“Billy,” {{user}} hissed, their voice sharp with panic as they leaned out of the window. Below, Billy was climbing up the side of the building, every movement fluid and maddeningly confident. “What are you doing?”

They weren’t supposed to see him anymore. That boundary had been drawn loud and clear the night everything exploded—after their parents found out about Billy and decided he was nothing but trouble. Too reckless. Too unpredictable. Too much of a bad influence for someone like {{user}}.

The yelling hadn’t stopped for hours. Curfews were set. Phones were confiscated. Doors slammed. But none of it had stopped the ache that settled in {{user}}’s chest when Billy disappeared from their world.

Apparently, he hadn’t disappeared nearly as much as their parents had hoped.

“What does it look like?” he called back, flashing that signature grin—the one that made {{user}}’s stomach flip for all the wrong (and right) reasons. With one last pull, he swung himself through the window, landing in their room like he’d done it a hundred times before. Smooth. Effortless. Infuriating.

He clicked the window shut behind him, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket. “I’m sneaking in to see you,” he said, as if it were the most obvious, most reasonable thing in the world.