m_sweets
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“Why are you sitting over here anyway?" Steve asks. "Haven’t you heard? I’m a social pariah who got beat up by Jonathan Byers for trying to beg Nancy to take me back.”
Billy flicks a disgusted look at the table in the far corner where Jonathan and Nancy are eating together. “Seriously? That’s better than having people know I whooped your ass?”
"I've faced down actual interdimensional monsters. After that, small town gossip really loses its threat."
"Sure, because it's better to be known as the loser that Byers tried to kill twice." Billy stares at Steve who has clearly lost his mind.
“Weirdly, I don’t hear you apologizing for nearly killing me,” Steve says pointedly.
Bookmarked by m_sweets
27 Jun 2026
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Still, he is getting really desperate. He needs help with his essay or he's SOL for college. So Steve asks, “Who?”
Robin flashes him her brilliant smile. “Billy Hargrove.”
“Billy Hargrove, as in the douchebag with the mullet who literally brained me with a plate and left me with a nifty scar that I am only so lucky my gorgeous hair covers?” Steve tugs back his hair line, revealing a small, snaking, white scar.
Robin pushes up on the table to get a better look. “I mean, I’m not disagreeing with anything you’ve said. But, he’s also the top student in Honors English.”
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Bookmarked by m_sweets
26 Jun 2026
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Max rolls up on her skateboard. She’s got this serious look on her, with her brows curved down, her mouth a firm straight line. “I need a ride to the hospital.”
Steve’s up in a heartbeat, smashing his cigarette beneath his sneaker and fishing his car keys out of his back pocket. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”
Max stops storming across his lawn. She sucks her lower lip between her teeth and Steve sees the battle in her clear blue eyes about whether or not to cry. “I’ve gotta go see Billy, okay?”
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‘I’m sorry’ will never be in Billy’s vocabulary. They are just two dirty words that liars and cowards use. But he knows what it means to be sorry.
Billy picks up a butterfly bandage, holds it between his fingers for Steve to see. Waits for Steve to drop his chin in a nod, and then presses it into place against Steve’s busted eyebrow. It’s the best Billy has to give.
This probably isn’t going to work out. This thing Billy’s been trying to have with Steve since he got to Hawkins. Steve’s got these soft edges where Billy’s all blunt and sharp.
Billy drags his fingertips down the side of Steve’s face, presses his thumb against the scar he didn’t leave, and lifts a brow. “How many fights do you lose, Harrington?”
Steve grins, a half-formed thing that is sharp and sad at the same time. “All of them.”
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“But I...?” Hargrove asks, after long enough for Steve to go nose-blind to the furyragekillmaimkill scent, the Alpha’s jaw set and hands clenched in his pockets and eyes so easy, so blue, so- pretty. God, Steve should stop looking. Should look away, any second now. “Spit it out, doe-eyes. Don’t got all day.”
God, he has to stop looking at him.
“You call me Captain,” Steve answers, finally breaking eye contact to look instead at Hargrove’s fingers flicking his lighter again and again. Steve hopes the words say what he can’t: you were kind to me. From the way his fingers still, and the soft, barely-there pleased surprise blooms in Hargrove's scent beneath the rage, Steve thinks they might.
Or: Billy moves to the deadest part of the United States, meets the prettiest boy he's ever fucking seen, starts writing poetry, and everything - literally everything, from common courtesy to the food chain in Hawkins to his already-rocky home life to something so basic as his secondary gender - goes to fucking shit. For the better. Steve has panic attacks, spends most of his time alone, and swallows everything he's ever felt on reflex. And then he meets Billy, and everything gets, well- better. Much better.
Bookmarked by m_sweets
20 Jun 2026