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California was hot .
Steve’s shoulders were sunburnt, rosy from his forehead to his chest and he’s convinced he has heatstroke.
His mother pulls at his wrist. Her long, red nails are gentle but insistent in his skin, dragging Steve behind her as they make their way through the crowds. His mother wants to bring home a souvenir for Aunt Linda. She’s talking about how Steve can bring home a stick of rock for his pal.
The boardwalk is so bright. Steve keeps tripping over his own feet, converse laces untied and he almost drops his water bottle as they pass the County Fair. His mum coos at the Ferris Wheel and asks if he’d ever consider taking Nancy there.
“Everybody here is out of sight. They don’t bark and they don’t bite. They keep things loose, they keep things light…”
“Ma, slow down.” Steve calls, but it's lost in the thrum of music and shouts. Steve pushes his hair away from his face, grimacing as it sticks to his skin.
“Dancing in the moonlight! Everybody’s feeling warm and bright. It’s such a fine and natural sight.”
They weave through a swarm of people dressed in bright tie dye shorts and not much else, the guitar getting louder as they sing. He almost walks straight into his mother as she stops abruptly.
“Stevie, I love this song!” She grins, carefree and bright. Steve can’t help but smile with her as she slings her arms around his shoulders.
“We like our fun and we never fight. You can’t dance and stay uptight. It’s a supernatural delight…”
“You dad never dances anymore.” She sighs into his shoulder, face turned away from Steve. He’s not quite taller than her yet but he leads them in an uncertain dance. The people around them are singing along, practically vibrating with energy.
“Dancing in the moonlight! Everybody’s feeling warm and bright. It’s such a fine and natural sight…”
Steve glances around them as his mother coaxes him into a spin, turning in his arms, a rare laugh on her lips.
The singer is stood on the other side of the boardwalk, his hands curled around the neck of a guitar. He has bruises on his chest, open shirt showing smooth tanned skin and Steve hasn’t seen that sort of muscle on a kid before. There’s an unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear.
There’s a girl sat beside him on a wooden box, her pale hands drumming slightly out of sync.
The guy doesn’t look much older than Steve, his hair long and golden where it’s curled around his jaw. Steve watches the silver pendant around his neck move as the guy rocks on his heels. He catches Steve staring and winks, fingers sliding over the frets.
“We get it almost every night and when the moon is big and bright it’s a supernatural delight…”
His voice is deeper than Steve’s, rougher. The guy licks over his white teeth in a grin when Steve stumbles over his laces. His mother tuts, ruffling his hair.
“Dancing in the moonlight! Everybody's feeling warm and bright. It’s such a fine and natural sight. Everybody’s dancing in the moonlight.”
Steve forces a chuckle as his mother hums along, holding onto Steve’s hands as she dances. It’s odd to see her like this, her dark hair coming loose from the pins, the strap of her blouse slipping over her shoulder as she laughs.
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen his mother without the tight, pinched grin, the perfectly pressed shirts and smooth hair. It’s nice.
The guy’s gaze feels heavy as he stares at Steve, tongue wetting his lips as he sings. It makes something flip in Steve’s chest.
“Well done!” His mother claps as the guy finishes the song. He smiles back at her, settling a big hand on the girls red hair.
“Really good.” Steve calls awkwardly.
Steve feels his mouth go dry as the guy jerks his head to the side, curls bouncing as he gestures for Steve to go over.
“C’mere, Pretty boy.” The guy’s eyes are bright blue, like the ocean. Steve’s face feels hot but he’s not sure if he’s blushing or whether it's the sunburn. The guy bites his lip and faux-growls as Steve takes an unconscious step forward.
“I can’t-” Steve calls weakly when his mother takes his arm and starts guiding them away.
The guy laughs, licking over his teeth as Steve cranes his neck to watch the guy cradle his guitar. He starts strumming as Steve loses sight of him.
His mother is humming as she smooths her hair back. Steve tightens the back of her blouse for her as they see his father waiting by the cab. She stops humming when his father places a hand on her lower back, thin mouthed frown as she tucks a stray curl behind her ear.
“Had a good day?” His father rumbles, slipping into the passenger seat. Steve knocks his knee against his mother’s and smiles at his father.
