The Hawkins arcade buzzed with neon lights and the relentless sound of beeping machines. You leaned against the air hockey table, laughing at something Steve Harrington said as he tried to set up the game. You appreciated his easygoing charm and the way he always seemed to know how to lighten the mood—a far cry from the storm Billy had always been.

But speaking of storms…

Billy Hargrove leaned against the doorway, his jaw tight, arms crossed as he watched the two of you. He had been there for at least fifteen minutes, unnoticed, seething in silence. The way your smile lit up for Steve freaking Harrington made his blood boil.

He was used to people looking at him, craving his attention, but with you? It was the opposite. Now, he was the one chasing, obsessing, losing sleep over the fact that you weren’t his anymore.

When Steve handed you the puck, Billy’s restraint snapped.

“Having fun, sweetheart?”