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Steve didn’t realize, at first, why the school courtyard was so quiet that Monday. It was always the same: people chatting, the usual back-and-forth, cars pulling in, the sound of the bells announcing the start of class. He looked around to see if anyone else sensed something was off, but everyone seemed totally normal.
The feeling stayed with him during lunch, though again, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He sat with Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan as usual, half-listening to the typical argument between some freak and a couple of jocks. He tried asking his friends if they felt like something was off, but they just shrugged and looked at him like he was being weird.
It wasn’t until the end of classes, when he finally stepped into the gym for basketball practice, that it hit him: Billy Hargrove wasn’t there. He hadn’t seen him all day. No dramatic entrance in his obnoxiously loud car, no crappy music, no cafeteria chaos. It had just been... quiet. So quiet, Steve didn’t notice until late afternoon — a weird combination of being used to Billy’s bitchiness and totally over it at the same time.
Steve shrugged and tried to shake the feeling off, still not sure why Billy’s absence was bothering him so much. But then the next day came, and Billy didn’t show again — and now Steve was officially concerned.
The coach gave him an excuse, and Steve pretended to buy it. The season was coming up fast, and as team captain, he was supposed to check in and make sure his teammates were ready. Besides, no one was answering Billy’s phone.
“Harrington, make sure Hargrove’s good for the next match.”
Steve blinked.
"Why me?"
"You’re the captain, Harrington."
The coach dismissed him with a shrug like it was obvious. And to be fair, Steve had always taken the job seriously. He was good at checking in on people, keeping morale up — that’s part of how he’d earned the armband. But Billy? Billy had always been a wild card. They didn’t have a relationship, not really. Billy had been gunning for Steve’s place on the court since day one, and that was just one of the many things that drove Steve nuts.
It was late when he finally left the school building, already edging into dusk. He sighed and pulled out of the parking lot, determined to get this over with once and for all.
He drove past the mall and caught a glimpse of Jonathan’s van leaving the lot. Then, on a narrow stretch of road with no sidewalk, his headlights caught a small figure on a skateboard — red hair flying like fire in the wind.
He honked.
The figure responded immediately by flipping him off.
He honked again and pulled up beside Max, rolling down the passenger-side window.
"Hey! What are you doing here? It’s dangerous!"
Max muttered something that sounded like either "I know" or "fuck you."
Steve stopped, leaned across the seat, and opened the door. She climbed in without saying anything, hugging her board.
"What the hell are you doing out here?" he asked.
"I’m going home, Sherlock."
Steve rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I meant… whatever."
They drove in silence through the quiet suburb where she lived now with her mom — after Neil bailed. Steve knew Max and Billy didn’t get along. Billy always threatened to make her skate the whole way home, but Steve remembered him usually following behind her, mocking her, yeah, but watching her too. Not leaving her alone on a road like that.
"You can stop here," Max said quickly as they turned the last corner.
"Yeah, no," Steve muttered, pulling up right behind Billy’s blue Camaro.
"Okay, thanks, goodbye." Max jumped out, slammed the door, and bolted toward the house.
"Hey, wait!" Steve followed, catching the front door before she could slam it in his face. "Hello?" he called, stepping inside mostly out of instinct.
The living room was dim, lit only by the glow of the TV. A figure slumped on the couch — Steve was pretty sure it was Billy.
Billy turned his head and clicked his tongue.
"Oh, Christ," he muttered, glaring over Steve’s shoulder at Max. "You brought him here?"
Steve frowned. "She was skating in the dark, what the hell were you thinking?"
Billy’s eyes snapped to Max. "You what?"
Max stuck her tongue out and slammed her bedroom door.
"Christ," Billy muttered again. "Harrington, go home."
"You missed practice."
"I said go away."
"And I said—"
That’s when Steve noticed the crutches leaning against the couch.
Billy was sitting stiffly, only turning his head. One leg was stretched out on a footstool, awkward and stiff.
"What the…"
Steve found the light switch and flipped it.
"Christ," Billy winced, blinking against the sudden brightness.
His face was dotted with small bruises, there was a big bandage on one hand, and a perfect white cast wrapped around his right leg, propped up on the stool.
"What the hell happened?"
"Okay, Harrington. Get out. Max! Max! Come here!"
Max appeared reluctantly from her room.
