#let’s pretend i followed the rules and actually narrowed it down to 7 movies

[midnightsvns]

rules: name 7 comfort films and tag 7 people

tagged by @rosaliesbitch thank u ana!! 🖤

1. before sunrise (1995)

2. the intern (2015)

3. breakfast at tiffany’s (1961)

4. four sisters and a wedding (2013)

5. gone girl (2014)

6. instant family (2018)

7. leap year (2010)

8. legally blonde (2001)

ok it was legitimate AGONY trying to pick these oh my god clearly i have too many movies i watch over and over again for the Serotonin™️ so runners-up in the tags?? 😭😭

i’m tagging @kellythepitiablefangirl @thethoughtsofafangirl @andweliveinpeace @edwardsmidnight @mafitheedwardhoe @lionandthelamb @exceptionally-unobservant ❤️

[aintguiltyy]

So I was just thinking about the ask you sent me about us in the corn maze and now naturally I’m thinking of reddie in a corn maze 👁👄👁 thots? Also ps ily ❤️

first of all i love this and you sm and even though i’m the beverly to your eddie, i’m gonna pretend to be richie to self-project our corn maze date into this💜👀

————

Sonia never allowed her son to celebrate Halloween aka the Devil’s Holiday in any way, not even letting him go trick or treating with other kids because candy is bad for your teeth, Eddie bear and no son of mine is going dress up in those silly costumes to worship the Devil.

What she doesn’t know is that Richie, her son’s best friend who she’s always despised, and now also his boyfriend has been sneaking into Eddie’s room every Halloween with candy and horror films she doesn’t allow her son to watch since they were 11 years old. To be fair, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

This Halloween, however, Eddie’s had enough and when Richie suggests a few movies they could watch together, as per usual, Eddie says that he’s tired of being left out and that even though sneaking away for a party is definitely off the table, he still wants to have at least some Halloween fun.

So, he convinces Sonia to let him go to a fair and after an hour-long argument she reluctantly agrees, and Eddie is over the moon.

He’s already in a great mood when Richie picks him up and drives them to the fair where the other Losers are already waiting for them; Stan and Beverly are pumpkin picking and Ben is giving children hayrides while Bill and Mike are filling up on popcorn, apple sider and deep fried oreos.

There are people everywhere, and Eddie doesn’t even know where to begin because he wants to try everything all at once, well maybe expect the apple bobbing because no way, i’m not going to do that, that’s just nasty, Richie.

So Richie, like the great and understanding boyfriend he is, suggests going to a corn maze right on the edge of the fair. There aren’t a lot of people there, which is great because Eddie doesn’t want to be stuck in a narrow space with someone he doesn’t know, and he agrees and takes Richie’s hand before going in.

It takes ten minutes for his mood to be ruined after they realize they are lost. It seems like they are the only ones currently in the maze, and he can’t hear anything, not even the music that was blasting from the speakers all around the fair, and this fucking sucks, but Eddie takes pride in his determination and won’t let anything spoil his first Halloween fare.

“What the hell, the maze isn’t even that big?” he huffs, looking around. The walls are at least 7 feet tall, so not even Richie can see over them, but then an idea comes to Eddie and he puts away the popcorn he bought before turning to his boyfriend. “Put me on your shoulders.”

Richie, who was previously jumping to try and see over the corn to figure out where to go, stares at him with his mouth agape, and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Well? Crouch down if you don’t want me to climb you like a tree,” he says impatiently, tapping his leg.

That seems to get Richie’s brain juices flowing and he grins, his mouth opening to say something, but Eddie quickly shuts him up before Richie can make a joke he knows is coming and presses on his shoulders for him to crouch down.

The moment he peaks over the wall, he regrets going here. Somehow they managed to end up in the farthest corner of the corn maze, and Eddie tries to memorize the path before Richie starts asking if he sees anything and if he can already put Eddie down because “You know I’m not complaining about your legs wrapped around my head, but you’re kind of heavy.”

Rolling his eyes and scanning the maze one last time, Eddie gets down on his feet, ignoring Richie’s fake shortness of breath, because he’s already tired of being surrounded by corn and hearing Richie whine about big, scary bugs that he claims want to climb under his clothes and eat him alive.

They take two turns left and three right before Eddie forgets where they need to go now, and frustration starts making its way into his pulsing temples. Adding to that, Richie can’t shut up about wanting to go to Mike and Bill because apple cider is so much better than being stuck here, Eds, and he just wants to get out of here as soon as possible before he looses his mind.

Forcing himself to calm down, Eddie takes a deep breath and decides to just turn where it feels right, and after what feels like an eternity but is actually seven turns he hears distant chatter and music. Exit is still nowhere to be seen, but Eddie can feel civilization so close, and it seems like the wall in front of him is the one separating them from freedom. Who cares about the rules, anyway? It’s not like he’ll go to jail for cheating at a corn maze.

So, he closes his eyes and mentally prepares himself before just forcing his way right through the corn wall. The first breath of fresh air finally pushes the weight off his shoulders and Eddie feels his good mood coming back, but when he turns around to ask Richie if he wants to go pick a pumpkin, he sees that he’s the only one who escaped.

Can this day become even better? Maybe he should’ve listened to his mom and stayed at home after all.

Signing tiredly, Eddie weights his options. He could ask the corn maze worker for help to find Richie who is probably already somewhere else, or he could come back the same way he came out and look for his dumbass boyfriend himself. Before he can choose, though, someone calls out his name, and Eddie turns around and sees Beverly and Stan coming his way with the ripest pumpkins he’s ever seen in his life.

“Where are these from?” Eddie asks Bev when they stop in front of him, pointing at the red scratches on her forearm.

“Greta wanted to take this baby,” she slaps her pumpkin, grinning proudly. “I taught her a little lesson that you don’t always get what you want”.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Stan asks, his brows furrowing. “And wasn’t Richie with you?”

“He was, but we went into the maze and got lost. I got tired and went through the wall assuming he was following me, but turns out his attention span is even shorter than we thought,” Eddie huffs.

Beverly and Stan laugh, but suggest going back with him and helping to find Richie, and so the three of them go back in past the clueless maze worker.

It takes at least half an hour of wandering in the maze and calling out Richie’s name to find him right around the corner from the exit, sitting on the ground surrounded by torn candy wrappers he sneaked into the fair.

Richie’s eyes light up when he finally notices them standing in front of him with unimpressed expressions and their hands on the hips and throws his arms in the air, whooping “My knights in shining armor finally came to rescue me!”

Stan huffs next to the grinning Beverly, mumbling “come on, I’m not missing the movie because of you, damsel in constant distress”, but all of Eddie’s irritation disappears upon looking at how happy Richie looks that someone finally found him after thirty minutes of being stuck here all by himself. He’s still siting on the ground with candy wrappers all around him and chocolate on the corner of his lips, and Eddie pulls Richie to his feet and wipes the chocolate from his face, smiling warmly before Richie leaves a brief kiss on his lips and turnes to Bev and Stan.

“Okay, let’s go, we still have time left to take a ride on Ben’s hays,” he grins, winking to Beverly, who rolls her eyes good-naturedly before heading to the corner where the exit should be.

Eddie takes Richie’s hand, already anticipating joining Mike and Bill for deep fried oreos and watching Halloween 4 that starts in the outdoor movie theater arranged at the fair in half an hour, but a second later Bev exclaims “What the fuck, where did the exit go?!” and yeah, they are lost again.

[platypan]

Strangest 5/7

With his nose properly pressed into the smell of Billy Hargrove, sleep was uneventful, and Steve woke groggy from a dream where he was tunneling out of a loaf of fresh bread.  His head didn’t throb, his brain seemed to be receiving the full palette of colours, and he hummed as he hugged the blankets, kicking his feet and pulling his pillow over his head.

His stomach growled.  

Yanking the thickest blanket off the bed, he padded downstairs in search of the bread smell, to hear Billy singing softly, then leaned around the corner to see him shirtless in stocking feet and very tight jeans, dancing around a pan on the stove.  He flipped a pancake--Steve’s mouth started over-supplying saliva, and he swallowed--and slid back across the floor to the sink to turn the water on, grab a bottle of tequila out of the mess of measuring cups and spoons, and take a couple swallows.

“Pour some sugar on me,” Billy sang under his breath, “Ooo, in the name of love/Pour some sugar on me,” He shuffled around to dump the dirty utensils in the sink.

Steve leaned in the doorway, until the hip swaying got to him, and he waited for another pancake to be settled in the pan to cook before sliding his arms around Billy’s folded ones.

“Fuck you, Harrington!” Billy jerked in his arms.

“Pancakes?” Steve frowned around the kitchen, letting his hips sway with Billy’s.  

“Found some mix in there.  What do you eat,” Billy snorted, but graciously leaned his head to the side when Steve started kissing his neck.

“Mmm.  Take-out.  There’s some TV dinners in the freezer.”

“...and pancakes,” Billy shrugged, and Steve grinned, biting his shoulder.  

“Thanks, man,” Steve licked over the marks he was making.  “They look good.”

“...I can fucking make pancakes,” Billy snorted, ducking his head.  “You know I can read, right.”  He slid the finished pancake on a plate in the oven.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” Steve licked his lips to blow a loud raspberry against the side of Billy’s neck, sliding a hand up his shirt as he tried to wriggle away just as the phone rang. 

“Steve,” Nancy breathed, when he answered.

“...yeah?  Oh.” He grimaced at the clock.

“Yeah, you missed first period.  Everything okay?”

“I slept in,” he tried to keep his grin from being too audible, but she laughed.  

“...is Billy there?”

“Yeah, uh, he’s making pancakes.”  

“There’s no syrup,” Billy announced from the kitchen.  “I’m putting ice cream on them.”

“...they’re gonna be so good,” Steve whispered.

“You sound like you slept well,” she fished, but he didn’t mind.

“So well.  He’s like a good luck charm, all in all I must’ve slept like…”

“Twelve hours,” Billy dropped to sit next to him against the wall, and handed over a plate.  

“Twelve hours,” he breathed, licking where the Rocky Road was dripping over the edge of his plate.

“...I guess he was the right raccoon to feed.”  She still sounded doubtful.

“He’s kinda fun sometimes,” he took a big bite of pancake, and groaned.

“He’s...fun.”

“I need to hang up and eat these pancakes,” he informed her.  

“You...sound...good.  I, uh, we didn’t really get a chance to talk, but I did talk to Will--oh, I gotta go, I’ll see you later.”

When he’d hung up, Billy was watching him sidelong.  “...fun.”

“We had a slumber party,” Steve chopped up his pancake, inwardly grinning at Billy’s glower.

“I’m not fun, Harrington.”

“I’ve got ice cream pancakes,” Steve packed his mouth full, then grinned over--a technique he’d learned from Dustin to end conversations.  

Billy stared.  After a long second, he put his plate down, frowning at Steve and opening his mouth, but just then the kettle whistled.  “...hot chocolate,” he said, and Steve leaned over to kiss him, licking the chocolate taste out of his mouth.

“This must be why I was dragging you along,” Steve sat his plate down and ran in to the kitchen to turn off the shriek.   

“...what?” he heard faintly.

“Dream Steve was saving you from the monsters,” he called.  “If you hadn’t screamed your head off, we might have ended up anywhere.”

“...you tried to drag me down the stairs,” Billy yelled back.

“You coulda walked down.  I wasn’t risking my...pancake maker, I guess?”

“Dream Steve appreciates a good cocksucker,” Billy laughed.

Steve dropped next to him, handing over the bird mug, and chugging his powdery-tasting instant coffee/chocolate paste.  Billy wrinkled his nose, but sipped at his own, poking the bites of pancake around his plate. “Hey,” Steve leaned to bump shoulders.  

“You coming back tonight?”

“...when the hell do you do homework,” Billy stared at him.

“I’ll actually get some done today,” Steve stuffed the last of his pancake in his mouth, “Fince I swept.”

“...fince--oh.  Swallow your food.  Maybe?”

Steve shrugged, taking his empty dishes back in the kitchen.  “I’d be fine with a movie, probably, but--I mean, it’s weird, I like having you over.  Oh--” he leaned his head back out, “All that shit in your car? You can leave it here, if you want.  Your clothes and stuff. If you need more room.” He turned on his heel to wash his dishes, hearing silence, then a clatter from the front room, and stomping toward him.

“The fuck are you talking about.  What do you want,” Billy stalked up, open hand raised.

“Sure hope I don’t drop this plate,” Steve hummed, and Billy growled, then hefted himself up onto the counter.

“The fuck is going on.  Just tell me, I’m not a complete moron, I’ll know what to do, just--”

“Shit, sorry,” Steve slid the plate under the hot water and stepped over to pull Billy against him.  “Just. Some weird shit. Some lab released some weird shit.”

“Am I bait?” he leaned in for a kiss as Steve blinked up at him.  “Just tell me what you want.”

“What?”

“You’re too fucking nice,” Billy whispered in his ear.  “You pretending to get over Nancy? What is this shit,” he held Steve’s head close, leaning in for a kiss that left Steve’s lips slightly numb and his heart pounding, and the taste of chocolate and tequila in his mouth.  The room felt chilly against his face when Billy pulled away. “Tell me the fucking rules, Harrington. Use small words I’ll understand.”

“Jesus,” Steve sighed.  “...shut up, Hargrove.”

“Why d’you keep wanting my face up here,” Billy whispered in his ear, his hands sliding down Steve’s back to his butt, and squeezing, “--when you could have my face down there.  You know I’ll do it--I’ll do whatever the fuck you--”

Steve kissed him just to shut him up, sliding his hands around and up under Billy’s shirt to the warm skin he’d found the night before and gotten an offended yelp.  It worked again, prompting a rapid-fire explosion of expletives, and he staggered back under the weight of a squirming Billy Hargrove scrambling away from his fingers, off the counter, and wrapping both legs around his waist.  Steve wrapped his right arm around Billy’s shoulders, and his left hand under his ass, stumbling back against a chair. He squinted in pain as Billy’s hands yanked at his hair, grabbing him around the neck and shoulders. “--easy there--I’m not gonna drop you, dude.”

Billy slowly unwound his fingers from their clench in Steve’s shirt and hair, and lowered a leg to the ground, disentangling himself with his eyes lowered.  

“Hey,” Steve kissed one of Billy’s retreating hands, and Billy swallowed, turning back to grab Steve’s shirt and shove him back into the chair with another sudden, hard kiss that pinched Steve’s lip between their teeth.  That done, Billy shoved away without making eye contact, stomped out of the kitchen, and slammed out the front door. “What the hell!” Steve yelled after him, turning off the water. He ran up to put actual clothes on, and heard a knock as he hopped in one leg of his jeans, scrambling for his watch.  It came again twice as he did up his fly and ran down the stairs. He opened the door to see Billy’s back, kicking chunks of broken bottle off the steps.  

“It won’t start,” he muttered, taking a deep draw on his cigarette and kicking another shard until it came loose from the melted and refrozen snow.  “My car won’t start.”

“Is it the battery?” Steve suggested, having had to start the car periodically in cold weather before he could legally drive.

