Archive of Our Own

Billy flicks the shitty gas station bic again. 

And again, it sparks, it sputters, but it fails to catch. 

Frustrated, he throws it. 

It’s satisfying, watching as it disappears over the edge of the quarry and begins its rapid descent to the unseen waters far below. 

But the satisfaction doesn’t last. 

Because once the lighter is gone, it’s just him with his bruises and his too thin jean jacket sitting there, alone, with an unlit cigarette in his mouth underneath a sea of distant stars. 

Sighing, Billy flops back against the dirt. He can feel how cold and rocky it is even through his clothes. He glares up at the cloudless sky and the distant stars and he wills the urge to follow the lighter over the edge to pass. 

The impulse does, but the thought still lingers around in the dark corners of his mind.

He wishes he knew more constellations. 

He can usually find Orion easily enough, and the dippers he can make out sometimes. But that’s the extent of his constellation related knowledge.

If he knew more of them, he thinks, then maybe it would give him something better to do on nights like these. Something better to focus his mind on than the spiraling thoughts that threaten to consume him.

It’s not the first time Neil has decided, suddenly, that he doesn’t want Billy in the house. It’s not even the first time he didn’t let Billy take his car.

Billy knows that in a day or two, when Neil cools down or gets annoyed at Susan having to actually take care of her kid for once, he’ll drop the whole thing. 

Neil will act like it never happened. 

He’ll scold Billy for not being home when he was supposed to be, act like he wasn’t the one that told Billy to go and not come back.

It’s fine. Billy can deal with it. 

There are worse things. 

But it was easier to deal with back in California. 

Back in California there were more people, and it was warmer.

He could always find a place to be, people who wouldn’t ask too many questions.

It’s a tuesday. 

No one in Hawkins throws a party on a Tuesday. 

And they’re all so in each other’s business all the time out here. 

There’s no way he can show up to anyone’s place without them asking questions he doesn’t want to answer. 

The ground beneath him is cold and hard and there’s a rock digging into his back. But Billy tries to imagine that it’s sand, that he’s home, laid out on a beach.

It’s late enough that the sand would have already lost its sun warmth. But the air… the air would be warmer. Except when a breeze would blow in off the ocean. That would be cold, but a different kind of cold than Indiana cold.

Fresh, salty. Comforting.

Billy takes the unlit cigarette out of his mouth and thinks about throwing it over the edge too. 

Not much use for it without a lighter, he thinks.

He wishes he had his old lighter, the nice metal one he stole from an overpriced tourist trap down by the pier. 

But he’s an idiot, and he fucking misplaced it or something, so he’s had to rely on shitty gas station replacements while he tries to figure out where it went.

…he also wishes he had Harrington’s jacket. 

But he’s been wishing that pretty much every night since he snuck the damn thing back to school and left it for Harrington to find exactly where Billy had taken it from a week earlier. 

Billy should just be glad that he didn’t get caught, not thinking about how to steal the damn thing again every time he sees Harrington wearing it. 

It probably smells like him again, Billy thinks. 

A week hidden in Billy’s bedroom wasn’t nearly enough to get rid of Harrington’s worn in scent completely… but it had faded and gotten covered up with time.

It probably hadn’t helped that Billy wore it to sleep every night, or that he’d smoked with it on a few times too.

He should have been more careful, drawn things out more.

It’s a risk he shouldn’t even be considering, at all, but he can’t help but wonder how many times he could steal the jacket and return it before someone caught him.

He wonders, morosely, if it’d be Neil or Harrington that caught on first.

Either way, Billy’s life would be over.

Headlights streak through the trees, and a moment later he hears the sound of tires on gravel as a car slowly approaches.

Billy considers his options. 

He could make a run for it, try to make it to the treeline so he could melt into the shadows. 

But as much as he doesn’t want to deal with whoever this is, as much as he doesn’t want to be seen and questioned and judged right now… he doesn’t know if whoever this is has already recognized him. 

If they have, news of whatever he does right now will probably spread, and he’s not sure he can spin running away to fit his image.

In the end he doesn’t end up doing anything, he just continues to lay there staring up at the stars like he doesn’t give a shit about the car, or anyone in it.

Maybe he’ll get lucky, he thinks, and whoever it is will pass him by and they won't even notice him. 

