#harringroveapril

[opaldraws]

Harringrove April Day 22: Yellow 🍋💛

[ihni]

HarringroveApril Day 21: fire

(aka a powers!Billy au)

[broona]

Just a quick sketch for #HarringroveApril Day 1: First kiss

[archipelagolago]

For Harringrove April Day 26: "Easy"

Debajo de las estrellas, empezamos de nuevo (Beneath the stars, we start anew)

÷÷÷÷

They agree to take it slow this time.

After Billy is released from the hospital with scars over his chest, arms, and torso that will never fade. Wounds to his psyche that will never fully heal. A new pacemaker and a nephrostomy catheter he has to drain with every trip to the bathroom.

After Steve's latest concussion leaves him with terrible migraines, motion sickness, and defective depth perception. After his latest run-in with the upside down leaves him with horrifying nightmares, debilitatingly anxiety, and life-threatening recklessness.

They no longer share quick and sloppy sex in cramped cars, closets, bathrooms. Instead they share warm cuddles, gentle words, late night crying fits.

Instead, they take it easy, do this slowly, touch softly.

Make it work for real.

The night Billy is discharged from the hospital, he picks Steve up, drives them out to the quarry. Steve doesn't drive anymore; can't, with his messed up depth perception and memories of the Camaro up in flames.

When they get there, laying over gravel and resilient shoots of grass, staring up at the distant stars,

Steve says, "I wanna take it slow this time around. Wanna take it easy with you."

And Billy nods. Says with a sigh, "It always feels easy when I'm with you."

Steve makes a sound at the edge of his throat, almost like a whimper. Almost like a song.

He rolls to the side and leans over Billy. Gives his forehead a melodic kiss and says, "Never thought I'd be able to do this. Never thought you'd let me feel at home with you."

Tears are dripping from Billy's eyes by the time Steve pulls back. But he isn't sad. He's symphonic. He's melting in the symphony that is Steve's hand in his. Melting in the knowledge that this- this is what it feels like, to be truly loved.

And things will never be perfect, but from now on, he will always know he is loved.

________

One quiet afternoon in spring, Steve comes back from work looking forward to mindless cartoons and cooking dinner with Billy. Instead. He finds Billy breaking down.

Finds him locked in the upstairs bathroom. Curled in the bathtub, shower running with the water on the hottest setting. Their two heaters running full blast. Billy is convinced he's been possessed again, is trying to force the shadow out.

Steve has to break down the door. Turn off the heaters and the water. Force Billy to look at him with two hands cradling his jaw. Convince him the shadow passed months ago. Rub his back when the adrenaline dies down and the heat has him vomiting.

He takes Billy to the downstairs bathroom for a cold shower. Gets in and holds him through it.

They go to bed early that night. Blanket kicked off and holding each other tightly under Steve's plaid sheet.

________

Sometimes, when Steve wakes up from yet another nightmare. Yet another replay of Billy's body hitting the mall floor for what could have been the last time. He reaches out and grips Billy's shoulders too tightly.

He sobs and begs him to make it stop.

Cries, "Please. Promise me you're really here. Promise me I'm not dreaming this."

And Billy does. Promises he's here and safe and living. Slowly pulls Steve's shaking, squeezing hands from his shoulders. Wraps his lover's arms around his middle so Steve can hold him. So Steve can trace his fingers over Billy's scars and confirm that he lived through it.

________

So. Nothing will ever be perfect. But they share a love that makes moving forward possible.

Because Billy meant it when he said that everything feels easy when he's with Steve. Steve makes it easy, to be happy, sad, angry, terrified. Steve let's him be genuine. Let's him be honest about what he's feeling. Doesn't make him force on a mask.

Steve laughs with him when he's happy. Brings him ice cream when he's sad. Walks out to the treeline and screams with him when he's mad; let's him throw punches into the earth.

Steve holds him close and makes promises he can keep when Billy gets frightened. Smiles when Billy restlessly braids sections of chestnut hair to soothe his anxiety.

Steve lets him be. Steve lets him be himself.

++

And Billy, he. He feels like home for Steve.

