irrevocably obsessed

What a fucking waste of time. You slipped off him, falling down onto the bouncing mattress beside him with a sour look on your face, perfectly shaped brows—thank you, Tina—dipping low.

The guy had looked so promising at the mall, with chocolatey curls and a sinful glint in his eyes that had you thinking he must have somewhat experience with picking up girls.

Picking them up? Yes, perhaps. Making them actually fucking orgasm? Big fat no on that front.

When his breathing slowed and his eyes slowly began to flutter open, he turned to you with a questioning look in his eyes. “Do you want me to finish you off?”

Your eyes flickered to him once more. Yeah, no. You could do without carpet burn on your flaps and your insides getting skewered like a shish kebab.

Instead of accepting, you sat up and swung your legs over the side of the bed, gathering the clothes strewn about. “Actually, I gotta go.” Clasping your bra shut, you hurriedly pulled your shirt over your head, shimmying your pants over your ass. “You can drive me to the roller rink, though.”

“Sure thing, babe.”

You scrunched up your nose at the nickname, remaining silent as you zipped up your maroon boots and fluffed out your hair. “Let’s go,” you said, swinging your purse over your shoulder, the reddish leather matching the one on your feet.

“Already?” he asked, stretching his arms out with a tired yawn. “Don’t you wanna, like, stay a little? Get a bit of a cuddle in, maybe?”

“I would,” you said—over your dead body—sighing in false frustration as you gifted him a pitiful look. “Gotta meet my friends, though.” Before he could say anything else, you told him you would wait for him at his car and turned on your heel. You wanted to go home and take a shower and scrub off whatever dirt was now clinging to your skin, but the thought of a greasy burger and cheesy fries made your stomach grumble.

Plopping down in the passenger seat of the old Ford, you opened the visor, eyeing yourself in the small dusty mirror. Fixing the black smudges beneath your eyes, you re-applied the berry-colored lipstick, tapping whatever residue was left on your fingers onto your cheeks.

The drive to the roller ink was quiet—thank fuck—with merely a radio station playing softly in the background. Your head was turned to the right, watching as you passed through familiar neighborhoods that all looked eerily similar. Simple houses with chipping paint, head-dried lawns and colored minivans in the driveways. Welcome to suburbia.

The moment the car rolled to a stop in front of the roller rink—you weren’t even certain if it had fully stopped—you shoved the car door open. “Bye, Peter.”

“Patrick,” he corrected, a frown sliding onto his face as he stared after your retreating form.

“Right, sorry,” you said, closing the door behind you. “See you around.” When you took note of the car not departing, you quickened your steps, concerned that Patrick would actually follow you and demand your telephone number.

Inside the lowly lit establishment, you greeted the familiar clerk with a wave of your hand, heading straight for one of the booths surrounding the rink. You stopped in front of the booth with your friends, eyeing the only free spot right across from Tina and beside Billy—who gave no indication that he planned to move over.

A sly grin was directed toward you, before he cocked his head and patted one of his beefy thighs. “Got room for you right here, Cherry Baby.”

You rolled your eyes. “Scoot.”

He did no such thing, merely making a show of spreading his legs wider, resting his left arm on the back of the booth with a shit-eating grin.

Huffing, you slapped his arm. “Scoot over, you nitwit.”

He laughed, deep and throaty, making space for you to sit down beside him. “You’re always so harsh, Cherry Baby,” he grinned with a wink, leaning in and lowering his voice, breath tickling your neck. “I like it.”

You eyed him, raising a brow at the cocky smirk before wordlessly turning your head away, giving your attention to Tina, who had taken a lock of your hair between her fingers.

“Love the touch-up,” she mused and sighed. “I should get my hair dyed, too. What’s that color called again?”

“Dark red,” you answered bluntly, taking the burger and fries Billy was pushing in your direction with a small thanks.

“Geez,” Tommy chuckled at the sour expression on your face. “What crawled up your ass and died?”

Rolling your eyes, you plopped off the top bun, your hand instinctively reaching out to pluck the three little pickled cucumbers off, only to find none there. Your eyes flitted to Billy for just a moment. You always forgot to order your food without them, though apparently he didn’t.

Tina shot Tommy a glare before turning back to you, her fingers retreating from toying with your hair. “Ignore him, Cherry, he’s being mean because Carol wouldn’t take him back this time.”

Tommy scoffed, unfazed by the jab. “Never wanted her back anyway.”

You and Tina shared a look, knowing that by Monday morning Tommy and Carol would be back together as though nothing had happened, dry humping each other at their lockers for everyone else to see.

“Anyway,” Tina started, dipping her fries into a wad of ketchup. “You were late, what were you doing?”

Tommy chimed in. “She means who were you doing?” Extending your leg beneath the table, you delivered a sharp kick to his shin in reply, which had him hissing out his next laugh. “Judging by that and that frown on your face, he wasn’t very satisfying.”

“Tommy, I swear to God, shut your mouth or I’ll tell Carol what happened with Nicole last May,” you threatened, watching as the corners of his mouth dropped within seconds. He mumbled something about you not being able to take a joke before getting up under the pretense of getting another round of milkshakes.

“Serves him right,” Tina giggled, eyes flickering to Billy once in a while, who had taken to frowning at you—no doubt since your prior activities were mentioned. You paid him no mind. “I need Care to take him back, like, yesterday. He’s got such a big mouth when she lets him off the leash, I actually can’t deal with him anymore. He needs to, like, take a chill pill or something.”

“Totally,” you hummed, more interested in dissecting your fries than waste another moment talking about the mess that was Tommy and Carol’s relationship. For the past few months—ever since Carol had seen Tommy drunkenly making out with another girl at a party—the only topic of conversation had been them.

Tina, saying she was going to powder her nose really quickly, stood and disappeared, leaving you alone with Billy.

Noticing him still staring at you, your gaze landed back on the male beside you, looking awfully pleased with… himself or whatever. “What?” You huffed pointedly, taking the tall glass of chocolate milkshake that was resting between his fingers, bringing the straw to your own lips.

Billy watched you, a smirk stretching on his lips, clearly amused by your irritation. “That bad, huh?” His voice was laced with a mix of curiosity and something else—something closer to satisfaction. Instead of answering and giving him what you knew he wanted to hear, you simply hummed and dipped your fry into his milkshake.

Billy leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur as he eyed you through the thickness of his lashes. “Sounds to me like you need someone who actually knows what they’re doing.” He let the suggestion hang in the air, his eyes never leaving yours.

You rolled your eyes, snorting dismissively. “And you’re volunteering? Please.”

He chuckled, undeterred by your sarcasm. “I’m just saying, Cherry Baby, how many times do you have to strike out before you realize you’ve been playing in the minor leagues.” He leaned back, casually draping his arm back across the back of the booth, just barely—but obviously purposefully—brushing your shoulder.

Your gaze wandered back to his, catching the gleam in his eyes. Billy had always been relentless, never missing his chance to flirt with you, no matter how many times you shot him down. Perhaps it was the frustration still buzzing in your veins that made you want to squirm beneath his hungry blue eyes, getting under your skin when he usually wouldn’t.

Instead of giving in, you leaned forward with a sultry lick of your lips, tasting salt and chocolate as you placed your palm on his thigh. His grin widened as you came so terribly close the tips of your noses were almost brushing. “Big talk for a guy who couldn’t get it up last time,” you shot back then, your tone sharp and teasing, knowing the comment would get under his skin like nothing else. You pulled back instantly, watching closely as his grin became rigid, a flash of annoyance crossing his blue orbs.

“Stop with that fucking rumor, Cherry. You know better,” he warned, poking you playfully in the side, making your squirm away as you let out a surprised laugh.

You wrinkled your nose at him, trying to stifle your giggles as he continued to poke at your side. “That rumor’s been making the rounds, though. Heard it being confirmed from a few different girls, in fact.” You knew, of course, that the rumor was just that—high school gossip that Vicki Carmichael had spread when Billy had refused to take her virginity at the New Year’s party. You had been there to see her running out of the bustling house with tears streaming down her face and Billy casually sauntering out of one of the rooms with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

Billy’s grin widened then as he leaned in even closer, his breath warm against your ear, your cheek, your neck. “If you don’t believe me, I could always prove it to you.” His hand slid from the back of the booth to rest on your thigh, much like you had done to him only moments prior, his touch light but deliberate. “Trust me, Cherry Baby, that’s a ride you wouldn’t regret.” His grin was wolfish, his grip on your thigh tightening just slightly.

You raised a brow, a mixture of curiosity and skepticism crossing your face as you hummed. “And how exactly… would you prove it?”

Billy’s eyes gleamed with a playful confidence that you had heard was well-earned by most of the females in the senior class. “Well, if you’re up for it, we could find out tonight. You let me take you out and I’ll show you firsthand that I’m as good as my word.”

You looked him over, close to actually weighing your option with how sure he was of himself. His persistence was almost endearing, you thought. And for the first time since you had known him, there was a part of you that was tempted to see where this could lead. But you had standards, and being one of Billy’s trophies was not something that would land on your bucket list anytime soon.

“Nice try, Billy Boy,” you said, taking his hand off your thigh and dropping it back in his lap. “Maybe another time.”

His smile faltered ever so slightly, but he recovered, giving a scoff much like Tommy had done when you had threatened to tell on him, mumbling ‘your loss’ under his breath as he took back the milkshake you had stolen.

Tina reappeared, plopping back into her seat with a bright smile and her hair in a different updo than it had been when she left. “Miss me?” She chirped, completely oblivious to whatever it was that she had just interrupted.

“Always,” you replied lightly, watching as she pulled a scrap of paper from the back pocket of her pants.

She held it out for you, nodding over to the other table across from the rink. “The cute guy in blue asked me to give this to you,” Tina grinned with a wink.

You unfolded the paper, finding a telephone number hastily scribbled down. Brows rising, you eyed the brown-haired guy on the other side of the rink, only to find him already looking at you. He was cute. You took two quick bites of the burger, washing it down with a few sips of the milkshake that Billy refused to hand back to you before standing and shouldering your purse.

“Teeth check,” you said, and Tina was alert immediately, eyeing your teeth closely for any remnants of food. She gave a thumbs-up and you winked at her, telling them you would see them later as you headed to the other side of the rink.

Billy watched from where he remained seated as you came to a halt on the other side of the rink, holding up the scrap of paper for the guy to see, undoubtedly saying something teasingly rude that—somehow—made guys eat out of your fucking hand. The guy grinned sheepishly at you, scratching at the back of his head, saying something that made you laugh.

Tina sighed from across the table, watching the scene as well, her cheek resting on her hand, a pout on her lips. “I swear, it’s like she’s got a magnetic pull or something,” she muttered, her tone a mixture of admiration and perhaps even a little bit of frustration. “She breathes and guys just come crawling, it’s so unfair.”

Billy on the other hand was less impressed, in fact, he was pretty fucking pissed at the scene. His gaze was sharp as he followed every move you made, his jaw tightening as he watched you laugh, clearly enjoying the other guy’s attention. When he spotted the other guy getting up, leading you out of the door of the rink, he huffed bitterly, grabbing half the burger and fries you had left behind.

Tommy returned, three fresh milkshakes in his grasp, eyeing the empty spot. “Where did Red Hot go?”

“Picked up a guy and left,” Tina pouted, curling her fingers in her dark brown locks. “I should dye my hair, shouldn’t I?”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You lay sprawled across the backseat of Jake’s car, your breath coming in heavy, satisfied pants, the interior dimly lit by the soft glow of streetlamps, casting a warm glow over your flushed skin. The aftermath of the—impromptu—encounter lingered in the air, though you definitely weren’t complaining. Jake, equally exhausted, sat slouched against the backrest, his breathing gradually slowing as he kept glancing over at you. You turned your head slightly, catching his eyes with a content grin as you patted his shoulder and sat up, ready for departure. “Thanks for that.”

Jake looked back at you, a little taken aback despite the smugness that had been on his face. “Anytime,” he nodded. “Call me sometime?”

You chuckled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Sure thing,” you said, tone light and free of any commitment whatsoever. “I’ll definitely give you a ring.”

His smile widened, clearly pleased with your response. He reached forward and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. “I’ll be waiting.”

With a final wink, you fixed the fly of your jeans, pulling your top back down. “See you,” you hummed as you opened the car door.

He bid you goodnight, his voice trailing off as you stepped outside without looking back. You were met with the cool night air of Hawkins, the crispness of the evening washing over you. The streets were quiet, bathed in the soft light of the scarce streetlamps that cast long shadows on the empty roads. You took a deep breath, savoring the solitude as you began your short walk home. You passed a couple of familiar spots—the old diner, the park where you and your middle school friends used to hang out, the library that had long since closed—moving with practiced ease. When you rounded the corner onto your street, the lights of your house came into view.

You quickened your pace, eager to get inside and unwind comfortably on your bed, maybe call Tina and tell her how it went, knowing she would question you tomorrow anyway. Quietly, you opened the front door and slipped inside, closing it softly behind you. Your mom was perched on the edge of the couch, a magazine resting forgotten in her lap as she looked up to you through her reading glasses with a curious smile. “Hey, honey,” she greeted, her tone warm. “How was the roller rink? Did you have fun?”

You offered her a tired, though genuine smile as you slipped off your boots and put them beside the door. “Yeah, it was pretty good.” As you started toward the stairs, she suddenly sighed and shook her head. “You know, you should stop dyeing your hair that awful color. You’ll never bring home a boyfriend looking like that.”

You offered her a disinterested ‘I know’ in response, receiving the same comment each time you re-applied the color, and headed up the stairs.

The first thing you noticed was the answering machine, its red light blinking insistently. You crossed the room, stepping over some clothes that were strewn about, sliding out of what you were currently wearing and tossing it to join the pile carelessly. You grabbed a big shirt—a relic that a fling of yours had to leave behind after you had shoved him out of your window onto the roof when your mom had come home early one day. It was washed out and slightly ripped by now, though still the most comfortable thing you owned by far.

Pulling on the shirt, you took a packet of makeup wipes with you as you settled on the bed, pressing play on the answering machine. The first message was from Carol, her voice edged with frustration as she began to rant about Tommy, and how he was being such a jerk, before she ended the long message with a ‘call me back when you get the chance’. You rolled your eyes, wanting to just plop your eardrums and avoid hearing it all again—still, you knew you would call her back anyway. The second message began to play and you groaned. “Hey, it’s Carol again. Seriously, this is getting ridiculous. He was being all sweet again and now he’s back to being an ass. Call me!” The third message was more of the same. “Carol again. I don’t know what you’re doing…or with whom, not sure I want to know, but I really need to talk to you. Call me back,” she drawled out the last part until her voice became a mere whine and the message ended.

You were about to fast-forward through the rest when Tina’s message came through, her voice a nice contrast to Carol’s. It was cheerful and full of energy, sweet. “Hey! It’s Tina. I hope you not picking up means it went well this time! You have to call me, like, the second you get home and tell me all about how it went. I’m literally dying to know! Anyway, talk soon, love you!”

You grabbed the phone from your bedside table, your fingers quickly punching in the numbers. You hit dial, waiting as the phone rang. “Hey, finally! Tina’s voice crackled through the receiver, bright and cheery. “I’ve been waiting for your call!”

“Hey, Tee,” you said, trying to match her enthusiasm. “Just got back home actually.”

“Just now?” She screeched excitedly. “Tell me everything. Was it, like, totally tubular or what?”

Before Tina could get too far into her excited questioning, you cut in, a peeping coming from the phone. “Hold on a sec, Tee, I’ve got another call coming in.”

You hit the hold button and switched lines. A screech of your name echoed through the receiver so loudly, you had to hold the phone further away in the hopes of shielding whatever remained of your eardrum.

“Finally!” Caro huffed. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all night. You won’t believe it. Tommy’s being a total spaz.”

“Ugh,” you made, eyes rolling on their own accord. “What did he do now?”

“Oh my god, Cherry, you wouldn’t believe it. He is such a mess. He called me earlier, saying he wanted to talk things over, and then he starts talking about how he was just so misunderstood and that he didn’t mean it. Like, seriously? That’s such bogus!”

You stifled a yawn, turning onto your back, knowing this was going to be a rambling marathon. “Oh, he is always so full of excuses, isn’t he? He acts like he’s the king of the world or something.”

“Right!” Carol cried out. “And you know what? He—”

Quickly you hit the hold button again, switching back to Tina before you could hear Carol continue. “Hey, Tina,” you hummed, twirling the cable between your fingers. “Sorry about that. You were saying?”

Tina merely giggled. “Oh, just spill the beans! Was he a real stud or another scrub? Did you have a blast, or what?”

“Honestly, he was a bit boring,” you said, scrunching up your nose as you turned back onto your stomach. “But his hands were amazing, if you know what I mean.”

Tina screeched and laughed in reply, beginning to ask another bunch of questions, which you answered until your eyes fell to the clock on your nightstand. “Hold on another moment, babes.”

You switched lines again, just as Carol’s voice was rising in urgency. She sighed unsure. “What do you think?”

“Ugh, he can be such a dick, honestly,” you said, knowing it would satisfy her, confirming everything what she had been saying—whatever that was. “I can’t believe him sometimes. Who does he think he is?”

“Yes!” Carol exclaimed as though you’d just validated her life’s struggles with two sentences. “Totally bonkers! And you know what? He had the nerve to tell me he was having a rough day. Like, seriously? I don’t care if he’s having a rough day, like—” As Carol’s rant picked up, you hit the hold button again, switching back to Tina.

“I’m back,” you said, telling her that Carol was close to combusting on the other line. “I love her, don’t get me wrong,” you started, having been friends with Carol since you had thrown sand at each other in the sandbox and cried together about it. “But I just wanna strangle both her and Tommy with the phone cord sometimes.”

You kept both calls going for about an hour, which had become something of a nightly routine in the past years. You finished chatting with Tina, who had to cut the conversation short because her mother needed the phone. After a brief goodbye, you switched back to Carol, who was still ranting in the background.

“—and then he has the nerve to act like it’s all my fault! Like, seriously, how self-centered can one person be? I just don’t get it!” As her voice died down, you could hear her heave a deep sigh on the other line. “Anyway, enough about Tommy, he’s not worth my time.” Worth over an hour holding her breath in favor of ranting, apparently. “What’s up with you? Are you coming to the party tomorrow?”

“Wait, who’s throwing a party?” You asked, confused. It was the middle of the school year, with no special event in sight. Most parties in Hawkins were thrown on holidays or, sometimes, birthdays, but not on random Saturdays—neighbors were too prone to calling the sheriff about a noise complaint.

Carol’s tone shifted to a more casual, dismissive one. “Don’t know, don’t care. I just know everyone’s going. You have to come, too. I need someone to keep me away from Tommy, he should grovel a little longer before I even think about forgiving him! Plus, I could really use a wing-woman! Help me get Tommy out of my mind. It will be fun, you’ll have a blast, promise!”

“I don’t know, I’ll decide tomorrow, alright?” You said, telling her you were going to go to sleep. Hanging up the phone, you fell back onto the bed with a sigh, finishing removing the make still clinging to your skin. There was no way you were going to that party, you could do well without beer spilling on your shoes and drunken bodies bumping into you left and right. No, thanks.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The bass of the music thumped through your chest as you navigated the crowded living room, dodging people gyrating to the beat and stumbling over half-empty cups scattered on the floor. The flickering strobe lights created a kaleidoscope of colors that painted the walls and cast erratic shadows over the dancing—stumbling—people. Carol, having arrived already pretty tipsy, was in her element with her arms thrown up into the air as she bounced to the music with excited screams, trying to (and failing) to follow the lyrics.

You laughed at her, trying to keep up with your friends as you swayed to the music. The air was hot and sticky, filled with mixed scents of spice cologne, fruity perfume, and, most of all, sweat. When the shoving and shouting became too much for your sober self to take, you told Carol you were going out for a little bit of fresh air, before slipping through the crowd out the back door into the cool night air. Although not fully quiet, the backyard was a welcome relief from the throbbing beat inside. A few girls and guys were lingering outside having a smoke or little make-out sessions against the shed to the far left. You chuckled at the careless couple, leaning against the cool façade of the house and taking a deep breath, letting the air calm your racing heart.

Just as you were starting to relax, a shadow fell over you. You looked up, finding a guy you vaguely recognized standing before you with a drunken grin. “Hey,” he said with a slur of your name, stepping closer and holding onto the house wall to keep himself from falling over. “You look like you wanna get out of here. How about you come with me? I live real close.”

You straightened up, trying to maintain your composure through the irritation you were feeling. “Yeah, no thanks, I’ll pass.”

He didn’t take the hint—or the blatant rejection. “Come on, don’t be like that. You look like you could use some fun.” Just as he reached out, his hand brushing against your waist, a voice cut through the night air with a sharp edge.

“Hey, shithead!” Billy, a cigarette dangling from his lips, appeared from the darkened edge of the backyard. His eyes narrowed as they fixed on the guy harassing you. Without hesitation, Billy took another long drag from the cigarette and flicked its remnants at the stranger, bud bouncing off the stranger’s chest. “Back off,” he said, stepping closer, his voice low and itching for a fight.

“What’s your problem?” the drunk guy mumbled, clearly having trouble grasping the interruption and also clearly not understanding he would be eating grass in a few short moments if he didn’t back off.

