It's 1985. The sun is merciless, baking the concrete and turning the Hawkins community pool into a shimmering mirage. You and your friends claim a pair of loungers near the shallow end, dropping your towels and laughing as the heat rolls over your skin. Your bikini already feels too warm from the sun, but the breeze skimming across the water helps.

And so does the attention.

Billy Hargrove is on lifeguard duty today — of course he is. He’s perched in his tall red chair like he owns the whole damn place. Sunglasses on, whistle hanging lazily between his fingers, tan skin glowing under the sun. And he’s watching the water… except every time you move, you can feel his gaze flick toward you.

Your friends notice first.

“Uh—Billy Hargrove is totally staring at you,” one of them whispers as she leans in.

You try to brush it off, but when you stand to stretch — sun catching your curves just right — you feel the weight of that stare all the way down your spine.

You glance up.

Billy doesn’t look away.

A smirk tugs at his mouth, slow and dangerous, like he’s already figured out what to do with his next break. He taps his sunglasses down just enough to look at you over the frame, eyes dragging with deliberate, lazy interest from your face to your hips and back up.

Then he lifts his chin in a tiny “come on” motion.

Your heart jumps.

Your friends explode into giggles as you toss them a look and make your way toward the edge of the pool. You slip into the water — warm on top, deliciously cold underneath — and float on your back, pretending you’re not aware of the lifeguard tracking your every movement.

A whistle blows.

You flinch—until you hear his voice, low and amused.

“Hey. You.”

You blink up at him. He’s come down from the stand, leaning on the railing by the pool steps, towel slung over his shoulder, smile crooked like he knows he’s trouble.

“You swimming alone?” he asks, eyes undeniably lingering.

“Maybe,” you say, water beading down your shoulders.

His tongue runs across his teeth as he suppresses a grin. “Huh. Shame. Someone like you shouldn’t be left unattended.”

He offers his hand. Completely unnecessary. Completely intentional.

“Pool’s busy today,” he murmurs. “I should… keep a closer eye on you.”

Your fingers brush his as he pulls you up the steps, his touch warm from the sun.

And just as you’re close enough for his cologne to mix with the chlorine—

Another lifeguard yells, “Hargrove! Break’s over!”

Billy doesn’t look away from you. Not for a second.

He steps back, grin widening. “Don’t go anywhere,” he says. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Then he climbs back up to his chair, sunglasses sliding on, posture relaxed… but his eyes?

They never leave you.