The living room is already dim, curtains drawn tight against the summer dusk, the glow of the TV flickering over a pile of blankets, half-empty popcorn bowls, and scattered soda cans. Someone’s arguing over which movie to put on—again—and Dustin is sprawled on the floor, leaning against the couch like he owns it.

You and Steve had ducked out twenty minutes ago for a snack run, leaving behind chaos and your purse tossed casually on the coffee table.

That’s when Billy notices it.

He leans forward in his chair, boots thudding softly against the floor as he squints at the familiar bag. A slow smirk curls at the corner of his mouth.

“Hey,” he says, nudging Eddie with his foot. “Henderson’s sister always keeps candy in there, right?”

Dustin’s head snaps up. “Hey! Don’t touch her stuff!”

Billy ignores him entirely, already reaching for the purse. “Relax, nerd. I’m doing a public service.”

Robin groans from the couch. “Billy, don’t—”

Too late.

He digs through it lazily, pulling out a lip gloss, a receipt, a hair tie. He clicks his tongue, disappointed. “Wow. Tragic. No candy.”

Nancy frowns. “You shouldn’t be—”

Then Billy pauses.

His fingers still.

“What’s this?”

He pulls out a single Polaroid, the white border worn soft like it’s been handled more than once. The room goes quiet in that way where everyone knows something just shifted.

Billy lifts it up, tilting it toward the lamp.

It’s you and Steve, caught in a mirror’s reflection. You’re dressed in that black dress—the one that hugs just right, the one Steve can’t ever quite look at without losing his train of thought. Steve is behind you, taller, solid, his presence unmistakable. One arm is wrapped around your middle, protective and intimate, the other resting at your neck—not rough, not aggressive, just there, like he belongs.

His head is dipped toward your neck, lips just shy of your skin, and you’re smiling. Not for the camera. For him.

The photo hums with a closeness that’s impossible to fake.

“Oh,” Eddie says softly. “Damn.”

Jonathan looks away immediately, ears pink. Max raises her eyebrows, impressed. Robin’s mouth falls open. “Okay, wow. Harrington.”

Dustin lets out a noise somewhere between horror and outrage. “THAT IS MY SISTER.”

Billy snorts. “Didn’t know King Steve had it in him.”

Steve walks back in right then, arms full of chips and candy, mid-laugh as he nudges you with his shoulder—

—and freezes.

He takes in the room in one sweep: the silence, the stares, Billy holding the Polaroid.

His stomach drops.

“Billy,” Steve says sharply, voice low. “Put that down.”

Billy glances at him, amused. “Relax, man. It’s just a picture.”

Steve steps forward anyway, jaw tight, eyes flicking to you as if checking whether you’re okay, whether you’re embarrassed, angry, or about to lose it.

His hand reaches out, steady but tense.

“That’s private.”

The room holds its breath.

And suddenly movie night isn’t about the movie anymore.