Billy smirked, his confidence radiating—like it always was when he was picking fights. “My problem is you’re bothering someone so far out of your league, she could squash you with the dirt under her boots, you ant. Now, get your ass out of her before I make you regret it.”

The drunk guy, mumbling something neither you or Billy fully understood, stumbled away, eager to rejoin the party and escape further confrontation—which would have ended in a broken nose, no doubt.

Billy turned his attention to you, his smirk turning into a genuine, if slightly teasing, smile. “You alright, Cherry Baby?”

You nodded, threading a thin line between gratefulness and annoyance. It was a relief that the situation had been dealt with so swiftly, but still, you would have been fine handling it by yourself (since the guy had barely managed to stand on his own two legs). “I was just trying to get some air,” you huffed, staying leaned against the wall as you looked him over. Damn him and damn whoever kept selling him these jeans.

Billy looked you over, checking again if you truly were all right before nodding himself. “How about I give you a ride home?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms to shield yourself from the chilly wind that was flowing through the night. “I barely just got here.”

Billy shrugged, a sly grin spreading on his full lips—on which you might have been able to spy some remnants of a pinkish lipstick. You ignored it as he continued. “How about just a little drive then?”

You gave him a skeptical look. “Are you even sober enough to drive?”

Billy placed one hand over his heart, holding the other up as though he was swearing an oath. “Sober as a nun,” he grinned, pearly whites on display as he lifted one of his legs off the ground. “What do you think?” He leaned to the far left, keeping balance on one foot, acting as though he was going to fall. Repeating the action on the right, he put his pointer finger against his nose and as if he was finishing a show, he bowed at the waist, clearly (mostly) sober.

Despite yourself, you smiled back at him. “Fine, one drive. But if you start doing donuts again, I’m jumping out.”

Billy chuckled, offering you a mock salute with two fingers. “No donuts, scout’s honor. Just a smooth ride and some fresh air.” With that, he led you to his car, a beautiful blue Camaro that you knew was one of the few things he truly loved. The smooth purr of the engine welcomed you as you settled into the passenger seat.

The wind was whipping against your face, trashing your hair as you leaned out of the window. The streetlights blurred by in a dizzying streak of orange and yellow, the speed at which Billy was going—highly illegal, no doubt—filling you with a sense of freedom.

An idea sparked in your mind. You pulled your head back into the car, grinning at him. “Billy,” you started, already batting your eyelashes. He sighed knowingly, having spent enough time with you to notice when you wanted something. “Can we go to the spot? Please.”

Billy’s brows shot up to his hairline as he gave you a sidelong glance. “You know I hate getting baby dirty.”

You pouted, giving him your best pleading look. “Come on, Billy, please? I haven’t been there in ages.”

Billy’s eyes softened just a fraction as he considered your request. He sighed, clearly torn between his poor car and your big, pleading eyes. “Fine,” he huffed, lifting a warning finger at you. “But you’re washing the car. And I swear, if you wear anything more than a bikini, I’m never bringing you here again.”

“Pervert,” you commented, slapping his shoulder with a grin as he took a turn onto a dirt road.

“For you? Always.”

You rolled your eyes, putting your feet on the floor of the car harder, hand going to its roof as the road became rough and uneven. The car jostled and bounced as it made its way through the muddy terrain, the tires splashing through puddles, sending up sprays of mud. After what felt like an eternity of bouncing and swerving, Billy finally brought the car to a stop at the clearing you’d both discovered a while back when the sheriff was trying to stop Billy and give him a speeding ticket. It was a secluded spot in the woods, surrounded by tall trees and overlooking a silent, moonlit lake. The view was breathtakingly beautiful, something one would perhaps find painted on canvas.

Billy shut off the engine and turned to you with a resigned but affectionate smile. “Here we are. One muddy car later.”

“I swear I’ll clean it!”

“You better,” he grumbled good-naturedly, pushing open his car door. You followed suit, hopping out of the car into the squelching softness of the mud below. You made your way to the edge of the water, where rocks were scattered about, big enough to take a seat. Pushing yourself onto one of the rocks, you let your legs dangle off the side, staring out onto the lake, its surface shimmering silvery under the moonlight.

Billy leaned against his car, the cool night air ruffling his hair. After a few moments of comfortable silence, he broke it, his voice casual. “So, how did the rest of your night go? With that guy from the rink.”

You turned your head to him, taken aback by the sudden question. His tone was nonchalant, but there was an edge to it that made you pause. “It was fine,” you replied finally, trying to keep your tone light. “Nothing special. Just, you know, the usual.”

Billy raised an eyebrow, his gaze steady on you as he played with the gum in his mouth, pushing it against his teeth with his tongue. “The usual? That’s it?”

You shrugged, not sure how to respond to his tone. Talking with Billy was different than talking to Tina about the guy, despite both of them being your friends. “I mean, it was okay, good enough, I guess.”

Billy’s jaw tightened slightly, his eyes darkening as he looked away from you. “Sounds like you had the date of the century.”

You frowned, sensing the undercurrent of his words. “Is there something you want to say, Billy?”

He looked back at you, his expression softening just a little. “Nah, I’m just curious. You turned down my offer just to go off with some random guy. Just wanted to know if it was worth it.”

You could feel the tension in the air, and for a moment, you considered your response carefully. Billy’s frustration was more than noticeable, in the way his jaw was ticking, the tension lingering in his shoulders, the glint in his eyes—you saw them, no matter how nonchalant he was trying to act. Not wanting to stoke the flames, you shrugged again. “Honestly,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “It wasn’t anything special. Just a quick thing. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

Billy chuckled, a sound that was more bitter than amused. “Just wasn’t expecting you to go fuck someone else right after I asked you out. Bit of a dick move if you ask me.”

You echoed the last of his words, with a roll of your eyes. “I’m not interested in just being another notch on your fucking bedpost, Billy.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not like that.”

“What is it like, then? You wanna date me? Become another Carol and Tommy?” You asked with a scoff. “Fuck no. I don’t need that.”

The air grew thicker within seconds, the quiet atmosphere of the moonlit lake doing nothing to calm the storm about to spew out of control between you. Billy’s jaw clenched as your words hung in the air, his composure slipping just enough to reveal the irritation simmering beneath the surface. “Carol and Tommy? That’s what you think this is?” he shot back, his voice rising. “You are comparing us to those idiots?”

You jumped down from the rock, the smooth, cold surface of the stone slipping under your feet as your frustration bubbled over. “What am I supposed to think, Billy? You’ve been here a little over a year and you’ve gained a worse reputation than anyone else in a lifetime! I’m not looking to be the next girl you brag about to Tommy. I don’t want to play that fucking game.”

Billy’s eyes flashed in anger as he pushed off the car, taking a step closer to you. “I’m not playing games with you, Cherry. But you’ve got this delusion in your head that you got me all figured out. Maybe if you’d just give me a chance instead of running off with every guy who flashes you a smile, you’d see that.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, his words hitting close to home. You hated how he could get under your skin like this, how he could make you feel exposed and defensive all at once. “Maybe I just don’t want to fucking give you a chance, Billy. What, you think because you got your dick sucked by half of Hawkins that you’re something special? Be fucking for real.”

His expression darkened, and for a moment, you could see the hurt behind his anger. “You’re not giving me any credit. I’m not like those other guys, and you know it. I’m not just another asshole trying to get in your pants.”

“Because that’s exactly what it feels like!” You shouted, your voice echoing across the clearing. The words came out harsher than you intended, but you were too far gone to care. “You think I don’t see the way you look at me like I’m some piece of meat? The way you act like you’ve got a claim on me just because you’ve been asking me out? Newsflash, Billy, I don’t owe you anything.”

Billy’s fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, you thought he might snap and spur all the hateful things you had said back in tenfold. But instead, he took a deep breath, his gaze hardening. “Fine. You know what? I’m done. Let’s just get out of here.”

“Fine,” you shot back, crossing your arms as you stormed toward the car. “Take me home.”

Billy didn’t respond, just yanked open the driver’s side door and slid in, slamming it shut behind him. You followed suit, your blood still boiling as you climbed into the passenger seat, not bothering to look at him. He turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. But as he tried to pull away, the car lurched forward, only to come to a sudden stop, the tires spinning uselessly in the mud.

“Shit,” Billy muttered under his breath, trying again to no avail. The car was well and truly stuck.

“Great,” you muttered, your irritation reaching new heights. “Just great.”

Billy shot you a glare, his anger rekindling. “This is what happens when you insist on coming out here. Now we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere.”

“Oh, so this is my fault now?” you snapped, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “You didn’t have to take me here, Billy.”

“You begged me to bring you here,” he shot back, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. “And now look where we are.”

You glared at him, the tension between you almost suffocating. “Just get us out of here, Billy.”

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “But you’re pushing.”

“What?” You stared at him in disbelief.

“You heard me,” Billy said, unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out of the car to assess the situation. “Get your ass out of the car and push while I floor it. Maybe then we can get out of this mess.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” he shot back, his expression hard as he stood by the driver’s side door. “You wanted to come here, so now you’re gonna help get us out.”

With a groan of frustration, you pushed open your door and stepped into the mud, your shoes sinking into the muck. This night just kept getting better and better.

As you positioned yourself behind the car, your hands once again pressed firmly against the trunk, you braced yourself for another attempt. The mud squelched beneath your shoes, threatening to pull them off with every movement. You could feel the tension in your arms and shoulders, your muscles straining as you prepared to push.

"Ready?" Billy's voice called out from the driver's seat, a mix of determination and frustration lacing his words.

"Just do it," you gritted out, your focus entirely on the task at hand.

"Alright, on three. One… two… three!"

The car's engine roared to life again as Billy floored the gas, the tires spinning wildly against the thick mud. You pushed with all your might, digging your feet into the ground for leverage. For a moment, it felt like nothing was happening, like the car was still firmly stuck in place. But then, just as you were about to give up hope, the car lurched forward. But instead of the smooth movement you were hoping for, the car only moved a tiny bit—just enough to send a spray of mud flying right at you. You barely had time to react before the cold, wet muck splattered across your front, drenching your clothes and hitting your face with a disgusting splat.

"Are you kidding me?!" you shouted, your voice half-frustrated, half-incredulous as you wiped a thick layer of mud off your face. You could barely see through the sludge that clung to your eyelashes and dripped down your cheeks.

Billy cut the engine and stepped out of the car, trying his best to hide the smirk on his face but failing miserably. “Hey, Cherry,” he called out in that infuriatingly casual tone. “You’ve got a little something on your face.”

“Really?” You huffed at the teasingly malicious glint in his eyes. “I hadn’t noticed,” you shot back sarcastically, wiping another glob off your cheek with the back of your hand.

Billy just chuckled, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “You might want to clean that up. Wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re a swamp creature.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and, without saying a word, you bent down, scooped up a handful of thick, sticky mud, and hurled it straight at him. The mud splattered against his chest, leaving a satisfying smear across his shirt. Billy’s eyes widened in surprise before narrowing into a playful glare. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that, Cherry.”

Before you could react, he bent down, grabbing a handful of mud from the ground. “You think you can get away with that?”

You didn’t hesitate. “I think I just did.”

He grinned devilishly, launching the mud in your direction. You ducked, laughing as it sailed over your head and landed with a splat on the ground behind you. “Is that all you’ve got, Hargrove?”

“Oh, it’s on now,” Billy shot back, grabbing more mud.

What started as a playful throw quickly escalated into an all-out mud war. You both ducked and dodged, flinging mud at each other with reckless abandon. The more you threw, the more you both laughed, the tension from earlier melting away in the absurdity of it all.

Billy managed to land a particularly messy shot right on your shoulder, sending a wave of mud splattering everywhere. You gasped, then grabbed a double handful of mud and charged at him, hurling it with all your might. Billy laughed, trying to dodge, but you managed to hit him square in the chest again.

“Oh, you’re dead!” Billy called out, dropping all pretense of dodging as he scooped up more mud, but you were already sprinting away, laughing uncontrollably as he chased after you.

You ran around the car, barely avoiding his muddy missiles as you darted behind trees and over rocks, laughing so hard you could hardly catch your breath. Billy was right behind you, and you could hear his laughter mixing with yours, the sound echoing through the night air.

Finally, he caught up to you, grabbing you around the waist and spinning you around as you both tumbled into the dirt together, a mess of laughter and mud. You landed on your back, Billy hovering over you, both of you panting from the exertion and the hilarity of it all.

You looked up at him, seeing amusement on his face beneath the layer of dirt, and couldn’t help but burst out laughing again. “You’re such an idiot,” you managed to say between gasps for air.

Billy grinned down at you, his eyes twinkling. “Takes one to know one.”

Noticing that his guard was down, you subtly reached beside you, fingers curling around another handful of thick, cold mud. Feigning innocence, you brought your free hand up to gently wipe a stray smear from his cheek. "You missed a spot," you said softly, your voice laced with playful sweetness.

Billy's gaze softened for a split second, his lips curling into a small, genuine smile. "Oh yeah?" he replied, clearly unaware of your devious plan.

Seizing the perfect moment, you swiftly brought your other hand up, smearing the gooey mud all across his face, making sure to cover as much surface area as possible. The look of pure shock and disbelief that crossed his features was priceless, and you couldn't contain the burst of laughter that erupted from you, echoing through the quiet night. Billy blinked through the mud now dripping down his face, his mouth opening in mock offense. "Alright, that's it. You've asked for it now."

Before you could react, his strong arms wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. Your laughter turned into a surprised squeal as he effortlessly pulled you along. "Billy, what are you—" your protest was cut short as he began striding purposefully towards the shimmering lake just a few yards away.

Eyes wide, you wriggled in his grasp, half-heartedly trying to break free while still giggling uncontrollably. "Don't you dare! Billy, it's freezing!" you exclaimed, though the excitement in your voice betrayed any real protest.

He looked down at you with a wicked grin, his blue eyes dancing with delight. "Should've thought about that before you decided to redecorate my face," he teased.

In a matter of seconds, you felt the soft mud give way to the cool, smooth pebbles lining the edge of the lake. The silvery surface of the water rippled gently under the moonlight, looking both beautiful and daunting in the chilly night air.

"Billy, wait!" you tried one last time, but it was no use. With a triumphant laugh, he took one final step and plunged both of you straight into the lake.

The cold water enveloped you instantly, seeping through your clothes and shocking your system with its icy touch. You gasped as you resurfaced, spluttering and pushing your now-soaked hair out of your face. The chill was intense, but the adrenaline and sheer absurdity of the situation had you laughing despite the shivers that ran down your spine.

Billy emerged beside you, shaking his head like a wet dog and sending droplets flying everywhere. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and his clothes clung to his toned frame, but the triumphant, boyish smile on his face was unmistakable.

"You're insane!" you exclaimed, splashing water at him in retaliation.

He laughed, dodging the splash with a playful glint in his eye. "Maybe, but you started it," he retorted, splashing back at you.

The two of you continued your water fight, the lake erupting with waves and laughter as you chased each other through the shallows. The cold was soon forgotten amid the fun, your earlier argument completely dissolved into the night. You tried to escape his onslaught by wading deeper into the water, but Billy was quick, closing the distance between you effortlessly. Before you knew it, he had caught you again, his arms encircling your waist as he lifted you slightly, spinning you around. The world became a blur of moonlight and water, your laughter mingling with his as the stars above glimmered down at you. Finally, breathless and exhausted, you both trudged back to the shore, collapsing onto a patch of soft, damp grass. You lay there side by side, staring up at the vast expanse of the night sky, your chests heaving as you tried to catch your breaths.

Billy turned his head to look at you, droplets clinging to his eyelashes and a soft smile playing on his lips. “You wouldn’t believe the shrinkage right now.”

You looked at him for a second, at the seriousness in his eyes, before a loud laugh tore forth from your throat, your head throwing back. Only when shivering overtook your laughter did you sit up, both of you scrambling to get back to the car, the chill of the night truly starting to creep back in.

Billy yanked open the driver’s side door and practically dove inside, immediately reaching for the ignition. The engine roared to life as he cranked up the heat, the vents blasting slowly warming air into the car’s insides. You scrambled into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind you as you huddled near the heater, soaking in the warmth, with the leather squeaking under your sopping wet behind.

You both shared a glance, a silent agreement as you both instantly began peeling off your soaked clothes, the fabric stubbornly clinging to your skin. Free from the cold fabric, you tossed it into the backseat, along with Billy’s. Sitting in the front seat in merely your underwear, Billy didn’t seem phased at all, already down to his boxers, his skin glowing faintly in the dim light of the car’s interior. Your eyes moved on their own accord, taking in the muscular physique he made no secret of hiding, while both of your arms were resting in front of your barely clothed body with uncertainty.

Billy gave you a sideways glance, a small smirk playing on his lips. “What? Shy all of a sudden?” He teased, though his tone was light.

You rolled your eyes, mustering up a defiant grin. “Not at all,” you shot back, your cradling arms falling away, giving him a full view of the lacy black bra and mismatched panties. You shivered as the cool air hit your skin, quickly moving closer to the heater.

The warmth from the vents was a welcome relief, and you both sat there for a few moments in silence, the only sounds being your heavy breathing and the whir of the car's heating system. The situation was oddly intimate, the two of you sitting in the front seats in nothing but your underwear, trying to stave off the cold together.

Billy leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes as he soaked in the warmth, his chest rising and falling steadily. You couldn't help but sneak another glance at him, your eyes tracing the contours of his muscles, the faint scars that marred his otherwise perfect skin. Despite everything that had happened tonight, there was something undeniably comforting about being here with him, sharing this quiet, private moment.

As the heat finally began to chase away the last of the cold, you both started to relax, the tension that had built up earlier now almost completely gone. Billy cracked an eye open, catching you in the act of staring at him, and he gave you a lazy grin.

"Comfortable?" he asked, his voice low and slightly teasing.

You rolled your eyes again, but this time, there was no real bite to it. "As comfortable as I can be sitting in a car, in the middle of nowhere, in my underwear."

He chuckled, leaning forward to adjust the heat, making sure it was on full blast. "Could be worse," he said, glancing over at you with a playful glint in his eye. "Could be with anyone else.”

You hummed softly, the sound filling the small space between you. "Yeah, I suppose this is a good option."

The two of you sat there for a while longer, letting the warmth seep into your bones. It was quiet, the kind of quiet that was rare in your life, and you found yourself appreciating it more than you would have expected. Eventually, you leaned back in your seat, your eyes fluttering to stare outside tiredly as the heat and exhaustion from the night's events began to lull you into a state of relaxation.

Beside you, Billy shifted slightly, his hand brushing against yours as he adjusted his position. The touch was brief, almost accidental, but it sent a spark of warmth through you that had nothing to do with the car's heater.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, the words slipped out, almost like an involuntary reflex. “Fine, one date.”

Billy’s eyes snapped open, any trace of sleepiness gone as he turned his head sharply to look at you. His brow furrowed in confusion as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly. “What?”

You turned your gaze from the window to meet his eyes, your heart pounding just a little harder in your chest. “One date,” you repeated, holding up a single finger for emphasis. “One. Don’t get any ideas.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, as if processing your words. Then, a slow grin spread across his face, lighting up his features in a way that was almost boyish, a terribly obvious contrast to the cool demeanor he usually projected. “You’re serious?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of indifference. “Yes, I’m serious. But don’t get too excited—it’s just one date.” Shrugging, you tried playing it off even though your heart was still racing. “Don’t make me change my mind, Hargrove.”

His grin widened, and there was a glint in his eyes that told you he wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip away. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his voice tinged with a mix of excitement and challenge.

You could feel the shift in the air, the playful banter from earlier replaced by something more charged, more real. There was no backing out now—not that you wanted to, not really. Deep down, part of you was curious about what a date with Billy would be like, what it would mean for the two of you.

But you weren’t about to let him know that.

“One date,” you repeated firmly, giving him a pointed look. “And you better make it good, because that’s all you’re getting.”

Billy’s gaze locked onto yours, his expression serious despite the playful tone of the conversation. “Trust me,” he said, his voice soft but sure. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

You let out a huff, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned back in your seat. “We’ll see about that.”

Billy chuckled again, but this time, there was a softness to it, a warmth that made you feel like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t making a huge mistake.

For now, you’d let yourself see where this could lead. Just one date. Nothing more, nothing less.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You were on your knees, scrubbing away at the stubborn dirt caked on Billy’s car, your muscles starting to protest from the effort. A hose lay coiled at your side, ready for the next round of rinsing. Sweat was gathering on your forehead, making you wipe at it every once in a while with damp hands. It was a terribly hot day, the sun beating down on you, making you regret agreeing to wash Billy’s car. Every now and then, your eyes flitted to Tina and Carol lounging comfortably in lawn chairs a few feet away, lazily sipping on lemonades and gossiping about the latest drama in Hawkins.

Carol tilted her sunglasses down, watching you with a teasing smirk. “You missed a spot, Cherry.”

You shot her a look, turning your attention back to the sponge in your hand, tempted to hurl it at them both. Instead of doing what had been on your mind, you pressed the sponge back to the blue surface, scrubbing even harder at a particularly stubborn patch of mud. Taking the hose, you rinsed the foam away, water spraying across the car’s side, splashing back onto you, soaking through your shirt. You sighed, knowing you had at least another hour of this.

Tina leaned over, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “Did you hear about Becky and Steve? Total disaster. She caught him flirting with Nancy Wheeler at the party. Can you believe it?”

