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Mike
“So there’s a frog.”
“Yes.”
“And you help it cross the road.”
“Yes, and there’s a river too.”
“But frogs can dive.”
Mike doesn’t have the heart to groan at El’s earnestness. Instead Lucas does it for him, dramatically leaning over his bike.
The three of them are guarding the entrance of the arcade while Will is inside, waiting in line to get his money exchanged into quarters. The day’s overcast but as long as it’s not raining it is the perfect day to introduce El to the wonders of arcade gaming.
“I’ve seen them do it,” El insists, going off Mike’s blank incredulity, “I’ve found this small pond and there are so many frogs and they can swim under water.”
“Yes, I know. It’s just in the game.”
“Oh. But why?”
Mike shrugs helplessly. “It’s just part of the game. The frog can jump on driftwood and the back of turtles.”
“Turtles?” And Mike knows El knows what turtles are, so he figures the confusion in her brows comes from thinking how that makes sense. Hopefully all her thoughts on logistics and biology will go out the window when she’s actually helping the frog cross the road. “Why is there a river with turtles so close to-”
The roar of an engine cuts her off. Mike is only minimally relieved by the appearance of the blue atrocity Max’s brother calls a car. It means he won’t have to find an explanation. Why are there turtles in a river so close to a busy road? It also means getting glared at for existing as soon as the car is parked and instead of its engine the music continues the noise.
Hargrove’s wearing aviators despite the cloudy weather like a douchebag, and even then Mike knows exactly that he’s being glared at. That Lucas is being glared at, who’s fiddling with a corner of his shirt and tries to focus on Max.
To both their horror Hargrove kills the engine and walks Max up all the way to the arcade entrance.
El chimes up at Max weaving through the parking lot and runs up to meet her on the last bit. They do that girly greeting ritual they do where they first crash into a spinning hug and then grab each other’s arms to jump in circles a bit. Eventually Max drags Lucas into it, and Mike is the only one to notice Steve’s Beemer roll up into its employee parking spot.
“You’re out of there at six on the dot, Max,” Hargrove is saying.
“Okay,” she says over her shoulder, turning back to El, “Did Mike tell you about Frogger? We thought you’d like it. The first levels are really easy, so-”
“On. The. Dot.”
“Jeez, I heard you the first time.”
“Max-”
“C’mon, Hargrove, leave them alone.” That’s Steve sauntering up to the group, his own glasses pushed up into his big hair and his video store vest slung over his shoulder. As long as Mike has something to say about it he’d rather die than ever turn into the sort of asshole that wears sunglasses when there’s not even sun.
Next to Steve, Dustin puffs out his chest. “Yeah, Hargrove, leave my friends alone!”
Hargrove snorts at the sight of them. “Please, I kicked your ass before.”
“Bye, Billy,” Max calls and drags Lucas and El along through the entrance of the arcade. Sometimes Mike is convinced it’s her way of deescalating, except if Hargrove’s attention is not on her and Lucas, it’s on Steve. It’s very much on Steve right now.
“Bye, Steve.” Dustin makes to follow the group inside. If it’s between standing up to Hargrove alongside Steve and fighting with Max over the DigDug highscore, he has a clear priority.
It’s not like Steve needs his support anyways. Before Mike turns to follow his friends, he watches the permanent scrunch in Hargrove’s face bleed away as Steve draws up to him and offers him a cigarette.
“Still got twenty minutes til my shift.”
And it’s odd, Mike thinks as the doors swing shut behind him and a thick air of sweat and popcorn hugs him, because Steve and Max’s brother aren’t friends. The guy beat Steve’s face in for goodness’ sake, bludgeoned it right into some real nasty red pulp. And Steve’s offering him a cigarette like they’ve always gotten along.
It’s got to be to appease them, for Max’s sake. Steve’s not actually friendly with Hargrove, he’s just being his stupid, protective self, keeping Hargrove off his and Max’s and Lucas’s and everyone’s backs. Mike makes a mental note to get Nancy to invite Steve for dinner sometimes, just as a thank you for his service.
