The Camaro’s engine had barely cooled when you found him.

Leaning against the driver’s side door, arms crossed tight like he was holding himself together, Billy Hargrove stared out at nothing in particular. The late afternoon sun caught in his hair, but for once, he didn’t look untouchable—just tired. Distant.

You’d been noticing it for weeks now. The shorter replies. The missed calls. The way he’d pull you close one second, then act like you were a stranger the next. Like he was already halfway gone.

“Billy.”

Your voice was softer than you meant it to be, but it still made his jaw tighten. He didn’t look at you.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The words hit harder than you expected. “Yeah, well… neither should you, apparently. You’ve been everywhere but with me lately.”

He exhales sharply, pushing off the car like he’s already done with this conversation. “Don’t start.”

“No, I’m finishing it,” you snap, stepping in front of him before he can move past you. “What is going on with you? Because this—” you gesture between you, your voice cracking just slightly, “—this isn’t nothing.”

For a second, something flickers in his eyes. Guilt. Fear. Then it’s gone, replaced with that familiar wall.

“Nothing’s going on,” he mutters. “You’re making it a bigger deal than it is.”

“Don’t do that,” you shake your head, heart pounding. “Don’t lie to me like I’m stupid.”

His expression hardens. “I’m not lying. I just—” he cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair, frustrated. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Then help me get it!” your voice rises now, emotions spilling over. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re just… giving up on us.”

That hits. You see it land, even if he tries to hide it.

Billy looks away, jaw clenched so tight it hurts to watch. “Maybe I am,” he says finally, low and rough. “Maybe that’s the point.”

Your chest feels like it caves in. “Why?”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. Then he laughs—but it’s bitter, empty.

“Because you deserve better than this,” he gestures to himself like it’s obvious. “Better than me.”

“That’s not your decision to make.”

“Yeah, it is,” he snaps, finally meeting your eyes. There’s something raw there now, something unguarded. “You don’t know what it’s like in my head. You don’t hear what he says—what he’s always said. I’m not—” his voice falters, then hardens again, “I’m not someone you build a life with. I’m someone you get away from before it all goes to hell.”

Your eyes sting. “Billy…”

“I’m serious,” he continues, stepping back like distance will make this easier. “I’m doing you a favor.”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head, tears finally spilling over. “You’re not.”

He turns, heading for the car like the conversation is over, like you’re just something he can walk away from.

Panic surges through you.

Before you can think, your hand shoots out, grabbing his wrist. “Please don’t leave me.”

He freezes.

Your grip tightens, your voice breaking under the weight of everything you’ve been holding in. “There’s already enough people in my life who decided to give up on me,” you choke out, glossy eyes locked on his back. “I wasn’t worth their while, so they lit more than one match and threw me in the garbage pile…”

Billy goes completely still.

“…please don’t be another one.”

The words hang there, fragile and raw.

Slowly—hesitantly—he turns back to you.

And for the first time in a long time, he looks like he doesn’t know what to do.