"Next time I'm expecting flowers, Munson," Billy drawled from the back seat, his smile all playful teeth. Eddie made a wounded sound somewhere between a moan and a wail, the noise muffled by a nest of his hands and knees. Billy thought that if he weren't bound by a safety belt, he might have curled his long legs to his chest and flopped over onto his side, he was so embarrassed. Might try to become some Oroboros of humiliation and just curl into non-existence. He'd almost made a break for it when he realized Billy had caught onto his game, dashing from his position between he and Steve to escape his shame.
He might have made it too, if he wasn't up against two basketball players who were very used to and adept at catching and blocking fleeing opponents. Billy caught Eddie around the waist with one arm a few steps into Eddie's flight and Steve got himself in front of him, bodying him back towards the car with teasing little jibes of, "where do you think you're going, Romeo?" which... Billy had to ignore the glib, nasty tone of Steve's voice so that he didn't pop another boner and dig it into Eddie's hip.
"Flowers," Steve scoffed, long hands wrapped attractively around the steering wheel. They flexed as he turned a corner and Billy watched little tendons and bones move with the motion. He kind of wanted to trace the lines of his skeleton while it worked. "You're letting him off easy. I want jewelry, Eddie." Steve jabbed his finger into Eddie's side, causing the suffering man to lurch sideways and curl around the area of attack protectively. "Something sparkly. Gold. I've got sensitive skin, anything cheaper turns it green."
"Princess," Billy had sneered with absolutely no venom, and Steve had only smiled into his mirror and answered, "slap a tiara on me, and call me Diana." And Billy... well he didn't really have a response to that. Because the image of Steve in a pretty little dress and a tiara, all decked out in gold and jewels like a prom queen was kind of unexpectedly doing it for Billy. Or maybe it was less about what Steve was wearing and more that it was Steve at all.
"And ask us properly next time," Steve added, slapping the curve of his still-hunched back with the flat of his palm, resulting in a rather painfully hollow sound. Eddie coughed and pushed his arm away, muttering something about them both being ungrateful, like he'd paid for anything or driven anywhere.
"You wanna be courted, Pretty Boy?" With still no venom in his voice and all play in his sneer.
"We deserve to be courted," Steve corrected, waving a finger in the air as he spoke, gesturing between the two of them. And wasn't that just something? The idea of Eddie courting the two of them? Presenting them with gifts and tokens like in those sappy old movies Susan liked so much? He could just see Munson in a suit with two bundles of flowers at Susan's door, stumbling over his words as he announced, "I'm here to pick up Steve and Billy?" Like it was a question. Like he was asking her permission. Which then led into a vision of Steve in his room with him, laughing as they waded through a pile of clothes, primping and preening for their date. Out lining each other's eyes in line and glossing each other's lips over and over again because they kept smudging it with kisses and holy shit that was a lot. Like... a lot a lot. So much that it made his heart ache and hammer in his chest so hard he could swear he saw it under his shirt.
"Have you seen us?" Steve demanded, breaking Billy's illusion much to his relief. "Have you seen my hair? Have you seen your body? This doesn't just happen, okay, we have to work. So someone else has to work for it too." Another sharp poke to Eddie's side which resulted in another lurch from the human pillbug.
"Hear that, Eddie. Courting? Heard of it? Gifts, compliments, dates, the whole nine yards." Steve punctuated each item on his list with another jab into Eddie's side. Eddie's only response was a low grumble and a tighter curl on himself.
"You may want jewels Pretty Boy," Billy grinned, leaning forward to stick his face between the seats as he spoke. "But I like my gifts to be a little more... physical."
The shiver that ran through Eddie's body from his crown to his tail bone was visible and it made that terrible, horrible, no good, awful, nasty, territorial son of a bitch in him howl in delight. Made its tongue loll out of the side of its mouth and drool all over the floor. Made him almost do the exact same. Especially when Eddie tilted his head just so to glare at Billy with one narrowed eye through fingers and hair.
