At the edge of Hawkins' vast forest, there was a house. A little cabin. And that cabin was now all yours. You didn’t grow up in Indiana, but when you felt the wind calling your name, straight away, these two stories just felt like home. 

The real estate agent didn’t understand why a pretty young thing like yourself would wanna buy a run-down sack such as this. Why not? Sure, it needed a little TLC, alright, maybe a lot of TLC, but you didn’t mind getting your hands dirty, learning a new skill or two. 

And that was precisely why you now stood in the back of the small local hardware store, buying paint. 

Some might say that starting on the outside was the wrong order to do things in, but to that, you just said screw you! I’ll do it in the order I see fit! If the first thing I wanna do is paint the outside of my house, then that’s what I’ll goddamn do!

Now, the owner of this establishment clearly had something against the colour yellow, because the massive cans were on the very top shelf. Lifting yourself up onto your toes, just the tips of your fingers barely kissed the cold tin. Giving it a small poke, it scooted forward, just an inch, but enough that it was now peeping out over the edge. 

This might be how you die, being crushed by a big bucket of paint, and honestly, it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. You’d made your bed, might as well lie in it. 

Giving the whole shelf a whack with the root of your palm did more than you were prepared for. Ready for your untimely demise, it came crashing down upon you, but just before you expected to feel the impact, a pair of quick hands came into view, catching it just above your nose. 

“Woah!” a man behind you huffed, “I’ve got it, I’ve got it!”

Turning around to help the surprisingly handsome stranger, your hands mysteriously lost all of their strength and just ended up resting against the container rather than actually aiding in lifting it. 

“T-thank you,” you blinked up into his coffee eyes. 

“You’re welcome,” he smiled, “unless you were trying to just cover yourself in, um,” looking down to read the label on the large tin, “banana cream dream paint, then I’m sorry. You can just stand there, and I’ll gladly help pour it over you.”

“What, like a wet t-shirt contest but with paint?” you jested through a breathy laugh. Seeing his eyebrows shoot up, you quickly shook your head, looking down, deeply regretting your humour, “I’m sorry, that was a joke…”

“It’s okay,” he smirked, then nodded up towards the high shelf, “you need help getting anymore down?”

“Just like, um, 3 more, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course not,” he placed the one in his grasp down in the shopping cart by your side, then proceeded to reach up, making his shirt ride up a bit, flashing you just a sliver of skin. “So, what are you painting?”

Trying to cover up your staring as just looking at the shelf closest to his body, you blushed, “my house.”

“A yellow house?” the idea seemed to make him smile… that or he was just a very polite person. 

“Yeah, with white details and stuff…”  

Placing the last bucket down in the cart, he pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, “I hope it turns out well. I’ll keep an eye out for a yellow house.”

The rhythmic knocking at your door was nearly impossible to hear over the loud banging you were creating, tearing down the old orangey cabinets in the kitchen. 

Taking a moment between swings to catch your breath, you finally heard it. Eyes growing big, you dropped the large hammer to the floor, “oh… oh!” and scrambled down the narrow hallway, “I’m coming, just a second!” you bellowed just as you reached the white front door, “I’m so sorry about that,” you swung it open, not yet looking up to see whom it was, but down at yourself for just a second longer as you brushed some of the dust and such off of yourself, “I couldn’t hear you over the-,” your eyes finally flicked up to meet the faintly familiar pair of brown ones, “hi…”

“Hey,” the stranger from the store smiled, tearing his eyes off the fresh paint job, he shifted a large beige package on his hip, “the yellow really turned out great.”

“What are you doing here? How did you…”

“I believe this is yours,” he jutted out his hip, drawing your attention down to the box, “if your name is Y/n Y/l/n.”

“Oh, it finally came! Are you the mailman?” you looked him up and down, “you’re not dressed like one…”

“No, no,” he chuckled lightly, “I’m not, but this was sent to my address.”

“No, really?” you felt the heat rise in your cheeks. 

“It’s fine, your name was still on it, and I know the rest of my neighbours pretty well, so the process of elimination was easy enough.” 

“I am so sorry.”

“Y/n, it’s fine. I get it, it can take a while before a new address clicks in to place and you remember it correctly.” 

“Yeah, evidently…” you breathed out. 

“So,” he shifted the package once again into a more comfortable hold, ”this is like really heavy, can I come inside and set it down?”

“Oh my goodness, yes, of course,” you stepped aside for him to shimmy past, “just here in the hallway is fine.” As he gingerly placed it on the wooden floor, you suddenly became very grateful that the urge you’d felt this morning was to attack the kitchen and the hall, “I’m sorry about the mess.”

