If I Stare Too Long

Chapter 6: What's Puzzling You (Is The Nature Of My Game)

Billy lingers in the boathouse until it's fully dark. He finishes his beer and flops himself down into one of the chairs near the pool table. Without Steve, this space feels so quiet, so small, and empty. And in that hollow place, Billy's thoughts are all too loud.

He wants to turn back the clock, to laugh along with Steve's stupid fucking ruse. He wants to brush off the embarrassment and not have it taste so bitter at the back of his throat.

The truth is: Billy's liked Steve Harrington since the moment he first laid eyes on him, the danger of it be damned. There wasn't anything he could do to help it, but he didn't have to feed it like he did, either. Didn't have to yield to it like there was no other fucking eventuality in the world.

Billy doesn't need to let himself be so easily swayed by Steve Harrington. Doesn't need to let himself be played like a fool and then left on display for Eddie fucking Munson. Billy's stronger than that, isn't he?

He closes his eyes, tips his head back, and takes a long breath.

He's sober enough to drive, he thinks. He'll leave Max here and go back to the trailer park to nurse his wounded pride in peace. And then he won't let Steve get to him so easily again.

From inside the house, Billy can hear the sound of the doorbell. The shouts of the kids. Pizza's here: a good time to escape.

Billy leaves the pool house and carefully walks around to the sliding back doors of the house, quietly letting himself in once he makes sure no one's there to see. From what he can tell, everyone's crowded into the kitchen, talking loudly and fighting over different pizza boxes. From there, it's easy to bypass the kitchen and snag his helmet from where he dropped it in the living room—but it's only as he's making his way to the front door that Billy catches the sound of it. Hushed voices came from a small room to the left of the entryway.

Steve and Eddie, talking behind a cracked door. And of course, Billy can't help but stop and listen in.

"It really is fine," Steve is saying, and when Billy chances a glance in the gap left there, he spots him sitting on top of a big, dark desk with his legs dangling as he watches Eddie poke and prod about the study. "You're more worked up about it than me."

Eddie scoffs. "He was rude as shit. What did you even bet on, anyway?"

"I wanted to ride on the motorcycle."

Eddie drops something to the carpeted floor with a dull thump. Billy can't see him, but he can see the way Steve's face presses into a chiding look.

"Sorry," Eddie says. "Surprised me. You want to ride a motorcycle? I know, like, a dozen guys with bikes I could borrow."

Steve's brows arch, but he remains unimpressed. "It's fine, Eddie."

"No, no, I'm serious," Eddie continues, and then he's pacing into view again, drawing over to where Steve is sitting, both hands coming up to clap onto Steve's shoulders, big and squeezing. "What are you doing tomorrow? Do you have work? We could get this checked off your bucket list like that."

Eddie snaps his fingers and Steve laughs.

Something about that makes Billy's chest go tight. God, fuck Eddie Munson. All he wants is to make Steve Harrington laugh—and he's good at it, too. Better than Billy's ever been.

Not that Billy's ever given himself much of a chance on that front.

"I'm on the day shift for the rest of the week," Steve tells him with a little smile. "And I'm not looking to crack my skull open, so unless you know how to ride–"

"What, and Billy Hargrove was gonna drive you around?" Eddie asks, propping a hip next to one of Steve's knees, his back angled toward the door as he crosses his arms.