hi. so this is a sideblog and it was getting pretty stressful having all of my different fandoms be on different blogs soooo
i'm moving everything to my main blog. what does this mean? i'm leaving this blog up so i can still have access to all the lovely comments/tags on fics, but from here on out i will be posting/reblogging/interacting from my main blog @writer-in-theory so go check that out 💜
there were officially more important things to worry about in steve's life than typical high school drama. between creatures with flower-like maws, a secret lab conducting illegal experiments in his hometown, and a government-signed NDA to keep him quiet about everything, it hardly seemed worthwhile to worry about something as silly as high school popularity.
he didn't even feel too hurt when nancy broke up with him at the halloween party. it stung being told he was 'complete bullshit', being told that he was using her to get over his disappearing soulmate. he shouldn't have even been surprised to hear that she ended up with jonathan, considering they'd figured out they were soulmates after the encounter with the demogorgon last year.
he told himself he didn't care about the new guy and his stolen title, either. why should he care about a hot guy from california who sauntered in and immediately began taking over steve's reign at the top of the school? so what if people didn't think he was all that cool anymore, so what if he wasn't the best player on the team, and so what if all the girls seemed to watch the blond guy instead of him?
so maybe it was worthwhile to worry, after all.
steve sighed when he got home from school that day, thankful to be away from every stressor pressing in on him from all sides. it was one of the few times he was thankful his parents were gone on another trip, allowing him to toss his bag somewhere in the living room and sprawl out on the couch. he played his music as loud as he wanted, immediately lifting up his shirt to check that his soulmate had seen his message.
it was just a little heart, drawn in blue ink in the corner of his hip just low enough that his beltline would cover it. and there it was, a heart carefully drawn in purple sparkly ink beside it. that simple drawing alone was enough to make steve grin, warmth spreading over his cheeks as he thought about his soulmate taking the time to make it the most perfectly drawn heart possible, just for him.
they had to start communicating like this only recently. they'd been talking every day for nearly a year, conversations filling up steve's abdomen until they were writing in barely-legible words just to keep talking.
steve knew his soulmate suffered because of him. it was obvious in the way the bruises used to only cover where they'd spoken, when they were kids. it was why his soulmate disappeared for so long, because talking to steve just wasn't worth all the pain it brought him. and steve couldn't exactly blame the other boy either—he wouldn't want to risk all the pain, all those mottled bruising for conversations about basketball and sneaking out to cornfields as kids.
that was why, when they were seventeen and steve woke up to his entire chest covered in deep, dark bruising, he resigned himself to never hearing from his soulmate again. it never hurt steve physically, only the physical markings appearing on his body and never the pain that brought them. still, it pained him to think about how badly his soulmate must have hurt, simply because steve had been having a nightmare about the flickering lights and creatures from hell, and he needed his soulmate's comfort.
the other boy would continue to surprise him though, because once all the bruises faded (save the ones wrapped around his ribs indicating that his soulmate had a broken set under his skin), a little heart drawn in purple ink appeared in the dip of his hip. steve had almost missed it at first, the little drawing barely large enough to catch his eye. he supposed that was the point then, a way to tell each other they were thinking of them when it was too dangerous to talk.
and over time, those little hearts became more meaningful than any words they could have ever exchanged. they made the previous bouts of total silence worth it, made steve want to wait to find him properly instead of settling for anyone else.
which was good, because the waiting was infuriating sometimes. steve couldn't wait until high school was over, when he could get could away from the people who'd found their soulmates right there in hawkins. he supposed he shouldn't be jealous—he should be happy that tommy and carol found each other at seven the same day their marks starting coming in, that nancy and jonathan were able to find each other the second they exchanged names.
but the truth was, steve had known from the moment he found out his soulmate was another guy that he wouldn't find him in hawkins. he would always have to wait until he got out, could make it to california and tell his soulmate where to find him. steve knew he'd never ask his soulmate to come here, not when the consequences of such could be so great.
people learned not to ask about his soulmate. steve told them it was because they didn't talk, that he wasn't going to ever find them. because how could he ever explain the truth?
the only person who hadn't learned this, yet, was billy fucking hargrove. or maybe he had learned, he had been warned by one or multiple people on the team. steve could see the wariness in the other guys' eyes every time billy brought it up, like they were waiting for steve to snap back into his king steve persona.
he wasn't that guy anymore.
"no shower today, harrington?" that grating voice called out, laughing when all steve did was roll his eyes in return. "what, you and your soulmate get down to it last night or somethin'?"
"leave it, hargrove," steve warned dully, focusing on the inside of his gym locker and not on the guy next to him. he willed his eyes not to be drawn to tanned skin still wet from the shower, curled hair resting still soaked on those broad shoulders. he wouldn't pay any attention to that smirk on the other guy's face either, even if it sent a shiver down steve's back.
“good to hear you’re talking to her, harrington. word around here is that she’s not interested in our precious king steve.”
“yeah?” steve countered, shutting his locker closed with a harsh slam. billy was standing far too close to him, jeans already back on but like usual choosing to spend as much time without a shirt on as possible. in all the times they played practice matches, steve never once saw any kind of writing on the other guy. no words, no drawings, no sign of a soulmate at all. there were a rare few out there who didn’t get a soulmate. some theorized it was because their perfect match died before the age their marks started, others theorized it was because some people just would never have a perfect complement. maybe that was why billy hargrove seemed so intent on criticizing steve’s soulmate—because there was no one meant to love billy in the way steve had someone. “you spend a lot of time thinking about my soulmate, hargrove? seems yours isn’t all that interested either.”
steve saw it, that flash of fury that lit up billy’s blue eyes. the man’s fists clenched at his sides, clearly ready to start a fight if the coach hadn’t been clear that any breaking of the rules would lead to immediate removal from the team. he also saw the moment every ounce of emotion was brought back in, tucked away somewhere far out of sight to the public. all that remained on billy’s face was a cool smirk, an arrogance that made steve want to roll his eyes.
"don't worry, pretty boy like you'll find another bitch out there to fawn over you."
before steve even knew what was happening, he was turning and shoving billy into the lockers, practically baring his teeth in a snarl when the other man just laughed. he could hear the murmurs of the team behind him, all watching and waiting to see which king would win out.
"don't call me that," steve spat out, "ever again. you hear me, hargrove?"