"Harrington’s leaving," Billy told her.
"What happened?" Steve asked, ignoring him completely.
"He fell off the roof when—"
"Shut up!" Billy shouted, and Max zipped her mouth.
"The coach sent me. He wanted to know why you didn’t show."
Billy raised a brow, giving Steve a look like he was completely hopeless.
"What do you think, Sherlock?"
Steve rolled his eyes. No doubt these two were related.
"I can’t drive. I can’t play," Billy muttered, lowering his eyes.
"Yeah, but we still need you at practice. You know, to learn strategies…"
"And how do you think I’m getting to school, genius?" Billy sighed, clearly done with Steve’s stupidity.
Steve crossed his arms. They stared each other down until Steve looked away. Billy smirked and turned back to the TV.
"Turn the light off when you leave," he said without looking up.
Steve left, annoyed.
The next morning, Billy ignored the phone ringing inside the house. Susan had already left for her first shift, leaving Max at the bus stop. She didn’t have time to drive back and forth, so Max would have to skate home again in the afternoon. Billy couldn’t walk all the way from the bus stop, so he was resigned to spend the second day of his three-week prognosis alone, again. The cast was bothering him, he had to shower in pieces, and he was already bored.
A car honked loudly outside. Billy ignored it, just as he had ignored the phone. It honked again, and again. Billy leaned on his crutches to wash the dishes.
There was a knock at the door.
“Hey! I know you’re in there! Answer, Hargrove!”
Steve’s voice was loud and persistent, and the knocking didn’t seem like it would stop. “Hargrove! Come on!”
“Coming, coming!” Billy dragged himself with the crutches and opened the door. Steve stood there, hands on his hips.
“So?” Steve said. “Aren’t you ready? Come on, let’s go!”
“Are you nuts, Harrington?”
“Hurry up or we’ll be late.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You have ten minutes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“I won’t move.”
“So you’ll skip class.”
In the battle of wills, Billy lost. He scoffed.
“Right. Jesus. You’re a pain in the ass.”
“Ten minutes!” Steve yelled again as Billy retreated to his room to get ready quickly for school. He climbed the patio steps and then slid into the passenger seat of Steve’s car with a tortured look, but didn’t say a word, even though he was dying to wipe the smug grin off Steve’s face.
“I’ll take you and Max home after practice.”
Billy scoffed. “You don’t have to.”
“Of course I do. As your captain, I have to keep an eye on my teammates.”
Billy groaned. “Don’t say it.”
“What? Captain? Well, since I am the captain, and until I’m not…”
“Stop it!”
“You’re not the captain, and you can’t tell the captain what to do!” Steve’s tone was fully mocking now, and Billy groaned, trying to cover his ears.
“I’m coming for you,” Steve pointed at Billy when they parted in the hallway. Billy rolled his eyes.
Billy wasn’t really happy to be at school, to say the least. He hadn’t told anyone about falling off the roof, and hoped no one would find out. If it hadn’t been for the shitbird… he didn’t want help, pity, or people hovering, and now thanks to Harrington, he had to endure all that at school.
He hadn’t wanted to have his cast signed, but by the second period his immaculate leg was already covered with the names of all the girls who squealed with pity looking at him—and some boys who thought it was cute to encourage him—when all he wanted was to be left alone.
Plus, Steve’s surprise arrival hadn’t given him time to think about his outfit. Now he was stuck at school wearing hideous sweatpants (the only thing that fit around the cast and made his ass look flat), a hoodie he usually only wore at home, and a stupid toddler backpack because he couldn’t wear anything else with the crutches—unless he wanted Steve carrying his books. Billy shuddered at the thought.
So here he was, sitting miserably on a bench in the gym after an interminable meeting with the coach. Harrington was by his side—Billy had to admit Steve looked just as miserable—while the coach lectured about being stuck with the team, punctuality, strategy, and other stuff Billy just tuned out.
Steve seemed almost sorry when the coach finally let them go, and Billy was relieved to watch the practice from the benches. The coach kept barking orders during the scrimmage, calling Billy now and then to make sure he understood the strategy—even if Billy’s idea of playing was to steal the ball, run over everyone, and shoot.
