Billy knew that Harrington was rich. Like, of course, how could he miss that the shirt Steve lent him when he slept over (too long, he didn’t mean to do that) had a designer label. And Steve’s place was, while not as nice as his parent’s, still an extremely nice place for a single guy to own in the middle of Bumfuck, Indiana.
But... Steve was rich, and never was that more clear than when Billy was looking over the spread Steve’d ordered in for his Hanukkah party. Billy was clutching his grocery store flowers with both hands, trying not to wring them into dust, as he looked at what must have hundreds of dollars of food, attended by servers with crisp white aprons. Billy wasn’t even dressed as nice as the staff. He tugs at the collar of his one nice shirt, feeling his neck get hot with embarrassment.
“Billy,” Jonathan sidles up to him with a shy smile, “Hey, how’s it going?”
Billy eyes Jonathan’s Hanukkah tie and worn button down, tipping his chin up and trying to hide the panic that’s rising like the tide in his stomach, “Good. I’m good. How are you?”
Jonathan smiles, “Happier now that I see you. Steve really does go all out, huh?”
Billy glances across the party at Steve, sparkling in a tailored grey suit as he talks to some polished looking older woman.
“Yeah. I didn’t really know what to expect, so,” Billy looks down at the flowers and the crushed index card in his hand. He’d memorized the prayer, hoping to impress Harrington, but there was so many people here, Steve wouldn’t be able to really tell who was saying it and who wasn’t. He’d only barely greeted Billy at the door, rushing away to host.
“Yeah. He loves a party,” Jonathan laughs, “Will was asking where you were, he wants to teach you how to play dreidel, if you want.”
“Oh... I might be headed out soon, so maybe... another time,” Billy twists the flowers in his hands, “Maybe tomorrow night, I’ll come hang with you guys.”
Jonathan glances out the window, “You’re going? It’s not even sundown yet.”
Billy tugs at the sleeve of his (too casual, too thin for the weather, too poor for Steve) jacket.
“Yeah, I just-”
Murray Bauman cuts them off with a loud clap, “Boys!”
He gives Jonathan a hug, and Billy a polite but a little-too-hard chuff on his chin.
“Hey, Murray,” Jonathan smiles at him.
Billy scowls, “Murray.”
“I’m surprised to see you here, William,” Murray booms.
Billy’s scowl deepens, “I was invited.”
Murray’s eyes just sparkle, “Alexei and I weren’t sure if you would show, though.”
Anger sparks low in Billy’s stomach, but he tries to reign it in. Maybe he should have known Harrington was only inviting him to be polite. After all, Steve seems to have invited everyone else in town. And he’s just the fool who thought it was sincere.
“Headed out in a few,” Billy smacks down his stupid carnations, on the stupid fancy buffet table, “So don’t worry about your bet, you can still win if Alexei hasn’t seen me.”
Murray cocks his head to the side, tugging on the edge of his garish sweater, “I bet you would show.”
Billy stuffs his hands into his pockets, “Well. Here I am. Here and gone.”
Murray rocks back and forth on his heels, “Before sundown?”
Billy tightens his shoulders, “Yeah. The sooner the better.”
Murray just laughs, gesturing over his boyfriend with two crooked fingers. Alexei is hovering by the wall alone, but he lights up when he comes over. Billy likes him, always has.
Alexei smiled gently at them, “Jonathan, it is so nice to see you. William, nice to see you.”
Billy digs his nails into his palms and tries to relax his fists. He likes Alexei. Likes Murray too, when he wasn’t trying to embarrass Billy at a party he was clearly not welcome at.
“I’m about to leave, Alyosha. Pад вас видеть,” Billy pulls one hand out and offers a handshake and one of the two phrases he memorized in Russian, grinning easily, “I’ll see you around, ok?”
“You are leaving?” Alexei looks up at Murray, shaking Billy’s hand almost absentmindedly, “Why?”
Billy swallows, “You know. Places to be. Stuff to do.”
Alexei’s face falls, and then he looks at Murray, “Did you embarrass him, котик? Что ты сказал?”
Murray smiles, “No, he was leaving already. Not before saying goodbye to your host, I hope?”
Billy bit back an insult, and just looked helplessly at Jonathan, “Yeah. I’ll just say goodbye. Nice talking to you man. Give me a call tomorrow, I’ll come over and hang with Will.”
Jonathan nodded, brows furrowed, “Billy are you sure-”
Billy smiled wide, shoving his trembling hands and the stupid, stupid index card into his pockets, “Places to be, man. Places to be.”