"whatever you say, king steve."
he’d like to say it got better, between them. that steve didn’t care about titles and he didn’t care that billy liked to bother him. but the fact of the matter was, there was something about hargrove that steve couldn’t ignore. he irritated him beyond belief, he stirred up an anger in his chest that he hadn’t felt in ages. and yes, it bothered steve that billy hargrove was the one everyone looked to with the awe that was once reserved for him.
so when billy hargrove showed up at the byers’ house in the middle of steve convincing the kids that they didn’t need to go rushing into danger on his watch, it was far too easy to let that anger out. as billy stood there in that unbuttoned red shirt, smugly puffing on a cigarette while trying to intimidate him into making max come out of the house, all steve could hear was his voice in that locker room.
pretty boy. those words were reserved for his soulmate, for them to be used with love instead of to ridicule him.
later, it would scare steve to think about how much relief he felt in throwing that punch. it was terrifying how good it felt, to fight back against the kind of guy who would hurl those words like an insult, like something to be ashamed of. he wondered what hargrove would think if he knew what kind of person his soulmate was and if those two words would morph into the kind of harsh word he’d heard plenty of times in this town. he wondered if he was someone who left california because he could stand the kind of people there, couldn’t stand that it was a safe haven for people like steve and his soulmate.
and then he was losing the fight. a plate was smashing over his head and he was falling to the ground. steve felt fists crack into his face with a harshness no one had ever used before. he saw the fury in billy’s face, the shock in the party’s face as he laid there and took it. he wondered if this would be the moment billy’s anger reached its peak, would finally end up killing someone. he wondered if, after he was dead and gone, billy would recognize those bruises and cuts blossoming on his face without an origin. he wondered if billy would notice the drawn-on hearts tucked just under his waistband, wondered if he’d recognize them mirrored on his own hip.
pretty boy like you’ll find another bitch out there.
pretty boy.
you gonna come find me someday, pretty boy? don’t promise something like that if you aren’t gonna follow through.
i’ll be your best cheerleader.
i bet you’re a pretty boy.
the last thought steve had before fading into oblivion was that he was right, his soulmate was a force to be reckoned with.
summary: as you find salvation from your grief in the form of a beat-up car, you may find what you’re looking for in the most unlikely of places. aka, when billy’s girlfriend falls under attack by vecna, he’ll fight through death itself to save her.
pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader
category: angst with happy ending
content warnings: temporary canon character death (billy), language, descriptions of grieving
word count: 6k
a/n: hi y'all !! i'm really proud of my work on this one, it was fun to do. just a note, any blocks of italics is a memory/flashback.
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It goes like this—the moment you realize you love him is also the moment you realize you’re going to lose him.
It’s simple, really. You saw the moment El was able to reach him from wherever he was locked away, you saw the moment he stood and set his shoulders back, determined to carry out whatever plan he had come up with in the narrow seconds he had to himself. You saw the moment he stepped forward, never once looking back at you—does he know you couldn’t handle a goodbye even if he offered one?
You saw the moment he stared down the thing that had taken away his choices for so long, and you knew he never intended to step foot outside of Starcourt again.
People often say the worst moments of your life happen in slow motion, but this time it all happened in one terrifying instant, too quick for you to do anything but watch.
“Billy!” You were sure the word wasn’t yours, that some other voice had screamed with enough force to scratch their throat to shreds. It wasn’t your feet launching you down the broken escalators, taking as many steps at a time as you could manage without tripping. The Mind Flayer was gone, but the damage it had inflicted hadn’t vanished miraculously with it. Even from across the room you could see what it left behind on the man you loved—too much blood, every limb far too still, red everywhere, why was it everywhere?
Max made it there first, dropping to the ground beside him with enough force against her knees that it makes you wince. You practically slide across the tile to reach him too, hands grabbing one of his. His are dirty, mixed with the dirt and blood of too many of your friends, from him. They’re still his though, with the same rough callouses you used to spend so much time trailing your fingers across. You cradle his hand between both of yours, pressing a kiss to the back of his fingers as though that might take the pain away. Because there wasn’t anything you could do for him now but this, you’d try to bring him as much peace as you could, knowing he deserved so much more.
“—’m sorry,” he choked out, and you wished you’d never had to see the way blood slipped from those lips with his words. Already you could feel the sight imprinting on your mind, scarring over the once cheerful memories the two of you had made in this mall.
“Billy,” Max repeated, voice barely there through the tears that threatened to silence her, “please.”
“It’s okay,” you reassured the two of them, lower lip quivering around the words. Salt and iron mixed at your own lips as tears trail down your bloodied face, and a sob threatened to tear through your already scratchy throat. “It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.”
It looked like he wanted to say more. You watched helplessly as his lips parted and closed a few times, gasps coming out instead of the words he wanted. You leaned forward, hand resting against his cheek and trying to ignore the blood that stained it. There was so much you wanted to tell him, so many hopes and dreams you’d never quite shared with him in search of the right moment. There never would be a right moment now, and that thought alone was enough to constrict your heart.
But this moment wasn’t about you, it was about the fear in his blue eyes as he looked between you and Max, as his lips still struggled to voice the final words he wanted to tell each of you.
Billy needed peace, so you would give it to him in the only way you knew how.
“We’ll be okay,” you told him, blinking away the tears in a desperate attempt to keep looking at him for as long as you could. Because up until this moment, you’d assumed you had forever, you took the ability to see Billy for granted. And now forever was reduced down to seconds, and you had too many words to say.
“I’ll take care of her, I promise,” you continued, not missing the way his shoulders relaxed just a fraction at the promise. You brushed away the stray curls that fell into his face even now, trying to memorize every inch of his face before he left you. For just a moment, through all the blood and signs of battle, you could almost imagine this was any other night. The two of you were laying in your bed, whispers falling between you as you fought to hide from your family. He would grin and hold onto you, saying he didn’t care if they found the two of you like this, and you’d laugh and say he might, your family could be scary when they were protective. They don’t need to protect you from me, Sweetheart, I’d never hurt you. What a fucking lie that was. “I promise, we’ll be okay. All because of you, you saved us.”
When his breath stuttered and his chest grew gravely still, you felt your world grow colder. It was an immediate change, a crack in the dream you’d once had for how your life would end up. Because how could you ever have your happy ending when the person you wanted to share it with was laying here, in your arms, cold?
And when the paramedics finally pulled him from your hands, you were still whispering the same words.
I love you, I love you so much.
“Max! If you make me late to work again, we’re gonna have real problems!” you shouted through the rolled-down window of his—your—car.
“No, we won’t,” Max shouted back from the front door of her mom’s trailer, messing around with slipping a tape into her Walkman at the step instead of doing it in the car. “I know better.”
“Well, this time we will have problems,” you retorted, rolling your eyes at the level of sass the girl had. Though even now, you knew she had a point. No matter what she did, no matter how many words she tossed at you when she was frustrated, you would be there for her. You’d made a promise, nearly a year ago now. “Can we go, please? Harv is forgiving, but I don’t want to test his patience.”
Though she didn’t acknowledge you, at least Max sped up a little and climbed into the passenger seat as quickly as possible. You sighed when immediately headphones were placed over the girl’s ears and her head turned to face out the side window. After everything that had happened, you’d never expected her to be the same Max she’d been before but you’d hoped that she wouldn’t be this pulled back from the world. It seemed all she did anymore was drown everyone out in the music, only slipping off those headphones to convince everyone else that she was, in fact, fine.
You’d heard it from just about everyone now, that they were worried about Max but she’d stopped talking to them. Friends, teachers, and even Joyce Byers had called you once to say that Mike had mentioned what was going on to El. They all looked to you for help, expecting you to save her from the grief that threatened to drown her. But you weren’t a lifeguard like her brother, and all you could do was desperately reach for her hand and hope she’ll hold on someday. Until then, there was nothing you could do. Just like her brother, you couldn’t save her.