“As if!” Carol rolled her eyes, “I told you Steve was a player. Becky should’ve known better.”

You finished with the hood, stood up, and stretched, feeling the ache in your back. The half-cleaned car gleamed under the sun, but there was still so much left to do. You grabbed the hose and rinsed off the suds, watching as the water ran off in murky rivulets, carrying away the grime. Finally, you plopped down on the grass between Tina and Carol, leaning back onto your elbows. Wordlessly, Tina handed you her glass of lemonade and you took a grateful sip, the cold, sour liquid refreshing as it slid down your throat.

Carol narrowed her eyes at you, a grimace on her face. “So, why are you washing Billy’s car anyway?” she asked, suspicion lacing her tone.

You shrugged nonchalantly, handing the lemonade back to Tina. “Lost a bet,” you lied, keeping your expression neutral.

Carol raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it but interested nonetheless. “Uh-huh. What kind of bet?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your expression neutral. “Does it matter?” A bet’s a bet.”

Carol gave you a skeptical look, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, turning the conversation back to Becky and Steve, her voice dripping with malice as she recalled all the wrongs Steve had ever done. A year back, when Tommy and Carol had been on one of their breaks, Carol had hit on Steve—he had been a vital part of your group of friends back then—only to be shot down. Ever since then, Steve had distanced himself, distancing himself from Carol’s snarky comments and spiteful looks. You had found out about the situation only after Carol had gotten drunk at a party and spilled the beans to you, crying that she was unlovable.

Before you could get back up to finish cleaning the car, Tina cut in with a sly grin, “Oh, C, did I tell you? Billy asked Cherry out again.” Your head snapped in the direction of your brunette friend, a warning glare in your eyes, knowing you had made her swear above and beyond not to mention it to Carol.

Carol let out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes. “Well, it’s getting pathetic by now. The guy just doesn’t know when to quit.” She wrapped her sparkly lips around the baby blue straw, taking a few sips of the lemonade, looking to you for confirmation.

Before you could reply, Tina leaned forward further, grin widening. “Cherry said yes!”

Carol choked on her lemonade, eyes widening with surprise. She couched, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, staring at you in disbelief. She screeched your real name, the one nobody but your mother used. “You can’t be serious!”

Picking at the grass beside you, you shrugged, pursing your lips—not without giving Tina the stink eye she deserved—trying to play it off. “It’s just one date, Care. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Carol continued to gape at you, clearly flabbergasted by the revelation. “But—it’s Billy! What changed?” She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Is he black-mailing you?”

“Carol,” you scoffed warningly.

She wasn’t letting it go, though, leaning forward, her expression intense. “I just don’t get it. You’ve shot him down, like, a million times. Why now?” She didn’t even give you the chance to answer, huffing instead and leaning back in her chair. “I just hope you know what you’re doing. Billy’s not exactly boyfriend material.”

You shot her a sharp look, your patience wearing thin. “You’re one to talk. Remind me again how many times I held you while you cried because Tommy’s tongue was down someone else’s throat?”

Carol’s face flushed, her eyes narrowing. “That’s different, and you know it!”

“Is it?” You countered, not backing down.

Carol stood up abruptly, her face still tinged with annoyance. She grabbed her purse, smoothing her skirt as she huffed, “I have to get home for lunch.” She hesitated for a moment, then added with a pointed glare, “But don’t come crying to me when he hurts you.”

You rolled your eyes, the annoyance bubbling up inside you as her words grated on your nerves. Carol always acted like she had it all figured out, but you’d seen her cry over Tommy more times than you could count. You weren’t about to let her get away with that kind of condescension.

Sharply, you shot back, “I don’t cry over boys, Carol. Boys are just placeholders—they come and they go, and they for sure aren’t worth my tears.”

Carol’s eyes widened in surprise at your retort, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t have a comeback for that, and after a tense moment, she just shook her head and turned on her heel, walking away without another word. You watched her go, your irritation still simmering, but there was also a sense of satisfaction. You weren’t going to let anyone, not even a friend, belittle your decisions or act like they knew what was best for you. You were in control of your own life, and you’d handle things your way.

As the sound of her footsteps faded, Tina broke the silence, her voice hesitant. “That was really mean, Cherry.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you tried to shake off the lingering frustration. “She just doesn’t get it. I’m not looking for some epic romance or whatever. I’m just… seeing where things go. And if Billy screws up, that’s on him. I’ll move on.”

“If you say so.”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You were fuming as you stepped back into your house, frustration bubbling up inside you. You had spent the entire evening waiting for Billy, all dressed up and ready for the surprise date he had been teasing you about all week. You’d gone all out in a tight black dress that complemented your hair, your makeup perfect. You had actually felt somewhat excited, seeing where Billy would take you, since he had spent all week teasing you, saying he had everything planned down to perfection. But as the minutes ticked by and Billy failed to show up, your excitement quickly turned to anger. An hour had passed, then another, and still no sign of him. You tried calling him, but he didn’t answer, nobody answered. Your patience wore thin, and you felt a mix of humiliation and rage bubbling up. By the time you decided to head back inside, you were seething.

On Monday morning, you were over it—or, at least, you told yourself you were. When you saw him approaching you in the school hallway, you ignored him completely, walking away so briskly that your boots clicked sharply against the floor.

“Hey, Cherry!” Billy called out, catching up with you. His voice was casual, but you could tell he was… flustered?  “I was trying to reach you—”

“Yeah, well, I was busy,” you hummed, your tone frosty as you raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “I have better things to do than wait around for men.” Billy stopped in his tracks, his face falling. You noticed the bruise on his left eye and your anger flared even more. The sight of it made you think, that instead of picking you up, he had been out drinking and gotten himself into another fight.

“Cherry, listen—” Billy began, but you cut him off again.

“Save it,” you said bluntly, your eyes flashing with irritation. “I don’t need excuses. You clearly had something better to do and, frankly, I’m not interested in your drama.”

Billy’s jaw tightened. He took a deep breath, trying to control his rising anger at your dismissal. “Look, Cherry, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m done with this,” you said firmly, turning away from him. “See you in class.”

You stormed into the locker room, fuming as you kicked off your boots and headed for your locker. The events of the morning had you well and truly seething, not caring about the looks you were getting as you fumbled with your locker, trying to get the cheerleading uniform out. You hastily pulled the green and white uniform on, white sneakers in your hand, when suddenly the locker room door swung open, followed by an enthusiastic squeal. “Guys, you won’t believe it!” A girl from the squad burst, her gray eyes wide with excitement—Jenna, a sophomore who had been accepted into the team at the beginning of the year—bounced with every step she took. “Billy Hargrove just asked me out!”

You looked up, your anger momentarily forgotten as your eyes narrowed in disbelief. Jenna continued, the rest of the girls having gathered to hear the story of how it had happened, none noticing the effect her words were having on you.

“He was like all charming and stuff. I thought it was so sweet—”

“Sweet?” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Billy Hargrove isn’t sweet, so if you don’t want him to cut your date short, I’d buy a box of condoms if I were you.”

The room fell silent as the rest of the squad around you gaped at the blunt comment. Jenna’s excitement faltered slightly, her eyes wide as she stared at you, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

You let out a heavy sigh, shrugging as if it were no big deal. “Oh, come on, don’t act like you don’t know what they are saying about him. He’s not the guy to show up with flowers and love letters. He’s going to take what he wants and then disappear before you even realize what happened and he won’t give you the time of day again.” Your tone softened. “Be smarter than that, Jenna.”

A few of the girls exchanged uneasy glances, while Jenna’s face merely continued to fall further. She looked crestfallen as she nodded slowly. “Thanks for the heads-up, Cherry.”

You managed a tight-lipped smile and turned back to your locker, feeling a pang of guilt for being so harsh. It wasn’t Jenna’s fault she was excited; it was just frustrating to see Billy’s charming façade still working its magic on everyone. The conversation shifted back to other topics as the cheerleaders began to prepare for practice, but the tension from your comment lingered in the air.

You were going to be smarter than that, too.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You had managed to steer clear of Billy Hargrove for over a month, keeping your distance and focusing on literally anything else. Though ignoring him, also meant ignoring plans your friends made, which, more often than not, included Billy, too. Even though the tension from your last encounter with him had slowly faded, being near him felt awkward—at least that’s what Tina said it felt like when she had been sitting alone with both of you at your usual booth at the roller rink. The buzz of Fourth of July was quickly approaching, and with it, Nicole’s annual party that weeks before and weeks after would be the talk of the town. Each year, her parents would leave town to visit her grandparents, leaving Nicole with the house all to herself—and dozens of drunken teenagers to make a mess of it. The invitation had been passed out everywhere—school, the mall, the arcade, even on the street to strangers that Nicole thought looked cute.

On the day itself, you found yourself standing in front of Nicole’s house, dressed in a backless blue denim jumpsuit, the zipper in the front just enough undone to reveal the beginnings of a red bra beneath—with two white stars painted on the back pockets of the jumper. Tina and Carol had insisted on a festive theme, both of their cheeks smeared with red, white, and blue stripes that you had oh so gratefully refused.

The night air was warm and filled with the sounds of drunken laughter and loud music as you walked up to the house, trailing your friends. Red, white, and blue streamers adorned the front porch, a large banner hanging above the entrance, declaring ‘Stars, Stripes, and Sips—Let’s Get Lit!’. You shook your head at the hand-painted banner and walked past it into the already bustling house. Some of the people you recognized, while others you weren’t even sure were citizens of Hawkins.

Tina, enthusiasm quite literally painted on her face, immediately took hold of both your and Carol’s hands, pulling you into the kitchen of the familiar house. “Come on, ladies!” Tina urged, her eyes gleaming with excitement—and mischief. “I starved myself all day, so this would be worth it!” She said, grabbing a tray of shot glasses and starting to dole out tequila with shaking hands. Ignoring the spilled substance, she handed each of you a shot, taking the saltshaker and a lime for herself. She urged both of you to lick your hand before eagerly salting the spot, telling you to take a lime already. Tina lifted her shot, toasting to freedom, fireworks and something you didn’t understand because a loud cheer had gone through the crowd. Without waiting, she licked the salt away, tipping her head back with the shot, swallowing and quickly taking a bite of her lime. Her face twisted with disgust and the sour tinge of citrus—though she wasn’t affected by it long, already beginning to pour herself a second glass.

You licked, swallowed, and bit, squinting your eyes shut to keep from gagging at the taste. A burning warmth worked through your esophagus, traveling to your stomach. You immediately regretted spending the whole day in the company of Tina, with her not stopping to eat for just a second, you hadn’t done so either. Although you perhaps shouldn’t have, you accepted the second shot she had poured without complaint, downing it together with Carol and Tina—solidarity and all that.

Straying from tequila, you mixed some sweet drink for yourself in one of the blue plastic cups, refusing Tina when she told you to add another few ounces of alcohol. Carol told you she would see if Tommy had gotten here yet—they had reconciled for the time being—and vanished in the crowd. An excited screech left Tina’s lips as she hammered the palms of her hands lightly against your bare arm, pointing toward the group that was gathering on the couches to play stupid little games.

“Please?” She pouted, already beginning to pull you along.

You scrunched up your nose and shook your head with an apologetic smile, suggesting that you’d watch instead. She was content enough with it not to argue further, jumping over the back of the sofa and plopping between a few people from the senior class. You stood behind her, sipping your drink, slightly propping yourself against the couch as a girl started explaining the rules. Not bothering to listen, since you weren’t going to participate anyway, you took to looking around the decorations Nicole had put up. She always went all out, even though nobody really cared if there were balloons and confetti as long as there was beer and music.

“Never have I ever done the dirty with Billy Hargrove,” some girl giggled—that had you snapping your head back to the group. The blonde smirked as she raised her own glass on took a sip, clearly not giving a damn about the sense of the game. Almost all the other girls, excluding Tina—thank God—immediately took a sip from their drinks, giggling and exchanging knowing looks as they began to gossip about their experiences. You rolled your eyes and grimaced, patting Tina on the shoulder to let her know you were leaving the scene, heading toward the dancing crowd.

You spotted the cheer squad in the thick of it, moving in sync with the beat and enjoying themselves with some half-assed choreography they were making up on the spot. They chuckled as someone suggested another dance move, copying it, swaying all drunk and silly. You slipped through the crowd to join them, being greeted by an excited chorus of your name and messy hugs. Swaying and dancing until sweat was warming the nape of your neck, you let the bass and the flashing lights wash away the annoyance of the evening.

Lost in the music, you barely noticed some guy sidling up, until some of the girls gave excited noises and a hand wrapped around your waist. “Hey, there,” he said, his voice smooth and flirtatious. He had a confident swagger, a smile that seemed far too eager. “Mind if I cut in?”

You looked him up and down, unimpressed. He wasn’t really your type—lacking the edge and cutting charm that usually attracted you. But as you glanced over his shoulder, you caught sight of Billy Hargrove standing by the wall, his eyes fixed on you and the guy. For reasons beyond you, your heart hopped at the thought of him having watched you, having eyes for merely you in a crowd of people far more eager to go along with whatever he wanted. The look on his face was unreadable, stony almost, though you thought you might have spotted a hint of annoyance within.

Before you knew what you were doing, you turned back to the male before you and smiled, a sly, sultry smile that always got you what you wanted. “Sure, why not?” You said, pulling him along and turning him around. Barely interested, you pressed your back against his front, lifting an arm to wrap around his neck while his wrapped around your front. You swayed to the music, ignoring the compliments and whatnot being whispered against your ear, your eyes once in a while flitting to Billy, making certain he was still watching.

The longer you danced, the more tightly the guy held you, the more you could spot Billy’s fist clenching firmly, the furrow in his brow deepening. The more you engaged with the guy, the more Billy seemed to fume—so terribly, you could feel the heat of his stare even from the distance. Billy’s blue orbs found yours as you leaned your head against the guy’s shoulder, Billy’s demeanor shifting. There was a tick in his jaw as he squeezed the life out of the plastic cup in his hands, shooting glares toward you. Deciding to push it further, you stretched your neck, pushing a little at the back of the guy’s head, who got the clue immediately. You grinned knowingly, eyes falling shut only after seeing Billy with his jaw set tight, your red-painted lips falling open in a satisfied moan. Before you could fully immerse yourself in the show, you felt a firm grip on your arm.

You turned to find Billy’s face inches from yours, his expression a mix of anger and something darker. His eyes were stormy, the tension radiating from his so thick, you could have cut it with a knife. Without waiting for a response, he roughly tugged you through the crowd, ignoring the curious stares and murmurs from partygoers. Despite your protests, he didn’t slow down, his grip on your arm unrelenting as he guided you toward the back of the house. The fresh night air hit you, sharp and clear after the stifling heat of the party.

His strides were purposeful, seething with frustration. He dragged you along by your upper arm, away from prying eyes and ears of the party. As you reached a secluded wall, he spun you around, shoving you firmly against it. The suddenness of it made you gasp, your back hitting the wall with a jarring thud.

Billy’s eyes were fierce, the glint of anger and something deeper reflecting in them, taking your breath away at the intensity. His face was so close to yours you could feel his hot breath on your skin, his eyes boring into yours with a ferocity that was making you shift. “You think that shit is funny?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Damn it, Cherry, answer me,” he growled, his hand slamming into the rough wall beside your head, making you jump.

You could barely breathe, the pressure of his gaze squeezing the air from your lungs. With a shaky exhale, tongue heavy, you whispered, “Yes.”

Billy’s eyes burned with a combination of frustration and something else—an emotion that was hard to pin down. He kept you pinned against the wall, his face dangerously close to yours, his breath mingling with yours. The night air felt charged, every breath between you feeling electric.

“So, you think it’s funny?” Billy’s voice was raw, barely controlled, his anger spilling over. “Grinding against some guy like a bitch in heat?” He spat out the words, his tone dripping with disdain. “You wanted to make me mad? Make sure I saw you with someone else?”

You scoffed then, composing yourself, trying to mask your own rising emotions behind a veil of nonchalance. You met his gaze with a defiant look, standing your ground. “Don’t be sour just because someone’s beating you at your own game,” you shot back. “All the games you play, I can play all of them too. Easily.”

He shoved you back against the wall, his anger simmering just beneath the surface but his voice turning colder, more calculated. “Oh, Cherry Baby, I don’t play games like that. If you wanted to make a statement, you’ve done it. But don’t think for a second that I’m just going to roll over and take it.” He leaned in even closer, his lips almost brushing against your ear. “And if you want to keep playing, just remember this: I don’t play fair, and I sure as hell don’t lose.” Billy’s gaze remained locked on yours, the intensity in his eyes unwavering. His anger seemed to morph into something else, something raw, primal. Without warning, he gripped the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair roughly. You gasped in surprise, opening your lips just slightly as he surged forward, pressing his lips against yours in a deep, fervent kiss.

It was rough and demanding, all anger and frustration, causing your heart to thud heavily in your chest as a surge of desire shot through you. He tightened his grip on your hair, digging his other one in the flesh of your ass, pulling you against him, making you feel exactly what you were doing to him. You moaned, clawing your hands in the fabric of his silky dress shirt, a tingling sensation spreading through your core. Breathing seemed so much less important as his hand came forward, ripping the zipper of your jumpsuit down as far as it would go. You gasped against his lips, his fingers harshly squeezing the skin of your breast through the lazy red fabric. He brought his thumb up to the hardened buds, greedily pinching them between his fingers, enjoying the sounds tumbling from your lips in reply.

“You wanted to make me jealous, didn’t you?” He cooed as his fingers slipped down further, stretching the material of the jumpsuit as they found their way into your underwear. “Well, congratulations, Cherry Baby, you got my attention.” All breath fled your lungs as his fingers toyed with your clit, all thought of anyone seeing you shoved to the back of your mind. You writhed underneath him, hips helplessly bucking forward for more. Billy laughed, bastard that he was, attentively rolling your sensitive nub under his thumb. You gripped the arm that was holding your head by your hair, keeping you from moving too much, your head lolling back in pleasure.

“That feel good, hm, Cherry? Better than those little boys who don’t know how to handle you.” Despite the tight bite you had on your lip, a sound of agreement tore from your throat before you could stop it. “Could’a had this all along if you weren’t so damn stubborn.” You whined, desperately rolling your hips when he slowly sunk two of his fingers into your cunt. Billy’s gaze was glued to your face, the glossiness in your eyes, the dip in your mouth as it dropped open to spill the sounds you had been fighting to keep quiet but couldn’t hold back anymore. He curled his fingers, working himself deeper, and deeper, rubbing that spongy spot inside of you that had your stomach twitching. Out of reflex, your body tried pulling back further, trying to get away from the pleasure Billy was giving you, only with his hand and the wall caging you, there was no space for you to go. Instead, you dug your nails into his skin, yelping, as he started thrusting his fingers in and out of you, always sure to keep brushing up against that spot that he had found far too easily.

“Look at you, Cherry,” he cooed, biting your lip and pulling with a sly grin, licking the throbbing spot. “Never seen you so obedient.” Billy noted the way you melted into him, the way your body responded to his touch. He could feel the heat radiating from you, and it only fueled his ego. Just as you were about to lose yourself in the moment, tightening around him and gripping him for dear life, Billy abruptly pulled back, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest, your sound of protest instantly following.

His breath was hot against your lips as he leaned in close, a teasing smirk curling at the corners of his mouth, when your eyes snapped open at the orgasm that had been so rudely ripped from you. “Enjoying yourself, huh?” he taunted, his voice dripping with cocky arrogance. He let the question hang in the air for a moment, watching bliss and confusion flicker in your eyes. You could still feel the lingering ghost of his touch, his fingers as your mind raced to process the sudden shift in his demeanor. Before you could say anything, he straightened up, his hand slipping from your hair as he took a step back. “If you want more,” he said, his voice laced with challenge, “you’re gonna have to work for it, Cherry Baby.”

His eyes glinted with mischief, his smirk widening as he took in the sight of you, breathless and wanting. Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel, leaving you standing there against the wall, your hair a mess and clothes disheveled. As he walked away, you could still hear the echo of his laughter, leaving you with a mix of frustration and something you weren’t ready to admit yet—desire.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Ever since you had first noticed that boys were showing an interest in you, you had made it your rule to never chase a man. It wasn’t just a rule—it was a principle. A game you didn’t play but had created, one in which you were pulling all the strings. You’d learned early on that the power lay in making them come to you, in letting them believe they were the hunters when, in reality, you were always the one in control.

Boys were easy. Flash a smile, give them just enough attention, and they’d follow you like lost puppies. It was a thrill, knowing you had them wrapped around your finger, knowing you could pull them in and push them away whenever you wanted. You’d seen too many girls let themselves get caught up, lose their sense of self in the pursuit of some boy who didn’t deserve them—Carol, for one. That was never going to be you.

But Billy Hargrove was different. He didn’t just follow the rules of the game—he rewrote them. He was infuriating, cocky, and dangerous, with a way of getting under your skin like no one else ever had. He challenged you, pushed back when others would have crumbled, and for the first time, you found yourself second-guessing your moves. The thing was, you knew Billy had his own game too, that he wasn’t like the others. He didn’t just want your attention—he wanted to see if he could make you break your own rules. And that was something you couldn’t let happen. The moment you chased him, the moment you let him think he had the upper hand, it would all be over.

