Chapter Text
6:23 AM
Mornings are gentle now.
They’re gentle, quiet, and only faintly blue; Hawkins doesn’t hold sunlight the same way San Diego did. Here, there’s no mist to paint the sky that cerulean gold, no ocean for the sun to reflect off to make someone wonder where the sea and the sky split. Indiana offers only grass and dirt and trees, and through all of that, the sun still softens, curls up, bending the world softly to its whims. This morning-blue isn’t the same as what he remembers of the quiet breakings of dawn from his childhood, but maybe that’s a good thing.
Billy knows it’s not a bad one.
How could it be? Gentle is a coat that still doesn’t sit all that right over his shoulders, but he likes the way it feels. It’s nice, like there’s a morning dawning inside his chest, too, light trapped and transformed by the mist of his lungs into a soft blue that’s all his own. With each day that passes, Billy enjoys this landlocked harbor easier, body falling into better alignment with the one that lays beside him.
As the blue inside Billy peaks, Steve begins the long process of waking from his deep sleep. Billy had already been watching him, observing the way his skin slowly warmed as the sky brightened, the way his hair went from a deep, dark brown to a shade closer to honey. The sun is always kind to Steve, gentle on him in a way it isn’t with Billy, making him glow where it makes Billy gleam. Even in the soft blue of the morning, Steve, brows furrowing and legs starting to shuffle, evokes the warmth of a campfire, one that Billy can press his hands to without ever burning.
These days, Steve wakes gently, too. His ability to sleep without being haunted through his dreams is new, and Billy is quietly grateful for many reasons, the least being that he also sleeps better. The dark circles under Steve’s eyes are disappearing, the ache in his bones is lessening, and Steve smiles to himself now where he used to frown and fold inwards. All of this, as well as the healthy flush to his skin, his monkey laugh, and the contentedly sweet edge of his honey roast, fits around Billy, snug and golden.
While Steve wakes slowly, softly burrowing his nose into his pillow, he’s kind of a bitch in his sleep. The pillow under his head is supposed to be under Billy’s, but Steve tends to push into the alpha’s space during the night, first by curling around him sweetly, then by overcoming him like a vengeful octopus. It’s been weeks since Steve managed to wake him like that, though a single knock of a branch against the side of the house is enough to jolt Billy into alertness. The truth of Steve wrapping around him like that, and Billy letting him is the gentlest part of it all, Billy thinks, the heart of the gold warmth that engulfs them, separate but not apart from the burning blue dawn.
This morning, the omega’s arms are loose around Billy’s waist, above and below him, and their legs are puzzle-pieced together. When Billy turns away from the window, his nose comes to rest centimeters away from the tip of Steve’s, leaving them to breathe the same air. Steve’s not awake yet, still a few minutes away from consciousness, and Billy takes the absences of observation and watches his omega. He’s flushed, too warm with all the blankets he’s stolen, and his hair remains fluffy despite how often his head shifted over the pillow, something Billy’s curls could never manage. He doesn’t need a mirror to show him how tangled his hair is. The rest of Steve’s body exists to Billy through feel, hidden beneath the mountain of blankets and the single one that Billy was able to keep for himself. Their hips are pressed together, and Steve’s skin there is warmer, almost burning, as is his back when Billy runs a hand up the length of it. This makes Steve shiver, and Billy knows then that his quiet morning is going to gain company.
Eventually, with the soft, pale morning tapping politely at the window, ready to welcome them to the world outside, Steve’s eyes blink open, bleary and forest brown. They smile at Billy before his mouth does, and he only catches a single, potent glimpse of it before Steve tucks his head under Billy’s chin. It happens reflexively, Billy folding into him, tilting his chin down and curling an arm tighter around Steve’s waist to reel him in.
Steve goes, mumbling something unintelligible as he arches his back, spine popping underneath Billy’s hands. Billy huffs into Steve’s hair, inhaling that precious honey roast. He closes his eyes, mumbles something slightly more intelligible, something like Good morning or blanket hog or I didn’t know waking up could feel like this.
Mornings are gentle now.
10:21 AM
This is the truth: Billy Hargrove is in love with Steve Harrington.
It’s the truth, known by all the stars in all the skies, but it’s not something he tends to acknowledge. He tucks it away instead, like the two dollar bill his mom gave him on his seventh birthday, the one that still sits in his wallet behind his driver’s license. Unlike that paper bill, this truth is intangible and yet there’s something about how light it is, how easy it fits him, something about how good it feels that registers as dangerous to Billy, making it a wild creature he knows he shouldn’t look in the eye. Because, underneath his recklessness, Billy’s careful; he doesn’t tempt fate unless it’s a fight he knows he has to lose.
And that’s the crux of it, in those moments of wordless clarity where Billy lets himself think about it, the live bomb of feelings behind his lungs. To acknowledge it is to test it, to define it, to mark it at its start and its end. Some things are made worse by knowing, and Billy doesn’t want to tempt anything, not with this. Here, he refuses to lose, at least until he has no other choice. Until then, there’s no need to speak something that the skies and the stars already know: Billy is in love.
