Chapter Text
Of course Billy has heard of them. He’s even seen them, living in California, as he used to, under the sunshine with plenty of seafood markets abound. But he pieced together from observation that “cat people” were...well. Like cats. They stuck with their crowd or kept to themselves. And disappeared in a blink if they didn’t want you to find them. Billy had never really seen one up close before, let alone properly interacted with one.
That is, until he came smack into contact with Steve Harrington.
In the middle of the school parking lot, standing with his friends like any other student, Billy understood the fascination with them like a bucket of water landed on his head. Because Steve was overwhelming in both his differences and similarities.
He was just a guy. A little taller than Billy, in fact—why did Billy have the impression that cat people were averagely shorter?—and laughing like any other high schooler.
Except he had a tail. He kept it curled around his hip and thigh, out of the way. It wasn’t bushy like a Maine Coon, but something in between a short hair and longhaired cat. It matched his dark hair. His dark ears. Maybe the reason Billy got so close before he stopped dead in his tracks was because the guy’s hair stood nearly as tall as his ears. Brown tips that eased to black in the depths of his hair—
Steve’s head turned to him with one eyebrow slightly raised. Billy wondered if he knew Billy had been there, but gave him the grace period of moving along until Billy was clearly bent on staring. Now he had those large eyes on him, and…Steve really just looked like a regular person. Kind of heavy brow bones, but large whiskey eyes crowned a European nose and pretty boy lips…
“You done?”
Polo shirt. Khakis. Clean jacket. New shoes. This pristine kitty was a brat, and Billy let a toothy smile break through his smirk. “Not even close.”
He couldn’t read Steve’s expression, then, but it didn’t matter because a skinny girl drew Steve toward the school by the arm.
Kitty’s got a girlfriend? Cute.
Billy couldn’t really say how he learned the cat’s name; just that everyone knew it, and soon enough, so did Billy. He observed the way the tall young man moved through the halls, chin up and gait loose like he owned them. Maybe he did, what with the money on his back and the equal mixture of reverence and disdain for the name, Harrington.
But for the most part, Steve seemed to just be…Steve. It took a couple days for Billy to understand, but when he did, he couldn’t help but feel like Dorothy out of Kansas. Hawkins only had one high school. One middle school. One elementary school. Probably one daycare. Of course nobody stared at Steve. They’d been with him their entire lives.
So of course there wasn’t even an address on the Halloween party fliers that stuck out of his locker. Billy had to ask where this girl, Tina, lived, but everybody knew everybody, so come Halloween night, Billy stood out of his car in his nicest leather jacket with his shirt left behind in his car.
It was fun. In a small town where the only worthwhile activities are booze and sex, kind of way. Billy considered himself good at both, and soon enough his torso shined with other people’s spilled liquor and beer from his keg stand. He didn’t even know there was a record to beat until numbers were shouted all around him. He kept going because why not?
Then his feet were on the ground with hands slapping his shoulders, his back.
The house thrummed with music worthy of neighbor complaints.
Somebody missed the memo that you’re supposed to teepee the outside of a house, not the interior rafters, but Billy used one of the long strands of toilet paper to wipe his chin…
He didn’t expect to see a cat person in the middle of a house party. Noise, commotion, overwhelming smells, but there stood Steve by the stain glass doors. With his girlfriend.
Not so much as a coherent thought, but as a feeling resting in his spine behind his ribs, Billy growled internally, She’s got to go.
And when he finished crossing the room to stand face to face with Steve, Billy almost smirked all over again. Because she turned right around and left Steve where he stood. The cat tore his gaze from Billy to lock onto her going to the kitchen—
“It’s a little loud in here, isn’t it?”
Billy’s eyes darted up to one of Steve’s ears twisting toward the kitchen, and that…made a rush of heat—could be the beer or raw fascination—bloom up Billy’s throat and cheeks. The way Steve’s gaze watched Billy’s, but remained illegible while his ears moved…made Billy frown. Steve wasn’t paying attention to him.
He reached right around Steve for the doorknob, framing him in Billy’s personal space, and hustled Steve right outside. “Dude, move—what are you—?”
