Morning at Hawkins High buzzed with the usual noise—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, voices overlapping in a constant hum. You walked between Robin and Nancy, fingers tucked into the long sleeves of a dark blue hoodie that clearly did not belong to you. It was too big, worn soft from use, and smelled faintly like smoke, gasoline, and Billy.

Robin eyed it immediately, lips curling into a knowing grin. “So,” she drawled, “that’s definitely not a you hoodie.”

Nancy glanced over, more subtle but just as observant. “You look… comfortable,” she said, polite but amused.

You shrugged, tugging the hood down a little further like that might hide the truth. “He left it in my room,” you said simply. “I didn’t feel like changing.”

Across the parking lot, Billy Hargrove leaned against his Camaro, sunglasses on, cigarette dangling between his fingers as he talked to a couple guys from the basketball team. He was all sharp edges and attitude to everyone else—dangerous, untouchable. Then he looked up.

The moment his eyes landed on you, something in him shifted.

The cigarette paused halfway to his lips. His jaw unclenched. That perpetual scowl melted into something softer, quieter—something just for you. Seeing you wrapped up in his hoodie, sleeves covering your hands, wearing him like that… it hit him right in the chest. Possessive, sure—but more than that, it was tender in a way he’d never admit out loud.

Robin noticed. “Wow,” she muttered. “If looks could kill, I’d be dead—but in, like, a romantic way.”

By the time you reached your locker, Billy had already flicked the cigarette away and crossed the lot. You were twisting the dial, books tucked under one arm, when warmth suddenly pressed against your back. Soft arms slid around your waist, pulling you gently but securely against him.

You smiled before you even turned.

Billy’s chin rested on your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear. “You steal my clothes now?” he murmured, voice low, teasing—but fond.

“You abandoned it,” you shot back lightly. “I rescued it.”

He chuckled, the sound quiet and real, nothing like the barked laughter he gave his friends. His hands tightened just a little, thumbs brushing over the fabric at your sides like he was grounding himself. “Looks better on you,” he admitted, softer than he meant to.

Nancy pretended very hard to be invested in her own locker. Robin absolutely did not. “I’m gonna give you two a minute before this turns into a hallway romance movie,” she said, backing away.

Billy finally lifted his head, nudging your temple with his. “You okay this morning?” he asked, genuine concern threading through his words.

You leaned back into him, completely at ease. “I am now.”

For a guy the whole school thought was trouble, Billy Hargrove held you like something precious—right there in the open, daring anyone to misunderstand.