Chapter Text
Being stuck in a mangled mess of your own broken emotion is a painful feeling. It’s like floating in the middle of the dead sea, only the clear blue waters are stained black and the water, once light and easy to wade through, is as heavy as your heart can feel when you realize at the end of the day there isn’t a single person who could ever say they see you drowning; yet you find yourself floating atop its surface, because it’s the only thing keeping you up; this sadness and heaviness that you feel. You can sense the dread against your back but refuse to look at what’s really behind you in favor of the sun that’s burning your eyes. You ignore the way the blackened water stings the skin against you as it traps your ears, leaving you to never truly hear a word lest it be muffled and drowned out by the sound of your own heartbeat. You can stay afloat because you are thankful that at least you are able to feel something anymore.
For Billy Hargrove, the sun in this situation for tonight would be going to school after a sunday night of drinking and partying, refusing to drop his act for even a split second even if his body craved sleep more than anything at this point. The effects of deprivation would be prominent if you looked hard enough — the bags under his eyes hidden by sunglasses, the shakiness of his hands disguised by playing with pencils and unlit cigarettes, the headache played off as just another hangover. There could never be a moment where this character Billy created of himself broke, he can’t be seen as just another deadbeat, broken boy with daddy issues and a missing mommy. He would be a joke, and he’s sure of that. A phantasmagorical boy is all he needed to be now, floating and existing, and keeping his place secure at the very top of the food chain.
The new boy in town wasn’t so new anymore. It took all of a week into the school year before Billy's looks earned him a place among the popular kids, and one more week before he was deemed as the new king of the school, muddling the reputation of the previous King Steve and demoting him to a simple court jester — the only difference is this new king had no knights in his court, simply blood-sucking, energy draining thieves who thrived off of being able to tell girls they’re friends with Billy Hargrove just so they can get a quick lay at the promise of said ladies being able to meet the man in question. It was exhausting, being a friend to a dozen and a half people who couldn’t even tell Billy what his last name is, but who was he to disappoint? Of course he would play it up as if he has the greatest friends in the world, that they knew him and he knew them as if they all had the same set of hands. One mind. One friendship, solid, but it was a ruse. Another one of those paper airplanes that never truly take off, despite their sharp edges and long wings. Billy could throw these planes as much as he wanted but they would never land. They would crash back to the black waters he lays upon, to get sucked in and disappear as if they never existed to begin with.
Friendless, he fills this void with naked women and drunk conversations with people who would never remember a single word he said. He’s stuck in a loop of finding a girl willing to ruin her innocence just for a shot at being part of the gaggle of girls who can say they were a lay for Billy Hargrove, but he would never truly understand why it’s such a high achievement. He treats them terribly, finishes and leaves before she can comprehend anything that happened that night they drank too much. Another Party, another drink, mother woman, another night spent alone in his own unwashed bed, beholding the sweat that leaves his body when he wakes up after another nightmare of his father. Of his mother. The one who birthed him and told him she would never be coming back for him. Of the sister who hates him and the stepmother who looks at him like he’s nothing but a wounded dog — never saying a word when his father is slapping him into another wall. Shoving him into another spot on the floor. Insulting him for whatever he decides to do for himself. Wear an unbuttoned shirt and spend time on his hair and Billy gets called a faggot. Caves and wears a sweatshirt and get called sensitive. A pussy. He gets swung on for whatever he does, no matter the way he does it. Home isn’t a home, it’s a place Billy goes to sleep and leaves all over again the next day to do anything he can to stay away from “home”.
School was no better. Faking smiles and forcing conversation to zombies numb to any sort of topic other than lays and drugs and drinking. Billy would play along, though. This was genuinely everything that he had anymore, being “respected” at school, even if that respect could better be described as fear or intimidation or lust from students and teachers alike.
It’s a Monday morning. The light from the sunrise has yet to breach over the tree line and the classroom as an uncomfortable darkness in it, and Billy's already clouded mind is reeling, throbbing worse than it usually does. He’s trying his hardest to remember the last one he got a decent amount of sleep; he doesn’t think he’s gotten more than 7 hours in the last few days. Maybe a 2 hour nap for the last 3 at least. The migraine is spreading from behind his tired eyes to the base of his skull, even traveling down his spine. His vision is blurry and he’s realizing every limb on his body is a lot heavier than it’s supposed to be. He can’t hear a thing that’s being said anymore. The only thing he can hear is nails on a chalkboard, clicking of pens and faint smacking of lips. All of it was getting overwhelming, enough to where when he heard the blood curdling sound of the bell overhead to signal everyone to disperse to their respective classes, he was pushing himself to his feet and marching out before anyone else could even get out of their seats. He knows there will be talk, but as of now he can’t be bothered.
