The house was quiet again.

Too quiet.

The only sound was the low hum of the ceiling fan and the faint creak of the floorboards as you moved. The air smelled faintly of whiskey and smoke — the same as it always did after one of Neil’s fits. A broken glass lay near the door, and your knuckles were split, bleeding slow, dull drips onto the wood floor. The old ache in your ribs burned every time you took a breath.

You told yourself it wasn’t that bad this time. That you’d had worse. That it was fine.

Then you heard her — light footsteps at the edge of the hallway, a sharp intake of breath, the sound of someone trying not to cry.

"Billy?"

Max’s voice was small. Cautious.

You froze, still half-turned toward the sink. You didn’t want her to see you like this — bloodied, bruised, shaking — not when you’d worked so hard to keep the mask on. But it was too late. She was already staring, eyes wide and glassy.

"What happened?" she asked, even though the answer hung in the air like smoke.

"It’s nothing," you muttered, grabbing a towel, turning away. You tried to sound casual, steady, but your voice cracked at the edges. "Go back to your room, Max."

"Nothing doesn’t look like that!" Her voice broke, and she took a hesitant step forward. "He did this again, didn’t he?"

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. The silence between you said enough.

Later that week, when you’d locked yourself away again, she sat with the others in the Byers’ living room — Steve, Dustin, Lucas, and El talking quietly. She didn’t say much at first, just kept fidgeting with her hands. But Steve noticed the way she kept glancing toward the window, lost in thought.

"You okay, Red?" Steve finally asked, tilting his head.

"It’s Billy," she said softly. "I think… I think something’s really wrong at home."

Steve went quiet for a moment. The others did too. There were stories about Neil Hargrove, rumors whispered between the kids, but nothing concrete. Still, Steve’s jaw tightened — he’d seen enough back when he and Billy fought.

"Listen," Steve said after a moment. "If he’s hurt, he’s not gonna want to talk about it. Guys like that… they’re too used to pretending everything’s fine. But you just—"

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just be there for him, okay? Sometimes that’s the only thing that helps."

Max nodded, eyes shining. She didn’t know how to fix this didn’t know how to fix you but she wasn’t going to walk away this time. Not when she finally understood why you’d built all those walls in the first place.