Eddie didn't even wait for the car to actually stop before he launched himself out. This reckless and frantic ejection from the car also caused him to eat absolute shit on his way to the trailer door, tripping over nothing but his own gangly legs He toppled ass over face into the dust, aforementioned gangly limbs flailing hysterically in the fall. It made both men still in the car cackle, Steve half hanging out of the vehicle and Billy folded over himself in the back seat. The fall did little stop Eddie, however, and Billy watched through tear-filled eyes as he hauled himself up, still hunched over and half falling, and scrambled into his trailer. He slammed the lock so hard that they heard it from the car.
Steve and Billy had to lean on each other as they walked, abdomens aching from the force of their laughter. Billy wondered, through the haze of his glee, if his arm around Steve's shoulder felt as warm and lovely as Steve's arm around his waist. If the sound of his laughter rang as beautifully in Steve's ears.
Best not to linger on that. At least not yet. Not until... Billy didn't exactly know until when, but until nonetheless. Best to tread carefully in unknown waters and not wake whatever beasts waited in the undertow. Even if Eddie's frantic scrambling was so damn endearing and Steve's laughter and grip were so warm.
Even if his side felt especially cold when Steve peeled away and took the three steps up to Eddie's door in one long stride.
Best also to not wonder at the length of Steve's legs and the power of his thighs. Best not remember the way they rippled and jiggled enticingly in the gym when they played. Best not envision how the muscles coiled and moved under his jeans.
"Eddie," Steve nearly sang, posting himself up against Eddie's door frame the same way Billy had seen him posted up against Wheeler's locker. With his arm propped up above his head, Steve's shoulder and bicep bulged nearly obscenely in the short sleeve of his polo. He cocked his hip out to the side and curled his other hand around that gentle swell, making that other arm flex similarly.
"Eddie," he crooned again. "Darling?"
Billy nearly fell over himself at the sound of it. Teasing and light but with the edge of a threat. And then Steve glanced over his shoulder and jerked his head to the side, muttering something about checking Eddie's window. And Billy... well he was helpless but to comply. Helpless against Steve's gentle instruction, that soft, gooey thing in his belly that Eddie had uncovered at the diner, and the way Billy Baby still rang in his head. He peeled off from the front walk and moseyed around to the side, his hands jammed into his pockets and just as casual as you like. Like his heart wasn't still slamming against his ribcage from the blatant playful flirting in the car. Fear, after all, still thrummed in the back of his mind, pushing down whatever warm, soft swelling Steve drew up in his chest. Even if he felt safe, he never truly was, was he?
Billy had to snag a hunk of broken concrete to stand on once he got to Eddie's window, but once he was able to see above the window sill he could clearly see Eddie, pancake ass popped out, as he leaned forward against his door, barricading the door with his string bean arms. Like that would stop Billy or Steve if they wanted to get into the room.
The window creaked ominously as Billy lifted the pane, causing Eddie to make the cutest little eep and spin in place, plastering his back to the door. It made Billy's smile go feral so quickly the sharpness of it nearly cut his cheeks. Something in Eddie's eyes shifted, like he was trying to be the predator he was at dinner weeks ago, but a barracuda was no match for a shark.
Billy was already halfway through his window when Eddie finally darted forward, arms outstretched to grasp the window but Billy caught his wrists, torso balanced painfully on the windowsill and held up only by his abdominal muscles. At least those had survived the resurrection, even if the window frame dug sharply into the muscles. He'd have a good bruise there when it was all over, but at least it'd have a good story to go along with it.
Eddie was in the process of trying to push Billy out of his window while evading his grasping hands and simultaneously trying to slice him in half with the pane when Steve opened his bedroom door. It wasn't like he'd kicked the door down or anything. Nothing sudden or rough about it. Just an easy opening with a soft sigh of hinges. It made both men stop and glance in Steve's direction where he stood, grinning like all lopsided in the door frame.
"Key was under a rock by the door," Steve offered by way of explanation. He even had the audacity to shrug, like it was no big deal. Like they hadn't just cornered a frightened, panting, frantic Eddie in his bedroom.