The way Steve’s eyes blew wide to accommodate for the darkness made Billy’s stomach jump. “We haven’t properly met.”
“You’re the guy everyone hates in gym,” Steve remarked with something of a smirk. He turned to start making his way around the house since Billy obviously wasn’t letting him back into it through the side door.
“It’s not my fault nobody can keep up. My name’s Billy. Billy Hargrove. Why haven’t I seen you there, Steve?”
He got the desired effect: Steve threw a huff over his shoulder and his gaze stuck on Billy. “I finished my gym credits.”
“That’s a shame,” Billy crooned. “I’m sure it’s a dream to see you move.”
Maybe to show off, or maybe it’s just a Steve thing, but he leapt up the porch stairs in one bound. He made it look like an easy, springy step before he dived into the Halloween crowd once more, not even checking to see if Billy followed him or not.
He considered reaching for a fresh cigarette since he was outside; he even got as far as holding it in his mouth when the guy, Tommy, sauntered up behind him.
“He didn’t finish any credits.”
Billy stopped searching for his lighter and lifted annoyed eyes at him. “Excuse me?”
Tommy lifted his brows over pot smoke eyes. “He’s not allowed. No sports. No gym.” He shrugged and began lifting a cup of beer to his mouth. “It’s kinda nice, apart from the whole discriminatory aspect—”
Billy smacked the cup right out of his hand. “Dude. What’s up your ass?”
“Next time you feel like eavesdropping, stay inside.”
However Billy only had himself to blame for lingering outside, because he didn’t see Steve for the rest of the night. He only knew Steve left the party because someone cooed in the kitchen, “Trouble in paradise! Someone else is taking Nancy home.”
“That blows,” someone else commented. “Steve’s been chasing her for weeks.”
“Her loss,” a girl with wildly permed hair declared around a Twizzler.
That’s how Billy found himself knocking on the Harringtons’ door the following morning. Double doors, actually. Showered, freshly shaved, and digesting a pot of coffee topped off with some ibuprofen, Billy tried to wait patiently for one of them to open. He looked at his watch and sighed haughtily at the 10:23 there—
Both doors opened to none other, than Mrs. Harrington. An easy smile slid right over Billy’s features, because Steve definitely took after her. Same nose, eyes, lips, and hair, she even stood taller than most women. But it was the eyes. She didn’t have cat ears or a tail that he could see, but something about the eyes…the shape of the pupil might’ve been a little less round, or perhaps it was the irises. They pinned their object in place. Billy would bet a lot on Steve inheriting his feline attributes from her.
A thick, ice blue, silk robe glistened around her shoulders despite the green, flannel, pajama pants underneath. Billy wondered if Steve had a matching pair. “Mrs. Harrington? Good morning, I’m Billy Hargrove. Steve’s friend.”
Pristine, yet not manicured, nails pointed forward as she offered her hand. “Good morning, Billy.”
He closed it within both of his. “It’s a pleasure, ma’am.”
Her hand slid out of his with a little tilt of her head. Billy felt like those eyes were analyzing him even while she said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think Steve is up for visitors today.”
Billy winced over an apologetic smile. “It doesn’t happen to be because of a girl, does it?”
Mrs. Harrington sighed and crossed her arms while leaning against the doorframe. “Small town cruelties. I suppose everyone knows?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he lied, “I just happened to be around when they, uh…had some friction.”
Mrs. Harrington just…stared at him for a while. Long enough for Billy to wonder if he said something wrong or if he was being dismissed. He tried to smile again but this woman was clearly not like other mothers. Eventually he admitted, “Uh. Am I missing something here?”
“No,” she chimed. “I’m waiting to see if Steve wants to see you.”
“Mom.”
“I reckon he does.” She stood up from the doorframe and rotated so Billy could see Steve coming through the foyer. “Billy, have you had breakfast?”
“Just coffee. My stomach hasn’t been ready for solids yet.”