Because sometimes, Steve starts to think he's stopped being a solid human being. Feels like he's floating away. Feels.. wispy. Thinks maybe he's started dissolving. Wonders if he every really was solid matter. But then Billy is there. And Steve can exhale and feel real. Feel like he exists in an undeniable way. He remembers what home feels like. It feels like Billy.

Being with Billy is being at home.

________

So. Being together means unstoppable force meets immovable object. In a way that feels safe. In a way that means, even though the world falls through, they will always be pushing up against each other. They will always be head to head, heart to heart, never pushing each other off the road. Never crashing past and leaving behind. And in the early-morning-dead-of-night, they know: this love is enough.☄️

[hargrove-mayfields]

Harringrove April Day 10- Peaches

“Here kitty, kitty. Come get your goddamn treats.”

Billy’s on his knees in the backyard, his face pressed into the ground as he reaches blindly under the shed for the orange and white cat who moved right into their yard. She had babies in their empty doghouse last spring, but even now that the litter was all grown up and wreaking havoc on the neighborhood elsewhere, mama kitty refused to leave.

It wasn’t like her being there ever particularly bothered Billy, she was outside, he was inside or not home at all, so he didn’t see why it mattered that she wanted to sleep on their porch every now and again.

At least not until Neil said he’d put antifreeze in the cat food Max left on the porch if he caught her digging up Susan’s flower beds again, and Neil Hargrove had never made a promise he didn’t intend to keep, so then it was absolutely necessary that Billy get to this cat first.

Everything else, he’d already tried, hiding the food inside, which Max, oblivious to Neil’s threat, had put right back the next morning, putting oranges and mothballs and everything else that was supposed to repel stray cats in the garden, but everytime, the cat came back. She wouldn’t stay away.

So this was his last resort, getting scratched to shit every time he got close to her, over extending his shoulder from reaching so far under where he’d cornered her, and getting covered in dirt, all just to catch some poor little flea bag.

It’s hot outside, he’s bleeding, and he just wants to catch this stupid thing so whatever Neil does to her won’t be on his conscious, but he’s done. He rolls over onto his back, out of breath and holding his hand up to assess the stinging red scratches all over it.

And what do you know, the moment he’s given up, the little shit crawls out and just sits right on his chest like she wasn’t tearing him to shreds a second ago.

He chuckles, something between frustration and genuine amusement, tipping his head back on the grass and sighing. “So you gonna let me help you now, kitty cat?”

He brings his hand up to her and she bumps her head against it, and already he’s starting to figure her out. Like him, it seems miss kitty here trusts on her terms and hers alone, and it’s claws out if you try to push her boundaries.

Actually catching her wasn’t really something Billy thought he’d be able to do, so he didn’t have a plan now that that had happened. He pets down her back, feeling every last one of her vertebrae as he does so, and says absently, “What are we gonna do with you now, pretty kitty.”

And that gives him an idea, as to where he could take her far far away from his dad, and that's Steve’s house all the way over in Loch Nora. A pretty kitty for his pretty boy.

He picks her up off his chest so he can sit up without her running away, her claws digging into his shoulder protected only by a tank top thin enough that she digs right into his skin. But even though she’s holding on for dear life, she’s not fighting him, so that’s a good sign.

He stands up with one hand, the other still supporting the cat, and he gets to work on getting her out of here before Neil can get home from work and throw a wrench in his plan.

Max had bought and borrowed from Dustin all kinds of food and toys and beds for the spoiled porch cat, which was part of the reason why Neil was so bothered by her so much in the first place, so he carries her inside and calls for Max to help him get all that stuff together so he can take her to Steve.

They get it all in a box that Max carries to the car for him. Before he gets in, the cat now standing on his shoulders, she asks, “Where are you taking her?”

“A friend.” He answers simply, and Max scrunches her nose, asking, “Why?”

“Neil’s allergic, asked me to do something about her leavin’ her dander everywhere.” He lies and, judging from the look on her face, Max knows it’s not true, but doesn’t really want the full story anyways.