“Yes. We had a nice lunch and there was good music.” Steve supplies. He doesn’t look at the way his mother’s head is turned towards the window, looking out at the boardwalk where the people are still dancing and the waves are crashing.
They didn’t get the souvenir for Aunt Linda.
Soon they’re stepping off the plane and back in Hawkins.
Everything's dull. The sky is grey and even the sun seems stilted.
He notices how papery his mother becomes. How she shakes, her dark eyes bruised with sleep. They’re only in the house for a few nights before his dad is clapping him on the shoulder and dragging a suitcase out onto the porch.
His mother kisses his forehead, telling him there’s still a bottle of aloe in the fridge. Then he’s alone. She doesn’t even close the front door.
His sunburn stings, feeling the phantom touches of his parents. Steve scrubs his hand through his hair, shutting the door and slumping on the sofa.
The pool out on the patio is clean and clear through the glass doors. The water looks pale blue against the tiles and Steve stares at it until his eyes itch.
It’s nothing like the crystal shimmer of the California ocean, waves that crash onto impossibly soft sand.
His stomach tightens when he thinks of the bright blue eyes. The tight golden curls and tanned skin.
He doesn’t remember much of the trip. The coldness of the ice cream and the smell of linen in the hotel room. The salty taste of the waves and how the tanned skin might taste the same.
Steve shakes his head, raking his fingers through his hair in exasperation. He can’t ignore the coil of heat in his gut when those blue eyes stared at him, right through him. The hunger in that gaze twists something in him and he’s half hard in his pants.
He feels guilty as he presses a palm to his crotch. He closes his eyes, thinking about Nancy’s lips, her long eyelashes, her dainty fingers. Like he’s meant to, he remembers the kisses they’ve shared, the way she feels in his lap, how her hands are gentle on his chest.
They’re not wide, strong hands. Nancy’s hands aren’t calloused from guitar strings. Nancy’s skin is soft, not bruised and tanned and sweaty.
He can’t remember if the guy was sweaty underneath his open shirt but he pretends he saw sweat drip down the dip between the guys pecs, golden hair damp against his neck and silver necklace cool where it would drag over the skin.
Steve groans as he wraps a hand around himself, jeans shucked midway down his thighs. He’s given up on the thought of Nancy’s lavender perfume.
He spits in his palm, the slick touch making him groan. Steve pretends the air is hazy with cigarette smoke and seasalt, runs his fingers over his own stomach and scratches gently. The sting doesn’t feel like callouses might but it’s good enough as he jerks himself faster.
He fucks up into his own fist, feeling the heat build in his stomach, remembering the gravelly “C’mere, Pretty boy.”
He spills over his own hand, cum staining his shirt where it's rucked up on his chest. His breath comes in pants. Steve sags into the sofa, wiping his hand on his jeans and stripping out of them.
He groans as the phone rings.
“Yeah?” He still has one foot caught in blue denim, hand not quite clean as he brings the phone to his face.
“Steve? We have dinner with Barb’s parents tonight. Are you picking me up?” Nancy’s voice filters through.
“Shit, yeah. What time?”
“Seven, Steve.” She sighs in that tone, the one everyone uses when Steve’s being dumb. “Don’t be late.”
“I won’t, Nance. I’ve missed you. See you soon.” Steve tells her, throat tight.
“Bye, Steve.” She sounds tired.
“Love you, Nance. Bye.” Steve wets his lips as he listens to her hang up.
He showers quickly, rummaging through his draws to find something to wear. He pulls on a polo shirt, only to tear it off when he realises the red is too similar to that silk button down, opened over a tanned chest.
He groans at the memory, humming as he climbs into the beamer. He smooths out his grey jumper, wiping his hands on his jeans as he beeps the horn. He can get through this dinner, and save the sexuality crisis for later.
In a town like Hawkins, there should be plenty of opportunities for fags to hide away. There’s only one school, one main road, a handful of stores and cafes.
But Steve never finds the time to mull over, how he, King Steve, could be part fairy.
Nancy screams bullshit.
She smacks his chest, eyes wet as she tells him they’re pretending, that she doesn’t love him.