“Who gives a shit, I’m stuck, I--” he sat on the cleared step.  “Can I use your phone to call…” he took a slow breath.  “I need to call home.”

“Fuck no,” Steve dropped next to him.  “I’ve got cables. I’ll give you a jump, first.”

Billy grabbed his face and kissed him, fingers in his hair, still breathing smoke like a dragon, and Steve leaned into it, his own fingers more careful around the scab above Billy’s right ear.  “...how’s your head, babe?”

“Stop calling me that, it’s weird,” Billy snorted, following his lips for another kiss.

“Mmn,” Steve relaxed into it, enjoying the warm minty smokiness of Billy’s mouth, the brush of his stubble, and the wet heat of his tongue.  “Mnn. Billy. Lemme jump you.”

“Yeah,” Billy breathed against his mouth, letting his jacket slide off his shoulders, and Steve yanked it back up, pulling him close for a quick squeeze.  

“Your car, Hargrove.”

 It was the battery, and Billy’s shoulders relaxed like a dropped marionette as the engine caught.  He leaned his head against the steering wheel, taking deep breaths.  

Steve reached in the driver’s side window.  “You all right?” Once I get my fingers in his hair, it’s like they’re magnetized, Steve thought with dismay, running his thumb up and down the side of Billy’s neck, his fingers in the silky curls.  “Kinda still taste like tequila.”

As usual, Billy’s smirk looked half amused, half wary.  He didn’t answer, just stuck his cigarette in his mouth and gunned the motor, waggling his fingers out the window as he pulled into the road.

 In class, Nancy’s corduroy slacks whooshed as she sped to Steve’s desk to look him over.  “You’re alive.”

“I dunno,” Steve raised his eyebrows.  “Did you wanna check my pulse?”

“I don’t see any bruises,” her eyes narrowed.  “Are you coming to the game Wednesday?” 

“Oh hell,” he let himself slide down in his seat.  “I think Dustin got Mike to make me a character. Are you playing?”

“Probably not.  We should talk, though,” she shrugged, waving to Jonathan.

“...is Jonathan coming?” he frowned over.

“Nah, I think Will likes to hang with just his friends,” she was still waving like a nerd, smile huge, and Steve sighed, leaning his face on his hand.  “And I think that might be too many players? He’s already got Will, Lucas, and Dustin, I know he invited Eleven, Lucas wants Max there, Dustin wants you…”

“Oh, I’m sure Dustin wants you too,” he watched her bite her lip in a shy grin at Jonathan, and wondered if her arm would get tired.  Whether she’d have to learn the parade wave pageant winners used.

Jonathan was waving back--from like two seats away--but he caught Steve’s eyeroll, and lowered his hand.

“No, wave, wave,” Steve pushed Nancy’s bag against her back, nudging her up the aisle.  “You two look like morons, just go annoy him.”

She squeezed his hand--hers were so much smaller and thinner than Billy’s, he thought, nearly letting a snicker escape as he thought both of the night before, and Billy doing the stupid courtship wave dance she was doing--and sauntered over to Jonathan.  Instead of confidently dropping to sit on his desk, though, she got over there and...waved some more, tucking her hair behind her ear, and Steve covered a wistful snort.  

 After class, she pulled him to her locker.  “So I talked to Will.”  

“Shit, yeah,” he winced.  “Sorry I slept through lunch yesterday.  What’d he say?”

“Oh, well, I mean, he kinda wants to talk somehow without Dustin, Mike, and Lucas, if you can...you slept through everything yesterday,” she cocked her head.  “You look better today.”

“Yeah, we can figure something out, if Jonathan will let him get me alone,” he grimaced.  “What the hell did you tell him--but yeah, I slept more than I have since…” he ran his fingers through his hair, thinking.  “I think the tunnels? I was fine until I knew they could just come back.”

She nodded, clutching her books to her chest, jaw set.  “We’ll be ready for them.”

“I’d kinda wanted to do other things with my life, I mean, we can’t be everywhere at once, what if something--” he waved an arm, nearly smacking Jonathan in the face.  

“You guys are talking about Will?” he frowned between them, and Steve dropped his books, crouching to take a long time to pick them up, and hoping his face would be less red by the time he stood.  

“He, ah, he’s coming over Wednesday, to play Mike’s game,” Nancy failed at covering the awkwardness.

“...I know?”  Steve couldn’t see the expression on Jonathan’s face from his new home on the floor of the hallway, so he stopped pretending to be clumsy, and glanced up.  Jonathan’s eyes were wide. “What’s going on. What happened.”

“No, it’s not--” Nancy gently clasped his hand, and Steve dove in to the conversation.

“Will asked about his love life, he was too embarrassed to ask you, just pretend you didn’t hear anything?”

Jonathan’s eyes narrowed, but he frowned between them, holding Nancy’s hand.  “Why would he go to--either of you?”

“Maybe Dustin’s been building me up?” Steve shrugged, hoping his pounding heart didn’t translate to his face getting redder.  I kinda understand why Billy wants it a secret suddenly, he thought, his stomach clenching as he imagined the faces of the classmates passing around him curling in disgust, or Hopper no longer clapping him on the shoulder.  What if they don’t want me around kids anymore?  He took a deep breath.

Jonathan rolled his eyes.  “He can tell me anything, he knows that--”

“Maybe he just wants to listen to music sometimes and not always have a big problem,” Steve suggested, familiar with the eternal sympathy on Nancy’s face, and Jonathan cocked his head, considering.

“...yeah, okay.  I won’t bug him.”

“You’re still his favorite,” Nancy nudged him with her elbow, and he grinned, ducking his head.  Steve sighed, sorting his textbooks unnecessarily.

“...but one of you’ll tell me if anything...big happens?”

“I think we’ll let that be up to him,” she smiled back.  “But I don’t think anything big is going to happen.”

Steve had a burst of inspiration.  “He’s just thinking about things. You know, Dustin liking Max, Lucas liking Max, you two being together, he wants to know everyone will stay friends, it’s weird for him.  He missed a lot of it.”

“Oh!” Jonathan blinked, then grimaced.  “Oh, okay. That makes sense, I guess.” He had his arm around Nancy, and she shrugged at Steve.  

“I’ll see you tonight, then?”

“Oh.  Yeah, see you Wednesday, then,” he held up his hand to wave, and stopped.  “You guys have made waving weird now.” They laughed, shifting their feet, and Steve turned to go to class.

 The D&D game was about vampires, apparently.  Dustin had said “I vant to suck your blood” so many times Lucas just smacked his face with a pillow every time he opened his mouth, in between bossing Max around and pulling the Basic Set book towards himself every time she asked a question.  Having spent the last twenty-four hours watching a similar set of tense shoulders, Steve waved to Eleven, who was staring at Mike, brows knitted. “Hey, how about you team up with Max, or me, or Nancy--” he waved to her from where she was holding up the doorway, “‘cause these little douchebags are all being more annoying than usual.”

Dustin gasped.  “How dare you.”

“Yeah, I’m about to go home,” Max bared her teeth, yanking the book back.  

“I read all the rules,” Eleven frowned between Mike and Max.  “Why can’t I play?”

“Play together,” Nancy clambered by the row of chairs.  “Will, could you help Steve? You guys are terrible at explaining.”  

Max sighed.  “Look, I guess this looks fun and all--”

“Don’t leave!” Lucas pleaded, wide-eyed.  “I’m sorry! El, come over here! We’ll leave you alone!”

“We just want you to win,” Dustin snorted, huffing over to sit next to Lucas, who was scrambling to move to Eleven’s seat.  

“Why are you explaining different rules to me,” she frowned at her book, then at Mike.  “I thought I learned the correct rules. Did I learn the wrong rules?”

“These are optional, they’re our house rules based on the magazine supplements--” Mike huffed.

“Eleven,” Max waved her over with the book.  “He’s just gonna grow up to be a tax accountant, he thinks this mess is fun.”

“There is some older English in the text,” Nancy crouched next to Eleven with some printouts.  “Here--”

“Are we gonna murder some vampires or what, here,” Steve settled in at the opposite end of the table from Mike, next to Will, who flashed a shy grin at him.  

“Oh hey, Steve, Dustin’s mom is taking Max home, could you drop Will?” Nancy asked turning the page she was showing Eleven.

“Oh,” Steve shrugged.  “Sure.”

“I want to ride with Steve,” Max leaned around Eleven to get a look at the printouts, but Nancy and Eleven leaned away.

“And meeeee, take me too, drop me off laaast,” Dustin leaned in, dropping his head on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve shoved him back, grinning and shrugging to Nancy.  

“That’s why I got the invite, you guys just wanted a taxi.”

Max leaned around Will and punched his shoulder, raising her eyebrows at him, and he shrugged, trying to figure out a route that gave Max whatever she wanted, with nobody that didn’t know about he and Billy in the car, and Will a chance  for his awkward as hell questionnaire. “I can drop everybody, but it’ll be, uh,  Dustin, then Eleven, then Max, then Will.”

“That makes no sense,” Dustin frowned over.  “I live right by Max, so Billy can live on his trashpile--”

“We don’t live in the junkyard,” Max snorted.  “I mean, Billy might.”

“Probably,” Lucas put in, grinning over, and most of the heads around the table nodded.  “He probably sneaks out at night and nests in the broken bottles. Eats the rusty razor blades.”

“Maybe he wants to punch the Lorax and spread pollution to the world,” Mike rolled his eyes, glaring up the basement stairs at the door, through which they could hear his mom’s voice and the word ‘Clifford’.  “I think I’d start liking him.”  

“He’ll become a pollution supervillain,” Dustin cackled.  

Max snorted.  “Rotten Billy.”  

“Living in a trash can like Oscar the Grouch,” Lucas made a face.

“Corruption Hargrove,” Dustin suggested.  “Billy the Foul, stalking the trash whenever there’s smog...”

“His big attack can be ‘Extinction Event,’” Mike put in, shuffling papers.  “Does his name still have to be ‘Billy’? I mean, you wouldn’t call Darth Vader, like, D. V.  Or is it like…Demolition William?”

“I tried calling him Willy, he didn’t like it,” Max shrugged. “Maybe Demolition Willy.”

Will wrinkled his nose, shaking his head, then blinked large eyes at Steve, who had raised his character sheet to hide his face.

“Come on, though, I get to come, we’re pals!” Dustin threw his arms around Will, staring into Steve’s face from two inches away.  “Why’re you trying to get rid of me?  Eleven’s the farthest!”

“Eleven’s all right,” Will said in a small voice, and Steve snorted, rubbing his face.  Will scrambled for tact. “I mean, Mom’s just been so worried, it’s nice to be out. Longer.”

“Smooth,” Max patted his shoulder, and he reddened.

“Fiiiiiine,” Dustin huffed, frowning between them, and narrowing his eyes at Steve.  “We’re going to talk about this, young man. Don’t you laugh at me, Steve Harrington!”

“Now you sound like Billy,” Steve hummed as Dustin gasped in horror, and Steve cocked his head, actually reading his character sheet.  The only part he could make sense of was his name. “...hang on, I’m a girl?”

“That a problem?” Max smiled over from where she and Eleven had their heads together.

“Nancy helped design the campaign,” Mike said breezily, and Steve eyed her wide, innocent smile.  Her companionable perch on the stairs suddenly looked more like she was surveying prey.

“Anyway,” Mike smacked his pad of notes on the table, and cleared his throat.

“Hang on,” Dustin reached over to clasp Steve’s shoulder.  “Do you need hot chocolate for this darksome and frightening tale?”

“Fuck you,” Steve shoved him off, grinning.  “I’m not in withdrawal yet.”

“ANYWAY!”  Mike rolled his notebook, waving it at Dustin.  “Shut up, dickwads.”

“We’re doing this thing,” Lucas waggled his eyebrows, and got smacked, being closer to hand than Dustin.

“One of your group of adventurers receives a letter,” Mike began.  

“I’ll read it,” Lucas grabbed it, and Mike slid down in his chair with a long groan.  “‘Hail to thee of might and valor, I, a lowly servant of Barovia, send honor to thee. We plead for thy so desperately needed assistance.’”

“We will help these people, and about our feats, I shall write glorious song!” Dustin shouted, standing, and Mike leaned over for full Haymaker range of motion and whacked him again.  “Dude!”

“Shut up, y’all,” Lucas rolled his eyes.  “‘The love of my life--’”

“It’s Max!” Will gasped, and Max flailed around Eleven trying to hit him, bright red.  “The love of Lucas’ life!”

“‘The love of my life,’” Lucas hid behind the letter, voice suddenly higher, “--says the letter writer, ‘Ireena Kolyana, has been afflicted by an evil so deadly--’”

“Wait, that’s me, actually, Ireena Kolyana,” Steve frowned at his sheet.

“It’s actually Max,” Will blinked innocent eyes up at Steve, and this time Eleven leaned to the side to let Max smack him with the book.  He cackled, batting her away. “It’s true!”

“Fuck off, Will,” Lucas shook the letter at him.  “My character doesn’t know Max!”

“Lucas should be rescuing Max,” Mike nodded, grinning with relief at not having read it himself.  His cheeks were pink as he glanced at Eleven.

Eleven raised her hand.  “So we’re rescuing Steve, though?”

“Why am I the princess?” Steve wrinkled his nose.

“Nancy did it!” Dustin pointed.

“She is suffering from an evil so deadly,” Lucas shouted, smacking the table, “--even the good people of our village cannot protect her.  She languishes in fear and nightmare--”

“Oh come on,” Steve felt his cheeks heat, as Lucas dissolved into giggles, and Mike’s smirk stretched evilly.  Max cackled, leaning her head against Eleven’s shoulder, and even Eleven was smirking at Will, who was leaning away from Steve, shoulders shaking with giggles.  Steve raised his chin, folding his arms. “If I’m in a glass coffin, I’m going home!”

Lucas wiped his eyes, trying to breathe.  “The letter says,‘I would have her saved from this menace.’  Who is this, Steve, your fiance?”

“I will marry only my true love,” Steve announced, slumping lower in his chair.  “I don’t care if one of you idiots rescues me.”

Max erupted into giggles, leaning back in her chair and wheezing with laughter.  “Your--your true love--Steve--oh my god--I’m telling--I’m telling, Steve--”

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed back, trying to restrain his own horrified cackles.  

“I’m rescuing Steve!” Dustin wailed.

“Isn’t it Nancy?  His true love?” Lucas leaned to ask Mike, who shrugged, watching Eleven’s bemused smile at Max.  “Ahem,” Lucas cocked his head at Max.  “Oh, no, dudes, this isn’t Steve’s fiancé, it’s his dad.  ‘I, the Burgomeister of Barovia, send you honor--and despair. My adopted daughter, the fair Ireena Kolyana--’  Wait. Nasty,” Lucas wrinkled his nose. “His adopted daughter is the love of his life? Gross, Nancy!”

“That part’s in the book,” she rolled her eyes.

“Uhhh,” Dustin squeezed Steve’s shoulder.  “I’m sorry, dude. At least you’re pretty?”

“Well then, come rescue me, already,” Steve made a face at Nancy, and her smile grew.  He leaned away suspiciously.

