caused it, a nagging worry that it was because of his father.

“Billy, what happened?  It looked like you hit something.  The Camaro was all banged up.  Did Neil have something to do with this?” Win asked, using a clean towel to wash his wounds, gently wiping away the dust and dried blood at his temple, careful not to scrub too hard.  

Billy didn’t answer, letting his eyes flutter shut only to wince when Win dabbed at the cut with alcohol, a sharp breath ripping through his nose.

“Billy, please–” she tried again, kneeling at his side to clean the cuts on his chest and trying to catch his gaze.

His hands tightened into fists for a moment before he forced them to relax atop his thighs and he finally opened his eyes to look at her, a wild frightened look in his blue gaze that chilled Win to the bone.

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry, Win,” he breathed, his voice hushed–hoarse with desperation–and Win had a feeling he wasn’t just apologizing for showing up unannounced in the middle of the night all banged up.

“I’m sorry for everything.  I fucked up.  I fucked up bad,” he insisted, wetting his lips as he held her gaze, imploring with his eyes for her to believe him.

“If anything happens to me, I need you to know–”

“Whoa, Billy wait–” Win exclaimed, cutting him off, not liking the sound of what he was saying.  “You’re scaring me.  What do you mean if anything happens to you?” she demanded, ice filling her veins, but Billy shook his head.

“No, listen,” he growled, grabbing her arms, his fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to bruise, the desperation in his voice enough to make her hold her tongue.

“If anything happens, I need you to know I’m sorry.  Losing you was the worst mistake I’ve ever made, and if I could take it back, I would,” he exclaimed, pain flickering in the dark depth of his eyes.

“Billy–” Win breathed, her pulse pounding loud in her ears, nearly drowning everything else out.  Why did it sound like he was saying goodbye…?

“Please forgive me, Win.  Please?  I’m scared,” he whispered, his voice dropping toward the end, the last words squeezing her heart.

That wasn’t like him.

The Billy Hargrove she’d known would never admit his fears out loud, no matter how frightened he was.

“Billy, I–” she breathed, blinking back the tears she could feel coming.

Did she forgive him?  Could she?

After his explosion the previous year, he’d stayed away from Steve, from Max and her friends.  He hadn’t been in any fights since Tommy on New Years Eve—at least that she knew of—and he’d done as she’d asked and stayed away from her, though it was the furthest thing from what she’d actually wanted.

He’d done everything she’d said and now he was apologizing.

Even if he hadn’t, in that moment Win knew it wouldn't matter and her answer sprang to her tongue without a second thought.

“I forgive you.”

As soon as the words left her lips, Billy clutched at her, pulling her into his arms, pressing his face to the crook of her neck to hide the way his eyes swam with relieved tears and Win held onto him just as fiercely, as if she feared he’d disappear on her–that she’d wake up to find it was all just a dream.

Before she could ask what this meant for them, Billy pulled back, taking her face between his large hands and capturing her lips in a desperate searing kiss that stole her breath and left her reeling.

Win kissed him back, her fingers tangling in his golden curls.  

“I’ve missed you so much,” she breathed, pressing her forehead to his, their panted breaths mingling in the close space between them.

“I–” Billy began, his eyes finding hers before he froze, his expression shifting, warping into a look of terror as he gasped a sharp breath in, every muscle in his body going taut.

Before Win could ask what was wrong, Billy jerked back, his wide eyes rolling wildly, as if he saw something she couldn’t.

“I can’t–” he rasped, fumbling frantically at the thin chain around his neck, his hand circling the little golden pendant and yanking, snapping the chain and pressing it into Win’s hand before closing her fingers around it and squeezing, fear and desperation battling across his visage.

“You need to stay away from me,” he ground out, springing to his feet and grabbing his jacket.  “It’s not safe– I can’t trust what I’ll do,” he exclaimed, swallowing thickly, silently pleading for her to understand.

“Billy, what?  What do you mean it’s not safe?” Win cried, jumping to her feet as well and letting out a sharp gasp as Billy rounded on her, grabbing her arms, his fingers digging uncomfortably into her skin.

“Promise me!” he growled, his face contorting in pain, as if he were waging a battle with himself, but Win shook her head, standing her ground.

“No, Billy.  I don’t understand!” she insisted, her heart in her throat.

Billy took a shuddering breath.

“Stay away,” he repeated, his eyes shining wetly.

Without another word, he released her and ran for the door.  Moments later the Camaro peeled out of the drive in a spray of stones, leaving Win standing in the doorway, more lost than ever.  As silence filled the night once more, she looked down at Billy’s necklace still clutched in her hand.

She knew its importance to him–the only reminder he had left of his mother.  So why had he given it to her?

“It’s supposed to protect you.  I don’t think it works.”

A shiver ran through Win as she held the necklace to her chest, her heart aching numbly.  Something had frightened Billy to his core, enough to push her away after only just getting her back.  And though he’d warned her to stay away, he had to know that was the last thing she’d do.

The rest of the night, Win could barely sleep, it felt like her heart had been ripped out all over again, and by the time morning came, she was ready for some answers.

Stringing Billy’s pendant onto a fresh chain, she dressed and biked down to the pool, determined to get some answers.  He couldn’t just give her hope only to snatch it back in a matter of minutes and then act like nothing had happened.  

Plus there was the matter of what had terrified him so badly to run away like that.  If he was in some sort of danger, Win couldn’t just sit by and do nothing.  No matter what he’d said to push her way, he hadn’t been lying about his feelings for her.

Reluctantly paying the entrance fee, she slipped through the women’s locker room to get to the pool side–already packed and it wasn’t even noon yet.  Shading her eyes from the scorching sun overhead, she scanned the pool for any sign of Billy, but it was Heather that was perched at the top of the lifeguard tower across from some other girl Win didn’t recognize.

Figuring he was either still in the men’s locker room or in the staff office, she set in to wait, leaning against the building in the shade of the overhang.

A thought had clutched her during the night after Billy had left, and she couldn’t seem to shake it.  What had happened to Billy’s “hot date” he had bragged about?  Had he even made it to the date, or had he been waylaid on his way there?

She knew it really didn’t matter at this point, but she couldn’t help but wonder who he’d been supposed to meet.

The office door swung open moments later and Win sank back slightly as Billy emerged, not noticing her as he walked past, heading for the gated storage area marked with an employee’s only sign.

Waiting to make sure no one was paying attention, Win stepped out of the shadows to follow after, only to freeze when he noticed Mrs. Wheeler approaching.  Assuming the woman was merely headed to the ladies’ room, she frowned when instead she slipped through the gate after Billy, hesitantly calling his name.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Win muttered under her breath as she followed, keeping her distance and peering around the corner.

“Billy?  I– I understand if you’re angry with me.  I just–I wanted to explain why I didn’t come last night.  It’s not you, it’s just… I have a family, and I can’t do anything that would hurt them.  You can understand that, right?” Karen said, taking a hesitant step closer, but Billy didn’t even turn around to look at her, keeping his back to her and Win’s blood boiled, her anger seething hotter.

So that was his hot, older date, she thought, her jaw clenching tightly, until she remembered that he’d come to her last night.

“Billy, please?  Won’t you even talk to me?  Say something,” Karen pleaded and Billy scoffed.

“Stay away from me, Karen,” he finally replied, his voice cold and hard, and Mrs. Wheeler flinched at his tone, clearly surprised.

“Billy, please?” she tried again, and he finally turned to regard her, his eyes flashing dangerously.  

“Get the fuck out.  I said, stay away,” he said, his voice just as hard.

Karen opened and closed her mouth, unable to think of anything to say before giving in and backing away reluctantly, hurrying for the exit and nearly colliding with Win on her way out.

“Oh my God–” she gasped, clutching at her throat in surprise until she realized who she’d ran into and her bright painted eyes went wide in recognition, guilt suffusing her expression instantly as her gaze settled on the all too familiar pendant resting against Win’s chest and she swallowed thickly, trying to work moisture back into her mouth as Win stared her down, her grey eyes turning stormy.

“I-I’m sorry, excuse me,” she mumbled, tripping over her words, her face flushing redder with embarrassment before hurrying out the chain link gate back to the pool, her heels clacking loudly on the concrete.

Touching Billy’s pendant, a frown marring her expression, Win tore her eyes from Mrs. Wheeler’s retreating form and pushed her roiling anger down, remembering why she was there in the first place.

Stepping further into the supply room, she found Billy, setting a half empty bottle of ammonia back on the shelf in front of him, his outstretched arm freezing when he heard her footsteps approaching.

“I thought I told you to leave,” he snapped sharply, not even bothering to look back, his hand at his side clenching into a fist.

“I can’t say I’m all that surprised that it was Mrs. Wheeler you were supposed to meet last night,” Win scoffed, ignoring his words.

At the sound of her voice, Billy straightened, spinning to face her, surprised alarm flitting across his visage.

One look at him and Win instantly knew something was wrong, concern outweighing the anger that clutched her, churning her stomach and racing through her veins. 

Completely drenched in sweat, Billy’s dark golden curls stuck wetly to his face while his dark cut off shirt clung to his chest and back.  She’d never seen him sweat that profusely, not even during basketball practice.

“Billy, you don’t look so good…”

He took a shuddering breath and the tension around his eyes softened for a moment as he took a step toward her, only to freeze, his expression once more contorting, his jaw flexing.

“I’m fine,” he spat, turning his face away from her.  “I told you to leave me alone,” he growled, but Win’s frown only deepened.

“You’re clearly not fine,” she countered, taking another step toward him.  “Just tell me what’s wrong and I can help.”

“I said.  Get.  Out.  I don’t want to see you any more!” Billy exploded, lashing out, his fist connecting with the shelf opposite him, nearly knocking it over, and Win jumped, flinching back at his outburst.

“I don’t believe you,” she whispered, her pulse pounding deafeningly in her ears.

“Dammit Win, can’t you just do what you’re told for once in your life?” he snapped, glaring daggers at her, though this time she held her ground, lifting her chin defiantly and Billy scoffed, jerking his head.  “I doesn’t matter if you don’t believe me, it’s not gunna change anything.  There is no help for me,” he added under his breath as he stepped around her, striding back toward the pool.

“Billy, wait!  Billy–!” Win called after him, but he didn’t look back, pushing the gate open and stumbling out into the sun.

Lingering by the gate, Win threaded her fingers through the chain links, fighting the urge to follow Billy as he made his way unsteadily to the lifeguard tower, climbing the rungs only to collapse wearily into the seat, sweat running freely down his face as he squinted into the sun beating down overhead, his expression practically deflating.

Fighting back the sob that caught in her throat, Win tore her eyes away from Billy and stubbornly turned away.  If he wasn’t going to give her any answers, then she’d have to find them elsewhere.

As she stepped into the women's locker room, however, she nearly ran into Mrs. Wheeler once again and the thread that was just barely holding her together finally snapped.

“M-Miss Lewis,” Karen gasped, hastily stepping back.  “I didn’t see you there,” she said, bleating an awkward laugh.

“What were you thinking?

At Win’s hushed accusation, Mrs. Wheeler flushed in embarrassment.

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” she murmured, not quite able to meet the younger woman’s eyes, but Win didn’t hesitate, her anger only flaring brighter.

“I know he's like, totally bodacious–” she mocked, her words dripping sarcasm “–and every bored housewife’s wet dream, but he’s eighteen!  He’s only a year older than your fucking daughter for Chrissakes!” Win exclaimed, her voice growing louder and more hysterical, and Karen flinched, backing away from her as she advanced.

“I know, but– h-he’s the one who came onto me.  He said– I thought you two–”

“Oh?  He came onto you?  So that makes it all okay, then?  Be the fucking adult, Jesus,” Win spat, interrupting her and Karen flushed redder.

“I didn’t go.  Nothing happened,” she insisted, but Win was too wound up, the words spilling out of her mouth without thought now.

“You have absolutely no idea what his life is like and all the horrible shit he’s had to endure!  No, all you see is a hot barely legal piece of ass to oggle and project your pathetic fantasies onto!  You should be ashamed of yourself!”

By the end of her tirade, Win was surprised to find her cheeks slick with tears, and she took a shuddering breath, trying to compose herself, her chest tight.

Pressed up against the row of lockers behind her, Karen looked thoroughly chastened–face bright red and eyes trained on the tiled floor.

“I-I’m so sorry.  I had no idea,” she murmured hoarsely, finally pulling her gaze up to look at Win, empathy softening her gaze when she saw how distressed she’d grown.  “Are you alright?”

Win swallowed, her expression twisting into contempt.  “You don’t get to act concerned about me now,” she hissed, wiping angrily at her face before turning and striding for the door, trying not to break into a run, though she desperately wanted to.

Grabbing her bike, Win took off toward Cherry Street, pushing down the wave of panic that threatened to carry her away and instead focusing on finding answers.  Maybe Max knew something she didn’t.

⇾ taglist. @b1tchywheeler @super-unpredictable98 @heartbreak-sandwich @babydollbaron @santacarlahorrorshow @elliethesuperfruitlover @birminghamshelbyboys

[robthegoodfellow]

WIP Word Game

Rules: you will be given a word. share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

The word that @spaceofentropy tagged me in is... BATCH. The C was the hardest to come by, and my sentences are comically hideously long, so I just found passages where sentences in close proximity started with the given letters!

All from next chapter of Only One Bed:

BAT:

Better get to lifting, Robin had joked, only the funny thing was… he had been? And not even just out of some not-so-subconscious urge to impress Billy—as soon as he landed a job that would require prolonged shirtlessness, he’d started hitting the home gym hard.

…And also stopped shaving his chest, though that had been more of a gamble, inspired by a mundane moment that had haunted his psyche: Billy in the parking lot after school, lounging against the hood of the Camaro, shirt unbuttoned to his navel, gaping wide under the leather jacket—and Steve had lost track of things en route to his car, gaze probing the play of shadows on tanned skin, toned chest, when a wolf whistle jerked him back to earth. Munson, hands cupped to holler Hey, there, Knight Rider! And Billy’s laugh, a silky, flirty sound: How about a little Turbo Boost?

Steve had driven home, gone about his evening, only for that laugh to swamp him again as he sat flipping channels—Billy’s head tipped back, lips parted, hint of teeth—when he stumbled upon a souped-up Firebird mid chase scene. He’d watched the entire episode. Hadn’t meant to compare Billy to Hasselhoff, but did.

The main difference was the chest hair—the thatch of dark that peeked from a deep V of fabric—and why was it only called cleavage on a chick? When the plush curve of pecs, hairy or shiny smooth, was just as… slutty…?

Anyway—yeah. He’d rolled the dice, embraced his inner Hoff, rocked the furry chest all summer.

CH:

If his parents were home, they sprawled out in the den and graciously accepted the parade of snacks ferried in by Steve’s mom, who was less invested in feeding them than catching them in the act. Catch him cheating, basically, and prove himself just as much a scoundrel as his father. Which is why they didn’t retreat downstairs to the rec room when she was around—his mother simply refused to believe they had only ever been and would only ever be friends, and any behavior to fuel her suspicions was generally avoided.

He'd come close to biting her head off when she heard Nancy had dumped him and her first response had been to sigh all knowingly, because he couldn’t expect Nancy to put up with it forever—sharing his attention with another girl.

Almost snapped, but he’d stormed out instead, and it was only later that night, tossing and turning in bed, that her words returned to him and he had to laugh. Because Nancy had been sharing his attention—just not with Robin. Not the way she meant, anyway.

.

Thanks for the tag! No pressure tags for others, using the word... SLEEP:

@ihni, @fizzigigsimmer, @adelacreations

@shieldofiron, @intothedysphoria, @imsodishy

[lorifragolina]

Let's live a little

I'm going almost for half the Bingo card! It's my fourth fill, square C2, prompt "Let's live a little". This work belongs to the Harringrove droplets series (where they are settled in California and try to find their way). It's a sort of introduction for the next work for the prompt "Loss of control".

