#munson!reader

Nancy smiles at Eddie, a quick one that holds its own against his theatrics. She nods at you. Just you. Your name catches behind your teeth. You nod back like a malfunctioning bird.

After that, she keeps talking to you.

It makes no sense. You are Eddie Munson’s little sibling. The weird one who does musicals and monsters with equal sincerity. Nancy Wheeler is a person people write songs about without meaning to. She asks you how rehearsals are going while Mike shoves papers into his bag and pretends not to notice anything at all. She asks what show you are doing and listens to the answer. Listens in a way that makes you forget your hands exist.

You think about her when you are meant to be thinking about your lines. Your director claps for focus. You say them anyway, projecting, chin lifted, pretending you are not imagining a pair of sharp brown eyes in the dark. It feels embarrassing to be this obvious inside your own head. You tell yourself she probably thinks you are strange. You tell yourself she is being nice because she is like that. You tell yourself anything that keeps you from hoping.

Eddie clocks it instantly.

He sprawls on your bed one afternoon, boots still on, flipping through your script upside down. He says her name like it is a drumroll. You throw a pillow at his head and miss. He grins, all teeth and victory.

“She talks to you,” he says. “That’s not a charity case, kiddo. That’s interest.”

“Interest in being polite,” you say. “She’s Mike’s sister.”

“She’s also a human being with eyes,” Eddie says. “You have eyes. You have a face. You have a terrifying amount of talent. Don’t pretend you’re invisible.”

You do not pretend. You are convinced.

The day Nancy sits beside you is the day you nearly forget how to breathe. The Hellfire table is crowded. Someone has brought a friend of a friend. The floor is taken. Nancy perches on the edge of the table like it is nothing, skirt smoothed, hands folded. She smells like soap and something floral. It makes the room tilt.

“Eddie said you’re in tech week,” she says quietly. “Is that true or is he exaggerating again?”

You laugh before you can stop yourself. It bursts out, surprised and too loud. Eddie throws you a thumbs up without looking.

“It’s true,” you say. “We open Friday.”

“What are you going to be doing?” Nancy asks. Not what show. What you are doing. As if that matters more.

You tell her. You do not downplay it. You talk about the way the lights feel like a second sun and how the audience becomes a single breath you can ride. You talk about fear and how it sharpens everything until it hurts in a good way. Nancy watches you like she is learning something important. The room fades at the edges.

Mike clears his throat. Nancy stands. The spell breaks.

Later, alone in your room, you practice an invitation in the mirror. You do not like your voice in this version. It sounds apologetic. You start again. You fail again. Eddie knocks and sticks his head in, expression softening.

“Ask her,” he says. “Worst case, she says no. Best case, you get to show her who you are when you are brave.”

You think about the stage. You think about Nancy’s eyes. You write it down on a scrap of paper like it might stop your hands shaking. When she comes by to get Mike on Wednesday, you feel like you are walking into a spotlight with no script.

“Nancy,” you say. Your name in her mouth feels like a gift. “My show opens Friday. If you wanted to come. Mike too. If he wants.”

Her smile is immediate. Warm. Real.

“I’d love to,” she says. “Break a leg, Y/N.”

You watch her leave. The room is loud again. Eddie whoops. You sit very still, heart doing something reckless. You have no idea yet that she is already planning what to say after the curtain call.

It’s easy to get lost in the whirlwind of tech week. You have lines to remember, cues to hit, and an endless list of last-minute adjustments. The world outside the theatre seems a little distant, like it’s all happening in a different dimension. Except for one thing. Nancy Wheeler.

She’s there, just like she said she would be, sitting quietly in the third row, hands folded, eyes bright and attentive. Her presence feels like a soft weight in the air, like the anticipation just before the lights dim for a scene. Your heart skips every time you glance her way, but you don’t let it show. You focus on the stage, on the people in front of you, but her gaze is a constant tug at your thoughts.

When the lights finally go up on opening night, it feels like everything has been leading up to this one moment. You step into the spotlight, the energy of the crowd flooding over you, and for the first time all week, you feel calm. The performance flows like water, every line landing just right, every movement sharper than the last. You can feel Nancy’s eyes following you, and you wonder if she notices how you’ve thrown yourself into this role, how much of yourself you’ve put into it. For all the nerves, for all the anxious second-guessing, it’s almost as if the stage was built for you.

You don’t see Nancy during intermission, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is how she looks at you at the end of the night, when the final applause shakes the theatre walls. You’re taking your bows, heart still thundering in your chest, and then Nancy is standing, clapping, with a smile that could’ve knocked you over if you weren’t already dizzy from adrenaline.

It’s impossible not to feel a flutter in your chest as she walks toward you after the show. Her eyes catch yours, soft, admiring, and steady.

“You were incredible,” she says, her voice low enough to feel intimate. “I didn’t expect… well, I didn’t know you were this good.”

You swallow hard, blinking in surprise. It’s like you’ve been hit with a wave of warmth, like her words have wrapped themselves around you like a blanket, and suddenly, all the exhaustion of the week doesn’t seem so bad. You didn’t expect her to care this much, to notice all the little details that you’ve poured into your performance. It makes your cheeks flush with something between embarrassment and pride.

“Thanks,” you manage, trying not to sound as breathless as you feel. “I really appreciate you coming, Nancy.”

She gives you a knowing smile, something between sincere and teasing. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She looks around briefly, as if checking for something, then adds, “I’ll be here for the rest of the shows, too. If you don’t mind. I want to see you take the stage again.”

You feel your heart stutter, like the world just shifted a few degrees. She’s coming back. You weren’t expecting that. You were hoping, sure, but you hadn’t let yourself think it could happen.

“I’d love that,” you say, and you mean it more than you thought you would. “It… it means a lot to me that you came.”

Nancy’s smile widens, and for a moment, it feels like the entire room has vanished, leaving just the two of you in the soft glow of the stage lights. It’s disorienting how easily she can make you feel like this, like you’re the most important person in the world. Like she’s not Nancy Wheeler, the person everyone else is in awe of, but just Nancy. Just someone who is paying attention to you.

Before you can say anything else, Eddie shows up, arms wide in his usual dramatic fashion, immediately pulling you into a bear hug. You laugh awkwardly, suddenly aware of how not cool you must look. Nancy watches the interaction with a soft chuckle, her expression relaxed. It’s almost like she’s enjoying the scene. You want to hide under the floorboards. You’ve never been good at handling attention.

When Eddie finally releases you, he slaps your shoulder in mock-seriousness. “Well, kiddo, looks like you’ve officially won over Nancy Wheeler, huh?”

You freeze, caught in the act of wiping sweat from your palms onto your jeans. You try to act like you didn’t hear him, but the blush creeping up your neck is a dead giveaway.

Nancy’s gaze flickers to Eddie, then back to you. “I’ve just been enjoying a really good show,” she says. The way she says it makes it sound like more than just a compliment, like she’s genuinely moved by what you’ve done, by your performance. “You were brilliant, Y/N. No need to be so embarrassed.”

You’re not sure whether to laugh or die of embarrassment, but you end up doing both. You manage to squeak out a quick, “Thanks,” but Eddie’s still hanging around, looking at you like he’s waiting for a confession. You want to swat him away.

Nancy steps forward, her gaze fixed on you again. She leans in just slightly, like she’s going to say something private. It’s an action that feels deliberate, like she wants to make sure you hear her. “I’ll see you after the next show,” she says, voice a little lower, almost secretive.

