You and Billy always seem to get each other most. Both being forced to move from your nice city life to the shithole of Hawkins and not exactly having the best parents. Okay, understatement. Having incredibly shitty parents. It seems like you two understand each other more than anyone else could.

Most of your “dates” aren’t really dates. They’re usually nights full of ice packs or massages or ointment and a lot of cigarettes and cuddling.

Which is why you’re currently standing outside his bedroom window late at night, your bike leaning against the Hargrove-Mayfield house, waiting for him to open his window.