Billy watched as Steve's smile turned positively wicked, his hands propped on his hips in what would have been his signature soccer-mom stance were it not for the look in his eyes. Billy could see that his pupils were blown wide, possibly from the exertion of his break and enter, but... maybe not. Because when Eddie had taken charge at the diner, Steve had gone just as soft and pliant as he had, asking Eddie for permission and listening when he got firm.
Warmth began to bloom in Billy's core again, just like it always did when Steve was around; his strong arms hauling up his sunrise to shed light on every dark thing that Billy had and warm it up. Thaw it out. But, Billy was discovering, Steve's Sunrise was swiftly becoming Eddie-and-Steve's sunrise, with both men hauling something warm and bright up into his chest and lodging it there.
Billy hauled himself into the window now that Eddie was distracted, tumbling ass over head rather ungracefully and landing with his legs splayed out before him. Eddie made another small squeak and bounced away, only to realize that he had moved closer to Steve, and leapt onto his bed. A motion very similar to when he would jump onto lunch tables and deliver his many sermons on... whatever. Billy hadn't really listened. Kinda wished he had.
"You promised us dessert, Munson," Billy grinned as he stood, helped by Steve's grip on his forearm. "You reneging on that?"
"Free weed is for people who don't harass me," Eddie hissed, crouched on his bed with his back pressed against the wall. Steve laughed a sudden bark of a sound and gave Billy's shoulder a squeeze as he muttered, "come on, Bill. I know where he keeps his personal stash." Which... how the fuck did Steve know that? Billy was over here almost every other day and he had no idea. And yet, Steve sauntered over to Eddie's closet and began digging with singular purpose.
"Harrington, don't you dare," Eddie kept hissing and spitting as Steve began removing layer after layer of personal detritus from the floor of Eddie's closet. Billy expected him to produce that beat up metal lunch box, but instead Steve lifted a small first aid kit.
Billy turned and leveled Eddie with a look, to which the other man only mugged and gestured wildly, his arms flung out to the sides as though to ask Billy what he wanted from Eddie.
"It's medicine," he finally sputtered. "It makes sense!"
"Yeah," Billy conceded, accepting a pre roll from Steve's fingers. "I just wanted... I dunno, a little more creativity."
Eddie only sputtered more, the sounds dissolving into squeaks when Steve flopped himself down on Eddie's bed, bouncing the other man with the force of his impact. Billy nudged the starfished limbs to make himself room so that he could take his usual place, posted up at the foot of the bed with his back to the wall. He let his own legs fall out in front of him and Steve laid his right over top. Despite the way it pinned Billy to the mattress, the pressure felt... relieving. Anchoring. Which was absolutely so confusing.
"You smoke with him before," Billy asked instead of investigating the feeling, flicking the lighter to life and igniting the joint.
"Yep," Steve sighed, clearly making himself very comfortable on Eddie's bed. And wasn't that just a sight? Steve on his back with his arms curled up under the pillow beneath his head, legs sprawled out straight. Billy took a long lungful and held it, ignoring the warmth of Steve's legs on his and the way it felt when he moved them, adjusting the muscles for more comfort.
"Thats your usual spot," he asked around a cloud of exhalation. Eddie reached for the joint but Billy slapped him away, chiding, "you locked us out, Munson. You go last."
"But it's my weed," he whined, but relented, flopping down with his own legs flopped over Steve's thighs. Steve only laughed and patted Eddie's ankle as he took his hit, held it, and then answered around his own exhalation, "yep. That yours?" Billy nodded, his head lolling back against the wall behind him.
New bodies and new brains still only allowed a short session for Eddie and Billy. Barely two hits before they were both refusing their turns but at least they'd stopped coughing. Steve took another two and tamped out the cherry on a dish on Eddie's floor. Eddie held him steady as he reached and bent, flexing his legs to hold him and grasping Steve's opposite wrist while Billy watched the contortion. It was... impressive. To say the least.