“Oh, also gross,” Lucas wrinkled his nose, “‘Fair Ireena Kolyana has been these past nights bitten by a vampyr.’  Some gross dude is chewing on your neck, man.”

At this sympathy, Max yelled, slumping over the back of her chair, Will yelped with laughter, and Nancy leaned against the wall to support her giggles, clapping Lucas’ performance.  

Eleven opened her mouth, closed it, and whispered something to Will, who nodded, wiping his eyes.  She turned a narrow-eyed stare on Steve. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike were cocking their heads, frowning at each other, then at Steve.  He popped his collar, hoping it’d hide the hickies Billy’d left on his neck, and waved the group onward--meeting eyes with Nancy, who had a hand over her mouth to smother her giggles.  Steve narrowed his eyes at her, baring his teeth.

Lucas’ jaw firmed--Steve suspected Max would have to dodge a lot of questions later--but he pressed on.  “‘For over four hundred years, this creature has drained the life blood of my people. Now my dear Ireena languishes her nights away--”

Here, Steve dropped his forehead to the table, as Max nearly fell off her chair in paroxysms of laughter.  Lucas just raised his voice and kept reading. “I said she languishes, ‘because of the unholy taint caused by this vile beast.’”

“Steve,” Dustin squeezed his hand gently, obviously not getting the joke, but delighting in Steve’s horror.  “Are you languishing?”

“Sh’up,” he said, into the tablecloth.

“Ooo.  Guys, hey.”  Lucas flapped a hand for their attention.  “It’s not just Princess Steve. ‘’There is much wealth in this community.  I offer all that might be had to thee and thy fellows if thou shalt but answer my desperate plea.  Come quickly, for her time is at hand! All that I have shall be thine! Kolyan Indirovich’,” Lucas folded it, nodding seriously.  “Wow, do you think somebody has to kiss Steve? I guess for a lot of money.”

“Gross!” Mike snorted, but Max buried her face in her arms, gasping with laughter.

“I guess anybody’s better than my creepy asshole dad,” Steve made a face, ignoring Nancy’s slow collapse cackling against the stairs.  

“He’s still ‘only marrying his true love,’ though,” Will giggled.

“Yeah, well, I have taste,” Steve muttered, and Max whooped.

“You don’t,” she wheezed.  “You don’t, you really don’t--”

“I will kiss you, Steve,” Eleven reached around Will to pat his shoulder, grinning.  “On the hand. If someone has to.”

“Ouch!” Lucas and Mike were cackling nearly as hard as Max, though they only had half the joke.  

“If she must,” Mike snagged the letter back.

“Might just have to floozy it up with your rescuer,” Max raised her head, wiping her eyes.  “I mean, if you want out of the coffin.”

Steve’s lungs hurt from laughing.  “You’re all terrible. You want me to marry some random dipshit who makes out with me when I’m asleep?”

“Point!” Nancy called, still wheezing.  “If there’s any of that, it’ll be a blown kiss only.” 

“Aww, I’ll do it,” Dustin’s mouth twitched, before he burst into giggles--the last holdout sunk.  “If everybody else votes to leave you.”

“You little douchebags,” Steve muttered, grinning.  

“Okay!” Lucas punched the air.  “Let’s go kiss Steve!” Max, Eleven, and Will echoed the chant.  “Kiss Steve! Kiss Steve!”  

Dustin yelled “He’s mine!” then shrugged at Steve’s raised eyebrows.

“Guys!  That’s not the adventure,” Mike wailed, falling sideways on the table and giggling into his arm.

When Mike’s mom demanded they all go home for the evening--casting a leery eye at Steve--he stood and stretched.  “Totally unrescued, you all suck.”

“We barely arrived, dude,” Lucas shoulder checked him, climbing by to try and convince Max to stay over.

“I can’t,” she narrowed her eyes at Steve, over his shoulder.  

“We could both stay here,” Lucas flapped his hands in the pockets of his flak jacket.

“What part of ‘can’t’ is confusing you, dipshit,” she bared her teeth at him.  

Lucas quailed.  “I just--I don’t--”

“Get used to it,” she grunted, then turned back and punched his shoulder.  “I’ll be okay. Really.”

“What,” Eleven frowned between them.  “Are you okay? Really?”

Lucas and Max looked at each other, and shared an inordinately sincere shoulder-bump.

“All right, everybody who doesn’t live here or next door, come load up,” Steve glanced down as Will sighed, sliding down in the chair and kicking his feet.  “Come on, I’ll drop you last.”

“Okay,” he shrugged, hunching his shoulders and swallowing.  

“Anybody eating this pizza?” Max held it up, and Dustin held up his hands.

“It’s all yours.”  

Dustin’s ongoing whine about being the first drop-off was quelled by his position in the shotgun seat, where he proudly seated himself after Max, Will, and Eleven had climbed in.  He was obviously trying to get them all in a debate about the likelihood of a haunting in Hawkins, lingering in the car after they pulled up at his drive, and finally, Max just reached around to open the door and shoved him out, climbing after him and settling in the front seat.

Dustin leaned back in, waving jovially, and Steve waved back.  “Yeah, yeah, soon. I promise.”

“We’ll let you rot in your glass coffin if you break promises,” Dustin yelled after them.

Steve started the drive to Hopper’s cabin, getting directions from Eleven.  She had her arm around Will, who was breathing harshly.  

Steve pulled over on to the shoulder, biting his lips.  “You okay?” Will nodded.  

“Keep going,” Eleven squeezed his hand, and he leaned into her.

“Uh,” Steve frowned at the two of them, then Max.  “...Will, d’you want Eleven here?”  

He nodded, swallowing.

“How the fuck come everybody wants to talk to Steve.  What’s going on.” Max frowned between them. “Nancy made sure Will got a ride from--oh.”  She leaned back and prodded Will’s shoulder.  “You know.  Don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Eleven frowned between Steve and Max, and Steve turned away to stare out at the road, and pull his knees up.

“He’s fucking Billy, he’s kissing him, he’s letting my brother put his gross face on his face, they’re touching everything--” Max just kept going, and Steve muttered “Christ,” flailing a hand back to flick her cheek.  He and Will took identical shaky breaths.

“...Billy is the vampire,” Eleven’s eyes widened.  “The ‘gross man chewing on your neck’.”

“Oh my god,” Steve wrapped his arms around his head, trying to suppress giggles.  

“That’s why they were laughing,” Eleven raised her eyebrows, nodding.  

“Yeeep, yeah, okay.”  Max folded her arms. “We haven’t even passed my place yet, I can grill you later.”

“What?” Steve frowned over.  

“Just drop me off and--” she waved a hand.  “Let them do whatever--” she waved at Will, whose fingers were clenched in the knees of his pants.  “Lemme talk at you tomorrow morning, Steve Harrington.”

“Eugh.  Okay.” Steve stomped the gas and swung the car around in a u-turn, Will whooped, and Max grabbed for the roll bar.  

“Jesus fuck,” she glared over.  “You asswipes deserve each other.”

At her house, Billy was smoking a cigarette on the curb.  He sauntered over, and Max groaned, then snickered, shaking her head.  “Man, you are not going to get that ‘private talk.’” She climbed out as Steve rolled his window down for Billy to rest his elbows in it.  Crouched against the door, the light from the house blocked by Steve’s car, he was nearly invisible.

“Hey Harrington,” he smirked in, reaching to lift Steve’s hand off the steering wheel, and Steve squeezed it, conscious of Will’s wide eyes in the rearview mirror.  

“Hey,” he grinned back, running his thumb over Billy’s palm, and Billy snatched his hand back, head cocked.  

“...what’re you doing tonight?” he rested his chin on his arms, and Steve snorted.

“You hitching a ride?”

“Just to the next town, stranger,” Billy grinned, leaning his head in, and Steve leaned away.  “Come on, get in.”  

Billy’s eyes narrowed, but he came around, and slid in shotgun, nearly leaping out of his skin as Eleven said “Hello again,” from the depths of the back seat.  Steve swallowed a laugh, then choked in earnest, and Billy shoved him against the door.

“Hello,” Will said in a small voice, and Billy squinted.  

“How the hell many of you are back there?”

“Eleven,” said Eleven, and Billy glowered at Steve.

“You’re Steve’s…” Will’s voice dropped to a whisper, and Steve gunned the engine to get off of Scary Hargrove Street as Billy glared into the backseat.

“I’m his what.”  

How are there so many shitty parents around that I’m...what, now?  An older brother? A...dad? A babysitter who gives Important Talks?  He braced himself.  “Uh, Billy’s…” He could see the silhouette of Billy’s head turn to look at him, and his words fled.

“Speak up, Harrington,” Billy turned in his seat so his back was against the door.  “The fuck is this going.”

“Will saw you kissing,” Eleven spoke up, Billy inhaled sharply, and Steve slapped his hand over to dig his fingers into Billy’s knee.

“We did do that,” he let go at Billy’s lack of an explosion, patting around for his hand, and finding his ankle, which he squeezed.  “Don’t tell anyone else, okay? Billy’s dad’s already an asshole to end all assholes.” Billy’s pulse was pounding against his fingers.

“M-my dad says I’m a faggot too,” Will’s voice was hoarse, and squeaked around the edges.  Steve’s eyebrows were nearly at his hairline as he tried to think of somewhere they could pull over without anyone recognizing his car.  I’m four years older, he tried to convince himself.  I’ve seen more, I can handle this.  

“Fuck, are you?!” Billy said, startled.  

“I don’t know,” Will sniffled.  “I don’t know--I’m different, even Mom says I’m different--”

Steve turned and parked in front of a random house.  “Um. Uh,” he leaned his head against the steering wheel, trying to ignore Billy’s shocked snickering.  

“I’m sorry,” Will sounded like he was rubbing his face, and suppressing sobs.  “I’m sorry, I’ll shut up--don’t--I’ll stay quiet about it--”

“No, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve sat up again, flailing around.  “Okay. I mean. Even if you are,” he tried to imagine what Mrs. Byers would say, wishing Will would just talk to his mom.  “Even--even if you are.  Queer. If you’re a--a queer.  Is--is that so bad?”

Billy kicked him.  “Well he can’t just go telling people, jesus, Harrington.  He’ll get his ass kicked.”

“Yeah--yeah, I know,” Steve floundered.  “But Eleven doesn’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” she confirmed, sounding both certain and mystified.

“Jonathan.  Jonathan wouldn’t mind.  Nancy definitely won’t.” Note to self, Steve thought, tell Nancy to read Jonathan and his mom all those depressing queer stories.  Ha.

“Mike will not care,” Eleven said in a low, determined voice.  “Or Hopper.”

“...didn’t your mom bring you back from the dead, or something,” Billy snorted.  “She a good mom?”

Will must have nodded, because Billy continued.  “Then she’ll love you anyway.”

“Okay,” Will’s lungs were starting to calm down, though he still sounded half underwater, and his breathing was all off-kilter.  “Okay. Lucas and--Lucas and Dustin are gonna hate me--I’m already Zombie Boy and now--”

“What the fucking nailbat’s for, right?” Billy muttered, glancing at Steve.  “Zombie Boy, what the fuck--”

“No!  No, I mean, they won’t, I’ll talk to them,” Steve offered, lifting his hand to reach back, then lowering it, feeling it wasn’t his place to pat Will’s head.  “If I tell…” he took a deep breath, and Billy’s foot nudged his side again. “Once they know about me, we’ll know what they’ll think.”

“Max doesn’t care,” Billy cocked his head.  “Wait, no,” he snorted. “She just hates me either way.”

“She does not,” Steve slid his hand up Billy’s pant leg again, to the bare skin of his calf.  “It’ll--it’ll be okay with the people you like, Will.  Just--”

“Wait a few days,” Eleven’s voice got muffled, and Steve squinted back to see the lump of her hugging Will.  

“Yeah,” Will swallowed.  “I--I just--I feel like a liar, I wasn’t--I wasn’t gonna say anything ever but I feel like I’m tricking them…”

“And then I fucking grabbed Steve under the kitchen window,” Billy let his head smack against the window, and Steve started giggling.  

“Super romantic.  Falling snow.”

“It wasn’t romantic, Harrington--”

“So was,” Steve cackled.  “You covered in snow, me waving a bat, half naked, huge circles under my eyes--did I even have shoes on?” 

“Will wants waffles,” Eleven said, leaning up between the seats.  “Could we go somewhere and have waffles?”

“I do?” Will laughed as her hug squished him against Billy’s seat.

“They make you less lonely,” she confirmed, and Steve rubbed his face.  

“Uh--”

“There’s the IHOP, over where they’re putting the mall in,” Billy said over him.  “I haven’t eaten. They have those gross syrups she likes.”  

Steve grinned again, ducking his head, and putting the car back in gear.  “Yeah sure, I’ll take you on a date, Hargrove, all you had to do was ask.”  

Billy went stiff.  “I wasn’t fucking aski--”

“Shush the eff up,” Steve pinched him, as Will’s head appeared between their shoulders.

“You guys go on dates?  You can date?”  

Here we go, Steve took a deep breath, feeling his breath hiss a bit with tension.  “S-sure! We can date! Here we are, going to a--to a restaurant, that’s a date.”

“Nancy and Jonathan have movie dates,” Eleven poked her head up next to Will’s.  “They sit and watch movies. One of them had a man in it that was an elephant. They hold hands.”

“And we have done that, that is a thing we have done,” Steve nodded several times too many.

“Jesus christ,” Billy let his head thunk against the window.  

“My mom used to go dancing,” Will said in a small voice, and Steve threw all caution to the wind.

“Billy dances in my kitchen,” Steve ignored the muttered instruction to fuck himself from the other side of the car.  “I could invite everyone over and dance, if I wanted. With Billy.”

“Go to fucking Disneyland, hold hands on the roller coasters,” Billy sighed into the windows, and Steve bit his lips against a grin, and the urge to pull over and kiss him.

“Or a, like, a drive-in movie, we could even make out.  We should actually do that,” Steve cocked his head, catching Billy’s glance out of the corner of his eye.

“Disneyland,” Will whispered.

“What’s Disneyland?” Eleven asked, and Steve sped around a corner, grinning, as Will tried to explain carnival rides.  

“Around here we’ve got the arcade, but not roller coasters,” he sighed.

“...there’s probably some shitty state fair,” Billy offered.  “She wouldn’t know the difference. Apparently.”

“We could all go,” Will leaned between the seats.  “We could go this summer. Steve. Steve, can we?”

“Sure, why not,” Steve shrugged.  “Who likes cotton candy?”

“Jesus christ,” Billy said, again, as Steve pulled into the parking lot.  Will and Eleven scrambled out before he’d put on the parking brake, and Steve leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes.  

“You realize we’re married now,” he informed Billy, who missed the door handle, and made a scrabbling noise against the leather.

“What the fuck.”

“We told Will Byers we’re taking him on a date.  For cotton candy.  It’s forever, dude, ‘till death do us part.”  Steve let his head roll to look at Billy, who was staring back in the light from the IHOP windows.

“Are you drunk.”  

“Sacred vow, man.  You gonna tell him we’re talking out our asses?  It’s legal now.”

“...your mom fucking dropped you as a child,” Billy found the door handle, and stalked towards the IHOP.

