Fireworks || HARRINGROVE ||

Held Within

February 18, 1984

The afternoon sun slipped through the February chill and burned Steve's eyes as he sat on the back-porch of his parents' house, nursing one beer bottle after another. His eyes continuously slid back and forth, watching, studying, trying to spot a monster, if there was one. His paranoia was not unnecessary or excessive, it was an important trait with his life that involved the Upside Down. With all the death and destruction and lurking in the shadows, whether it be the shadows of your mind or the shadows within the clearing or in the forest, it was a necessity to be observant and alert, always ready for the unexpected. If you were not expecting monsters, you would have a disturbing awakening, or rather a disturbing death.

Steve was drinking, which did not help his laser-eyed focus on the woodland just beyond him, but the beer did wonders to qualm his excessive anxiety. His heart wasn't beating at near death anymore, but rather just its usual quick beats that came whenever he was not with Billy. The thought of Billy alone made his heart skip a beat. Steve sat his beer bottle down and voiced his sudden realization in a small voice, because he was only talking to himself, after all. He said, "I really like Billy. Maybe closer to love."

Steve shook his head. It was too early to love him. They had been together just a month, but they have known each other much longer. Even so, saying he was in love with Billy Hargrove was a needy, rushed conclusion. Steve found he was attached to Billy, everything that he was.

Steve Harrington had fallen deep down the rabbit hole of affection for Billy Hargrove. It was a startling realization, really. Steve was afraid to fall prey to emotions so deeply after his break up with Nancy. It was a harsh break up, and Steve is not ready to get his heart broken again. His drunken mind did not think completely and he started overthinking, or perhaps he wasn't thinking enough. He decided calling Robin and talking to her would be a smart decision.

Steve stumbled out of his seat and across the back porch to the house and he ever-so-gracefully walked into the sliding glass door. Steve cursed and grumbled, putting his hand over his throbbing nose while he slid open the door and stepped inside. Steve slid the door closed behind him and locked it; He liked to be cautious with his life. He had never cared much before, but there was something about the possibility of getting ripped apart and eaten alive that made Steve want to watch his back.

Steve remembered Bob. He was a terribly nice guy that died brutally. Bob deserved more out of life and it made Steve sick to his stomach that the man was gone without fully living. The more he thought about the Upside Down and everything that has happened, the more Steve wanted to jump out of his crawling skin. Steve put a cork in his negative thoughts and focused on getting a box of crackers from the pantry, which happened to be very stale and had the consistency of damp cardboard.

Annoyed, Steve threw the crackers in the trash can before opening the freezer and rooting through it like a rat on a mission in New York City. Of course, the freezer did not have much to offer, seeing as how Steve never shopped for more than a couple items. That, and Steve lived on take out food. He located a bag of combination pizza rolls and pulled it out, aimlessly tossing the bag in the air as he ambled towards the cabinet and pulled out a plate.

"Can I cook these in the microwave?" Steve wondered to himself aloud. His vision was blurry and it made it hard to read the small print on the back of the yellow bag. "Hmm, guess so," he murmured to himself, just guessing considering he had not actually read the instructions. Turns out Steve talked to himself when he was drunk.

Steve collapsed on the leather couch with his plate packed with pizza rolls, not noticing one had fell off the plate and landed on the floor. He turned on some mind-numbing cabal television and slowly made his way through his dinner. Given that the pizza rolls were crammed on a paper plate, some were still cold on the inside, but Steve was too drunk to care -- or notice, really. He just ate them and laughed at the vacuum infomercial that was playing on the boxy screen.

A knock came from the front door, causing Steve to open his eyes and squint through the glare of the television screen. His pizza rolls were abandoned and scattered on the floor from when Steve passed out at some point. Who the hell is trying to talk to me at this ungodly time of night, Steve thought, thoroughly irritated. What he did not know that it was barely a quarter past eleven. He stumbled over to the front door and opened it, peering out at Robin, who had seen him a mere six hours ago at the end of his shift.

"What's going on, Steve?" Robin asked, not doing a terrific job at hiding the worry on her face and in her voice. "You called me two hours ago mumbling about not wanting to be killed by a Demogorgon or some crazy shit. What the hell is going on with you?"

Steve stepped out of the doorway, a silent invitation. Robin walked in and hung her puffy coat on the coat rack beside Steve's heavy winter coat. With the door closed and locked, Steve followed Robin into the living room and flopped down heavily on the couch, making a cold pizza roll burst open and cover the seat of his pants. Steve was still far too drunk to notice and rested his head back on the top of the couch, his throat bore open and his glazed eyes stared up to the ceiling.

Robin was never the type of woman to beat around the bush (no pun intended), she was a go getter. She shot straight to the point, again, no pun intended. She raked a pizza roll onto the floor and sat on the couch beside Steve, and said, "Steve, you can't drown your problems in alcohol. The problems are still there after you sober up."

Of course, Steve knew that. He slurred out, "But I don't know how to deal with this shit without Billy."

Robin raised her eyebrows at the confession that Steve would never remember making, and she figured that was for the best. "Even so," Robin said, "You can't just be an alcoholic."

Steve turned his head to face Robin, his eyes glassy, his nose and eyes burning from the strain it took to not burst into tears. "I can be whatever the fuck I want, Robin."

Robin stared solicitously, her heart aching at her friend's current state. "Yeah," Robin said quietly, voice thick with emotion. "You can."

Steve turned his head away from Robin, unable to stop the onslaught of tears cascading down his pinkened face. Robin did not say anything for awhile, letting Steve cry in what he thought was an unnoticeable forthright. Minutes and multiple sniffles later, Robin tentatively asked Steve, "Are... are you alright?"

Steve cleared his throat and shifted so he was staring forwards at the television. "No," he answered honestly, but did not add anything on to explain why.

Robin did not pressure, knowing that the farther you push, the more someone pulls into theirself. She sat beside him, giving him the company and knowledge that somebody was there for him, regardless if he said what was bothering him or not. He was unable to thank Robin, but she already knew.