Warm, comfortable silence followed as all three men breathed, Eddie sinking to lean on Billy's shoulder as he usually did. It made Billy wonder how he smoked with Steve. Did he sit as he was now, legs over Steve's thighs? Or did he lie next to him, face to face and eye to eye? Did Eddie play with Steve's hands the way he played with Billy's? They way he was playing with them now? Eddie liked to flex and curl each of his fingers in turn and then trace the lines on his palm. Once he confessed that he'd stolen a palm reading book from one of those hippie shops in Indie and tried to learn but never caught on.
Did he try to read Steve's palm too? What did he see in those lines? What did he see in Billy's?
"This is a lot of contact for you," Steve noted, his voice slow and syrupy sweet as he snuggled into Eddie's pillow, his eyes closed. Billy fancied he looked really good like that, all sweet and sleepy. Did he look like that every time he smoked? What about every morning? Or at least the ones he didn't work. When sunlight filtered in through his blinds, he could wake with his body instead of his alarm. His hair would be messier, Billy figured, and he was struck with the sudden but not at all unfamiliar urge to comb his fingers through it.
He shivered and pretended that it was front the tickle of Eddie's guitar calluses tracing the lines on his palm.
"'M gettin' used to it,'' Billy mumbled back, because he was. Eddie had done a lot of that heavy lifting, draping himself across Billy's shoulders and back when they hung out. Leaning on him like he was now. Running his fingers along Billy's knuckles and making his stomach do backflips. Made it so that he didn't flinch away when other people touched him. Just that morning Susan had squeezed his shoulders as she left for work and he hadn't reacted at all. Just hummed a goodbye around a mouthful of food and then sat in confusion a few seconds after she locked the door behind her.
"Getting over being touch starved," Steve hummed, simple as you like. But it made Billy stop for a second, his foggy mind grasping for meaning in his words.
"Touch... starved," he asked slowly. Next to him, Eddie shifted to get a better look at Steve and Billy had to smooth out the curls that tickled his nose.
"Yeah, touch starved," he nodded, eyes still closed. "It's exactly how it sounds, it's..."
"I can piece it out," Billy snapped, unsure of why he'd done so in the first place. One second he was feeling all soft and sweet and the other... He was silent for another long moment, eyes trained on the hand that had somehow gotten wrapped around Steve' ankle before he huffed out a sigh and hissed, "but just to make sure I've got it right..."
Steve laughed, ignoring the way Billy scowled at full volume, and explained, "I didn't know what it was until Robin explained it to me last year. I was touch starved, too... am still I think. It's when you aren't touched enough. I guess, psychologically, humans need physical touch to feel secure and so when we don't get enough, we feel... insecure. So that's what you are. And me too. We didn't get enough touch and now we're starving for it."
"I don't need anyone touching me, Harrington," Billy insisted. "Jus' don't mind so much if people touch me."
"Then you won't mind a test." Steve made it sound like a challenge and Billy was helpless but to rise to it. Because Steve was smart, and wily, and cunning. He watched and he knew exactly how to get Billy to behave the way he wanted. But instead of making something frightened and feral hiss and writhe in Billy's chest, it made that same thing... kind of coil up. Fold in on itself comfortably because it... well it simply wasn't needed. Because unlike Neil, who also knew exactly how to get Billy to behave how he wanted, Steve wasn't dragging Billy kicking and screaming down the way. He was simply extending an arm down the path and inviting him.
And Billy had no choice, it would seem, but to follow.
"Cross your arms like this." Steve demonstrated, criss crossing his arms across his ribs with a hand resting on either shoulder. Billy followed suit almost automatically, his posture softing almost immediately at the self-embrace. Something that Billy automatically knew was ridiculous, because this wasn't an uncommon thing for him to have to do. Neil never went for his head or his face, knowing that bruises there would only incur questions and visits from well-meaning people. Instead Billy had to cover his softer parts. His stomach, his ribs, his sides. The act of literally holding himself together wasn't new, but somehow, this time... it reminded Billy of that first morning, when Billy woke in a panic and Susan had pinned his arm across his chest to keep him from thrashing. Just like that, this didn't feel restraining. It didn't even feel particularly defensive. Instead it felt... comforting. He even squeezed his own shoulders, the motion echoing Susan's actions that morning.