Cosmic realities aside, there is no other reason for him to be spending so much time in this stupid, crowded mall, freezing his dick off in this even more stupid ice cream shop, dealing with the stupid pups that have gotten more annoying now that summer vacation has let them off their leashes. Because, apparently, they’re his problem now. He doesn’t remember signing away his rights but several days a week now, they come prying their way into the backseats of his Camaro without any respect for personal property and demand to be carted around town. And Billy, for reasons that will no longer be acknowledged, just fucking carts them around.
Today there’s only two, and while that’s still not ideal, it’s definitely preferred over having to deal with the lot of them. And though Max never fails to remind him that they are his best excuse to come to Scoops, Billy resents the notion that he needs to bring all of them here whenever they want him to. He has his own schedule, damn it, and his patience for Max does not transfer to the rest of her little gang. There’s very little of it to spare.
“He’s sorry.” Baby Byers is saying as Billy finishes off the last of his coffee, shooting Max those big, doe eyes. His are more lethal than Steve’s by several massive miles but Max is stubborn like no one else in the world; she stands strong, chin up and proud. It’s something she must have inherited from her dad.
“Does he know what for?” She questions, splitting the napkin in her hands in two with aggression. “He doesn’t, does he? He just knows he has to apologize so he’s doing it, but it doesn’t count that way.”
“Well, why are you mad at Lucas? If I tell him, then he’ll know and he can, um, apologize better?” Will implores after a polite sip of his melting sundae. It’s still breakfast hours, but Billy didn’t bother trying to talk the fiends out of their poor morning choices. He’s not the one that will have to deal with their sugar rushes.
Poor kid. He’s doing his best, earnest and concerned and picking at the fraying hem of his shorts, sweet pumpkin wafting from him softly. Why he’s doing it alone in a mostly empty Starcourt with only Billy as their witness, Billy doesn’t fully understand. These two are the most okay with having Billy around, but that’s never been enough to stop the others from clambering along into Billy’s car. They should be here, Lucas to deal with Max in person and the other two to make Will look less miserable, dealing with their own issues and not making the runt of their litter the messenger that will get shot. None of this should be Billy’s problem.
As if cocking her figurative pistol, Max’s nostrils flare. She turns to look at Billy sitting by himself at a booth to the side of their table, outrage piquing her matured scent, something like seashells she dug out from the sand. “Are boys always this stupid?”
“I told you, Maxine, I don’t want to know your business.” Billy reminds her, pointless as it is. Max makes everything his business. Today it was by demanding to stop at Scoops before Billy’s shift at the pool, knowing that Billy wouldn’t say no, and inviting Will to act as the middleman between her and Lucas. Billy’s a shitty life coach slash relationship handler but little Byers is floundering and it is painful to watch. “Unless Sinclair did something real shitty, but I doubt that’s the case.”
“Well, really shitty to you means, like, attempted murder, so it’s not a useful frame of reference.” Max rolls her eyes, reaffirming Billy’s unspoken point. She glances at Will in commiseration but the kid just shrugs, way out of his depth. His eyes, back to their normal largeness, look a little sad despite the ever present curl at the corner of his mouth. Billy tries not to think about how Wheeler and little Carrie are not present and haven’t been for the past week, even before the most recent split between Max and Lucas. “Anyways, he didn’t do anything. That’s the problem.”
It’s funny that when Billy looks at Will, the kid is looking at him in serious confusion, as if asking for help. Too bad, it’s not Billy’s problem. To Max he says, “I’m pretty sure I said I didn’t want to know.”
“You don’t need to know anything.” Max agrees, her voice lightened by her wide, shark-like smile. He can’t say it for sure, but Billy thinks Max wears her aggression better now that she’s presented, a baby alpha gnashing her teeth. “Because, no matter what, you’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Why am I on your side? What if you fucked up?” He asks just as a waft of that honey roast makes its way over to them. Its owner is still busy in the back room, but that scent is familiar to Billy in a way that nothing else has ever been, always so easy to find.
“Because you’re my brother.” Max says, tone managing to communicate how fiercely she means to say Duh! She shoots Billy a small grin. “Even if I’m wrong, you have to agree that I’m right. But it doesn’t work the other way. I can’t pick a side between you and Steve.”
“Oh? Why are you picking sides between me and Steve?” Billy frowns. The store is empty besides them and without context the question is innocuous, but that doesn’t mean Max should be talking like that so casually. She knows better than that.
“If you fight?” Will guesses helpfully. In a whisper he adds reassuringly, “Couples fight sometimes.”
“Yeah, and I mean, with me and Lucas, it’s obvious that if I’m mad, it’s because he did something wrong. But for you guys, it’s different. I need to know the context before I pick a side.”
“That’s kind of a shitty trade off. I’m in your corner automatically, but you won’t be in mine?” As the words leave his mouth, Billy is struck with a quick, aching moment of awe. It’s unsettling that Billy can hold the idea of not being alone in the cup of his hands, a small, blazing flame that won't set him alight. But that’s not something to think about in an overpriced, sailor-themed ice cream shop at a public mall.
