Chapter Text
Steve doesn’t want to think that Dustin would do something that would deliberately upset him, but. Dustin’s standing on the curb outside the restaurant, bundled up in a freakish cocoon of sweater-coat-scarf, and just, wringing his hands and quaking, like he’s nervous.
It’s just a little suspicious to Steve, is all. Unusual.
“Hey!” Dustin says, too loud, makes Steve wince as he walks up. “You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago! Everyone’s angry!”
“I’m sorry,” Steve says in a way that is absolutely not remorseful. “I have a job, where I go to make money, so I can try to live like a fucking adult-”
“Who cares, Steve!” Dustin rolls his eyes, overdramatic. “We’re starving. Like, literally starving. Do you know what that’s like?” He swings open the front door, impatient. Almost hits Steve in the face with it.
“No, I don’t, Dustin.” The restaurant is some half-assed Italian place, like, something half a tier higher than Olive Garden but not quite. “And you don’t either? Like, there are actual starving people in the world?”
Dustin stops short, sends Steve colliding with his back. “Are you a philanthropist now, Steve?”
Steve shoves at him but tosses an apologetic smile at a server for blocking the way. “Can we fucking get to the table, please?” he hisses, pushing at Dustin for a second time. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
Barely audible, Steve swears he hears Dustin mumble, “You have no idea.”
He’s about to ask what the fuck Dustin means by that as he trudges behind him, but the question dies before it even hits his vocal chords. They’ve reached the group, and Steve’s suspicious feelings about Dustin and his wriggling hands are confirmed, guilty.
Because there, sitting at the opposite end of the table, is the actual worst person alive, Billy Hargrove.
“No.”
Steve’s already half-way back to the front door before Dustin catches up, pulls him to a stop. “Bro, dude,” he says, trying to tug Steve back.
“You little weasels are unbelievable, you know that?”
“Steve, c’mon. He didn’t know you were gonna be here either-”
“Okay, so?”
“We just need you—both of you—to hear us out,” Dustin pleads. “We’re even buying dinner for you guys so you’ll like, stay.”
The servers keep side-eyeing them and Steve’s too irritated to politely smile back this time. “Why should I trust you?”
Dustin’s shoulders sag and Steve almost feels bad at the sad display of defeat. “Please, Steve?”
Steve’s fingers twitch over his scalp as he runs a hand through his hair. Dustin stares at the tops of his shoes but peeks up at him hopefully. “Don’t fucking look at me like that, dude.” Steve snaps, but it lacks bite. “You’re not a kicked puppy.”
A playful grin twists at the corners of Dustin’s mouth. “That means you’ll stay though, right?” He nudges his elbow into Steve’s ribs.
Swatting Dustin’s arm away, Steve’s hands settle on his shoulders as he leans over him. “You are the worst thing that has ever happened to me,” Steve says as Dustin beams up at him through his curly fringe.
“Ride or die, Steve.”
“Don’t ever say that to me again.”
--
At the table, Steve’s chair is at the opposite end from Billy’s, no doubt an effort by the kids to separate them as much as possible, smartest fucking thing they’ve done all night. Dustin sits to Steve’s left. Mike pointedly ignores him to the right, fingers tangled with Jane’s and using his free hand to scroll through his phone. Lucas is wedged between Dustin and Max, already breaking up an argument between the two. Will is placed next to Jane, talks to Billy in low tones that Steve can’t understand over the rumble of other conversations.
Billy’s sprawled where he sits, arm draped across the back of Will’s chair. He looks obnoxious, denim jacket rolled back off the wrists of his thermal, too cold for the early winter weather Hawkins is currently experiencing. He still has the unkempt mohawk, curls spilling over the right side of his head, shorter strands getting caught in his unnaturally long eyelashes. His single earring bobs as Billy nods to something Will says, shines in the shit lighting of the restaurant.
Honestly, everything Billy Hargrove does as an existing person makes Steve want to pull out his teeth with pliers. Just watching Billy breathe gives Steve a fucking rash.
It’s the worst kind of allergic reaction. Steve’s eventually going to go anaphylactic. He scratches half-heartedly at his throat, hopes to claw out his jugular and bleed to death.
But.
Billy ignores Steve.
He talks to Max, to Will, and even to Jane. At one point, Mike even deigns to tell Billy, “Jesus Christ, dude. You fucking suck.” Steve hears Billy’s laugh in response and frowns while he pokes at the lemon floating in his water with the tip of his finger.
Billy ignores Steve until he just chooses not to, which is right around the time their food is placed in front of them.