So you drove her to school every morning and took a few minutes off of work in the afternoon to drive her back home on the days her mother was working late. When she needed to go somewhere else, she knew to call you no matter the time. Sometimes she did, asking you to drive her to places just on the edge of town. You’d sit in the car and wait while she sat out there, watching the stars. You never knew what she did there, but if it helped then you’d take endless sleepless nights. All you could hope for was that, in time, she might open up to someone again even if that someone wasn’t you.
“Have a good day at school, kiddo,” you told her as you approached the school, and she must’ve barely heard you through whatever she was playing because Max graced you with a smile and nod before she slipped out the car. You stayed there for only a moment, making sure she got safely inside the building before you headed off toward work.
Harv’s mechanic shop was on the edge of town, giving you a long drive to destress. Every morning was the same anymore—you’d turn on music from a band you hardly liked but you’d found the tape on the floorboard the first time you’d worked up the nerve to slide into the driver’s seat. It had been sitting on the bottom of the backseat right where you remembered hiding it, when Billy spent an entire week listening to nothing but that song. Where before you only rolled your eyes at his off-key singalong, now you drove down country roads humming the tune with tearful eyes. ‘I’ve been waiting for a girl like you to walk into my life.’
And though you knew the car could handle faster speeds—Billy, slow down! Are you trying to get us in a wreck?—you’d take it barely over the speed limit, taking your time with the feel of the wheel under your fingers and the sound of the engine you’d come to adore. You’d never expected to see it again, much less spend so much time inside it. You often wondered what he would have thought if he could see you driving it around town. Would he smile fondly or would he sigh, reminding you there were better ways to take care of a car as beautiful as that one. Maybe you would roll your eyes back, proclaiming that if only he were still here, he could tell you what to do with it. But he wasn’t, so all you could do was use your best judgment.
When Max came to you in July in near tears, you didn’t know what else could have gone wrong. You were ready to fight anyone who dared to hurt her while she was already down, grieving someone she didn’t know she could grieve.
“He’s getting rid of the car,” Max hiccupped out after you’d brought her into your house, sliding a cup of coffee her way you knew her mother would have scolded you for. “I shouldn’t care, but, he’s just going to junk it and—”
“Who?” you asked, “Why?”
“Neil,” Max practically spit out, and though you knew she didn’t have a good relationship with him either you’d never heard such vitriol in her voice before. “He’s leaving town, and he wants to make as much money as possible selling his son’s stuff before he does, apparently.”
“Well, I promise you that car’s not getting scrapped,” you told her, already standing up from your seat at the kitchen bar. You grabbed your keys and hurried to find your wallet, a fierceness in your gait that hadn’t been there since the Fourth.
“How do you know that?” Max asked, following you out of the house and into your car. Any other time, you might’ve felt a warmness in your heart at the knowledge that she trusted you so much she’d follow you anymore without any explanation.
You shrugged, eyes on the road as you were speeding faster than you ever normally would. There was no way you’d be too late to talk to Neil, though, that was for sure. When you got there, you’d insist on buying the car off of him, taking whatever price he demanded because, to you, it was a priceless win. There were too many memories built into that car, too many smiles and laughs. You’d do what it took to make sure Billy’s pride and joy was saved. You weren’t an expert with cars, but you’d become one if that’s what it took. “I needed a new car anyway.”
The Camaro had sat untouched in your garage for a month before you were able to even look at it without crying, much less try to drive it. But eventually, you were able to sit in the driver’s seat without blurry vision and you set to work determined to restore its beauty after the damage it sustained at Starcourt. So you slipped Billy’s necklace over the rearview mirror and set out to find a way to bring the car back to life.
That was how you’d ended up with your current job at the local mechanic’s shop. You needed guidance in fixing the thing up and Harv was more than willing to impart his knowledge to someone else. After years of focusing on only the job, you were the closest thing to family he would ever get. He’d become something of a mentor to you over time, trading repair tips for well-cooked lunches. It wasn’t too much of a surprise when the older man offered you a job at the shop, making up some excuse that he’d rather focus on the cars instead of the business side of the shop. He let you work on the cars too, in between balancing the books and taking the occasional phone call. It was hard work, but you appreciated the chance to keep your hands busy before your mind filled in the blanks with memories you wished you could forget.
“Forget the morning coffee?” Harv asked when you finally stepped through the shop. “You’re looking more tired than usual, tell me you’ve been sleepin’.”
“I can tell you if you want,” you hedged, slipping two brown paper bags into the fridge before grabbing a hand towel to throw over your shoulder. There were some days you needed more distractions than normal, and on those, he’d usually let you do more work on the cars than in the office.
“Havin’ more dreams?” he asked, and the non-answer was enough for Harv to get the picture. For the past several months, you’d been plagued with nightmares of that night, of the immediate days after, of having to plan a funeral because his family couldn’t be bothered, of d—
“Please, please, no!” you screamed, the blankets becoming your new prison as you fought to escape them. Your voice was hoarse as you tumbled out of bed, landing on the same hip that was already bruised from previous impacts.
It was only two weeks after the ‘tragic fire’ at Starcourt, your wounds beginning their slow fade away. The nightmares seemed to get worse when you realized, that, soon you would lose any evidence of that night, of the sauna, of Billy fighting to stay with you all. Because he’d fought, no matter what the party seemed to think of him. You hated that you mourned the loss of the deep bruise around your wrist from where he’d grabbed it at the Mind Flayer, when you’d gotten roped into trapping him in the pool sauna.
“Y/N?”
Fuck.
Max had been sleeping in the guest room of your parents’ house since the incident, admitting that it was too hard to be in the house where Billy had been. She’d told you it was confusing, seeing the rooms where he’d yelled at her so badly she’d cried but wishing he could be there to do it again. She hated the way Neil and her mom seemed to ignore what happened, carrying on as though nothing had ever gone wrong.
And you’d promised Billy that she would be okay, so you’d told her she could stay as long as she needed while she worked through her grief. You just never expected her to see yours, too.
“I’m okay,” you gasped, pulling yourself to your feet and trying to fix your rumpled pajamas and hoping she could hear through your closed door. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“You didn’t, I was awake,” Max answered, slowly opening the bedroom door. Even in the dim moonlight, you could see the tear tracks shining on her face.
“Oh, Max, come here,” you called, and the second you held out your arms she was rushing into them. Her body hit yours harshly but all you could do was hold onto her for dear life, your own tears forming as she let out her sobs into your shirt.
“I don’t want to miss him,” she cried, “he hated me, I shouldn’t miss him so much.”
“Hey, hey, listen, okay?” you tried to tell her, moving back just enough that you could see her face. “Billy did not hate you. Do you know how often he talked to me about you? About how worried he was about you sneaking out so much, about how he was trying to keep you safe from N—your stepdad.”
“I want to hate him. He was so awful to my friends, I should hate him, and I hate that I—”
“What, Max?”
“Nothing,” she sighed, and you knew there was more to it but for the time being, she was already wiping away her tears with rough hands. “It’s nothing. I don’t think I’ve slept right since the Fourth of July.”
“Me either, kiddo,” you sighed, running your hand over her hair once before stepping back fully. “How about I make us some hot cocoa and we can watch a movie, something happy.”