You nod, brain trying to process all the words and feelings at once. “I’ll be here,” you promise, your voice sounding far steadier than you feel. “I’ll be waiting.”

As she walks away, you can’t stop staring at her back, the way her hair catches the light in just the right way, like the universe has taken care to make sure she’s always glowing. She doesn’t look back, but you wish she did.

You didn’t expect Nancy Wheeler to change the way your heart feels just by being kind, by giving you this little piece of herself. You didn’t expect that feeling to stick with you, to make everything seem brighter. Maybe you’ve imagined this, your mind running wild with scenarios you didn’t think were possible. But maybe, just maybe, you haven’t.

It’s late when you finally get back to your dressing room, and Eddie catches up with you again, that smug look back on his face.

“I’m proud of you, kid,” he says. “She’s definitely interested.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words don’t come out right. You look at the mirror and see yourself there, flushed from the performance, a little shaky but still glowing with something you can’t name.

Maybe Eddie’s right. Maybe you really did just do something that made her notice you.

The rest of the week blurs by in a haze of rehearsals, showings, and the steady thrum of nerves that don’t quite leave. Each performance is a rush, a kind of high that you try to hold onto as the curtain falls, but it never quite sticks. It’s Nancy’s face you keep thinking about, the way she watches you from the front row, every time a little bit more at ease, as if she’s settling into something familiar. Maybe it’s the same feeling you get when you hit your mark on stage, when it all comes together, and for a moment, it doesn’t feel like you’re pretending.

Eddie is unrelenting in his teasing. You should have expected it, of course. It’s Eddie.

“Wow, what a surprise,” he mocks one evening after the show as you wipe off your stage makeup, still buzzing from the performance. “Nancy Wheeler came back for the second night. No one could’ve seen that coming.”

You throw a rag at him, feeling your face heat up. “She came because she said she would. Not because of me, idiot.”

He quirks an eyebrow, unamused by your weak protest. “I’m not stupid, kid. She’s definitely watching you.”

“I’m serious.” You scrub harder at your makeup, hoping the motion will somehow distract from how you’re trying to hide your smile. “She’s just nice, Eddie.”

He snorts. “Nice people don’t look at other people like that.”

You spin in your chair, narrowing your eyes at him. “Like what?”

He gives you an exaggerated, wide-eyed expression, a hand to his chest as though you’ve crushed him. “Like you’re the only person in the room. Like you’re some kind of ethereal being.”

You’re quiet for a long moment. You don’t know whether to laugh or hide. You’re embarrassed enough just by being in the same room as Nancy when she’s not smiling at you like that. You weren’t sure if it was real or just you being hopeful.

“Well, maybe she just likes the show,” you say weakly, but you can’t quite keep the doubt from your voice. “Maybe she just likes me as a performer, I mean.”

Eddie tilts his head, considering you with a look that could be described as frustratingly wise. “Maybe,” he says slowly. “Or maybe she’s watching you because she sees something no one else does.”

You want to argue, but you can’t. The thought has lodged itself into your chest, and it’s impossible to shake. Nancy Wheeler doesn’t just see you like that, does she? She doesn’t, wouldn’t, look at you with that kind of admiration unless there was something else. Something that’s more than just your performance.

The next night, after the show, you find yourself anxiously pulling off your costume and fixing your hair, every move feeling like it matters too much. When you step into the lobby, Nancy is standing by the door, talking to Eddie, her eyes flicking towards you the moment you walk in.

She smiles, and your heart skips again. “Another brilliant show,” she says, her voice warm, quiet. She sounds like she means it, and for a split second, it’s all you can focus on. You swallow, hands trembling slightly as you offer her a smile in return.

“Thanks for coming,” you manage to say, voice a little too high-pitched. You want to slap yourself. Of course you sound weird. Nancy probably thinks you’re a mess by now. She probably already regrets agreeing to come.

To your surprise, she steps closer, her gaze softening like she’s trying to calm something inside you that you didn’t know was anxious.

“You make it look so easy,” she says. “Like you were born to be on stage.”

You can feel the heat rise in your cheeks at the compliment. “I—I’m not. I just… I just love it. I’m not good at much else, so…” You trail off awkwardly, trying to laugh it off, but Nancy’s steady eyes stay on you, and that soft smile doesn’t waver.

“I can tell you love it,” she says quietly. “It shows in every movement you make.”

You’re not sure how to handle this, how to act normal when she’s looking at you like that. There’s a nervous flutter in your chest, something more than just the usual anxiety after a show. You feel your pulse quicken, but you don’t know if it’s because of the rush from performing or because of the way Nancy makes you feel.

Eddie, as usual, has to ruin the moment. “You’re embarrassing the poor kid, Wheeler,” he teases. “Can’t you see? They’re blushing.”

You can feel the heat spread across your face, and you immediately glare at him, stepping away to put some space between yourself and his ridiculous grin.

“Shut up, Eddie,” you mutter, still blushing like you’ll never stop. “I’m not—”

But Nancy interrupts you, her voice gentle and knowing. “Don’t listen to him, Y/N.” She glances at Eddie with a playful raise of her eyebrow before turning her attention back to you. “I think it’s cute.”

You blink, not trusting your own ears. “You think I’m cute?”

Nancy gives you a soft, amused smile, leaning in just a little like she’s sharing a secret. “I do. In fact, I think I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.” The words are so casual, so gentle, but they hit you like a freight train. You stand there, frozen, not knowing whether you’ve just hallucinated the entire sentence or if it’s real.

She tilts her head slightly, watching you, giving you time to catch up to what she just said.

You blink rapidly, trying to process. “Wait… really?”

Nancy’s smile deepens, something almost shy about it now, like she’s letting a piece of herself slip through the cracks. “Yes. I really do.” Her gaze softens. “I’ve been wanting to tell you that for a while now. I think you’re amazing, Y/N. Not just on stage, but everything about you.”

The world goes quiet for a moment, the sounds of the theatre fading into the background. You’re standing there in front of her, your heart drumming wildly in your chest, but you can’t move. You almost don’t know what to do with your hands, your feet. All you know is that Nancy Wheeler, the girl who’s been haunting your thoughts for weeks, is standing right in front of you, confessing something that feels too good to be true.

Before you can say anything, Eddie claps his hands dramatically, breaking the tension with a knowing smirk. “Well, well, well. Looks like my work here is done.”

Nancy rolls her eyes, but there’s no real heat to it. “Shut up, Eddie.”

You feel yourself relax just a little, the tension in your shoulders finally easing as you look at Nancy, really look at her, seeing the sincerity behind her words. You take a breath, a laugh escaping you before you can hold it back.

“I think I like you, too,” you say, voice soft but steady, and it feels like a secret only the two of you share. “I think I’ve liked you for a while.”

Nancy’s eyes light up, that same warmth flickering behind them. “I’m glad,” she says, and the sound of her voice makes your heart feel a little less heavy, like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t imagining all of this.

For the first time in ages, you feel like the world is unfolding in front of you in a way you can’t predict. And for once, you don’t feel like you need to hide. Maybe the spotlight isn’t so bad when it’s Nancy Wheeler looking at you.

And maybe, just maybe, there’s more to this story than you ever thought possible.

— COME AND JOIN MY TAGLISTS !

Sitting cross-legged in the recliner across the room, nose buried in a dog-eared paperback, was you. Eddie’s little sister. He’d seen you around school before, always on the outskirts, never in the thick of things. You had that same wild hair as Eddie, though without the dramatics. Quieter. More reserved. Talking was Eddie’s thing.