Dustin is telling Steve about some new limited edition toy or something, asking him if he wants to come over to see it when Steve suddenly feels eyes on him. It’s like a meat cleaver, hacking away at his outer layers until it hits marrow, pulpy and telling. The flush that pinkens Steve’s skin crawls from sternum to cheekbone. His gaze flickers to Billy.
Blue eyes stay anchored when Steve catches him staring. Sweat prickles insistently at the nape of Steve’s neck, chilly-hot. Billy stays sprawled; Steve’s spine feels like a steel rod. He digs his elbows into the table, ill-mannered and borderline desperate.
The worst thing about Billy—past the careless way he postures himself, the charming way he seems to disarm those around him—the worst thing about Billy is the way he burrows under Steve’s skin without ever saying a word. It’s flesh-eating, devouring him bit by bit.
Steve watches Billy’s tongue swipe out, slow and deliberate. “Looks like your face healed all right,” Billy finally says. The rest of the conversation at the table halts.
Steve smiles, fake. “Always does. Don’t think you’re hitting me hard enough, Hargrove.” He can see Dustin wince in his periphery; Mike rolls his eyes, mouths ‘gross’.
“You want it harder? All you had to do was ask, sweetie,” Billy replies, syrupy and thick. “I’m a people pleaser; like to give ‘em what they want.”
It feels like a knife through the throat; Steve scrapes his fork against the ceramic of his plate, lips curling up in a sneer.
Max’s hand lashes out, hits Billy square in the chest. “You fucking asshole, what did I say?”
Billy’s grinning, mean. Voice high and shrill, he mimic’s Max, “Don’t antagonize him, Billy!” His eyes dart from Steve to Lucas. Leaning forward, Billy snaps his fingers, points at Lucas’s carbonara, “Hey, lemme try that.”
If there’s one person in the world that hates Billy as much as Steve, it’s Lucas. So Steve’s not surprised when Lucas tugs his plate close, snaps, “Fuck off, man.”
Half a heartbeat passes before Will’s pushing his own carbonara over to Billy. It weirds Steve out, the strange way Billy and Will get along. Steve remembers asking Will about it one day, concerned. Will had just turned those big, dopey eyes on him and said, “He just needs someone to be nice to him.” And that had been wild to Steve because Billy had probably never been nice to anyone in his entire life, certainly not to Steve.
Especially now, in this moment, because Billy’s smirking at Lucas as he spools Will’s pasta on his fork, shoves it in his face.
“He has his own goddamn food, Will,” Mike points out, bored, grabbing for a slice of garlic bread in the center of the table.
“So?” Will shrugs. “I can share.”
“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should,” Mike grumbles, dipping the bread in a puddle of pasta sauce.
Billy spears a shrimp from his own dish, sets his sights back on Steve. “So, Harrington.” He pauses to take a bite. Steve hopes he chokes. “You still playing with your numbers?”
“If that’s your stupid way of asking if I’m still an internal auditor, then yes, I am still playing with my numbers.”
“That’s so cute.” Billy licks his lips. “Mommy and daddy must be so proud.”
“Billy,” Max hisses, hand clutched tight around her glass of ice water. The smile slips from Billy’s face and he openly glares at her. “Knock it off.”
The awkward silence is punctuated by Dustin slurping at his fettuccine alfredo while Lucas wrinkles his nose in disgust. Will takes one of Billy’s shrimp with his fork, puts it on Jane’s serving of eggplant parmesan. Mike is scrolling through his phone again.
“And you, William?” Steve goads, watches the fury flicker in Billy’s eyes. “How’s grad school? What bullshit do you do again? Mix chemicals together and watch the pretty colors?”
Billy wipes his mouth with his stark-white restaurant napkin, lets out a half-laugh at the pathetic simplicity of Steve’s barb. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I do, Harrington,” Billy responds, sarcastic and smug.
“Analytical chemistry,” Will murmurs, just to clarify. Like Steve needed a reminder of how smart Billy is.
“Impressive,” Mike sneers through a mouthful of half-chewed bread, eyes never straying from the screen of his phone.
“Listen,” Max starts; she’s shoving her dish away, hardly touched. “We invited you two here to ask for a favor.”
“A really big favor,” Will adds.
“Massive,” Dustin echoes, alfredo splattered on his cheeks. Steve hands him his napkin, gestures to his face, watches to make sure Dustin scrubs off all the sauce.
Amazingly, because the fucking kid is helpless, Dustin misses the splatter of alfredo on his upper cheek and Steve isn’t going to lick his thumb and reach across the goddamn table to fix it; he’s not Dustin’s mother, but it really bothers him.