When he looks back through the smudged hand prints on the glass doors, Steve is laughing. Laughing at something Hargrove said. Who looks smug about it too.
That is more puzzling than turtles in the Frogger river.
Lucas
Sneaking out at night is a logical thing to do. After all, his dad won’t attach a hoop over the garage door because his mom is against Lucas potentially breaking a window. It doesn’t make a lot of sense because the space in front of the garage is a whole separate section of the house and Lucas is not that bad at throwing. So the conclusion is to sneak out, sling the bag with the ball over the steering handles and bike to the court.
The Loch Norans have their fancy houses atop that hill and halfway down they even have a tiny sports park of their own. Over the day some moms play tennis there and some desk job dads jog their laps around it. The basketball team prefers the gym at school, so the park’s court remains mostly unused.
It’s supposed to be empty by ten in the evening.
It’s not.
Under the few but bright lights of the court Steve and Hargrove are circling each other in pursuit of the ball.
Lucas should leave. If he’s learned anything it’s that Hargrove’s presence spells trouble. Trouble for Max. Trouble for Steve. Trouble for Lucas. Especially trouble for Lucas with how the guy still can’t seem to help but make Lucas feel inferior in everything he does.
Two things make him stay anyway, behind the court’s fence still just to watch. One thing is that Max said Billy’s gotten better. He’s overbearing when it comes to her curfew and he’s rude but mostly he leaves her alone. According to her, he doesn’t much like Lucas but it’s got nothing to do with his skin color but with their dad, which Lucas understands to mean that it’s still very much got something to do with his skin color. However.
The second thing is that it’s mesmerizing to watch the ball change hands, fly through the air, worry the rim of the basket before sinking, be caught again to have the game begin anew. Steve’s got the advantage of longer legs and still falls for most of Hargrove’s feints. Hargrove’s more agile than Lucas gave him credit for for such a broad guy but Steve still catches up with him.
He’s not been watching for long enough to calculate their scores, if they even keep track of it themselves, but Hargrove sinks a three-pointer and that seems to end their game. The ball bounces aimlessly to a stop as Hargrove turns to Steve and grins.
“That seals it, Harrington. You officially owe me twenty.”
Steve rolls his eyes but he seems… fond? “Fifteen. For fouling me earlier.”
“Eighteen. It’s not a foul if the ground looks just so good on you.”
“Twelve because you said that.”
“You’re bitter I won.” Hargrove slinks up to Steve just to poke him in the side.
“Nah.” Steve pokes back. “I’m a graceful loser. Unlike someone else I know.”
“I’ve seen what your graceful looks like, King Steve, and it’s not very kingly.”
Just like that they’re engaged in a war of jabbing fingers attacking ticklish sides.
Lucas doesn’t think he’s ever seen Steve laugh that much, really laugh, from his belly, as he’s doing here and now with Billy fucking Hargrove.
He’s so stunned that when the two finally disengage and agree on a water break, they turn in sync and see Lucas at the same time.
They say “Oh” at the same time too.
Lucas says “Um.”.
Deer caught in headlights. All three of them.
It’s bad. Could always get worse if Hargrove’s there. And Lucas already feels like he’s interrupted something, saw something he wasn’t supposed to even though they were just playing basketball. Since when did Steve Harrington and Billy Hargrove even play basketball together if the team didn’t force them to? Maybe if they played against each other it made them work better, not forced to work together.
Steve gets back to himself first. “You came to play?”
Him speaking throws Hargrove back into gear. He unfreezes and beelines for the fence where the two of them have left their water bottles and street shoes. Does it in such a determined way it’s like he wants to remove himself from the situation entirely.
Lucas shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I can come another day.”
“It’s no problem,” Steve insists, “We were just about to take a break.”
“Are you sure?” Lucas tries to give Steve a look, glancing at Hargrove. Are you sure he’s fine with me being here? Because I’m not fine with him being here.
