Wouldn't be if you ever heard me play. Everybody wants to fuck a good guitarist.
[ he's got it in him to shake off the ho-hums play a little air guitar. it still feels weird to be talking about any of this in broad daylight - let alone night time in a big city. ]
I'd say like... [ he wobbles his head back and forth as he thinks - and then immediately regrets it. straightening his steps ] ninety-nine percent guys. You?
Forty-Sixty? The sixty is for hot moms. Every mans got a weakness.
[He says it very casually, but it is not a joke. He finds himself wishing that maybe he had heard Eddie play. Like maybe he spent all that time enduring high school politics when he could have been out giving his dad actual reasons to fuck with him.
Hindsight.
He notices - slowly - the lingering discomfort. Can’t quite place the cause. Maybe it’s him. Billy knows his own rep, after all. ] Play for me some time. [He blurts it out, surprises even himself.] I mean really play.
[ in the quiet of the streets, the slight difference in his footsteps sounds more obvious to his ears. he finds himself wishing he'd had them get the cab. he's not used to so much walking, and he's spent the last three weeks holed up in his room getting high, drunk, or fucking around with steve.
but if they had just hopped the cab for a quick ride, they probably wouldn't talk like this.
eddie looks him up and down, letting that smile turn a little more genuine. ]
A literal motherfucker, our own Billy Hargrove?
[ sure. why not. if they're going to be the three musketeers they might as well go hard and commit. ]
Oh Munson if only you knew. [The sly wink, the grin-tongue combo is so signature Billy, it's like having a ghost of himself morph his face. He used to have fun, before. ]
- Whatever got you laid the most. You're own stuff, right? Wow me.
[Then there's a brief stir on his back, a murmur that sort of short circuits his brain. Watch out for the vines, Nance and Billy's grin falters, his forehead furrows as he swallows. He holds in a breath then exhales, slow. ]
[ it's a shared expression. waiting for Steve to slip back into dreams, trying not to show that it hurt to hear. They're friendly but not friends.
When it feels safe to talk again, Eddie bobs his head in a nod. ]
I know just the song. But, [ his gaze drifts to Steve then back to billy. ] it's a performance I only put on for friends. And see, this post-Hawkins you? I don't mind being friends with. Let's keep it that way, alright?
[ especially if the kids turn up. He's a protector, they're his flock. ]
[It takes a moment to crawl back out of his own head, eyes straight ahead until he blinks. He wets his lips, wishes he had a cigarette between them and nods, before he removes a hand from Steve and extends a fist out.]
Deal. [It feels good. Does it matter that they’re both ghosts? Probably not. He glances again, grin softened to a smirk.]
[It's not the worst afterlife, is it? It's not terrible to have Eddie Munson by his side, rings knocking his knuckles, or have Steve hauled over his shoulder. The walk isn't even that bad - it wouldn't for Billy, but he doesn't really think to consider that Eddie might struggle with it. By the time they've reached the hotel again, maybe Billy's coaxed a song title or two out of Eddie, or maybe not.
The puzzle of fitting all three into an elevator is extremely ridiculous, and Billy is a little careless with Steve's legs and head, but they're in, then there's Steve's room where Billy huffs and dumps him very unceremoniously onto his bed and then stretches. ]
This fucking guy - [he mutters, fondly, before he starts pottering about Steve's kitchenette for glasses, water, etc etc. ]
[ he's out of breath once they finally hit the hotel again. His legs are sore as shit and he just knows he's going to be stiff and tired tomorrow. But for now, he focuses on softening billy's gruff treatment.
He gets Steve lain out on his side and drops a bucket beside the bed, pulling a sheet up over him while he waits for a glass of water. His fingers linger fondly in Steve's hair, expression troubled for but a moment, but it's quickly brushed aside as he straightens up and looks over at billy. ]
[ Flopping onto the bed with the grace of a dead fish, Steve murmurs where he lies and sleepily turns his head into the touch ghosting through his hair. He's overheating, sweating from a combo of being upside-down and drunk, and tugs at his sweater under the blanket. ]
[Before he was kicked out etc. A lovely tall glass is placed by Steve's bedside unit, and watching him shift and tug at his sweater - he wants to take it off for him, figures that should be an Eddie thing. Me and Munson.