His feet carry him in sway, bumping into a wall or a door frame every now and again, but he knows damn well he’s not gonna make it through the school day. He carries himself outside and back to the direction of his car, tripping on his own feet as he falls into the front door. He curses under his breath as he tugs the door open, dropping himself to sit down. He shuts it with a slam, but freezes in his actions. There isn’t any way Billy can go home, not without his dad finding out. He can’t drive like this and he for sure can’t sleep in his car in the school parking lot — that’s beyond embarrassing. He curses again.
“Fucking — Shit.” An open palm smacks the steering wheel in front of him. He leans forward and curls his arms over his head, trying to drown out the rest of the sounds. The sound of idle chatter far away, and the sound of footsteps. They get closer, and closer, but Billys consciousness fades more and more.
Until there’s a gentle knock on the window of his car that jolts Billy back to sitting straight up. The panic that rises in his chest falls again as he turns to see not a teacher, but another student. One he’s never given much time to, or even spoken to, not that the guy would go out of his way to speak to anyone most of the time. Just Steve. Just Nancy. Just his weird brother and his weird brothers friends that Billy only knows about because his sister hangs out with all of them. This is a passing face and the other boy's expression harbors a slight worry. Billy reaches down to roll his window down with an agitated force, his tone low and scratchy as if he never seemed to wake up in the first place.
“What do you want, Byers?” Leaves the mullet-headed boy in a slur, and the realization that talking takes up so much energy just makes that exhaustion grow more.
Jonathan Byers. The mole of the school, a lone wolf who takes photos of everything and everyone, may it be for school papers or school events or pictures of his family that he can catch sometimes when he’s picking up or dropping Max off somewhere. It was sick, but.. not in the negative way. It was sick in a way that made Billy feel jealous, not that he could ever admit that.
Billy would look him over with a wobbly gaze, noting a bottle of medicine in one of the boy's hands and a bottle of water in the other, his prized camera secured to a strap around his neck. Jonathan opened his mouth to speak, but so obviously tripped on his words as he tried to. Billy gives an impatient look, and Jonathan holds it out more.
“You.. look like you could use this. I saw you stumbling out here and I—“ Jonathan’s words come to a halt as Billy snatches the items into his own rough hands, forcing the bottle to open up so he can shake about 4 or 5 of whatever it was into his mouth, chasing it with the water. He holds the bottle back out to Jonathan, opting for keeping the water.
“And you what?” Billy's eyes, hidden behind sunglasses, stay on the photographer.
“Huh?” The question isn't processing, not at first. “Oh, I saw you stumbling out here and I got concerned, I guess. I didn’t even think you knew my name, if I’m being honest.. Are you okay?” Jonathan’s expression stays the same. Billy couldn’t stop staring, either. Silent, he was transfixed. “Billy?”
Jonathan was worried. Had Billy been in a better mood, even Billy from just a night before, he would’ve told Jonathan to fuck off by now, yet he finds himself stuck, basking in a new kind of sunlight. The angle of his head stays perched in the direction where Jonathan stood outside of his car. It’s as if he finally let his eyes close against the harsh sun he can’t stop blinding himself over when he’s finding himself thinking of that dark sea, where he floats endlessly.
The commotion of the school was silencing, and he can see Jonathan’s lips moving, he’s speaking, but he’s not hearing a single word that comes out of his mouth.
The sun isn’t burning his eyes, but instead it’s warming his skin, reminding him of the warmth he felt oh so long ago, before Billy became the fake person he parades around as.
From Jonathan’s perspective, however, all he saw was Billy slowly losing his consciousness. Jonathan was trying not to be too loud, to not cause a scene and risk Billy being embarrassed by anything, snapping his fingers and even reaching out to touch Billy's cheek to try and get him to snap out of it, but he didn't. The muscles in Billys neck finally lax and his head would drop to the edge of his window.
Jonathan let’s out a concerned gasp, “Shit—“, looking around to make sure no one was around before he reaches into Billy's car to urge his head to the steering wheel instead. He begins shaking him, and for just a split second, the basketball star would move as if he was an auto pilot — shifting himself from the driver's seat and climbing carelessly over to the passengers. A dismissive hand waves in the direction of the photographer as Billy lays himself against the door, effectively letting that unconsciousness take over for a second time.
Jonathan’s seen it before, the way no sleep can make a person behave and act weird. It can mess up a lot, and Jonathan’s helped his mom through similar situations more times than he can count. If he can do it for her, he can help Billy, at risk of his own fragile reputation being turned into broken, powderized glass particles considering how shattered it is already; At the risk of Billy's fists to his jaw, but none of that mattered right now. He’s seen Billy in a drunk state, he’s seen him through the lens of his camera crying to himself as he marches back to his car after a shitty party, knowing he doesn’t get the privilege of an excuse to not go back to his house. He gives one more glance around, and climbs himself into the driver's seat Billy thankfully pulls himself away from. A hand would pay the jean pockets of the other, shaking out the thoughts of how tight all of it was against the other's body, until he found the jingle of the keys. Pulling out the key ring, Jonathan flips to the only Chevy key on there, putting it into the ignition to start the car. He curses Billy for having such a loud car, but he’d hope no one in the building saw or thought anything of it.
