❌WARNING, THIS CONTAINS MAJOR ST3 SPOILERS READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION ❌
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It doesn't matter. None of it does. Not the mistakes he has made nor the trouble he has caused in his short, turmoil ridden life. Not when he is in your arms again.
Not when you can feel the thick muss of his hair against your neck as he engulfs you in his arms, strong and familiar and whole.
It reminds you of when you first arrived in Hawkins, seeing him, your childhood friend from California whom you didn't think you'd ever see again.
It took the air from your lungs, like a punch to the chest.
You quickly realized he wasn't a small, scrawny boy anymore, and the only reason you were able to recognize him under the thick mass of his build and the ringlet curls that framed his chiseled face; were by his eyes.
The same brilliant, breathtaking blue that reminded you of the ocean you both would play in nearly every day when you both were young.
He was a different person, of course, having gone through hell within the few years before he left. At first he completely ignored you, too shocked to even form words, let alone look at you.
You saw the way others reacted to him, the way they cowered, while others stared with longing, lustful eyes.
When you finally forced him to talk to you, it didn't quite go as planned.
"Has my blatant ignorance towards you not been enough to get my point across!?"
His thick brows are furrowed. A damp white towel slung over his broad shoulder, one hand on his bare hip as he stares down at you with venom in his eyes.
You try not to let yourself cry or so much as tear up, so you mentally blame it on the steam wafting inside the small, humidified room to deterre your emotions.
Perhaps breaking into the boys locker room wasn't the brightest idea, but you'd had enough.
"Cut the shit, Billy," He visibly recoils at your tone of voice, this being the first time he's heard you in over five years.
He feels his heart skip a beat.
"Why are you ignoring me in the first place?"
He rolls his eyes, turning around and walking towards his locker, forcing you to stare at the water droplets that are dripping down the broad, muscular expanse of his back.
Your throat tightens, and not just because of the anger bubbling in your chest, and for a moment you are hit with the sudden realization that hes become a man.
A full grown man.
"No, you don't get to not answer me, Billy. We were best friends! Our mom's were too-"
The sound of his large hand slamming against the metal door of his locker makes you jump, ears ringing as he is suddenly adavacing towards you with anger and purpose in the way he moves.
"Don't even mention my mother again."
He speaks calmy, eerily so, and you are now coming to your second and most important realization of all.
This is why he's been ignoring you.
You were apart of his old life. The life he had with his mom. When things weren't so fucked up and confusing. When things didn't make him feel as if the entire world is sat on his chest.
You don't speak.
You barely move for about five seconds. Until you gently, and tentatively, raise your hand to his cheek and watch as his features soften and twist into a countenance that reads confused.
"We are both different now. Things have changed. And I can't even imagine how things have been for you since. But you can't shut me out. You can't. I won't let you."
It is in this moment, that he remembers exactly why he loves you so much. Why you were his best friend in the first place.
You don't give up, especially not on those you care about, and he has a sickeningly joyful feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach at the prospect of you not letting him push you away.
Because deep down, seeing you again feels like seeing the sun after months and months of rain, and he's scared to get too close because in his mind; he is the rain, and he brings nothing but storm clouds and monsoons and he can't lose you again.
And he knows you won't give up on him. No matter how hard he pushes.
"Do you remember that day? When I first came back?"
The police sirens and murmured voices are but a distant buzzing, your only senses being attuned to him and him only.
His voice is muffled against your neck, but his warm breath and lips tickling your skin prompt you to hold him tighter against you, afraid to let go.
"Of course. I'll never forget it," His face is suddenly level with yours, warm hands cupping your cheeks. You try to stare at every little imperfect, bloody, dirt blotched detail of his face in hopes of remembering. Just in case.
"I hadn't felt as alive as I did then, and I sure as hell didn't think I'd lovesick like some thirteen you old who just asked his crush to prom."
You laugh between tears, his smile being the only thing you can see as your vision blurs.
"I love you, Billy Hargrove." You mirror his position, cupping his cheeks and leaning in close enough for your noses to touch.
"I love you too. So fucking much."
The moment your lips touch, your eyes close, only for a moment.
And then the moments gone.
You feel your body being shaken by gentle hands, tired eyes peeling open to look up at the orange halo surrounding a soft face. For a moment you think the sun has entered the room.
Max.
"Sorry, we were just going to leave flowers again. Thought you might want to come."
The is your least favorite part, the reminder. Your chest feels like it's filled with bricks, heart cracking open behind your ribcage. You've been surviving like this, for a while.
You sit up, throat dry and a fresh stream of tears wetting your cheeks.
It's weird, to wake up in his room without him. Between sheets that still smell like him. With posters, as lewd as they are, half hanging off of his walls.
"Thanks, I might just stay, if that's alright."
Your voice doesn't sound like your own, and Max feels her stomach twist. She knows how you feel.
She bends her knees and sits at the edge of his bed, head hanging low and posture slouched.
She reaches out, placing a hand on top of yours.
"You were dreaming of him again, weren't you?" She sounds weary, and wilted. Hesitant because she doesn't want to open the wound any further.
You can't even bear to hear his name yet.
You swallow hard, wincing at your sore throat. You respond with a slow, sad nod, her heart dropping at the sight.
"Was it a bad one?"
You turn your head, meeting her soft, sympathetic gaze. Her eyes are almost as brilliant as his were.
"No," You smile for what feels like the first time in forever, and it causes the energy in the room to shift.
