[ Steve joins in the laughter, because of course he had a walk-in closet back home. Of course he'd have hidden Billy in there, for the week or two of the month his parents were home.

Thinking about it, imagining Billy lounging on one of the pool chairs at his house while they shared a cigarette eases a weight that's been sitting on his chest. He can't have it, it can't happen. But they'd have made it work. He turns his head to wipe his cheeks on the pillow, and when he turns back he's calmer than he's been since he came back to bed.

Somehow, in that alternate Hawkins, Steve can easily see himself getting in the Camaro and leaving for good. It's something he's never really been able to grasp before; leaving for college or work or-- for any reason. Maybe being in Deerington's helped change that. ]

I'm picky as hell, Hargrove. You think I'd let you drag me through a string of one-star motels until we figured out what to do? [ But his tone says yes. The press of his face to Billy's is an affirmation. His fingertips, resting in the small of Billy's back, spell out an promise that he'd choose Billy over Hawkins in a heartbeat. ]