Chapter Text
It’s January 1985 and there’s still five months until graduation.
Steve sits in the cafeteria, too cold and too slushy to go outside, picking at the school’s sorry excuse for pizza without eating it and hoping Nancy doesn’t notice. They’re talking about getting together this weekend to study. Midterms are creeping closer, and Steve hasn’t really been studying at all, so he agrees to meet up with Nancy and Jonathon on Sunday.
“There’s a party Saturday night.” Nancy says, a little chastising, a little condescending, like she thinks Steve will be hungover Sunday morning. She quirks an eyebrow at him when he tells her he’s not going.
Steve glares. “Nance, I haven’t been to a party in ages. And anyway, it’s Stacey Flemming’s party. Her parties blow.” He'd been invited by a couple of the guys and by a cute blonde in his Math class. It might have been tempting, but the last party he had gone to Nancy had told him their relationship was bullshit bullshit bullshit.
Nancy purses her lips, skeptical, as if she doesn’t even realize how much Steve has changed. Like she still thinks he’s the same asshole he was when they first started dating. He doesn’t let on how annoyed he is, and Jonathon gives him a smile like he knows how Steve is feeling.
The bell rings and Steve stands to leave before he can witness their farewell kiss. He walks back to his locker with something hammering in his ears. It gets to him out of nowhere sometimes, like a crack in the wall. He doesn’t know if he can keep doing it, keep pushing down the fury and betrayal and hurt every time he sees them, just because it’s easier than trying to go back to his life before Nancy. But Steve has never been great at hiding or denying his feelings—they’re buoyant inside him and no matter how deep he pushes them down they just swim back up the surface.
He could sit with someone else. It’s not like he lost all his friends once he and Nancy started dated. He’s no longer friends with Tommy and Carol, but the rest of the guys still say hey when they see him, still pat him on the back after practice, still invite him to parties, still chat idly with him in the locker rooms. It just isn’t the same. Steve isn't the same. Especially now that Billy is their new King, his presence so big and bright, Steve doesn’t think there’s even room for him anymore. That, and Steve made a habit of avoiding Billy right from the start, and all of Steve’s old friends are now Billy’s friends, too.
Billy still ignores him as if that night at Bernie’s never happened. He doesn’t talk to Steve, doesn’t even look at him, not in the halls, not during practice, not when they’re parked side by side at the arcade to pick up the kids. Steve expected nothing less, but still manages to feel the sting of disappointment.
He doesn’t want to look at Billy, either. He’s determined to ignore Billy right back, show him just how little Steve thinks about him. But his gaze always finds its way back to Billy, and each time, a small ember of hope, which somehow slipped past Steve’s notice, will die when Billy’s not looking back. Billy never looks at him. Steve just looks at Billy, unwittingly, accidentally memorizing the shape of his spine, the distinct curve of his shoulders, the rhythm of his walk.
Steve tries not to think about it.
He sits through English and History, his worst two subjects. The teachers are all trying to cram in the last of their sections before they have to start review for the midterms, and Steve can barely follow. He scribbles down everything the teachers say without fully listening, head cloudy with frustration and dread. He knows he’s going to flunk his midterms, and might even flunk the twelfth grade because he’s so goddamn lazy and stupid. He knows he should have started studying weeks ago, like Nancy did, and the thought of starting when there’s so much to get through makes his head spin. Part of him wants to ask Nancy to study with him, part of him would rather die than admit to being more pathetic than he already is.
By the time the final bell rings, it’s time for basketball practice and Steve doesn’t even look forward to it. He hasn’t in a long time, not since Billy, even though he hasn’t been as much of an asshole in months. Hasn’t really been since the night he nearly killed Steve. Probably realized he got his point across.
He changes quickly into his gym clothes. His moodiness must be apparent, because Tommy suddenly pipes in while Steve is shoving his school clothes into his locker.
“What’s the matter, Harrington? Still pining over Wheeler?”
Steve just ignores him, slams his locker and brings his foot up on the bench to tie his sneakers.
“Time to get over her, man. I’d lend you Carol, honestly, if it’d make you feel better.” He howls with obnoxious laughter, like he thinks it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. He looks to Billy, whose lopsided smile is half-hearted.
Steve wants to punch Tommy. Instead, with a bored, flippant tone, he says, "No one would ever want to fuck Carol except you, Tommy.”
Billy snickers, and Steve feel a little twist of satisfaction.
Tommy scowls, seeming genuinely offended. “Fuck you, Steve. You’d be lucky.”
“Why, did she offer? Probably wants someone who knows how to get her off for a change, huh Tom?”
Billy laughs again, along with a couple of the other guys lingering in the locker room, and Tommy turns red. Steve would laugh too, if he weren’t so irritable. He walks out on to the court before Tommy can reply.
