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IT COULD HAVE been the setting of a dystopian horror movie, or at least that's what it looked like to Billy. The moment he laid his eyes upon it, he thanked himself for not having had breakfast that morning. The yellow room was dimly lit (probably what Mary Brown would call mood lighting) and its centerpiece was an awful hot pink, circular bed. It wasn't that the bed itself was awful, no, quite the opposite: If Steve had been here, Billy would've loved to test it, but he wasn't, and the bed was going to be the stage of Step 5. Mrs Brown looked at all the campers that were left and sighed deeply.
„Go get changed," she then said and handed out the costumes. When Billy went into the bathrooms to change, and looked at the outfit he had draped over his arm, he might've thrown up in his mouth a little. This was just ridiculous: a nude-coloured bodysuit with a stupid plastic leaf in front of his groin. It made him think of one of the signs Mary had made for the protest: Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve. Why not Steve, Billy had asked himself then, when he was such a good kisser? But now Steve was gone, and only Adam, I mean Billy, remained.
He sighed deeply. This was the last step separating him from freedom. Or at least that's what he tried to tell himself because freedom sounded a lot better than Hey, Billy, you're going to move in back with your abusive dad and his new family and you have to forever pretend to be something you're not. He grimaced. He didn't sleep well last night, what with Steve constantly dancing in his brain like he owned the place. Didn't even pay rent, that damn freeloader. He wondered where the other was right now, if he had a place to stay, if he missed him just as much as Billy missed him?
Slowly, he took off his clothes, putting on the gruesome costume. It's not that he looked awful in it — he was Billy Hargrove after all — but he had never felt this uncomfortable in his entire life. He looked ridiculous, appearing nude and yet the fabric covered up his abs, making him look almost like he came straight from uncanny valley, what with the shade of the suit not even properly matching his skin tone, leaving an obvious line on his neck where skin met fabric. There were wrinkles in all the wrong places and honestly he was glad Steve wasn't there to see him like that. Then again, if he had been there, Billy would've get to see him in that ridiculous attire, as well, and he had to admit that he kinda digged that thought.
He looked himself in the mirror, unable to recall the last time he looked this tired. The dark shadows beneath his eyes shimmered faintly purplish in the harsh bathroom lights. One of his curls had come lose from his glorious hairstyle and hung into his face, swinging around when he moved like a pendulum hypnotising him into aborting this whole thing last minute. But he wouldn't.
Because what was there to do when he ran away? Could he go live with Steve happily ever after? No. Because this wasn't some fairytale with a nice, happy ending. This was reality, and reality sucked, especially for Billy. Reality was a cold, hard place where no one would ever accept him for what he was. It was no place for queers and dreamers, so Billy wanted to be neither. All he wanted was to be normal. Like he was before curiosity got the better half of him and like he was before he met Steve Harrington. He sucked in his lower lip, nervously chewing on it. Just one more day. He got this.