He backs away from them, headed towards Steve, glancing, not without envy, at Heather and Robin who were folded into a loveseat together, whispering. Heather was in a pretty red Christmas sweater, and Robin had a matching one with a white dreidel on a blue background. He’d helped Heather pick out the yarn, but now the whole thing just made him feel sort of seasick. He wanted that. He wanted...
Steve jumps out in front of him, hair bobbing gently against his forehead, “Hey! Someone said you were leaving?”
Billy fights the urge to scan the room for Murray and flip him off. But this was a fancy party. And Billy didn’t want to ruin the party by being... himself.
“Yeah,” Billy clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder, “See you, ok?”
Steve’s face falls, and he looks around, “What happened? We haven’t even lit the candles yet.”
Billy’s heart squeezes in his chest, “Nothing happened, Pretty Boy. I just gotta go, okay?”
Billy turns to go, and he can feel Steve watching him. He’s probably just looking at Billy’s stupid jacket, or his nicest pair of jeans. Billy’s stomach twists with shame, as he weaves his way past Murray and Alexei, shooting Murray an evil look as he passes.
He knew he didn’t belong. He didn’t need anyone to point it out for him.
He’s in the foyer, ignoring tray of chocolate coins in crinkly blue bags. Party favors. Billy doesn’t deserve a favor. He feels sick. He feels-
“Baby,” It’s Steve, taking his arm as Billy reaches for the door, “What’s wrong? Why are you leaving?”
“You know... you didn’t have to invite me,” Billy spits out, too angry to look at Steve’s soft brown eyes, to see him look at Billy like that after everything went wrong tonight, “Just to be nice.”
“I wasn’t trying to be nice,” Steve frowns, “I wanted you to come. Want you to stay, actually.”
“You don’t have to say-”
“I’m not being nice,” Steve tugs on his arm, “What’s wrong?”
“I... I...” Billy frowns, “I don’t fit in here.”
Steve blinks at him, “Who says?”
Billy looks back at the party, “Everyone.”
Steve’s face is soft an open, and he slides his hand down, linking their fingers together, “Not everyone. I say you fit in here. I say I’m really glad you came.”
“I’m not dressed right,” Billy mumbles.
“You look great to me,” Steve’s lip twitches, “A little cold, maybe. I’ll lend you my jacket. But you look great.”
“I... I...” Billy bites his lip.
“I was really looking forward to lighting the candles with you this year,” Steve smiles, “You haven’t been over the past few nights and I was kind of hoping to host the party with my boyfriend this year.”
“I...” Billy swallows, “Am I your boyfriend?”
“Well... we’ve been fucking for a few months,” Steve smiles, “I figured we could make it official tonight.”
Billy’s heart clenches, “I...”
He wanted to ask Steve tonight. He supposes... this is just as good. No, it’s better. Much, much better this way, with Steve smiling under his fancy chandelier, looking at Billy like he’s really glad to see him. Like... he really does belong here.
“If you want,” Steve tugs on his hand, “I didn’t want to announce it or anything. Just... show you off a little bit. If you want.”
Billy shivers, heart clenching again, “I... I really wanted to impress you tonight. I even...”
He pulls the crumpled index card out of his pocket, and hands it over, too anxious to explain, and trying not to look at his inelegant chicken scratch. He’d spelled the prayer out phonetically, the same way he did when he wanted to make Alexei feel welcome, or when he learned Spanish as a kid. But hopefully Steve can still translate it somehow.
“Oh,” Steve’s eyes glow, “Baby. This is-”
“I... I wanted to...” Billy stuffs his hand back in his pockets, looking away when the words dry up.
Steve tugs Billy closer, reaching out with the index card in his hand and cupping Billy’s cheek.
“This is the sweetest, best thing...” Steve’s breath smells like cinnamon and apples, and it makes Billy weak in the knees, “Will you be my boyfriend, Billy? Please?”
Billy just kisses him, pulls Steve’s hands around Billy’s neck and slides a hand under that fancy jacket and presses a hand to Steve’s heart. Their hearts are both beating so fast, Billy can barely believe it’s really happening. And all of this, before the sun has even gone down.
"I'm sorry," Billy whispered, his words muffled as blood leaked around the words. Max kneeled beside him, either oblivious or uncaring of the blood and monster goo that slowly seeped into her shorts. Billy opened his mouth to say something– anything, but the words wouldn't come. None that mattered anyways.
'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Sorry…' the words wouldn't escape, and wasn't that ironic? He finally wanted to apologize– to make up for everything he'd done and said, and yet…and yet it was meaningless. What was the point of saying anything? His vision was going blurry around the edges, like he'd looked too long at the sun, and Max was a halo of orange at the center.
