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Billy used to love the rain.
Cali roasted throughout the whole year, pretty much, tendrils of sun scorching and peeling every exposed inch of skin, the air thick and heavy with moisture.
Summer fogs would roll in off the sea, clouding Billy's beloved ocean in a fur coat of gray. He liked to think that the fog kept her warm, kept his sparkling blue tucked up snugly in bed like his mama would do for him, would stroke her cheek and sing her to sleep.
Rain came so rarely, but when it did, the skies exploded.
Lightning would shake the earth itself, the fireworks of the gods, thunder growling like some beast in the swirling clouds.
Neil hated the rain. It made the TV go static and disrupted his game.
But Billy loved it.
Mama would take him out to the beach, to watch his beloved ocean storm and rage, throw her fists miles high into the air and yell to the stars.
Billy yelled too, laughing as his voice was swept away like driftwood on a riptide.
He wasn't scared of the ocean, even at her angriest. Mama said that the reason the ocean was so calm the rest of the time, that she was gentle enough for Billy to swim, was that she let go of everything in the screaming wind. She let her fury go, screamed along with the wind and the earth, so she could be kind every other day.
Mama told him that he should do the same.
When the rain came, when he couldn't hear his own thoughts over it's roar, he should go to the beach and let it all out, where he couldn't hurt anyone else.
Neil said that boys didn't cry, so Billy let the ocean cry for him, let salt stream down his face as his Mama held him, kissed his curls, and let out her own pain too.
When mama went out to sea forever, her ashes swirling so deep that Billy would never be able to touch them again, he stayed on the beach until the dawn came, waiting for the storm. Waiting for the rain.
It never came.
Billy never went to the beach again.
But the storm lived inside him.
It threw punches, and screamed slurs, and clawed at everything he could reach until blood pooled and everyone backed away, out of reach of the fury that now lived in his ribcage.
It twisted his face until he could no longer recognise himself in the mirror, until all he saw was Neil, and there was a sick satisfaction inside him that revelled in the loss of his humanity. He didn't need to wait for the rain to let everything out, he was no longer controlled by something as fickle as the weather.
Billy had control. He had everything he needed.
Right up until Hawkins.
Or more specifically, Steve Harrington.
Steve was sunshine.
It radiated out of him, (clung to his hair wherever he went, caressed his skin, lit up his eyes from the inside.
He wasn't the punishing heat of California, the midday sun that scorched everything it touched.
He was the sort of sun that haloed Saints in stained glass windows, that drifted across long grass in late autumn afternoons, he was the dawn that brought new life and the dusk that settled little children to sleep.
And for the first time since Billy was small enough to fit on his mother's lap, the storm was calming.
Not all the way - the depths were deep, and shadows lurked beyond the surface, nipping at his heels and dragging him under. But the anger did not consume him. The rage did not blind his eyes with blood.
The sun was rising.
And with it, life came.
People set foot on sand that once would've swept their balance from under them, they splashed in the shallows and built sandcastles by the shore.
Birds, too.
"I used to come up here a lot," Robin explained, leading Billy up a rocky trail to what appeared to be a cliff edge, "When my parents were fighting, I'd sit up in the quarry and yell until I felt better. We're far enough away from town that no one can hear you."
A year ago, Billy wouldn't have been caught dead with someone like Robin.
Someone different, someone other. Someone like him.
Even six months ago, he would've lashed out, would've shattered the mirror she held and then shattered her, let the waves rise up and drown them.
Now, he teased the little bird bobbing on the surface with a single splash, let himself enjoy her company and her sarcasm and the way she and Steve seemed to share a braincell most days.
He trusted her.
Enough to let her take him to a place where no one could hear him scream, in the dead of night, where he would absolutely die if she shoved him over the edge.
"If you murder me, Steve knows where we are."
"Steve would never turn me in, I'd guilt trip him over something and he'd get that pathetic puppy dog look in his eyes."
Billy snorted, grinning over the unexpected nerves squeezing his chest.
"So do we just-"
"You want me to start?"
Billy only nodded.
Robin's scream was surprisingly primal. Frustration was at the forefront, but Billy could hear anger there too. Anger, betrayal, and something that was deeply sad.
He wondered what storms lived inside Robin.
Whether Steve was her sunshine too.
There was no embarrassment in her shoulders as she yelled, no self consciousness at Billy's presence, no shame for her feelings. Her entire frame shook as she drew breath, shuddering gulps of air before she opened her mouth again.
Then Billy was screaming too, almost drowned out by the beat of his own heart. He wasn't sure if Robin was still making sound, if she'd run out of air yet. He didn't particularly care, eyes screwed shut and knees slamming into gravel and concrete as he howled.
And for the first time in his life, Billy did not wait for the rain to cry for him.