#( 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 ) looking for a someone like you

[littlewinter1917]

★ When am I gonna lose you? ★

My blog is 18+ only. Minors DNI. 🔞 Don’t repost my work anywhere.

"𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝒸𝑒𝒶𝓃 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓈𝑒𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊."

Words: 7.6k

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Summary: After everything that Billy’s done and been trough, he still struggles with the idea that he could be deserving of love or anything good. So, when his doubts and abandonment issues flare up again, you make it your mission to reassure him that you won’t ever leave, and that loving him isn’t a chore.

Warnings: Major hurt/comfort. A little angst with a lot of fluff. Billy being insecure. Talks about abandonment issues and never feeling good enough. Mentions of Billy’s past abuse, trauma and shitty parents. Some swearing and hints at past self-destructive behavior, injuries and scars.

A/N: The title and some parts of the story are inspired by this absolute masterpiece from the band Local Natives.

Read the story on AO3 here.

Billy turns around in your shared bed with a small groan, before burying his face back into your fluffy pillow and huffs. 

God, this sucks.

A brief glance towards the digital clock on your nightstand tells him everything he didn’t really want to know. 

It’s late. Far too late to be still lounging around in bed like this. So very late, in fact, that you’ll be back from work soon – and he still hasn’t even gotten up yet. 

He knows he should. Knows he should drag his feet over the edge of the bed, and then the rest of his body downstairs, but he just can’t.

He feels exhausted and tired, and, as much as he hates to admit it, scared.

Scared that you’ll leave again.

Scared that it’s only a matter of time before you’ll walk out the door of your shared little beach house on the coast of California, and be gone for good. 

He would get it, he thinks. 

He wouldn’t want to be with himself either, if he’s completely honest. 

And he doesn’t just mean it in an ‘I-wouldn’t-want-to-fuck-myself-kinda-way’, but on a more fundamental level, too. 

There are days, where he can barely stand his own reflection in the mirror, and everything that comes with him being, well, him. 

Days, where he can’t help but feel utterly and terribly selfish for even expecting another person to stick around like that; because if he’s struggling so much with his own company, doesn’t everyone else, too?

If he can’t even bear being around himself, how can you? How can anybody? 

These fears come up sporadically, the voices sometimes loud and booming; sometimes quiet and small, but the truth they spit stings all the same; yet today seems exceptionally bad.

He keeps mulling over the idea that he’ll find you standing in the doorway with your bags packed and a pained look on your face.

“It’s too much,” he imagines you saying, “I love you, but it’s too much. You’re too much, Billy, and I simply can’t do this anymore. It’s not worth it; you’re not worth it. What you’re giving me isn’t enough to make up for all your flaws. I thought I could tolerate it, work around the mess you are, but it’s impossible. I get now why your mom left you Billy. I really, really do.”

Billy feels his throat tightening, as his breathing picks up; the mere thought itself has his heart feeling like it’s going to give out. 

And not in a fun way.

Fuck. 

He’s quickly blinking hot tears away, and it makes him hate himself even more. 

Weak, he thinks, with his father’s voice. 

Weak. Weak. Weak. 

Such a disappointment.

And you’re going to leave. Sooner rather than later you’re going to leave. 

He‘s going to lose you at some point in time. It’s not a matter of if; it’s a matter of when.

When is he going to lose you? 

When are you going to realize just how worthless he really is? How much of a bother, a burden, an impossible obstacle to any happy relationship, his mere presence provides.

How much you’re better off with someone else. 

Anyone else. 

Anyone else but Billy. 

And Billy himself can’t quite say when the doubts and fears started piling up in his mind with such an intensity again, leaving him with a deep and utterly overwhelming feeling full of unease in the pit of his stomach; one that’s so heavy, it almost renders him immobile.

He’s curled up completely on your shared bed, face pressed into your pillow, because it smells like you, and that’s normally something that calms his racing thoughts down a bit.

But not today. 

No, today it feels like even that is taunting him, because how much longer is he going to have that luxury; that luxury of you around and a part of his life. Staining his heart and mind with happy memories that used to be so hard to come by for Billy.

Memories he doesn’t deserve.

And how much longer is he going to wake up in a bed, so utterly soft and warm, with you by his side? There are little pieces of you all over your shared space, things that normally remind him of how you’re still here. Despite how difficult Billy is to love, you haven’t left yet. 

Yet, he thinks, a bitter laugh stuck in his throat.

But you will. 

You will leave, because everybody ultimately does, and he can’t blame them. Not if he’s the one they’re leaving.