He killed a girl in his pool and his kids are fighting monsters.
Okay, they’re not his kids. But Dustin calls Steve his best friend. Mike and Lucas call him ‘mom’. Their new friend Max joins in too and teases him when he braids her flaming hair away from her face.
The kids make him feel real.
And okay, he didn’t kill Barb, but Nancy tells him he did. That it’s their (your) fault. That it wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t left her (if you didn’t make me leave her) and it’s not fair. Because Steve knows it’s not his fault, that it’s the monster who killed Barb. But the guilt tastes like chlorine and it burns his throat and eyes like he’s drowning.
He steals a bat from the Byers house, the dull sting of Nancy’s hand in Jonathan’s doesn’t make him as upset as he thought it would. It’s almost grounding. The two of them, standing in each other's space, practically breathing the same air, seems to remind Steve that there is air to breathe.
El is nicer than the brats. She pat’s Steve’s hand and thanks him for the lift up to Hopper’s cabin. She offers him her juice box when he knocks his elbow against the door, swearing as his arm goes tingly and numb.
Steve can’t sleep at night. He keeps the drapes drawn over the glass doors, his nail bat against the arm of the sofa.
Sometimes he pretends his living room smells like seasalt and the pillow beside him is a sun-warmed body with guitar calloused fingers. The monsters hate the heat. He wakes up, sometimes panicked and tears drying in salty tracks on his cheeks, alone and cold.
Sometimes the kids stay over. They’ll bring snacks and movies and sleeping bags even though Steve’s house has enough bedrooms. Dustin snores. Lucas and Mike take it in turns kicking him.
El and Max share a sleeping bag. Neither of them sleep well. El has nightmares. Max has a sore bruise or two that keeps her awake.
Steve likes looking after his kids, it gives him a purpose. He smooths over arnica on Max’s skin and gives her ice packs.
Sometimes Max borrows the phone and makes a call that bills high, but Steve can’t bring himself to mind. She’ll sit with her head bowed in the dark room, Dustin’s snores loud and deep.
Steve will make her hot chocolate as she murmurs “Yes” and “okay” and “really, I’m fine, Steve has made me a drink” and “yeah, he’s a great mom.” He leans on the wall beside her when she beckons him over and takes the phone.
“You keepin’ my sister safe, babysitter?” The voice that leaks through is rough and deep and it does something indescribable to Steve’s knees.
“More like she keeps me safe.” Steve struggles to keep his voice even.
“You sure? Anything ‘strange’ been goin’ on recently?” The guy questions.
“You told your brother?” Steve hisses to Max. She drinks her hot chocolate, marshmallows sticking to her top lip as she raises an eyebrow.
“Sweetheart, I know about the government and all the contracts and shit from the first time around. That El kid is somethin’, ain’t she? Anyway, I gotta run. Be a babe and tell Max to call around 9.” The line clicks off and Steve’s head is reeling.
She smiles, teeth stained chocolate.
Things are good for a little while, Max stays at his house at least three nights a week, whispering into her radio at almost 11pm. Says her step-dad throws her out instead of breaking her nose. Says her step-dad doesn’t hit women with a closed fist.
She’ll call her brother, or Steve will, and they’ll chat until Max takes the phone. Steve will barely have time to say goodbye before Max is prying the phone away, the deep chuckle and the “See you, sweetheart.” lost in the distance between Max and Steve.
He learns her brother’s name is Billy, or William when he’s being an asshole. He learns the Hargrove-Mayfield’s moved out to Indiana from somewhere in California. The step-dad, Billy’s father, left his son half-dead in the hospital and drove across the country to out-run the cops.
Steve can’t match up to the Cali waves but he takes Max and the kids to the public pool and buys them ice cream.
Sometimes Steve pretends his golden halo-ed, ocean eyed boy has a voice like Billy’s. Rough and jagged, like he smokes or sings.
His kids mock him with giggles and smiles when he starts work at Scoops Ahoy. His co-worker joins in, starts up a ‘you suck’ board and Steve thinks he loves her a little bit. She has choppy blonde hair and freckles and no tolerance for misogynistic bullshit.