“Still about that Hargrove boy of yours?”
“Always,” you sighed. It would always be him, no matter how many times you fought to move on. There was no easy way to erase the memories you’d made together, all the hard work it had taken to make your relationship set up to last.
“You know, there’s no harm in finding someone else to make you happy.”
“I know that I just,” you fought to find the right words, looking up to the sky as if Billy himself might help you conjure them up. “I’ve never loved anyone like I loved him. I don’t really know if I can again.”
“Why don’t you take the day off today?”
“I’d rather be here,” you told Harv. Because what else was there to do but sit and think about where you could have been? If you were alone, then you’d start thinking of the nights you’d lay with Billy, dreaming up a future for after the summer. In those dreams, you’d pack up his car with as few items as you could manage, and the two of you would drive. There wouldn’t be a particular destination in mind, as long as it was far past the Indiana border.
Instead, you stayed in the one place you knew he hated. Where else was there to go? You told yourself you could leave Hawkins when Max was out of school, when you knew she’d be okay on her own.
“You can’t work yourself to death either,” Harv argued, grabbing the towel off your shoulder and tossing it over his instead. “Go, find some trouble to get into. You’re off for the rest of the week.”
At first, you were furious at the idea of a week off. It turned out, though, that Harv’s generosity came at a perfect time. Because suddenly, the Upside Down wasn’t as shut away as you once thought it was. Suddenly, Billy’s sacrifice wasn’t enough to completely spare the kids from the horrors that lurked under the city.
And as it turned out, you were frighteningly close to breaking your promise to him.
Because Vecna was coming after Max, and the only thing that was keeping her from a horrifying death was that damned Walkman you’d once cursed for existing. Now, all you could do was hope that the machine kept up, that you’d never need to read the contents of the letter tucked into your back pocket.
You’d do anything to keep your promise now, even cross into the Upside Down yourself.
The decision became even easier when Steve was pulled down into the lake, through the barrier he’d been investigating. Nancy had jumped in after him, Robin following soon after. It was an obvious choice, then, for you to jump from the boat.
The Upside Down was a living nightmare. You were sure this new scene would take the place of Starcourt each time you closed your eyes, between the bats determined to kill and the vines that connected all the way back to Vecna himself. You had to agree with Eddie in all of the panic over it, even though you’d been exposed to its horrors before.
You thought the group made it out safe, though. Everyone was climbing up the curtains to get back to the safety of Eddie’s trailer, and you were up next but instead of falling through to hit the mattress set up on the trailer floor, you hit hard tile. It was white tile though was now marred with an eerily familiar red hue. Broken glass dug into your palms as you landed, though you hardly noticed it at all.
Because the moment you recognized those neon lights surrounding each store of the building, you knew you were doomed. Because Starcourt had been torn down months ago, yet now it looked the same way it had on the worst night of your life. You knew what was going to happen, you knew what memories Vecna would use against you. There was only one that continuously haunted you, kept you awake at night wondering if there was something else you could have done.
Immediately you took off toward one of the escalators, hoping to put as much distance between you and the mirage you knew Vecna would send to you. You didn’t want to see him, not after all this time, not like this.
“You always did run from your problems.” That voice, even as harsh and cold as it was now, was enough to make your heart race. It seemed to echo through the large courtyard, filling the space and making it impossible to ignore the form Vecna had taken on just for you. “What, too scared to face me, Sweetheart?”
The venom-laced nickname was sure to break you, if the sound of familiar boots on blood-stained tile wasn’t enough. You could hear Billy saying it a thousand times, each with more care in his voice than you’d ever heard before. It was some of the few times you could see his walls really melt, if only for a second. Now that love was being used against you, hurled at you with enough hate to make you wonder if this wasn’t how Billy had intended it after all.
“This isn’t real,” you shouted back in hopes of convincing yourself, never daring to look over your shoulder as you rushed up to the upper level of the mall. It felt real though, felt like you’d never been able to escape the nightmare of that mall.
“It’s as real as the day you let me die,” Not-Billy called back, letting out a near-hysteric laugh that you’d only heard post-sauna experiment. “I haunt you, don’t I?”
“No,” you gasped around the word as though the running at made you lose all breath stored in your chest. “No, you don’t.”
“Liar!” Not-Billy laughed, his pace quickening as the mall turned loops around you in an unbeatable maze. All you had to do was outlast him and hope that Eddie had a tape that you liked enough to snap you out of this. “You traded your entire life in for some promise you could never keep, didn’t you? You kept my car, my clothes, my music. You got a job somewhere you knew I’d like.”
He was gaining ground fast. Where were they with that music? How much longer could you last like this?
“It wasn’t for you,” you tried, keeping your eyes forward as you fought to find an escape. But the mall just extended, trapping you in the horror of the day you’d lost Billy. “It was for me.”
“Is that what you tell yourself when you lay alone at night, Y/N?” Not-Billy teased, not seeming in a rush to catch up to you and instead preferring to break down your resolve inch by terrifying inch. “Admit it, you know you’re nothing without me. You know it’s your fault I’m not there for Max, so you’re taking my place.”
“No,” you denied, hating the rush of guilt that crashed over your shoulders like a rogue wave. “No, that’s not it.”
“You feel guilty. You know you could’ve noticed something was wrong sooner. You should’ve known. Did you really think I would hurt you like that?”
Billy, what are you doing? This isn’t like you. Fine, if you want to act like that then you can do it alone, we’re through.
“I didn’t know!” you screamed back, the tears hitting your eyes at the memory of what you’d deem your greatest failure. Because you hadn’t noticed, you truly thought that he might’ve simply wanted to be so cruel that day. How were you meant to know he was taken over by a mythical creature from a kids' game?
You were just kids when it all went wrong. Fuck, you were just kids.
You finally chanced a glance at him, and the sight was enough to make you trip over your feet. You hit the ground harshly, wrist bending painfully as it caught your weight. But there was Billy, standing in his blue jeans and white tank, covered in blood the same way he’d been the last time you’d laid eyes on him. This time though, instead of blue eyes flashing in recognition they burned with a hatred you’d never seen before. He hated you.
No, this was Vecna. Right? Right?
“It’s okay, Y/N,” Billy’s voice overlapped with a deeper one, a haunting voice that settled deep in your bones. “You can admit you feel responsible for my death.”
“I don’t,” you shot back, ignoring the stirring of heavy emotions you’d long-since locked away deep in your ribcage. “We did the best we could, I tried to save you, Billy, I tried everything.”
How many times had you tried to break him free from the hold the Mind Flayer had on him? How many times did you call his name, beg for him to return to you? And even when that failed, you launched yourself into danger just to keep him safe. Nancy, what the fuck are you doing? That’s still Billy, put down the gun, put down th—
“It wasn’t enough though, was it?” Billy stepped even closer, head tilted to the side as he regarded your prone form. He bent down closer to you, a familiar rough hand reaching out to tuck under your chin. “And the worst part of it all, you let him die without ever telling him how you felt. You let him die thinking you didn’t love him.”
