Steve's used to climbing in windows and sneaking around. Appearing only when it's convenient, expected, chaste enough to not cause issues.
Even with Nancy and the other girls before her, he snuck into windows and through creaky front doors. Hiding in closets and just under window panes.
It's not different with Billy, despite everything being different with Billy.
His window's on the first floor which Steve appreciates. And his bedroom is an addition so it's far from his parent's, which means they can be a little loud.
And he knows they have to sneak around. Now it's not just because of disappointed dads or moms who worry. It's out of fear and protection, hiding to stay alive.
Steve is used to being a secret.
But Billy had said to come to the front door tonight. A trip to Chicago to see a band Billy loves and Steve's never heard of.
His dad wants to meet Steve since they're driving together.
Steve wants to bring flowers. But that's kind of queer. And they are queer, but he doesn't know if Billy will accept that they're that kind of queer. And his dad would just know.
So Steve buys a bouquet and hides it behind the seat. He could give it to Billy's step-mom, but he shouldn't be trying to impress her, he should be trying to hide.
Billy will get them later or they'll rot and Steve will have to shampoo the carpet.
He doesn't glance at them as he gets out of the car. Casual. They're friends.
They're everything and nothing. They're just going to Chicago.
Billy's dad seems like a Grade A asshole. Steve can hear him snap at Billy to get the door from inside. They're friends. He doesn't have to impress this guy. He probably could have honked from his car.
Billy looks furious when he opens the door but the fire dies down when he sees Steve.
"I'll call you before we leave Chicago," Billy says, calmly. Too calmly like he's a robot. His father doesn't respond.
He has a bag over his shoulder and he closes the front door like he's afraid of it breaking.
Steve jogs down the steps back to his car, flowers forgotten behind the passenger seat.
But Billy sees them when he opens the back door to toss his bag inside.
Says, "Those for your girlfriend?"
"Yeah, I like her blonde curls," Steve replies, knuckles white against the steering wheel. Hands so tight the ridges could cut through the tendons.
"That's kind of gay, Stevie."
Steve closes his eyes when Billy closes the door and slides into his seat.
"Thought you were talking about baseball when you went on about pitchers and catchers," Steve replies. He turns on his headlights and backs out of the driveway.
Billy snorts, waits a moment before turning to drag the flowers up front with him. He touches them for a moment, tearing one off with his fingers because he's a monster.
Steve sighs when the flower touches his hair, his ear, sits against his skin, warm where Billy leaves it.
Billy buckles in and tosses the bouquet to the backseat. He waits until they leave Hawkins to put his hand on Steve's knee.
"No one's ever bought me flowers before," he whispers.
Steve reaches down to squeeze Billy's hand, eyes focused on the road ahead of them.
Billy squeezes Steve's knee and breathes out. Steve can feel him and the tense air of the car relax around them. "A romantic ninja."
Steve starts giggling, glances at Billy with his own flower behind his ear. There's no one to impress and all the reasons to hide. But it feels like nothing can touch them inside Steve's car on the road to Chicago.
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