[ he's got this. All soft and gentle, guiding Steve up enough to get the sweater up and off his head and then sliding him back down. ]
Here. [ he whiffs the keys to his room over. ] I'll feel a hell of a lot better knowing you're crashing somewhere safe. Kinda worried that this one might get into trouble if he's not being babysat.
[Reflexes are still high wired, of course - he catches it in a fist, hesitates on whether he should crash in Eddie's place, like somehow that might be a step too far in a day that has been full of weird little steps. His jaw grinds and he nods, then again. Pushing away from the counter, he feels a little jittery, suddenly.
Phew. ] Yeah. Yeah, thanks.
[PHEW. ] You need anything I'll be - y'know.
[It's a little cowardly that he is bailing now, but fuck it. Eddie seems very tender, Steve is very vulnerable and he doesn't belong here during it. So he hooks the key into his palm, gives a stiff little wave and escapes through the door and down the hall.
When he's in Eddie's room, he breathes hard. He's in a mood; the kind that he used to break stuff in, but now he's just too fucking tired for it. He does the next best thing; ditches his jacket, rummages around Eddie's shit for a joint and then lights one off. He kicks his shoes off, dips into the bathroom and stares at himself in the mirror.
Some part of Billy Hargrove stares back. His eyes seem so flat, and with the splint between his lips, he pulls his shirt open to look at the scars, to try and superimpose himself onto this body in a way where the two sides fit. Eddie Munson has let him crash in his space, Steve Harrington can't handle his liquor and Billy Hargrove doesn't know how to always be the person he's been today. Doesn't know if he can be it tomorrow once he's sober and had time to overthink and ruminate in his own jealousy and longing.
The blunt is burned down to fingertips when he finally strips down and climbs into Eddie's shower. For a while he just stands under the ice cold water, before he remembers heat is fine now - then he cranks it up hard and if he chokes a little, no one will here. If he jerks off in Eddie Munson's shower with ring-clad knuckles gripping his hair in his mind to force him deeper, or that tongue tasting the sweat from his neck instead of the air - no one will fucking know. If he comes with tears in his eyes, half-laughing in hysteria, no one will know.
By the time he crashes into Eddie's bed, he's naked, hair damp and he's out cold not long after his head hits the pillow. Idly, he hopes Steve doesn't choke on his own vomit. Hopes Eddie at least got to sleep in the bed. ]
[ It's going to be work. This - whatever the fuck this is - and it'll be more work if Steve decides that he'd rather trade up. Billy is hurt and hurt people are always the most fucking dangerous, especially when they've yet to even start to heal. Or when they've decided they have nothing left but a vendetta, or worse, a desire.
In truth, Eddie's worried. Billy Hargrove had left a score of wounds on his little flock. Steve may be willing to walk it off and turn over a new leaf, but he worries for Lucas. For Max... but a lifetime of living on the wrong side of the tracks has taught him it's better to befriend the monsters in the dark, rather than passively hoping they don't bite you.
He's done his fair share of monster taming. And, in his worst moments, he knows how to wound them enough so they know better than to come the fuck back. His reputation isn't entirely fabricated - it's just a part of himself he doesn't want to relive. A promise he'd made long, long ago to not be the kind of man his father was. To strive to be the kind of gentle and warm person his Uncle has always been, and to give others that same refuge from the hateful world outside.
For now, he's got to deal with Steve Harrington. Coaxing him up to take a drink and smoothing his hair down, grinning despite himself.
He grabs a pair of Steve's pants and reclaims a stolen shirt, retreating into the bathroom to take a shower and undress. His legs are sore from the sudden increase in walking - and he's not totally used to the prosthetic yet, so moshing was maybe not the smartest fucking idea he's ever had - but it's fine. He hangs out in the bathroom for a few moments with it off, rubbing the stump and giving himself a chance to breathe. Then he's snapping it back on and stepping outside.
Crawling into bed next to him. Slings an arm around him and tucks his face into the back of Steve's neck.
Snoozing lightly as the world dissolves from people talking to the hiss of a shower behind a wall, it's the peace and quiet that finally causes him to stir. It's dark and silent, save for the sound of vehicles on the road below his hotel room, and he's more than a little disorientated when he wakes; he slithers his way out of the embrace of a sleeping Eddie and sways on the spot, down a coat and sweatshirt but still somehow half-dressed.