He and Billy are always on opposite teams. To balance it out, the coach said once, because they’re both the best players. Billy still plays as hard as ever, like he’s got something to prove. But Steve has learned to plant his feet, and he plays twice as hard as he might have a few months ago, and today, he doesn’t feel like getting pushed around. He shoves hard into Billy, is no longer fazed by the press of Billy’s hot, sticky skin when he tries to block him. He runs fast, determination holding his focus in place. He catches Billy’s expression, hard and dangerous, like Steve has gotten under his skin.
Billy plays just as hard, socking him in the ribs with his elbow, and Steve responds with a hard knock with his shoulder. The coach has to blow his whistle a few times, threatens to bench them if they don’t stop.
“What the fuck, Harrington?” Billy mutters as he passes.
For the first time in a while, Steve’s team wins. His teammates clap him on the back and give him high fives, and it’s familiar and comforting, and the expression on Billy’s face makes Steve almost euphoric.
But Billy takes his time in the shower, and so does Steve. He almost wants a confrontation, wants Billy to face him with his full attention. He sees Billy in his periphery, lathering up at the shower across from Steve’s. Steve doesn’t look at him.
It’s Friday, so most of the guys are eager to get out and start their weekend. Billy and Steve are the last two in the shower. Steve almost wants a confrontation, wants Billy to face him with his full attention.
As if reading his mind, Billy wanders right up to Steve’s shower, stands right in front of him. Steve ignores him.
“Where’d all that fire come from today, Harrington?”
Steve takes his time answering. “I dunno. Just came out of nowhere.”
“Didn’t know you had it in you to play so hard.”
“Well, I’m full of surprises.” He talks like he doesn’t care, like this makes no difference to him. He can feel Billy’s eyes on him but he still doesn’t look.
“Got any other tricks up your sleeve, then?”
Steve looks. Billy’s not even under the water, he just stands across from Steve on the other side of the shower post. His eyes are amused and cruel like always, but there’s something a little more open about them this time.
Steve isn’t sure what to say, isn’t sure what he’s even saying at all. “I don’t know. Guess you’ll find out.”
Billy’s lips purse in a kind of smirk. “Will I?” His question sounds like a test.
Steve isn’t sure what’s happening, but suddenly it feels like they’re not talking about basketball. Steve becomes hyper aware that neither of them are wearing any clothes, and he feels suddenly very exposed.
So he just laughs, turns off his water and grabs his towel off the hook to cover himself with.
He begins toward the door to the locker room, and Billy’s right behind him, holding his towel limp in his hand with his waist still bare, with an almost smug grin like he’s the one who got the upper hand. It tilts Steve off balance a little, but Steve pushes it down and continues to ignore Billy.
“Coming to that party this weekend?”
He's startled that Billy would ask. “Hadn’t planned on it.”
“Got other plans or somethin’?”
“I should really study for midterms.”
Billy snorts as he pulls his locker open. He pulls his towel off, reaches into his locker to get his clothes. Steve turns to close his own locker. “On a Saturday night? Didn’t peg you for a nerd, Harrington.”
“I have a lot of catching up to do.” When he turns back, Billy is facing him, looking at him. He’s got his briefs on, skin tight, and he’s stepping into his jeans.
“That’s bullshit. Come out on Saturday.”
Steve considers, begins to stroll casually towards the exit. “Stacey Flemming’s parties are always lame as shit.”
“No party is lame if I’m there.” Billy grins, and Steve lets his eyes linger on it.
“Maybe.”
His grin widens. “Atta boy, Harrington.”
He spends most of the weekend studying. Puts on a pot of coffee when he gets home from school, stays up jotting notes as he goes through his World History textbook. Gets up Saturday at noon, practices math over an egg and cheese sandwich and two pots of coffee. Around six he rewards his efforts with a beer and a pizza and TV while he debates going to Stacey’s party. He can almost hear Nancy’s voice, gentle but chiding, warning him that it was a bad idea and having a clear head to study was better. He can see her face as she says it, looking him at like he’s an idiot, with that fond expression like she loves him anyway. An expression Steve used to kiss off her face.
Fuck it. He’s going.
The party isn’t very packed. Stacey fucking Flemming, that’s why. The house stinks like spilled beer and weed. Pop music blares, and he finds a few of his basketball buddies gathered in the cluttered kitchen. They seem surprised but pleased when they spot him, beckon him over with friendly smiles and offerings of beer in solo cups.
He spots Billy in the living room, crowding Angela Anderson into the corner. Steve is transfixed for a moment, watching the soft smile on Billy’s face as he leans in to whisper something in her ear, how Angela's face flushes as she bites back a smile. Steve feels of pang of something like envy, and he turns back to his conversation.
