they're adapting, we must adapt faster

Obsessed with going "No... i shan't say..." when it's very clear what I shan't say

Tw: abuse, Billy trying to get other people to hurt him

Billy's life is a horror movie and he gets killed off every week when his dad slaps him around and tells him he's worth nothing.

Today is the most boring version when Neil stares down at him and decides he isn't worth the effort. Billy's skin feels thin and wrong and he's doing the dumbest thing: talking back.

Neil just shrugs. "I'm not wasting my time with you today."

Every muscle, every breathe is strained and Billy needs to let go. He needs to fucking hurt - and Neil doesn't want to. Billy stares at himself in the mirror, feels like a blurry copy of himself, like the tape has run out before he saw the end of the movie.

If Neil doesn't hurt him, someone else will. Billy drives to a bar, just outside town. They never check for ID, a bunch of drunks already yelling by the bar. He's bumping into a sturdy guy whose eyes are already glassy from too many sorrows getting drowned in beer and cheap whiskey.

"Fucking fag," he slurs and shoves Billy against the wall, knocking the breath out of his chest. It's a start, relief just around the corner, but it's not enough.

"He didn't mean it, sorry," a voice behind him says.

Billy still can't breathe. He turns around.

Steve Harrington looks terribly out of place, even though he's wearing a black leather jacket. Designer clothes, carefully styled hair.

He's pretty. He's ruining everything.

"What the fuck, Harrington?"

Steve shakes his head. "The guy is like ten times bigger than you."

"What do you care?" Maybe this is an opportunity. "You wanna get even for last time?"

Billy doesn't remember much. Only a red haze of Neil's hands pushing him and that he needed to hurt and get hurt and couldn’t fucking stop, like a dam that had broken and a valley getting flooded.

"What? No." Big brown eyes are blinking in confusion. "I just didn't want you to-"

Nobody wants Billy to do anything.

"Pussy," Billy sneers. He's about to snap. Everything hurts and it's not enough.

Steve grabs his collar. Yanks it. "We can talk. Outside."

Finally. Billy stumbles after him, cold air hitting his hot skin.

"I bet you still can't throw a punch." He needs Harrington to move first. Otherwise he can't.

"Jesus, I don’t want to fucking hurt you."

Steve's hand lets go of his collar and rests against Billy's face. Billy bites his tongue, so he doesn’t flinch.

It's not a slap, not a punch, not even a scratch. Steve's finger carefully strokes his cheek. Cups it. It doesn’t hurt.

Tension bleeds out of Billy's shoulders and it's scary, because he needs to hurt. It's all he wants and all he deserves.

"What are you doing?" It was supposed to be a warning, a threat, but it comes out weak and shaken.

Steve shrugs. "What feels right."

It does feel right. Steve's palm is warm against his face. Billy inhales.

He feels real. It's a twist he didn’t expect. Maybe he can survive, somehow.

"Don't stop."

It's Saturday and Steve just wants to get home. Every first Saturday of the month Steve has an appointment. To see his dad. The prison's visitor's center is white painted cement and squeaky chairs, but the conversation is way more uncomfortable.

He's listening to his dad's never-ending rant about the downfall of America and his stiff neck. Because, you know, pillow in prison aren't very comfortable.

The last ten minutes of the tirade are usually reserved for his dad telling him that he's wasting his life and that he's better not driving the company against the wall, like this ship hasn't sailed when a few million dollars got found on accounts overseas.

Steve leaves the prison with shaking hands and the same feeling that he got when he received a bunch of rejection letters for colleges he didn't even want to go to in the first place.

He doesn't get in his car. Leans against the door of the BMW and groans.

"You want a smoke? Looks like you need one." A guy around Steve's age holds out a pack of Marlboro Reds.

Steve stares at it for a second, somewhere between surprised and confused, then takes it.

"I'm tryin' to quit," he mumbles, but lets the guy light his cigarette with a silver zippo.

"Same here, amigo." The man grins at him. White teeth shining. He's got a blond mullet, red shirt unbuttoned so far that Steve can see a hint of his abs.

"I'm Steve."

Steve inhales the smoke. Has Dustin's voice in his ear, reminding him that smoking can kill him.

"Billy," Billy says, with a wink like they are at a bar and he's trying to buy Steve a drink.

"Did you visit someone, too?" he asks, more out of politeness and maybe also a little because he's curious.

"My old man." Billy blows smoke in the direction of the prison.

