Archive of Our Own ^beta

It starts with Max, because of course it does.

Billy thinks he’ll never forget the moment Max discovered exactly what was going on with Neil behind closed doors.

Neil always took extra care to keep everything quiet, and Billy honestly preferred it that way. Better than the pity looks he’d get otherwise, better than whatever the fuck Susan does when she just looks the other way.

Knowing just what kind of noisy spitfire Max is, it’s almost weird she doesn’t find out earlier.

Billy can’t remember a time his room meant a safe space for him, not in California, not at Hawkins. Nothing there is safe, nothing is really there because he wants it to be.

From cheap porn magazines he doesn’t hide, to posters he doesn’t like, to books he basically hides under the crate he uses as a nightstand. Hair products he has to keep under a certain undefined number, because more than once Neil got rid of those faggy things by pouring them in the drain or smashing them on the floor.

The lock on the door, which appears right after his eighteen birthday, means something else entirely.

Susan is in her bedroom, getting ready to go out. Max is out. Max shouldn’t be out. Max should’ve been right outside the arcade so that Billy could take her home on time and not end up shoved against the wall of his room.

Billy should’ve learned by now, nothing ever goes smoothly in his life.

Neil spits insults in his face, the usual words and slurs never failing to hurt Billy just as much as his father’s hands. Billy’s eyes are fixed on the ground, just as Neil requires.

He hears a small sound, almost entirely covered by the blood rush in his ears, and when he dares raise his eyes, Max is standing frozen still at the door of his room.

“Respect and responsibility,” Neil hisses, and Billy thinks it shouldn’t be possible to feel that kind of hatred for two simple words. And yet. “You keep forgetting you have responsibilities towards your sister. You had one simple enough job, or are you too dumb to understand what getting her home on time means?”

Billy feels his stomach drop, feels Max’s eyes fixed on him, feels Neil’s hands holding him in place.

“No, sir,” he replies, even if he’s not actually sure what the question was, or what answer did Neil want. If he wanted an answer at all.

He clearly doesn’t.

Neil backhands him so hard, Billy’s head connects with the wall and the room starts spinning.

“It’s the second time in less than two months, you’re gonna go out there and find your-”

“I’m home!” Max yells, slamming the door, and Neil lets Billy go all of a sudden, probably worried what she could see.

“We’re not done here,” Neil hisses, and Billy looks down.

We’re never done, he’d like to scream, we’re never done, we’ve never been done since I was eight years old, we will never, ever be done.

Billy keeps quiet, goes to his room, and hopes Neil won't use the lock.

Neil and Susan go out as planned, and Billy stays in his room even if it’s not locked, because the thought of getting up is too much.

He should probably check to see if there's anything he can eat now, before Neil gets back and decides he doesn’t deserve to eat - but his eyes sting, his face burns, and the safety of the covers is all he has right now.

The door clicks open, and even though he knows Neil is not back yet, Billy lies impossibly still under the covers.

“Is this the first time?” Max asks, without coming too close.

Billy doesn’t answer.

It’s enough.

From that day on, Max is on her very best behavior.

She’s always on time, she always makes sure to ask before going out, and she never goes anywhere without telling Billy.

It’s not enough to keep Neil’s hands off him, no. Billy knows there’s nothing in this goddamn world that could make Neil fight the liberatory urge to hit his son.

Still, Billy thinks as he drives Max to school and she nods her head to the music he chose, having Max on his side is not bad.

*

Heather Holloway is one of the cool kids at school. She would’ve automatically been one of them just because her father is loaded and runs the Hawkin’s Post, but it helps she’s really hot.

She is.

Billy might not be interested, but he still has eyes.

He likes her, she’s different from the others they both hang out with. She’s clever, whip-smart, funny, and mean when she wants to be. Which is always entertaining for Billy.

They’re in a couple of advanced classes together, and Billy can tell, from her posture during tests and what he saw of her, that she wants to do good and probably make her parents proud.

Heather has a couple of flirts here and there, and she has good taste in guys. She dates pretty, smart, kind boys.

(The ones Billy also likes.)

There aren’t many, in Hawkins High, so she doesn't date much.

Billy flirts with her often enough to give credit to his cover, but never in a way that annoys her or gives her room to do more. She doesn’t look like she’d want that, anyway.

“I think I’m gonna work at the pool, this summer,” she tells him in the cafeteria, while she’s eating whatever delicious thing her mom made for her, and Billy is doing his best pretending not to want it.

