Steve is already regretting this, but Linda brought up a good point: If Steve genuinely doesn't want to do something, he can tell Billy to fuck off and apply for the dodgeball team. He shouldn't be worried.
But if that's the case, then why are his hands shaking as he stands next to Billy's car?
Stubborn, Steve blames the cold air (he knows the real reason, no matter how much he denies it).
This time, Steve expects the mirthful tone that voices from behind him.
"Steve Harrington," Billy enunciates every syllable of the said male's name, purposely letting it roll of his tongue like butter. "to what do I owe the pleasure of meeting you in person?" sarcasm drops off his words like melted icicles dripping off the roof at the end of winter.
Why the hell does he talk like he's in some sort of erotic movie?! "Shove it up your ass, man. You know why I'm here." Steve brushes off Billy's tone as passive-aggressive flirting. He's used to this. "I'll agree to this—" he waves his hand as if he's motioning it. "—thing you want me to do. But the second I feel uncomfortable, I'm out. Fair?"
There's a few seconds of complete silence as Billy stares at him. It looks like Billy is actually thinking, but that has to be impossible because he doesn't have a brain, so Steve calms down. Billy eventually smirks, approaching the driver's seat with an unreadable look on his face.
"Then you're hired, Harrington." Billy muses, opening the door and entering the vehicle, he slides into his car, calmer than Steve when he eats breakfast.
Steve stares, absentminded. "That's—that's it?" he gawks.
Billy cocks an eyebrow at him, the door still open. "What, you want a golden star, pretty boy?" he starts the car, grunting as he starts the engine. "You'll start tomorrow."
"No, it's just—" Steve pauses, just as Billy focuses on him once more, left arm hanging loosely on the top of the car wheel. "I want to get this done. Preferably as soon as possible." he explains, still not moving from his place on the sidewalk.
Billy narrows his eyes as Steve awkwardly shifts his feet. Alright, this was getting uncomfortable. There's another weird silence, and then Billy shrugs.
"Get in, then."
Steve wishes he didn't agree.
The last time he ever went to a party was... what, when he and Nancy broke up? And now he's sulking in the corner of Tommy Hagan's house, waiting for Billy to get his shit done. How many parties can one person hold within a week? Apparently four.
Steve can hear distant cheers of Billy's name, something along the lines of "chug, chug, chug." He's probably trying to make his keg record even higher than it already was. Pretentious bastard.
Another thing Steve doesn't like about this whole situation, is that Billy is basically making him his bitch. Steve has been stuck holding drinks, holding Billy's leather jacket, and getting verbally abused by Hagan.
Of course, Tommy's insults are shit, so they don't actually affect him.
Right now, Steve is leaning against the wall, jacket in hand as he hums a popular song that plays on the radio. He doesn't know the lyrics, so he bullshits them by making his own. Innovation is key.
Amongst his horrible ad-libs, he hears someone laugh next to him.
Almost instantly, Steve jolts, noticing a girl around his age staring at him. Oh god, he knew that look she was giving him. The electricity. "Uh, hi." he waves, a bit strained.
أنت تقرأ
𝘃𝗲𝗿𝗯𝗼𝘁𝗲𝗻 // 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚎
قصص الهواة"Simmons." Billy starts, as if he's purposely trying to get a reaction from Steve. "What'd he say?" is what comes out of his mouth. There's a sharp edge to it, like Billy already knows the answer. Steve crosses his arms. "What's it to you?" Billy e...