He shakes it off, letting all of it fall to the rising tide that always laps at his feet. On his left, Max hums, unaware of the way Billy’s heart is manually resetting, and knocks her knuckles against the table. Her brows furrow and she pauses mid-knock for the briefest of seconds before pressing her clenched fist down. “Actually, that’s a good point.”
What a little shit.
“Dustin will for sure take Steve’s side no matter what.” Max continues and Will nods his head in agreement; Max turns to him. “You and the others would, too, because of party loyalty, even if Steve is only an honorary member - which is total bullshit by the way. You’re right. Screw context. You wouldn’t get mad at Steve without a really good reason, right?”
“I knew you were smart.” Billy sneers, but the joking one. He can’t remember the last time he wanted to make his face something Max had to look away from. “Besides, our Hargrove-Mayfield alliance way outdates your party membership.”
Max’s eyes go wide as her seashell scent floods with warmth. Laughter tucked into the corners of her smile, she teases back, “What happens in South Casa stays in South Casa, I remember. But you said that only counted for South Casa and maybe, if it was bad enough, Pacific Beach.”
Shrugging, Billy eyes the empty counter again and magnanimously ignores the look Max gives him. Will is Billy’s extra favorite because he does the correct thing and looks away, over to the entrance and out into the mall proper. Maybe it’s because Will gets it in a way that Max doesn’t, but probably it’s just that Joyce Byers is a good woman and an amazing mom. As far as Billy can judge, she’s raised her boys well if a little soft. Attempting to surreptitiously peek through the backdoor’s porthole into the space where Steve is hidden away, Billy tells Max, “There’s no South Casa out here. We have to adapt to survive our new environment.”
“Right.” Max agrees, resting her chin against her open palm. The word is heavy, as if Max had instead put down a tome. Billy’s eyes flick to her solemn face. “Well, if you ever punch some dude’s teeth out again, I won’t say anything. And I’ll be in your corner. And - I won’t tell secrets. Or break promises.” It’s not something he notices all that often on a day to day basis, but Billy is struck in that moment by how much Max has grown.
She’s as pale as ever, eyes still clear and blue and big in her round face, but her cheeks are losing their baby fat and her hair isn’t the mess of knots and tangles it used to be when she was smaller. Like it was that day in South Casa years - ages, lifetimes - ago, when he was fourteen and she was ten and they both went home with black eyes and bruised knuckles. That wasn’t so unusual for Billy, but it was a first for Max. She sniffled the whole bus ride back to their side of the city, worried about how she would be punished when they got home but when they walked through the front door well after their curfew, Neil and Susan were gone. The note they left on the fridge said they were visiting family out east for the long weekend, and that there was money in the cookie jar in case of emergencies.
Max had cried then for another reason, but she never got in trouble for breaking some brat’s glasses right off their face and Billy didn’t get punished for knocking a bigger brat’s teeth out. Like that, South Casa became their first secret.
“Is that - South Casa. Is it a beach or something?” Will interjects slowly, the vowels round and foreign in his mouth, looking between them like he knows the memories are heavier than their words express.
“Yeah.” Max clears her throat, sitting back on her ankles. It’s been months since Billy has had to sit down for dinner with Neil and the Mayfields, but those are the only times he can remember Max sitting still or properly. He wonders in a way that echoes through him how she sits during dinner now. “It was a lot further from our house, but it was always less crowded. We didn’t get to go there a lot.”
“Because we got banned.” Billy reminds Max in a deadpan. “For life.”
“Okay, sure, but do you think they remember? It’s been years.”
“They took our mugshots.”
“Really?” Will perks up, glancing between them.
“Polaroid ones, so they could pin us on the Banned Board. Now that I think about it, it probably wasn’t legal. We were minors.” Max clarifies with a huff, obviously sorry to disappoint her audience of one.
“That’s crazy.” Big eyes blink in wonder as he swivels his head, bowlcut dancing in the lights. Billy wants to remind the kid that he single-handedly survived a monster dimension for several days all while being hunted down by a creature whose memory darkens the eyes of every adult Billy knows dealt with it, which is objectively crazier, but he figures it would probably be rude. Steve would tell him not to because of trauma.
“I’ve seen crazier.” He says instead, only a little pointedly. Steve’s too busy in the back room to say shit.
Will nods, small smile dimming minutely as his pumpkin scent rots for a second. It’s gone sweet again in the next, notably fainter in the presence of Max’s presented scent. “I guess Hawkins is a lot different from what you guys expected.”
“I didn’t expect much.” Billy says, glancing again at the counter. It’s sort of a lie. He expected suffering, same as always, only now the backdrop would be fields of crops and trees and the extras clueless hicks that would look and look until they didn’t want to anymore. Those expectations have been mostly met - there's a flash of familiar voluminous hair through the porthole and Billy sits straighter - but this nothing town ended up offering him way more than that.