His thoughts still linger on the way this all might play out; on the way you’re going to leave him, too. 

Will it be a big fight, like the ones with his dad? Or will you sneak out and vanish in a more quiet fashion, the way his mom slipped out of the shared house, he foolishly used to call home, and then never came back. 

He has to choke down a sob at the memory of his mother –  that part of his past still hurts more than the one with his dad, at least on an emotional level.

Maybe it’s the betrayal, he thinks, because he never expected that kind of treatment from her.

His dad? Yeah, sure. That guy never really gave two shits about him. Depriving him of even the tiniest scraps of affection, or love, or praise, or anything that a kid might desire from the person he looks up to the most.

But his mom? That beautiful and kind woman, with a smile so bright and warm, like the Californian sun. The woman that would kiss him goodnight, lips lingering on his freckled forehead, and tuck him in with a hushed, gentle voice and loving words.

He never thought that she would just leave like that, leave him to fend for himself in the claws of a monster all on his own.

A monster she knew all too well.

A monster she chose, not him.

Nevertheless, she abandoned Billy without much of a second thought, because otherwise, she would have come back for him, wouldn’t she?

But she didn’t and that realization still hurts. 

It's the kind of hurt that burns in his chest like the tears spilling from his eyes. And it has his hands clenching into angry fists, burrowed deep into the sheets.

Hands that are still adorned with scars.

Little scars and big ones, faint ones, and deep ones.

Scars, from all the fights he’s been in and all the times he punched his mirror too hard, in a helpless fit of rage, because he couldn’t stand the person staring back at him.

Because all he could see was a boy worth leaving and abandoning, someone who was actually deserving of all the mistreatment he got.

Scars, from the many times when, in a desperate attempt to keep his frustrations at bay, his hands would unconsciously tighten around a random glass or beer bottle, or anything delicate enough to break and shatter in his unyielding grip, leaving both his floor and his palms bloody and scattered with shards.

But his dad never cared about his hands, only about the stains on those ugly and dusty carpet floors, of all the places Billy has only ever known as hell.

Billy tries to stifle his cries by burrowing his face deeper into your pillow. Staining the fabric with his tears, its baby blue color turning a slightly deeper one. 

Fuck, you’re going to come home soon, he remembers, and he tries not to consider what might happen if you find him like this.

Maybe this will be the thing that has you leaving him, he thinks, and the thought only makes him cry harder. Small sobs shake his strong body, shoulders shaking in defeat, and a deep-seated sadness and fear of never being good enough.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Chomper, your little shark stuffie, sitting unsuspecting at the edge of the bed, and without really thinking, he grabs the little fellow and pulls him close to his bare chest.

The fluffy object smells even more like you, soft and sweet and light. And the tears keep coming while he convinces himself that this is it.

You’re going to leave him.

There’s no way you won’t after seeing him like this, again.

It’s a thought that keeps spinning in his mind, like a cursed merry-go-round, with no means to escape it. 

It had all started this morning, he thinks, when he woke up with unusually many doubts. Small, ugly whispers that told him all kinds of hurtful things.

He knows those voices, like he knows their words to be true, even if he has been able to manage them a little better.

But despite that, he's still prone to believe them when they say that he’s the worst; and that you’re ultimately going to leave him once you’ve come to your senses and realize the truth.

The truth about how deep, deep down he’ll always be an unlovable and unworthy mess; too difficult to love and cherish for even the most patient and compassionate person on the planet.

Which is you. 

In his eyes, it’s always you. 

Always.

He doesn’t deserve you, never has, never will, but it’s nice to pretend that he does sometimes, and occasionally he even finds himself believing that there could come a time, somewhere in the distant future, where he might actually find himself deserving of your love and kindness. 

But not today. 

It seems completely far-fetched now, an impossibility really, and the weight of it all has Billy feeling absolutely crushed. 

Maybe he should have told you, he thinks.

Earlier today, in the morning, when you had woken him up with your usual soft kisses and even softer touches, when you two shared little giggles and loving stares, before you had to get up and get ready for work.

He had watched you, his features full of adoration, as you slipped out of his oversized metal shirt and into a flowy skirt and a silky blouse.

His blue eyes following the quick movement of your fingers as you buttoned up the fabric, and he immediately itched to take it off again.

You had given him a gentle smile through the mirror of your vanity, when he couldn’t help a little yawn slip from his lips. Putting aside the blush you had just picked up; you made your way over to his side of the bed once more.