But Billy is never lucky. 

He hears the car stop, it sounds like it’s somewhere kind of nearby, and then he hears a door open and close. 

Just one. 

So at least he’s probably only dealing with one person. Or maybe the car is full, and the one person is the only one brave or stupid enough to approach him. 

Billy doesn’t know. He refuses to look.

Footsteps crunch through gravel, then get quieter once they reach the dirt on Billy’s side of the road.

And then, suddenly, he’s there. 

Steve fucking Harrington. 

Standing over Billy with his soft hair and beautiful eyes and that goddamn jacket , hands buried in the pockets. 

Billy’s breath catches in his throat.

Harrington’s eyebrows are drawn together, his big bambi eyes wary, and the set of his tense shoulders seems almost nervous.

“Stargazing?” Harrington asks, simply.

Like this is the kind of conversation they have. Like it's no big deal that he’s talking to Billy, like Billy hasn’t been thinking about him near constantly for way too long.

Like they’re something… anything… but an unavoidable annoyance to each other. 

Like they’re something that they are definitely not. 

Billy doesn’t know how to handle this, what the right answer is. 

He doesn’t know what Harrington thinks he’s doing here, and some part of him isn’t even sure he’s real.

“Something like that.” Is what he ends up saying.

Harrington hums in acknowledgement and tips his head back to look up at the stars. Billy’s eyes are drawn like magnets to the length of Harrington’s throat laid bare above him.

He watches as Harrington swallows.

“Mind if I join you?” Harrington asks, dropping his head and his eyes back down to Billy. 

His stare is intense, his normally expressive brown eyes unreadable and darker than normal in the limited moonlight. Billy looks away.

He feels exposed, the armor of his public persona cracked open. He feels like he’s desperately trying to hold the broken pieces together.

Billy shrugs, and forces as much disinterest into his voice as he can.

“Do whatever you want. It’s not like I own the place.” He says.

He wants Harrington to stay.

He wants Harrington to lay down next to him and look up at the stars with him, even if it doesn’t last, even if it makes everything worse, even if it hurts. 

He wants Harrington.

He knows he’ll take literally whatever Harrington will give him.

Because he’s just that pathetic, because he wants him so much.

But he can't say that. Any of it.

Harrington smiles at the answer Billy gave, smiles down at Billy, and Billy’s stomach rolls.

Fuck.

Billy’s so stupid.

He’s so screwed. 

Harrington drops to the ground unceremoniously, and he brushes aside a few especially annoying looking rocks before laying out next to Billy. 

He lays close, hands slipping back into the pockets of that jacket. Closer than Billy thought he’d be, closer than Billy dared to even hope for. 

Billy can feel the warmth of Harrington’s body. He can feel it radiating off of him, and he wants to curl into it, wants to huddle close.

He at least isn’t stupid enough to try that.

“You know any constellations? Or like… star names? Or anything?” Harrington asks, rambling like Billy’s never heard him before.

Billy swallows, unreasonably nervous. But when he forces his mouth to move his voice is thankfully unaffected.

“Just orion. And the dippers. Sometimes.” He says, he glances away from the sky to sneak a peek at Harrington. “You?”

Harrington is looking up at the stars, and he’s so pretty laid out next to him that Billy’s heart aches .

The side of Harrington’s mouth that Billy can see quirks up in a small smile, and he turns his head slightly to look at Billy. 

He shrugs, and Billy can almost feel it where their shoulders are almost touching.

“Not really.” Harrington says. “The camp counselors at the summer camps I went to tried to teach me but… I guess it didn't stick.”

Billy tries to pay attention to Harrington’s words but it’s hard to do. Harrington is so close, and looks so unguarded, and Billy would hardly have to move to kiss him.

Without his permission his eyes drop to Harrington’s lips. 

Billy wants to kiss him. 

Holy fuck does Billy want to kiss him. 

Billy pulls his eyes away from Harrington’s lips to find that Harrington is watching him. Something soft and warm in his eyes.

A cold breeze blows across them, and Billy shivers. 

Harrington notices, of course he does, and before Billy knows what is happening Harrington is sitting up and pulling off the jacket. 

The jacket is still skin warm when it hits Billy’s chest. He raises his eyebrows at Harrington.

“-the fuck?” He asks. 