“Ah, it’s not that bad,” he straightened back up, “considering.”

Eyeing him maybe a bit inappropriately as he ran his fingers through his voluminous mane, you took a deep breath, “so, you said you live around here?”

“I do,” he smiled, “you know that orchard you drive past right before swinging down this road?” The countless apple trees had been hard not to notice, so you nodded in affirmation. “That's where I live.”

“Waow, and here I thought you were just the dude from the hardware store.”

“Hey, who said I can’t be both? Dude from the hardware store, but also your new neighbour,” he reached out his hand to shake yours. 

Wiping your now slightly clammy palm against your thigh before grasping his, “and does this dude perhaps have a name?”

“Steve Harrington.”

“Well, Steve, it’s very nice to meet you, I’m-”

“Y/n,” he filled in with a smile, letting go of your hand, “I know.”

“Right,” you breathed out, looking back down at the package, “thank you again for bringing over the tiles. I have been just itching to get on with the bathroom, but I kinda needed those before I could move on with anything else, so thank you.”

“Tiles?” he exclaimed, “that’s why it was so heavy…”

The horns have been “debudded,” which is like destroying a hair follicle so the hair stops growing. Maybe it’s the lack of horns that makes this cow head-butt everything, including Steve.

The cattle vendor at the fair certainly looked dubious when Steve made it clear he had the money to pay for him. Steve knew what he looked like - the last farmer in the Harrington clan had to be three generations back, at least.

“That bull’s a headstrong one. If you’re not used to lively horses or cattle, he ain’t the one for you.”

Nothing was for Steve, apparently. Not steady relationships, or a steady job, or steady mental health since Starcourt became a skeleton standing over rubble. Steve had bad decisions and the consequences sweating out of his pores; all he knew was that a blond and caramel cow with soft curly fur avoided everyone touching him until Steve held out the back of his hand. Horses wanted to smell a person before they were touched, why not cows?

Billy licked his hand and the rest was history.

Or at least, the rest was the Harrington’s summer cabin several miles outside Hawkins. The house was not technically a cabin, but a bonafide house. It looked like it belonged in the mountains with its many windows, thick beams, and flowery window boxes. The property around it was substantial, and he needed to get one of the fields ready with a quickness.

Hiring a team to install fencing around one of the meadows was easy. Getting a pre-built carport hauled out to the property was not, but it was the best he could do until a proper barn was ready. The carport looked like a barn-style covering to a bridge and acted as the entrance to the field as well as a safe spot at night or inclement weather.

The damn cow came with a learning curve, that’s for sure. And a hefty care bill which actually succeeded in bringing Steve’s parents home to see what the hell was going on with their son’s bank account. To say they were confused would be a severe understatement.

But the Harringtons were the type of wealthy people to enjoy equestrian pursuits, so Steve’s mother was not entirely put off by the prospect of keeping a large animal on the property. She called a vet to come out and do a full checkup of the creature, and Steve watched in annoyed wonder as Billy let his mother totally ruffle the curls and ears on his giant head.

“Playing favorites, I see,” he scoffed.

His mother smirked at him. “I think he knows he’s safe.”

Steve could only take her word for it, because Billy still head-butted him all the time. As soon as the screen went over Billy’s face to protect his eyes from flies, the cow followed Steve around the property, knocking his face against Steve’s backside while he tried to weed-wack the walking trails between the fields and the house.

“Could you not?”

Billy only snorted and shook his head, making his ears flop.

Steve’s father couldn’t help but marvel, “He doesn’t even need to be tethered. That cow follows you around like you polish the sun.”

Steve tried his best to do that, he really did. He got a cylindrical “cow brush” installed in the field. Billy rubbed against it like a massive cat. He cleaned Billy’s hooves every day that he was at the cabin, which became more and more often. When the barn was finally built, he made sure Billy always had a bucket of fruit and veggies to greet him after a long day in the pasture. The damn thing loved alfalfa hay, and it made Billy smell nice after rolling around in it.

The only thing that got Billy’s energy out was a giant bouncy ball. Steve introduced it by chucking the thing over the fence. He’d never seen Billy have a fun fit, but that was the day he learned that cows are just terrifyingly large dogs.

Thing is, one Billy Hargrove has to come out of the hospital some point or another. And while he’s being discharged, he gets to overhear a bizarre conversation between his sister and Henderson.

“He’s installing the salt lick this weekend. Cows love it, apparently.”

Dustin sighed, “I don’t see why he hasn’t invited us to his new place. I miss him.”

