Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

October 30th, 1984 

Billy opened his eyes. 

It was cold in his bedroom. It was never this cold in his room. For a few blissful moments he couldn’t remember why...Then it all came crashing back to him like a rogue wave. He wasn’t in California anymore. He was in the middle of some backwater shithole town in the middle of fucking nowhere, USA. His Dad had dragged him kicking and screaming across ten states to get away from Max’s Dad, and now he was two thousand miles away from the Pacific Ocean, two thousand miles away from his friends, from his high school, from the warm sun... His gut burned, a fury raging in his gut that was so strong he felt sick. His nostrils flared, staring up at the cracked white ceiling. It wasn’t his fucking fault Susan and her crazy daughter were such spazzes. Why did he have to be punished for it? He flung himself out of bed and looked at his furious expression in the mirror. He ground his teeth so badly that he bit his cheek. Blood pooled thickly on his tongue.

In L.A. he could stay out late, come home late, douse himself in liquor at the clubs that operated under the wire and in the endless maze that was the sprawling city. In Shithole, Indiana, he was trapped like a caged animal. He’d driven around the entirety of the town in under half an hour the day before while his dumbass half-sister was at the crappy little building these people called an arcade. All around the town limits were endless fields, endless woods, endless fuck all. Where would he go now? Where would he escape to? There was nowhere to run...Nowhere to hide. 

He ripped open his closet and stared at his clothes, most still in boxes. He pulled a long sleeve shirt from the pile and put it on, yanking a pair of jeans up his legs, throwing on a denim coat. He checked himself in the mirror and paused. He hesitated for a moment, then changed his shirt. This one was better. He scowled, flipping his hair over his collar. Not that it mattered... This shithole didn’t even have a godforsaken mall. They barely had a fucking transit system. He lit a cigarette, shivering, hating the fact that when he blinked, this shitty unfamiliar bedroom wasn’t going away. His Dad wanted him to drive Max to school every day like he was her fucking mother and wait up for her after school like a fussy parent. He sneered at the floor, smoke curling from his nostrils. What, was she too good to take the school bus like all the other kids who lived in this trash neighbourhood? He flicked his cigarette into the ashtray on his bedside table.

Max. This was all her fucking fault. His dad’s precious Susan and her freckled little bitch of a daughter... 

Someone pounded on his door. 

“Billy! Hurry the hell up, you’re gonna be liate!” his Dad’s furious voice yelled to him through the door. 

Fine , he thought, smoothing out his hair, licking his lips, his blue eyes on fire with hatred. Fine.

Steve handed Nancy his essay. It was two sheets of loose leaf, double-sided, covered with his scrawl in blue ball-point pen. The morning sun filtering through the windows of the car was warm for October, and he felt a nervous sweat begin to trickle down his back. He wasn’t used to anybody reading his writing, since he knew his writing was pretty much crap. He internally cursed himself as he watched Nancy read. He’d never even bothered to think about college until he’d started dating her. She was smart and ambitious, and he knew she was going to end up well educated and successful, and he was determined to be educated and successful along with her. He could tell she longed to get out of Hawkins, to get away from the trap of suburbia. He knew that if he got a job with his Dad and stayed in Hawkins, their relationship wouldn’t survive– And he wanted, very desperately, for it to survive. 

The fact of the matter was that he was stupidly, idiotically, deeply in love with Nancy Wheeler. It had happened quite by accident, starting with a little smile at the studious, quiet girl walking with her friend Barbara, sending her teasing notes, making funny faces at her while she tried to study in the library, asking her out on a date... Suddenly, he’d found himself absolutely smitten with her, enough that he’d come crawling back even after he’d thought she had cheated on him, alienating his only friends in the process. Tommy H. and Carole were assholes anyway, but… He’d been an asshole too. He hoped, very dearly, that he wasn’t as much of an asshole as he used to be.

He also hoped very dearly to marry Nancy someday… Which meant college. 

“It’s crap, I know,” he said dully. 

“No, it’s not crap!” Nancy exclaimed kindly.

“It’s... Not good,” he muttered. 

“It’s going to be,” she said bracingly, smiling. “It just needs some reorganizing...” 

Steve sighed heavily, his hand on the steering wheel of his father’s BMW. 

“Can I mark on it?” she asked him. 

“Yeah, I guess...,” he said. That didn’t bode well. He knew it was complete shit, but he’d hoped that maybe it was at least a little bit less shit than usual.

“So... In the first paragraph you use the basketball game against Northern as a metaphor for your life, which is great! But then... Around here…” (she circled something in pen) “You start talking about your granddad’s experiences in the war, and I... um... I don’t see how they’re connected?” 

Nancy winced sympathetically at him. 

“It connects because... Uh, because we both won,” Steve said, flicking his wrist. He tried to sound confident, but he knew what he’d written was probably nonsensical. 

Nancy gave him a look, one that was simultaneously pitying and maybe a little judgemental. 

“What, you think I should start from scratch?” he asked, alarmed. 

“No, no I mean...,” Nancy pursed her lips. She looked at him. “When’s the deadline?” 

“It’s tomorrow for early application,” he said, a feeling of desperation growing inside him. “Can you come by and help me tonight?” 

“No, we have our dinner tonight, remember?”

Steve’s gut sank into his shoes. 

“Oh my god,” he groaned, slamming his skull into the tan leather headrest. 

“We already cancelled last week... You don’t have to go. Just work on this...” 

“No, no, no... What’s the point?” he muttered, grabbing the essay and balling it up and throwing it into the backseat, defeated. 

“Hey, calm down!” Nancy urged, exasperated. 

“No, no, I’m calm, I’m calm. I’m just being honest, you know,” Steve said gloomily. “I mean, I’m just gonna end up workin’ for my Dad anyway...” 

“That’s not true...” she said quietly. 

“I dunno, Nance, is that such a bad thing?” he asked, looking at her, shrugging. “There’s insurance and benefits and all that adult stuff...And if I took it, you know, I could be around for your senior year...” 

“Steve...,” she said softly, sympathetically. 

“Just to look after you a little bit... Make sure you don’t forget about this pretty face...” 

God, he was a fool for her. He knew it, and she knew it, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Nancy looked away, chuckling softly, like what he had said was a joke. 

“Nance, I’m serious,” he said, gazing at her. Her pretty brown hair glinted in the morning sun, her eyes sharp and quick. She was so beautiful… She turned her head toward him and he kissed her. 