Billy tilted his head, a slow grin creeping onto his face.

“Well, shit,” he drawled. “Didn’t peg Munson for the type to keep secrets.”

You didn’t look up. “Didn’t peg you for the type to knock.”

Billy chuckled, stepping further inside. “I don’t. Doors open for me.” His voice was thick with arrogance, the kind that made most girls stumble over themselves. You just turned a page.

“Huh.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, studying you. “Didn’t know Munson had a sister. Guess you don’t get out much.” He did know, he just wanted to jab at you, you were sure.

This time, you did glance up, just briefly. “Or maybe you just don’t pay attention.”

Billy grinned. “Oh, I’m paying attention now.”

He let that hang in the air, watching for a reaction. Most girls at school either giggled around him or avoided him like the plague. You just seemed… uninterested.

Before he could push further, the door swung open again, and Eddie stomped back inside.

“Alright, let’s wrap this up,” Eddie muttered, tossing another baggie onto the pile. Then his eyes landed on Billy—no, on the space between Billy and you.

His expression darkened instantly. “The hell are you doin’ talking to my sister, Hargrove?”

Billy didn’t take his eyes off you. “Didn’t realize she needed permission to talk.”

Eddie grabbed the baggies, shoving them into Billy’s hand. “Yeah, well, now you know. So don’t.”

Billy smirked, slow and taunting, before finally tearing his gaze away from you. He lifted the baggies in a lazy salute. “Pleasure doin’ business, Munson.” Then, with one last glance at you, he strolled out, whistling under his breath.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Eddie spun around. “Don’t talk to him.”

You rolled your eyes. “I know who he is, Eddie.”

“Then you should know better.”

You sighed, waving him off. It annoyed you, but you were used to Eddie’s protective side. “It’s not like I’m gonna fall for him or something. He’s just a guy.”

Eddie scoffed. “Yeah. A guy who’s bad news.”

You just shook your head. It didn’t matter. A crush was harmless, right?

Harmless.

Right.

———————————————————————————

Later the next day you find yourself being dragged to the arcade with the kids. Arcades were okay, a bit too loud and overwhelming for you, but you’d go if it made the buttheads smile. The bells above the arcade door jingle as Dustin and the others rush inside, already chattering about high scores and token strategies. You’re about to follow when a voice stops you in your tracks.

“Didn’t take you for the arcade type, Munson.”

You freeze for half a second before turning, already bracing yourself.

Billy Hargrove is leaning against the side of his Camaro, cigarette dangling from his lips, one arm draped lazily over the car door. The setting sun glints off his silver chain, making the smirk on his face look even more infuriating.

You school your expression. “Not often.”

Billy exhales a slow stream of smoke, eyes dragging over you with interest. “Then what’s the occasion?”

You cross your arms. “Why do you care?”

His smirk deepens. “Just makin’ conversation, sweetheart.”

You glance over your shoulder, where the kids disappeared inside. A distraction would be nice right about now. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Maybe a mirror to admire yourself in?”

Billy chuckles, pushing off the car. “That was the plan,” he admits, taking another drag. “Then I saw you.”

You roll your eyes. “Lucky me.”

Billy grins like you just handed him a prize. “Yeah, lucky you.”

You shift on your feet, debating if this conversation is even worth the effort. But Billy takes another step forward, the amusement in his eyes sharpening like he’s enjoying every second of this.

“Y’know,” he muses, tipping his head, “didn’t expect Eddie’s little sister to be so—” He drags his gaze over you, slow and deliberate. “—cute.”

Your breath hitches before you can stop it, and heat creeps up your neck.

Billy notices. Of course he does.

“Not much of a talker, huh?” he teases. “That’s alright. I like a challenge.”

You force out a scoff, hoping it covers the way your pulse kicks up. “You’re wasting your time.”

Billy flicks the ash from his cigarette, watching you like he’s already decided that’s not true. “Nah. I don’t think so.” He takes another lazy step closer, lowering his voice just slightly. “I bet if I asked real nice, you’d keep me company.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why would I do that?”

His smirk curves into something slower, more deliberate. “Because you’re curious.”

Your stomach flips.

And he’s right.

Before you can decide whether to snap back or just ignore him, the arcade door swings open, and Lucas steps outside. He barely glances at Billy, his focus locking onto you instead.

“You coming?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

You exhale, grateful for the interruption. “Yeah.”

Billy’s smirk lingers as you turn away. “See you around, Munson.”

You don’t look back.

But even as you step inside, you can still feel his eyes on you.

———————————————————————————

You didn’t see Billy for the rest of the weekend, and though you saw him today you thankfully hadn’t talked to him. Only issue? He’s in your class. You’ve been keeping your head down, eyes glued to your notebook, willing yourself to focus. The teacher is droning on about something—probably the Cold War, or maybe Nixon—but it’s hard to tell over the sound of Billy Hargrove’s constant, low-voiced disruptions from the seat beside you.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning in slightly. “You don’t have to pretend to be so into this. Bet you’d have way more fun if you—”

You don’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him. “Shut up, Hargrove.”

He lets out a short, amused chuckle, unfazed. “Feisty,” he muses. “I like it.”

You grip your pencil tighter, refusing to take the bait. He’d started this the second he strolled into class late and took the empty seat next to you. Just your luck. You weren’t sure if he even belonged in this class or if he just did whatever he wanted and no one stopped him.

Billy shifts again, slouching in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers. “You know, ignorin' me doesn’t make me go away.”

“No, but it makes me feel better.”

His lips twitch into a smirk. “That so?”

You don’t answer. Across the room, your teacher gives an exhausted sigh, rubbing his temples. “Mr. Hargrove, unless you’re going to contribute something insightful, I suggest you keep quiet.”

Billy raises his hands in mock innocence. “Just tryin’ to have a conversation, sir.”

The class snickers, but you just exhale slowly, willing the clock to move faster.

By the time the bell rings, you’re out of your seat in an instant, shoving your books into your bag as fast as humanly possible. But you should’ve known better.

Billy’s already leaning against the lockers when you reach yours, arms crossed, that same smug smirk playing at his lips.

“You always this fun, or just in class?”

You glance at him briefly, but you don’t stop twisting your locker dial. “What do you want?”

“What, can’t a guy say hi?”

You roll your eyes, pulling the door open. “Hi. Bye.”

Billy doesn’t move. If anything, he seems more amused. “Eddie put you up to this?” he asks, tilting his head. “The whole avoiding-me-like-the-plague thing?”

You huff, shoving your books inside. “No one has to tell me to avoid you.”

“Ah.” Billy nods, like that confirms something. “Right. So you just listen to every word your big brother says?”

“I have my own brain, thanks.”

“Yeah?” He leans in a little, and for the first time, you hesitate. He notices. “So what’s stoppin' you?”

You blink. “Stopping me from what?”

“From having a real conversation with me.”

You scoff, slamming your locker shut. “Maybe I just don’t want to.”

Billy studies you, eyes flicking over your face, your stiff posture, the way your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag. He smirks—but it’s different this time. Less cocky. More… calculating.

And that’s what makes your stomach twist.

Billy Hargrove was a lot of things—reckless, arrogant, charming when it suited him—but he wasn’t aimless. If he was talking to you, pushing your buttons, keeping you on edge, it was because he wanted something. And Billy Hargrove always got what he wanted.

But why you?

That was the part that didn’t make sense. You weren’t stupid. You knew what people like him were like, knew the way he treated girls at school—like conquests, like challenges, like something to pass the time. You’d spent years keeping your head down, staying out of the drama, and ever since he moved to Hawkins, out of his orbit, and yet now, for some reason, he had decided to step into yours.