He runs into Beth Walker, the girl who sits beside him in Math who’d previously invited him. He’d told her maybe with no real heart, no real interest. She’s definitely not his type, but Steve isn’t really sure what his type is anymore. She is beautiful, with bright blue eyes and a syrupy smile, an athletic figure with tits to brag about. She’s one of the cheerleaders, a year his junior. Her denim skirt shows off her long, lean legs despite that it’s the middle of Indiana winter.
Her face lights up when she sees Steve. "You made it!"
She stands close enough to smell her perfume and she laughs at his stupid jokes, her skin glittering with some kind of make up. He’s just tipsy enough to feel interested, to want to forget the consequences and just live inside the moment. He’s about to ask her if she’d like to go somewhere a little quieter, when her eyes drift behind him and her expression becomes slightly alarmed.
“Harrington!” It’s Billy, of course, grinning like a maniac. Steve feels a strong arm around his shoulder, hand squeezing his arm. “You showed.”
“Hey, buddy,” Steve smiles warily.
There’s something a little wild about him, as Steve takes him in. His skin is flushed, his eyes bright in a way he’s never seen before. There’s a manic energy emanating from him, as if he’s about to come unhinged, as if he’s buzzing just under his skin. There’s something a little devious too, a mischief in his madness. Steve shivers a little when Billy leans in, squeezing his shoulder hard.
“We’re getting fucked up tonight, Harrington. Drink up,” he offers Steve a can of beer, opens one for himself and takes a big chug. Steve does the same.
“Fuck yes, there he is. Bout time I met the King.” Billy laughs, wild and free and drunk, and gives Steve a little shake. With that, he turns and disappears back into the crowd of the party. Steve’s arm tingles where Billy’s fingers pressed into him. The party is so packed now they’re like sardines, and despite the frosty winter just outside, Steve is sweating.
Beth makes a little noise, startling Steve, who had momentarily forgotten she was there.
“I didn’t realize you guys were friends,” she says, surprised. “I thought you guys were like, mortal enemies or something.”
Steve just laughs. “I guess we used to be,” he says, but he’s not sure where they stand.
They move to the living room to dance, and it’s been a while since Steve has done this. He shakes all the stress and strain out of his body and lets himself feel the glow of the alcohol and the music. He dances with a few girls, until eventually he pulls away from the crowd because he’s getting thirsty.
He finds Beth on the couch and he follows. They sit in close and she shouts into his ear over the music and he gets the chance to stare down her shirt. They talk about nothing important, nothing interesting, but he drinks his beer and enjoys the sight of her and the smell of her. After what feels like hours, he asks her if she wants to go somewhere quieter to talk.
He catches sight of Billy on their way upstairs, and Billy gives him a vulgar wink behind Beth ’s back. Steve leads her into the master bedroom, leaves the door open as not to make her too nervous, keeps a bit of distance between them as he sits beside her on the bed. They talk, and it’s more intimate now that it’s quieter and he can hear the sound of her voice, soft like wind chimes. She scoots a bit closer to him, and her skirt bunches up around her thighs, and Steve leans in to kiss her. He caresses along her thighs, and she parts them hesitantly. He pulls away to see her face, to make sure she’s okay. She smiles, and Steve wishes he wanted her more. He reaches into her skirt and presses gently at the dampness there, and kisses her sweetly.
Her curfew is one, so afterwards, they go downstairs and she gets a ride with one of her friends. Once she’s gone, Steve wanders into the kitchen, where the guys are all still partying. Billy is chugging beers with Mikey Allan, and when Billy wins he pumps his fists into the air, the front of his white t-shirt see through from all the spillage.
“Come on, Harrington,” Billy beckons him over, and the rest of the guys cheer. Everyone is so drunk, Steve can tell by their wobbly stances and their slurred words. Steve stands with him and chugs. It’s a close one, but Billy wins.
“It’s only because most of it ends up on your shirt,” Steve complains, and bravely pokes his fingers into Billy’s chest, the fingers that still smell like Beth.
Billy pushes his hand away and calls him a sore loser.
They all shoot the shit in the kitchen, chugging the remains of the beer as they set up a game of beer pong, and Steve doesn’t remember how much he’s drank but he’s still great at pong and he’s having more fun than he’s had in months. It almost feels like things have gone back to normal—except for Billy, who serves as a constant reminder that things aren’t normal.
He doesn’t know what time it is by the time Stacey kicks them out, but there’s only a handful of them left. Most of the guys live nearby and can walk home within twenty minutes. Billy stumbles over to his Camaro.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Steve asks.
“’S look like?”
“You can’t drive like this.”
“Sure I can. Just watch.”
“C’mon, asshole, you’re gonna kill yourself.”
“Be doin’ Hawkins a favor. Want a ride?”
“Are you joking? I don’t wanna die.”