“I love you,” he said, sincerely. 

“I love you, too,” she said quietly. She sounded almost sad. 

A loud, revving engine interrupted their moment. Nancy got out of the car, looking out into the distance. Steve followed her, leaning on the burgundy roof of his father’s BMW. From the entrance of the parking lot, something beastly and mean was growling across the broken pavement. A well-loved Chevrolet Camaro in a starlit navy blue came rocketing into a parking spot, blaring heavy rock at a volume that Steve would never be able to bear at 8 o’clock in the morning on school day. He watched, flicking his sunglasses onto his head as the unfamiliar car pulled crookedly into a parking spot and jolted to a halt. Steve saw that it had California plates.  The driver’s door opened and a boot hit the pavement. A guy got out of the driver’s side of the car. He was wearing tight denim jeans, a white shirt, and a scuffed blue jean jacket, a pack of smokes stuffed into the front breast pocket. The stranger put a cigarette to his lips and looked around. Steve internally recoiled when he saw the stranger’s face. His handsome features wore an expression of ill-concealed contempt and superiority. From the passenger side, a red-haired girl in baggy boy’s clothes got out, clutching a skateboard. She slammed the door shut behind her and skated off across the parking lot toward Hawkins Middle, not bothering to say goodbye to the guy who’d driven her. The stranger’s eyes landed on Nancy and Steve, and he gave them a small, cocky ghost of a smile before he turned around and made his way across the parking lot toward the school, chucking his cigarette on the way. Steve’s eyes narrowed. Something wasn’t right about this guy. His arrival felt odd, ill timed, like the wind had shifted directions and brought with it a dark cloud. Steve shifted on his feet, uneasy.

Tina and a few of her vapid girlfriends were leaning against a car nearby, and they practically melted as the stranger strutted by, twirling their hair, their heads swivelling like owls to get a better look at him. Steve watched Nancy’s head follow the stranger too and felt a flash of jealousy flare up into his gut. She wouldn’t like a guy like that... Right? 

His fears were alleviated when she turned around with a sour expression on her face. 

“He seems like a piece of work, whoever he is...,” she said ruefully. “See how he didn’t even say goodbye to his sister or anything?” 

Steve looked at her and his heart soared. That was his beautiful, brilliant Nancy. Nothing escaped her notice. He knew he was grinning like an idiot but he couldn’t stop it and didn’t care. 

He loved Nancy, and she loved him. 

October 31st, 1984 

Billy righted himself, spraying beer and spit into the air, hollering in triumph. It dribbled down his chin and onto his chest and coat. Someone handed him a cigarette. 

“We got ourselves a new Keg King!” 

He heard a swirling crowd screaming his name, like a heartbeat pulsing all around him. 

“THAT’S HOW YOU DO IT, HAWKINS! That’s how you do it!” Billy hollered.

He was fucked up and he knew it. These country bumpkins wouldn’t know liquor if it smacked them in the nuts. They were all lightweights, every single goddamned one of them. Billy was more of a whisky man at heart, but he had heard some popular guy named Stan Hartman or Harrison or whatever the fuck held a keg stand record that had yet to be beaten in the last three years. Back in L.A. he’d had practice, lots of practice. 

He’d broken it— Easily. 

The freckle faced boy, whatever his name was, followed him as he made his way into the house, leading him with his hand on his shoulders. He looked up and found some toilet paper hanging from the ceiling and wiped the beer from his face. The boy led him through the chaos and parked him in front of that guy with perfect hair who looked stone cold sober and extremely annoyed. 

“We got ourselves a new Keg King, Harrington,” sneered Freckle Face. Two other boys joined in.

“Yeah, that’s right!” 

“Yeah, eat it, Harrington!” 

The lights were going wild in the room and Billy’s head swam as he tried to stare him down. Different parts of this Harrington guy were  going in and out of focus. His hair swung into his vision, then his cheeks, flushed… His furrowed brow, his pink lips. Billy stared stupidly. Here was that guy again, the grim-faced guy with the even gloomier girlfriend, the one who hadn’t immediately been overtaken by his charm. He and his girlfriend had been the only ones. Billy had been like a sensation on his first day. A middle aged, doe-eyed secretary had ushered him to his class, handing him his schedule and the details of his classes with reverence, and giggling a little too loudly at everything he said. He’d walked into the classroom and every single person had stared at him like they’d never seen anything like him before in their lives. Only two people seemed to be unimpressed, and he was unsurprised to see that it was the couple that he’d spied staring at him from the red BMW across the parking lot not half an hour before. 

“Everyone, this is William Hargrove, coming to us all the way from California. I hope you’ll make him feel welcome,” the elderly teacher had said, giving him a small, genuine smile and patting him on the shoulder. Billy, unused to anyone smiling genuinely, had flinched away from the man’s touch.

“Billy,” he’d corrected, smirking around the classroom. He’d winked at one of the girls that had been staring at him that morning, and she’d blushed. 

Girls had started to follow him around. He’d heard their giggles, their whispers, as he passed. He’d smirked at them, blinked his long eyelashes, put his hand above them in doorways. He had only been there a day and he could already see the boys around him seething, writhing in anger, watching their girlfriends, fuckbuddies, and crushes cast their mascara eyes on him. They wanted to act but they were too afraid. He was an unknown factor.  On his way out of class earlier that day, Halloween, a dark haired girl with a freckle face and small tits had handed him an orange paper. Tina was her name. He had nodded to her, giving her a smile, assuring he’d be at whatever sad little function she was organizing. He’d spent hours getting ready. He knew these hicks were just waiting for him to fuck up so the boys could crawl back into their spots as the kings of the town. He wouldn’t let them. 

He had spent the majority of the party drinking, insidiously putting himself between girlfriends and boyfriends, watching in dull, far off amusement as the boyfriends frothed at the mouth and the girlfriends drooled. When Freckle Face had mentioned the keg stand record, he’d leapt up onto the keg without hesitation. 

Now he was standing stupidly in front of the guy who had been giving him disgusted looks all night, and now he knew his name. Finally up close, Billy had the dazzling realization that he was the prettiest boy he had ever seen. The world seemed to freeze. Harrington was speaking. He exchanged some nasty words with Freckle Face, Tim or Todd or whatever his name was. Then he disappeared, chasing after his girlfriend. Billy staggered off, stumbling over party goers and furniture. He was wasted and sloppy and Freckle Face was trailing after him, singing his praises, and he wished he would just fuck off. There was no place for that kind of thing in a small town like this. There was nowhere to hide. He looked up and saw one of the girls who had been giving him eyes all night. She was loaded too. He staggered towards her. 

