seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Australia
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Yemen
seen from Paraguay
seen from China
seen from Estonia
seen from China
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Taiwan
seen from United States
seen from China
i just think he's neat
harringrove week - day 3: monster boys
prompt: monster boys (sirens)
harringrove week - day 1: road trip (to cali)
prompt: road trip facials
harringrove week - day 2 - this boy's too young to be singing the blues
prompt: How Many Candles on the Birthday Cake: 18 years old
ao3
Billy Hargrove is 18 years old.
He has been, for just about 24 hours now. No one’s mentioned it.
He’s watching how the minutes go by, like he did last night too. Seven minutes to midnight, seven minutes until he’ll really be entirely forgotten.
It’s quiet around him, in the middle of fucking nowhere. No one is out at this time since everyone in Hawkins is in bed by 10 and even if they aren’t they surely aren’t sitting at the fucking Quarry.
Billy likes it only because of the water. And maybe a little bit because it reminds him that he could always just jump.
He’s not actively suicidal, he knows he’s gonna go back home and climb into his room through the window and hope that his dad doesn’t hear. Billy’s gonna go to bed and sleep the same fitful sleep he always has. Everything is gonna stay exactly how it is.
But for a moment the possibility is comforting.
The edge of the descent down to the water is an adrenaline high. The same high that he gets here only by pushing his car to the highest speed right before a curve.
Billy misses the way his lungs used to feel like they were about to burst when he stayed underwater too long. That was the best of them all, better than any drug or danger, that moment when he pushed himself until everything in him was screaming to dive back up, to get some oxygen.
Nothing in Hawkins compares to the ocean. At least the Quarry is a body of water too though.
His mom used to take him surfing for his birthday. She used to get him cake too. At first there were presents as well, he remembers a small party even.
His dad always said birthdays aren’t important though. Certainly not important enough to remember at all.
At least last year Billy got a black eye. Today Neil didn’t acknowledge him even once and somehow that’s worse.
He spent the day like any other, breakfast in tense silence only interrupted by Susan trying to lift the tension, driving to school and watching Max disappear to her weird little friends, one useless class that’s teaching shit he already had in San Diego after the other, ignoring whatever shit Tommy and the other assholes said during break, beating everyone at basketball, not looking at Harrington in the shower, picking up Max, going home, working out until his body aches and tense dinner. Absolutely nothing of consequence happened.
Billy curses when he feels his eyes tear up at the thought.
Distracted by his own failings and the sound of his voice he doesn’t hear the car at first. The headlights he notices first, cutting through the trees and illuminating the Camaro.
With bated breath Billy waits until he can make out the car. Of course it’s the fucking BMW.
He turns back around and waits.
“What are you doing?” Harrington asks when he’s still walking up to Billy at the edge. He doesn’t come up next to him entirely, choosing to stay two steps away from the cliff.
“Celebrating.” Billy’s a fucking idiot.
Harrington remains a mystery to him.
They’ve settled into no man’s land since Billy beat him up last fall. After Max had him fucking apologise to Harrington he became- almost friendly.
Billy doesn’t do “friends”. Which is most likely why there’s no one to remember his fucking birthday.
Harrington is nice to him is the thing. Occasionally they talk, like when they both drop off the brats at the Arcade or when Harrington finds him in the middle of the night at the Quarry.
And then sometimes Harrington stares at Billy way too long in the locker room.
“What are you celebrating at the edge of certain death?”
There’s a little edge to his voice, and a part of Billy is entirely too pleased to know enough of Steve’s tells to realise it.
“I’m sure I could survive this.”
There’s a scoff he receives in response, “Yeah, sure you could, big guy, now get away from there, alright?”
Billy takes another look at the black water below and turns around to look at Harrington.
His hair is messy, like he already went to bed and got up again when he couldn’t sleep. His attire supports that theory, sweats and a T-shirt that’s all rumpled.
He wastes a thought to consider if Steve sleeps without a shirt and only grabbed this one on his way out.
“My birthday.”
Harrington is too busy looking relieved that Billy’s next to him now and away from the edge to pay attention, “What?”
