The Neighbor's Cat (Billy Hargrove x OC // Stranger Things)

1. The Cat

Randy stared down at the cat brushing up against her leg and sighed.

"Not again."

She bent down and scooped up the tabby. As usual, it melted in her arms and released a torrent of almighty purrs, rubbing its head against her and rolling around in her arms.

Twisting the knob with her elbow and then hip-checking the door open, she trumped out into the crisp, morning air in nothing but her sweatshirt, pajama pants, slippers, and the neighbor's cat, and made her way to the side of the house. She ignored the frost on the grass and the steady dampening of her slippers as she followed course to the neighbor's, muttering in annoyance.

She stopped in front of the same bedroom window she stopped in front of every week, raised a fist, and wrapped loudly on the glass.

"Hargrove!" she yelled. Silence. "Hey, Hargrove!"

The curtain jerked back and Hargrove's sleep-hazed and scruffy face peered at her through the window. He swore.

She heard him unlatch the fastenings on the pane, then the window flew open.

"Hell d'ya want?" he snapped, voice gravely with sleep. "It's six in the fucking morning."

Randy held up the cat.

"I think you lost something," she said.

Billy pressed his face into the pane and closed his eyes.

"How many times do I have to tell you that that's not my cat?"

"Until I believe you," Randy replied indifferently.

"I don't own a cat!"

"Aw, come on, Hargrove," she said, squishing the cat's face and dropping her voice to a simpering tone, "I shee dis widdle guy hangin' outside your house all da time."

"Don't do that."

"Besides, you have a bowl of cat food by your front door." She gestured to the half-empty bowl, visible from his window.

"That's probably just Max trying to feed it. It's a stray. Put it down before you get fleas or something."

"You do realize that it's not going to ruin your 'badass' reputation if you have a cat, right?"

"You seriously think that's what this is about?"

"Oh, I know that's what this is about."

Hargrove squeezed his eye shut. His jaw clenched.

"We do this every week, Peters," he said, voice a force of calm. "And every week I tell you the same damn thing."

"And yet every week I keep having to return your lost pet," she replied with a dramatic sigh. "Life is tough, isn't it?"

"I don't own a cat!" Hargrove burst angrily.

But as if to prove Randy's point, the tabby leapt from her arms and onto his window sill, narrowly missing his head.

Randy shrugged. "I don't know, Hargrove. Seems like the cat thinks otherwise."

"Oh, you gotta be shit–"

She raised a hand and walked off, leaving Billy to scowl and cuss behind the cat's fuzzy hindquarters.

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"You've gotta be shitting me," Billy growled, waving the cat out of his face so that it plopped into the frosty grass. He slammed the window shut. "Every damn week. How the hell did I get stuck with such a screwed-up neighbor?"

Billy was usually pretty great about keeping his composure, but Randy Peters always tested his ability to control himself. He wasn't sure what it was about her that made her such a nuisance, but he was ready to explode. He swore the next time she carried that stupid cat to his window, he was going to throw it back in her face.

It wasn't like he was trying to keep up too false of pretenses with her — they went to school together, she knew exactly what he was like, all hotheaded and hotblooded. He just didn't want to blow off too much steam in front of her, make a huge seen that might cause some talk at school. That could land his ass in some even more backwater shit-hole town, and that was the last thing he needed. He was nearly eighteen - one more year and he was a free man. And then it would be sayonara to Hawkins, Indiana and hello to sunny California.

Snagging a cigarette and flicking his lighter to life, Billy made his way to the bathroom. Thanks to the loser that was Peters, he was now too awake and too annoyed to crash for his usual last thirty minutes of sleep. And to make matters worse, it was just about the time that Max was up and getting around, which meant the bathroom door was shut and he got to wait another ten minutes before he could do his business.

He banged on the door.

"Max, hurry up!"

Silence.

Bang, bang, bang.

"I need to get in there, shithead!"

"Why aren't you asleep?" she yelled back.

"Does it matter?" he snapped. "Just hurry up!"

As was usual, their morning was spent in silence other than their short exchange of vehement insults. Max made sure to avoid him, which made getting into the bathroom a lot easier since she would squeeze past him just as soon as he arrived. Not that the lack of interaction hurt him, anyway. If he had a choice, he would make sure they had none at all. She could walk to school for all he cared. Unfortunately, under their present circumstances, that wasn't going to happen. His dad made sure of it.

Max was always ready first, Billy second. She didn't care much for her appearance, all scruffy, red hair, sweatshirts, and tennis shoes. Billy, on the other hand, was very meticulous with his. From his hair down to his way-too-much cologne and perfectly dragged on cigarette that drove the high school girls crazy, he took his time in preening every inch of himself, making sure he was a god of perfection when he stepped through those horrid, double doors of Hawkins High School. The girls might be cows and the guys hicks, but he had a rep to keep.

As he was putting the finishing touches on his slightly too-open shirt, he caught Max sneaking around the kitchen, her skateboard under one arm and a small plastic bowl in the other.

He didn't bother to hide himself. He didn't need too, really. The observant one was too engrossed in her shuffling around in the cabinet under the sink to notice Billy leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

He wasn't surprised when she dragged a bag of cat food out from the way back, but he didn't bother to hide his annoyance, either.

"So you're the one feeding the cat," he drawled.

Max jumped and dropped the bag of cat food, spilling tiny, brown pellets all over the floor.

"N-no," she lied.

Billy rolled his eyes and turned around, Camaro keys jingling.

"Listen, I don't give a shit what you do, but if you're going to keep that mangy animal around, make sure you tell our idiot neighbor that it's your cat, not mine."

"Why would I do that?"

Billy stopped, temper flaring.

"I understand you're deaf and stupid, so let me rephrase that for you. Do it or you're dead." He looked at her over his shoulder. "Kapeesh?"