So, you did what you did best. You pulled back, kept your distance, tried making him come to you. You’d seen the frustration in his eyes, the way he couldn’t quite hide his irritation when you strutted out past him in the hallways of the school without sparing him a glance, and when you, despite sitting beside him in the booth at the roller rink, refused to even allow your thighs to touch. It was satisfying, knowing you still had the power, knowing he was the one being drawn in now.

But as much as you hated to admit it, there was a part of you that couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss, his touch, about the way his lips had claimed yours with a fierceness that left you breathless. It had been a mistake to let him get that close, but fuck, it had felt good.

It had been going on for a few weeks by then, the cat and mouse thing happening between you and Billy—who was who had yet to be determined. If Tina or Carol noticed a shift in the air (they definitely did, because you and Billy had gone from close friends to not talking to friends again) they didn’t dare mention it. You had gone back to regularly joining in on group activities again, no need to hide away from Billy when now you had made it your mission to tempt him—to get him to finish what had been started.

It was a late afternoon, the summer sun just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the town. Carol and Tommy had broken up again, causing her to call an emergency meeting at Benny’s Burgers with you and Tina. As usual, the diner was busy, filled with the hum of conversations and the steady clattering of dishes. You were sitting in a booth near the back, casually sipping on a chocolate milkshake, fingers busying themselves by flicking through a magazine. You were trying to entertain yourself as Carol went on and on about what had occurred to make her break up with Tommy for the umpteenth time, while Tina, pretending to listen, was attempting to eye-fuck the new waiter.

Eyeing the clothing articles that Harper’s Bazaar deemed to be the fashion statements of the summer, you felt a sudden shift in the air, even before looking up. Perhaps it was the way Carol slowed her yapping, her orbs flicking between you and the door, or perhaps it was merely in the way a tingling sense enveloped your back that let you know that something particular—or someone—had entered. When you glanced toward the door, your heart sank a little.

Billy had just walked in—and he wasn’t alone. He had some girl hanging from his arm, one you didn’t recognize but who looked all too pleased to be there with him. She was laughing at something he said, her hand resting on his chest as Billy began to order for them, the sight of it making your stomach twist uncomfortably. You stilled in your seat at the realization—what the fuck. Frowning, you forced your eyes back down to the magazine, pretending to be engrossed in the article about what might possibly be in trend for the coming fall, but you weren’t really reading the words, instead, an echo of confusion danced through your ear. You weren’t the kind of girl to care about what men did to entertain themselves, and you for sure weren’t the kind of girl to feel anything when seeing a man with another girl. No, you were the girl to shrug and find the next toy to busy yourself with. This wasn’t normal. He was merely a pawn in your game, a challenge—a fleeting amusement, nothing more. So why the fuck did the sight of him with another girl feel like you got punched in the gut?

You flicked through the pages of the magazine with more force than necessary, trying to push the irritation out of your mind. But the laughter from their booth kept pulling you back, each giggle like a tiny needle pricking at your carefully maintained indifference. You clenched your jaw, determined not to let this get to you. If Billy wanted to parade some girl around to get a reaction out of you, fine. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction. You were better than that.

Still, you couldn’t resist a glance in their direction, just to see. The girl was hanging on his every word, her expression adoring and Billy was soaking it up, a smug smile playing on his lips. He was putting on a show, and you hated that it was beginning to work—you glared back at the magazine.

Tina, noticing the shift in your mood, nudged your foot under the table. “Cherry, are you even listening?”

You looked up, blinking. “Sorry, what?”

Carol’s eyes narrowed at you before she raised a brow and folded her arms in front of her chest. “What’s up with you? You’ve been staring at that magazine like it insulted your mother.”

Keeping your expression nonchalant, you pursed your lips and gave her a once-over that you knew would make her feel some type of way. “Literally just waiting for you to talk about anything else than the mess you call a relationship, Care. It’s making me want to bash my head in.”

You kept your gaze steady on the ginger—a color she had only attained after you had dyed your hair for the first time—watching as her expression darkened. “God, Cherry,” she hissed, her voice low and venomous. “You’ve been acting like such a bitch lately, you know, even more so than usual. What the hell is your problem?”

The retort was already on the tip of your tongue, sharp and cutting, ready to slice through whatever delusions Carol had created in her mind. But before you could say anything, Tina interjected, her voice loud and cheerful—far too cheerful.

“There’s a baseball game coming up this weekend, I was thinking we should go! Support Billy and Tommy—and Steve. Everyone is going.”

“Sure,” Carol rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything else, her lips pressed into a thin line as she turned her attention back to the menu. You forced yourself to relax, to let the tension in your shoulders ease as you leaned back in your seat, acting as if the exchange had barely registered. Pushing up from the table with a sigh, your irritation shimmered just beneath the surface. “I’m going to the bathroom,” you muttered, not really caring if Tina or Carol heard you. You needed a moment away from the bickering—and away from Billy and his new arm candy.

As you walked across the diner, the new waiter caught your eye, giving you an awkward wave and a hopeful smile. You didn’t bother acknowledging him with anything more than a roll of your eyes, the heels clicking purposefully against the linoleum as you strolled past the counter—past the dumfounded waiter—and into the hallway where the bathrooms were located. Men, you thought with disdain, the thought punctuated by a shake of your head.

Shutting the door behind you, you leaned over the sink, turning the cold water on and wetting your hands. You brought them up to your neck, the coolness soothing the warmth that had crept up your skin. You stared at your reflection, noting the slight smudge of eyeliner beneath one eye. You grabbed a tissue and carefully wiped it away, then reached into your bag for your lipstick, reapplying it with a steady hand.

As you sprayed a bit of perfume onto your neck, the scent wafting around you, you considered the girl Billy had walked in with. She was pretty, in a generic sort of way—blonde, bubbly, and probably all too eager to please him. If that’s what Billy wanted, if he wanted someone who would hang on his every word and laugh at all his jokes, then he could have her—should, in fact. You let out a small huff, shaking out your hair as if to rid yourself of the thought.

As you stepped out of the bathroom, Billy was there, his tall frame casting a shadow over you. He had that familiar cocky smirk on his face, the one that usually made every girl in Hawkins weak in the knees. Without missing a beat, he ducked in, going straight for a kiss, his hand already at your waist, trying to shove you back into the bathroom like it was a done deal.

Your hand shot up, slapping over his mouth, shoving him aside with a strength that caught him off guard. "Go do that with your bimbo," you sneered with a disgusted scoff, pushing past him.

As you strutted down the hallway, you heard Billy chuckle behind you, low and taunting. He drawled, his voice dripping with that infuriating arrogance, "You’ll come around. They always do." You didn’t bother to slow down or turn around. Instead, you simply lifted your hand, throwing him the finger without even looking back.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The taste of the guy’s lips had felt wrong from the start. His mouth was too soft, too eager, like he was trying to prove something with every clumsy kiss. You barely felt anything but the wrongness of it all, your mind somewhere else—somewhere it definitely shouldn’t be, but had been continuously venturing to, nonetheless. Billy’s face kept flashing in your thoughts, his arrogant smile, the way his eyes darkened when he was pissed off or amused, how he always seemed to know exactly what buttons to press to get under your skin.

You groaned inwardly, your fingers tightening on the guy’s shoulders as he moved his lips along your neck, his hands wandering aimlessly. It was no use. His touch felt like nothing but static, a pale imitation of what you really wanted—craved—to feel. With each second that passed, the irritation building inside you grew stronger, Billy’s image refusing to fade.

The guy pulled back, probably expecting you to look pleased or at least interested—instead, you shoved him off, cutting off whatever lame attempt at a compliment he was about to offer. His expression twisted into one of confusion, maybe even a bit of hurt, but you didn’t care enough to apologize. You didn’t even bother remembering his name, so what was the point?

“Uh, everything okay?” he asked, awkwardly wiping his mouth as if he’d done something wrong.

“Yeah, fine,” you muttered, not even sparing him a second glance as you picked up your purse, brushing some stray grass and dirt from the artificial leather. “Just… not in the mood anymore.” It was a lie, of course. You were in the mood—just not with him. You left him there, standing under the bleachers, probably (definitely) wondering what the hell had just happened. You weaved through the crowd, shoving past people already settled in their spots, ignoring their annoyed mutters and irritated glares. Every step you took seemingly only made you angrier, the frustration bubbling up inside you like a boiling pot about to overflow.

When you finally reached Tina and Carol, they were still lost in their conversation, drinks in hand, barely noticing your return. You dropped down beside Tina with a huff, pushing your sunglasses back onto your nose and crossing your arms, glaring out at the field without really seeing anything.

Carol glanced at you, sensing the tension radiating off you like a storm about to break. “You okay?” She asked, her voice laced with genuine concern, which only made you feel worse.

“Fine,” you snapped, harsher than you had intended. Then, softer, “just…annoyed.” Annoyed wasn’t even half of it. You were furious, not just at Billy but at yourself. Furious because no matter how much you tried to push him out of your mind, he was always there, lurking like a shadow you couldn’t escape—like a pesky little roach you couldn’t get rid of. And it wasn’t like you cared about what he did, who he was with, or what kind of games he played. You didn’t care. You couldn’t care. 

Huffing once more, you furrowed your brows at the lively baseball field below you. Billy and Steve, both visibly sweaty and visibly competitive were shouting downright hostile at each other—it was perhaps more entertaining than the actual game. Every throw, every strike, every aggressive look they exchanged spoke volumes about their mutual dislike for one another. You could almost smell the hatred wafting through the air, stronger than it was when they would encounter each other in the hallways, for sure.

It hit you then, so forcefully you ripped the glasses from your face, startling Tina so much so that she yelped. Checkmate.

“Jeez!” She exclaimed, frown appearing on her face as she used the straw to swirl around the blue slushie in her cup. “What is up with you today?”

“You know what, Tee? I’m suddenly feeling so much better,” you grinned, checking the watch on Tina’s wrist to get an idea of how much longer the team would be playing. Hurriedly, you shouldered your purse, glossy and red, just how you liked it. “I have business to attend to, see you later,” you winked and pushed back through the crowd, not giving your friends a chance to question your hasty escape. When the final whistle blew and the game came to an end, you had already positioned yourself in the hallway in front of the guys’ locker room. Your hair was fixed, lipstick applied perfectly, a spritz of perfume here and there—you were ready.

When Steve Harrington finally emerged, freshly showered and looking relaxed in his casual—preppy—attire, his confusion at seeing you there was immediate. You caught his eye, flashing him a sly grin. “Steve.”

“Hey, Red, long time no see,” Steve said, nodding to you in greeting, his tone friendly but not missing the cadence of curiosity.

“Yeah…” You leaned against the wall nonchalantly, giving him a little shrug. “Carol was bitter and threatened us not to talk to you.”

Steve’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Since when do you listen to Carol of all people?”

You bit your lip playfully, letting a glint of mischief dance in your eyes as you shrugged again. “Well, I’m here, talking to you, so…” You grinned.

Steve’s expression shifted from confusion to intrigue. He looked you up and down with a raised eyebrow, clearly uncertain about your sudden interest. “So, what’s the deal then? Anything specific bringing you here?”

You pushed off the wall, stepping closer to him with a confident, seductive sway in your walk. “Saw you play and thought we could catch up. Maybe over milkshakes and fries?”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up, clearly taken aback by your direct offer. He gaped at you for a moment, a mix of surprise and disbelief playing across his face. “R-right now?” he stammered, clearly caught off guard.

You gave him a playful but insistent smile, leaning in a bit closer. “Yeah, why not?” Tongue peeking out to lick your grinning lips, it lingered between your teeth for a second. “I’m in the mood for something different, and I thought you might be up for it.”

Steve shook his head slightly as if trying to clear the haze from his mind. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool despite his evident intrigue. “Well, this is…out of the blue, I gotta admit. I wasn’t expecting, uh—”

“So, you’re saying no?” You blinked at him, pulling your brows up in a pout—God, guys.

“Yes!” Shot out at the look you were giving him, until his mind seemed to catch up with what he had been asked. “I mean no! No, I’m not saying no! I mean—I would love to.”

You chuckled, twirling a strand of your hair around your fingers. “You’re so cute sometimes, you know that?”

Steve’s smile gradually widened, his shock fading into a more relaxed, captivated grin. “You know what? Suddenly I’m starved for milkshakes and fries. Lead the way.”

With that, you reached out and took Steve’s hand in yours. His grip was warm and firm and just in time. Right as you were beginning to move away from the locker room door, a familiar figure emerged. You turned slightly and saw Billy Hargrove exiting, his gaze immediately locked onto you and Steve. His eyes narrowed as he saw the way your fingers were intertwined with Steve’s, seeming momentarily stunned, his usual confident stride faltering just a bit. Not ceasing your walking, you couldn’t resist but wink at Billy with a sly smile, letting your gaze linger just a second too long before you turned back to Steve and giggled.

There was no need for you to turn around to know Billy’s expression had shifted from surprise to annoyance, a tight clench in his jaw as he watched you and Steve walk away. There was fury and confusion battling behind his eyes, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of any further acknowledgment. Instead, you pulled Steve closer, allowing him to lead you to his car, with confident, deliberate strides. “Let’s get out of here,” you said, your tone light and carefree.

“Let’s,” he agreed, the corners of his mouth upturned happily.

You gave him a cheeky smile as you slid into the passenger seat. As Steve drove off, you glanced back one last time, finding Billy standing in the parking lot, a cigarette burning between his lips, illuminating the furious gaze through the rearview mirror. You couldn’t help but smirk as you sank into the seat with satisfaction in your veins. The engine humming beneath you, your mind wandered. The night was still young, there was no point in letting it go to waste. You thought back to the usual spot where the team gathered after a big win—at least from what Tina had told you—a place everyone knew well. It was the new diner near the roller rink. Well, new by Hawkins’ standards, even if it had been around for a decade.

You glanced at Steve, your fingers tapping idly on the dashboard. “Hey, Steve, would you mind heading to Bop ‘n’ Burger instead of Benny’s? I’ve been craving their fries.”

Steve shot you a curious look, his brow furrowing slightly. “You know the whole team’s probably gonna be there, right?”

You shrugged casually, not letting on that you were well aware of that fact—and that this was precisely the reason you wanted to go. “I don’t mind. I really want those fries.” The lie rolled off your tongue smoothly with a pleading grin, and Steve, none the wiser, nodded.

“Sure, why not?” he agreed, making a quick turn in the direction of the diner. The drive was short, the streets of Hawkins quiet as the car rolled up to the diner. The neon sign flickered above the entrance, casting a warm glow over the parking lot. You and Steve walked inside, and as you slid into the booth, you made sure to sit close to him, your thigh brushing against his. The waitress came by to take your order, and just as the menus were being collected, you heard the loud, familiar voices of the Hawkins High baseball team. They were pouring into the diner, still riding the high of their victory. Steve looked over, grinning as he greeted some of his teammates, but your attention was elsewhere.

Billy.

He walked in with the others, his gaze sweeping across the diner until it landed on you. The moment he saw you cozied up next to Steve, his expression darkened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. You smiled sweetly as if you were completely oblivious to his presence, but inside, you were reveling in the tension. You and Steve chatted for a bit, making light conversation as you nibbled on your fries. But your mind was only half on the conversation, the rest focused on timing as you tirelessly indulged in flirting—which Steve ate right up. You waited until he was getting touchier, with you playing right along with it, laughing and grinning. When his eyes fell to your lips for the first time, you took notice of it immediately, taking your chance. You leaned in, closing the distance between you and Steve, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was soft, teasing and just long enough to draw attention. You could hear the sudden murmur of voices, the shift in the diner’s atmosphere as the team took notice—then came the chant. “Harrington! Harrington!” The guys were egging him on, laughing and cheering as if this were some sort of victory lap for him.

Steve pulled back, looking both surprised and pleased, his cheeks flushing slightly under the attention. But you weren’t done yet. You glanced sideways, catching Billy’s eye—his face a mask of barely contained fury. The satisfaction of having riled him up filled you with a heady sense of triumph. Turning back to Steve, you leaned closer, your voice low and sultry. “Wanna get out of here? Maybe go somewhere more… private?”

Steve blinked at you, his grin widening as he nodded eagerly. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Without a second glance at the team—or Billy—you grabbed Steve’s hand, pulling him out of the booth and heading for the door. As you stepped out into the cool night air, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder one last time, catching the sight of Billy, his eyes burning holes into your back as you and Steve disappeared into the night.

Tonight, you were in control—and Billy knew it.

You and Steve pulled up to your house, the car coming to a smooth stop in the driveway. Steve looked over at you with a small, hopeful smile, clearly expecting the night to continue. You had played this part well, your voice sweet and full of mock surprise as you turned to him with wide eyes. “Steve, I’m so sorry,” you said, faking a wince. “I was so sure my parents wouldn’t be home, but it looks like I was wrong.” You gestured vaguely toward the house, where a light was on in the living room.

Steve’s face fell slightly, but he quickly masked it, giving you a reassuring smile. “Oh, it’s no problem. We can always take a raincheck, right?”

You nodded, flashing him a grateful smile. “Definitely. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

With a slight sigh, Steve leaned in to give you a quick, chaste kiss before pulling back. “I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Sure,” you replied, giving him a wave as you got out of the car. You watched him drive away, the taillights fading into the distance before you turned and headed up the steps to your front door. As you stepped inside, you saw your mother lounging on the couch, a book in her hands. She didn’t even glance up as you walked in, completely engrossed in whatever she was reading. You checked the clock on the wall—it was getting late, but you knew you had some time to kill. “Hey, Mom,” you said, your tone light and casual. “A car’s gonna pull up in like an hour. When it does, can you call me down?”

Your mother simply nodded, her eyes never leaving the page. “Sure, honey,” she replied absentmindedly.

You grinned to yourself, the excitement bubbling up inside you as you headed upstairs to your room. The plan had worked perfectly—Steve had been the perfect decoy, and now all you had to do was wait. You plopped down on your bed, grabbing a magazine from your nightstand. As you flipped through the glossy pages, your mind wasn’t really on the fashion trends or celebrity gossip. Instead, you were thinking about Billy. You had provoked him enough tonight—enough to push him over the edge.

The minutes ticked by each one dragging longer than the last. But finally, after an eternity, you heard your mother’s voice calling from downstairs.

“Honey, there’s a car outside!”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You followed your special routine as you always did—checking your reflection, touching up the fading shade of red on your lips, fluffing your hair. All of it before you even considered taking a step down to where your mother was curiously leering at the blue Camaro waiting for you outside through the barely open blinds. You told her goodbye, saying that a friend from school was picking you up and would bring you right back. Your mother had always trusted you—trusted you to hold your own, to be strong, to make mindful, good decisions. So, even as you stepped outside the house at that late hour, she didn’t say much, merely telling you to be careful. 

Outside, the night air was thick with the humidity of a summer’s night, the streetlights casting long shadows against the pavement. And there it was—a blue Camaro parked right outside her house.

Perfect.

You sauntered toward the car, hips swaying in that complacent way that you had mastered to the T, taking your sweet, sweet time. Billy was leaned back in the driver’s seat, one hand draped lazily over the steering wheel, the other bringing a cigarette to his lips. The tip of it flared a bright orange, his sharp jaw tightening as he took another drag. He didn’t look at you. Not at first. But you felt when he did.

You reached his door and leaned down, resting your arms against the open window, tilting your head. “Aww,” you teased, voice syrupy sweet and so terribly mocking you thought you saw his eye twitch. “You came all this way for little old me?”

Billy exhaled, the smoke curling in the air between you, drifting into the warm night air. And then—finally—his head turned, his gaze locking onto yours.

There wasn’t the anger in his eyes which you had been expecting. Instead, it was flat and unreadable but no less intense. It was the kind of look that could make a girl shrink. Wilt.

You, though, only tilted your head, unbothered, amused. “What? I don’t get a hello?”

His blue eyes burned, but he stayed silent, taking another few drags of his cigarette until he flicked it away. Then— “Get in the car.” No teasing. No taunting grin. Just those three words that knocked the wind out of your smirk. You weren’t exactly expecting that. You had mentally prepared for a fight. Banter. Something to toy with before you inevitably ended up in the car anyway. But the way he said it? Like there wasn’t another option? Like he had already decided? Your pulse skipped.

For a moment.

Then, you just grinned.

You straightened up, letting your fingers drag against the frame of the window as you moved, just slow enough to make your point. Then, wordlessly, you opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat, the scent of leather, cologne and cigarettes enveloping you immediately. It was the scent of him that you had gotten to know rather well in the past year.

You kicked your boots up onto the dash, shifting in your seat, turning to face him, knowing that at any other time, he would have gripped your legs and shoved them off the dash. Now, he did nothing. Nothing, except lighting another cigarette.

He still wasn’t looking at you. But his fingers? His fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, his jaw clenching so forcefully you feared for his teeth.

You bit your lip, smothering another smirk.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

You drove for a little while until the asphalt beneath Billy’s tires shifted to gravel and dirt as you headed down a familiar road, the car kicking up dust behind you. Within a few moments, the trees cleared, and you found yourself at the spot. Your spot. The little hidden oasis away from the rest of the world. The headlights cut through the darkness, reflecting off the still water of the lake. The only sound was the hum of the engine until Billy killed it, plunging you both into a deafening silence.

You didn’t speak right away and instead took to watching him. He was still gripping the steering wheel, his jaw still set, and he still didn’t look at you. Not yet, anyway.