And the worst part?

A tiny, traitorous part of you didn’t entirely hate it.

Billy watches you carefully, waiting for something—a crack, a slip, a reaction he can use. When you don’t give him one, he exhales, clicking his tongue. “Shame.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What is?”

“That you’re so damn stubborn.” He takes a step back, like he’s already won something. “But don’t worry, sweetheart. Like I said, I enjoy a challenge.”

You roll your eyes, pushing past him without another word.

Billy chuckles under his breath as he watches you walk away.

You shake off the lingering feeling of Billy’s eyes on you as you weave through the crowded hallway. The last thing you need is to be thinking about him, but the interaction still clings to you, like cigarette smoke that won’t wash out.

It doesn’t help that your next class—English—feels like a blur. You’re barely paying attention as you slip into your usual seat near the middle of the room.

“Jesus, you look like you saw a ghost.”

You blink, snapping out of it. Robin Buckley is staring at you from the next desk over, eyebrows raised in amusement. She twirls a pen between her fingers, already halfway slouched in her chair. “Or, like, had an existential crisis in the hallway.”

You snort, rubbing a hand over your face. “More like the second one.”

Robin perks up. “Ooh, do tell.”

You hesitate, but before you can come up with a reason not to, the words are already slipping out. “It’s Billy.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Hargrove?”

“No, Billy Joel,” you deadpan.

Robin shoots you a look. “Okay, first of all, don’t sass me when I’m trying to provide moral support. Second of all, what did he do now?”

You sigh, tapping your fingers against the desk. “Nothing… technically. He just keeps—" You pause, struggling to put it into words. "—I don’t know. Talking to me.”

Robin’s eyes narrow. “Talking how?”

You shift uncomfortably. “Like… I don’t know, like he’s testing me or something. Seeing how much he can get away with.”

Robin hums, tapping her pen against her notebook. “Lemme guess. The classic Hargrove moves? Smirking, standing too close, saying weirdly suggestive things but in that way where if you call him out, he’d act like you’re the crazy one?”

You blink. “Yeah. That’s… disturbingly accurate.”

Robin leans back, shrugging. “I’ve seen him do it before. He’s got a type.”

Your stomach twists slightly at that. “And what’s his type?”

She gives you a knowing look. “Girls he thinks he can mess with.”

You make a face. “Great. Love that for me.”

Robin tilts her head, considering you. “So… what are you gonna do?”

You exhale through your nose. “Ignore him.”

Robin snorts. “Yeah, good luck with that. He’s like a cockroach—impossible to kill and way too smug about it.”

You groan, resting your forehead against your desk. “This is so stupid. Why is he even bothering?”

Robin shrugs. “Could be a few reasons. Maybe he’s bored. Maybe he wants to piss Eddie off.” She pauses, then smirks. “Or maybe he’s just got the hots for you.”

You whip your head up to glare at her. “Shut up.”

Robin grins. “I’m just saying! You’re cute, he’s an asshole—it tracks.”

You roll your eyes, but your face feels warm. “He’s not interested in me. He’s interested in annoying me.”

Robin shrugs. “Eh. Sometimes those things overlap.”

Before you can argue, the teacher calls for everyone’s attention, starting the lesson. You sink lower in your seat, pretending to take notes, but Robin’s words stick with you.

What if she was right?

And worse… what if a tiny, irrational part of you wanted her to be?

The rest of the school day drags, but you do your best to push Billy from your mind. Robin’s words still linger, though—He’s got a type. You tell yourself she’s wrong. That Billy’s just messing with you because he’s bored, because you’re Eddie’s sister, because it entertains him to get under your skin.

But then, like clockwork, he finds you again.

You’re at your locker, swapping out books, when you feel it—someone hovering just close enough to be intentional. You don’t have to look to know who it is.

Billy Hargrove leans casually against the locker beside yours, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place. “Miss me?”

You huff, slamming your locker shut. “Not even a little.”

“Ouch,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “And here I thought we were bonding.”

You roll your eyes and turn to walk away, but Billy easily matches your pace, strolling beside you down the hall.

“Relax, Munson. I’ll behave,” he promises, voice lighter than before. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Scout.”

He grins. “True. But I’m thinkin’ maybe you don’t hate me as much as you pretend.”

You scoff. “What gave you that idea?”

Billy shrugs. “Just a feeling.” He glances down at you, his smirk shifting into something less predatory, more amused. “So, what do you do for fun, Munson? Besides avoid me, of course.”

You hesitate, caught off guard by the normalcy of the question. “Why do you care?”

“Just tryin’ to figure you out.”

You steal a glance at him, expecting the usual smugness, but for once, he just looks… curious. That’s what makes you pause.

Billy Hargrove doesn’t ask questions just to ask them. Everything he does is deliberate—he pushes, he pulls, he tests the waters. And right now? He’s testing you.

Before you can decide how to respond, the warning bell rings. You pause, gripping the strap of your bag.

Billy clicks his tongue. “Guess you’re off the hook—for now.”

You shake your head, stepping away. “Whatever, Hargrove.”

But really, it wasn’t whatever. You couldn’t lie—to yourself, at least. Since the day Billy appeared in Hawkins, you’d found him attractive. How could you not? But you also knew exactly what he was. Trouble. And you had enough of that in your life. You weren’t interested in being another notch in his bed frame, another girl he’d charm just to discard.

The rest of the school day feels like a blur. You can barely focus on the lessons, your thoughts drifting back to Billy. The way he keeps popping up, his questions that always seem to lead somewhere you’re not quite sure of, the way he looks at you like he knows exactly what buttons to push. By the time the final bell rings, you’re more than ready to leave.

You grab your bag and head out the door, trying to ignore the heavy feeling of being watched. The halls are crowded with students streaming out into the parking lot, eager to start their weekends. But you don’t get far before you feel it—that familiar presence. Someone too close, too intentional.

Billy. Again.

That same infuriating smirk plastered on his face. “Well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

You exhale sharply. “Yeah, it’s almost like we go to the same school.”

Billy chuckles, pushing off the car to fall into step beside you. “Y’know I like your attitude.”

You shake your head, already regretting engaging, but it doesn’t matter, Billy doesn’t give up easily.

“So,” he says casually, hands slipping into his pockets, “how come I never see you at any of the parties?”

You snort. “Because I don’t go to them?”

“Tragic,” he muses. “You’re really missin’ out.”

“Pretty sure I’m not.”

Billy tilts his head, studying you. “Lemme guess. Not a fan of loud music? Drunk assholes?” His smirk grows. “Or just worried big brother Munson wouldn’t approve?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re obsessed with Eddie, you know that?”

Billy chuckles. “Nah. But it’s fun gettin’ under his skin.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you approach Eddie’s van. Billy follows, stepping in front of you just before you can reach the door. “Y’know,” he muses, “you keep actin’ like you don’t like talkin’ to me, but you never actually tell me to leave.”

Your lips part, but before you can find a response, another voice cuts in.

“What the hell is this?”

Eddie.

He’s standing a few feet away, arms crossed, a deep scowl etched into his face.

Billy grins. “Hey, Munson.”

Eddie ignores him, eyes locked on you. “You good?”

You sigh. “Yeah, Eds. We were just—”

“She was just enjoyin’ my company,” Billy interrupts smoothly, flashing a grin.

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, sure she was.” He looks at you again, more serious now. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

You huff, glancing between them, then finally step around Billy toward the passenger side of the van.