"Me too." Steve murmurs. It's some form of camaraderie, he guesses. It feels like it. He knew on a rational level that other people's fathers are in prison, but he never talked to anyone.

"He's in for tax fraud."

It's not a secret. It has been in the papers. The whole world knows about it. Arthur Harrington, Harrington's Steel Works, a dirty office affair - not only with his secretary.

Billy's intense gaze wanders to Steve's Burberry shirt. "Guessed so."

"And yours?"

Billy seems to think about his question.

"Physical assault," he says quietly.

Steve doesn't know what to say. It's obviously not the same. He can't read the expression on Billy's face, his furrowed brow when he sucks on his cigarette again.

"Dads suck," Steve says lamely.

"Amen to that." Billy laughs, a bitter, sharp sound. "I'm goin' to get so wasted tonight."

"Do you need company?" Steve asks. A beer sounds great. Forgetting sounds even better - and they've got something in common. Maybe that says more about Steve's loneliness than about Billy. But still.

"No." Billy's smile is wide. His red tongue traces the frontline of his teeth. Like he's really hungry. "But I don't mind it."

"Is something going on?" Steve asks carefully.

Billy doesn't look at him. His jaw is clenched and he's chopping the zucchini like it had insulted him somehow, like he wants to slaughter it.

"Nope," he says, popping the P. "Nothing going on."

He puts the zucchini into a bowl and grabs a few tomatoes. He cuts them into squares, so fast and with so much force the juice runs over the board.

Steve isn't sure Billy even follows a recipe or just needs to let go of the anger inside him.

Billy grabs an onion next. He's always sensitive when it comes to that, but he doesn't stop massacring it, even when tears run down his cheeks.

"Motherfucking-" He's wiping his eyes. "I fucking hate him."

Yeah. This isn't about the onion which is more powdered than anything.

Steve puts his hand on Billy's. He drops the knife and stares at Steve with red rimmed eyes.

"It's stupid," he mumbles. "He calls me that all the time, why does it still get to me?"

Steve kisses a tear away. He feels cut into pieces too, like usual when he imagines Billy's every day life with Neil Hargrove.

"It's not like he's wrong, you know?" Billy sniffs. "I'm- … I mean… we are.."

Sometimes it's like the word gay is a knife too, threatening to cut Billy's throat.

"We're in love," Steve says. There's a sob escape Billy's mouth, before he presses his lips together - but he can't hold back the tears.

Billy never says anything about love. Another word he is afraid of.

"There's nothing wrong with that," Steve continues, peppering featherlight kisses on Billy's face. "He can't take that away."

Billy hugs him. He's shaking in Steve's arms.

"I won't let him," he says. It feels like an I love you, too.

Steve: Tits for my mental health.

- grabs Billy's chest -

I think Steve is more than excited to be a volunteer

Harringrove core #9

Okay but them (bfs becomes alike when they're in love theory)

Or they are both bitchy brats idk

The group when Will was possessed: "A party member requires assistance and it is our duty to provide that assistance"

The group when Billy was possessed:

Neil is gone for the whole weekend. What a fucking blessing.

It's too hot for dumb chores and beatings and Billy just wants to fucking relax. He drives out to Lover's Lake right after school. A whole weekend full of disrespect and no responsibilities.

It's the only kind of beach here in Hawkins and while it does nothing to soothe the ache in his heart when he thinks of saltwater and waves, it's still way better than the sad community pool he's working at.

He's spreading out on his mint green beach towel, mullet in a messy bun using one of Max' blue scrunchies, aviators that he stole from Harrington last week in school when that idiot wasn't watching, on his nose and cracks open a cold one. He's watching the glistening surface and listens to the water gurgling. Tiny waves, almost putting him to sleep. And with Neil gone, far away in another town, he's feeling lighter.

"Are those my fucking aviators?" Harrington's voice startles Billy. He blinks, a bit dazed by the sun and the hazel eyes shining brighter than it.

Harrington stands over him, only wearing pink swim shorts. They are wet, dripping on Billy's shoulders. His chest that Billy remembers rather vividly is covered with an impressive amount of hair. That hasn't been there before.

"No idea what you're talking about." Billy grins at Harrington, all teeth and mischief, delighted by the exasperated sigh he's getting in return.

Harrington grabs the beer can out of his hand.

"Hey!" Billy sits up. "This is my beer, asshole."

"Says the thief himself," Harrington scoffs. He downs the can and crunches it with his hand. He seems to think for a few seconds, tapping his finger against his pink lips.

