- RETROMIX + HEATMETAL

[camarod]

Comments

[camarod]

In English?

[Just a lot of words he knows individually but together he has no context, and also Munson again. This is unfortunately going to be a thing, he realises. Anyway - ]

[retromix]

I can summon an item immediately necessary in a situation, sometimes I get to choose and sometimes not.

[ It's shitty, ninety-percent of the time. Unless a life is in peril, Steve can't exactly control the items that appear. ]

[camarod]

Huh. Not at all fucked up. Kind of disappointed.

[Immediately necessary, but he doesn't choose - god, that sounds just as contrary as Steve is sometimes. It's perfect actually. ]

Show me, then. I wanna see what is immediately necessary right now.

[Literally a muzzle for Billy. ]

[retromix]

I don't think you want me to do that. [ Taking a swig of his beer, he wipes off his mouth with a wrist and shakes his head. ] That's where the empath bit comes in, it's not always what I need.

[ Pointedly raising his brows. ]

[camarod]

The worst that can happen? You summon my car onto your bed?

[God he wishes - but less conspicuous is his St. Christopher, which is missing. Buried with him, he hopes. Or with his mom. ]

Come on. Summon dirty fries, that's a necessity.

[retromix]

[ Steve mutters Fine, fine, setting his drink down. He really hopes a car doesn't appear ... and he has a feeling it won't. Steve holds out his hand and says dismally, ]

Axe.

[ An axe does not appear, which is unsurprising, but there's a sharp hiss and something pops into existence in his hand as he winces, the sharp scent of ozone in the space around them. He brings the object in to have a look, confusion marring his brow. ]

It's a photo of a woman. Do you know her?

[ It's a pretty woman in a white dress on a beach. ]

[camarod]

[Axe - and he's almost laughing at the idea that either of would need an axe, because really, murder is so much goddamn effort. The display though is mesmerising for the short time it lasts. Then there's the photo, and he knows before Steve turns it around, exactly who it's of.

He reaches for it. Turns it over, and at first he isn't sure what to do. There's a strange sting in his eyes, a horrible little turn in his gut. His finger traces over the figure, and finally, finally he smiles. A real smile. He doesn't lash out; he doesn't scream, or succumb to paranoia (and it's there, always), he just looks at his mother in the dress he last remembers her in, and he smiles. ]

Yeah. [Empathetic. He gets it now. He feels very seen, even if Steve is completely clueless.] Yeah. It's my mom.

[retromix]

[ His eyes widen as he watches Billy take the photo. ]

Sorry, I ... I warned you.

[ What the fuck does he say now? "Glad you got that photo of your dead parent you were craving, this pizza is amazing"? Yikes. Just gonna take his beer with him as he tries to tactfully give Billy a bit of space. What if it's in the direction of Steve's phone? Shut up. ]

[camarod]

Nah, it’s - [This is delayed. Steve’s already at his phone by the time he remembers to talk.

His mothers features are almost alien, now. All his surface memories are blurry, like an ols VHS that’s on its last legs. She’s so clear now, and Billy remembers better days.

It’s deeply ironic, he supposes, that it was mother who let him beat Henry, and now it’s her again that means -] Thanks. Shit. I guess I owe you one.

[retromix]

You don't, it's fine. I didn't have a clue what I was summoning, honestly.

[ Texting Eddie "Hargrove is visiting me with pizza". No reply, which means Eddie is either stoned, asleep, or listening to music so loud on the other side of the hotel he can't hear himself (or his alerts) think.

He stuffs his phone in a back-pocket, wandering over to lean on the back of an armchair. ]

[camarod]

Harrington, [he says, looking up and it’s meaningful. Sincere. This will never happen again.] Just take the I owe you. Don’t make it weird.

[retromix]

... Alright.

[ He still has no idea what to follow that up with. Bossing around the kids is one thing, he never really found his footing telling Billy what to do (until fists flew). ]

[camarod]

- You mind if I smoke?

[The photo is folded down the middle, slipped carefully into a pocket. It beats a Scorpion vinyl. The absurdity of it almost makes him manic. ]

Weed. I’ll share.

[retromix]

I don't like the smell but knock yourself out.

[ Helping himself to the pizza, stealing two pieces. ]

Anything you want to talk about, now that you're here? Hawkins-related or ... ?

[camarod]

I’ll open a window - [he’s done it enough times to know the way to lean. His beer is abandoned on the table, and getting Steve’s furthest window open enough takes a hot second. The relief to light up and inhale is so tantalisingly close to a high in of itself.

He enjoys it until his exhale, after which his eyes land on the shirt and linger. ] You and Munson, huh.

[Let’s Talk About That. Maybe it’ll kill thing in his chest at last. ]

[retromix]

[ As a cold slither of panic worms its way down his spine, he fixes Billy with a flat look to mask that jolt of alarm. ]

You missed the part where he and I became friends. He's an alright guy.

[camarod]

Friends swap shirts now?

[steven.]

I know him. I was probably his best customer on Spring Break.

[retromix]

[ Can a man not wear a random band tshirt in peace! ]

I borrowed it. Support circle ... something like that.

[camarod]

[He takes a longer draw, eyes narrowing as he thinks. Overthinks. Munson hated jocks. Billy remembers this clearly; remembers being ribbed about being on the team instead of doing something better like drumming.

He hums softly, turning to blow smoke out of the window.] You two do a little shirt exchange? Braid eachothers hair?

[He means it to be a tease, really. But he’s jealous, and stupid, and Steve Harrington suits the shirt. Suits the way it clings on his arms, the way it lines the shape of his chest.

He can’t say that though, can he?]

[retromix]

[ He has the most open Tell Me About It expression possible, goading. ]

Why do you care, man?

[ He'll wait. ]

[camarod]

[I don’t is on the tip of his tongue. A lie that is so easy and so familiar that he almost says it on muscle memory alone. He turns instead, back against the windowsill and his hips jutted forward, an elbow resting back and the joint hanging from his fingers.

He’s already confessed something so quiet that it might not have existed in Hawkins. Man or woman, both. He thinks maybe this would have been easier in California. ]

Because I’ve been hitting on you since senior year, Harrington.

[Casual, he knows. Too frightened of his own father for it to be anything else.]

[retromix]

[ Steve knows flirting. He knows when someone is hitting on him, and whatever gave Billy a reason to bother Steve didn't feel remotely like the friendly brand of it that everyone else used. Steve remembers flinching on the basketball court.

Flatly, hazarding a bewildered guess he's being messed with, he says, ]

You did not.

[camarod]

You are so goddamn stupid.

[Billy might be too. It’s fine. He exhales out, incredulous.] You don’t hit on a guy in a town like Hawkins like he’s a girl.

[Do you see. Not you don’t hit on a guy, period. ]

[retromix]

You don't hit on anyone the way you do!

[ Ohmygod. Billy Hargrove was hitting on him? Billy Hargrove? Maybe Steve is stupid but he has no experience in men flirting with him! Or very ... little.

His cheeks feel so hot as he realises Billy is deadass serious. ]

You flirt with someone like you like them, so they know!

[camarod]

I gave you basketball pointers -

[God's Little Idiot says like this is so obvious!] You think I fuck with someone and give them tips if I want to bash their face in? It's called subtlety you goddamn idiot -

[This is Also Flirting, in case Steve can't tell. ]