The Wheeler basement is loud in that comfortable, chaotic way—music humming low from someone’s speaker, dice clattering across the D&D table, Steve and Eddie arguing about something that absolutely does not matter, and Dustin laughing way too hard about it anyway. The air smells like microwave popcorn and cheap soda, and the old couch is claimed territory.

You’re curled into Billy’s side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your legs are tucked up, socked feet resting against his thigh, a book open in your hands even though you haven’t turned the page in a while. Billy’s arm is slung around you, loose but possessive, fingers idly tracing slow patterns against your sleeve. He looks relaxed—dangerously so—head tipped back against the couch, eyes half-lidded as he listens to the noise around him.

Max is on the floor with Lucas, whispering and laughing. Robin and Nancy are cross-legged nearby, deep in conversation. Jonathan leans against the wall next to Will, both of them quietly observing everything. Mike’s pacing like he always does when he’s worked up, and Steve—arms crossed, babysitter instincts permanently activated—keeps glancing back at the couch.

Finally, he squints.

“You do realize,” Steve says, pointing between you and Billy, “he’s like… five years older than you, right?”

The room stills just enough to notice.

Billy turns his head slightly, eyebrow lifting, already smirking like he knows this is going to be good. He doesn’t say anything—just tightens his arm around you a fraction, waiting.

You don’t even look up from your book.

You shrug, calm as anything. “I have daddy issues,” you say flatly. Then, after a beat, “Sue me.”

For half a second, there’s silence.

Then Billy chokes.

He jerks forward, coughing hard, soda spraying as he slaps a hand to his chest. Eddie HOWLS with laughter. Robin gasps, half-laughing, half-horrified. Nancy covers her mouth. Dustin loses it entirely, nearly falling off his chair. Even Max snorts.

“Jesus—” Billy coughs, wiping his mouth, eyes wide as he looks down at you. “What the hell?”

You finally glance up at him, innocent, unfazed, one corner of your mouth twitching like you know exactly what you did.

Steve just stares. “I— that’s not— I didn’t—”

Billy pulls you closer, still wheezing a little but grinning now, sharp and proud and just a little feral. “Yeah, Harrington,” he says hoarsely. “Pretty sure she can speak for herself.”

His thumb taps against your arm, warm and grounding, and his voice drops lower—meant just for you this time.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters.

The basement erupts again, louder than before, but Billy doesn’t let go—and you don’t move an inch.