 In the booth, Eleven and Will were sitting on the same side, watching avidly as they slid in.  Billy widened his eyes at Steve, jaw working. Steve gave him a menu and thumbs-up, and ignored the resulting middle finger shielded from Will and Eleven by the menu.  

“Okay, guys, have your orders figured out by the time I get back, an excellent babysitter lets people know that’s what’s going on--” he squeezed Billy’s shoulder--and probably got another middle finger at his back--and went in search of a phone.  Getting a dollar changed for the pay phone outside killed a few more minutes, and then he had to actually dial what felt like the summons for whatever’d been hanging over his head since he ran into Dustin hunting his pet Demodog.  How bad can it be? he muttered to himself.  At least it’ll be the end of...waiting for...something.  When it connected, Nancy’s mom was weirdly flirty until he said he was Steve Harrington, and then didn’t want to find Nancy at all.  Finally Mike grabbed the phone and sighed “What.”

“I don’t want you, get Nancy,” Steve rolled his eyes.

“You’ve got me,” Mike huffed.  

“Fine.  Could you lend me your trigonometry notes?” Steve raised his eyebrows, and Mike sighed like his lungs had a slow leak.  

“Nancy!” he bellowed into the phone, and once Steve’s hearing returned, she was there.

“Nancy,” Steve repeated, feeling a bit shaky now he came to the pinch.  He took a deep breath and blew it out through his cheeks.  

“Yeah?” she had her eyebrows raised, he could tell.  

“Uh.  It’s Steve.”

“Yeah, I hear that.”  Now she was laughing at him.

“Uh, um.  So--first, could you let Mrs. Byers and Hopper know I’ve got their kids at IHOP, and I’m sorry, usually I’d have said no, but Will was crying--”

“Oh no, is everything okay?”

“I...think so?  He was telling me about his shitty dad…”

“...okay?”

“I panicked and he thinks Billy and I are some immortal love story now--”

She barked a laugh, smothering giggles.  “What?”

“I don’t know, he wants us to go on a date and bring him to the state fair this summer to eat cotton candy, so I think--”

“Oh my god,” she squeaked.

“I think we’re basically, uh, married, as far as Will’s concerned--”

“Billy’s gonna murder you if he finds out.”

“Oh, uh.”

“Steve.  He’ll kill you.  With his fists.”

“No, um, he’s here.  He ah, he suggested it.”  He listened nervously to the silence on the other end of the line.  “Really. I was right there in the car when--”

“No kidding,” she snorted, then dropped her voice to a deep whisper.  “‘This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call...The Twilight Zone.’”

“Shut up,” he snickered.  “I know. But I wanted to ask--” he lowered the handset, staring out of the little booth at the ground.  He could hear quizzical noises from the earpiece, and took a deep breath, lifting it again. “Yeah. Sorry.  I just--could you--you know all those awful queer movies and lectures you made me listen to after--after Barb.”

“...yes.  It wasn’t--it wasn’t just because of Barb, that was stuff I needed to know, and they weren’t awful just because they weren’t funny--”

“I think it’s stuff that, um.  Uh--other people might need to know,” he took another steadying breath.  “I mean, I’m going to have to tell people eventually, probably, Hopper might find out, the little shitstains are noticing--”

“Oh,” she was quiet for several too many seconds, and he covered the mouthpiece, giving himself a silent verbal ass-kicking in privacy, then bravely lifted it back to his face.

“Do--do you.  Is it--” he rubbed his face.  “Fuck. Fuck. Nancy--”

“It’s fine, I’ll do it, I just,” she paused again, and he scrabbled at his hair.  “I think--I guess I didn’t think about you changing your life this much for Billy Hargrove, I mean, is it...is he worth all this?”

He covered the mouthpiece again to giggle.  It sounded unhinged.  What would a damn good babysitter do, he took a slow breath, setting his shoulders, and telling himself it was idiotic to feel like a heroic firefighter, rescuing Will--but he did, a bit, feel like he was.  “It’s not--I mean.  I--it’ll--I’ll still stare at Rob Lowe pictures after Billy, y’know, I might as--I might as well?” his voice betrayed him by revisiting its younger register a couple of times at the end, but he’d gotten it all out.  

“...just remembered you walking back in Jonathan’s house and grabbing a bat to fight a monster,” she laughed, but it sounded warm.  “Good, um, good for you.”

“I guess,” he sighed, feeling his lungs start to shudder.  “Fuck. Hopper’s--I don’t know what Hopper’s gonna do. I don’t know what Mrs. Byers is gonna do--”

“I’ll work on Eleven first,” she sounded determined.

“Eleven’s fine!” his voice was still all over the place, which made everything sound kinda hilarious, and he stifled a snicker.  “Eleven’s here. Eleven knows.”

“Why am I not invited?”  Her giggle sounded as nervously squeaky as his did, which was reassuring.  “I like pancakes too, y’know!”

“We’ll--next time.  Next--I hope there’s no next time,” he choked out a laugh, wiping his face.  

“...we’ll make sure it’s okay, Steve,” she said, her voice still shaky, but it was her eyes-narrowed, steady-hand-on-the-trigger-finger voice, and he leaned his face in his hand for a long second, gaining determination in the memory of her unloading bullets into a monster.

 When he walked back in the IHOP, Billy had turned sideways to stretch his legs over the whole seat, and Steve grabbed his boots, sliding underneath.  As ever, when anybody grabbed Billy but didn’t kiss him or shove him into a wall, he glared. Steve patted his knee. “Anyone order me anything?”

“I’ll order you waffles,” Eleven opened the menu again.  Steve shrugged.

“You could play Atari on a date,” Will suggested, and Billy let his head fall back to stare at the ceiling.  

“Ooo, Atari date,” Steve nodded, resisting the giggles that had crept up on him talking to Nancy.  “Strip Frogger.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” Billy smacked his arm, as Will blinked.  Their server bounced on her toes at the edge of the table. “Hey, Steve! Is this your brother?  And your sister? Oh. Uh, hey, Billy,” she edged closer to Eleven’s side of the table, as Billy grinned at her carnivorously.  

“Hey, Heather,” Steve nodded back.  “Closing shift?”

“They asked me to cover,” she leaned in to explain potato pancakes to Eleven--who did not look convinced--and carefully wrote down what sounded like a very complex order for waffles.   Heather grinned over again. “Throw something at me if I fall asleep tomorrow morning, and I’ll do the same for you.” He gave her a thumbs-up, and Will held up his hand.  

“Did you mean play Frogger with your clothes off?”

“He means do shit you don’t wanna do if you lose,” Billy punched Steve’s shoulder, widening his eyes warningly.  “Like lose your shirt. Or. Tell a secret?” He cocked his head at Steve, who grinned into his coffee.  

“Truth or Dare.”

Eleven was very curious about Truth or Dare, and Steve tuned out, breathing the steam off his coffee, until he heard the words ‘bicycle’ and ‘dam’.  

“Wait, what, ride your bike where,” Steve waved into the conversation, his attention caught from watching Billy try not to doze off over his waffles.  It looked like everyone had let Eleven order, and Billy listening to Will and Eleven, and frowning down at the pile of berries, berry syrups, and whipped cream was making Steve’s heart feel like an expanding balloon of syrupy warmth.

“We didn’t do it,” Will shook his head, wide-eyed.  “Lucas told Dustin he’s the man of the house and he has to be responsible, he can’t bike into the dam.”

“Better talk to your boy Henderson, pumpkin,” Billy selected another strawberry, smile smug, and Steve bit back a snort of laughter, his eyes welling up with the strain of not falling sideways out of the booth in giggles.  

He held his breath for a few seconds, then spoke in a slightly higher voice than usual.  “I really should...babe,” he agreed, and Will grinned at them with pink chipmunk cheeks.  

“Jesus, chew your food,” Billy snarled, and smacked Steve again.  “Tell them to fucking swallow, what kinda dad are you.”

“Your favourite kind, honey, the kind that swallows,” Steve sang back, and Billy’s mouth dropped open as his ears reddened.  

His jaw worked until Steve caught his eye, and then Billy couldn’t hold his snickers either anymore.  “So true,” he whispered back.  “...muffin.”

Steve chewed thoughtfully.  “You’re really more kinda honey-mustard, though,” he bumped his knee at Billy’s, and Billy huffed a laugh into his coffee.  

“Papa told me how a man and a woman can make a baby,” Eleven announced, and Heather, approaching their table, did a wide-eyed swivel-turn back to the kitchen.  

Steve felt the deep plunge from the wading pool of Babysitting into the oceans of Parenthood.  “Uh, um?” he wheezed, as his lungs apparently gave up for the night. Will threw his arms over his head with a squeak, his ears unobstructed.

“Yeah, and?” Billy asked, setting his jaw.

“He told me what sex is.  A man and a woman.”

“Or a woman and a woman,” Billy’s smirk went sly, “or a man and a man.”

“How?” she frowned, holding a particularly large strawberry in both hands and biting it like a squirrel.

“I-I don’t--” Steve wondered, in a blur, what adult he could even go to?  He took a shaky breath.  Who you gonna call? reverberated in his head.  Nobody, he answered, staring into his coffee.

Billy glanced over, and his mouth quirked, which was honestly more worrying than anything else so far.  “Well, there’s more to sex than babies--”

“Yeah, ‘cause Nancy’s not pregnant,” Will scoffed.

“Did you and Nancy have sex?” Eleven asked, wide-eyed, and Steve tried not to explode like a popped balloon with embarrassment, or combust with the influx of hot blood to his head in the middle of the (thankfully empty) restaurant.  “Why?”

“Oh my god,” Steve groaned.

“I don’t want anybody else’s spit in my mouth,” Eleven informed Will, who wrinkled his nose, nodding.

Steve summoned a last reservoir of strength.  “Well don’t do anything ever you don’t want to,” he mumbled, hands covering most of his face.  

“Some people don’t like waffles,” Billy leaned back to sip his coffee.  

“Nope,” her eyes narrowed.  

“Yup.  You don’t want to kiss anybody with spit, some people do,” he shrugged, grinning.  “I’d rather kiss than eat waffles.” Steve side-eyed him through his fingers, putting his fervent wish for a monster invasion on hold.

“You have to eat,” Eleven huffed.  

“Rather go hands-on than eat waffles, too,” Billy frowned at the pile of sugary fruit and whipped cream, sipping his coffee.

“Hands on what?” Eleven squinted in concentration, and Will and Steve both jumped.

Billy’s knee jostled Steve’s as he started bouncing his heel.  “Look, there are all different body parts, but I’ve got some--it’s--it’s just different--”

“Just as good,” Steve interrupted, sliding a hand over his thigh.

“Have you done that?” Will whispered, lifting his head and staring at Steve, who stared dumbly back.

“All over,” Billy grinned, and Steve groaned into his hands.  

“All the parts work fine,” he finally mumbled through his fingers, and Billy cracked up, choking on his coffee.  

“So you,” Will swallowed.  “...kiss, and...things?”

Billy snorted, but Steve cut him off.  “Of course I kiss him, we’re dating, aren’t we.  It’s great, I’d kiss him all day.” Steve felt Billy go still next to him.  He sighed, looking over to see Billy’s neck as red as his own, bent over his waffles and coffee. ...I’ll kiss it later, he decided, patting his hand over to slide his fingers between Billy’s.  

“So it’s just the same,” Will sounded half-offended, breathing out a huge gust of tension, and slumping back in the booth.

“...not everybody’s Steve,” Billy told his waffle, determinedly trying to cut it with his left hand as he squeezed Steve’s with his right.  “I went for it with him--” he jerked his head sideways, and Eleven interrupted.

“What’s that mean?”

“He--” Steve squeezed Billy’s hand, pushing himself up in the wall of the booth to frown around for Heather, then dropped back to his seat.  “He laid one on me, that night most of the Ghostbusters were over.” Eleven frowned at his privacy check, then firmed her mouth, and nodded, flicking her glance around the restaurant.

Will gasped, leaning back in, and Billy’s mouth quirked.  “You weren’t boyfriends then?!”

“Yeah, don’t do it, I thought he was gonna cave my fucking head in,” Billy snorted.  “Shoulda made sure first, somehow--”

“Asked, maybe,” Steve snorted.  “I hear that works.”

“Yanked me out of the snow and just held me there, and I k--I fucking kissed him--” he covered a grin, his face red.  “I thought ‘Fuck, he’s gonna shove me back, he’s just gonna--he’s gonna hit me with that bat, and hit me, and hit me--” he wiped his eyes, and Steve scooted closer, watching Eleven, who glanced toward the kitchen, and nodded.  

“You were hugging him,” Will stared at Steve.

“Well,” Steve cleared his throat.  “I wasn’t...sleeping so well, and you guys woke me up, and he wasn’t talking about monsters, he was just warm and pissed off--”

“Oh, usually he says I smell good, glad to know my other attraction is I’m alive, so I’m warmer than snow.  Corpses are out, I guess.  Don’t try to fuck Harrington if you’re a zombie, otherwise it’s a fucking go.”  Billy tried to pull his hand back to grab his coffee, and flushed when Steve held on.  He grabbed the mug with his left hand, hiding his face.

Steve leaned to bump his shoulder.  “Nah, man, I was so fucking tired. I dunno if I’d have kissed you, but I was probably about to say something like a complete moron.  I’d have said you were pretty for a boy or something, you’d have had to kiss me to shut me up, or shoved me in the snow.”

Billy’s breath caught.  “You think?”

It was hard to put words together under Will and Eleven’s wide, unblinking eyes, but Steve did his best to ignore them.  “You’re awfully pretty, man. So yeah.”  

When Heather returned, warily edging toward their table--Steve could see her pale reflection in the window, head ducked to avoid children’s sex questions, as Eleven made an X with her forearms, flicking her eyes between them--Billy was still coughing coffee back out of his lungs, wiping his eyes.  

Heather refilled their mugs silently.  Her eyes darted around like Eleven might ask her about childbirth or orgasms at any moment.  She waved the coffee pot, and Steve registered the coffee had all been caffeinated too late, sighing at the mug in betrayal--and draining it--but he accepted a refill.  As soon as Heather fled back to the kitchen, Billy squeezed his hand, swinging his legs off Steve’s lap and nudging him out of the booth.

“Gotta hit the john,” he stalked off.  After a minute of giggling between Eleven and Will, Steve slid out of the booth.  His palms started sweating as he walked down the corridor to the bathrooms. He could hear the sink running in the men’s.  When the door opened, he pushed Billy back inside, slapping the slide lock closed as Billy flinched back.  

“No, come here,” Steve slid an arm around his waist to yank him close, hugging him before leaning back to lift him a few inches off the floor.  He slowly spun, humming the sugar-pouring song Billy kept getting stuck in his head. Billy’s legs swung out as he laughed breathlessly into Steve’s neck.  

“What the fuck.”

“Jesus.  Honey.”  Steve snickered, rubbing his face in Billy’s curls.  “Babe.” Billy was tense against him, but he’d slid his arms around Steve’s neck, kicking his feet up so his boots barely missed hitting the sink before Steve sat him back on his feet.  “Frosted cupcake,” Steve leaned his head back to aim some kisses at Billy’s face.

