If I Stare Too Long

Chapter 19: I'm A Lover (And I'm A Sinner)

It's one of those quiet, late-August mornings where Billy's up before the sun. Normally, he lazes in bed for a while, until Eddie and Steve begin to stir—but this morning Billy woke up with a need for coffee so insatiable that it drove him out of bed before Steve's room even began to turn orange with morning light.

And that coffee turned quickly to cereal, which turned into a run around Loch Nora, his limbs itchy enough with the need to move, to get going. And Billy loves running around the tree-lined streets of Loch Nora. The oaks are tall and towering, and the roads end up nicely dappled with the morning light—unlike the trailer park, which lacks any semblance of shade, invariably leaving him squinting into the sun when he does laps around the gravel roads.

He's back from the run, pleasantly sweaty with Steve's basketball shorts riding low on his hips, and thoroughly debating a shower when there's a frantic pounding on Steve's door.

Billy wanders into the foyer—a fucking foyer, cold marble floor leeching the heat out of his bare feet—and stares at the door. It's way too early for visitors, still.

The pounding stops for a second. Starts again.

Billy probably shouldn't open the door to Steve's house, shouldn't even think about it. It's not his responsibility. But the frantic nature of the pounding has him stepping toward the door and looking through the peephole.

Only to find Robin fucking Buckley, looking frazzled and off her goddamn gourd.

Billy opens the door and almost catches a fist to the face before she realizes that the door's now open.

"Buckley," Billy says, leaning into the open door while Robin's face goes from panicked to confused and then—back to panic.

"Wow, okay," Robin says, taking in the picture of a very shirtless Billy answering Steve's door before dawn has even finished. And Billy knows how he looks—bare-chested and covered in hickeys and bruises. "I really don't have time for—all of that," she says, gesturing at Billy's everything. "Is Steve in?"

"He's sleeping," Billy says. "Probably. How can I help?"

He grins. Wide and a little too friendly.

Part of him worries that this is...Upside Down related—but he thinks that if it was, Robin would probably just spill it. Call a code red or something. Instead of doing whatever it is that she's doing.

Robin gives him a dirty glare, and she looks about a second away from trying to just shove past him into the house. She doesn't, but she bounces on her feet like she's thinking about it.

"I think I'd rather talk to Steve," she says, smiling tight. "Do you mind?"

She gestures for him to move out of the way. Looks very much like she expects him to do just that.

"Are you deaf?" Billy says, planting his feet and not budging at all. "I told you, he's sleeping."

"I'm sorry, do you think Steve Harrington needs his beauty sleep or something?" Robin asks, scoffing as she gives him a pretty long elevator look. "I'm pretty sure he doesn't need to be any prettier– but maybe you know something I don't."

Billy hums. Like he's considering.

"Nah, you're right. He couldn't be prettier. But I thought he wasn't your type," Billy says.

He grins. Licks his lips, running his tongue over them all slowly.

"He said you didn't like his hair," Billy elaborates.

Robin rolls her eyes. "Well, he also said that there's no musical artist better than Hall & Oates– sometimes Steve is full of shit."

And then she's getting up on her toes and craning over. Cups her hands to her mouth and shouts over his shoulder into the quiet of the house.