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Billy hates the rain.
In San Diego, it rarely rains. The climate there is often called "American Mediterranean," due to the warmer winters and cooler summers, with only 40 days or so of rain a year.
Billy hates the rain because it means being stuck inside. It means not being able to escape Neil, being stuck in the house with him- or later, being stuck inside with him, Susan, and Max. He can only play his music so loud without being yelled out, and it's never loud enough to drown out the screaming between Neil and Susan, and it's always loud enough to bring down Neil's wrath.
It rains a lot more in Hawkins. Not a lot, compared to other places, if you ask around, but it's a lot more than Billy's used to, and he hates it, because it's more time under the same roof as Neil.
Which is why he finds himself in the woods, sitting in the back of Eddie Munson's van, the doors open to let in fresh air as they smoke and share a beer.
He'd just wanted to buy some weed, then drive to an isolated place to smoke in his car and ride out the rain, sober up, then drive home in time to crash, avoiding Neil altogether.
Eddie had surprised him, though.
When Billy had asked for indica, Eddie had lifted a brow.
Everyone asks him for sativa- they want the mind high, the giddiness and the "everything is funny," kind of high that makes them feel good without making them want to faceplant into the floor.
Yet here's Billy Hargrove, the newest bad boy, the new King of Hawkins High, standing in the rain, asking for indica, wanting the full-body stone that makes one sleepy, content, and agreeable before sliding into a well needed sleep.
And he wants to smoke some, sleep it off, then go home.
"Have you ever smoked indica?" Eddie asks.
"It makes you drowsy," Billy shrugs. "I've always had sativa, but I want something a bit more mellow."
"Yeah, sorry, man. I don't know if I can give you a strain you've never smoked- especially if you're gonna drive somewhere by yourself, when you don't know how you're gonna react to it," Eddie replies with a frown.
Billy wants to punch him. He's taking a risk, coming out to buy weed, and from what everyone says about Munson, the less time spent around him, the better. But he sure as hell doesn't want to drive away empty handed- and he sure as fuck doesn't want to go home, or be sober.
When Billy sets his jaw, the tendons in his neck going taut, Eddie expects a swing at his face, but it doesn't come. Billy simply shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and turns to go back to his car.
"Hey," Eddie says. "Hold up."
Billy glances over his shoulder at him, and when his hair falls off his cheek, Eddie sees the barest hint of a faded bruise, and it clicks.
Hargrove hasn't gotten into a fight- not yet. It'd be all over school if he had- especially since everyone knew Tommy Hagan was the first one to talk about any fights.
"What?" Billy asks, his voice tight.
At that moment, he looks like a sad, wet stray dog afraid of getting kicked, and Eddie can't stand it. He might be a hard ass, but he looks so pathetic, despite the clenched jaw and hard eyes, that Eddie can't send him away. Eddie motions for him to come over, patting the blanket he's spread over the back of his van. "Come on. Free sample, see if you react to it alright. If you do, I'll sell you some, and you can be on your way. How's that sound?"
He can't really say no to that, and sharing a joint with Eddie Munson is better than going home.
So here he is, feeling the tension drain from his body as he leans against the inside of the van, watching the rain fall outside as he and Eddie pass the joint back and forth in companionable silence.
Eddie doesn't ask any questions, doesn't even make small talk, and Billy appreciates it- especially since he can see that Eddie is full of curiosity.
He's also glad Eddie let him have a free try- indica hits him like a sledgehammer. He's not about to fall asleep- his natural anxiety is too strong for that- but he's so relaxed, his limbs so heavy, that the thought of getting up seems like such an insurmountable task that he can't even fathom driving home.
But for the first time in a while, he feels relaxed enough that he can unclench his jaw, lie back against the panel of the van, and just listen to the rain pattering on the metal roof.
Eddie moves to the front of the van and puts the engine in accessory, the tape deck crackling to life. Metallica fills the air, and Billy hums in appreciation as he recognizes the Ride the Lightning album.
"Sorry, was a bit too quiet for my liking," Eddie says, settling back into his spot beside Billy- close enough to pass the joint, but not close enough to touch.
"No, I like it," Billy replies. "Love Metallica."
Eddie gives him a small half grin, and rummages in a cooler beside him. He pulls out a beer and cracks it open, handing it to Billy, who blinks, surprised, but takes it with a soft murmured "Thanks," and he takes a long quaff. It's cold, and smooth, and tastes even better with the indica coursing through his veins.
He and Eddie sip their beer in silence, listening to the rain and Metallica, watching the world start to darken as the sun the sets behind the clouds.
For the first time, Billy doesn't mind the rain.