“Sure, I can go some more rounds.” He walks along the fence with Lucas until they meet at the gate. “Unlike someone else I know.”
“Fuck you too, Steve,” Billy grumbles from his spot, throwing back half his water in one. “Drink something before you fuckin’ faint, you damn princess.”
“Be nice, we’ve got company.” Nevertheless Steve joins him to sit for a moment and indeed have a few sips of his water. “Actually, Billy, I think there was something you meant to tell Lucas.”
“I’ll kill you, Harrington. They’ll never find your body.”
Lucas says “Um”.
Steve waves the words away dismissively and leans a little closer. “We talked about this, Billy”. Even though Lucas is not exactly sure, from how softly he’s speaking, like Hargrove’s a stubborn animal, if he’s not actually saying “baby”.
“I hate you sometimes,” Hargrove says, more clearly. But he sits up straighter, reluctant to look at Lucas and that’s rare in itself. “Sinclair.”
“Um, yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
Lucas Sinclair left his house tonight to throw some hoops and be by himself to imitate some Magic Johnson throws, only worse, and be his own cheerleader through it all and instead he’s watched Steve and Billy Hargrove be friends and received an apology from the asshole.
“What?”
“God dammit, you heard me.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Hargrove snorts. “Okay?”
“Be nice,” Steve chides.
“Fuckin’-” Hargrove breathes in deep and out long. “Sorry for scaring you all this time. And for shoving you.”
“Okay.” Lucas remains stunned. It’s the most words they’ve ever even exchanged. Part of him is catapulted back into sixth grade when Mr Clarke made Troy apologise to him for breaking his baking soda volcano. It was one of the most insincere apologies Lucas has ever received. This one should feel like that. Somehow it doesn’t. “I’m. Um. I’m sorry for kicking you in the balls?”
“Oh my God. I’m leaving.”
Hargrove doesn’t get far. Doesn’t even get to stand up with Steve’s hand on his shoulder bearing down and keeping him right where he is. Steve’s smiling like he’s won something. “You’re not going anywhere. We’re having a two vee one rematch later.”
“You’re a bitch, Harrington. A bitch and a bastard and a fuckin’ asshole too.”
Steve remains undeterred. His hand is still resting on Hargrove’s shoulder and his thumb is tracing circles into the sweat-soaked shirt there. Then he smooths over the fabric and gives him a last pat before standing back up.
“Let’s see some throws, Lucas.”
Just like that the conversation is over. Because Steve Harrington decided it’s over. And Hargrove accepts it without resistance.
Like Lucas he is probably glad it’s over anyways. He tries to forget about it when he changes his shoes and Steve rescues their ball from abandonment.
Soon enough Steve’s got him diving after it desperately, attempting feints and failing. He chases him around the court and sometimes is lucky enough to gain possession of the ball and even get some meters in before it’s stolen from him again. Watching is different from experiencing. Steve’s faster than he looks from the outside. Before Lucas registers he’s on his left he’s already on his right and the ball is gone. He imitates Steve’s technique for throwing and scores some points, not counting, just glad to get some at all.
The ball bounces off again. Steve offers a high-five and Lucas smacks his hands against his. “Good game. You did well.”
“It’s kinda unfair to play against you.” It’s only a little embarrassing how whiny it makes him sound, but true all the same. If he comes after his dad, Lucas has a growth spurt waiting for him. For now though it might make more sense for him to play like Hargrove who’s only shorter in relation to Steve but sturdy and agile and scheming and perfectly capable of keeping up and exceeding if he wants to.
“You’re gonna get there,” Steve reassures him, throwing Lucas his water bottle before taking his own. And it’s good. Good to be acknowledged.
The feeling turns to stone when Hargrove scoffs.
“That footwork was tragic, Sinclair.”
“Billy-”
“Max is not gonna date a loser, Steve.” Hargrove crumples his empty bottle against the ground and gets up, rolling his shoulders.