Billy doesn’t stop you, but as you open the door, he calls after you. “See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

You don’t respond.

The van door slams shut behind you, and as Eddie pulls out of the parking lot, you can’t help but glance back out the window at Billy’s retreating figure. Something about the way he’s been acting lately nags at you. It’s different from how he’s treated everyone else; he’s not pushing you away, not provoking Eddie, not throwing his usual taunts.

The second Eddie pulls into the street, he lets out a sharp scoff.

“Seriously?” He shoots you a look, eyebrows raised. “Billy Hargrove?”

You roll your eyes, already exhausted. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, really?” He snorts. “’Cause from where I was standing, it looked an awful lot like he was trying to work his slimy little charm on you.”

You huff, shifting in your seat. “He was just talking, Eddie. You’re acting like I was about to jump into his car.”

Eddie groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “That’s how it starts, dude. First, it’s just talking, then he’s got you riding shotgun in that stupid Camaro, then—” He shudders dramatically. “God, I don’t even wanna think about it.”

You cross your arms. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m being smart,” he counters, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “Hargrove’s a dick. And I don’t mean in a ‘he’s kind of an ass but deep down he’s okay’ way. I mean in a ‘he’s a total, no-redeeming-qualities, king-sized douchebag’ way.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, staring out the window.

Eddie sighs, his voice softening just slightly. “Look, I know you think I’m overreacting, but I’m serious, alright? He’s not good news.”

“I know that,” you mutter, because you do. Everyone does.

Eddie shakes his head. “Then why the hell were you even talking to him?”

You hesitate, fingers fiddling with your bag strap. “I dunno. It just… happened.”

Eddie exhales heavily, drumming his fingers against the wheel. “Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t,” you say automatically.

But something about the way Billy looked at you lingers in the back of your mind. He was charming, you’d give him that.

The drive back to the trailer is quiet. Eddie’s hands grip the steering wheel tight, and his fingers tap the rhythm of a song you can’t quite make out. You steal a glance at him, the tense set of his jaw making it clear that he’s still fuming about Billy. You know he’s just trying to protect you, but there’s something in his posture that hints at more than just concern—he’s pissed. It’s not like he hasn't made it obvious, but there’s an edge to his anger now, a frustration that’s starting to gnaw at you too.

As the van rumbles down the road toward the trailer park, you lean back against the seat, eyes trained on the world outside the window, your thoughts still lingering on the brief encounter with Billy. What the hell was that about? He hadn’t been his usual smug self. Something about it felt different, almost… normal. But you knew better than to let that pull you in.

When the van turns into the gravel lot, you finally sit up straight, looking out the window at the trailer. The silence is thick between you and Eddie, but it’s not uncomfortable. Neither of you is really ready to talk, but eventually, Eddie pulls the van to a stop outside the trailer.

He kills the engine, then turns to you, eyes still intense. “You sure you’re good?”

You nod, not trusting your voice to come out steady.

He’s quick to catch it, though, his brows knitting together. “What’s goin’ on with you and Billy, anyway?”

You sigh, pulling the door open and stepping out into the cool evening air. “Nothing,” you say, though you don’t even believe it yourself.

Eddie’s eyes follow you as you move around the van and up the steps to the door of the trailer. You can feel his gaze on you, but when you look back at him, he’s already turning away, clearly ready to call it a night.

It’s quiet inside the trailer, the soft hum of the fridge being the only sound. Eddie slams the door behind him, and you hear the familiar clink of him tossing his keys on the counter. The normalcy of it settles over you, but your mind can’t let go of Billy. You try to shake it off, but the lingering look he gave you, his sudden charm, nags at the back of your mind.

Eddie’s voice breaks through your thoughts. “You know, if Hargrove’s gonna keep trying to mess with you, I’m not gonna sit by and watch it happen.”

You stop in your tracks, looking back at him. His expression is hard now, serious.

“You don’t have to protect me, Eddie,” you mutter, though you can feel the familiar prickling of tension creeping up your spine.

“I’m your brother. It’s what I do.” He shrugs, trying to look casual, but the anger is still there, simmering. “Just don’t do anything stupid with him, alright? He’s a real piece of work, and I don’t trust him for a second.”

You want to argue, to tell him you’re fine, but something about the way Eddie looks at you stops you. You just nod, even if you’re not sure you’ll follow through.

The truth is, part of you is curious about Billy—curious in a way that makes you uncomfortable. And for all of Eddie’s warnings, the pull Billy’s subtle charm has on you is harder to ignore.

But you can’t let it happen. Not with him.

It’d be stupid. You’re the responsible one, the careful one. Eddie’s future didn’t look the brightest, but yours was looking okay right now and you needed to keep it that way. To take care of your uncle when he was older, to make sure Eddie had a roof over his head. You didn’t have time to screw up. Which meant you didn’t have time for stupid high school romances, especially not with someone like Billy.

Eddie flops onto the couch, kicking his feet up on the table. “So, what’s on the agenda tonight? Homework? Overthinking? Staring at the ceiling and contemplating existence?”

You snort, pouring yourself a glass of water. “All of the above.”

He grins, but it fades after a beat. “Hey,” he says, more serious now. “You know I’m not trying to be an ass, right? About Billy?”

You sigh, setting your glass down. “I know.”

“I just—” He sits up, resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t want you getting caught up in something you’ll regret. You’re smarter than that.”

You press your lips together, nodding. “I know,” you repeat.

Eddie watches you for a second longer, then sighs, leaning back again. “Alright, well. If you start getting brainwashed by his stupid pretty-boy hair, I’ll stage an intervention.”

You roll your eyes but smile despite yourself. “I thought you only considered Steve a pretty boy.” You tease.

Eddie holds up a finger as if he’s about to inform you of something major. You chuckle as he drops it back to his lap. “Touché.”

The night passes in the usual rhythm. You finish up some homework while Eddie strums lazily on his guitar, eventually getting caught up in his D&D notes. By the time you both call it a night, the house is quiet except for the low hum of the TV in the background.

But as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, you can’t seem to stop your mind from thinking about Billy. His stupid face, stupid smirk, and yes, that stupid pretty-boy hair. You’re not used to it. You’re not the kind of person who has a lot of crushes or interest in people. And it frustrates you to no end that you can’t seem to control your thoughts.

———————————————————————————

Tuesday morning feels like a repeat of yesterday, and yet, it feels heavier somehow. You walk down the hall with your books clutched tightly to your chest, hoping for a quiet start to the day. But when you turn the corner, you spot Billy. Leaning against the lockers with that infuriating, cocky smirk plastered on his face.

He looks up at you, eyes narrowing playfully as you stop in your tracks. For a brief second, he just stares, like he's trying to figure out your next move.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he says, his voice too smooth for your liking. “You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

You stare at him, suppressing the instinct to roll your eyes. He’s not really concerned. It's just part of the game he plays. "Not interested in playing your little games today, Hargrove."

Billy chuckles lowly, pushing off the lockers to step closer to you, his gaze not leaving yours for a second. "Oh, I don’t know about that. You played them yesterday."

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just trying to go about my day,” you mutter, stepping to the side to walk past him.

But Billy’s too quick, blocking your path with a casual lean against the lockers. “C’mon, Munson. I know I’m irresistible, no point in pretending you’re not interested.”

You swallow hard, already feeling that familiar knot of frustration building. Why could he seem to read you effortlessly? “I’m not interested in anything you’ve got to say.”