"Okay," Steve's further instruction interrupted any further self reflection. "Now take your hands and put them on the side of your face, like this." Again, Steve demonstrated, placing his left hand on his right cheek, and his right hand on his left cheek. With some difficulty given the twists of their limbs, Billy and Eddie both did the same.
Billy felt his face fall. Felt the perpetual smirk that had made itself at home on his lips slip away, felt his jaw go a little slack, and felt his eyes mist over in a way that had nothing to do with the weed Munson had shared with them. His hands were rough, but he knew that. He was a construction worker now, and his previously soft hands, healed and fresh as a child's from his resurrection, had hardened to leathery toughness. But the sensation wasn't... unpleasant. In fact, he rather liked the way the calluses caught on his stubble. Liked the feeling of the rough pad of his thumb as it traced over his cheekbone. Liked the warmth of the palms of his hands against his cheeks.
God, he could cry.
"See," Steve murmured, gently pulling Billy back to himself, "touch starved."
Where Steve had every right to be smug, he was not. When Billy focused his hazy gaze on the other man, he was propped up on his elbows watching the other two men with something like fondness in his eyes. Billy glanced over at Eddie who seemed lost in his own thoughts, his face squished into his own hands so far his lips puckered slightly. Billy still hadn't removed his own hands from his face.
And Steve didn't make them. Just kind of stayed there, watching while both men worked through whatever bullshit they were working through, until they removed their hands on their own. His expression never once faltered from warm and soft and sweet, and Billy kind of wanted to hit him about it, kind of wanting to curl up under his arm about it. Kind of wanted to cry about how good his own hands felt, warm and rough against his own face, and kind of wanted to find out if Steve's were as soft as they looked or if he could feel Eddie's guitar calluses on his fingertips.
But instead of all of that, he did nothing. Just dropped his hands to his lap and muttered, "So what, you were right. Want a medal or something, Pretty Boy?" Trying to maintain some semblance of control of his emotions and failing, of the weakness in his voice was any indicator.
But Steve said nothing about that. Just smiled, shook his head, and answered in tooth-aching earnesty, "no. I just want you to take care of yourself. Let people touch you and touch them back."
The fact that Eddie didn't make the obvious joke proved how deep in his own feelings he was.
Billy, however, was not, and suddenly the air on his skin felt prickly. Like at dinner when Robin had stripped him down to fresh skin, he felt simultaneously settled and unnerved. Like he could move and flex but like it hurt too much to do so right then. Maybe in a few days, when the skin had toughened up and healed over a little. When the nerves weren't so exposed.
"What, like you," Billy shot back, trying to fix his expression into something familiar but failing. He blamed the weed and almost believed it.
"If you want me too," Steve offered gently instead of backing down. His face was still soft and his eyes were so wide and wet that Billy could almost fall into them. Next to him, Eddie made a small sound and slumped down a little further, his eyes fixed firmly on the rings he twisted around each finger. He didn't look... uncomfortable... more pensive, really. His brows were drawn into a line above his eyes and his lips were a thin line. He looked like that sometimes when his nose was jammed into one of his nerd game books or he was parsing out a particularly stubborn piece of music.
Billy wanted to take Eddie's fidgeting hands in his own to still them. Wanted Eddie's hand on his like it had been when he fiddled with his fingers and pretended to read his palm.
"You..." Eddie began tentatively, eyes flicking over to Steve and then back down at his fingers. "You would do that?" His voice sounded so small and so timid that Billy almost flinched away from it. "Touch us, I mean? Both of us?"
It didn't take a genius to understand what Eddie was asking Steve. What he was asking in place of Billy. Without consulting him. Which, at the diner, was totally fine. Desired, even. Billy still felt all hot and gooey in his guts from when Eddie tentatively asked Billy what Steve should eat and then again when Eddie ordered for them. And the again when Eddie scolded them for their behavior like children.