Title: "Let's live a little"

Square & Prompt: C2 "Let's live a little"

Rating: General

Word Count: 1312

Major Tags: Harringrove, domestic life, money, date night

Summary: Steve and Billy happily live together, but Neil Hargrove's ghost still haunts Billy. Steve has an idea to distract him and spend a different night together, along with a lot of money!

Read on Ao3

Steve knew perfectly who he had to blame for that. 

Neil Hargrove in his best moments, of course. As for many, many problems in Billy’s life.

Steve didn’t notice it at the beginning; he never had to think about money, not seriously, his parents had pushed to work for his minor expenses but he never had to struggle for the bills, the rent, the groceries, and either for saving or having a pillow for a rainy day. 

When he moved in with Billy, he had to deal with the basic money for living, but fortunately they both had decent salaries and it wasn’t really difficult making ends meet. 

And fortunately, Billy was a better administrator than Steve, he was used to set aside any little money he can put his hands on, and planned his expenses carefully, so he started managing their finances there, in California, and Steve was happy for that at first; he didn't know how to start and Billy was prepared. 

It took a little time for Steve to notice that Billy was not only well prepared to manage their money, but rather obsessed with it. Steve gave Billy his money when they paid him, and Billy religiously splitted the money in various envelopes, classified in a shoebox with labels and a color system that Steve didn’t bother to learn: one envelope for the rent, of course, one for the bills, one for the groceries, one for other expenses like the subscription to the videoclub or the gym, the extra saving and other personal things; Billy gave Steve the remaining money back and they never discussed about their handing; Billy was at peace and Steve was happy without worrying about trivial questions. 

He had the first hint the day he wore Billy’s denim jacket by mistake, he took it from the rack in a rush and noticed it only on his way for work; it would be a minor incident if he hadn’t feel something strange, rigid and crunchy sewed inside the lining of the jacket; it sound like a few dollars and it seemed quite strange to him. Later, at home, he also checked Billy's leather jacket and found the same thing; he got suspicious, he knew how such things worked although he never needed them, so he took Billy’s boots and checked inside, finding two fifty bucks under each sole. He searched between Billy’s things, those he hid at the top of the closet, and found various rolls of bills hidden in books and little cans, and finally he checked the Camaro and found some hiding with money. 

He knew enough to understand that Billy was prepared for a possible run, not only as a remote possibility but as an actual risk; he was ready to run at any moment and always had some cash with him, like in Hawkins, after all, waiting for the point of no return with his father. 

When they started dating in California, Steve remembered that Billy was a little more free and didn’t save that much, but after some months things had changed, exactly from the call where Max advised them that Neil Hargrove left them out of a sudden, in october. 

Billy started being obsessed with his father, he feared Neil was able to track him down and make him pay for running away and above all stealing his money. 

Steve was angry with that man, although he thought he couldn’t find them in Los Angeles, but he hated him also because he forced Billy to be too cautious with money, and afraid to allow himself a little treat from time to time. 

“Here you are,” Billy handed Steve a bundle of money, the remaining from his monthly planning. 

Steve was tired of seeing him always bent on the table with his expenses notebook, obsessed to make ends meet and doing things well. 

The hair was getting hotter, near the Californian summer, and Steve was tired to live like a recluse because of what Neil Hargrove had taught to his son. 

“Hey, let’s go to the city for a night, as in the old times,” he waved the money under Billy’s nose. 

Billy looked at the money and then at Steve.

“I am a little short this mouth,” he murmured, lowering his eyes again. It wasn’t really true, but he was trying to save as much as possible, and Steve knew. 

“Don’t worry, I'll buy,” he smiled, waving the money again. “Come on, Billy, we haven't gone out in ages”.

Billy tapped on the table. “What do you have in mind?”

“Let’s see… a dinner in the most expensive restaurant we can find, then we can drink something and go clubbing to the early hours. I’m buying,” insisted Steve. “We deserve a fucking break. You deserve a break”.

Billy chewed his inner cheek, then shrugged. “Ok, why not. You’re buying,” he smiled and Steve clapped. 

When Billy came out of the bathroom, well groomed and well scented for the date, he was stunning, but uncertain. 

“Are you still sure it’s a good idea?” He shrugged a little, sleeking the black shirt Steve gave him at Christmas and he had barely used since then.

“Absolutely,” Steve admired his boyfriend and his beauty, how he was able to get ready with a few wise touches, the watch, the bracelet, the rings and the necklaces, his curls and his colony smelling expensive, the lipgloss he always wore. “You deserve it. Let’s live a little,” concluded Steve, unbuttoning a couple buttons more on Billy’s shirt. “Done. Now you’re perfect”.

Billy smiled and nodded, taking his hand and following him to the car.

The restaurant was very elegant and very expensive, as Billy’s curse look at the menu highlighted eloquently.

“Don’t worry, babe. A day it’s a day”.

Billy pursed his lips, looking carefully around like he expected to see his father sprouting up suddenly, but Steve discreetly showed his money again, in the pocket of the designer jacket he wore, and Billy relaxed. They seemed like two executives treating themselves and flashing money every now and then, and with a couple glasses of an expensive and overrated wine, Billy relaxed and started to find the situation really funny.

“Do you think all the people here imagine that I fuck you and I’ll undress you very soon?” smirked Steve at a certain point, fidgeting with his salmon starter. 

Billy blushed and nearly choked with his bite, but then he burst out laughing openly.

“Shit, this wasn’t really smooth,” he laughed.

“Didn’t want to be smooth. After spending all that money I expected at least to get laid”.

Billy laughed again, sipping his wine. 

“I’m sorry you’re wasting your money, I’d sleep with you for free”.

Steve winked. “Of course, I know”.

At the end of the dinner, they were way more tipsy and stupid, and they kept laughing at each other silliness. It was ages Steve didn’t see Billy so relaxed and at ease, and he took his hand while walking to the car.

“Let’s take a walk on the beach,” said Billy instead, dragging him to the beach road. 

Steve pulled Billy towards him and kissed him at the moonlight of this warm and scented June. 

They took their shoes off and walked a little on the fresh sand, hand in hand. 

“Let’s continue our night off?” said Steve after a while. 

“What do you have in mind?”

Steve thought a little, then he smirked with a sort of crooked smile. “I just had an idea”.

“Don’t know if I like your face now”.

“You’re going to like it. You’ll see. You’re nineteen. Let your hair down and let me help to lose control”.

Billy bit his lip, grinning to him. He grabbed Steve’s face and stole him a breathtaking kiss. He nodded.

“Let’s do it”.

Steve laughed and dragged him by his hand.

[hellcheercaine]

1990

"I guess this is goodbye."

Quiet, alone in his thoughts, Billy stands with the only memory that is left in his hand—the key to his Chevrolet 1979 Z/28 Camaro. The smell of scrap metal.

Sight meets smell.

Billy's eyes wander over the scrapped car—well, the car has seen better days. And it unquestionably fulfils its purpose. Steve stands beside Billy, joining him in his reverie. Their thoughts entwined in unison, as they embraced the vessel of their journeys.

The rides of laughter and joy.

The shared laughter even on the coldest of mornings.

The late nights of driving and having takeaways.

All of that—encapsulated in the car's remnants.

The car also becomes a safe haven for Billy, as he sets out on long drives to escape the haunting echoes of his father's abuse, along the roads of solace and freedom. However, thankfully, it was long gone, as his father passed on five years ago. Throughout this time, Steve has also been there for Billy, standing by Billy in undoing the damage he has suffered at the hands of his violent father through therapy.

Still, a work in progress, if you will. But Billy is getting there.

Forgiveness. Not for his father, but for Billy, himself. Trading for peace of mind. That he experiences in his car.

As Billy and Steve stand over the car's remnants, they reflected on their evolved bond.

The laughter. The tears. The well-intentioned life lessons imparted to his sister, Max. Their first makeout session.

That car has seen it all for Billy and Steve.

These are the bittersweet memories Billy and Steve will remember for the rest of their lives. Perhaps, some things are meant to last a lifetime.

[kitchenisking]

May Fic Rec❤️

stuck in reverse by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 65656, sterek)

Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf.

Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks.

Still, nobody deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody.

And it’s about time somebody told him that.

There Are No Wolves in California (Werewolves on the Other Hand...) byisthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella), KioFox - (Rating: Mature, Words: 49010, sterek)

“I’m not calming down until you call animal control! I fucking saw it! There were fucking wolves!” 

“There are no wolves in California, Mr. Daehler,” the principal said, sounding exasperated, like this was the third time she’d said it to him. 

“Well clearly there are!” he shouted back, showing such a lack of respect for the woman, Stiles had to applaud her for her fortitude not to smack him in the face. 

“Perhaps you were mistaken,” she said calmly. 

“No I wasn’t fucking mistaken,” Matt insisted, sounding incensed. “No way these were dogs, they were massive!” 

For a second, Stiles felt like the world had slowed considerably as those words wormed their way into his brain. Because—he knew a dog that was massive. Honestly, he’d also brushed away the idea of the dog being a wolf because there were no wolves in California. 

But... what if there were?

Holy shit, had Stiles literally spent his lunch break with a fucking wolf cuddled into his side while he pet it?! Good God, he was lucky to still have all his limbs!

Go Away, Scott by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 66227, sterek)

After the incident at the warehouse, Stiles is fed up with Scott. He finds himself drawn into Derek’s pack and in the process, drawn to Derek himself.

With the Alpha Pack closing in, Derek needs to learn how to trust his pack and those around him. And who better to help him than Stiles?

Camaro '68 by ZainClaw - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 17709, sterek)

Derek huffs, arching one eyebrow. "I'm not a fugitive."  "You look like a fugitive," Stiles insists, practically beaming. "Maybe you should start wearing cardigans."

In which Stiles is a hitchhiker and Derek a runaway whose paths cross at a gas station in the California desert.

Wash the Rain by BarlowGirl - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 5659, sterek)

“Oh,” Stiles says, sharp and thin, more of a whimper than a word, his muscles going stiff and tight.

Derek starts to check on him, and his gaze gets caught halfway, where a dark, wet spot is spreading across the front of Stiles’ underwear. So fucking easy, his brain says, and he has to breathe for a moment, in and out.

“Oh my God.” Stiles’ voice is low, muffled. When Derek finally drags his eyes away from that wet spot, he has his arm across his eyes, hiding his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Derek says, hiding a grin. “Don’t, it’s okay. You’ll last longer next time.”

Stiles moans.

OR: PORN

Where the Wild Things Went by banafofool - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 6974, sterek)

In the mass of cosmic chances, the universe had at least two things planned out. One, Claudia Stilinski and Talia Hale would be best friends. Two, their friendship would bring Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski together. 

Or at least this is what Stiles believes.

Words Whispered By Firelight by tigerlady (shetiger) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 6698, sterek)

"We had our own stories, though. Werewolf stories." 

Stiles takes an aimless couple steps forward, the curiosity in him a thing of kinetic energy. "Like what?"

Stiles wants to try something; Derek isn't so sure it's a good idea.

Daddy's Good Boy by DenaCeleste - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 3242, sterek)

Still haunted by the trauma of the Nogitsune’s possession, Stiles let’s slip some deep-seated needs that he’s never talked about before. Though he tries to hide, Derek won’t let him. Instead, he has to convince Stiles that he really can have what his heart desires.

I'll Always Take Care of You by adult_disneyprincess (orphan_account) - (Rating: Mature, Words: 2360, sterek)

Love You Most by LadySlytherin - (Rating: Mature, Words: 2974, sterek)

There are things Derek never expected to have. Things he’d resigned himself to the loss of. A proper pack, a mate, and children topped that list. He couldn't be happier that he’d been wrong.

[mungroveweek]

Mungrove Week 2023: Prompts

You guys voted for your favorite prompts, we regrouped some of them and put them under umbrella themes we hope will inspire you all! Find out more about the themes under the cut!

Day 1: Upside Down

Hell, that's definitely what the Upside Down feels like, whether they're stuck there, trying to escape or dealing with the aftermath.

What if Eddie died and woke up in the Upside Down to a friendly (or not) face? What if Billy was stuck in the Upside Down and weird things started happening at the Munsons' trailer, almost as if someone was trying to tell Eddie something? Or maybe they got out, but the Upside Down changed them, so much that they don’t really feel human anymore...

Day 2: Touch

It's about touch: the touch that brings comfort, the touch that brings pain, the touch that brings pleasure.

It's about not knowing what to do with a gentle touch, being desperate for any kind of touch, feeling too raw and vulnerable to be touched.

Overstimulation, flying fists, finally being touched after craving it for so long, missing someone’s touch, and the touch that never came.

Day 3: Firsts

You know the saying: there’s a first time for everything.

Experiencing something for the first time together, meeting for the first time, sharing a kiss for the first time.

Sharing something with someone for the first time, like a secret or one’s favorite meal, watching the childish wonder in someone’s eye as they see the ocean for the first time.

To be someone’s first friend, first love, first heartbreak, this day is all about being number one.

Day 4: On the road

A car, loud music, a seemingly endless road, is it a road trip or is someone running away from home?

This day is about cheap motels, hitchhiking, shenanigans and misadventures; fighting over the music or the last snack, getting lost because they can’t read a map, huddling for warmth at the back of the Camaro, finding a quiet spot to spend the night after a day spent on the road; Billy accompanying Eddie on tour, or maybe they’re going for a late night drive, just the two of them, it’s kinda like a date, right? 

Day 5: Stuck together

Something is connecting them, they can’t seem to be able to escape each other, they’re forced to work together.

Is it fate? They might just be meant to be together. Is it a spell, a curse, some kind of accident bonding them together? Someone might have just decided to lock them together inside a room, to pair them up for some kind of project.

The question is: are they going to fight it every step of the way or roll with it?

Day 6: H(a)unted

Things are going to get a little freaky, a little bit spooky. Ghosts, monsters, demons and other creatures of the night are on the menu this day. Maybe they’ll go ghost or monster hunting, maybe they’re the creature on the prowl; are they making a new friend or running away for their lives? 

It doesn’t have to be all bad, sometimes love can be found after death, sometimes a ghost isn’t really a ghost, and the monster just needs a little bit of love.

And sometimes the thing that’s haunting them is just the past. 

Day 7: Game Night

We can’t forget that Eddie is a D&D nerd and Billy a jock, and this is what day 7 is about: Dungeons and Dragons and Eddie’s last campaign, has he managed to convince Billy to join yet? That sure would surprise the Hellfire Club, but maybe not as much as if Eddie decided to go see a basketball game. 

This day is also about being young, stubborn, and yeah, a little bit stupid too; what kind of stupid bets do they make? Eddie might not be into parties, but what about drinking games? 

How far are they willing to go to win, and what happens if the answer is “too far”? 

The Spotify Playlist.

ALTERNATE SET: PHOTO PROMPTS You can swap photo prompts for any day you’d like!

1. Starcourt Mall

2. Twink Boutta Pounce Meme

3. Gif from Hannibal (TV Show), by prettyboysinpain

4. Two white masc people; the one in front is kneeling, with their hands behind their back. The one behind is faceless and standing up; they have a hand cupping the jaw of the one in front.

5. Vintage Heavy Metal

6. "Your crush is coming this way, be cool"

7. Oceanside Pier, San Diego

We're excited to see what you come up with, Mungrove Week will start on April 9, 2023, which is when we'll open the AO3 collection. We will post more details about posting and how to let us find your creations at a later date, in the meantime, we hope you have fun with those prompts! 🥰 If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to send us an ask or a DM here on Tumblr, you can also find us on the Mungrove discord server! 😁

[littlewinter1917]

The Haunting

Part I - I See You In Everyone

My blog is 18+ only. Minors DNI 🔞 Don't reposed my work anywhere.

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: It’s been a few months ever since your boyfriend, Billy Hargrove, died in the battle of Starcourt Mall. You’re still struggling to come to terms with his death, when weird things start happening in your house - almost as if you’re being haunted. Against your better judgement, you get the growing feeling that it’s Billy, and that he’s trying to tell you something, but you cannot figure out what. And then the Vecna attacks start happening, and you and your friends are hurled back into an adventure that seems closely tied to the weird activities in your house, to Billy, and above all, the cursed town of Hawkins, Indiana.