“I’ll drive you as soon as I get changed,” Steve nodded after practice. “Wait for me here or—”
“I’ll go find my sister,” Billy cut him off harshly, itching to move more than his crutches allowed. His whole body ached from being forced still. The cast was itching too, and the doctors said he should smoke less—they really said he should avoid smoking—but he wasn’t about to give up what made him feel better.
He slowly walked outside where Max was already waiting. He leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply with a moan.
“It was a hit,” Max said, pointing at his signed cast.
“Shut up.”
Steve came out a few minutes later and drove them home in silence, letting Billy smoke through the open window.
“Let me get out by myself,” Billy barked without a hint of gratitude when Steve went around the car to help him. Steve decided not to argue and just huffed.
“Whatever. I’ll be here tomorrow at 7:50. Be ready,” Steve said tiredly and pulled out without another word.
Steve did show up the next morning, a little late to be honest, but this time Billy had time to make himself a little more presentable. He still had to wear sweatpants, but he could comb his hair, put on a clean shirt, and spray on a generous dose of cologne.
“Jesus Christ, you bathed in that?” Steve said, pinching his nose dramatically as Billy sat in the passenger seat, refusing help again.
“Shut up,” Billy muttered for the entire ride, and Steve exchanged a resigned look with Max.
It became a bit of a routine through the week, but they didn’t really talk much. Billy seemed like a feral cat trapped in a carrier, just about to be tortured by sadistic doctors, too pissed off to fight—or at least that’s how Steve saw it: like carrying a bomb in his passenger seat, ready to explode at the slightest touch.
Steve tried asking if Billy needed help over the weekend, but Billy gave him a disgusted look and said nothing, so the routine continued on Monday. Billy seemed more relaxed with the crutches but was still reluctant to talk and looked as nervous as the week before. Sometimes Steve would watch him tapping his fingers or bouncing his good leg, frustrated by feeling useless and stuck.
On Friday, Billy left Steve’s car with a grimace, and Steve stuck his tongue out at him, frustrated. Only after the car turned the corner Steve realize Billy had left his backpack on the back seat—and neither he nor Max had noticed.
Steve stopped the car, ready to turn back, even if Billy would probably growl at his kindness. Curiosity won, and he rifled through the backpack, looking at Billy’s notebooks.
“Holy shit!” Steve couldn’t help cursing in surprise. Billy’s notes were really good, almost as good as Nancy’s, and better in some subjects. Steve even found a draft for a college application, something he had no clue about. He never thought Billy was a nerd—and was sure he’d never seen him with a book in any class they shared.
Steve’s own grades were terrible, and last year Nancy had tried to help him, with little success. He wasn’t sure he could pass senior year.
Steve shrugged and returned to Billy’s house. When Billy opened the door, with his usual annoyed expression, he realized he had forgotten the backpack, and for once his face actually looked grateful—for just a second.
Billy narrowed his eyes at Steve, who didn’t seem inclined to move.
“Well?” Billy said harshly.
Steve looked down.
“I… I don’t want to bother you, but… since you can’t move… Do you want to come over and study together… for a change?”
Billy bit his lip, looking anxiously at the backpack and then at Steve, frowning.
“Did you go through my stuff?” Billy asked.
Steve blushed but managed to deny it.
“And why do you want to study with me?” continued Billy. “Why don’t you just ask for help?”
“I… uh… I’m home alone, and… I used to study with Nancy.”
Billy scoffed. “Got it. So now Wheeler can use both legs to run away from you, while I’m limping and can’t escape.”
Billy tried to sound serious but burst out laughing, breaking the tension. Steve smiled too.
“Kind of,” Steve giggled.
“Okay. Pick me up tomorrow at half past ten,” Billy said, trying to close the door, but Steve was still standing there, mouth open.
“Why?” Billy shook his head, offended by Steve’s surprised expression. “Didn’t you think I’d walk to your house?”
Steve helped Billy up the steps to his front door. Lately, he’d been realizing how many obstacles there were in the world for people who couldn’t walk properly. He noticed again when, after a couple of hours of studying—Billy immediately knew he had to help Steve a lot—he called for a break and made some toast.
“Why don’t we eat them by the pool?” Steve suggested, and Billy shrugged, grabbing his crutches. It was a bit tricky to get through the garden door, but when Billy stepped onto the freshly mowed grass, a crutch sank and slipped on the wet ground, almost making him fall.
