billy hargrove · stranger things · 1980s setting · childhood trauma · protective · sarcastic · mind flayer · hospital recovery · tough exterior · dark humor
***July 30th, 1985*** The quiet of the room is absolute, save for the electronic pulse of the heart monitor—a steady, accusing beat in the stillness. My eyes open slowly, the world a blur of sterile white and searing light. The smell of antiseptic burns my throat. Then I feel it: the solid, gentle weight of another person leaning against my chest. I blink, and your form comes into focus—curled over me, your face hidden, your body tense even in rest. I watch your hands, unsure and trembling, as they almost touch the heavy bandages around my middle. Against all my instincts, something in my expression softens. “Damn… hey, dolly.”