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The week had been nothing short of chaos at Family Video. The VCR returns were piling up, Robin was running on caffeine and sarcasm, and Steve well, Steve was doing what Steve did best, pretending everything was fine. Billy noticed it first. The way Steve's smile felt a little too tight, how he kept avoiding questions that led anywhere near 'plans' or 'days off.' The man could charm his way through anything except honesty when it came to his own feelings. And then Billy overheard it, not from Steve, but from Robin and Eddie, bickering by the horror section while alphabetizing tapes.
"Are you seriously thinking of giving him socks for his birthday, Munson?"
Robin scoffed. Eddie shrugged, balancing a stack of VHS boxes in one hand.
"They're cozy! And he wears those stupid loafers with holes in the bottom."
"Tomorrow's his birthday, Eddie. Try harder."
Billy froze halfway down the aisle, fingers brushing the spines of the sci-fi tapes. Tomorrow's his birthday? Steve hadn't said a damn thing. Not once. The drive home that night was a quiet one. Billy's Camaro rumbled low against the damp Hawkins air, headlights cutting through the early November fog. He gripped the wheel and frowned, thinking of all the ways Steve went out of his way for everyone else, how he'd drive Dustin to school, make Robin's coffee just right, drop off Eddie's laundry when he 'forgot', drive max home if he couldn't, just nice small things no one asks for, etc. And yet he wouldn't even mention his own birthday. So Billy made a plan.
The next morning had sunlight filtered through the blinds the next day, painting warm stripes across Steve's cheek. The air smelled faintly of butter and maple syrup, the kind of smell that pulled you out of sleep gently, like a hug. Billy stood in the kitchen, shirtless, frying up another batch of strawberry pancakes. He'd woken up at six, six in the damn morning! Simply to pull this off, there was bacon on a plate, orange juice in a glass, and a little blue candle jammed into the top pancake because, hell, it made him laugh.
He balanced the tray, nudged open the bedroom door with his foot, and grinned.
Steve blinked awake, hair sticking up like he'd been electrocuted. "Billy?" His voice was rough, sleepy.
"Happy birthday, sweetheart"
Billy said, setting the tray down on the nightstand. Steve stared, then blinked again, mouth opening like he wanted to deny it, deflect it, anything but accept it.
"You- how did you-"
"Robin's got a big mouth."
Steve groaned and flopped back into the pillows, face red.
"I didn't want anyone to know"
"Tough shit. You don't get to hide this one, Harrington."
He handed him a fork, then kissed his temple before Steve could argue more. The smell of strawberries and sugar filled the room, soft and warm. Steve took one bite, then another, and the small, quiet sound he made might've melted Billy's entire spine.
"Good?"
Steve nodded, cheeks puffed from his mouthful. "Perfect."
Later that day, after breakfast and a lazy few hours of watching bad TV, Billy told Steve he needed to run an errand. In reality, he drove across town to the Byers-Hopper place it was a new house the government hush money had paid for after the whole Vecna mess.
Joyce had been in on the plan for days now, same with El and the rest of their ragtag family. Streamers, balloons, cake the whole shebang. Robin was in charge of decorations, Dustin was in charge of not spilling the surprise, and Eddie was tuning his guitar in the corner, claiming he was going to serenade the birthday prince. When Billy brought Steve over that evening, after some careful fibbing about movie night, Steve walked into a dark house. Then, all at once it happened
"SURPRISE!!!"
Lights flared on. Confetti popped. Robin blew a noisemaker directly in Steve's face while Dustin nearly tripped over a chair in excitement. Steve froze, eyes wide, and for a moment Billy thought he might cry. Instead, Steve just laughed....a real, full laugh that filled the room.
"Did you, did you do this?"
he asked Billy quietly, tugging at his sleeve amidst the chaos.
"Maybe. Had some help."
Steve's eyes softened, a little glassy under the warm light. As the night went on, they danced, ate too much cake, and Billy even let Eddie talk him into a round of karaoke. Steve, a little tired and overwhelmed, ended up leaning against Billy on the couch near the end, fingers absently tracing the edge of his denim jacket.
Billy noticed the subtle shift, the way Steve's words slowed, his gaze went hazy. He'd seen it before. Steve didn't regress often, but on nights like this, when all the noise and emotion got too heavy, he slipped a little. Billy just wrapped an arm around him and let him rest his head on his chest.
"You did great today, birthday boy."
Steve hummed softly, thumb tucked in his palm, eyes drooping.
"Billy?" he mumbled.
"Yeah, baby?"
"Love you."
"Yeah," Billy whispered, pressing a kiss into his hair. "An I Love you too, sunshine."
Outside, the porch light flickered against the autumn air. Inside, laughter and the faint hum of music carried through the house long into the night. It wasn't just a birthday it was the reminder that Steve didn't have to earn being cared for. Not anymore. And Billy made sure he'd never forget it again.