When the silence stretched too long for your liking, you kicked your feet back down onto the ground, let out a dramatic sigh and opened the door before stepping into the cool night air. Even the nature seemed to have quieted in your presence, except for the occasional rustle of wind shifting the leaves. You heard Billy’s door shut behind you, the soft thuds of his footsteps as he approached.  

“So?” you asked, voice low and teasing.

Billy stood a few paces behind you, hands braced on his hips. He was silent for a moment, then let out a low, humorless chuckle. “You’re a real piece of work you know that?”

You’re one to talk. Rolling your eyes, you turned, a smirk dancing on your painted lips. “Took you this long to figure it out?”

His eyes flicked down your body, slow and deliberate, before snapping back to your face. He stepped forward, closing the distance. “You think you’re real funny, huh? Throwin’ yourself at fucking Harrington just to piss me off?”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Who said that was about you?”

Again, his jaw clenched, his blue orbs narrowing as the tension between you thickened—suffocatingly so. Without warning, he closed the gap between the two of you, standing so close you could feel his breath on your lips, taste it, taste him.

Whatever game you two had been playing, Billy had lost the second he had pulled up to your house. You knew it and he knew it too.

“You wanted me to come after you?” Billy growled, his voice deep and raw, his eyes blazing with heat. “To sit there and watch you shove your tongue down Harrington’s throat just to get a rise out of me?”

Your pulse spiked, but you held your ground and instead of giving in, you merely shrugged. “Looks like it worked.”

Billy laughed though it was devoid of even a speck of humor. “You think this is funny?”

Again, you shrugged, digging the tip of your boot into the dirt below, trying to act nonchalant even as your heart began hammering in your chest. “Shows me you care, doesn’t it?”

That was the breaking point.

Billy’s hands were suddenly on your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips crashed onto yours, angry, desperate, raw. There was nothing soft about it. It was a collision, no longer a game but a fight neither of you were willing to lose. You gasped as his hands wandered, digging into the flesh of your hips, but you kissed him back just as hard, your nails scraping down his back. It wasn’t gentle and definitely wasn’t sweet. It was heat and fire and all you had been craving for weeks.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathless, lips swollen and hearts pounding. Billy gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at him as his eyes searched yours, intense and raw. “You win, Cherry,” he muttered, voice thick. “Happy now?”

You stared at him, your lips still tingling from the kiss. There was a rush of adrenaline as his nose brushed yours, eyes latching onto yours only to find his pupils blown. A slow smile spread on your lips, your hand wandering from his back into his locks. You drew your brows together, giving him the best doe-eyes you managed. “We were playing a game?”

Billy’s hands returned to your waist, his grip tighter this time and his breath hot on your skin. He pulled you closer, his lips brushing over yours once more. It was different this time. There was no anger, no frustration. There was something else—something heavier and deeper and scarier.

“You think you’re so goddamn clever, don’t you?” Billy’s murmured, his voice low as his lips brushed against yours.

You met his glare, chin lifted and smirking as you hushed, “I know I am.”

Billy chuckled, shaking his head slightly as his hands tightened around you. “You drive me fucking insane, you know that, Cherry Baby?”

You didn’t flinch. You threw it back at him. “Good. Now you know how it feels.”

Billy snapped. His hands were in your hair, his lips crashing against yours with a ferocity that left no room for doubt. No teasing. Just need. You moaned, melting into him as his hands moved over your body, grabbing fistfuls of your curves with a satisfied hum. You kissed him back with everything you had, because now, now it wasn’t merely a game anymore. It was something else entirely.

Billy shoved you back against his car, a gasp flying from your mouth as the cool metal pressed into your back. Without hesitation, you let him lift you onto the hood of the car, your body arching into his. Billy popped open the fly of your pants with quick fingers, shimmying the material down your thighs before his hands returned to your body, sliding you forward until your core pressed up against his denim-clad thigh.

You breathed out a moan, head falling back as he moved your body against his, grinding you against his burly thigh, the muscle pressing sinfully against your clit. His lips fell to your neck, biting and sucking and teasing in a way that was purely and wholly and wickedly Billy Hargrove. One hand moved from your hips over your body, trailing the flesh of your breast before finding the cherry locks of your hair and pulling. His other hand slipped between your thighs, rough thumb finding your sensitive nub through the dampening fabric of your panties. You moaned, brows screwing together at the touch.

“That what you wanted, Cherry Baby?” He murmured against your throat, nibbling at the skin with a cocky smirk.

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip to keep from begging him to slip beneath the constricting fabric, instead you huffed a breath that wasn’t half as annoyed as you wished it to be. “Not even close.”

“No?” He questioned with a chuckle, clearly feeling your tensing legs around his hand as he thumbed at your clit.

You breathed through the moan threatening to give you away, shaking your head. “Can’t see what all the fuss is about.”

Before you could blink, his face was hovering in front of yours, a glint in his eyes that made the pit of your stomach tingle in an unfamiliar way. His blue orbs trailed your face, his finger drawing quick, tight circles on your panties, making your legs twitch in an attempt to keep them from instinctively shutting. Billy kissed you then, tongue slipping into your mouth, stealing whatever breath you had left.

When he pulled away, he was smirking. “Careful what you ask for, Cherry Baby.”

“Awfully full of yourself, aren’t you?” You breathed, hand pressing into the hood of his car beside you, looking for anything to take a hold of, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of you gripping him.

He hummed, grinning. “Just taking a page out of your book.” Before you had any chance to react, he ripped your panties down your legs with such force, he almost pulled you off the hood. “Lie back.”

You huffed. “Bossy, are we?”

His fingers were tangled in the back of your hair in the blink of an eye, pulling your head back to look up at him. “Let me make something clear to you, Cherry. You do as I say, or you can get those skimpy fucking panties back on and I’ll drive you home, you got that?” His eyes flitted over your expression, watching your face contort in what he could only explain as a mixture of seething anger and a fucking pout that let him know you were going to give in. “Now, you wanna finish this?” When you nodded, a sly smirk took over his face before he brought your face to his for another kiss. “Good,” he breathed after pulling away. “Then shut your mouth for once in your life and lie back, Cherry.” 

Huffing a little, you did as you were told, settling against the cool metal of the blue Camaro, the sting of the cold making you hiss in surprise. Billy was settled between your thighs, hitching them around his hips as he leaned in and pressed a kiss just above your bellybutton. You watched him as you trailed his lips up your body, nibbling and sucking on the skin as though he was the one savoring the feeling. His hands slid up along your bare side, teasing fingers dipping beneath the fabric of your top, your stomach clenching in anticipation. With one fluid movement, he slipped the fabric from your head, discarding it somewhere beside the car. You had half a mind to remind him that the ground was dirty and thus throwing your clothes down, was not okay—until he bit your nipple, that is.

You gasped, arching upward, feeling his teeth through the lacy material of your bra. With furrowed brows and an open mouth, your eyes flickered down only to find him already looking at you, grinning around your breast as though he knew exactly how he was making you feel. That bastard.

His hand slid underneath your back, urging you to lift upward just a little before he unclasped your bra blindly, pulling the pesky material away as though its mere existence was insulting him. You were left butt-naked in the middle of the woods—and you didn’t care one fucking bit, not when Billy was bringing his mouth back down, warm tongue licking and sucking your hardened buds back into his mouth.

You couldn’t help the little whine that tumbled from your lips, your eyes falling shut as he played with your body as if it belonged to him. Torturously and deliciously. Wet from his mouth, the gentle breeze made you gasp at the sudden sensation.

Billy slipped further down your body, hands melting down your curves, your thighs and the roundness of your ass, before he pulled you forward to the edge of the hood.

“Tell me, baby,” he hushed, dipping between your legs and placing a kiss to the dip of your thigh as his blue orbs found yours, “are you sweet like cherries?” Within seconds his arms wrapped around your thighs, eyes piercing yours as he tilted forward and brought his tongue to your center.

The suddenness of the warm and wet muscle made you gasp, legs tensing around his head. You didn’t know what you had been expecting—though whatever it was, it wasn’t this. When you thought of Billy with another girl, you thought of no foreplay at all, you thought of a selfish man, selfishly exploiting women’s bodies for his selfish pleasures. It was the same thing you had been doing to men for years before he had shown up in Hawkins.

Perhaps he was still being selfish even now, because with how desperately he moved against you, tongue slipping through your folds and groaning against you, he was more content than you would ever have thought him to be. Not that you were complaining.

He was tasting you like he needed to make up for all the times you had denied him. You moaned, hands diving into his hair, gripping his curls in a tight fist. There was a slight prickling sensation as you moved against him, the stubble of his mustache gliding over your skin.

Appearing as blissfully as you felt, he dipped his head down further, nestling his tongue inside as though he had made it his mission to lap you dry, to take everything you were ready to give. He drew his tongue from your hole to the very tip of your center, curling it around your clit before enclosing it with glistening lips and sucking. Moaning, you tried moving against him, trying to get more of what he was offering, but his burly hands held you locked tightly against the hood of his car, making any attempts at moving futile.

With his gaze locked onto yours in a pointed stare, that told you exactly he didn’t appreciate you trying to grind against him, he slipped one of his hands from your thigh, slipping two fingers into your snug walls. He was gentle at first, feeling around the plushness of your cunt before he slid in deeper and deeper, and you arched. He pressed forward with his fingers, massaging against the spot inside of you that had your teeth clamping down onto your lip.

Fuck.

For a mere second, he pulled away from you, breathing heavily, his eyes shimmering with something you couldn’t possibly put into words. He leaned over you, pressing a feathery kiss to your forehead, your cheek, your nose before brushing against your ear, hushing words so softly you almost didn’t grasp them, “I want to watch you cry for me.”

Gone was all gentleness as he latched his mouth back onto your clit, sucking and licking and enjoying each sound he managed to draw from you, relishing it, reveling in it. His fingers moved harder, more insistently. Faster, until he could feel your walls clenching and your legs tensing around him.

“Good girl,” he hummed, feeling your body throb for him before he reattached his mouth, smirking.

Your legs shook, clamping shut around his head as far as it was possible, as you lifted your back off the hood, trying to pull him impossibly closer, moaning with no care for who might hear. Orgasm subsiding with Billy working you through the waning zips of pleasure, you settled back against his Camaro, brows furrowing as the sensation of his lips was becoming far too sensitive.

“Billy,” you gasped, trying to close your legs but he merely wrapped his arms around your thighs and pushed them further apart—holding them open. “Billy, I came, stop,” you moaned, tugging at his hair, trying to get his attention but he continued to ignore you, lips and tongue coiled around your sensitive clit. Your legs trembled at the overstimulating sensation, a whimper ripping from your throat. “Billy! Stop, stop, stop! Fuck,” you whined, hips lifting off the metal, trying to get away from him, but his arms held you locked tightly against his mouth. You cried out, pushing at his head, your legs shaking as he continued.

Something white-hot snapped through you, your back aching, legs tensing as your body went rigid with another orgasm. You cried out, voice dying into a cacophony of whimpers. Your heart was hammering, legs weak and twitching with the aftershocks as Billy finally detached his lips from your center, wet and glistening. Squeezing your eyes shut, they burned with overwhelmed tears with how forcefully your orgasm had ripped through you.

A warm palm pulled you upward against a warm, solid body, caressing over your skin with a softness you hadn’t thought possible from someone like Billy. He held you close as your arms went around his neck, his hand running up and down your leg reassuringly as he encouraged you to calm down, continuing until your shivers subsided.

“Good?” He murmured into your hair, still stroking your thighs, your side, your back.

You hummed, your eyelids feeling terribly droopy as you rested your forehead against his shoulder. “That was—” You had never come so hard in your fucking life, “—good.”

“Yeah?” You could feel him smirking as he stroked the length of your back with a reassuring palm before he pressed a kiss against your neck. “Did so good for me.”

Before you had a chance to settle, his hands were pulling at your hips, lifting you away just far enough for him to undo his leather belt and zipper. Slowly his hand reached for yours, drawing your palm against the hardness within his briefs. His forehead grazed yours, noses slightly brushing as a grin adorned the sharp features of his face. “You always have me so hard, Cherry Baby,” he hummed, lips trailing down to our neck. “Every time I see you—” his longue lapped at the sensitive spot beneath your ear, his teeth soon following, “—smell you, taste you.” A sound you could only describe as resembling a growl reverberated in his throat. “You drive me insane, Cherry. But you know that, don’t you?” He nodded to himself, lips teasing yours. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you, Cherry Baby?” Billy tutted, one hand returning to your thighs, fingers finding the aching spots where he had gripped you earlier before digging back in, drawing a gasp from your lips. “You aren’t a good girl are you, Cherry. No, you’re fucking filthy.”

You felt it then, the hardness against your naked thighs as he guided himself against your sore pussy. The tip of his cock parted your lips, trailing from your seeping hole to your oversensitive button, making you flinch with a surprised squeal.

“Cherry Baby, you’re dripping for me,” Billy groaned, circling your clit once more, smirking slyly at the uncontainable tremble of your thighs he received in response. “Poor baby.” Amusement tinted his voice, cadence drawn and condescending. “It’s all achy, isn’t it? All for me. Could have made it all better so long ago if you hadn’t been such a bitch about it.”

Bitch. You drew back at that, frowning at his words but Billy remained smiling. Before you knew what you were doing, your hand had lifted, ready to strike him. His hands caught your wrist not a second later, and with one final tsk, he plunged his cock into you to the hilt. You moaned, nails digging into his shoulders at the sudden intrusion. There was a burn as the size of him stretched you, though the blissful tingle in the depth of your pussy, where his member grazed your walls had you holding onto him in pleasure.

“Say thank you, baby. I’m making the ache go away, aren’t I, honey?” Billy cooed as one of his burly arms wrapped around your hip, the other crossing your back to your shoulder, bringing you impossibly closer to him. “What did I tell you?”

When you remained silent, he pulled back and rutted back into you with one forceful thrust, making you cry out, your eyes squeezing shut. “Thank you, Billy.” The whine left your mouth pathetically, pleasure burning in your lower belly as Billy continued to rut into you so impossibly deep that you felt the effects of his thrust coursing through your legs to the tips of your toes.

“Fuck,” Billy cursed, pushing into you once again until the tip of his cock hit the deepest part of you. You gasped, the pleasure too much and too uncomfortable for you to stay still. “Have been wanting that pretty pussy wrapped around me since the first time I saw you.” The steady rolls of his hips turned desperate as he rutted forward harsher, pulling you to him tighter, his head dropping into the crook of your neck. You cried out as his teeth sunk into your neck, his thrust loud and filthy in the night air as your body rocked with every single one. He shifted one of his arms, his hand creeping between your bodies before his thumb landed on your sore clit.

“No,” you protested weakly, your hand clutching his wrist as he drew quick circles on your pulsing nerves. “Billy—’s too much, hurts.”

“Shh,” he hushed, hand staying between your legs even as you strained to push him off. “Shh, baby, ‘s gonna feel so good,” he murmured, pinching your clit once before resuming his quick little circles, that had you trying to close your legs, trying to force him away. There was a burning in the pit of your stomach, low and hot and so fucking overwhelming that tears were once more gathering on your lashes. “There we go,” Billy cooed, fingers continuing their strokes as your legs drew up further, thighs shaking. It happened within a second—the burning sensation spread through your body, tingles coursing throughout every limb as your orgasm snapped through you. “There we go, honey, fuck—” His hips stuttered as you clenched around him, eyes shut tightly as he drew out your orgasm with every rut of his hips. Billy drew back, slipping out of you as his hand, stained with your wetness, wrapped around his cock, finishing himself off with quick jerks of his hand. A deep groan sounded in the back of his throat as white ropes of cum squirted from his tip, his member twitching satisfied within his grasp.

Still partially hard, Billy stepped back up to you, eyes glued to the glistening mess he had made between your thighs. As if transfixed by the sight, his hand crept forward as he let his pointer run through your folds. He bumped against your swollen bundle of nerves, causing you to twitch away from his. Billy grinned down at you at that, doing it again just out of sheer amusement, earning a whine from you as you shoved at his hand. “No—"

“Ask me nicely, Cherry Baby.”

“Please,” you breathed out, shaking your head. “Please, I can’t—”

Billy shushed you, arms wrapping around your frame before you were pressed up against him. His lips found yours, not tame or nice but wild and messy and possessive. His tongue slid into your mouth, free hand falling to your chin as he held you in place for his pleasure, his taking.

“Let’s get you dressed again, huh, honey?”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You sat in the passenger seat, wrapped in Billy’s jean jacket, your legs pulled up onto the light faux leather. The windows were getting foggier with every moment spent sitting beside each other in silence. Neither of you had spoken a word after getting re-dressed and slipping out of the cold air back into the Camaro. Billy lit a cigarette, the tip flaring in an orange glow as he brought it between his lips. He didn’t look at you, eyes trained to his left and he looked so casual, so careless as though he hadn’t just spent the last hour giving you the best orgasm of your life. It vexed you somehow, how comfortable he was—and you couldn’t help the thought that crept up in the back of your mind, that all of his ease was because he had finally gotten what he wanted. No need to make an effort now that he had had you.

You leaned your head back against the window, watching him from the corner of your eye as the silence stretched on between you. Your teeth clenched, nails picking at skin on your cuticles as your heart stuttered at the thought of having been used by him.

“So,” you spoke up finally, voice far too casual for what you were actually feeling, “that’s it then?”

Billy glanced at you, one brow raised. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrugged, but your stomach was twisting. “I mean, I guess that’s what you wanted, right? Another notch. Congrats.”

He blinked, then scoffed, shaking his head. “Are you seriously starting a fight right now?”

“I’m just saying,” you snapped, defensive anger curling through your words, “I’ve seen the way you go through girls, Billy. It’s like a revolving door. So excuse me if I’m not exactly booking a date for round two.”

His jaw tightened, cigarette clenched between his fingers. He turned to you fully now, irritation flickering across his face, but something else too—something softer beneath the usual fire. “You really think I’d chase your ass all over Hawkins just to fuck you once and dip?”

You crossed your arms, heart pounding. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone did.”

Billy exhaled sharply, flicking ash out the window. Then, finally, he looked at you. Really looked at you. And his voice, when it came, was low and rough but uncharacteristically steady. “You were never a game to me, Cherry.” Your chest tightened. “I mean it,” he continued, softer now, like it hurt to admit. “You were always... I don’t know. Untouchable. And yeah, maybe I was pissed you kept pretending not to like me. Like I wasn’t an option.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “But I like you. Always have.”

“I’m scared,” you muttered, the words falling out before you could stop them. You stared at your hands, picking at the fraying edge of Billy’s jacket. “I’ve never done anything like this before. Not the sex—I’ve done that. But this… whatever this is.”

Billy was quiet for a moment, then murmured, “Yeah, me neither.”

That made you laugh—quiet, humorless. “We’re a mess.”

He smirked. “No shit.”

You glanced sideways at him. “I don’t want a relationship.”

“Didn’t say you had to have one.”

“I’m just saying, I’m not good at all that couple crap.”

Billy nodded slowly. “Never thought about it much.”

You paused. “We could keep fucking though.”

His head turned to you so fast it was almost comical. “Exclusively,” he said without missing a beat, voice sharp.

You raised your brows. “Jealous much?” He didn’t deny it, just looked at you, eyes dark and serious. You smirked. “Fine. Exclusively. But I want you to take me out, too.”

Billy narrowed his eyes. “That sounds like a date.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not,” you said, playful glint in your eye. “It’s... exclusively fucking, with occasional food.”

His lip curled into a grin. “You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

You leaned your head back again, a smile tugging at your lips. “Takes one to know one, Hargrove.”

By the time he climbed the back wall of a half-collapsed riad and collapsed onto the tiled rooftop, the sky had turned gold. He bit into the fig, sweet and overripe, and let the juice run down his chin.

Below, the city pulsed. Blue doors, stray cats, distant call to prayer. A woman’s laughter from an open window. Laundry snapping in the wind.

He loved this place. It was cruel, yes. Hungry. But it was his.

He leaned back, golden-brown eyes flicking upward toward the first stars emerging in the indigo sky. The city’s noise became a hum, and for a moment, he felt almost like a king.

And elsewhere, behind tall palace walls, she watched the city from her window, veiled and silent.

Below her, chaos, life, fire. A city she was not allowed to touch. A city that belonged to her only in name.

They called her princess, l’amira, daughter of the land, of bloodlines older than the red earth itself. She had her mother’s cheekbones, her father’s eyes. But her soul? That was her own.

She pressed a hand to the cold lattice, eyes following a small boy climbing a wall far in the distance. Free. Barefoot. Laughing.

She envied him.

Her maid’s voice broke the silence.

“L’amira, your father, he says there’s a suitor. Another one.”

Another one. Another man with polished words and ancient rings, sent to ask for a piece of her like she was a jewel in the souk.

She didn’t answer. Only watched the horizon, where the rooftops met the sky. Somewhere beyond it, the stars were starting to blink awake.

She wished one would fall.

The palace walls were smooth sandstone, gold-dusted and cruel.

They caught the sun at every hour, gleaming like something divine, but she knew better. Inside them, everything was hushed and heavy. Voices behind curtains, steps softened on marble. Nothing real ever made it past the gates.

She sat now on a silken cushion, spine straight, wrists wrapped in gauze-thin silk, and tried not to scream.