Perfect reaction , he thinks sarcastically, no wonder Harrington usually wants nothing to do with him.

“If you’re too much of a California boy to handle the cold-” Harrington says, settling back down now in just the bluegreen long sleeved shirt he’d been wearing under the jacket. “-you could at least dress appropriately.”

He isn’t looking at Billy when he talks, eyes back on the stars above. 

Billy debates his options. 

He could refuse to take the jacket. He probably should refuse to take it, make some snide comment about not being a girl for Harrington to put moves on or something…

But the jacket is warm. And it does smell like Harrington again. And this was what he wanted wasn’t it?

Billy sits up and pulls the jacket on. 

It feels even better than he remembered. 

He isn’t sure if it's because it’s still warm, or if it’s because this time it isn't stolen, or if it’s just not possible to accurately remember just how nice being wrapped up in Steve’s jacket makes Billy feel.

He closes his eyes and tries not to be obvious about greedily breathing in as much of Harrington’s scent as he can.

Billy lays back down, careful to lay exactly as he had been before, making no changes to the miniscule distance Harrington established between them.

They lay there in not uncomfortable silence for a while. Billy stares up at the stars in an effort not to stare at Harrington.

He doesn’t even think about it when he slips his hands into the pockets of the jacket. He kind of assumed if Harrington had anything important in there he’d have taken it out before giving Billy the jacket.

In one pocket he feels the familiar shape of a box of cigarettes, which isn’t all that surprising. He hasn’t really seen Steve smoking before, but that just means he has more restraint than Billy and doesn’t smoke as often.

And in the other pocket his hand brushes against metal that he quickly identifies as a lighter based on the shape. A zippo. 

Billy’d dropped the cigarette he’d had earlier at some point after he noticed the car approaching. But he could probably take one from the box in the other pocket if he wanted, he doesn’t think Harrington would complain too much.

And Harrington’s lighter’s got to be better than the cheap piece of crap Billy had tossed over the edge.

His fingers find a design etched into the side of the lighter. It feels strangely familiar, and for a moment he can’t figure out why.

But as his fingers trace over the familiar lines he suddenly recognizes them. 

He pulls the lighter out of the pocket and stares at it.

Waves. 

This lighter has waves etched into the side. 

It’s Billy’s lighter. The one he stole back in California. 

He must have forgotten it in the pocket of the jacket and not noticed when he went to give it back. 

How could he have been so careless? So stupid?

Panic and self loathing lances through him like a knife. His breathing picks up pace and he can’t slow it back down.

Harrington had worn the jacket since he got it back. Almost every day since, in fact.

The thought doesn’t dispel the panic, but it does bring enough confusion to the forefront of Billy’s mind that the panic gets pushed to the backburner.

Had Harrington just not realized that the lighter wasn’t his?

Billy risks a glance at Harrington, curiosity getting the best of him.

Harrington is staring at him, eyes wide and searching, taking in as much of Billy’s expression as he can.

“I-” Harrington starts, then stops, clears his throat and looks away from Billy. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get that back to you.”

Harrington is blushing.

Harrington knew the lighter was Billy’s, he probably figured out that means Billy is the one who stole his jacket. But he’s still here. 

He still gave Billy the jacket as soon as he realized Billy was cold. 

He’s blushing .

“Why are you here?” Out of the million questions in his head right now, Billy’s not sure why that’s the one that comes out.

Harrington glances at him and then away again.

“Max was worried about you.” He says hesitantly, almost sounding embarrassed. “She asked me to take a look around. See if I could find you.”

It doesn’t explain anything about the jacket or the lighter or what Harrington is feeling right now. It does raise more questions about other things though.

Billy pushes them to the side, for now.

“You knew the lighter was mine.” He says, it isn’t a question. Harrington answers anyway.

“Yeah.” He says, he’s got his hands resting on his sternum and he taps his fingers nervously.

Billy drinks in the sight, trying to piece things together, trying to make sense of all of this.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Billy asks, voice quiet.

Harrington bites his lip, which gets Billy staring and thinking about kissing him again, but after a moment of hesitation he answers.

“I was scared.” Harrington admits. 

Billy’s stomach sinks, he feels a little sick.

He knows he deserves it, but he hates the idea of Harrington being scared of him. He’d rather Harrington hate him, he’d rather Harrington feel nothing for him.

