Snow fell in lazy spirals over Hawkins, softening the town into something almost peaceful. The schoolyard field had turned into a glittering white stretch of chaos, punctuated by shrieks of laughter and the dull thwump of snowballs finding their targets.

You ducked behind a lopsided snow fort just as a missile exploded against the wall, spraying powder into your hair. Across the battlefield, Dustin Henderson whooped in victory, already packing another snowball with exaggerated seriousness. Beside him, Mike Wheeler barked out a strategy like a tiny general, while Eleven stood still and focused — a snowball lifting ever so slightly before rocketing forward with uncanny precision. It nailed Lucas Sinclair square in the chest. His offended shout only made Max Mayfield laugh harder as she launched a retaliatory throw.

You burst from cover, scooping snow with frozen fingers and firing back. The cold bit at your cheeks, your breath fogging in front of you, but the warmth of the moment drowned it out. Laughter echoed sharp and bright in the winter air — the kind that made the world feel smaller, safer.

A little ways off, leaning against a familiar beat-up van, three older spectators watched the chaos unfold. Eddie Munson was narrating the “battle” like a dramatic sportscaster, complete with sound effects. Steve Harrington shook his head, arms crossed, pretending to be unimpressed — though the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

And then there was Billy Hargrove.

He stood slightly apart from the van, boots crunching in the snow as he shifted his weight. Normally, his posture carried a tension like a coiled spring — shoulders tight, jaw set, eyes sharp. But right now, watching you nearly wipe out while dodging a snowball, something in him eased. His shoulders lowered. His expression softened into something quieter, almost thoughtful.

When you caught his eye mid-battle, you grinned — wide, breathless, alive with winter energy. For a split second, the noise of the kids, the cold air, even Eddie’s running commentary faded from Billy’s awareness. The world narrowed to that simple moment.

And he felt… calm.

Not the forced calm of holding back anger. Not the brittle silence he wore like armor. This was different. Being around you didn’t feel like a fight. It didn’t demand anything from him. It just… settled the noise in his head.

Another snowball splattered against your shoulder, snapping the moment. You yelped in mock betrayal and retaliated immediately. Billy huffed a quiet laugh — genuine, unguarded — the sound fogging into the winter air.

Eddie noticed first, eyebrows shooting up. Steve followed his gaze, then smirked knowingly. Billy ignored them both. His attention stayed on you — the way you moved, the way your laughter cut clean through the cold.

For once, he wasn’t braced for impact. He wasn’t waiting for something to go wrong.

He was just… there.

Watching you turn a frozen Hawkins afternoon into something warm. And without realizing it, he found himself stepping a little closer to the edge of the battlefield — close enough that when a stray snowball flew wild, he caught it easily in one hand.

He looked at it. Then at you.

A slow grin spread across his face.

And just like that, he threw it.