Billy laughs then, pulls out a cigarette. “I’m not that drunk, Pretty Boy, c’mon. I’m a great driver. And I’m your only ride, so you better get the fuck in before I change my mind.”
It will take an hour for Steve to walk home from this part of town, so against his better judgment, he finds himself in the passengers seat of Billy’s Camaro. He’s never been inside. The interior is all supple black leather, too soft to be brand new but clearly cared for. There is no clutter, it’s entirely polished and tidy to Steve’s surprise. The scent is unmistakably and overwhelmingly Billy—stale cigarettes, leather, and cologne.
He drives like a lunatic. This much Steve knew when he got in, but being in the car is an entirely different experience. Steve clings to the seat for purchase, the muttered swears lost in the raucous of Def Leppard.
“Can you be more careful?”
“Don’t be a pussy.”
“You’re drunk and it’s the middle of goddamn winter, Billy. Is this your plan to finally kill me or something?”
Billy howls with laughter at that, unhinged and manic, and Steve feels a flutter of genuine fear.
“Alright, let me out, I’d rather walk than die in this fucking car with you.” Steve fumbles with the handle.
“Alright, alright, Jesus! You always such a girl, Harrington?”
Steve leans back into his seat, hand over his face as he massages his forehead. He’s starting to get the spins, and this is probably the worst place to get them. He reaches over and turns the music down. When Billy complains, Steve snaps, “I’ll puke if I have to listen to this shit.”
“You know, you’re awfully pissy for someone who just got laid.”
“I didn’t,” Steve says before he can really think it through.
“What? That chick was practically begging for it!”
Steve sort of laughs at the disbelief in Billy's tone, like he was that convinced Steve was going to have sex. “We got to second. I just wasn’t really in the mood.”
“To get laid?” Billy sounds so incredulous, Steve laughs again despite his self-consciousness.
“Hard for you to imagine, I’m sure.”
He sees Billy look at him in his periphery, but doesn’t look at Billy. He’s afraid he might be sick if he moves his head.
“You queer or something, Harrington?”
Stunned, this time Steve turns to glare at Billy. “Fuck you, Hargrove.”
“Relax, I’m just yankin’ your chain.”
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“Jesus, I told you I was only—“
Steve opens the car door and retches. He hears Billy shouting something about not getting puke on his baby, but Steve is too focused on his convulsing stomach and the burn in his throat to care. Billy swerves over to the side of the road and parks.
When Steve is finally done, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sits back into his seat. When Billy pulls back onto the road, muttering irritably, he drives at a more reasonable speed. Steve nearly nods off during the rest of the drive, and suddenly they're at his house and Billy is saying something.
Steve doesn’t want to move from where he sits. He looks lazily over at Billy. He can’t read Billy at all.
“How will I know if you make it home without crashing?”
“I made it this far, didn't I?"
“What if you die on your drive home?”
Billy looks at him then with a peculiar expression. “You’re such a fucking weirdo, Harrington.”
“I know, but what if you do?”
This time, when Billy turns his gaze on him, he looks uncharacteristically sombre. “You’ll hear about it in the papers.”
Steve shakes his head. “That’s fucked up.”
Billy smiles at him then, almost fondly. Or maybe Steve is just drunk. “Get out of my car, Harrington.”
Steve doesn’t want to, limbs feel much too heavy and he’s much too tired. He stares into the lit windows of the house, the lights he left on purposefully so he wouldn’t have to come home to a dark house. But the lights almost make it worse. He begins to ask if Billy wants to crash here, but thinks better of it.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“I owed you one.”
When Steve looks at Billy, he’s not looking at Steve. He’s looking out at Steve’s house like it’s interesting. It’s the first time either of them has mentioned that night, and it feels strangely sacrilegious. He wants to joke, I think you actually owe me eight dollars. But he doesn’t. He climbs out of the car like he weighs twice as much, bends to wish Billy a goodnight and to remind him not to crash on the way home.
He wobbles up the icy step to his front door, and Billy’s car is already gone when he turns to close it. He passes out on the couch as soon as he lies down.
Nancy is in disbelief the following morning. “Did you go to that party? The one you said you weren’t going to?”
Steve smiles sheepishly, head and throat feeling like they’re going to split open despite the two Advil. He’s sure he looks like death, didn’t even bother to shave his scruff or change out of his sweat pants. Nancy huffs and rolls her eyes, looks to Jonathon as if to say can you believe this?
They all settle into the living room to study, even though Steve would kill to just nap. Nancy’s mouth is taut across the table. Steve hates that taut mouth, and it takes work to shake it off, to remind himself that it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s not Nancy’s to be mad at anymore.
He only remembers the night in bits and pieces, mostly remembers having fun for the first time in months, remembers the cute blonde from Math, remembers Billy’s fond smile at the end of the night. It's enough.