He can’t honestly say that he hates it all, even if it lands him as a chaperone to more than the single child he is meant to chaperone. That child, freshly presented Maxine Mayfield, appears to have found everything she never knew she wanted here in Hawkins. It’s in her scent, warm, sandy seashells, softly mineral when Max is pleased - and that’s often.
With a secretive smile, Max leans over the table to get closer to Will and Billy and whispers, “Do you think that California has weird shit happening, too? Like, why just Indiana, right? Why not the rest of the country?”
“Oh, man. Dustin has a conspiracy board.” Will snickers just as the damned backdoor finally swings open.
“Why are you losers still here?” Steve demands, hands on his hips and that ridiculous sailor’s hat on his head again. Billy smiles without meaning to and fails to bite it back once he realizes. Steve looks just like he did when he left for work that morning, hair perfectly coiffed and skin remarkably pale, a smidge less rosy from sleep and the dirty kisses Billy bid him goodbye with. Still, Billy drinks him in like it’s been days since their mouths had met.
“Great customer service, dingus.” A soft voice rasps from behind him, reminding Billy that staring at Steve like that right now isn’t a good idea. Robin Buckley peeks around Steve’s arm with that awkward smile of hers, unremarkable though Steve is all but enamored with her. She’s super witty, Steve’s told him, but, despite sharing at least two classes last year, Billy had never heard her speak before Scoops Ahoy.
“You two should get fired.” Max stands with the debris of her banana split in hand and walks over to the trash can to dump it. She shoots a smile at Robin and then squints ominously at Steve.
“Not until next week.” Will jumps in, also standing to throw his soup of a sundae away. Side by side, Billy notes how much taller they’ve gotten, Will in a ganglier way than Max but not as bad as Wheeler. To Steve, Will continues, “You said you would sneak us in for Day of the Dead, remember?”
“You’re sneaking the children into the movies, Harrington? You’re holding out on me.” Billy drawls, pooling shock into his voice even though this is information he’s known since the very first time. Keeping his smirk in place, Billy glances at his watch and tries not to let the time disappoint him.
“They made a compelling argument.” Steve defends, palms up and smile sweet. His eyes are hazel today, lighter than the night before. Billy wants to kiss him. “Which was not shutting up until I agreed. If it wasn’t me, it would be Robin.”
“No it would not.” Buckley shakes her head, short hair swishing over her cheeks. She gives Steve a truly judgemental side-eye. “But if it was, I’d charge the rugrats for passage, two bucks a movie. Convenience fee. I would make it a lucrative underground business.”
“I’m not running an underground business. It’s just the party.” Steve defends himself, coming out from behind the counter with a rag and a nondescript spray bottle while Buckley mouths the party to herself behind him. She’s going to give Steve so much shit about that for the rest of the day, Billy knows it. He also knows that it’s practice that keeps his eyes from roving hungrily over Steve’s exposed legs. Those fucking shorts.
The first time he saw his omega in his work uniform was a revelation, a practice in discovery, a reimagining of the day God created light specifically so Billy could see the truth: those thighs would be enough to make devils weep. Once, only once, has Billy managed to fuck Steve in his uniform, quick and dirty in the entrance hall one evening after Billy spent the hours after his shift at Scoops, ogling Steve’s legs, his thighs, the way the soft material clung to his ass, how the blue made the embarrassed but pleased flush on the omega’s face that much more prominent. Steve refused to do it again because his slick ruined his uniform and he had to ask the manager for a new one. Billy found that hilarious, especially after Steve, hands clasped over his face, confessed that he told his manager that his uniform was ripped to shreds by a dog.
“You’re going to be late for work.” Steve’s voice is loud and snaps Billy back to attention. There’s a tiny flush to the omega’s cheeks, but he remains composed as he - he bends over to wipe the table in the corner clean. His shorts squeeze. Oh, what a fucking tease.
Billy stands and fails to suppress a shiver. This stupid ice cream shop is so damn cold, and while that’s good for one specific reason - Steve snaps his rag at the pups and laughs as they squeal in outrage, the long line of his body extending over the table he was wiping down - it sucks whenever he’s in his work uniform. It’s just shorts when he’s at the pool, but right now he’s got a Hawkins Pool muscle-tee and the lightest sweater possible.
Buckley stations herself behind the cash register, a bored expression on her face. Her eyes jump from Steve and the pups to Billy, who is fortunately no longer looking at Steve, and linger. “Do you like ice cream this much?”
Calmly making his way to the counter, Billy licks his teeth. “Hate it, but Hawkins isn’t cool enough to have paletas. Maxine and the other tiny terrors are holding me hostage and extorting me for frozen dairy.” Billy shrugs nonchalantly, and Buckley nods agreeably.
“Sounds rough.” Her eyes dart to something behind Billy and she smiles mischievously, eyes lighting up like fireworks. “Right. Since you’re Steve’s only friend now that isn’t a literal child, I have some questions. For research.” She puts her hands on the counter and leans forward, dropping her voice. “Has he always been this bad at flirting? I’ve been observing, for research, and he’s, like, embarrassing.”
“Is that so?” Billy struggles to keep a straight face, letting only a hint of his amusement through. He feels the corners of his mouth wobble, but he bites his lip before Buckley can notice.