But this... this was too much. Eddie hadn't asked if Billy would want to share or be shared. And regardless of the fact that, yes, Billy would very much like those things, Eddie took control where he had no right. Where he had not asked and had not been invited. Where he had no data. Where the stakes were highest. Eddie might be an out and proud queer, but Billy was still so afraid. Still hidden. And even if Eddie knew, and even if Steve knew, old fear rose again in his chest, painfully sharpening edges that both other men and the drugs had softened and blurred. Fear that Gabriel gave birth to and his father raised with his own hands. Fear that was hot water on a raw nerve. Fear was lemon juice in a cut. It was frightening and strange and his skin was far too soft and far too fresh and so Billy did the only thing he, evidently, knew how to do now.
He ran.
"I gotta go," he muttered, kicking Steve's legs off of his own perhaps more roughly than necessary. Rough enough to knock Steve's bottom half off the bed as he scrambled away. He vanished out of the bedroom door in time for Eddie to mutter a half-awake, "wha?" and had his hand on the front door before Steve came stumbling out after him.
"Wait, Billy, hang on for just a second."
"Promised Susan I'd clean." He hadn't. Susan had yet to give him anything to do, and anything that he did do was purely voluntary. Something to keep his hands and his mind busy between shifts.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean... look, just come back and sit down. No one will touch you, I promise." Steve had meant it as a comfort, but that coiled, comfortable thing in Billy's chest keened at the idea of either men doing anything but laying their hands on him again. The image of Steve's legs woven under and over Eddie's and his own would haunt him for a while, as would the tickle of Eddie's fingertips on the sensitive skin of his hand and fingers.
"Don't flatter yourself, Pretty Boy," Billy spat, regretting it even before Steve's face crumpled on itself for a second before he was able to school it again. "S'not all about you. I know you might be used to it being that way but..." Billy shrugged as he nearly leapt from the trailer and made his escape.
He glanced over his shoulder only once to see Steve and Eddie both in the doorway, Eddie asking a question and Steve only shrugging as he mussed his already rumpled hair.
Susan was visibly surprised to see him back, looking up from the kitchen floor with wide eyes and a smile. She'd stopped jumping when she saw him and Billy was forever relieved for that.
"I saw you head over to the Munson's with your friends," she chirped, her geniality no longer forced and brittle. She sounded more like she was talking to Max which Billy popped into the box of things he would deal with later. A box that was getting very full very fast, and he kind of knew that he would need to address it soon but... whatever. She easily handed the mop over to Billy as he reached out for it. "Figured I wouldn't see you again until dinner."
He gestured with his head to the couch and she understood, perching herself on the very end closest to the kitchen and swiveled to face him.
"Any news with the RV situation," she asked in lieu of what he knew she really wanted to ask. He thanked her silently with a tight little smile and answered, "next week we will get our assignments. Then I'll be out of your and Max's hair."
"I don't mind you in my hair." She left out the implicit now that he's gone, but Billy knew it was there. Without Neil around, there was no one to drive wedges between the three of them. No one to keep the house divided and controlled. Susan and Billy could chat while they cleaned dishes after dinner, harmless small talk while they finally got to know one another.
Billy never knew her favorite flowers were peonies. Neil had always gotten her carnations for some reason...
Even Max was spending more time at home, no longer snapping at him and hissing when he spoke to her. She still avoided him and gave him only short, one word responses, but it was something. It was progress.
"I think Max very much minds me in her hair," was Billy's far more simple answer. Susan made a small sound of understanding and nodded.
"Neil kind of made a mess out of all of us, didn't he?"
Most of them, Billy thought. Not Max. He'd never once gotten to Max. He'd never gotten her to bend or bow. Never really succeeded in getting her to submit to him and do as she was told. And that had always infuriated him. Made him turn that ire on Billy and further drive him away from the girl who was supposed to be his family.