His head throbs with the pure act of thinking. Urghhh.
Glancing back at Eddie in his bed, he smiles and feels mildly reassured that he didn't screw up everything about the night before even if Billy is missing. That's a little concerning. Instead of just standing beside his bed as gravity rights itself, Steve heads into the bathroom for a sobering shower, still a little fuzzy at the edges in a warm way but able to think more clearly. His chest kind of aches like he was pressed against something ... did he get carried last night? A few hours ago? What the hell is time?
Pulling on some soft slacks, he crawls back into bed and takes up a position behind Eddie to invert the one he woke up in, nosing the back of his neck and slotting their legs together with a mindfulness for the prosthetic. And if he drops a tired, emotionally wrung-out kiss to Eddie's shoulder, maybe no one needs to know about that. ]
[ He's got his face buried in the pillows, eyes still shut, arms still outstretched as they had been. he's asleep through the kiss, only rousing when steve settles again as he registers his arms are empty and there's someone now behind him.
he glances just to be sure he's only changed positions, not bedmates. then his head drops back against the pillow. ]
Mm... Don't puke on me.
[ so romantic. he shifts into a slightly more comfortable position. ]
Been on a lot of benders senior year, I don't puke easily.
[ Once Eddie is better settled, Steve slumps his weight against him again and finds his favourite spot behind an ear. The arm draped over Eddie gives a friendly, tentative squeeze. It feels so weird to be talking at night with all the lights off, like it's against the rules of a sleepover. ]
You were pretty wrecked, Harrington. I wasn't going to leave you alone.
[ regardless of how... weird he was feeling in the wake of whatever the panic was. or the jealousy. or - threatened feelings, whatever. none of that matters. ]
[ His hand slides under the hem of Eddie's shirt to press a palm against his middle, scars and all. The skin-on-skin contact is a connection he craves, blinking down at a shoulder. ]
I'm sorry I ran. I was thinking too much and I got ... scared. I just wanted to stop. Stop all of it.
[ there's a small stretch of silence. eddie mulls over his words carefully. ]
... Steve. [ actual name. no nickname. eddie opens his eyes and stares ahead into the dark. they haven't really put a label on this and he has to remind himself of that. steve harrington's experience with dating is very different from eddie's... in that it actually exists. ] If this freaks you out, we don't... have to be public, or whatever. [ ... ] Or anything. If you're not - if you don't want it.
No, [ There's near-petulant, argumentativeness behind his protest, shuffling closer, ] no, that's not what I meant.
[ His chin hooks over Eddie's shoulder as Steve further invades his space like a very wriggly, insistent dog concerned it isn't making its presence known enough. ]
I like you, I'm not ashamed of that. I'm so damn worried that you'll dump my ass but that's not what I was freaking out about.
You're worried [ he half turns, to get a better look at this poor neglected labrador retreiver of a boy ] that I [ a ring hand touches his chest ] am going to dump you.
[ incredulous. he flops back onto the pillow, covering his face with a hand and laughing. ]
Okay. Okay. What were you freaking the hell out about then?
[ okay, this is a conversation that should be held face to face. eddie pushes himself up and turns to face him. ]
I'm flattered, Harrington, trust me, that you think I'm hot enough to be the exception to your heterosexuality. [ wait back up before you make him feel bad. ] You just caught on to something you never noticed before. Doesn't change a damn thing about who you are or what you're like... just... who you like.
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[ he's got it in him to shake off the ho-hums play a little air guitar. it still feels weird to be talking about any of this in broad daylight - let alone night time in a big city. ]
I'd say like... [ he wobbles his head back and forth as he thinks - and then immediately regrets it. straightening his steps ] ninety-nine percent guys. You?
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[He says it very casually, but it is not a joke. He finds himself wishing that maybe he had heard Eddie play. Like maybe he spent all that time enduring high school politics when he could have been out giving his dad actual reasons to fuck with him.
Hindsight.
He notices - slowly - the lingering discomfort. Can’t quite place the cause. Maybe it’s him. Billy knows his own rep, after all. ] Play for me some time. [He blurts it out, surprises even himself.] I mean really play.
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but if they had just hopped the cab for a quick ride, they probably wouldn't talk like this.
eddie looks him up and down, letting that smile turn a little more genuine. ]
A literal motherfucker, our own Billy Hargrove?
