Billy Hargrove

COMPLETED
Hawkins, Indiana – SUNDAY – May 4, 1986 – CLOSED RP with @Steve Harrington I ST

"Steve! Steeeeve! Have you missed me?"

Robin Buckley's sing-songy voice echoed through the house as she barreled in. The smell of stew with chicken and postatoes hit her first, immediately making her mouth water.

"Steeeve... Why are you cooking?" she chanted, kicking off her shoes and tossing her keys on the counter. She skated through the hallway towards the kitchen, where the clatter of utensils and the occasional cabinet slam signaled some frantic acitivity.

"We're about to meet at the Squawk in like an hour and you're the one who asked for it, so I don't understand why— Oh!"

Robin stumbled to a stop, gripping the doorframe of the kitchen, staring. Because the figure stirring the pot like some domestic deity was not her friend Steve.

Billy Hargrove spun on his heels, a cooking spoon in one hand, oven mitts in the other, staring at her like a dear caught in headlights. None of them said a word. Just stood still. Frozen. Hot liquid dripped from the spoon onto his hand.

"Billy!" Robin breathed, mouth agape, eyes as big as dinner plates. Billy raised an eyebrow, trying desperately not to look as dumbfounded as he felt.

"What are you doing?!" Robin barked. 
"Uhh... Making chicken broth?" Billy answered awkwardly. His face said 'what kind of dumb question is that?' But his stomach said 'shit shit shit shit shit—'

Robin grimaced. "No, I mean... What are you doing... here?"

Not helpful. Billy glanced aside, then at the simmering pot, then back at her. Squinting.

"... I don't understand the question."

Robin exhaled sharply. "Okay, I'm just gonna... spell it out for you," Robin continued. "You are usually not here... You, uh... You were in a coma until those gates— I mean until that earthquake thing, and now you're... here? In Steve's house? On your own?"

Billy frowned again, confusion mirrored on his face.

"Hasn't Steve told you at this point? Or Dustin?"
"Told me what?"
"That I... that he lets me live here, kind of. Just until I can work and afford my own place."
"Since when...? Okay, hold on... When—"
"Few weeks ago."
"WEEKS?!"

Billy flinched at her shrill voice. He'd known something like this would happen eventually, but not now. Not before they'd both been prepared. He rolled his eyes, sighed again, and set the pot on a trivet, spilling some broth in his nervous haste.

Buckley hadn't even told anyone that she would come to the meeting, so what was she doing here? Did she have keys to Steve's house, too?

"Listen, I'd asked him not to tell anyone until today," Billy lied smoothly. That conversation had never happened. But he was tired of Steve being grilled over the same shit all the time. First Hopper and Dustin, and now Robin? No thanks. He didn't care if Steve was going to be pissed about it later.

"Fine, but... I'm kind of his best friend, so—"
"Oh, are you?"

The words slipped out sharper than intended. Billy cursed under his breath, scratching his head, focusing on the bland soup instead of her dumbstruck expression.

"Sorry— Honestly, it's my fault, okay? Don't be an ass to him about it."

Silence. Brief, but heavy. 

"Where is he, anyway?" Robin asked, voice flat.
"Backyard. Seriously, if you have something to say, say it to me."

Robin chuckled nervously. "I'd really rather not. So I'm just gonna..." 

She pointed to the doorframe with her thumbs, still grimacing with discomfort.

Billy shook his head. "Whatever."

She was already gone, racing through the house toward the back exit, shoes abandoned in her excitement... and possible outrage. Outside, she spotted Steve fumbling with the pool cover and sprinted to him, throwing them into a hug so powerful she nearly knocked them both into the still pretty cold water.

"Steve! Holy shit, it's been way too long!"

She pulled back, cupping his face and searching his eyes. 

"What the—"

She froze upon the sight of his bruised face and the deepest frown etched into her expression. 

"Are you okay?! What are those bruises? What happened? Do you have a fever?" Robin slapped her palm onto his forehead.

"And most importantly," she added frantically,  "are you going to tell me why none other than Billy Hargrove is making chicken broth in your kitchen?!"

© dividers by mouseygraphics
© AI image generated by me