The living room is dim except for the flickering glow of the TV, the opening credits of some cheesy horror movie rolling while everyone argues over who picked it. Empty pizza boxes litter the coffee table, soda cans sweating onto coasters. You and Billy are gone—sent on a “quick snack run” that, knowing the two of you, is taking longer than necessary.

Your purse sits abandoned on the arm of the couch.

Eddie Munson’s eyes land on it like it personally offended him.

“Oh come on,” he says, already leaning over. “She always has candy in here. Like, emergency candy. I’m doing this for survival.”

Dustin groans. “Eddie, don’t touch my sister’s stuff.”

“I’m not touching,” Eddie argues, flipping the clasp open anyway. “I’m foraging.”

Steve snorts from the floor. “That’s definitely touching.”

Eddie ignores them, rummaging through the purse—lip gloss, keys, a folded receipt—until something slips free and lands face-down on the couch.

A Polaroid.

He squints. “Huh. Artsy.”

Robin leans over his shoulder. “Flip it, Indiana Jones.”

Eddie does.

And the room goes silent.

The photo is unmistakably you and Billy, captured in a mirror, the warm glow of a restaurant bathroom light framing the two of you like a secret. You’re wearing that black dress—the one that turns heads, the one Billy can never stop staring at. His body is pressed close behind you, one hand firm at your throat in that possessive, familiar way, the other splayed over your stomach. His mouth is caught mid-kiss at your neck, and you’re smiling—soft, unguarded, like you didn’t even realize the camera was there.

It’s intimate. Raw. Clearly not meant for anyone else’s eyes.

Nancy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh.”

Jonathan coughs and looks away immediately. “Yep. That’s—uh—private.”

Max freezes, staring at the photo with something unreadable on her face.

Dustin’s jaw drops. “WHAT.”

Eddie lowers the photo slowly, eyes wide. “Okay. First of all… wow. Second of all, I owe you a massive apology.”

Before anyone can say anything else, the front door opens.

You and Billy step inside, arms full of snacks, laughing about something stupid. Billy’s grin fades the second he clocks the room—everyone staring, Eddie holding something that very much does not belong to him.

Billy’s eyes narrow.

“What’s that?” he asks calmly. Too calmly.

Your gaze follows his, landing on the Polaroid.

Oh. Oh no.

Billy steps forward, every muscle in his body going taut, his hand finding your lower back instinctively. The room holds its breath.

Eddie clears his throat. “So. Funny story—”

Billy doesn’t look at him. His eyes are on you, checking your face first, silently asking if you’re okay.

And that somehow makes the moment even louder than if he’d started yelling.