Steve wants to scream when he answers the phone one night, tired from Robin’s lessons on how to not be a dickbag and the familiar gravelly voice filters through.
“Ahoy, sailor.” Steve groans, and they talk for half an hour, Billy cackling as Steve tells him about the socks and “sweetheart, don’t be embarrassed- you’ve got legs for days” and Steve goes red-faced as Billy tells him about the few polaroids Max sent him a week or so ago.
Steve laughs and Billy hangs up, promising to send him some pictures in return when he finds the time.
The letter stays tucked under Steve’s microwave and he doesn't get around to opening it, ' The silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west' swirling in his head.
His radio chirps as Dustin tries to squish himself in the vents of the Scoops break room.
“Steve- Steve, are you there?”
“Max? What’s up, where are you?”
“It’s Neil. The Mind Flayer is Neil.”
Steve can barely control the panic as he listens to Max run through the events, how Neil broke out of the sauna and hurt El. Max tells him they’re at Hopper’s and Steve could cry.
“I’m gona be grey by 25.” He tells nobody in particular. Erica Sinclair gives him a look that has him checking the top of his head in the reflection of his ice cream scoop.
He ends up bloody and bruised, throwing up truth serum into Starcourt mall's toilets. Robin does her best Russian accent and says “interrogate me” and they laugh until they’re sick again.
There are no lies between them now, splayed out on the bathroom floor, criticising what girls Robin’s been into. She pokes at his swollen eye and tells him he’s a mess as he says a confession of a golden boy in a hushed tone.
They defeat the Mind Flayer, Neil Hargrove’s body torn and beyond repair. Max stands over him as he chokes on his own blood. Steve doesn’t hear what Max says to him. She licks over her split lip, stretching the skin in a smirk until it reopens and she spits reddened saliva.
Steve pulls her into his arms, one hand cupping the back of her head. She’s tense against his chest. He wonders if her brother would have the same fire in his eyes as Max does.
“Did he say anything?” Steve murmurs.
“He was a monster to the end.” Max clenches her jaw, arm wrapping around Steve’s neck. The other kids soon gather round then, Robin urging them to get a move on as sirens creep closer.
Steve carries Max, scooping her off the ground before she can kick him away. She shakes in his arms as they get to Steve’s house. Steve figures it must finally sink in, Neil seeing Max with her axe, the anger in his face distracting the Mind Flayer enough for El to get a lucky shot.
It hurts something in his chest. Neil hated his children so much that it overthrew the Mind Flayer, even for just a moment.
Steve’s dropped the others off home, Dustin and Max in the back seat of the beamer. They’re not even bickering.
There’s a guest room for each of them, draws with spare clothing. Dustin’s room has comic books on the desk and candy wrappers littered on the floor. Max’s has an old red blanket laid over the bed and a dufflebag full of personal items that weren’t safe at her own house.
Steve showers first, letting the kids then take turns in his shower once he’s pulled on sweatpants and a loose, grey shirt. The kids use his shampoo and body wash to clean away the blood and grim.
He sits them both down and smooths plasters over the scrapes on Max’s knees and dabs on arnica on the bruise that’s purpling Dustin’s shoulder.
Together they pile up blankets and duvets on the living room floor, pushing back the coffee table so Max and Dustin can lay with their heads by the sofa.
Max is wearing a dark blue hoodie from Steve’s closet. Dustin has on a pair of his basketball shorts and white striped socks. It makes something in Steve’s chest relax.
Steve leaves the lamp by the sofa flicked on, as well as the kitchen light.
They don’t sleep but they lay quietly, Steve on the sofa, his hand dangling down to brush over her shoulder and pat Dustin’s head. Dustin starts snoring eventually, soft and gentle into the pillow. Max tangles her fingers with Steve’s.
The phone rings, making them both jump, tightening their grip to the point Steve’s surprised they don’t hear a ‘snap’.
“I’ll get it.” Steve murmurs, tucking the blanket tighter around her as he gets up and steps over Dustin.
“Harrington residence.” He says through a yawn, stretching his back.
“Still sounds dumb when you say that.” A deep rumble through the phone tells him. “Sorry it’s late, I didn’t think I’d get an answer.”