“Probably because the cow’s a rescue, and you’d scream loud enough to set it off,” Max teased.

Billy waited for Dustin to go to the bathroom before he ventured, “It almost sounds like you’re talking about a real cow and not a girlfriend.”

Max still doesn’t like the way he talks about women, but now she tells him so. The summer of ‘85 has changed a lot of things. Max sticks to Billy like glue and tells him like it is. Steve owns a cow, apparently, and barely visits Hawkins anymore. 

Billy goes with Max when they finally get the invite to the “cabin.”

“This is not a cabin,” Billy remarks as he pulls up to the nice house in the repaired Camaro. The road there and the driveway to the house are as far as the car is allowed, otherwise his sports vehicle is super unequipped for this place. The house is nicer than the one back in Hawkins, but Billy feels as unequipped in his atrophied body as his car.

Thankfully, after an exhaustively awkward handshake with Steve, the latter sets them up in the house for the weekend. The fridge is stocked and there’s another in the garage. There’s a goddamn laundry room upstairs for guests and before long, Billy finds himself risking exhaustion by walking along the unfamiliar, grassy trails - 

A bike bell alerts him to someone coming down the trail. Steve.

Billy doesn’t wait for some clumsy hello. “You need a motorbike for this place.”

Steve laughs as he slows down and dismounts to walk beside him. The damn bike has a luggage carrier on the back with a green cube of hay stuffed with flowers like a pin cushion. “Is that for your cow I’ve heard so much about?”

Steve glanced back at it and confirmed, “Yeah. Cows love enrichment, or whatever, so I try to give him stuff. He rolls around in alfalfa, but the roses and herbs might be a nice change. Getting the honeysuckle and blackberries off the house was a nightmare. Those bushes have thorns. Big ones.”

Billy laughed softly. “I thought honeysuckle was poisonous?”

“Not the flowers. But cows have, like, four stomachs anyway.”

“What? No, they don’t.”

“Yeah, dude! They eat anything off the ground without even looking. It’s insane.”

Billy discovered that laughter came easily with Steve. And when they finally got to the carport, he watched the cow meet Steve and head-butt the block of treats out of his hands.

“Wait, wait! God, this is why we have to tie things up with twine.”

The cow won and shook the cube out of its binding. Steve snatched the twine anyway and untied the knot to wrap around the spool standing on a pegboard in the carport. Billy’s feet shuffled over the hay in the miniature barn while he relented, “He’s pretty. Still smells like shit, but...I haven’t seen a curly-haired cow before. What’s his name?”

He turned his head just in time to see Steve’s snap up and his jaw to go slack. “Uh.”

Billy snarked, “What, did you name it after your favorite porn star and your mom doesn’t know or something?”

Steve coughed and swallowed painfully. “Nope.”

Billy frowned at him. “Why are you being weird about this? It’s a name.”

“Yeah, but,” Steve began before his shoulders wilted into a slouch. He sighed, “His name’s Billy.”

Billy Hargrove has to take a long moment to process that. Then he dared, “I would ask if it’s because he’s blond, but there are plenty of those to take name inspo from.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, where the hair had recently been cut since he was tired of his longer hair holding sweat on his nape. “I found him after...everything happened...and he reminded me of you. That’s all.”

“That’s all,” Billy repeated flatly.

Steve shrugged and came to lean against the other side of the carport opening, mirroring him. “Yeah. Dark blond. Curly. Gets in my way and head-butts me around. Never lets me get the ball to play a proper game with him.”

Billy glanced at said ball in the grass with a soft smirk on his face. “I didn’t realize you thought of me enough to name something after me.”

Steve shyly held his gaze until Billy finished, “Even if it is a cow.”

And so what if Billy rides on the back of his bike to the house.

Or if he stays longer than a weekend because he likes the physical therapy of walking through the groves of trees and fields without an audience around him.

Or that he sleeps better with Steve’s homemade veggie pasta in his belly than he has in years.

Or that they kiss with lightning bugs around them after Billy admits that the lush greenery of late spring/early summer is kinda nice. Kissing is their business, no one else’s.

But with an extra pair of hands, Steve’s mother indulges and gets another pasture set up for a new rescue. Steve and Billy watch as a new barn gets built with waterlines and a saddle room. The truck drives up with the silver steel carrier hitched to it, and the boys watch a russet horse step out. Her fur is a beautiful clay red in the sunlight -

As she bites her handler.

You didn’t even truly realise that you’d wandered out of the forest till you looked up and saw the numerous colourful apples in the trees above. 