The entire time in the car, the cat climbs on the back seats screaming her little head off, and Billy’s not sure if she’s afraid or if getting her out of the elements just unlocked some part of her personality he had yet to see. Either way, he feels ridiculous telling her every two seconds, “Okay, I get it.” and “Stop complaining, I’m taking you somewhere nice.”

When he gets to Steve’s, he leaves his car running with the cat still inside, just in case Steve were to hate the idea of having a pet and he had to take her somewhere else. He hopes not, doesn’t know where else he’d take her in that case except maybe Tommy’s, but they let their cats outside anyways, defeating the purpose.

He knocks on the door, partially forgetting how much of a mess he is after chasing her until Steve opens the door, his wide eyes as he reaches and grabs one of his hands, all scabbed over with itchy scratches. “What happened, Bill?”

“It’s nothin’ bad this time, I was catchin’ a cat.”

Steve narrows his eyes, not believing his cover because of the countless other bruises and cuts he’d shown up at his door with, and as many lies as he’d tried to cover them up with, “A cat?”

“Yep. Momma kitty was living in our backyard, and Neil wasn’t too happy ‘bout it.”

“Well? Did you catch her?”

“Mhm, she’s out in my car right now.”

His tone switches, having apparently grilled Billy enough to believe him, “And you brought her to me?”

“Is that okay?”

“Yes! I’ve never had a cat! Go get her!”

The second he opens the car door the cat jumps out and he catches her, swinging her up to hold her on his shoulders again, and this time, she doesn’t even claw at him.

Steve gasps all dramatically when he sees her and holds his arms out for Billy to her over to him. He pretends it doesn’t bother him when she cuddles right up under Steve’s chin, purring like he’d never heard her as if she wasn’t being a little hellion to him this morning.“What’s this little ladies’ name?”

Billy shrugs, “Didn’t give her one yet. Figured if I was dumping her on you you might as well get to pick it.”

“What’s your name sweet girl?” Steve coos at her, scratching he between her ears, “How about… Peaches!”

“Peaches? Stevie, that’s a little boring, don’t you think?”

“Nope!” He holds her up to his face and rubs their noses together, “Is your name Peaches, pretty kitty?”

The little shit meows, and Steve looks at him all smug like it means anything. Billy chuckles, and gives in, Steve always knows how to bend his will, “Alright, alright, Peaches it is.”

He reaches out to pet Peaches and she swats at him, making Steve bite the inside of his cheek to hold back a laugh, and Billy’s wondering if he made a mistake bringing her here.

A pretty kitty for his pretty boy, but she turned out to be a spoiled little princess to the King.

[cherrydreamer]

My first fic for the HarringroveApril challenge!

Also on AO3

Prompt 1: First Kiss

Springtime in Hawkins brings a lot of firsts.

It brings the first buds, the first blossom, the first tiny green shoots rising out of bare, desolate soil. The first lambs at Jenkins’ Farm, little white splotches against the bright green of the grass, unsteady legs ready to stand and walk and gallop within an hour. And it also brings Billy's first words to Steve since that night. Brings them in a horrific ironic echo, "Fuck! Is that you, Harrington?"

No, 'Am I dreaming' because there's already a gash on Billy's arm that's made it painfully clear he's awake.

It also brings Steve's first words to Billy since then. Delivered in a hiss out of the side of Steve's mouth, "Stay still, Hargrove. Don't move. Don't even breathe. And when I say go, run, OK? You go left and you run and you don't stop." It's a voice filled with control and confidence even if the fingers of Steve's right hand haven't stopped moving, haven't stopped drumming on the handle of his damn bat ever since he clocked eyes on the petal-faced freaks surrounding them.

It's not the first time Billy's ignored good advice. But it is the first time that anyone's seemed glad that he stuck around. And it's far from the first time he's ever had to wipe blood off his face But it's the first time it's not been human. First time in a while it's not been his. It's the first time he's felt this exhilarated too.  And from the practised ease with which Steve swings his bat, and from the way he looks Billy up and down, seemingly satisfied, and from the first words he speaks that haven't just been orders to watch out or to duck, "Not bad, Hargrove. Billy. Might wanna bring a weapon next time, though."  Billy figures it won't be the last.