He remembers gazing up at you, through his long lashes, and the gentle smile that was back on your face made his heart speed up, and his mind a little dizzy. 

“Should I’ve not woken you up, love?” You had whispered, your hand gently brushing some wild, curly strands out of his face, and as usual he instantly leaned into your touch.

Nuzzling the palm of your hand before leaving a lingering kiss there.

The little affectionate action had your eyes soften.

After years and years of abuse, and growing up with the notion that human touch was something to be feared rather than cherished and enjoyed, the fact that Billy’s now actively seeking out the thing he used to hate so much has your heart jump in little leaps of joy. 

God, how you love him.

But you silently notice that he looks a bit tired, and you feel a twinge of worry bubble up in your chest. 

You always wake up together. It’s one of those little rituals that somehow just stuck. Even on days where it’s your time off from work, or Billy’s, you still wake up with the other person.

Today is such a day; it’s Billy’s day off from work at the car repair shop, but unfortunately, the same can’t be said for you.

Work calls, and you have to answer, which means you still have to finish getting ready, although you’re putting that on the back burner of your mind for now, as your eyes are transfixed on Billy. 

He’s so pretty, and kind and utterly yours, and you still can’t quite believe it.

You carefully lean over him, brushing your nose gently against his.

“Love you, Billy.” You whisper, “You can go back to sleep if you need to, you still look a little tired, sweetheart.”

“’S okay,” Billy mumbles, voice raspy and tinted with sleep.

The deeper octaves of his voice always have the thoughts in your head spinning around themselves, and this time is no exception.

But before you can dwell on that too much, Billy’s calloused hands come up to your neck, pulling you down for a messy kiss. 

“Stay,” he whispers, as usual, as always, and you can’t help but smile against his lips. 

“You know that I can’t, Billy,” you draw the syllables of his name out for emphasis, before capturing his plump lips back in another searing kiss.

“Even though I really wish I could.”

When your eyes find his again, the look behind yours is earnest.

Still Billy sighs.

It’s not an accusatory sigh, just a little disappointed one.

And he’s not disappointed at you, but disappointed at those mean circumstances of live.

Like the fact that you two have to work for a living, instead of being able to spend the rest of eternity at his two favorite places, the beach, and your shared bed; and maybe his trusted Camaro too, because that’s the first taste of real freedom he ever had, after his mother left. The first safe haven he got, and used thoroughly to escape his father’s abuse.

There were times in his life, where he spent more nights curled up in the backseat of his car than in his bedroom at his father’s house. A place he refuses to call home.

But as much as he hates that man, he unfortunately calls his father, Billy thinks the abusive piece of shit might have been right when he told him about what an absolute disappointment he was.

Not just as a son, but as a human. 

An utterly, disappointment of human.

And a broken one too, if the countless tears he’s shed are anything to go by.

Billy had noticed these thoughts coming up, while you were still playing with some strands of his hair, before untangling yourself from him with a small sigh.

“Gotta finish getting ready, love,” you’d explained, voice apologetic, yet entirely unaware of the troubled war that’s been breaking out in Billy’s mind.

Taking it over and corrupting it.

He continued watching you get ready, but there’s something else swirling around in his stomach now.

Something different than the previous pure love and admiration.

Something a little more ugly. A neediness, a longing, a fear of watching you leave.

He wanted to call out to you and tell you about it, but he just felt so stupid. All he remembers instead is the quick kiss you gave him, before rushing out of the bedroom, while trying to put your earrings in place.

“I’ll try to leave a little bit more early this time,” you had promised, halfway through the bedroom door, turning around to him again and giving him one of your blinding smiles.

“Can’t wait to have you all to myself later, love.” The tone of your voice was teasing, but the look in your eyes was kind and loving, and Billy felt his heart clench at the sight of it.

He doesn’t deserve you. 

And there’ll come a time where you’ll realize that too, and you’ll leave. 

It’s a thought that his mind fixates on, as he literally watches you leave, your skirt flowing lightly behind you with every step you take; every step that’s taking you further and further away from him, as the ugly voices in his head grow louder and louder.

And by the time he hears the front door opening and closing again, he feels like crying. 

You’re in a cheerful mood today, humming a little pop tune as you’re getting home from work, making your way through the entry of your house, excited to reunite with Billy, and maybe enjoy some warm rays of the afternoon sun outside. 

“Billy, I’m back!” 

Dumping your handbag unceremoniously next to your shoes that you just slipped out of, you make your way into your shared living room, but there’s no sight of the man you call your own. 