November 1st, 1984

Billy felt it, the stirring warmth in his gut when he remembered what it felt like to be free and beautiful and anonymous in the labyrinth of Los Angeles, disappearing laughing under the ocean, stealing kisses and more in dark corners. He blinked his blue eyes at the sweaty, wiry boy with the perfect hair slamming his arm into his chest and thumping his elbow against the hammering of his heart. The other boy was called Harrington, Steve Harrington, the patchy memory of the Halloween party the night before swimming back to him. His eyes were on the hazel side of brown and they were darting around looking for an opening, a way to ferry the basketball he was dribbling away from his clutches. 

He wasn’t going to get one.

Harrington slammed his back against his chest, trying to block him. 

“Harrington, right?” Billy asked, mocking. “I heard you used to run this school. That true? King Steve they used to call you, huh? Then you turned bitch.” 

Billy played with him, blocking his every move. His taunt had made Harrington turn his head. 

“Hey, maybe you should just shut up and just play the game,” Harrington said.

Billy felt almost gleeful as he slammed him to the floor, leaping into the air and scoring with ease. 

He whooped, turning around. 

Steve had gotten to his feet, sweating, staring up at him from where he was bent, his hands on his knees. 

“Steve!” 

He looked up and saw her, the King of Hawkins High’s pretty little bird. Billy hadn’t got a good look at her until now, and he supposed she was pretty enough… But her eyes were sharp and calculating, combining strangely with the soft pastels of her clothing. Harrington immediately got up and greeted her, like an eager dog. Billy sneered after him, unable to stop himself, knowing full well Harrington was madly in love with this girl with the flinty eyes. His mind went blank. He played the game, dodging, pushing, scoring. He saw a boy run out and shout to Harrington. 

“That douchebag is killing us!“ he heard the boy yell. Billy grinned. 

He would show these hicks. He would show them all. They would worship the ground he walked on by the time he finally got enough money to rev his engines homeward, back to L.A., back to his real life. This was how he was going to survive the next year. He would become their ruler. He would convince them all he was a force to be reckoned with. 

Steve ran back into the gym and he looked upset, his jaw clenched, his eyes cast downward. Billy threw him the ball and he looked up, startled. 

Billy lifted his chin and smirked at Steve Harrington, and felt he could conquer the world. 

Hawkins didn’t know about his secrets. They didn’t know his history. He was free to begin again, purge himself of the whispers he’d left behind, become top dog. 

And he would start with Steve. 

November 2nd, 1984

Steve was face to face with that asshole Billy Hargrove again. Sweat dripped down his face as Billy stared him down, dribbling the basketball, easy as you please, grinning. 

“Alright!” Billy crowed, laughing. “Alright, alright, alright!” 

Billy gestured to him, like he was introducing a musical act. 

“King Steve! King Steve, everyone!” he called, dribbling closer, putting his glistening face near. “I like it. Playing tough today.” 

Steve couldn’t comprehend why this dickhead was so obsessed with him. It wasn’t like he was all that popular anymore…  In fact, he didn’t give a single shit that this beastly asshole was climbing the social ladder of Hawkins High. Big fucking whoop. Just like Nancy had said, it was all bullshit. She was bullshit. And Billy Hargrove, especially , was fucking bullshit. 

“Jesus, do you ever stop talking? Come on!” he exclaimed. He was sick of the theatrics. To his chagrin, Billy straightened up, dribbling nonchalantly, laughing. 

“What?” Billy chuckled. “You afraid the coach is gonna bench you now that I’m here? Huh?”

Steve blinked. He hadn’t thought of that. 

In the millisecond it took for Steve to process Billy’s words, he got an elbow in the gut and was falling backwards, sprawling onto the gym floor. He could hear the squeak of Billy’s shoes as he ran, the sound of the net as the basketball swished through it. Steve looked up and saw Billy coming toward him. His expression was wolffish. For a strange, crazy moment, he thought Billy was going to hit him. Then he extended a hand, offering to help him up. Steve stared at it sourly for a second and then took it. Billy pulled him up a little and stopped short, his sweat-covered face a few inches from his own. He could see the contempt in his blue eyes. His eyelashes were stupidly long for a guy. What kinda dude had those kinda eyelashes? 

“You were moving your feet,” Billy told him softly. “Plant them next time. Draw a charge.” 

Billy slammed him back down onto the gym floor, letting go of his hand. He walked away. 

Steve turned and watched him go. 

Fifteen minutes later found Steve standing under the warm water of the shower, lathering his hair with shampoo and trying not to have sentient thoughts. He felt numb, angry, and betrayed. He still couldn’t believe that Nancy couldn’t bring herself to say she loved him yesterday. Had she lied to him? Had all those times he thought he was gonna marry her just the dreams of a dumbass kid? No... No, they couldn’t have been. No way. He really, truly loved her. She hurt him, lied to him... And stupid sap that he was, he still fucking loved her. She was everything he had ever wanted and more. He was glad he was in the shower. Nobody could tell you were crying in the shower... Right?  Someone came into the shower beside him and he knew, from the swaggering way that he held himself, that it was Billy Hargrove. Across from him, Tommy stepped in, turning on the tap. It seemed he had found another asshole to worship instead of him. Steve was glad. He didn’t give a shit about Tommy anymore, and he wondered how he had ever given a shit about him. He was dumb as fuck and mean with it. His ribs and taunts were more annoying than anything else. 

Billy’s insults, on the other hand, stung. He couldn’t explain why. Billy was a dick, sure... But unlike Tommy, who prided himself on being a big meathead, Steve could tell Billy wasn’t stupid. He had a sharpness about him that didn’t just extend to his personality. Oddly, the way his eyes narrowed and flicked around reminded him of Nancy. He was strangely cold and standoffish even when his voice was friendly. It unnerved Steve. At least Tommy wore his cruel stupidity on his sleeve. Billy’s malice was always there but it seemed to float just below the surface, veiled behind the cocky little smirks he threw around.

... Like the one he was giving Steve right now. 

In any other situation he would have accused someone staring that long at him in the shower of being a homo, but he knew that Billy was doing this to try and get a rise out of him. 

“Don’t sweat it, Harrington,” Billy said. “Today’s just not your day, man.” 

