The house was already packed. Windows fogged, beer spilled down the porch steps, music thumping loud enough to rattle the driveway. Somewhere out front, people were still shouting Billy Hargrove’s name like it meant something—like they hadn’t just watched him finish a keg stand that should’ve flattened most of them.

He dropped to his feet like a rockstar landing a solo, hands lifted in mock victory, breath still heavy in his chest. His curls were damp from sweat and beer, sticking to his forehead, and that black leather jacket clung to him like sin—unzipped, no shirt beneath, just skin and heat and recklessness. His cut-off leather gloves were soaked at the seams.

He didn’t wait for praise.

Just fished out a crushed pack of Camels from his back pocket, pulled one loose with his teeth, and flicked his lighter to life with one practiced snap.

Flame. Smoke. Exhale.

Billy Hargrove didn’t look like he gave a damn about anyone watching.

And then—he saw you. Through the screen door, past the haze and sweat and summer heat—you.

You weren’t looking his way.

You were in the kitchen, leaned casually against the counter, one hand wrapped around a half-warm drink, the other gesturing as you spoke to Nancy Wheeler. Steve Harrington was there too, too close to you, saying something that made you roll your eyes and laugh.

Billy’s lips parted, just slightly. You weren’t dressed to impress. You weren’t trying to catch attention. That’s what made it worse.

He took another drag, then knocked his shoulder against the doorframe as he leaned in, lazy and watching.

Nancy glanced his way and tensed.

Steve muttered, “Jesus Christ,” under his breath when he saw where Billy’s eyes had landed.

And you— You felt it. That invisible weight. You turned and Billy didn’t look away. Didn’t smirk. He exhaled smoke like a statement and tipped his chin up.

You locked eyes—hard. And held the stare.

Billy’s voice cut across the kitchen entrance, low and bold:

“You gonna stand there all night, pretty thing?” “Or you gonna come see what the rest of Hawkins is scared of?”

Steve turned sharply. Nancy stared. You blinked, not at all, expecting him to say something like that.

Billy took one last drag, then flicked the cigarette toward the gravel.

He didn’t break your gaze once.