“No worries, Bills. What’s up?” Steve smiles, leaning against the wall.
“I can’t call the ol’ man’s place to let Max know I won’t be around to talk tomorrow. Mind lettin’ her know for me?”
“Sure, man. Hold on a sec.”
“You’re a babe.” Steve presses the phone to his chest.
“Hey, Max? It’s your brother.” Steve calls gently. “You wana come tell him?”
“Someone should.” She mutters, but doesn’t move from under her red blanket. Steve swallows, bringing the phone back to his ear.
“Hey Bill, you still there?”
“Course I am. What’s up, sweetheart?” Billy croons.
“Fuck, okay.” Steve sighs. “Uhm, Max doesn’t want to tell you but I thought maybe you’d appreciate one of us letting you know. I- um-”
“Sweetheart, you’re rambling. I could have places to be, y’know?”
“Do you? ‘Cause you should probably cancel them.”
“Spit or swallow, babe.”
“Your dad died tonight.” Steve screws his eyes shut, pressing his forehead to the wall. There’s a long stretch of silence, Steve hears Max get up, blanket trailing behind her.
She presses close to his side, her hands balled up against her chest. Steve puts the call on speakerphone.
“Peacefully?” Billy finally says.
“Would that help-” Steve starts but Max growls over him.
“Complete agony. He’s dead and I bet it still hurts.”
“Good.” They’re silent for a moment before Billy speaks. “Sweetheart, make her a drink.”
“You can just ask to be alone, y’know?” Steve huffs a soft laugh, passing Max the receiver. “Cocoa?” She nods her head.
“Yeah, I know. Now, shoo.” Steve thinks he can hear a smile in Billy’s voice but he’s not sure, so he presses a hand to the top of Max’s head and goes to the kitchen.
He rattles around, preparing two cups of hot chocolate.
“He’s a good mom.”
“Yeah, but carrying me? That’s a bit far, don’t you think?!” Max chuckles.
“Nothin’ I wouldn’t have done.” Billy says confidently. “You want some help sleepin’?”
“We’d love it.” Max sounds shy as Steve passes her one of the cups. “Can you grab some of the blankets?”
“Sure can.” Steve smiles. He gathers up the blankets and pillows Dustin isn’t laying on.
“Thanks, mom.” Billy laughs.
“Would it kill you to call me by my name?” Steve sighs, arranging the blankets so he can sit with his back to the wall, Max against him.
“Let’s not find out, aye sweetheart?”
“Bet he talks to all the boys like that.” Steve nudges Max’s side, making her giggle.
“Just the ones that sound gorgeous, Pretty boy.”
Steve swallows, almost dropping his cup. He shakes his head, huffing out a laugh and tries to get rid of the taste of the ocean off his tongue.
“How loud am I? Do I gotta move?” Billy asks.
“Move back a bit.” Max suggests, sipping her drink. Her tongue chases the melting marshmallows on the surface and Steve smiles fondly.
“Alrighty, how’s now?” There’s a strum of guitar and Steve’s stomach flip. A warmth spreads in his chest, a reflex when he thinks of the Santa Clara coastline.
“That’s good.” Max already sounds sleepy.
“‘Kay, I’m gona hang up so you can call me back. I can’t be affording this.” The line clicks off and Steve chuckles, stretching up to dial Billy’s number.
“You there?”
“And kickin’, sweetheart. What you after, Maxie? Somethin’ classic or original?”
“I don’t know.” She holds her cup close to her chest, knees drawn up and leaning against Steve’s arm.
“Hey, that’s okay. Hmm, how’s this one?” A soft trickle of guitar floats around the room.
Max relaxes almost instantly, sliding down Steve’s arm to rest her head on his thigh. She curls on her side, arms wrapped around herself.
“So… so you think you can tell heaven from hell, blue skies from pain. Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile for a veil? Do you think you can tell?”
Billy’s voice washes over Max, her knuckles loosening where they were white against the blanket wrapped around her. Goosebumps break out over Steve’s arms, Dustin’s snores barely audible as Billy sings, rough and open.
“Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change? Did you exchange a walk-on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?”