His expression was somewhat genuine, a strange dance of mockery and sympathy in his face, which surprised Steve a little. Then it was gone. He turned around to get his towel. 

“Yeah. Not your week,” Tommy’s voice grated from the other side. “You and the princess break up for one day, and she’s already running off with the freak’s brother.” 

Steve felt something icy form in his gut at his word and gave Tommy a long suffering look. 

“Oh shit... You don’t know,” Tommy said, his voice a farce of sympathy, grinning. “Jonathan and the Princess skipped yesterday. Still haven’t shown.” 

Tommy leaned in. 

“But that must just be a coincidence, right?” he asked, immediately dissolving into a wheeze of laughter. He turned off the shower and walked away, disappearing around the corner. Steve felt like he had been punched. Billy watched Tommy leave, amused, like a beleaguered Dad at his shithead son.

Steve lathered his hair, his mind racing. He knew exactly what Jonathan and Nancy were doing, and it wasn’t what Tommy thought. He felt panic rising in his gut. Didn’t they know how dangerous it was?

“Don’t take it too hard, man,” Billy said, interrupting his panicked train of thought. There was a strange smirk on his face. Steve was distinctly aware of Billy putting his arm up on the shower pole, his head tilted toward him. 

“A pretty boy like you’s got nothin’ to worry about,” he said. Steve thought that was a strange thing to say about another guy, particularly to one that was naked and blocking him in a shower. Steve refused to look at him, uncomfortable, unsure. If this was Billy’s way of trying to bully him… Well, shit, it was working. He was definitely not feeling all that confident right now... Steve resolutely stared forward.

“Plenty of bitches in the sea,” Billy continued his voice closer. He must have leaned in. 

Maybe Steve’s refusal to look at him pissed him off, because he leaned back and slapped the knob on his shower, cutting off the spray. Steve wiped his face, his hair still full of shampoo, and finally looked at Billy. He was staring, his head tilted, a smirk on his face, straightening out his towel. He leaned over and slapped Steve once on the back, walking away around the shower pole. 

“I’ll be sure to leave you some,” he said, not bothering to look at him or cover himself with a towel.

Steve watched him go. 

Annoyed, hurt, panicked, and mostly just heartbroken, Steve slapped the shower back on with his fist. 

November 3rd, 1984

For the first time since he’d arrived at the shithole that he now called home, Billy was in a good mood.

He had a date. 

The girl was actually pretty cute— Heather was her name. A rich girl who had money from her daddy, and acted like it. It was a particular taste of his, these rich kids with straight white fences whose parents made more money than he’d ever seen in his life. He’d dated a hot blonde named Cynthia King back in L.A. whose father worked as the head of a department in some big company. For all of their clean pastel Esprit tops and white Keds, one thing he had learned about these rich, straight-laced kids was that they loved to get down and dirty. They loved to drink until they puked, do drugs until their eyes were wide as saucers, fuck until they screamed. Billy had some half notions about it maybe being because their lives were so boring and sad they needed something to make it interesting, but he hadn’t really thought too hard about it. This was mostly because he was that bad influence... And he loved it. He loved to watch rich dads in sweater vests and Sperry’s go beet red in fury when their daughters brought him home, one earring dangling in his ear, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. This Heather girl was a cute chick who didn’t smell like cheap perfume. Her makeup was gentler than some of the other girls around her, and she had a certain amount of backbone that he admired. 

He sprayed his hair, adjusting one of his curls. Metallica screamed from the speakers. He dabbed Aramis on his wrists, and took some in his palm, his hand diving down into his underwear. He massaged some around his dick, a trick he had learned from an old friend of his. Whenever a chick was about to give you head, she got a whiff of your cologne. They went nuts for it. This trick was best used in the warm weather of California, as having sweaty balls was far less likely in the chilly air of Indiana, but old habits died hard. And anyways— It wasn’t like the chick he’d fucked yesterday, who had practically tried to jump his bones the second he walked on the high school grounds. This chick, Heather,  needed a little more panache.  He checked his profile in the mirror, giving a little pose, checking his ass. All in good order. He leaned into the mirror and winked at himself. He was gonna get his cock sucked tonight by the hottest chick in school. 

A knock on his door. 

“Billy?” Susan called. 

He exhaled his cigarette. 

“Yeah, I’m a little busy in here, Susan,” he called back. He wasn’t a particular fan of Susan, but he was never really mean to her. She got enough of that from his Dad. 

“Open the door! Right now!” his Dad yelled.

Billy stared at himself in the mirror and watched as his confidence faded from his eyes, being replaced by something that he hated. He took one last puff of his cigarette for good measure and crushed it in the ashtray. He walked over to his bedroom door, opening it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level. 

“Why don’t you tell us?” Neil asked. His face was stormy and dark. Susan looked meek and a little upset beside him.

“Because I don’t know,” Billy bit sarcastically.

“We can’t find Maxine,” Susan explained, her voice upset but level, clearly far more concerned about her daughter than angry at her step-son. He appreciated that she didn’t immediately accuse him of wrongdoing like his Dad had done. 

“And her window’s open,” Neil added on patronizingly. 

Billy looked away, feeling oddly betrayed for a moment. That little bitch knew it was his job to take care of her and she had snuck out on him! He was going to kill her. She never thought about anybody but herself! Didn’t she know what would happen if their parents thought he’d gone and got her lost? No— She didn’t know. She never got the bad end of his father’s wrath. That privilege was reserved for him, and him alone. 

“Where is she?” his Dad demanded. 

Billy fidgeted, feeling like an ant under a microscope. He could tell his Dad’s fury was mounting by the second.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, a lot less aggressive than he had meant to sound. He supposed he did that for Susan’s sake. She was just upset that her daughter was gone. He could get that— at least, theoretically.

“You don’t know?” Neil scoffed. This was the DEW line, the caution tape. Billy knew that if he raised his voice, tried to fight— 

“Look, I’m sure she just... Went to the arcade or something,” he said, turning away from his father, going toward his closet to get his coat. He forced his voice to be calm, reasonable— Even reassuring. He really wanted to go out tonight. 

Billy heard Neil come into the room behind him. 

“You were supposed to watch her,” he said. His voice just barely contained his fury. 

Billy sighed, trying to keep himself as small as possible, not giving his Dad any opportunities to react. 