When he looks at Lucas this time it’s still heavy and piercing and scary but not as aggressive as it is determined to do something. To do something right. He only breaks off to collect the ball again and toss it to Lucas.
“Let’s work on it.”
If Steve can keep doing whatever it is his influence is doing to Hargrove Lucas is just fine with it.
Dustin
Steve doesn’t answer the phone. Which is strange because Steve always answers the phone. The only times he doesn’t is when he is working, and Dustin knows for a fact that he is free today. Which means he should be at home and answering his phone. He doesn’t, so the next step is to take the bike and struggle up the hills of Loch Nora and promise himself to have a stern word with Steve Harrington for making him do this in the summer heat hanging over Hawkins.
When he gets there the strangeness of the situation doesn’t end. Steve’s Beemer is parked in its usual spot—so he is definitely home—and next to it is Billy Hargrove’s contribution to noise pollution.
Dustin throws his bike onto the lawn, makes his way up to the door and rings the door bell, once, twice, three times and then to the melody of the Imperial March.
Nobody answers the door, and that adds to the suspicious nature of Steve’s sudden unavailability. Billy Hargrove is at Steve’s house and chances are not zero that he’s taken him into the woods beyond the mansion’s garden and killed him for good this time. Maybe they haven’t gotten that far and Steve’s knocked unconscious in the hallway right behind this door while Hargrove raids Mrs Harrington’s jewelry boxes.
Dustin’s got his fist raised to rain a barrage of knocks down onto the door when he hears it. Music. Electrical guitars and a bass drum muffled by distance.
He follows the sound. It leads him around the house and to the backyard where it gets louder. The singer’s howling voice takes a backseat entirely when Dustin tries to take in what he is seeing. He has to blink a few times to make sure it’s real at all.
Steve’s in the pool, floating comfortably in a giant inflatable donut and idly pushing himself away from the edge whenever he gets too close. He’s got sun glasses on and seems offensively at peace even though he is right within drowning range of Billy Hargrove. Who’s sitting at the edge of the pool, legs in the water, and also within reach of the boombox producing the noise.
It’s nothing like the music Dustin knows Steve to play which means it’s Hargrove’s music, and he’s just playing it in Steve’s backyard like he’s allowed. He’s talking over the music, gesturing generously, and Dustin only catches half of it before he reaches the poolside.
“—telling you, Harrington, this guy was a fucking nerd, it should be embarrassing if the tracks weren’t so good. Did you listen to this?”
“It’s not as bad as your usual stuff. Is it because they’re British?”
“Take this seriously, Stevie.”
“Or what?”
“Steve!” Dustin calls out.
“Oh hey, Dustin.” Steve has the manners to straighten up and stand in the pool with his elbows folded over the donut.
“Why would you think it’s because they’re British?” Hargrove asks undeterred.
“I don’t know. Some of those bands Jonathan likes are and I like it better than that noise you usually call music.”
“Metallica beats the shit you call music by miles. It’s not even a competition.”
“Steve, I gotta talk to you,” Dustin insists, glancing at Hargrove from the corners of his eyes. “Do you have a minute? Are you being held hostage?”
“I’ve got a minute. What’s up?”
The music clicks off. Dustin finds himself in an awkward silence and it’s his turn to fill it too. “Well, um, under four eyes?”
“Damn, I’m being excluded,” Hargrove scoffs, busying himself with taking the cassette out of the boom box and switching it the the B-side. The electric guitars and drums start up again, stomping a continuous rhythm.
“It’s just,” Dustin starts. He is not going to be thrown of by Billy Hargrove’s presence in Steve’s space. “It’s about camp. My mom forgot she actually scheduled to spend a weekend at my uncle’s, so she can’t drive me.”
Steve blinks.
“That’s all?” Hargrove comments, “What a nothing question. You needed me out of earshot because?”
Dustin pushes his lower lip forward which is not a pout. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“You get it anyway. You’re welcome.”
Steve drifts closer to the pool’s edge to talk better over the music. “What day do you go?”