Across from her, the suitor spoke in a voice as smooth as almond oil, his words polished to a shine. He was a noble from Constantine,  or maybe Tlemcen, she couldn’t remember, and he wore his robes like armor. Perfect posture. Perfect manners. Perfect boredom.

He was talking about the scent of jasmine in his summer home.

She nodded politely.

Her tea had gone cold.

Behind him, just past the carved archway that opened onto the courtyard, the muezzin’s call rose into the air, haunting, beautiful. The day was sinking into twilight, and the world outside was moving.

She turned her head slightly, not enough to be scolded, and looked past him.

The gates beyond the garden had been opened for the breeze, and through them, beyond the veil of palm leaves, she saw the street.

Children ran barefoot toward the mosque, drawn by the call to prayer. She saw a boy with wild black curls tugging his younger sister along, both of them laughing, racing the call. Their djellabas fluttered behind them like wings. One of the guards smiled as they passed.

A knot tightened in her throat.

That life, so ordinary, so loud, so free, would never be hers. She had never run in the street. She had never laughed outside the palace walls. She had never once stood beside strangers and bowed her head in prayer as an equal. Even her worship was private, sterile, behind curtains and gold incense burners.

She looked back at the prince.

He had stopped speaking.

He was watching her with a soft frown, like he’d seen something he wasn’t meant to. “Forgive me,” he said gently, setting his cup down. “I don’t think I interest you.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. There was no real way to explain it.

“You’re not unkind,” she managed, at last. “You’re just not real.”

He blinked. “Not real?”

She offered the smallest of smiles. “Not enough.”

That night, she couldn’t sleep.

She shed her jewels. Let her hair fall unbound down her back. The moonlight caught the copper strands threaded through it, a family trait, they said. Her birthright. Her burden.

The palace was quiet. Too quiet. Like a tomb that smelled of oud and rosewater.

She walked barefoot through the colonnade, cool tile beneath her feet, heart fluttering like a trapped swallow in her chest.

From her window, the city glowed, a thousand flickering oil lamps, rooftops like mosaic pieces laid out for the stars.

She didn’t know exactly where the thought came from. Only that it arrived fully formed.

She was leaving.

Not tomorrow. Not with guards. Not with permission.

Tonight.

She turned from the window and began to move, silent, deliberate, pulling on a plain linen tunic left behind by one of the maids, wrapping her hair in a faded scarf. She looked nothing like a princess now. And maybe for once, that was the point.

Her pulse sang.

Outside, the world waited. Wild, sharp-edged, and beautiful.

And the palace slept.

She moved like a shadow past the guards, heart hammering in her ribs, the scarf around her head slipping ever so slightly in the breeze. No one looked at her twice, not like this. Not dressed in rough linen, no kohl on her eyes, no scent of amber trailing her steps.

For the first time in her life, she was invisible.

And it thrilled her.

Once beyond the palace gates, the city opened up like a book she’d never been allowed to read.

The air at night was cooler, threaded with the scent of charcoal smoke and distant mint tea. Lanterns swung gently from the iron hooks above doorways, casting dappled patterns across cobbled streets. Stray cats watched her from rooftops. Someone played a flute off-key in the dark. The call to Isha’a had passed, but the buzz of night lingered.

She wandered deeper into the medina, past shuttered stalls and old men playing dominoes beneath a flickering bulb. Nobody recognised her. Nobody bowed. No one whispered l’amira like a ghost.

She felt giddy. Lightheaded with it. Free.

She didn’t even notice the man at first.

He’d been sitting on a step, smoking. When she passed, he straightened. Followed.

It wasn’t until the footsteps quickened behind her that her stomach turned.

She kept walking. Turned into a narrower street.

Too narrow.

She should have gone back. She should have kept to the open, where there were people. But her legs moved faster than her thoughts. And then he was there, in front of her now, as if he’d appeared from the shadows themselves.

He was older. Unshaven. Smelt like cheap wine and sweat. A smirk played at his lips as he stepped into her path.

“Labas ‘lik, zine?” What’s a pretty girl like you doing out alone at this hour?

She tried to step aside, but he mirrored her.

“I don’t— I don’t want trouble.”

“Oh, I’m not trouble,” he said, teeth flashing. “Not unless you make me be.”

He reached for her wrist. She pulled back, fast, panic blooming in her throat. Her breath caught.

And then—

A low growl sliced through the quiet.

The man froze.

From the darkness of the alley, a shape emerged, all silhouette and shadow. First the dog: big, bone-coloured, eyes sharp like molten gold. Then the boy. Barefoot. Loose shirt open at the throat, curls wild, a crooked grin stitched across his face like sin.

He took one look at the man and smiled, slow and lazy.

“Khoya,” Brother he said, voice like honey over blades. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to talk to girls who don’t want to talk to you?”

The man sneered. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Isack tilted his head. “Lah ybarek, I think it does.” God Bless

He clicked his tongue once.

The dog lunged.

The man screamed, stumbling back, barely dodging a snap of teeth. “Wah! Get it off—!”

Isack gave a soft whistle. The dog stopped, but only just. Still growling, still close enough to bite.

“Mazal barki,” Too early, Isack said calmly. “He’s just playing. If he were serious, you’d already be on the floor.”

The man spat on the ground. “You’ll regret this.”

Isack took a single step forward. The dog took two.

The man ran.

Silence settled in the alley.

Isack looked at her then, but really looked. His eyes softened slightly, but his smile stayed wicked.

“Bit far from the palace, aren’t you?” he said, almost teasing.

She blinked. “How—?”

He tapped the side of his nose. “You lot smell different. Like roses and gold coins.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended.

Isack held out a hand.

“Come on, l’amira. You’re not going to last ten minutes out here without someone like me.”

She hesitated. Looked at the dog, then back at him.

Then she took his hand.

And just like that, the world tilted on its axis.

They walked side by side through the sleeping veins of the city, the dog padding ahead of them like a quiet sentinel. The lanterns were dimmer now, the night heavy with spice and dust, and still, the thrill hadn’t left her chest.

She kept glancing sideways at him, the boy who'd appeared from the shadows like a spirit, all cocky swagger and barefoot confidence. He didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t care.

Eventually, she spoke.

“Where are you taking me?”

Isack gave a half-shrug, as if that question had no weight.

“I’m assuming you wanted to live a real life. Not many other reasons a girl like you leaves a palace in the middle of the night.” He turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “Unless you’re sneaking out to see a lover. That would be scandalous.”

She scowled. “No.”

“Shame.” He grinned. “Would’ve made a good story.”

She stopped walking. “You think this is a joke?”

His grin faltered, not completely, just softened at the edges. “No,” he said, more quietly. “I think it’s a risk. And risks are either foolish or brave.”

They walked in silence after that, her arms folded tightly over her chest, his hands buried in his pockets. The city around them seemed to pulse with a life she’d never noticed before, an old women leaning out of windows to gossip, a boy chasing a chicken down a lane, the rustle of music from a distant courtyard.

At last, they turned into a narrow side street, its end lit by a single flickering bulb above a door.

“Come on,” he said, pushing it open. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had this man’s mint tea.”

The teahouse was small and dimly lit, smelling of cardamom, smoke, and dried orange peel. Rugs layered the floor, and the low wooden tables were uneven. There were no other customers, just an old man behind the counter with a wiry beard and thick glasses, hunched over a chessboard.

He looked up when he saw Isack and groaned.

“Ya weledi, not you again. I’m not running a charity.”

He sighed.

Isack held up a hand, grinning. “Sidi Ahmed, Allah ybarek fik w fi shay bik.” Sidi Ahmed, may God bless you and your tea.

“Rahmt Allah fi sabrek, mashi fiya.” God’s mercy is in His patience, not mine.

He eyed Isack’s companion. “At least this time you bring someone polite.”

Isack gave her a look. “Don’t let the scarf fool you.”

She sat carefully on a cushion by the wall, her spine still too straight, her eyes absorbing everything. The chipped glasses, the way the steam curled from the kettle, the way Ahmed measured sugar like it was gold dust.

He poured two small glasses and set them down with a grumble. “Pay this time, Isack. I’m not running a zawiya.”

Isack patted his pocket, dramatically empty. “We’ve talked about this.”

The old man turned away, muttering, “Sh-shabab li mabghawsh ykhadmou.” The youth who don’t want to work.

She looked between them, and without thinking, slipped one of her bangles off her wrist. It was thin gold, etched with delicate Berber script, a gift from her grandmother.

She stood and offered it gently across the counter. “Please,” she said. “Let this cover both.”

Before Ahmed could take it, Isack’s hand came down over hers.

“La,” he said under his breath. No. “Khalih.” Leave it.

She stared at him. “Why not?”

He leaned closer, voice soft. “You don’t trade gold for tea. Not here. Not tonight.”

Then he turned, all charm again, flashing a grin at the old man. “Tell you what, you still need that window patched? I’ll come tomorrow. Ghadwa, inshallah.” Tomorrow, God willing.

Ahmed narrowed his eyes. “You said that three bukras ago.”

“And now I have an audience to impress. I’ll even sweep the floor, if that helps.”

The old man gave a long sigh, more theatre than protest, and waved them off.

“Yallah, sit before I change my mind.” Come on.

Back at the table, Isack slid her glass toward her. The tea was hot, sweet, filled with bruised mint.

She took a sip.

It was rich and strange and entirely perfect.

“You were going to pay,” he said, watching her. “With something real.”

“I was trying to help.”

“You’re not here to help,” he said, without cruelty. “You’re here to learn.”

She set the glass down carefully. “What makes you think you have anything to teach me?”

Isack’s grin didn’t falter. “Oh, l’amira, I’ve got a whole city to teach you.”

And across from him, for the first time since leaving the palace, she smiled without hesitation.

The tea had cooled by the time their conversation found stillness again.

Outside, the street hummed with distant laughter and the thud of footsteps against stone. But inside the teahouse, everything felt quieter, as though the night had folded itself around the two of them and held its breath.

She sat with her knees drawn in, hands wrapped around the chipped glass. Across from her, Isack leaned back against the cushion, head tipped slightly to the side as he watched her. Not in the way men usually did, not with hunger or calculation, but with curiosity, like she was something rare he hadn’t quite made sense of yet.

“So,” he said, gently, “what were you planning to do?”

She blinked at him.

“What?”

“Out there,” he nodded toward the door. “On your own. No guards, no money, just what? Wander through the city until you found a better life?”

She looked down at the rug beneath them, at the intricate threads that felt far more grounded than she did.

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

He gave a soft laugh, not mocking, more surprised than anything.

“You really didn’t have a plan?”

She shook her head. “Only that I couldn’t stay there. That I needed out.”

There was a silence then. Not awkward, thoughtful.

He took another sip of tea and set the glass aside, speaking without looking at her.

“I don’t usually do this. Take people in.”

She turned her head, slightly wary. “Take people in?”

“To where I stay,” he said. “It’s not much. But it’s safe.”

She blinked, startled. “You’re offering?”

He nodded. “For tonight. You can leave in the morning if you want. But the streets, they change after midnight. Not even your silk cloak will keep you safe then.”

She hesitated, lips parting, but no protest came. Just a quiet breath of surrender.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I mean it.”

He looked at her then, really looked. No teasing, no smirk, just something careful in his eyes. A flicker of understanding.

“Come on then, l’amira.”

“Still calling me that?”

“Until you tell me different,” he said over his shoulder. “Or until you learn to walk like someone who doesn’t own the world.”

She rose, following him out into the night, her footsteps softer now.

She had no idea where he was taking her. And for the first time in her life she didn’t mind.

They weaved through the medina like shadows, the narrow alleys stitched with silence and stars. The dog trotted ahead confidently, tail swishing, as if it knew the way by heart.

Eventually, Isack stopped beside a faded wooden door nestled between two closed shops. An old fig tree leaned over it, casting broken leaves across the stoop.

“Here?” she asked, surprised.

He didn’t answer straight away, just offered a hand and gestured upwards. “Not quite.”

He led her down a short passage, then up a creaking set of exterior stairs. They climbed to a flat rooftop covered in laundry lines and rusted water drums, then over a low wall onto another roof just below.

The dog leapt across first, landing clumsily with a thump before padding toward a slanted wooden hatch tucked beneath the shade of some old cloth draped like a makeshift canopy.

“Mind your step,” Isack said, and helped her across with an easy grip. His hands were calloused but warm.

She landed lightly beside him, breath caught more by the moment than the leap.

It was a small space, little more than a cove made from old beams and patched fabric. But inside, it was gently lived in. Worn futons lined the edges. There was a low crate filled with books, a chipped mirror hung on the far wall, and a faint scent of sandalwood lingered in the air.

The dog circled twice before flopping onto a blanket with a sigh.

“This is…” she began, then hesitated. “It’s lovely.”

Isack shrugged, already crouching beside the hatch. “It does the job.”

Before she could respond, he swung himself halfway back down through the opening and called softly, “Hadja kayna waḥda mikhadda?” Hadja, do you have a pillow?

A voice snapped back immediately from the flat below.

“A pillow, Isack? At this hour? Wallah, you treat me like a hotel!”

“Just one,” he laughed. “For a guest.”

There was a short pause. Then the shuffle of slippers, the thud of a cupboard.

A plump hand emerged through the gap, clutching a well-worn cushion. “Here, waldi, take it, and no more surprises tonight, tfaddal.”

“N’barek fik, Hadja.” Bless you, Hadja.

He climbed back in with the pillow in hand, a bit of thread clinging to his hair.

She had been watching the exchange silently, eyes wide in quiet mesmerisation.

“She called you waldi,” she said.

He smiled as he tossed the pillow onto one of the futons. “She’s not my mother. But she pretends she is.”

“She gave it to you anyway.”

“She always does. Even when she’s cross.”

He gestured for her to sit, then settled across from her on the floor, back resting against the far wall.

“She took me in when I was ten. Found me trying to steal her olives.” He smirked. “Didn’t succeed, by the way. She hit me with a broom and then fed me loubia anyway.”

She laughed, properly this time, not the polite laughter of courts and expectations, but something warm and unguarded.

He watched her. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Good,” she said. “Neither are you.”

They talked until the city slept.

Not just quiet, but truly asleep, the kind of stillness that only arrived deep in the night, when even the stray cats gave up their prowling, and the moon hung low like a watchful eye over the rooftops.

Isack had lit a stub of a candle from a jar tucked in the corner. It flickered beside them, casting shifting shapes across the patched fabric walls.

He told her about growing up with his back against the stone, the days when food came from the hands of strangers or not at all, how Hadja would scold him and feed him in the same breath. He spoke of the souks, the rooftops, the ocean he’d only seen twice, and how sometimes, when the wind came in strong from the coast, he could still taste the salt on the air.

She told him little things. That her mother had died young. That she was educated, but not free. That there was always someone watching, waiting, measuring her every word, her every breath. That she didn’t know what to do with freedom now that she’d found it, or something like it.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Leaving the palace tonight?”

He nodded.

She looked out through the fabric flap where the stars peeked in, and shook her head.

“No. I regret waiting this long.”

He didn’t say anything to that. Just offered her a second cushion, and a smile that didn’t need explaining.

Eventually, her eyelids began to lower. The weight of the day, the years, pulling gently at her bones.

“You should sleep,” he said.

“I don’t want to take your bed.”

“You’re not.” He motioned to the futon. “That one’s for guests.”

She arched a brow. “How many guests do you usually have?”

He grinned. “None.”

He laid out a folded blanket, then pulled the cushion from the futon before she could object. Dropped it to the floor and settled beside the wall, arms folded behind his head, long legs crossed at the ankles.

“Isack—”

“Let me,” he said simply, eyes closed now.

She hesitated, but something in his tone made it impossible to argue.

So she lay down, curling onto the futon, fingers brushing the edge of the thin mattress. The dog gave a soft snore from the corner. The candle had gone out, leaving only moonlight, the kind that made everything look a little silver, a little softer.

She stared at the ceiling, expecting her mind to race the way it always did, with lists, and rules, and voices, and what-ifs.

But it didn’t.

For the first time in her life, there was no marble floor beneath her. No silk sheets. No guards. No walls.

Just the scent of sandalwood, and mint tea, and something faintly like hope.

And sleep, when it came, came gently, and held her like it meant to keep her.

She woke to the sound of the adhan, the call to fajr, curling through the air like the voice of the city itself.

It came from somewhere distant but clear, high and smooth and mournful in the way only the earliest hours could carry. The dog shifted but didn’t rise, only thumped its tail gently once and settled again.

She blinked, still tucked into the futon, a thin sheet drawn up around her shoulders. The world around her was a shade of soft blue, the sky just beginning to brighten in the east. It cast everything in hush,the worn crates, the fluttering fabric, the half-drunk tea still resting in its glass.

Isack was still asleep, curled slightly on his side on the floor, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting loosely against his chest. In the half-light, he looked younger or perhaps just less guarded. A small furrow sat between his brows even in sleep, like he’d never quite let go of watchfulness.

She sat up slowly, the futon sighing beneath her.

The call continued, echoing from minaret to minaret across the rooftops. As-salatu khayrun minan-nawm… Prayer is better than sleep.

She knew she had to go.

There was no panic. No urgency. Only a quiet knowing. If she stayed longer, if she let herself fall even a step deeper into this stolen freedom, she wouldn’t return at all. And the world, her world, wasn’t ready for that.

She slipped her feet into her shoes, the silence stretching around her like a shawl.

The dog opened one eye but didn’t move, watching her with the calm understanding of someone who knew better than to bark at goodbyes.

She glanced over at Isack once more.

Then, with a breath, she reached for her wrist.

She slid off two of her bangles, the thinner ones, delicate, etched in the filigree of her mother’s people, and set them quietly on the edge of the futon where she’d slept.

Not payment.

A mark. A memory. A thank you.

She didn’t write a note. He would understand.

Then she pulled the scarf tighter around her face and stepped out into the early light, down through the hatch and over the rooftop. The air was cool and clean, the streets below still drowsy, not yet stirring with market cries or children’s footsteps.

The city hadn’t woken, but she had.

And by the time the sun had fully lifted above the rooftops of Algiers, she was already crossing back through the hidden door in the palace wall, the scent of mint and dust and candle smoke still clinging to her clothes.

Isack woke to the faint chill of dawn slipping through the cracks in the wooden hatch. The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and mint, the scent she’d left behind.

He blinked, stretched his hand out instinctively and found the futon beside him empty.

His heart sank a little, slow and steady like the weight of knowing.

She was gone.

On the edge of the futon, catching the soft morning light, were two thin bangles, delicate and filigreed, the ones she had worn when she arrived.

He picked them up carefully, rolling them between his fingers, feeling the cool metal and the slight dents that told stories of a life far from his own.

A soft sigh escaped him. “Mashi moshkil.” It’s okay

He understood. She had her world to return to.

He slipped on the bangles and let his shirt cover the gold from the sunlight.

Downstairs, the old wooden door creaked open and the smell of strong tea and cooking filled the air.

“Sbāḥ l-khīr, Hadja.” Good morning, Hadja

“Sbāḥ l-nūr, waldi. Katḥess b’raḥtek lyom?” Good morning, my boy. Feeling alright today?

He grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Kān bghī nsaʿdek shwiya f’dar.” I wanted to help you around the house a bit.

Hadja smiled, hands busy folding fresh flatbread. “Daima mzyan, waldi. Ma tkhafsh, ghadi nkhdem mʿak.” Always good, my boy. Don’t worry, I’ll work with you.

As he handed her a kettle, she caught sight of the bangles peeking from beneath his sleeve.

“Shno had lḥwayej?” What are these things?

He hesitated, then showed them to her.

“Tqdr tsawb bihom flus bzzaf,” You could make a lot of money with these she murmured, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. 

Isack shook his head, a faint smile tugging his lips.

“Hadi, mashī ghir ljawhra.” They’re more than just jewellery.

He grabbed a length of string from the counter and carefully threaded the bangles onto it, pulling the makeshift necklace over his head.

Hadja watched, then chuckled softly.

“Mashi mzyan, waldi. La tkoun ḥmar w mat'ttīsh rasek.” Not smart, my boy. Don’t be stupid and don’t get caught.

He grinned wider, a spark in his golden-brown eyes.

“Ana mabghītsh nshouf hadchi,” I never get caught, Hadja he said, voice low and certain.

She shook her head, but there was no real scolding in her voice, just the warmth of someone who’d seen too much but still hoped.

He tucked the string beneath his shirt and turned back to the rising sun outside.

His thoughts drifted, to the girl who had left the bangles, to the quiet promise of a night that had felt, somehow, like home.

By mid-morning, the streets were wide awake, sun burning the rooftops, voices rising from alleyways, children darting between market stalls like fish in water.

Isack moved through it all like he belonged there, because he did. The city knew him, and he knew it back. The dog loped along beside him, tongue out, tail wagging every time someone threw them a passing “salam” or scrap of bread.

He reached Sidi Ahmed’s place just as the old man was dragging out a broken wooden cart wheel, grumbling under his breath.

“Sbāḥ l-khīr, Sidi,” Good morning, Sidi. Isack called, crouching beside the wheel.

The old man grunted. “Mzyan jeeti. Rah kayna chghol bzzaf.” Good you came. There’s a lot of work.

Isack smiled and set to it, sleeves rolled, sweat already gathering at the back of his neck. The wheel was splintered, but nothing beyond saving, a couple of new dowels, some sanding, a bit of patience.

