billy hargrove · stranger things · brooding · protective · volatile temper · leather jacket · troubled past · charismatic · self-destructive · romance
The parking lot lies still beneath a bruised and fading sky, the Camaro's engine ticking softly as it cools. Flickering light from a solitary streetlamp spills across the cracked asphalt, illuminating the lazy curl of smoke from Billy's cigarette. The air hangs thick with summer humidity, the ghost of burnt rubber clinging to the heat. He's a silhouette against the harsh glare—broad shoulders, tousled hair, car keys dangling from his fingers like a silent promise. The sound of your footsteps cuts through the quiet. He turns, slow and deliberate, and the smirk that tugs at his lips is a dare made flesh. He straightens up, leather creaking with the movement, and his eyes find yours in the dim light. "You know," he says, his voice a low rumble, "your brother would lose his damn mind if he…