“I’m celebrating my birthday, Harrington.”
“You- today?”
Now Billy gets to scoff. Then he checks his watch, “For another minute, King Steve, yes.”
“Shit, man, happy birthday,” He looks like a kicked puppy. Harrington looks actually upset at not having known. Somehow he also looks a little calculating.
“Did you get anything nice?”
It’s such a stupidly Harrington thing to ask. Billy doesn’t feel like lying and laughs a little, “No, not really.”
For a second Billy thinks he’s about to get beaten up when Harrington moves closer. But instead of a fist connecting with his cheek there are hands cradling his face. And another heartbeat later there are lips on his own.
Steve all but crashes into him, moving against Billy with vigor and like he’s starving for it. Billy responds without thinking - because maybe he did jump after all? Maybe he’s dead and the cosmos is playing a gigantic joke because this feels awfully close to heaven and there’s no way Billy’s ever going to get there.
As quickly as he’d been there Steve steps back, “Fuck, sorry, I-”
This time Billy is the one to hold Steve’s face. Not for long though, as soon as he’s got his mouth back on Steve’s his hands are moving to his hair. That fucking hair he’s had to hear so much about.
It feels even better between his fingers than he thought it would.
Steve sighs against his lips and Billy is filthy and rotten and he’s waited to long for this, he’s overthought everytime he caught Steve looking at his lips too much, to not use the chance and lick into Steve’s mouth.
This time he moans.
It must be true then, Billy’s dead and in heaven.
When Steve starts pushing him backwards, towards the Camaro, and then against its hood, Billy doesn’t think a lot. There is the passing thought though that his birthday had turned out surprisingly well after all.
harringrove week - day 3 - harringrove scream au
prompt: ghostface
harringrove week - day 4 - i'll never give you away
prompt: How Many Candles on the Birthday Cake: 50 years old
ao3
it's 1984 and steve is looking at billy hargrove with anger coiling in his stomach.
the guy’s been at school for barely a week and he’s been nothing but a fucking pain. first showing up at the party like he owns the fucking place and somehow making that hell even worse, and then being a shithead at basketball.
all in all billy hargrove has made everything worse. and now he threatened one of the kids steve is supposed to protect so, punching him in the face seems like a great idea.
it doesn’t in retrospect when steve’s the one on the floor looking up at him with pain shooting through his head.
it's 1985 and billy is lying on the floor of starcourt mall bleeding out. he can't see a lot. he doesn't feel a lot either besides scorching hot pain. he can hear max screaming. the moment before she's leaning over him billy is looking up and he sees harrington. harrington, standing on the upper floor staring down. amongst the pain billy notices a small searing bolt of anger. anger because he's never going to find out how steve kisses now, he'll never know if his hair is as soft as it looks, and it isn't fucking fair. but then there are hands on his shoulders shaking him and max is crying and begging and billy only knows her and what he's done and all he can think is i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry.
it's 1986 and steve is 20 with no idea what he's gonna do with his life. but billy keeps staying the night and his hair is slowly growing back out after they cut it all off in the hospital. it curls around his neck now and steve likes gently pulling on it.
not knowing what he's going to do once working at family video with robin isn't a possibility anymore is not as scary when billy's on his couch and tells him how great cali is and that kind of feels like a good start.
it's 1987 and billy moves into an apartment with king steve. it’s small, probably too small for two people, and in the part of town where people like steve’s parents would never go, but it’s the first home billy’s ever felt safe in.
it’s 1989 and steve has been saving money for two years, as has billy, and now they’re walking around paris holding hands. billy’s been trying really hard to act like he’s not impressed but steve has seen the way his eyes are literally shining. they’ve taken little trips together before, up and down the west coast, but the trip here has been their first proper holiday and steve doesn’t think he’s ever had a better one.
it's 1991 and billy wakes up from steve groaning in pain. instantly there’s panic running through his veins and he sits up quickly. for a moment his vision disintegrates into specks from the quick movement but then he can clearly see steve curled in on himself on the other side of the bed. billy reaches out and runs a hand through steve’s hair that’s matted with sweat at the roots.