Words: 20.6k (Yes, I know, a little excessive)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Chapter warnings: A lot of grief, angst and survivor’s guilt. Some hurt/comfort. Slightly spooky stuff. Some swearing. Talks about Billy’s death and the events of Starcourt Mall.

Please check out the more detailed series warnings here if you’re unsure about what this story might entail in future chapters.

A/N: I’m quite excited about finally being able to share the first chapter of this! I’m not sure if anyone wants to read a slightly spooky story in the middle of March, but I’m impatient incarnate, so, I simply cannot wait until October to publish this.

I really wanted to capture a certain eerie atmosphere in this story, and you can find some of the visual inspirations I’ve used for it here, as well as a playlist, which you can find on Spotify here.

I've also decided to start a taglist, and you can fill out this form here or let me know in a comment if you want to be tagged in the next chapter <3

“And now, another song that’s been requested: Survivor’s I can’t hold back! A great one, might I add; and even greater for this particular Friday night.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You quietly curse under your breath, as you try to turn off the radio quickly, because that’s the last song you need to hear right now.

Truly, the last song.

“Oh, come on! What is it with you this time?”

The annoyance in your voice is only amplified by the angry stare that you throw the car radio’s way, once you realize that the off button seems to have developed a mind of its own, as it stays unresponsive to your biddings. 

“No, no, no!” You whisper, panic rising up in your chest, as the opening notes of the song start to play, and the radio still doesn’t budge.

Pushing the button forcefully a few times more, just for good measure, and maybe as a way to air some of your current frustrations, you can’t help but curse that damn Camaro. 

“Fuck!”

Even though your steering wheel bears hardly any responsibility for your current misery, it finds itself on the receiving end of your angry outburst anyway, as you hit against it hard. 

This must be one of fate’s cruel jokes again, you think defeated, as the song continues to play on; and haven’t you had enough of those already? 

Truly.  

There’s no other way to stop the oncoming catastrophe either, because neither the switch to change channels, nor the one that regulates the volume, reliably work anymore. And with the on/off button now officially joining their ranks of the dead and unresponsive, there’s nothing left for you to do. 

No way for you to avoid the song that used to mean so much to you. 

To the both of you. 

To you and Billy. 

“And I feel the hand of fate ♪

reaching out to both of us.  

♪ I’ve been holding back the night.”  

Jimi Jamison sings, and your grip around the steering wheel tightens, as you try hard to keep it together. 

This used to be your song, but now it’s nothing more than a torture device that leaves a hole the size of the earth in your already desecrated heart. 

How it can still hurt so much, without there being anything left to destroy, is not something you have an answer to; only that you’ve run out of tears weeks ago, yet the ache in your heart never falters, never sleeps. 

You feel like this is going to haunt you forever, for a lifetime, at least. 

And that’s without having to listen to that stupid song!

You try to distract yourself by focusing on the road instead, but the darkness of the night and the cold silhouettes of the surrounding trees hardly offer a relief. 

Or a distraction. 

The headlights of your car seem to be the only guiding constant in this equation, as they illuminate fractures of the passing landscape before moving on to something further away in the distance, over and over again. 

It’s kind of unsettling, really, if you think about how much of your current surroundings you can’t see, can’t capture with the fleeting lights of your vehicle. How behind the first line of trees looms another, darker one, and then another, and another, and- 

“That’s a forest for you, sweetheart.” Billy would’ve probably teased with a smile, if you’d voiced that thought to him. 

If he was still around. 

He is not.

Instead, you get taunted by a fucking rock ballad, and the wave of painful memories that come with said tune. 

To your horror, it’s not even halfway done yet, and for a moment you actually consider stopping the car completely and turning off its ignition, just to escape it. 

Just to make it stop.

But, miraculously, your silent prayers seem to have been heard by someone with at least a little bit of agency in this universe, because suddenly, out of nowhere, that current curse of a song gets cut off by blaring sounds of static before a different melody breaks through the speakers. 

“ Operator … could you help me…” 

Jim Croce’s voice croaks through the buzzing noises, and a shiver runs down your spine at the memory of where exactly you know that song from.

But before you can dwell on that too much either, your radio simply decides to unceremoniously turn itself off. 

“Fucking finally,” you mumble relieved, while the long-awaited silence engulfs you and the surrounding space of your Camaro. 

Your Camaro?

Billy’s Camaro. 

No one’s Camaro.

Shifting uncomfortably in your seat, you quickly come to the unpleasant realization that silence has its teeth and claws too, as it grows and takes shape right there beside you in the car, flashing you a sinister smile, threatening to swallow you whole. 

Getting haunted and tortured by music, or torn apart by nothing, is hardly a choice worth making. 

Especially not when you’re driving through a darkened forest, on the way home to a town you deeply resent, in a car that used to be your boyfriend’s before he got possessed and brutally killed by an inter-dimensional goo monster. 

And the scars of that story still litter your heart, and your thoughts, and your memories, in ways you can’t even begin to express, because the pain is simply too vast to fit into words, or phrases, or anything else that bears some form of communicational function.

Except scars would imply healing; and you feel anything but that. 

Healed.  

Nor do you think you’ll ever get there again.

Not in this lifetime, you won’t.

You speed up the car a little, until you see the first flickering lights of the town you call both, home, and hell; and the knot that builds in the pit of your stomach at the sight is not something you actively fight anymore. 

You wouldn’t know how to anyway these days. 

Once upon a time, there was the pleasant dream of Californian beaches, of the day where both you and Billy would speed off into the night together, and never, ever, come back again. 

Only for you to wake up in one big, cruel nightmare, with no means for you to escape it.

You wouldn’t know how to anyway these days.

Somehow, you make it through half of the town, despite feeling like you’re on fire, and each passing crossroad is only adding gasoline to the flickering flames eating away at your heart. There’s memories splattered all over this town, and the stains they leave won’t ever truly wash away. No amount of tears, or denial, or distraction will do that job. 

You’ve tried all three enough times to confidently stand by that verdict. 

There’s no escaping it. 

You would have to soak your heart in bleach and acid to get the remnants of Billy out; and even then you’re not sure it would work, because Billy has been the sole inhabitant of that place hidden deep within your chest for so long, that you don’t think it would still count as your heart, without Billy in it.

There’s nothing that can fill the bleeding gash he left in your life, and it’s not like you’d want to replace him either. 

You just want him back. 

You still wait and long for that moment, where you wake up and find out that all of this was just one, big, exceptionally cruel nightmare. 

Yet, that moment never comes, and as of late, you’ve started to lose faith that it ever will. 

Acceptance, or so they call it, but this is just one more of the many things you’d rather not think about. 

And by the time you reach the trailer park, you’ve succeeded in your mission, of blocking these thoughts out completely.

As usual, Max is already standing outside her trailer, waiting for you, and she’s quick to run up to the car as soon as she spots you and the blue Camaro.

You’ve barely come to a stop, when the door to the passenger side already swings wide open, and the little redhead plops down beside you. 

“You’re late.” Are the first few words she throws your way, and with a quick glance at the tiny time display inside your dashboard, you come to the realization that she’s right. 

You are almost 15 minutes late. 

Weird, you think with a frown, you could have sworn you left the newspaper’s office just in time – a rather rare occurrence these days. You’ve been doing a lot of overtime ever since Starcourt Mall. 

Anything, really, to keep yourself from going home or not being busy enough. With Fridays being the only exceptions, because, well, you and Max have shared plans on these evenings.

A ritual, so to speak.

“Sorry,” you mumble apologetically, “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“It’s alright, can we just go now, please?” Max grumbles, one of her legs bouncing nervously in anticipation. 

“Right, right.” You state, before maneuvering the car out of the gravely grounds of the trailer park.

The silence that’s been haunting you is back inside the car, hovering over you and your dead boyfriend’s little sister from the comfort of the backseat now.

“So, uhm, how’s school?” You offer, as a way to keep its claws from gripping either one of you too tightly.

It’s a sorry excuse of a topic, and you almost cringe physically as the words leave your lips.

Still better than silence, though.

But Max just huffs as a response, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

“It’s fine.” She says in a way that leaves you to think that she’s said these exact words today about a million times before.

Like a script. 

Like something she’s practiced and recites automatically, without much heart or thought.

Like the way you do, too, whenever someone brings up your current emotional state or well-being.

Looking over at the little redhead, you quietly observe the way the passing lights of the street lamps illuminate her face, and let her drift into darkness again.

Illuminate her face, and let it drift into darkness again. 

Turning your gaze back towards the road, you can’t help but take the mental note that she looks exceptionally pale today. Paler than she did the last time you saw her, which would have to be exactly a week ago. 

Maybe, it’s just the harsh and unforgiving lights of the street lamps feeding that illusion, you tell yourself, but you know in your heart that’s not right. After all, these lights must have been the same ones last time around, too, and you don’t remember her looking so pale then, so what exactly changed now?

As usual, she has her headphones hanging loosely around her neck, and the baggy flannel she’s wearing is something you immediately identify as Billy’s.

There’s a lump the size of the earth stuck in your throat now.

You know she’s hurting. One could say you all are, but it’s safe to say that Billy’s sudden death hit Max and you the hardest.

Launching the two of you into the biggest and deepest spiral. 

You’ve lost the love of your life, and she lost her only brother.

Her big brother.

And though they shared a rather rocky sibling dynamic from the very start, things had been cooling down over the past year. They even started bonding a bit before the tragic events of Starcourt Mall.

Before both of your lives were turned completely upside down, and then never recovered.

Glancing once more over to the girl next to you, you’re overwhelmed by a massive wave of helplessness that washes over you mercilessly. 

Dunking your head underwater, filling your lungs and your chest with despair, rendering your body immobile.

Taking you over, and under, and then spitting you out. 

Soaking your heart till it drowns.

You feel like you should have some comfort, some guidance, something, anything, to say, that might make your young friend feel a little better, but you’re struggling just as much as she is. 

There are no words to relieve the steady ache in your chest, the silent longing, the pounding headaches from all the crying. 

So why should it be any different for her? 

Anything anyone says to you, about how time will heal and mend the cracks of your heart, how they understand, how they’re there to help; it all feels like a cruel joke.

Because no time can heal or mend your heart. There’s hardly anything left of it anyway.

And they don’t understand your loss because, how could they? 

They didn’t lose the love of their life. 

Hell, most of them didn’t even know Billy. 

At least not the real Billy. 

No, they didn’t know him the way you did.

They only knew him as the troublemaker, the hot lifeguard, the one with the speeding Camaro and the anger issues. 

The one who embodied recklessness down to his very bones. 

And don’t most men like that die a tragic and terribly young death? 

But you knew him as the sensitive and softhearted boy he really was underneath it all.

The one who would snuggle into your side even in his sleep, because he always needed you as near and as close as possible.

The one with a terribly odd sense of humor, that would make you laugh until your stomach hurt. 

The one who was so utterly protective and tender when it came to you; whose kisses could make the world stop spinning, whose touches felt like heaven on earth, making even the strongest of angels blush and bloat with envy. 

Billy, your Billy, was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of guy. 

Someone, who took over your heart and mind in an instant. 

And you knew even then, after the first few dates you two shared, that your life would never be the same again without him in it.

He did have his demons, too, of course. 

The angry voice of his father, like a taunting shadow in the back of his mind. 

The lack of love and trust, a jealous and hungry monster in his heart.

It took a while, until he truly opened up to you, but when he did, well, you got to experience an exceptionally vulnerable and strong-willed man, whose cards had always been stacked against him; but still he fought, still he survived, still he loved you with a heart so fragile, so scared; with an utter and blatant tenderness, that no one who’d hear the name Billy Hargrove would connect to the boy in question.

But to you they were one and the same, really. 

Yet you’ve lost all of that in an instant, in the blink of an eye. 

And you’ll never get it back either, never get to experience the future you and Billy dreamed so vividly about. 

Now his body is stuck in a town he hated, and you’re stuck right there with him.

So, no, when people say they know or understand your loss, they really don’t. Because it wasn’t their world that was ripped away and taken from them in the most cruel way; but yours was. 

And Billy’s. 

And you’ll never recover from it, you’re sure of that. 

There’s a crater where your heart once was. 

There’s only hurt where there once was love and happy memories. 

And the pain of that loss is so vast, so strong, it renders you almost physically immobile on some days.

The bad days. 

The really bad days.

You have a lot of those.

And the empty promises of, “I’m there if you need anything,”  or, “If I can help in any way, let me know,”  they hurt the most, like stabs and twists of an ugly knife, because where were these promises, when Billy needed them?

When he needed help, there was no one there. 

Not even you, because you’d been out of state. 

The biggest mistake of your life. 

But despite that, there had been so many other people in the cursed town of Hawkins, Indiana, and yet, no one noticed. No one cared. And the few people that did realize something was wrong, well, that apparently wasn’t enough. 

And on some days you can’t help but think that maybe they simply didn’t try hard enough.

You know you’re not being fair in your judgment or resentment, but those feelings are hard to stop and rationalize. 

You wonder if Max feels a similar way. If that’s one of the reasons why she keeps such a distance from most of her friends these days. 

You know you kind of do. 

“Geez, is your radio broken, again?” Max curses, her finger still lingering over the on/off button, that apparently stayed unresponsive to her biddings, too.

Her words are what pulls you out of the hurricane in your head, and back into reality.

“Yeah, sorry, it started acting up again earlier.”

Max shakes her head slightly, before muttering, “That’s so weird that it keeps happening, right? Maybe you should let Eddie look over it once more.” 

“He already did, trice. I don’t want to bother him a fourth time with this.”

“I don’t think he’d be bothered. If anything, he would probably rejoice. Come to think of it, maybe it’s been his doing all along; manipulating the car to get you to talk to him, I wouldn’t put it beyond him.”

“Well, I would.”

There’s the hint of a hint of a smile playing on both of your lips. 

“It’s a shame that the Camaro doesn’t like tapes either, anymore.” Max slender fingers linger on the opening of the tape enclosure for a moment, and you watch her with careful eyes.

“Yeah, it’s-“

“It’s almost as if she knows.” Max interrupts, her blue eyes questioningly finding yours.

Despite the fact that she and Billy aren’t related by blood, her eyes look so much like his to you. 

“It’s like the Camaro knows that these aren’t Billy’s tapes, and so, she rejects them.”

“Max,” you chide gently, because now that’s ridiculous. 

“I’m sure the Camaro would reject Billy’s tapes as well; I just haven’t gotten around trying it out yet.”

And I don’t think I ever will, you think.

You can’t even bear the idea of listening to them without him by your side, laughing and singing along. It just feels wrong.

“After the crashes, not everything in this car could be fixed or replaced. She’s bound to have some quirks and flaws. The tape player not properly functioning is just one of those cases, you know.”

“I’m sure they said something similar about Christine.” The redhead mumbles dryly, and you can’t help but scoff with a laugh.

“Max, please.” you huff, trying to keep a straight face. 

“I’m just saying that Billy would have probably kicked me out of the car if I’d asked him to play Kate Bush, so it makes sense that his car would react the same.”

“Oh, hush, Billy wouldn’t have minded a little Kate Bush. In fact, I think he would have secretly liked it.” 

Now, it’s Max’s turn to scoff in disbelief, because of all the lies she’s been told today, this has to be the most blatant one yet.

“Yeah, right.” She states, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“I’m serious!” You insist, “but I guess that only means Billy’s never told you about that time when he and I got awfully drunk on my mom’s expensive port wine, and we were convinced that now was the best moment to try and learn the choreography to Wuthering Heights .” 

Max looks at you wide-eyed. 

“You’re kidding.” 

“I’m really not.” 

There’s a short pause as you recall the memory, a small smile playing on the edge of your lips.

“You know, he was always surprisingly steady on his feet, even while drunk, and so of course he ended up being a whole lot better at executing that damn choreo than I was.”