“Next Monday,” Dustin answers.
Steve’s face scrunches up in the way he does when he’s trying to think. “When’s that concert?” he asks Hargrove, “Is that Monday?”
“Sunday.”
“Well, shit.” Steve scowls. “I’m gonna be tired as fuck but I can drive you, Henderson.”
“How can you be tired when this is your new style of music?”
“It’s Led Zeppelin and it’s good shit,” Hargrove clarifies with a raised pointer finger.
So I’m packing my bags for the Misty Mountains, comes from the boombox.
Where the spirits go now
Over the hills where the spirits fly
“It’s nerd shit,” Hargrove amends, “Still good.”
“The Misty Mountains…” Dustin repeats, a little stunned, “And you know it’s nerd shit because?”
“Believe it or not, Henderson, but I read books.”
For a moment Dustin forgets to be mad at his presence and his face must have been switching into genuine surprise.
“It’s only the staple of all current Fantasy literature,” Hargrove grumbles.
Dustin nods, feels stupid, snaps back into himself and turns to Steve. “Am I having a heatstroke or did he really say that?”
“I’m getting drinks,” Hargrove says decidedly and without waiting for any requests or protests gets up and heads inside. Like he knows his way around just fine. Like he’s here often.
And Steve’s looking after him and he’s smiling fondly and his entire expression is so soft and Dustin vaguely remembers the few times a campaign coincided with Nancy having Steve over and he used to look at her in this exact way.
“Am I having a heatstroke or are you…?”
The question snaps Steve’s focus back to Dustin and he looks on as Dustin gestures back and forth between him and Hargrove’s general direction.
“Are you, like-? Oh my God, Steve-”
Maybe it’s the sun but the tips of Steve’s ears are bright red even though his voice is steady when he says, “Mind your own business, Henderson, or I’m not driving.”
It’s as good as confirmation.
Will
He doesn’t remember the backyard ever being that busy. They’ve had summertime barbecues before but this beats all previous summers. The party is all there. Dustin’s back from camp. Mike and Nancy are sitting with El and Jonathan respectively. Lucas and Max are holding hands under the table. Will’s mother and Hopper are manning the grill to feed all of them. And because Dustin is here, so is Steve, and because Max is here so is her brother. The front yard is one permit away from being a legal parking lot.
It’s busy and overwhelming to have everyone here but Will wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. They’re all here. They’ve survived the Upside Down and now they’re allowed to be here. Together.
And still.
His mom and Hopper are in exchange about their children, keeping an eye on all of them at the same time, and it’s nice. For all Will’s sometimes still intimidated by Hopper’s rough tone he’s warming up to the idea of his mother settling with him, which is where they’re clearly headed.
He doesn’t mind Jonathan with Nancy either. He’s used to her staying some nights over the weekend. She’s friendly and got him the expensive pencils for his birthday. She doesn’t like Jonathan’s music but Will supposes it’d be boring if all your interests overlapped one hundred per cent.
Max and Lucas are good for each other. It’s almost a little gross how they’re glued together by the hip, and how Lucas is trying to impress her by throwing bits of sausage in the air to catch them with his mouth, and how she elbows him in the side for it but tries the same thing, how they thrive on one-upping each other.
Dustin won’t stop talking about Suzie to anyone who cares to listen.
Not to mention Mike and El and how they’re even more clingy and Lucas and Max, both of them eating one-handed so they won’t have to let go of each other.
So maybe it is a little isolating to be the only one without this kind of love at the table. Sometimes he still thinks about the girl he danced with at the Snow Ball and every time it only makes him remembers that, while it was nice, it was not who he’d wanted. He’s one of Hawkins’ scrawny nerdy freaks. Love is not in the stars for him. And sometimes he considers asking Steve about it because Steve is popular, or used to be anyway until Billy Hargrove came along and Will is not about to approach Billy Hargrove with his struggles in love. Steve, however, he’s good-looking and the type to have dates lined up for him and sometimes Will wishes he had even a small part of the same spark.