It reminded him of a cool night in December. Another time where the look of concern was replaced with one of contempt. Instead of a bat ready and waiting to meet its mark, her hands were filled with blood.
His blood.
Billy was dying.
He wished he could've said something to Max. To Steve.
He wished he could've said I'm sorry and I love you. He didn't know which one deserved the apology and the admission.
I love you, Steve. I'm sorry, Max.
Both…probably.
I love you, Max. I'm sorry, Steve.
Definitely.
July 4th, 1986
They'd spent the afternoon napping. Steve hadn't planned for it to happen, nor had he suggested the idea. But the summer heat, and noon-high sun had swamped them with exhaustion. Billy had been up since the first rays of sunshine, his night terrors a constant shadow in the dark bags under his eyes.
Steve had woken up to a slight pressure against his forehead, dry lips receding enough to say a quiet, "go back to sleep, Stevie."
He hadn't.
Instead, Steve stumbled to his feet and coaxed Billy into taking a walk down the road. The morning mist hadn't yet dispersed by the time they hit Mrs. Rodney's house and had to turn back, her little schnauzer already up and waiting for the poor mail boy to toss the morning's newspaper.
They'd made it back to the house before the sun had fully reached its peak, the morning not yet hot, but the promise of humidity could be felt in the air. Billy already had his hair up, the stray strands curling even more where they laid against his tanned skin.
"M'gonna clean the pool," Billy had said, before proceeding to do just that. Steve had felt compelled to say something- he'd seen Billy doing that yesterday, and the day before that. He knew you didn't have to do it every day, but then he remembered. Billy needed those simple tasks, something for his brain to focus on instead of the scars that shined like lightning bolts across his arms and danced up his chest.
He needed normalcy, a routine.
Steve could give him that. He didn't want a repeat of the nights where Billy tossed and turned, his anxiety ridden brain too amped up for a restful sleep. He didn't want the days after Billy's recovery in the hospital, the confusion and fear. The shock of being alive.
He especially didn't want the apologies. Neither had Max, she'd practically lost her mind the fifth time Billy had said I'm sorry and I love you. Steve had to hold her back from accusing him of being a monster in disguise. Again.
When Billy turned to him and said it. Well, Steve had just about keeled over. He hadn't expected the apology for something that'd happened months ago, and he definitely hadn't been prepared for Billy's heartfelt, I love you.
He'd had to step back from the situation and take some time. Robin had called him a pussy. Steve hadn't disagreed.
In the end, Steve had realized a few things about himself. And came to the conclusion that Billy did it for him. A lot.
And so, when it was going on two hours of Billy cleaning the spotless pool, Steve had enough. With a glass of lemonade in each hand, Steve coecred Billy into taking a break. They started off side by side, shoulder to hip on one of the many lawn chairs Steve's parents owned. It hadn't lasted long.
They found themselves tangled together as their ice melted and mellowed out the tartness of the lemonade. The skin of their chests stuck together by a thin layer of heat sweat.
That had been three hours ago. Now Steve lay on his back with Billy between his thighs. His hand rubbing soothing strokes up and down Billy's spine. Billy's own hands were wedged underneath Steve's knees, keeping them slightly off the cushion.
"Hey, Billy?" Steve gave a gentle nudge with his knee. He waited a moment for a reply, but none came. He gave another bump, and this time Billy released a small noise. Somewhere between a purr and a growl. Steve wanted to kiss him.
The sound of fireworks could be heard in the distance, a soft poppoppop. Steve hoped the faire wouldn't wake him, but he didn't have to worry, Billy was out. His body limp, allowing Steve to just look.
He could see the freckles that only the summer days could bring out. His back muscles rippling with every deep breath he took. His lashes fanned out, casting a dark shadow across his cheekbones. And through it all, interspersed between hard earned muscles and wheat-blonde hair, Steve could see scars. The scars. Upside down scars. And they were beautiful.
Steve ran a single finger up the largest one. The one that had nearly taken this away. Billy shivered as Steve's fingertip hit a particularly sensitive spot.
It was the fourth of July. A year since Starcourt Mall. Steve still couldn't believe how far they'd come and how close they'd been to never having this. They didn't celebrate the fourth, not like others, not anymore. Instead, they spent the day like any other. And Steve loved it. He loved Billy.
Steve let out a sigh, a warm feeling settling low in his belly. "Hey Billy," he whispered, scraping his nails through the hairs at the nape of his neck. Billy gave a short hum, his eyes still closed and his body lax. "Happy fourth of July." He waited a second before leaning back and saying to the sky, "I love you."
Billy's grip tightened and Steve felt him press a sticky kiss to his thigh, "love you too, pretty boy."
It was probably the best fourth of July Steve could remember.