“At the pool?” he jerks his head up, suddenly interested.

He didn’t know they were looking for new lifeguards, and at this point, he’d do anything to be near the water for even just a couple hours.

“Yeah, I figured you’d be interested,” Heather smiles warmly, and it’s at that point that all hell breaks loose.

The entire table next to them erupts into hollers and cheers, and Heather’s name is clearly whispered out loud and then repeated again and again and again.

“What?” she asks with her usual no-nonsense attitude, loud enough for the whole cafeteria to hear.

From the opposite table, Josh Gallen smiles that crooked grin of his and winks at her. Never, ever a good sign. “Nothing sweetheart. I was just telling the others what you did for me Saturday night at Brandon’s party.”

Billy remembers the party. He decided to go, even though he knew Harrington wasn’t gonna show, because he refuses to let a stupid fucking crush dictate what he does or doesn’t.

(He drank two beers, wallowed in his misery, wished Harrington was there if only to see him, and decided to leave.)

He remembers sitting on the steps right outside the house, undrunk beer in his hand, lazily watching everyone there get increasingly drunk and noisy.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Heather replies primly, though Billy can see her worried eyes.

“Yeah baby, that’s not what you said last night,” Gallen hollers, with a bunch of other athletes making sexual noises and remarks, and a bunch of popular girls snickering loudly.

Billy remembers Heather leaving the party pretty late, legs only the tiniest bit unsteady, not too drunk that something could’ve happened without her realizing.

“Still don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says again, with less force than before. The whole cafeteria erupts in chaos once again, and Billy can see she’s panicking.

It doesn’t really matter what she says now. Heather’s popular, yes, but she’s not safe from rumors. Nobody is. And she’s definitely not safe from dickheads.

There were too few people left at the party when she went home, all of them pretty drunk. None of them will say anything, not if it means going against Josh, who clearly has the upper hand.

Gallen goes on with specifics from the supposed passionate night he and Heather spent together, taking care of being as disgusting and creepy as he can possibly be.

Heather looks away, after a couple more protests, blinking her eyes.

Billy knows he shouldn't.

He came to this school with a single goal in mind, with a single mantra. Be at the top of the food chain, don’t make them doubt you.

(He doesn’t care about jocks and hot girls, he wouldn’t normally care about potential rumors. But potential rumors could, would, get to Neil’s ears, and Billy wants very much to survive.)

Billy knows he should mind his own business.

Better than that, Billy knows he should get part in this thing. Make a couple of sexual remarks aimed at Heather, and smirk when one of the girls calls her a whore.

“We went at it like all night, girl was thirsty.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Billy says before he can stop himself. He doesn’t have to raise his voice: the minute he speaks, the whole cafeteria quiets down into a tense silence. Billy doesn’t pretend he doesn't enjoy the effect he has on them.

“Why’s that, Hargrove?” Gallen asks, cocky enough that the majority of the other kids don’t hear the shakiness behind the question.

“Because, you see, Heather and I spent the whole night together,” Billy takes care to sound almost sad, like he’s breaking some kind of bad news to Josh. Like he’s talking to someone who’s just fucking stupid.

“But that’s-”

“Did anyone see Heather leave the party?” a couple of guys nod, and Billy shrug like that’s the only proof he needs. “She left with me. We went to her house. So, really, I don’t understand how exactly you would’ve spent the night with her, since she was with me. Need to compensate for your lack of a sex life, Gallen?”

Tommy H snickers and lets out a wolf whistle aimed at Heather. “Two guys fighting over you, Holloway. You must be something in bed.”

Billy turns his eyes on him.

“What about this conversation made you think I appreciate you talking about her that way? What’s this, Hagan, you jealous? You want some dick, too?”

The whole cafeteria laughs again, but Billy knows with absolute certainty they’re laughing about Josh and Tommy, now.

“And I don't fight, Hagan. I win.” Some of the other guys on the basketball team whoop his name, and Billy knows he’s won.

(He locks eyes with Harrington, now sitting near the exit of the room, and reads something he can’t quite place in them.)

“Let’s get out of here,” he tells Heather, not knowing whether she will follow or yell at him. She follows, so maybe it’ll end up being both.

She doesn’t say anything for a long time, gladly accepting the cigarette Billy hands her after a while. She never smokes, but Billy figures she might need it right now.