Weird.

He’s not in the kitchen, and since there’s no rock music blaring from the garage, you’re sure he isn’t in there either. 

Maybe he’s outside, enjoying the ocean you live so incredibly close by, you think, as you make your way up the stairs to get to your bedroom and change into something more comfortable and beach appropriate. 

You’re still humming along to the song that’s somehow stuck in your head while thinking about your bathing suit choices. There’s a new one you’ve got as a little surprise for Billy and- 

You halt in your thoughts and movements once you’re standing in the doorway of your shared bedroom.

It looks exactly the way you left it, roughly eight hours ago. 

The shutters are still closed, light only slipping through its narrow gaps, painting stripes across the bed, and it’s only then, that you notice the rough shape of a body lying in it. 

Billy. 

At first, you don’t think too much of it.

He’s prone to having migraines and sleeping them off even during the day, or at least trying to. He’s also turned away from you in such a way, that you don’t get to see his tear-stained face or any other indication that he’s anything other than okay.

You still whisper his name quietly into the partial darkness of the room, but there’s no reply; no movement, no nothing, and you figure he must be asleep.

You don’t mind the idea of a little shuteye yourself, so you carefully slight into the bed behind your boyfriend. Spooning him tenderly, mindful, not to wake him with any abrupt movements or heavy sounds.

Nuzzling his shoulder softly, your hand finds its way across his bare chest, and you feel your stomach drop, falling from somewhere high up in the sky. 

His heartbeat is going at least a million times a minute; maybe two. 

It’s pounding away in his chest with such intensity, that it has you sitting up quickly. 

Your hand still lingers on that spot, trying to make sense of the thumping underneath your fingertips. Why is his heart beating so ferociously when he’s supposed to be asleep? 

He’s either having a nightmare, you think, alarmed, or he isn’t sleeping at all. 

“Billy?” you whisper, leaning over your boyfriend carefully, trying to get a glimpse of his face. 

And if you felt your stomach drop from airy heights before, it is now sinking to the deepest and darkest part of the ocean floor, as a cold shiver rushes down your spine. 

Despite keeping his eyes shut tight, you can still see the tears slipping through between his lashes, running down his freckled-kissed skin.

You can see the way he’s biting his lips to keep it from trembling and making any sound.

And you see him clutching your stuffie with such despair that you feel like your heart’s now lying completely shattered in bits and pieces somewhere at the bottom of the ocean. 

Oh, this is bad. 

“Billy?” You try hard to keep your voice even, to not let the panic or worry you currently feel fall through your lips.

But Billy’s just pressing his closed eyes tighter together, the tremble of his lips increasing, before hiding his face more in the soft confines of your pillow. 

Oh, this is really, really bad. 

“Sweetheart,” You don’t really think about your next steps, apart from trying to do them as gently as possible. Moving over Billy’s frame carefully, in order to be able to face him fully.

He still tries to hide away from you, but that’s not something that deters you from your plan.

Not after having been with him long enough to know him inside and out. To know that he craves a gentle touch on the best of his days, and he absolutely hungers for it on the worst ones. 

“Billy, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” You keep your voice as gentle and as soft as you can manage, while you feel like your world is spinning out of control, worry clouding your mind. 

The man in question just shakes his head, before mumbling, the tiniest, most broken “Nothing,” you’ve ever heard. 

And you both know that it’s bullshit. 

Billy is a lot of things right now; but okay isn’t one of them. 

“Billy, my love, look at me, baby.” 

You nudge his shoulder lightly with your nose before cupping bis cheek with the gentlest touch. 

And you both know that there’s nothing you can’t coax out of Billy with a voice as soft as your touch, so you keep talking to him gently, almost as if you were talking to a frightened child or a hurt animal, maybe. 

And as usual, it works.

As soon as he’s looking up at you slightly, and he’s less curled in on himself, you wrap your arms around him protectively and Billy instantly folds. 

All it takes is another whispered, “Shh, come here, I’ve got you, love,” and the way you tenderly guide his face towards the crook of your neck, and he breaks. 

He completely breaks down in your arms, clinging to you tightly, and his quiet sobs pull on your heartstrings repeatedly and with such an intensity, you’re almost sure they’re going to snap. 

You still don’t know what’s wrong; still don’t know what’s got him so upset. You don’t know if he’s physically in pain or mentally, or maybe it’s an unpleasant combination of both.

