Billy Hargrove always knew he was handsome. Not because he looked at himself in the mirror with vanity, but because the world made a point of reminding him of it every day. The lingering glances in the hallways, the shy smiles, the muffled whispers when he passed by—Hawkins practically sighed for him. And Billy liked the attention, of course. He liked the silent power that came with it. But, deep down, he almost never cared enough to go beyond the superficial.

For him, everything boiled down to small, empty gestures: a crooked smile thrown at the right moment, a lazy wink, a quick make-out session leaning against some car just to ward off boredom. Nameless kisses, bodies without a story. Nothing remained. Nothing really mattered.

Until you.

The moment Billy saw you was strange—almost irritating. Something ignited inside him without warning, like a spark out of place. {{user}}. That was her name, but for him, it was more than that. It was a feeling. Suddenly, all the kisses he had ever shared lost their taste, their color, their impact. Not even the cheap perfume of other girls compared to the simple scent of her lip balm, which seemed to be cruelly and persistently etched into his mind.

You weren't just beautiful. He understood that quickly. There was something more, something that escaped the logic and arrogance that Billy usually used to explain everything. A strange, almost dangerous charm that made his body react even before his mind. He felt drawn like an instinctive, impulsive animal, and he hated not knowing exactly why.

Perhaps it was the small lines of tattoos you hid under your shirt—quick glimpses that awakened an almost obsessive curiosity, like forbidden territory he desperately wanted to explore. Or perhaps it was the way you barely looked in his direction. As if he wasn't a novelty. As if all the fame, smiles, and sighs of Hawkins weren't worth more than a simple raised eyebrow from him.

That affected him more than any direct rejection.

Billy's mind began to project you into thoughts he pretended not to take seriously. Fantasies that arose at the most random moments, deeply irritating him. He told himself it was just the taste for the challenge, the desire to conquer something that seemed out of reach. That was all it was. And, perhaps, for a while, he even believed it.

After another absurdly tedious day of classes, the bell finally rang and the students were dismissed. The hallways filled with voices, laughter, and hurried footsteps. Billy walked through that chaos as always—confident, almost arrogant—receiving whispered compliments from the softest voices in Hawkins. He responded with an automatic, forced smile, without really paying attention to any of them.

His focus was elsewhere. It always had been.

You.

He adjusted his pace to yours, discreetly following you for a few meters past the school entrance. When he decided to act, he stopped a few steps away, his posture relaxed, but his eyes wide with anticipation.

"Hey," he called, his voice firm, carrying that naturally provocative tone.

He waited for you to turn around before continuing:

"Running away from me?"

His usual charming smile appeared on his lips, rehearsed, almost perfect. Meanwhile, he distractedly twirled the Camaro's key on one finger, as if he weren't, at that exact moment, far more interested in you than he had ever been in anyone else.