“I always had my suspicions about King Steve.” Buckley continues conspiratorially. “But it’s like he’s never touched another girl in his life, and I know that’s not true. So, was it a lie? A social experiment? I’m dying to know.”
Allowing more of his amusement into his expression, Billy puts on a smirk. “I am so relieved you see it too. It’s so obvious, I couldn’t understand why no one else seemed to notice. Steve’s a massive dork. A total loser. Always has been and he always will be.” Billy smiles sweetly, feeling the familiar weight of a familiar gaze on his back; Steve’s eyes are on him.
“The power of a pretty face.” Buckley sighs, and Billy feels something inside him tilt a little to the side. He keeps it cool, expression and scent locked on calm and mildly amused. Buckley’s forest stream scent is similarly calm, light and refreshing against the assault of Scoops Ahoy’s thick, sweet ice cream. It does not waver as her face pinches. “A pretty face and decent hair, I guess. Wow, these standards are so unfair.”
Another glance at his watch tells Billy he’s pushing it, but it’s not like he’s against going over the speed limit when he has to. There’s a look in Buckley’s eyes that intrigues him. “Those aren’t even standards.” He says a little unkindly.
“I know.” Buckley rolls her eyes, plopping her chin into the palm of her hand. She hunches over the counter, deflating, bones turning into mush. “It’s not like everyone in California is hot, every state’s got their duds. Anyways, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Mr. Cali Star, and Hawkins has a lot to offer.”
“Please get your vision checked.” Billy smiles sweetly, tapping his knuckles against the counter. Buckley’s frown doesn’t budge but her eyes look lighter, like she’s smiling on the inside. Or maybe like she has to sneeze.
When Billy turns, he runs right into Steve. The omega’s hands take Billy by the hips, steadying them both as they try half-heartedly to avoid collision. “Woah there, Hargrove. You forgot to tip.”
Hopefully Buckley can’t see Steve’s face, because this is how Steve really flirts. He’s got his charming smile on, dripping with pleased-to-see-you and other wordless promises, eyelids a little heavy and chin tilted just so. Billy’s stomach clenches, and his hands twitch with the desire to grab his waist, too, and press a flurry of kisses against his pink lips. This mall is a stupid waste of space, but it lights Steve so delicately, makes him even prettier even with that stupid hat on his head.
“I’ll give you a tip later.” Billy promises, voice low and hopefully threatening as Steve’s hands slip away, having hovered long enough. It is a threat. Ideally, if Buckley or the brats are listening at all, it will sound like a threat of violence and not like Billy’s planning out how he’ll suck the life out of Steve the second they get home.
“You can try.” Steve challenges a bit breathlessly, perhaps envisioning something similar. This close, Billy is no longer catching just the edge of Steve’s scent. Here, he gets it all - or, rather, he scents the harsh edge of the blockers that tone his honey roast down into something faintly salty and sweet. Billy knows Steve’s scent well enough to find the fullness of it around the blockers, but the rest of society won’t be able to. They don’t have the practice. All they’ll get is a sweet beta scent that masks his rich omegan scent.
Behind them, Buckley slams down on the bell. Steve startles back, poker face decent and non-blushed, and Billy doesn’t startle at all. “Can you guys do your posturing somewhere else?”
Steve steps around Billy, placing a final, warm hand on Billy’s abdomen as he goes, dragging it around his waist. “Are you too busy doing absolutely nothing? My bad, Rob, I’ll do better in the future.”
“You should be doing absolutely nothing, too. Why are these kids here so early? Why are you friends with children?” Buckley pulls out a book, frowning down at it. “Don’t answer. I don’t actually care.” She flips the book open seemingly randomly and begins to read.
Rag tossed over his shoulder, Steve looks at her and shakes his head. He looks back at Billy, then at Max and Will who now stand behind him, jutting his chin in Buckley’s direction, his eyes saying, Do you see what I have to deal with?
Will chuckles, muffling it with his knuckles but, as Billy turns to start leaving the store, he sees Max roll her eyes. She says, “Robin, are you still doing the thing?”
Without looking up, Buckley makes a thumbs up as Steve winces and Max smiles triumphantly. It’s curious, but Billy has loitered way too long. He shoots Steve a look, but the omega looks away, cheeks flushed. Max doesn’t return Billy’s gaze though she obviously feels it, seeing as she turns the complete opposite direction.
Unsurprisingly, Will’s shoulders are scrunched up when Billy looks at him. “I don’t know anything.”
“You and me both, kid.” Billy tuts. He’ll find time to get the answers out of Steve one way or another. Not tonight, since Billy’s closing at the pool and he’s already made plans for when he gets home, but eventually. Though he can be incredibly squirrely when he wants to, once Billy applies enough pressure, Steve will crack open with a shade of relief in his eyes. It can be a very fun process.
“Wreak havoc.” Billy tells Max as he finally, finally starts heading towards the exit. “But remember I’m not cleaning up shit.”
“Screw you.” She snarks back, following behind him. Over her shoulder, she calls, “Later Steve! I’ll be back, Robin!”