Harrington keeps talking.

“Scared that I got things wrong… that I'd misunderstood something and…” Harrington rambles on, definitely sounding nervous now. “And that you’d freak out at me or… or laugh at me for being a fucking idiot or something.”

Billy stares at Harrington. 

His blush is getting worse. 

He runs a hand through his hair, and refuses to meet Billy’s eyes.

Billy’s got to have things wrong. He’s misunderstood something. 

There’s no way, no way that this means what he’s thinking it does. Life doesn’t work that way, not for Billy.

Harrington glances at him, his tongue peeking out of his mouth to wet his lips, and they’re so red from where he’s been biting them.

Like back when he stole the jacket, Billy moves without thinking.

He closes the gap between them and presses his lips desperately to Harrington’s.

Harrington freezes, almost long enough for the panic to set in again and for Billy to pull away. But then he’s melting against Billy’s lips.

Harrington brings his hand up to Billy’s face, adjusts the angle slightly. 

Steve Harrington is kissing him back.

Billy feels like he could die happy as soon as this kiss is over. 

As soon as this kiss is over, being a key point. 

He’s pretty sure if anyone or anything interrupts this he’d be angrier than he’s ever been before, which is definitely saying something.

Harrington is a good kisser.

Billy thought he’d be. He’s heard stories about King Steve, and not just from Tommy. 

But Billy’s pretty sure Harrington could have been the worst kisser in the world and Billy would still love every single second he was allowed to kiss him.

Eventually Steve pulls away. Billy can’t do anything to stop the whine that climbs its way out of his throat. 

But Harrinton doesn’t go far, and he keeps the hand he has cupping Billy’s jaw in place, thumb rubbing soothingly over Billy’s cheek.

Billy doesn’t know when he’d closed his eyes, but he opens them now to find Harrington staring at him.

His cheeks are flushed, and his lips are even redder now, but he looks less nervous and embarrassed than he did before. 

“Will you go out with me?” Harrington blurts out. “We could go to a movie on Friday? Or if you don’t want to go somewhere in town we could head over to Indianapolis and do something there on Saturday?”

Billy’s eyes widen. 

“Or whatever.” Harrington continues to ramble, clearly still at least a little nervous. “Whatever you want.”

Even with everything tonight, Billy hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up. 

He’s still scared, he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the rug to be swept out from underneath him. 

But he wont pass up on even the chance, however slim, that he might be able to go on a date with Steve Harrington.

“Yes.” He says, and fuck Harrington is smiling at him now. All soft and warm and Billy is so in love with him.

“Yeah?” Harrington asks, voice soft. Fond.

“Yeah.” Billy says, with a confidence he doesn’t feel. “Whatever. Wherever.”

“Just nothing in town.” He adds hastily, remembering Neil.

The thought of his father isn’t enough to kill Billy’s good mood completely, but it does lower it substantially.

It doesn’t matter too much though, because a moment later Steve Harrington is kissing him again and all thoughts about his father are pushed to the farthest corners of his mind.

Eventually they stop kissing long enough for Steve to realize it’s getting even colder.

He gets up first, and offers Billy his hand to help him up. Billy takes it, and is only a little surprised when Steve actually uses it to help him up instead of dropping him or something. 

He can’t stop smiling. 

Steve Harrington gave him his jacket. Steve Harrington kissed him. He’s got a date with Steve Harrington this weekend.

It’s been the best night of his life, Billy’s pretty sure.

Steve is also smiling, even as he pulls Billy by the ends of the jacket in for another kiss. 

Billy doesn’t want him to leave. 

But Harrington doesn’t plan to leave him behind, apparently.

“Come back to my place for the night?” He asks.

Billy kisses him again instead of answering. Elated that that is something he’s allowed to do now apparently.

-

The next morning Billy slips out of Harrington’s house without waking him. 

He needs to walk home in time to drive Max to school, a task that he knows is still required of him even when he’s been kicked out.

Steve Harrington’s jacket keeps back the early morning chill better than any jacket should be able to.

He hopes Steve likes the note he left.

-

“Harrington,

I’m keeping the jacket. It looks better on me, anyway.

Figure out what we’re doing in Indy on Saturday and let me know.

• B.H.”