But he knows he doesn’t. Even if he did it would do him no good. It’s not girls he wants to date after all.
After most of everyone’s hunger is stilled, the party gets up. The weather is dry and warm, and it’s Max’ idea to start a game of tag.
Will struggles with sports. He joins for a few rounds, then excuses himself to some leftover kebab and watches from the sidelines. This is fun too, watching Dustin and Mike topple over each other to escape from Lucas, who’s gotten impressively agile over the last few weeks. At one point Max makes a daring dive right through under his arm and pokes her tongue out at him when he gives chase.
Hopper, Hargrove and Steve make to clear the table and rescue the food from fourteen year olds crashing into it. Like a self-fulfilling prophecy Max, looking back to taunt Lucas on her heels, crashes into Steve.
They both go down. Max lands safely on Steve’s back, squishing him to the ground. She’s breathless and laughing a little through her apologies as she’s scrambling back to her feet.
“I’m fine,” Steve groans. He rolls to his back, a bright red ketchup stain sinking into his shirt. “My shirt’s not.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” Max goes on, “Maybe if you run it under water?”
Hargrove’s delighted by the whole scene. He’s got a loud laugh and it’s the loudest he’s been all day. Will’s heard about the things he did, to Steve, in this house even, but so little of it matches the person Will’s seen over the past months and maybe that’s why he’s the one who, apart from Max, minds his presence the least.
Right now, he’s grinning down at Steve, full of Schadenfreude, but still offers him a hand and hauls him back to his feet without any effort. “Should’ve seen your face. God, you look stupid.”
“Thanks, asshole.”
Hargrove knocks him in the shoulder. “I got a spare in the car. Come on.”
And just like that Steve follows him around the house.
Mike, Dustin and Lucas look after them and then at each other. There’s something unspoken between the three of them, like they know something and aren’t allowed to say it. Max snaps them out of it by tagging El and they scatter apart into all directions again.
“Will, love, would you put this in the fridge?” His mother points to a row of three tupperware containers. Potato salad, cucumber salad, noodle salad, not to be wasted.
“Sure, mom.” Will gets to work to close the containers, stack them, and carries them through a battlefield of tag into the house.
And he doesn’t mean to spy. But the kitchen window looks out into the front yard and it’s open to let the breeze in against the food smells.
Steve’s shrugging out of his stained shirt and getting dressed in Hargrove’s band shirts, this one has DIO written on the back. “I really don’t think it’s my style,” Steve says light-heartedly, arms raised to see how the sleeves are too broad on him.
Hargrove watches him change, hip leaned against his car and unashamed of watching. “Too bad, I think I actually like you in my clothes.”
A sinking feeling in Will’s stomach tells him he’s not meant to be listening. Because it sounds like flirting and that can’t be right. Steve’s only ever been seen with girls, so has Billy Hargrove, and sure, Will’s been vaguely aware that the two of them have become friends of sorts but friends don’t say that. Lucas or Dustin or Mike wouldn’t say something like that to him.
Then Steve leans over and kisses Hargrove. On the mouth. It’s quick, just a peck, playful, over in a moment.
That’s more than flirting. It’s so fast and fluid and familiar as though Steve’s not done this for the first time. It’s more.
Steve says something that Will doesn’t hear over the hammering of his heart.
Hargrove says, “Don’t do that here. Anyone could see.” No anger, just something small and… scared. That smallness and scaredness, more than the actual words, tell Will that he was very much not meant to witness it.
Steve reaches to squeeze Hargrove’s hand as an apology. “Sorry, I won’t do it again.” He nods towards the house. “Let’s get back.”
“How about a smoke first? I don’t think it’s my crowd.”
“Sure.”
Will stays frozen in the kitchen and sifts through his feelings. Shock because it’s Steve Harrington, because it’s Billy Hargrove, Hawkins High’s girl magnets, and they’re like him. Jealousy because Will’s the only one who’s alone at the table after all, because even these two have each other, and they’re boys. God, they’re boys. They’re like him. Guilt because he wasn’t meant to find out.