You knew this was it, the moment Vecna could take you. Yet still, all you could do was stare at the face you’d never thought you could see again. You took the time to study his face, searching for any sign that this was the Billy you knew and loved. It may not have been him, but he still had his blue eyes, gorgeous freckles peppering his cheeks, and blonde hair with a stray curl still draped across his face.
And if this was the end, at least the view was wondrous.
“You don’t have to hurt anymore, Y/N. I can make it stop,” Billy spoke in Vecna’s voice, and it was then you began to rise from the floor against your will. You didn’t fight it, not when you knew there was nothing else you could do.
As you stared down the Not-Billy, all you could hope for was that Max wasn’t watching.
Miraculously, though, the final blow never came. Instead, that damned song played loudly through the air. It was the tape you’d found in Billy’s car, the one you remembered tossing into the backseat on a long drive a year before, just so you wouldn’t have to hear it again. The tape you played on your drive to work every day, just wanting to feel closer to the man you’d lost.
“I need to know if you feel it too, maybe I'm wrong!”
“C’mon, Billy, can’t you play anything else?”
“What’s wrong with Foreigner, Sweetheart?”
“For starters, your singing.”
You’d never been so thankful to hear that song. It was enough to release Vecna’s hold on you, dropping you to the ground. The second your feet touched tile, you were sprinting without another spare thought.
And there the scene was, right in front of you.
If you hadn’t already been under Vecna’s illusions, you’d have thought this was another one. Because you could see your own body dressed in what you’d worn to the lake, laying on the floor of the Upside Down trailer with familiar hands holding onto you. He was shaking you, hair falling into his face as his expression grew more panicked.
“It’s not working!” that voice shouted, “She’s not waking up! You said it would work, Harrington, why isn—”
“Billy!” you shouted, not understanding how you could see him there but running for him anyway. Maybe you were running toward the end, maybe this was your mind’s vision of an okay ending. Maybe there really was no escaping from Vecna, but all you could do was follow the sound of the music, follow his voice yelling for you to come back to him.
‘I’ve been waiting for someone new to make me feel alive’
“I’m here!” you shouted though you knew no one could hear it, feet moving faster than they ever had before as you chased the vision. The second your hand brushed your own, you were tossed back into your body with a gasp.
Instinctively, you fought the hold on your arms. It was Vecna, the Not-Billy, he was coming back to get you, he made you think that you’d escaped when really i—
“Y/N, hey, Y/N, calm down it’s okay,” that familiar rough voice called. It was a voice you’d thought you’d only ever hear in a dream. “You’re okay.”
Yet there he was, Billy fucking Hargrove, alive and well. He looked a mess—months of Upside Down survival coated on his face, hands, clothes. He was still wearing what he had been at Starcourt, still with the same teary eyes that he’d had at your final goodbye. Though this time there was a distinct relieved smile painting across his face, proving that this wasn’t some harsh illusion created by Vecna but rather the real Billy, your Billy.
“How are you...?” you trailed off, hand reaching up to press on his cheek. You half-expected him to disappear the moment you reached for him, but instead, his face tilted into your touch, eyes fluttering closed for only a moment. You tried not to think about how long it had been since Billy had known any kind of touch that wasn’t that of something dangerous trying to hurt him.
“I don’t know,” Billy admitted, and later you’d come to the realization that he’d fought through it all without any prior knowledge of the Upside Down, of the gates, of Vecna. All he did was try to survive, try to get back. “I woke up here after Starcourt. I thought I was alone here but Harrington and Munson started yelling and—
“I love you,” you blurted out, leaning forward to wrap him up in a hug. Your hands dug into his shirt, and clung to him like any moment he could disappear. And maybe he still could. You couldn’t quite understand how he was still here, how any of you would take down the creature coming after all of you. All you knew was that by some act of grace, you’d gotten another chance with the man you loved. And this time, you wouldn’t dare wait for the right moment to come before you told him everything. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, there was so much I wanted to say that night, I just cou—”
“I know,” he answered, “I knew then, too. I love you, Sweetheart.”
“This is sweet and all, but I suggested getting out of the freaky nightmare portal,” Robin called down to the two of you, reminding you of where you were and what you’d just gone through.
You weren’t sure you’d ever let go of him. Even as you climbed back up and out of the Upside Down, as you watched Steve bend down to help Billy out of his prison world, your hands itched to hold onto him again. It was like after so long thinking you’d lost your forever, you were scared—terrified—to let it slip through your fingers again.
“How’d you know that song would work?” you finally asked, looking at the group who all seemed to regard you with, well, it wasn’t quite fear but maybe apprehension. After all, you were just one of the latest to nearly succumb to the terrifying death that fell upon Vecna’s victims.
“I heard you, every day in my car,” Billy admitted. You’d learned today that people in the Upside Down could hear parts of the normal world if they tried, could be strangely connected to the people they needed to hear. “You’d get in and play that song. Every morning.”
You fought not to imagine what else he’d heard in his months there. Did he hear you when you’d gotten home from the scene that night, not bothering to shower away the grime before you tucked into bed and cried? Had he heard the way you’d locked your door against your parents, screaming to them that they’d never been supportive of you and him before, so why the hell should they get to help you mourn now? Had he heard you apologize every single damn day since it happened, knowing Max was suffering and not being able to reach her in the way she needed?
“I hated that song,” you whispered, looking out the wide-open front door to see the leftovers of the scramble to save you. The driver’s side door of the Camaro was tossed open, a few tapes scattered around the grass beside it. Though you hadn’t been there, you could easily imagine the scene as it unfolded. Billy and Steve, still in the Upside Down and fighting to hold onto you as you lifted in the air. Robin and Eddie, fighting as they looked over his music to find something near your taste. Someone screaming, asking Billy what your favorite song was and him growing angry because why the fuck does that matter right now?
Him knowing, even now, that of course your favorite song would be the one that reminded you of him.
“I’m glad I kept that fucking tape,” you laughed, a little hysterically as you untangled yourself from him.
“I knew you liked Foreigner,” he grinned cheekily, and you weren’t sure you’d ever get tired of that look on his face. It didn’t happen often, especially not there at the end when he’d not been in control of himself. But you’d spend the rest of your days trying to recreate that smile as much as possible.
there were officially more important things to worry about in steve's life than typical high school drama. between creatures with flower-like maws, a secret lab conducting illegal experiments in his hometown, and a government-signed NDA to keep him quiet about everything, it hardly seemed worthwhile to worry about something as silly as high school popularity.
he didn't even feel too hurt when nancy broke up with him at the halloween party. it stung being told he was 'complete bullshit', being told that he was using her to get over his disappearing soulmate. he shouldn't have even been surprised to hear that she ended up with jonathan, considering they'd figured out they were soulmates after the encounter with the demogorgon last year.
he told himself he didn't care about the new guy and his stolen title, either. why should he care about a hot guy from california who sauntered in and immediately began taking over steve's reign at the top of the school? so what if people didn't think he was all that cool anymore, so what if he wasn't the best player on the team, and so what if all the girls seemed to watch the blond guy instead of him?
so maybe it was worthwhile to worry, after all.