“...I guess I did good?” he laughed against Steve’s mouth.  

“The fucking best,” Steve groaned, kissing whatever was closest--in this case, Billy’s jaw.  Everything upwards of Billy’s neck seemed to be gaining heat, and Steve grinned against the smooth-shaven skin.  “I’m just a babysitter, I don’t wanna have these conversations, you’re a fucking hero having my back, thank you, you asshole.  Muffin. Sugar pie.”  

Billy hung on tightly as Steve swung him around again, laughing.  “Wanted to say any warm hole would do--”

Steve snorted, sitting him upright again, and pushing him up against the sink.  “Thank you for not saying that,” he whispered back, licking softly into Billy’s mouth so he grinned, and his eyes half-shut contentedly, like a cat’s.  He smelled like clean laundry and aftershave and tasted of berry syrup, and Steve’s dick was insistently telling him that jeans were restrictive, and Billy’s mouth was willing and soft.  So willing, Steve groaned as Billy’s hands slid down the back of his jeans, pulling them even tighter over his crotch, and Billy laughed against his mouth.

“...not fucking you in the IHOP bathroom,” Steve whispered.  

“You sure?  You’re like rebar in there,” Billy whispered back, yanking their pelvises together.  Steve’s brain went white for a long second at the feel of Billy’s dick pressing back against him, but he jerked away.  

“Not here, jesus.  Fuck.”

“So you think I’m pretty,” Billy snorted, but he had his head ducked, glancing up through his lashes.  “You think a lot of people are pretty?”

“Yeah,” Steve said distractedly, leaning against the opposite wall, and thinking of the least sexy things he could.  Tommy and Carol.  Roadkill in hot weather.  Diaper changing. That did it.  When Nancy’s little sister had diarrhea.  He grimaced faintly as his dick shriveled like he’d shoved snow down there.  

“‘Course you do,” Billy’d turned away, washing his hands again, hunch-shouldered.

“Oh, hey, no,” Steve went up and pushed the mullet aside to kiss up Billy’s neck under the curls, like he’d wanted to earlier.  “Movie stars. Nancy. You.”

“Christ,” Billy whispered, grabbing the sink.  

“Come on out when you’re done,” Steve breathed across the soft skin he’d left damp, and Billy shuddered.  “Or I’ll eat your waffles.”

“Fuck you, christ,” Billy put his face in his hands as Steve slid out, checking the hallway.

 Will and Eleven watched avidly as Steve walked back to the table, and he found his steps getting slower, imagining everything they might ask.  

“Were you kissing Billy,” Will hissed breathlessly, and Steve flailed.  “Yeah I was, not that you really need to know.”

“You look like you were,” Eleven’s eyes narrowed.  “Your hair’s different, and your mouth is wet.”

Steve let his forehead thud against the table.  “Can I just eat my waffle.”

“You should, or it’ll get soggy,” Will giggled, and Steve resisted the strong urge to stick his tongue out and blow a raspberry.  He was making good headway when Billy arrived a while later, somewhat sweatier, and avoiding everyone’s eyes.  

“They’re guilting me for disrespecting my waffle,” he said, sliding out of the booth so Billy could slide in.  

“Sorry,” Billy whispered, positioning himself right at the other end with nearly two feet between them, instead of comfortably an inch from Steve.  Steve narrowed his eyes, but didn’t press in front of their eagle-eyed observers.  

 Once they’d dropped Will and Eleven off--Mrs. Byers had met the car, already pelting questions, but Will drug her away--Steve squeezed Billy’s fingers again.  “You staying over?”

“Whatever you want,” Billy unhooked his seatbelt, scooting closer to lean against him.  “Wanna fuck?”

“Fuck yeah,” Steve stepped on the gas, and Billy laughed into his shoulder.  “Where’ve you been, babe?”

“...fucking car needs another jump,” Billy sighed.  “Have to get up in the middle of the night and start it, and he doesn’t like me making noise.”

“Shit.  Call me, next time.”

“Yeah?” 

“I told you--” he bit his lips as Billy shifted away.  “I mean. Yeah. I’ll help.” He pulled off to the side of the road.  “Billy. Come here.”  

Billy leaned back in for a kiss, snickering.  “Are we having a fuck before you dump me back off?  He won’t like you jumping it tonight.”

“Nah, I’m kissing my boyfriend,” Steve slid a hand under Billy’s jacket, smoothing along his side.  “Missed him.”

“...you’re hilarious,” Billy snorted, but he sounded breathless.  “Gonna climb in your lap and blow you if you don’t fucking drive.”

“That sounds difficult,” Steve grinned, but pulled away obligingly, checking the road before pulling back out.  

When they got back to the house, Steve locked up, dropped his school stuff upstairs, and peeled out of his jeans and shirt.  He flopped back against the bed, head on his folded arms, awaiting Billy’s pounce, then finally wandered downstairs again and into the front room to find him curled in the corner of the couch, head lolled back, drooling into a pillow.  Steve bit his lips on a wide grin, and grabbed a blanket. “...just gonna start talking real quiet now,” he stepped closer to the couch, watching a frown flicker across Billy’s face. “I think--I don’t know, but I think,” he dropped the blanket on the other end, “--Honeybunches Hargrove, if you can fall asleep that fast in my house, you probably won’t lose your shit as long as I’m not sudden.”  Billy hugged the pillow, turning his face into it, and Steve sat down on the other end of the couch. “I’m gonna scoot closer,” he narrated. “Get your boots off, okay?” He patted his hand along the couch before sliding it up Billy’s boot to his laces.  “Don’t kick me. Bet you kick like a fucking mule, dickhead.” The laces were double-knotted, but he got them undone, and Billy only rolled over as he yanked the boots themselves off. “Aww,” he leaned back against his end, throwing the blanket over them both.  “I feel like a wild animal likes me.”  ...dunno that I’ve really seen him sleep, he tried to remember.  He looks cute, like a cat on its back swishing its tail like ‘yeah, human, put your hand where I can bite.’

 He woke to Billy giggling, another oddity.  

“Oh shit, I woke you up,” he leaned his face against the back of the couch, grinning, as Steve blinked out of his blanket cave with suspicious eyes.  “Go back to sleep. Keep talking.”

“Whad I say,” Steve glowered.

“You’re not always trying to fight monsters,” Billy’s giggles returned, and Steve’s eyes narrowed.  

“Wha,” he slid a foot out of his blanket cocoon and poked Billy’s leg, then registered Billy’s lack of cocoon.  “...cold?”

“Kinda,” Billy leaned his head on his hand, grinning.  

“Go to bed,” Steve staggered to his feet, and grabbed him by the arm.

“You’re buck fuck naked under there,” Billy blinked, allowing himself to be drug towards the stairs.  

“You passed out while I took my pants off,” Steve snorted.  “Whacking one off in the IHOP bathroom musta tired you out, ladies’ man.”

“...sorry,” Billy muttered, “I know there were fucking kids, I’m sorry--” but Steve just drug him upstairs, and crawled in the bed, stretching to feel the sheets.

“Get in here.”  Billy did, and Steve pulled him close.  “Go the fuck to sleep.”

 In the morning, they picked up Billy’s car, and Billy’s shoulders were up around his ears the whole while a man watched from the upstairs window.

 Two days later, Steve woke to Max’s voice on the phone.  “Steve?”

“--Is this Max?” he dropped his awkwardly deep I-am-an-adult-please-don’t-ask-for-the-man-of-the-house voice that had always made Nancy snort her Pepsi.  

“You gotta come get Billy,” Max said in a rush.

“What?”

“His car won’t start.  Something’s wrong with it.  I can get a ride from Lucas’ mom, but the bus doesn’t come way out here, Steve.”  Her voice dropped to a whisper. “If he has to get a ride from my mom or his dad, or if he misses more school, he’ll be in.  Trouble.”

“Shit, yeah, I can come get him,” Steve glanced at the clock.  “I gotta go, then, you can tell Lucas I’m picking both of you up.”

“Don’t bring Lucas,” she hissed, and he blinked at the phone.  

“No, I mean, you and Billy.  I’ll pick you and Billy up. If I say we’re homework buddies, is his dad--”

“Shut up, Steve.”  She hung up.

When he pulled up at the Hargrove’s, Billy’s dad was standing in the open garage door with his arms crossed.  Billy was in the road, pacing around Max and surrounding them both in a cloud of smoke. Max clambered right in, and Billy dropped next to Steve.  “Go go go,” he muttered, but his dad knocked on the window as Steve shifted into reverse, and Billy rolled it down.

“Thank you, son, for giving Billy a ride,” the man smiled at Steve, holding out a hand.  “Neil Hargrove.”  

Steve smiled back, keeping his hands on the steering wheel.  “I sure wouldn’t want to be late, sir, we better go.” he channeled his inner unfulfilled boy scout, and Max snorted.  

“You see that?” the man leaned in, and Billy pressed back in the seat, staring straight ahead.  “That is what respect looks like.  You’re very lucky to know such a nice young man.”  He just leaned there, face inches from Billy’s, smiling.  “...did you say thank you, son?”

“He sure did,” Steve held the brake on, tempted to just gun it and let the window shove Mr. Hargrove’s elbow so his fist clonked him in the head, but pretty certain it wouldn’t help.  

“Yes sir I did,” Billy repeated woodenly, and Steve suppressed the further urge to grab his hand and squeeze it.

“We really should get going,” Steve repeated.

“I bet this nice young man pulls his own weight around the house,” Mr. Hargrove stepped back, releasing them, and Billy fumbled with another cigarette as Steve sped away.

“Hey, not in the car,” Steve caught his hands, squeezing them.  “What a fucking asshole. What was that all about?”

Max stuck her head between the seats.  “He won’t pay to fix Billy’s car.”

“Trying to get a job,” Billy tucked the cigarette behind his ear, twining his fingers with Steve’s and squeezing hard.  “I can’t work if I can’t--leave the house--I can’t fucking get there.”

“And he can’t pay for car repairs if he can’t work,” Max called up, and Steve glanced in the rearview mirror to see her sneakers on the ceiling of the car.

“Get your feet off the fucking roof,” Billy hissed, glancing at Steve, but he shrugged, and Max’s feet stayed on the ceiling.

“To do what?” Steve could feel his fingers going numb, but he reached over to use his left hand to turn down the defrost rather than let go.

“What I did before,” Billy shrugged, letting his head fall back, eyes closed.

“...he did deliveries,” Max put in.  “He got these crazy tips.” “Shut your hole,” Billy’s cheeks were flushing, and Steve raised his eyebrows.

“Huh.  I was kinda torn between wanting to reverse the car, gun it, and just--thump-thump, no more Neil--”

Billy turned wide red-rimmed eyes on him, then let his head roll toward the window, but Steve could still see the edge of a grin.

“Or, like, I was so afraid he was gonna ask me how we knew each other,” Steve felt his cheeks heat as he turned onto the main road.  “‘Oh, basketball, sir, you know, he gives me tips on ball-handling’, I mean, what.” Billy made a choked noise, loosening the death-grip on his fingers, and curling toward him.  “‘It’s hard going, but we have lots of stamina, sir, we can go all day.’ I could not think of a single thing to say that didn’t sound dirty.”

“Grosssss,” Max groaned from the back.  “Thought you guys met at a party. Like fucking-- staring across a crowded room.”

Steve barked a laugh.  “That doesn’t sound better.  Billy in his Fairy Godmother bare chest.”

“No,” she shuddered aloud.  “Eugh. He sweats for that himself, it’s nasty.”

“I’m not fucking--Cinderella, stick to the basketball,” Billy cleared his throat.  His face didn’t change, but his neck and ears were turning red.  

“Yeah, okay,” Steve couldn’t stop grinning at the idea of Billy Hargrove in glass slippers at the ball.  “How about ‘we’ve been really working on two-player teamwork, really giving it lots of hands-on practice,’ or maybe ‘We play shirts and skins--we’re always both skins though, it gets confusing.’”

Max punched both their seats, but she was laughing--as was Billy, wiping his eyes.  

“Teaching you to handle a stick shift,” he grinned over. 

“‘He’s such a good grappler.’”  Steve said in reverent tones.

Billy smirked over.  “Handling some more horsepower.”

Steve snorted, coughing, and Max yelled “You two are so disgusting, Nancy Wheeler isn’t a horse.”  After a short pause, she smacked Steve’s seat again.  “You’re gonna do homework together.  On alllll the furniture, all night long.”

“Oh my god,” Steve wheezed, pulling in front of the middle school and dropping his head to the wheel.  Max climbed out and sauntered to where Lucas was waiting, and Dustin waved, running up, but Steve mouthed ‘later’.

“Hey,” he threw his arm around Billy’s seat, frowning behind them so he didn’t have to scrape any children off his rear bumper.  “Across a crowded room?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Billy stared ahead.  “That’s not what I said.”

“...hey.  We’ll figure your car out.  And I can give you rides.” From the wary glance Billy gave him, he’d overshot ‘gratitude-inducing’ and dipped into ‘suspicious behaviour’, and he sighed.  “You probably just need a new battery.”

“Faster it’s fixed, faster you won’t have to give a fuck.” Billy smiled sweetly, and Steve pulled his arm back, setting his jaw, and drove.  “You wanting me to pay you back?” Billy leaned the seat back, propping his boots on the dash. “How much cock is a battery worth, your majesty?”

“Go lick one,” Steve muttered, uncertain which he meant, and pulled up at the school.  Billy’d slammed the door and lost himself in the crowd before Steve wrangled his backpack from the backseat, and he groaned into the steering wheel.  Max had kicked his bag nearly under his seat, and once he wrassled it free, he surfaced to see Nancy peering through the windshield.  

At his groan, she cringed.  “Honeymoon over? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he climbed out.  “His dad’s a shitheel and he’s being a shitheel.”

“...sounds like that follows,” she fell in step with him.  “Wait, Billy, or his dad?”

“Both of them!  He keeps…” he touched his hair, making sure it hadn’t deflated over one ear.  “I dunno, he thinks I’m gonna, like, start punching him, or something. He thinks I’ve got some--like an evil plan,” he grinned over, and she bit her lips together.  

“I think,” she cocked her head, eyes narrowing as he held the door for her.  “How much of a shitheel is his dad?  He actually...hits him?”

“It’s a lot of little stuff,” he grimaced.  “I mean, it’s hard to make it sound--like, he calls the cops on him all the time.  Winds him up when he’s drunk and tells him to drive into a tree. I guess he scared him with a nail gun?”

Nancy’s shoulders straightened.  “A nail gun.” 

“Yeah, like, shoved him against the wall and fired next to him.  Max said they both know he wouldn’t do it, but--”

“A nail gun,” Nancy repeated, jaw firming.

“...yeah.  I told him he could just crash at my place, but he doesn’t believe that either.  I think he’s just...y’know, he’s real tired of being scared, so he’s pissed off all the time.”

“Who wouldn’t be,” she let her heels clack louder than usual, and he felt a burst of fondness for her fury on Billy Hargrove’s behalf.  

“He’s still an asshole,” he shrugged, “I mean, that’s a given.”