You still remember that night vividly. The two of you had laughed so hard, your stomach still ached the very next day. And you’ll never forget the big, boyish smile taking over Billy’s face, when he managed to nail the Choreography part of the chorus without much fault. 

“I’ve got it!” He’d beamed, outshining all of the stars that night.

“Look, look! I've got it!” 

And as he twirled around he almost knocked your dad’s car magazines off the coffee table. But he still looked great doing it, and most importantly, he was having the time of his life, so, it was all okay. 

He looked so young that day, so full of life and hope. 

That memory, like all memories involving Billy, stings somewhere deep within your chest. But for a brief moment there’s also a small spark of happiness there, as a tiny smile etches itself on your lips. 

A very tiny smile, but a smile, nevertheless.

And Max, who’s lost in the idea of trying to imagine her older brother dancing to that particular song out of all the possible songs, well, there’s a tiny smile on her lips playing, too.

“That must have been quite a night to remember.” She mumbles, and you nod your head in agreement. 

“It was.” You admit softly. 

It really, really was. 

The silence that takes over the car now has nothing threatening, nothing sinister. Instead, there’s a calmness that you haven’t experienced in quite a while, and for a moment you feel like you can breathe again. 

Like you aren’t suffocating under the weight of Billy’s loss. 

Or your loss. 

The loss of the world.

“Alright, we’re almost here.” You state while setting the blinker as you take the last turn. It’s only a handful of minutes now, until you two will reach your destination. 

Billy’s final destination. 

Clenching your hands into fists around the steering wheel, you realize just how much that truth still angers and upsets something deep within you.

That thought, however, drifts into the background as the parking lot creeps into view, and just like every Friday evening, there’s not a single spot taken. 

Not a single car around. 

Except for the one you and Max are currently sitting in. 

The headlights of the Camaro illuminate a sparse line of trees in front of you, as you park the car, and you can vaguely make out the first few silhouettes of some lonely gravestones peeking out from behind them. 

For a brief moment, you stare at the sight ahead of you. Taking in the way the cold light of the car leaves an eerie glow on the dark tree barks, giving their trunks a haunting yet artificial look. The grass beneath, wet with dew, or remnants of the last rain, reflects the light softly, intensifying the surrounding glow. 

The only thing missing is some fog, you think. But with summer slipping into autumn, that kind of element is waiting just around the corner. Give it another week or two, and you and Max will have the perfect horror movie setting at your hands by then.

“I’ll go grab the flowers from the trunk.” Max pulls you out of your thoughts again, and you take that as your cue to shake the lingering residue of your last mentation off, before grabbing your backpack from the backseat, as well as the flashlight you keep in the gloves department, and then, finally, you decidedly turn the engine of. 

In the blink of an eye darkness encompasses the surrounding trees again, while the Camaro’s headlights go to sleep. 

As you close the car door with a heavy thump, Max echoes the sound shortly after with the booming noise of the trunk shutting, too.

“Ready?” You question, as you turn around to face her, and she gives you a brief nod. 

But when you move to lock the car, the headlights of the Camaro suddenly turn themselves back on again. It’s only brief, for a split second maybe, before the darkness of the night creeps back into its rightful place, like nothing happened, like nothing disturbed it at all. 

If you had been all on your own, you might have convinced yourself that you just imagined it, but with Max right there by your side, bearing witness, that’s hardly a possibility. 

Max, however, just shrugs her shoulders as she comes up next to you. 

“Eddie.” She simply states, and you’re not sure if she’s trying to state the name of the culprit or the solution. 

As the two of you step up the curb that gives way to the graveyard, marking the territory like a faint line between the home of the living and the dead, she softly bumps her shoulder into your side. 

“Or, Christine, if you know what I mean.” 

“Max,” You huff again with a small laugh.

She’s really trying to drive that point home, you think. 

“Aren’t you too young to watch horror movies like that anyway?” You tease.

Despite the deep darkness surrounding you two, you can tell that Max is throwing you the most utterly offended look, like you’ve just asked her if she still sleeps with a nightlight and a mobile, or something. 

“I think I should punch you for this.” She mumbles, but there’s no real malice behind her words, just a matter-of-fact kind of dryness that she most definitely picked up from her brother.

This time, it’s your turn to playfully bump your shoulder slightly into her side, as you continue to walk next to each other. 

You both know the way by heart. Eyes closed, eyes tied, in a dream – it doesn’t matter, either of you know the exact path to the grave that holds so much more than a brother, or a lover. 

You continue to walk a little longer in the lingering silence and darkness.

It’s not even that dark once your eyes have become accustomed to the lack of light sources. The flashlight you crammed into the side-pocket of your backpack only really exists for emergencies, like when your zippo won’t work to light the candle at the graveside. 

A few weeks ago, you and Max didn’t even need any additional light sources at all, because the sun wouldn’t set until you were back inside the car. 

But as of late, ever since the days have begun to get colder and shorter, and the sun started to stick around less and less, you found yourself needing some kind of extra illumination at the very least when the two of you are at the graveside. 

The choice to only go with a candle was easy enough. Both you and Max luckily shared the sentiment that anything’s better than the harsh and artificial glow of a flashlight. 

Besides, you’d been lighting candles next to Billy’s headstone even before the nights started to creep in earlier, and earlier, and stay for so much longer, too. 

It also seems more peaceful that way, walking to the grave in the natural darkness, trying not to disturb any of the surrounding sleeping souls buried on the haunting grounds of Hawkins, Indiana.

During your last few trips to visit Billy, the setting sun was at the very least still a loyal companion on your walks to the grave, but today might actually mark the first time that there isn’t even the faintest sliver of orange hovering at the edge of the horizon anymore.

Instead, there’s only a deep indigo blue, similar to the one of the Camaro you now get to call your own. 

“You know,” you break through the quiet song of the last remaining crickets and the low humming of the wind rustling through the trees, whispering sweet nothings to the blushing leaves before carrying them away. 

“When Billy and I initially started dating, one of the first things he told me about you was how much you loved horror movies. He tried not to sound too impressed, but I could tell he was quite proud of that, of you.” 

You feel Max’s wide-eyed gaze on you once more, two big oceans of blue and a wave of disbelief. 

“Really?” She mutters, trying hard not to sound too affected. 

“Yeah, really. Told me how often you’d want to rewatch Halloween. He tried his best to look annoyed, but you could tell he really wasn’t. Not even in the slightest. Max, I know you two used to share a complicated relationship, and he certainly wasn’t the type of guy who’d wear his heart on his sleeve, but he did care a whole lot about you.” 

“I know,” Max mumbles while kicking a few pebbles across the grass, one hand buried in the depth of her pocket, the other one still holding on to the small flower bouquet that you bought earlier during your lunch break. 

Silence takes shape between the two of you once more, safe for the sound of your steps on the mix of fallen leaves, dirt, and gravel. 

But you come to a stop soon after - at a grave whose sight still burns holes in the broken remnants of your heart. 

William Hargrove it states, etched into dark and cold stone, followed by two dates: One that means the whole world to you, and one that pulled the rug from under your feet in the cruelest of ways, leaving you to float in a state of disbelief, anger, and infinite sadness. 

And you still struggle to come down from that, to face the reality of it all, accepting it.   

Leaving you to question what’s the world without Billy in it. Not much, not really. Not when it comes to your world anyway. 

And then, underneath that, the grave’s finishing touches says: Gone, but not forgotten.  

Such an impersonal statement. 

Something that could also be said about the missing neighborhood cat for all you cared. 

But what did you expect from a father like Neil? 

A big ode devoted to how great of a son Billy was? Of course not. 

You almost got into a physical fight with him over Billy’s burial. You had wanted for Billy’s last resting place to be somewhere in California. The place he never stopped calling his home with so much fondness and longing, instead of the town he absolutely despised with every single bone in his body.

You had been willing to take care of it all, to drive him there yourself if you needed to, pay for anything, sell your soul if that’s what it took. But Neil had refused every single plea and offer from your side, and it took both Eddie and Steve to hold you back from, well, escalating that whole situation further. 

But all of this lays behind you now, even if the wound that Billy’s sudden death created continues to feel so tender and raw, like it just happened yesterday, and each time you visit his grave, there’s still a twinge of disbelieve bubbling up inside of you at the sight of the gravestone and everything that lies beneath. 

Billy.

Your Billy.  

“Are you going to-“ Max’s voice pulls you out of your head again. 

“Oh yeah, sorry!” 

You don’t know where your head is today. 

Your heart? No question, six feet under next to Billy. 

Your head? You must have left it somewhere during the car drive to the trailer park because you’re pretty sure you were still doing somewhat fine while working at the newspaper earlier.

Trying hard not to keep Max waiting any longer, you kneel down while getting the new candle from out of your backpack, but before you even get to lighting it, Max speaks up again. 

“How about I get the broom this time, while you finish up here?” She offers and though that idea surprises you, you nod your head. 

“Sure, why not.“ You state, offering her your flashlight, but she just brushes you off.

“It’s fine.“ She says with a little wave before walking in the direction of where some gardening materials are usually hidden underneath a small shelter. You’re not even sure if these things are actually intended for public use or not. But so far no one’s told either of you otherwise. 

The whole routine is based around a weird little habit you two established early on, after your first or second visit to the grave together.

Initially, it was a simple watering can that you would go get from that place at the other side of the graveyard, giving Max the possibility to have some time with her brother by herself. 

There were a few wildflowers blooming near Billy’s gravestone that you two would then water with the can together, before Max would bring it back to its rightful place again, leaving you to have a couple of minutes of alone time with Billy in return.

Now, with summer slipping into autumn, there’s no need for watering flowers anymore. Instead, Max incidentally found a small hand broom in between the other gardening tools a few weeks ago, and her eyes lit up immediately, as a new idea formed in her head.

There‘s a strong pine tree not too far off from Billy’s grave, and occasionally a few needles and debris find their way onto his gravestone. 

But not anymore, because nowadays Max makes a continuous effort to brush them away, with the help of the small broom she’s found, of course.

The first time she decided to do that, it caught you off guard completely, and the tenderness with which she‘d clean the gravestone certainly didn’t help your emotional tumult either; brushing the stone with a care like it could be Billy’s hair. 

“Now you’re all pretty again.” She would mumble to the cold stone once she was completely done, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek hard, to not let out a single sob or tear.

You’d get back in your rhythm after that, with you usually getting the broom, and Max bringing it back again. Occasionally you would switch up these roles, but for the most part they stayed the same, yet you are thankful to get a few minutes alone with Billy first, this time around, for a change.

You really, really need that right now.

“Hi,” you whisper softly, still on your knees while planting your hands securely on the ground, fingers trying to dig their way inside; inside the earth that holds Billy’s remains. 

You don’t notice you’re crying until the image of your hands gets blurry, and a small sob escapes your lips. 

You haven’t cried by his grave in a long time. 

Geez, what is it with you today? You mentally chide yourself, rubbing your eyes in a hurry. You don’t want to worry Max any more than you probably already do, so she really shouldn’t witness you like this.

Get yourself together! You scold underneath your breath, trying to focus on the flickering flames of the candle for a little bit, before turning back fully towards the grave.

To Billy.

“I miss you,” you whisper, like old times, like always. 

“They played our song today on the radio, but I c-couldn’t… It just hurts too much, Billy. It just all hurts too much.” 

Slumping down a little more, your fingers find their way back into wet earth. 

“Billy,” you whisper, “I don’t know how-“ 

The sound of careful steps in the distance makes you pause. 

Max.  

Talking a steading breath, you try to get back in a more dignified position, straightening your back and blinking hot tears away quickly.

By the time she comes to a stop next to you, you hope you look a little more pulled together. 

“Do you want to-“ Max holds the small broom out to you like a peace offering.

“No, no, it’s fine, Max, go ahead.” 

Your eyes cannot bear to witness her gravestone-cleaning-ritual tonight. So, instead, you toy with the zipper of your backpack for a little while before standing up, brushing lingering pieces of earth from your jeans in an effort to seem busy. 

And fine.

You’re absolutely fine. 

“I’ll just bring the old flowers over to the compost.” You state after a heartbeat of silence and nothing to do. “You can put the new ones in the vase if you’d like.” 

Max only nods her head at your words, too absorbed in her own little routine. 

Taking the withering flowers out of the small, sturdy vase you two planted next to the edge of his stone, you walk over to the compost with quick strides. It’s not too far off, and you’re glad you have something to do as a distraction. 

That’s another one of your shared rituals – bringing a fresh bouquet of flowers to Billy’s grave every Friday night, and getting rid of the old one by default, too. It’s the least you can do, in your mind. Because you have to do something for Billy. 

Anything.   

Even if it’s too late now. 

Once you’re back at the grave, Max has finished not only the cleaning of the gravestone, but  also managed to put the new flowers up, too.

They’re a lovely mix of blue and yellow, kind of like sunlight reflecting on the ocean’s surface – at least that’s what they looked like in broad daylight earlier, anyway. Now, their colors are more muted by the surrounding darkness, but you can still guess their shades roughly.

“Looks great, Max.” You quietly praise, and she gives you an appreciating smile. It’s only short and faint, and vanishes quickly, but it’s still a smile. 

You two stand there in silence for a little while longer, gazing at the graveside together.

The glow of the candle bathes its surroundings in a soft and tender golden hue, but it flickers every now and then, like an unsteady heartbeat. You try not to think of Billy at that realization, try not to let that memory of Starcourt Mall overtake your mind.

Max keeps fidgeting with the broom in her hand next to you, and you’re about to ask her if you should take it back to the shelter, when she suddenly speaks up again. 

“Does it ever make you angry?” She asks, and you can’t help but furrow your brows in slight confusion. 

“Does what make me angry, Max?” 

Turning the broom over in her hands once more, she’s quiet for a heartbeat longer, before whispering: “That you can’t tell anyone why he’s gone; why he left. That he died saving-“ 

Her voice breaks slightly, and there are tears back in your eyes. 

“I mean, instead, he’s just one more victim of some stupid fire. L-like he didn’t sacrifice everything. And I can’t even talk to the other’s about it because they don’t understand, not really, not when it comes to Billy. But honestly, I don’t care what it takes, I just want him back!“ 

Your gaze softens at Max’s admission, her outburst, because, hell, if you don’t feel the exact same way. 

“Max, hey,” you quickly soothe, once you realize that her eyes are darting restlessly over the vicinity, her jaw clenched, the hand around the broom tightening.

She’s doing the exact same thing Billy used to do, when he was fighting back tears, trying hard not to let them slip.

Trying hard not to cry.

“Oh, Max.” You whisper, before instinct takes over and you wrap her up into your arms.

It takes her only a split second before she melts into you, a little sob wrecking her body as she hides her face in the crook of your neck.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you mutter, “it’s alright, you can cry. It’s alright, I’ve got you.” 

You don’t immediately notice how much these words sound like the ones you’d usually mumble to Billy in an effort to ease his falls, his pains, his tears in the past. 

You stay like that for a little while, rubbing gentle circles on Max’s back, voice soft and calm, encouraging her to let it all out. 

“I just want him back!” She wails, and the desperate tone of her voice cuts you right through your heart, through your bones, through every fiber of your being. 

“I know,” You whisper, tears openly running down your face as well now. “I do too, I want him back just as much as you do. And there isn’t anything I wouldn’t sacrifice, to get that, but we both know this isn’t possible. There’s nothing any of us can do, to bring him back alive and well.” 

Blinking your tears away once more, you try to steady yourself and your voice, while you continue to hold Max. 

You wonder when the last time was that she let herself cry like that, be held like that. You know she’s been keeping a certain distance from her friends, know that she broke things off with Lucas shortly after the events of Starcourt Mall, know that her family life turned even more chaotic with Billy’s passing.

You know all of these things and yet you found yourself so occupied by your own hurt and grief that the struggles of the little redhead managed to drift out of sight for you, at least for a little while. 

But right now, in this moment, you’re once more reminded of just how much you two have in common when it comes to the loss of Billy, and the significance it carries for the both of you.