"Not Max," Billy gruffed, scuffing his booted toe against a particularly stubborn piece of dried down foot.
"No," Susan agreed with a huff of laughter. "Not Max."
Billy was silent for a long while, swiping the mop across the kitchen floor while Susan filled him in on her day. Told him what she'd bought from the store for groceries and what Brenda Larson had told her at the meat counter about Monica Harrison and her husband. The inconsequential day to day gossip of small town folk that Billy was beginning to find comfort in. If the biggest deal in his life could be who was cheating on who and having it never directly affect him, then maybe he had a half a snowball's chance in hell.
"You know," she huffed, picking at a loose thread on the couch as she spoke, "if I knew at her age what I know now..." She laughed lightly, but didn't finish her sentence. It made Billy pause in the last strokes of his mopping, and he fought the urge to look up at her. She waited silently for several seconds, expecting her to finish her sentence, but she didn't. Part of him wanted to ask if she'd change anything she'd done if she knew more when she was younger... but he was already so soft and so vulnerable that he decided that he'd better not both that particular hornet's nest.
He knew what his answer would be if he were in her position, but he wasn't too keen on hearing that from her lips right that second.
"What about Patty Maynard," Billy asked as he wrung the mop head out in the sink. "You said you saw her down at Melvald's. How is she?"
When Billy turned back to Susan, drying his hands on a dish towel, she was smiling.
"She's doing very well, actually," she answered around that grin. "Has a nice job at the middle school as a secretary and a fine young man she's seeing. I'll tell her that you asked after her, she'll be pleased."
Billy nodded and tried to keep the softness in his core from leaking into his expression, but it was getting hard lately. Susan was more effusive with her praise and her gentle, if still very cautious affection and it was starting to get to Billy. Starting to warm the parts of him that had been cold and presumed dead for a long time. Made him want to please her more, which was just an absolutely wild concept.
She patted the cushion next to her as he approached and he took the offered seat. It wasn't like he had a room he could go to, and it wasn't like he minded Susan's companionship. She flicked on the TV and punctuated the background sound with occasional commentary. Billy filled in where he could with simple, worn out answers, and Susan accepted that. The weed still in his system did its job to smooth out his edges again and relax his muscles. He was almost out cold when someone knocked on their door.
He didn't exactly jump out of his skin anymore, but he was suddenly very much awake. Very much on high alert until Susan patted his knee and muttered, "you go back to sleep, I'll see who it is."
Probably a neighbor. They were all so close, here in the relief camp. People were always bringing over food, and now clothing for Billy, even though he was able to buy his own now. He kept all of the donations in a box that he didn't open, planning on passing it back to the local goodwill in batches so as not to raise suspicion.
"Hey, Susan, is um... is Billy home?"
Billy's eye snapped open, meeting Steve's where they were watching him. The other man raised his hand slightly in a small wave. And, stupidly, Billy waved back. And then, even more stupidly, he rose and met Steve outside the trailer, his hands shoved into his pockets because he didn't know what to do with them, and his eyes trained on his socked feet. The rocks were poking the tender undersides of his feet.
"The um..." Steve began tentatively, mirroring Billy's stance down to the way he was kicking rocks a few inches to and fro. For a moment, Billy was worried that he was going to try and apologize for what happened at Eddie's. And if he did that, Billy was certain that he'd hightail it back inside and lock himself away for the rest of the day or ever. He was already so ashamed of his retreat that to be reminded of it might kill him.
"The kids want to have a pool party at my parent's house this weekend." Billy let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding. "And you know... if you're not working..." Steve was fidgeting, fingers working lint or string or something in his pocket as he spoke, his eyes trained back on the gravel beneath his sneakers. Billy wanted to tip his chin up to meet his gaze while he spoke. Wanted to see those pretty brown eyes always, but especially when he was being coy like this.
But instead he waited, offering a low whistle and a glib, "a personal invite to King Steve's house party? I'm honored."