Billy’s eyes glimmer with something dangerous, and he tilts his head just slightly. "Really? ‘Cause you’ve been looking at me a lot for someone who isn’t."

You force yourself not to react. He’s fishing for a reaction, and you’re not going to give it to him. "You have no clue what you’re talking about," you reply, trying to sound steady, but your heart is racing.

Billy takes a step forward, lowering his voice, as if sharing a secret. “You know, I can tell when someone’s just pretending. You’re not as good at hiding it as you think, sweetheart.” He leans in even closer, his face inches from yours. “Why don’t you admit it? You’re intrigued.”

For a moment, part of you wants to push him away, to tell him to get lost. The logical part of you. But instead, you freeze. He’s not backing down and not deterred by you brushing him off. And part of you is happy he isn’t. Part of you is almost enjoying his attention.

“I don’t care what you think, Billy,” you say, the words coming out a little shakier than you intend. "You’re not worth my time."

Billy smirks again, his eyes lighting up in that annoying, self-satisfied way that makes your skin crawl. “Sure, Princess. You keep telling yourself that.”

He steps aside, finally letting you pass, but not before his hand grazes the side of your arm. The touch sends an involuntary shiver down your spine, and it takes everything in you to keep walking. You try to shake it off as you keep walking down the hall, but you know he’s watching you, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back.

By the time lunch rolls around, you’re exhausted—mentally, mostly. You spent half the morning trying to ignore the way Billy Hargrove had been getting under your skin, and the other half pretending like he hadn’t been in your head since yesterday. It was stupid, really. You knew what kind of guy he was. And yet, here you were, letting it bother you.

You drop into your usual seat at the lunch table, across from Robin and Steve. Eddie’s already there, poking at his food with disinterest while Robin chatters about some new movie she and Steve saw over the weekend. You try to listen, but the weight of Billy’s gaze from across the cafeteria is making it difficult.

“You’ve been a little quiet today,” Robin suddenly says, snapping you out of your thoughts. She nudges your tray. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing,” you say automatically, but even you don’t sound convincing.

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m not buying that.”

Eddie, who up until now has been ignoring the conversation, suddenly glances up. He follows your gaze across the cafeteria and scoffs. “Jesus Christ. Again?”

You snap back to reality, tearing your gaze away from Billy, but it’s too late. Eddie saw.

“I thought we talked about this,” Eddie mutters, stabbing a fry into a glob of ketchup.

“We did,” you reply tightly.

“And?”

“And nothing,” you huff.

Robin, sensing the shift in tension, leans in with an interested smirk. “Alright, so are we gonna pretend like Hargrove isn’t staring at you from across the room, or…?”

Steve groans. “Seriously? The dudes a dick,” He says as if you don’t know. “We knew something was up, you’ve been looking weird all day.”

“I have not been looking weird,” you argue.

Robin grins. “You kinda have.”

Eddie lets out a sharp exhale and turns to you fully. “You told me you were done with this already.”

“There’s nothing to be done with,” you snap, voice sharper than you meant it to be. “I’m not doing anything.”

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah? Well, he sure as hell is.”

Robin watches the exchange with an amused expression, but Steve looks a little more cautious. “Listen, I don’t like the guy either,” he says, glancing toward Billy. “But maybe let her handle it?”

Eddie looks at Steve like he just suggested something insane. “Oh, sure, let’s just let her walk straight into that disaster.”

You slam your fork down. “Eddie, enough.”

The table goes quiet.

You rub your temples, exhaling hard. “I know what he’s like. You don’t need to keep lecturing me about it.”

Eddie blinks, caught off guard by your tone. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” you cut him off. “And I get it, okay? You don’t trust him. I don’t trust him either. But I’m not an idiot, and I don’t need you hovering over me every five seconds about it.”

Eddie looks like he wants to argue, but for once, he doesn’t. Instead, he exhales heavily and mutters, “I’m just looking out for you.”

Your shoulders slump slightly, some of the fight draining out of you. “I know.”

Robin clears her throat, cutting the tension. “Sooo, we all in agreement? Hargrove is an actual demon, but it’s not our job to beat the idea into her head?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I still think it’s our job.”

Steve nudges his arm. “Let it go, dude.”

Eddie grumbles under his breath but says nothing else.

You poke at your food, your appetite all but gone. Across the cafeteria, Billy is still watching you, and despite everything you just said… you don’t look away this time.

The last bell finally rings, and you exhale, relieved to be free from the suffocating halls of Hawkins High—at least for the day. You gather your things, moving quickly to avoid getting caught up in the post-class rush, but it doesn’t take long before you feel it again.

That familiar, lingering presence.

You don’t even have to look to know who it is.

Billy falls into step beside you, hands in the pockets of his worn leather jacket, looking effortlessly smug. “You got a habit of starin’, princess,” he muses, voice dripping with amusement.

You blink, thrown off. “What?”

“Lunch,” he clarifies, smirk widening. “Caught you lookin’ at me.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you walk faster. “You’re delusional.”

Billy matches your pace with ease. “Am I?” He tilts his head, studying you. “’Cause I could’ve sworn you were watchin’ me. Like you couldn’t help yourself.”

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag as you keep walking, refusing to look at him. “You’re full of yourself.”

Billy hums, clearly entertained. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong.”

You stop at your locker, spinning the dial harder than necessary as you try to keep your expression neutral. “If I was looking, which I wasn’t, it’d only be because you make it hard to ignore your obnoxious ass.”

Billy leans against the lockers beside you, unbothered. “Yeah?” His voice drops lower, smooth and teasing. “That why you’re all flustered right now?”

You slam your locker shut, glaring at him. “I’m not flustered.”

His eyes flicker over your face, reading you too easily, like he knows he’s in your head and is enjoying every second of it. “Whatever you say, Munson.” He pushes off the locker, stepping back but not leaving just yet. “Maybe next time, don’t be so obvious.”

You huff, adjusting your bag as you start to walk away, only for his voice to call after you one more time.

“See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

You don’t look back.

But damn it, you feel his eyes on you the whole way out.

———————————————————————————

You’re exhausted—from school, from Eddie’s constant hovering, and most of all, from Billy’s persistence. He hasn’t done anything outright, nothing you could point to and say, see, this is why he’s trouble. But he’s there. In the halls, in your periphery, throwing casual smirks your way like he knows something you don’t.

At lunch, you’re at your usual spot with Eddie and his friends, Robin perched on the other side of the table, half-listening to Steve complain about work. You’re mostly tuned out, too aware of the weight of a particular gaze from across the room.

Billy is sitting with his douchebag friends, lounging back in his seat like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But his eyes keep flicking to you. Not constantly—just enough that you know it’s deliberate. Just enough that it’s distracting. Again.

“You spacing out or something?” Robin nudges your arm, making you blink and tear your gaze away.

“What?”

Robin follows your line of sight, eyes narrowing when she spots Billy at his table. When she looks back at you, her expression is unreadable. “Are we seriously doing this again?”

You frown. “Doing what?”

Robin leans in, lowering her voice. “Whatever weird, unspoken thing that’s happening between you and Hargrove.”

“There is no thing,” you insist quickly, too quickly.

She snorts. “Right. And Steve suddenly enjoys working retail.”

You shoot her a look, but she just shrugs. “I’m just saying—if you’re gonna go down that road, at least be smart about it.”

You don’t respond, mostly because you’re not even sure what to say. There’s no thing between you and Billy. There can’t be.

And yet, when you glance back across the room, you catch Billy smirking at you, like he knows something you don’t.

You look away this time.