steve sighed when he got home from school that day, thankful to be away from every stressor pressing in on him from all sides. it was one of the few times he was thankful his parents were gone on another trip, allowing him to toss his bag somewhere in the living room and sprawl out on the couch. he played his music as loud as he wanted, immediately lifting up his shirt to check that his soulmate had seen his message.
it was just a little heart, drawn in blue ink in the corner of his hip just low enough that his beltline would cover it. and there it was, a heart carefully drawn in purple sparkly ink beside it. that simple drawing alone was enough to make steve grin, warmth spreading over his cheeks as he thought about his soulmate taking the time to make it the most perfectly drawn heart possible, just for him.
they had to start communicating like this only recently. they'd been talking every day for nearly a year, conversations filling up steve's abdomen until they were writing in barely-legible words just to keep talking.
steve knew his soulmate suffered because of him. it was obvious in the way the bruises used to only cover where they'd spoken, when they were kids. it was why his soulmate disappeared for so long, because talking to steve just wasn't worth all the pain it brought him. and steve couldn't exactly blame the other boy either—he wouldn't want to risk all the pain, all those mottled bruising for conversations about basketball and sneaking out to cornfields as kids.
that was why, when they were seventeen and steve woke up to his entire chest covered in deep, dark bruising, he resigned himself to never hearing from his soulmate again. it never hurt steve physically, only the physical markings appearing on his body and never the pain that brought them. still, it pained him to think about how badly his soulmate must have hurt, simply because steve had been having a nightmare about the flickering lights and creatures from hell, and he needed his soulmate's comfort.
the other boy would continue to surprise him though, because once all the bruises faded (save the ones wrapped around his ribs indicating that his soulmate had a broken set under his skin), a little heart drawn in purple ink appeared in the dip of his hip. steve had almost missed it at first, the little drawing barely large enough to catch his eye. he supposed that was the point then, a way to tell each other they were thinking of them when it was too dangerous to talk.
and over time, those little hearts became more meaningful than any words they could have ever exchanged. they made the previous bouts of total silence worth it, made steve want to wait to find him properly instead of settling for anyone else.
which was good, because the waiting was infuriating sometimes. steve couldn't wait until high school was over, when he could get could away from the people who'd found their soulmates right there in hawkins. he supposed he shouldn't be jealous—he should be happy that tommy and carol found each other at seven the same day their marks starting coming in, that nancy and jonathan were able to find each other the second they exchanged names.
but the truth was, steve had known from the moment he found out his soulmate was another guy that he wouldn't find him in hawkins. he would always have to wait until he got out, could make it to california and tell his soulmate where to find him. steve knew he'd never ask his soulmate to come here, not when the consequences of such could be so great.
people learned not to ask about his soulmate. steve told them it was because they didn't talk, that he wasn't going to ever find them. because how could he ever explain the truth?
the only person who hadn't learned this, yet, was billy fucking hargrove. or maybe he had learned, he had been warned by one or multiple people on the team. steve could see the wariness in the other guys' eyes every time billy brought it up, like they were waiting for steve to snap back into his king steve persona.
he wasn't that guy anymore.
"no shower today, harrington?" that grating voice called out, laughing when all steve did was roll his eyes in return. "what, you and your soulmate get down to it last night or somethin'?"
"leave it, hargrove," steve warned dully, focusing on the inside of his gym locker and not on the guy next to him. he willed his eyes not to be drawn to tanned skin still wet from the shower, curled hair resting still soaked on those broad shoulders. he wouldn't pay any attention to that smirk on the other guy's face either, even if it sent a shiver down steve's back.
“good to hear you’re talking to her, harrington. word around here is that she’s not interested in our precious king steve.”
“yeah?” steve countered, shutting his locker closed with a harsh slam. billy was standing far too close to him, jeans already back on but like usual choosing to spend as much time without a shirt on as possible. in all the times they played practice matches, steve never once saw any kind of writing on the other guy. no words, no drawings, no sign of a soulmate at all. there were a rare few out there who didn’t get a soulmate. some theorized it was because their perfect match died before the age their marks started, others theorized it was because some people just would never have a perfect complement. maybe that was why billy hargrove seemed so intent on criticizing steve’s soulmate—because there was no one meant to love billy in the way steve had someone. “you spend a lot of time thinking about my soulmate, hargrove? seems yours isn’t all that interested either.”
steve saw it, that flash of fury that lit up billy’s blue eyes. the man’s fists clenched at his sides, clearly ready to start a fight if the coach hadn’t been clear that any breaking of the rules would lead to immediate removal from the team. he also saw the moment every ounce of emotion was brought back in, tucked away somewhere far out of sight to the public. all that remained on billy’s face was a cool smirk, an arrogance that made steve want to roll his eyes.
"don't worry, pretty boy like you'll find another bitch out there to fawn over you."
before steve even knew what was happening, he was turning and shoving billy into the lockers, practically baring his teeth in a snarl when the other man just laughed. he could hear the murmurs of the team behind him, all watching and waiting to see which king would win out.
"don't call me that," steve spat out, "ever again. you hear me, hargrove?"
"whatever you say, king steve."
he’d like to say it got better, between them. that steve didn’t care about titles and he didn’t care that billy liked to bother him. but the fact of the matter was, there was something about hargrove that steve couldn’t ignore. he irritated him beyond belief, he stirred up an anger in his chest that he hadn’t felt in ages. and yes, it bothered steve that billy hargrove was the one everyone looked to with the awe that was once reserved for him.
so when billy hargrove showed up at the byers’ house in the middle of steve convincing the kids that they didn’t need to go rushing into danger on his watch, it was far too easy to let that anger out. as billy stood there in that unbuttoned red shirt, smugly puffing on a cigarette while trying to intimidate him into making max come out of the house, all steve could hear was his voice in that locker room.
pretty boy. those words were reserved for his soulmate, for them to be used with love instead of to ridicule him.
later, it would scare steve to think about how much relief he felt in throwing that punch. it was terrifying how good it felt, to fight back against the kind of guy who would hurl those words like an insult, like something to be ashamed of. he wondered what hargrove would think if he knew what kind of person his soulmate was and if those two words would morph into the kind of harsh word he’d heard plenty of times in this town. he wondered if he was someone who left california because he could stand the kind of people there, couldn’t stand that it was a safe haven for people like steve and his soulmate.
and then he was losing the fight. a plate was smashing over his head and he was falling to the ground. steve felt fists crack into his face with a harshness no one had ever used before. he saw the fury in billy’s face, the shock in the party’s face as he laid there and took it. he wondered if this would be the moment billy’s anger reached its peak, would finally end up killing someone. he wondered if, after he was dead and gone, billy would recognize those bruises and cuts blossoming on his face without an origin. he wondered if billy would notice the drawn-on hearts tucked just under his waistband, wondered if he’d recognize them mirrored on his own hip.
pretty boy like you’ll find another bitch out there.
pretty boy.
you gonna come find me someday, pretty boy? don’t promise something like that if you aren’t gonna follow through.
i’ll be your best cheerleader.
i bet you’re a pretty boy.
the last thought steve had before fading into oblivion was that he was right, his soulmate was a force to be reckoned with.