To a certain extent, you think you might even have it a little bit easier than her, because you don’t have to reconcile so many different versions of Billy, the way Max undoubtedly has to. 

The way you felt towards Billy has never been particularly divergent, never been exposed to much change, but Max on the other hand… There’s a more intricate relationship there. One with a rocky start and middle at the very least. 

So, reconciling Billy’s death in the context of their history carries a different weight for Max than it does for you. 

Additionally, something that you also slowly realize, as you sway Max gently in your arms, is that she kind of serves as a reflection of Billy for you in many ways. She’s adapted quite a few mannerisms from her older brother; things that make you see him in her, and there’s an odd comfort in that. 

But, you doubt that it’s the other way around as well. That she can see glimpses of Billy in the little things you do, too. 

“Max,” You whisper softly, “I miss your brother dearly, and I know you do, too. I know you’re hurting more than you let on. And I wish I could ease your pains. Wish I could take your hurt and mine and just bury it somewhere together with Billy, but I can’t. I can’t get him back, and I can’t make it better, and I’d be lying if I said I know how to move on, but we do have to try, somehow.

“I know me out of all people saying that you shouldn’t distance yourself from your friends too much, while I do the exact same thing would be hypocritical of me, so I’m not even gonna go there; but Max if you ever want to talk about Billy, not just the good things, but the bad things as well, I’m always here, always.”

“Fuck,” you huff with a quiet laugh, “I usually hate it when people tell me that, so feel free to hit me now, if you want to, but I still stand by these words. And for the record, I’m still incredibly angry at the whole mall-fire-lie. It hurts that even in his death there’s nothing but misconceptions about Billy, I don’t think he deserves that. 

“Max, I understand how much the loss of Billy must affect you, cause it affects me, too. You and I might be the only two people in this god forsaken town, who really knew Billy, so, if you ever want to talk about it, about him, his death, anything; even about how much of a fucking dickhead he could be, I’m always just a phone call away, alright? A phone call and a quick drive of the Camaro is all it takes, Max.“ 

By now, Max’s sobs have eased into quiet sniffles, and she looks up at you with her usual wide-eyed gaze.

“Yeah?” She questions.

“Yeah.” You promise with a reassuring smile. 

“You’re like a little sister to me, always have, always will be.”

Brushing a few loose strands of orange from her face, and wiping away the last remaining tears from her cheeks, you look at her with all the sincerity in your eyes that this world can hold, before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. 

“Okay?” You question softly and Max nods her head in a slow manner.

“I will be.” She whispers. 

And that’s all you can wish for, for the both of you.

The moon has decided to show her face around, too, by now, peeking through a few translucent clouds, painting silver stripes on the ground and the cold graves.

“Do you want me to take the broom back while-“ You offer after a short pause, but Max is quick to interrupt you.

“No, it’s okay, we can do this together and then get back to the car, if that’s alright?”

“Sure thing.” There’s a gentle smile playing on your lips as you watch Max skip ahead a little bit before she’s turning back around towards you. 

“You can always talk to me about Billy, too, you know.” She offers quietly, and you hope that the moonlight doesn’t give away the tears shining in your eyes. 

“I know.” 

The rest if the walk back to the car turns out to be uneventful, but then again, it usually is. The detour to the shelter takes only a few minutes more, and by the time the two of you are back in the car, you feel a shallow tiredness start to slowly creep up on you. 

Luckily, the trailer park isn’t too far off, and Max also seems in a more chatty mood now, than during the previous ride, so, you have something more to focus on than just the empty road in front of you, and maybe the growing inabilities of your car radio.

“You know,” she suddenly says, “you really should talk to Eddie.” 

“Still convinced this car is Christine 2.0?”

“No. I just- listen, how about a deal?” 

“A deal?”

“Uh-huh. If you’ll talk to Eddie, I’ll talk to Lucas…no, wait! I’ll talk to Dustin; that would make more sense, right? Since Eddie is to you what Dustin is to me?”

“Max, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, you know.”

You do in fact kind of know. There’s a small inkling about what she’s trying to say, even if you don’t like where she’s getting at. 

“And why should I talk to Eddie?” 

“ Be-cause. Also, I think you two might need it, and maybe he’ll finally stop asking about you constantly. Besides, you did say I shouldn’t distance myself too much from my friends, and neither should you, so…”

“Max…”

“I’m just throwing ideas out there, alright. I mean, shouldn’t you as a big sister set a good example at least?”

“You’re seriously going to use all of my own words against me right now, huh?”

There’s no real malice in your voice, just a hint of surprise and dare you say, a little amusement. 

Max really is as sly as her big brother. 

“Fine,” you mumble, “but you better keep up your end of the bargain and talk to Dustin, too.”

“Deal.” Max promises, as she holds her hand out to you. Such a Dustin-move, you think, or maybe even Steve’s, but you probably do well not to mention it. 

“Deal.” You echo, before slapping Max’s outstretched hand and she smiles. 

And as you turn away to set the indicator, you notice that you’re smiling, too.

You two turn up at the trailer park shortly after, and by now, the night has truly settled in.

Some of the trailers are left completely in the dark, while others illuminate the glumly surroundings through their rectangular windows and makeshift porch lights. 

You don’t immediately notice Eddie sitting on the steps of his trailer at first. He, on the other hand, notices you straightaway. 

You’re hard to miss with the Camaro, though.

“Alright, here we are.” You mumble after turning off the ignition and Max leaps out of the car quickly.

You watch her walk up to Eddie, who in return is making his way over to you, and you quietly sigh. 

Please don’t make me regret this, Max, you think. 

Please don’t make me regret this.  

Once you step out of the car, you roughly hear Max say something about the state of your radio, and you watch the way Eddie nods his head deep in thought before his gaze shifts, and his eyes suddenly find yours. 

Oh, you’re going to regret this, you think.

But there’s no way out, and Max, that little shit, fakes an exaggerated yawn. 

“Huh? I’m really tired, I better get to bed now.” 

You can tell that she struggles to say these words with a straight face, trying her very best to cover the pleased smile that threatens to spill out. She even has the audacity to do an overzealous stretch, trying hard to drive her look-at-me-I’m-so-sleepy point home. 

Smug little shit, you think, as you watch her hop up the steps to her trailer, opening the door swiftly. 

She calls your name one last time, thanking you with a small, yet sincere smile, before calling out to the both of you: “Enjoy the rest of your evening.” 

By now, she has almost vanished behind the door, but not before giving you a little, hidden thumbs up. 

Pointing over to Eddie she mouths, “Be careful with the car!” or something of that sort. You’re too far away, to really be able to tell, so you wouldn’t bet your life on it. 

And then with a low rumble, the door falls shut behind her.

For a moment, you find yourself dumbfounded at the redhead’s behavior, but before you can dwell on it for too long, the sound of crunching steps pulls you out of your thoughts again.

Eddie.  

“Hey.” He sounds slightly out of breath, timid even, like he’s worried you might run off if he speaks too loudly. 

“Hey.” You echo, because you don’t know what else to say.

“Max told me that your radio is acting funny again.” 

You almost let a sigh of relief slip past your lips at the realization that Eddie decided to skip the whole how-are-you-doing-and-holding-up part of the conversation. 

Guess he still knows you better than you thought.

“Yeah,” you mumble, eyes darting over the ground like it might hold the world’s secrets, or maybe just an escape plan for you to get out of this conversation. 

Unfortunately, it features neither; nothing but dimly lit gravel, dirt, old cigarette buds, and dried, fallen leaves. 

There’s not even a hole that opens up to swallow you whole. 

Seems like you’re completely out of luck today, you think, resignation settling heavy in your heart. 

It’s just a conversation, you try to tell yourself. 

Just a simple conversation with an old friend.

But when you look back up at Eddie, his big brown eyes are immediately too kind, too understanding, too much for you to bear at once.

“Uhm, yeah, the radio has been acting off again, but, it’s fine, really, don’t worry about it.” 

Your words come out jumbled, like they all tried to leave the captivity of your mouth as fast as they could, tumbling over each other in the process. 

But Eddie just gives you a look that seems to say: It’s not the radio I’m worried about.  

And you can’t take it. 

You can take the pitiful glances from the unfamiliar and whispering women at Melvald’s. You can take the talking, the stares, the fingers pointing in your direction, when they think they’re being real smooth, but you cannot take it from your friends. 

The strangers? Yes. 

Your once-upon-a-time best friend? Not so much.

“Max said, you’ve been fucking with the car.”

You’re not sure what in god’s name possessed you to blur that out, but Eddie looks at you like his eyes might pop out of his skull.

“What?!” 

“Max said, she thinks you might have been fucking with the car.” You repeat, as if it’s the words that Eddie didn’t quite catch right the first time around. 

“I-I know, you didn’t, obviously, but she also said that you’ve been asking about me and-”

“Yeah, no shit, genius,” Eddie huffs, slight amusement illuminating his features, “how else am I supposed to find out about your well-being, when you’ve been dropping from the face of the earth.” 

You’re grateful for the things he doesn’t say. The accusations he very well could throw your way. Like how you haven’t returned any of his phone calls over the last few weeks for example. 

“And for the record, I didn’t fuck with the Camaro. Though, I do have to admit, I’m slightly baffled that Max would even consider me capable of that, I don’t know if I should feel flattered or concerned.” 

“Bit of both, maybe.” 

The small smiles you and Eddie exchange feel entirely foreign, yet at the same time oddly familiar.

This is wrong, a voice in your head proclaims, you have no right to be doing that. No reason to feel even a little bit cheery.

But now that Eddie managed to crack the surface of your aloof exterior, he’s going to seep into the protective walls of withdrawal and detachment you’ve built around yourself in the span of the last few months. Coaxing his way in, trying to pull you out.

You know it, and maybe, he knows it, too. 

There’s a tug and pull war inside your brain. A damsel in distress, wanting to be saved, and a dragon that spits angry flames at anyone that comes too near. And the way that Eddie is able to put you at ease is entirely too close. 

He’s going to get hurt, or you are, a voice inside of you warns. 

You’re not ready yet. You’re still mourning, still struggling, still walking around with half a beating heart, the other, better half, lifelessly buried somewhere in Hawkins. Gone, but not forgotten.  

You shouldn’t be happy yet. Shouldn’t exchange smiles with a friend you once held dear. 

You’re doing a disservice to Billy, an ugly voice chides, and you feel your smile slipping. 

You’re doing a disservice to Billy.  

The smile on your face is gone for good.

“Do you want me to look at the car radio?” Eddie offers after another heartbeat of silence, haunted by the sudden inability to read your face. 

The walls are up again, and there’s a strong defense sitting in the highest towers of your broken mind.

He can’t reach you anymore.

You can’t let him reach you anymore. 

“It’s fine, Eds.” 

The nickname slips past your lips like ice cream on a hot summer’s day. Like the earnest laughs you used to share. Natural, and warm, and- 

But that was at a moment in time when Billy was still around.

“It’s fine, you don’t need to do that, Eddie. You’ve already inspected it three times, I can’t ask you to do that again.”

“You don’t have to ask, I’m offering. I don’t mind checking it out once more.”

Maybe there’s simply nothing to check out, maybe the car just hates me, you think. 

Maybe Max’s Christine fever dream of an idea isn’t too far off at all. 

Maybe you’re just going a little crazy.

Maybe there’s nothing to fix. 

Broken beyond repair. 

Yet your friends keep trying anyway.

The unwelcomed silence has decided to crawl out of the car, taking heavy steps towards you, pushing itself between you and Eddie. Taking the words out of your mouth, your brain, and filling it with cotton. 

Until you can’t breathe. 

You wonder if Eddie can feel its presence, too, as you watch him shuffle his feet uncomfortably. Trying to come up for words, like air, but the current of silence renders you both immobile before pulling you under again. 

You’re drowning at the offshore trailer park of Hawkins, Indiana, in a cobalt blue night, and a silence so heavy, the surrounding trees might start to buckle and break at any given moment under its weight.

“You know, I, uhm-“ Eddie starts, helpless. Like he’s putting one hand up as an imploring sign, before vanishing under the waves again. 

But you’re out in the open, too, incapable of throwing him any kind of lifeline.

“I, uh, I’ve made you the tape.”

“What?”

Is there water in your ears? Or cotton? You don’t think you’ve heard him right.

“The song that you talked about that night, I managed to get my hands on it, and I thought-“

Your mouth feels too dry, but now it’s for an entirely different reason. 

“Eddie-“

“I know, I know, I promised to never bring that night up again, but I thought, maybe you still crave that song and-“ 

You only now notice the small, rectangular object in Eddie’s hands that he keeps fiddling with. 

Turning it over, and under, and over again.

Like flotsam in a current.

“If you don’t want it, it’s fine. I just thought that maybe, I don’t know, it might help? Listen, I know it’s probably silly, and maybe you don’t want to hear that song at all anymore but-“

“No, I do!” 

Your hand reaches out towards Eddie before withdrawing again halfway.

“I do. I still miss that song.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You breathe. 

He still cares, you realize. 

He still cares, deeply. 

Why else would he remember the things you drunkenly told him during that one night, a few days after Billy’s funeral, when he’d found you out of your mind inebriated at the quarry. 

That was months ago. 

Months. 

You wonder if his attempts to reach out had been partially about this, all this time.

How long has he been trying to give this tape, and how long have you kept him, like everyone else, on more than a little arm's length? 

The remnants of your heart do an uncomfortable twist sparked by a wave of guilt.

“Eddie, I don’t know what to-“

“You don’t have to say anything. Just take it, and maybe it can help you a little; cheer you up a little.” 

With the uttermost tender care, you take the mixtape that your friend is holding out to you. 

Your fingers brush against each other, slightly, softly, yet it sparks a feeling that travels through you like lightning moving through a single tree. Cutting it open, setting it ablaze, painting its body in flames and ash down to its very roots. 

Maybe, you think, it’s not just Max that needs a good hug. 

If Eddie notices the turmoil taking place inside of you, he doesn’t show, doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t seem to be affected in the ways that you are. 

“So, about your car radio-” He starts, once you’ve securely stored the tape in the biggest pocket of your leather jacket. 

Billy’s leather jacket. 

You’re about to brush him off again, but Eddie just lifts his hand in a gesture to continue speaking. 

“Let me inspect it just once more. Maybe there’s something wrong with the wiring that I didn’t catch before, for some reason. I’ll look at it first thing in the morning, I promise, and in the meantime I can drive you home instead.” 

“Eddie, I appreciate your offer, but I don’t think this is going to work. Tomorrow is Saturday, and I-”

“Shit, that’s the day you usually join Chrissy in her visits to Heather in the hospital, right?” 

“Right.” You nod your head slowly, while Eddie lets out a pensive sigh. 

Silence takes over the space between the two of you again, and you shift your gaze towards the distant woods, watching the way the wind moves swiftly through the branches of a couple of trees, leaving their dark silhouettes shivering and shaking. 

Once your eyes dart back to Eddie, you expect him to look somewhat crestfallen, but instead there’s a tiny, mischievous smile playing on the edges of his lips.

“I have an idea,” He proposes, the small smile on his lips growing, “I would have to check in with the headquarters office of Eddie’s Mechanic Enterprise, but I’m pretty sure we offer an additional shuttle service for our very best customers.” 

"Shuttle service?" You question, lips tugging upwards as your friend’s smile proves itself to be of the contagious kind once again. 

“Yeah...” Eddie shifts his feet slightly, one hand coming up to rub a hidden spot on his neck, “I need to run some errands for my uncle tomorrow at Melvald’s, meaning I’d already be in your neighborhood at some point.” 

“So, you’re shuttling me and-” 

“A carton of eggs, yes.” 

“Well, in that case, that company seems hard to top.” 

“Is that a yes?” Eddie asks, trying hard to curb the excitement bubbling up inside of him. 

“If you and your eggs can make it to my place before 10 o’clock, say, a quarter to 10, maybe?” 

“A quarter to 10, confirmed and noted, ma’am.” Eddie states with a small salute, and this time you really cannot help the soft giggle from slipping out.