“Well, yeah,” she was craning her neck, surveying the crowds, and he sighed, frowning around for Jonathan Byers.  “I don’t want to invite him for Christmas dinner, Steve, but we have to do something.”  

He felt himself grinning like a complete goon.  “Yeah, I know--oh, Jonathan’s over there. Talking to Mr. Mundy.”  

She stood on her toes, squinting, then blinked, and laughed.  “...thanks, Steve.”

“Yeah,” he caught Jonathan’s look of alarm between the two of them, and blew him a kiss, waiting just long enough to see him look revolted before turning on his heel to head for class.

 As ever, Billy lingered in the showers, his shoulder brushing Steve’s.  Steve resisted a grin—it wasn’t hard to spot the pattern, now that he knew what Billy’d been getting at, with his taunts, and his staring.  Meeting at a party, locking glances across a crowded room, he felt himself grinning, and slapped lathered hands on his face to hide it.  What the hell did he say to Max?

“The fuck are you smirking about,” Billy asked, most of his face in the spray.  

“Your pig-tail pul—whoa,” Steve tucked a wet curl behind Billy’s ear to see the bruised fingermarks.  “He got you good. What’d he do, grab your face? D’you wanna come over tonight?”

“Shut up,” Billy turned his back to the showerhead, facing Steve with his unmarked right cheek.  “It’s nothing.”

“…want me to get rid of Tommy until you cover that back up?” Steve wiped suds off his face, glancing over to meet Billy’s dark stare.

“What.”

“Until you put your…whatever back on, your foundation?  Whatever you’re covering it with.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Billy retreated back under the showerhead, nearly shoving his face against it.  

Steve shrugged, rinsing his hair, but caught Billy around the back of the neck when he came up for air--he froze--and pulled him in for a quick kiss.  “It’s fine, they’ve left,” he let his eyes follow the water tracing Billy’s pectorals. “…you know you look just as good with brown eyelashes.”

Billy huffed a laugh and ducked his head, shoving Steve toward the door.  When he came out, toweling his head, he sat down and fixed his face, glancing over as he pulled out a bottle of foundation, then a tube of mascara.  

“You wanna come to my place tonight?” Steve sat next to him on the bench, facing the other way so he could watch the bruise vanish.  

“Have you seriously never seen this stuff,” Billy snorted, and Steve leaned in, bending to tuck Billy’s hair aside and press a soft kiss to the nape of his neck. 

“Nah, Nancy just uses mascara and lipstick--what,” he leaned back to see Billy’s face, but he’d turned away, gripping the bench with both hands.

“What the fuck,” Billy breathed.

“What?”

“You keep pulling this shit with me,” Billy elbowed him, before sighing, and lifting his mirror again.  “…how the fuck did you know, anyway?”

“Know what?” Steve slid back to swing a leg over the bench and face him directly, as Billy raised his eyebrows, pointing at his rapidly vanishing bruises.  “We’ve showered together, dude, I can see it wash off. Besides, I look at your face a lot.” Steve snorted, grinning. “I’m not blind.  I can smell it, too, just because your nose is full of smoke—“

“Tommy’s just an idiot?” Billy raised his eyebrows.  

“Well, yeah,” Steve laid back on the bench, crossing his arms under his head, and making a face at the stains on the ceiling.  “And you don’t wash your face if he’s there.  Like it’d matter. Just tell him all the rad dudes in Cali do it.  Tell him it’s Kiss, but like...the awesome California version.”  

“What,” Billy tucked his supplies in his jacket pocket, scooting to fold his arms across Steve’s knees and smirk down.

“You could have him in lipstick in a minute, dude.”

Billy was laughing against his knee.  “Nobody wants that.”

“No,” Steve grinned back.  “But you have the power.”

 Max was waiting out front of the school with Lucas, who lifted his chin at the sight of Billy, but stood his ground.  Billy leaned over and honked the horn, opened his mouth, glanced at Steve, and shut it again. After another minute, when Max started kicking the ground, Billy slid out of the car, and Steve scrambled to follow.

Lucas took a step back, holding his hands up.  “Look, she can just do it at our house.”

“What’s going on?” Steve put in, since Billy was just lighting a cigarette and looming.

“He stuck me in Home-Ec,” Max growled.  “I wanted to take shop.  I can’t make all this shit at home, it’ll make a big mess, he hates that.”

“She can just come to our house,” Lucas didn’t take his eyes off Billy, who finally weighed in.

“He doesn’t like her at your house either.  Do it at Steve’s. Or lie,” he raised his eyebrows, “and say you’re at--” he frowned at Steve.  “Who, Eleven’s?”

“Why is he fine?” Lucas jerked his head at Steve, eyes narrowed.  

“We could invite Eleven,” Steve grinned at her, and her face went sour.

“Stop trying to make us be friends just ‘cause we’re both girls,” she stomped to the car, and Lucas took another step away from Billy.  

“...get Eleven to lie,” Billy glanced at Lucas, then focused on fixing his collar.  “When you want. I’ll cover.”

“What,” Lucas took another step back.

“You wanna see your little girlfriend or not,” Billy snarled at him,  “Just fucking--have ‘Hopper’ call him, lie, fucking idiot--”  Steve shoved him toward the car, and he stumbled, then stopped to straighten his jacket.  

“Sorry,” Steve mouthed at Lucas, turning back to the car.

“Steve isn’t gonna have all this shit, Billy,” Max was muttering in the back.  “A sifter. I’m real sure he’s got a sifter, Billy.”

“Shut up,” Billy rubbed his face, staring out the window.

“What do you need,” Steve turned to lean between the seats.  “We can hit the store.” He ignored Billy’s disbelieving snort, and waved Max’ recipe away.  “Just make a list, it’s fine, you’re feeding me.”

“I mean, kinda,” Max grunted, kicking Billy’s seat, and he jerked his head towards her, glanced at Steve, and rolled the window down again, leaning out.

“You look like a dog, asshole,” Max kicked his seat again.  “It’s cold, it’s fucking January.”

“I’ve got heat,” Steve cranked it.  At the Bradley’s Big Buy, he climbed out and yanked his seat forward for Max, walking around to stand on the passenger side.  “Go ahead and fill up a basket,” he pointed, and she backed away slowly, eyes flicking between him and Billy, who’d let his head fall back against the seat again.  The muscles in his neck and jaw worked as he muttered under his breath.

“You okay, dude?”

Billy laughed, grinning at him.  “Fuck you, I didn’t do anything.”  He took a shaky breath, letting his head fall back again.  “I didn’t do anything, just--fuck you, Steve--” he jerked back as the door opened, and Steve dropped to a crouch.  “I was being nice, if he’s too much of a fucking moron to see it--”

“Jesus, babe.”  He reached out slowly and put his hand on Billy’s knee, and Billy stilled at the contact.  “You’ve been edgy all day. I just wanted to say I can shop with Max, if you need to like...run around the building, or something.  We’re almost to my house, you could meet us there, I could give you the ke--”

“Get out of my fucking face, Harrington,” Billy panted, hands clenched on the seat, and Steve scrambled back to let him edge by.  “I’m not--I don’t need a fucking time-out, asshole,” he set his shoulders, but kept his eyes on the ground, and Steve stuck his hands in his own pockets, suspecting Billy’d sink his teeth in whatever appendage got close enough, and then laugh through the bubbling blood.

Billy followed several feet behind as they shopped, occasionally grabbing something Max read off the list and tossing it to her, but he backed away every time Steve’s cart veered close, once into a display of tortilla chips with a loud enough crunch that he yelled “fuck”, and the ambient noise of the store died out for several seconds.

Steve leaned against the cart handle, rubbing his face and trying not to laugh, or kick the cart, or grab Billy’s shoulders and yell something unhelpful, like “CALM THE FUCK DOWN.”  Max’ attention flicked between them the whole time.

“Hot chocolate stuff,” Billy announced as they passed it.  “You’re low on marshmallows.”

“I am?” Steve grinned over.  “You been stealing my marshmallows?”

“I didn’t take your fucking marshmallows,” Billy threw a jar of marshmallow fluff at his head, and he caught it.

“You count your marshmallows, or what, just buy some more,” Max grabbed a handful of bags, shoving it at him, and pushing the cart between he and Billy.

“...I wasn’t…” Steve ran his hand through his hair.  I wasn’t angry, he thought, slapping the bags into the cart, and clenching his jaw as both the Hargroves’ shoulders hunched.   “Fine, jesus. What are we doing for dinner?” Max frowned up to see him glancing back at Billy, and he grimaced at the canned vegetables, trying not to let them see him wanting to yell I’m not your dad.  “Right.  Okay, we could get burgers.  There’s Italian, there’s Mexican, anything sound good?  We can go to a restaurant, sit down.” To his bewilderment, Max visibly relaxed, but Billy turned and stalked away.

“I like Mexican,” Max answered, after a moment’s thought.

“Mexican it is,” Steve sighed.  

They both lingered, watchful and creepy, as he checked out, but at least grabbed a couple of bags.  Out at the car, he popped the trunk, calling “Are you guys hungry yet? We could go now, and take some home, or go later--” and looked up at the sound of the door closing to see Billy holding out a bag, eyeing the inside of the trunk.  

“I’m just kinda worried,” Steve whispered to him.  “You’re good, you’re fine, you’re just acting like--”

“Like what,” he passed over the groceries, stepping back.  

“...nothing.” He slammed the trunk, sighing.  “It’d be easier if you were a girl, I could just hug you right here--”

“Yeah, that’s gonna get old real fucking fast, isn’t it,” Billy stalked back to slide into the car.

 Dinner was excruciating.  Billy waited for Max to slide in the booth first--she eyeballed him, but did it--and then Billy crooked a grin and slid in to face Steve.   They both studied the menu like they were disarming mines, while Steve played with the straw in his coke, trying not to seem impatient. “Order the whole restaurant, I don’t care,” he waved to the server for more salsa.  

 When he escaped to the bathroom to check his hair, and muffle a scream in his sleeves, he returned to find them whispering.  

“So,” Max shoved some chips in her face, as Billy flicked a knotted cherry stem out of his mouth with his tongue.  She punched his shoulder. “Eugh. So. Billy accidentally hit the door.”

Billy slammed his hand flat on the table.  “Shut the fuck up,” he hissed, eyes flicking to Steve.  

“You were right there, though,” she bared her teeth in a smile.

“I was right there, opening the door, but the phone kept ringing,” he raised his eyebrows, wishing he could reach across to Billy, and--hold him still somehow, before he exploded.

“Shut the fuck up, Max.”  Billy didn’t shout it, but it was loud enough that the conversation around them paused.  “We’re fucking done.”

“I just wanna know where Steve was,” she smiled at the server returning with a massive pile of nachos Steve had mostly intended to hide behind.  Max grabbed her napkin, turning the hot plate to get at the shredded beef.  

“Did anybody come up with a drink order...that I can actually fill?” the server--her nametag read Oceane, which was handy, as Steve remembered only her face--smiled at Billy, who smirked back, charm at full output, opening his mouth.  “Virgin margarita?” she supplied, grinning, and Steve covered a snort, scooping up most of the guacamole.  

“Hey...Steve,” she tucked her hair behind her ear, lowering her eyes, and Billy’s elbow hit his water glass.  He caught it, but some spilled, and Max handed him her napkin.  

“Maybe you don’t need any anything,” Oceane snorted, and Billy grinned at her, but his eyes kept flicking to Steve, and they’d gone half-lidded, like their first kiss in the snow, or the time at the Byers’ when he beat Steve unconscious.  

Max elbowed him, shoving the nachos over.  “Billy.”

“I’m not bringing you alcohol,” Oceane smiled.  

Steve stifled a snort.  “Uh, could I get another coke, though?”

“Sure.  Lemme know when you’re having another party, Steve.” 

Once she left, Billy climbed out of the booth, walked over to the table across the aisle where the people had left, and dumped an almost-full water glass on the floor under the table.  He filled it with the dregs of their two beers and three margaritas, dropped back in their booth, and drank it down staring Steve dead in the eye. 

“Jesus, you’re disgusting,” Max shuddered, and Billy slammed back out of the booth, tossing the empty glass back under the other table, and sauntered off backwards, smiling.

 “Can’t take me anywhere, Steve, shoulda left me in the fucking car like a dog.”  He barked as he walked away, shouting back, “Panting against the window!” Thankfully, at barely five o’clock, the only judgemental face looking back at Steve’s was Oceane’s.  

Billy was gone for a good while, and they finished the nachos.  “So this accident,” Max looked up, pushing the plate away.  

Steve groaned, accepting another plate of cheese he’d apparently ordered.  At least I’ve got enchiladas, he sighed.

She picked up a fork and bit it.  “He said he made a huge fucking mess at your house.  Bottles. Woke you up. You didn’t--” she slapped her own head, over her right ear, “--make him stop?”

“Look, he was drunk, he fell.  I can’t--I don’t have video.”

“Just.  If you tell him it’s an accident, he’ll say it’s an accident.  So,” she leaned over and cut a big bite off his enchilada.   

“Wait, what does that mean,” Steve sat his fork down, and rubbed his face.  “Tell him it’s an accident?”

She smacked her hand on the table, shouting “That’s what he does,” then covered her mouth, glancing around.  “Billy doesn’t fucking know, he’s drunk off his ass.  Neil always…” she trailed off, pulling his plate closer.

“Didn’t you two order anything?” he sighed.  “Look, you don’t have to tell me this shit.  He can come over.  You can come over.  If he’s too drunk to drive, just call me.”

She leaned her face against her fist, swallowing.  “Fuck you, Steve,” she said hoarsely. “I don’t need help.”

Steve raised his eyebrows, cutting a bit from his end of the enchiladas.  “Billy might.”

“Yeah, he fucking does, you think I wanna have this talk?”  She jerked her hand between them.  “Just don’t--don’t fuck with him.”  Her mouth twitched, as she rubbed her eyes, then flailed again.  “I mean, fuck him, I guess, if you really wanna touch Billy.”  To Steve’s tired amusement, she appeared to be suppressing a gag, “--but don’t...fuck him up...worse, don’t tell him he’s earned it, don’t--don’t do that shit.”

Steve stared at her for a long second, then slid out of the booth.  “I’m gonna make sure he’s okay.”

“You have fun with that,” she pulled his plate over to keep eating, and he rolled his eyes.  

 The bathroom door was locked, but he could hear pacing.  “Hey,” he stage-whispered, knocking quietly.  

“Shitfuck,” came Billy’s voice.  “Yeah, I’m coming, fuck--”

“Just let me in,” Steve grimaced.  Great.  He’ll think he I’m here to slam his face in the mirror.  Or get a blow job. Or both. And--here he addressed his penis directly--shut the fuck up, it’s not a hot idea.  Shut up.  

The door unlatched, and Steve slid in, locking it again.  Billy was sitting against the sink counter, holding a liquor bottle.  “I stole it,” he snorted, smiling, and cracking his neck.  