Too busy staring at the fruit, you didn’t manage to catch sight of the unexpected figure you suddenly bumped into. 

“Oof,” got pushed out of your lungs.

Blinking up, you half expected it to be a tree trunk, but no, it was in fact not a tree. It was a man. More specifically, it was your neighbour, Steve. Now, that would explain the apples…

“Y/n!” he exclaimed, damn nearly dropping the picked apple in his palm before it reached its destination of the crate in the dew-covered grass, “what are you doing here?”

“Hi! Um, I was on a walk,” you explained nervously, feeling like a deer in headlights, “thought it was about time that I explored the forest a bit and I must have turned right when I should have turned left,” then cursed, fighting the urge to hit yourself over the head, “god, I knew I shouldn’t have left the trail! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just wander onto your property. I swear, I’m not on some mischievous mission to steal your apples or anything like that.”

“Oh,” he slowly bent down to place the blushing apple in the flush wooden crate, “well, I wasn’t thinking that, but good to know, thanks.” 

Feeling yourself calm a bit under his surprisingly relaxed demeanour, your eyes rested long enough for them to really drink his visage in. Just the smallest beads of sweat were visible on his brow as the back of his hands came to wipe it off, yet the hair was still flawless. After probably a whole day’s work, it was still perfect. Realising that you were now properly staring, you forced your vision back down to your boots and muttered a bit awkwardly, “well, I should probably head back…”

He simply flashed you a smile and said, “sure.”

Offering him a stiff nod, you whirled around and confidently started walking away. That confidence didn’t last very long though as you promptly stopped after just four steps with no clue what direction to go in. 

Turning around slowly, you saw that he was still just standing there, hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Uh, you wouldn’t happen to know what direction my home is in?”

Breathing out just the hint of a chuckle, he glanced to the side and waved you towards him, “here, I’ll walk you home.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, I was done anyway for today, so your timing is perfect,” his long legs started to move, and you scurried to catch up.

Passing one of the numerous trees, Steve’s feet didn’t even slow down as he reached up and plucked an apple to snack on.

Taking a bite, he asked you, mouth still crunching, “you want one?”

“Sure,” you stuffed your chilled hands deep within your coat pockets. 

Reaching up once more, the apple that his fingers found was a deep maroon shade, with tiny speckles of green just around the stem. Tossing it your way, you stumbled a bit but luckily still caught it, even if you didn’t look like a ballerina doing it. 

“Wow,” you took a bite, the crisp flavour zinging out your ears, “this is really good.” 

“Thanks,” he flashed a smile in your direction. 

“Have you ever thought about selling these?” you jested, trying your darndest not to simply burst out laughing at your own terrible joke, “because I really think they’d be a hit. People would pay you the big bucks for even just the smallest of nibbles.” 

“You know,” he played along with a big grin, “never really crossed my mind.” 

Sprawled out on your back, you looked up, completely puzzled, at the twisting and turning pipes. 

Turns out there was a bit of a plumbing issue, one that, try as you might, and oh boy did you try, you couldn’t fix it yourself. 

If the small kitchen window hadn’t been cracked open, you probably wouldn’t have heard the faint footsteps coming from outside your home. Bolting up, you nearly bumped your head into one of the lower-than-expected tubes, thankfully only catching some of your loose hair in it. Letting out a small hiss at the tug, you scrambled to free yourself from this entanglement.  

Who could it be? The plumber guy said over the phone that he’d be here tomorrow, so who was it?

Now at the ivory front door, you turned the doorhandle, revelling non-other than your neighbour, Steve, looking up at you as if you’d just caught him with his fingers down the cookie jar or something. 

Setting down the heavy bucket of apples that he had in his arms, he blinked, “oh, hi! I, um, I didn’t think you were home.”

A small breathy laugh bubbled out of you as you saw the blushing apples that he had attempted to simply drop off without you ever noticing it was him, like an apple fairy or something. “Hey, I, yeah, I-I am home.”

“I was just, um,” he fumbled a bit, leaning against the yellow wall that angled out beside the door, “well I thought you might like some apples, so I just wanted to drop some off for you…”

“Oh, really? Thank you so much!”

“It’s no problem, I’m kinda swimming in them at the moment,” he remarked, then caught sight of your fiddling hands, “why are you holding a wrench?”

“Well,” looking down at the cool metal in your palm, “as it turns out, the pipes here are total crap at being, well, pipes,” you told, “I called a guy about it, he’ll come take a look at it tomorrow.”

