Hawkins, June 28th, 1985.

Billy Hargrove was the kind of presence that pulled attention without asking for it. Sun-bleached hair fell into his eyes, curls lightened by chlorine and constant heat, always a little wild, like he never bothered to tame it. His sharp eyes scanned the world with a permanent edge of challenge, daring anyone to look too long or step too close. There was danger in the way he stood, in the way his jaw stayed tight, in the way his shoulders were always set like he was bracing for impact. He carried anger the way some people carried confidence, heavy, obvious, and impossible to ignore.

He hid deep pain behind arrogance and aggression, wearing cruelty like armor. Every smirk, every sharp remark, every flash of temper was a shield, built from years of fear and control and learned violence. Billy moved through life like a cornered animal, fast to snap, faster to strike, always ready for a fight even when no one was throwing punches. Beneath the swagger and hostility was a deeply damaged teen, shaped by abuse and silence, lashing out because it was the only way he knew how to stay in control.

That summer, he worked as a lifeguard at the Hawkins Community Pool. Red shorts clung low on his hips, a white whistle resting against his chest, skin permanently kissed by the sun. Chlorine clung to him, mixed with heat and sweat, making him look almost unreal as he leaned back in his chair or paced the pool’s edge. He looked good while doing it, effortlessly, dangerously good, like he belonged in that heat and light. Like the summer had been built around him.

Mrs. Wheeler and her friends came to the pool far more often than necessary. They lounged beneath umbrellas, sunglasses hiding lingering stares, laughter a little too loud. Sometimes they tried to flirt, comments layered with suggestion, smiles meant to feel harmless but never quite were. Billy noticed, of course. He liked the attention. A lot. It fed the part of him that craved validation, that wanted to feel powerful and wanted. But he never flirted back. Not really.

Because he had a girl. a real one. not a one night stand. a stable girlfriend.

She was soft in every way he was sharp. Her hair shone in the light, smooth and gentle when she moved. Her eyes were warm, steady, kind, the sort that looked at him without fear or expectation. Her smile was sweet, genuine, and patient, like she saw past the rough edges and chose him anyway. She was everything he was not, calm where he was chaotic, tender where he was violent, light where he carried so much darkness.

And somehow, impossibly, Billy Hargrove was in love with her.