She tossed a knowing smile over her shoulder. “I’m sure. Steve makes a spectacularly greasy breakfast sandwich whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m not cooking. I barely know him,” her son objected. Steve weathered through his mother cradling his face to kiss his cheek in passing. When she moved along, he leveled tired eyes at Billy, who was not shy about his gaze wandering over Steve. Matching flannel pants. Crimson long-sleeve shirt that went so well with his chocolate hair. Billy could see now that Steve’s ears were lined with black fur.
One of them swiveled down to make room for Steve raking a hand through his hair as he turned to go back into the depths of his house. All at once, Billy realized he was allowed in. He quickly yanked on his bootlaces, leaving his leather jacket on the coat hanger. He was glad for it, as the house only grew toastier the further he followed Steve.
“You look like Christmas,” he teased, only to have his expression wiped by the purring fireplace across from the kitchen.
“There’s coffee,” Steve offered tersely, opening the cabinet for mugs but otherwise leaving Billy to it. The house smelled of eggs, bread, bacon, and something sweet. As Billy helped himself to coffee, he peered at Steve pulling bagel slices out of the toaster to join his fried eggs and…an apple pastry. Billy’s stomach gave a twinge of hangover but also the first tickles of hunger. He found the cupcake pan with the apple slices arranged like rose petals on each pastry, and plucked one out for himself.
Not wanting to spoil his luck at being let into the Harrington house, he quickly found the plates and forks before sitting next to Steve on the couch. Both of them hunkered over the coffee table with their plates. Billy admitted, “I’m a little surprised you don’t use the dining table, or…what do you call those? Breakfast bars?”
“Dad’s not home,” was Steve’s only explanation before a forkful of eggs.
“So the cats will play,” Billy hummed around his pastry. “This is good.”
“Don’t call us that.”
The words were quiet, but definitely there. Billy swallowed and lifted his coffee to his lips. “What do you want to be called?”
Jesus, everything in this house is good, he thought into the dark liquid.
Steve pointed with his fork, “That’s a cat.”
Billy expected a figurine on the built-in shelves. Instead, a cat so beautiful it looked fake, jumped onto the coffee table. Blue eyes glowed out of a face as dark as Billy’s coffee. A white splotch, like a star on a horse, marked the cat’s forehead until pale, creamy fur covered its body apart from the legs, ears, and tail. Even the cat’s chest had a great deal of the dark, coffee fur.
It came to lick cream cheese off of Steve’s outstretched finger. Billy wondered aloud, “What’s her name? Latte?”
“It was Godiva. But she’s just Diva now.”
“She sure is, if you’re spoiling her from your table.”
“Hey!” Steve exclaimed when Billy took the other half of his bagel. It crunched pleasantly between his teeth, the sour cream cheese going nicely with the everything spices.
Ignoring Steve’s disgruntlement, Billy went on to say, “How common is it for…you to have cats?”
Steve understood and shrugged, focusing on his food. “As normal as anyone else.”
Billy didn’t quite believe that, but he left it alone. Steve’s ears perked up when Billy rubbed his fingertips together for the cat’s attention, and offered a tiny peak of cheese on his finger. He chuckled deep in his chest at the rough tongue tickling his skin. “She’s easy to bribe.”
“She’s a ragdoll.”
“That seems like a rude thing to say of the diva in your house.”
“No, that’s her breed.”
“Ragdoll? What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. That she’s really domestic?”
To demonstrate, Steve scooped her indecorously off the table, gathering her upside-down body in his arms. The cat’s head merely swiveled to keep an eye on their plates, completely pliant to whatever Steve was doing. Billy huffed an amused breath and scratched her forehead. She didn’t seem to mind, until she caught his hand in her paws to investigate. Finding nothing, she let him go in favor of looking longingly at their breakfast.
“What do you want to be called?” Billy repeated.
Steve set the cat down on the floor. “Well my name is Steve, so you could start there.”
Billy smiled to himself as he pried an apple slice off of Steve’s pastry with his fork. “Mmkay.”
Steve pulled it right off his fork with his fingers. “God, you are a douchebag.”
“Only because I haven’t lost to anyone yet.”
“Yeah, yet.” Steve briefly sucked on his fingertips and went back to eating.