The day starts like any other—school, classes, Eddie making sarcastic comments at every opportunity. But you can’t shake the feeling that something is shifting, like the inevitable pull of a current you’re not sure you want to fight anymore.

At lunch, you and Eddie are sitting with Robin, idly picking at your food when Steve Harrington appears, dropping his tray onto the table with a loud clatter.

“Alright, losers,” Steve announces, pointing at each of you in turn. “You’re coming to the game tomorrow.”

Robin groans dramatically, flopping onto the table. “Ugh, do we have to?”

“Yes.” Steve stabs a fry in her direction. “Support your school, Buckley. And besides, the team’s doing good this season. It might actually be fun.”

Eddie snorts. “Yeah, no. I’ve got a very important Hellfire meeting tomorrow. Sorry, big guy, but D&D takes precedence over sweaty jocks running around in circles.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Figures. What about you?” He turns to you, and you open your mouth to refuse out of instinct—until an image of Billy flashes through your mind.

You hesitate. Billy will be there.

You shouldn't care. You know that. But the thought plants itself in your brain, an unshakable little itch. You tell yourself it's curiosity, nothing more. It’s not like you’re going for him. It’s just… an excuse. A reason to see if he acts the same outside of school, if he’ll even acknowledge you when he's with his friends, when he’s not leaning against your locker and throwing smug comments your way.

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “I mean… I guess I don’t have anything else going on.”

Robin sighs, giving you a look. “Fine. But if it sucks, I get to complain the whole time.”

Steve grins, triumphant. “Deal.”

Eddie shakes his head, unimpressed. “You’re really gonna go watch Hargrove stroke his own ego for an hour and a half?”

You nudge him with your elbow. “It’s just a game, Eds. Not the end of the world.”

He mutters something about falling to the dark side, but the conversation moves on, leaving you with the nagging realization that, despite every logical reason not to, you want to see Billy play.

You don’t expect to run into Billy after school, but of course, he finds you.

You’re walking toward the parking lot when you hear the unmistakable click of a lighter, followed by the sharp scent of cigarette smoke. Turning your head, you spot Billy leaning against a tree near the edge of the lot, one foot crossed over the other, watching you like he’s been waiting.

“You stalkin’ me, Munson?” he drawls, taking a slow drag of his cigarette.

You scoff. “Says the guy who’s always conveniently around.”

Billy smirks but doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods toward you. “So? You gonna be there tomorrow?”

Your heart stutters for half a second before you recover. “The game?”

He hums in confirmation, flicking ash onto the pavement.

You cross your arms. “Why do you care?”

He exhales a long stream of smoke, eyes flickering over you like he’s assessing something. “Maybe I just like an audience.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitches before you can stop it. His eyes catch the movement, and his smirk softens—just slightly.

“I’ll be there,” you admit before you can overthink it.

Billy tilts his head, looking vaguely pleased. “Good.”

He doesn’t push for more, doesn’t gloat like you expect him to. Instead, he flicks his cigarette away, pushing off the tree with an easy roll of his shoulders. “See you tomorrow, doll.”

And just like that, he’s gone, walking toward his Camaro like it was just another casual conversation.

You watch him go, your fingers gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter.

It’s just a basketball game. It’s just curiosity.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

———————————————————————————

Friday drags, each class feeling longer than usual. You go through the motions—taking notes, exchanging sarcastic remarks with Eddie, rolling your eyes at Robin’s exaggerated groaning about having to endure the game later. But underneath it all, there’s something… off.

Billy hasn’t sought you out once.

No lingering at your locker. No smug comments in the hall. No interruptions in class with whispered teasing in your ear. It’s almost unsettling.

You shouldn’t care. It should be a relief, really. Maybe he lost interest, moved on to some other poor girl to taunt and charm in equal measure. That’s what you should want.

And yet, every time you pass him in the hall, your stomach twists just a little when he doesn’t even glance your way. He walks with his usual swagger, laughing with his friends, exuding the same effortless confidence, but it’s like you don’t exist.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid. But a small part of you—a part you don’t want to acknowledge—already misses the attention.

By the time the final bell rings, you’re more than ready to leave, eager for a distraction. Robin finds you at your locker, shoving her books into her bag with a dramatic sigh.

“I cannot believe we’re voluntarily going to this thing.”

You snort. “You act like it’s torture.”

“It is torture,” she insists. “Loud gym, sweaty dudes, and an entire student body acting like they suddenly care about school spirit? Pass.”

You shut your locker, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Well, too late now. Plus we’re supporting Steve.”

Robin groans, but she follows you anyway, because despite all her complaining, you both know she doesn’t actually mind.

Thrifter, you’d like to say it’s a big fuck you to capitalism but you’re not made of money. Good at finding those rich folk brands second hand and you end up selling it to the popular girls in school for three times the price you paid. Banking big during prom season etc.

Forever sucking on a lollipop, red cherry that stains your lips.

Sunglasses are an essential, are you sleeping in class? Maybe. Or are you glaring at that one popular chick that just asked you if the moths have ate through your whole wardrobe. It’s a fashion statement, you cut this shirt yourself.

Crushing hard on Jonathan Byers, you share the same love of music and photography. You might just be the reason he agrees to take photos of Eddie’s band

Stealing Eddie’s band tees and stretching the neckline so it drapes over one shoulder. Ladder in your tights? No problem you either make it worse or add a safety pin. There’s still a few more wears out of them.

Helping Jonathan develop photos, he’s quick to snatch that one close up of your face in the crowd. You also take photos of him whenever you see him from afar, hoping he’ll see what you see in him.

Loner. You ride a motorbike to school, scratched helmet covered in stickers. A change of clothes stuffed in your backpack, you change in the toilets. Your leathers and boots crammed into your locker before first class.

It’s so easy to get Jonathan flustered. Your hand on his arm, eye contact as you ask him to carry on talking about that thing he was going on about at lunch.

Jonathan giving you lift to school during stormy weather. He loves you going through his tape cassettes and singing to him on the way there. You do stay quiet when he’s introducing you to new music though and you enjoy listening to him talk about the songs.

You give Jonathan a pair of your favourite sunglasses, all black, can’t see his eyes through the lens. You brush his hair out his eyes and slide the sunglasses up the bridge of nose, all whilst he’s holding his breath. “Now you can check me out without getting all shy, Byers.”

Jonathan stumbling over his words as he invites you back to his, all so he can show you the new vinyl record of your favourite band. He talks you through the photo on the front sleeve, pausing as your knee brushes against his.

The little black dress is your go to date night outfit. When Jonathan picks you up, he’s lost for words. Just staring at you as you lean in the window and press a kiss on his cheek. You lick your thumb, trying to wipe your lipstick off his face.

Jonathan draws a little star on the inside of your wrist and you get it tattooed. You’re reminded of him every time your sleeve rides up. The line works a little wobbly but you don’t care.

How the two had come together was easy to answer.

Jason and (Y/n) had bumped into each other absolutely drunk at a party. Before (Y/n) knew it, she was in an empty bedroom with Jason over her and she was having the best night of her life. Jason was no saint by God. He had taken her like a wild animal and she had surrendered to it all too willingly.

In fact, it should have stayed that way. Jason Carver and (y/n) Munson. It wasn't going to work out anyway.

It's just that it didn't stay that way.

(Y/n) held back, though she couldn't get that night out of her mind. Secretly, she watched him. Tried to sense the beast that was hidden deep within this golden boy.

She didn't see it again until it pulled her into a cubbyhole. He was the wolf and she was Little Red Riding Hood.

