Stonathan ❤️

112

NOT MINE!!

all credits go to NeroAnne on ao3

A/N: This one im pretty sure is just billy and jonathan talking about steve

There was already someone at the quarry once he got there.

He glared out at the huddled figure from behind his windshield with his one good eye, his fingers tightly clenched around his steering wheel. He knew that the other person had heard the car coming, what with his tires dragging hell and his music blaring, but they didn't even move from their spot.

A mistake.

Billy Hargrove was not feeling up to sharing his spot.

He pushed open his door aggressively, swinging his legs out of the Camaro. He stumbled a bit and bit back a curse, shaking his head to get rid of the slight fuzziness. The blow to his temple still fucking hurt, even though it had been well over two hours ago...

Billy squared his shoulders and adjusted the lapels of his denim jacket, moving towards the lone person gazing out at the dark water. He opened his mouth to yell and then promptly bit his tongue when the person turned their head.

Of course. That piece of shit Ford that was parked a few feet away but that he'd dismissed as junk or maybe just didn't see because his fucking head was still wonky.

Brown eyes blinked lazily at him, no fear whatsoever in that calm and steady gaze. Billy trailed his eyes over the pale face, his focus coming to rest on the busted lower lip and the bit of blood coating a bruised jaw. He saw the way Byers had one arm loosely wrapped around his middle and he wondered if he was more hurt than he appeared.

"Someone ruined your pretty face, Byers," Billy smirked, "Shame it wasn't me."

Jonathan Byers frowned but didn't speak. His own eyes looked over Billy's face and they settled on the dark bruise nearly welling one blue eye shut. "Are you okay?" he stood, concerned. His eyes moved to the gash on his temple.

What?

Billy stared, his posture faltering as Jonathan walked closer. "Are you serious?" he asked, bemused as Jonathan peered at his ruined face, "You hate me, Byers, what are you-"

"I don't hate you," Jonathan muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans, "You're an asshole and I definitely don't like you but..." he shrugged, "I don't hate you."

"I massacred your boyfriend's face," Billy reminded him, "Shouldn't you hate me?"

"Maybe," Jonathan nodded, "but hatred is a very," his eyes lowered, "very strong and very tiring emotion to have for someone. There's only one person I have hatred for in my heart," he smiled with no joy, "and he takes all of it out of me."

"He the one that busted your mouth?" Billy tilted his head, "You cheating on Harrington?" The idea was intriguing. Harrington would be destroyed at the thought of the boy he adored, the one he loved, sleeping around on him.

They were fucking disgusting in public. It was a wonder no one had taken a gun to either or both yet. The way they held hands in the hallways, not giving a single shit about the whispers and stares, the way Harrington always lay with his head on Byers' lap during lunch, with the smaller boy stroking the thick brown hair strewn across his thigh.

How Byers often brought homemade cookies for Harrington to snack on during school, how he more often than not came to school dressed in Harrington's letterman jacket, how Billy had stumbled across them on his way to the bathroom and saw the way Harrington pinned Byers to a locker, furiously kissing his pouty mouth and how he had heard Byers' soft little sounds of pleasure.