“Bye Max.” Steve shouts after them, the obnoxious smile he’s wearing loud in his voice. “And Will! And Billy! Thanks for sailing on this ocean of flavor with me!”
“Later!” Will turns around to wave, almost tripping over Max who catches him and then shoves him - gently. Not at all the way she would have shoved Wheeler or Lucas. Will steadies himself and shoots Max a grateful smile. “Thanks.”
“Puberty must suck for guys.” Max says as Billy casts a final glance at Steve. He’s wiping tables down again as Buckley reads at the register, and like always, feeling the caress of Billy’s eyes, he looks up and smiles small and soft, private. It’s Billy’s smile, the one Steve makes just for him. He feels Steve’s smile on his mouth, the one Billy makes just for Steve. This, he thinks, is that thing he cannot know.
His attention is redirected by Will’s embarrassed spluttering. He’s looking at Billy, who only then recalls what Max just said.
“Maxine.” Billy huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What the fuck?”
Her scent grows warm with embarrassment as her pale skin turns a vibrant red. Shrilly, she says, “Not like that! Gross! I meant that you guys just got tall all of a sudden and it’s making you dangerously clumsy!”
“Oh.” Will is a lighter shade of red, and his more muted, unpresented scent is sour-like, but already softening back to neutral.
“Maybe you should think before you speak next time.” Billy tells her as Will slows to walk a little ways behind them, thought still mostly between them.
“Maybe you should get your head out of the gutter.” Max retorts with a fierce scowl, softened by the flush that still colors her face.
“Whatever.” Billy snaps, stopping quite abruptly. They’re at the JCPenny entrance, which is where Billy parked that morning and is where he’s going to ditch the pups for the day. “Don’t set anything on fire and try not to blow through your allowance.” He doesn’t say it, but Max grimaces. Neil has been more stingy with her allowance recently. Not as bad as he was with Billy, but significant enough that Billy feels a cold chill in his lungs.
Max just whips her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t drown.” She says, slipping her hands into the pockets of her shorts, the brand new ones she bought the first time she made Billy drive her to the mall, and sways on her feet.
Will smiles and gives a tentative wave. “Thanks for bringing us, Billy. Have fun at work.”
“Whatever.” Billy replies on principle, pulling his sunglasses out of his pocket and snapping them open. He slips them on, and gives the pups a final glance. They’re waiting for him to go, standing a bit awkwardly in the massive halls that remain mostly empty in the early morning. “Don’t spend the whole day in the arcade like a bunch of losers. Max, teach him how to skate or something.”
Laughter trills after him as he turns and heads for the exit. It’s bright and happy, and it relaxes a worry in Billy’s chest, a very quiet one that he keeps to himself - even from Steve. Because Max is safe from Neil, she is, even after presenting as an alpha and fucking him up with that nail bat. She’s safe because Neil has eyes watching him, and Susan’s are the closest of all. She’s safe because, for Max, Susan would take all of her things and run. Billy knows this, but it’s still reassuring to see and hear that Max is safe.
Her laughter softens with distance and by the accompaniment of another voice, another laugh. “I think I would break a bone if we tried.”
The last thing Billy hears is Max’s reply. “All the more reason to do it.”
9:54 PM
“If you won’t tell me, I’ll just ask Buckley.”
Steve throws a pillow at his face, a blush working up his neck. “That’s not fair, B, you know she’ll tell you. Her purpose in life is to laugh at me.”
“I know. That’s exactly why I’ll ask her.” Billy bites back his amusement and looks down. Steve’s sprawled on his back over the carpet in the den, hair pooling around his head like a dark, glittering halo. He glows.
“You can’t go to Scoops every day. You have your own job, which is way more important than slinging ice cream to children and young adults.” Steve points out eagerly, rolling onto his side and lifting his cheek into the palm of his hand, balanced on his elbow. The line of his body is long and enticing, and Billy’s eyes drink him up.
He flops onto his belly, chin digging into the back of his hand as he peers over the edge of the couch and down at his boyfriend. It’s a term he’s starting to use more in his head though he’s yet to say it out loud. The word is heavy for all that it feels not enough, too small. There’s a dozen other things he’d rather call Steve.
“Sweetheart.” He draws the word out, knowing it’s one of Steve’s favorites, that it makes him go floppy and shiny in the eyes. “Spare yourself the grief. Just tell me.”
Steve, eyes still shining, kicks a leg out like he’s five years old and not a year away from twenty. It’s like he melts, the way he drops his arms and pillows his head on his bicep. “You’re such a dick. I’m going to experience grief no matter who tells you.”
“But if you do it now, no one else will witness it. If I have to ask Buckley, she’ll make sure the whole store knows.” Billy smiles wide, trapping his tongue between his teeth. Steve rolls his eyes and splays again onto his back, the movement scrunching his shirt up enough to expose his hip and the pale purple bruises there.