“I hate that you did that,” she says, but it sounds more like she hates everything that happened in the past twenty minutes. Like she hates he had to do that, because there’s no way in this fucked up world that Gallen would’ve stopped just because she was telling the truth.

“I can imagine,” Billy replies simply, because if there’s anything he can understand, that is not wanting anyone’s pity.

“Why did you do that?”

“Because,” Billy contemplates lying, going with the first excuse that comes to mind just to get her off his back, but different words push through his throat as he looks into her eyes. “Because sometimes all we want is someone to help.”

She nods just once, in silence, like she’s trying to place Billy’s words and behavior in some neat boxes, like the world could ever be as simple as that.

They smoke in silence for a while, both lost in thought too complex to ever be said out loud.

She touches his hand, and for once, for the first time in a lifetime, he doesn’t see a girl or a woman who wants something else from him.

“I think you would be great for the lifeguard job at the pool,” she smiles briefly and then heads back inside.

Billy’s heart flutters.

*

He is great for the job. That doesn’t stop the universe from ruining that single good thing Billy had in his life. He’s just glad he had the strength to push Heather away in time.

(At night, he dreams about Harrington’s car crashing into his own.)

*

Billy doesn't know how long he's gonna be in that hospital room. To be honest, Billy doesn't really care. There aren't many things he seems to care about, right now. Everything tends to seem a little... worthless when you've spent the last few weeks possessed by a goddamn supernatural creature bent on killing everyone.

Everything seems worthless when there's no one that cares about you - when you don't even really care about yourself anymore.

The lights are dimmed and the blinds are closed. There's a flower vase on the bedside table. It's been empty since Billy can remember. The bedsheets seem fresh, probably changed recently, made of that fucking awful material that itches and scratches and doesn't keep him warm at all. The room is cold and Billy shivers.

There's someone sitting on the chair that usually is as far away from the bed as possible. The chair is closer now.

There's someone sitting on it - and Billy has to focus on the empty flower base and the closed blinds and the freezing room to try not to think about the bubble of panic rising in his chest.

(There's someone sitting on the chair and he doesn't know what's gonna happen he doesn't understand what's gonna happen maybe they're finally there to kill him maybe Billy's gonna try to hurt them maybe both of those things are true and he feels like he's splitting and maybe this is it this is the one time he loses his goddamn mind this is the one time he doesn't come back from whatever nightmare is his own fucking mind and he doesn't know, he doesn't know what's happening, he doesn't understand, he doesn't-)

“Think about five things you can see in this room," the person sitting on the chair says, and Billy blinks once, twice, without really understanding what that means.

Maybe it's some sort of test to get them to understand if the monster is still inside of him - like the fucking nightmare that was the sauna.

(And is it? Is it still inside of him? When he thinks of this possibility, his whole stomach curls and turns and he feels like throwing up.)

And if that's really a test, he'd best follow the orders.

So he looks around - a bit panicked, he has seen this room for the last few weeks and suddenly it's like he can't even remember what's on his left - and finds the empty flower vase, his favorite earring, a chipped pitcher full of water, the drip going into his veins and a small cabinet on the opposite side of the window.

He nods and the person sitting on the chair seems to smile.

“Now, four things you can touch," says the woman - because she's a woman, Billy can tell that now that he feels slightly less on the verge of panic.

Billy raises his right hand because his left arm is still hurting like a bitch. He touches his left arm and winces. Touches his hair and thinks they must be a goddamn mess because no one has been caring for them. Touches his chest and the bandages that still cover it for the most part.

Touches the coarse material of the bandages. Touches those fucking bedsheets made in fucking hell.

He nods and the woman on the chair smiles again.

"Three things you can hear, please," the woman says, and Billy is too damn confused to feel any more panic rising in his chest. He thinks it might be the first time in years someone asks something nicely of him.

Billy closes his eyes and focuses on the gentle dripping sound from his right side. Focuses on the insistent beeping of some machine right next to the drip. Focuses on the remote sounds of someone talking in the corridor outside.

He nods and the woman on the chair leans closer. "Two things you can smell, Billy."

Billy focuses on the horrible clean smell of the room and the distant scent of something food-related. He nods and the woman on the chair smiles, briefly touching his knee.

"One thing you can taste?"

"Awful food," he answers and the woman laughs

(And he almost doesn't even notice he started talking again, after weeks of mutism, after weeks of silence without a goddamn explanation. His throat feels like it's never gonna happen again but holy shit he did it, he fucking did it, he really fucking did it.)

"Very good, Billy. Feeling better now? Take a deep breath."