“baby, what’s wrong?” billy’s heart is racing and panic tears at him and he doesn’t calm down for days even when he knows it was just steve’s fucking appendix and he’ll be fine he can’t fucking calm down.
only once billy has steve back on their couch, with a new scar on his torso, does he start to cry. steve holds him through him, and he makes tea for them once billy has calmed down, and they spend a long night talking about the different ways they’ve nearly died.
it's 1992 and when steve comes home there's a tiny ball of orange fur in their living room. he is fairly sure that the ball had not been there when he left for work.
turns out billy had found the kitten behind a dumpster during his morning run. they call her nikky after listening to how she meows through the entirety of “ shout at the devil ”.
billy loves her fiercely and and it ends up being another thing that steve loves about him.
it's 1994 and billy walks max down the aisle when she’s marrying lucas. they’ve spent a long time trying to heal from what they lived through together, and there have been many apologies between them, and between billy and lucas, and yet billy has never pictured himself as someone max saw as this important. his throat is clogged when he kisses max’ cheek and hands her over to lucas who’s freely crying, a fact billy will use against him in the future but pleases him endlessly in the moment. if lucas hadn’t been crying he wouldn’t have deserved max.
billy sits down next to susan and she smiles at him through her own tears and steve holds billy’s hand, because they’re surrounded by family and they can do that now, and billy tries really hard not to cry.
he fails.
it's 1997 and steve is decorating a birthday cake for billy. nikki is sliding around his legs and meows at him from time to time as if she’s muttering instructions and it’s almost ridiculous how she’s entirely billy’s cat.
when steve brings up the cake with its thirty candles to their bedroom he finds billy hiding under their blankets.
“i’m old.”
steve knows there’s a little actual fear in those words, but not too much.
“yeah, you’re ancient, hotshot, now come out of there. i didn’t make you cake for you to not appreciate it.”
it's 1999 for another 10 seconds and billy watches steve drop to one knee in disbelief.
there are gasps and yells and of course robin is whooping somewhere to their right.
“billy, you’re the most annoying person i’ve ever met and you have the worst taste in music on top of it, and i love you more than i could ever say. will you marry me?”
the sound billy’s answer gets lost in the fireworks and cheers for the begin of a new century but steve hears him anyway.
it’s 2002 and steve holds his godson for the first time. dustin is almost bursting with pride and it’s mind blowing to see.
when steve looks up he catches billy’s eye and after all their years together steve knows that the look he gets means they’re going to have a long conversation when they get home. they had it before they moved in together, and when they bought their house, and when they got married. before all their important decisions. steve can’t wait for this one.
it's 2004 and there's a tiny human in billy's arms. layla's asleep but her eyes are moving and it’s the most fascinating sight to both her fathers. steve’s arms are around billy's waist pulling both of them close and shielding them from everything else. when he reaches out to cradle their baby's head his hand covers it almost entirely. she's so tiny. billy has never been so full of love.
it's 2005 and billy's crying when steve comes home. their baby is asleep if the lack of sound is anything to go by, but billy's sobbing. tears streaming down his face and chest heaving in a way that makes steve realise he's close to hyperventilating. it’s been a long time since steve has seen him this bad but calming him down is muscle memory from all the nightmares and panic attacks they’ve survived together.
“i don’t wanna fuck her up, stevie.”
his heart breaks a little seeing billy look so helpless, “that’s why you won’t, sunshine.”
a couple of nights with better sleep and some gentle reassurances later billy’s back to laughing.
it's 2007 and on the other side of the bed there's billy with a baby that has his curls laying on his chest. how small sara looks on the vast expense of muscle that's billy's chest makes steve want to cry.
a creaking noise behind him gives layla away so steve's fully prepared for the dip of the mattress behind him and then the tiny toddler hands on his side. she's ruthless and digs her tiny knees in his kidney when she climbs over him. her dark eyes are glowing when she gives him a kiss though.