Sidi Ahmed’s son, Youssef, lingered nearby, watching with a lazy sort of interest, chewing on a stem of wild mint.

“Chouf,” Isack said after a while, glancing over at him, “tqder tsaʿdni f waḥed lsu2al?” Can you help me with something?

Youssef raised a brow. “Dirti chi musiba khra?” Have you done something stupid again?

“La, la, had mara....” No, no, this time…

Youssef understood the unspoken words and spat out the stem. “Go on.”

Isack wiped his brow with his sleeve and leaned back slightly against the wall, gaze fixed on the wheel but mind clearly elsewhere.

“Say you meet someone,” he began, slow. “Someone who’s not from your world. Proper different. But you get on, like, really get on. And then they vanish.”

Youssef squinted at him. “She run off with your shoes?”

Isack huffed a quiet laugh. “Not quite. Just left. No goodbye. But left something behind.”

Youssef’s face softened slightly, as if he’d caught the edge of what Isack wasn’t saying.

“What did she leave?”

Isack hesitated, then tugged the string out slightly from beneath his shirt, just enough to let the bangles glint in the sunlight.

Youssef whistled under his breath.

“Hadchi mn lkasr?” This from the palace?

“Ma-gult walou.” Isack shrugged. I didn’t say anything

Youssef leaned in slightly. “You want advice?”

He nodded.

“Nsuḥk. Khalli l’aql qbl lqlb.” My advice. Keep your head before your heart.

Isack looked down at the bangles, his thumb tracing the edge.

“W ila ma bghītsh ndīr haka?” And what if I don’t want to do that?

Youssef laughed. “Then may God help you, Isack. Because no one else will.”

They both chuckled, the tension breaking for a moment.

Isack stood, stretching, wiping dust from his palms. “Come on then, help me lift this wheel. Unless you just came to offer useless wisdom.”

Youssef grinned and bent down beside him. “Ana daba fassḥab raḥna f chi hikayat dyal Alf Layla w Layla.” I feel like we’re in some story out of One Thousand and One Nights.

Isack didn’t reply straight away, just smiled faintly, eyes catching the sunlight, the bangles warm against his chest.

The palace was quiet in the way that only vast, marbled halls could be, a kind of elegant, echoing silence that never let you forget how alone you really were.

She sat in the morning sunroom, half-curled on one of the velvet chaise lounges, fingers absently twisting the end of her braid. A tray of untouched figs and almonds lay on the table beside her, along with a fresh pot of tea that had already grown cold.

Her father entered without knocking, as he always did. The sharp scent of musk and cedar preceded him, the trailing end of his white robe brushing softly against the mosaic tiles.

“You’re off,” he said without greeting, eyes narrowing as he took her in, from the slight slump in her shoulders to the vague shadows under her eyes.

She didn’t look up. “I didn’t sleep well.”

“Clearly.” He stepped closer. “What kept you up?”

She shrugged, keeping her tone light. “The usual. Thoughts. Expectations. Century-old ceilings.”

“Don’t get clever.”

That earned him a glance. “Don’t ask stupid questions, then.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, brief, but visible. He came to stand beside her, hands clasped neatly behind his back.

“You never speak to me like that.”

“I suppose I’m tired of speaking like I’m being examined.”

He studied her for a long moment. “You used to confide in me.”

“When I was ten, and thought you ruled the sun,” she muttered.

There was a pause. He let it hang in the air just long enough to shift the mood.

Then, with the same cold precision she knew too well, he dropped a rolled scroll onto the table beside the figs.

“What’s this?” she asked, already knowing.

“A list.”

“Of?”

“Potential suitors. From respectable bloodlines. Royal, military, or diplomatic, no lesser. And no more poets.”

She stared at the scroll. Didn’t touch it.

“You’re serious.”

“Entirely.”

“And if I don’t?” Her voice was tight now, clipped at the edges.

“If you don’t choose one by July,” he said calmly, “then we’ll have an issue.”

She stood suddenly, pushing the chair back with more force than she meant to. “An issue.”

“Yes.”

“Like a diplomatic incident, or just another daughter buried in silk and obedience?”

His jaw tightened. “Watch your tongue.”

She met his gaze, hers unflinching, gold-flecked and defiant. “Or what?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His silence was a wall, and she’d lived behind it all her life.

He gestured to the scroll.

“Make a decision. You’re not a child anymore.”

Then he turned, and just like that, he was gone, the sound of his footsteps swallowed by the hush of a palace built more for power than people.

She sat slowly, eyes still fixed on the scroll. Somewhere far beyond the stone walls and manicured gardens, the city lived and breathed without her.

She reached for a fig. Bit into it absentmindedly.

It tasted like nothing.

She let it roll on her tongue, slowly chewing, but it crumbled like ash. Sweet and hollow. Like the walls of this palace. Like her life.

With a quiet breath, she set the fruit back onto the tray and rose, silk skirts whispering against the marble as she slipped through the archway and into the palace gardens.

The air outside was cooler, fragrant with orange blossom and rosemary, soft earth beneath the soles of her slippers. Here, the palace forgot itself. Here, at least, the stone gave way to soil, and life.

She walked past the cypress trees, fingers grazing their rough trunks, until she reached the familiar little corner where the rose bushes curled like old memories around a simple stone marker.

Her mother’s grave.

The marble was smooth, the engraved words worn by years of wind and rain.

She knelt, brushing away a few stray petals from the base, and folded her hands in her lap.

“Salam, Mama,” Peace (Hello), Mama she murmured softly. 

The wind stirred the roses gently, as if in answer.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” she whispered, voice barely carrying. “I don’t know what I want or who I am supposed to be.”

Her fingers tightened in the folds of her gown.

“I met someone,” she went on, casting her eyes down. “A boy. A boy with dirt beneath his nails and laughter in his eyes. With his feet on the ground and his heart open. Full. More than he has. More than he can give.”

She closed her eyes.

“Bzaf ʿlih... bzzaf ʿlia.” Too much for him... too much for me

She exhaled, slow and long.

“I wanted to be free, Mama. I wanted to run and see and breathe. But now I’ve tasted it, I don’t know if I can go back. I don’t know if I can fit in this life any longer.”

Footsteps crunched lightly on the gravel behind her. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Lalla,” Little girl, came the familiar soft voice, her mother’s old maid, gentle and lined with age. “You sit here like your mother did. All these years, nothing changes.”

She felt the old woman settle beside her with a quiet sigh.

“What would you do?” she asked softly. “You knew my mother better than she knew herself. What would you tell her, if she stood where I am now?”

The maid smiled faintly, folding her wrinkled hands in her lap.

“Tāmen b’Allah... w tmshi b’qlbek. Huwa li ghadi yurik triq.” Believe in Allah... and follow your heart. He will show you the way

The girl swallowed, throat tight. “And if my heart leads me away from here?”

The old woman touched her hand, warm and steady.

“Then you were never meant to stay, bnti.” my daughter

For a long moment, they sat in the quiet, the scent of roses thick in the air, the world turning softly beyond the palace walls.

Later that night, she sat alone on the terrace, the one on the farthest wing of the palace, furthest from her father’s private quarters and the endless eyes of the guards.

The marble beneath her legs was cool, her bare feet curling against the stone edge as the evening wind lifted strands of her hair. Above her, the sky stretched wide and endless, scattered with stars, silver threads sewn across velvet black. The moon hung low and full, casting the palace rooftops in gentle light.

She breathed in the air, the scent of distant jasmine and city dust, the distant echo of life beyond the walls. It felt like sitting between two worlds. On one side, the endless gardens, the sharp spires, the cold, polished perfection of the palace. On the other, the old city, asleep and breathing, warm and rough-edged, untamed.

Her gaze lingered there, past the battlements, past the dividing walls, past the courtyards where only soldiers and servants tread. She tilted her head, lost in thought, wondering if the boy with the sun-darkened curls and the restless smile was asleep somewhere beneath that same sky.

A soft sound pulled her from her reverie.

She stiffened.

There it was again, a scrape, gentle but clear. A footfall against stone.

Her heart quickened. She glanced back towards the archway, towards the shadowed corridor behind her, empty. Still.

Then from the wall that marked the boundary between palace and city, the high old wall she’d once scaled as a child before she’d been caught and forbidden to try again came a quiet voice, low and teasing.

“L’amira...” Princess

Her breath caught. Familiar. Impossible.

She turned sharply and there he was.

Perched like a cat upon the wall, crouched comfortably as if he belonged there, was Isack. His hair caught the moonlight in soft curls, his eyes glinting with quiet mischief, his grin wide and unrepentant. 

She gaped, mouth slightly open. “You—”

“Shhh,” he whispered, holding a finger to his lips. “Do you want half the guard waking up?”

“How—how did you get up here?” she hissed, eyes darting nervously to the shadows behind her. “You’ll be killed if they see you.”

He swung his leg over the wall, now sitting casually, unbothered by the drop beneath him. “I’ve been climbing these streets my whole life, l’amira. Walls don’t frighten me. Neither do guards.” His grin widened. “Nor kings.”

She stood, her silk robe slipping from one shoulder as she stared at him in disbelief, hands curling into the stone balustrade.

“You’re mad,” she breathed. “Completely mad.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged, easy as rain. “But you left before I could say goodbye. Before you could say anything at all. That’s rude, you know.”

Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. “I had to go.”

“I know.” His gaze softened, the teasing edge fading, something quieter behind his eyes now. “But I couldn’t let it end like that. Not without seeing you again.”

For a moment, they simply looked at each other across the terrace, palace silk against street dust, gold against leather, two pieces of a story that shouldn’t have touched.

She swallowed hard, voice low. “What are you doing here, Isack?”

He grinned again, but this time it was softer. Less bravado. More truth.

“Kan-fakker fik.” I was thinking of you

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, gathering breath, steadying her racing heart.

“And what do you plan to do now that you’re here?”

He leaned forward slightly, eyes dancing in the moonlight.

“Depends. Do you want to see the city from the rooftops? Like a real life? Or are you going to stay here, on this cold stone, and dream of it forever?”

For a long moment, the world was silent, save for the wind in the olive trees and the distant call of a night bird.

Then she smiled, slow and dangerous.

“Help me over,” she said softly. “Before someone sees you and you lose that charming head of yours.”

His grin lit up his whole face.

“Mzyana bzaaf,” Very good he murmured. 

His hand was rough when she took it, warm and steady, calloused from years of work and climbing and living. Not like the soft, perfumed hands of the princes she’d been paraded before.

“Careful, l’amira,” he murmured with a crooked smile, steadying her as she clambered up onto the wall beside him. “Palace girls aren’t used to balancing this high.”

“I’m not palace born,” she whispered back, grinning despite herself. “My mother birthed me out of the palace, something the Sultan would not want anyone to know.”

Isack chuckled softly. “So you do have secrets.”

She glanced at him sideways. “More than you’d guess.”

“Good.” His fingers tightened on hers. “Hold on.”

And then, like two shadows slipping from their chains, they swung down onto the flat rooftops of the old city, his dog jumping up at the sight of them with a soft whine of excitement. The stones beneath their feet were warm from the day’s heat, glowing faintly under the moon. The air smelled of spice and dust and distant sea wind.

They ran.

Across roof tiles and crumbling plaster, over narrow alleyways and sleeping courtyards. The city stretched wide beneath the sky, full of twisting streets and secrets. She laughed, sudden, wild, unguarded, the sound breaking free from her chest like a bird uncaged.

It startled her.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed like that. Like a girl, not a daughter of kings.

Isack grinned at her, breathless, pulling her forward. “Raki mzyana…” You’re beautiful His voice was low, teasing, but something in it was true and soft.

She ignored the heat in her cheeks and ran faster.

They went down twisting iron staircases into a courtyard where a fountain murmured in the dark. Past shuttered shops and quiet mosques, their tall silhouettes cutting sharp lines against the stars. The old souk lay deserted at this hour, only the scent of cinnamon and leather lingering in the air, and they wove through its maze, her slippers scattering sand and dust behind them.

They paused near a quiet square, where an old fig tree grew beside a shuttered bakery. Isack caught her hand, pulling her into the shadow of the branches.

“Look,” he whispered, nodding upwards.

There, the sky above the rooftops opened wide, and the stars poured down like light on water. The moon hung low and close, so bright it painted silver across his face, across the soft dark curls of his hair.

She leaned against the tree, breathless. Smiling.

“I haven’t seen the city like this since I was a child,” she murmured. “I’d almost forgotten what it smelled like. The dust, the baking bread, the night air...”

“Machi nshan, l’amira,” It’s not forgotten, princess he said softly.

He crouched by the base of the tree, resting a hand on the warm stone. “It’s in you still. The city. Like breath. Like blood.”

His dog sniffed the cobblestones, tail wagging slowly.

She crouched beside him, tucking her silk robe beneath her knees. “And this is your life. Dust and stone and sky.”

“And tea,” he grinned, pulling a tiny wrapped sweet from his pocket. “Never forget tea.” He unwrapped it, split the piece and offered her half. “You eat like the street folk tonight.”

She laughed softly, taking the sweet from his hand, their fingers brushing. “I think I prefer it.”

For a while they sat like that, sharing the sweet, listening to the quiet city breathe.

Then he stood, holding out a hand again. “Come. There’s more to see before the sun comes.”

And she went.

He led her down the back alleys where old women hung strings of chillies to dry; past the little mosque where boys gathered before dawn; over the market square where, tomorrow, the traders would shout for customers. She touched the walls, the stalls, the rough stones worn smooth by centuries of feet. She smelled mint and old wood, old iron and salt from the far-off sea.

When they reached the sea wall, they sat, side by side, legs swinging high above the water. Below them, the waves lapped gently against the old harbour.

“Tell me,” she said softly. “Tell me why you live like this. So free. So careless.”

He smiled faintly, gazing at the dark water.

“Because no one expects anything from me, l’amira. No crown. No bloodline. I wake. I eat. I live. That’s enough.”

She watched his profile in the moonlight, the ease in his shoulders, the quiet certainty in his voice.

“I don’t know what that feels like,” she whispered.

He turned to her, gently.

“Maybe tonight you do.”

For a while they sat in silence, and it was enough.

When the sky began to pale towards dawn, he stood and dusted off his hands.

“Come. One more place.”

He took her up a steep stairway to the rooftops again, to a flat-topped house where the whole city spread beneath them, rooftops and minarets, domes and arches, all touched with silver light.

She turned slowly, breath caught in her throat.

“I’ve never seen it like this.”

“It’s yours,” he murmured beside her. “All this. Yours to hold or let go.”

She looked at him, at the dog sitting quietly at his side, and something old and tight in her chest eased.

“I don’t want to go back.”

He smiled sadly. “But you will.”

She touched his arm gently. “For now let’s stay until the sun rises.”

And they did.

Until the first light touched the city’s edges, soft and golden, and the distant call to Fajr prayer rose into the waking sky.

For one night, she had lived.

For one night, she had been free.

The first light of dawn crept over the sleeping city, turning the edges of the old stone buildings to gentle gold. The minarets stood like watchful sentinels against the softening sky, and far in the distance, the call to Fajr rose, a quiet, melodic thread carried on the morning breeze.

She stood atop the rooftop, her silk robe stirring gently against her ankles, her hair loose and wild around her shoulders. The night’s freedom clung to her skin like perfume, warm and giddy. A soft yawn escaped her lips, unwilling, but honest, and when she rubbed her eyes like a child, Isack laughed quietly beside her.

“Let’s get you home, l’amira,” he murmured, gentle and amused, the corners of his mouth lifting.

She turned her gaze to him, eyes still bright with the thrill of the night. “No,” she said softly, firmly. “Not home. Just the palace. These streets...” She let her gaze sweep across the waking rooftops, the winding alleys below, the scent of baked earth and mint and dawn filling her senses. “These streets are home.”

He looked at her, properly looked, as if seeing something new unfold, and smiled. A real smile. Quiet. Fond. As if he understood without needing any more words.

Together they made their way back to the high wall separating her world from his, the wall that divided gold from dust, silk from leather, crown from calloused hand. His dog padded silently behind them, yawning as it trotted.

At the wall, he crouched first, bracing his hands, offering her a boost.

“Up you go, l’amira,” he whispered with mock ceremony.

She grinned and took the step, his strong hands steady at her waist as he lifted her. Her slippers found the old stones with ease, and she pulled herself over, turning back just as she perched atop the crumbling edge.

Isack swung up lightly beside her, half his body leaning over the top, one leg still hooked to the city’s side.

He rested his forearms on the cold stone, his face close to hers in the pale light of dawn. His voice dropped low, gentle as the breeze that stirred her loose hair.

“You know where to find me,” he said softly. “Just call my name, l’amira, and I’ll hear you. It’ll carry through the winds and I’ll come for you.”

Her heart gave a quiet, aching twist.

She reached out, without fear, without hesitation, and brushed the dark curls back from his forehead. Her fingertips lingered a moment longer than they should.

“Thank you,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. “My Isack.”

And then, daring, bold, the way she had not been for all her carefully caged years, she leaned forward and pressed her lips softly to his cheek.

A kiss, warm and fleeting, left just beneath the edge of his eye.

For a heartbeat, he stilled, surprise flickering in his golden-brown gaze, before the familiar, crooked smile curved his mouth once more.

“Tsbah bel khir, l’amira,” Sleep well, princess he murmured. 

She smiled back, heart thudding against her ribs.

And then she dropped silently to the palace side of the wall, back into the world of marble and duty, secrets and silk.

Isack stayed a moment longer, watching, his dog seated patiently at his feet, and then, like a breath on the wind, he was gone.

But her heart stayed wild in her chest, like the streets. Like him.

For the first time in her life, the palace felt far less like home.

Since that night, the months slipped by like sand through his fingers.

First April, when the city blossomed with the scent of oranges and the sea air grew soft and warm. Then May, hot and golden, when the sun lingered late into the evening and the alley cats grew lazy in the shade. June followed, dry and sharp, with the dust rising in thin curls from the streets. And now July was beginning to creep in, slow and heavy with its heat, the sky pale and cloudless as far as the eye could see.

And she had not called his name. Not once.

Hadja had warned him, wagging a crooked finger in his face as she stirred her pot of lentils. “Ma tderhach, waldi. Don’t go waiting for her. Girls like that, palace girls, they fly high and they never look down.” Don’t do this my boy

But his heart, that foolish, disobedient thing, still yearned.

Every evening he’d find himself drifting along the edge of the palace wall, pretending he was walking the dog, pretending he wasn’t hoping to hear her voice on the wind. But nothing came. Only the distant murmurs of the guards. Only the scent of jasmine and stone.

When the morning rose he wandered to Sidi Ahmed’s little shop near the mosque, the dog padding along beside him, tongue lolling. The old man sat outside, grumbling over a chipped tea glass, puffing on his thin roll of tobacco as he squinted at the quiet street.

“Sbah el kheir, Sidi,” Good morning Sidi Isack greeted, swinging down onto the low wall beside him. 

“Sbah en-nour,” the old man grunted back, eyeing him sideways. “Mafi shghal? You’ve time to waste this morning?” No work today?

“Waiting on wood delivery for you,” Isack shrugged, scratching the dog behind the ears. “And tea. You promised tea, old man.”

Sidi grunted and waved a hand. “Go make it yourself, I’m too angry for tea.”

Isack smirked. “What now? Someone insult your prices again?”

“La, worse,” Sidi huffed, dragging deeply on his cigarette. “The streets are closing for two days. Two whole days. For that cursed royal wedding.” He spat into the dust. “Two days no trade, no customers, no deliveries, no work. All because of that stupid fuss.”

Isack frowned, stirring the tea leaves lazily in the pot. “Wedding? Which wedding?”

Sidi gave him a look of disbelief, squinting one eye. “Yal himar” You donkey “You live under the sky and you know nothing, boy? The princess. The l’amira. She’s to marry that fool from Tizi Ouzou. Some prince’s son. Their tents are already pitched outside the palace walls. The wedding’s at the week’s end.”

Isack’s hand stilled on the teapot.

“Shkun...” His throat tightened. “Shkun bnat l’malik?” Which princess?

Sidi snorted. “As if there are many. The king’s only daughter, of course. The pretty one with the Berber cheekbones, the one who never smiles. But she will soon, I suppose. Once she’s properly wed, hm?”

Isack felt the breath leave his chest as if someone had punched him. The dog whined softly at his feet, sensing the sudden change in him.

“She never said...” he murmured under his breath, staring blankly at the steam curling from the teapot. “She never said anything.”

Sidi leaned closer, narrowing his eyes. “Wach bik? What’s this face, boy? You look like you’ve swallowed a bad date.” What’s wrong with you?

“Nothing,” Isack said quickly, shaking his head. “Nothing at all.”

But the lie tasted bitter on his tongue.

Two days the streets would close. Two days of silk and gold and music. Two days and she would belong to another man, some polished stranger from the mountains who smelled of mint and power, who had never run the streets with dust in his hair or tea stolen in the market, who had never touched the old fig tree under the stars.

His hand drifted to the string around his neck, fingers brushing the hidden bracelets tied close to his skin. Cold now. Silent.

Hadja’s words whispered in the back of his mind.

“Palace girls never look down, waldi...”

But she had looked down once. And smiled. And kissed his cheek.

And now she was to be caged again, gilded and perfumed, behind marble walls.

“La tkoon hmaq,” Sidi muttered, grumbling as he refilled his glass. “Don’t be stupid, boy. This is their world. Not ours.”