It’s a warm and gentle sound, one that Eddie hasn’t witnessed in quite a while, and it fills and nourishes a spot in his chest that has been starved for way too long. 

“I’ll try to have the Camaro looked over and finished by then, but I’m not entirely sure…” 

“Eds, it’s fine. I’m sure Chrissy can drop me off after the visit, and if not, I’ll be sure to call Eddie’s Mechanic Enterprise from one of the hospital pay phones. In any case, you can bring the Camaro over throughout the day, whenever.” 

“Okay,” Eddie sighs, clearly relieved, as you suppress the urge to reach out and give his shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze. 

“Listen, I’m pretty sure that car radio is beyond salvation, so don't stress about finding a cure too much. Besides, this is Hawkins we’re speaking of, so, the radio signals are kind of shit either way.” 

“Really? I don’t think I’ve ever had issues with my radio signals.” 

“Interesting, and how many times do you, Eddie Munson, listen to the radio again?” 

“Fair enough.” Your friend huffs with a quiet laugh, before taking a few steps back, stretching one of his arms out in a wide gesture.

“Your carriage awaits you, m’lady.” 

“Thank you,” you whisper, suddenly overwhelmed by Eddie’s determined kindness and effort to make you feel at ease. 

But Eddie just brushes you off with a quick movement of his hand, as if to say don’t mention it. 

As you two walk up to his van, you can’t help but turn around once more, glancing back at Max's trailer. For a brief moment, you think you see one of the curtains move swiftly, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

Little red haired devil, you think. You’re still not sure what exactly she’s up to, but you’re certain you’ll find out eventually. 

By the time you turn around again, Eddie’s already waiting by his car, holding the passenger side open for you. 

This, you notice once more with a sudden shred of wariness, feels entirely too familiar.

Eddie’s van looks and feels the same way it always does. Slightly chaotic, a little dusty, and the smell of weed is, well, rather present to say the least. 

It’s a little odd being back in that space, but not entirely uncomfortable, and Eddie is quick to turn the radio on, filling the lingering silence with a more pleasant background noise.

For a brief moment, you wonder why on earth he’d do that voluntarily, especially considering that he has about a million metal tapes scattered around this place, before it hits you. 

He’s deliberately not playing his metal tapes because of Billy. Because if there’s one thing he and Billy used to have in common, apart from sharing a certain fondness for the devils lettuce, it’s their love for metal music. And while Billy steered more towards glam-metal and Eddie preferred the trashy kind, they still would rock out together to Metallica and W.A.S.P. and KIX. 

You all would.

And you can’t help but think that the only reason Eddie’s currently putting up with the seemingly endless horror that’s commercially popular and radio suitable music, is out of a deep consideration for you. 

Because he doesn’t want to trigger you. Doesn’t want to bring up any kind of painful memories of you and Billy and maybe Eddie in some way or another. 

There’s Eddie Rabbitt coming from his speakers now, for crying out loud. There’s no way he’d listen to that on his own accord, and yet, he’s putting up with it, for you.

Staring deliberately out of the window to your right, you wipe your eyes quickly, anxious that Eddie might see. You don’t know where all of these tears are coming from today, but they sure love showing up. 

The drive to your place continues for a little bit in silence before Eddie, your Eddie, not the singer currently proclaiming his love for rainy nights on the radio, decides to speak up.

“You know, I miss you, I mean, we all do, obviously, the campaigns aren’t the same without you, and-“

You watch Eddie take a steading breath, as his hands tighten around the steering wheel. 

“I know that losing Billy must be incredibly difficult for you, and I won’t even try to pretend to know what that’s like, but he was my friend too, you know. A-and I’m not saying this in an effort to downplay your pain in any way. I’m saying this as a reminder that you’re not alone in this. That you and Max aren’t the only ones missing him, and also because I.. I don’t want to lose you too, okay?” 

There’s another heartbeat of silence before Eddie whispers: “I’ve already lost one good friend, and I don’t want to lose another. I understand that you need your space, but please don’t be a stranger. Please, don’t turn into one.“

The ticking sound of the indicator and the low whispers of music are the only two things that fill the heavy silence that follows, and you have to wipe your eyes again. 

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, voice incredibly soft and timid, “I didn’t mean to lock you out, it’s just…” 

A sniffle breaks through your words, through the silence, through the entirety of Eddie’s heart. 

“I think when Billy died, something inside of me broke, something significant, and I don’t think I can fix it. I don’t know how to fix this, Eddie-“

This time, it’s a sob that cuts you off in your own speech, and you don’t even try to hide the tears running down your face anymore.

There’s no way you could, because there are way too many now.

“I’ve only ever imagined a future with Billy by my side, and now that he’s gone, I don’t know how to move forward.” You admit quietly.

“It feels like his death created a chasm between me and the rest of the world. And I can still see it somewhere in the distance, see everyone else moving on, right there on the other side, but I can’t find a way to join them for the life of me.” 

It takes everything in Eddie not to stop the car, not to unbuckle your seatbelt and engulf you in his arms, in the biggest hug of the universe.

But he’s not sure you’d appreciate that; not sure if he’s crossing ten lines in one breath by doing so. 

So, instead, he slows the car on the otherwise empty road down a bit, before leaning over to you slightly, taking your hand securely in his. 

“But I’m right here, sweetheart,” He whispers, big brown eyes finding yours, “there’s not a chasm between us right now, is there?

"I understand that it might feel this way, especially when you’re all on your own, but I’m right here, and so is everyone else, too. Nobody expects you to continue on with your life like nothing happened, but you’ve been so hard to reach lately, I’m worried that one day you’ll slip away completely, and I don’t want to lose you, too.” 

There are tears swimming in Eddie’s eyes, mirroring yours. 

There’s a heavy understanding in his heart, mirroring yours. 

Maybe, you think, you really aren’t quite as alone in this.

“I just,” you try to think of a way to phrase this, unsure of where to start, and where to stop. 

“I just miss him so much.”

“I know.”

“And I thought, I think, I don’t know, I guess I’m just not that easy to be around these days.” 

“You don’t need to be, sweetheart.” 

“You don’t understand, Eddie. I’m hardly fun anymore. I start crying out of nowhere at the most random times, and I still feel so much anger, so much hurt, that on some days I think that’s all that I’m made of, a-and I feel like I’m doing a disservice to Billy by-“

“By letting yourself be happy? By putting yourself in situations you know you might enjoy, even if it’s just a tiny little bit? By starving yourself of the company of your friends, because you fear you might be too much of a bummer, a burden, or you could find yourself enjoying something despite Billy’s absence?”

Eddie questions carefully, and though you hate to admit it, he’s hitting the nail right on the head, finishing the sentence forming in your heart perfectly.

Putting words around an otherwise almost unexplainable thing. A fear. A worry. A dark shape in the back of your mind, with a murky voice to match its exteriors.

He’s describing exactly what you’re worried about.

“Yeah,” you whisper, voice stunned and eyes wide, “yeah, that’s, that’s it.” 

And Eddie’s eyes are nothing but gentle and understanding when he glances back over at you, but this time around, they don’t feel too kind, they just feel earnest.

“Well, in that case, let me tell you that I’d rather spend time with you, even when you’re in some dark mood, than not having your presence around me at all. You can show up in any state that you find yourself in, I promise, I can take it.

“When I said, I’m here to help, I really, truly, meant it. Taking care of one another is a fundamental part of friendships, and you're one of my closest ones, so please, let me at least try to help. Don’t push me out completely.” 

You sniffle again, searching your pockets for a tissue or something to wipe your nose with, but you come up completely empty. 

“The glove department.” Eddie suggests out of nowhere, and you can’t help but let out a tiny, timid laugh. 

There’s a small pack of kleenex hidden inside of it, and you gratefully take one.

“Thank you,” you mumble, and you hope that Eddie knows you’re not just talking about the paper tissue clenched in your hand.

“You’re very welcome.” Eddie answers with a small smile, and when your eyes meet, you know he understood the implications of your words, too.

“I’m sorry about distancing myself so much, and-“

“You don’t need to apologize for grieving, just let me at least try to catch up with you sometimes? Maybe don’t lock the door completely?”

“I’ll try.” You whisper. 

You promise. 

“And about Billy.” Eddie starts carefully, because there’s something that needs to be said, even if you don’t want to hear it.

“Do you really think Billy wants you to suffer for the rest of your life without him? I know you feel a lot of guilt about his death, but you’re punishing yourself in the cruelest of ways, by-“

“It’s not that I don’t want to be happy, Eddie.” You interrupt him quietly.

“It’s that I don’t deserve it. Not after everything that happened. Not after the way I’ve let him down. I have to make it up to him somehow-“

“And you think you’re making it up to him by, what, stop trying to live a happy life?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, because, truly, you don’t. “But it feels wrong to… to just move on without him.”

Eddie knows there isn’t anything he can say to convince you otherwise, and if he’s really honest, he kind of gets it. If he imagines losing you in such a way, he would struggle with an endless amount of guilt and an inability to move on from that, too. 

But what happened still isn’t your fault, yet you’ve put such a heavy burden on yourself, one that no human soul can possibly bear or carry. To his despair, Eddie doesn’t know how to make you take that off. How to find a space big and strong enough for you to put that, lay it down to rest.

“If it was Billy who survived,” Eddie tries, since he knows there’s no other way to reach you, “would you want him to suffer, too?”

“Of course not,” you huff, “but it wasn’t Billy who survived, now was it?”

There’s a bitterness in your voice as you cross your arms defensively over your chest, and Eddie feels you slipping away from him again, away, and into the steady silence and darkness of the car. 

He’s almost by your house now, and he feels the dire need to turn this around somehow.

“I get it,” he finally whispers, “If it was the person I loved, I would feel like this, too. But that doesn’t make it right, doesn’t make that narrative true. What happened wasn’t your fault, and punishing yourself like it is, isn’t going to add anything other than additional suffering on yourself. It’s not going to bring Billy back, and I very much doubt that he’d want that for you either.”

“But it’s not about what he wants, or you want, or I want!” You say, voice desperate and rising in volume.

“It’s about the fact that I don’t deserve to move on without him; besides, there’s nowhere to move on to anymore. There’s no way I should be happy when the better half of my heart is lying six feet underground in some cheap ass casket with a ribbon on it. 

“And I still wake up every night reaching for him, only to find his side of the bed empty and cold. And every time the world comes back crashing down on me again, every. single. fucking. night. And I take it, because, maybe, that's simply what I deserve! He’s been through so much, and it’s all my fault!

“I keep seeing him in everything I do, yet it’s completely pointless because he isn’t there by my side anymore. And he never will be. I will never be able to hear his voice again, never be able to hear his laugh. Never feel the comfort of his presence ever again, because he died!

“He died saving a town he hated and yet nobody cares. And I can’t even leave this shithole of a place because I made a promise to him months before his death, that if anything ever happens to him, I would look out for his little sister! So I’m stuck here just like his fucking body is! 

“And how am I even supposed to move on, when all of my dreams, all of the plans I had for the future involved Billy in some way. He was the one constant in my life, the only constant in my life that truly mattered more than anything else in this world. Just for it now to feel like the light of my life, the sun I’ve been revolving everything around has gone out, and I’m left all alone, spinning out helplessly on a cold and dying planet. 

“It’s fucking hard to move on, when there’s nowhere to move on to, because I simply cannot imagine a future without Billy in it. And there’s no way to soothe the hurt, or to fill the emptiness that his absence has created, since there’s no way for me to get him back ever again!“

You’re full on crying now, and after having sobbed so much throughout the latter part of your admission, you didn’t even notice that Eddie already parked the car and unbuckled your seatbelt.

You only notice it once you’re done, all the words having left your mouth, energy completely drained, when suddenly two arms wrap themselves around you, lifting you up, over the center console - and into Eddie’s lap. 

You slump against him immediately, heavy sobs still wrecking your body, while your best friend, the one you shared your very first kiss in middle school with, the one who has seen you cry a thousand times before, quietly whispers soothing words to you. 

“Shh, just let it out. Let it all out, it’s okay, I’ve got you. You can let it all out, love.”

His touch, much like his words, feels incredibly comforting. His arms are wrapped securely around you, keeping you close, one hand brushing that tender spot at the back of your neck in soothing strokes.

He stays true to his words, takes all the vulnerability and hurt that flows out of you in cries and tears, witnesses you breaking down completely, yet he never falters in his mission to gently guide you through it all. 

Like a storm that you’re both trapped in. But his comfort, his presence, soothes the severity of the rain pouring down, lessens the strength of the howling wind, until the hurricane quiets down, and your cries, like clouds, start getting smaller. 

Letting go like this, crying unrestrained in his arms, feels not as hopeless and heavy as it usually does when you’re doing it all alone in the darkness and isolation of your bedroom. And suddenly, you feel compelled to admit something you’ve never told anybody.

“It’s my fault, Eddie. It’s all my fault.” You whisper, but Eddie brushes you off gently.

“Shh, no it isn’t, sweetheart. The only one responsible is the mindflayer, remember?” 

“No, Eddie, you don’t understand, I could have saved him, I could have-” 

Eddie furrows his brows in confusion. He doesn’t know the events that happened at Starcourt Mall that night to a T, since he wasn’t there during them, but he’s pretty sure that there’s hardly anything you could have done to save Billy. 

From the things he’s been told, you arrived there when it was already too late. When Billy already decided to stand up to that monster all by himself. 

You had just come back from the airport, fresh out of California, confused and incredibly concerned because Billy hadn’t responded to any of your calls while you were away. 

When you finally made it back to Hawkins, you found yourself rushing to the Mall, just to watch the love of your life fight a monster with his bare hands, trying his hardest to hold it back, to stop it, but to no avail.

And despite the fact that you ran up to him immediately, you still had to watch him get impaled and killed by that interdimensional monster. 

And by the time you made it to Billy’s side, the only thing you could do was to hold his dying body close in your arms, while he took his last, uneven breaths, and you whispered your final I love you’s.  

Weeks later, when Steve came over to pick up a few things to help ease his own nightmares, he told Eddie in secret that he doesn’t remember much from that night, but one of the things that had etched itself into his brain were your fierce cries.

He said he heard you scream Billy’s name that night so loudly, so full of utter desperation and horror, he was sure your cries could be heard all over the town of Hawkins.

But your horrors didn’t just end there that godless night at the mall. Because when help finally arrived, you refused to acknowledge the first aid responders, as they told you that Billy was dead and gone or good.

You refused to budge, refused to let Billy go, refused to watch him be put into some cold, plastic body bag. 

They needed four grown men in order to get you off and away from Billy’s body, and no matter how much they tried to calm you down, you still wouldn’t stop fighting back, not until someone finally infused you with some tranquilizer, but even while drifting into unconsciousness, you continued to whimper Billy’s name in quiet pleas.

That night, under a starless sky in the town of Hawkins, Indiana, you lost the love of your life, and you knew, you would never be the same again. 

There’s no such thing as recovery when you lose the most vital part, your heart, in such a gruesome way. 

But there’s another reason for the immense guilt you feel. 

The knowledge that you could have prevented it. 

And it’s time for you to share that part. 

You talk one last steading breath, hoping that your voice won’t sound as shaky as you feel.

“Before I went to Cali, to meet with that administrator from UCLA, we had initially decided that I would fly out there all by myself, but two days before my departure, Billy told me that he wanted to join in on the trip and come with me instead.” 

Eddie feels your frame trembling slightly, your hands digging into his shirt in an effort to hold on to something. 

“But I told him no.” You wail, sobs rumbling through you like thunder. Tears streaming down like hail. Each and every single one punching holes in Eddie's heart.

“I told him no; That that was silly, that I’d be fine on my own, and that I would be gone for hardly a week anyway. I told him that booking a flight so last minute would be way too expensive, and that we could use that money a lot more for our first rent payment, because, you know, we wanted to move into that small apartment right by the sea once uni starts-“ 

Eddie is stunned. He’s frozen. He doesn’t know what to do, because he had no idea.

