Billy Hargrove

COMPLETE
Hawkins, Indiana – April 20th 1986 – CLOSED RP with Steve Harrington

Her hand felt cold again. Why was her damn hand always so cold?  Billy sighed, rolled his burning eyes when he went to turn up the heating, only to be taken aback when the knob wouldn't budge. It was already pushed to the max, yet the radiator felt even colder than her hand. Ridiculous. But with four gates and several deep tears ripped into hell by a psychopathic madman's strange powers, Billy supposed he couldn't ask for more. Not even for a hot water bottle for his stepsister.

He stepped back to her bed and gently stuffed both of her hands underneath her blanket, making sure to be careful with the casts, tubes, and cables. Then, he pulled the blanket up over her chest some more. 

"Sorry, Max," he mumbled, his voice raspy and strained like he went through another voice change. "The power went out again last night and the pieces of shit can't get the heating to work, but... it's April already, so... here's hoping that the fucking weather makes up for it soon..."

It wouldn't get much warmer anytime soon, and he knew it. The Upside Down bled into Hawkins like a never-healing, putrefying wound. The military had worked day and night to keep it at bay as much as possible, but it was not enough. He felt it on his skin, like a disgusting layer of sweat after not showering for weeks.

And the weather? Really? Billy didn't know why he could only get himself to talk about that kind of bullshit when he was here. Perhaps, it was because talking still hurt in his inflamed throat, having been forced to keep a tube down his windpipe for months and months on end. Perhaps, it was because it was still hard to catch enough air to speak at all; He always felt like he'd run a marathon after speaking only a couple of sentences. But Billy already knew what was the most likely option: He just couldn't find the courage to talk about what really mattered. Not yet. Not when Max lied here in his place, where he was supposed to be. 

He let out the deepest of breaths, already exhausted after mumbling so little, and sat back down on the chair beside her bed. Usually, he avoided Max' other visitors like the plague, sneaking into her room outside of regular visiting hours. Today, he forgot about the passing of time.

After all: What was the worst that could happen if he stayed a little longer?

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