“If you were gonna steal a bottle of--” Steve cocked his head, “--Captain Morgan, what the hell was that with the--”

“I didn’t fucking know this’d be sitting out,” Billy looked him over, slowly, taking another swig.  He screwed the cap back on, sliding the bottle into the sink, and grinned at Steve. “You here to show me how to behave in public?  Gonna introduce me to your woman out there? Garbage, meet a real human girl.”

“Just making sure you’re okay,” Steve eyed Billy’s hands, casually flexing at his sides, and remembered them connecting with his face.  “Did you order any food? Nothing’s showed up.”

“Thought maybe you came in here to feed me something else,” Billy didn’t step closer, but he slid his thumb over the fly of his pants.

“...maybe later,” Steve tried not to grimace, uncertain how to play...whatever this game was.  “Want to just come out when you’re ready? I could order whatever you want.”

Billy laughed.  “Sorry, watching you flirt wasn’t quite enough for me.  Maybe I’ll just finish the bottle.”

“I mean,” Steve leaned to see into the sink, “--that stuff’s nasty.  You sure that’s what you want in your mouth.”

“You said I can’t have what I want,” Billy picked up the bottle again, hefting it in his hand, and rolled his shoulders.  “Might as well down it, right? You can take me home in the trunk,” he stepped closer, unblinking.  “Just shove me in there, lemme wake up screaming again. That was fun, wasn’t it.  Fun for the whole family.”

“Dude,” Steve leaned back against the door, crossing his arms.  “That wasn’t me. I’d have let you out at the Byers’ when I found you, but you wanted to murder everyone.  You were screaming shit about running Max over.”

“Oh, yeah, of course I would’ve,” Billy bared his teeth.  “Fuck off and die, you fucking cunt.”  Steve opened his mouth, and Billy threw the bottle at the door.  “I’m a fucking murderer, right, get the fuck out!”  

The bottle hadn’t broken, and Steve grabbed it, frowning down. He imagined leaving Billy for some restaurant employee to find.  They’d probably call Hopper. “...you gonna make me tell Will Byers my boyfriend got arrested for screaming threats at the Mexican place?”

“Fuck,” Billy took a step back, until his back thudded against the corner.  “You’re calling the police. Of fucking course. Tell Hopper I got loud.  Tell him it was self-defense, I threw the bottle first, christ--I didn’t even--” he swallowed.  “I’ll shut up. I’ll shut up, I’ll behave, I’m good, I’ll be good--Harrington--”

Steve sat the bottle down.  “Yeah, you’re good. You’re okay.  Hargrove.” He took a few steps towards Billy, who jerked back, sniffling, and punched the wall.    

“Billy, stop.  I didn’t call anybody.  Hargrove.  I didn’t call.  But they’re gonna, if you keep screaming about murder in here.  Don’t! Don’t punch the wall--”

Billy gave a pained grunt and punched the wall again.  

“Jesus,” Steve put a hand around Billy’s elbow, and when that didn’t get a reaction, slid his arms around Billy’s chest and arms, pulling him back against himself.  “Did you break your hand?” His face tickled as Billy shook his head, and leaned against him, breathing shakily.

“Didn’t even do anything,” he whispered.  “I didn’t--didn’t fucking--”

“Yeah, great, you just punched a fucking wall and your hand’s broken.  Thanks for not hitting me, I guess,” Steve set his jaw, heartily wishing he was eating enchiladas, instead of talking Billy down from being a--a what, he thought, sighing into the soft curls.  A fucking menace, fucking Billy the Menace.  “Jesus, I think you cracked the tile.”  He let go with his right hand to grab Billy’s forearm and hold it up.  “...your hand’s swelling up, man.”

“Just a fucking tile,” Billy’s breaths were coming faster, and Steve wanted to just...yell for an adult, mostly.  

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re gonna do, do you.  What helps.”

“What,” Billy tried to jerk away, and his knees bent, so Steve scrambled to keep hold, and shuffled him onto the toilet as he tried to curl away.  “I didn’t--Harrington. It’s just a fucking tile, I didn’t--look, fuck, I took the fucking bottle, but I didn’t even--”

“Shut up,” Steve grabbed his face, and Billy locked eyes with him.  Billy’s were spilling over. “God. Jesus. Look at that waterproof mascara, just doin’ its job.  Fuck. Billy,” Billy nodded, his pulse pounding against Steve’s hands. Steve swallowed.  He looks like his dad has him, the fucking asshole.  “Would it help if I kissed--” he didn’t have time to finish the thought, as Billy’s fingers clenched in his shirt and pulled him into a hard kiss that tasted like saltwater and Captain Morgan.  “You taste like a pumpkin pie that’s like a year old,” he whispered against Billy’s mouth, tasting him again, running his thumbs up Billy’s cheeks to soothe him. “Fucking...rotten pie,” he licked softly into Billy’s mouth, feeling the pulse against his fingers start to slow.  

“‘Cause I’m rotten,” Billy leaned into his hands.  “Be grateful it washed the beer-garita away,” he snorted, letting Steve lift his chin, and kiss experimentally across his wet eyelashes.  “...the fuck are you doing,” he laughed, sniffling.

“No idea,” Steve pulled the sleeve of his sweatshirt over his hands, and dabbed under Billy’s eyes.  “Is it working?”

“Y-yeah,” Billy’s voice cracked.  “Yeah, it’s working.”  

“You good?”

Billy nodded, ducking his head.  “Yeah.”

 Steve kept a hand clenched in the arm of Billy’s jacket as they walked back out, dodging the low-hanging paper-mache parrots.  Max was rubbing her stomach absently, and crunching more chips, the only thing left on the table. “...what the hell, did you guys fight?” 

“Fought the wall,” Billy dropped heavily next to her, waggling his fingers..  “Think it’s just bruised.”

Steve waved to Oceane--Billy rolled his eyes--and she wandered over to accept another two orders, and two hot chocolates.  Steve looked up after asking about available whipped cream (it was) to see Billy’s dark-eyed frown.  

“...what.”

“You actually like hot chocolate, or is it…”

“Dustin says I’m a chocolate vampire,” Steve rolled his eyes.  “I vant to suck a straw. Look, you want me wandering around with a nailbat at four am, I’ll get coffee instead.”

“That’s a thing you fucking do?” Max threw her hands in the air, slumping sideways.  Her voice continued from under the table. “You’re perfect, then, I thought you weren’t a psycho.  Oh my god.  Why. I hate both of you so fucking much.  So much.”

“Have fun baking without me, then,” Billy raised his eyebrows, as Oceane sat out more plates.  

“You bake?” Steve dug in to his cheesy chilies, but kicked his feet up to clamp them around Billy’s calves.  “Mmnum. Might have to seduce you,” he waggled his eyebrows, once Oceane had wandered off.

“You’re bad at footsie,” Billy grunted back, mid-bite, and Max groaned, immediately checking under the table, then sighing in relief.

When the hot chocolate arrived, Max drank both of them, and Billy narrowed his eyes at her, then at Steve.  Steve just kept shoveling it in, until Billy’s warm foot pressed against his fly, and he nearly coughed up an entire coke.

 When they got to Steve’s, the phone was ringing as he unlocked the door, and he groaned, but Max shoved him towards it.  “Answer,” she growled at him. “Last time you weren’t answering Dustin kept whining.”

Billy unloaded groceries from the garage, as Steve allowed himself to be prodded towards the phone.  “Harrington residence,” he told it.

“Is this the polite young man who picked up my son Billy this morning?”

Steve sat on the floor.  “Yes I am,” he bit his lips, listening to Max and Billy bicker in whispers in the kitchen.  “Uh, just a moment, uh. I have a...cat.” He pressed his hand tightly over the mouthpiece, scrambled to his feet, disentangled his feet from the cord, and leaned into the kitchen doorway.  “Does your asshole dad know you’re here?”

“What?” Max paused, still pointing a wooden spoon at Billy.  They both frowned over.

“He’s on the phone, do I--do I just pretend you’re not here, or--?

“Don’t tell him we’re here,” Billy glanced at Max.  “Call him and ask to stay at Eleven’s.”

“He’ll ask to talk to Hopper,” she raised her eyebrows.

The voice against Steve’s hand was getting buzzy in the small speaker.  “Sorry, I’m back. Yeah.”

“I was hoping to speak to your father.”

“He’s out,” Steve rolled his eyes, wandering back towards the doorway, and realized they were both following, so he dropped into a chair.  “Did you need something?”

“You seem like a responsible boy,” Neil Hargrove began, and Steve made a face.

“I try to be,” he frowned very seriously, caught Max’s sneer, and couldn’t suppress a grin as he clasped a hand to his heart.  “After all, sir, what happens in highschool affects the whole rest of your life.”  

“Fucking hell,” Billy started assembling ingredients.  He dropped the sugar, catching it against the counter with his hip, then knocked the measuring cup into the sink with a loud series of thuds.  When he pulled the eggs out, he handed them to Max, and stuck his head under the sink. 

“That’s a very good outlook, son,” Neil sighed.  “I’m guessing you don’t know Billy very well.”  

Oh no, Steve thought, mustn’t say anything about ball-handling.  Or stick shifts. “He gave me some tips to help my free throws,” he felt himself grimacing.  “I don’t mind giving him a lift.”

“Son,” Neil paused.  “You sound like you’re going places.  You’re a fine boy, and I’d just--” Neil sighed--for effect, Steve suspected.  “I’d hate to see--it’s difficult, being a father.”

“Is it?” Steve’s eyebrows couldn’t raise any higher, he was pretty sure, but Max and Billy both kept glancing over, so he slowly spiraled his finger around his ear.  Billy snorted.  

“It’s difficult being a father, and knowing you’ve failed.”  Steve waited, fairly certain hanging up would just cause more problems.  “Son, my Billy says he’s changed. He’s why we moved, and of course I--as a father--of course I strain to see some good in that boy, but I have to be honest with you.  I don’t think he’s got it in him. His mother couldn’t see it, and I’m beginning to think she was right.  Nobody knows a child like its mother.”

Steve wanted to groan, but he set his jaw.  “Are you saying he...did something?”

Billy dropped the bowl he was holding against the counter, making a loud clatter.  “S’not broken,” he whispered over. “Nothing’s broken, I’m sor--”

“It’s really not, it’s fine--” Max echoed, two sibilant voices echoing out of his kitchen, and Steve turned away, clearing his throat loudly.

“Sorry, cat got on the counter.” 

“Sounds like you need an animal that takes discipline.  I prefer dogs,” Neil grunted.  “Well, as I say, he says he can change.  But I’d hate to see a bright young man like yourself in a prison cell in ten years because you believed my Billy had the right of things.  He’s always been slow, my boy Billy, and that’s--that’s just not something a parent can do much about. Where I do feel I failed, son, is he’s disrespectful, and he’s dishonest--” he sighed again.  Steve got up and went in the other room, rubbing the bridge of his nose.  

“--It’s downright cruel on a father, seeing fresh-faced kids every day, full of God’s goodness, and knowing yours just...came out wrong, somehow.  At first you think maybe he just isn’t paying attention. Then you think, maybe he’s too dumb to understand. I finally realized he was just rotten inside, black with it, clear through, and I still just can’t help trying to teach my boy to be better.  So--I don’t want to bring you down, son, but I’m gonna have to tell you to stay well clear of Billy. It’s for your own good.”

Steve took the phone away from his ear for a second, staring at it, then cleared his throat.  “I’ll think about what you’ve said, Mr. Hargrove. I better go now, I have to--” he looked up to see Billy watching him, arms crossed.  “--uh, I have to, cook a ham. Dinner. Night!” he hung up.

“Long conversation,” Billy’s voice was hoarse.  “Harrington--”

“Shit,” came Max’s voice muttering in the kitchen, and Billy turned on his heel and went back in there.

“Shit,” Steve echoed.  “What the hell. What the fucking…” he pushed himself to his feet, at least twice as tired as he’d been before, and sat down in the kitchen again.  “What do we say about Max? Should I just take you back tonight and you can say you were at a friend’s and forgot to call?”

“Okay,” she bit her lips together, frowning between he and Billy again.  Billy was kneading the dough--like it was his dad’s face, smacking it on the counter, then squeezing it between his knuckles.  Steve’s fingers itched to join in, maybe wallop it a few times with a rolling pin for good measure, but Billy glanced up at Max.  

“Who’s getting this extra credit here, me or you?”

“Meeee,” Max sighed, stomping over, and accepted the rest of the dough.  Once Billy’d gotten her slamming it around in the correct way, they put it on pans.  

“Gotta let it rise,” Billy muttered, soaping his arms up to the elbows to get the specks of dough off.  

“I like making bread,” Max lifted a corner of the damp dishtowel to peer at it.  “It’s violent.”

“Be a couple hours,” Billy told the sink.  

“Wanna watch a movie?” Steve grabbed a towel, wrapping Billy’s forearms and scrubbing them dry.  “Max, you wanna pick a movie, and I’ll make hot chocolate?” She grinned like a cartoon shark and ran out to the front room, and Billy groaned.  

“Not Godfather!” he shouted after her, and she laughed like a supervillain.  

“...not sure whether I have The Godfather,” Steve cocked his head.  

“Rejected,” Max stuck her head back in.  “You’re rejected. But I want more hot chocolate.  Neil had a date with my mom and made this huge deal about it being family, he and Billy being family now, and he told me to pick the movie, and Mom knew what I’d pick--”

“Sure wasn’t Cinderella,” Billy snorted.  

“Neil told me to pick my real favorite, that he’s my daddy now, and I should take being his daughter seriously, and be respectful, and then Mom says ‘She loves the part with the horse head in the bed and all the blood everywhere’ and Neil shut the hell up for almost five minutes.”  

Billy snorted, shaking his head.  His hands were trembling.

“Yeah, pick a movie,” Steve called, and her footsteps clomped away again.  He laced his fingers with Billy’s cold wet ones, tugging him close, and Billy made a soft noise in his throat as he leaned in to the kiss.   

“What’d he say,” Billy whispered as soon as Steve pulled back.  “You fucking know I’m garbage already.”

“Jesus, shut up,” Steve leaned in for another kiss, bracing himself for the awful Captain Morgan flavor, but Billy turned his face away.  “You’re a person, Hargrove, c’mon, you sound like I’m sucking face with coffee grounds and banana peels.”

“What’d he say,” Billy’s fingers dug into Steve’s biceps, but when Steve didn’t start unloading Neil Hargrove’s stream of insults, Billy deflated, leaning his head against Steve’s shoulder.  “...lemme blow you after Max leaves, make up for earlier,” he whispered against Steve’s neck.  “Harrington.  Let me, c’mon.”

Steve’s throat was suddenly dry.  “Like I’m gonna say no,” he muttered back, squirming in his jeans against Billy’s warm weight.  “We’re supposed to be making hot chocolate,” he slid his hand up to cup the back of Billy’s head, twining his fingers in sweaty curls.  “Doesn’t matter what he said. Hey,” he ran his thumb down Billy’s jaw. “I’m not gonna listen to him.”

“Just let me fucking apologize,” Billy kissed back hard, pushing him against the cupboard.  “Lemme suck your dick until you don’t care what I’m like.”

“Unlikely to happen,” Steve snorted, pulling away to fill a pan with water, and Billy stood very still.  

