Just Playing The Game

2

Billy wasn't sure what he expected. Maybe for Harrington to sit in the front of the room on a throne with the other students catering to his every whim. Or for everyone to be gathered around him, fawning over him. Maybe that he would somehow float above the ground. Who the hell knows.

Whatever he expected, it wasn't for Harrington to be hanging out alone by the window. He wasn't sitting in a seat yet, instead he was perched on the windowsill, but Billy was willing to bet that the bag in the seat closest to the window was his. Taking a chance, Billy takes the open seat next to it. As the class fills up, a few people greet Harrington, who smiles at them. The weirdo from earlier - the one with the crazy hair - pranced in last, collapsing into the empty seat one seat back and one over from Billy. His fingers drummed incessantly against the table.

The second bell rings, marking the start of class and Harrington slides into the seat next to Billy, nodding to him in acknowledgment. Billy quirks his eyebrows up a bit and they turn to face the teacher. This class, like all the others so far, spent the period going over the syllabus that they were expected to sign and turn in by Friday. Billy let himself tune out, eyes trailing over to Harrington. Despite the fact that his eyes tracked the teacher dutifully, Harrington was obviously checked out.

Not that Billy could really blame him. Every syllabus was the same. Be on time, turn in your homework, no cheating, and so on and so forth. It was the same whether you were in California or Indiana.

Harrington looks over at him suddenly, eyebrows raising in question. Billy's eyes darted down to where Harrington had been tapping the eraser of his pencil against the table. His cheeks flush and he mouths an apology, setting the pencil down. Truth be told, the sound hadn't bothered Billy in the slightest. He hadn't even actually noticed it until Harrington had made eye contact and he needed a way out.

"Mr. Hargrove." Billy turns his head back to the teacher, eyes widening in faux innocence. "What was I just saying?"

Billy had no idea. Before he could say as much, or make some shit up, Harrington was sending her a sheepish smile. "Sorry, ma'am. I accidentally distracted him by tapping my pencil. Won't happen again."

The woman's eyes soften a bit in the face of Harrington's seemingly sincere regret. "Very well, Mr. Harrington. Everyone, pay attention, please."

Part of Billy wanted to snap at Harrington. He didn't need his help. But another part of him knew that this gave him an opening. Now, he had a reason to talk to Harrington without drawing attention to it. Billy mulls it over for a moment before scribbling a note onto the corner of his paper and sliding it into Harrington's field of vision.

Harrington blinks down at it in surprise, glances over at Billy, and then looks closer. He sounds out the 'thanks' as he reads it, smiling a bit. He picks his pencil back up and writes on his own paper. No problem. Billy reads it and quirks an eyebrow at Harrington before leaning back in his seat. Harrington does the opposite, leaning forward onto his elbows. Out of Harrington's field of vision, Billy is free to study him.

Despite his sharp jaw line and clear muscle, Steve Harrington was all elegance. High, aristocratic cheekbones. Soft looking lips parted around the tip of his thumbnail. Slim wrists and soft looking skin. There were small groups of freckles near his eye, his mouth, and the apple of his cheek. There were two moles on his jaw and one a few inches down his neck. Small imperfections that made him human.

Steve Harrington looked like he was carefully curated to draw people in. Big brown eyes and charming smiles.

The bells rang faster than Billy thought it would've. Or maybe he'd just lost track of time. As Harrington packs up, he turns to smile politely at Billy. "Hey, you're coming to try outs, right?"