Sure, he knew about yours and Billy’s plan to move to California once the summer break came to an end. But you have never, ever told him that story, and he doubts that you’ve shared it with anyone else either, judging by how hard it is for you to recall any of these details.

“Even when he dropped me off at the airport, he still joked about sneaking in and getting his own ticket at the desk. He said that there was still time, that I only had to say the words and we’d board that stupid plane together… but I didn’t.

"I just laughed and kissed him goodbye, and told him to stop being such a sap; that I would be back in no time, and in only a couple of weeks we would both soak in the Californian sun till the end of our days, and never have to hear the word Hawkins again.

"But if I had listened to him; if I’d taken him with me, he would still be around!”

Your voice, now utterly hoarse from crying, might haunt Eddie for a lifetime or two.

He’s at a loss of words, because what really is there to say? 

Of course, what happened isn’t your fault, you didn’t know. You couldn’t have predicted that this moment with Billy at the airport would end up being the last time you sincerely saw him smile, and yet, Eddie understands now, why Billy’s death feels even more like a burden on the tender shoulders of your soul. 

How you didn’t just lose the love of your life, but feel utterly responsible for it, too. 

“I could have saved him, I could have prevented his death, if I only had let him buy his stupid plane ticket.” 

The regret in your voice is almost palatable, dripping from your slumped frame like the tears from your eyes. 

“If I hadn’t said: No, Billy. Money’s tight, Billy. Being away from me for a few days won’t kill you, Billy... If it wasn’t for me, he’d still be here. ” 

Well, shit, Eddie thinks, hindsight really is one brutal tool. 

Are there any words, in this universe, that could take some of the burden off your shoulders? Something to ease your guilt and the blame you clearly feel? Eddie doesn’t think that there are.

All the words he thinks about saying just sound hollow and dull. 

He can repeat the phrase, this isn’t your fault, a million times; he’s sure you still wouldn’t believe him. 

But at the very least, he has to try. 

“I didn’t know,” Eddie whispers, wiping a few stray tears from your cheeks, “I didn’t know that that happened.” 

You sniffle, eyes darting everywhere, but the face of your close friend. 

“I’ve never-” 

You can’t even finish the sentence, and Eddie feels his heart do an incredibly uncomfortable twist, as he hears his assumption be called true.

You’ve been dragging that secret around like a dead horse; and that’s on top of all the other shit that’s been thrown your way. 

“Please don’t tell the others,” you whisper, and the desperation and worry in your voice is hard to miss. Like you almost expect Eddie to start blaming you, too.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell, I promise.” He pledges, “but what happened still isn’t your fault. I know, it’s probably impossible to change your mind right now, but it really wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know. If you did, things might have gone differently, that’s true, but you didn’t know.

"You didn’t know that in your absence, Billy would find himself getting possessed and taken over by the Mind Flayer. You didn’t know. You can’t blame yourself for something you had no clue would happen.” 

Your sniffles have now quieted down to something that doesn’t feel like bullets through Eddie’s heart, but the way you curl up into him still tugs on something tender deep inside of him. 

It’s like you’ve turned shy all of a sudden, worried about what Eddie might think of you, now that you’ve shared that heavy secret. But Eddie doesn’t see you in a different light, and he’s determined to reassure you that, too.

“I really mean it, when I say that what happened to Billy isn’t your fault. Looking back at the past with the knowledge you have now, is always going to leave you wondering why you picked one choice rather than another.

"And you’ll drive yourself mad, if you judge all of your life’s choices that way. You didn’t know. And punishing yourself for a decision you made in nothing but good faith, wondering what could have happened if you didn’t, sweetheart, that’s just no way to live.”

Tentatively moving your face out of your hiding spot that’s Eddie’s neck, you look up at him with careful eyes.

“You think so?”

Eddie just nods his head with a deep hum.

“If you had taken Billy with you, you don’t know what could have happened. He could have died there, too, you know? And then you’d wish that you’d left him in Hawkins instead. It’s a vicious cycle of what was and what could have been,but, ultimately, we don’t know, and we never will. 

"All you did in that moment at the airport was make a sensible decision based on all of the information you had at that time. Judging it by anything else is doing a disservice to you and your intentions. You just tried to do good, to look out for you and Billy, with your shared future in mind.” 

“So, you don’t think I’m -“

Despicable, a murderer, a horrible person, responsible for Billy’s death, the voice in your head finishes.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person at all, sweetheart.” Eddie whispers, knowing what you’re thinking without saying it, while wiping the last few tears from the apples of your cheeks. 

“And you’re not just telling me this because you are my friend?” You sniffle, voice and mind still a little unsure.

“I’m telling you this because it is true.” 

The sincerity and earnestness of Eddie’s words are hard to miss, hard to ignore, hard not to let seep into your heart at least a little bit. 

You stay intertwined like that for a while, until your breaths have evened out, and the last tears on your skin have dried down. 

They’re back in your eyes for a moment, when you notice the dark mascara stains you’ve left on Eddie’s Hellfire t-shirt, and something inside of you starts to panic, but your best friend is quick to shush you again, calming you down with gentle words. 

“It’s just a shirt, sweetheart. Just tears and mascara stains on a shirt, don’t worry about it.”

“You sure?” You mumble, and Eddie nods his head enthusiastically. 

“Nothing a washing machine can’t fix.” 

Still not completely convinced, you try to rub some of it away, but only with little success.

Letting out a defeated sigh, you decide to curl up into your friend a bit more, enjoying a closeness you haven’t experienced in a while. 

And Eddie lets you, not just because you clearly need it, but because he does, too.

He missed this, missed you, and despite your promise to try and be around more, he’s worried that by tomorrow, you will have receded back into your reclusive ways. 

Time moves through the space of the van in the form of the quiet music coming from the radio. Currently it’s some cheesy 70s ballad that neither of you pay too much attention to.

You’re both deep in thought, only grounded by the touch of the other. 

Eddie has a few more words sitting heavy on the tip of tongue, waiting for him to open his mouth and finally tumble out.

There’s no such thing as the right moment in a space like this, he thinks, and so, after another beat of slow moving music, flowing like syrup all around him, he whispers: “Do you trust me?”

If his words confuse you, or catch you by surprise, you don’t show. Instead, you just look up at him with honest eyes.

“Yes.” You whisper, and there’s not an ounce of a question stained in your voice, or written on your face. 

“Of course, I do.”

“Then please trust me when I say that there’s a future for you, even if you can’t quite see it yet. And you’re allowed to move towards it, even if it still seems gloomy, or unattainable right now. The things that happened that night at Starcourt Mall should have never happened, but none of it was your fault. None of it, okay?”

He’s holding your face in both of his hands now, cradling it gently, silently hoping, begging, crying to the gods above, that at least a fraction of what he’s said will take root in your heart. 

“Okay.” You whisper, overwhelmed by the deep sincerity in each and every single fragment of Eddie. His eyes, his voice, the gentle brush of his fingertips.

“Good.” 

He leans in, leaving a lingering kiss on your forehead, but before either of you can dwell on the meaning of that too much, a sudden noise of static cuts right through the moment, making the both of you jump. 

Catching you off guard and slightly startled. 

“What the-” Eddie mumbles while leaning forward to change the station, but the frown on his face only deepens when the radio won’t budge at all. 

“So much for a perfect radio reception, huh?” You can’t help the tiny dig, and Eddie scoffs, though there’s a small smile growing on his face. 

“I swear, this has never happened before.” 

“Uh-huh, and you don’t think that this might be explained by the fact that you usually never listen to the radio?” 

“You know, I might be inclined to believe your theory, if it was just the radio signal that’s going off, but the whole thing is acting strange. I can’t even-” 

In an attempt to demonstrate to you that he isn’t even able to change stations, Eddie forcefully turns the button- only for it to work perfectly this time.

But for some odd reason, all the other channels seem to consist of nothing but pure static, too. 

“Okay, that’s weird.” You whisper, trying to ignore the small chill that’s started to run down your back, as you realize how familiar this situation feels. 

You’re about to tell Eddie to just turn the radio completely off, when he finally finds a channel that is not just static upon static noise.

“Hah!” He exclaims, quite pleased with himself, though that sentiment turns out to be rather short-lived. 

“Still weird.” You mumble, while Eddie continues to toy with the volume button this time, and it makes you listen to the song more intently. 

It’s Take my breath away , of all things. Not quite the song you’d pick for a Friday night, sitting in your best friend's van, still perched upon his lap. 

“Through the hourglass, I saw you. 

In time, you slipped away.” 

Terri Nunn sings, and you’re about to ask Eddie if he can just turn this whole thing off, when the song, completely out of nowhere, starts to change its pitch. 

“Take my breath away,” rattles through the speakers, only now it resonates both slower and lower, kind of like a vinyl record being played at the wrong speed, giving the singer a much deeper voice.

The song suddenly sounds a lot more sinister and a lot less romantic, and though you don’t mind the latter, the way the song is now being played hardly counts as an improvement in your books.

“Uhm, Eddie, what exactly are you doing?” You question, as you watch your friend continue to tinker with the electronic device. 

“I don’t know.” He mumbles, voice slightly muffled because he’s bent over quite a bit, and you take shelter on his left knee in an effort to get out of the way a little more.

“Watching every motion in this foolish lover’s game. 

Haunted by the notion somewhere there’s a love in flames.” 

The distorted voice coming from the speakers promises, and you feel yourself grow rather uneasy, as the odd voice manages to sound more and more threatening. 

“Eddie, please turn this off.” 

“I’m trying, but the power button won’t work.” 

“Eddie, don’t fuck with me right now.” 

“I’m not, alright. I promise, I’m not.”

To prove his point, your best friend purposely pushes the on/off button a couple of times, but it simply continues to stay unresponsive. 

“See?” 

To your own horrors, you not only see the radio’s inability to shut itself off, you hear it, too. 

“Uh-huh, kind of hard not to notice, Eddie. This sounds like music straight from hell.”

“I honestly don’t think the music down there would be that bad.”

That comment deserves your friend a small punch in his side, which he retaliates in turn with a poke of his own, and for a moment the weird music is almost forgotten, until suddenly it turns itself completely off again.

“Fuck, about time.” Eddie exclaims, relief evident in his voice.

“Seems like even the broadcast from hell struggles with transmission difficulties sometimes.” You state dryly, although, you’d be lying if you said that whatever this just was, didn’t unnerve you, too.

“This seriously never happened before.” Eddie mumbles, eying his radio with two watchful eyes, like he doesn’t quite trust the silence yet. 

“Guess I can’t say the same thing.” You state with a small shrug, and when Eddie gives you a slightly confused look, you elaborate: “This is kind of exactly like the stuff plaguing the Camaro.”

“Your music gets that distorted?”  

“No, but anything except that seems quite familiar; the static, the unresponsiveness of the buttons, the radio just turning itself off like that.” 

“Geez.” Eddie summarizes, and you don’t think you could put it any better either.

“Well, in any case, I know now that the problem can’t just be the radio signal, but probably something a lot more technical. Maybe an issue with the speakers, too, if the sound comes out that weirdly.”

“Yeah, for a minute I thought we were in some kind of horror movie.” You joke with a timid laugh, and it’s only now as you begin to relax again that you notice how incredibly tightly you’ve been holding on to Eddie’s shoulder, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt and the soft cushion of his flesh. 

After letting go quickly, your hand repeatedly strokes over that spot inconspicuously, like you’re trying to brush out a wrinkle you caused in a tablecloth without getting caught.

Like Eddie can’t still feel the cresent moons of your fingernails pushing into his skin.

“Quite honestly, a minute more of that racket, and I would have gone insane.” 

“Would have?”  You tease, and Eddie’s quick fingers are back at your sides. 

“Stop, stop!” You plead in between soft giggles, and Eddie thinks he would endure hell’s music for eternity, if it means he can listen to your earnest laughter one more time. 

Eddie’s fingers come to a rest soon after, and you lean into his frame once more, slightly out of breath from the tickle-induced laughing. 

“You’re not playing fair.” You huff, as soon as you have enough of your breath back to properly talk again, and Eddie just gives you a big grin. 

“Never said I was.” 

You roll your eyes, but it’s a half-hearted act, one that leaves you dodging Eddie’s fingers again.

“Well, I think I should get going now.” You state, after the ceasefire between tickling hands has reigned for a little bit longer, and it slowly dawns on you that you’ve spent a whole lot more time with Eddie than you’d initially planned. 

“Right, sure!” Eddie quickly fumbles with the door, trying to get it to open for you, without dropping you in the process. 

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow then.” He states, as you reluctantly detach yourself from him, before hopping out of his car and catching your footing on the curb in front of your house.

“Yeah, a quarter to 10,” you remind him, “and don’t stress about the Camaro too much, especially now that you have two patients to look after, instead of just one.” 

Your eyes fixate on his car radio. 

“Guess whatever is going on is contagious now.” 

You initially meant it as a joke, but now that the words have left your mouth, you can’t help but feel like there’s a bitter aftertaste to them. 

“Eddie, whatever you do, please be careful, okay?” 

“Don’t worry, I usually know what I’m doing.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing, I just know you, is all.”

This time, it’s Eddie’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“Oh, and Eddie,” you quickly interject, suddenly feeling a little more shy, “thank you.” 

Your friend’s gaze immediately softens.

“Anytime.” 

“I… uh, I think I really needed this, so thank you for not giving up on me.” 

“I would never!” Eddie looks almost offended at the implication that you could even think such a thing.

“I know now, I guess. And, uh, thank you for the tape, too.” 

Waving the small item for emphasis, you hope Eddie truly catches how much the events of tonight matter to you. 

And you’d like to think, as your eyes meet his in parting, that he does. 

That he does understand how much all of this means to you. How much his efforts are appreciated. 

“Drive slowly!” You exclaim in a last farewell, “and I can’t wait to meet your carton of eggs tomorrow.” 

Eddie’s laugh echoes through the space of the night like warm rays of sunshine. 

“I’ll let them know how eagerly you’ve been waiting for an introduction.” 

“Please do. Good night, Eddie.” 

“Night, sweetheart.” 

One last wave and a shared smile later, and the van’s door closes with a dull thud. 

You watch Eddie drive off into the night, his taillights vanishing in the distance until they’re only a mere memory of two red eyes glowing in the empty space of your street. 

Turning around to walk the few steps through your yard and up the stairs to your entrance, you can’t help but notice that the many memories buried deep within your chest feel a little lighter, or maybe just a little less heavy. 

And by the time you make it through your front door, the profound dread you normally feel upon walking into your family home does not overcome you the way it usually does.

Once inside, you make your way into the kitchen immediately, getting some cold beverage before settling down in your bedroom. 

Like every night, you turn the TV on, letting it play as a background noise mindlessly, without paying much attention to it.

It’s another rerun of the movie Rumble Fish, and you honestly couldn’t care less about it, you just need some kind of distraction, some kind of stimuli, because anything is better than the haunting silence, especially in the portent hours between midnight and the rise of dawn. 

It’s not quite that late yet, but it most likely will be, by the time you feel exhausted enough to get at least some resemblance of sleep. 

Putting down Eddie’s tape on your bedside table, you decide to look for your cassette player, while the movie continues on lowly in the background. 

The TV also functions as your only light source, and its flickering lights illuminate the space of your bedroom before turning darker and then back into brightness again.

It’s an endless charade of light and dark against your bedroom walls.

As usual, the television alone isn’t enough of a distraction, and with a sigh, you decide to put on a record as well, to reallydrive the last remnants of your spinning thoughts out of your brain. 

Tonight, that honor falls in the hands of Patti Smith, and her powerful voice joins the hushed ones coming from the television. 

Moving through the space of your bedroom restlessly, you still try to find your walkman, but to no avail. 

You know you haven’t used it in a while, yet that doesn’t explain its apparent disappearance, and you feel angry tears start to fill your eyes. 

You just want to listen to that goddamn tape, and forget about the rest of the world for a little bit. 

After going through the items in your bookshelf one more time, you come to the realization that this current search-mission is a rather fruitless endeavor, and you might find yourself having more luck in the morning.