it's 2009 and steve's eyes are looking right back at him through lucy. deep brown that billy will no doubt start calling bambi eyes any day now. there's something truly fascinating about seeing himself in this tiny human who he's trying to feed right now.
he's spent many hours looking for billy in sara and memorised every similarity already. between the two of them he can see their surrogate mother as well.
he and layla often spent hours watching the babies and pointing out different things. she loves her siblings very much. billy keeps worrying she might feel out of the loop for not sharing some genetics with them. steve started answering with gentle reassurance at first but now he just whacks billy over the head and asks him if he thinks she is somehow less belonging. it works fairly well to make him stop worrying.
it's 2010 and billy has had to do a lot of difficult shit in his life but dropping their little girl off at school might make top of the list.
“you literally broke through mind control, babe,” steve reminds him with a kiss to his head.
it’s 2013 and neil hargrove is dead. steve doesn’t mind much, he’s wanted to kill the fucker so often he lost count. billy’s been crying for days. ugly, violent sobs and crocodile tears. inconsolable and retreating into old habits and coping mechanisms so much so that he smelled like cigarettes for the first time in 9 years and called steve “harrington” for the first time in 14 like it’s not his last name as well now.
their girls are worried, steve is worried and max is worried. but four days after max called with news of neil’s stroke steve comes home from grocery shopping with lucy and finds billy on the couch, his head in layla’s lap and with sara laying on his chest. layla is running her fingers through his hair like she’s seen steve do countless times.
when billy hears them enter he looks up, his eyes are still red and he looks so tired it sends steve back to those first months after the mindflayer. but he’s not crying now and he says hey stevie in that drawl that hasn’t ever stopped making steve’s knees weak.
steve balances lucy on his hip and crosses the room to join his family.
they’ll be okay.
it’s 2014 and billy is sitting in front of a van with steve. the girls are asleep behind them, all of them cuddled up together like they hadn’t spent half the day arguing. steve had been asking for a trip like this for years but something kept getting in the way. they’re somewhere in nevada now and while it’s been exhausting, billy’s glad they finally got around to it. not just because it makes steve happy but because there’s nothing he’d rather do than be in the company of the four people surrounding him.
it's 2016 and steve's about to turn 50. billy’s facing him in their bed and they’re both watching the seconds tick by on the phone propped up between them. there’s some grey in steve’s hair now. he was upset to find it at first, and furiously picked at it, until billy told him he looked hot as a silver fox. growing older would be much harder without billy around, like almost anything else would be as well.
when midnight comes, billy kisses steve softly and smiles against his mouth, “happy birthday, old man.”
steve hides a laugh behind a little scoff, “you’re next, asshole.”
billy laughs too before he kisses him again, longer and the way he knows steve likes.
“seriously, happy birthday. i love you.”
“i love you too. ”
harringrove week - day 2 - our place
prompt: pumpkin pie (and hot apple cider a little)
or: patrick and billy friendship fic bc yes
ao3
@ihni ages ago i mentioned this in some tags and you said you wanted to know when it's done. finally, it is done
Steve has kind of gotten used to people randomly showing up at his place. There's a bunch of teenagers around who know his parents are rarely home. They have a tendency to just use his pool without asking.
So do Eddie and Robin.
Billy just crawls through his window all the time.
The thing is, nobody ever really knocks.
So a knock at the front door at 8pm on a Wednesday night is kind of weird.
Steve only hears it by chance, while the noises of the upstairs shower are muted enough, up until a second ago the ventilation of the stove had drowned out every other noise.
There's an itch in his hands to grab the nail bat when he walks down the hall, a fear so internalized that not even the irrationality of imagining a demogorgon knocking can quite stop it.
When he opens the door, holding his breath against better judgement, he's greeted with the sight of a guy his age. No demogorgon ready to attack as far as the eye can see.
"Eh, hi?" Steve realizes he knows the kid. Can't quite remember his name though.
"Hi," the boy's voice is shaking. Just a little, just enough for observant ears. "Sorry, Billy said-"
He breaks off and rakes a trembling hand over his head. The movement makes the light above the front door catch on his cheek, illuminating the blood.
