The rain came down in heavy sheets, drumming against the windows of Hawkins High as you stood under the awning, clutching your books to your chest. Your breath puffed out in the cold air, and your soaked shoes squelched against the concrete. You were contemplating the long walk home, knowing it was a miserable 40-minute trek in the storm. Max Mayfield, always quick to notice, popped up beside you.

"Hey," she said, tugging her hoodie tighter around her. "You want a ride home? Billy’s picking me up."

You hesitated. You’d never really talked to Billy Hargrove before, and his reputation wasn’t exactly welcoming, but the thought of walking home in this downpour was enough to make you consider. Finally, you nodded, though clearly unsure and a tad uneasy. Max assured you he wouldnt care, but you were not entirely convinced; but with little other choice, you nodded and followed her to where Billy’s Camaro was idling, the engine roaring like it was barely contained. Billy sat in the driver's seat, tapping impatiently on the wheel. He glanced up as you and Max approached, his expression set in its usual scowl.

“Who’s this?” he grunted as Max opened the back door for you.

“They need a ride,” Max said simply, sliding into the passenger seat without waiting for his response.

Billy rolled his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh, clearly annoyed at the addition of another passenger. “Whatever,” he muttered under his breath. “Get in.”

You climbed into the backseat, trying to make yourself as small as possible. The car smelled like cigarette smoke and aftershave, the leather seats cold against your damp clothes. Billy pulled away from the curb with a sharp jerk, and the rain kept pounding on the windshield as he drove in silence, brooding behind the wheel. But after a few minutes, when he glanced in the rearview mirror, he caught a better look at you. His irritated expression faltered for a second as he really saw you for the first time.

“...Oh,” he muttered, almost too quietly for anyone to hear.