And after that, more firsts come in quick succession: The first time that Billy puts the sharp end of an axe through the neck of a monster-dog-thing. The first time that Steve claps him on the back, his breath coming in sharp pants with his grin stretched a little too wide for his face, and invites Billy back to clean up. The first time that Billy gets to experience the delight of the power shower in the Harrington's master bathroom. The first time Billy wears a cashmere sweater. Soft and expensive and smelling faintly of laundry detergent and mostly of Steve. The first time he falls asleep on Steve's couch, nose buried in the collar of the sweater, and wakes to find a blanket around him and the sound of Steve humming in the kitchen. The first time Steve says good morning. When he walks in with two cups of coffee and his hair still all sleep-mussed and he says, Morning, sunshine . And it's a joke. So obviously a joke. But the flutter of Billy's heart is anything but funny.

And then the firsts keep coming.

The first time since Cali that Billy has somewhere to go when Neil kicks him out, when he knocks hesitantly on the door of Harrington's house and gets offered a beer, a bag of frozen peas for his red cheek and then a whole damn spare room for the night.

The first time ever that someone's told him he doesn't deserve it, when the beers loosen his tongue and Billy lets slip all the words that Neil hisses at him, all the ways he reminds Billy that he's nothing but a fuck-up, a disappointment, a mistake.

The first time that Billy believes it when someone says he's OK now, when Steve slips into the bed beside him in the middle of the night and pulls him closer. Holds him while he cries and shakes and then just keeps holding him afterwards too.

Then there's other firsts.

The first time Billy laughs until beer froth comes out of his nose, when Steve does his terrible impression of the weird noise his car's been making. The way Steve laughs at him for it, all gaspy and spluttery and so undignified and uncool and clearly genuine, sends a warm thrum of pride through Billy's entire being, and he wants nothing more than to hear it again. To be the one causing it.

The first time Billy feels seen, really seen. When Steve passes over a mix-tape with a shrug of, 'thought you might like these', and there's not a single metal track to be found, instead it's a mix of older stuff, gentle shit, The Zombies, Carole King, The Mamas and the Papas. Soft, sunshine tunes that remind him of his mom, some of them the exact tracks that he used to hear from a crackling record player in their egg-yolk yellow living room. Songs that make him feel warm and safe and happy and cared for. Something he thought he'd thrown away along with the cracked pieces of vinyl and torn liner notes. 

The first time Billy feels truly happy in Hawkins, when he's lying on the hood of his car, Steve beside him and another one of those thought you might like it mix tapes playing from inside, radio turned up high enough to be heard through the blossom-heavy spring air. And Billy might not like the songs that much, not all of them anyway, but he likes the flimsy cardboard cover with Steve's loopy writing spelling out Open Road  and a surprisingly artistic doodle of the two of them in Billy's car, a 'Now Leaving Hawkins' sign next to them.

The afternoon's just starting to turn to evening, but it's still light, still bright, and they're lying close as they chat about utterly random shit- movies, music, the best sandwich combintations to order from Rosie's Place- but they're not touching. Not quite. There's a few inches of space in between them, and Billy's aware of every single move Steve makes as he stretches out his hand to fill it, resting it next to Billy's, close enough that their little fingers brush and with Steve's palm up and open in an invitation.

Billy pauses. Holds his breath. Waits for Steve to move away, to reach into his pocket for cigarettes or to grab at Billy's shirt and push him off the hood- to turn it all into an excuse for roughhousing, a laugh, a joke. Instead Steve just reaches out his finger. Turns the first light brush into a second deliberate touch. 

And Billy reaches back. Fits his palm over Steve's, still cold from the slushie they shared earlier.

Laces their fingers together and squeezes.

First time he's ever held hands with a boy in the sunlight. 

Billy's fingers squeeze and Steve lets out a happy sigh, a hum of contentment like this, just this, is more than enough for him. A warm spring day, the sounds of Springsteen filtering through the air. And his hand in Billy's.