You’re going to find out eventually, but right now you just want to help him calm down. Let Billy cry it out and then maybe talk about it, once he’s in a better headspace. 

“Shh, it’s alright Billy. You can cry, I’ve got you. You can let it all out, love. Nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby.” 

Billy sniffles, tears still dripping down his cheeks and into your silky blouse. You don’t pay it any mind, and even if you did it wouldn’t matter. There’s literally nothing as important to you as Billy.

You keep the stream of reassuring words coming. Your hands are still tenderly stroking his cheeks and playing with his hair carefully.

You’re not sure how much time passes, as you continue your tender ministrations; but the sun’s still shining outside, slipping through the cracks of your shudders, when Billy’s sniffles and sobs finally cease.

He’s quiet for a little while longer, as you keep drawing comforting circles on his back, and then he suddenly mutters, voice hoarse from all the crying:

“Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

You halt in your movements for a split second, unsure of what he’s referring to. 

“What do you mean, love? Tired of what?” You question gently, looking at Billy for clarification.

“Tired of loving me,” he whispers, and that’s it. 

There are tears in your eyes now, too. 

“Oh, Billy.”

So, that’s what this is all about, you think, as you pull your boyfriend impossibly closer.

You know, he has abandonment issues, that was made pretty clear when you first started dating, but with time and reassurance things have slowly become better. Not perfect, but better.

Billy isn’t as jealous of other people anymore, especially men that you’re friends with. Something that had been a bit of an issue at first.

It had taken Billy a long time to let you in, because keeping you out was less painful.

You can’t lose something you don’t have.

Can’t get left by someone you never truly considered yours in the first place.

But once he did let you in, things weren’t immediately all sunshine and rainbows.

Billy could get jealous, incredibly jealous.

It’s partly because he’s convinced that he’s the worst, and literally anyone would be better than him by default, meaning also that anyone could be a threat to your relationship.

It’s that kind of a fear, that made him turn accusatory, convinced that you’d leave him as soon as a good enough person or chance arose.

But his jealousy and possessiveness were also partly rooted in the fact that he never really got to witness any healthy relationship dynamics.

Because the relationship he had to his father was anything but; and the relationship his father had to women was anything but.

And the only glimpses of a somewhat constructive relationship he ever really got to see was the relationship Max had to her mother Susan, and even that one wasn’t perfect, yet it left him with the bitter taste of jealousy.

And all these influences had an effect on the way he considered you his, and how losing you wouldn’t just hurt his feelings; but also his sense of pride, his ego, his fucked-up view of masculinity and manliness.

Because what does it say about him as a man if he can’t even keep his girl faithful? 

But there are things you can take and there are things you refuse to take, and so you sat Billy down early on in your relationship and made it very, very clear what you’re able to tolerate, and what you simply won’t. 

You know that he’s been traumatized, and growing up with a father like that is bound to leave some lingering scars on both his body and his mind.

But that doesn’t mean he gets to repeat cycles, or fall into unhealthy patterns and make you the scapegoat for his insecurities.

He’s never laid a hand on you - if that was to happen you would be quicker out the door than you can say ‘abusive piece of shit’, but Billy still had things to work through.

Anger issues, jealousy, an impulsiveness paired with a complete lack of risk awareness, and self-destructive tendencies that you can’t just eradicate like that.

As someone who struggled with some of the same problems, you would know. So, you always understood parts of his troubles, know how difficult those impulses truly can be. How overwhelming the need for some kind of relief can be in the heat of the moment without really thinking or caring about the consequences that might follow.

And, you know, Billy’s trauma has him preprogrammed to believe that he’s the worst, a failure, an unlovable mess, and overall, just one big disappointment.

How could he not get that impression when that’s all he’s ever been told by his father, who happened to be the only constant in his life.

You loved Billy - still do, of course, and so you always considered him worth it; worth the work that it took to get him to change some of those behaviors and beliefs.

Unlearning things, relearning things, but some things will always linger around in his mind to some extent.

Like parts of those ugly and persistent voices that are quick to judge him, and the self-destructive impulses that might follow in order to get them to shut up. 

So, all you can do to help in those moments is trying to sooth him. Sooth those whispers in his head and get him out of that ugly cycle of self-loathing and hatred.

Make him see and realize that you’re there, and that no matter what, you won’t leave; that your love is a lot stronger than the voices in his head. Reassuring and reminding him of your feelings, your unwavering commitment to him, and all the things you love about Billy.

Because you do. You really, truly love him.

He’s the best man you’ve ever known.

