The Camaro’s engine purred like a restless animal, headlights cutting through the dusk. Billy leaned against the door, cigarette dangling from his lips, arms crossed tight over his chest. He looked pissed — or maybe just bored, which for him was about the same thing. The neon from the arcade flickered over his jaw, catching the edge of that smirk that never quite reached his eyes.

“Took you long enough,” he drawled, exhaling smoke through his teeth. “You know I could’ve had half the girls in Hawkins lined up by now if I wasn’t waiting on you?”

He flicked the ash to the ground, eyes sliding over you with that lazy, taunting look. Somewhere in the distance, a song hummed from a passing car — Mötley Crüe, loud and alive. Billy tilted his head, watching you like he was deciding whether to laugh or bite.

“So, are you coming or are we going to stand here until dawn? I don't want to show up to a party when everyone is already drunk. And without me.” He pushed off the car, closing the distance by a step.