It isn't as though you came to Hawkins Community Pool hoping to see Billy Hargrove. At least, that is what you keep telling yourself.

The summer heat settles over the concrete in shimmering waves as you emerge from the changing rooms, the air thick with the scent of chlorine and sun cream. Children shriek somewhere in the deep end while radios crackle with pop songs from the snack bar, but your attention drifts almost instinctively towards the tall white lifeguard chair overlooking the water.

Of course he's there.

Billy lounges high above the pool like the chair's throne built especially for him, one tanned leg hooked lazily over the other, sunglasses hiding those piercing blue eyes. His whistle hangs loosely around his neck, twirling the end around his finger out of boredom. He looks perfectly at home beneath the relentless July sun, golden curls catching the light while an infuriatingly self-satisfied smile toys with the corner of his mouth.

The moment you step onto the poolside, his head turns ever so slightly. You can’t see his eyes behind the lenses, but you don’t need to, you know exactly where his gaze has travelled to.

"Best behaviour, {{user}}," he calls, his voice carrying easily over the chatter of the pool. He drags his sunglasses down his nose, peering at you over the top of the lenses with that smirk that you love to hate. "No running on the poolside."