But there's another step. Another first. They can both feel it coming and they turn towards each other and they're lying so close that it only takes a little movement before their noses brush. Before their eyes meet and then flicker down past freckled noses and moles on cheeks to fall on bitten-red lips. Resting for a beat. A second. And then their eyes close, and they're moving together. Lips meeting, brushing. Chaste for a moment before their mouths open and their tongues touch and they're tasting each other. Mixing cigarettes and cinnamon gum and cherry syrup and the sweetness of a deep need finally sated. 

The first kiss of so, so many others.

[inthelonelycoolbeforedawn]

Harringrove April Day 11: Hug

Max says she understands if he doesn't come, that she doesn't expect him to.

At first he's not going to.

Susan wasn't his mother.

He's still unsure even when he and Steve book the first flight they can get from L.A. to Indianapolis. Even when Lucas picks them up at the airport for the drive back to Hawkins and says glad you could make it.

He skips the visitation.

Susan wasn't his mother and he was never her son.

He doesn't need false sympathy. Doesn't want to make things awkward for Max.

Half of the people in the church are strangers to him. The other half are there for Max.

Lucas and their girls. El, Mike, Dustin, and Will. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair. Hopper and Joyce.

He hates funerals. That's why he grips Steve's hand tightly through the prayers and hymns and the minister's platitudes.

An older lady speaks about how dedicated Susan was, how eager to step in if someone needed help. How she did so much for the church and how much the congregation would miss her. She stops several times to dab at her eyes and collect herself.

Then Max gets up. She stands behind the pulpit in her black slacks and plain gray blouse, hair pulled back in its usual ponytail, composed and dry-eyed.

She focuses on good memories. Her voice is calm and even as she shares how her mom had been so happy to have grandchildren, how she didn't see Olivia and Katie very often but doted on them from half a country away.

It's partially true.

He stands away from the others at the cemetery. Doesn't want to get too close to the hole in the ground.

But when the casket is lowered, and the final rose and handful of dirt are tossed onto it, Max comes to him.

She throws her arms around him with a choked sound and then she's crying.

He hugs back, his tears mixing with hers as they grieve together.

Her gasping, heaving sobs slowly taper to sniffles and a hoarse, whispered thanks.

And he knows he did the right thing.

Because Susan wasn't his mother.

But Max is his sister.

[mampysou]

Day 15 of Harringrove April!

Also read on AO3

I enjoyed this one!

Sun

It was a beautiful morning. Steve was cosy in his bed, with warm, strong arms wrapped around him. It felt like heaven.

The sun poured through a gap in the old curtains falling in Billy’s sleeping face. He looked so peaceful like this. The sun made his hair glow and his freckles jump out of his face. Steve loved nothing more than to brush his thumb across those freckles and snatch his hand away, chuckling, before Billy slapped his hand away, then always pulled him in for a kiss.

So he does as he always does. He swiped his thumb across his left cheek. Billy was pretty asleep so Steve was so disappointed to have to do it again.

On the third passage of his thumb, Billy stirred. Dusty blonde lashes fluttered as his ocean lie eyes opened to stare at him. It was beautiful and perfect. Billy predictably swatted his hand then hauled Steve in for a passionate kiss. They smiled into their kiss, just relishing the feeling of each other for a while, this wasn’t something they got to do.

Steve usually snuck in and out of Billy’s room through the rickety window pane that they had now mastered to silent perfection. It took time though. It wasn’t something that could be done quickly. The screen was delicate and flimsy and needed both of them each side of the window to place it back without damaging it.

He sighed as Billy pulled away and looked around the room. Billy’s side box was covered in his usual expensive cologne and hair stuff.

They both seemed to realise the problem at the same time.

“Billy?” Steve whispered, trying to be calmer than he felt. “What time is it?”

Billy spun and scrambled around on the side looking for Steve’s watch. His tan face lost all colour and his eyes wide with fear as their gazes met.

They could hear movement now outside the room. Heavy footfalls were coming in their direction. Billy shot out of bed, grabbing Steve’s hand as he did, pushing him towards the window. Billy’s fathers voice rang down the hall as they reached it.