"Christ, what happened to your face?" Steve doesn't wait for an answer, stepping to the side to let the other in. "Billy's upstairs. He'll be down in a moment if you want to talk to him."
He's hesitant when he steps over the doorstep but the moment he does, fully letting Steve see his face, two things occur to Steve. First, the guy's name is Patrick. He's part of the basketball team but only properly joined once Steve wasn't anymore. Secondly, someone very clearly beat this kid to a pulp. One side of his face is swollen and bloody. When he walks he winces, and he's curling to one side, arm protectively wrapped around his torso. A broken rib maybe? Or maybe the arm itself is hurt?
There are no wounds on his hands that Steve can see.
"C'mon, we'll wait in the kitchen." Steve knows his voice has gone soft. He's moving slowly too, passing Patrick by where he's kicking off his shoes carefully. Steve makes sure he stays in front of him. Follows all the little steps that he has memorized for when Billy has that haunted look on his face.
He fills up a glass of water and gestures for Patrick to sit before putting it in front of him. Steve notices the wince when Patrick sits down and has to suppress a flinch in response.
"I'll go get Billy and some stuff to fix up your face, be right back."
Patrick just nods. Staring straight ahead onto the table.
Steve rushes up the stairs once he's out of sight. He only slows down when he reaches the bathroom, to not startle Billy into a panic attack.
The shower is still running, but it's not surprising. Billy will take any chance to prolong a shower that he knows he won’t get screamed at for. Steve makes a point of opening the door noisily before stepping in and quietly saying Billy's name.
"Mh what, Harrington? You already wanna go again? Thought we were having dinner first," Billy's laughing. Steve wants to stay in this moment, he doesn't want to break up Billy's good mood, not when it's such a rare occurrence. He just wants to hide him away.
Billy's pulling back the shower curtain before Steve can. His smile falls immediately when he sees Steve's face.
"What's wrong?"
"Ehm, Patrick is downstairs? He wants to see you."
"Fuck."
Billy's out of the shower and putting on clothes in seconds. Pulling on Steve's heartstrings when he hastily puts on Steve's slightly too long sweatpants and one of his old Hawkins High Swimteam hoodies. He's out the door before Steve has grabbed the first aid kit.
Steve follows him down slowly, giving him more time alone with Patrick. When he makes it to the bottom of the stairs he can hear their murmured voices, quiet and hushed despite the empty house.
When he enters the kitchen he's once again hit with the realization of how pretty Billy is. The fact tends to hit him a couple times a day. Times like these are special though, when Billy looks domestic, with his wet curls falling in his face and his hands in sweater paws, while his feet are bare. There’s something about being allowed to see him like this that makes Steve lose his breath.
"Here you go," he puts down the kit on the table and looks at Billy questioningly, "I can leave you guys alone if you want."
"Up to you,” Billy says to Patrick. “Harrington's better than me at the whole stitching up thing, and he won't talk about any of this, but I'll fix you up too, whatever you want."
Patrick looks lost. If Steve's had to guess, from what Billy's told him about his own way of thinking, he's probably afraid to say the wrong thing. Steve tries his best to look reassuring.
"Eh," now that Steve remembers him better, it's startling how quiet Patrick is right now. He's barely audible, "You can stay. Don't want Hargrove to fuck up my face."
"Yeah, screw you too," Billy laughs.
“Good decision. I’ve seen how he fixed Max’ knee once, it wasn’t pretty.”
Patrick laughs a little too at that but almost immediately his face contorts in pain and he’s hissing through his teeth. It decides Steve’s course of action at least.
He gets some painkillers first and then carefully cleans the cuts on Patrick’s face with a towel, he tries to mind his hands and avoids getting too close for too long as to not make the other uncomfortable.
When he grabs the disinfectant, he kicks Billy’s chair, “Hey hotshot, tell us a story or something.”
Billy looks at him like he’s lost his mind before he sees the bottle in Steve’s hand. They’ve been in this situation often enough thanks to Neil fucking Hargrove and Billy himself deals better with the pain from the disinfectant if Steve talks while he applies it.