Defeated, and admittedly in a worse mood than you were before entering your bedroom, you flop down on your bed again, picking up Eddie’s tape and opening it up carefully. 

He’s written you a little note on the inside of the cover, underneath the, admittedly, rather small tracklist. 

I See You In Everyone  by Survivor  

x 5 times on Side A  

x 5 times on Side B  

Knock yourself out with this.  

 -  Eddie  

The tiny smile creeping up on your lips is impossible to call a halt to, and you really wish you could listen to the cassette now; if only you knew where your tape player currently resides. 

The song, that Eddie put on a tape as many times as it could possibly fit, is from the same album as the love song you and Billy used to call your own. And despite owning it as a vinyl in your rather extensive record collection, you don’t have the heart, or the strength, to listen to the complete album anymore. 

When Billy was still around, you used to listen to it all the time, obviously. 

But with I can’t hold back as the opening track on it, every song that followed would usually fade into the background quickly.

Especially with the amount of times you've made out with each other to said record, and by the time it was time to flip the vinyl over, you two were already in a completely different world, music and your surroundings completely forgotten. 

With that in mind, you never really listened that much to the B-side of the album. 

Until Billy’s death. 

Until in a desperate attempt to feel closer to him, a few days after his funeral, you decided to listen to it, the whole way through. 

A great mistake, as it turned out, because the onslaught of memories that came with everything in that moment; picking the record out, pulling it out of its covers, putting it on, and above all listening to it, felt like stabs straight through your heart, through yourself, through every fiber of your being, until you felt like a puddle of pure misery, tears, and despair, staining the soft carpet of your bedroom floor. 

But still, you pulled through, flipped the record over and listened to everything that that album had to offer.

And you cried the whole time, completely overcome by sadness and anger, until the very last song. 

I See You In Everyone.  

You don’t think you’ve ever listened to it before, or maybe you did, but you don’t remember. Either way, that afternoon, something about that tune struck a vital cord deep inside of you. 

And you wanted to listen to it again, over, and over, and over, until the vinyl would be completely worn out, or your record player broke, or the world got up in flames. 

The outside world, of course. 

Your world already did.

But unfortunately, you could hardly bear looking at that record, could hardly stomach touching it, or pulling it out of its designated space on your sideboard; let alone repeatedly engage in the whole process of actually putting it on and listening to it. 

You had to banish that vinyl from the space of your bedroom completely, each time you merely saw the cover of Vital Signs your heart would drop ten million feet below, shattering at the bottom of the earth and piercing every part of your soul.

That night, after having listened to the record completely, maybe for the first time ever, you got out of your mind drunk, kicking stones into the abyss of the quarry, until Eddie found you and- 

Well, the exact details hardly matter now, and it’s not like you remember much from it anyway. That night, like most of the nights following the first few weeks after Billy’s death, are nothing but a blur to you. 

But you do recall telling Eddie how there’s this song on your favorite Survivor record. That one record that’s cursed as your least favorite now, because it sparks nothing but painful memories, like lightning in the sky. 

Except for that one song, that one song.

That one song you want to listen to until your world doesn’t feel like it’s burning anymore. 

Until your heart stops hurting, until you wake up one morning without feeling like there’s a massive hole in the middle of your chest.

And Eddie, attentive as ever, somehow remembered. 

And now, here you are, with the song you’ve been craving for a whole long while, right there at the tips of your fingers, but with no real way to listen to it. 

You know that crying over something like this is a bit silly, but you’ve cried over smaller things before, and this right now feels rather big on your side of the universe. 

“Goddamn it!” You whisper, irritated by both, the tears in your eyes, and your inability to find that walkman. 

You stare at your ceiling for a little bit, almost ready to call it a night, when suddenly, out of your peripheral vision, you see something light up.

It’s only brief, only for a short moment of time, and you brush it off as a trick of the light coming from the TV at first, before it happens again. 

And again. 

And again once more. 

And by the fourth time, you finally lift your head. 

It’s the small night light on your dresser that’s lighting up, and then goes off again, lights up and then goes off again. 

“What the fuck?” You whisper confused, especially since you’re beyond certain that you didn’t even turn it on in the first place. 

You simply stare at it for a little while, watching the slow rhythm of the light flickering on and then off again. 

On and then off. 

After having seen enough of this odd routine, you decidedly get up, making your way over to the weirdly behaving culprit. 

The night light is a simple lamp in the shape of a small, plastic surfboard that lights up from within, giving its surroundings a warm, orange glow. 

It used to be a gift from Billy, something he’s gotten you without any special occasion, just because he thought it might look cute in your room, and maybe, as a small thing to remember him by. 

“So, when you wake up in the middle of the night without me by your side, you can still think of me, and remember that I’m always yours, even when we’re miles apart.”  He had told you with an uncharacteristically shy gaze, and your heart beamed with the luminosity of a thousand suns. 

You had wanted to get him a night light, too, initially. Thinking there was something deeply romantic about the small gesture of sharing matching night lights with each other while being apart.

Separated physically, but united in spirit, thinking of the other in your dark bedrooms, the small night lights a whisper of the other’s name.

In practice, that turned out to be a whole lot more difficult, mostly thanks to Billy’s dad. 

There simply was no way that such a thing would survive even a single night in Billy’s room without harm, and it wasn’t really worth the risk either, to be honest.

You didn’t want to give Neil any more reasons to mistreat and discipline his son, than he already had. 

So instead, you got Billy a little figurine that looked a lot like his Camaro. It wasn’t completely right, but still close enough, and you even took the time to paint two little faces on the windows of each side. 

A small iteration of Billy on the driver’s side, and you on the passenger seat. 

In reality, it looked a lot like two stick figures with bad hairstyles, and Billy started crying with laughter upon seeing them. His hearty hyena laugh echoing through your room for what felt like hours before he would calm down.

“I love it,” he said, voice rough from his unrestrained glee, wiping a few tears away. 

“You look like something out of an alien movie, trying to disguise itself as human, and I look like a possessed doll, but at least you got my angles right.”

And Billy threw his head back laughing again, curls flying everywhere as he shook his head in nothing but pure joy. 

“No, no, wait, I’ve got it! I’ve got it! I look like if Robert Plant and the smiley face from the goodwill logo had a baby!”

And then he was back to laughing his ass off again, amusement in every heaving breath leaving his lips, and you couldn’t help but join in on his laughter, too. 

“I’m never painting you something again.” You huffed, once you’d both calmed down enough, and though you tried hard to sound annoyed, you failed miserably. 

“Oh, no, Baby, please do! Please paint me things all the time now!” Billy exclaimed with a twinkle in his eyes. 

“I didn’t know about your talents! Tell me, who was your teacher? A five year old?”

“Asshole!” You'd grumbled, but you couldn’t keep a smile from spreading on your face. 

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry.” Billy immediately backtracked, not having seen your amused facial expression yet, and thinking you were earnestly hurt by his jab. 

He quickly rolled over on the bed to see you properly, caging you in between himself and the mattress, before cupping your face gently.

“I love it, okay? It’s a great gift! It kind of looks like Picasso threw up all over it, but I love it and-“

“Oh, shut up!” 

His comments had you laughing again, and you slapped his shoulder playfully while Billy gave you an earnest smile. 

“I really love it, it’s perfect.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“This is going to be us one day,” you whispered, “just us, leaving this shithole town and never looking back.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And where are we going?” Billy murmured, face inching closer to yours, until the very tips of your noses touched.

“Wherever you want to go,” you whispered, “wherever you want to go, Billy, I’ll follow.” 

“You promise?”

Billy’s voice suddenly sounded more vulnerable, like it was thick with emotions, or tears, or disbelief, or maybe a jumbled mix of it all.

“Cross my heart.” You murmured, fingers tracing a X upon your chest. 

“I’ll always be by your side, Billy, and that little car is supposed to be a reminder for you.”

There had been tears swimming in Billy’s eyes when you pulled him close for a deep kiss, and by the time your lips met, there were tears in your eyes, too. 

From that day on, Billy left that toylike figurine sitting on his bedside table, at a spot where it would always be illuminated by the soft glow from one of the street lamps outside at night.

It almost looked like it was glowing a little itself, and each time Billy woke up from a nightmarish dream, his eyes would find the small object, and he knew that he was going to get out of all of this, one day.

One day, you and him would leave everything behind and start over some place else.

And his heart longed for that moment, where he could walk out of his father’s house and never ever come back again.

So, that’s how you and Billy gifted each other a tiny copy of the Camaro, and a glowing, plastic surfboard.  

A surfboard that’s now flickering away on your dresser, and you can feel your heart sink a little at the sight.

“Oh, please don’t die on me, too.” You whisper, worried that the present that reminds you so much of your boyfriend decided to fritz out at the worst possible time.

It only takes you a couple of steps from where you’re currently sitting on the bed to get to the item in question, a deep frown settling upon your face. 

And that expression only deepens, once you notice that the lamp’s switch is still securely placed in its off position. 

“What-” you mumble quietly, as unease begins to settle in your stomach more and more, “how’s that even possible?” 

The flickering of the light increases its speed.

On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. 

“Okay, t-that’s enough.” Your voice comes out with a little tremor, but how could it not? 

There have been weird things happening in your bedroom before; sometimes, lights will flicker. Sometimes, your TV will suddenly turn to static, seemingly out of nowhere; but none of that ever bothers you too much, because it can all be explained away with the easy excuse of old wiring, or the growing age of your devices. 

Take your record player for example. A loyal thing gifted to you by your mother on your 14th birthday, but only a few weeks ago it started to act up, skipping and looping perfectly good vinyls for no apparent reason with increased frequency. It has to be its growing age, you’re sure of that. 

Maybe, it’s simply getting a bit too old and tired of spinning records all the time. And you can’t really blame it. You’ve been planning to take it to RadioShack for a while, to get it checked out and hopefully fixed, but it’s not something that concerns you too much, either.

So, when your night light starts to flicker in your room, it’s not like you’ve never seen such a thing before, but usually, the device is at the very least turned on.  

This, however, cannot be said for the little surfboard right now. It’s definitely switched off, and yet, every two seconds, it lights up the space of your dresser in a bright, orange hue. 

Your first attempt to make it stop is to simply turn the lamp on and then off again. Unfortunately, it doesn’t budge in the slightest, and the memory of your and Eddie’s car radios doing something oddly familiar creeps its way into your mind. 

You feel your heartbeat quickening, as a  growing anxiety rushes through you, this should not be possible, you think, and yet, here you are bearing witness to it. 

With trembling fingers, you try switching it off one last time, but after being unsuccessful again, you can’t help but take a few shaky steps back. 

“Okay,” you whisper, trying hard not to freak out completely, “okay, okay, okay, okay.” 

There’s one more thing that you could try.

One more chance to make it stop.  

Whatever it even is. 

You quickly approach the dresser again, this time kneeling down next to its side, hand stretching out in an effort to reach into the space behind it.

There’s cobwebs, and dust, and hardly any room, and your fingers keep touching things you’d rather not think about, before you feel the outline of your outlet merging together with the plug. 

It’s a tight fit, the space between your furniture and wall being rather narrow, and trying to pull the plug from its socket without scratching up your hands is not an easy task, but somehow, after some rounds of trial and error, you manage to finally set it free. 

There’s a small clicking sound, and then, unceremoniously, the lamp turns completely off. 

“Jesus Christ,” you exhale, resting your head gently against your wooden dresser, trying to take a few steading breaths. 

“That was…” You don’t even know how to finish that sentence. 

Spooky? Unexpected? Quite something?  

Retreading your hand from the space between turns out to go a lot quicker and smoother than getting it there, and you shake it a few times with slight disgust, convinced that you can still feel faint traces of cobwebs haunting it.

With a heavy sigh, you take a look through your room, but everything else seems just the same.

Like nothing weird happened at all.

Your TV keeps playing in the background, and your Patti Smith record is still spinning.

And your pulse is slowly coming down to healthy level again.

You’re about to get up and back into bed, hoping to forget whatever just happened, when something small and rectangular lying underneath your dresser catches your eye. 

Your breath hitches once you realize what you’re looking at, and your heart might actually be doing a tiny flip.

There, behind one leg of your wooden dresser, hides your missing walkman. 

“No way,” you mumble, confused and slightly stunned. 

“How the hell did you get here?” You question, though you don’t expect the inanimate object to actually answer that.

You don’t remember any event that might explain why your tape player currently resides in such an odd place, but you also don’t really have the energy, or brain power, to question the whole thing, either. 

You just want to cuddle up in bed and forget a good portion of this night. Block out the weird behavior of your lamp and its meaning; at the very least for a few hours.

You’re still trying to convince yourself that this was probably just a faulty cable, or maybe, a defect wiring connected to the switch, or something.

You can overthink these details in the morning, though, because right now, your fingers really itch to finally, finally listen to that tape.

To have its melody soothe a part of your soul that you otherwise can’t touch, can’t reach. 

Putting your headphones on securely, and pushing the play button with still slightly shaky fingers, you feel yourself exhale slowly as the opening notes of the song begin. 

You stare at the ceiling for a bit, as you let the music wash over you.

The glow from the TV draws flickering shapes on some parts of the space surrounding you, before withdrawing again, like waves.

It’s a hypnotizing spectacle, and you watch it for a while, trying not to think of the many Californian beaches you’ll have to visit all on your own.

By now, the moon has traveled enough across the horizon, to finally find its way in front of your bedroom window, painting your desk and the edge of your bed in a milky hue. 

“Listening for your footsteps in every hallway 

Watching for your headlights around the bend 

I can see you standing in every doorway. 

Out in the street, in every glance  

I see your reflection, I fall in a trance  

Can't you see what I've become  

It's making me crazy  

I see you in everyone!” 

The song continues, as you long for Billy in ways that can’t be put into words. 

For a moment, you decide to sit up again, turning around to face the window, looking up at the midnight blue canvas high above, hoping to find some comfort in it.

The waxing moon, a lonely companion in a cloudless sky, seems to glance down on you with a benevolent gaze, as you wipe a stray tear away. 

“I miss you, Billy.” You whisper into the endless sea of midnight sky. 

“I miss you so much. There’s not a single day where I don’t wish you near, where I don’t long for you to come back and hug me close.” 

You continue to stare up at the moon with teary eyes while your favorite part of the song begins, and a small sob leaves your lips. 

“Day by day, I watch the memories slip away  

And traces of reality come back to me  

Then I see your face, somewhere in a distant place  

The fantasy has gone too far -  

I close my eyes and there you are. 

I can see you standing in every doorway 

I can feel your heartbeat -- I hear your voice 

And hiding in my shadow you're with me always. ”

“I just wish you would come back.” You whisper, “I just really wish you would come back somehow.”

With your eyes still transfixed on the moon, and the volume of your walkman turned up to its maximum, you don’t notice the sudden picture of static flickering over the TV screen behind you, disturbing the current scene of Rumble Fish, before turning back to its normal broadcast again. 

Only this time in the movie, when Rusty James begs his brother to engage with him, to pay attention to him, his voice comes out distorted.

“Look at me, I just want you to see me, man.” The young man on the TV screen urges, voice slipping into something different, “I’m right here. I'm right here. I want you to see me-” 

The screen flickers again, as the scene loops back to its beginning. 

“Look at me… I’m right here, I’m right here.”  A different voice says. 

Billy’s voice. 

Ahhh! And that’s it for the first chapter! If you’ve made it this far, thank you!! I know this part was quite Eddie/Reader heavy, but I promise Billy will start to make a lot more appearances (one way or another), too, and Eddie will have to take a backseat then.

I’m not sure when I’ll have the next part for this finished. Considering that I have a few more series and works in the drafts, it will probably take a little bit.

Like I’ve already said, I’ve decided to start a taglist so if you want to be tagged in the next chapter just let me know or fill out this form here <3

Also, before anyone decides to come for me because of my inaccurate music choices. I know that 'Take My Breath Away' was initially released in ’86 rather than ’85, but with a little suspense of belief I hope we can all overlook that tiny flaw. Thank you!