And Billy does it, Billy trusts this woman like he has never trusted anyone before because she did some fucking magic on him - and if she's gonna kill him now, he'll probably die happy.

He doesn't feel the panic bubbling in his chest anymore, doesn't feel like he's on the verge of an abyss, doesn't feel like his lungs don't know how to work anymore. Billy feels almost... serene. And that's fucking crazy.

The woman on the chair sighs and looks around the room. Billy is fairly convinced he's seen her before but he can't quite remember where.

He's not really sure he wants to remember.

She could be someone he tried to hurt. Or someone he tried to fuck. (And just like that, in a few seconds, his stomach is once again in knots.)

"I don't know why they're doing this. I really don't get it. They're leaving you here, alone, even though you clearly need to go home, just because they're worried that damn thing is still out there. Will says it's not and nobody believes him when they really should- sorry, I'm rambling. I'm Joyce, by the way, Joyce Byers. I'm Jonathan and Will's mom."

Billy nods because he knows who she is. He doesn't remember hurting her or her kids so he figures he's relatively safe. Not that he's really sure.

He was right they're keeping him there to control him and everybody's out to get him, everybody's ready to do their worst to him and he needs to be prepared needs to be vigilant and needs to survive and needs to get away and- and he's panicking again, so he starts counting five things he can see and four he can touch and three he can hear and two he can smell and one he can taste and he's more or less calm once again.

Joyce Byers probably notices because she smiles again. Billy doesn't fucking understands what's happening and why the fuck she's being nice to him.

"It's a pretty neat trick, isn't it? Anxiety is hard to keep under control. Will used to have the same problem with panic attacks and this always helped him feel better."

"I don't have-" Billy starts complaining but quickly realizes he doesn't have the strength to finish that particular sentence. Who cares? It's not important. It doesn't matter. Nothing really matters.

"I'm trying to get them to send you home. Don't worry."

Except he does. He does worry. What happens when he gets home? If he gets home and they decide not to kill him after all? Billy has spent his whole life making sure to survive everything that was thrown at him but this? Everything that happened lately? He was sure he wasn't gonna survive that and he's sure as goddamn hell he's not gonna survive going back home.

Joyce Byers smiles. Billy turns his head to the other side of the room and closes his eyes.

*

Jane, El, or whatever else she’s called, spends most of the time in the hospital while Billy is recovering.

She doesn’t talk much, but then again, Billy doesn’t talk much these days either. Billy doesn’t know why she’s there - aside from a few superficial scratches, she looks almost fine to him.

He asks Owens, the first time he feels like talking (and marvels at how rough and scratchy his voice sounds) and he mutters something about powers.

Billy feels like he’s pretty much well acquainted with her powers, so he lets the thing slip away - as he does with most of the things he thinks, other than self-loathing.

The first time she visits, she comes with Max.

El doesn't really talk and basically stays beside Max the whole time. To someone who doesn't know what fear is, this would look like Eleven is afraid of Billy.

But Billy knows fear more than he knows anything else, and that's not it. Eleven is not afraid. Eleven is there to protect Max, it's clear from her stance and her looks, and the way she seems ready to face everything. And she's planting her feet. Which is fucking amazing.

Billy can't really blame her. She's clearly there because she doesn't trust him, because she wants to protect Max - and she's not afraid of him.

He's almost glad.

Max comes visit as much as she can, but Neil doesn’t let her often. Billy doesn’t know what the government told him, but it’s pretty clear he’s not happy with Billy.

After that first visit, El starts feeling like a slippery presence during his stay at the hospital. She’s there more days than not, sitting silently beside him or standing at the end of the room.

Billy feels too raw and tired to do anything about it, even if one month before he would’ve probably yelled at her - at any of Max’s friends and Max herself - to get the fuck out of his room.

Most days, Billy feels like opening his eyes is too much. Too difficult, too hard, too dangerous. Yelling at her is out of the picture, for now.

And he gets it. He really does.

She’s worried. Hell, he’s worried too.

Maybe the Thing isn’t really gone, maybe it’s still there with him - inside of him, waiting to resurface, to hurt people again, to make him hurt people again.

“I saw your papa,” she says, sitting on the chair she dragged by the end of the bed.

Billy doesn’t know what to say. Tough shit, I’m sorry you had to see him is one possibility. If I called him papa he’d deck me in the face so fucking quickly is another one. He doesn’t say anything.