“I know, Dad, I was...,” he said, a little frustrated, putting on his coat. “It’s  just that you guys were three hours late, and I have a date...” 

He turned around, flipping his hair over the collar of his jacket and adjusting the sleeves. 

“I’m sorry, okay?” 

His father crossed his arms. Here it came. 

“So that’s why you been starin’ at yourself in the mirror like some faggot instead of watching your sister?” 

There was no point in staying calm now. Neil wanted a fight, and he was going to get it whether Billy wanted to fight or not. Billy was at least going to try and get a few words in edgewise. 

“I have been looking after her all week, Dad! Okay? Look, if she wants to run off then that’s her problem, alright? She’s thirteen years old, she shouldn’t need a full-time babysitter! And she’s not my sister!” 

He shut off Metallica. 

The DEW line had been crossed. Like an enraged beast suddenly let loose, Neil jumped forward and grabbed Billy by the front of his coat, slamming him against the shelf. Billy felt the wood pressing painfully into his spine. His father’s face was inches from his own, the muscles in his jaw twinging. 

“What did we talk about?” Neil whispered. 

Billy stared. 

A fist crashed across his face, sending him lurching sideways. He heard Susan make a small noise of discomfort from the door. Neil grabbed his face. 

“What did we... Talk about?” Neil asked, enunciating each word, his voice falling to a deadly croon. 

“Respect and responsibility,” Billy recited, the words coming unbidden from somewhere deep inside of him, a response triggered in an effort to save him from further hurt. His face became a blank slate, his pride disintegrating and his mind slipping into nothing, his entire body tense and focused on surviving the next few minutes. 

“That is right,” Neil said in a sing-song voice. “Now. Apologize to Susan.”

“I’m sorry, Susan,” he said, his voice blank. Behind him, Susan was hovering by the door looking scared. 

“It’s okay, Neil, really—“ she said, her voice sounding a little teary. Billy felt a small, distant flare of affection for her despite her inefficacy in protecting him. She at least tried to calm Neil down... But there was no calming Neil down, and now he directed some of his fury at her for daring to question his judgement. 

“No, it is not okay, nothing about his behaviour is okay!” Neil exclaimed, his voice angry and loud. 

Neil let him go, turning around, staring at Susan. 

“But he’s gonna make up for it. He’s gonna call... Whatever whore he’s seeing tonight, and cancel their date.” 

His Dad turned his head halfway between Susan at the door and Billy still pressed into the bookcase. 

“And then he’s gonna go find his sister... Like the good, kind...” 

He turned to Billy, his steely eyes staring directly into his. 

“Respecting brother that he is.” 

Billy stared at his father. He knew there were tears in his eyes. The adrenaline of being hit was beginning to wear off, the blissful detachment that came over him when his father had his hands on him fading quickly. 

“Isn’t that right, Billy?” 

Billy stared blankly, unable to move his lips. 

Neil stalked forward. 

“Isn’t that right?!” he shouted in his face. 

Billy found his voice at last. 

“Yes, sir,” he said softly, his mouth barely moving, his voice croaking. 

Neil leaned forward, tilting his head threateningly. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you...” 

Billy felt sick to his stomach. 

“Yes. Sir,” he repeated louder. 

His father gave him one last dark look. 

“Find Max,” he murmured threateningly. He stalked out of the room. 

Through the tears in his eyes he could see Susan had come into the room, still by the door. He watched as she stepped away from Neil as he stalked out. He bent his head. He wanted her to go away. Having her come over to comfort him would only make him feel worse. Thankfully, she left. The door closed. The tears that he’d been holding back came now, before he could stop them. He felt sick, disgusted with himself. He was weak. Every time his father tried to bully him, he succeeded— And nobody ever helped him. Nobody! Not Susan, not her stupid kid Max— He was alone.  He punched something. It broke. He put his head in his hands, feeling furious and ashamed and, worst of all, scared.

And now he had to call Heather and tell her he couldn’t make their date. 

This was all Max’s fault. 

When he found her, he’d kill her. 

Billy drove down the long, dark driveway that led to Jonathan Byers’ place, his headlights illuminating a house that was even shittier than his, something he hadn’t thought possible until that moment. As he drove onto the lawn and pulled his car into park, he watched as someone walked out of the front door and down the porch steps.

Steve. Fucking. Harrington. 

A million confused questions went haywire in his head. First of all— Why was he at the Byer’s house? Were he and that Jonathan kid friends? Unlikely, considering Jonathan Byers had stolen his girlfriend. He got out of the car, leaning against the door, and took a long drag of his cigarette. 

“Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington?” he asked. Steve was standing there with his hands on his hips like a pissed off mom coming out to fight the angry neighbour because her brats had ruined his rose bushes. 

“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t cream your pants,” Steve replied, coming down the walk toward him. Billy threw off his jacket, throwing it into the car. He’d want free arms for this. 

“What’re you doin’ here, amigo?” he asked, feeling strangely elated. He’d been wanting to kick someone’s ass all week, and maybe Steve would give him a good reason. He walked forward and greeted him. 

“I could ask you the same thing... Amigo,” Steve said, crossing his arms. He sounded strangely distracted, like Billy’s presence was an inconvenience. 

“Looking for my step sister. A little birdie told me she was here,” he said, calmly, eyeing Steve, a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth, ready to spit it away at a moment’s notice. 

Steve looked away, still with that suspiciously distracted expression on his face. 

“Huh. That’s weird. I don’t know her,” he lied, but without much commitment. 

Billy tried again. 

“Small?” he described, pinching the air. “Redhead? Bit of a bitch?” 

He didn’t stare directly at them, but in the corner of his eye he saw Max and her little buddies peeking at them through the front window. 

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Sorry, buddy,” Steve replied. 

He felt a cold fury rising up inside of him. What the fuck was going on? Tonight was probably the worst night that he’d had in a while, and he’d had some doozies. First Max ran off, then his Dad smacked him around, then he’d had a brief reprieve with the unexpected beauty of Mrs. Wheeler, and now, despite how furious he was with Max, he found her and her hick friends alone in a stranger’s house with a boy who was five years their senior— He hadn’t liked Steve before because he was competition, and now he was convinced he was a weirdo too. As much as he wanted to wring Max’s neck, the creepiness of the situation overcame him and he figured it would just be his luck to find his sister being abused by a local pedo. Billy nodded, taking a long drag of his cigarette. Steve was getting the shit kicked out of him tonight, whether he knew it or not.