At this, Steve scoffed and lifted his face. The smile there was almost fond, and Billy had been spending enough time with the other man to know that he was thinking about the kids. His kids. Thinking about his kids in his kitchen eating his food and splashing in his pool.
"Yeah, don't get your hopes up for the old days." He was scratching his stubbled chin like he needed to distract himself. "My reign as Keg King is long over."
"I know," Billy kicked the toe of Steve's sneaker. "I stole that one from you."
Steve shot him a look that shot right between Billy's legs and made him squirm.
And then Steve shook the look from his face, much to the chagrin of the blonde, and sighed, "I'm old, man."
Which only made Billy scoff. "You're in your mid twenties, tops, dude."
"I don't expect a young whipper snapper like you to understand." Steve's voice was even and flat, even if the smile on his face betrayed the seriousness he was trying to portray. "I feel the icy grip of death upon me!" Complete with a clawed hand hovering over his own throat.
"That's Munson talkin' out your mouth, and you know it."
Steve laughed in earnest then, and chanced a small bump to Billy's shoulder with a loosely closed fist. "You coming or not? It's a pool party with the whole crew. Hopper'll be there manning the grill, Joyce is making her famous sides, I think the Party has a new arsenal of water guns or something. It'll be great."
And the thing was... it did sound great. It sounded wholesome and sweet and like all of the honey-gold and glitter-bright summers that he had never had. It felt like more than he deserved. More than he should be granted access too. Like he'd be sticking his muddy hands into crystal clear water and forever turning it murky and wrong.
"I dunno man..."
"Hey, no pressure. But uh... I'd like you to be there. We're friends now and... I want you there... and stuff."
"And stuff... you sure you aren't just trying to get me into my swim shorts, Pretty Boy?" Steve groaned and Billy knew he had him. "I saw you sneaking peeks at me that summer, Harrington, I know what you're about."
Steve's hands left the confines of his pockets to gesticulate in the air around him. "I was trying to make sure the kids didn't try and instigate something with you, Hargrove, so you're welcome."
"Oh wow," Billy drew his voice out low and slow, his smile creeping across his face in the same way. "Thank you for your service Mama Steve. Don't know what I would have done if a half dozen ankle biters swarmed my tower."
"Okay, so they were kids, fine. And you're... you're you..." Billy's eyebrows hit his hairline. He opened his mouth to ask what, exactly, that meant, but Steve spoke over him. "But they swarm, man! You can take one, maybe two. But all seven of them? Nuh-uh. You wouldn't stand a chance."
Billy did a quick count in his head, trying to recall the faces as he did so, always coming up with six. Steve must have seen his confusion because Steve took mercy on him and supplied, "Lucas' younger sister, Erica, has been officially made a Party Member." And there was pride in his voice that he didn't even bother to disguise.
Billy hadn't even known that Lucas had any siblings. But if the kids kept her around, she must be as ruthless as they were. It almost made Billy shiver.
"Munson gunna be there," Billy asked gently. Steve paused for a moment, seeming to weigh Billy with his eyes before he nodded.
"He said he'd make it. So unless something happens..."
A day in the sun, with food, drinks, and both Eddie and Steve?
"Max know you're inviting me?" Because he was very aware, even with his desire to spend time with the two men again and maybe this time not turn tail and run, that this was still her turf. She'd stayed the night at his place more than once when he or Neil was on their shit. He knew she ended up over there most weekends now, teaching El to skateboard while the boys played their nerd game. Knew she had her own room there with a dresser full of clothes and whatever else she'd need to live comfortably.
Knew Steve was teaching her to cook.
Knew she called him the brother that she never had but always wanted.
"Let me deal with Mad Max," Steve reassured, fingertips brushing the back of Billy's hand like he wanted to take it but then remembered where they were. The sensation was fleeting and hesitant but it still lit Billy's skin on fire. His hand twitched all on its own to reach back out before he could stop the motion. He disguised it by running that hand through his hair and sighing, "I'll see what I can swing, Pretty Boy."
Steve's smile before he turned to leave nearly blinded him.