A Brief History of Falling for Billy Hargrove [harrington x hargrove]

10.

The first time they fought was because Steve fucked up.

He we sitting on a couch at a party he didn't really want to be at. Billy promised he'd come but he kind of didn't. Technically, he was only late. Very, very late. Steve was already on his third beer and the clock was about to hit ten. The party had started around seven. Maybe eight. He wasn't sure about anything anymore.

He chugged the reminder of his beer and stood up on slightly wobbly legs to go get a refill.

After beer number six he was barely aware of what was happening around him. His consciousness was entirely overshadowed by the amount of alcohol flowing through his bloodstream. He took note of the girl he had never seen before sitting on his lap. And he was kind of aware of a faraway sensation of lips kissing his neck.

After he finished the seventh cup and Billy was still nowhere to be seen. And so he decided that he was mad at him (he should be mad right? He ditched him, was that something to be mad about? Yeah, yeah it was. Or wasn't it? His brain wasn't functioning properly.). And there was this girl still sitting on his lap (was it even the same one? He didn't know, they all seemed kind of the same to him) and so he kissed her, or maybe she kissed him - it didn't matter, the outcome was the same. There was a voice at the back of his head telling him to stop. Stop, stop, stop. But there was a beer in his hand a girl on his lap and so he didn't listen.

And then he opened his eyes and saw a smudge of blond hair and an unbuttoned shirt and an angry, hurt face. Steve sobered up at the sight of Billy, most of the alcohol simmered out as his throat closed up. His mind was suddenly filled up with a constant loop of 'fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck' as he pushed the girl of and half stormed, half stumbled out of the front door, yelling Billy's name, begging him to stop, to wait, to let him explain.

Billy turned around sharply as Steve caught up with him. "What!?" he barked.

"Hey," Steve slurred out, stumbling back at the ferocity of Billy's voice, "you didn't come. I waited. There was beer. Uh, I think there's still some left, uh, if you want some." Steve stood there, swaying slightly, with his thumb pointing back to the house. He thought that maybe if he didn't mention the incident Billy wouldn't either. He was wrong.

"Who was that bitch, Steve?" Billy asked.

"Which one?"

"The one that had her goddamn tongue down your throat just until now!"

"Uh, I don't know. I, uh..."

And then Billy's patience snapped. He pushed Steve hard enough to send him flying. He fell with a sickening sound of a body hitting concrete. Billy kneeled down next to the dazed boy, seizing him by the front of his shirt, "We are done Harrington. Done, do you hear me?"

Steve tried to get out an apology, a plea, anything really, but he just lied there, dazed, gasping for air, as he watched Billy walk away.

Waking up the next day was punishment in itself. School was even worse. Billy didn't come. He didn't show up the next day either. Or the next one. Or the day after that. And then, when he finally did, his exposed chest was littered with so many bruises it was hard to see a patch of unmarked skin. He walked with his head held high, wearing them like batches of honor. Steve wondered if they were from his father or some random guy who he had provoked into a fight.

Billy pretended Steve didn't exist and Steve knew that it was well deserved. In fact, he deserved so much worse.

That night he stayed up thinking, just like he had done every single night since Billy cut him out. He could have just let it go. He could have come to terms with it. He could have accustomed to life without Billy. But he didn't want to. Maybe he had no right to want anything but, whatever the case, he was not giving up on the boy. He was not.

And so the next day after school he found himself in front of Billy's house. He pressed his thumb against the doorbell with his best shit-eating smile plastered on his face. Billy's father opened the door and gave him an agonizingly slow once-over. Steve wanted to do things to him until there was nothing but a heap of fresh meat left on the front porch, but that wouldn't make the best first impressions, would it?

"What do you want, boy?"

"I came to see Billy. We were supposed to study together." (Steve could have thought of something more creative but the asshole didn't seem worthwhile so why even bother?) The older man raised a skeptical eyebrow but stepped out of the way to let Steve in anyway. "Here," he said, pushing open one of the nondescript door that were lining the hallway.

Billy looked up slowly. He didn't seem to be startled by the unwelcome visitors. His eyes remained blank as they moved from his father to Steve.

"Have fun," Mr. Hargrove almost sneered before slamming the door closed.

Billy kept his gaze fixed on Steve, face expressionless, eyes empty. Maybe he should have been angry (he tried and he could still feel the aftermath of the blows) or sad (he did that too, chased his feeling away with a bottle of Jack) or something, anything. But, for now, he only felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness. The kind of emptiness that left him hollowed out, left him feeling as if there wasn't enough oxygen in his lungs, as if there wasn't enough blood flowing through his veins, as if his heart was just barely dragging itself along. Maybe it was the calm before the storm but what did he know about that? For him it was always the storm, the calm utterly forgotten.

He missed the time when Steve wasn't always lurking somewhere in the back of his mind. Hell, he missed the time when he didn't have to push him to the back of his mind because he barely ever made an appearance in his thoughts. And at the same time, he knew he didn't really want any of that because Steve was the best thing that has ever happened to him, or at least had been up until the moment he had pushed his tongue down the whore's mouth and everything he thought he had withered, died, turned into dust, nothingness. Fuck, did he miss the time when he was just a conceited asshole who cared about nothing, not even himself.

And truth be told, he really wanted to take Stave back. His entire being ached to reach out and pull him in. But how could he? He was in enough pain, hurt often enough, and it would only take one more string inside him to snap for him to snap along with it, shatter, cease to exist.

And so Billy just continued to look at Steve as he pleaded and pleaded and pleaded. "Punch me if you want to, just please..." Steve whispered and out of sudden Billy's fists ached to make contact with that smooth, unmarked skin on Steve's jaw and so he swung, again and again and again, and Steve let him, barely even flinching.

Tears flowed down Billy's cheeks as his knuckled cracked. It didn't feel good, it didn't feel satisfying – it only hollowed him out more and more. But he kept punching until the flame that was fueling him went out, extinguished by worry and sadness and despair. He let his forehead fall against Steve's chest, tears soaking through the bloodied fabric.

"Why would you ever do something like that?"

"I don't know. I don't know," Steve mumbled into Billy's hair.

They lied there, sobbing silently, chests heaving, Steve holding Billy close, promising the world to him, whispering sweet nothings. And so Billy gave in. Maybe he had learned to relish the pain.