And you try to make him see that; see the person that he really is, and not the failure that his mind keeps taunting him as. 

“Oh, Billy,” you repeat your hushed whisper.

“Oh, Billy, no.” 

“Billy, I won’t ever get tired of loving you. In fact, not even three million eternities will be remotely enough. Nothing ever will be. I’ll never get enough of loving you, sweetheart.”

You carefully play with some of his curls, fingers grazing the nape of his neck, and Billy cuddles up more into you. He’s been starved of loving touches for so long, that it sometimes still leaves his mind reeling. 

“I’m never going to leave, Billy,” you promise in a quiet whisper.

“How would you know?” Comes Billy’s broken mumble, and on a regular day he might feel ashamed of being so needy, so clingy, so utterly hungry for any kind of validation, but right now, he just wants to hear you say it, and maybe silence those ugly voices in his mind.

Remind him that he’s human even if he feels like a monster, even if he feels completely unworthy of your love. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” you whisper, voice patient, and soaked with love, dripping with love, absolutely overflowing with love. 

‘I know this, because I love you, silly.’ You want to say, but you know, that that won’t be enough, so you try to remind him of something else, that might make him see the man you see, and love and cherish with absolutely no bounds. 

“Remember our first trip to California?” you mumble, your breath tickling Billy’s ear. 

He hums as he curls up closer, hands tightening around you. 

Of course, he remembers that trip. It was quite a few years ago, back in the mid-eighties, the summer after he had turned 19, he thinks, or maybe it was 20. He had finally managed to safe enough money to get out of the ugly claws of his father, and by some miracle, you two also had enough cash put aside for a small road trip to the west coast. 

“We weren’t together then,” you remind him softly, “You were still keeping me at arm’s length at first.” 

Right, Billy thinks. What a complete fool he was back then. The two of you had started out as a seemingly unlikely pair of friends, but it quickly grew into something more; something you both had been in denial about.

Billy most of all. 

Well, he did know that he liked you, like a lot. 

He just never thought you would reciprocate his feelings, and besides that relationships never actually work out, so why try them at all, really? 

And it would save himself the heartache of watching you leave again.

“We were sleeping in your Camaro a lot, because we couldn’t afford even the stingiest motel rooms, and you would torture me with Metallica and I would torture you with Van Morrison, and I would literally have to fight you to get to play my Janis Joplin tape, you absolute buffoon of a music critic.”

You playfully poke Billy’s side, and a little laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in his chest.

“I remember that,” he admits, “You know I never actually thought she was that bad, I just liked to annoy you, I guess.”

“Oh, I know, babe. I know.”

You look at him lovingly, and Billy feels his heartrate pick up, but this time it’s not in an act of anxiety, or worry; he just really, really adores you, too.

“And I still remember how we were cruising down the coastline, windows open, music blaring, and we were both singing our hearts out to More Than a Feeling at the top of our lungs.”

“Oh god,” Billy croaks out with a small groan, “I remember that too,”

The little smile on his face is earnest, and you trace your fingers gently over his freckled skin.

“And it was electrifying because driving with you always feels a little bit like flying. It’s quite the near-death experience, really. And you wanted to show me that one particular beach, like really, really badly, remember?”

“Yeah,” Billy whispers now, because he thinks he knows where you’re going with this.

It’s the night of your first kiss. 

“And we would drive up to that place, but one of my stupid Flip-Flops broke, and you had to carry me to the beach because the sand was just so fucking hot.” 

“And you were a giggly mess, scared that I might drop you.”  

“I sure was, but you didn’t. You promised me you wouldn’t drop me, not for anything in the world, and you didn’t.”

Billy’s eyes soften at the memory and the vulnerability of your voice.

“And you didn’t tell me why you wanted to go to that place in particular, but I knew that it must have meant a lot to you at some point in time.”

Billy nods his head in agreement. It was the beach his mom would usually take him to, but you didn’t know that then.

“And the view was absolutely breathtaking! But we were both such idiots that we forgot our beach towels in the car, and neither of us wanted to go back, so you stripped yourself of your t-shirt in order to make me a makeshift one.” 

Right, Billy had completely forgotten about that detail, if he’s honest.

“We would sit by the water, and just talk, until a little boy ran up to us, because he couldn’t find his parents. And he was distraught, and scared and crying, and we were both struggling to calm him down again. But for some reason he ended up being mesmerized by your fucking earrings, and the traces of your skull tattoo. And when he saw the scars on your back, he asked completely in awe-“

“Are those from fighting monsters?” You both finish the sentence, voices emotional.