“You know, I don’t know, this...,” he flicked his hand in the air, clicking his tongue. “This whole situation, Harrington, I don’t know... It’s givin’ me the heebie jeebies.” 

Steve looked into his eyes, knowing he’d been caught but trying to play it off. 

“Yeah, why’s that?” 

So Steve was gonna make him lay it out, huh? 

“My thirteen year old sister goes missing all day... And then I find her with you... In a stranger’s house... And you lie to me about it.” 

He leaned forward, his face disgusted and furious. 

Steve shook his head, his voice overly casual. 

“Man, were you dropped too much as a child, or what?” he chuckled. 

The fight was brewing. Billy’s fists itched. He ran his tongue along his teeth, his lips, his eyes lighting up with the prospect of finally getting to smash that stupid pretty boy’s face in, ruining that perfect nose and those nice eyes. He couldn’t wait. 

“I don’t know what you don’t understand about what I just said,” Steve continued, leaning in. “She’s not here.” 

Billy pointed his cigarette at the window where Max was peeking out at him, staring into Steve’s eyes. 

“Then who is that?” he murmured dangerously. 

Steve’s head whipped around. Just as he did, the heads of Max and her little friends dipped below the sill. 

“Aw, shit,” Steve sighed. “Listen—“ 

Billy didn’t listen. He gave Steve a push instead, toppling him over like a nine pin onto the concrete walk. 

“I told you to plant your feet,” he mocked quietly as Steve groaned.

He curb stomped Steve’s gut, feeling nothing but wild pleasure as his boot made contact with his ribs. He looked up, remembering his sister. He would come back for Steve, but first— He had a lesson to teach.  He stepped over Steve and went onto the porch, bursting through the door. Inside, Max was standing beside none other than Lucas Sinclair. He looked terrified. Two other kids were standing behind them, looking like they were gonna shit their pants. Max stared at him, angry, defiant, and scared. 

“Well, well, well,” he said, slamming the door and stalking forward. “Lucas Sinclair, what a surprise.” 

He flicked his eyes to Max. “I thought I told you to stay away from him, Max.”

If she brought a Black boy home, Neil would bury her in the backyard. Maybe she hadn’t realized that yet – But at this point he didn’t really give a shit. Lucas was friends with the Byers kid. Heather had told him they were weird. One look inside their house and he agreed with her. 

“Billy, go away,” Max said, her cheeks glowing red. 

“You disobeyed me...,” he whispered, feeling nothing but cold disdain. He stalked forward. “You know what happens when you disobey me...” 

“Billy...,” she whispered fearfully. 

“I break things,” he murmured, turning on Lucas and slamming him against a shelf. He heard the kids screaming and shouting behind him. He buried his fists into Lucas’ green vest. Lucas let out a garbled yell.

“Get off me, you—“ 

He interrupted him. 

“Since Maxine won’t listen to me, maybe you will,” he muttered lowly. “Stay away from her.” 

He smacked the shelf behind him, making Lucas flinch. 

“Stay away from her! You hear me?” 

He had to give it to this kid. He was brave. 

“I said, get off of me!” he shouted, trying to wrench himself from Billy’s grip. Suddenly, pain exploded in his groin. The little fucker had kneed him in the balls! He staggered backward, crouching, groaning in pain. He straightened up, staring wide eyed into Lucas’s face, who was staring back at him in fear and defiance. 

“You are so dead, Sinclair! Dead!” 

Someone grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. 

Steve. 

“No,” he said, hopping a little on the spot, a grimace on his face, winding up a punch. “You are!” 

Steve’s fist collided with his face and he was flung sideways, staggering against the bookshelf. He sprung up immediately, a cackle escaping up through his throat from somewhere deep inside, like a demon that had been curled in his gut had been awoken from sleep. A feral, unbridled rage that had been boiling in his heart bubbled over and filled every nerve in his body with raging fire. He threw back his head and howled with laughter.

“Looks like you got some fire in you, after all, huh?” he roared, blood dripping slowly from his nose. 

He gestured at Steve mockingly, his nice shoes, perfect hair, his Members Only jacket. 

“I’ve been waiting to meet this King Steve everyone’s been telling me so much about...” 

He stalked forward, his eyes wide, feeling unstable and ferocious and not giving a shit that his control was slipping. If he didn’t get knocked out soon, nobody would be able to stop him—And he didn’t care. Steve looked at him with contempt, a look so cold that it burnt him. He was looking at him like he was nothing more than a stupid goddamn bully, a piece of poor trash that acted like a fucking animal. Billy hated him, despised him, wanted to destroy everything he stood for and everything he was. 

“Get out,” Steve said quietly, giving him a little push on the chest. 

Billy stared at him. 

His face was so nice, so symmetrical. His skin was smooth, a little mole that he hadn’t noticed before sitting pretty on his cheekbone. He had nice eyes, kind eyes, even when they were icy with disdain. His hair really was perfect. He wasn’t surprised he was known for it. His lips looked soft to the touch. 

Billy swung his fist. 

Faster than lightning, Steve ducked out of the way and his fist collided with Billy’s face once again. The kids started up a roar behind him, watching them brawl like it was a cage match at the WWF and Steve had just caught him with a chair. Billy flung up, laughing, deranged, blood pooling in his mouth and across his teeth. 

Steve hit him again. And again. 

He staggered against the kitchen counter, his hands touching some plates out to dry. He was laughing, laughing, laughing. 

He grabbed a plate and smashed it over Steve’s perfect head, shattering it. Steve yelled out in pain, clutching his skull, staggering. He stalked forward and kicked him. Steve stumbled away. He heard the roar die out behind him, fear overtaking the spectators. The heel was winning this fight now. What would the little kids do without their hero? He punched Steve, sending him flying against a wall. 

He grabbed Steve by the front of his coat. He was groaning. 

“No one tells me what to do,” he said, blood spurting iron rich and dark across his mouth. 

Billy hit Steve again, making him topple sideways onto the ground. 

“WHOO! Get up!” he whooped, walking over to where Steve lay prone on the floor. 

He straddled Steve, raising his fist. 

Crack. 

He ruined that smooth, attractive dip in the hollow of his cheek. 

Crack. 

His pretty, kind eye was smashed, going bloodshot, turning purple. 

Crack. 