But Isack said nothing.

He only sat in silence, the tea cooling between his hands, staring at the city that no longer felt like home.

She was to be wed.

To another man.

In three days.

And then she would vanish behind those marble walls forever, a shadow behind silken curtains, a memory pressed flat like petals between the pages of an old book.

Unless...

He set the glass down with a quiet clink.

There was no time to waste.

That night he paced the narrow cove above Hadja’s house, the bracelets heavy against his chest, as the old woman snored softly below. The dog lay awake by the door, tail thumping once when Isack knelt beside him.

“N’har el Khmis,”  Thursday Isack whispered, running a hand through the thick fur. “You and me, boy. One last foolish thing.”

He sketched the plan in his mind as clearly as a carpenter laying out his wood. Simple. Sharp. No room for mistakes.

Early in the morning on the wedding day, the streets lay quiet, stripped of their usual noise. Banners of white and crimson fluttered from the palace walls. The gates stood heavy and closed, but not for him.

He slipped along the shadowed alleys, the dog at his heel. When they reached the outer court, he knelt low, cupping the hound’s face in his hands.

“Sma’ni, a sahbi.” Listen to me, my friend

He tugged gently at the dog’s ear. “Run to the court. Bark. Chase. Bite the silk if you must. Make every guard chase you. And don’t stop until you hear my whistle.”

The dog wagged its tail, tongue lolling, clever dark eyes bright.

“Go.”

He bounded away, streaking through the open side gate just as the servants brought out wedding garlands. With a sudden wild barking and a flurry of paws, chaos broke like a summer storm. Men shouted, cloth ripped, baskets fell; the dog danced circles round them all, scattering petals and kicking over vases.

And while the front court swarmed in shouting confusion, Isack slipped silent as breath to the side wall.

He pulled himself up, grunting softly, legs swinging over the stone as he dropped to the inner courtyard where the date palms whispered. His heart thudded loud in his ears, not with fear. With something far more dangerous.

Hope.

Up the servant stairs, fast and quiet, barefoot. Past the scent of rose oil and incense. He knew the way; he’d listened to Hadja’s stories of the palace, of secret paths and quiet doors. Now they led him straight to her chambers.

He heard her voice from within, soft, distracted.

“You aren’t allowed to see me until after the wedding,” she called, assuming it was her betrothed, come foolishly to break the old tradition.

A grin touched Isack’s mouth as he leaned on the doorframe, careless and sure.

“Well, l’amira, lucky for you, I never cared much for rules.”

The room fell silent.

The curtain stirred, and she stepped out.

And for the first time in his life, Isack forgot every clever word he had ever known.

She stood there in her wedding kaftan, ivory silk, embroidered with gold threads that caught the light like dawn’s first glow. Her hair was plaited with fine jewels, little silver charms from the old mountains woven between the strands. Kohl lined her eyes, making them deep and dark and filled with too many feelings at once.

“Isack...?” Her voice was a whisper, barely breathing.

He swallowed hard, staring, utterly and beautifully lost.

“Ya lahbibti,” he managed, a soft smile curling at the edge of his lips. “You’re something the poets forgot to write about.”

Her gaze flickered to the door, to the chaos far below, then back to him, wild and bright, like the girl who had run laughing through the streets with him under the stars.

And in that quiet moment, caught between the palace and the world beyond, the air hummed with something ancient and fierce.

A promise.

A choice.

A beginning.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

The soft scent of jasmine oil hung heavy in the air, mingling with the crisp tang of fresh silk. Somewhere below, the shouting and chaos of the courtyard still stirred, muffled by distance, but here, in this quiet chamber high above the world, time itself seemed to have stopped.

Isack swallowed, his gaze steady on her, his chest tight with something raw and reckless.

“Come with me,” he said softly. His voice was not a command, nor a plea, but something gentle, a thread stretched between hope and fear.

Her hand gripped the carved edge of the dressing table; her knuckles pale against the dark wood.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

He stepped closer, eyes dark and steady. “Can’t or won’t?”

She said nothing.

The silence between them grew thick, not of anger or doubt, but fear. Old fear. Palace fear. The kind spun into your bones from birth, as heavy and clinging as the scent of burning myrrh in the halls.

Isack smiled sadly, tilting his head as if listening to the wind through the date palms.

“It’s fear, isn’t it?” he said quietly. “Not the walls, not your father, not even this ridiculous silk cage they’ve put you in. Just fear. Like a thread round your throat. It’s the oldest prison of all, l’amira.” His voice dropped low, rough as dusk on old stone. “Fear of wanting more than they told you you deserved. Of flying too far from the cage door. Of hearing your own name echo back from the wind and realising you were always meant for the sky.”

She closed her eyes, a shiver racing down her spine.

He stepped close enough to reach her wrist where it rested by her side, the silk of her kaftan soft beneath his fingers. Gently, reverently, he touched the thin golden bracelet there, the one she always wore, with its old engraving worn soft by time.

His thumb brushed across the script, his mouth quietly shaping the words in Arabic:

"Ul-iwazzan ur ttur, ul-iwazzan ur ikkes; ul-iwazzan ur ifus, zriɣ deg ul-iwazzan." The heart that is given is never lost; the hand that offers is never empty; the soul that dares is never broken.

Berber words. Mountain words. Old as the wind.

He smiled faintly.

“Your mother’s?” he asked softly.

She gave the smallest nod, her throat tight.

He traced the bracelet once more, his fingers lingering on the warmth of her skin. Then he raised his gaze to hers, dark eyes bright with something fierce and unspoken.

“Give me a chance,” he murmured. “I’ve nothing but a cove above Hadja’s roof and a dog that’s tearing up the palace court as we speak but if you’ll have me—” he breathed, the smile touching the edge of his mouth, soft and sure, “—I’ll make every breath of this life worth it. Every step. Every dawn. Until you forget what fear ever tasted like.”

The silence quivered between them.

And for the first time in her life, she wondered what it would feel like to be free.

To fly.

To fall.

And never break.

She stood frozen. A breath caught at the edge of her lips, the weight of centuries resting on her shoulders.

For a heartbeat Isack feared she would say no, that the palace would win, that the fear woven into the very stones of this place would tighten its grip and pull her back to the life she hated. Her eyes dropped to the floor; her hand trembled faintly against the silk folds of her wedding kaftan.

Then, a sound.

Her father’s voice, low and steady, carried down the corridor with the heavy certainty of all things expected.

“Binti” My daughter “It’s time. Come. We must go to the mosque.”

The words hung like iron in the air.

Her gaze flickered to the door, to the weight of her father’s voice, and then back to Isack, standing there in his worn shirt, dust on his skin, light in his eyes.

She lifted her chin, something fierce sparking in the dark pools of her eyes. Her fingers reached for the bracelet he had touched, her mother’s words warm against her wrist.

“Let’s go,” she said, her voice suddenly clear and strong, like water breaking stone. “Take me from here. Take me to the mosque, but only if you promise one thing, ya Isack.”

He stilled, breath caught.

“Promise me that you will wed me yourself. With no lords, no gold, no court. No lies. In the mosque, in the sight of Allah, with nothing but the truth between us. And let me be free of this life. Forever.”

His heart clenched. He reached out, gently cupping her face as he smiled, a slow, soft smile that held the sky itself.

“I swear on my life,” he said. “On my breath, on my dog, on the roof that shelters me and the streets that made me, I swear, l’amira. I’ll take you to the mosque with my own hand and you will be free. No walls. No cages. No fear.”

For the first time, she smiled, real and unguarded, bright as the morning sun cracking over the sea.

“Then let’s go.”

Without another word, he took her hand rough against the silk, and led her to the window. Below, the court was still in chaos, guards chasing the barking hound who darted between their legs like a spirit from the stories.

With a quiet laugh, Isack helped her swing over the terrace ledge, steadying her as her golden slippers met the stone. She glanced once over her shoulder, at the life she’d lived, the father who called for her, the walls that had held her since birth.

And then she leapt.

Into the dawn.

Into the world.

Into freedom.

Isack grinned, pulling her close as they dashed for the stairs, the wind rushing warm and alive against their faces.

“Come, l’amira,” he breathed as they ran, hearts pounding like drums. “Let’s get you wed, properly.”

And hand in hand, they fled into the waking streets of Algiers, where the call to prayer rose soft and silver into the sky, and the city opened before them, endless and wild as the sea.

They ran through the streets like the children she’d once watched with longing eyes, but now she was part of that world, part of the dawn, part of life.

Her slippers barely touched the cobbles, her golden bangles chiming softly with each hurried step, her silken wedding kaftan billowing like a cloud behind her. Jewels still clung to her neck and wrists, shimmering under the dim light of the waking city. Beside her, Isack ran barefoot in his worn scraps and dust-stained linen, his laughter breathless, his grin as bright as the sun rising behind them.

And together, like foolish lovers from some old street tale, they dashed towards the mosque.

The great white walls rose before them, calm and still against the blue-tinged sky, the call to prayer fading softly into the air. The old wooden doors stood half open, light from within spilling golden onto the stone.

Isack pushed through first, his dog waiting outside, tail wagging fiercely at the steps.

Inside, the familiar scent of oud and old prayer rugs filled the air. And there, bending to arrange the worn books of scripture, stood the imam, a stout man with a silver beard and thick brows, muttering to himself as he worked.

“Ya khoya!” Brother Isack called, grinning as he hurried forward. “Remember when I caught your runaway rooster last winter and you promised me a favour?”

The imam straightened slowly, squinting at him.

“Ya waldi, I’ve no dinar to pay you for that rooster,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “I told you already, that bird brought me nothing but bad luck.”

Isack only laughed, glancing at her, breathless, radiant in her silks and gold.

“I’m not here for money, imam Saïdi,” he said softly, the grin fading into something almost shy, almost sacred. “I’ve come for my payment. Please, wed me to the woman who holds my heart. Now. Quickly. We’re in a rush.”

The imam stared, from Isack’s rough clothes to her shining wedding jewels, then back again.

“Are you sure, boy?” the old man asked, voice low with the weight of tradition. “This is no small thing, not a game to win and laugh over. Marriage is binding before Allah, here, and in the next life.”

Isack turned to her, his hand reaching for hers, fingers twining tight. She met his gaze, her heart thudding hard and wild.

“Yes,” she whispered, voice steady. “We are sure.”

The imam sighed, but the faintest smile curved his lips beneath his beard.

“Very well, waladi. Come here. Both of you.”

And so, beneath the carved wooden beams of the mosque, before the worn prayer rugs and the quiet dawn, the old man began the nikah.

Isack spoke first, his voice clear: his ijab, his offer to take her as his wife. Her heart jumped as she gave her quiet qabul, accepting him, her breath soft and warm in the hushed air.

Witnessed by Allah. No gold. No courts. No walls.

Only truth.

Only choice.

Only freedom.

The imam prayed over them, his hands lifted gently, invoking peace, blessing, mercy. The words of the Qur’an wrapped around them like light, weaving them into something whole and sacred.

“Baraka Allahu lakuma,” May Allah bless you both he said softly at last. 

But before the final words could fall, the heavy crash of iron-shod boots broke the quiet, and the wide doors of the mosque burst open.

Palace guards.

Dozens of them.

Their dark leather armour gleamed, swords glinting under the oil lamps. The captain stepped forward, gaze sharp and cruel.

“There they are!” he barked. “Seize them, by order of the Sultan himself!”

The peace of the mosque shattered, but Isack only smiled, fingers tightening around his new wife’s hand.

“Ya Allah...” the imam muttered, clutching his beads.

Steel-clad hands grabbed Isack roughly by the arms, wrenching him backwards with such force his shoulder jarred painfully. The dog growled low and deep from outside but dared not move as three more guards kept their blades close.

At the far end of the prayer hall, she stood, now alone, radiant in her wedding silk, defiant as the sunrise behind her. Her dark eyes flashed as the heavy tread of boots approached.

The Sultan himself entered the mosque, flanked by advisors and more guards, the weight of his presence sinking into the air like stone into water. His robe of deep emerald trailed behind him.

He halted in the centre of the prayer hall, eyes flicking from the bound street boy to his daughter, who was supposed to be waiting at the palace gates for her grand procession.

His face darkened.

“What is the meaning of this?” His voice cut sharp through the silence, hard as steel drawn from its sheath. “What foolishness is this? Binti, explain yourself. Now.”

She lifted her chin, her heart pounding against her ribs. “I have nothing to explain to you, Father,” she said, her voice low, steady. “I have done what you never let me do, I chose.”

His gaze narrowed, dark with warning. “Chose?” he spat. “Chose what? This—” he flung a hand towards the struggling Isack, “this gutter rat? This thief from the streets? You throw away a kingdom for him?”

He strode towards her, his robe whispering against the tiles. His hand shot out, catching her chin hard, lifting her face so her eyes were forced to meet his.

“You shame me,” he hissed. “You shame your mother’s name. Your country. What have you done?”

Before she could speak, Isack's voice cracked the air, hoarse but fierce, his whole body straining against the guards’ grip.

“Don’t touch my wife!”

The words hung like thunder in the mosque.

The Sultan froze.

So did every guard.

Even the imam, who stood quietly by the prayer books, bowed his head and folded his hands before him.

“She speaks the truth, sidi,” the old imam said softly, his voice carrying clear and unafraid through the vast chamber. “By Allah’s law and witness, they are wed. Just now. With her qabul and his ijab. With me as their witness. The nikah is done.”

The Sultan’s hand dropped slowly from her face.

His breath hissed between his teeth as he stared at his daughter, who stood unflinching, her chin high, her eyes clear and bright.

“You married him,” he said, voice low with disbelief. “You married this... street boy. Without my blessing. Without the court. Without—” His hand trembled. “You dare defy me, your father, the Sultan?”

“I dared, Father,” she said softly, “because you left me no choice. You caged me all my life. This is my freedom. My will. My faith.” Her voice hardened. “And he is my husband.”

Silence fell like a heavy cloth over the mosque, save for the dog’s soft, warning growl and the faint creak of armour.

The Sultan stared at them, the gilded princess and the dusty street boy, joined in defiance and faith.

His jaw tightened.

And the air held still, waiting for his judgement.

The Sultan’s face darkened, rage twisting the lines of his mouth as the weight of his shame settled upon him. In front of his men. In the house of God. His pride, his own blood, choosing a street rat over the throne.

His hand shot out.

A sharp crack split the air as his palm struck her cheek, sending her head whipping to the side.

A breathless hush swept the mosque.

Isack roared.

With a violent wrench, he tore free from the guards' grip, their surprise too slow, their hands grasping at empty air as the boy, lean and lithe from a lifetime of running and scrapping, lunged across the space between them.

He grabbed the Sultan by the front of his robes, strong, hands knotting into the silken lapels and hauled him forward until their faces were but inches apart. His chest heaved; his golden-brown eyes burned bright as fire.

“The only thing holding me back from sending you to your death for laying a hand on my wife,” he growled, voice low and shaking with fury, “is that we stand in the house of Allah. But God is my witness, Sultan, if I see you again, and you dare try one more thing against her, against us, you shan’t live to say the word ‘La’.” No

A gasp rippled through the guards.

Even the dog bared its teeth, hackles raised, a low rumble thrumming in its throat.

The Sultan’s eyes, wide with shock, stared into Isack’s face, the breath stolen from his chest. No man, no beggar, no prince had ever dared grip him so. His guards hovered, hesitating, unsure whether to drag Isack down and risk defiling the mosque further.

Isack shook him once, hard, before shoving him back, hard enough that the Sultan staggered on his feet, his robes twisting about him like wounded pride.

She gasped softly, her fingers brushing her stinging cheek, but her heart swelled with something wild and bright. Isack, this boy from the streets, stood tall before a king without fear.

The Imam stepped forward quietly, his old hands raised.

“Enough. Baraka min hadshi.” Enough of this

His voice cut the tension like a blade, heavy with the quiet authority of one who spoke for God.

“All of you, this is sacred ground. No more violence beneath Allah’s roof. Leave your wrath outside.”

Isack stood firm, breathing hard, the fire still in his eyes.

The Sultan straightened his robe, hand trembling slightly as he brushed the silk smooth, his gaze burning into the boy before him.

“You have shamed me,” the Sultan hissed. “Both of you. This is not over.”

Isack smiled, slow, dangerous, wolfish.

“No,” he murmured. “It’s only just begun.”

Her hand slipped into his, fingers tightening around his as the guards shifted uneasily, no man daring to break the Imam’s peace, no sword daring to fall where Allah’s name was spoken.

And in that quiet moment, beneath the great dome of the mosque and the morning light streaming in, they stood, husband and wife, defiant and unbroken.

And free.

The weight of the morning’s confrontation still clung to them as she and Isack made their way through the narrow, twisting streets, fingers intertwined. They arrived at Hadja’s humble home.

Hadja greeted them with a knowing smile, her eyes sharp beneath heavy brows that had witnessed decades of stories. “Ah, waldi,” she said softly, her voice thick with affection. “And l’amira, the princess with the heart of a rebel.” She welcomed them inside, where the scent of mint tea and spices wove through the air like a familiar song.

Once seated, tea poured and steam swirling upwards, they looked to her for guidance. Hadja’s gaze softened as she began, her voice falling into a quiet rhythm, the past and present folding together.

“Love,” she murmured, she smiled faintly, “is a wild flame. I was once foolishly in love, too.”

Her eyes drifted to a faraway place, as though seeing a younger version of herself beneath a fading lantern’s light.

“There was a boy from a far village, kan zwin, he was handsome, kind, but life had other plans. Tqadit I was deceived. I thought love alone would be enough, but it was not.”

“Knt bghit nhss b huriya I wanted to feel free. But freedom, l’amira, isn’t given; it’s taken. And love is the courage to take it.”

When she finished, silence settled, the weight of her words hanging in the air.

Hadja’s hand reached out, worn and steady, resting on Isack’s.

“My son Isack, listen carefully. Take passage from here to Ghazaouet. It’s not safe for you here anymore.”

Isack’s brow furrowed, surprise flickering across his face.

Hadja turned to l’amira, eyes shimmering with a secret long kept.

“l’amira, your mother was from Ghazaouet. I took passage with her to Algiers long ago. She was brave, she’d be proud of you.”

Her breath caught, fingers tightening around Isack’s hand.

“My sister works in the palace, she was your mother’s maid. You were closer than you ever knew.”

A tear traced a line down Hadja’s cheek, touched by both sorrow and hope.

“You’ll find fertile land there, and people who will welcome you. Seek out the trader named Rashid, he will guide you.”

The room felt alive with possibility, the past and future intertwining in Hadja’s words.

Isack nodded, determination hardening in his gaze.

She felt a quiet hope bloom inside her, fragile but fierce.

Together, they would chase the horizon.

Together, they would find freedom.

That night, they found passage to Ghazaouet, with nothing but a dog, a cloth bundling their meagre belongings, and their hearts. The road was long and winding, carving through desert and coast, dust clinging to their clothes and salt from the sea staining their hair. But they carried no burden heavier than the lives they had shed behind them.

It took five days. Five days of quiet prayers, whispered plans, shared bread, and watching the dog run wild through the hills as though he had always known freedom. On the evening of the fifth day, with the sun resting low like a gold coin on the edge of the horizon, they arrived.

They found Rashid just as Hadja had said. A man with lines on his face from years of salt and sand, eyes that knew the weight of secrets, and a heart that softened the moment he saw her face.

“Bint Laila” he whispered, as if he were seeing a ghost. “Your mother would be at peace now.”

He led them to the land her mother had left behind, acres upon acres of olive trees and wild thyme, crowned by a single stone house, worn by time but strong, built upon a rise that overlooked the endless sea. It had a stah, a courtyard with faded tiles and jasmine climbing along the old walls. Her mother had kept it all untouched, in case she too bore a restless heart, as she once had.

They did not return to Algiers. The city forgot them, as all cities forget their rebels and dreamers.

Isack worked with Rashid, hands calloused by honest labour, skin browned by the coastal sun. He returned home each day to a house alive with laughter and the scent of mint and coriander. His wife was no longer a princess. She was something far freer, a woman of her own making. She walked barefoot in the morning dew, learned the names of herbs, stitched cushions for the stah, and left her hair uncovered to dance with the wind.

They lived slowly. They lived wholly. And in quiet moments beneath the olive trees, Isack would take her hand and kiss her wrist where the bangle once sat and say, “You, l’amira, are the only kingdom I’ll ever kneel for.”

Years passed like the tide, soft but certain. No one remembered the boy from the streets of Algiers who stole the heart of a princess. No one spoke of the princess at all. The crown she once wore died with her old name, and she never mourned it.

In the spring of their third year by the sea, they welcomed a son. Isack held him with trembling arms and named him Nur el-Din, the light of faith, for he came into their lives as proof that their love had been blessed.

Years later, a daughter followed, born beneath a full moon. She named her Amal Layali, the hope of nights, for she had once looked to the stars and prayed for freedom, and the stars had listened.

They raised their children on stories and soil, on faith and fire, and on the unshakable truth that love, when pure, needs no crown to be sacred.

And in time, no one remembered the palace or the boy who walked its shadows.

But on the cliffs of Ghazaouet, where jasmine grows wild and the sea sings to the shore, you can still find the house with the stah, where a dog once slept in the sun, and where two hearts, once lost, found their way home.

And if you listen closely to the wind, you might still hear her whisper his name.

the end.