They’re outside, sitting on the steps of the porch, leaning into each other without touching, ready to jump apart at the slightest noise. They’re alone for now.
If he does it right, he can apologize. He’s not very brave but he still goes to the door and walks through, so maybe he’s a just a little brave.
Steve turns his head. “What’s up, Will?”
He fiddles with his fingers, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and keeps his eyes on his toes. “I’m, um… I saw- I saw you, just now.”
Hargrove tenses right up but Steve only raises a brow. “Okay?”
“I mean I saw how you…” He can’t even say kiss. He’s never going to get anywhere like this.
Steve understands nevertheless, his openness melting into concern and Will can’t quite gauge over what.
“I won’t say anything. I meant to say sorry. Really, I won’t!”
Instead of answering Steve waves him to sit with them.
For a long moment Will stands on top of the stairs and doesn’t move.
Hargrove takes a long drag of his cigarette. The smoke spills from his mouth when he barks, “Christ, Byers, sit the fuck down.”
“Yup, scare him some more, why don’t you?” Steve chides gently.
Will sits down next to him so he’s got Steve between himself and Hargrove like that will protect him from his anger. But Hargrove stays quiet after that, sucks at his cigarette with desperation, and stares out over the cars into the middle distance.
Steve seeks out Will’s face. He’s open and earnest. “I don’t mind you knowing. Or anyone here. I think most of them already do.”
Will’s mouth drops halfway open, but it makes sense. Suddenly Will knows what Mike, Lucas and Dustin have known already for a while. And if they’ve known, then Max has known for even longer. Will wonders if El does, too.
“I mind, by the way,” Hargrove adds.
“Too late to change it now, baby.” Steve’s hand blindly finds Hargrove’s knee and doesn’t hesitate to thumb circles into it, dip under the rips in the jeans there.
More than the apparent fact that Steve’s reassurances work on Billy Hargrove, the fact that Billy Hargrove can be scared at all baffles Will. That he can be scared of the same thing Will’s scared of.
“I know what it’s like,” he says and almost wishes he could take it back immediately, “I mean, I… I’m hiding that too. But I don’t think anyone actually knows. Well, you know now, I suppose.”
Steve stares at him for a long moment.
Hargrove huffs. “Welcome to the closet.”
“It’s not going to be like this forever,” Steve says then and Will doesn’t quite know whether it’s meant for him or Hargrove. “It’s probably scary, things being as they are now. But we’ve got good people around us, Will. There won’t be a right moment. There’s no right moment. But if you decide to tell them, they’ll get it.”
He feels his face grow warm, something wet prickling in his eyes. “So why don’t you? I mean, if you say that, why aren’t you… out? To us, I mean.”
Steve bites his lip, uncertain, seeks out Billy’s face and catches his eyes.
Billy sighs, more smoke. “I’m dead if my old man finds out. It’s better like this for now.”
Will thinks about Lonnie and nods. “I see.”
Getting fixed by Billy’s hard gaze still freezes him in place. “If you decide to tell them, anyone, and they get funny with you, you tell me and I’m beating their asses.”
It’s not an offer or a request. Just a statement. His voice feels a little to high when he squeaks, “Okay.”
And Billy turns back to looking out over the cars, and Steve smokes his cigarette, and Will just sits with them. It feels like minutes, long, dragging minutes, until he dares open his mouth again.
“Are you happy?” Despite it all, despite the secrecy, despite what your dad says, despite the fear and violence if it ever came out?
“Yup,” Steve says easily. His hand hasn’t moved from Billy’s knee, only tightens his grip at the statement. “Never been better, actually.”
Billy puts his hand over Steve’s, just to hold it there. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”
It’s probably the first time Will’s seen Billy Hargrove smile in a way that’s not mean.
So, Will thinks, maybe the fear is worth it.