El is apparently content with silence, because she stays still and doesn’t talk for a long while.

“Your papa is bad.”

Is he, Billy wants to ask. Is he bad, or has he always been right? Is he bad, or it maybe would have been better if he hit me a little harder, just enough to prevent all of this?

“I don’t like bad men,” she says, as a matter of fact.

“Who does,” Billy rasps, and she lights up, apparently satisfied with his response.

“No one,” El nods, like she just made an extremely compelling point during a school debate. It’s kind of adorable. “But maybe you’ll find a Hopper.”

Billy has absolutely no idea what a Hopper is, or how that’s related to the topic at hand.

“But if you don’t, you can be angry.”

“What?”

“Hopper says it’s okay to be angry. Sometimes. Especially when you think about bad men.”

Billy wonders exactly what kind of bad men she has experience with, but supposes anybody with a number instead of a name might know a thing or two about shitty parents.

“You’re angry,” she keeps on going, even though Billy is keeping to his stubborn silence. “I saw it. I know.”

She seems to know a lot of things, but then again, she knew about Billy’s mom, so he shouldn’t be surprised. Nobody talks about Billy’s mom. Neil pretends she’s dead, Billy got beaten and thrown out enough times he never mentions her.

Max doesn’t even know her name, let alone the fact that she was blonde and nice to him, so it can’t be her.

That honestly only leaves mind reading, and at that point, who’s Billy to say that’s impossible?

“You’re not just angry,” she says, like that’s the end of the discussion she’s been having on her own.

“Okay?” he offers, unsure.

“Okay,” she smiles back. “Max says you’re good with hair.”

“Goddamnit,” he takes the bright pink bow from her hands.

*

“Everything okay here?” Harrington asks, eyes wide open, taking in the weird image of Max and El giggling on Billy’s hospital bed.

“Super cool.”

“We’re playing hairdresser.”

“We’re playing Billy wants to die,” Billy mutters, eyes fixed on Max’s unruly hair.

Harrington laughs.

Billy keeps his eyes down, heart fluttering.

*

“You know your boyfriend is an asshole, right?” Billy asks matter-of-factly, eyes fixed on the road ahead, pretending not to notice the way Chrissy fidgets with her hands on her lap.

“Billy-”

“No, I know, you like him, he likes you, high school sweethearts and all that shit. I just want to know you know he’s a fucking asshole.”

He doesn’t need to mention the specific reason he’s so mad at Carver. She knows. Billy vented enough times about locker room talk. About the very liberal use of certain words he already has to endure at home and doesn’t want to fucking hear outside.

(She and Heather are the only ones who really know. It’s scary. It’s also somehow exhilarating.)

“I know there are things that aren’t… so nice about him,” she says, looking outside the window. “But I mean- I know he cares about me. And my parents, they really like him.”

“Yeah, and that’s exactly what you want in a boyfriend, the approval of your shitty fucking parents,” he spits out before he can really stop himself.

Chrissy doesn’t look pleased. Billy doesn’t like it. She’s the sweetest person he has ever met, and she deserves to be happy. To be safe.

On the other hand, he feels like a fucking hypocrite, telling her she shouldn’t care what her mother thinks - what her parents think and say.

(Like he can talk about this. Like he doesn’t care what mean things Neil hurls at him on a daily basis. Like he wouldn’t do anything in his power to make Neil love him. Like he doesn’t still love his father, piece of shit that he is.)

“I’m sorry,” he thinks she might be the first person he’s more than ready to apologize to. Max comes as a close second.

“Billy,” she tries, gently squeezing his knee.

They had this conversation several other times. She insists he’s not a mess, he insists he knows better than her. The conversation doesn’t really go anywhere, but they keep having it.

“It’s just-”

“I know.”

“What I mean is-”

“Chrissy, I know, I swear. You don’t need to explain your reasons to me. I- we’re friends. I got your back, no matter what,” he manages to say without getting too choked up, which is already a victory to him.

“I know. You know how much that means to me-”

“Yeah, obviously, I’m the best damn thing you have in your life.”

“Seriously. If I was more your type, we’d already been together.”

“You should literally be a completely different person.”

“I know. But if I was a guy, we’d be together.”

“You’re extremely sure of yourself, Cunningham,” Billy laughs, content with seeing her eyes glimmer with amusement.

They sit in silence for a while longer, while Billy does his absolute best not to nod his head to the rhythm of the cassette mix she left in his car to listen to when they’re together. Fucking ABBA.