Their meetings happend more often.

And if it had remained that way. If they met only because of Sex and lust, both would have understood it.

But at some point, the nature of the relationship changed. At some point, they went out to have coffee in a larger city. At some point, the wolf pulled his Little Red Riding Hood into the closet just to kiss her, suck in her scent, and be wished good luck for the game.

At some point, they slipped notes to each other. At some point, she was in his arms in the back seat of his Jeep, enjoying the warmth of togetherness.

It remained a secret. They both wanted it. What they had was untainted by the outside world. It was supposed to stay that way. But unfortunately, everything had an end at some point.

(Y/n) was lying on the sofa in the trailer. Wayne was at work and Eddie would be busy enough with Hellfire for a long time.

Jason, her wolf, was lying over her. He wasn't kissing her neck. He was biting it. She wasn't holding onto his back. She was scratching him open.

Pleasurable and hard, they gave themselves over to lust. Bathed in sin. Let themselves be devoured and devoured each other.

Jason's skillful didacticism was long gone. He moaned. He grunted. He growled.

She came. Tightened around him, draining even the last of his humanity.

Hard and rough, he bit the crook of her neck. Growled possessively and poured himself inside her.

Breathing heavily, they lay there. Slowly he withdrew his teeth and carefully kissed the bruised area. The imprint was deep. A whimper escaped him. Immediately he felt gentle fingers running through his hair. He pulled her protectively against him. Neither of them said anything.

She let him hold her. He let himself be caressed.

Jason firmly believed that he was wrong. That he shouldn't feel this way. Beating someone in a fight was one thing, but taking a woman so.... To take her so animalistically. He was no better than an animal, no matter how hard he tried to pull himself together in the rest of his life. No matter how perfect he tried to be. In the end, he was just an animal. But (Y/n) accept the animal. Her wolf, she called it. She took him as he was. Full of flaws. His little angel.

It was one of those days when it was hard for him to form words after the act. (Y/n) put him back together again. Gently and sweetly.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly.

Jason nodded, still shaken. "Yes." he whispered back. His voice was hoarse and still a little too low. "I'm sorry." He gently stroked the bite marks. He looked up into her smiling face. She shook her head. "I like it."

He grinned with tired eyes. "Freak." He said it with affection, not hate.

She nudged him in the shoulder with an equal grin. "Says the right guy."

"We should shower," she suggested, but he immediately wrapped his arms tighter around her.

"Not yet." He buried his face against the crook of her neck and took a deep breath. "How long do we have?"

"I don't know. These games can last hours."

And normaly (Y/n) would have been right about that. Except in normal circumstances, Dustin didn't fell over because of an allergic shock.

Jason was just scraping back together the last of his humanity, listening to (Y/n)s hum when a dull bang sounded. Jason turned around in surprise. (Y/n) immediately frantically pulled the small wool blanket over them.

Standing in front of them was a dim-witted Eddie Munson. His metal box lay forgotten beside him.

No one said anything until Eddie snapped out of his stupor. "You son of a-"

He had not been able to taken a step toward them, when (Y/n) stood up, the blanket wrapped around her.

"Take it easy." she determined.

"He - You... What?"

She turned him by the shoulder and pushed him toward the front door. "I'll get dressed now, and you practice how to speek."

With that, she slammed the front door and turned to Jason. He was still staring at her in shock.

"Jason?" she asked, when she realized he was lying there stiff as a board. He was shaking slightly.

"Jason. It's all right. He's not going to do anything."

Jason shook his head. He buried his face in his hands. "He'll tell everyone," he said, upset.

She stroked his silky strands. "Would it be so bad?"

He took a deep breath. "They'll be all over you. The rumors will get worse and worse, and eventually you'll leave me."

"Jason. Jason look at me." The blue eyes looked up at her sadly. "I'm not leaving because of any rumors or high school jokes." She took his face in her hands. "But your reputation might-"

He shook his head. "It's not real anyway." He stroked her neck. "Look at what I always do to you."

She sighed. "Let's get dressed and then I'll beat him into keeping his mouth shut." She kissed him on the forehead. Jason nodded and fished his gym pants off the floor.

(Y/n) came back in a shirt and shorts and yanked open the door. Immediately Eddie came into the room. "I'm against this! This stops right now!" he shouted and ran into the trailer like a startled chicken.

"Self-determination is not happening here?" asked (Y/n) sarcastically.

"No! You're my little sister!"

She slapped her hand to her forehead. "Eddie!" she ripened, annoyed.

"If you're just playing with her to-"

"Get a grip, Freak." Jason immediately spat.

"I've got better things to do, than pick girls based solely on how much it bothers you."

Eddie looked at him venomously. "If you hurt her, and I swear by all the gods I've ever heard of, you'll spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair."

Jason looked at him, unimpressed. They both crossed their arms in front of their chests.

"WE decide when this comes out! Got that Freak?!"

Eddie stretched out his hand to Jason. Jason gripped it exaggeratedly tight.

"Good."

"Good."

Eddie turned to her. "There's no fucking in the trailer and - What the hell did you do to her neck? What are you? An octopus?"

Jason turned away from him, annoyed, and reached for his shirt. The fresh, still slightly bloody scratches beamed at Eddie.

He looked back and forth between the two of them with gigantic eyes.

"I'm going to go bleach the images out of my brain," he said monotonously, and walked into his room.

They both looked after him. (Y/n) rolling her eyes. Jason amused. Annoying the freak like that was fun, too.

"That went pretty well, didn't it?" shrugged (Y/n).

Jason looked at her intently. "Is that my shirt?"

"No."

"I've been looking for that for weeks!"

"You're welcome to wear it."

"How generous."

Eddie, as usual, gathered his sheep to go to school. The first was Gareth. He dropped into his seat, exhausted. He whimpered out.

"What's wrong Gareth?" asked Eddie cheerfully as he drove on.

Gareth just gave him a telling look. "What's wrong Gareth?" he mimicked him. He grunted something into his non-existent beard.

(Y/n) smirked. Eddie still thought she knew nothing about the two. After Jason left the night before, Eddie had taken off and did not come back until after midnight. She did not want to know what he had done to Gareth.

"Have you guys ever noticed that Jason's really been leaving us alone lately," Gareth muttered.

Eddie clung tighter to his steering wheel. "No. Why?"

Gareth shrugged. "I'm just saying. Last time he smacked me was probably three months ago or so."

He mused. "Right. At Bowers' party."

Eddie looked stubbornly down the street. She smirked a little to herself. He'd even left them alone when they were just having sex.

Gareth shrugged. "Probably just finally getting laid."

Eddie made a full stop, sending Gareth flying forward. Eddie catched him with one arm.

"DUDE!"

Eddie looked at (Y/n) nervously. She rolled her eyes. "Just Gareth.", she said firmly.

"She's fucking Carver!" shouted Eddie at Gareth, as if he were a kid telling Mom that the little sister had just stolen his toy.

Gareth turned to her in surprise.

"You guys were the ones in the bedroom at the party? Right? We had to turn the music up to drown your sounds out."

"That's the point you were holding on to now?" asked Eddie, upset.

"You didn't hear that. They were like two wild animals!"

"Lalalalalala!" sang Eddie loudly, and took off again.

Gareth turned back to (Y/n). "Thank you for your service to the community." She nodded, waving it of.

"I won't say anything, if you don't." She held out her hand to him. He took it.

"You don't sound any better.", she muttered. "Just so you know." Eddie looked at her, startled.