[ sure. why not. if they're going to be the three musketeers they might as well go hard and commit. ]
Got any requests?
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Watch out for vines, Nance ...
[ He isn't awake, though. ]
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- Whatever got you laid the most. You're own stuff, right? Wow me.
[Then there's a brief stir on his back, a murmur that sort of short circuits his brain. Watch out for the vines, Nance and Billy's grin falters, his forehead furrows as he swallows. He holds in a breath then exhales, slow. ]
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When it feels safe to talk again, Eddie bobs his head in a nod. ]
I know just the song. But, [ his gaze drifts to Steve then back to billy. ] it's a performance I only put on for friends. And see, this post-Hawkins you? I don't mind being friends with. Let's keep it that way, alright?
[ especially if the kids turn up. He's a protector, they're his flock. ]
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Deal. [It feels good. Does it matter that they’re both ghosts? Probably not. He glances again, grin softened to a smirk.]
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Welcome to the Neo-Hellfire Club, my brother in death.
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The puzzle of fitting all three into an elevator is extremely ridiculous, and Billy is a little careless with Steve's legs and head, but they're in, then there's Steve's room where Billy huffs and dumps him very unceremoniously onto his bed and then stretches. ]
This fucking guy - [he mutters, fondly, before he starts pottering about Steve's kitchenette for glasses, water, etc etc. ]
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He gets Steve lain out on his side and drops a bucket beside the bed, pulling a sheet up over him while he waits for a glass of water. His fingers linger fondly in Steve's hair, expression troubled for but a moment, but it's quickly brushed aside as he straightens up and looks over at billy. ]
Are you still in the hotel or did you move out?
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[Before he was kicked out etc. A lovely tall glass is placed by Steve's bedside unit, and watching him shift and tug at his sweater - he wants to take it off for him, figures that should be an Eddie thing. Me and Munson.
He leans back against the counter, arms folded.]
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Here. [ he whiffs the keys to his room over. ] I'll feel a hell of a lot better knowing you're crashing somewhere safe. Kinda worried that this one might get into trouble if he's not being babysat.
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Phew. ] Yeah. Yeah, thanks.
[PHEW. ] You need anything I'll be - y'know.
[It's a little cowardly that he is bailing now, but fuck it. Eddie seems very tender, Steve is very vulnerable and he doesn't belong here during it. So he hooks the key into his palm, gives a stiff little wave and escapes through the door and down the hall.
When he's in Eddie's room, he breathes hard. He's in a mood; the kind that he used to break stuff in, but now he's just too fucking tired for it. He does the next best thing; ditches his jacket, rummages around Eddie's shit for a joint and then lights one off. He kicks his shoes off, dips into the bathroom and stares at himself in the mirror.
Some part of Billy Hargrove stares back. His eyes seem so flat, and with the splint between his lips, he pulls his shirt open to look at the scars, to try and superimpose himself onto this body in a way where the two sides fit. Eddie Munson has let him crash in his space, Steve Harrington can't handle his liquor and Billy Hargrove doesn't know how to always be the person he's been today. Doesn't know if he can be it tomorrow once he's sober and had time to overthink and ruminate in his own jealousy and longing.
The blunt is burned down to fingertips when he finally strips down and climbs into Eddie's shower. For a while he just stands under the ice cold water, before he remembers heat is fine now - then he cranks it up hard and if he chokes a little, no one will here. If he jerks off in Eddie Munson's shower with ring-clad knuckles gripping his hair in his mind to force him deeper, or that tongue tasting the sweat from his neck instead of the air - no one will fucking know. If he comes with tears in his eyes, half-laughing in hysteria, no one will know.
By the time he crashes into Eddie's bed, he's naked, hair damp and he's out cold not long after his head hits the pillow. Idly, he hopes Steve doesn't choke on his own vomit. Hopes Eddie at least got to sleep in the bed. ]
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In truth, Eddie's worried. Billy Hargrove had left a score of wounds on his little flock. Steve may be willing to walk it off and turn over a new leaf, but he worries for Lucas. For Max... but a lifetime of living on the wrong side of the tracks has taught him it's better to befriend the monsters in the dark, rather than passively hoping they don't bite you.