Steve drains his hot chocolate, the marshmallows sticking his back teeth together. He smooths a hand down Max’s back, tucking the blanket around her shoulders.
“How I wish, how I wish you were here.”
She turns on her back, Steve’s knee digging into her neck. Max catches his hand and squeezes his fingers. Her eyes are red rimmed as she smiles at him, sleepy and exhausted.
“We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year, running over the same old ground. What have we found?”
Steve closes his eyes, cupping his hand around his empty mug to soak up the residual heat. He exhales slowly, focusing on the slight squeak of Billy’s fingers as they slide down the strings.
“The same old fears. Wish you were here.”
“Fuck. You’re good, man.” Steve murmurs as Billy plucks something pretty. “That Pink Floyd ?”
“Max told me you have a shit taste.” Billy sounds softer, unguarded. “Suppose there’s hope for you yet.”
Steve imagines what his fingers must look like as they dance over the strings. Sun tanned and calloused, strong. Steve flexes his own fingers round his empty mug, wondering if they’d be slender like his, or wider, thick at the knuckle and blunt at the tips. Billy clears his throat.
“You got my letter yet, sweetheart?”
“Yeah-” Steve coughs, his voice cracking. “Yeah, I have. Didn’t open it though, I had work and stuff.” He says ‘stuff’ weakly, the thought of Neil Hargrove’s body, black bubbles frothing at the slack mouth, making the taste of chocolate turn sour on his tongue.
Steve sets his cup to the side, plucking Max’s out of her relaxed hand. He washes the taste away with cold chocolate, grimacing when it curdles in his stomach.
“No sweat, Pretty boy. Can you open it tomorrow?”
“Yeah, okay.” Billy doesn’t seem to notice the change in Steve’s tone, or maybe he does, as he starts strumming something soft and repetitive. Billy hums along before he starts singing, almost at a whisper.
“Hello, my old heart. How have you been? Are you still there inside my chest? I’ve been so worried, you’ve been so still. Barely beating at all.” Steve lets out a slow breath, nudging Max off his leg. Max grumbles against him, shifting so her back is to him.
“Oh, don’t leave me here alone. Don’t tell me that we’ve grown for having loved a little while.” Steve slides down the wall, sighing as Billy’s voice grows in confidence, becoming sturdier and gentle. He pillows his head on the arm that isn't’ holding Max’s hand.
“Oh, I don’t want to be alone, I want to find a home and I want to share it with you.”
“So pretty.” Steve murmurs.
“Hello, my old heart. It’s been so long since I’ve given you away and everyday I add another stone to the walls I built around you to keep you safe. Oh, don’t leave me here alone. Don’t tell me that we’ve grown for having loved a little while. Oh, I don’t want to be alone, I want to find a home and I want to share it with you.”
Lulled by Billy’s voice, Steve relaxes into the blankets. Max is warm against his arm and Dustin’s snores are lost in white noise as he focuses on the sweet notes the guitar is whispering.
“Hello, my old heart. How have you been? How is it, being locked away? Well, don’t you worry in there, you’re safe and it’s true. You’ll never beat but you’ll never break…”
Sleep has never found Steve easier.
----
Steve was already sweating through his shirt. He forgot the sun was so hot in California.
He’s sixty percent sure he already has heatstroke, as sweat drips down his temples, hair sticking to his face.
“Show me the picture again?” Max grabs at his arm. She doesn’t ask, so much as order. Steve rolls his eyes, fishing the glossy polaroid out of the pocket of his jeans. The jeans were a mistake but he didn't figure that until he stepped off the plane and could barely bend his knees to climb inside the cab.
Robin had laughed. She and Max were wearing white denim shorts, Robin had a plaid shirt tied over her chest in a bow, the sleeves rolled to her elbows. Max had a worn floral short sleeved shirt thrown on, undone, over a white tank top.
“This way, follow me.” Max instructs, giving Steve back the photo. She takes the bottom of his t-shirt in her hand, her other arm looping through Robin’s as she starts to weave them through the crowds.
“Pay attention, dingus.” Robin chuckles as Steve trips over his own feet. He grumbles, tucking the polaroid back into the envelope with Steve’s address in cursive scrawl on the front.
