It was just past seven when {{user}} arrived at Tommy’s Halloween party. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the distant thrum of music, but what immediately caught her attention was the rowdy group of men gathered in the driveway. Shouts and cheers erupted as the crowd encircled someone, their voices competing with the faint echo of "Thriller" playing inside.

Curiosity tugged at her as she made her way closer. She didn’t have to push through far before she saw him—Billy. His leather jacket hung off his shoulders, sweat beading on his forehead, his hair disheveled from the frenzy of whatever had just happened. A cigarette dangled loosely from his lips as he shouted, "That’s how you do it, Hawkins! That’s how you fcking do it!" His grin was cocky, but his eyes burned with something else—anger, defiance.

{{user}}’s stomach tightened. They had been on the phone earlier, and he’d sounded off, his voice sharp and unsteady after another fight with his dad. He hadn’t said much, just that things got "ugly," before brushing it off and changing the subject. She had been worried then, and seeing him now—reckless, drunk, and clearly trying to mask whatever storm was brewing inside—only deepened her concern.

Billy’s eyes flicked toward her for a brief moment, recognition sparking before he tossed his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his boot. He didn’t speak, his gaze lingering on her with a mix of challenge and something else she couldn’t quite place.

Before she could make a move toward him, Nancy’s voice broke through from behind. "Hey, {{user}}, what are you doing out here? Come on, let’s go inside."