“And Billy, you looked at him with tears in your eyes, and whispered, ‘Something like that’ and from there on out the little guy was completely taken in with you.” 

Billy’s quietly crying again, and so are you, sniffling away and using the sleeve of your blouse as a stop to your tears, before Billy’s hands gently come up, cupping your cheeks, and wiping away the salty specks from your skin, with the most tender touches. 

“We searched the whole fucking beach for his goddamn parents.” Billy continues, with a faint laugh. “And he would hold on to me for dear life, and his hand was so utterly tiny in mine.”

“At some point he was getting really tired, so, you decided to pick him up and carry him, and he ended up falling asleep on your shoulder; That probably was the softest thing I’ve ever witnessed.” You admit, voice, and gaze full of adoration for the man in front of you. 

“When we finally found his parents, they were so utterly grateful. Yet you still observed the interaction warily, when the boy ran up to his dad, because you thought he might get scolded.”

“But he didn’t. His father just hugged him really tight, and told him how worried he was and that he loves him very much.” Billy finishes with a small sob.

He remembers that interaction so vividly, because it still stands in such stark contrast to his way of growing up.

It somehow serves as both, a painful reminder of what could have been, and a hopeful one of how he wants to do better.

Of how he can do better.

Not every father or man has to be as inherently bad as his.

And so, he doesn’t have to be either. 

“They wanted to treat us to dinner, but we both refused, and the little boy, Nick! Nick was his name, wasn’t it? Well, he was waving at us with the biggest smile, when they left.” 

“Yeah, and I broke down crying afterwards.” Billy adds, slightly embarrassed, but you shush him gently.

“You had every right and reason to. That whole interaction brought up a lot of stuff for you.” 

“That night I talked to you about my mom for the first time.” Billy whispers. 

“I know, and we were both bawling our eyes out by the end of it.” 

“I had never told anyone else about her before. And I was so scared to admit that I still missed her, because I thought you would judge and see me as weak and fragile and a joke of a man.” 

“But I didn’t, because you weren’t. Billy, you were never weak for missing your mother, or crying about the mistreatment you had to endure from both of your parents. And Billy, you’re not weak now either. Because crying doesn’t make you weak; being scared to lose something you love doesn’t make you weak, and it also doesn’t make you a burden.” 

Billy curls into you again, face pressed tightly against the crook of your neck, his breath shaky. 

“Billy, I know you still struggle with coming to terms with what happened. Trying to make sense of the abuse you had to endure. Trying to figure out what you did to deserve this, but here’s the thing, Billy: You never deserved any of it.

There’s nothing you could have done as a child, that would justify the mistreatment or abuse you had to endure. There’s nothing that justifies the way your father tormented you for the first twenty years of your life.

And it’s hard to wrap your mind around that truth, when all you’ve ever been told is that it’s your fault, that you’re too much, a disappointment, an unlovable burden. But none of that is true, sweetheart.

None of it.

You’re a caring and sensitive soul Billy, you never deserved any of that. Not as kid, not as a teen and not now in your 20s either.” 

“But I was like him then,” Billy croaks out, voice breaking once more. “Maybe I deserved it because I was so much like him then. Max could probably write a thousand essays on how I was the worst back when-“

“Oh, Billy,” you mumble, because you know that’s another sore topic for the man sniffling quietly in your arms. 

“Billy, the way you repeated the cycles of abuse wasn’t right, but that’s also all you’ve ever grown up with. It’s not an excuse, but it’s an explanation, and even still that doesn’t warrant the fate you got.

You didn’t get abused because you were abusive. You were abusive because you were abused. There’s a difference. You were a victim too, a victim turned abuser, but you’re not that anymore. You made amends with the people you hurt the most, remember?

Do you think Max would be in regular contact with you now, if she still considered you the threat that you were back then? Do you think she would come down here for visits if she still hated you or resented you in that way?

Billy, Max is in your life now because she wants to be. Because she cares about you. Just like I am in your life because I want to be. And neither one of us is going to leave you. None of our friends are going to leave you, and as much as you struggle with the ugly fear of getting abandoned or left behind, that’s just not going to happen.

Not anymore, because now you have a support-system who loves and cherishes you for the dorky and sensitive, car-obsessed metalhead you are.”

Cupping his cheek carefully and taking a deep breath, you state:

“Billy Hargrove I’ve loved you from the day you bandaged my foot in the changing cabins of Hawkins community pool, because I slipped on a fucking ice cream package paper, and I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.