He's done his fair share of monster taming. And, in his worst moments, he knows how to wound them enough so they know better than to come the fuck back. His reputation isn't entirely fabricated - it's just a part of himself he doesn't want to relive. A promise he'd made long, long ago to not be the kind of man his father was. To strive to be the kind of gentle and warm person his Uncle has always been, and to give others that same refuge from the hateful world outside.
For now, he's got to deal with Steve Harrington. Coaxing him up to take a drink and smoothing his hair down, grinning despite himself.
He grabs a pair of Steve's pants and reclaims a stolen shirt, retreating into the bathroom to take a shower and undress. His legs are sore from the sudden increase in walking - and he's not totally used to the prosthetic yet, so moshing was maybe not the smartest fucking idea he's ever had - but it's fine. He hangs out in the bathroom for a few moments with it off, rubbing the stump and giving himself a chance to breathe. Then he's snapping it back on and stepping outside.
Crawling into bed next to him. Slings an arm around him and tucks his face into the back of Steve's neck.
It takes a while for sleep to come. ]
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Snoozing lightly as the world dissolves from people talking to the hiss of a shower behind a wall, it's the peace and quiet that finally causes him to stir. It's dark and silent, save for the sound of vehicles on the road below his hotel room, and he's more than a little disorientated when he wakes; he slithers his way out of the embrace of a sleeping Eddie and sways on the spot, down a coat and sweatshirt but still somehow half-dressed.
His head throbs with the pure act of thinking. Urghhh.
Glancing back at Eddie in his bed, he smiles and feels mildly reassured that he didn't screw up everything about the night before even if Billy is missing. That's a little concerning. Instead of just standing beside his bed as gravity rights itself, Steve heads into the bathroom for a sobering shower, still a little fuzzy at the edges in a warm way but able to think more clearly. His chest kind of aches like he was pressed against something ... did he get carried last night? A few hours ago? What the hell is time?
Pulling on some soft slacks, he crawls back into bed and takes up a position behind Eddie to invert the one he woke up in, nosing the back of his neck and slotting their legs together with a mindfulness for the prosthetic. And if he drops a tired, emotionally wrung-out kiss to Eddie's shoulder, maybe no one needs to know about that. ]
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he glances just to be sure he's only changed positions, not bedmates. then his head drops back against the pillow. ]
Mm... Don't puke on me.
[ so romantic. he shifts into a slightly more comfortable position. ]
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Been on a lot of benders senior year, I don't puke easily.
[ Once Eddie is better settled, Steve slumps his weight against him again and finds his favourite spot behind an ear. The arm draped over Eddie gives a friendly, tentative squeeze. It feels so weird to be talking at night with all the lights off, like it's against the rules of a sleepover. ]
You stayed with me.
[ A casual observation. ]
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[ regardless of how... weird he was feeling in the wake of whatever the panic was. or the jealousy. or - threatened feelings, whatever. none of that matters. ]
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I'm sorry I ran. I was thinking too much and I got ... scared. I just wanted to stop. Stop all of it.
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... Steve. [ actual name. no nickname. eddie opens his eyes and stares ahead into the dark. they haven't really put a label on this and he has to remind himself of that. steve harrington's experience with dating is very different from eddie's... in that it actually exists. ] If this freaks you out, we don't... have to be public, or whatever. [ ... ] Or anything. If you're not - if you don't want it.
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[ His chin hooks over Eddie's shoulder as Steve further invades his space like a very wriggly, insistent dog concerned it isn't making its presence known enough. ]
I like you, I'm not ashamed of that. I'm so damn worried that you'll dump my ass but that's not what I was freaking out about.
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You're worried [ he half turns, to get a better look at this poor neglected labrador retreiver of a boy ] that I [ a ring hand touches his chest ] am going to dump you.
[ incredulous. he flops back onto the pillow, covering his face with a hand and laughing. ]
Okay. Okay. What were you freaking the hell out about then?
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Steve swallows, sitting up on a bent elbow. ]
I think I like men. Like, generally, not just you. Like I like women.
[ He's saying like a lot, shit. ]
It didn't really ... sink in before. I don't know anything about being like this.
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I'm flattered, Harrington, trust me, that you think I'm hot enough to be the exception to your heterosexuality. [ wait back up before you make him feel bad. ] You just caught on to something you never noticed before. Doesn't change a damn thing about who you are or what you're like... just... who you like.
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