His long, symmetrical nose was broken, bleeding onto his fist. Billy was screaming, screaming, screaming. He felt like sobbing, vomiting, killing himself, kissing Steve, murdering his father, setting the house on fire. He wanted to be more than dead, he wanted to be the God of death. He wanted to be its master. He wanted Steve to beg for mercy and he wanted to be the one to deny it. 

Crack. 

Was Steve dead? If he was, Billy would follow suit. There was nothing for him in the world anymore, no joy or sweetness— Only cruelty and the knowledge that he was his father’s son. 

Crack. 

Crack. 

Crack. 

Something sharp stung him in the neck. 

He stopped, grunting, staggering upright. Something wrong and alien was sticking out of him. He spun around to see Max looking at him the way that someone might look at a rabid animal finally being put down. His vision warped and blurred. Billy grabbed whatever was sticking out of him, yanking it out with a wince. 

A big, fat syringe. 

He staggered towards Max, fear suddenly gripping him. He felt strange, his body becoming heavy. 

“The hell is this?” he managed to mutter, staring at her. When he spoke, his voice sounded far away, like an echo in a dream.“You little shit, what did you do? What did you do?” 

He was slowly losing control of his body. He pitched forward, then backward. He hit the floor. A cruel laugh crackled out of his throat, suddenly finding all this very funny. Steve was hanging with thirteen year olds, Max had stabbed him with a needle, the walls and the ceiling of this house were plastered in crazy drawings he didn’t understand, the smell of rot and mold clung in his nostrils… It was all very, very funny, like some sick joke that had no punchline. The blurry image of Max wielding a baseball bat came swimming into his vision. For some reason, it had nails hammered into it. 

“From here on out, you leave me and my friends alone. Do you understand?” 

Her voice was low and angry. The edges of his vision pulsed and blurred. 

“Screw you,” he muttered, his eyes becoming very heavy. 

A noise like an explosion sounded out. The baseball bat came down between his outstretched legs, grinding into the wood floor. He lifted his head, staring down the zipper of his Levi’s where the bat was embedded inches from his crotch. She yanked it up again.

“Say you understand! Say it! Say it!” she screamed at him. Her voice echoed around in his head. 

Say it... Say it... Say it... 

It’s your fault we’re here... Say it. Say it, Maxine... SAY IT! 

He licked his lips. 

“I understand,” he muttered. 

“What?” she demanded. 

I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you...

Yes. Sir. 

“I understand,” he repeated, past his failing tongue, past his eyes closing on their own. 

He heard the bat clatter to the floor. 

Then he knew nothing. 

December 16th, 1984 

Billy watched from afar as Susan twirled Max’s fiery red hair into twists and braids, clipping them together with bobby pins. Beside him, the twinkle lights on the Christmas tree winked and sparkled, a multicolour frenzy of greens and blues and reds. She noticed him and looked up, staring him down. 

He blinked slowly at her. He didn’t know how to tell her he was sorry, so he walked away. 

Leave me and my friends alone. 

He had. For better or worse, he had. The month after The Incident, he had kept his promise. He drove her to school and drove her home. Whenever she knocked on his door, he would answer and drive her to the store, the arcade, to the houses of her friends, never saying a word. His newfound adjustment to having to be Max’s chauffeur seemed to please Neil and confuse Susan. In the three weeks since he had woken up in the Byers’ house, alone, his car gone, the house covered in strange and disturbing drawings, he had kept his head down. This also had the welcome effect of not being the centre of his father’s attention, which was a plus. He hadn’t gone this long without fucking up in a very, very long time. Billy went into his room and put on his coat. He grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the bedside table and put them in the pocket, walking out and closing the door behind him. He went to wait by the door. Max came striding out of the bathroom. She looked flushed and clearly had reached the limit of how much girly pampering from her mother she could take. She looked nice. Susan put her in the living room, in front of the China cabinet, and took out her Polaroid. In his chair, he actually saw his Dad smile. 

Over by the door, Billy felt very far away from them. He’d realized that he was the one who was ruining this little family. He was the one who his father hated, the one who he hurt the most. Susan and Max were precious to him, and his son was a reminder of the mistakes that he’d made. Billy was the one who caused all the trouble. He wondered, as Susan took a few pictures of Max, how happy they would all be if he just disappeared. Max came over to the door, looking embarrassed as her Mom followed her and tried to adjust her hair again.

Billy walked out of the kitchen door and down the steps. 

They were happy. They didn’t need him. He caused them pain. If he just did what he was told, his Dad wouldn’t have to hurt him. He got into his car and started the engine. A few moments later, Max got in the passenger seat, avoiding his eyes. He backed out, and drove off into the night. It was snowing softly, the flakes drifting down from the grey night sky. Max looked out the window.  If he was going to go away, he should tell her he was sorry. Max, at the very least, deserved to know. He knew what it was like, not knowing. He licked his lips in the silence of the car, forming the words in his head, mentally practicing. It was two words. He could do it. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was void of emotion, because nobody had ever properly apologized to him and he had no idea how he was supposed to do it. 

Max turned to him, her brow furrowed. 

“For what?” she asked. 

Billy blinked. How could she not know what he was talking about?

“That day. At the Byers. And... Lucas,” Billy said, his words coming out stilted and unsure. 

Max was silent for a while. 

“You really scared him,” she said. “Lucas, I mean.” 

Billy clenched his jaw, staring straight forward. In many a sleepless night in a month of sleepless nights he had replayed those events, so often that they felt worn out and fuzzy the way that tapes wore down if you played them too much. He knew what Lucas thought, why he was afraid, and it wasn’t true— Neil was the real person Lucas should be afraid of... But Neil hadn’t been there that night, terrorizing a group of kids. He had been. The shelf that he’d slammed Lucas against felt hard on his own back. Neil’s fists that had balled into his coat were his own, clutching Lucas by the front of his vest. He had come to the realization that he was exactly like his father, and it felt like a mortal wound on his heart that he’d never be able to recover from. His anger had slipped. He had tried so hard not to hurt people, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t know any other way to live, any other way to make sure that they didn’t hurt him first. He had become the monster that had terrorized him his whole life, the thing he hated. For this reason, he had to go away. 

“You scared me too, Billy,” Max said quietly. He felt himself go cold. “I mean... You were always a dick, but you weren’t like... Like that ... Steve had to get a doctor to fix a part of his face, Will told me... You could have killed him, Billy...” 

Billy didn’t say anything, because everything she was saying was true. He couldn’t defend himself. He didn’t want to defend himself. 

“I know,” he said. 

