34. Chapter 34

“I only use the first floor,” Colleen is saying as she shows him around the art studio. It’s a little dusty, but there are signs of use— disturbed canvases, dried paint, a half-finished picture of lovers embracing. “Technically I own the whole building, though. You’re welcome to make use of the two upper floors, if you can— they’re fitted as two separate apartments, though I don’t think anybody’s lived in them since the sixties.”

Billy pauses.

“Apartments?” he asks.

Colleen hums.

“Yeah. Steve said you’re looking for an apartment, aren’t you?” Colleen asks, tilting her head. She’s wearing a sundress today, patterned like a bowling alley’s carpet in neon planets and bowling pins. “I can’t say much for the quality, but if you can get one of them up to code you’re more than welcome to take advantage. It seems a shame to let them go to waste, you know.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Billy asks.

“Besides the fact that you have to cut through the studio to get to them? Well, there’s probably a few electrical issues, maybe something with the plumbing— you know, because they’ve been out of use so long. But besides that? Just the decor. It’s outdated.” Colleen shrugs. “I’m not going to use them, so you may as well.”

“Ma’am,” Billy says slowly. “Are you offering me an apartment… for free?”

“Well, not for free, exactly,” she says. “I mean, you’re cleaning my studio, and you’re going to be on call for babysitting the rugrats Steven adopted if they actually start a band— which reminds me, let me show you the backroom, that’s where they can practice, when it comes to it— plus, you know, you’d have to pay for any work that needs to be done, but otherwise… yeah. You can live here.”

Billy’s heart must have stopped. He must be having a stroke. He must be making the stupidest fucking face, seriously, because she didn’t just casually offer him a place to live that doesn’t involve a couch and spare blankets, did she?

Holy shit, she just did.

“Billy, are you okay?”

“Colleen,” he says, reaching out to take her hand and hold it to his chest. “You are the most wonderful woman in the world, and don’t let anyone tell you different.”

Colleen bats her eyes at him, like she’s one of the chicks in Billy’s graduating class.

“Oh honey, don’t worry— I know.” She smiles, and her cheeks dimple just like Steve’s. “But before you go saying that, you should maybe go upstairs and have a look first, hmm?”

Billy lets go of her hand and steps to the side, giving her a little flourish. He’s grinning so hard is face might be in danger of splitting in two.

“Lead on, madame,” he says in his best ‘serious’ voice.

And Colleen, bless her, she giggles.

“Oh, stop it,” she says, swatting at Billy’s shoulder. “Come on. The stairs are this way.”

*.*

She’s right, the apartments are both going to need a lot of work, but Billy figures he only needs one. One big ass apartment, with two bedrooms and a living room and and a bathroom and a motherfucking balcony.

Oil money, man.

And it’s prime real estate, too, or it is to Billy. Max can skate to the arcade and walk to the movies and there’s a little restaurant around the corner that Colleen says makes the best Italian food. All Billy has to do is put in a new floor, fix a few leaks and rewire a few sockets, and he’s golden.

Of course, he can’t do it alone. He’s going to have to pull Max into this, too— after all, this is where she’s going to be living, the next four years. She should have a say about how her room’s painted, and which couch is the most comfortable… Billy’s already thinking color schemes, though, and can’t help but wonder if he could maybe pry that ugly hourglass wallpaper off. Orange and brown does not age well, not in any universe.

Billy has never been so interested in decorating before. He’s getting soft.

That might not be a bad thing.

*.*

“Seriously?” Max asks, peering around the apartment curiously. “She’s just gonna let us stay here, for free?”

“I love rich people,” Billy says. He hasn’t stopped smiling since Saturday, when Colleen had showed him around and given him the keys. “Don’t you?”

“She’s crazy,” Max says flatly, but there’s wonder in her light eyes as she wanders down the hall to peer into the bedrooms. “She— she’s crazy.”

“Crazy people are okay with me, too,” Billy says, shrugging. “So, whattaya think?”

Max is quiet for a long moment, expression thoughtful.

“I think we should do tile,” she says finally. “I hate vacuuming.”

“Deal.”

*.*

“Your mother is amazing.”

“I know, Billy, you’ve told me a thousand times.”

“I’m not done talking about it, though. She’s literally amazing.” Billy pauses. “And Joyce. Joyce is amazing, too.”

Steve and Billy are a little drunk, the pair of them, having decided to throw themselves something like a not-going-to-college party. They’re squashed together on the comfortable armchair in Steve’s living room, the aftermath of a minor wrestling match over who, exactly, was allowed to sit there— Billy, the guest, or Steve, the host and standing head of the household while his father was away. Nobody won, and thus, they’re both sitting in it, pressed together from knee to hip. Steve’s shoulder is jammed into Billy’s chest, and Billy’s arm is thrown a little awkwardly around Steve’s neck. It should be uncomfortable, but it isn’t, so Billy’s content to stay right where he is, even if SPG has decided to hop up onto their laps to join in the sort-of-definitely-a cuddle puddle

That may be the bourbon talking, or maybe the frankly epic brownies Colleen had left for Steve, but whatever.

This isn’t something they’ve really done before, this talking and drinking. They’re not even talking about anything important, either— funny stories, old conquests, favorite movies. But the conversation flows easy, easier than it ever has before, in Billy’s memory. He doesn’t remember talking like this with anybody, like he doesn’t have to worry about what the asshole will say about him once Billy’s out of the room.

“Joyce is pretty amazing,” Steve agrees. Billy had forgotten they were talking, hadn’t remembered until Steve’s lips moved and jerked him out of— oh, he was staring. Definitely staring.

It’s hard to stare, though. Steve has a big mouth, kinda weird-shaped, but it manages to suit his face anyway. All of his features are exaggerated, really, from his mouth to his nose to his big, stupid hair.

“Have I got something on my face?” Steve asks, reaching up to rub a big hand over his weird mouth. He does, a little speck of chocolate caught in the corner of his lip, and Billy helpfully rubs it away.

“Your face is weird,” he informs Steve seriously. “But in like, a weird way.”

Oh, yup, that’s definitely the brownie. It’s hitting Billy harder than usual.

Steve arches an eyebrow.

“Weird, but in a weird way?” he asks. “I’m thinking you’re fucked up, Billy.”

“I mean like, in a pretty way, though,” Billy says, brow wrinkling in annoyance. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m fucked up. I’m not saying it right.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty, Billy?” Steve asks, giving him a smile that’s too sweet to be completely joking. “I’m flattered.”

Billy rolls his eyes.

“Everybody thinks you’re pretty, pretty boy,” he says, patting Steve’s chest with the arm currently wrapped around the back of Steve’s neck. “It’s practically Hawkins legend.”

“Well,” Steve says after a moment, good-natured laughter leaking through his words. “If it’s any consolation, Billy, I think you’re pretty, too.”

Billy grins at him.

“Thanks, buddy.” He pats Steve on the shoulder again. “Now, lemme up. I gotta take a leak.”