“You better be up, son.” Bellowed down the hall.

“Shit,” Billy cursed; they both knew there was not time for the window right now.

Billy headed for his sliding door closet and Steve cursed.

“Shh!” Billy hissed, wrenching open the door. “I am so sorry.” He whispered as head shoved him inside. Steve smacked his head off the top shelf, as Billy pulled out some clothes then pulled the shirts and jeans across to cover him as much as possible. As the door shut in front of his face, Steve heard Billy’s bedroom door open.

“Why isn’t coffee on, son?” a gruff voice asked him.

“I’m sorry sir. I seemed to have over slept.” Billy sounded like a ghost of himself. He didn’t sound like the person Steve knew, the man Steve was falling for. It made him seethe beneath his skin. The urge to charge out from his hiding place and teach this man a lesson nearly shattered his resolve.

But Steve stayed put. He listened to the rest of the stilted conversation and the abrupt departure of both men. He strained to hear more but dared not to slip out of the cupboard and make his escape. He couldn’t replace the screen single handedly and if Billy’s father returned to the room before Billy and noticed it undone, Billy would be in for a world of trouble.

So, he waited. He shuffled quietly around, searching through the records on the top shelf. He smiled as one caught his eye, he reached out and pulled it free, as quietly as he could.

Nat King Cole smiled up at him. His brown eyes crinkled at the corners slightly, his eyebrows telling a story Steve thought no one could ever hear. It wasn’t unforgettable that Steve held in his hand, but a single that was a cover too. Steve had heard countless versions already including one from The Beach Boys, but Steve knew this one would be brilliant. He held it tightly as he waited to be freed from the closet.

---

A while later Steve, who was at this point curled up in the corner, heard footsteps, too heavy and not at all rushed to be Billy, stop outside the door. He held his breath as the door opened. He heard the feet come in and snap on the light. He could see his shadow now, blocking the overhead light from peaking under the door. He saw them turn towards him and Steve got ready.

He would fight to protect himself of he needed to.

Before they ventured any closer however, he heard Max’s voice from just outside.

“Billy’s in the kitchen Neil, you know if you’re looking for him?” it was posed as a question but Steve could hear the stinging accusation in the young red heads voice.

“Thank you, Max,” the man said sweetly, the difference in how he spoke to his children made Steve feel sick. “I was just checking if he had finished, should’ve checked in there first. You’re right pumpkin.” Steve could almost see the eye roll through the door, he cracked a smile and thanked Max silently, vowing to buy her what ever she wanted from the diner next time they went.

The feet left and the door shut, thankfully not returning before he heard the familiar sound of Billy saying goodbye to his father, and then hurried steps flying down the hall towards him.

The door didn’t open straight away, there was a long pause and feet rushed away from the door again.

“You forget something sir?” Billy asked sounding like he hadn’t moved from the kitchen. Steve’s heart was racing in anticipation, hoping that Billy’s acting was up to scratch. Clearly it had held on this long, Steve prayed it would last a little longer.

There was a gruff reply and the door shut again. This time the steps were deliberate and confident and the door to the room swung open with a swish across the floor boards. Billy’s booted feet stopped just outside as he slid the door open and he shakily smiled down at Steve.

“Jesus, that is about the most stressful morning I have ever fucking had Steve.” He sighed as he helped him out of the closet. The irony was not lost on Steve. “You okay? I heard his truck pull off this time.”

“Yeah, all good Billy. Got a bit of cramp but will survive.” He dropped his head on to Billy’s shoulder. “Pretty sure we owe Max big time though.”

Billy made and inquiring noise and Steve explained. “She always a clever little shit” the blonde stated when he had finished. “Better get you dressed and sorted for work.” He told him running his hand through Steve’s hair as he did.

“Can we listen to this as we do?” Steve said, holding up the copy of You Are My Sunshine he had found earlier.

Billy rolled his eyes his blonde curls catching the sun through the window again, lighting up his whole face.

“I can never say no to you Stevie.”

Thanks for reading.