House, Not home | Harringrove

Sexuality Struggles

My head is killing me. It feels like I banged my head against a wall, or got punched in the face and had my brain rattled. It's pounding. Why did I party so fucking hard?

Billy groans and shoves his head into his pillow, not wanting to get up. He thinks about the night before and how he felt around Harrington. What the fuck was that feeling? He couldn't take his eyes off the brunette. He could barely control himself.

Could he like Steve...?

Fuck no.

He didn't even consider Steve a friend, let alone more than that.

Ecstatic that it's Saturday, Billy nuzzles himself deeper into the blankets, allowing himself another half hour of sleep. Yet, for some reason, he couldn't fall asleep again. His mind is filled with Steve and his deep brown eyes... his hair, oh god his hair.

Don't think like that.

The blonde drags himself to the shower, not being able to lay with his own thoughts any longer. The scalding water pouring down on him makes him feel fresher, more awake. He gently massages soap into his skin, trying not to miss any spots considering where he was last night. He takes his time in the shower, trying his best not to let his mind wander to dark places. Places Neil would kill him for even thinking about.

A half-hour later, he's dressed and smelling great. Although Billy has no plans for the day, he could come up with something in the car, maybe drive to the quarry and just sit outside for a bit before it fucking snows. Looking out the window and seeing no leaves on the trees, he could practically feel the cold air. Shit, it'd probably snow sooner than he expected.

In a month back in Cali, I'd be having a sunny Christmas and not giving a shit about how many fucking layers I'd have to wear outside.

However, that's what's happening. I had to waste money on two winter jackets a few days ago, one for me and one for Max. I'm still pissed.

Wandering to the entryway, Billy hops to keep his balance as he pulls on his sneakers. He grins at the sight of his car, jogging out the front door and down the steps. The blonde slides into the front seat.

His blue Camaro, his girl, his Darcy. Billy bought Darcy when he was 16, she was in decent condition— although damaged enough that she was sold for pretty cheap— and he'd been saving since his 13th birthday. He worked hard to get her. Among other things, his summers consisted of lifeguard work at the beach, lawn mowing, and teaching surfing lessons. His falls and winters were spent working as a barista and he'd taken up helping his neighbor, Jeff, out with his gardens and they fixed his beat-up old truck. That was when Billy was just 15 years old, old enough to get his license— which he got the following spring. Jeff taught him everything he knew about cars, and when he bought Darcy Jeff helped him bring her back to peak condition.

Billy marvels at the number of places Darcy's taken him. Hell, she'd brought him to Hawkins whether he liked it or not.

"Where should we go, huh girl?" Billy mumbles as he pulls out and speeds down the road. He taps his steering wheel to the beat of one of his rock cassettes and hums the tune. Finding himself steering into town, he decided on grabbing breakfast at the diner. Suddenly aware of his growling stomach, Billy pushes down on the gas.

The light-up sign— which isn't very bright in the morning sun— for the diner appears in Billy's line of sight. That is, at the same time Steve's station wagon parked outside the diner also appears in Billy's line of sight. He's not quite sure if this is good or bad yet.

☂︎

The lights always seem brighter when I'm hungover. Even if I only had a few— too many —drinks. I push my shades up the bridge of my nose, trying to get maximum coverage. Sitting on the outside of a bench beside Henderson in a crowded booth of "my children" I am being forced to listen to arguments about some monster in D'n'D.