The first time Steve really felt at home was when he and Billy moved into a place of their own (well, technically it was a graduation gift from his parents, and even though his pride suffered major injuries, he wasn't stupid enough to turn it down – after all he had almost no money of his own and he justified the apartment as an apology for the years of neglect, or at least that's what he kept telling himself). It was one of the nicer ones in Philadelphia and must have cost a fortune.

They moved in and even though Steve wanted to take Billy to Europe like he promised, Billy insisted on staying and getting a job. It wasn't like Billy couldn't get to university (because he could - he actually had a pretty solid brain under that thick skin of his). He just didn't want to.

When Steve asked, Billy would always shrug and give some vague answer, always along the lines of 'not needing a fancy piece of paper to validate his worth.' But Steve suspected there was more to it than Billy was letting on.

And Billy knew Steve didn't buy his excuses. Because that's what they were – transparent excuses that he himself wouldn't believe. But Steve wouldn't question him any further unless he saw that he was willing to be questioned (that was the beauty of being with Steve – he didn't stick his nose where it wasn't welcome). The thing was that Billy didn't want Steve to pay for his education, and he'd rather bath himself in acid than go beg his father for money. Steve was doing way more for Billy than he could ever ask for as it was, and he knew very well that it was a debt he'd never be able to pay off (not that Steve would ever rub it into his face but it was an ever-present boulder he'd have to learn to live with). And so he promised himself that he'd find a job and pay the bills and he'd fucking pull his weight.

Billy got a job as an auto mechanic. He'd work 12-hour shifts at a time, and he'd come home beyond exhausted, and he'd smell like petrol for days afterwards, no matter how much he showered or how hard he scrubbed his skin. But the job paid well and so he endured each day with his chin held high and without complaint.

Steve got an afternoon job as a barista at a fairly cozy café across the street. Not that he knew anything about coffee or the basics of making it, but he was a quick learner and in no time he had a number of regulars who would come round for a cup and a casual chat every time he was working. In the evenings, when the rush calmed down a little, he'd sit on the counter and read a book, or study, or just watch the street in hopes of spotting a familiar mane of blond curls walking down the sidewalk. Not that it was a frequent occurrence that Billy would get home before Steve.

▾▿▾

The first time Billy came home drunk, Steve got really, really scared. Not because Billy was an aggressive drunk (because he wasn't – he was more of a stumbling, stuttering mess of flailing limbs and absent gazes). No, he was scared of what alcohol could forge out of Billy. A burnout. A lost case. Steve was aware of the direction Billy had been headed in even before he met him. He knew how people like Billy were destined to end up – drowning themselves in a bottle because they were too far gone to be saved. Steve didn't want to see Billy fall down the hole of alcohol and drugs and numbing himself enough to make life sufferable.

The next morning Billy apologized profusely and Steve held him close as he promised it wouldn't happen again.

And Billy did keep the promise, just not in the way Steve imagined. Billy started coming home with bruises and bloody knuckles and black eyes. Steve would have said something, had Billy not looked so fucking happy and Steve understood, for he himself used to punch his pain away not that long ago.

And then one day Billy stepped into the ring with his knuckles bared and a manic smile that faded into a look of confusion and surprise the moment his eyes met those of his opponent.

Steve winked at him from the other side of the ring, his mouth forming a sly curve that could have been perceived as taunting, though Billy knew that it was merely the smugness of Steve's actions reflected on his perfect fucking face.

"Ready Hargrove?" Steve asked, rolling his neck and cracking his knuckles.

"You bet, Harrington," Billy grinned and without warning threw the first punch.

And Steve dodged.

▾▿▾

What they had was not perfect. It was not the teenage dream everyone fantasized about. Billy was still broken and Steve was still desperately trying to fix him. Steve still had daddy (and mommy) issues and he still had to take money from his parents just to get by. Billy still enjoyed the bitterness of alcohol on his tongue and the exhilarating pain of forming bruises.

So yes – they were by no means perfect. Quite the contrary, actually. But they would have it no other way.