Distraction is key.
Billy launches into a dissection of their last basketball training, perfectly mundane and still investing enough that Patrick doesn’t flinch as much as he probably should from the sting. Steve only listens vaguely to what Billy’s actually saying, too focused on the task in front of him, but the way Billy’s voice moves is soothing to him as well.
He knows at some point Billy switches the topic to his current favorite thing to discuss: how awful the newest Friday the 13th movie was. He’s got a very passionate agenda against the film. Patrick only hums in response sometimes, he’s being a perfect patient, never moving much under Steve’s touch.
Steve carefully applies some small bandaids over the cuts that need it but thankfully there aren’t too many of those.
“All done here, do you need any other wounds looked after?” Steve can’t forget the way Patrick walked earlier.
“Nah, just fell badly, everything else is fine.” His eyes are cast down now.
Not that Steve would have believed that but Billy’s very quick to throw in and confirm, “Bullshit. What did he use as an excuse this time?”
Patrick’s eyes move around quickly, drawing shapes over the tabletop and floor but never moving up to meet their eyes.
“Bad grade,” he mumbles after a moment.
“Jesus Christ,” Steve runs his hands through his hair and moves towards the kitchen island quickly. He should be used to it by now, the casual cruelty that some parents use on their kids, Neil Hargrove could be their prime example, but Steve can’t. He still can’t help the way his own fingers start to itch and shake when he sees someone as cast down as Patrick is right now. He’s learned it’s an easy thing to interpret as anger though, the hard way when Billy had opened up to him for only the second or third time and then hastily apologized and flinched away from Steve when he saw his barely contained rage. Because in its roots it is just that: rage. Just not directed at Billy or Patrick, but at the people who could cause that without remorse.
Behind him he hears Billy sooth Patrick with the same sort of phrases Steve has used on him countless times.
‘ It’s not your fault ’s and ‘ It’s okay ’s take over as background noise when Steve puts the simple soup he’d made for Billy and himself earlier in bowls and cuts up some bread.
Patrick looks surprised when Steve puts down a bowl in front of him but once he’s been reassured that it’s no problem he finishes it in record time. It brings up the uncomfortable thought in Steve that that too is awfully similar behavior to Billy’s when Neil has been keeping food from him.
So Patrick gets second helpings.
And two pieces of pumpkin pie, which he does finish at the same speed as his first serving to Steve’s delight. Billy had refused to eat any more of it and Steve makes sure to complain to Patrick about that too.
“We’ve had fucking pumpkin every day this week, Stevie.” Billy’s rolling his eyes too gently though, and with the way he’s curled up on his chair, both legs pulled up from the floor, he couldn’t look very annoyed even if he was actually trying.
“It’s fall! It’s almost Halloween! We have to.”
“It’s September, Halloween is next month,” Billy says before he turns back to their guest. “Be careful, if you don’t watch it he’ll put you in a costume.”
“Being excited for Halloween isn’t a crime, Billy.”
“Sure, princess.” Billy snorts and leans towards Patrick, “If he could he’d buy every single pumpkin flavored thing in all of Hawkins.”
It’s not incorrect. Steve has a thing for it now, he tries not to blame the fact that Halloween is their anniversary but he knows deep down that that’s the only reason he’s started to obsess.
When he thinks of their first kiss he happens to think of the apple cider someone had brought to Tina’s party and the pumpkin pie that he’d eaten from her fridge in a panic after he stumbled back out from the bathroom in which Billy Hargrove had just sucked his dick.
It makes him nostalgic.
Steve gets so lost in the memory of those first few weeks that he misses a bit of their conversation but he startles out of it when Patrick coughs and says, “I should go.”
“You can stay here if you want. We’ve got a guest bedroom,” Steve answers without even thinking about it. There’s no way in hell he’s kicking the kid out.
Once again Patrick’s eyes don’t meet theirs.
“C’mon, I’ll drive us to school tomorrow morning. You won’t miss anything,” Billy says. “Also pretty boy’s loaded and the beds in this house are extremely comfortable, you can’t miss out on that.”