"Gimme another beer." Harrington says, snatching off the glasses from Billy's face.

"Fuck off," Billy barks. It's way too bright.

Harrington doesn't fuck off. Sits next to Billy on his towel which is way too small for two guys. His knee, cold from the lake's water, knocks against Billy's and stays there.

"Let's race to that buoy over there and I'll give them back to you," Harrington says. "Or are you scared to lose?"

"I never lose," Billy says, getting up.

Harrington's laugh follows him when he walks into the water. The water is fresh and cool, nearly biting his skin. He swims, fast and long strokes.

To his surprise Harrington is faster. Overtakes him with ease. No way this fucker is winning.

Harrington cackles, nearly reaching the buoy. "I was captain of the swim team, Hargrove."

Billy is always winning. No matter what. So he's playing dirty. He reaches out, grabs Harrington's swim shorts. Pulls them down.

He thought Harrington would stop. Maybe even shriek and blush. But he just laughs again and Billy stares at his pale ass, still holding the shorts.

"Oh, you could have just asked me, Billy."

Billy's face burns. He can't look away. Harrington's hand touches the buoy.

"So, what's my price then?" he asks, a brow raised. "Can I choose? Or are you afraid?"

"Never," Billy lies - which is easier today, with Neil far away.

"Pull your shorts down," Steve says. "If you're already getting me naked."

Billy nearly forgets how to swim. The heat must have gotten to his head.

Billy knows his dad doesn't act like a dad.

Has known from the first moment when Neil's hand slipped for the first time. Gets reminded everyday, when he's a girl, a loser, a faggot and never a son.

He thought it was just words and bruises that made it bad. He should actually be lucky to even have a dad at all. Where would he be without Neil?

Steve's eyes, wide and horrified, tell him something else. It makes Billy uncomfortable, in a way the school nurse back in California did, when she asked him if he's got a safe place to go to and he didn't have an answer, because he was nine and scared.

"What?" Steve says. His voice got an edge like he's choking up and tries not to.

"It's no biggie." Billy's got the sinking feeling he has screwed everything up, like when he told the nurse that he sometimes hides in his closet or under the kitchen sink until Neil falls asleep.

"You just told me you didn't get dinner for two nights in a row." Steve rubs his nose and Billy sees tears in his eyes. That can't be worth anybody's tears, can it? "And that you slept in your car."

"I just wanted to get out of his hair." Billy rolls his eyes. It's better to avoid Neil's moods. He's glad he's got the Camaro. It's a fucking privilege. Maybe rich guys like Steve don't get that.

"Yeah?" Steve squints his eyes. "What did he say?"

"Get out," Billy repeats. Cuts himself off before he can add the "fucking pussy" Neil screamed. Maybe it wasn't even that. Neil screams a lot, way too much that Billy can remember it all - and Steve's upset enough.

Somehow it feels like it's all Billy's fault. He shouldn't have mentioned that he's fucking hungry and relieved that he got his paycheck today.

Steve sucks in a deep breath. Leans forward and Billy digs his fingers in his palms, trying not to flinch. It's a reflex. Whenever someone is angry, he's all tense, like he's about to be stretched apart any second.

Steve presses a kiss on Billy's cheek.

"You can always come here," he says. "Always."

It's a lie, something inside Billy whispers. He'll get tired of you. Even your mother did leave you.

"I'll give you the spare key," Steve promises. "You don't have to sleep outside."

"Why would you do that?" Billy asks, brows furrowed. If Steve isn't home, they can't have sex and that's all Billy is probably good for.

"I want you safe, baby." Steve flushes. "Billy, I mean."

He rubs his neck. "I'll make us dinner, okay?"

Every word feels like hug. Billy's chest grows warm. "Okay."

Maybe he will have a place to go to after all.

It's morning time, and Billy's already pissed. He does be like that sometimes, just gets out on the wrong side of the bed. Billy's angrily making breakfast in the kitchen. Steve stands behind his boyfriend, pulls the elastic of his underwear and lets it snap in a way that makes sure - it's gonna hurt.

"Aren't you a little ray of fucking sunshine today, honeyboo?"

They end up fucking on a kitchen surface, being on time for work be damned. (Any surface, like they always do. All surfaces in their home have been fucked on.)

And voilà, Billy's not a pissy morning bitch anymore 🌞

Billy needs to know, for research purposes

To the moment he died, Billy was always alone

Fuck it- this would be Billy’s school picture if he lived with his mom. (Edit by me 🤪🥺🤭)