“I’d offer you a hand, but I really don’t know anything about plumbing…”

“It’s alright, I’ve figured out a way to survive without it for a hot minute. Thinking about going down to the lake to just get somewhat clean, because I am starting to feel kinda gross,” abruptly becoming very aware of how unyielding his gaze was upon you, you added under your breath, “and now I’m suddenly very aware of how unpresentable I must look right now, I’m sorry.”

“Ah, you look great. The greasy hair is really working for you.”

Choking out a chuckle, you looked down, “thanks.”

“You know, if you don’t want to take a dip in the lake, then you can always just come borrow my shower,” he suggested. 

Squinting your eyes at him, you weren’t sure if this was just him feeling obligated to help, “I don’t wanna put you out.”

“You’re not!” he assured you, shaking his head quickly, “promise.”

“Alright, if you insist…”

“I do. Even though I fully stand by my statement of this being a good look on you, I do faintly remember the clean version being pretty good as well… your hair does that little,” he motioned vaguely to his own, “thing… It’s nice…”

Already shedding a few of the outermost layers, you waited in the surprisingly vibrant lavatory for Steve to return. 

Bending down to yank off your stripy socks, your neighbour appeared in the doorway, fluffy green towel in hand, “here,” he handed it down to you.

“Thanks,” you grabbed it and placed it up on the side of the sink. 

Turning to let you get to it, he then whirled around again, unable to stop himself, “Oh, and if it takes a minute for the water to get hot, just give it a second, don’t turn it all the way up unless you wanna burn yourself. It’ll get warm, just give it a bit of time.”

With one hand, you started to work at the small buttons down your blouse, “noted.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes following your nimble fingers' movements, then quickly shook his head and smiled, turning around to give you some privacy, “I’ll just be out here if you need anything.”

“Cool, I’ll let you know if I drop the soap,” you kidded, successfully coaxing out a small laugh from him. Attempting to swing the door shut, it, alas, didn’t work fully, leaving it just shy of closed with a sliver of the hallway still visible as you stripped down and turned on the water. 

Hair still dripping gently onto the change of clothes you’d brought with you, creating dark splotches all the way down your back, you tip-toed out into the kitchen, finding Steve standing there with his back turned to you, placing a dripping glass onto the dishrack, and then snatching up the checkered dishtowel that was resting on his shoulder in order to dry off his hands. 

“Hey,” you leaned against the doorframe. 

“Oh,” he whooshed around, “hi, hey.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you.”

 “You didn’t, I just,” he stared at you, visibly losing his train of thought, “…how was your shower?”

“It was good,” you crossed your arms, flashing him a warm smile, “thanks again, it really was so kind of you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he breathed out, not even twitching a muscle when a sharp whistling was heard from the stove behind him. 

“Steve,” why did you almost sound out of breath? He was just looking at you, “the kettle…”

“Right,” he shook himself out of the slightly stunned state he’d fallen into, and whipped around to take care of the source of the howling, “do you want a cup of tea? Coffee?”

“Tea would be great, thanks.”

Pouring you both a cup, you eventually relocated out onto the porch. Leaning against the railing, hot enamel mugs in hand, you looked out onto the sprawling scenery that he was lucky enough to call home. 

“So,” you tapped your thumb lightly against the side of your cup, “did you always know you wanted to be an apple farmer?” you watched him lean his forearms onto the white railing, “do you come from one of those long farmer lineages?”

“Um, kinda,” he took a small sip, gazing out upon the rich orchard, ”my parents, they didn’t do this. They’re not exactly what you’d call nature folk, but my grandfather, my mom’s dad, he did. He kinda left me this place… I don’t know if he somehow knew or if he just thought I’d sell it off and use the money for something else, but when he died, and I came back here to sort everything out, I don’t know, something just kinda changed… It just hit me that I could do this and the more I dove into it the more I loved it.” His eyes flickered back to your staring, “so to answer your question, no. I didn’t always know.”

Feeling his heavy gaze upon you once more, you suddenly didn’t know how to reply and instead just looked down, trying to hide your surely flushed face, “I get it, I mean, this house is beautiful…” you kept your vision glued to the amber drink sloshing around in your cup, practically blabbering to it instead of the man beside you, “huge… do you really live here all alone? Or do you have a, I don’t know, a wife or something? Do you secretly have like six children?” you winched silently at yourself, scrambling your brain for a smooth way to recover. 

Chuckling, he replied, “no, I don’t, it’s just me here, no wife, no kids.”

“Cool, cool,” you brought the cup up to your lips, trying and most likely failing to sound casual.

“I mean unless you count the group of kids that have the tendency to break in and steal my apples as my children, then sure. It’s the fucking brady bunch over here.”