“No apologies, just get it right the first fucking time, and don’t keep fucking up,” he whispered, laughing, and Steve glanced over.  

“Good plan?” 

Billy sat down in a chair, his breaths coming faster, and rubbed his face.   Steve dropped his wooden spoon and came to squeeze his shoulder. “Babe. Honeybunch.  Gummy bear. What--”

“Anything you fucking want,” Billy laughed, not looking quite at him.  “Just--just tell me the--the plan. I know I can’t--a fucking apology doesn’t let me just--I can’t just--”

“Billy,” Steve pulled the other chair over.  

Billy flinched at Max’s yelled “Get out here!  I picked Alien.”

“Oh fuck no,” Billy called over his shoulder.  “Steve’ll go batshit.” The water on the stove boiled, and Steve jumped to stir it.  Billy wandered into the front room, dropping into what Steve now thought of as his corner of the couch.  

“Yeah, uh, Steve asked me to pick,” she crawled over to the laser disc player, and Steve came out with mugs for Billy and Max and flopped facing the back of the couch, curling his face into Billy’s t-shirt.  

“S’fine, I’ll just listen to it,” Steve mumbled into Billy’s stomach, and Max whipped around to stare at them.

“Steve, I swear to god, if you’re giving him a blow job right here and now I’m calling the fucking police,” she hissed, and Billy cackled, sliding his fingers into Steve’s hair.

“Not,” Steve rolled to look at her.  “I can bite his stomach if you want, though.  You know he’s ticklish?”

“Noooo,” her grin widened, and Billy shook his head.  

“Sure, you try that, if you don’t need all ten fingers.”  His fingers tightened in Steve’s hair, and Steve winced, raising a hand to disentangle them.  “Maybe you’ll get to meet Sleepy Steve.”

“What?” Max wrinkled her nose, and Steve raised an eyebrow.  

Billy shrugged, allowing his fingers to be drawn free of the tangle they were in, but sliding them back more gently.

“Sleepy Steve?” he asked.

“The one that thinks I’m worth saving from monsters,” Billy snorted.  “Sleepy Steve’s too dumb to notice.”

“Notice what,” Steve pressed, but then Max turned the lights off, the room lit up blue, and Steve hid his face in Billy’s stomach.

When he awoke, Billy was stroking his hair and the edge of his ear, staring out the windows, his eyes reflecting blue.  Max was cheering--loudly--for Ripley, and Steve didn’t move, watching Billy’s red-rimmed eyes, and his jaw working, and feeling his calloused fingers.  When it was over, Max trotted in to the kitchen and started banging around, and Billy just slumped, letting his head loll back. “What’re you gonna do to me, Steve Harrington,” he asked under his breath, and Steve kissed his stomach, prompting a yelp.  

“Nothing?” he sat up.  “I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t make me do.”

Billy swallowed, nodding, and squirmed away to walk back in the kitchen.  

Steve leaned his head in the kitchen.  “Are we watching something else?”

“Why does bread take so damn long,” Max growled.

“...you picked the recipe,” Billy said, after a pause where he just watched Steve coming into the kitchen, and stepped back into the counter.  

“Stay as late as you like,” Steve shrugged, heartily wishing Neil Hargrove would get sucked up in a tornado, instead of spreading his poison around when he wasn’t even there.

 Billy waited until Max was carefully arranging dough to drop the metal bowl behind her, and she swore, swinging around with a punch, but he blocked her with the bag of flour.   They both ended up covered in white powder, and probably white faced underneath, watching Steve. He dropped into a chair, raising his eyebrows. "You two look like really happy cokeheads.  I'm not coming over there."  

"We've got the good drugs," Billy snorted.  His hands were shaking again, and Steve tried to look cheerful and serene.

"That was like a third of the flour, asshole," Max sighed, leaning over the sink to try and brush it off her hair.

"Yeah, how's Steve gonna know you're not a fuckup if you can't make perfect bread," Billy looked between Steve and the sink, cheeks reddening, and ran his fingers through his hair, distractedly dumping most of the flour down his shirt.  "Fucking hell," he muttered, ducking his head, “I’m gonna need a shampoo.” Max snorted. 

"I just want to pass my class," she told the measuring cup.  Steve stayed out of the way, stirring more hot chocolate mix, and heard scrabbling.  He looked over his shoulder to see Billy swig from the bottle of tequila, and slide it back behind the fridge, before inspecting his hands with a sigh. 

When Billy pulled the second pan out of the oven, Max was standing directly behind him, and he stumbled, swinging it away to avoid her--swiping Steve’s hand with the 400 degree metal.  Steve swore, jerking back, and stalked to the sink. “Sorry I’m--I’m not drunk,” Billy whispered, feeling Max pull the pan from his hands. “Fuck, I burned you, fuck. I was steadying myself, I’m not drunk, Harrington.  Shit. I know you won’t--” he laughed. “Doesn’t fucking matter, does it. Doesn’t matter.”  Billy slid his lighter out of his pocket, and grabbed the cigarette tucked behind his ear, and Steve waved.  "Oi."  

"I dunno, King Steve," Billy lit up, cupping his hands around the cigarette like there was a wind through the kitchen.  He had to flick the lighter so many times Steve thought it might be out of fluid. "Your Majesty. You gonna teach me to listen right?  It never works."  He sauntered closer, shoved Steve aside, and stood behind Max, who was prodding the twice-risen dough.  “What’re you waiting for? In the fucking bathroom stall you said ‘later’, Harrington, it’s later now.  What fucking lesson you gonna pound into me?  Put up or fucking shut up.”

“What the fuck,” Steve frowned over, holding his hand under the cold water.

“Not letting me apologize, I know what that means, I’m not that fucking dumb,” Billy smirked.  “Just do it.  Just do it, Harrington.”  He grinned, walking into Steve so his weight pushed him back against the sink.  “Whacha gonna do, Harrington? What--are you gonna--do,” he blew cigarette smoke in Steve’s face, and Steve rolled his eyes, turning away.  Billy punched his shoulder, then again. “Do it, Harrington. Go on.” 

“Fuck is wrong with you,” Steve muttered, and Billy took a shaky breath.

Max glanced back, then at the dough, and Billy caught Steve’s eye.  “What the fuck are you gonna do,” he whispered, lowering his cigarette near the freckled skin between her hair and collar.  Steve grabbed his wrist, yanking him away and slamming him against the oven, as Billy laughed in his face.  

"What the fuck!" Max yelled, dragging at Steve's arm, but he was busy yanking the cigarette from Billy’s hand and tossing it in the sink, the adrenaline carrying him through shoving Billy bodily through the door to the garage and locking it behind him.

"...what happened," Max swallowed.

“Sorry,” Steve leaned back against the door, rubbing his face.  His heart was pounding with the cold clear energy he got fighting monsters, in the snow, and he felt himself giggling.  

“What’d you do, why’s he so quiet in there,” her voice rose.  “Steve, what the fuck’s going on.”

“I don’t--” he swallowed.  “Shit, it’s not heated in there.”  He yanked the door open on Billy squinting into the rectangle of light, leaning against his car, and felt along the wall to turn on the garage light.  He peeled his sweatshirt off, tossing it at Billy Hargrove’s head. It hit him in the face, since he made no effort to catch it, and rolled to the floor.  “Okay, we’re done,” Steve counted on his fingers, still feeling like he was peering at them from more than an arm-length away. His vision was slowly closing in on Billy, the outer edges going dark.  “Two, you--you’re a person, so you can still stay here so your dad doesn’t fucking...beat you to death, because I guess that’s bad.”  He counted off a third finger. “But. I’m going to close an account at the bank. It’ll take some paperwork, but I’ll get it rolling.  Take the money, and then nobody in this fucking town has to see you ever again for the rest of our happier fucking lives.”  

As he shut the door and locked it, Billy was sliding down the side of the car to sit on the floor.

My posts aren’t showing up, so trying without links?  I’ll reboop with my Ao3 link!

[melissa-7-bodtke]

Living a Spiritual life in a Carnal World

It isn’t easy to live a spiritual life in this carnal world. But that’s exactly what Christians are to do. Most of us know what’s right in God’s eyes, but we make poor choices. Well, we’re in good company: “For we know that the law is spiritual: but I am carnal, sold under sin. For that which I do I allow not: for what I would, that do I not: but what I hate, that do I.” (Romans 7:14-15) That’s Paul’s way of saying that he didn’t want to sin but he did. We’re so used to sin that it seems normal. For that reason many of us fail to be horrified by the evil which happens all around us. Even worse, we participate in sin because everybody else does. Have you heard the story of the frog in hot water? It’s said that if you take a frog and throw that poor creature into boiling water he will hop out as fast as he can. If you take that same frog and put him in a nice, comfortable pot of cool water he’ll sit there as happy as can be. Then if you start turning up the heat the frog isn’t bothered. As the temperature slowly rises, the frog won’t notice how bad things are getting and will sit right there and boil to death. Is that true? I’ve never actually tried it so I don’t really know, but it’s certainly a good example of what’s happening today. The ugliness of sin is heating up, and we’re so used to it that we just sit there unaware of how bad things are getting. Sin matters to God. It separates us from Him. It mattered so much that He chose to enter His creation and die on the cross in order to provide the only way for our salvation. That should let us know how much God loves us. After we accept Christ’s sacrifice for salvation we should turn away from carnal living. Christians are called to be separate from the world. We have to live here until we’re called Home, but we aren’t to be a part of the sin around us. Is that possible? It is, but we have to make a choice: Live for Christ or live for the world. Take a moment here and reflect upon your life. Is there anything, anything at all, that is opposed to the example Jesus gave us? Are you quick to get angry? Anger is a carnal way of acting: “Be not hasty in thy spirit to be angry: for anger resteth in the bosom of fools.” ( Ecclesiastes 7:9) We often see news articles about the results of anger when a person is out of control with wrath and harms other people. Anger is something Christians need to control. “Be ye angry, and sin not: let not the sun go down upon your wrath: neither give place to the devil.” (Ephesians 4:26-27) It isn’t easy to break a bad habit, and anger is a bad habit. Don’t give Satan a chance to cause you to sin. Anger is just one problem that can cause a Christian to act like the world. What about stealing? Most of us have never robbed a bank or assaulted someone in a dark alley, but we can steal from our employer by not giving our all on the job. Do you chat by the water cooler when you should be working at your desk? Do you make personal phone calls on company time and on the company phone? Do you misrepresent your income in order to qualify for government aid? There are lots of ways to steal. “Let him that stole steal no more: but rather let him labour, working with his hands the thing which is good, that he may have to give to him that needeth.” (Ephesians 4:28) A Christian should have a generous, giving spirit. As you work and earn wages, what do you do with the extra money you have left after paying your bills. Do you soup up your car? Buy the latest violent video game? Party with friends? There are many ways to spend money that’s carnal rather than honoring God. What if you took that extra money and gave to a homeless shelter or to a ministry that blesses you? You could even use the money to help a neighbor who’s in need. The carnal world we live in dictates a “Me me me” way of living, but a Christ-centered life is one that gives rather than takes. Do you gossip? That’s your flesh getting in the way of treating others the way you would like to be treated. “Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers.” (Ephesians 4:29) It’s easy to see flaws in other people and then degrade them to our friends. It would be better to compliment what’s right rather than gossip about what’s wrong. The other person is a human being with feelings. Do you want people to gossip about you? It hurts and isn’t what God wants. What about your choice of words? Carnal and vulgar words shouldn’t come from the mouth of a Christian. God’s name is to be used for praise, not for cursing. How many times do you tell a dirty joke? These things are carnal, not spiritual. Would you use those words in front of Jesus or tell him the jokes you find funny? He hears you. “A good man out of the good treasure of his heart bringeth forth that which is good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart bringeth forth that which is evil: for of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaketh.” (Luke 6:45) Jesus said that so we need to pay attention. The carnal people in this world have no concept of what is and isn’t vulgar, and Christians should never use a worldly person as an example. Look to Christ’s example in order to live to please Him. The carnal attitude of Christians isn’t new to our time in history, but that doesn’t make it right. The rules God has given us are to keep us safe. Sin is hurtful to ourselves, to others, and causes disease. God loves us and will protect us but we need to stay within His rules. Lust of the flesh is from Satan and when we follow the carnal ways of the flesh we invite trouble into our life. “Let no man say when he is tempted, I am tempted of God: for God cannot be tempted with evil, neither tempteth he any man: but every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed.” (James 1:13-14) We live in a fallen world and there are many temptations, but we don’t have to act upon those temptations. When we wander from the straight and narrow path that God has paved for us, that’s when Satan will encourage our lust. Satan can make sin look like fun, but he hides the consequence. When a Christian compromises a little in living a spirit filled life it becomes easier to take the next step down the carnal path that leads to destruction. “But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed. Then when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin: and sin, when it is finished bringeth forth death.” (James 1:14-15) Like the frog in the water we can become so numb to sin that we bring on our own destruction. When we choose to participate in sin rather than following God we forfeit joy and we bring punishment upon ourselves. Think of the alcoholic who gets cirrhoses of the liver which causes much pain. Eventually it takes his life. Oh, this person may have professed to be a Christian, and if he had truly accepted Christ his salvation is secure, but carnal living takes away his good witness for Christ and only causes misery. When alcoholism takes its toll on him he may blame God. Was it God who forced him into alcoholism? No, he chose to live a carnal life and his own choices caused his troubles. The same is true of any sin you participate in, such as drug use or sexual sin. “For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.” (Romans 6:23) If you choose to live a carnal life you choose to live in misery. When we accept Christ for salvation then our citizenship is already in Heaven. We should no longer succumb to the carnal pull of this world. How do we live a spiritual life in a carnal world? We make a choice. The influence of the god of this world is strong but we don’t have to follow his lies. First of all, realize that the battle is a spiritual one. Fight with spiritual weapons, such as prayer and Scripture. Through prayer we talk directly with God. When we are weak, He will be our strength. When we fail, He will forgive us. As a Christian you can go directly to God in prayer and ask Him for help and forgiveness. “For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin. Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.” (Hebrews 4:15-16) Study God’s Word and write it on your heart. That way when carnal lust threatens to cause you to sin, you will have Scripture ready to fight off the lust. God doesn’t want you to fail and every word of Scripture is for our benefit. Study the life of Christ and use Him as the example to follow. “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” (Matthew 5:8) It’s hard to see God when we live our life according to the flesh. How we view life  will determine how we behave. If we draw near to God and live a spiritually set apart life we will see God. We will see Him in our daily life and our interactions with others. Choosing a carnal life that opposes God will only lead to bitterness and unhappiness. You may pretend you’re happy and put on a bright smiling face for the world to see, but it’s a false front. When you live a spiritual life that’s pleasing to God, you don’t have to pretend to be happy. “This I say then, Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh. For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh: and these are contrary the one to the other: so that ye cannot do the things that ye would.” (Galatians 5:16-17) True joy comes from a life that honors God. Brothers and sisters, instead of watching sin-filled television and movies or listening to music designed to encourage carnal lust, think on the things of God. “Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.” (Philippians 4:8) You’ll be surprised how much easier it is to live a spiritual life in a carnal world when you fill your heart and mind with the things of God.