“I don’t get why you hate Jason so much,” she says after a while, much to Billy’s surprise, since he was more than ready to drop the subject for now.

“I told you about the comments-”

“Yeah, but he’s not the only one making them, is he?”

“No, but he’s the only one who’s also your boyfriend,” Billy snaps, a bit more harshly than he meant to.

They sit in silence once again, while Billy mentally curses because he should keep his fucking mouth shut, for once, because he never learns, because he’s apparently incapable to be around people without being a fucking dick.

Chrissy squeezes his knee again, once they reach her house, almost like she’s trying to apologize.

“See you tomorrow at lunch?” she asks, an apologetic smile on her face.

“Sure,” he sighs.

She hops off the car and starts to walk toward her house.

“Chrissy? Jason Carver is everything my father wants me to be. His dream son, someone he’d be proud of. He’d exchange me for Jason in a heartbeat, if he had the chance. For a son exactly like he wants. One who would be like his idea of what a man should be.”

“Billy, you don’t have to-”

“I’ve seen my father with my mom, before she left. I know what his idea of a man is. I don’t want you near any version of that.”

Chrissy doesn’t say anything, but there’s something different in her eyes.

*

Billy loves dinner at the Byers.

It’s everything he always wanted from family dinners: loud, chaotic, filled with laughter and happy people. Nobody cares if he’s late, nobody cares how much he eats, nobody tells him he’s supposed to pull his weight in the family if he eats that much.

“So, how was your day, Billy?“ Joyce asks with a smile, while he pours her some water.

They care. About him, about stupid things like that, like how his day went, how his work is going, what he actually thinks about things. It’s exhilarating.

The room is full, but they’re not like the complete whole bunch. There’s Joyce, there’s Hopper. Will, Jonathan, Nancy, Max, and El. There’s Steve too, looking at Billy for some reason he can’t exactly explain.

Billy shrugs and tells her everything went well.

Steve looks like he wants to say something, but then Hopper loudly asks Jonathan something that makes everybody else laugh, and he closes his mouth.

It’s movie night, and by the end of the film, Billy is snoring loudly beside a sleepy Eleven.

Steve smiles and leaves.

Babysitting the kids becomes some kind of nice recurrent event in Billy’s life.

(And it’s not because he can see Steve.)

Max and El are constantly around him, all the time, and it probably helps that they’re always in some sort of stupid fight with Sinclair and Wheeler.

They laugh like crazy whenever Billy fake-threatens them, which usually happens every day, outside whatever hanging out place of choice.

Steve looks at him, El hanging from one of Billy’s arms like some sort of monkey and Max jumping around yelling something intelligible.

Steve smiles, shakes his head and hops into his car.

He sees Steve everywhere, like the universe is constantly trying to remind him what he wants, what he can’t have.

Heather and Chrissy, both of them by his side most of the time, exchange worried looks - and he knows, he knows, just how fucking stupid this is, just how fucking pathetic.

It’s not like he can do anything else - he tried, tried so much.

“We can go somewhere else,” Chrissy says, kind as usual, when it looks like Steve is coming towards them.

Heather just scoffs.

“It’s okay, it doesn’t matter.”

It does.

“Billy?” Steve asks, stopping him right before Billy can get into his car.

They’re both outside the arcade, and the kids are all already having fun inside. Billy wanted nothing more than drive away and crash at the quarry for a couple hours of silence and tranquillity.

“Yeah?”

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Billy lets out a noise that sounds more like a question, but that’s the best he can do at the moment. “Sure?”

“I was wondering… would you go out with me? On a date?”

“What?”

“Yeah, a date. Me and you. I was thinking maybe Friday night?”

“I- sure?”

“And- do you maybe want to hang out with me now? While we wait for the merry band of nerds inside the arcade?”

Billy nods, and Steve smiles that big, warm smile of his.

“You know, it’s really hard to talk to you. You’re always surrounded by girls, it’s a little bit intimidating,” Steve laughs, fingers lightly brushing against Billy’s as they walk. “Been trying to ask you out for weeks now.”

Billy feels like he’s dreaming. Billy feels like he could jump right on the roof of the arcade, yelling at the top of his lungs. Billy feels like laughing hysterically.

Whatever he’s feeling inside threatens to get out, and finally does. Luckily, Billy lets out a laugh that’s slightly less on the verge of hysterics than he feared. Steve laughs with him.

For once, Billy thinks that maybe things are going to get better.