He is being purposely antagonist, reckless, music blaring and foot heavy on the pedal but his entire demeanor screams that he doesn’t care. Not in a cool way, not in a cruel way, but in a “so what?” way. Billy is a 100% ready to crash and burn and take everyone with him because he loathes their happiness, their freedom, the rules and expectations he’s constricted by. Billy puts every people in one of two categories. The Hated and the Desired.
He’s only charming to those he can use, who he wants, but outside of that, everyone else are used as fuel to make his hatred, his jealousy, his anger, burn brighter. When you are so full of hate and can only establish a persons worth on how they can serve your reputation or help your survival, you stop feeling anything else.
You stop feeling happy, you’re constantly irritated and forced to put on a face and when that faces drops, there is only the ever-growing apathy.
Billy doesn’t care that he’s scaring Max, that he’s speeding, or that he’s going to hit those kids. There’s two outcomes. He offs himself with this stupid stunt and takes his bitch step-sister with him, or Max stops him and he gets to feel the rush of adrenaline explode inside his veins like heroin.
Billy does not care which outcome happens.
He’s seventeen, apathetic to it all, and ready to accept whatever life throws at him, even if it’s death. And god, haven’t most mentally ill teens felt that at least once in their adolescence.
Then this apathetic, mentally ill teen actually faces Death in S3—not just his own, but the death of El and Max and everyone in the whole world—and he realizes he doesn’t want that. He realizes he does care. He thinks maybe this is why he was born: to die, and in so doing save the lives of everyone around him.
It’s more than a fair trade. It makes him feel like his hard, ugly life was worth it.
okay but hear me out. billy and steve bond over watching horror movies together.
it's post-starcourt and even though billy's never outright told anyone about his dad, it's easy enough for them to put the pieces together.
when jonathan mentions the connections, steve is quick to insist that billy recovers at his house. it's to make sure the mind flayer is really gone, he supplies when billy seems skeptical of the whole thing. he couldn't tell billy that it was because he was terrified of losing him, how he'd felt like he'd been stabbed through the heart too when billy had tried to sacrifice himself.
and neither of them talk about it, but being woken by each others' nightmares was getting pretty exhausting. steve starts bringing home a new movie at the end of every shift at family video, and it's strange but they both fall in love with horror movies. maybe it's because it's easy to laugh at the corny plots and the even cornier acting, or maybe it's because watching these characters fight through living nightmares makes both of them forget about their own.
either way, steve spent the work day completely restless, waiting for the chance to bring home his latest find. it's nightmare on elm street, and robin had teased him enough for never having seen it before that he's sure it'll be the best horror movie night yet.
and it is. but billy is sitting on the couch beside him (friends always sit this close, it's fine) and his foot is bouncing against the edge of the coffee table faster than steve had ever seen it move before. and when freddy claims another victim billy practically launches himself out of his seat with how dramatically he jumps.
"are you scared?" steve asks, raising an eyebrow at the brief moment of panic in those blue eyes.
"what? fuck off, harrington, i'm not scared," billy snaps back immediately, head moving back to focus on the screen.
"it's okay to be scared, you know," steve answered, at first sounding sincere but then adding in that teasing tone of voice that seemed to be reserved only for billy, "i'm here if you want to hold my hand."
"i'm not holding your fuckin' hand," billy answers, proving his point by crossing his arms dramatically over his healing chest. "shut up and watch the movie."
and if billy's hand lashes out to grab steve's tightly the next time the music picks up, then steve never comments on it.
"it's gettin' late, we might as well sleep here."
"we have beds upstairs," steve points out. the movie has been over for awhile, the end credits still scrolling lazily up the screen being the only thing illuminating the living room. billy's hand is still in steve's, and steve wonders only briefly if he's realized as such or if he really doesn't mind.
"it's a lot of moving, and we're already setup here," billy counters, and it doesn't make sense. they used to sleep on the couch in the early days after starcourt, when steve had picked him up from the hospital and brought him straight here. they'd sleep on either side of the couch, feet tangled up in the center. they hadn't done it in weeks though, so why now?
"wait," steve says, a slow grin overtaking his expression. "is billy hargrove scared?"
"i'm not scared," billy practically shouts, looking down and seemingly noticing their entwined hands for the first time. he pulls his own from steve's grasp—and steve will pretend he doesn't miss the warmth of that comforting hold—but leaves it resting just beside steve's, pinkies barely brushing against each other.
"well if you're not scared, then i'm going to bed in my bedroom." steve even began to stand up, smiling when billy's hand reached out and grabbed his wrist. it was just tight enough to stop his movements, but always careful enough not to leave even the faintest of redness behind.
"okay i'm scared! just sit the fuck down, harrington." billy huffs, eyes looking away from steve. "so what if i am anyway? a guy that can kill you through your fuckin' dreams? that's fucked."
"it's pretty messed up, isn't it," steve laughs, slipping his arm through billy's hold just long enough that he can slip his hand into its place. it's like their hands belong together, tying them to each other. "who comes up with something like that?"
"people who're fucked in the head, that's who," billy murmurs, his own gaze watching their hands with something a little too intense to be about the movie. "you're really staying?"
"am i the kind of guy to just leave you in your time of need, hargrove?"
billy doesn't answer for a long time. they let go of each other's hands long enough to get settled on the couch together (both of them ignoring the fact that there's a perfectly acceptable loveseat in the room too).
"thanks for the movie. that was the best one yet," billy says in goodnight, and those words alone are enough to keep a smile on steve's face long after he's fallen asleep, for once no nightmares between either of them.
i feel very emotional about Billy Hargrove and I don’t even have the capacity to articulate everything I want to say about him in the way that I feel he deserves.
billy, touch-starved and longing for any semblance of affection, desperate for someone to love him but unaware of what that actually might look like because he has always had to work and perform for accolades and positivity.
and steve who thrives on showing his love with even the smallest of gestured, openly and honestly displaying his affections, never withholding love or gentleness.
billy wouldn’t know how to accept love so freely given and steve would never make him jump through hoops for a scrap of affection. the two of them coming together to find an awkward middle ground that slowly but surely comes to feel natural. steve realizing that he doesn’t need to make grand, sweeping gestures to show how much he cares. billy realizing that someone who truly loves him won’t make him prove that he deserves that love.
billy hargrove knew he would love his soulmate the second he started talking to them.
it had been on his seventh birthday, a rare rainy day in california that left him laying on his stomach in his bedroom, doodling when all he wanted to do was be at the beach. when he ran out of paper, billy moved the marker to the inside of his right wrist instead.
he could only stare in wonder when a word appeared just below his drawn-on waves that he never even wrote. his mom had told him about soulmates, had said that getting to talk to his soulmate for the first time would be a cherished memory.