“You were made to make me suffer, too, weren’t you?” Steve asks the ceiling dramatically and throws his arm over his eyes. “That’s why you’re so hot in your uniform every time you come to Scoops, and why your arms look like that, and why you decided to be nice to Robin of all people - just to make my life harder.”
Around the bubble of laughter in his stomach, Billy agrees. “I do like making you hard, that’s true.”
“Ditto.” Steve sighs, throwing his arm out and looking at Billy. After a moment of examination, an expression of mischief melts over his face. “Okay. If I tell you right now, then next time you fuck me, I get to be the one in charge.”
Steve is such a dork, waggling his eyebrows as if to make the offer sound more enticing; still, Billy’s lower stomach burns. Arousal flares inside him like a forest fire, engulfing him for a long moment. He feels it dark in his eyes when he looks down at Steve again, watches him swallow heavily when their eyes meet. “That sounds like a trap. What are your terms?”
Swallowing again, Steve pats one hand over his lower belly with near-convincing innocence. “Hmm. It’s a surprise.” His honey roast bubbles, saltier and smokey with hints of arousal even as the teasing shine remains. “It won’t matter unless you agree.”
“I’m not signing my rights away unless I know what the deal is.” Billy drops his cheek to the couch, resting his head but keeping his eyes on Steve. He reaches his hand out and Steve meets him halfway, their fingers tangling instinctively.
“But I want to surprise you.” Steve digs the pads of his fingers into the bulge of Billy’s middle knuckle, massaging it. His hands never stay still, always tugging at one thing or flicking at another. “You’ll like it, I promise.” He assures, voice low and thick.
What a fucking tease. If Billy wasn’t so close to nodding off, there’d be a problem between his body and the cushions of the couch, a hard problem. For now, he just simmers with the promise of good fucking time. “As long as I maintain the ability to veto, sure. You can be in charge. Now, fess up.”
Steve sits up and scoots closer to the couch, to Billy, until his knees are pressed against the sectional, legs crisscrossed and bunching up his sweats. He brings a hand up to play with the hem of Billy’s shirt, rucked up and exposing the dimples of his spine to the cool air.
“It’s not any juicy gossip.” Steve shrugs, speaking just above a whisper; it’s only the two of them here and though the house is lit up, outside it’s dark. “Robin keeps score of every time I quote-unquote strike out with a customer. And I’m, like, zero to six right now.” His scent warms with embarrassment, tickling at Billy’s nose, and he half hides his face in the crook of his arm, elbow balanced on the knee he tucks close to his chest.
Billy giggles but the weight of his back on his lungs making it higher pitched than it should be. The sound startles him and Steve, who snaps his face upright to gawk at Billy. A brief moment of stunned silence sits around them only to be quickly shaken away as they erupt into raucous laughter.
“What the fuck?” Steve heaves, falling back into the coffee table and waving his hand at Billy.
For his part, Billy can’t say shit. He’s too busy putting a stitch into his side, breathless and maybe a little overtired and fucking giddy with it. Like a flower made victim to the breeze, Steve flops forward and the two of them end up head butting, which only makes their laughter more violent if quieter - the only noises they make now are the clicking sounds of their throats working as they laugh and laugh and laugh.
Steve catches his breath first, head bowed on the cushion by Billy’s temple. He sniffs, like he’s crying, and croaks out, “Did you lace the chicken or something? Are we on crack right now?”
“Fuck no.” Billy groans, digging his knuckles into the cramping part of his side. “You gotta watch where you put that big head of yours.” He continues, nudging the back of Steve’s head with the side of his. “Almost took me out.”
A hand comes to join his at his waist, large and warm as it rubs into the ache. Steve’s voice comes muffled as he keeps his head bowed. “I’ll take you out. God, what kind of sound was that?”
“It was my complete and utter enjoyment of your public embarrassment. You’re striking out, Stevie?” Billy brings his hand around his head to tangle it into Steve’s hair and tugs, gently but then with more force until Steve turns. Then, their noses are a few inches away from each other, cheeks squished against the couch.
“I’m not striking out, that’s slander.” Steve rolls his eyes, giving Billy a flash of the whites of them. His position can’t be comfortable, all slouched into the couch with his ass on the floor and his legs pressed against the foot of the seat, but the lines of his face suggest otherwise; Steve looks like he could nod off right here.
“I’m - it’s just weird.” He continues in a mumble. “I’m not flirting in the first place, not really.” He glances at Billy, looking up through his lashes and shuffling as he sits on his hands, something he does when he’s getting anxious and guilty; his scent grows saltier as his lips tense. “I mean, I know people expect me to flirt and be charming and smooth, but that’s only because they don’t know that I have you. And I don’t want to do any of that because - well, I have you. But then I end up freezing like a total loser and looking incredibly stupid.”
Those earnest fucking doe eyes make Billy dizzy. Steve is such a loser, but that fact does nothing to quell Billy’s sudden, desperate desire to kiss him stupid.
“You do have me.” Billy finds himself saying before he can come up with enough good reasons not to. It’s cheesy and embarrassing, but this is Steve, whose eyes widen and whose cheeks pinken. Billy can afford to be cheesy every one in a while for the sweet uptick of his omega’s scent. “You know what you should do, baby? Turn up the charm and bring home a lot of tips. Someone has to support the snack fund for those gremlins you let invade our space.”