Billy leans back. “Go on then, Maxine. Wanna hear all about it.”
“You both know we’re all graduating in the spring,” Max prefaces, locks eyes with Steve. “We wanna go on a graduation trip.”
“What the fuck does that have to do with us?” Billy asks, stabbing another shrimp and bringing it to his mouth.
Mike snorts, “Cause you two are the ones taking us.”
“Please,” Jane adds softly, because she’s the only polite kid in a troop of ungrateful brats.
Max says, “Our parents will only allow it if someone they can trust will come along and chaperone.”
The group grows quiet as Steve and Billy stare at each other; Billy drums his fingers on the edge of the table, contemplating. “See,” he starts, still looking at Steve. “Why would that have to involve both of us?”
Max sighs like she’s irritated, but the rest of the kids grow eerily quiet. Dustin and Will fidget. Mike is still on his fucking phone.
“Answer the question, Max,” Steve prods.
“Out of precaution, we agreed to say that both of you were coming; you know, two is always better than one, but some of the parents expressed concern-”
“Yeah?” Billy says. “And why’s that?”
“Because you two have a history,” Max answers, takes a sip from her Sprite. “Last time you guys were together, you nearly killed Steve.”
Billy snorts, looks at Steve as Steve glares at him from the other side of the table. “I gave him a concussion.” He says it like he’s proud.
“You hit me with a fucking dinner plate, asshole!” Steve snarls.
Billy smiles, all teeth. “Ever think that maybe you deserved it, Harrington?”
Beneath the argument, Lucas mutters, “This is never gonna work.”
“That’s fucked up, Hargrove.” Steve’s acutely aware that they might be causing a scene, but he and Billy have always brought out the worst in each other.
“Enough,” Max says, rubs her temples. “Look, some of the parents expressed concern, but we fixed it.”
“How?” The question sounds from each end of the table, both of them staring at Max.
Only she doesn’t answer, no one does, and the silence relapses again. Their waitress comes by to refill their drinks, drop another bowl of garlic bread down, which Mike and Dustin promptly take advantage of.
“Hey!” Steve’s trying not to shout, but his patience is shrinking with every passing second. “How did you fix it?”
And finally, finally, Jane pipes up, “Dustin told them that you and Billy were dating.”
Dustin looks properly mortified, jaw slowing to reveal a mush of chewed bread. “Uh.”
“Yeah, no. This is not gonna happen,” Steve asserts at the same time Billy tosses his napkin on the table, fishes a Dum Dum out from a jacket pocket. Jane reaches across Will, holds out her hand. Billy doesn’t even blink at the silent request, just pulls out one for her too.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, rips the sucker out of the wrapper and sticks it between her teeth.
“You can’t just say no!” Dustin says, indignant.
“Really? Why not?”
“Because we already had Mrs. Wheeler book the lodge and the rental car for us!”
“Jesus Christ,” Billy sneers as he stands from his seat, announces, “I need a goddamn break,” before he heads for the front doors.
All the kids look helplessly at Steve, even Mike has managed to unstick his eyeballs from his phone to gawk at him.
“Steve,” Will implores. “Please talk to him. We really want this to happen.”
“Then why can’t one of your fucking parents to take you?”
Mike rolls his eyes. “Because they have fucking real jobs.”
“I have a real job, dipshit.”
Max sighs again, acts like she’s the one fighting a migraine. “None of them can go the week we chose, and we would have more fun-”
Steve narrows his eyes at her. “You mean more freedom-”
Her voice becomes sharp, intense as she talks over him. “If you two chaperoned.”
“Fine.” Steve says, shoving back from the table. “I’ll talk to him.”
--
Outside, the sky remains overcast; the air smells wet, promising snow. Billy leans against the restaurant wall, sucker rolling noisily between his lips. When Steve stands beside him, he almost regrets that he can smell the sweet scent of artificial strawberry.
“They want you to convince me?” Billy asks, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans.
“Yeah.” Steve curls his own hands into the crooks of his elbows. It’s cold, and Billy doesn’t even seem bothered by it. It’s just another splinter buried underneath Steve’s skin, red and painful; he seems filled with them now.
“Convince me, then.”
Steve shakes his head. “No, I don’t wanna go. I think it’s a bad idea.”
Billy looks at him, blue eyes assessing. “Why?”
“Because,” Steve stresses, “we can’t be around each other without throwing fists. I’m trying to be an adult.”