Jonathan knows better than to take Billy to the place he dreads, openly. He’s heard many comments about his shitty dad, and Jonathan knows shitty dads. He knows the explosive, tense household it creates. The agony you feel being even in the same house because you know any second he could burst through the door mad about something you had nothing to do with. So, he opts for the best place he can think of: his own house. He’s skipped school before, he’s let people stay over when they’re having bad days, so doing this wasn’t out of character for him. It wasn’t something he even thought twice about. Helping is something he is always gonna be good at, and that’s why he’s pulling into his own driveway right now with the full intention of walking a sleeping man into his bedroom.
He shuts off the car as he parks, and he slides the keys back into the same pocket he pulled them from. Jonathan let’s himself out of the car, good nature being his driving force and shield against the looming anxiety of how Billy would react. He walks around to the passengers side, and carefully opens up the door. He has one arm out to catch the other, so he doesn’t just fall out of the car. He stands close, and Billy's sleeping figure would think to his lower torso, leaning into him in such a tired state. Jonathan keeps his arms up, looking to the other curly haired head resting against his stomach. He relaxes, and starts to shake him gently again.
Billy wakes up just enough, just enough to process what’s happening. He’s not at school, he’s not even in his driver's seat, and he’s leaning against the warmest thing he’s ever felt in his life. He sits up, and looks around, his eyes falling to Jonathan again. No words would come out. No combat, no anger, he just notes the expression on Jonathan’s face again. Worry.
He slides himself out of the passenger's seat, stumbling into the other boy in a clumsy crash. Jonathan would keep them both standing though. Billy's head throbs as the sun is starting to rise, the light making him nauseous.
“Fuck, I’m so tired.” He mumbles again, speech slurred and notably as exhausted as he looks. Jonathan just gives a nod, and bumps the door shut with his foot.
“I know.” Jonathan spoke gently, it was nice on Billys ears for once, a contrast to the shrill noises he’d hear otherwise. “I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll pick up Max today. Just.. sleep.”
Billy would, though, shove Jonathan away, so he can make an attempt to start walking ahead on his own. He wasn’t sure exactly how to feel about so much niceness happening to him in this moment, when he really did nothing to this guy to deserve anything remotely close to this. Billy would manage until he got to the front door, where he realizes it's locked, and he’s not the one with a key. His head snaps around to Jonathan, who’s walking and fumbling with his own keys.
“Hurry the hell up, Byers.” Billy spoke up a little, but it just resulted in a cough. He falls against the door frame, and that put a fire under Jonathan’s ass. He took what should’ve been 10 more steps in three long strides, just to set a hand to Billy's back and keep him from falling over. “Ah, that’s some skill, Byers. Speed like that. Who knew that it only takes me about to fall on my ass to get you fuckin’ moving.”
“Shut up.” Jonathan rolls his eyes, sticking the key into the front door and twisting the knob to let it open.
Billy walks inside. The vibe is completely different from the way it feels walking inside of his own house. His own is spotless, pristine because if it was anything else, his dad would strangle him. It was tense, it smelled overly clean like bleach and it was.. not a home. It felt like he was walking into a boot camp every time, expecting to be taunted or forced into another chore. Here? It was warm.. The veining lights weren’t used but smaller lamps next to a soft, messy with blankets couch illuminated the room just enough. It was filled with games and a TV turned off. There were clothes on the floor, the kitchen looked lived in. It felt safe here. It felt like a home and not a dictatorship.
“Sorry — that it’s so messy. I don’t usually ever know when I’ll have people over, I don’t exactly prepare for it.” Jonathan spoke as he noticed Billy's eyes scanning over everything. He keeps a hand to the others back to start walking him to the hall where the bedrooms are.
“What? It’s fine, I don’t care.” Billy clears his throat. He was expecting the couch, but as he walked further down the hall with the aid of the Byers boy, that expectation withered away. “Where are we going?”
“I uh.. I have kind of a bad back? So my bed is really comfortable.” Jonathan opens his bedroom door. He would gesture in the direction of his unmade bed. “It’s better than the couch.”
The smell twisted Billy's stomach into a knot. It smelled.. good. The room smells like some weird chemical and warmth and clean laundry and the way Jonathan’s hair smells, since he’s close enough that he can catch a whiff of it when he turns his head to look around.. and it was nice. Jonathan urges Billy over to sit on his bed, and the jock wouldn’t resist. He sits onto the soft mattress and that sitting would turn into him shedding himself of his jacket and his converse so he can crawl further into the bed. He falls against the pillows, and Jonathan would watch, just for a second, before he clicks off the light. No further words are exchanged before Billy allows himself to fall asleep in the security of a bed that’s in safe walls.