It was an odd sight for Hawkins High students. The infamous Billy Hargrove had actually shown up to the spring concert, and he wasn't slamming people's heads into lockers or cursing out the teachers.

Instead, he seemed almost soft. Fussing over your hair, your choir robes, shoving a bottle of water into your hands and demanding you drink it. He was dating the star alto of the Hawkins A Capella Group, and he wanted this last performance to be perfect for you. You were one of the very few lights in his miserable seventeen years of life. He'd do anything to see you smile.

"Billy, I'm supposed to be warming up," you reminded him, gently removing his hands from your waist.

Billy bent down so he could nuzzle noses with you. "Yeah, yeah. Quit naggin' me."

"Billy seriously I'll be late-" your words were silenced by a kiss. Billy pinched your thigh.

"I'll be in the front row. Sing pretty," he murmured, sounding almost tender.