The smile that spreads over Steve’s face is tender, moonlight bright. He scoots forward and presses his forehead to Billy’s shoulder, closing his eyes. “Are you trying to whore me out?”
“Of course.” Billy replies seriously, eyeing the way Steve’s lips twitch and his smile softens. “This economy isn’t kind, Stevie.”
Steve shuffles, lifting his hand to flick Billy’s nose. “Bad Billy. I thought alphas were supposed to be way more possessive than this.”
“Sure, but omegas are a hundred times worse.” Billy flicks Steve’s forehead in penance, immediately rubbing over the red spot it leaves. “If you saw the way the moms look at me at the pool, I think you’d lose your shit.”
Steve sits up, humored expression straightening. “How do they look at you?”
“See!” Billy laughs, pushing himself up until he’s sitting on his haunches.
“No.” Steve crawls onto the couch, the denial quick on his tongue. He presses right into Billy’s side, winding his arms around Billy’s waist. “I mean, maybe. You’re mine. Why are moms looking at you? That’s gross.”
“Heather says the same thing.” Billy shifts until they’re both curled on the couch in much more comfortable positions, more sprawled than sitting and puzzle-pieced together. This stupidly large couch is good for a lot of things, this being one at the top of that list.
Steve nuzzles into Billy’s neck, unabashedly taking deep inhales. “Heather always had great common sense. You should listen to her.”
“She’s a pain in my ass.” Billy snorts around the hair that’s tickling his nose. “But she’s miles better than fuckin’ Daniel.”
“Maybe all managers suck ass.” Steve postulates tiredly, melting further into his space between the couch and Billy. “I don’t even remember our manager’s name. I think Robin made him up, sometimes.”
Billy pauses, looking down at the head resting on his chest. “You met your manager. He trained you.”
“But did I really?” Steve asks gravely. He brings his hand up to pet Billy’s pectoral, giving it a quick squeeze. “I can barely remember, like it happened in a dream. Robin says his name is Chris, but I really have no clue.” He sighs and, like a little shit, reaches down to shove his whole arm under Billy’s shirt, cold like always against the heat of Billy’s skin.
“Your memory kind of sucks ass, though. I don’t think that means this Chris dude is a figment of Robin’s imagination.” Billy reasons, feeling his eyelids grow heavier. They should probably move upstairs before they fall asleep on the couch again. Not that it’s not comfortable, because it really, really is, but it’s not the nest. It’s not their bed.
Like he can read his mind, Steve says, “Should we go upstairs? I think ‘m about to fall asleep.”
Billy groans. It’s really comfortable here, and the blanket Steve’s pulled over himself and a quarter of Billy’s body is soft and scents like Max and Lucas just a little bit. “I don’t want to move.”
Falling asleep with all the lights on used to be hard in the beginning, but it’s easy now. Sometimes, Billy will have to tuck his face away, make the space in front of his eyelids dark by force, but not often. Not here, though it would be easy to press his face into Steve’s hair. Steve’s turned on just a few of the lamps tonight, so the light is softer than usual
“Yeah,” Steve voices after a while, provoking Billy to flutter his eyes back open, “we’re not going upstairs.”
“Mn.” Billy agrees. He folds a little more into Steve, inhaling his honey roast and the sweet fragrance of their laundry detergent. Following Steve’s lead, Billy digs his hands under Steve’s shirt, wrapping around his back to pull him in, the touch of bare skin a blanket in its own right.
“‘Kay.” Steve lets himself be tugged, helping Billy get more under the blanket despite the fact that, at some point during the night, he’ll steal it away again. “You good?”
Shuffling until he can sling a leg over Steve’s, his spine stretched just so, Billy hums again. “Mn.”
Steve laughs quietly, jostling Billy the tiniest bit. In a whisper, voice brushing over Billy’s neck, he says, “My poor baby, all tuckered out.” The air around Billy’s face moves, but the scent of it keeps him from jerking away, trumping the animal instinct in him. Quieter, as Billy’s breaths begin to even out, “You’re so beautiful.”
Fingers trace the edges of his face, pausing at his temple, solid but like mist on his skin. He must be sleeping now or close enough to it that everything else has fallen away. Something around his nose tickles, and he scrunches it away. A puff of air on his neck makes him shiver, burrowing deeper into the warmth at his side.
“I love you.” A disembodied voice says somewhere to someone. Billy knows those words, carries them inside of himself, though he pretends he doesn’t. It must be nice, not needing to pretend. It would be nice, too, knowing how to dig the need to do that out, to get rid of that heavy, blinding weight.
Too bad this need runs deep inside Billy. He thinks nothing else runs deeper, which sucks for a lot of reasons that he can’t recall at the moment. But he doesn’t like to think about it, nor does he need to. He’s tired and he’s warm and the disembodied voice, smooth and low like chocolate, is still talking. It’s the last thing Billy hears before sleep comes and takes him.