Steve had arrived at school after missing a few days with a big bandage over his nose, his eye dark, swollen, and purple. The coach of the basketball team had reemed him out for getting into fights when they had a match coming up. Billy heard it when he went to go to the showers after gym. He had crunched Steve’s ribs with his boot, and he’d spent the following week waiting for the other shoe to drop. He knew Steve’s family was rich. He’d had no doubt they’d come after him.  But nothing happened. When asked, Steve would just shrug and say he got into a fight. He wouldn’t give any details, and since everybody was preoccupied with their own little lives, they soon forgot and moved on. He assumed it was because he didn’t want anyone to know that Billy Hargrove had kicked his ass, seeing as he had kicked his ass at everything else... But it seemed more than that. The disturbing drawings in the Byers’ place, the stench of rot and mold that clung to the house like a miasma... His mind struggled to comprehend what he’d been briefly a part of. Something was wrong in Hawkins, but Billy felt crazy when he tried to think about what exactly. As the weeks went on, rumours of Jonathan Byers and Nancy Wheeler’s relationship went swirling around the school, and Steve fell into a state of social insignificance. He went to class and went home. Billy had spent many days in class, his mind drifting, staring at the back of Steve’s head and trying to think about what he would say if he had to talk to Steve again, but everything that came to his head sounded fake and stupid. So he played his part as the asshole at school and stayed quiet and drove his little sister everywhere when he was home. 

He pulled into the Hawkins Middle School parking lot, near the entrance to the gym, and parked. He turned off the engine. Max opened the door, went to get out, and paused. She closed the door again. 

“I’m telling Lucas you said sorry,” she said bluntly. “He’s been kind of afraid to ask me out. If he thinks you’re cool with him, I might get to actually go on a date.” 

He swallowed, and nodded. In his quiet musings he’d had the realization that Lucas was braver than him, braver than he’d ever be. He had the courage to fight back. 

Lucas would be good for her when he was gone. 

Max sat, hand on the lever, as though she wanted to say something to him but didn’t know how. For a crazy second he thought about telling her she wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore, but he held his tongue. 

“Billy,” she began, unsure. 

He looked at her. She leaned over and gave him a hug. It was so brief and awkward that Billy almost thought he had imagined it. She gave him a small, embarrassed smile, and got out of the car. 

“Nine thirty!” she yelled to him, slamming the door. He watched her walk into the gym and peered at his watch. 

It was 7:30. He had a few hours to kill. He put his head on the steering wheel, wrapping his arms along it, and planned.

He would leave Max his car so that Neil couldn’t sell it on her. He would put it in writing. He knew she’d love to have it, and she already knew how to drive it. She was turning fourteen very soon. The Camaro could sit for a couple years until she got her licence. She’d have a sweet ride for her freshman year of high school. She and her friends would have a lot of fun with it. The thought gave him a little comfort. He wanted to do something nice for her, since he had never done something like that before. At least then someone might remember him with a bit of fondness.  He didn’t give a shit about any of his other worldly possessions. They were meaningless and stupid. He thought about the girl he was going to go on a date with. Heather. She had seemed kind of put out by the fact that he ignored her after he was forced to cancel, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d realized that she was a smart and sweet girl, and that he had no business ruining her life too. Maybe he’d leave her a little note, telling her he was still thinking about her, that it wasn’t her fault. He really had quite liked her. 

He would leave Susan with instructions to leave Neil and get a place of her own with Max, maybe suggest a restraining order. He would leave his father with the guilt and pain – That was easy.

He lifted his head, thinking, putting his chin on his arms. 

Steve. He should apologize to Steve. 

He nodded to himself, and opened the glove compartment, pulling out a pen and a notepad. He propped them up against the steering wheel and began to write. His note was short, to the point. It didn’t need to be any longer. He would leave it on the dashboard of the car. 

He leaned back, looking over his little note. This was as good a plan as any.  He started his car, looking behind him to back out. Then, as if from nowhere, Steve’s BMW came pulling into the parking lot. Billy braked and slammed his car into park.  Here it was, his second opportunity. Two apologies in one day— He thought he might be setting a record. The BMW parked and Steve got out. From the passenger's side, the weird looking kid, one of Max’s friends, got out too. He was dolled up for his first dance, and from afar, Billy could tell Steve was giving him a little pep talk. Then, with a slap on the back and an encouraging grin, Steve sent the kid off into the school gym. 

Billy felt frozen by fear, but steeled his will and got out of the car. Steve was leaning against the hood of the BMW and watching the kid go. 

“You got this, Dustin!” he yelled after the kid. The kid spun around and gave him a grin and two thumbs up, and disappeared through the doors. 

It was now or never. 

Billy walked across the parking lot. Steve had turned around to get back in the car, but caught sight of Billy walking toward him. Billy shoved his hands in his pockets, his head hunched against the fluttering snow. Steve paused, looking more and more apprehensive the closer he got. Billy stopped short in front of him, suddenly realizing that he would actually have to speak to Steve if he wanted to say sorry. Steve leaned against the open door of his car, the metal and glass like a shield between them. Billy couldn’t exactly blame him.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low. He tried to keep his hands in his pockets to show that he wasn’t going to try anything. He desperately wanted a cigarette but he stuffed down the urge. He wanted to look as non-threatening as possible so Steve would stick around to let him speak. 

“Hey,” Steve greeted, cautious and confused. 

“I just wanted to say... I’m sorry,” Billy said, the words coming out slow and awkward, but clear nonetheless. He was getting pretty good at this shit.

Steve blinked in surprise. His face looked completely healed now, but the little tidbit Max had told him about him needing a doctor to fix his face floated around in his head and he grimaced.

“Oh— Oh well. Hey, it’s fine man. I’m okay,” Steve shrugged. His shoulders relaxed a little. 

“Max told me I totally fucked up your face,” he continued, feeling sick and strange. “I— Shit man, I don’t know...” 

He gave up and dug out his pack of smokes, lighting one and inhaling deeply. 

“Well. It’s okay. I’m fine,” Steve said.

“Okay.” 

“See you at school on Monday?” 

“Yeah. P.E. See you.” 

Steve gave him a small smile and a nod. He waved and got into his car, closing the door.  He gave Billy one last look before he drove off. Standing in the cold, shivering, smoking his cigarette, Billy realized his plans had failed before they even began. 

Steve was expecting him in class on Monday. 

He had to show up.