One quick flash of dark brown eyes meet Steve’s when Patrick mutters, “If you’re sure?”
“‘course, I’ll show you where you can stay,” Billy answers instead of Steve and then he’s already leading him away.
Steve cleans up after them before he follows. When he gets upstairs the lights are on in his room and the guest bedroom but both doors are closed already.
He quickly brushes his teeth and changes before making his way towards his bedroom. Billy is already in bed, hugging his pillow with the sheets pooled around his waist exposing his chest to the cold air.
Steve turns off the main light so only the bedside lamp that he never turns off anymore illuminates the room and draws shadows over Billy’s skin.
When he slides back the covers from his side Billy turns and they rearrange themselves so they’re pressed together tightly. There’s no real routine to that part, they sleep curled up together in every which way they can find.
Steve can feel it when Billy pushes his face against his skin and inhales deeply before properly settling down in his arms.
It’s a whisper almost when Billy speaks up, “Sorry, I just told him he could come here. I should’ve told you.”
“That’s okay.”
“He knows about us.”
“I figured, he didn’t seem surprised that we share a room.”
“You okay with that?”
“You think he’s gonna tell?”
Billy moves his head a little so he can look at Steve’s face before gently moving his hand to his cheek. He starts running his thumb over his cheekbone and Steve hums in satisfaction.
“He’s got a crush on Jason Carver. I don’t think so.”
Steve actually cringes at that, “God, not that douchebag.”
“I know. Gotta work on his taste still.”
“One thing at a time.”
Billy breathes out and leans up to kiss Steve slowly, “Yeah. Thank you.”
“Nothing to thank me for, sunshine.” Billy smiles against Steve’s lips like he always does when Steve calls him that.
Steve lets a moment pass, thinks about the evening and just enjoys the proximity to Billy before he breaks the comfortable silence, “Wanna know something funny?”
“Mh?” Billy hums, not moving much but putting enough emphasis in the little noise to make sure Steve knows he’s really listening.
“I fucking hate pumpkin pie.”
Billy honest to god giggles and Steve feels so fulfilled.
"You're the worst. Do you know how much pumpkin spice I've bought for you?"
“I like the soup!” Steve laughs against Billy’s cheek, “But the pie is just not good.”
“I hate you.” Billy’s still giggling.
“I love you too.” Steve never wants him to stop.
“God, you sap,” he playfully punches Steve’s shoulder before his arm sneaks around Steve’s neck, the other settling on his waist and then he moves so Steve is almost entirely covering him. Their faces are mushed together a little, and it will get too hot to sleep like this, but for the moment it works.
Billy sighs, “Fine. I love you.”
He’s told Steve a lot. After some initial difficulty to say it at all it has slowly become something Billy likes to say. Steve still can’t get enough.
“I can hear you thinking, Stevie,” Billy starts running his hand through Steve’s hair. “Go to sleep.”
Steve is pretty gone for Billy Hargrove. He does as he’s told.
soo i took part in @ihni zine event and i figured i might as well post it 👉👈 honestly loved getting to work with this, i'd never tried to make a zine before but was very curious so this was an amazing opportunity also working on like three other ones already lol
all the zines turned out amazing and i really can't wait to print them all as soon as i have some new ink for my printer shskfnsldk
anyway i've also had many thoughts about harringrove and music so i ended up going with that as the idea; have the harringrove tapes
and this is the page itself :)
i could probably write a detailed explanation for each song lmao. but yeah basic concept is that each boy has a two-sided tape & then there's the final one for harringrove together. one side of the tape being music from the 80s (streched over the entire 80s tho don't look too close), here i mainly focused on stuff that they might've listened to. and then the other is music that came out later that i think fit their characters well (listen to you can't rely and tell me it's not about billy i dare you) as for the actual harringrove songs well they just fit them and how i'd picture their relationship (and yes i went with the cliche that is i wanna be yours bc i will die on the hill that these fuckers are just. passionately and desperately in love thank you for your time)
i did make these playlists too so: billy's tape - steve's tape - harringrove tape