“Oh, shit, I didn’t think about the grass!” Steve apologized and tried to help Billy into a beach chair, struggling a lot.
When they decided to go back inside, Billy unsuccessfully tried to use his crutches again, and Steve ran to help him.
“Lean on me,” Steve said, offering help, but Billy gave him his usual grin and swatted away Steve’s eager hands.
“I can walk!” Billy barked, reluctant to admit he was afraid to fall but too proud to accept Steve’s arm like some lame old man.
Steve rolled his eyes, fed up with Billy’s antics, and without warning grabbed Billy’s waist. Ignoring Billy’s screams and protests, he lifted him onto his shoulders and carried him to the armchair in the living room.
“Don’t you dare do that again!” Billy yelled, shocked.
“Don’t worry, you weigh a ton!”
“Jerk!”
“Fat!”
Despite everything, after that first study session, Billy seemed to soften a bit—maybe because he had only a week left with the cast before returning to his normal life. Steve noticed Billy was a bit kinder to him, and a couple of days they even skipped the last classes together to study in the library.
They came out of the school building together, but Steve stopped to talk to the groundskeeper. Billy walked slowly to Steve’s car, where Max was waiting with her friend El.
“Billy!” El greeted him warmly, pointing at his cast. “How’s your leg? Dad grounded me so I couldn’t visit before, but…”
To Steve’s great surprise, Billy smiled.
“It’s good. They’ll take it off Monday.”
“That’s great!” El clapped. “Dad’s still mad, but he said we can keep the kitten a little longer. I’m trying to convince him!”
“What kitten?” Steve asked, unnoticed.
El’s eyes widened, and Billy blushed.
“Oh?” El looked at Billy. “The kitten you saved from the roof before you…”
Billy squirmed, even redder and embarrassed.
“Wait, you didn’t tell Steve why you fell from the roof?” Max asked, half annoyed, half amused.
“Billy went up on the roof to help a kitten,” El explained, and Steve tried to stifle a laugh.
“Awwww…” Steve giggled.
“Oh no, don’t awww me!”
“You saved a kitten? And that’s why you fell?”
“Leave me alone,” Billy grumbled.
“No, no, I’m not mocking you,” Steve kept laughing. “I’m not mocking you… you’re really kind…”
“Oh, shut up, fuck you,” Billy muttered as he rushed into the car and slammed the door, sitting stiffly but blushing so much he looked like a cute stuffed animal with a fake tough expression.
“Oh, come on!” Steve sat in the driver’s seat and tried to be serious. “There’s nothing wrong with that!”
Billy stayed silent the whole way home and refused Steve’s help getting out of the car, pouting.
“You’ll drive me to get this thing off on Monday,” he hissed, slamming the door behind him.
Steve laughed a little more but was really impressed that Billy had risked himself to save a kitten. Not that he’d fallen, obviously, but that he’d been so kind with his sister and El to put himself in danger for a little pet—a thing Steve never thought possible.
He left Billy alone for the weekend, and finally, on Monday, Billy got rid of the cast. He felt free at last but realized his leg still hurt a little.
Steve helped him hobble on his right leg, and when they had to go down a flight of stairs to the parking lot, Steve sighed and lifted Billy into his arms again like a damsel in distress, ignoring Billy’s struggles and protests.
Billy couldn’t go straight back to training, but finally, he could move and warm up during practice—and, most importantly, he could drive again.
They declared an awkward truce: Billy kept helping Steve with his homework, and Steve shared his garden and pool for whenever Billy wanted to crash there.
“Ouch!” Billy whimpered, rubbing his leg as he tried to get up from the beach chair. It still hurt sometimes, and Steve ran to help as usual.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, and Billy nodded dramatically.
“Come on, lean on me,” Steve offered, and Billy tried to stand with a grimace and a groan.
He leaned on Steve, dragging his left leg, but managed only a few steps before giving up and rubbing his leg again.
“Okay, don’t worry, leave it to me,” Steve said, grabbing him, and Billy surprisingly didn’t resist much. Steve carried him through the garden, and Billy rested his head on Steve’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry it still hurts,” Steve said, frowning. “Billy? Are you sure your leg’s still hurting?”
Billy didn’t answer, only letting out a pathetic whine.
“You broke your right leg, Billy!”
Billy giggled and buried his face in Steve’s shoulder.
“Billy!”