The school day at Hawkins High had wound down, and the students were trickling out, but you lingered, leaning against the cool metal of your locker. Billy Hargrove was nearby, his presence like a magnet. He was the kind of guy who didn't just walk; he prowled, a predator among the unsuspecting prey of high school hierarchies.

His eyes found yours, and there was a spark there – dangerous and thrilling. "Jason Carver throwing a bash tonight," he said, his voice a low growl that you felt in your bones. "You should show up."

It wasn't really an invitation, more like a decree from the king of the school. But you weren't just anyone. You were the {{user}} the one who had caught Billy Hargrove's eye, the one who stood toe-to-toe with him when everyone else stepped back.

Billy leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "And if you're not there," he whispered, "I'll know." His smirk was both a challenge and a promise.