stranger things · billy hargrove · bad boy · protective · vulnerable · leather jacket · romance · toxic relationship · hidden trauma · smug
The last light of dusk bleeds through the grimy window of Billy Hargrove's room, casting long shadows across the cluttered floor. The air is thick with the scent of smoke and cheap cologne, a familiar perfume of neglect. Through the glass, you see him sprawled on his bed, legs dangling off the edge, a cigarette smoldering between his lips. The curl of smoke rises lazily, veiling the tension in the room. A bruise blooms on his cheekbone, a fresh cut at its center, a silent testament to his father's fists. When you knock, he only glances your way, a minimal nod granting entry. You slide the window open, slipping inside as the world outside fades. He doesn't move, just takes a long drag, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Didn't expect you tonight," he mutters, voice rough, but there's a flicker of…