He had opened it the next morning, like he promised Billy.
He used his nails to slide under the tape, spilling the contents out over the kitchen worktop. Four polaroid pictures and two bits of paper. He opened the folded sheet of paper with ‘Ahoy, Sailor’ on it, grinning as he reads;
‘Max- Fuck off.
Seriously, if you read this then that’s your own problem.
Last warning, this isn’t for you.
Hey, sweetheart,
Just as promised.
Give me a ring if you fancy, your voice does things to me. Or come with Max, if you want and I’ll show you what those things are ;))
Yours, if you want
Billy x ’
Steve snorted, despite the flip his stomach was doing. He spreads the photos out. They stuck to each other as if they were freshly printed. His fingers leave marks over the edges.
Picture one is a wide shot of a boardwalk, dark wooden slats and brightly coloured stalls. There’s a Ferris Wheel in the background, the beach too. The sand looks almost white against the deep shimmering ocean. There’s a scrawled caption at the bottom; ‘same as usual.’
Picture two is of the water. Tall waves and crashing foam. Dark, wet sand at the bottom of the photo and somewhere in the middle, surrounded by endless blue is a broad figure on a surfboard. Steve can barely make out the red of the board, the figure is crouched on bent knees, hair pulled up and sunglasses covering their face. The figure is too shaded for him to pick anything else out. The caption reads ‘do you even surf, bruh?”
Picture three is of Billy. At least, Steve presumes it’s Billy. It’s taken from behind him, the sun high in the corner of the photo. He’s sat on the beach, one leg stretched towards the ocean, the other bent, knee raised. The red surfboard is laying by his side. He’s leaning back, bracing his weight on one arm. There’s a sun glow around the top of his head, blond curls falling down his muscular back. The scrawl says ‘c’mere, pretty boy x’
His eyes water, his chest aching.
The fourth picture makes Steve laugh. It’s blurry and slightly tilted, Billy’s hand outstretched at the camera. He’s getting up off the sand, some of it stuck to his strong legs and his hand is covering most of his face. Billy’s hair glows gold in the sun. His fingers are tanned and thick, scarred knuckle and bitten nails. He has a bracelet wrapped around his wrist, the camera almost focused on the brown leather chords, fastened with a faded green bead by his wrist bone. There’s a slightly smudged heart and an ‘X’ instead of a caption.
“Max?” Steve had called through. He thumbs over Billy’s broad back, immediately regretting it as he smudges a fingerprint over the glossy surface.
She padded through to the kitchen, her hair fuzzy and wild, a blanket around her shoulders. She had yawned, kicking his shin as she reached for the coffee. “Here, this is yours.” Steve nudged the folded paper towards her ‘Maxine Hargrove’ curled on the top.
Steve shouted in surprise as her cup slips from her hand, shattering over the floor. He hauled her up, setting her on the worktop before she could move her bare feet.
“Shh, hey.” Steve laid a hand on her shoulder before digging in the cupboard under the sink for a dustpan and brush.
“Steve. Steve, these are adoption papers. A plane ticket.” Max whispered, the rustle of paper louder than her voice. Steve looked up at her, the sound of the mug smashing still seeming to ring in their ears. He wasn’t sure he heard her right.
“You mean…?” Steve said, slow and confused.
“They’re filled out.” Max’ voice was thick. “Max, come see how well I’ve made it.” She read. “He- Billy wants me to go to California. My mom just has to sign. I just have to sign.”
That brings them to now, Max dragging him down the boardwalk.
“Don’t you think we should’ve checked out my college first?” Robin asks as she pulls Steve upright.
“No! This is more important than your lust for Beta Kappa girls.” Max told her, nudging her elbow into Robin’s side.
Steve stumbles again when he hears the music. Max hisses “dammit, Steve” but slows to help him up.
There’s noise all around them, brightly dressed people in tight shorts are dancing their way along the boardwalk. There are some stalls with radios, playing different channels. There’s a couple in a gap between two stalls, with microphones and guitars hooked up to amps.
Steve’s breath catches in his throat.
He barely glances at the dark haired girl sitting on the amp, her ankles crossed as she picks at the guitar in her lap.