A sick crunch leaks from behind Billy’s teeth; Steve can’t help his flinch. Billy pulls the stick from his mouth, tosses it on the pavement. A second sucker finds itself resting on his tongue, butterscotch. “You know, I’m surprised you never pressed charges against me, Harrington.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Could’ve really fucked my shit up, yeah? With school, with my future. And you never did. Just makes you think, is all.” He shrugs, like that’s enough of an explanation.
“Think what, Hargrove?”
Billy shrugs again, smirk on his lips, eyes dragging up to look at the scar half-hidden by Steve’s hairline. “Really fucked you up last time too, didn’t I?” And there’s that proud tone again, like it’s a trophy, the marks he’s left on Steve over the years.
“I had to go to the hospital. There was so much blood; it was all over you-”
“Head wounds are bad like that,” Billy says, still staring at the scar. “And you still didn’t press charges. Makes you wonder, you know.”
“Wonder what?” This feels a lot like breaking ribs, because Steve still doesn’t understand what Billy’s trying to say, but his neck is hot, feels too warm with Billy’s eyes on him like that.
Billy looks annoyed that he has to spell it out. “If you like getting hit, Harrington. Christ.”
It’s wild, really, that Billy would even think that’s an okay thing to say to him. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He reaches up, snatches the sucker from Billy’s mouth and throws it out to the parking lot. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Billy looks really pissed off, cards his fingers through the unruly curls of his mohawk. “I wasn’t done with that, Harrington.”
“It’s like you want me to punch you.” Steve smiles, then. Cocks his head as he looks at Billy. “Maybe you’re the one that likes to get hit, huh, Hargrove?”
The grin Billy gives him looks like something you’d see under the bed, scary and dangerous. “You’re right, princess. Think it would be a bad idea if we went on this trip together,” he agrees, slow. Another sucker appears between his lips, wrapper discarded to the wind. “So why don’t we go tell them?”
--
Back at the table, the kids are whispering to each other, almost violent. Everyone’s dinner is in to-go boxes, the check already paid. They go silent as Billy and Steve walk up, settle in their respective chairs.
“Well?” Lucas prompts, the most hopeful he’s sounded all night.
Steve looks at Billy, Billy looks at Steve. Billy’s tongue peaks out around the sucker, playful; he turns to Max. “I’m in,” he announces, smiles mean as Steve glares at him from across the table.
The kids hiss a round of cheers, excited, and Steve isn’t blind to the situation Billy’s just forced him into. If he says no, they’ll never forgive him; he’ll effectively rob them of properly celebrating their graduation. Sure, they could get a refund, maybe, spend the money on something else, but.
There’s really no other option; he has to say yes. Billy’s backed him into a corner.
“Steve?” Max asks as they all turn to him in anticipation.
Billy gloats, silent. Takes out his Dum Dum just to wag that fucking tongue at Steve.
“Yes,” He answers, quiet, and the table bursts into celebration.
--
Steve has to drive Dustin home, because he rode with Mike, and Mike doesn’t have time to drop him off because he’s supposed to hang with Jane and Will at Hopper’s after dinner, so. The trip is painfully silent, to say the least.
Mrs. Henderson waves to Steve through the kitchen window when they pull up. He waves back with a strained smile.
“Steve-”
“Ride or die, huh?”
“Steve-”
“Out of all the stupid things to come out of your loud mouth-”
“I’m sorry, really, but-”
Steve huffs, scrubs at his face with the palms of his hands, mutters, “He’s gonna kill me this time, I know it.”
“That’s dramatic,” Dustin comments, shift in his seat so he can properly look at Steve. “Listen-”
“Oh my god, what now?”
Sheepish, Dustin’s head kind of sinks into his shoulders, trying to make himself small. “The Christmas party at your house-”
“Yeah? What abo-”
“Jesus, Steve, would you let me finish?” Dustin exclaims, hands waving. He sighs when Steve gestures for him to continue. “Billy’s coming.”
Steve’s head flops back against the headrest, defeated. “Goddammit, Dustin.”
“You only have to fake it for a couple of hours!”
“I lied,” Steve says. “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Still technically my fault,” Dustin mumbles, ashamed.
Steve hits the locks. “Man, get the fuck outta my car.”
Dustin slides down further into the passenger seat. “My mom made you chocolate cake as thanks. And-” he pauses, eyes peeping up at Steve.
“And?”
“As a congratulations for you and Billy, ‘cause she knows you’ve been single for a while.”
Steve lets his forehead bang against the steering wheel; the car horn goes off. He sighs. “The worst thing that has ever happened to me.”