"momma!" billy called out, scrambling to his feet and practically sprinting into her in the living room. "look!"
he thrust out his wrist, grinning proudly when she ran her fingers over first the drawing then the word that was definitely not in his handwriting. it was only two little letters, a small 'hi' barely the size of a quarter, but it was there and it was proof that someone, somewhere, was his perfect match.
from then on, everything became about finding more time to talk to his soulmate. they quickly figured out they lived in different timezones, his soulmate on the east coast somewhere. billy knew they played basketball and they hated reading, while he told them all about his surfing and how much he loved to read poems.
and in july, it happened.
billy had been sitting in his room again, grinning brightly while his soulmate began talking about their basketball tryouts. they'd been nervous about it, scared they wouldn't make the team they wanted. billy always knew they were talented enough to do whatever they wanted, even if he'd never seen them play before.
he wanted to know what they looked like. he wanted to be able to picture them while they played the game. 'are you pretty?' he asked, and waited impatiently for the answer. he paced the room, constantly checking the outside of his left calf for any sign of a reply.
'i'm a boy.' and oh, it made sense. he'd begun to wonder if he liked boys. ever since his friends started talking about which girls in class were the cutest and he never an answer, instead listing off mentally the cutest boys in the class.
as always, billy scrambled to tell his mom after first answering his soulmate. this time though, instead of pride all he found in her gaze was sadness, fear.
"now i know to look for a boy, mama," billy told her, but the words only made her wince. "mom?"
"you can't tell your father, billy, understand? please tell me you understand."
it didn't matter if he understood though, because his dad found out that same night. it was the first time his anger was directed at anyone beyond his wife, though it most certainly wouldn't be the last. that night, billy laid in bed among broken purple gel pens, listening to his mother packing up her things and fingers brushing over the burn that hid away those three words he once loved so much.
--
billy used to love when his soulmate talked to him, but now anything written on his skin sent fear straight down his spine.
after his mother left, everything got worse. his dad began hurling insults at him, slurs that billy had never needed to know the meaning of before. he was forbidden from communicating with his soulmate, and it didn't matter that the words and drawings came from the other boy, it didn't matter that billy couldn't get rid of them because his soulmate has to wash them off for them to disappear on him.
it didn't matter to neil, because if billy couldn't make them go away then he'd cover the area with bruises until the words were indistinguishable.
there were nights where he wanted to beg his soulmate to stop, but the moment the other boy seemed to put the pieces together, billy found himself missing every word despite the consequences he knew would come.
because by the time he was thirteen, his soulmate had fallen completely silent just like he had. he found himself missing the good mornings and the doodles that appeared during school, when he knew his soulmate must have been bored in class. he missed the score updates from the other boy's basketball games, and he missed the 'i miss you's.
as time went on, though, it became easier to ignore. without any communication between them, billy could imagine that he never had a soulmate. he'd made it up, because who could really love someone like him? who would willingly choose him when they could choose literally anyone else? he told himself he was saving his soulmate by ignoring him, by not allowing him to see the fire that was his life. billy just wished he could have gotten the boy's name first, though.
then the mayfields stormed into his life. susan was nice enough, though billy would never forget the way she stood passively behind neil, simply watching him beat the shit out of his own son without ever so much as saying a word. he didn't know if he could ever forgive her for that, even if he knew why she did so.
because she had a daughter much younger than billy, and she'd rather the boy get the brunt of neil's anger than max.
max, who was a little shit with too many authority issues to survive in a household like theirs.
"why don't you ever talk to your soulmate?" she asked one night when he was meant to be babysitting her. he was sixteen and had been invited to countless parties, but instead of going he would sit on the couch and try to focus on his homework instead of the girl beside him. she sat cross legged on the couch, turned so she was completely facing him instead of the tv.
"i don't have one," he answered gruffly, not even bothering to look up at her.
"that's a lie, everyone has one."
"well i don't, so shut up and do your homework," he snapped, not wanting to explain anything lest he face the wrath of neil. he still remembered the fury in the man's face that july night eight years before as he told him he better not tell anyone else about this. billy saw in his father's eyes that he wouldn't hesitate to kill him if that's what it took.
max did not, in fact, do her homework. instead, before billy could even process what she was doing, max's hand rushed forward and drew a little heart near his elbow with the black pen she was using.
"what the hell do you think you're doing?" billy shouted, leaping off of the couch before she could do anymore damage.
because his soulmate was already responding.
he was responding in that same blue ink, across his bicep. 'is that really you? i've missed you.'
"get out!" billy boomed, relishing in the way max flinched away from him for only a moment.
"i knew you were lying," max answered, "why are you hiding her?"
billy was hiding his soulmate for that exact fucking reason, because everyone always assumed it was a 'her', that he was just meant to be with a woman. no one could seem to wrap their heads around the fact that he was destined to be with another guy.
"get away from me!" billy screamed instead of answering her, face turning red with the force of it. "get the fuck out!"
he would only feel a little bad when her bedroom door finally clicked shut and he was alone. max wouldn't ask about his secret soulmate again.
and it didn't matter that he wasn't the one to talk to his soulmate, not in neil's eyes. the second the man saw the little heart drawn on his skin, the man only saw red.
and if anyone was suspicious of why billy missed two weeks of classes, they never said anything.
still, once the bruises faded and the bones healed, all billy could think about was his soulmate. whenever he closed his eyes, it was those final words that flashed in his mind. is that really you? i've missed you.
he still missed billy. after so many years, this guy across the country still thought about him. billy found himself thinking about his soulmate constantly. did he still play basketball? did he still want to move to the coast someday, or had that dream been ruined when billy cut him off? did he still doodle in class when he couldn't pay attention, now on pages of notebooks instead of his arms?
did he still want billy?
it was two months after the incident that billy finally found the courage to write back. he grabbed a pen that was abandoned in the corner of his room, writing in black ink two simple words.
'i'm sorry.'
he placed it on his stomach, hoping to hide this from his dad better than anything on his extremities.
billy could only laugh when his soulmate answered back immediately, like he was sitting there watching, waiting for any sign of billy. maybe he was.
'where did you go?' appeared lower on his abdomen, and relief rushed through billy as he realized his soulmate understood what he was doing. 'are you okay?'
there wasn't enough space on his body to answer that question, so instead billy found his own conversation.
'how's basketball?'
there was a pause, like his soulmate was considering how to answer that. billy could imagine him laying on his own bed. it would be late in the night where his soulmate was, but he was staying awake just to talk to billy. he was laying there, pen in hand as he wondered if he should confront billy about the avoided questions.
his soulmate decided against a confrontation tonight. 'i made the varsity starting team. if i keep my grades up, i might get a scholarship.'
'i know you will, pretty boy.'
there was no explanation for the boldness from billy. maybe it sparked from this new way he could hide these words from his dad, maybe it was knowing that it didn't really matter whether or not he actually spoke to his soulmate, he'd still be hurt regardless so he may as well have a little fun. and maybe, just maybe, the pull was just too great to ignore.
the conversation lasted all night, the words getting smaller and smaller as the boys began to run out of room. eventually his soulmate admitted that he needed sleep, and for the first time billy noticed that it was already nearly one in the morning his time.
'have a goodnight, pretty boy.' billy curled around his hip, grinning wide when his soulmate wished him the same. he spent another hour laying awake, fingers ghosting over the words. it was the first time in years there were marks left on his skin from sheer love, rather than anything hateful or violent. just a simple conversation between two boys, two soulmates who still wanted to learn each other after so much time apart.
and if billy was thankful for his dipshit step-sister that night, he never mentioned it.