But you managed to make me laugh and get my mind off the persistent pounding inside my sprained ankle. And you drove me home that night, and I made fun of your shitty music taste that’s not actually that shitty.

And I fell in love with you the more I got to know you. The more I got to see you smile earnestly at my dumb little jokes and witness you open up to me more and more about your past, and your present, and your future, until I couldn’t imagine the latter without you.

Until I couldn’t imagine a future without you in my life, because you’ve been such a fucking blessing.

And on that day at the beach when nighttime rolled around and we were both lying in the warm sand, that still radiated the heat from the day, with Hawkins millions of miles away and freedom in every breath of summer night air,

you told me about all the things you’ve been through, and I admired you even more, because I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that after everything you had to endure; after everything you had to go through, you still turned out into that man I wholeheartedly love.

And I remember burrowing my feet in the warm sand, as I watched you get up to chase the waves again. And I was giggling because that’s such a stupid past time activity, but you were having the time of your life, laughing, and after having seen you cry so much that day, seeing you smile like that could have mended any heart. 

And I remember you standing there, hair a salt-water kissed mess; the sky a midnight blue above us, adorned with so, so many stars. And the deep dark sea mirroring it, with the tiny lights of random ships sailing through the night. It was like they were getting lost in each other, as I was getting lost in you.

And the ocean was all we could see, and I knew that I wanted you.

I knew then that I could not, and would not be able to live a life without you in it, without you being my most important and cherished person and-“ 

“Then you ran up to me and kissed me,” Billy finishes with tears in his eyes.

“Then I ran up to you and kissed you, and you kissed me back, and it was the most tender and beautiful kiss I ever experienced. And I am so fucking lucky that I’ve been able to share those kisses with you every day since then.” 

You gaze into the loving blue eyes of your boyfriend.

The man you’re so proud to call your own.

His eyes are still glossy, but those are different kinds of tears.

These are tears of fondness, of love, of sheer disbelief about how lucky he got.

These are happy tears.

You watch the growing smile on his face with a steady pounding in your chest that lets you know just how much you’re head over heels for this guy.

But you’re not quite done with your little speech, so you cup Billy’s freckled cheeks once more between your hands tenderly, before saying:

“Billy fucking Hargrove, there is no scenario in my mind, in which I’m walking out that door for good without holding your hand clutched tightly in mine, got it?” 

Billy laughs, and it’s hearty and earnest and the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. And you know, you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to get to hear that sound as much and as often as possible. 

The golden rays of the setting sun still slip through the gaps of your shutters, and it paints warm stripes across Billy’s freckled skin. You watch them move, as he leans down to kiss you, capturing your lips in a loving kiss. You can still taste the salt of your shared tears on both of them, but it’s okay. Because you’re okay, and you know Billy will be too. 

He’s still going to have his bad days, of course, but like the gentle changes of the wind, and the slow turning of the tide, even those will pass, and make way for a more sunnier and happier days. 

When you break apart again carefully, you find yourself smiling at your boyfriend, as an idea crosses your mind.

“So, do you want to spend the rest of the day here or…?” you question, while patting the soft sheets of your bed. 

“Or, what?” Billy inquires, eyes and voice gentle and loving. “Do you have something particular in might, hm?”

“Maybe,” you tease, smile a little mischievous, before pulling him back down again for another kiss. 

“And what exactly would that be?” Billy mumbles against your lips. 

“Well, I was thinking, how about a battle of chasing waves, again?” 

That is not what Billy expected you to say, and you both know it, but before he can call you out on it, you’re up and excitedly slipping out of your bed. 

“Come on, cali-boy, the sun isn’t going to wait for us,” and with that, you’re running off, stripping yourself of your blouse, as you jump down the stairs, two at a time.

Billy’s close behind you, chasing you with a soft laugh; and it doesn’t take long for him to catch you, in the middle of your living room, arms wrapped around your waist, as he twirls you around like a child. 

“You little minx,” he scolds, but it’s playful and loving and light.

And when the room stops spinning, he pulls you in for another kiss.

One that has you weak in the knees, but luckily Billy’s there to steady you.

Because, of course, he is.

He always is.

And by the time you two make it through the sliding door of your patio, Billy’s hand is held securely in yours, as you step out into the warm sand of the perfect Californian beach, golden rays on both of your skin, and bright smiles on your faces. 

You’re going to be okay. 

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And, that's it! If you made it this far: Thank you, I love you and I hope you enjoyed my little story!