bury me anywhere (but hawkins, indiana) | harringrove

15: INT. RUSSIAN ELEVATOR - NIGHT

JULY 4TH, 1985

STEVE | NOW

On top of the elevator, Steve finds Billy standing at the farthest side. Dim red light barely spreads around his head. Smoke drapes down around his tense frame in thin, wispy coils, almost more like dry-ice fog than smoke. He's also clearly ignoring Steve's presence.

Steve shifts, rubbing a hand over his face. His cheek feels like it's sheet-wrinkled, shoved up against Billy's back too long not to leave some impression on his skin. He's too tired for any of this.

But despite himself, and not exactly having been ready for Billy to just show up at Scoops out of the blue- it settles something antsy in Steve's gut, having the guy safely in sight.

...Even if he doesn't feel much like talking to him.

Sore from all that running away? He almost says. It's a close thing. But Billy looks drawn, caged and edgy, and Steve knows it wouldn't end well. Not to mention that Steve just- doesn't like it, seeing Billy looking so close to the edge.

So instead, Steve pushes down some of his own frustration and mess. He nudges the ceiling panel shut with his sneaker, as if that's some vestige of privacy, and turns toward Billy.

"... I see you're handling all this real well."

Billy scoffs audibly, shaking his head once.

"Yeah, that was sorta the joke," Steve says, then before Billy can flip him off, he keeps going. "Quit being an asshole to Robin."

That gets Billy's attention, head turning back toward Steve over his shoulder. The burning cherry gives him a faint red glow.

"...Why? You sweet on her?"

"Wh- no, Jesus, because she's my friend, asshole."

"You hang with the band geeks now?"

"We're not in high school anymore-"

"We're not," Billy amends him, then shakes his head. "You two fucking, then?"

"Christ, just shut up. Hand me one?"

Billy shakes his head, but he holds out his cigarette anyway. Steve takes it as the peace offering it probably is, stepping up next to him at the edge.

Above them, the elevator shaft fades into black. Steve wonders if there's just as much dead space underneath them, too. If the only things holding them up are the thick steel cables that twine up and disappear into all that dark overhead.

They're still like that for a little while, passing the cigarette back and forth without a word. The nicotine eases up Steve's sour nerves, takes the edge off the exhaustion under his skin. He can feel the crabby, half-awake squint to his eyes. They drag like sandpaper when he blinks.

Billy's quiet beside him, but it's not his usual quiet. It's loud, one that fills the dim space around them and crowds in on Steve like a living thing. It makes him feel like he did something wrong, even though he knows he didn't.

...Okay, he thinks he didn't. At least, he's pretty sure he didn't. Right? Shit. Sometimes with Billy it was hard to tell.

But all Steve can think about are those two nights in his car, waiting alone for a no-show.

They go round in circles in his skull. The first time doesn't bother him- after he found out what had happened to Billy that night, how could it? What was he going to do, be mad at Billy for getting brainwashed?