He focuses on the man, who’s familiar deep voice seems to get louder as Steve stares.
“...I'm goin' back to New Orleans to wear that ball and chain."
Max stamps her feet, tugging on Steve’s shirt in her excitement. Steve’s inclined to agree.
Billy’s eyes are so blue and bright, Steve’s mouth goes dry. His golden hair is pulled up and away from his face in a bun, aviators perched on the top of his head. He winks at Max, pink lips stretching into a smirk.
“Well, there is a house in New Orleans they call the Rising Sun and it's been the ruin of many a poor boy and God, I know I'm one.”
His chest is bare and tanned, metal piercings through his nipples. Silver necklace resting between his pecs, abs flexing as he catches Steve’s eye. He licks over his teeth, watching Steve’s eyes follow the flick of his tongue. Heat rushes to Steve’s cheeks. The ‘clack’ of Billy’s tongue piercing against his teeth makes Steve’s chest tighten.
Billy leans his guitar against the amp. He bends at the knee, thighs straining in his navy board shorts, and catches Max as she runs at him, her arms flung around his neck. He spins her with a loud bark of laughter.
There’s a wide grin stretched out on Max’s face, her eyes screwed shut.
Steve watches as Billy sets his sister down on her feet, straightening up. He settles his hands on his hips, licking over his teeth as he looks between Steve and Robin.
“C’mere, Pretty boy.” Steve chokes on a groan. Billy’s voice is deep and soft and beautiful. Robin shoves him in the small of his back. Steve stumbles forward, strong, tanned arms stretching to catch him around the waist.
“Missed you, Bills.” Steve breathes, hands on his warm shoulders.
“This ain’t no hick town, sweetheart. Show me.” Billy murmurs, eyebrow raised, one hand sliding up his spine to thread into Steve’s sweaty hair.
Steve wets his lips before bringing their mouths together. He cradles Billy’s jaw, moaning high in the back of his throat as Billy pulls him tight to his chest. Billy tastes of metal and seasalt.
He digs his fingers into the meat of Billy’s shoulder, angling his jaw to curl his tongue over Billy’s. The metal is warm and smooth against the flat of his tongue and Billy squeezes his waist.
“Easy, sweetheart.” He sounds rough and a little breathless, hot and wet against Steve’s skin. Billy nips at his bottom lip, pressing another hard open- mouthed kiss against Steve’s lips. His eyes are half open as he kisses Steve, eyelashes long and dark against his cheeks.
Max interrupts, making choked gagging noises that rasp in her throat.
“Fuck off, shitbird.” Billy growls, something low and mean and Steve’s knees go weak.
“No, come on! You have to take us to lunch, then take Robin to the college. Then you have to take us home.” Max has her arms folded and she kicks at Billy’s calf.
Billy winks one ocean blue eye at Steve, hand fisting in his hair gently like a promise. He lets go of Steve and sighs, kicking out at Max in retaliation.
“Home, huh?” Billy smirks. Steve’s head is still spinning. Billy laces his fingers with Steve’s, tugging his arm over his shoulder, keeping his own arm around Steve’s waist as he toes on some loosely-laced canvas shoes.
He presses a shy kiss to Billy’s cheek as he starts leading him back up the boardwalk.
Billy’s neck is warm against Steve’s arm, he can feel the roll of his shoulders as he walks. Max links her arm with Robin’s. She skips slightly as she walks and Steve feels as giddy as she looks.
“Yep! Home. I’m legally your problem. Steve has the papers.” Max waves a dismissive hand.
“My problem, huh?” Billy asks amicably. He leans towards Steve, breath hot on the shell of his ear. “You wana be my problem too, sweetheart?” He sticks his tongue in Steve’s ear.
Steve makes a noise he refuses to admit is a squeak, squirming in his grasp but not moving away.
“Already am, Bills.” He smiles, presses a kiss to Billy’s jaw, biting in retaliation.
Billy throws his head back and laughs, loud and beautiful.
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Inspired by "IDK You Yet" by Alexander 23
'How can you miss someone you've never met?
'Cause I need you now but I don't know you yet
But can you find me soon because I'm in my head?
Yeah, I need you now but I don't know you yet'